Books > Old Books > The Golden Treasury (1932)


Page 274

BOOK FOURTH
274 WRITTEN IN THE EUGANEAN HILLS, NORTH ITALY

Many a green isle needs must be
In the deep wide sea of misery,
Or the mariner, worn and wan,
Never thus could voyage on
Day and night, and night and day,
Drifting on his dreary way,
With the solid darkness black
Closing round his vessel's track;
Whilst above, the sunless sky,
Big with clouds, hangs heavily,
And behind, the tempest fleet
Hurries on with lightning feet,
Riving sail, and cord, and plank,
Till the ship has almost drank
Death from the o'er-brimming deep;
And sinks down, down, like that sleep
When the dreamer seems to be
Weltering through eternity;
And the dim low line before
Of a dark and distant shore
Still recedes, as ever still
Longing with divided will,
But no power to seek or shun,
He is ever drifted on
O'er the unreposing wave,
To the haven of the grave.

Aye, many flowering islands lie
In the waters of wide Agony:
To such a one this morn was led
My bark, by soft winds piloted.
-'Mid the mountains Euganean
I stood listening to the paean
With which the legion'd rooks did hail
The sun's uprise majestical:
Gathering round with wings all boar,
Through the dewy mist they soar
Like gray shades, till the eastern heaven
Bursts, and then,-as clouds of even,
Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie
In the unfathomable sky,
So their plumes of purple grain
Starr'd with drops of golden rain
Gleam above the sunlight woods,
As in silent multitudes
On the morning's fitful gale
Through the broken mist they sail;
And the vapours cloven and gleaming
Follow down the dark steep streaming,
Till all is bright, and clear, and still
Round the solitary hill.

Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath Day's azure eyes,
Ocean's nursling, Venice lies,
A peopled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite's destined halls,
Which her hoary sire now paves
With his blue and beaming waves.
Lo! the sun upsprings behind,
Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined
On the level quivering line
Of the waters crystalline;
And before that chasm of light,
As within a furnace bright,
Column, tower, and dome, and spire,
Shine like obelisks of fire,
Pointing with inconstant motion
From the altar of dark ocean
To the sapphire-tinted skies;
As the flames of sacrifice
From the marble shrines did rise,
As to pierce the dome of gold
Where Apollo spoke of old.

Sun-girt City! thou hast been
Ocean's child, and then his queen;
Now is come a darker day,
And thou soon must be his prey,
If the power that raised thee here
Hallow so thy watery bier.
A less drear ruin then than now,
With thy conquest-branded brow
Stooping to the slave of slaves
From thy throne, among the waves
Wilt thou be,-when the sea-mew
Flies, as once before it flew,
O'er thine isles depopulate,
And all is in its ancient state,
Save where many a palace gate,
With green sea-flowers overgrown
Like a rock of ocean's own,
Topples o'er the abandon'd sea
As the tides change sullenly.
The fisher on his watery way
Wandering at the close of day,
Will spread his sail and seize his oar
Till he pass the gloomy shore,
Lest thy dead should, from their sleep
Bursting o'er the starlight deep,
Lead a rapid masque of death
O'er the waters of his path.

Noon descends around me now:
'Tis the noon of autumn's glow,
When a soft and purple mist
Like a vaporous amethyst,
Or an air-dissolved star
Mingling light and fragrance, far
From the curved horizon's bound
To the point of Heaven's profound,
Fills the overflowing sky;
And the plains that silent lie
Underneath; the leaves unsodden
Where the infant Frost has trodden
With his morning-winged feet
Whose bright print is gleaming yet;
And the red and golden vines
Piercing with their trellised lines
The rough, dark-skirted wilderness;
The dun and bladed grass no less,
Pointing from this hoary tower
In the windless air; the flower
Glimmering at my feet; the line
Of the olive-sandall'd Apennine
In the south dimly islanded;
And the Alps, whose snows are spread
High between the clouds and sun;
And of living things each one;
And my spirit, which so long
Darken'd this swift stream of song,
Interpenetrated lie By the glory of the sky;
Be it love, light, harmony,
Odour, or the soul of all
Which from Heaven like dew doth fall,
Or the mind which feeds this verse
Peopling the lone universe.

Noon descends, and after noon
Autumn's evening meets me soon.
Leading the infantine moon
And that one star, which to her
Almost seems to minister
Half the crimson light she brings
From the sunset's radiant springs:
And the soft dreams of the morn
(Which like winged winds had borne
To that silent isle, which lies
'Mid remember'd agonies,
The frail bark of this lone being),
Pass, to other sufferers fleeing,
And its ancient pilot, Pain,
Sits beside the helm again.

Other flowering isles must be
In the sea of Life and Agony:
Other spirits float and flee
O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps,
On some rock the wild wave wraps,
With folded wings they waiting sit
For my bark, to pilot it
To some calm and blooming cove,
Where for me, and those I love,
May a windless bower be built,
Far from passion, pain, and guilt,
In a dell 'mid lawny hills
Which the wild sea-murmur fills,
And soft sunshine, and the sound
Of old forests echoing round,
And the light and smell divine,
Of all flowers that breathe and shine.
-We may live so happy there,
That the Spirits of the Air
Envying us, may even entice
To our healing Paradise
The polluting multitude;
But their rage would be subdued
By that clime divine and calm,
And the winds whose wings rain balm
On the uplifted soul, and leaves

Under which the bright sea heaves;
While each breathless interval
In their whisperings musical
The inspired soul supplies
With its own deep melodies;
And the love which heals all strife
Circling, like the breath of life,
All things in that sweet abode
With its own mild brotherhood.
They, not it, would change; and soon
Every sprite beneath the moon
Would repent its envy vain,
And the earth grow young again.
P. B. SHELLEY.

