Excerpt: ... Our old hearts seem so empty everyway- We can only through a mist See the faces we have kissed In the orchard where the children used to play. O from our life's full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. A Glimpse of Pan I caught but a glimpse of him. Summer was here. And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat. And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, ...
Read More
Excerpt: ... Our old hearts seem so empty everyway- We can only through a mist See the faces we have kissed In the orchard where the children used to play. O from our life's full measure And rich hoard of worldly treasure We often turn our weary eyes away, And hand in hand we wander Down the old path winding yonder To the orchard where the children used to play. A Glimpse of Pan I caught but a glimpse of him. Summer was here. And I strayed from the town and its dust and heat. And walked in a wood, while the noon was near, Where the shadows were cool, and the atmosphere Was misty with fragrances stirred by my feet From surges of blossoms that billowed sheer Of the grasses, green and sweet. And I peered through a vista of leaning tree, Tressed with long tangles of vines that swept To the face of a river, that answered these With vines in the wave like the vines in the breeze, Till the yearning lips of the ripples crept And kissed them, with quavering ecstasies, And wistfully laughed and wept And there, like a dream in swoon, I swear I saw Pan lying-, his limbs in the dew And the shade, and his face in the dazzle and glare Of the glad sunshine; while everywhere, Over across, and around him blew Filmy dragon-flies hither and there, And little white butterflies, two and two, In eddies of odorous air. Sonnets Pan This Pan is but an idle god, I guess, Since all the fair midsummer of my dreams He loiters listlessly by woody streams, Soaking the lush glooms up with laziness; Or drowsing while the maiden-winds caress Him prankishly, and powder him with gleams Of sifted sunshine. And he ever seems Drugged with a joy unutterable- unless His low pipes whistle hints of it far out Across the ripples to the dragon-fly That like a wind-born blossom blown about, Drops quiveringly down, as though to die- Then lifts and wavers on, as if in doubt Whether to fan his wings or fly without. Dusk The frightened herds of clouds across the sky Trample the sunshine down, and chase...
Read Less
Add this copy of Afterwhiles to cart. $33.68, good condition, Sold by Bonita rated 4.0 out of 5 stars, ships from Newport Coast, CA, UNITED STATES, published 2001 by Fredonia Books.
