Fair centre of a fair demesne, Thyself its fairest part, A lovely thing hath never been Without a lovelier heart. For thee the mid-day's splendors burn, The midnight's stars are thine; And eve and morn the twilights turn Thy waters into wine. The scene is necromancy's dream— Is nature's sorcery: The shore and sky bewitch the stream, The stream the shore and sky. The present in confusion lies; The vanished past is here; And pictures of the future rise From thee, enchanted mere. A mellow, mediæval light Comes down like golden rain; And changes yonder mansions bright To old chateaux of Spain. The meadows billowy and warm Are meads of Sicily; And, down their deeps, the gliding form Is fair Persephone. 'Tis here the siren-music wins That never ruin brings: Ulysses here entranced begins And ends his wanderings. Here duty points and knowledge leads The eager, earnest throngs To winning words, and dauntless deeds Shall right the ages' wrongs. Do here Œnone's sorrows lurk Like mists in cloudless skies? Doth here deception's sorrow work The guile of Helen's eyes? It may not be. O sentient thing, More luminous than glass, Such shadows do not hither fling, Deflect them as they pass! Thy beauty is the aureole old That haloes learning's brow. Time need not "fetch the age of gold," The age of gold is now. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE SUN by HAYDEN CARRUTH AFTERGLOW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH by AMY LOWELL DOMESDAY BOOK: GEORGE JOSLIN ON LA MENKEN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |