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 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE CITY IN THE CLOUDS.
A wondrous city stands in yonder skies,
Where domes and minarets and spires arise;
Whose walls of opal fierily enfold
Its palaces, with roofs of burnished gold;
Surrounded by the fairest gardens, where
Eternal-blooming roses scent the air;
Where lilies pure and stainless asphodels
Shake ravishing sweetness from their waxen bells,
Within a space where neutral-tinted mist,
Wedded to sunlight, warms to amethyst—
A city marvellous, supremely grand,
By Fancy builded in that airy land.
Where domes and minarets and spires arise;
Whose walls of opal fierily enfold
Its palaces, with roofs of burnished gold;
Surrounded by the fairest gardens, where
Eternal-blooming roses scent the air;
Where lilies pure and stainless asphodels
Shake ravishing sweetness from their waxen bells,
Within a space where neutral-tinted mist,
Wedded to sunlight, warms to amethyst—
A city marvellous, supremely grand,
By Fancy builded in that airy land.
What beings in that bright confine are found?
What creatures dwell in such enchanted ground?
Who are the happy they whose tireless feet
At will may wander through each pearlen street?
What nobles those in velvet triple-piled,
Their robes white samite, pure and undefiled,
Who ride with courtly grace and lordly mien
Through spacious highways, laced with living green,
Each on his steed, caparisoned superb,
Controlled by silken rein and golden curb?
Who be the guests that pass their happy hours
Within the shelter of those silvern towers?
What white-haired peers, what knights of high degree—
High from their birth or through their chivalry?
What lovely dames, of manner debonair,
Smile pleasantly on rapt adorers there?
What creatures dwell in such enchanted ground?
Who are the happy they whose tireless feet
At will may wander through each pearlen street?
595
Their robes white samite, pure and undefiled,
Who ride with courtly grace and lordly mien
Through spacious highways, laced with living green,
Each on his steed, caparisoned superb,
Controlled by silken rein and golden curb?
Who be the guests that pass their happy hours
Within the shelter of those silvern towers?
What white-haired peers, what knights of high degree—
High from their birth or through their chivalry?
What lovely dames, of manner debonair,
Smile pleasantly on rapt adorers there?
No beings of a mortal essence those
Who in the place find pleasure or repose.
Perceptibly the noblest forms they wear,
But, nevertheless, intangible as air.
They are the eager hopes of early years;
Each baffled purpose which dissolved in tears;
The many high-aimed aspirations which
Made dreamy beings for the moment rich;
The ardent love and exquisite tenderness
That, born in youth, died of their own excess;
The labor with an object spent in vain;
Intensest pleasure self-transformed to pain;
The projects fair, devised for others' good,
By those we would have served misunderstood;
The chance for fame, obtained at heavy cost,
But grasped not at the moment, therefore lost;
Each fleeting notion, each delusive thought
By restless minds from frail material wrought—
All these, as things too airy for our day,
Passed one time thither by a golden way;
And where that city in the cloudland stands,
In dwellings builded not by fleshly hands,
In palpable forms they move or take their ease,
Themselves unfathomable mysteries.
Who in the place find pleasure or repose.
Perceptibly the noblest forms they wear,
But, nevertheless, intangible as air.
They are the eager hopes of early years;
Each baffled purpose which dissolved in tears;
The many high-aimed aspirations which
Made dreamy beings for the moment rich;
The ardent love and exquisite tenderness
That, born in youth, died of their own excess;
The labor with an object spent in vain;
Intensest pleasure self-transformed to pain;
The projects fair, devised for others' good,
By those we would have served misunderstood;
The chance for fame, obtained at heavy cost,
But grasped not at the moment, therefore lost;
Each fleeting notion, each delusive thought
By restless minds from frail material wrought—
All these, as things too airy for our day,
Passed one time thither by a golden way;
And where that city in the cloudland stands,
In dwellings builded not by fleshly hands,
596
Themselves unfathomable mysteries.
O city which no mortal man may win,
Seen only by such eyes as gaze within,
It matters not what name they give to thee—
Romance, or Revery, or Poetry.
What were this dull and tiresome life of ours,
Did not thy cloud-embattlemented towers,
Whose glory mortal pencil may not paint,
Rise for our comfort when our souls grow faint?
And, while thy airy outlines fill our skies,
And all thy beauties feed our inner eyes,
The sweet nepenthe which the mind distills
Blunts sharpest griefs and drowns the fiercest ills;
And utter rapture shape and sense enshrouds
While gazing on that City in the Clouds.
Seen only by such eyes as gaze within,
It matters not what name they give to thee—
Romance, or Revery, or Poetry.
What were this dull and tiresome life of ours,
Did not thy cloud-embattlemented towers,
Whose glory mortal pencil may not paint,
Rise for our comfort when our souls grow faint?
And, while thy airy outlines fill our skies,
And all thy beauties feed our inner eyes,
The sweet nepenthe which the mind distills
Blunts sharpest griefs and drowns the fiercest ills;
And utter rapture shape and sense enshrouds
While gazing on that City in the Clouds.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |