Classic and Contemporary Poetry
TO ---; WRITTEN AT VENICE, by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Not only through the golden haze Last Line: Deserves a separate song. Alternate Author Name(s): Houghton, 1st Baron; Houghton, Lord Subject(s): Colors; Venice, Italy | ||||||||
NOT only through the golden haze Of indistinct surprise, With which the Ocean-bride displays Her pomp to stranger eyes; -- Not with the fancy's flashing play, The traveller's vulgar theme, Where following objects chase away The moment's dazzling dream; -- Not thus art thou content to see The City of my love, -- Whose beauty is a thought to me All mortal thoughts above; And pass in dull unseemly haste, Nor sight nor spirit clear, As if the first bewildering taste Were all the banquet here! When the proud Sea, for Venice' sake, Itself consents to wear The semblance of a land-locked lake, Inviolably fair; And in the dalliance of her Isles, Has levelled his strong waves, Adoring her with tenderer wiles, Than his own pearly caves, -- Surely may we to similar calm Our noisy lives subdue, And bare our bosoms to such balm As God has given to few; Surely may we delight to pause On our care-goaded road, Refuged from Time's most bitter laws In this august abode. Thou knowest this, -- thou lingerest here, Rejoicing to remain; The plashing oars fall on thy ear Like a familiar strain; No wheel prolongs its weary roll, The Earth itself goes round Slower than elsewhere, and thy soul Dreams in the void of sound. Thy heart, by Nature's discipline, From all disdain refined, Kept open to be written in By good of every kind, Can harmonise its inmost sense To every outward tone, And bring to all experience High reasoning of its own. So, when these forms come freely out, And wonder is gone by, With patient skill it sets about Its subtle work of joy; Connecting all it comprehends By lofty moods of love, -- The earthly Present's farthest ends, -- The Past's deep Heaven above. O bliss! to watch, with half-shut lid, By many a secret place, Where darkling loveliness is hid, And undistinguished grace, To mark the gloom, by slow degrees, Exfoliate, till the whole Shines forth before our sympathies, A soul that meets a soul! Come out upon the broad Lagoon, Come for the hundredth time, -- Our thoughts shall make a pleasant tune, Our words a worthy rhyme; And thickly round us we will set Such visions as were seen, By Tizian and by Tintorett, And dear old Giambellin, -- And all their peers in art, whose eyes, Taught by this sun and sea, Flashed on their works those burning dyes, That fervent poetry; And wove the shades so thinly-clear They would be parts of light In northern climes, where frowns severe Mar half the charms of sight. -- Did ever shape that Paolo drew Put on such brilliant tire, As Nature, in this evening view, -- This world of tinted fire? The glory into whose embrace, The virgin pants to rise, Is but reflected from the face Of these Venetian skies. The sun, beneath the horizon's brow Has sunk, not passed away; His presence is far lordlier now Than on the throne of day; His spirit of splendour has gone forth, Sloping wide violet rays, Possessing air and sea and earth With his essential blaze.* Transpierced, transfused, each densest mass Melts to as pure a glow, As images on painted glass Or silken screens can show. Gaze on the city, -- contemplate With that fine sense of thine The Palace of the ancient state, -- That wildly-grand design! How 'mid the universal sheen Of marble amber-tinged, Like some enormous baldaquin Gay-chequered and deep-fringed, It stands in air and will not move, Upheld by magic power, -- The dun-lead Domes just caught above -- Beside, -- the glooming Tower. Now a more distant beauty fills Thy scope of ear and eye, -- That graceful cluster of low hills, Bounding the western sky, Which the ripe evening flushes cover With purplest fruitage-bloom, -- Methinks that gold-lipt cloud may hover Just over Petrarch's tomb! Petrarch! when we that name repeat, Its music seems to fall Like distant bells, soft-voiced and sweet, But sorrowful withal; -- That broken heart of love! -- that life Of tenderness and tears! So weak on earth, -- in earthly strife, -- So strong in holier spheres! How in his most of godlike pride, While emulous nations ran To kiss his feet, he stept aside And wept the woes of man! How in his genius-woven bower Of passion ever green, The world's black veil fell, hour by hour, Him and his rest between. Welcome such thoughts; -- they well atone With this more serious mood Of visible things that night brings on, In her cool shade to brood; The moon is clear in heaven and sea, Her silver has been long Slow-changing to bright gold, but she Deserves a separate song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ELEVATED by JOHN FREDERICK NIMS SURFACES AND MASKS; 12 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 2 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 1 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 3 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 6 by CLARENCE MAJOR SURFACES AND MASKS; 7 by CLARENCE MAJOR ROSE COLORED GLASSES by KENNETH REXROTH COLUMBUS AND THE MAYFLOWER by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES |
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