Poems Real and Ideal :: :: University of Virginia Library

When Winter round us throws
His mantle of white snows
And dimmer
The fog-bound daylight grows
Nor glimmer
Is with us of red rose
Nor swimmer
Through the blue water goes,—

163

II

Where are we then to find
Rest for the weary mind?—
No splendour
Of green hills where the wind
Wails tender
Through avenues black-pined
Can render
Our worn-out hearts resigned!

III

Where the grand sunsets red
Above the lake were shed
Till rushes
Amid the water bled
And bushes
Waved many a golden head,
Now blushes
No sky-cheek: all is dead.

164

IV

Where the white lilies grew
And harebells, dainty-blue,
And flowers
Diverse in scent and hue,
And bowers
The August sun flamed through,
And towers
Of greenery draped in dew,

V

The weary white wet snow
Before the wind doth blow
And eddy:
Homeward we have to go,
And ready
We find our books a-row;
With steady
Gaze we glance to and fro;—

165

VI

And in a moment we
Forget the snow-clad lea:
The glory
Of Guinevere we see,
And hoary
Breakers that burst and flee,
And gory
Knights battling knee to knee.

VII

Or else in Fairyland
With Spenser's self we stand,
Or follow
The pious Latian band
O'er hollow
Sea-gulfs from strand to strand:—
Apollo
Next takes us by the hand.

166

VIII

Through Italy we go
With hearts and souls a-glow,—
The thunder
Of Dante's rhythmic flow
Doth sunder
The heavens with throb and throe,
And wonder
On wonder doth forthshow.

IX

With Hugo next we tread
Through streets and alleys red,—
Are taken
To haunts of the great dead;
Heart-shaken
We bow before his head
Forsaken
Full oft of those it led.

167

X

With Keats we thread the deep
Dream-land of love and sleep,
And fancies
Bright-winged around us leap
With glances
That make the spirit weep
And lances
That the old-world forests sweep.

XI

And Wordsworth makes the air
With mountain-sweetness fair,
And gracious
With song of rivers rare,
And spacious,—
The mountain-valleys bear
Capacious
Woods nestling everywhere.

168

XII

And Shakespeare with the eyes
That saw all storms and skies
And lifted
Man heavenward in strange wise,
God-gifted
Now doth before us rise:—
Time's shifted,—
Behold, dull Winter flies!

Dec., 1881.