Ranolf and Amohia A dream of two lives. By Alfred Domett. New edition, revised |
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 | Ranolf and Amohia |  |
V.
“But come, my sweet, since there at last,The pendent trees are anchored fast;
Suppose a fern-filled mat we sling
To one, up high, of those that fling
Their branches out most straight and stout!
So fine the night we need devise
No roof against those loving skies.
How pleasant there to lie awake
And try if any glimmering sheen
Or shimmer of the sleeping Lake
So far beneath—through all the green—
The latticed screen of boughs between,
A leafy labyrinth—could be seen!
How sweet to lie up there so high,
And half asleep, so drowsily,
To all the faint night-noises hark
That make the hush more deep; and mark,
Watching the dim o'erbrooding sky,
How one by one and two by two
The moving stars come blinking through
The unmoving leaves—chink after chink—
Slow-pacing!—or if you should sleep
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Sometimes for mere delight; and think
What mighty Suns we use to link
Our tiny memories with; and how
Keen Sirius and red-flashing fierce
Aldebaran that deep Space may pierce,
And have no other end just now
For me, but with familiar rays
To call back far-off scenes and days!
How the faint Pleiads are less clear
Than fond regards they bring—so dear!
And old Orion upside down,
Mythic Bœotian huntsman brown—
Though here such different names he own,
Shines grand as his antique renown;
And flings abroad his giant limbs
In daring splendour nothing dims!
Although head foremost towards the sea
In all his glittering panoply
He plunges, eager to return
To those dear glorious lands below,
Far down below, where long ago
I first beheld his ardours burn!—
| Ranolf and Amohia | |