 | May Fair |  |
Oh clouds! ye wandering wayward things,
Substantial nothings, waveless wings;
Ye thrones of hyacinth and rose,
Where spirits in their flight repose;
Ye pearl and purple vales of bliss,
Ye islands of the blue abyss,
Ye steeds,—whom every laurell'd bard,
Has since the deluge rode so hard;
Making, of your manes and tails,
Similes for maids and males.
Every soul has had a time
When he thought himself sublime,
When he dream'd his hour was come,
When he must no more be dumb;
Mounted in Apollo's boots,
Well supplied with moonlight lutes;
Piled with Venice-hat and feathers,
When he should defy all weathers;
With his music of the spheres,
Taking mankind by the ears.
Substantial nothings, waveless wings;
Ye thrones of hyacinth and rose,
Where spirits in their flight repose;
Ye pearl and purple vales of bliss,
Ye islands of the blue abyss,
Ye steeds,—whom every laurell'd bard,
Has since the deluge rode so hard;
Making, of your manes and tails,
Similes for maids and males.
Every soul has had a time
When he thought himself sublime,
134
When he must no more be dumb;
Mounted in Apollo's boots,
Well supplied with moonlight lutes;
Piled with Venice-hat and feathers,
When he should defy all weathers;
With his music of the spheres,
Taking mankind by the ears.
| May Fair | |