What was he doing, the great god Pan,
Down in the reeds by the river?
Spreading ruin and scattering ban,
Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat,
And breaking the golden lilies afloat
With the dragon-fly on the river.
He tore out a reed, the great god Pan,
From the deep cool bed of the river:
The limpid water turbidly ran,
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,--
Sailed on a river of misty light
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,"
I do not ask for youth, nor for delay
in the rising of time's irreversible river
that takes the jewelled arc of the waterfall
in which I glimpse, minute by glinting minute,
all that I have and all I am always losing
as sunlight lights each drop fast, fast falling.
I do not dream that you, young again,
might come to me darkly in love's green darkness
where the dust of the bracken spices the air
If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.
And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pen--to register; a key--
That winds through secret wards
Are well assigned to Memory
By allegoric Bards.
As aptly, also, might be given
A Pencil to her hand;
That, softening objects, sometimes even
Outstrips the heart's demand;
Soaring Amidst Song
sudden chance meeting
of a cheetah and monkey
then green treetop flight
zebra on the plain
it's the golden hour
young duck swimming afternoon
hard rain patters down
the sun yet shines on
duck revelry in late bath
green river frolic
drought endured so long
but blooms and smiles are coming
Shimmering waves of satin ripples, all of the black night,
As lustrous moon visits the river, in its pearls of white.
In the fragrance of the hour, stars twinkle for me tonight;
And the water mirrors the sky, as it did in noon daylight!
Just awakened from dim dreams, in my houseboat on the river,
I again greet porcelain moon, making my heart beat quicker.
A missed beat in the somber rhythm, made the dream I prefer,
Of moonlit diamonds and pearls, dancing on a liquid mirror!
It seems the sky has never been bluer,
As I stroll the lovely familiar path;
And bird trills have never been truer,
Than in hazy dawn's golden aftermath.
The clouds float lazy above the treetops,
As the river makes its slow motion tour,
Long admired from houses on the hilltops,
Scintillating sun gleams on waters pure.
See the Romancing politician,
I think he's confused at the exposition.
He finds it hard to see the Rose,
Overshadowed by the Green brose.
Who is that walking near the Garden?
I think she'd like to eat the marden.
She is but a Cute Poetess,
Admired as she sits upon a screenwriter.