Days and Hours By Frederick Tennyson |
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I
O the bells! the morning bells!
Sinking, swelling, soft and clear,
Glad Pæan, hark! it tells
Joy is here;
Thro' light ambrosial dream of earliest morn
The melody came wafted from afar,
Sweet as the harps of Angels earth ward borne
On some descending star!
Sinking, swelling, soft and clear,
Glad Pæan, hark! it tells
Joy is here;
Thro' light ambrosial dream of earliest morn
The melody came wafted from afar,
Sweet as the harps of Angels earth ward borne
On some descending star!
I rose—I lean'd thro' woodbines o'er the lawn—
'Twas early day, right early—and the Dawn
Wax'd like the springtide of a waveless sea
Beyond the dark hills and the umber lea;
And with the breath of the upcoming Day,
Ten thousand spirits of the blissful May
From cowslip slopes, green banks, and heathy fells,
Did come and go like those sweet morning bells.
'Twas early day, right early—and the Dawn
Wax'd like the springtide of a waveless sea
Beyond the dark hills and the umber lea;
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Ten thousand spirits of the blissful May
From cowslip slopes, green banks, and heathy fells,
Did come and go like those sweet morning bells.
O welcome, golden Dawn, and Summer clime,
Wild bird and dewy flower, and tuneful chime,
Make drunk my sense, and let me dream that I
Am just newborn in some lost isle of joy,
And that the happy Gods are hither winging
With blossom incense and the sound of singing,
O welcome, Festal Hours; I will away,
I too will haste me, 'tis a Marriage day!
Wild bird and dewy flower, and tuneful chime,
Make drunk my sense, and let me dream that I
Am just newborn in some lost isle of joy,
And that the happy Gods are hither winging
With blossom incense and the sound of singing,
O welcome, Festal Hours; I will away,
I too will haste me, 'tis a Marriage day!
There on the hillside is that home of thine
Curtain'd in jasmin-wreaths, and curly vine;
And thou too wakest, Rosa, and the light
Bathes in thy blue eyes searching for Delight;
Thy Welcome 'tis, thy Jubilee a ringing!
Yet from the fount of Joy a tear is springing,
For oh! the selfsame Love that lights thine eye
Shows thee the beauty of the days gone by.
Curtain'd in jasmin-wreaths, and curly vine;
And thou too wakest, Rosa, and the light
Bathes in thy blue eyes searching for Delight;
Thy Welcome 'tis, thy Jubilee a ringing!
Yet from the fount of Joy a tear is springing,
For oh! the selfsame Love that lights thine eye
Shows thee the beauty of the days gone by.
| Days and Hours | |