 | The violet crown by Sir Rennell Rodd |  |
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AN ATTIC NIGHT
Above Hymettus' long dark sundering ridge—
Not cold and chaste as in my own far world,
But pale for passion and yet warm with love—
Midsummer's moon bends earthward, and the stars
Pale at her advent; through the cypress tops
A silent shiver of delight runs o'er,
And dreaming earth grows open-eyed once more.
Not cold and chaste as in my own far world,
But pale for passion and yet warm with love—
Midsummer's moon bends earthward, and the stars
Pale at her advent; through the cypress tops
A silent shiver of delight runs o'er,
And dreaming earth grows open-eyed once more.
These hillside aloes pierce the sapphire night
Like some great battle struck into a trance
With all its sword-blades lifted, and above
An ivory stair climbs up the silver rocks
Through roofless columns of a marble gate;
This is the rock of Athens, reared sublime,
Crowned with quick stars above the night of time.
Like some great battle struck into a trance
With all its sword-blades lifted, and above
An ivory stair climbs up the silver rocks
Through roofless columns of a marble gate;
This is the rock of Athens, reared sublime,
Crowned with quick stars above the night of time.
Enter the door of silence! Far away
The thousand twinkling little lights recede,
And stars grow nearer, while the flitting owls
Repeat unseen the same shrill note in sound,
The nomad bells of flocks that move by night
Come from the distance:—thou art all alone
With shadows haunting a dead world of stone.
The thousand twinkling little lights recede,
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Repeat unseen the same shrill note in sound,
The nomad bells of flocks that move by night
Come from the distance:—thou art all alone
With shadows haunting a dead world of stone.
Lo with a mystic radiance round its scars,
Hardly a ruin in this healing light,
The fairest pile that ever human hearts
Built to enshrine their young ideal mood!
The moon is on one side the colonnade,
Steals through its rent of battle, seeks in vain
The sister goddess in her fallen fane.
Hardly a ruin in this healing light,
The fairest pile that ever human hearts
Built to enshrine their young ideal mood!
The moon is on one side the colonnade,
Steals through its rent of battle, seeks in vain
The sister goddess in her fallen fane.
Alas for dead ideals, and alas
Immortal moods are bounded by a day!
Once only here such throbbing life upburst
To the full at every issue, snatched the fire
Quick from the life springs, dared and overcame
While still the childhood of the heart was free;
There was but once one Athens, or could be!
Immortal moods are bounded by a day!
Once only here such throbbing life upburst
To the full at every issue, snatched the fire
Quick from the life springs, dared and overcame
While still the childhood of the heart was free;
There was but once one Athens, or could be!
Here wrought the strong creator, and he laid
The marble on the limestone, in the crag
Morticed the sure foundations, line to line
And arc to arc repeating as it grew;
Veiling the secret of its strength in grace,
Till like a marble flower in blue Greek air
Perfect it rose, an afterworld's despair.
The marble on the limestone, in the crag
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And arc to arc repeating as it grew;
Veiling the secret of its strength in grace,
Till like a marble flower in blue Greek air
Perfect it rose, an afterworld's despair.
And here man made his most divine appeal
To the eternal in the heart of man,
The mute appeal of beauty, crying still
Rhythmic across the ages that are dumb.
And lo! it lies a ruin, and the owls
Dwell in the splintered cornice, and the moon
Blanches the broken discords into tune.
To the eternal in the heart of man,
The mute appeal of beauty, crying still
Rhythmic across the ages that are dumb.
And lo! it lies a ruin, and the owls
Dwell in the splintered cornice, and the moon
Blanches the broken discords into tune.
Come from the ruin, this despairing note
Steals like a siren music on the soul
And the sweet way of sadness lures; come forth!
For now the moon has mounted, and yon sea
Is all a fire of jewels,—far away
To dim Ægina misty in the west
She takes the benediction on her breast.
Steals like a siren music on the soul
And the sweet way of sadness lures; come forth!
For now the moon has mounted, and yon sea
Is all a fire of jewels,—far away
To dim Ægina misty in the west
She takes the benediction on her breast.
And all the mountains are a wonder world
Of untried promise, and the larger stars
Burn steadfast still, and from the south there comes
A breath like odours blown from Paradise
Scented and cool and soothing; so we turn
From man's supremest to God's every day,
And dimly feel our solace lies that way.
Of untried promise, and the larger stars
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A breath like odours blown from Paradise
Scented and cool and soothing; so we turn
From man's supremest to God's every day,
And dimly feel our solace lies that way.
Burn on, bright stars! gleam through the night, white sea!
If I have loved the living world of men,
Their hopes and dreams, the labour of their hands,
And trusted much and, doubting, trusted still,
Yet Nature was my mother and my guide,
And ever nearest, and when all else failed,
Her arms were open still and her great love prevailed.
If I have loved the living world of men,
Their hopes and dreams, the labour of their hands,
And trusted much and, doubting, trusted still,
Yet Nature was my mother and my guide,
And ever nearest, and when all else failed,
Her arms were open still and her great love prevailed.
| The violet crown by Sir Rennell Rodd | |