Southern garland . gain I feelThe joy of walking tours in youth and MayBy lonely peaceful stream and ruin grey. And then the bindings! purple, green, and Spanish red, buff, citron, violet, white. Dark crimson, orange—all as fresh as new^! Pale, polished, panelled, full, rich, crushed, and bright, With laureate wreath, curled dolphin, golden bee. Stamped Tudor roses, crown, and fleur-de-lis. What talk of watered silk and India paper, type, and edge uncut of blade. Of black and Gothic letters, and the roofs Whence came these treasures ! AH things fade, And books are no exce
Southern garland . gain I feelThe joy of walking tours in youth and MayBy lonely peaceful stream and ruin grey. And then the bindings! purple, green, and Spanish red, buff, citron, violet, white. Dark crimson, orange—all as fresh as new^! Pale, polished, panelled, full, rich, crushed, and bright, With laureate wreath, curled dolphin, golden bee. Stamped Tudor roses, crown, and fleur-de-lis. What talk of watered silk and India paper, type, and edge uncut of blade. Of black and Gothic letters, and the roofs Whence came these treasures ! AH things fade, And books are no exceptions ; some are worn, The last leaf wormed, discoloured, stained, or torn. LOVE IN THE RUINS. Faint winds are sadly sighingWithin the ruined shrine, The rose of day is dyingTo twilight in the vine. On bluest ether a cold green steep, A trembling star is sowingThe seeds of folding sleep. With tender shadows teemingThe eve floats from above. And youth and maid are dreamingA wistful, wild sweet ULYSSES. B Rose of Regret. HE wise Ulysses stands upon the stair,His wave-worn raft sways idly at hisfeet;To lift the drooping sail there blows noair. And all around is stillness, save the beatOf faintest ripples that make cool the heatWith cool-lipped sound, and on the ocean floor Of weed-grown rock flit golden shadows in the light blown murmurs evermoreUlysses hears a dirge from happy days of yore. For not on yellow sand is fixed his glance. Nor yet on foreland with its temple where the hills their terraces advance. But where, cut from pure amethystine light, Two islands rise from water sun-grey brightAnd guard the ocean gate and wandering way To Circes island, and he feels the mightOf passions sweet remembrance of their playWithin the myrtle grove from gleaming day to day. He sees the grey and windless olive woods Upon the smooth green shoulder of the hill;He hears the tumbling of the rough green floods That smite the shore and all the pebbles
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidsoutherngarl, bookyear1904
