The Poetical Works of David Gray A New and Enlarged Edition; Edited by Henry Glassford Bell |
 |
|
 |
The Anemone.
|
|
|
 | The Poetical Works of David Gray |  |
150
The Anemone.
I have wandered far to-day,
In a pleased unquiet way;
Over hill and songful hollow,
Vernal byeways, fresh and fair,
Did I simple fancies follow;
Till upon a hill-side bare,
Suddenly I chanced to see
A little white anemone.
In a pleased unquiet way;
Over hill and songful hollow,
Vernal byeways, fresh and fair,
Did I simple fancies follow;
Till upon a hill-side bare,
Suddenly I chanced to see
A little white anemone.
Beneath a clump of furze it grew;
And never mortal eye did view
Its rathe and slender beauty, till
I saw it in no mocking mood;
For with its sweetness did it fill
To me the ample solitude.
A fond remembrance made me see
Strange light in the anemone.
And never mortal eye did view
151
I saw it in no mocking mood;
For with its sweetness did it fill
To me the ample solitude.
A fond remembrance made me see
Strange light in the anemone.
One April day when I was seven,
Beneath the clear and deepening heaven,
My father, God preserve him! went
With me a Scottish mile and more;
And in a playful merriment
He deck'd my bonnet o'er and o'er—
To fling a sunshine on his ease—
With tenderest anemones.
Beneath the clear and deepening heaven,
My father, God preserve him! went
With me a Scottish mile and more;
And in a playful merriment
He deck'd my bonnet o'er and o'er—
To fling a sunshine on his ease—
With tenderest anemones.
Now, gentle reader, as I live,
This snowy little bloom did give
My being most endearing throes.
I saw my father in his prime;
But youth it comes, and youth it goes,
And he has spent his blithest time:
Yet dearer grown thro' all to me,
And dearer the anemone.
This snowy little bloom did give
My being most endearing throes.
152
But youth it comes, and youth it goes,
And he has spent his blithest time:
Yet dearer grown thro' all to me,
And dearer the anemone.
So with the spirit of a sage
I pluck'd it from its hermitage,
And placed it 'tween the sacred leaves
Of Agnes' Eve at that rare part
Where she her fragrant robe unweaves,
And with a gently beating heart,
In troubled bliss and balmy woe,
Lies down to dream of Porphyro.
I pluck'd it from its hermitage,
And placed it 'tween the sacred leaves
Of Agnes' Eve at that rare part
Where she her fragrant robe unweaves,
And with a gently beating heart,
In troubled bliss and balmy woe,
Lies down to dream of Porphyro.
Let others sing of that and this,
In war and science find their bliss;
Vainly they seek and will not find
The subtle lore that nature brings
Unto the reverential mind,
The pathos worn by common things,
By every flower that lights the lea,
And by the pale anemone.
In war and science find their bliss;
Vainly they seek and will not find
The subtle lore that nature brings
153
The pathos worn by common things,
By every flower that lights the lea,
And by the pale anemone.
| The Poetical Works of David Gray | |