 | Poems |  |
115
SIDNEY'S FAREWELL.
O songs, my songs, that came so rarely to me,
So rarely, yet so sweetly, all my own,
How thrilled the liquid ether through and through me
On the fair sheen of your young wings upflown.
So rarely, yet so sweetly, all my own,
How thrilled the liquid ether through and through me
On the fair sheen of your young wings upflown.
Lo now they call to me, the sterner voices,
In sterner sort bidding to serve my kind;
Ay, and within me my own soul rejoices,
Scenting the scent of battle on the wind.
In sterner sort bidding to serve my kind;
Ay, and within me my own soul rejoices,
Scenting the scent of battle on the wind.
Yet, O my songs, full loth were I to grieve you,
Albeit ye came so rarely to my call:
But for a little, let me deem, I leave you;
I will return and make amends for all.
Albeit ye came so rarely to my call:
But for a little, let me deem, I leave you;
I will return and make amends for all.
116
Here, where the sunlight through the green leaves falling
Blesses your happy valley far withdrawn,
Once more my feet shall wake the echoes calling
To trembling twilight or to trembling dawn.
Blesses your happy valley far withdrawn,
Once more my feet shall wake the echoes calling
To trembling twilight or to trembling dawn.
Here shall once more the strange familiar gladness
Throb through me, hearkening to your holy things,
And here once more the sweet mysterious madness
Shall lift me heavenward on your wondrous wings.
Throb through me, hearkening to your holy things,
And here once more the sweet mysterious madness
Shall lift me heavenward on your wondrous wings.
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