Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness, Thou foster-child of silence and slow time, What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What wild ecstasy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave Thy song; Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss, Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve; She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss, For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair! Ah, happy, happy boughs!
For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd, For ever panting, and for ever young; All breathing human passion far above, That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd, A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
Who are these coming to the sacrifice? To what green altar, O mysterious priest, Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies, And all her silken flanks with garlands drest? What little town by river or sea shore, Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel, Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
