THE river-god's daughter, -- the sun-god sought her, Sleeping with never a zephyr by her. Under the noon he made his prey sure, Woofed in weeds of a woven azure, As down he shot in a whistle of fire. Slid off, fair daughter! her vesturing water; Like a cloud from the scourge of the winds fled she: With the breath in her hair of the keen Apollo, And feet less fleet than the feet that follow, She throes in his arms to a laurel-tree. Risen out of birth's waters the soul distraught errs, Nor whom nor whither she flieth knows she: With the breath in her hair of the keen Apollo, And fleet the beat of the feet that follow, She throes in his arms to a poet, woe's me! You plucked the boughed verse the poet bears -- It shudders and bleeds as it snaps from the tree. A love-banning love, did the god but know it, Which barks the man about with the poet, And muffles his heart of mortality! Yet I translate -- ward of song's gate! -- Perchance all ill this mystery. We both are struck with the self-same quarrel; We grasp the maiden, and clasp the laurel -- Do we weep or we laugh more, @3Phoebe mi@1? 'His own green lays, unwithering bays, Gird Keats' unwithering brow,' say ye? O fools, that is only the empty crown! The sacred head has laid it down With Hob, Dick, Marian, and Margery. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BACCALAUREATE by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH THE COCK AND THE BULL by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TO HIS SON, VINCENT CORBET, ON HIS THIRD BIRTHDAY by RICHARD CORBET THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 52. WILLOWWOOD (4) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE PRAYER OF AGASSIZ by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER FROM AN OFFICE WINDOW by FRANCES M. BALLARD MORE WALKS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |