| Show me again the time When the Junetide�s prime We flew by meads and mountains northerly! - Yea, to such freshness, fairness, fullness, fineness, freeness, Love lures life on. Show me again the day When from the sandy bay We looked together upon the pestered sea!- Yea, to such surging, swaying, sighing, swelling, shrinking, Love lures life on. Show me again the hour When by the pinnacled tower We eyed eachother and feared futurity!- Yea, to such brodings, broodings, beatings, blanchings, blessings, Love lures life on. Show me again just this: The moment of that kiss Away from the prancing folk, by the strawberry-tree!- Yea, to such rashness, rareness, ripeness, richness, Love lures life on. ------------------ UNDER THE WATERFALL �Whenever I plunge my arms, like this, In a basin of water, i never miss The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day Fetched back from its thickening shroud of grey. Hence the only prime And real love-fhyme That I know by heart, And that leaves no smart, Is the purl of a little valley fall About three spans wide and two spans tall Over a table of solid rock, And into a scoop of the self-same block; The purl of a runlet that never ceases In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces; With a hollow bioling voice it speaks And has spoken since the hills were turfless peaks.� �And why gives this the only prime Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?? And why does plunging your arm in a bowl Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul??� �Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone, Though where pricicely none ever has know, Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized, and by now with its smoothness opalized, Is a drinking-glass: For, down that pass My lover and I Walked under a sky Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green, In the burn of August, to paint the scene, And we placed our basket of fruit and wine By the runlet�s rim, where we sat to dine; And when ew had drunk from the glass together, Arched by the oak-copse from the weather, I held the vessel to rinse in the fall, Where it slipped, and sank, and was past recall, Though we stooped and plumbered the little abyss With long bared arms. There the glass still is. And, as said, if I thrust my arm below Cold water in a basin or bowl, a throe From the past awakens a sense of that time, And the glass we used, and the cascade�s rhyme. The basin seems the pool, and its edge The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge, And the leafy pattern of china-ware The hanging plants that were bathing there. �By night, by day, when it shines or lours, There lies intact that chalice of ours, And its presence adds to the rhyme of love Persistently sung by the fall above. No lip has touched it since his and mine In turns therefrom sipped lovers� wine.� |
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