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قراءة كتاب The Path of Dreams Poems
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 3
Viviens
Of clinging vine—to cloistered sylvan glens,
Where Nature weaves her fairest mysteries.
Here let us rest a little—find surcease
For feet grown weary of the thridded street
That echoes ever to the ceaseless beat
Of human tread;—a brief while know the ease
Of dreamful rest, to slumb'rous languors stilled
On Orient rugs of dappled mosses spread
In nooks where blossom, purple, white and red,
The flowers Summer's lavish hands have spilled.
For feet grown weary of the thridded street
That echoes ever to the ceaseless beat
Of human tread;—a brief while know the ease
Of dreamful rest, to slumb'rous languors stilled
On Orient rugs of dappled mosses spread
In nooks where blossom, purple, white and red,
The flowers Summer's lavish hands have spilled.
Wild woodland creatures near us unafraid,
Some strange enchantment doth the forest hold—
Was that a sungleam, or a wand of gold
By tricksy Puck or wanton Ariel swayed?
Old oaks and beeches open wide their doors
And hamadryads veiled in golden sheen
Floating diaphanous o'er robes of green
Walk with still feet the forest's russet floors.
Some strange enchantment doth the forest hold—
Was that a sungleam, or a wand of gold
By tricksy Puck or wanton Ariel swayed?
Old oaks and beeches open wide their doors
And hamadryads veiled in golden sheen
Floating diaphanous o'er robes of green
Walk with still feet the forest's russet floors.
Lo, here are fairies hid in flower-bells,
There wood-nymphs fleeing from pursuing fauns,
And naiads fleshed with hues of rosy dawns
Lie dreaming by white streams in dusky dells;
We tread dim paths untrod by foot of man
And hark the horn of Dian ringing clear;
While faint, elusive, thin—now far, now near,
Meseems I hear the oaten pipe of Pan.
There wood-nymphs fleeing from pursuing fauns,
And naiads fleshed with hues of rosy dawns
Lie dreaming by white streams in dusky dells;
We tread dim paths untrod by foot of man
And hark the horn of Dian ringing clear;
While faint, elusive, thin—now far, now near,
Meseems I hear the oaten pipe of Pan.
And while o'erhead the plaining wood-dove grieves,
The cardinal—a wingèd, scarlet flower—
Sprays all the air with song, a golden shower
Of flutes-notes sifting downward thro' the leaves.
Ah, sweet enchantment doth the forest hold,
For Nature's self doth haunt these woodland ways,
My fevered brow on her cool breast she lays
And care slips from me as a garment old.
The cardinal—a wingèd, scarlet flower—
Sprays all the air with song, a golden shower
Of flutes-notes sifting downward thro' the leaves.
Ah, sweet enchantment doth the forest hold,
For Nature's self doth haunt these woodland ways,
My fevered brow on her cool breast she lays
And care slips from me as a garment old.
Ashes of Roses
Skies glooming overhead,
Autumn winds sighing;
Bare yonder garden bed,
Flowers low lying.
All their rich radiance fled,
All their pale petals shed,
Wan wraiths of Summer sped,
In Autumn's closes;
Crimson and cream and gold
Strewn on earth's bosom cold,
Mingling with umber mold—
Ashes of roses.
Autumn winds sighing;
Bare yonder garden bed,
Flowers low lying.
All their rich radiance fled,
All their pale petals shed,
Wan wraiths of Summer sped,
In Autumn's closes;
Crimson and cream and gold
Strewn on earth's bosom cold,
Mingling with umber mold—
Ashes of roses.
See, in yon waning West
Rich roses blowing
On Heaven's palimpsest
God's message glowing;
Rose hues and amethyst
Drenched in purpureate mist,
Darkness with Day keeps tryst,
Night's curtain closes;
Quenched is the burning gold,
Shadowed the upland wold,
Day's fires grow dull and cold
Ashes of roses.
Rich roses blowing
On Heaven's palimpsest
God's message glowing;
Rose hues and amethyst
Drenched in purpureate mist,
Darkness with Day keeps tryst,
Night's curtain closes;
Quenched is the burning gold,
Shadowed the upland wold,
Day's fires grow dull and cold
Ashes of roses.
So on this heart of mine
Shadows are lying;
Lotus and rue entwine,
Dim dreams are dying;
Stilled is the thrill divine,
Spilled is the amber wine,
Dimly the cold stars shine;
Wan age discloses
All youth's bright blossoms dead,
All love's rare radiance sped,
All hope's pure petals shed—
Ashes of roses.
Shadows are lying;
Lotus and rue entwine,
Dim dreams are dying;
Stilled is the thrill divine,
Spilled is the amber wine,
Dimly the cold stars shine;
Wan age discloses
All youth's bright blossoms dead,
All love's rare radiance sped,
All hope's pure petals shed—
Ashes of roses.
A Challenge
To have lived, to have loved, to have triumphed!—what more can the world bestow?
I stand at the close of the conflict, my foot on the neck of my foe.
Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound of strife;
To have wrested success from defeat, to have striven, and struggled, and won—
Shall this seem a small thing, think you, when the Battle of Ages is done?
To have loved! To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your lips pressed to mine;
To have ranked with the gods on Olympus—myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate!
Fate may make wreck of a future—how can she alter the past?
I have tasted the sweets of life's chalice—why shrink from the lees at the last?
How should I cavil at aught that shall come—I stand with your head on my breast—
I have fought as I might—I have gained you, beloved ... to God's mercy the rest!
Tho' the heavens darken above me and the sky be shrunk as a scroll,
In the wreck and ruin of riven worlds, should I falter, O Soul of my soul?
Tho' the demon Despair, where he vanquished lies, still utter his shibboleth—
I fling my glove in the face of Fate and smile in the eyes of Death!
I stand at the close of the conflict, my foot on the neck of my foe.
Prone in the dust lies the demon Despair, still shouting his shibboleth
To the treacherous Amazon dark-browed Fate, and her grisly comrade, Death.
To have lived! To have felt in my veins the surge of the rich, red tide of life,
The quickening stir of the strong man's heart that thrills to the sound of strife;
To have wrested success from defeat, to have striven, and struggled, and won—
Shall this seem a small thing, think you, when the Battle of Ages is done?
To have loved! To have known of all raptures, the rapture supernal, divine,
To have felt the throb of your heart on my heart and the bloom of your lips pressed to mine;
To have ranked with the gods on Olympus—myths tell us immortal Jove
Cleft with his swan-wings the blue of the sky for boon of a mortal's love....
I have lived, I have loved, I have triumphed! Let Death come, or early or late!
I hurl my challenging gauntlet full in the face of Fate!
Fate may make wreck of a future—how can she alter the past?
I have tasted the sweets of life's chalice—why shrink from the lees at the last?
How should I cavil at aught that shall come—I stand with your head on my breast—
I have fought as I might—I have gained you, beloved ... to God's mercy the rest!
Tho' the heavens darken above me and the sky be shrunk as a scroll,
In the wreck and ruin of riven worlds, should I falter, O Soul of my soul?
Tho' the demon Despair, where he vanquished lies, still utter his shibboleth—
I fling my glove in the face of Fate and smile in the eyes of Death!
And Yet ...
Upon the meads where we were wont to stray,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,
'Guiling with springtime hopes the winter hours,
The Spring has smiled; yon slope that late gloomed gray
And sternly sad, 'neath April's tender showers
Grows green and glad again. The rippled grass,
A soundless sea o'er which white cloud-sails pass,