DEATH-TRYST(Shelley, 1822: Tennyson, 1892.)
One sailed an azure sea in fateful hour:A Youth, yet age had touched him, and he seemedLovely and piteous, like a frosted flower.A Book was in his hand, a page that teemedWith joy of beauty. (He who made it, sleptWhere o’er his heart the Roman violets dreamed.)Sailing, he smiled; a tryst his spirit kept;Thoughts lucent-pinioned did as psyches flitAcross his summer dream; till on him sweptThe swift black storm, and Fate and Death did sitBetwixt its cloudy wings as down it bore;And he who read was rapt to him who writ.Twin stars they shine, one fame forevermore.A fire of funeral blazed, beside the sobbing shore.
One sailed an azure sea in fateful hour:A Youth, yet age had touched him, and he seemedLovely and piteous, like a frosted flower.A Book was in his hand, a page that teemedWith joy of beauty. (He who made it, sleptWhere o’er his heart the Roman violets dreamed.)Sailing, he smiled; a tryst his spirit kept;Thoughts lucent-pinioned did as psyches flitAcross his summer dream; till on him sweptThe swift black storm, and Fate and Death did sitBetwixt its cloudy wings as down it bore;And he who read was rapt to him who writ.Twin stars they shine, one fame forevermore.A fire of funeral blazed, beside the sobbing shore.
One sailed an azure sea in fateful hour:A Youth, yet age had touched him, and he seemedLovely and piteous, like a frosted flower.
One sailed an azure sea in fateful hour:
A Youth, yet age had touched him, and he seemed
Lovely and piteous, like a frosted flower.
A Book was in his hand, a page that teemedWith joy of beauty. (He who made it, sleptWhere o’er his heart the Roman violets dreamed.)
A Book was in his hand, a page that teemed
With joy of beauty. (He who made it, slept
Where o’er his heart the Roman violets dreamed.)
Sailing, he smiled; a tryst his spirit kept;Thoughts lucent-pinioned did as psyches flitAcross his summer dream; till on him swept
Sailing, he smiled; a tryst his spirit kept;
Thoughts lucent-pinioned did as psyches flit
Across his summer dream; till on him swept
The swift black storm, and Fate and Death did sitBetwixt its cloudy wings as down it bore;And he who read was rapt to him who writ.Twin stars they shine, one fame forevermore.A fire of funeral blazed, beside the sobbing shore.
The swift black storm, and Fate and Death did sit
Betwixt its cloudy wings as down it bore;
And he who read was rapt to him who writ.
Twin stars they shine, one fame forevermore.
A fire of funeral blazed, beside the sobbing shore.
One slept a sacred sleep, while golden layAutumnal moonlight glorious on his bed,—Sleep ebbing deathward like a sea-drawn bay.A Book was in his hand, whence late he readMajestic words of that great Spirit that stillDoth haunt by Avon April-garlanded.So sleeping, held he fast with fixéd willHis Master’s Book; and all the night was peace,Bright peace on lawn and terrace, dale and hill.Calm consummation, and most sweet surcease!That tryst of sovereign powers Death would not wrong,Shattering the bars with all-too-rough release,But softly dealt.—They rule in splendor long,Large lights, a moon and sun in England’s heaven of song.
One slept a sacred sleep, while golden layAutumnal moonlight glorious on his bed,—Sleep ebbing deathward like a sea-drawn bay.A Book was in his hand, whence late he readMajestic words of that great Spirit that stillDoth haunt by Avon April-garlanded.So sleeping, held he fast with fixéd willHis Master’s Book; and all the night was peace,Bright peace on lawn and terrace, dale and hill.Calm consummation, and most sweet surcease!That tryst of sovereign powers Death would not wrong,Shattering the bars with all-too-rough release,But softly dealt.—They rule in splendor long,Large lights, a moon and sun in England’s heaven of song.
One slept a sacred sleep, while golden layAutumnal moonlight glorious on his bed,—Sleep ebbing deathward like a sea-drawn bay.
One slept a sacred sleep, while golden lay
Autumnal moonlight glorious on his bed,—
Sleep ebbing deathward like a sea-drawn bay.
A Book was in his hand, whence late he readMajestic words of that great Spirit that stillDoth haunt by Avon April-garlanded.
A Book was in his hand, whence late he read
Majestic words of that great Spirit that still
Doth haunt by Avon April-garlanded.
So sleeping, held he fast with fixéd willHis Master’s Book; and all the night was peace,Bright peace on lawn and terrace, dale and hill.
So sleeping, held he fast with fixéd will
His Master’s Book; and all the night was peace,
Bright peace on lawn and terrace, dale and hill.
Calm consummation, and most sweet surcease!That tryst of sovereign powers Death would not wrong,Shattering the bars with all-too-rough release,But softly dealt.—They rule in splendor long,Large lights, a moon and sun in England’s heaven of song.
Calm consummation, and most sweet surcease!
That tryst of sovereign powers Death would not wrong,
Shattering the bars with all-too-rough release,
But softly dealt.—They rule in splendor long,
Large lights, a moon and sun in England’s heaven of song.