On Viol and Flute By Edmund W. Gosse |
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FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF IBSEN. |
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 | On Viol and Flute |  |
60
FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF IBSEN.
I.
ILLE.
Agnes, my exquisite butterfly,
I will catch you sporting and winging;
I am weaving a net with meshes small,
And the meshes are my singing.
I will catch you sporting and winging;
I am weaving a net with meshes small,
And the meshes are my singing.
HÆC.
If I am a butterfly, tender and small,
From the heather-bells do not snatch me;
But since you are a boy, and are fond of a game,
You may hunt, though you must not catch me!
From the heather-bells do not snatch me;
But since you are a boy, and are fond of a game,
You may hunt, though you must not catch me!
ILLE.
Agnes, my exquisite butterfly,
The meshes are all spun ready;
It will help you nothing to flutter and flap:
You are caught in the net already.
The meshes are all spun ready;
It will help you nothing to flutter and flap:
You are caught in the net already.
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That I am a butterfly, bright and young,
A swinging butterfly, say you?
Then, ah! if you catch me under your net,
Don't crush my wings, I pray you.
A swinging butterfly, say you?
Then, ah! if you catch me under your net,
Don't crush my wings, I pray you.
ILLE.
No! I will daintily lift you up,
And shut you into my breast;
There you may shelter the whole of your life,
Or play as you love best.
And shut you into my breast;
There you may shelter the whole of your life,
Or play as you love best.
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II.
In the sunny orchard-closes,While the warblers sing and swing,
Care not whether blustering Autumn
Break the promises of Spring;
Rose and white the apple-blossom
Hides you from the sultry sky;
Let it flutter, blown and scattered,
On the meadows by-and-by.
Will you ask about the fruitage
In the season of the flowers?
Will you murmur, will you question,
Count the run of weary hours?
Will you let the scarecrow clapping
Drown all happy sounds and words?
Brothers, there is better music
In the singing of the birds!
In the season of the flowers?
Will you murmur, will you question,
Count the run of weary hours?
Will you let the scarecrow clapping
Drown all happy sounds and words?
Brothers, there is better music
In the singing of the birds!
From your heavy-laden garden
Will you hunt the mellow thrush?
He will pay you for protection
With his crown-song's liquid rush!
O! but you will win the bargain,
Though your fruit be spare and late,
For remember, Time is flying,
And will shut your garden-gate.
Will you hunt the mellow thrush?
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With his crown-song's liquid rush!
O! but you will win the bargain,
Though your fruit be spare and late,
For remember, Time is flying,
And will shut your garden-gate.
With my living, with my singing,
I will tear the hedges down!
Sweep the grass and heap the blossom,
Let it shrivel, pale and brown!
Swing the wicket! Sheep and cattle,
Let them graze among the best!
I broke off the flowers; what matter
Who may revel with the rest!
I will tear the hedges down!
Sweep the grass and heap the blossom,
Let it shrivel, pale and brown!
Swing the wicket! Sheep and cattle,
Let them graze among the best!
I broke off the flowers; what matter
Who may revel with the rest!
| On Viol and Flute | |