ALEXANDER RAE GARVIE
FANCY many forms assumes!'Tis a bee among the blooms,In the noon of June, that sipsHoney from the heart and lipsOf Anacreon's glorious rose.Now how warily it goesPast grim dragons to the treesGrowing in Hesperides!And anon with Jason hearsSirens' luring song, and steersStraightway from the fatal shore,While each rower strains his oar.'Tis a bat at twilight still,Flitting round a lonesome mill;'Tis a falcon fleet that fliesInto depths of opal skies;Oft it is a sullen owl—Pallas' learnëd pensive fowl,Hooting hoarsely 'mong the trees;And again, o'er troubled seasAs a petrel bold it wingsTirelessly. Sometimes it singsLark-like in the heavens' scopeWhen dew gleams on grassy slope.Roaming meadows, daisy-decked,'Tis a child afoot, unchecked,Gladness in her azure eyes,As she sees with mute surpriseBrooding birds in hedges' heart,Building nests with simple art.And at dawning, near a mere,Girdled by the bulrush spear,Fancy as a heron stalksHeedful of the hated hawks.Fancy is a butterflyBorn to live brief life and die.'Tis a pink-lipped shell afloat,Fit for tiny fairy's boat;Fair in fiction, false in fact,Shunned by men who are exact,Loved by poet whom it guidesWhen on Pegasus he rides;Lover's joy when maid is true,Lover's woe when, stricken throughWith sharp dart, his trust is slain!Bright and dark and bright again,Phantom! none thy face may paint,Since—now sinner, and then saint—Thou dost peer from cowl or crown,Now with smile, anon with frown.Sweet Sprite! thou alone canst traceAiry pictures of thy face;Thou who limnest Rosamond,Guinevere, and Juliet fond.Fancy, Fancy, come and charm,Grasped by clutch of graven gold,Jove's fetters, her to have and hold!This swift Ariel serves us well,Lets us in the glamour's spell,Drink beside Bacchante fair,Toy with Pyrrha's braided hair,Hear Apollo's matchless luteAnd the twy-formed Faun's soft flute;Shows us Aphrodite riseFrom foamy seas to sunny skies,Leads us down the track of Time,Bears us into every clime;Often paces kirkyard greenMourning in her garb and mien,Mingles with the dancing crowd,Broiders banners, weaves a shroud,Keeps a fast or festival—Lean Lent here, there—CarnivalStarves or surfeits, Fancy free,Sojourning in Italy.As an Arab, lo! how calmUnder frondage of the palm;Like a Norseman, winter-bound,(Lest he be in dulness drowned);Over ice on skate-blades whirsPast the shaggy, sombre firs.—Ha, my Fancy! art thou mad,Or with Folly's mantle clad?
FANCY many forms assumes!'Tis a bee among the blooms,In the noon of June, that sipsHoney from the heart and lipsOf Anacreon's glorious rose.Now how warily it goesPast grim dragons to the treesGrowing in Hesperides!And anon with Jason hearsSirens' luring song, and steersStraightway from the fatal shore,While each rower strains his oar.'Tis a bat at twilight still,Flitting round a lonesome mill;'Tis a falcon fleet that fliesInto depths of opal skies;Oft it is a sullen owl—Pallas' learnëd pensive fowl,Hooting hoarsely 'mong the trees;And again, o'er troubled seasAs a petrel bold it wingsTirelessly. Sometimes it singsLark-like in the heavens' scopeWhen dew gleams on grassy slope.Roaming meadows, daisy-decked,'Tis a child afoot, unchecked,Gladness in her azure eyes,As she sees with mute surpriseBrooding birds in hedges' heart,Building nests with simple art.And at dawning, near a mere,Girdled by the bulrush spear,Fancy as a heron stalksHeedful of the hated hawks.Fancy is a butterflyBorn to live brief life and die.'Tis a pink-lipped shell afloat,Fit for tiny fairy's boat;Fair in fiction, false in fact,Shunned by men who are exact,Loved by poet whom it guidesWhen on Pegasus he rides;Lover's joy when maid is true,Lover's woe when, stricken throughWith sharp dart, his trust is slain!Bright and dark and bright again,Phantom! none thy face may paint,Since—now sinner, and then saint—Thou dost peer from cowl or crown,Now with smile, anon with frown.Sweet Sprite! thou alone canst traceAiry pictures of thy face;Thou who limnest Rosamond,Guinevere, and Juliet fond.Fancy, Fancy, come and charm,Grasped by clutch of graven gold,Jove's fetters, her to have and hold!This swift Ariel serves us well,Lets us in the glamour's spell,Drink beside Bacchante fair,Toy with Pyrrha's braided hair,Hear Apollo's matchless luteAnd the twy-formed Faun's soft flute;Shows us Aphrodite riseFrom foamy seas to sunny skies,Leads us down the track of Time,Bears us into every clime;Often paces kirkyard greenMourning in her garb and mien,Mingles with the dancing crowd,Broiders banners, weaves a shroud,Keeps a fast or festival—Lean Lent here, there—CarnivalStarves or surfeits, Fancy free,Sojourning in Italy.As an Arab, lo! how calmUnder frondage of the palm;Like a Norseman, winter-bound,(Lest he be in dulness drowned);Over ice on skate-blades whirsPast the shaggy, sombre firs.—Ha, my Fancy! art thou mad,Or with Folly's mantle clad?
