Fables in Song By Robert Lord Lytton |
 | I. |
 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. | XII.
COMPOSURE. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| II. |
 | Fables in Song |  |
79
XII. COMPOSURE.
1
Seaward from east to west a river roll'd,Majestic as the sun whose course it follow'd,
Filling with liquid quiet of clear cold
The depths its husht waves hollow'd.
2
No wrinkle ruffled that serene expanse;Till, percht atiptoe on its placid path,
A tiny rock the surface pierced by chance,
Whereat it foam'd with wrath.
3
Over the depths, indifferent, smooth of pace,The current with continuous calm had crost.
Yet lo, a little pinscratch in the face,
All its repose was lost!
| Fables in Song | |