AMY LEVY1861-1889
1861-1889
Green is the plane-tree in the square,The other trees are brown;They droop and pine for country air,The plane-tree loves the town.Here from my garret-pane I markThe plane-tree bud and blow,Shed her recuperative bark,And spread her shade below.Among her branches, in and out,The city breezes play;The dull fog wraps her round about;Above, the smoke curls grey.Others the country take for choice,And hold the town in scorn;But she has listen’d to the voiceOn city breezes borne.
Green is the plane-tree in the square,The other trees are brown;They droop and pine for country air,The plane-tree loves the town.Here from my garret-pane I markThe plane-tree bud and blow,Shed her recuperative bark,And spread her shade below.Among her branches, in and out,The city breezes play;The dull fog wraps her round about;Above, the smoke curls grey.Others the country take for choice,And hold the town in scorn;But she has listen’d to the voiceOn city breezes borne.
Green is the plane-tree in the square,The other trees are brown;They droop and pine for country air,The plane-tree loves the town.
Green is the plane-tree in the square,
The other trees are brown;
They droop and pine for country air,
The plane-tree loves the town.
Here from my garret-pane I markThe plane-tree bud and blow,Shed her recuperative bark,And spread her shade below.
Here from my garret-pane I mark
The plane-tree bud and blow,
Shed her recuperative bark,
And spread her shade below.
Among her branches, in and out,The city breezes play;The dull fog wraps her round about;Above, the smoke curls grey.
Among her branches, in and out,
The city breezes play;
The dull fog wraps her round about;
Above, the smoke curls grey.
Others the country take for choice,And hold the town in scorn;But she has listen’d to the voiceOn city breezes borne.
Others the country take for choice,
And hold the town in scorn;
But she has listen’d to the voice
On city breezes borne.
The sky is silver-grey; the longSlow waves caress the shore.On such a day as this I have been glad,Who shall be glad no more.
The sky is silver-grey; the longSlow waves caress the shore.On such a day as this I have been glad,Who shall be glad no more.
The sky is silver-grey; the longSlow waves caress the shore.On such a day as this I have been glad,Who shall be glad no more.
The sky is silver-grey; the long
Slow waves caress the shore.
On such a day as this I have been glad,
Who shall be glad no more.
Deep in the grass outstretched I lie,Motionless on the hill;Above me is a cloudless sky,Around me all is still:There is no breath, no sound, no stir,The drowsy peace to break;I close my tired eyes—it wereSo simple not to wake.
Deep in the grass outstretched I lie,Motionless on the hill;Above me is a cloudless sky,Around me all is still:There is no breath, no sound, no stir,The drowsy peace to break;I close my tired eyes—it wereSo simple not to wake.
Deep in the grass outstretched I lie,Motionless on the hill;Above me is a cloudless sky,Around me all is still:
Deep in the grass outstretched I lie,
Motionless on the hill;
Above me is a cloudless sky,
Around me all is still:
There is no breath, no sound, no stir,The drowsy peace to break;I close my tired eyes—it wereSo simple not to wake.
There is no breath, no sound, no stir,
The drowsy peace to break;
I close my tired eyes—it were
So simple not to wake.
Where drowsy sound of college-chimesAcross the air is blown,And drowsy fragrance of the limes,I lie and dream alone.A dazzling radiance reigns o’er all—O’er gardens densely green,O’er old grey bridges and the small,Slow flood which slides between.This is the place; it is not strange,But known of old and dear.What went I forth to seek? The changeIs mine; why am I here?Alas, in vain I turned away,I fled the town in vain;The strenuous life of yesterdayCalleth me back again.And was it peace I came to seek?Yet here, where memories throng,Ev’n here, I know the past is weak,I know the present strong.This drowsy fragrance, silent heat,Suit not my present mind,Whose eager thought goes out to meetThe life it left behind.Spirit with sky to change; such hope,An idle one we know;Unship the oars, make loose the rope,Push off the boat and go....Ah, would what binds me could have beenThus loosened at a touch!This pain of living is too keen,Of loving, is too much.
Where drowsy sound of college-chimesAcross the air is blown,And drowsy fragrance of the limes,I lie and dream alone.A dazzling radiance reigns o’er all—O’er gardens densely green,O’er old grey bridges and the small,Slow flood which slides between.This is the place; it is not strange,But known of old and dear.What went I forth to seek? The changeIs mine; why am I here?Alas, in vain I turned away,I fled the town in vain;The strenuous life of yesterdayCalleth me back again.And was it peace I came to seek?Yet here, where memories throng,Ev’n here, I know the past is weak,I know the present strong.This drowsy fragrance, silent heat,Suit not my present mind,Whose eager thought goes out to meetThe life it left behind.Spirit with sky to change; such hope,An idle one we know;Unship the oars, make loose the rope,Push off the boat and go....Ah, would what binds me could have beenThus loosened at a touch!This pain of living is too keen,Of loving, is too much.
Where drowsy sound of college-chimesAcross the air is blown,And drowsy fragrance of the limes,I lie and dream alone.
Where drowsy sound of college-chimes
Across the air is blown,
And drowsy fragrance of the limes,
I lie and dream alone.
