Lamps and Candles
I have no fondness for the electric blaze
In Cricket Lodge. Though arcs hang globed for light,
I still say, no, not this, some other night —
Give me again my lamps and candle-trays.
There's nothing restful in the flash that plays
From the fierce carbon; it is all too bright,
And at its glare shy fancy takes her flight.
Candles and lamps, the lights of ancient days,
When demigods trod earth and art was born,
Retain some element of fire divine;
The lamp has not by craft been wholly shorn
Of beauty, and the candle now so fine
Yet represents the torch with which forlorn
Ceres went searching for lost Proserpine.
In Cricket Lodge. Though arcs hang globed for light,
I still say, no, not this, some other night —
Give me again my lamps and candle-trays.
There's nothing restful in the flash that plays
From the fierce carbon; it is all too bright,
And at its glare shy fancy takes her flight.
Candles and lamps, the lights of ancient days,
When demigods trod earth and art was born,
Retain some element of fire divine;
The lamp has not by craft been wholly shorn
Of beauty, and the candle now so fine
Yet represents the torch with which forlorn
Ceres went searching for lost Proserpine.
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