 |
|
|
| 1. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
WIND-GARDENS. |
 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
404
WIND-GARDENS.
Midway between earth and sky,
There the wild Wind-Gardens lie,—
Tossing gardens, secret bowers,
Full of song, and full of flowers,—
Wafting down to us below
Such a fragrance as we know
Never yet had lily or rose
That in earthly garden grows.
There the wild Wind-Gardens lie,—
Tossing gardens, secret bowers,
Full of song, and full of flowers,—
Wafting down to us below
Such a fragrance as we know
Never yet had lily or rose
That in earthly garden grows.
O those Gardens, dear and far,
Where the wild Wind-Fairies are,
Singing clearly, singing purely,
Strains of far-off Elf-Land, surely!—
Though we see them not, we hearken
To them when the Spring skies darken,—
We divine their wayward playing,
Through those far, strange Gardens straying;
Where the wild Wind-Fairies are,
Singing clearly, singing purely,
Strains of far-off Elf-Land, surely!—
Though we see them not, we hearken
To them when the Spring skies darken,—
We divine their wayward playing,
Through those far, strange Gardens straying;
Plucking there the wild Wind-posies,
Lilies, violets, and roses,
Whose sweet breath like angels' pity
Finds us, even in the City,
Where we toiling seek as treasures
Dull Earth's disenchanting pleasures.
O those gales with Wind-flowers laden,—
Flowers that no mortal maiden
Lilies, violets, and roses,
Whose sweet breath like angels' pity
Finds us, even in the City,
Where we toiling seek as treasures
Dull Earth's disenchanting pleasures.
O those gales with Wind-flowers laden,—
Flowers that no mortal maiden
In her breast shall ever wear!
Flowers to wreathe Titania's hair,
And to strew her happy way,
When she marries some wind-fay!
O Wind-Gardens, where such songs are,
And of flowers such happy throngs are,
Though your paths I may not see,
Well I know how blest they be!
Flowers to wreathe Titania's hair,
And to strew her happy way,
When she marries some wind-fay!
405
And of flowers such happy throngs are,
Though your paths I may not see,
Well I know how blest they be!
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |