Minuscula Lyrics of Nature, Art and Love. By Francis William Bourdillon |
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91
III
Now hath the ageing year forgot thee, June,
And doteth on the Mœnad month, October;
How harlot-like she wastes his wealth! How soon
His gold shall all be gone, and he left sober!
Yet can I not forget thy days of swoon,
Dear June, at Henley; though the daft disrober
Beat his leaf-tatters all the afternoon
About me, playing mad to please October.
And doteth on the Mœnad month, October;
How harlot-like she wastes his wealth! How soon
His gold shall all be gone, and he left sober!
Yet can I not forget thy days of swoon,
Dear June, at Henley; though the daft disrober
Beat his leaf-tatters all the afternoon
About me, playing mad to please October.
Still seems the dull day must be brighter there,
The trees full-leafed, the meadow-grass full green;
While Thames, here turbid, there steals softly on
A dream of silver, her light boat to bear.
Yet well I know how changed is that fair scene:
Or hides it in some mystic Avalon?
The trees full-leafed, the meadow-grass full green;
While Thames, here turbid, there steals softly on
A dream of silver, her light boat to bear.
Yet well I know how changed is that fair scene:
Or hides it in some mystic Avalon?
| Minuscula | |