 | Poems |  |
LOTOS-LAND.
Oh, land beloved! oh, land unknown!
By what blue Rhine or rapid Rhone,
Or any river man hath known,
Shall I arrive at thee?
Or by what mighty trackless seas,
Where the unwearied northern breeze
From dumb and frozen caverns flees
Triumphant, to be free.
By what blue Rhine or rapid Rhone,
Or any river man hath known,
Shall I arrive at thee?
Or by what mighty trackless seas,
Where the unwearied northern breeze
From dumb and frozen caverns flees
Triumphant, to be free.
Or by what desert, red and vast,
Breathing the fevered tropic blast,
Shall my too lingering steps at last
Attain to thy sweet shore?
Oh, plains serene! Oh, rivers rolled
Like babbling dreams o'er sands of gold!
Fair birds that do your pinions fold,
And singing, cease to soar!
Breathing the fevered tropic blast,
Shall my too lingering steps at last
Attain to thy sweet shore?
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Like babbling dreams o'er sands of gold!
Fair birds that do your pinions fold,
And singing, cease to soar!
Skies, where such slumbrous mists are shed!
The heart forgets it ever bled,
And sleep lies on the lonely head,
Forgetting and forgot.
There nothing has been or shall be,
But all things are eternally.
The tired soul may not think nor see
Such quiet rules the spot;
The heart forgets it ever bled,
And sleep lies on the lonely head,
Forgetting and forgot.
There nothing has been or shall be,
But all things are eternally.
The tired soul may not think nor see
Such quiet rules the spot;
For there is neither hope nor fear,
No hated thing and nothing dear,
Nor any troubled atmosphere,
Nor anything but rest.
Such utter sleep, such thoughtlessness,
As might a mortal life redress
And set aside its deadly stress,
From even a woman's breast.
No hated thing and nothing dear,
Nor any troubled atmosphere,
Nor anything but rest.
Such utter sleep, such thoughtlessness,
As might a mortal life redress
And set aside its deadly stress,
From even a woman's breast.
Oh, land, dear land! sweet visioned shore,
That no man's footsteps may explore,
Nor any but a fool deplore,
Yet would I slept in thee!
The jester tires of cap and bells,
The disenchanted laughs at spells,
The past all future lies foretells.
Dear land, come true for me!
That no man's footsteps may explore,
Nor any but a fool deplore,
Yet would I slept in thee!
The jester tires of cap and bells,
The disenchanted laughs at spells,
The past all future lies foretells.
Dear land, come true for me!
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