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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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Lays and Legends (Second Series)
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He only saw her bosom sweet,
Her golden fleece of hair,
And he fell down before her feet
Because she was so fair.
She stooped and raised him from the floor
And held him in her arms;
She said: "He would have waked no more
For any of my charms.
"You only could pronounce the spell
Would set his spirit free;
And you have sold your soul to hell
And wakened him – for me!
"I hold him now by my blue eyes
And by my yellow hair,
He never will miss Paradise,
Because I am so fair."
The wife looked back, looked back to see
The golden-curtained place,
Her lord's head on the witch's knee,
Her gold hair on his face.
"I would my soul once more were mine,
Then God my prayer would hear
And slay my soul in place of thine
Because thou art so dear!"
IN MEMORIAM
Philip Bourke Marston
When you were tired and went away,
I said, amid my new heart-ache:
"When I catch breath from pain some day,
I will teach grief a worthier way,
And make a great song for his sake!"
Yet there is silence. O my friend,
You gave me love such years ago —
A child who could not comprehend
Its worth, yet kept it to the end —
How can I sing when you lie low?
Not always silence. O my dear,
Not when the empty heart and hand
Reach out for you, who are not near.
If you could see, if you could hear,
I think that you would understand.
The grief that can get leave to run
In channels smooth of tender song
Wins solace mine has never won.
I have left all my work undone,
And only dragged my grief along.
Many who loved you many years
(Not more than I shall always do),
Will breathe their songs in your dead ears;
God help them if they weep such tears
As I, who have no song for you.
You would forgive me, if you knew!
Silence is all I have to bring
(Where tears are many, words are few);
I have but tears to bring to you,
For, since you died, I cannot sing!
RONDEAU
To Austin Dobson
Your dainty Muse her form arrays
In soft brocades of bygone days.
She walks old gardens where the dews
Gem sundials and trim-cut yews
And tremble on the tulip's blaze.
The magic scent her charm conveys
Which lives on when the rose decays.
She had her portrait done by Greuze —
Your dainty Muse!
Mine's hardier – walks life's muddy ways
Barefooted; preaches, sometimes prays,
Is modern, is advanced, has views;
Goes in for lectures, reads the news,
And sends her homespun verse to praise
Your dainty Muse!
RONDEAU
To W. E. Henley
Dream and delight had passed away,
Their springs dried by the dusty day,
And sordid fetters bound me tight,
Forged for poor song by money-might;
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Книга довольно хорошо написана в виде рассказов старого человека молодому парню, основанных на событиях его реальной жизни, охватывающей период с нача...
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