Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ALL HALLOW'S EVE, by JOHN DAVIDSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Brian: tearfully sinks the pallid sun Last Line: While the sun gives light, and the red blood burn. Subject(s): All Souls' Night; Autumn; Fairies; Rites & Ceremonies; Seasons; All Hallows Night; Fall; Elves | ||||||||
BASIL MENZIES BRIAN PERCY Brian : Tearfully sinks the pallid sun. Menzies : Bring in the lamps: Autumn is done. Percy : Nay, twilight silvers the flashing drops; And a whiter fall is behind. Brian : And the wild east mouths the chimney-tops, The Pandean pipes of the wind. Menzies : The dripping ivy drapes the walls; The drenched red creepers flare; And the draggled chestnut plumage falls In every park and square. Percy : Nay, golden garlands strew the way For the old triumph of decay. Basil : And I know, in a living land of spells In an excellent land of rest, Where a crimson fount of sunset wells Out of the darkling west That the poplar, the willow, the scented lime, Full-leaved in the shining air Tarry as if the enchanter time Had fixed them deathless there. In arbours and noble palaces A gallant people live With every manner of happiness The amplest life can give. Percy : Where? where? In Elfland? Menzies : No; oh no! In Elfland is no rest, But rumour and stir and endless woe Of the unfulfilled behest The doleful yoke of the Elfin folk Since first the sun went west. The cates they eat and the wine they drink, Savourless nothings are; The hopes they cherish, the thoughts they think Are neither near nor far; And well they know they cannot go Even to a desert star: One planet is all their poor estate, Though a million systems roll; They are dogged and worried, early and late, As the demons nag a soul, By the moon and the sun, for they never can shun Time's tyrannous control. The haughty delicate style they keep Only the blind can see; On holynights in the forest deep, When they make high revelry Under the moon, the dancing tune Is the wind in a cypress tree. They burn the elfin midnight oil Over their tedious lore; They spin the sand; and still they toil Though their inmost hearts are sore The doleful yoke of the restless folk For ever and ever more. But could you capture the elfin queen Who once was Cæsar's prize, Daunt and gyve her with glances keen Of unimpassioned eyes, And hear unstirred her magic word, And scorn her tears and sighs, Lean would she seem at once, and old; Her rosy mouth decayed; Her heavy tresses of living gold, All withered in the braid; In your very sight the dew and the light Of her eyes would parch and fade; And she, the immortal phantom dame, Would vanish from your ken; For the fate of the elves is nearly the same As the terrible fate of men: To love; to rue: to be and pursue A flickering wisp of the fen. We must play the game with a careless smile, Though there's nothing in the hand; We must toil as if it were worth our while Spinning our ropes of sand; And laugh and cry, and live and die At the waft of an unseen wand. But the elves, besides the endless woe Of the unfulfilled behest, Have only a phantom life, and so They neither can die nor rest Have no real being at all, and know That therefore they never can rest The doleful yoke of the deathless folk Since first the sun went west. Percy : Then where is the wonderful land of spells, Where a crimson fount of sunset wells, And the poplar, the willow, the scented lime Tarry, full-leaved, till the winter-time, Where endless happiness life can give, And only heroic people live? Basil : We know, we know, we spinners of sand! In the heart of the world is that gracious land; And it never can fade while the sap returns, While the sun gives light, and the red blood burn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FAERY FOREST by SARA TEASDALE THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE FAIRIES by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE FAIRY CHILD by JOHN ANSTER THE FORSAKEN MERMAN by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE LITTLE ELF-MAN by JOHN KENDRICK BANGS TAM O' SHANTER by ROBERT BURNS A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 19. THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA by THOMAS CAMPION A PROPER NEW BALLAD [ENTITLED THE FAIRIES' FAREWELL] by RICHARD CORBET A BALLAD OF HELL by JOHN DAVIDSON |
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