 | In the Dorian Mood |  |
82
THE NIGHT-JAR
On the river, in the shallows, on the shore,
Are the darkness and the silence of the tomb;
O'er the woods the sunset dyed an hour before
Utter gloom.
Are the darkness and the silence of the tomb;
O'er the woods the sunset dyed an hour before
Utter gloom.
Only here betwixt the ramparts of tall trees,
In mid-stream, the pallid waters gleam afar,
Scarce a ripple on their surface, scarce a breeze,
Scarce a star.
In mid-stream, the pallid waters gleam afar,
Scarce a ripple on their surface, scarce a breeze,
Scarce a star.
Where the shadow of the ruined water-mill
Hides the mill-pool and its anchored lily fleet,
And the warm air seems to slumber over-still,
Over-sweet,
Hides the mill-pool and its anchored lily fleet,
And the warm air seems to slumber over-still,
Over-sweet,
83
Hark the Night-jar! In the meadows by the stream
Shrills the bird's unearthly note: I like it well,
For it lulls you as the mystery of a dream,
Or a spell.
Shrills the bird's unearthly note: I like it well,
For it lulls you as the mystery of a dream,
Or a spell.
All the nightingales along the bowery reach
Plain together when the midnight moon is bright:
This bird only knows the secret speech
Of dark night.
Plain together when the midnight moon is bright:
This bird only knows the secret speech
Of dark night.
Turn the boat now. Row away, friends. Let us hence,
Lest the glamour of the night's o'er-trancing breath,
Plunge us one and all into that dream intense
Which is Death.
Lest the glamour of the night's o'er-trancing breath,
Plunge us one and all into that dream intense
Which is Death.
| In the Dorian Mood | |