Themes and Variations/A Vision
A VISION.
But yesterday I saw a ghost,—
The calm of noon-day was on the hills,
As we rode by the silent, sunny coast,
On threadbare grass, by the lessening rills.
Far down in the valley the corn-waves spread,
At the breath of the south wind they bowed and fled.
Fleeing before him, yet ever stayed,
Gold in the sunshine, grey in shade,
The smoke hung blue on the swampy plain
Yellow and sere was its reedy breast
Like the stripes of a tiger's brindled vest),
And the bulrushes rustled and sighed again;
But the scent of sea-weed came sweet from the west,
Where we saw, in her crystal, sun-streaked home,
The blue wave flowering forever in foam,
The calm of noon-day was on the hills,
As we rode by the silent, sunny coast,
On threadbare grass, by the lessening rills.
Far down in the valley the corn-waves spread,
At the breath of the south wind they bowed and fled.
Fleeing before him, yet ever stayed,
Gold in the sunshine, grey in shade,
The smoke hung blue on the swampy plain
Yellow and sere was its reedy breast
Like the stripes of a tiger's brindled vest),
And the bulrushes rustled and sighed again;
But the scent of sea-weed came sweet from the west,
Where we saw, in her crystal, sun-streaked home,
The blue wave flowering forever in foam,
Was it the spirit of youth I saw
Dancing alone on the lonely hills,
All made of sunshine, a fair outlaw?
His coat was the colour of daffodils;
In his hand was a flute, but I could not hear
Either flute or song, though I followed near;
For so loudly the rivulets chimed that way,
Like bell-ringers ringing a holiday.
Was it a guest from a fairy shore
Ship-wrecked, lone, under cloudy skies?
I knew not. He passed and I saw no more;
But I fain still would follow those harmonies,
Still seek, through the smoke of the Autumn hills,
The gleam of that vesture of daffodils!
Dancing alone on the lonely hills,
All made of sunshine, a fair outlaw?
His coat was the colour of daffodils;
In his hand was a flute, but I could not hear
Either flute or song, though I followed near;
For so loudly the rivulets chimed that way,
Like bell-ringers ringing a holiday.
Was it a guest from a fairy shore
Ship-wrecked, lone, under cloudy skies?
I knew not. He passed and I saw no more;
But I fain still would follow those harmonies,
Still seek, through the smoke of the Autumn hills,
The gleam of that vesture of daffodils!