 | Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson |  |
TIMON
To Ronald Burrows.
Prosper but the wintry cold,
I shall hail a wealth of woe.
Race the rivers, then stand still:
Ice be, what was torrent flow:
Forest ways turn iron mould:
Grow the windy weather chill
More and more, and snows enfold
House and field and garden. So
Winter comes: and such my will.
I shall hail a wealth of woe.
Race the rivers, then stand still:
Ice be, what was torrent flow:
Forest ways turn iron mould:
Grow the windy weather chill
More and more, and snows enfold
House and field and garden. So
Winter comes: and such my will.
Has my heart grown overbold,
That its bitterness must show
Open choice of ill for ill?
Yet when old wrongs to and fro
Pace my heart, and sting and scold;
Some way must their wrath distil
Some relief; their tale be told:
That the empty air may know,
The fierce winds, and sullen hill.
That its bitterness must show
Open choice of ill for ill?
Yet when old wrongs to and fro
Pace my heart, and sting and scold;
Some way must their wrath distil
Some relief; their tale be told:
That the empty air may know,
The fierce winds, and sullen hill.
248
I was young, and now am old:
Yet, as to the dark I go,
Livelier springs my want to kill
Kindness, as the sickles mow
Good red corn: as through the wold
Sweep the dreary winds, and spill,
Where young lovers lately strolled,
Yellow leaves; and joy to blow,
Where they whispered, harsh and shrill.
Yet, as to the dark I go,
Livelier springs my want to kill
Kindness, as the sickles mow
Good red corn: as through the wold
Sweep the dreary winds, and spill,
Where young lovers lately strolled,
Yellow leaves; and joy to blow,
Where they whispered, harsh and shrill.
1887
| Poetical Works of Lionel Johnson | |