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In Russet & Silver

By Edmund Gosse
Gosse, Edmund (1849-1928)

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DEDICATION To TUSITALA IN VAILIMA
 I. 
I
 II. 
II
 III. 
III
 IV. 
IV
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In Russet & Silver
  
IN RUSSET AND SILVER
  
IMPRESSION
  
DISCIPLINE
  
A WINTER NIGHT'S DREAM
  
REVELATION
  
TRISTIA
  
PLAYTHINGS
  
CLASPING THE CLOUD
  
NUNC DIMITTIS
  
THE SCHOOL OF FAITH
  
AN EVENING VOLUNTARY
  
SECRETA VITÆ
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Poems of Experience
  
A TRAGEDY WITHOUT WORDS
  
MANES, THE HERETIC
  
THE NEW MEMNON
  
CHATTAFIN
  
THE WOUNDED GULL
  
THE PRODIGAL
  
AN ENGLISH VILLAGE
  
NEURASTHESIA
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Lyrics
  
ALERE FLAMMAM
  
THE SWAN
  
THE WALL-PAPER
  
THE NAUTILUS
  
A DREAM OF NOVEMBER
  
ON YES TOR
  
TO A CHILD OF FIFTEEN
  
TO THE ALMOND
  
PHILOMEL IN LONDON
  
THE IRIS
  
SONG FOR MUSIC
  
HOPE DEFERRED
  
TO A TRAVELLER
  
THE FIELDFARE'S NEST
  
SHUT OF EVE
  
THE POPLAR TREE
  
CIRCLING FANCIES
  
LOVE-LETTERS
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Memorial Verses
  
IN POETS' CORNER
  
BALLADE
  
ANNE CLOUGH
  
BEATRICE
  
BLAKE
  
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI
  
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN
  
TO JENNY LIND
  
LECONTE DE LISLE
  
MADRIGAL
  
WITH A COPY OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS
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Miscellany Poems
  
THE WITCHES
  
THE DEATH OF PROCRIS
  
THE GARDEN OF CHRIST'S
  
A SYRIAN INSCRIPTION
  
THE PICTURE OF VIRTUE
  
THE MARRIED BIBLIOPHIL
  
TO A BIBLIOMANIAC
  
THE SICK GARDENER
  
RUIN
  
OPIUM HARVEST
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Exotic Sonnets
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FROM THE SWEDISH OF GUSTAF ROSENHANE
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
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FROM THE SWEDISH OF OLOF WEXIONIUS
  
ON THE DEATH OF A PIOUS LADY
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FROM THE SWEDISH OF ERIK JOHAN STAGNELIUS
 I. 
I. HOPE REPULSED
  
II. MEMORY
  
III. LUNA
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FROM THE DUTCH OF PIETER CORNELISZOON HOOFT
 I. 
I. TO HUGO GROTIUS
 II. 
II. FRIENDSHIP
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FROM THE DUTCH OF JOOST VAN VONDEL
  
ON THE TRUCE OF THE NETHERLANDS
  
FROM THE SPANISH OF CERVANTES
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[section]
  
The Masque of Painters:

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135

II. MEMORY

O camp of flowers, with poplars girdled round,
Grey guardians of life's soft and purple bud!
O silver spring, beside whose brimming flood
My pensive childhood its Elysium found!
O happy hours by love and fancy crowned,
Whose horn of plenty flatteringly subdued
My heart into a trance, whence, with a rude
And horrid blast, fate came my soul to hound!
Who was the goddess that empowered you all
Thus to bewitch me? Out of wasting snow
And lily-leaves her head-dress should be made!
Weep, my poor lute! nor on Astræa call,
She will not smile, nor I, who mourn below,
Till I, a shade in heaven, clasp her, a shade.
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