Spirits in bondage; a cycle of lyrics by C. S. (Clive Staples) Lewis
page 5 of 54 (09%)
page 5 of 54 (09%)
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There comes a buzzing plane: and now, it seems
Flies straight into the moon. Lo! where he steers Across the pallid globe and surely nears In that white land some harbour of dear dreams! False mocking fancy! Once I too could dream, Who now can only see with vulgar eye That he's no nearer to the moon than I And she's a stone that catches the sun's beam. What call have I to dream of anything? I am a wolf. Back to the world again, And speech of fellow-brutes that once were men Our throats can bark for slaughter: cannot sing. III. The Satyr When the flowery hands of spring Forth their woodland riches fling, Through the meadows, through the valleys Goes the satyr carolling. From the mountain and the moor, Forest green and ocean shore All the faerie kin he rallies Making music evermore. See! the shaggy pelt doth grow On his twisted shanks below, |
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