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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RUINS, by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL Poet's Biography First Line: Earth is a waste of ruins; so I deemed Last Line: And imaging the pomp of gods below. Subject(s): Ruins | |||
EARTH is a waste of ruins; so I deemed, When the broad sun was sinking in the sea Of sand, that rolled around Palmyra. Night Shared with the dying day a lonely sky, The canopy of regions void of life, And still as one interminable tomb. The shadows gathered on the desert, dark And darker, till alone one purple arch Marked the far place of setting. All above Was purely azure, for no moon in heaven Walked in her brightness, and with snowy light Softened the deep intensity, that gave Such awe unto the blue serenity Of the high throne of gods, the dwelling-place Of suns and stars, which are to us as gods, The fountains of existence and the seat Of all we dream of glory. Dim and vast The ruins stood around me -- temples, fanes, Where the bright sun was worshipped, where they gave Homage to him, who frowns in storms, and rolls The desert like an ocean, where they bowed Unto the queen of beauty, she in heaven, Who gives the night its loveliness, and smiles Serenely on the drifted waste, and lends A silver softness to the ridgy wave, Where the dark Arab sojourns, and with tales Of love and beauty wears the tranquil night In poetry away; her light the while Falling upon him, as a spirit falls, Dove-like or curling down in flame, a star Sparkling amid his flowing locks, or dews That melt in gold, and steal into the heart, Making it one enthusiastic glow, As if the God were present, and his voice Spake on the eloquent lips, that pour abroad A gush of inspiration -- bright as waves Swelling around Aurora's car, intense With passion as the fire that ever flows In fountains on the Caspian shore, and full As the wide-rolling majesty of Nile. Over these temples of an age of wild And dark belief, and yet magnificent In all that strikes the senses -- beautiful In the fair forms they knelt to, and the domes And pillars which upreared them -- full of life In their poetic festivals, when youth Gave loose to all its energy, in dance, And song, and every charm the fancy weaves In the soft twine of cultured speech, attuned In perfect concord to the full-toned lyre: When nations gathered to behold the pomp That issued from the hallowed shrine in choirs Of youths, who bounded to the minstrelsy Of tender voices, and all instruments Of ancient harmony, in solemn trains Bearing the votive offerings, flowing horns Of plenty wreathed with flowers, and gushing o'er With the ripe clusters of the purple vine, The violet of the fig, the scarlet flush Of granates peeping from the parted rind, The citron shining through its glossy leaves In burnished gold, the carmine veiled in down, Like mountain snow, on which the living stream Flowed from Astarte's minion, all that hang In eastern gardens blended -- while the sheaf Nods with its loaded ears, and brimming bowls Foam with the kindling element, the joy Of banquet, and the nectar that inspires Man with the glories of a heightened power To feel the touch of beauty, and combine The scattered forms of elegance, till high Rises a magic vision, blending all That we have seen of glory, such as drew Assembled Greece to worship, when the form, Who gathered all its loveliness, arose Dewy and blushing from the parent foam, Than which her tint was fairer, and with hand That seemed of living marble, parted back Her raven locks, and upward looked to Heaven, Smiling to see all Nature bright and calm. Over these temples, whose long colonnades Are parted by the hand of time, and fall Pillar by pillar, block by block, and strow The ground in shapeless ruin, night descends Unmingled, and the many stars shoot through The gaps of broken walls, and glance between The shafts of tottering columns, marking out Obscurely, on the dark blue sky, the form Of Desolation, who hath made these piles Her home, and sitting with her folded wings, Wraps in her dusty robe the skeletons Of a once countless multitude, whose toil Reared palaces and theatres, and brought All the fair forms of Grecian art, to give Glory unto an island, girt with sands As barren as the ocean, where the grave And stately Doric marked the solemn fane Where wisdom dwelt, and on the fairer shrine Of beauty sprang the light Ionian wreathed With a soft volute, whose simplicity Becomes the deity of loveliness, Who with her snowy mantle, and her zone Woven with all attractions, and her locks Flowing as Nature bade them flow, compels The sterner Powers to hang upon her smiles. And there the grand Corinthian lifted high Its flowery capital, to crown the porch, Where sat the sovereign of their hierarchy, The monarch armed with terror, whose curled locks Shaded a brow of thought and firm resolve, Whose eye, deep sunk, shot out its central fires, To blast and wither all who dared confront The gaze of highest power; so sat their kings Enshrined in palaces, and when they came Thundering on their triumphal cars, all bright With diadem of gold, and purple robe Flashing with gems, before their rushing train Moving in serried columns fenced in steel, The herd of slaves obsequious sought the dust, And gazed not as the mystic pomp rolled by. Such were thy monarchs, Tadmor! now thy streets Are silent, and thy walls overthrown, no voice Speaks through the long dim night of years, to tell These were once peopled dwellings; I could dream Some sorcerer in his moon-light wanderings, reared These wonders in an hour of sport, to mock The stranger with the show of life, and send Thought through the mist of ages, in the search Of nations who are now no more, who lived Erst in the pride of empire, ruled and swayed Millions in their supremacy, and toiled To pile these monuments of wealth and skill, That here the wandering tribe might pitch its tents Securer in their empty courts, and we, Who have the sense of greatness, low might kneel To ancient mind, and gather from the torn And scattered fragments, visions of the power, And splendour, and sublimity of old, Mocking the grandest canopy of Heaven, And imaging the pomp of Gods below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 6. RUINS OF PAESTUM by SARA TEASDALE WHERE A ROMAN VILLA STOOD, ABOVE FREIBURG' by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE RAVAGED VILLA by HERMAN MELVILLE HYMN AMONG THE RUINS by OCTAVIO PAZ OZYMANDIAS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY ODE TO LUDLOW CASTLE by LUCY AIKEN RUINS OF CORINTH by ANTIPATER OF SIDON THE CORAL GROVE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL |
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