 | Songs of A Wayfarer |  |
XXXII.
[Through glimmering lily-cups I push my prow]
Through glimmering lily-cups I push my prow
Where rose and orange-blossom take the night
With richest odours; mossy cave and bight
Fringed with a thousand dewy blooms that bow
In sleepy dreams: from leafy alleys, low
And faint, a fountain murmurs: rising white,
Vast domes and spires of marble greet the sight,
Companions of the stars that round them go
In silent wonder: from some bowery spot
The nightingale, who through the day has lain
Hushed and concealed, awakes from note to note
A thousand slumbering echoes which are fain
To bear the marvellous song from plot to plot,
Then pause enraptured for another strain.
Where rose and orange-blossom take the night
With richest odours; mossy cave and bight
Fringed with a thousand dewy blooms that bow
In sleepy dreams: from leafy alleys, low
And faint, a fountain murmurs: rising white,
Vast domes and spires of marble greet the sight,
Companions of the stars that round them go
In silent wonder: from some bowery spot
The nightingale, who through the day has lain
Hushed and concealed, awakes from note to note
A thousand slumbering echoes which are fain
To bear the marvellous song from plot to plot,
Then pause enraptured for another strain.
| Songs of A Wayfarer | |