Themes and Variations/Preface
PREFACE.
Alas! for those who drag, with patient care,
The wave-worn trawling net of poesie!
Too often all their take is but a snare;
A salt fish, such as love-lost Antony
On Egypt’s flood ‘drew up with fervency;’
While the dark Queen and all her maidens jeered,
And old Osiris laughed within his beard.
The wave-worn trawling net of poesie!
Too often all their take is but a snare;
A salt fish, such as love-lost Antony
On Egypt’s flood ‘drew up with fervency;’
While the dark Queen and all her maidens jeered,
And old Osiris laughed within his beard.
To you, chief poets of the elder times,
We have much to forgive! For still, I fear
You have cribbed all the fairest of our rhymes
Ere yet we waked to see the sunrise clear.
We slept, and yet we felt that you were near!
’Tis hard that we should have to bear the blame
Of that old theft—oh, might we also claim
Gifts of the silver bow, and aërial darts of flame!
We have much to forgive! For still, I fear
You have cribbed all the fairest of our rhymes
Ere yet we waked to see the sunrise clear.
We slept, and yet we felt that you were near!
’Tis hard that we should have to bear the blame
Of that old theft—oh, might we also claim
Gifts of the silver bow, and aërial darts of flame!
And yet it may be that we sometimes glean
In others’ fields, although unconsciously;
We are sleep-walkers, and our feet have been
We know not where, beneath our mother sky.
Light moves his step, who walks the waving rye!
The moon is large,—the rustling harvest gleams,
Soft music stirs—wake not the fool of dreams!
In others’ fields, although unconsciously;
We are sleep-walkers, and our feet have been
We know not where, beneath our mother sky.
Light moves his step, who walks the waving rye!
The moon is large,—the rustling harvest gleams,
Soft music stirs—wake not the fool of dreams!