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Sidney Lanier, rose, in English Clear filters

RomanticSidney Lanier

A Birthday Song. To S. G.

For ever wave, for ever float and shine Before my yearning eyes, oh! dream of mine Wherein I dreamed that time was like a vine, A creeping rose, that clomb a height of dread Out of the sea of Birth, all filled with dead, Up to the brilliant cloud of Death o'erhead. This vine bore many blossoms, which were years. Their petals, red with joy, or bleached by tears, Waved to and fro i' the winds of hopes and fears. Here all men clung, each hanging by his spray. Anon, one dropped; his neighbor 'gan to pray; And so they clung and dropped and prayed, alway. But I did mark one lately-opened bloom, Wherefrom arose a visible perfume That wrapped me in a cloud of dainty gloom.
DreamySidney Lanier

Baby Charley.

He's fast asleep. See how, O Wife, Night's finger on the lip of life Bids whist the tongue, so prattle-rife, Of busy Baby Charley. One arm stretched backward round his head, Five little toes from out the bed Just showing, like five rosebuds red, -- So slumbers Baby Charley. Heaven-lights, I know, are beaming through Those lucent eyelids, veined with blue, That shut away from mortal view Large eyes of Baby Charley. O sweet Sleep-Angel, throned now On the round glory of his brow, Wave thy wing and waft my vow Breathed over Baby Charley.
ContemplativeSidney Lanier

Rose-Morals

I. -- Red. Would that my songs might be What roses make by day and night -- Distillments of my clod of misery Into delight. Soul, could'st thou bare thy breast As yon red rose, and dare the day, All clean, and large, and calm with velvet rest? Say yea -- say yea! Ah, dear my Rose, good-bye; The wind is up; so; drift away. That songs from me as leaves from thee may fly, I strive, I pray. II. -- White. Soul, get thee to the heart Of yonder tuberose: hide thee there --
DreamySidney Lanier

Spring Greeting

From the German of Herder. All faintly through my soul to-day, As from a bell that far away Is tinkled by some frolic fay, Floateth a lovely chiming. Thou magic bell, to many a fell And many a winter-saddened dell Thy tongue a tale of Spring doth tell, Too passionate-sweet for rhyming. Chime out, thou little song of Spring, Float in the blue skies ravishing. Thy song-of-life a joy doth bring That's sweet, albeit fleeting. Float on the Spring-winds e'en to my home: And when thou to a rose shalt come That hath begun to show her bloom,

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