 | The Autumn Garden |  |
52
R. L. S.
Rest, oh thou restless angel, rest at last,
High on thy mountain peak that caps the waves;
Anguish no more thy delicate soul enslaves,
Dream-clouds no more thy slumber overcast.
High on thy mountain peak that caps the waves;
Anguish no more thy delicate soul enslaves,
Dream-clouds no more thy slumber overcast.
Adventurous angel, fold thy wings! the vast
Pacific forest, with its architraves,
The stillness of its long liana'd naves,
Involves thee in a silence of times past.
Pacific forest, with its architraves,
The stillness of its long liana'd naves,
Involves thee in a silence of times past.
Thou whom we loved, a child of sportive whim,
So fair to play with, comfort, thrill or chide,
Art grown as ancient as thine island gods,
So fair to play with, comfort, thrill or chide,
Art grown as ancient as thine island gods,
As mystic as the menacing seraphim,
As grim as priests upon a red hill-side,
Or lictors shouldering high their sheaves of rods.
As grim as priests upon a red hill-side,
Or lictors shouldering high their sheaves of rods.
| The Autumn Garden | |