The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell With Introductory Notice and Memoir by John Nichol |
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XXVI. | SCENE XXVI. |
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The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell | ||
SCENE XXVI.
The Study.Balder, solus. Through the door the voice of Amy.
Amy.
Surely the Lord is cruel but to me,
And over bounteous to the race of men
With mercy taken from my single lot.
And over bounteous to the race of men
With mercy taken from my single lot.
I am the dwarf of this great family,
The favoured lips do drink the wine of life,
And all the mingled lees fill up my fate.
The favoured lips do drink the wine of life,
And all the mingled lees fill up my fate.
I am a place where music music meets,
Putting it out; by how much joy is loud,
I am the darker silence: all the lines
Of sorrow cross above my wretched head.
Putting it out; by how much joy is loud,
I am the darker silence: all the lines
Of sorrow cross above my wretched head.
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They are grown sour with sweetness, they are proud
With pleasure, they care not to keep awake
Even to be happy. Like a slave they bid
Their bliss abide their time, and, like a slave,
It fans their happy faces while they sleep.
With pleasure, they care not to keep awake
Even to be happy. Like a slave they bid
Their bliss abide their time, and, like a slave,
It fans their happy faces while they sleep.
Ah Heaven! they sleep upon the flowery banks,
And daylight flowers fill them with honey dreams,
And pleasured smiles do light their languid lips.
And daylight flowers fill them with honey dreams,
And pleasured smiles do light their languid lips.
Ah Heaven! they stand amid the fruited trees,
The golden-fruited trees, and every wind
Daubs the ripe fruit upon their sated lips.
The golden-fruited trees, and every wind
Daubs the ripe fruit upon their sated lips.
Ah Heaven! they lie beside the living stream,
And the superfluous stream o'er-wells his banks,
And laps sweet waters to their happy lips.
And the superfluous stream o'er-wells his banks,
And laps sweet waters to their happy lips.
Where they do most enjoy my need is worst;
The living cup they spill would save my life;
The joy that wearies them would give me rest.
The living cup they spill would save my life;
The joy that wearies them would give me rest.
I lie down in the night but cannot sleep;
I keep vain vigil for my plighted bliss;
I strain after the fruit I may not touch,
And cannot reach the river tho' I die!
I keep vain vigil for my plighted bliss;
I strain after the fruit I may not touch,
And cannot reach the river tho' I die!
The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell | ||