 | The New Medusa, and other poems |  |
98
A LETTER TO MISS A. MARY F. ROBINSON.
A promise is the frailest thing I know:
A very soap-bubble which rashness flings
On whatsoever breeze may chance to blow;
We watch it float, and in its iris-glow
See fair precarious things.
A very soap-bubble which rashness flings
On whatsoever breeze may chance to blow;
We watch it float, and in its iris-glow
See fair precarious things.
And you have promised to return and spend
A while with us ere Tuscan leaves be sere;
Oh break your promise not, nor grieve a friend
To whom the Fates but little pleasure send,
I ween, from year to year.
A while with us ere Tuscan leaves be sere;
Oh break your promise not, nor grieve a friend
To whom the Fates but little pleasure send,
I ween, from year to year.
Come with the dying summer's golden mist;
Come with the ripeness of the autumn air;
Come when the sun aweary shall desist,
And when all Nature, long too fiercely kissed,
Lies weak, but not less fair.
Come with the ripeness of the autumn air;
Come when the sun aweary shall desist,
And when all Nature, long too fiercely kissed,
Lies weak, but not less fair.
99
Come when no more the endless noontide creeps,
And each hot tile-roof tremulously steams;
Come when no more the shrill cicala keeps
Sawing the empty air, and he who sleeps
Abhors it through his dreams.
And each hot tile-roof tremulously steams;
Come when no more the shrill cicala keeps
Sawing the empty air, and he who sleeps
Abhors it through his dreams.
Come when no more the vesper bell shall rouse
The inmates of each sun-entranced abode;
And when no more the peasant shades with boughs
His slow, white oxen's fly-tormented brows,
Upon the glaring road.
The inmates of each sun-entranced abode;
And when no more the peasant shades with boughs
His slow, white oxen's fly-tormented brows,
Upon the glaring road.
Come when the hungry yellow wasp forestalls
The vintager, and mars the prosperous grape;
And when the vine leaves on the trellised walls
Take hectic patches ere the bunches fall
In hods of conic shape.
The vintager, and mars the prosperous grape;
And when the vine leaves on the trellised walls
Take hectic patches ere the bunches fall
In hods of conic shape.
Come when the splitting wrapper of the maize
The massive golden lump no more can hold;
And when the meanest cottage front displays
A tapestry of ingots, which outweighs
All Eldorado's gold.
The massive golden lump no more can hold;
And when the meanest cottage front displays
A tapestry of ingots, which outweighs
All Eldorado's gold.
100
Come when the chestnut drops with rustling sound,
Through scanty leaves, and bursts its bristly husk
Just at your feet upon the mossy ground,
Where fragrant ferns and flowers wild abound
And scent the early dusk.
Through scanty leaves, and bursts its bristly husk
Just at your feet upon the mossy ground,
Where fragrant ferns and flowers wild abound
And scent the early dusk.
Oh, they are sweet, those chestnut woods where never
My foot, alas, can trample down the moss—
Those woods where others, full of health, may sever
The ferny stems, while I, debarred for ever,
Hold all, save strength, as dross.
My foot, alas, can trample down the moss—
Those woods where others, full of health, may sever
The ferny stems, while I, debarred for ever,
Hold all, save strength, as dross.
The old, old chestnut-trees, whose trunks uncouth,
All gray with lichen and of monstrous girth,
Are hollowed out, and gnawed by each year's tooth,
Have bright green leaves, like impulses of youth
Which in old hearts take birth.
All gray with lichen and of monstrous girth,
Are hollowed out, and gnawed by each year's tooth,
Have bright green leaves, like impulses of youth
Which in old hearts take birth.
They cover the innumerable spurs
Of Apennine, the mighty boulders crowned,
By village strongholds, walled, and black with years,
And penetrate the gullies where one hears
The storm-born torrents bound.
Of Apennine, the mighty boulders crowned,
By village strongholds, walled, and black with years,
And penetrate the gullies where one hears
The storm-born torrents bound.
101
Which seek the limpid Lima, as it brings
Its waters to the Serchio, green and bright,
Beneath black bridges where the wall-flower clings,
And where the mirrored kingfisher oft wings
His straight and rapid flight.
Its waters to the Serchio, green and bright,
Beneath black bridges where the wall-flower clings,
And where the mirrored kingfisher oft wings
His straight and rapid flight.
And you will see, as through an open door,
Where Serchio's gorges suddenly expand;
The Garfagnana rich with autumn's store,
Where Ariosto held command of yore—
A tract of faery land.
Where Serchio's gorges suddenly expand;
The Garfagnana rich with autumn's store,
Where Ariosto held command of yore—
A tract of faery land.
And watch the stream which, as the sun declines,
Winds like a glistening snake whose motion flags
Through ripeness-scented fields and reeds and vines,
Dividing from the cloud-capped Apennines
Carrara's marble crags.
Winds like a glistening snake whose motion flags
Through ripeness-scented fields and reeds and vines,
Dividing from the cloud-capped Apennines
Carrara's marble crags.
But there are times, in later autumn's rains,
When that same stream is like no glistening snake,
But like a lion tawny flanked, which gains
In strength each moment, and whose roar retains
The anxious boor awake.
When that same stream is like no glistening snake,
But like a lion tawny flanked, which gains
In strength each moment, and whose roar retains
The anxious boor awake.
102
Then in its wrath, resistless Serchio tears
Through gorge and valley, threatening many a home;
Shaking with watery claws the great stone piers
Of each old bridge, against whose strength it rears
With mane of muddy foam.
Through gorge and valley, threatening many a home;
Shaking with watery claws the great stone piers
Of each old bridge, against whose strength it rears
With mane of muddy foam.
A desperate hug, which sometimes rips asunder
The stoutest arch, though deep the piles be driven;
When, with a crack, which fills the hills with wonder,
The masonry, out-thundering the thunder,
Hurls up the flood to heaven.
The stoutest arch, though deep the piles be driven;
When, with a crack, which fills the hills with wonder,
The masonry, out-thundering the thunder,
Hurls up the flood to heaven.
But I must stop; or else I shall defeat
My only object, to attract you here;
And at the thought that you perhaps may meet
A sudden watery end, you will retreat
Elsewhere in haste and fear.
My only object, to attract you here;
And at the thought that you perhaps may meet
A sudden watery end, you will retreat
Elsewhere in haste and fear.
Be not afraid; but simply brush away
The picture I have held before your eyes.
I told you once that you were like a ray
Of sunshine; and so long as sunshine stay
The river will not rise.
The picture I have held before your eyes.
I told you once that you were like a ray
Of sunshine; and so long as sunshine stay
The river will not rise.
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