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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
3.
I spake—Behold her o'er the broad lake flying:Like a great Angel missioned to bestow
Some boon on men beneath in sadness lying:
The waves are murmuring silver murmurs low:
Beneath the curdling wind
Green through the shades the waters rush and roll,
Or whitened only by the unfrequent shoal;—
Lo! two dark hills, with darker yet behind,
Confront them, purple mountains almost black,
Each behind each self-folded and withdrawn
Beneath the umbrage of yon cloudy rack—
That orange gleam! 'tis dawn!
Onward! the swan's flight with yon eagle's blending,
On, wingèd Muse; still forward and ascending!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |