189 Some shadow of the glory of our King, That the pure heart in some blest sphere above, 200 The seer nor speaks nor thinks his thoughts sublime, And all of Homer is a speck of lime? Nay, friend, let us forget The conflicts of our doubt a little while, Again our springs shall smile; We shall not perish yet. If God so guide our fate, FROM THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT As I came through the desert thus it was, 176 185 THE EARTHLY PARADISE Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day. But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by, Made the more mindful that the sweet days die Remember me a little then, I pray, The idle singer of an empty day. 14 Forget six counties overhung with smoke, The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green; And cloth of Bruges, and hogsheads of Guienne; While nigh the thronged wharf Geoffrey Chaucer's pen 20 A nameless city in a distant sea, White as the changing walls of faerie, Thronged with much people clad in ancient guise I now am fain to set before your eyes; There, leave the clear green water and the quays, And pass betwixt its marble palaces, Until ye come unto the chiefest square; A bubbling conduit is set midmost there, And round about it now the maidens throng, With jest and laughter, and sweet broken song, Making but light of labour new begun While in their vessels gleams the morning sun. 40 Pass now between them, push the brazen door, And standing on the polished marble floor Leave all the noises of the square behind; Most calm that reverent chamber shall ye find, Silent at first, but for the noise you made When on the brazen door your hand you laid To shut it after you - but now behold The city rulers on their thrones of gold, Clad in most fair attire, and in their hands Long carven silver-banded ebony wands; Then from the dais drop your eyes and see Soldiers and peasants standing reverently Before those elders, round a little band Who bear such arms as guard the English land, But battered, rent, and rusted sore and they, The men themselves, are shrivelled, bent, and grey; And as they lean with pain upon their spears Their brows seem furrowed deep with more than years; For sorrow dulls their heavy sunken eyes; Bent are they less with time than miseries. THE LADY OF THE LAND It happened once, some men of Italy Midst the Greek Islands went a sea-roving, And much good fortune had they on the sea: Of many a man they had the ransoming, And many a chain they gat, and goodly thing; And midst their voyage to an isle they came, Whereof my story keepeth not the name. Now though but little was there left to gain, Because the richer folk had gone away, Yet since by this of water they were fain They came to anchor in a land-locked bay, Whence in a while some went ashore to play, Going but lightly armed in twos or threes, For midst that folk they feared no enemies. And of these fellows that thus went ashore, One was there who left all his friends behind; Who going inland ever more and more, And being left quite alone, at last did find A lonely valley sheltered from the wind, Wherein, amidst an ancient cypress wood, A long-deserted ruined castle stood. 50 14 21 and glade, The wood, once ordered in fair grove With gardens overlooked by terraces, And marble-pavèd pools for pleasure made, Was tangled now, and choked with fallen trees; And he who went there, with but little ease Must stumble by the stream's side, once made |