|
|
|
Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A SKETCH, by ELIZA COOK Poet's Biography
First Line: The summer sun is stealing fast away
Last Line: The worshipped and the poor -- a child of song.
First Line: The summer sun is stealing fast away
Last Line: The worshipped and the poor -- a child of song.
The summer sun is stealing fast away,
And merry children join in noisy mirth,
Laughing and leaping in the golden ray
The wildest and the gayest things of earth.
Fair forms are bounding rapidly about,
Light as the fairy imps in sylvan rings,
Drowning the blackbird's song with their wild shout,
And chasing down the moth with azure wings.
But there is one in quiet lonely mood,
Taking a shadowy path, apart from all,
Choosing the mossy margin, where the flood
Leads to the loud and dashing waterfall.
Slow, lingering -- now to gaze upon the tide,
And watch the swelling ripples gliding by;
Now bending o'er the brooklet's shelving side,
With stiller breathing and a closer eye.
He muses with a long and earnest glance,
Noting the things his playmates never heed;
Pausing to see the water-lilies dance
To the soft music of the wave-splashed reed.
He wonders none besides himself can find
Something to wonder at in woods and streams
And knows not that his fresh untutored mind,
Is dreaming busily the poet's dreams.
He feels the immortal light of spirit live
Within his breast -- but knows not that in years
To come, that warm and flashing ray will give
The brightest rainbow through the bitterest tears.
Life's sands run on, the wayward child is now
All that foreboding tongues erst propheside;
Reflection's cloud has darkened on the brow,
And all youth promised, Time has not denied.
The cheeks have less of roundness and of red,
The gray eye has become more softly deep;
The lips are thinner, but the spirit shed
Around them tells that feeling does not sleep.
And still he takes the lonely way, and still
He saunters idle, seeming to love best
That which he loved of old -- the wimpling rill
And the thick wood that holds the owlet's nest.
Yet does he lean against the straggling tree,
When Summer flings her blossoms at his feet;
And still he thinks the whirring of the bee
And distant tinkling sheep-bell music sweet.
Yet does he wander on a starry night,
When crystal dew-gems glitter on the sod;
Still will he hold upon the mountain height
Close questioning with Nature and its God.
What is he? Hark! the busy voice of Fame
Sounds 'neath the household roof from heart to heart,
And hearalds forth his glory and his name,
In notes whose echoes never hall depart.
What is he? Ask it of his own proud breast,
That glows amid cold poverty and wrong;
His lyre shall tell thee -- he is bright and blest,
The worshipped and the poor -- a child of song.
Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!
Other Poems of Interest...
THE OLD ARM-CHAIR by ELIZA COOK
A FOREST THOUGHT by ELIZA COOK
A HOME IN THE HEART by ELIZA COOK
AFTER A MOTHER'S DEATH by ELIZA COOK
BLUE-BELLS IN THE SHADE by ELIZA COOK