Etched clear upon the pallid sand Lies the black boat: a sailor boy Clambers aboard in careless joy With laughing face and gleaming hand.

And overhead the curlews cry, Where through the dusky upland grass The young brown-throated reapers pass, Like silhouettes against the sky.

p. 136II LA FUITE DE LA LUNE

p. 136

To outer senses there is peace, A dreamy peace on either hand Deep silence in the shadowy land, Deep silence where the shadows cease.

To

Save for a cry that echoes shrill From some lone bird disconsolate; A corncrake calling to its mate; The answer from the misty hill.

And suddenly the moon withdraws Her sickle from the lightening skies, And to her sombre cavern flies, Wrapped in a veil of yellow gauze.

p. 137THE GRAVE OF KEATS

p. 137

Rid of the world’s injustice, and his pain, He rests at last beneath God’s veil of blue:  Taken from life when life and love were new The youngest of the martyrs here is lain, Fair as Sebastian, and as early slain. No cypress shades his grave, no funeral yew, But gentle violets weeping with the dew Weave on his bones an ever-blossoming chain. O proudest heart that broke for misery! O sweetest lips since those of Mitylene! O poet-painter of our English Land! Thy name was writ in water—it shall stand:  And tears like mine will keep thy memory green, As Isabella did her Basil-tree.

Rid

Rome.

Rome

p. 138THEOCRITUS

p. 138

A VILLANELLE

A VILLANELLE

 Prev. P 62/122 next