« PreviousContinue »
And his affections dark as Erebus : Let no such man be trusted. Mark the music!
(From "The Lotos-Eaters ")
There is sweet music here that softer falls
weep, And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.
I pant for the music which is divine,
My heart in its thirst is a dying flower; Pour forth the sound like enchanted wine,
Loosen the notes in a silver shower; Like a herbless plain for the gentle rain, I gasp, I faint, till they wake again.
Let me drink of the spirit of that sweet sound,
More, O more! I am thirsting yet,
Upon my heart, to stifle it;
As the scent of a violet withered up,
Which grew by the brink of a silver lake, When the hot noon has drained its dewy cup And mist there was none its thirst to
slake, And the violet lay dead while the odor flew On the wings of the wind o'er the waters