Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, AN HOUR OF ROMANCE, by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

AN HOUR OF ROMANCE, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: There were thick leaves above me and around
Last Line: My heart so leaped to that sweet laughter's tone.
Alternate Author Name(s): Browne, Felicia Dorothea
Subject(s): Nature; Women


THERE were thick leaves above me and around,
And low sweet sighs like those of childhood's sleep,
Amidst their dimness, and a fitful sound
As of soft showers on water; dark and deep
Lay the oak shadows o'er the turf, so still
They seemed but pictured glooms; a hidden rill
Made music, such as haunts us in a dream,
Under the fern-tufts; and a tender gleam
Of a soft green light, as by the glow-worm shed,
Came pouring through the woven beech-boughs down
And steeped the magic page wherein I read
Of royal chivalry and old renown,
A tale of Palestine. Meanwhile the bee
Swept past me with a tone of summer hours --
A drowsy bugle, wafting thoughts of flowers,
Blue skies, and amber sunshine: brightly free,
On filmy wings, the purple dragon-fly
Shot glancing like a fairy javelin by;
And a sweet voice of sorrow told the dell
Where sat the lone wood-pigeon.

But ere long,
All sense of these things faded, as the spell
Breathing from that high gorgeous tale grew strong
On my chained soul. 'Twas not the leaves I heard; --
A Syrian wind the lion-banner stirred,
Through its proud floating folds. 'Twas not the brook
Singing in secret through its glassy glen; --
A wild shrill trumpet of the Saracen
Pealed from the desert's lonely heart, and shook
The burning air. Like clouds when winds are high,
O'er glittering sands flew steeds of Araby,
And tents rose up, and sudden lance and spear
Flashed where a fountain's diamond wave lay clear,
Shadowed by graceful palm-trees. Then the shout
Of merry England's joy swelled freely out,
Sent through an eastern heaven, whose glorious hue
Made shields dark mirrors to its depths of blue:
And harps were there -- I heard their sounding strings
As the waste echoed to the mirth of kings.
The bright mask faded. Unto life's worn track,
What called me from its flood of glory back?
A voice of happy childhood! -- and they passed,
Banner, and harp, and Paynim's trumpet's blast.
Yet might I scarce bewail the splendors gone,
My heart so leaped to that sweet laughter's tone.





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