Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams By Walter Savage Landor: Edited with notes by Charles G. Crump |
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LVI.
[A voice in sleep hung over me, and said]
A voice in sleep hung over me, and said
“Seest thou him yonder?” At that voice I raised
My eyes: it was an Angel's: but he veil'd
His face from me with both his hands, then held
One finger forth, and sternly said again,
“Seest thou him yonder?”
“Seest thou him yonder?” At that voice I raised
My eyes: it was an Angel's: but he veil'd
His face from me with both his hands, then held
One finger forth, and sternly said again,
“Seest thou him yonder?”
On a grassy slope
Slippery with flowers, above a precipice,
A slumbering man I saw: methought I knew
A visage not unlike it; whence the more
It troubled and perplext me.
Slippery with flowers, above a precipice,
A slumbering man I saw: methought I knew
A visage not unlike it; whence the more
It troubled and perplext me.
“Can it be
My own?” said I.
My own?” said I.
Scarce had the word escaped
When there arose two other forms, each fair,
And each spake fondest words, and blamed me not,
But blest me, for the tears they shed with me
Upon that only world where tears are shed,
That world which they (why without me?) had left.
Another now came forth, with eye askance:
That she was of the earth too well I knew,
And that she hated those for loving me
(Had she not told me) I had soon divined.
Of earth was yet another; but more like
The heavenly twain in gentleness and love:
She from afar brought pity; and her eyes
Fill'd with the tears she fear'd must swell from mine:
Humanest thoughts with strongest impulses
Heav'd her fair bosom; and her hand was raised
To shelter me from that sad blight which fell
Damp on my heart; it could not; but a blast,
Sweeping the southern sky, blew from beyond
And threw me on the ice-bergs of the north.
When there arose two other forms, each fair,
And each spake fondest words, and blamed me not,
But blest me, for the tears they shed with me
Upon that only world where tears are shed,
That world which they (why without me?) had left.
Another now came forth, with eye askance:
That she was of the earth too well I knew,
252
(Had she not told me) I had soon divined.
Of earth was yet another; but more like
The heavenly twain in gentleness and love:
She from afar brought pity; and her eyes
Fill'd with the tears she fear'd must swell from mine:
Humanest thoughts with strongest impulses
Heav'd her fair bosom; and her hand was raised
To shelter me from that sad blight which fell
Damp on my heart; it could not; but a blast,
Sweeping the southern sky, blew from beyond
And threw me on the ice-bergs of the north.
| Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams | |