« PreviousContinue »
Which would blight the plants.
From the groves within
The wild-bird's din. In the heart of the garden the merry bird chants, It would fall to the ground if you came in. In the middle leaps a fountain
Like sheet lightning,
From the brain of the purple mountain
Which stands in the distance yonder : It springs on a level of bowery lawn, And the mountain draws it from Heaven above, And it sings a song of undying love ; And yet, tho' its voice be so clear and full, You never would hear it; your ears are so dull ; So keep where you are : you are foul with sin ; It would shrink to the earth if you came in.
Slow sail'd the weary mariners and saw,
Whither away, whither away, whither away? fly no
more. Whither away from the high green field, and the happy
blossoming shore ?
Hither, come hither and frolic and play,
THE DESERTED HOUSE,
LIFE and Thought have gone away
Side by side,
Leaving door and windows wide : Careless tenants they !
All within is dark as night :
Close the door, the shutters close,
Or thro' the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy Of the dark deserted house.
Come away: no more of mirth
Is here or merry-making sound. The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.
Come away : for Life and Thought
But in a city glorious—
Would they could have stayed with us!