ELEGY
Clear and gentle stream,
Known and loved so long,
That hast heard the song
And the idle dream
Of my boyish day;
While I once again
Down thy margin stray,
In the selfsame strain
Still my voice is spent,
With my old lament,
And my idle dream,
Clear and gentle stream!
Where my old seat was
Here again I sit,
Where the long boughs knit
Over stream and graís
Thick translucent eaves:
Where back eddies play
Shipwreck with the leaves,
And the proud swans stray,
Sailing one by one
Out of stream and sun,
And the fish lie cool
In their chosen pool.
Many an afternoon
Of the summer day
Dreaming here I lay;
And I know how soon
Idly at its hour
First the deep bell hums
From the minster tower,
And then evening comes,
Creeping up the glade,
With her lengthening shade,
And the tardy boon
Of her brightening moon.
Clear and gentle stream,
Ere again I go
Where thou dost not flow,
Well does it beseem
Thee to hear again
Once my youthful song,
That familiar strain
Silent now so long:
Be as I content
With my old lament,
And my idle dream,
Clear and gentle stream!
Dear lady, when thou frownest,
And my true love despisest,
And all thy vows disownest
That sealed my venture wisest;
I think thy pride’s displeasure
Neglects a matchless treasure
Exceeding price and measure.
But when again thou smilest,
And love for love returnest,
And fear with joy beguilest,
And takest truth in earnest;
Then, though I most adore thee,
The sum of my love for thee
Seems poor, scant and unworthy.
Poor withered rose and dry,
Skeleton of a rose,
Risen to testify
To love’s sad close:
Treasured for love’s sweet sake,
That of joy past
Thou might’st again awake
Memory at last:
Yet is thy perfume sweet,
Thy petals red
Yet tell of summer heat,
And the gay bed:
Yet yet recall the glow
Of the gazing sun,
When at thy bush we two
Joined hands in one.
But, rose, thou hast not seen,
Thou hast not wept
The change that passed between
Whilst thou hast slept.
To me thou seemest yet
The dead dream’s thrall:
While I live and forget
Dream, truth and all.
Thou art more fresh than I,
Rose, sweet and red:
Salt on my pale cheeks lie
The tears I shed.
I found to-day out walking
The flower my love loves best.
What, when I stooped to pluck it,
Could dare my hand arrest?
Was it a snake lay curling
About the root’s thick crown?
Or did some hidden bramble
Tear my hand reaching down?
There was no snake uncurling,
And no thorn wounded me;
’Twas my heart checked me, sighing
She is beyond the sea.
Will Love again awake,
That lies asleep so long?
O hush! ye tongues that shake
The drowsy night with song.
It is a lady fair
Whom once he deigned to praise,
That at the door doth dare
Her sad complaint to raise.
She must be fair of face,
As bold in heart she seems,
If she would match her grace
With the delight of dreams.
Her beauty would surprise
Gazers on Autumn eves,
Who watched the broad moon rise
Upon the scattered sheaves.
He shall descend to hear,
Who doth in Heaven rejoice
His most enchanted ear.
The smile, that rests to play
Upon her lip, foretells
What musical array
Tricks her sweet syllables.
And yet her smiles have danced
In vain, if her discourse
Win not the soul entranced
In divine intercourse.
She will encounter all
This trial without shame,
Her eyes men Beauty call,
And Wisdom is her name.
Throw back the portals then,
Ye guards, your watch that keep,
Love will awake again
That lay so long asleep.