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Late Lyrics and Earlier, With Many Other Verses
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To fetch the saving medicament
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.
One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.
This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.
One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.
No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves one,
On whom the rain comes down.
And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him at all,
On whom the rain comes down.
October 1904.
MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY
(A NEW THEME TO AN OLD FOLK-JINGLE)
’Tis May morning,
All-adorning,
No cloud warning
Of rain to-day.
Where shall I go to,
Go to, go to? —
Can I say No to
Lyonnesse-way?
Well – what reason
Now at this season
Is there for treason
To other shrines?
Tristram is not there,
Isolt forgot there,
New eras blot there
Sought-for signs!
Stratford-on-Avon —
Poesy-paven —
I’ll find a haven
There, somehow! —
Nay – I’m but caught of
Dreams long thought of,
The Swan knows nought of
His Avon now!
What shall it be, then,
I go to see, then,
Under the plea, then,
Of votary?
I’ll go to Lakeland,
Lakeland, Lakeland,
Certainly Lakeland
Let it be.
But – why to that place,
That place, that place,
Such a hard come-at place
Need I fare?
When its bard cheers no more,
Loves no more, fears no more,
Sees no more, hears no more
Anything there!
Ah, there is Scotland,
Burns’s Scotland,
And Waverley’s. To what land
Better can I hie? —
Yet – if no whit now
Feel those of it now —
Care not a bit now
For it – why I?
I’ll seek a town street,
Aye, a brick-brown street,
Quite a tumbledown street,
Drawing no eyes.
For a Mary dwelt there,
And a Percy felt there
Heart of him melt there,
A Claire likewise.
Why incline to that city,
Such a city, that city,
Now a mud-bespat city! —
Care the lovers who
Now live and walk there,
Sit there and talk there,
Buy there, or hawk there,
Is another bent,
On whom the rain comes down.
One slowly drives his herd to the stall
Ere ill befall,
On whom the rain comes down.
This bears his missives of life and death
With quickening breath,
On whom the rain comes down.
One watches for signals of wreck or war
From the hill afar,
On whom the rain comes down.
No care if he gain a shelter or none,
Unhired moves one,
On whom the rain comes down.
And another knows nought of its chilling fall
Upon him at all,
On whom the rain comes down.
October 1904.
MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY
(A NEW THEME TO AN OLD FOLK-JINGLE)
’Tis May morning,
All-adorning,
No cloud warning
Of rain to-day.
Where shall I go to,
Go to, go to? —
Can I say No to
Lyonnesse-way?
Well – what reason
Now at this season
Is there for treason
To other shrines?
Tristram is not there,
Isolt forgot there,
New eras blot there
Sought-for signs!
Stratford-on-Avon —
Poesy-paven —
I’ll find a haven
There, somehow! —
Nay – I’m but caught of
Dreams long thought of,
The Swan knows nought of
His Avon now!
What shall it be, then,
I go to see, then,
Under the plea, then,
Of votary?
I’ll go to Lakeland,
Lakeland, Lakeland,
Certainly Lakeland
Let it be.
But – why to that place,
That place, that place,
Such a hard come-at place
Need I fare?
When its bard cheers no more,
Loves no more, fears no more,
Sees no more, hears no more
Anything there!
Ah, there is Scotland,
Burns’s Scotland,
And Waverley’s. To what land
Better can I hie? —
Yet – if no whit now
Feel those of it now —
Care not a bit now
For it – why I?
I’ll seek a town street,
Aye, a brick-brown street,
Quite a tumbledown street,
Drawing no eyes.
For a Mary dwelt there,
And a Percy felt there
Heart of him melt there,
A Claire likewise.
Why incline to that city,
Such a city, that city,
Now a mud-bespat city! —
Care the lovers who
Now live and walk there,
Sit there and talk there,
Buy there, or hawk there,
Другие электронные книги автора Томас Харди
Другие аудиокниги автора Томас Харди
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