 | Youthful Verses by Francis Thompson |  |
FINCHALE.
I sing the tale of that which once hath been
And is no longer, what my mind has seen
In quiet musing, but a vision torn
From the dim past, ere yet the shade forlorn
Of desolation settled on the land,
When all yet dreamed not of the spoiler's hand.
I sing the past. Ye fair, wise sisterhood,
From whose bright hands comes aught of joy or good
Which singer yet has sung, make quick my thoughts.
And thou, O Pan, whose dwelling must be sought
Deep in some vast-grown forest, where the trees
Are wet with cold, large dew-drops, in the breeze
Where hangs dark moss in rain-steeped tresses long,
Aid me, O aid, to body forth in song
A scene as fair as thou in all thy days
Hast gazed upon, or ever yet wilt gaze.
And is no longer, what my mind has seen
In quiet musing, but a vision torn
From the dim past, ere yet the shade forlorn
Of desolation settled on the land,
When all yet dreamed not of the spoiler's hand.
I sing the past. Ye fair, wise sisterhood,
From whose bright hands comes aught of joy or good
Which singer yet has sung, make quick my thoughts.
And thou, O Pan, whose dwelling must be sought
Deep in some vast-grown forest, where the trees
Are wet with cold, large dew-drops, in the breeze
Where hangs dark moss in rain-steeped tresses long,
Aid me, O aid, to body forth in song
A scene as fair as thou in all thy days
Hast gazed upon, or ever yet wilt gaze.
Full in a spot which the glad sunlight laves,
There spreads a wood, whose undulating waves
Of foliage thick shine in the moving light
Which shifts from tree to tree along their height:
And on one side a bright, chill stream runs by,
From which sometimes a salmon will shoot high
—A bar of light—the spray from off it thrown,
Makes transient rainbows in the morning sun,
Then sinks with pleasant pattering— [OMITTED]
There spreads a wood, whose undulating waves
Of foliage thick shine in the moving light
Which shifts from tree to tree along their height:
And on one side a bright, chill stream runs by,
From which sometimes a salmon will shoot high
—A bar of light—the spray from off it thrown,
Makes transient rainbows in the morning sun,
Then sinks with pleasant pattering— [OMITTED]
| Youthful Verses by Francis Thompson | |