Poems By William Bell Scott. Ballads, Studies from Nature, Sonnets, etc. Illustrated by Seventeen Etchings by the Author and L. Alma Tadema |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. | IX
SELF-DECEPTION.
|
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
I. |
II. |
Poems | ||
81
IX
SELF-DECEPTION.
There's a Seēr's peak on Ararat, they say,
From which we can descry the better world;
Not that supernal kingdom whence were hurled
The rebel-angels ere Creation's day,
But Eden-garden, Adam's first array,
Round which the Flood-waves stood back like a wall,
And whither still are sent the souls of all
The good dead, where the cherubim sing and play.
From which we can descry the better world;
Not that supernal kingdom whence were hurled
The rebel-angels ere Creation's day,
But Eden-garden, Adam's first array,
Round which the Flood-waves stood back like a wall,
And whither still are sent the souls of all
The good dead, where the cherubim sing and play.
Dear lovely land we wait for and desire,
Whence fondly-loved lost faces look back still,
Waiting for us, so distant and apart;
But from the depth between what mists aspire—
What wrinkled sea rolls severing hill from hill—
Vision! 'tis but a reflex of the heart!
Whence fondly-loved lost faces look back still,
Waiting for us, so distant and apart;
But from the depth between what mists aspire—
What wrinkled sea rolls severing hill from hill—
Vision! 'tis but a reflex of the heart!
Poems | ||