Читать книгу English Verse - Raymond Macdonald Alden - Страница 61

Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes entendeth,

Which now my breast, surcharg'd, to music lendeth!

To you, to you, all song of praise is due,

Only in you my song begins and endeth.

(Sir Philip Sidney: Astrophel and Stella. Song i, ab. 1580.)

Here the third line (the same in all the stanzas) has an additional internal rime.

Oh, make the most of what we yet may spend,

Before we too into the dust descend;

Dust into dust, and under dust, to lie,

Sans wine, sans song, sans singer, and—sans end!

(Edw. Fitzgerald: Paraphrase of the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam. 1859.)

For groves of pine on either hand,

To break the blast of winter, stand;

And further on, the hoary Channel

Tumbles a billow on chalk and sand.

(Tennyson: To the Rev. F. D. Maurice. 1854.)

This delightful stanza (used also by Tennyson in The Daisy) seems to be an imitation of the well-known Alcaic stanza of Horace:

"Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum

Soracte, nec jam sustineant onus

Silvae laborantes, geluque

Flumina constiterint acuto."

Ah, yet would God this flesh of mine might be

Where air would wash and long leaves cover me,

Where tides of grass break into foam of flowers,

Or where the wind's feet shine along the sea.

(Swinburne: Laus Veneris.)