 | Songs of summer |  |
iii
TO GEORGE H. BOKER.
Not mine the tragic poet's art,
His empire of the human heart:
That world is shut from me,
But you possess the key.
His empire of the human heart:
That world is shut from me,
But you possess the key.
I see you in your wide domain,
Surrounded by a stately train,
That lived, and died of yore:
But now they die no more!
Surrounded by a stately train,
That lived, and died of yore:
But now they die no more!
The Moor Calaynos: Anne Boleyn:
The Guzman and the cruel queen;
And that unhappy Pair
That float in Hell's murk air!
The Guzman and the cruel queen;
And that unhappy Pair
That float in Hell's murk air!
Anon your bitter Fool appears,
Masking in mirth his cynic sneers;
We hear his bells, and smile,
But long to weep the while.
Masking in mirth his cynic sneers;
We hear his bells, and smile,
But long to weep the while.
iv
A narrower range to me belongs,
A little land of summer songs,
A realm of thought apart
From all that wrings the heart.
A little land of summer songs,
A realm of thought apart
From all that wrings the heart.
To win you to my small estate,
Old friend, I greet you at the gate,
And from its fairest bower
Bring you this simple flower.
Old friend, I greet you at the gate,
And from its fairest bower
Bring you this simple flower.
| Songs of summer | |