Читать книгу The Rosary of Pan - Alexander Maitland Stephen - Страница 4
Arcady
ОглавлениеGIVE me an autumn day, a sky of blue,
Massed clouds asleep above a hill,
A roof of leaves the sunlight filters through,
My cup of joy to fill.
Give me the music of a sun-flecked stream,
A symphony in golden browns and green,
Murmuring like myriad voices in a dream,
Whispering of things unseen.
Give me a cove within the curvèd arms
Of mossy banks with lush grass spread,
Whose cloistered silence stills the world’s alarms,
Whence cares and fears have fled.
Give me a nut-brown maid, with lips that hold
The scarlet of the berries in the brake,
Whose gypsy tresses steal the fairy gold
And weave it for my sake
Into a veil for glamourie of eyes agleam
With soft allurements, spells of ancient love
When earth was young and life a dream
Of beauty from above.
Give me a voice whose cadence as a lute
Blown by some lonely wood god blent
With magic of the wind’s caress, to suit
The measure of my heart’s content.
To cleanse my soul of smaller memories,
Give me an hour again like this to free
Me quite,—I fain would be beneath the trees
A prince again in Arcady.
