 | Poems (1895) |  |
106
XXXVI. THE SWAN-AVIARY.
A thousand swans are o'er the waters sailing,And others in the reeds and rushes brood,
And some are flying o'er the sunny flood;
And all move with a grandeur so prevailing,
That long we stand without a breath-inhaling,
In admiration of their multitude,
And the majestic grace with which endued
They float upon the waves, their pride regaling.
The sky is blue and golden; clear as glass,
The sea sweeps richly on the glowing shingle;
All vernal hues in the near woods commingle;
And exquisite beauty waves along the grass;
But these things seem but humbly tributary
To the white pomp of that vast aviary!
| Poems (1895) | |