05.05.2009, 18:56
THOUGHTS UNDER A WALNUT-TREE.
—-* —
Bright walnut, as along this Rhenish road
Spring greets us both, the hills of Armenie
Rise on my thought; deep forests, where the bee
Rears in your hollow arms her populous brood,
Seeking (like poets) in the solitude
Of consular cities, for sweet store.—Oh tree !
Honey thy kind hives there; but here, for me,
Far-ranging thoughts, of fancy long pursued.
Yet not on o'ergrown cornices of the dead
Lies the great wreath of noble quest, nor 'mid
Vain relics of the satrapies of Rome.
He who would win it for his living head,
Must conquer to himself the power that's hid,
Like lightning in the region, o'er his home.
—-* —
Bright walnut, as along this Rhenish road
Spring greets us both, the hills of Armenie
Rise on my thought; deep forests, where the bee
Rears in your hollow arms her populous brood,
Seeking (like poets) in the solitude
Of consular cities, for sweet store.—Oh tree !
Honey thy kind hives there; but here, for me,
Far-ranging thoughts, of fancy long pursued.
Yet not on o'ergrown cornices of the dead
Lies the great wreath of noble quest, nor 'mid
Vain relics of the satrapies of Rome.
He who would win it for his living head,
Must conquer to himself the power that's hid,
Like lightning in the region, o'er his home.