Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected Poems Edited, with an introduction and notes, by Janet Adam Smith |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
I. |
II. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
I. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
II. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VIII. |
IX. | IX
To Mrs MacMorland
|
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected Poems | ||
IX
To Mrs MacMorland
Im Schnee der Alpen—so it runs
To those divine accords—and here
We dwell in Alpine snows and suns
A motley crew, for half the year:
A motley crew we dwell, to taste—
A shivering band in hope and fear—
That sun upon the snowy waste,
That Alpine ether cold and clear.
To those divine accords—and here
We dwell in Alpine snows and suns
A motley crew, for half the year:
A motley crew we dwell, to taste—
A shivering band in hope and fear—
That sun upon the snowy waste,
That Alpine ether cold and clear.
302
Up from the laboured plain, and up
From low sea-levels, we arise
To drink of that diviner cup,
The rarer air, the clearer skies;
Far, as the great, old, godly King
From mankind's turbid valley cries,
So all we mountain-lovers sing:
I to the hills will lift mine eyes!
From low sea-levels, we arise
To drink of that diviner cup,
The rarer air, the clearer skies;
Far, as the great, old, godly King
From mankind's turbid valley cries,
So all we mountain-lovers sing:
I to the hills will lift mine eyes!
The bells that ring, the peaks that climb,
The frozen snow's unbroken curd,
Might well revindicate in rhyme
The pauseless stream, the absent bird:
In vain—for to the deeps of life
You, lady, you, my heart have stirred;
And since you say you love my wife,
Be sure I love you for the word.
The frozen snow's unbroken curd,
Might well revindicate in rhyme
The pauseless stream, the absent bird:
In vain—for to the deeps of life
You, lady, you, my heart have stirred;
And since you say you love my wife,
Be sure I love you for the word.
Of kindness, here, I nothing say—
Such loveless kindnesses there are
In that grimacing, common way,
That old, unhonoured social war:
Love but my dog and love my love
Adore with me a common star—
I value not the rest above
The ashes of a bad cigar.
Such loveless kindnesses there are
In that grimacing, common way,
That old, unhonoured social war:
Love but my dog and love my love
Adore with me a common star—
I value not the rest above
The ashes of a bad cigar.
Robert Louis Stevenson: Collected Poems | ||