Orval, or The Fool of Time And Other Imitations and Paraphrases. By Robert Lytton |
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| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. | XXVII.A REGRET. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
 | Orval, or The Fool of Time |  |
XXVII.A REGRET.
Lost empire of my maidenhood!
Could I be once more what I would,
Then what I am I would not be.
Ah well-a-day, and woe is me!
Could I a maiden be once more,
And unknow all that I have known,
And feel as I have felt of yore,
I would not change with any queen;
Not for sceptre, crown, or throne,
If I could be what I have been
Would I grow what I have grown.
Could I be once more what I would,
Then what I am I would not be.
Ah well-a-day, and woe is me!
Could I a maiden be once more,
And unknow all that I have known,
And feel as I have felt of yore,
I would not change with any queen;
Not for sceptre, crown, or throne,
429
Would I grow what I have grown.
Lost empire of my maidenhood!
Sweetest sweet! and chiefest good!
Now that thou art gone, I know,
Could I call thee back again!
How to keep thee. Even so!
Loss is all my gain!
Sweetest sweet! and chiefest good!
Now that thou art gone, I know,
Could I call thee back again!
How to keep thee. Even so!
Loss is all my gain!
Would that I were with the flocks
As of old among the rocks!
For the flocks do blithely bleat,
And the mountain airs blow sweet,
And the river runneth fleet,
Running to the happy sea:
But the glory of the river,
And the gladness of the flocks,
And the mirth among the rocks,
And the music on the wind
Ministrant to a merry mind,
These are joyous things, for ever
Dead, or fled, for me!
As of old among the rocks!
For the flocks do blithely bleat,
And the mountain airs blow sweet,
And the river runneth fleet,
Running to the happy sea:
But the glory of the river,
And the gladness of the flocks,
And the mirth among the rocks,
And the music on the wind
Ministrant to a merry mind,
These are joyous things, for ever
Dead, or fled, for me!
On the wind there moans for ever
One word only, which the river,
Murmuring, murmurs to the shore,
And the flocks, with chilly bleat,
Evermore that word repeat,
And that word is—Nevermore!
Nevermore, O never, never
Any more, by mount or river,
Shall I be as I have been,
A mountain maid, a virgin queen!
One word only, which the river,
Murmuring, murmurs to the shore,
And the flocks, with chilly bleat,
Evermore that word repeat,
And that word is—Nevermore!
Nevermore, O never, never
Any more, by mount or river,
430
A mountain maid, a virgin queen!
| Orval, or The Fool of Time | |