 | Quo Musa Tendis? |  |
76
After Sunset.
1. Aug. 30, 1891.
At Magna Charta Island.
A grey lawn cut by the river's brink,
And then the stream,
Dun slabs of marble, splashed with ink,
Beyond—a dream!—
A purple shield of blazing bronze
Streaked here and there with silver: a pair
Of rainbow-coloured swans.
And then the stream,
Dun slabs of marble, splashed with ink,
Beyond—a dream!—
A purple shield of blazing bronze
Streaked here and there with silver: a pair
Of rainbow-coloured swans.
And above the blaze of the burnished river
The burnished sky,
Bronze banners of vapour which hardly quiver
As the breeze goes by,
Girt round with a dark blue belt of cloud;
One primrose patch, which the ripples catch,
And the first of the stars' blithe crowd.
The burnished sky,
Bronze banners of vapour which hardly quiver
As the breeze goes by,
Girt round with a dark blue belt of cloud;
One primrose patch, which the ripples catch,
And the first of the stars' blithe crowd.
And between the water and sky one observes
A slope, tree-crowned:
Black tree-tops tracing a thousand curves,
Where gloom's profound;
And grey-green meadows from slope to stream,
With a steep black bank at the edge: how thank
The fate which allows man's brain to house
Such a spirit-soothing dream.
A slope, tree-crowned:
Black tree-tops tracing a thousand curves,
Where gloom's profound;
And grey-green meadows from slope to stream,
With a steep black bank at the edge: how thank
The fate which allows man's brain to house
Such a spirit-soothing dream.
77
2. Sept. 5, 1891.
In the Lock-Cut: Old Windsor.
Great purple clouds in the western sky,
Hung thick o'er a blaze of golden white,
And below that glory there seems to lie,
A cushion of silver: not so bright
But it dulls to a grey that entombs the day
And heralds the march of night.
Hung thick o'er a blaze of golden white,
And below that glory there seems to lie,
A cushion of silver: not so bright
But it dulls to a grey that entombs the day
And heralds the march of night.
One tree hides a third of the gorgeous west,—
A disk of black is its dusky growth—
Yet not hides: nay perhaps displays at best
Through the chinks which it opens, nothing loth:
While its outline bold cuts silver and gold,
And heightens the blaze of both.
A disk of black is its dusky growth—
Yet not hides: nay perhaps displays at best
Through the chinks which it opens, nothing loth:
While its outline bold cuts silver and gold,
And heightens the blaze of both.
And up to the glory of golden white,
With the purple above and the silver below,
There's a river lane that is darkly bright,
Softly and smoothly and quietly aglow,
Blue willows beside it, night hasting to hide it,
Day sorry to let it go.
With the purple above and the silver below,
There's a river lane that is darkly bright,
Softly and smoothly and quietly aglow,
Blue willows beside it, night hasting to hide it,
Day sorry to let it go.
The tree grows blacker, the night falls fast,
And purple and silver and white must fade:
But something was shown us which can't but last:
Has a song been sung? has a play been played?
Has a lesson been taught, or was all for naught?
Well—nothing endures like the past.
And purple and silver and white must fade:
But something was shown us which can't but last:
Has a song been sung? has a play been played?
Has a lesson been taught, or was all for naught?
Well—nothing endures like the past.
78
3. Sept. 9, 1891.
Off the Bells of Ouseley.
The Poet.The water is black and opaque and polished,
Not a ripple to break it, or ray to illume:
From bank to bank, like a sunless tank,
Swept clear of ripples by some witch-broom:
What's it like, dear Muse? come! impart your views,
Or, faith, you'll be soon abolished.
The Muse.
Just the dripping asphalte of rain-washed Paris,
With our gliding punt for the rumbling tram;
And your face shining black in the glistening track:
On the bank, for the workman who drains his dram,
One willow as grim as a phantom dim
Evoked by Augustus Harris.
| Quo Musa Tendis? | |