Xlii

Give me the streams, that counterfeit The twilight of autumnal skies; The silent, shadowy waters, lit With fire like a woman’s eyes! Slow waters that, in autumn, glass The scarlet-strewn and golden grass, And drink the sunset’s tawny dyes.

Give me the pools, that lie among The centuried forests! give me those, Deep, dim, and sad as shadows hung Dark ’neath the sunset’s sombre rose: Still pools, in whose vague mirrors look-- Like ragged gipsies round a book Of magic--trees in wild repose.

No quiet thing, or innocent, Of water, earth, or air shall please My soul now: but the violent Between the sunset and the trees: The fierce, the splendid, and intense, Like love matures in innocence, Like mighty music, give me these!