Fate in Arcadia, and other poems . 6r Those womens names who the mute vow have kept Through pinching frost, or when hot thunder lowers,Until their patience with icind death hath slept,And the great fight is won, and the steep path oer-stepped. What hast thou, Venus? Lo, thou dost confess. Thou art immortal. Thou didst joy to-day,And thou wilt joy to-morrow. Faithfulness Is not for thee. Hast thou the price to pay ? Thou hast it not. The great pearl goes its all thy immortality and buy. If thou wouldst be a woman and grow yet be loved. Thou hast no tears to will we d
Fate in Arcadia, and other poems . 6r Those womens names who the mute vow have kept Through pinching frost, or when hot thunder lowers,Until their patience with icind death hath slept,And the great fight is won, and the steep path oer-stepped. What hast thou, Venus? Lo, thou dost confess. Thou art immortal. Thou didst joy to-day,And thou wilt joy to-morrow. Faithfulness Is not for thee. Hast thou the price to pay ? Thou hast it not. The great pearl goes its all thy immortality and buy. If thou wouldst be a woman and grow yet be loved. Thou hast no tears to will we dream thee gladly, gilding the midnight sky. Farewell, O fair Oueen Venus, and farewell:The happiest hour a true madman knows Is when he first beside thy hand may dwell,And yet the very lightest of his woesIs when he bids a long farewell and goes. 63 And leaves thee to delight who comes anew. Farewell for ever. Bright as mountain snowsUnder the morning sun, and clear as dew,Thy memory fades with singing, like the lark lost in 63 HER TOKEN. A MANV-BANNERED, gay procession, proud, Flowed like a stream full fleeted with the leaves That Autumn from her painted scarf allowedTo float away from gilded forest eaves,—A tumult startling earth that sleeps and grieves, A laughing multitude, come forth to graceA newly-moulded statue, fair, upright, That bore on lifted throat a dreaming face. All formed of gold. When harvest warms the nightLess wine-gold is the moons awakening light. This shape was Venus, on a high car drawn, And near her side knelt Love with folded wing;His own face dreaming not, like opening dawn, 64 Promised the sound of arrows that should singLike birds upon the sunbeams dawn shall bring. For in his hand he held his bow all bent,And on the bow-string lay the slender dart, That, ever aimed, and never freed and sent,Pointed, it seemed, at each high laughing heartThat thronged him without fear on every part. So past the rounded hills, and mountains the tr
Size: 1395px × 1791px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookidfateinarcadi, bookyear1892