A dazzling radiance reigns o’er all—O’er gardens densely green,O’er old grey bridges and the small,Slow flood which slides between.
A dazzling radiance reigns o’er all—
O’er gardens densely green,
O’er old grey bridges and the small,
Slow flood which slides between.
This is the place; it is not strange,But known of old and dear.What went I forth to seek? The changeIs mine; why am I here?
This is the place; it is not strange,
But known of old and dear.
What went I forth to seek? The change
Is mine; why am I here?
Alas, in vain I turned away,I fled the town in vain;The strenuous life of yesterdayCalleth me back again.
Alas, in vain I turned away,
I fled the town in vain;
The strenuous life of yesterday
Calleth me back again.
And was it peace I came to seek?Yet here, where memories throng,Ev’n here, I know the past is weak,I know the present strong.
And was it peace I came to seek?
Yet here, where memories throng,
Ev’n here, I know the past is weak,
I know the present strong.
This drowsy fragrance, silent heat,Suit not my present mind,Whose eager thought goes out to meetThe life it left behind.
This drowsy fragrance, silent heat,
Suit not my present mind,
Whose eager thought goes out to meet
The life it left behind.
Spirit with sky to change; such hope,An idle one we know;Unship the oars, make loose the rope,Push off the boat and go....
Spirit with sky to change; such hope,
An idle one we know;
Unship the oars, make loose the rope,
Push off the boat and go....
Ah, would what binds me could have beenThus loosened at a touch!This pain of living is too keen,Of loving, is too much.
Ah, would what binds me could have been
Thus loosened at a touch!
This pain of living is too keen,
Of loving, is too much.
IShe, who so long has lainStone-stiff with folded wings,Within my heart againThe brown bird wakes and sings.Brown nightingale, whose strainIs heard by day, by night,She sings of joy and pain,Of sorrow and delight.II’Tis true,—in other daysHave I unbarred the door;He knows the walks and waysLove has been here before.Love blest and love accurstWas here in days long past;This time is not the first,But this time is the last.
IShe, who so long has lainStone-stiff with folded wings,Within my heart againThe brown bird wakes and sings.Brown nightingale, whose strainIs heard by day, by night,She sings of joy and pain,Of sorrow and delight.II’Tis true,—in other daysHave I unbarred the door;He knows the walks and waysLove has been here before.Love blest and love accurstWas here in days long past;This time is not the first,But this time is the last.
I
I
She, who so long has lainStone-stiff with folded wings,Within my heart againThe brown bird wakes and sings.
She, who so long has lain
Stone-stiff with folded wings,
Within my heart again
The brown bird wakes and sings.
Brown nightingale, whose strainIs heard by day, by night,She sings of joy and pain,Of sorrow and delight.
Brown nightingale, whose strain
Is heard by day, by night,
She sings of joy and pain,
Of sorrow and delight.
II
II
’Tis true,—in other daysHave I unbarred the door;He knows the walks and waysLove has been here before.
’Tis true,—in other days
Have I unbarred the door;
He knows the walks and ways
Love has been here before.
Love blest and love accurstWas here in days long past;This time is not the first,But this time is the last.
Love blest and love accurst
Was here in days long past;
This time is not the first,
But this time is the last.
They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,With weary hearts, a little while ago;When, thin and grey, the melancholy snowClung to the leafless branches overhead;Or when the smoke-veil’d sky grew stormy-redIn Autumn; with a re-arisen woeWrestled, what time the passionate spring-winds blow;And paced scorch’d stones in summer. They are dead.The sorrow of their souls to them did seemAs real as mine to me, as permanent.To-day—it is the shadow of a dream,The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.So shall another soothe his woe supreme—No more he comes, who this way came and went.
They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,With weary hearts, a little while ago;When, thin and grey, the melancholy snowClung to the leafless branches overhead;Or when the smoke-veil’d sky grew stormy-redIn Autumn; with a re-arisen woeWrestled, what time the passionate spring-winds blow;And paced scorch’d stones in summer. They are dead.The sorrow of their souls to them did seemAs real as mine to me, as permanent.To-day—it is the shadow of a dream,The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.So shall another soothe his woe supreme—No more he comes, who this way came and went.
They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,With weary hearts, a little while ago;When, thin and grey, the melancholy snowClung to the leafless branches overhead;Or when the smoke-veil’d sky grew stormy-redIn Autumn; with a re-arisen woeWrestled, what time the passionate spring-winds blow;And paced scorch’d stones in summer. They are dead.
They trod the streets and squares where now I tread,
With weary hearts, a little while ago;
When, thin and grey, the melancholy snow
Clung to the leafless branches overhead;
Or when the smoke-veil’d sky grew stormy-red
In Autumn; with a re-arisen woe
Wrestled, what time the passionate spring-winds blow;
And paced scorch’d stones in summer. They are dead.
The sorrow of their souls to them did seemAs real as mine to me, as permanent.To-day—it is the shadow of a dream,The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.So shall another soothe his woe supreme—No more he comes, who this way came and went.
The sorrow of their souls to them did seem
As real as mine to me, as permanent.
To-day—it is the shadow of a dream,
The half-forgotten breath of breezes spent.
So shall another soothe his woe supreme—
No more he comes, who this way came and went.