384
EGYPT'S MIGHT IS TUMBLED DOWNEgypt's might is tumbled downDown a-down the deeps of thought;Greece is fallen and Troy town,Glorious Rome hath lost her crown,Venice' pride is nought.But the dreams their children dreamedFleeting, unsubstantial, vain,Shadowy as the shadows seemed,Airy nothing, as they deemed,These remain.Mary Coleridge
Egypt's might is tumbled downDown a-down the deeps of thought;Greece is fallen and Troy town,Glorious Rome hath lost her crown,Venice' pride is nought.But the dreams their children dreamedFleeting, unsubstantial, vain,Shadowy as the shadows seemed,Airy nothing, as they deemed,These remain.Mary Coleridge
Egypt's might is tumbled downDown a-down the deeps of thought;Greece is fallen and Troy town,Glorious Rome hath lost her crown,Venice' pride is nought.
Egypt's might is tumbled down
Down a-down the deeps of thought;
Greece is fallen and Troy town,
Glorious Rome hath lost her crown,
Venice' pride is nought.
But the dreams their children dreamedFleeting, unsubstantial, vain,Shadowy as the shadows seemed,Airy nothing, as they deemed,These remain.Mary Coleridge
But the dreams their children dreamed
Fleeting, unsubstantial, vain,
Shadowy as the shadows seemed,
Airy nothing, as they deemed,
These remain.
Mary Coleridge
385
DREAM LOVEYoung Love lies sleepingIn May-time of the year.Among the lilies,Lapped in the tender light:White lambs come grazing,White doves come building there;And round about himThe May-bushes are white.Soft moss the pillowFor oh, a softer cheek;Broad leaves cast shadowUpon the heavy eyes:There winds and watersGrow lulled and scarcely speak;There twilight lingersThe longest in the skies.Young Love lies dreaming;But who shall tell the dream?A perfect sunlightOn rustling forest tips;Or perfect moonlightUpon a rippling stream;Or perfect silence,Or song of cherished lips.Burn odours round himTo fill the drowsy air;Weave silent dancesAround him to and fro;For oh, in wakingThe sights are not so fair,And song and silenceAre not like these below.Young Love lies dreamingTill summer days are gone,—Dreaming and drowsingAway to perfect sleep:He sees the beautySun hath not looked upon,And tastes the fountainUnutterably deep.Him perfect musicDoth hush unto his rest,And through the pausesThe perfect silence calms.Oh, poor the voicesOf earth from east to west,And poor earth's stillnessBetween her stately palms.Young Love lies drowsingAway to poppied death;Cool shadows deepenAcross the sleeping face:So fails the summerWith warm, delicious breath;And what hath autumnTo give us in its place?Draw close the curtainsOf branched evergreen;Change cannot touch themWith fading fingers sere:Here the first violetsPerhaps will bud unseen,And a dove, may be,Return to nestle here.Christina Rossetti
Young Love lies sleepingIn May-time of the year.Among the lilies,Lapped in the tender light:White lambs come grazing,White doves come building there;And round about himThe May-bushes are white.Soft moss the pillowFor oh, a softer cheek;Broad leaves cast shadowUpon the heavy eyes:There winds and watersGrow lulled and scarcely speak;There twilight lingersThe longest in the skies.Young Love lies dreaming;But who shall tell the dream?A perfect sunlightOn rustling forest tips;Or perfect moonlightUpon a rippling stream;Or perfect silence,Or song of cherished lips.Burn odours round himTo fill the drowsy air;Weave silent dancesAround him to and fro;For oh, in wakingThe sights are not so fair,And song and silenceAre not like these below.Young Love lies dreamingTill summer days are gone,—Dreaming and drowsingAway to perfect sleep:He sees the beautySun hath not looked upon,And tastes the fountainUnutterably deep.Him perfect musicDoth hush unto his rest,And through the pausesThe perfect silence calms.Oh, poor the voicesOf earth from east to west,And poor earth's stillnessBetween her stately palms.Young Love lies drowsingAway to poppied death;Cool shadows deepenAcross the sleeping face:So fails the summerWith warm, delicious breath;And what hath autumnTo give us in its place?Draw close the curtainsOf branched evergreen;Change cannot touch themWith fading fingers sere:Here the first violetsPerhaps will bud unseen,And a dove, may be,Return to nestle here.Christina Rossetti
Young Love lies sleepingIn May-time of the year.Among the lilies,Lapped in the tender light:White lambs come grazing,White doves come building there;And round about himThe May-bushes are white.
Young Love lies sleeping
In May-time of the year.
Among the lilies,
Lapped in the tender light:
White lambs come grazing,
White doves come building there;
And round about him
The May-bushes are white.
Soft moss the pillowFor oh, a softer cheek;Broad leaves cast shadowUpon the heavy eyes:There winds and watersGrow lulled and scarcely speak;There twilight lingersThe longest in the skies.
Soft moss the pillow
For oh, a softer cheek;
Broad leaves cast shadow
Upon the heavy eyes:
There winds and waters
Grow lulled and scarcely speak;
There twilight lingers
The longest in the skies.
Young Love lies dreaming;But who shall tell the dream?A perfect sunlightOn rustling forest tips;Or perfect moonlightUpon a rippling stream;Or perfect silence,Or song of cherished lips.
Young Love lies dreaming;
But who shall tell the dream?
A perfect sunlight
On rustling forest tips;
Or perfect moonlight
Upon a rippling stream;
Or perfect silence,
Or song of cherished lips.
Burn odours round himTo fill the drowsy air;Weave silent dancesAround him to and fro;For oh, in wakingThe sights are not so fair,And song and silenceAre not like these below.
Burn odours round him
To fill the drowsy air;
Weave silent dances
Around him to and fro;
For oh, in waking
The sights are not so fair,
And song and silence
Are not like these below.
Young Love lies dreamingTill summer days are gone,—Dreaming and drowsingAway to perfect sleep:He sees the beautySun hath not looked upon,And tastes the fountainUnutterably deep.
Young Love lies dreaming
Till summer days are gone,—
Dreaming and drowsing
Away to perfect sleep:
He sees the beauty
Sun hath not looked upon,
And tastes the fountain
Unutterably deep.
Him perfect musicDoth hush unto his rest,And through the pausesThe perfect silence calms.Oh, poor the voicesOf earth from east to west,And poor earth's stillnessBetween her stately palms.
Him perfect music
Doth hush unto his rest,
And through the pauses
The perfect silence calms.
Oh, poor the voices
Of earth from east to west,
And poor earth's stillness
Between her stately palms.
Young Love lies drowsingAway to poppied death;Cool shadows deepenAcross the sleeping face:So fails the summerWith warm, delicious breath;And what hath autumnTo give us in its place?
Young Love lies drowsing
Away to poppied death;
Cool shadows deepen
Across the sleeping face:
So fails the summer
With warm, delicious breath;
And what hath autumn
To give us in its place?
Draw close the curtainsOf branched evergreen;Change cannot touch themWith fading fingers sere:Here the first violetsPerhaps will bud unseen,And a dove, may be,Return to nestle here.Christina Rossetti
Draw close the curtains
Of branched evergreen;
Change cannot touch them
With fading fingers sere:
Here the first violets
Perhaps will bud unseen,
And a dove, may be,
Return to nestle here.
Christina Rossetti
386
AT COMMON DAWNAt common dawn there is a voice of birdSo sweet, 'tis kin to pain;For love of earthly life it needs be heard,And lets not sleep again.This bird I did one time at midnight hearIn wet November woodSay to himself his lyric faint and clearAs one at daybreak should.He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound,Nor moody answer made;But all the world at beauty's worship found,Was waking in the glade.Vivian Locke Ellis
At common dawn there is a voice of birdSo sweet, 'tis kin to pain;For love of earthly life it needs be heard,And lets not sleep again.This bird I did one time at midnight hearIn wet November woodSay to himself his lyric faint and clearAs one at daybreak should.He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound,Nor moody answer made;But all the world at beauty's worship found,Was waking in the glade.Vivian Locke Ellis
At common dawn there is a voice of birdSo sweet, 'tis kin to pain;For love of earthly life it needs be heard,And lets not sleep again.
At common dawn there is a voice of bird
So sweet, 'tis kin to pain;
For love of earthly life it needs be heard,
And lets not sleep again.
This bird I did one time at midnight hearIn wet November woodSay to himself his lyric faint and clearAs one at daybreak should.
This bird I did one time at midnight hear
In wet November wood
Say to himself his lyric faint and clear
As one at daybreak should.
He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound,Nor moody answer made;But all the world at beauty's worship found,Was waking in the glade.Vivian Locke Ellis
He ceased; the covert breathed no other sound,
Nor moody answer made;
But all the world at beauty's worship found,
Was waking in the glade.
Vivian Locke Ellis