Charles Warren Stoddard (Чарльз Уоррен Стоддард)

Invocation

Oh, Poesy! exquisite gift,
Thou art a magnet that shall lift
My gold from out the drossy rift.

Thou art my soul's refulgent beam
My guiding star to ever gleam
A flaming pillar in my dream.

Thou art my drifting-cloud by day
Whose bright pavilion-courts alway
Allure me with their fair display.

Thou art a Hebe that presents
A chalice to my lips, and thence
I drain the charméd, rich contents.

Delicious, bubbling nectars twine
Their trickling tendrils as a vine
Through all my being; steept in wine

And numb to any thought of earth
I wrestle with my spirit's mirth
In travail with a poem's birth.

When chasing cares are wearying
With all my life to thee I cling—
Believing I was born to sing.

Lo! thou hast taught me where to fly
Escaping every ill; for I,
Transfigured by thy witchery,

As Daphne in the laurel park
Seem wholly shut in leafy ark,
I feel beneath my rugged bark

A nervéd pulse that never cowers;
The turgid stream of sap hath powers
That shall beget a thousand flowers.

I quiver from my very root,
I strive to doff my leafy suit
And load my boughs with perfect fruit—

And lift my gnarled limbs to thee—
I writhe and struggle to be free
Endowed with thy divinity.

Thou art my fast and feast; and true
Thou art my sweetest twilight-dew,
That grants me purer life anew.

And as the flower unto the moon
Returns its hoarded sweets full soon,
I yield thee all, in verse and tune.

1. Maiden Love
2. Albatross
3. Bells of San Gabriel
4. The Royal Mummy to Bohemia
5. Exile

Edmund Stedman (Эдмунд Стедман) Invocation ("THOU,--whose endearing hand once laid in sooth")

Распечатать (To print)

Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1244

Последние стихотворения

To English version