 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
Sisters divine! and when, gainst eve, they pause;
Those streaming wáter-brooks' hollow brinks beside.
Whére their wont is, after days heat, to rest:
They who list, reach back their gentle hands to taste;
Those dulcet clusters, óf the trellised vine;
Which hang there ruddy ripe, unto their lips.
Nor seld, they amóng them vie, in lighter mood;
Bathing therein, their gracious twínkling feet:
Who best can roundels weave ín the cool wave.
Those streaming wáter-brooks' hollow brinks beside.
Whére their wont is, after days heat, to rest:
They who list, reach back their gentle hands to taste;
Those dulcet clusters, óf the trellised vine;
Which hang there ruddy ripe, unto their lips.
Nor seld, they amóng them vie, in lighter mood;
Bathing therein, their gracious twínkling feet:
Who best can roundels weave ín the cool wave.
Yet otherwhiles, playing on silver wires;
Singing thereto, some mock, in quaint accord;
Seas hollow surges' fall on sullen strand;
And grave receding hum, in pebble-stone:
Or Dawns shrill medleyed babble of early birds;
And Summers breath, ín the bleak poplar leaves.
Singing thereto, some mock, in quaint accord;
Seas hollow surges' fall on sullen strand;
And grave receding hum, in pebble-stone:
Or Dawns shrill medleyed babble of early birds;
And Summers breath, ín the bleak poplar leaves.
The Sisters saw I not; a rainbow path
Saw I remained, aloft their sojourning place:
Whereby they lately were passed forth, to grace;
(Presence divine!) a shepherds marriage-feast.
Saw I remained, aloft their sojourning place:
Whereby they lately were passed forth, to grace;
17
Whilst yet I in that Pleasance roamed and gazed:
Cool rumbling brook, sliding with liquid foot,
Twixt flowery banks; trembling like watery light:
I came to a fishpool, mirror of clear skies;
Where wont the Sisters tire their jacinth locks,
And broider in thick tress. Where feed their hands,
A finny, golden-scaléd, voiceless drove.
There angry at mine intruded stranger-foot;
Knee deep in comfrey, water-mints, flowering rush;
A ruffling swan, proud warden of that plot;
Stooped from his nest, and vehement breasts outforth.
Cool rumbling brook, sliding with liquid foot,
Twixt flowery banks; trembling like watery light:
I came to a fishpool, mirror of clear skies;
Where wont the Sisters tire their jacinth locks,
And broider in thick tress. Where feed their hands,
A finny, golden-scaléd, voiceless drove.
There angry at mine intruded stranger-foot;
Knee deep in comfrey, water-mints, flowering rush;
A ruffling swan, proud warden of that plot;
Stooped from his nest, and vehement breasts outforth.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |