Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams By Walter Savage Landor: Edited with notes by Charles G. Crump |
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Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams | ||
VI. ABERTAWY.
It was no dull tho' lonely strand
Where thyme ran o'er the solid sand,
Where snap-dragons with yellow eyes
Lookt down on crowds that could not rise,
Where Spring had fill'd with dew the moss
In winding dells two strides across.
There tiniest thorniest roses grew
To their full size, nor shared the dew:
Acute and jealous, they took care
That none their softer seat should share;
A weary maid was not to stay
Without one for such churls as they.
I tugg'd and lugg'd with all my might
To tear them from their roots outright;
At last I did it . . eight or ten . .
We both were snugly seated then;
But then she saw a half-round bead,
And cried, Good gracious! how you bleed!
Gently she wiped it off, and bound
With timorous touch that dreadful wound.
To lift it from its nurse's knee
I fear'd, and quite as much fear'd she,
For might it not increase the pain,
And make the wound burst out again?
She coaxt it to lie quiet there
With a low tune I bent to hear;
How close I bent I quite forget,
I only know I hear it yet.
Where is she now? Call'd far away,
By one she dared not disobey,
To those proud halls, for youth unfit,
Where princes stand and judges sit.
Where thyme ran o'er the solid sand,
Where snap-dragons with yellow eyes
Lookt down on crowds that could not rise,
Where Spring had fill'd with dew the moss
In winding dells two strides across.
There tiniest thorniest roses grew
To their full size, nor shared the dew:
Acute and jealous, they took care
That none their softer seat should share;
A weary maid was not to stay
Without one for such churls as they.
I tugg'd and lugg'd with all my might
276
At last I did it . . eight or ten . .
We both were snugly seated then;
But then she saw a half-round bead,
And cried, Good gracious! how you bleed!
Gently she wiped it off, and bound
With timorous touch that dreadful wound.
To lift it from its nurse's knee
I fear'd, and quite as much fear'd she,
For might it not increase the pain,
And make the wound burst out again?
She coaxt it to lie quiet there
With a low tune I bent to hear;
How close I bent I quite forget,
I only know I hear it yet.
Where is she now? Call'd far away,
By one she dared not disobey,
To those proud halls, for youth unfit,
Where princes stand and judges sit.
Where Ganges rolls his widest wave
She dropt her blossom in the grave;
Her noble name she never changed,
Nor was her nobler heart estranged.
She dropt her blossom in the grave;
Her noble name she never changed,
Nor was her nobler heart estranged.
Poems, Dialogues in Verse and Epigrams | ||