 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
AN ODE TO A STAR
Sweet weary pilgrim of the heavenly places,
Star of the gray, pursuing rosy flight:
Roaming the vast secluded planet spaces
Among the spheres of night:
Star of the gray, pursuing rosy flight:
Roaming the vast secluded planet spaces
Among the spheres of night:
Thou art all silver-zoned, and radiant-breasted,
Veiled round with refluent hair:
Thy train is meteor dust, thy forehead crested
With blue-gold beacon glare.
Veiled round with refluent hair:
Thy train is meteor dust, thy forehead crested
With blue-gold beacon glare.
As beams, which from a leaden storm-rift curtain
Silver the ocean gray:
As a ship-light, that wrestles in the uncertain
Furrows of shifting spray—
Silver the ocean gray:
As a ship-light, that wrestles in the uncertain
Furrows of shifting spray—
Thou wendest on, and wilt not die, tho' vapour
Eat at thy heart, and haze
Perplex thy dim refluctuant earnest taper,
And shake its tortured rays.
Eat at thy heart, and haze
Perplex thy dim refluctuant earnest taper,
And shake its tortured rays.
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Till for its toil it touch deep rest as payment,
Queen of its devious way.
As some fair child, rose-cheeked, with brightened raiment,
And fragrant-breathed as May.
Queen of its devious way.
As some fair child, rose-cheeked, with brightened raiment,
And fragrant-breathed as May.
Sweet shall it share then in its sisters' singing,
As a star only sings:
Where, round some palace, like bright swallows clinging,
Hang clustered angel wings:
As a star only sings:
Where, round some palace, like bright swallows clinging,
Hang clustered angel wings:
Calm shall ungird its sandal-strings of going,
Fold its worn plumes of flight,
And sleek its breast against the overflowing
Frondage of primal light.
Fold its worn plumes of flight,
And sleek its breast against the overflowing
Frondage of primal light.
Thus is my song, a lone and wandering meteor,
Roaming thro' cloud and breeze;
As in a wild March morn the wave-worn wheatear
Scents haven overseas.
Roaming thro' cloud and breeze;
As in a wild March morn the wave-worn wheatear
Scents haven overseas.
Song of a star, as from some censer shaken,
Thy perfumed incense blows,
And, rolled aloft, while lights auroral waken,
Reflects their purple glows.
Thy perfumed incense blows,
And, rolled aloft, while lights auroral waken,
Reflects their purple glows.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |