7INDOLENCEWe left the city when the summer dayHad verged already on its hot decline,And charmed Indolence in languor layIn her gay gardens, ’neath her towers divine:’Farewell,’ we said, ’dear city of youth and dream!’And in our boat we stepped and took the stream.All through that idle afternoon we strayedUpon our proposed travel well begun,As loitering by the woodland’s dreamy shade,Past shallow islets floating in the sun,Or searching down the banks for rarer flowersWe lingered out the pleasurable hours.Till when that loveliest came, which mowers homeTurns from their longest labour, as we steeredAlong a straitened channel flecked with foam,We lost our landscape wide, and slowly nearedAn ancient bridge, that like a blind wall layLow on its buried vaults to block the way.Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed,Where with its arches three it sucked the massOf water, that in swirl thereunder flowed,Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass;And pulling for the middle span, we drewThe tender blades aboard and floated through.But past the bridge what change we found below!The stream, that all day long had laughed and playedBetwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow,And with its easy flood no murmur made:And weeds spread on its surface, and aboutThe stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.Upon the left high elms, with giant woodSkirting the water-meadows, interwoveTheir slumbrous crowns, o’ershadowing where they stoodThe floor and heavy pillars of the grove:And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank,A footpath led along the moated bank.Across, all down the right, an old brick wall,Above and o’er the channel, red did lean;Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall,Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green;And crumbling to the flood, which at its baseSlid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face.Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backsAll windowless, neglected and awry,With tottering coins, and crooked chimney stacks;And here and there an unused door, set highAbove the fragments of its mouldering stair,With rail and broken step led out on air.Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds,With empty boats and barges moored along,And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds,And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong.No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke,No voice the somnolence and silence broke.Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose dripFell without sparkle, and I rowed no more;And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip,But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore;And our trim boat let her swift motion die,Between the dim reflections floating by.
7INDOLENCEWe left the city when the summer dayHad verged already on its hot decline,And charmed Indolence in languor layIn her gay gardens, ’neath her towers divine:’Farewell,’ we said, ’dear city of youth and dream!’And in our boat we stepped and took the stream.All through that idle afternoon we strayedUpon our proposed travel well begun,As loitering by the woodland’s dreamy shade,Past shallow islets floating in the sun,Or searching down the banks for rarer flowersWe lingered out the pleasurable hours.Till when that loveliest came, which mowers homeTurns from their longest labour, as we steeredAlong a straitened channel flecked with foam,We lost our landscape wide, and slowly nearedAn ancient bridge, that like a blind wall layLow on its buried vaults to block the way.Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed,Where with its arches three it sucked the massOf water, that in swirl thereunder flowed,Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass;And pulling for the middle span, we drewThe tender blades aboard and floated through.But past the bridge what change we found below!The stream, that all day long had laughed and playedBetwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow,And with its easy flood no murmur made:And weeds spread on its surface, and aboutThe stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.Upon the left high elms, with giant woodSkirting the water-meadows, interwoveTheir slumbrous crowns, o’ershadowing where they stoodThe floor and heavy pillars of the grove:And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank,A footpath led along the moated bank.Across, all down the right, an old brick wall,Above and o’er the channel, red did lean;Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall,Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green;And crumbling to the flood, which at its baseSlid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face.Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backsAll windowless, neglected and awry,With tottering coins, and crooked chimney stacks;And here and there an unused door, set highAbove the fragments of its mouldering stair,With rail and broken step led out on air.Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds,With empty boats and barges moored along,And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds,And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong.No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke,No voice the somnolence and silence broke.Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose dripFell without sparkle, and I rowed no more;And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip,But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore;And our trim boat let her swift motion die,Between the dim reflections floating by.
We left the city when the summer dayHad verged already on its hot decline,And charmed Indolence in languor layIn her gay gardens, ’neath her towers divine:’Farewell,’ we said, ’dear city of youth and dream!’And in our boat we stepped and took the stream.All through that idle afternoon we strayedUpon our proposed travel well begun,As loitering by the woodland’s dreamy shade,Past shallow islets floating in the sun,Or searching down the banks for rarer flowersWe lingered out the pleasurable hours.Till when that loveliest came, which mowers homeTurns from their longest labour, as we steeredAlong a straitened channel flecked with foam,We lost our landscape wide, and slowly nearedAn ancient bridge, that like a blind wall layLow on its buried vaults to block the way.Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed,Where with its arches three it sucked the massOf water, that in swirl thereunder flowed,Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass;And pulling for the middle span, we drewThe tender blades aboard and floated through.But past the bridge what change we found below!The stream, that all day long had laughed and playedBetwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow,And with its easy flood no murmur made:And weeds spread on its surface, and aboutThe stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.Upon the left high elms, with giant woodSkirting the water-meadows, interwoveTheir slumbrous crowns, o’ershadowing where they stoodThe floor and heavy pillars of the grove:And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank,A footpath led along the moated bank.Across, all down the right, an old brick wall,Above and o’er the channel, red did lean;Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall,Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green;And crumbling to the flood, which at its baseSlid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face.Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backsAll windowless, neglected and awry,With tottering coins, and crooked chimney stacks;And here and there an unused door, set highAbove the fragments of its mouldering stair,With rail and broken step led out on air.Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds,With empty boats and barges moored along,And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds,And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong.No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke,No voice the somnolence and silence broke.Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose dripFell without sparkle, and I rowed no more;And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip,But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore;And our trim boat let her swift motion die,Between the dim reflections floating by.
