Classic and Contemporary Poetry
EPILOGUE; IL BOSCO SACRO, by WILLIAM SHARP Poet's Biography First Line: Ah, the sweet silence Last Line: O bird, thy song! Alternate Author Name(s): Macleod, Fiona Subject(s): Peace; Rome, Italy; Silence | ||||||||
Ah, the sweet silence: Not a breath stirreth: Scarce a leaf moveth. The Dusk, as a dream, Steals slowly, slowly, With shadowy feet Under the branches Here, in the woodland, Hushfully seeking The Night, her lover. Sweet are the odours Breath'd through the twilight; Lovely spirits Of lovely things. One by one Forth-shimmer white stars Beyond the skiey Boughs of chestnuts, Pale Phosphorescence Gleaming and glancing As in the wake Of a windspent vessel That, moonlike, drifts With motionless motion. Peace: utter peace. Not a sound riseth From where in the hollow The town lies dreaming: Not a cry from the pastures That far below Are drowsed in the shadows. Only afar, On the dim Campagna; Peace, utter peace: On the pastures, peace Low in the hollows, Deep in the woodlands; High on the hill-slopes; Rest, utter rest, Utter peace. Suddenly . . . thrilling Long-drawn vibrations! Passionate preludes Of passionate song O the wild music Tost through the silence; As a swaying fountain Is swept by the wind's wings Far through the sunshine, A mist of flashing And falling spray. How the hush of the stillness Deepeneth slowly. . . . Till never, never Can pain and rapture So wild a music, So sweet a song, List in the moonlight -- Listen again O never, never! O heart still thy beating: O bird, thy song! Too deep the rapture Of this new sorrow. White falls the moonshine Here, where we gather'd The snow-pure blossoms, The Flowers of Dream: Here, when the sunlight On that glad day Flooded the mosses With golden wine, And deep in the forest, Joy passed us, laughing, Laughing low, While ever behind her Rose lovely, delicate, Beautiful, beautiful, The fadeless blossoms, The Flowers of Dream. Be still, O beating, O yearning heart! Here there is silence . . . Silence . . . Silence . . . O beating heart! Here, in the sunshine, Together we gather'd The perfect blooms: And now in the gloaming, Here, where the moonlight; Lies like white foam on The dark tides of night, Here is one only, Longing forever, Longing, longing With passion and pain. Come, O Beloved! O heart, be still! Nay, through the silence Cometh no answer, But only, only The sweet subsiding Of this wild strain Now lost in the thickets Down in the hollows. Hark . . . rapture out welling! O song of joy! Glad voice of my passion Singing there Out of the heart of The fragrant darkness! O flowers at my feet, White beautiful flowers, That whisper, whisper My soul's desire! O never, never Lost though afar, My Joy, my Dream Too deep the rapture Of this sweet sorrow, Of this glad pain: O heart, still thy beating, O bird, thy song! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONG OF SILENCE by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON TANKA DIARY (9) by HARRYETTE MULLEN 7 A.M., A MAN AND A WOMAN by LAURE-ANNE BOSSELAAR |
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