Feda with Other Poems Chiefly Lyrical. By Rennell Rodd ... With an Etching by Harper Pennington |
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RICHARD WAGNER. |
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 | Feda with Other Poems |  |
128
RICHARD WAGNER.
In sea-born Venice, while the shadows crept
Across the ripples of the still Lagoon,
And even gathered on the waning noon,
Death kissed his forehead, and the master slept.
Across the ripples of the still Lagoon,
And even gathered on the waning noon,
Death kissed his forehead, and the master slept.
His hand had never faltered from its best,
Nor his strength wearied, nor his eye grown dim;
But in the quiet noon death came to him,
And now—we must not envy him his rest.
Nor his strength wearied, nor his eye grown dim;
But in the quiet noon death came to him,
And now—we must not envy him his rest.
His path was like the mountain torrent's, hurled
Through crags and gullies, bursting to be free—
To calm and broaden as it neared the sea
And rest upon the bosom of the world.
Through crags and gullies, bursting to be free—
To calm and broaden as it neared the sea
And rest upon the bosom of the world.
He felt the storm break round him—let them rave!
This is the burthen of the sons of song;
He cast on time the verdict—not for long
The shafts of envy beat upon the grave.
This is the burthen of the sons of song;
He cast on time the verdict—not for long
The shafts of envy beat upon the grave.
129
He gave youth, life, to labour stern and true,
Knowing the night is longer than the day:
Short rest they take upon their onward way,
Those fiery spirits that achieve the new.
Knowing the night is longer than the day:
Short rest they take upon their onward way,
Those fiery spirits that achieve the new.
But restful now and very calm he lies,
Who woke strange chords to passion, strong to reach
The sense of things which lie too deep for speech—
That music only may eternalise.
Who woke strange chords to passion, strong to reach
The sense of things which lie too deep for speech—
That music only may eternalise.
Death and decay are not for him, nor tears,
But strength and beauty, and eternal prime:
A giant soul that lies abroad on time,
A voice for ever in the march of years.
But strength and beauty, and eternal prime:
A giant soul that lies abroad on time,
A voice for ever in the march of years.
The master is not, but the spirit breathes;
He heeds not now what flowers we may shed;
Yet on that grave, in homage to the dead,
Let mine be cast among the laurel wreaths!
He heeds not now what flowers we may shed;
Yet on that grave, in homage to the dead,
Let mine be cast among the laurel wreaths!
| Feda with Other Poems | |