One willow over the river wept, And shook the wave as the wind did sigh; Chasing itself at its own wild will, And far through the marish green and still Shot over with purple, and green and yellow. The wild swan's death-hymn took the soul Hidden in sorrow at first to the ear The warble was low, and full and clear; Prevailing in weakness, the coronach stole Flowed forth on a carol free and bold: As when a mighty people rejoice With shawms, and with cymbals, and harps of gold, And the tumult of their acclaim is rolled Through the open gates of the city afar, To the shepherd who watcheth the evening star. And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds, And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank, Were flooded over with eddying song. A DIRGE. I. Now is done thy long day's work; Shadows of the silver birk Sweep the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. II. Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Nothing but the small cold worm Let them rave. Light and shadow ever wander O'er the green that folds thy grave. III. Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed; Thou wilt never raise thine head From the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. IV. Crocodiles wept tears for thee; Drip sweeter dews than traitor's tear. Rain makes music in the tree O'er the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. V. Round thee blow, self-pleached deep Bramble-roses, faint and pale, And long purples of the dale. Let them rave. These in every shower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. VI. The gold-eyed kingcups fine, Kings have no such couch as thine, VII. Wild words wander here and there; Makes thy memory confused But let them rave. The balm-cricket carols clear In the green that folds thy grave. |