 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
244
THE LINKS OF CHANCE
Holding apoise in air
My twice-dipped pen,—for some tense thread of thought
Had snapped,—mine ears were half aware
Of passing wheels; eyes saw, but mind saw not,
My sun-shot linden. Suddenly, as I stare,
Two shifting visions grow and fade unsought:—
My twice-dipped pen,—for some tense thread of thought
Had snapped,—mine ears were half aware
Of passing wheels; eyes saw, but mind saw not,
My sun-shot linden. Suddenly, as I stare,
Two shifting visions grow and fade unsought:—
Noon-blaze: the broken shade
Of ruins strown. Two Tartar lovers sit
She gazing on the ground, face turned, afraid;
And he, at her. Silence is all his wit.
She stoops, picks up a pebble of green jade
To toss; they watch its flight, unheeding it.
Of ruins strown. Two Tartar lovers sit
She gazing on the ground, face turned, afraid;
And he, at her. Silence is all his wit.
She stoops, picks up a pebble of green jade
To toss; they watch its flight, unheeding it.
Ages have rolled away;
And round the stone, by chance, if chance there be,
Sparse soil has caught; a seed, wind-lodged one day,
Grown grass; shrubs sprung; at last a tufted tree.
Lo! over its snake root yon conquering Bey
Trips backward, fighting—and half Asia free!
And round the stone, by chance, if chance there be,
Sparse soil has caught; a seed, wind-lodged one day,
Grown grass; shrubs sprung; at last a tufted tree.
Lo! over its snake root yon conquering Bey
Trips backward, fighting—and half Asia free!
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |