 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
83
THE GENTIAN
Say, Gentian, by what daring alchemy
Dost thou distil from cold and weary stones,
From tumbled rocks, the spent earth's staring bones,
The intensest essence of the unclouded sky?
Dost thou distil from cold and weary stones,
From tumbled rocks, the spent earth's staring bones,
The intensest essence of the unclouded sky?
Is it through dreaming, night by weary night,
Through still pale months beneath the drifted snow,
Dreaming of sunshine and warm fields aglow,
Of azure depths, vast leagues of tranquil light?
Through still pale months beneath the drifted snow,
Dreaming of sunshine and warm fields aglow,
Of azure depths, vast leagues of tranquil light?
Not thine the outrageous spiendours of the morn,
The crimson pomp of sunset, the brisk ray
Of the heavenly arch, of watery conflict born,
But the pure radiance of the untroubled heaven
When the eye dives, in headlong rapture driven,
Zone beyond zone, and finds no stop nor stay.
The crimson pomp of sunset, the brisk ray
Of the heavenly arch, of watery conflict born,
But the pure radiance of the untroubled heaven
When the eye dives, in headlong rapture driven,
Zone beyond zone, and finds no stop nor stay.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |