P. BLOOMFIELD(BALLIOL)
P. BLOOMFIELD(BALLIOL)
P. BLOOMFIELD(BALLIOL)
Theday grows fainter, moonlit evening fillsWith calm and cool the lilac-scented land,And I feel—were I on the western hills,At last, at last, now might I understandThese mysteries of Life; how things began,And why I love my darling as I do,And how came longing to the soul of Man,And whether Death must sever me from you.Ah, hush! A spirit moves abroad, whose veilThe poets would give all the world to raise,But, failing, tell some wistful fairy-tale,And laugh, and weep, and go their several ways.The birds are sleeping: nay, I do not knowWhat's in the twilight, makes my heart beat so!
Theday grows fainter, moonlit evening fillsWith calm and cool the lilac-scented land,And I feel—were I on the western hills,At last, at last, now might I understandThese mysteries of Life; how things began,And why I love my darling as I do,And how came longing to the soul of Man,And whether Death must sever me from you.Ah, hush! A spirit moves abroad, whose veilThe poets would give all the world to raise,But, failing, tell some wistful fairy-tale,And laugh, and weep, and go their several ways.The birds are sleeping: nay, I do not knowWhat's in the twilight, makes my heart beat so!
Theday grows fainter, moonlit evening fillsWith calm and cool the lilac-scented land,And I feel—were I on the western hills,At last, at last, now might I understandThese mysteries of Life; how things began,And why I love my darling as I do,And how came longing to the soul of Man,And whether Death must sever me from you.Ah, hush! A spirit moves abroad, whose veilThe poets would give all the world to raise,But, failing, tell some wistful fairy-tale,And laugh, and weep, and go their several ways.The birds are sleeping: nay, I do not knowWhat's in the twilight, makes my heart beat so!
Theday grows fainter, moonlit evening fills
With calm and cool the lilac-scented land,
And I feel—were I on the western hills,
At last, at last, now might I understand
These mysteries of Life; how things began,
And why I love my darling as I do,
And how came longing to the soul of Man,
And whether Death must sever me from you.
Ah, hush! A spirit moves abroad, whose veil
The poets would give all the world to raise,
But, failing, tell some wistful fairy-tale,
And laugh, and weep, and go their several ways.
The birds are sleeping: nay, I do not know
What's in the twilight, makes my heart beat so!