 | The Poems of John Rollin Ridge -- A reproduction of the 1868
publication plus fugitive poems and notes. |  |
LINES ON A HUMMING BIRD SEEN AT A LADY'S WINDOW
YON dew-drunk bacchanal
Hath emptied all the roses of their sweets,
And drained the fluent souls
Of all the lilies from their crystal bowls;
And now, on rapid wing he fleets
To where by yonder crystal pane
A lady, young and fair,
Looks out upon the sifting sunlit rain.
Hath emptied all the roses of their sweets,
And drained the fluent souls
Of all the lilies from their crystal bowls;
And now, on rapid wing he fleets
To where by yonder crystal pane
A lady, young and fair,
Looks out upon the sifting sunlit rain.
That ripe, red mouth he takes
For rarer flower than ever yet was quaffed,
And longeth much to sip,
The honey of that warm and dewy lip,
And drain its sweetness at a draught.
Ah, vain, delusive hope! 'tis hard,
But, rainbow wing-ed bird,
Thou 'rt not alone from those sweet lips debarred.
For rarer flower than ever yet was quaffed,
And longeth much to sip,
The honey of that warm and dewy lip,
And drain its sweetness at a draught.
Ah, vain, delusive hope! 'tis hard,
But, rainbow wing-ed bird,
Thou 'rt not alone from those sweet lips debarred.
Now, charm-ed with her eyes,
And dazzled by their more than sunny light,
He winnoweth with his wings
The fineness of the golden mist, and swings,
A breathing glory in her sight!
Too happy bird, he's won a smile
From that proud beauty there
Which from his throne an angel might beguile.
And dazzled by their more than sunny light,
He winnoweth with his wings
The fineness of the golden mist, and swings,
A breathing glory in her sight!
Too happy bird, he's won a smile
From that proud beauty there
Which from his throne an angel might beguile.
How dizzy with delight
He spins his radiant circles in the air!
Now, on their spiral breath
Upborn, he 'scapes th' enchantress underneath
And will not die of joy or despair--
The joy of her bright eyes, and wild,
Despairing e'er to win.
The nectar of those lips which on him smiled.
He spins his radiant circles in the air!
Now, on their spiral breath
Upborn, he 'scapes th' enchantress underneath
And will not die of joy or despair--
The joy of her bright eyes, and wild,
Despairing e'er to win.
The nectar of those lips which on him smiled.
| The Poems of John Rollin Ridge -- A reproduction of the 1868
publication plus fugitive poems and notes. | |