« ForrigeFortsæt »
Dream the dream the poet tells us of himself supremely
blest; Dark eyes fondly gazing o'er him-dusky cheeks his
lips have prest; And a Samian maiden's bosom is the haven of his rest.
Zephuros around him wooing.
Since that time, in countless millions, human souls have
past away; Yet Dryusa's rocks are sprinkled with the crisp Aegaean
spray ; Still the muscat vines o'ershadow sylvan paths where lovers stray.
Zephuros around them wooing.
Sweet violet eyes of varying hue,
Dove-like the fondness purpling each ray-
Yielding for love's sake-calming the breast-
Tiny and soft hands sculptured in snow
Date circa 2150 years ago.
Which do you think is the sweetest of seasons ? the
Spring or the Summer? Or Winter? or wouldst thou the time when the olives
are gathered ? Fair Summer, when all things we toil at completely are
finished ? Pleasantly passes the Autumn, while waiting to sow the
new harvests ? Or, Murson, what think you of Winter, when people
inactive Charmed with the warmth of the fire-glow fully enjoy
being idle ? Is Spring your desire ? or which would you choose of
the changes ? Tell me; for now we have leisure to turn to and chat
Murson. Not to a mortal is given the right to decide on such
questions ; Seasons are sacred designments and wisely ordained
their transitions : Yet may I tell to a dear friend the bent of my own idle
fancy:Summer is not quite delightful; for then the sun par
tially roasts me, Autumn is often morbific; excess of rich fruit is un
wholesome. Bearing the frost, and the snow storms, of long dreary
Winter is horror.
Hence I love threefold the Spring time, and would that
it always were with us; Neither ice-fetters benumbing nor rage of the fierce sun
oppresses ; In the new youth of the year fresh beauty is everywhere
budding: All things in turns with sweet breath, fond breezes are
joyously kissing : Darkness and daylight are equal, for labour and rest so
divided, Evenly meting to mortals the black and the white of
Filmy, featherý snow,
Silently, softly falling,
Silently, softly falling :
Silent softly falling.
Only the fluttering snow;
As hither and thither they go,
As whirling about they go,
Into the falling snow.
Through the voiceless air is falling,
Not a sound-only the filmy snow
In the unquiet silence falling ;
The misty breath of the snow,
Filmy feathery snow
Forests of branches of silvery spray
Surrounded by fluttering snow.
Of old winter's state array.
NOVA TEMPORIS ÆTAS.
From a long night of sleep,
The earth refreshed awakes ; A voiceless wind from the south
The almond tree blossom shakes,
Where the sun through the woodland breaks.
Through the firs on the howling wold,
Down the rifts of their mountain-hold, While the icy moons were creeping
Around her still she slept,
Though the melting snows were weeping
On her bare unsheltered breast;
Now soft warblings break her rest.
Awake! bright days are breaking, awake!
Thy children about thee callAwake to the leafy springing of life,
To sleep again at its fall, Sleep, sleep again at its fall.
When the crocuses long ago
Fond mother, calm reposing
The young year on thy breast, Its violet eyes unclosing,
Hath roused thee from thy rest. The misty curtains aside are drawn
And the light falls on thy face-
Where the blushes of spring we trace.
Crowned with a rainbow-promise bright,
Spring in her childhood fair,
And sunbeam woven hair,
As she brings to our orchards their bloom.