 | Measured Steps |  |
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I. PART I. MEASURED STEPS.
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‘Wouldst thou hear what man can say
In a little? Reader, stay.’
Ben Jonson
In a little? Reader, stay.’
Ben Jonson
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[Haply, reader, waxing cold]
Haply, reader, waxing cold,
Thou an idle thing dost hold
All that Fancy whilom told?
Thou an idle thing dost hold
All that Fancy whilom told?
Nathless, reader, is it best,
Or in earnest, or in jest,
Vagrant fancies to arrest.
Or in earnest, or in jest,
Vagrant fancies to arrest.
Yea, in wordy net would I
Snare each thought that hasteth by,
As a boy a butterfly.
Snare each thought that hasteth by,
As a boy a butterfly.
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Poor butterfly! Poor painted thing!
Borne hither upon aëry wing:—
So ends thine idle wandering?
Borne hither upon aëry wing:—
So ends thine idle wandering?
Poor child of Fancy! Thou wert fair
Erst when upon the vernal air
Thou cam'st to apprehension near.
Erst when upon the vernal air
Thou cam'st to apprehension near.
But lo! the careful net is thrown;
Now, soft! What treasure may we own?
Haply, reader—it is flown!
Now, soft! What treasure may we own?
Haply, reader—it is flown!
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[They are all I have for you]
They are all I have for you;
Christmas roses, just a few:
Fair and spotless, I can find
Nothing liker to thy mind
'Mid all the flowers of richer kind.
Christmas roses, just a few:
Fair and spotless, I can find
Nothing liker to thy mind
'Mid all the flowers of richer kind.
My heart is tired, and words are weak:
Have flowers a language? These shall speak.
Take my roses; thou wilt find
Low music answering in my mind
To their voice breathed upon the wind.
Have flowers a language? These shall speak.
Take my roses; thou wilt find
Low music answering in my mind
To their voice breathed upon the wind.
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[For one who long a worldly gain]
For one who long a worldly gainIn worldly paths has sought,
May aught of better worth remain,
Save, peradventure, caught
On cobwebs in the brain
Some fragment of untainted thought?
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[So there lies Florence; Fiésole there]
So there lies Florence; Fiésole there;And Giotto's tower, and Brunelleschi's dome,
God-sent to troubled spirits for a home,
Sleep in her midst incomparably fair.
Most fair, and proudest city! Thou didst dare
To exile Dante! He might die, or roam
Dead-hearted; nor tears, nor the froth and foam
Of bitter hate, nor the cry of his despair
Fair Florence heeded! And Dante turned,
And wasted life, endeavouring to move
The cold decree. Often his keen eyes strained
Towards his lost home, and his great heart yearned
Towards her. In the bosom she had pained,
With fierce wrath and scorn, was quenchless love.
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[Farewell, farewell, now Summer's sped]
Farewell, farewell, now Summer's sped,
Till wakes the coming year!
Farewell, farewell, the leaves are dead!
Farewell, my heart is drear!
Till wakes the coming year!
Farewell, farewell, the leaves are dead!
Farewell, my heart is drear!
I sang through all the happy times
Of Summer; now 'tis done,
I wing my flight to other climes
Still Southward, toward the Sun.
Of Summer; now 'tis done,
I wing my flight to other climes
Still Southward, toward the Sun.
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[Sweet, on thy mouth a smile there played]
Sweet, on thy mouth a smile there played;
A smile that in my thought betrayed
The matter of thy reverie.
A smile that in my thought betrayed
The matter of thy reverie.
That while thy face thus lighted up,
Did Fancy's children laughingly
Squeeze pleasures in a golden cup
That Hope held up to thee?
(Ah, Fancy, trailing broken wing!
Ah, weary joys and sorrowing!—
Thy life must be a lovelier thing.)
Ah, stay not, love, with me!
Did Fancy's children laughingly
Squeeze pleasures in a golden cup
That Hope held up to thee?
(Ah, Fancy, trailing broken wing!
Ah, weary joys and sorrowing!—
Thy life must be a lovelier thing.)
Ah, stay not, love, with me!
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