Out on the ancient bastion,
Under the lindens I stay.
There stands by yon gray old tower,
The sentry-house of the town;
A red clad peasant soldier
Goes pacing up and down.
He toys with his shining musket,
That gleams in the sunset red,
Presenting and shouldering arms now,—
I wish he would shoot me dead!
Similar Posts
WEAK, slender blades of tender green,
What maketh ye so dear to all?Nor bud, nor flower, nor fruit have ye,So tiny, it can only be‘Mongst fairies ye are counted tall.No beauty is in this,— ah, yea,E’en as I gaze on you to-day,Your hue and fragrance bear me backInto the green, wide fields of old,With clear, blue air, and manifoldBright buds and…
Gray earth, gray mist, gray sky:
Larger than wont, on highFloats the horned, yellow moon.Chill airs are faintly stirred,And far away is heard,Of some fresh-awakened bird,The querulous, shrill tune.The dark mist hides the faceOf the dim land: no traceOf rock or river’s placeIn the thick air is drawn;But dripping grass smells sweet,And rustling branches meet,And sounding water greetThe slow, sure, sacred…
I saw in dream the spirits unbegot,
For one the hour had struck, he paused; the placeRang with an awful Voice:‘Soul, choose thy lot!Two paths are offered; that, in velvet-flower,Slopes easily to every earthly prize.Follow the multitude and bind thine eyes,Thou and thy sons’ sons shall have peace with power.This narrow track skirts the abysmal verge,Here shalt thou stumble, totter, weep and…
BEHOLD, I walked abroad at early morning,
The hills were clad with light as with a garment.The inexpressible auroral freshness,The grave, immutable, aerial heavens,The transient clouds above the quiet landscape,The heavy odor of the passionate lilacs,That hedged the road with sober-colored clusters,All these o’ermastered me with subtle power,And made my rural walk a royal progress,Peopled my solitude with airy spirits,Who hovered over…
Night, and beneath star-blazoned summer skies
A creole with still-burning, languid eyes,Voluptuous limbs and incense-breathing mouth:Swathed in spun gauze is she,From fibres of her own anana tree.Within these sumptuous woods she lies at ease,By rich night-breezes, dewy cool, caressed:‘Twixt cypresses and slim palmetto trees,Like to the golden oriole’s hanging nest,Her airy hammock swings,And through the dark her mocking-bird yet sings.How beautiful…
Golden lights and lengthening shadows,
O’er the monastery gardenRich in flower, fruit and foliage.Through the avenue of nut trees,Pace two grave and ghostly friars,Snowy white their gowns and girdles,Black as night their cowls and mantles.Lithe and ferret-eyed the younger,Black his scapular denotingA lay brother; his companionLarge, imperious, towers above him.‘T is the abbot, great Fra Pedro,Famous through all SaragossaFor his…