Chapter V

And therefore am I seeking to entwine
A coronal of poppies for my head,
Or wreathe it with a wreath engarlanded
By Lethe’s slumberous waters. Oh! that mine
Were some dim chamber turning to the north,
With latticed casement, bedded deep in leaves,
That opening with sweet murmur might look forth
On quiet fields from broad o’erhanging eaves,
And ever when the Spring her garland weaves,
Were darkened with encroaching ivy-trail
And jaggèd vine-leaves’ shade;
And all its pavement starred with blossoms pale
Of jasmine, when the wind’s least stir was made;
Where the sun-beam were verdurous-cool, before
It wound into that quiet nook, to paint
With interspace of light and colour faint
That tesselated floor.
How pleasant were it there in dim recess,
In some close-curtained haunt of quietness,
To hear no tones of human pain and care,
Our own or others, little heeding there,
If morn or noon or night
Pursued their weary flight,
But musing what an easy thing it were
To mix our opiates in a larger cup,
And drink, and not perceive
Sleep deepening lead his truer kinsman up,
Like undistinguished Night, darkening the skirts of Eve.

ATLANTIS.

I.

I could loose my boat,
And could bid it float
Where the idlest wind should pilot,
So its glad course lay
From this earth away,
Towards any untrodden islet.

II.

For this earth is old,
And its heart is cold,
And the palsy of age has bound it;
And my spirit frets
For the viewless nets
Which are hourly clinging round it.

III.

And with joyful glee
We have heard of thee,
Thou Isle in mid ocean sleeping;
And thy records old,
Which the Sage has told,
How the Memphian tombs are keeping.

IV.

But we know not where,
’Neath the desert air,
To look for the pleasant places
Of the youth of Time,
Whose austerer prime
The haunts of his childhood effaces.

V.

Like the golden flowers
Of the western bowers,
Have waned their immortal shadows;
And no harp may tell
Where the asphodel
Clad in light those Elysian meadows.

VI.

And thou, fairest Isle
In the daylight’s smile,
Hast thou sunk in the boiling ocean,
While beyond thy strand
Rose a mightier land
From the wave in alternate motion?

VII.

Are the isles that stud
The Atlantic flood,
But the peaks of thy tallest mountains,
While repose below
The great water’s flow
Thy towns and thy towers and fountains?

VIII.

Have the Ocean powers
Made their quiet bowers,
In thy fanes and thy dim recesses?
Or in haunts of thine
Do the sea-maids twine
Coral wreaths for their dewy tresses?

IX.

Or does foot not fall
In deserted hall,
Choked with wrecks that ne’er won their haven,
By the ebb trailed o’er
Thy untrampled floor,
Which their sunken wealth has paven?

X.

Oh, appear! appear!
Not as when thy spear
Ruled as far as the broad Egean,
But in Love’s own might,
And in Freedom’s right,
Till the nations uplift their Pæan,