Puslapio vaizdai
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But when comes Winter

With hail and storm, And red fire roaring And ingle warm,Sing first sad going

Of friends that part; Then sing glad meeting,And my Love's heart.

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THE PARADOX OF TIME

THE PARADOX OF TIME

(A VARIATION ON RONSARD)

Le temps s'en va, le temps s'en va, ma dame! Las! le temps non: mais NOUS nous en allons!"

TIME goes, you say? Ah no!

Alas, Time stays, we go;

Or else, were this not so, What need to chain the hours, For Youth were always ours? Time goes, you say?-ah no!

Ours is the eyes' deceit

Of men whose flying feet

Lead through some landscape low;

We pass, and think we see

The earth's fixed surface flee :

Alas, Time stays,-we go!

Once in the days of old,

Your locks were curling gold,

And mine had shamed the crow.

Now, in the self-same stage,

We've reached the silver age;

Time goes, you say?-ah no!

Once, when my voice was strong,
I filled the woods with song

To praise your "rose" and "snow
My bird, that sang, is dead;
Where are your roses fled?

Alas, Time stays,—we go!

See, in what traversed ways,
What backward Fate delays

The hopes we used to know;
Where are our old desires?——
Ah, where those vanished fires?
Time goes, you say?—ah no!

How far, how far, O Sweet,
The past behind our feet
Lies in the even-glow!
Now, on the forward way,
Let us fold hands, and pray ;
Alas, Time stays,—we go!

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To A GREEK GIRL

TO A GREEK GIRL

WITH

7ITH breath of thyme and bees that hum, Across the years you seem to come,Across the years with nymph-like head, And wind-blown brows unfilleted; A girlish shape that slips the bud

In lines of unspoiled symmetry; A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring, Autonoë!

Where'er you pass,-where'er you go,
I hear the pebbly rillet flow;
Where'er you go,—where'er you pass,
There comes a gladness on the grass;

You bring blithe airs where'er you tread,—
Blithe airs that blow from down and sea ;
You wake in me a Pan not dead,——
Not wholly dead!—Autonoë!

How sweet with you on some green sod
To wreathe the rustic garden-god;
How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade
With you to weave a basket-braid;

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