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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE WANDERER: 1. IN ITALY: INDIAN LOVE SONG, by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: My body sleeps: my heart awakes Last Line: Through mist and darkness moves toward thee. Alternate Author Name(s): Meredith, Owen; Lytton, 1st Earl Of; Lytton, Robert Subject(s): Italy; Travel; Italians; Journeys; Trips | |||
MY body sleeps: my heart awakes. My lips to breathe thy name are moved In slumber's ear: then slumber breaks; And I am drawn to thee, beloved. Thou drawest me, thou drawest me, Through sleep, through night. I hear the rills, And hear the leopard in the hills, And down the dark I feel to thee. The vineyards and the villages Were silent in the vales, the rocks. I followed past the myrrhy trees, And by the footsteps of the flocks. Wild honey, dropt from stone to stone, Where bees have been, my path sug gests. The winds are in the eagles' nests. The moon is hid. I walk alone. Thou drawest me, thou drawest me Across the glimmering wildernesses, And drawest me, my love, to thee, With dove's eyes hidden in thy tresses The world is many: my love is one. I find no likeness for my love. The cinnamons grow in the grove: The Golden Tree grows all alone. O who hath seen her wondrous hair! Or seen my dove's eyes in the woods? Or found her voice upon the air? Her steps along the solitudes? Or where is beauty like to hers? She draweth me, she draweth me. I sought her by the incense-tree, And in the aloes, and in the firs. Where art thou, O my heart's delight, With dove's eyes hidden in thy locks? My hair is wet with dews of night. My feet are torn upon the rocks. The cedarn scents, the spices, fail About me. Strange and stranger seems The path. There comes a sound of streams Above the darkness on the vale. No trees drop gums; but poison flowers From rifts and clefts all round me fall; The perfumes of thy midnight bowers, The fragrance of thy chambers, all Is drawing me, is drawing me. Thy baths prepare; anoint thine hair: Open the window: meet me there: I come to thee, to thee, to thee! Thy lattices are dark, my own. Thy doors are still. My love, look out. Arise, my dove with tender tone. The camphor-clusters all about Are whitening. Dawn breaks silently. And all my spirit with the dawn Expands; and, slowly, slowly drawn, Through mist and darkness moves toward thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RICHARD, WHAT'S THAT NOISE? by RICHARD HOWARD LOOKING FOR THE GULF MOTEL by RICHARD BLANCO RIVERS INTO SEAS by LYNDA HULL DESTINATIONS by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN THE ONE WHO WAS DIFFERENT by RANDALL JARRELL THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON SESTINA: TRAVEL NOTES by WELDON KEES TO H. B. (WITH A BOOK OF VERSE) by MAURICE BARING THE LAST WISH by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: AUX ITALIENS by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: THE CHESSBOARD by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |
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