In Divers Tones by Charles G. D. Roberts
page 67 of 89 (75%)
page 67 of 89 (75%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
This antique song, new sung in fashion new, From me, half silent fallen, with love to you, O singer of unvexed scenes and virgin themes In strait, quaint, ancient metres, thronged with dreams! A BALLADE OF PHILOMELA. From gab of jay and chatter of crake The dusk wood covered me utterly. And here the tongue of the thrush was awake. Flame-floods out of the low bright sky Lighted the gloom with gold-brown dye, Before dark; and a manifold chorussing Arose of thrushes remote and nigh,-- For the tongue of the singer needs must sing. Midmost a close green covert of brake A brown bird listening silently Sat; and I thought--"She grieves for the sake Of Itylus,--for the stains that lie In her heritage of sad memory." But the thrushes were hushed at evening. Then I waited to hear the brown bird try,-- For the tongue of the singer needs must sing. |
|