A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass. Lowell Amy

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СКАЧАТЬ And compass of my offering to you.

       "Empty and silent, I

       Kneel before your pure, calm majesty.

       On this stone, in this urn

       I pour my heart and watch it burn,

       Myself the sacrifice; but be

       Still unmoved: Divinity."

       From the altar, bathed in moonlight,

       The smoke rose straight in the quiet night.

Suggested by the Cover of a Volume of Keats's Poems

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      Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign

       To put upon the cover of this book?

       Who heard thee singing in the distance dim,

       The vague, far greenness of the enshrouding wood,

       When the damp freshness of the morning earth

       Was full of pungent sweetness and thy song?

       Who followed over moss and twisted roots,

       And pushed through the wet leaves of trailing vines

       Where slanting sunbeams gleamed uncertainly,

       While ever clearer came the dropping notes,

       Until, at last, two widening trunks disclosed

       Thee singing on a spray of branching beech,

       Hidden, then seen; and always that same song

       Of joyful sweetness, rapture incarnate,

       Filled the hushed, rustling stillness of the wood?

       We do not know what bird thou art. Perhaps

       That fairy bird, fabled in island tale,

       Who never sings but once, and then his song

       Is of such fearful beauty that he dies

       From sheer exuberance of melody.

       For this they took thee, little bird, for this

       They captured thee, tilting among the leaves,

       And stamped thee for a symbol on this book.

       For it contains a song surpassing thine,

       Richer, more sweet, more poignant. And the poet

       Who felt this burning beauty, and whose heart

       Was full of loveliest things, sang all he knew

       A little while, and then he died; too frail

       To bear this untamed, passionate burst of song.

Apples of Hesperides

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      Glinting golden through the trees,

       Apples of Hesperides!

       Through the moon-pierced warp of night

       Shoot pale shafts of yellow light,

       Swaying to the kissing breeze

       Swings the treasure, golden-gleaming,

       Apples of Hesperides!

       Far and lofty yet they glimmer,

       Apples of Hesperides!

       Blinded by their radiant shimmer,

       Pushing forward just for these;

       Dew-besprinkled, bramble-marred,

       Poor duped mortal, travel-scarred,

       Always thinking soon to seize

       And possess the golden-glistening

       Apples of Hesperides!

       Orbed, and glittering, and pendent,

       Apples of Hesperides!

       Not one missing, still transcendent,

       Clustering like a swarm of bees.

       Yielding to no man's desire,

       Glowing with a saffron fire,

       Splendid, unassailed, the golden

       Apples of Hesperides!

Azure and Gold

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      April had covered the hills

       With flickering yellows and reds,

       The sparkle and coolness of snow

       Was blown from the mountain beds.

       Across a deep-sunken stream

       The pink of blossoming trees,

       And from windless appleblooms

       The humming of many bees.

       The air was of rose and gold

       Arabesqued with the song of birds

       Who, swinging unseen under leaves,

       Made music more eager than words.

       Of a sudden, aslant the road,

       A brightness to dazzle and stun,

       A glint of the bluest blue,

       A flash from a sapphire sun.

       Blue-birds so blue, 't was a dream,

       An impossible, unconceived hue,

       The high sky of summer dropped down

       Some rapturous ocean to woo.

       Such a colour, such infinite light!

       The heart of a fabulous gem,

       Many-faceted, brilliant and rare.

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