I I LOOK upon the map that hangs by me - Its shires and towns and rivers lined in varnished artistry - And I mark a jutting height Coloured purple, with a margin of blue sea. II - 'Twas a day of latter summer, hot and dry; Ay, even the waves seemed drying as we walked on, she and I, By this spot where, calmly quite, She unfolded what would happen by and by. III This hanging map depicts the coast and place, And re-creates therewith our unforeboded troublous case All distinctly to my sight, And her tension, and the aspect of her face. IV Weeks and weeks we had loved beneath that blazing blue, Which had lost the art of raining, as her eyes to-day had too, While she told what, as by sleight, Shot our firmament with rays of ruddy hue. V For the wonder and the wormwood of the whole Was that what in realms of reason would have joyed our double soul Wore a torrid tragic light Under order-keeping's rigorous control. VI So, the map revives her words, the spot, the time, And the thing we found we had to face before the next year's prime; The charted coast stares bright, And its episode comes back in pantomime. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PASTORAL DIALOGUE: SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS by THOMAS CAREW AFAR IN THE DESERT by THOMAS PRINGLE INTAGLIOS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH AUTUMNAL SONNET by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM THE CLINGING VINE by ANTIPATER OF SIDON A PRAYER by EDNA MAY APPLEGATE VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF MARY FLETCHER by BERNARD BARTON THE WANDERER: 6. PALINGENSIS: EPILOGUE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON MEDITATIONS FOR EVERY DAY IN PASSION WEEK: MONDAY by JOHN BYROM |