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Dreamy, Thomas S. Jones Jr., in English Clear filters

DreamyThomas S. Jones Jr.

Primavera

Rustle of rain, bird-song and fitful breeze, And flower-like dancers, faerie shapes that seem Dryad and faun, beneath whose pale feet gleam Vale-lilies, violets, anemones; Here glides a nymph the satyr cannot seize, Diaphanous as dawn her garments stream — Elusive, luminous, an April dream, She fades through orange and white myrtle trees. And yet how wistfully the dancers cling; And what vague weariness these spirits wear, Scattering wild-rose petals as they pass: Is it for Youth's short dream — the dream of Spring, Lovely as Flora through rain-scented air, Fleet as the dryad over rose-strewn grass?
DreamyThomas S. Jones Jr.

The Hill-Top

A windy hill-top and one ragged tree Sombre against the sunset's yellow stain, And in the air the freshness of spent rain And damp dead leaves that drop continually; While far below, in soft tranquillity, Meadows with golden waves of ripened grain, A winding road, a disappearing wain, And marshy pastures sloping to the sea. The earth grows silent as a moon of fire Moves slowly up the calm awaiting skies; Beneath a silver veil the waters gleam ; Nature breathes beauty, yet the soul's desire Turns ever to the unknown land where lies The white immortal City of its dream.
DreamyThomas S. Jones Jr.

The Unicorn

Roses grow reddest through a briery hedge,— There baffled hunters, pierced by barb and thorn, Behold, far off, the silver Unicorn, Flame-like and still upon a mossy ledge ; Lilies bloom whitest at the water's edge,— And there, with starlight on His crystal horn, At orange evening and at amber morn He drinks amid the pooled and purple sedge. Lost in the wood of time His hunters roam : Wild, virginal, aloof, with horn of fire And silver hooves He gleams beyond their spears ; But in the heart's hid Garden is His Home — Where roses redden through a wall of brier, Where lilies whiten with the dew of tears.

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