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The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics
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Fill the lichen pottles up!
Honey pressed from hearts of roses;
Cheek by jowl, up with each cup
Till we hide our noses.
Good, sirs! – marry! – 'tis the cock!
Hey, away! the moon's lost fire!
Ho! the cock our dial and clock —
Hide we 'neath this brier.
THE FARMSTEAD
Yes, a lovely homestead; there
In the Spring your lilacs blew
Plenteous perfume everywhere;
There your gladiolas grew,
Parallels of scarlet glare.
And the moon-hued primrose cool,
Satin-soft and redolent;
Honey-suckles beautiful,
Balming all the air with scent;
Roses red or white as wool.
Roses glorious and lush,
Rich in tender-tinted dyes,
Like a gay, tempestuous rush
Of unnumbered butterflies
Lighting on each bending bush.
Here the fire-bush and the box,
And the wayward violets;
Clumps of star-enameled phlox,
And the myriad flowery jets
Of the twilight four-o'clocks.
Ah, the beauty of the place
When the June made one great rose
Full of musk and mellow grace,
In the garden's humming close,
Of her comely mother face!
Bubble-like the hollyhocks
Budded, burst and flaunted wide
Gypsy beauty from their stocks.
Morning-glories, bubble-dyed,
Swung in honey-hearted flocks.
Tawny tiger-lilies flung
Doublets slashed with crimson on;
Graceful slave-girls fair and young,
Like Circassians, in the sun
Alabaster lilies swung.
Ah, the droning of the bee
In his dusty pantaloons
Tumbling in the fleurs-de-lis;
In the drowsy afternoons
Dreaming in the pink sweet-pea.
Ah, the moaning wild-wood dove
With its throat of amethyst
Ruffled like a shining cove,
Which a wind to pearl hath kissed,
Moaning, moaning of its love.
And the insects' gossip thin,
From the summer hotness hid,
In the leafy shadows green,
Then at eve the katydid
With its hard, unvaried din.
Often from the whispering hills
Lorn within the golden dusk, —
Gold with gold of daffodils, —
Thrilled into the garden's musk
The wild wail of whippoorwills.
From the purple tangled trees,
Like the white, full heart of night,
Solemn with majestic peace,
Swam the big moon veined with light,
Like some gorgeous golden fleece.
You were there with me, and you,
In the magic of the hour,
Almost swore that you could view
Beading on each blade and flower
Moony blisters of the dew.
And each Fairy of our home —
Fire-fly – its torch then lit
In the honey-scented gloam,
Dashing down the dusk with it,
Like an instant flaming foam.
And we heard the calling, calling,
Of the wild owl in the brake
Where the trumpet-vine hung crawling;
Down the ledge into the lake
Honey pressed from hearts of roses;
Cheek by jowl, up with each cup
Till we hide our noses.
Good, sirs! – marry! – 'tis the cock!
Hey, away! the moon's lost fire!
Ho! the cock our dial and clock —
Hide we 'neath this brier.
THE FARMSTEAD
Yes, a lovely homestead; there
In the Spring your lilacs blew
Plenteous perfume everywhere;
There your gladiolas grew,
Parallels of scarlet glare.
And the moon-hued primrose cool,
Satin-soft and redolent;
Honey-suckles beautiful,
Balming all the air with scent;
Roses red or white as wool.
Roses glorious and lush,
Rich in tender-tinted dyes,
Like a gay, tempestuous rush
Of unnumbered butterflies
Lighting on each bending bush.
Here the fire-bush and the box,
And the wayward violets;
Clumps of star-enameled phlox,
And the myriad flowery jets
Of the twilight four-o'clocks.
Ah, the beauty of the place
When the June made one great rose
Full of musk and mellow grace,
In the garden's humming close,
Of her comely mother face!
Bubble-like the hollyhocks
Budded, burst and flaunted wide
Gypsy beauty from their stocks.
Morning-glories, bubble-dyed,
Swung in honey-hearted flocks.
Tawny tiger-lilies flung
Doublets slashed with crimson on;
Graceful slave-girls fair and young,
Like Circassians, in the sun
Alabaster lilies swung.
Ah, the droning of the bee
In his dusty pantaloons
Tumbling in the fleurs-de-lis;
In the drowsy afternoons
Dreaming in the pink sweet-pea.
Ah, the moaning wild-wood dove
With its throat of amethyst
Ruffled like a shining cove,
Which a wind to pearl hath kissed,
Moaning, moaning of its love.
And the insects' gossip thin,
From the summer hotness hid,
In the leafy shadows green,
Then at eve the katydid
With its hard, unvaried din.
Often from the whispering hills
Lorn within the golden dusk, —
Gold with gold of daffodils, —
Thrilled into the garden's musk
The wild wail of whippoorwills.
From the purple tangled trees,
Like the white, full heart of night,
Solemn with majestic peace,
Swam the big moon veined with light,
Like some gorgeous golden fleece.
You were there with me, and you,
In the magic of the hour,
Almost swore that you could view
Beading on each blade and flower
Moony blisters of the dew.
And each Fairy of our home —
Fire-fly – its torch then lit
In the honey-scented gloam,
Dashing down the dusk with it,
Like an instant flaming foam.
And we heard the calling, calling,
Of the wild owl in the brake
Where the trumpet-vine hung crawling;
Down the ledge into the lake
Другие электронные книги автора Madison Cawein
Последний отзыв
Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?