travel books:
where is HTML where is HEAD where is TITLE Many a green isle needs must be In what is deep wide sea of misery, Or what is mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With what is solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above, what is sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily, And behind, what is tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank, Till what is ship has almost drank what time is it from what is o'er-brimming deep; And sinks down, down, like that sleep When what is dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity; And what is dim low line before Of a dark and distant shore Still recedes, as ever still Longing with divided will, But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on O'er what is unreposing wave, To what is haven of what is grave. Aye, many flowering islands lie In what is waters of wide Agony: To such a one this morn was led My bark, by soft winds where is meta name="keywords" content="old books, Free book , free book offer , free audio books , free coloring book pages , free book reports , free audio book , audio books free download , book free , free guest book , books free , free book summaries , download free audio books , free childrens books." where is where are they now rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="../../style.css" where is meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1" where is BODY bgColor=#ffffff text="#000000" where are they now ="#000000" v where are they now ="#FF0000" where is div align="center" where is strong where is strong where is a href="http://www.aaoldbooks.com" Books > where is a href="../default.asp" title="Book" Old Books > where is strong where is a href="default.asp" The Golden Treasury (1932) where is table width="700" border="1" align="center" cellpadding="15" cellspacing="0" where is center where is tr where is td width="160" align="center" valign="top" where is div align="center" where is td align="center" valign="top" where is div align="left" where is div align="center" where is p align="left" Page 274 where is strong BOOK FOURTH where is strong 274 WRITTEN IN what is EUGANEAN HILLS, NORTH ITALY where is p align="justify" Many a green isle needs must be In what is deep wide sea of misery, Or what is mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on Day and night, and night and day, Drifting on his dreary way, With what is solid darkness black Closing round his vessel's track; Whilst above, what is sunless sky, Big with clouds, hangs heavily, And behind, what is tempest fleet Hurries on with lightning feet, Riving sail, and cord, and plank, Till what is ship has almost drank what time is it from what is o'er-brimming deep; And sinks down, down, like that sleep When what is dreamer seems to be Weltering through eternity; And what is dim low line before Of a dark and distant shore Still recedes, as ever still Longing with divided will, But no power to seek or shun, He is ever drifted on O'er what is unreposing wave, To what is haven of the grave. Aye, many flowering islands lie In what is waters of wide Agony: To such a one this morn was led My bark, by soft winds piloted. -'Mid what is mountains Euganean I stood listening to what is paean With which what is legion'd rooks did hail what is sun's uprise majestical: Gathering round with wings all boar, Through what is dewy mist they soar Like gray shades, till what is eastern heaven Bursts, and then,-as clouds of even, Fleck'd with fire and azure, lie In what is unfathomable sky, So their plumes of purple grain Starr'd with drops of golden rain Gleam above what is sunlight woods, As in silent multitudes On what is morning's fitful gale Through what is broken mist they sail; And what is vapours cloven and gleaming Follow down what is dark steep streaming, Till all is bright, and clear, and still Round what is solitary hill. Beneath is spread like a green sea The waveless plain of Lombardy, Bounded by what is vaporous air, Islanded by cities fair; Underneath Day's azure eyes, Ocean's nursling, Venice lies, A peopled labyrinth of walls, Amphitrite's destined halls, Which her hoary sire now paves With his blue and beaming waves. Lo! what is sun upsprings behind, Broad, red, radiant, half-reclined On what is level quivering line Of what is waters crystalline; And before that chasm of light, As within a furnace bright, Column, tower, and dome, and spire, Shine like obelisks of fire, Pointing with inconstant motion From what is altar of dark ocean To what is sapphire-tinted skies; As what is flames of travel From the marble shrines did rise, As to pierce what is dome of gold Where Apollo spoke of old. Sun-girt City! thou hast been Ocean's child, and then his queen; Now is come a darker day, And thou soon must be his prey, If the power that raised thee here Hallow so thy watery bier. A less drear ruin then than now, With thy conquest-branded brow Stooping to what is slave of slaves From thy throne, among what is waves Wilt thou be,-when what is sea-mew Flies, as once before it flew, O'er thine isles depopulate, And all is in its ancient state, Save where many a palace gate, With green sea-flowers overgrown Like a rock of ocean's own, Topples o'er what is abandon'd sea As what is tides change sullenly. what is fisher on his watery way Wandering at what is close of day, Will spread his sail and seize his oar Till he pass what is gloomy shore, Lest thy dead should, from their sleep Bursting o'er what is starlight deep, Lead a rapid masque of what time is it O'er what is waters of his path. Noon descends around me now: 'Tis what is noon of autumn's glow, When a soft and purple mist Like a vaporous amethyst, Or an air-dissolved star Mingling light and fragrance, far From what is curved horizon's bound To what is point of Heaven's profound, Fills what is overflowing sky; And what is plains that silent lie Underneath; what is leaves unsodden Where what is infant Frost has trodden With his morning-winged feet Whose bright print is gleaming yet; And what is red and golden vines Piercing with their trellised lines what is rough, dark-skirted wilderness; what is dun and bladed grass no less, Pointing from this hoary tower In what is windless air; what is flower Glimmering at my feet; what is line Of what is olive-sandall'd Apennine In what is south dimly islanded; And what is Alps, whose snows are spread High between what is clouds and sun; And of living things each one; And my spirit, which so long Darken'd this swift stream of song, Interpenetrated lie By the glory of what is sky; Be it love, light, harmony, Odour, or what is soul of all Which from Heaven like dew doth fall, Or what is mind which feeds this verse Peopling what is lone universe. Noon descends, and after noon Autumn's evening meets me soon. Leading what is infantine moon And that one star, which to her Almost seems to minister Half what is crimson light she brings From what is sunset's radiant springs: And what is soft dreams of what is morn (Which like winged winds had borne To that silent isle, which lies 'Mid remember'd agonies, what is frail bark of this lone being), Pass, to other sufferers fleeing, And its ancient pilot, Pain, Sits beside what is helm again. Other flowering isles must be In what is sea of Life and Agony: Other spirits float and flee O'er that gulf: even now, perhaps, On some rock what is wild wave wraps, With folded wings they waiting sit For my bark, to pilot it To some calm and blooming cove, Where for me, and those I love, May a windless bower be built, Far from passion, pain, and guilt, In a dell 'mid lawny hills Which what is wild sea-murmur fills, And soft sunshine, and what is sound Of old forests echoing round, And what is light and smell divine, Of all flowers that breathe and shine. -We may live so happy there, That what is Spirits of what is Air Envying us, may even entice To our healing Paradise what is polluting multitude; But their rage would be subdued By that clime divine and calm, And what is winds whose wings rain balm On what is uplifted soul, and leaves Under which what is bright sea heaves; While each breathless interval In their whisperings musical what is inspired soul supplies With its own deep melodies; And what is what time is it which heals all strife Circling, like what is breath of life, All things in that sweet abode With its own mild brotherhood. They, not it, would change; and soon Every sprite beneath what is moon Would repent its envy vain, And what is earth grow young again. P. B. SHELLEY. where is Server.Execute("_SiteMap.asp") %

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