 | Dartmouth lyrics by Richard Hovey |  |
57
ON THE HILL
Ah, God! here, here, Love bade me ope my still
Shut heart-lips at his nod;
And here, in vain resistance to his will,
I wrestled with the god.
What man can strive with Love? Is he not lord?
Best conquest is to yield.
It was a victory to feel his sword
Pierce through my idle shield.
Shut heart-lips at his nod;
And here, in vain resistance to his will,
I wrestled with the god.
What man can strive with Love? Is he not lord?
Best conquest is to yield.
It was a victory to feel his sword
Pierce through my idle shield.
I lay here at my queen's feet in the ashen,
Wan June-light of the moon,
And sang to her the legend of my passion,
A strange, forbidden tune.
The high gods cannot take away the glory
Love gave me as I fell,
Nor dim the recollection of the story
My lips took heart to tell.
Wan June-light of the moon,
And sang to her the legend of my passion,
A strange, forbidden tune.
The high gods cannot take away the glory
Love gave me as I fell,
Nor dim the recollection of the story
My lips took heart to tell.
Her eyes were filled with a divine compassion,
Like starlight on the sea.
Sadly she spoke; and in a blind, dazed fashion
I listened silently.
O stern denouncing pine! O cruel ledges!
The grey years come and go.
Only for me no spring-time greens the hedges,
No violets pierce the snow.
Like starlight on the sea.
Sadly she spoke; and in a blind, dazed fashion
I listened silently.
O stern denouncing pine! O cruel ledges!
The grey years come and go.
Only for me no spring-time greens the hedges,
No violets pierce the snow.
| Dartmouth lyrics by Richard Hovey | |