 | Later Lyrics |  |
219
THE VOICE OF THE CATARACT.
Canopied by trees, the Torrent
Rages on her bed of stone;
She, so slim and staid last summer,
To a monstrous madness grown.
Rages on her bed of stone;
She, so slim and staid last summer,
To a monstrous madness grown.
At her feet the fair Spray children,
Tossing wide their snowy locks,
Cushion soft her frantic movements
From the roughness of the rocks.
Tossing wide their snowy locks,
Cushion soft her frantic movements
From the roughness of the rocks.
What doth ail thee, hoary Princess,
Tossing on thy bed of pain,
While the ruddy trees above thee
Drop unceasing tears of rain?
Tossing on thy bed of pain,
While the ruddy trees above thee
Drop unceasing tears of rain?
220
Fain to loose thy pallid tresses,
Fain thy garments wild to tear,—
Like a passion, ever moving;
Like a sorrow, ever there.
Fain thy garments wild to tear,—
Like a passion, ever moving;
Like a sorrow, ever there.
Was the summer wind thine Essex?
Did some treacherous blossom-pile
Keep his last sigh from thy bosom,
From his sight thy pardoning smile?
Did some treacherous blossom-pile
Keep his last sigh from thy bosom,
From his sight thy pardoning smile?
“Oh the bitter frost of winter!
Oh the false delight of spring!
He whose heart knows no betrayal
Skills not of the song I sing.”
Oh the false delight of spring!
He whose heart knows no betrayal
Skills not of the song I sing.”
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