Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PASTORAL: 2, by GEORGE MEREDITH Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Yon upland slope which hides the sun Last Line: Men's thoughts must borrow rather than bestow. Subject(s): Farm Life; Persephone; Agriculture; Farmers; Proserpine; Proserpina | ||||||||
YON upland slope which hides the sun Ascending from his eastern deeps, And now against the hues of dawn One level line of tillage rears; The furrowed brow of toil and time; To many it is but a sweep of land! To others 'tis an Autumn trust, But unto me a mystery ; -- An influence strange and swift as dreams; A whispering of old romance; A temple naked to the clouds; Or one of nature's bosoms fresh revealed, Heaving with adoration! there The work of husbandry is done, And daily bread is daily earned; Nor seems there ought to indicate The springs which move in me such thoughts, But from my soul a spirit calls them up. All day into the open sky, All night to the eternal stars, For ever both at morn and eve When mellow distances draw near, And shadows lengthen in the dusk, Athwart the heavens it rolls its glimmering line! When twilight from the dream-hued West Sighs hush! and all the land is still; When, from the lush empurpling East, The twilight of the crowing cock Peers on the drowsy village roofs, Athwart the heavens that glimmering line is seen. And now beneath the rising sun, Whose shining chariot overpeers The irradiate ridge, while fetlock deep In the rich soil his coursers plunge -- How grand in robes of light it looks! How glorious with rare suggestive grace! The ploughman mounting up the height Becomes a glowing shape, as though 'Twere young Triptolemus, plough in hand, While Ceres in her amber scarf With gentle love directs him how To wed the willing earth and hope for fruits! The furrows running up are fraught With meanings; there the goddess walks, While Proserpine is young, and there -- 'Mid the late autumn sheaves, her voice Sobbing and choked with dumb despair -- The nights will hear her wailing for her child! Whatever dim tradition tells, Whatever history may reveal, Or fancy, from her starry brows, Of light or dreamful lustre shed, Could not at this sweet time increase The quiet consecration of the spot. Blest with the sweat of labour, blest With the young sun's first vigorous beams, Village hope and harvest prayer, -- The heart that throbs beneath it holds A bliss so perfect in itself Men's thoughts must borrow rather than bestow. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PERSEPHONE, FALLING by RITA DOVE ADONIS IN WINTER by KENNETH REXROTH SONG OF THE STYGIAN NAIADES by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES PERSEPHONE PAUSES by CAROLYN KIZER MEMORIAL TO D.C.: 2. PRAYER TO PERSEPHONE by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY DIRGE IN WOODS by GEORGE MEREDITH |
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