Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] With Portrait engraved by E. Stodart ... in two volumes |
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“DOLCE FAR NIENTE.”
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 | Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |  |
151
“DOLCE FAR NIENTE.”
. . . So now, my love, what matter when we die,
And leave this world of sorrow-faring men,
Wielders of sword, and drivers of the pen,
Who fret, and fume, and strive, I know not why,
Since all my life is turn'd to holiday!
And leave this world of sorrow-faring men,
Wielders of sword, and drivers of the pen,
Who fret, and fume, and strive, I know not why,
Since all my life is turn'd to holiday!
Here will I rest me, lying in the shade,
And smile to see men toiling in the sun,
The end achieved, the promised guerdon won,
Deep drinking of the draught for which I pray'd,
Whilst all the world seems turn'd to holiday.
And smile to see men toiling in the sun,
The end achieved, the promised guerdon won,
Deep drinking of the draught for which I pray'd,
Whilst all the world seems turn'd to holiday.
Death would be pleasant so, should no sharp pain
Curdle the blood or agonise the mind,
So, hearts united, and so, arms entwined,
We two could fade out from this mortal train
Who find scant space for making holiday.
Curdle the blood or agonise the mind,
So, hearts united, and so, arms entwined,
We two could fade out from this mortal train
Who find scant space for making holiday.
152
You say 'tis no man's mission to lie so,
Watching the sunlight sifting through green boughs;
You tell of men who breathed heroic vows,
Smote, or were smitten, and were glad to go,
And knew no time for love or holiday.
Watching the sunlight sifting through green boughs;
You tell of men who breathed heroic vows,
Smote, or were smitten, and were glad to go,
And knew no time for love or holiday.
“Up and away!” you say, “from scenes like these,
Where languid nights succeed the listless days,
Seek out some poor man's good, some good man's praise;
Nor lie, like Samson, at Delilah's knees,
Making all life to seem like holiday.”
Where languid nights succeed the listless days,
Seek out some poor man's good, some good man's praise;
Nor lie, like Samson, at Delilah's knees,
Making all life to seem like holiday.”
Ah! this from thee, Delilah, this from thee!
Who taught the shepherd to forsake his flocks?
Who stole his heart, and shear'd away his locks?
No good man now shall speak good word of me,
So let all life seem love and holiday!
Who taught the shepherd to forsake his flocks?
Who stole his heart, and shear'd away his locks?
No good man now shall speak good word of me,
So let all life seem love and holiday!
| Poems by Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] | |