And from the centre blazed the angry sun, And plunged from the other side into the night. Did wander up and down these banks for years, In the calm sunshine of the earth's old age. Breezes are blowing in old Chaucer's verse; 'Twas here we drank them. Here for hours we hung O'er the fine pants and trembles of a line. Oft, standing on a hill's green head, we felt Blow through us, as the winds blow through the sky. On summer landscapes, silver-veined with streams, A monster sleeping in its own thick breath; And sweet cots dropt in green, where children played, In distance-haze to a blue rim of hills, Upon whose heads came down the closing sky. PICTURES. THE lark is singing in the blinding sky, Hedges are white with May. The bridegroom sea Is toying with the shore, his wedded bride, And, in the fulness of his marriage joy, He decorates her tawny brow with shells, Retires a space, to see how fair she looks, Then, proud, runs up to kiss her. All is fairAll glad, from grass to sun! -One nymph slumbering lay, A sweet dream 'neath her eyelids, her white limbs When timbrelled troops rushed past with branches green. With her delicious face a moment seen, And limbs faint gleaming through their watery veil. -A grim old king, Whose blood leapt madly when the trumpets brayed But in the sunset he was ebbing fast, Ringed by his weeping lords. His left hand held His old victorious banners flap the winds. "Go! tell the dead I come!" With a proud smile, The warrior with a stab let out his soul, Which fled, and shrieked through all the other world, "Ye dead! My master comes!" And there was pause Till the great Shade should enter. THE last high upward slant of sun on the trees, |