 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
BARDS
Some from books resound their rhymes—
Set them ringing with a faint,
Sorrowful, and sweet, and quaint
Memory of the olden times,
Like the sound of evening chimes.
Set them ringing with a faint,
Sorrowful, and sweet, and quaint
Memory of the olden times,
Like the sound of evening chimes.
Some go wandering on their way
Through the forest, past the herds,
Laughing maidens, singing birds;
On their sylvan lutes they play—
Danceth by the lyric Day!
Through the forest, past the herds,
Laughing maidens, singing birds;
On their sylvan lutes they play—
Danceth by the lyric Day!
227
Bards there be the deep sky under
Who in high, authentic verse
Mysteries and moods rehearse
With a voice like Sinai's thunder,
Chanting to a world of wonder.
Who in high, authentic verse
Mysteries and moods rehearse
With a voice like Sinai's thunder,
Chanting to a world of wonder.
And those have sung whose melody,
Drawn from out the living heart
With a quick, unfaltering art,
Hath power to make the listener cry:
“God in heaven! It is I.”
Drawn from out the living heart
With a quick, unfaltering art,
Hath power to make the listener cry:
“God in heaven! It is I.”
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |