Imaginary Sonnets By Eugene Lee-Hamilton |
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| ZARA TO HIS LOVE.
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 | Imaginary Sonnets |  |
35
ZARA TO HIS LOVE.
(1503.)
I.
The alchemy of Sunrise makes pure gold
Of all the sullen bars of cloudy lead,
While round the heaven's crucible leaps red
The morning's flame that kindles wood and wold,
Of all the sullen bars of cloudy lead,
While round the heaven's crucible leaps red
The morning's flame that kindles wood and wold,
Converting all the dew-drops gray and cold
To rubies, on the branches overhead,
And strewing opals on the moss instead
Of the dull beads that from night's robe had rolled.
To rubies, on the branches overhead,
And strewing opals on the moss instead
Of the dull beads that from night's robe had rolled.
Such transmutation has thy beauty wrought
On all the baser elements that lay
In the cold twilight of my life and thought;
On all the baser elements that lay
In the cold twilight of my life and thought;
Whatever in my soul was dull and gray,
Now sparkles like the dew-drops that have caught,
Bead after bead, the sun's first kindling ray.
Now sparkles like the dew-drops that have caught,
Bead after bead, the sun's first kindling ray.
36
II.
Now like a silver bubble soars the moon,
And up to heaven's surface works her way,
While all the valley fills with gleaming spray
Before she reaches to her midnight noon;
And up to heaven's surface works her way,
While all the valley fills with gleaming spray
Before she reaches to her midnight noon;
And fumes from all the censers of hot June
Rise up from gardens and from fields of hay,
Mute, save where springs of molten silver play,
Or drones a beetle on his were bassoon.
Rise up from gardens and from fields of hay,
Mute, save where springs of molten silver play,
Or drones a beetle on his were bassoon.
The placid Empress of the summer night
Pours on each sleeping valley and each hill
The silver froth that tips the shrubs with white;
Pours on each sleeping valley and each hill
The silver froth that tips the shrubs with white;
And thou, O Empress of my life, dost fill
The furthest valleys of my soul with light;
While thine is all the incense they distil.
The furthest valleys of my soul with light;
While thine is all the incense they distil.
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