Gods, what a sun! I think the world's aglow This garment irks me. Phoebus, it is hot! 'Twere sad if Glycera should find me shot By flame-tipp'd arrows from the Archer's bow. Perchance he envies me,--the villain! O For one tree's shadow or a cliff-side grot! Where shall I shelter that he slay me not? In what cool air or element?--I know.
The sea shall save me from the sweltering land: Far out I'll wade, till creeping up and up, The cold green water quenches every limb. Then to the jealous god with lifted hand I'll pour libation from a rosy cup, And leap, and dive, and see the tunnies swim. --_Edward Cracroft Lefroy_
The yellow moon is a dancing phantom Down secret ways of the flowing shade; And the waveless stream has a murmuring whisper Where the alders wade.
Not a breath, not a sigh, save the slow stream's whisper: Only the moon is a dancing blade That leads a host of the Crescent warriors To a phantom raid.
Out of the lands of Faerie a summons, A long strange cry that thrills thro' the glade:-- The grey-green glooms of the elm are stirring, Newly afraid.
Last heard, white music, under the olives Where once Theocritus sang and play'd-- Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder-- O moon-white maid! --_William Sharp_
O, to be in England Now that April's there, And whoever wakes in England Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England--now!
And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops--at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower --Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! --_Robert Browning_
Say, mighty Love, and teach my song, To whom thy sweetest joys belong, And who the happy pairs Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, Find blessings twisted with their bands To soften all their cares.