Laurella and other poems by John Todhunter |
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 | Laurella and other poems |  |
II.
Come, waft me with thee in thy dreamy car,Far from this mental treadmill of the desk,
And from the babbling, bustling world afar,
To where the oak flings wide his boughs grotesque
Over some lonely stream:
Some quiet stream, some lilied woodland stream,
Warbling strange wood-songs o'er its pebbly bed,
Its waters, glad with many an amber gleam,
By sunshine mellowing through the boughs o'er-head
To nectar turned. Here let me lie 'mid fern
And balmy grass, breathing the fresh wood-smells,
And over-waved by woodbine, while I learn
The fairy lore rung out from foxglove bells.
Here let me drink the silent utterings
Of the beautiful wild things
That round me peer and climb, buzzed o'er by bees
Which singing labour; ere I pass from these,
Over all space and time to fly with thee,
Joy-giving Poesy!
Ere from out the golden chalice,
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I quaff the rich, fire-hearted wine,
That makes mortals half-divine,
And inherit uncontrolled
All the godlike bards of old
Ever sung or ever told.
| Laurella and other poems | |