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Rhymes a la Mode
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Envoy
Princess, like a rose is her cheek,
And her eyes are as blue as the sky,
And I’d speak, had I courage to speak,
But – her forte’s to evaluate pi.
RONSARD’S GRAVE
Ye wells, ye founts that fall
From the steep mountain wall,
That fall, and flash, and fleet
With silver feet,
Ye woods, ye streams that lave
The meadows with your wave,
Ye hills, and valley fair,
Attend my prayer!
When Heaven and Fate decree
My latest hour for me,
When I must pass away
From pleasant day,
I ask that none my break
The marble for my sake,
Wishful to make more fair
My sepulchre.
Only a laurel tree
Shall shade the grave of me,
Only Apollo’s bough
Shall guard me now!
Now shall I be at rest
Among the spirits blest,
The happy dead that dwell —
Where, – who may tell?
The snow and wind and hail
May never there prevail,
Nor ever thunder fall
Nor storm at all.
But always fadeless there
The woods are green and fair,
And faithful ever more
Spring to that shore!
There shall I ever hear
Alcaeus’ music clear,
And sweetest of all things
There Sappho sings.
SAN TERENZO
(The village in the bay of Spezia, near which Shelley was living before the wreck of the Don Juan.)
Mid April seemed like some November day,
When through the glassy waters, dull as lead,
Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead,
Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay,
Rounded a point, – and San Terenzo lay
Before us, that gay village, yellow and red,
The roof that covered Shelley’s homeless head, —
His house, a place deserted, bleak and grey.
The waves broke on the door-step; fishermen
Cast their long nets, and drew, and cast again.
Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free,
When suddenly the forest glades were stirred
With waving pinions, and a great sea bird
Flew forth, like Shelley’s spirit, to the sea!
1880.
ROMANCE
My Love dwelt in a Northern land.
A grey tower in a forest green
Was hers, and far on either hand
The long wash of the waves was seen,
And leagues on leagues of yellow sand,
The woven forest boughs between!
And through the silver Northern night
The sunset slowly died away,
And herds of strange deer, lily-white,
Stole forth among the branches grey;
About the coming of the light,
They fled like ghosts before the day!
I know not if the forest green
Still girdles round that castle grey;
I know not if the boughs between
The white deer vanish ere the day;
Above my Love the grass is green,
My heart is colder than the clay!
BALLADE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY
Princess, like a rose is her cheek,
And her eyes are as blue as the sky,
And I’d speak, had I courage to speak,
But – her forte’s to evaluate pi.
RONSARD’S GRAVE
Ye wells, ye founts that fall
From the steep mountain wall,
That fall, and flash, and fleet
With silver feet,
Ye woods, ye streams that lave
The meadows with your wave,
Ye hills, and valley fair,
Attend my prayer!
When Heaven and Fate decree
My latest hour for me,
When I must pass away
From pleasant day,
I ask that none my break
The marble for my sake,
Wishful to make more fair
My sepulchre.
Only a laurel tree
Shall shade the grave of me,
Only Apollo’s bough
Shall guard me now!
Now shall I be at rest
Among the spirits blest,
The happy dead that dwell —
Where, – who may tell?
The snow and wind and hail
May never there prevail,
Nor ever thunder fall
Nor storm at all.
But always fadeless there
The woods are green and fair,
And faithful ever more
Spring to that shore!
There shall I ever hear
Alcaeus’ music clear,
And sweetest of all things
There Sappho sings.
SAN TERENZO
(The village in the bay of Spezia, near which Shelley was living before the wreck of the Don Juan.)
Mid April seemed like some November day,
When through the glassy waters, dull as lead,
Our boat, like shadowy barques that bear the dead,
Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay,
Rounded a point, – and San Terenzo lay
Before us, that gay village, yellow and red,
The roof that covered Shelley’s homeless head, —
His house, a place deserted, bleak and grey.
The waves broke on the door-step; fishermen
Cast their long nets, and drew, and cast again.
Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free,
When suddenly the forest glades were stirred
With waving pinions, and a great sea bird
Flew forth, like Shelley’s spirit, to the sea!
1880.
ROMANCE
My Love dwelt in a Northern land.
A grey tower in a forest green
Was hers, and far on either hand
The long wash of the waves was seen,
And leagues on leagues of yellow sand,
The woven forest boughs between!
And through the silver Northern night
The sunset slowly died away,
And herds of strange deer, lily-white,
Stole forth among the branches grey;
About the coming of the light,
They fled like ghosts before the day!
I know not if the forest green
Still girdles round that castle grey;
I know not if the boughs between
The white deer vanish ere the day;
Above my Love the grass is green,
My heart is colder than the clay!
BALLADE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY
Другие электронные книги автора Andrew Lang
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