FANCY many forms assumes!'Tis a bee among the blooms,In the noon of June, that sipsHoney from the heart and lipsOf Anacreon's glorious rose.Now how warily it goesPast grim dragons to the treesGrowing in Hesperides!And anon with Jason hearsSirens' luring song, and steersStraightway from the fatal shore,While each rower strains his oar.'Tis a bat at twilight still,Flitting round a lonesome mill;'Tis a falcon fleet that fliesInto depths of opal skies;Oft it is a sullen owl—Pallas' learnëd pensive fowl,Hooting hoarsely 'mong the trees;And again, o'er troubled seasAs a petrel bold it wingsTirelessly. Sometimes it singsLark-like in the heavens' scopeWhen dew gleams on grassy slope.Roaming meadows, daisy-decked,'Tis a child afoot, unchecked,Gladness in her azure eyes,As she sees with mute surpriseBrooding birds in hedges' heart,Building nests with simple art.And at dawning, near a mere,Girdled by the bulrush spear,Fancy as a heron stalksHeedful of the hated hawks.Fancy is a butterflyBorn to live brief life and die.'Tis a pink-lipped shell afloat,Fit for tiny fairy's boat;Fair in fiction, false in fact,Shunned by men who are exact,Loved by poet whom it guidesWhen on Pegasus he rides;Lover's joy when maid is true,Lover's woe when, stricken throughWith sharp dart, his trust is slain!Bright and dark and bright again,Phantom! none thy face may paint,Since—now sinner, and then saint—Thou dost peer from cowl or crown,Now with smile, anon with frown.Sweet Sprite! thou alone canst traceAiry pictures of thy face;Thou who limnest Rosamond,Guinevere, and Juliet fond.Fancy, Fancy, come and charm,Grasped by clutch of graven gold,Jove's fetters, her to have and hold!This swift Ariel serves us well,Lets us in the glamour's spell,Drink beside Bacchante fair,Toy with Pyrrha's braided hair,Hear Apollo's matchless luteAnd the twy-formed Faun's soft flute;Shows us Aphrodite riseFrom foamy seas to sunny skies,Leads us down the track of Time,Bears us into every clime;Often paces kirkyard greenMourning in her garb and mien,Mingles with the dancing crowd,Broiders banners, weaves a shroud,Keeps a fast or festival—Lean Lent here, there—CarnivalStarves or surfeits, Fancy free,Sojourning in Italy.As an Arab, lo! how calmUnder frondage of the palm;Like a Norseman, winter-bound,(Lest he be in dulness drowned);Over ice on skate-blades whirsPast the shaggy, sombre firs.—Ha, my Fancy! art thou mad,Or with Folly's mantle clad?
FANCY many forms assumes!
'Tis a bee among the blooms,
In the noon of June, that sips
Honey from the heart and lips
Of Anacreon's glorious rose.
Now how warily it goes
Past grim dragons to the trees
Growing in Hesperides!
And anon with Jason hears
Sirens' luring song, and steers
Straightway from the fatal shore,
While each rower strains his oar.
'Tis a bat at twilight still,
Flitting round a lonesome mill;
'Tis a falcon fleet that flies
Into depths of opal skies;
Oft it is a sullen owl—
Pallas' learnëd pensive fowl,
Hooting hoarsely 'mong the trees;
And again, o'er troubled seas
As a petrel bold it wings
Tirelessly. Sometimes it sings
Lark-like in the heavens' scope
When dew gleams on grassy slope.
Roaming meadows, daisy-decked,
'Tis a child afoot, unchecked,
Gladness in her azure eyes,
As she sees with mute surprise
Brooding birds in hedges' heart,
Building nests with simple art.
And at dawning, near a mere,
Girdled by the bulrush spear,
Fancy as a heron stalks
Heedful of the hated hawks.
Fancy is a butterfly
Born to live brief life and die.
'Tis a pink-lipped shell afloat,
Fit for tiny fairy's boat;
Fair in fiction, false in fact,
Shunned by men who are exact,
Loved by poet whom it guides
When on Pegasus he rides;
Lover's joy when maid is true,
Lover's woe when, stricken through
With sharp dart, his trust is slain!
Bright and dark and bright again,
Phantom! none thy face may paint,
Since—now sinner, and then saint—
Thou dost peer from cowl or crown,
Now with smile, anon with frown.
Sweet Sprite! thou alone canst trace
Airy pictures of thy face;
Thou who limnest Rosamond,
Guinevere, and Juliet fond.
Fancy, Fancy, come and charm,
Grasped by clutch of graven gold,
Jove's fetters, her to have and hold!
This swift Ariel serves us well,
Lets us in the glamour's spell,
Drink beside Bacchante fair,
Toy with Pyrrha's braided hair,
Hear Apollo's matchless lute
And the twy-formed Faun's soft flute;
Shows us Aphrodite rise
From foamy seas to sunny skies,
Leads us down the track of Time,
Bears us into every clime;
Often paces kirkyard green
Mourning in her garb and mien,
Mingles with the dancing crowd,
Broiders banners, weaves a shroud,
Keeps a fast or festival—
Lean Lent here, there—Carnival
Starves or surfeits, Fancy free,
Sojourning in Italy.
As an Arab, lo! how calm
Under frondage of the palm;
Like a Norseman, winter-bound,
(Lest he be in dulness drowned);
Over ice on skate-blades whirs
Past the shaggy, sombre firs.—
Ha, my Fancy! art thou mad,
Or with Folly's mantle clad?