W. R. CHILDE(MAGDALEN)
W. R. CHILDE(MAGDALEN)
W. R. CHILDE(MAGDALEN)
Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli,As they stand at their booth-doors when brazen eveCovers the city of ChrysopolisLike the vast cup of an inverted flower,And into the pale blue cope of marble twilightSteal up men's souls like incense strange and pure."This is the singing of the sons of Hâli,To you, O seraphs, where you lean your breastsUpon the perfumed clouds of sunsetting,And your huge wings, enormous, like a swan's,Alone cover with silver plumes of fireYour long sides, strange as pictures in Toledo—"O seraphs, with your melting eyes like girls',And rosy breasts embosomed in the eve,Vouchsafe to us a little rain of coins,Of golden sequins tumbling through our sleep;Give us of heavenly gold, we have none earthly,And stab our souls with seeds of sworded fire."—Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli.
Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli,As they stand at their booth-doors when brazen eveCovers the city of ChrysopolisLike the vast cup of an inverted flower,And into the pale blue cope of marble twilightSteal up men's souls like incense strange and pure."This is the singing of the sons of Hâli,To you, O seraphs, where you lean your breastsUpon the perfumed clouds of sunsetting,And your huge wings, enormous, like a swan's,Alone cover with silver plumes of fireYour long sides, strange as pictures in Toledo—"O seraphs, with your melting eyes like girls',And rosy breasts embosomed in the eve,Vouchsafe to us a little rain of coins,Of golden sequins tumbling through our sleep;Give us of heavenly gold, we have none earthly,And stab our souls with seeds of sworded fire."—Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli.
Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli,As they stand at their booth-doors when brazen eveCovers the city of ChrysopolisLike the vast cup of an inverted flower,And into the pale blue cope of marble twilightSteal up men's souls like incense strange and pure.
Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli,
As they stand at their booth-doors when brazen eve
Covers the city of Chrysopolis
Like the vast cup of an inverted flower,
And into the pale blue cope of marble twilight
Steal up men's souls like incense strange and pure.
"This is the singing of the sons of Hâli,To you, O seraphs, where you lean your breastsUpon the perfumed clouds of sunsetting,And your huge wings, enormous, like a swan's,Alone cover with silver plumes of fireYour long sides, strange as pictures in Toledo—
"This is the singing of the sons of Hâli,
To you, O seraphs, where you lean your breasts
Upon the perfumed clouds of sunsetting,
And your huge wings, enormous, like a swan's,
Alone cover with silver plumes of fire
Your long sides, strange as pictures in Toledo—
"O seraphs, with your melting eyes like girls',And rosy breasts embosomed in the eve,Vouchsafe to us a little rain of coins,Of golden sequins tumbling through our sleep;Give us of heavenly gold, we have none earthly,And stab our souls with seeds of sworded fire."—Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli.
"O seraphs, with your melting eyes like girls',
And rosy breasts embosomed in the eve,
Vouchsafe to us a little rain of coins,
Of golden sequins tumbling through our sleep;
Give us of heavenly gold, we have none earthly,
And stab our souls with seeds of sworded fire."—
Thisis the singing of the sons of Hâli.