Collected Works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Volume 1)
This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1888. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... THE STREAM'S SECRET. What thing unto mine ear More...
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Publisher: General Books LLC
Size: 7.44" wide x 9.69" long x 0.30" tall
This historic book may have numerous typos, missing text or index. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. 1888. Not illustrated. Excerpt: ... THE STREAM'S SECRET. What thing unto mine ear Wouldst thou convey, --what secret thing, O wandering water ever whispering? Surely thy speech shall be of her. Thou water, O thou whispering wanderer, What message dost thou bring? Say, hath not Love leaned low This hour beside thy far well-head, And there through jealous hollowed ringers said The thing that most I long to know, -- Murmuring with curls all dabbled in thy flow And washed lips rosy red? He told it to thee there Where thy voice hath a louder tone; But where it welters to this little moan His will decrees that I should hear. Now speak: for with the silence is no fear, And I am all alone. Shall Time not still endow One hour with life, and I and she Slake in one kiss the thirst of memory? Say, stream; lest Love should disavow Thy service, and the bird upon the bough Sing first to tell it me. What whisperest thou? Nay, why Name the dead hours? I mind them well: Their ghosts in many darkened doorways dwell With desolate eyes to know them by. The hour that must be born ere it can die, -- Of that I'd have thee tell. But hear, before thou speak Withhold, I pray, the vain behest That while the maze hath still its bower for quest My burning heart should cease to seek. Be sure that Love ordained for souls more meek His roadside dells of rest. Stream, when this silver thread In flood-time is a torrent brown May any bulwark bind thy foaming crown? Shall not the waters surge and spread And to the crannied boulders of their bed Still shoot the dead drift down? Let no rebuke find place In speech of thine: or it shall prove That thou dost ill expound the words of Love, Even as thine eddy's rippling race Would blur the perfect image of his face I will have none thereof. O learn and understand That 'gainst the wrongs himse