13

13A song of my heart, as the sun peered o’er the sea,Was born at morning to me:And out of my treasure-house it choseA melody, that aroseOf all fair sounds that I love, remembered togetherIn one; and I knew not whetherFrom waves of rustling wheat it was,Recoveringly that pass:Or a hum of bees in the queenly robes of the lime:Or a descant in pairing timeOf warbling birds: or watery bellsOf rivulets in the hills:Or whether on blazing downs a high lark’s hymnAlone in the azure dim:Or a sough of pines, when the midnight woldIs solitary and cold:Or a lapping river-ripple all day chidingThe bow of my wherry glidingDown Thames, between his flowery shoresRe-echoing to the oars:Or anthem notes, wherever in archèd quiresThe unheeded music twires,And, centuries by, to the stony shadeFlies following and to fade:Or a homely prattle of children’s voices gay’Mong garden joys at play:Or a sundown chaunting of solemn rooks:Or memory of my books,Which hold the words that poets in many a tongueTo the irksome world have sung:Or the voice, my happy lover, of theeNow separated from me.A ruby of fire in the burning sleep of my brainLong hid my thought had lain,Forgotten dreams of a thousand daysIngathering to its rays,The light of life in darkness tempering long;Till now a perfect song,A jewel of jewels it leapt aboveTo the coronal of my love.

A song of my heart, as the sun peered o’er the sea,Was born at morning to me:And out of my treasure-house it choseA melody, that aroseOf all fair sounds that I love, remembered togetherIn one; and I knew not whetherFrom waves of rustling wheat it was,Recoveringly that pass:Or a hum of bees in the queenly robes of the lime:Or a descant in pairing timeOf warbling birds: or watery bellsOf rivulets in the hills:Or whether on blazing downs a high lark’s hymnAlone in the azure dim:Or a sough of pines, when the midnight woldIs solitary and cold:Or a lapping river-ripple all day chidingThe bow of my wherry glidingDown Thames, between his flowery shoresRe-echoing to the oars:Or anthem notes, wherever in archèd quiresThe unheeded music twires,And, centuries by, to the stony shadeFlies following and to fade:Or a homely prattle of children’s voices gay’Mong garden joys at play:Or a sundown chaunting of solemn rooks:Or memory of my books,Which hold the words that poets in many a tongueTo the irksome world have sung:Or the voice, my happy lover, of theeNow separated from me.A ruby of fire in the burning sleep of my brainLong hid my thought had lain,Forgotten dreams of a thousand daysIngathering to its rays,The light of life in darkness tempering long;Till now a perfect song,A jewel of jewels it leapt aboveTo the coronal of my love.

A song of my heart, as the sun peered o’er the sea,Was born at morning to me:And out of my treasure-house it choseA melody, that arose

A song of my heart, as the sun peered o’er the sea,

Was born at morning to me:

And out of my treasure-house it chose

A melody, that arose

Of all fair sounds that I love, remembered togetherIn one; and I knew not whetherFrom waves of rustling wheat it was,Recoveringly that pass:

Of all fair sounds that I love, remembered together

In one; and I knew not whether

From waves of rustling wheat it was,

Recoveringly that pass:

Or a hum of bees in the queenly robes of the lime:Or a descant in pairing timeOf warbling birds: or watery bellsOf rivulets in the hills:

Or a hum of bees in the queenly robes of the lime:

Or a descant in pairing time

Of warbling birds: or watery bells

Of rivulets in the hills:

Or whether on blazing downs a high lark’s hymnAlone in the azure dim:Or a sough of pines, when the midnight woldIs solitary and cold:

Or whether on blazing downs a high lark’s hymn

Alone in the azure dim:

Or a sough of pines, when the midnight wold

Is solitary and cold:

Or a lapping river-ripple all day chidingThe bow of my wherry glidingDown Thames, between his flowery shoresRe-echoing to the oars:

Or a lapping river-ripple all day chiding

The bow of my wherry gliding

Down Thames, between his flowery shores

Re-echoing to the oars:

Or anthem notes, wherever in archèd quiresThe unheeded music twires,And, centuries by, to the stony shadeFlies following and to fade:

Or anthem notes, wherever in archèd quires

The unheeded music twires,

And, centuries by, to the stony shade

Flies following and to fade:

Or a homely prattle of children’s voices gay’Mong garden joys at play:Or a sundown chaunting of solemn rooks:Or memory of my books,

Or a homely prattle of children’s voices gay

’Mong garden joys at play:

Or a sundown chaunting of solemn rooks:

Or memory of my books,

Which hold the words that poets in many a tongueTo the irksome world have sung:Or the voice, my happy lover, of theeNow separated from me.

Which hold the words that poets in many a tongue

To the irksome world have sung:

Or the voice, my happy lover, of thee

Now separated from me.

A ruby of fire in the burning sleep of my brainLong hid my thought had lain,Forgotten dreams of a thousand daysIngathering to its rays,

A ruby of fire in the burning sleep of my brain

Long hid my thought had lain,

Forgotten dreams of a thousand days

Ingathering to its rays,

The light of life in darkness tempering long;Till now a perfect song,A jewel of jewels it leapt aboveTo the coronal of my love.

The light of life in darkness tempering long;

Till now a perfect song,

A jewel of jewels it leapt above

To the coronal of my love.

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