We left the city when the summer dayHad verged already on its hot decline,And charmed Indolence in languor layIn her gay gardens, ’neath her towers divine:’Farewell,’ we said, ’dear city of youth and dream!’And in our boat we stepped and took the stream.All through that idle afternoon we strayedUpon our proposed travel well begun,As loitering by the woodland’s dreamy shade,Past shallow islets floating in the sun,Or searching down the banks for rarer flowersWe lingered out the pleasurable hours.Till when that loveliest came, which mowers homeTurns from their longest labour, as we steeredAlong a straitened channel flecked with foam,We lost our landscape wide, and slowly nearedAn ancient bridge, that like a blind wall layLow on its buried vaults to block the way.Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed,Where with its arches three it sucked the massOf water, that in swirl thereunder flowed,Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass;And pulling for the middle span, we drewThe tender blades aboard and floated through.But past the bridge what change we found below!The stream, that all day long had laughed and playedBetwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow,And with its easy flood no murmur made:And weeds spread on its surface, and aboutThe stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.Upon the left high elms, with giant woodSkirting the water-meadows, interwoveTheir slumbrous crowns, o’ershadowing where they stoodThe floor and heavy pillars of the grove:And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank,A footpath led along the moated bank.Across, all down the right, an old brick wall,Above and o’er the channel, red did lean;Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall,Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green;And crumbling to the flood, which at its baseSlid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face.Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backsAll windowless, neglected and awry,With tottering coins, and crooked chimney stacks;And here and there an unused door, set highAbove the fragments of its mouldering stair,With rail and broken step led out on air.Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds,With empty boats and barges moored along,And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds,And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong.No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke,No voice the somnolence and silence broke.Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose dripFell without sparkle, and I rowed no more;And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip,But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore;And our trim boat let her swift motion die,Between the dim reflections floating by.
We left the city when the summer dayHad verged already on its hot decline,And charmed Indolence in languor layIn her gay gardens, ’neath her towers divine:’Farewell,’ we said, ’dear city of youth and dream!’And in our boat we stepped and took the stream.
We left the city when the summer day
Had verged already on its hot decline,
And charmed Indolence in languor lay
In her gay gardens, ’neath her towers divine:
’Farewell,’ we said, ’dear city of youth and dream!’
And in our boat we stepped and took the stream.
All through that idle afternoon we strayedUpon our proposed travel well begun,As loitering by the woodland’s dreamy shade,Past shallow islets floating in the sun,Or searching down the banks for rarer flowersWe lingered out the pleasurable hours.
All through that idle afternoon we strayed
Upon our proposed travel well begun,
As loitering by the woodland’s dreamy shade,
Past shallow islets floating in the sun,
Or searching down the banks for rarer flowers
We lingered out the pleasurable hours.
Till when that loveliest came, which mowers homeTurns from their longest labour, as we steeredAlong a straitened channel flecked with foam,We lost our landscape wide, and slowly nearedAn ancient bridge, that like a blind wall layLow on its buried vaults to block the way.
Till when that loveliest came, which mowers home
Turns from their longest labour, as we steered
Along a straitened channel flecked with foam,
We lost our landscape wide, and slowly neared
An ancient bridge, that like a blind wall lay
Low on its buried vaults to block the way.
Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed,Where with its arches three it sucked the massOf water, that in swirl thereunder flowed,Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass;And pulling for the middle span, we drewThe tender blades aboard and floated through.
Then soon the narrow tunnels broader showed,
Where with its arches three it sucked the mass
Of water, that in swirl thereunder flowed,
Or stood piled at the piers waiting to pass;
And pulling for the middle span, we drew
The tender blades aboard and floated through.
But past the bridge what change we found below!The stream, that all day long had laughed and playedBetwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow,And with its easy flood no murmur made:And weeds spread on its surface, and aboutThe stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.
But past the bridge what change we found below!
The stream, that all day long had laughed and played
Betwixt the happy shires, ran dark and slow,
And with its easy flood no murmur made:
And weeds spread on its surface, and about
The stagnant margin reared their stout heads out.
Upon the left high elms, with giant woodSkirting the water-meadows, interwoveTheir slumbrous crowns, o’ershadowing where they stoodThe floor and heavy pillars of the grove:And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank,A footpath led along the moated bank.
Upon the left high elms, with giant wood
Skirting the water-meadows, interwove
Their slumbrous crowns, o’ershadowing where they stood
The floor and heavy pillars of the grove:
And in the shade, through reeds and sedges dank,
A footpath led along the moated bank.
Across, all down the right, an old brick wall,Above and o’er the channel, red did lean;Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall,Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green;And crumbling to the flood, which at its baseSlid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face.
Across, all down the right, an old brick wall,
Above and o’er the channel, red did lean;
Here buttressed up, and bulging there to fall,
Tufted with grass and plants and lichen green;
And crumbling to the flood, which at its base
Slid gently nor disturbed its mirrored face.
Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backsAll windowless, neglected and awry,With tottering coins, and crooked chimney stacks;And here and there an unused door, set highAbove the fragments of its mouldering stair,With rail and broken step led out on air.
Sheer on the wall the houses rose, their backs
All windowless, neglected and awry,
With tottering coins, and crooked chimney stacks;
And here and there an unused door, set high
Above the fragments of its mouldering stair,
With rail and broken step led out on air.
Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds,With empty boats and barges moored along,And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds,And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong.No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke,No voice the somnolence and silence broke.
Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds,
With empty boats and barges moored along,
And rafts half-sunken, fringed with weedy shreds,
And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong.
No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke,
No voice the somnolence and silence broke.
Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose dripFell without sparkle, and I rowed no more;And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip,But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore;And our trim boat let her swift motion die,Between the dim reflections floating by.
Then I who rowed leant on my oar, whose drip
Fell without sparkle, and I rowed no more;
And he that steered moved neither hand nor lip,
But turned his wondering eye from shore to shore;
And our trim boat let her swift motion die,
Between the dim reflections floating by.