Myvanwy
Oft hast thou heard it, that old true saying,
'Tis like and unlike makes the happiest music.
Then, gravely smiling, scorn me not, Myvanwy,
Fairest of maidens.
Thou who in sunlight sittest, pensive leaning
At the open window, thy hand deep-buried
In dark sweet clusters of thy hair, and gazest
O'er the wide ocean.
Yes, o'er the ocean far, far in the distance,
Is my own country, and other soil bore me
Than thy dear birthplace, other sun than England's
Nourished my spirit.
Yet for this slight not my heart as alien:
What can green England show to match those regions
Save thyself only, what hath she that merits
Prouder remembrance?
Nothing! nor any shore that hears the Ocean,
Nothing can match their beauty! If Myvanwy
Had but an exile's sad heart in her bosom,
She too would say so.
She too would say so, and back in thought returning,
How would her sweet eyes fill with tears of gladness,
How would she marvel, the lovely maiden,
Breathless with gazing!
There, stretching lonely, do the giant mountains
Rise with their ages of snows to heaven,
Snows, the heart shudders, so far away seem they,
Fearfully lovely:
There is the tall palm, like her own dear stature,
The land's green lady, and riotously hang there,
All for Myvanwy's lips, the strange, delicious
Fruits of the tropics;
And the vast elephant that dreams for ages,
Lost among dim leaves and things of old, remembers:
Would he not, rousing at her name's sweet rumour,
Pace to behold her?
Oh me! what glories would her eyes enkindle,
Eyes with their quick imaginative rapture!
How shall I picture to her all the strangeness,
All the enchantment,
In that enchanted land of noon? My heart faints
And my tongue falters: for long ago, Myvanwy,
Deep in the east where now but evening gathers,
Lost is my country.
Long ago hither in passionate boyhood,
Lightly an exile, lightly leagues I wandered
Over the bitter foam: so far Fate led me
Only to love thee.
Lost is that country, and all but forgotten
'Mid these chill breezes, yet still, oh, believe me,
All her meridian suns and ardent summers
Burn in my bosom.
'Tis like and unlike makes the happiest music.
Then, gravely smiling, scorn me not, Myvanwy,
Fairest of maidens.
Thou who in sunlight sittest, pensive leaning
At the open window, thy hand deep-buried
In dark sweet clusters of thy hair, and gazest
O'er the wide ocean.
Yes, o'er the ocean far, far in the distance,
Is my own country, and other soil bore me
Than thy dear birthplace, other sun than England's
Nourished my spirit.
Yet for this slight not my heart as alien:
What can green England show to match those regions
Save thyself only, what hath she that merits
Prouder remembrance?
Nothing! nor any shore that hears the Ocean,
Nothing can match their beauty! If Myvanwy
Had but an exile's sad heart in her bosom,
She too would say so.
She too would say so, and back in thought returning,
How would her sweet eyes fill with tears of gladness,
How would she marvel, the lovely maiden,
Breathless with gazing!
There, stretching lonely, do the giant mountains
Rise with their ages of snows to heaven,
Snows, the heart shudders, so far away seem they,
Fearfully lovely:
There is the tall palm, like her own dear stature,
The land's green lady, and riotously hang there,
All for Myvanwy's lips, the strange, delicious
Fruits of the tropics;
And the vast elephant that dreams for ages,
Lost among dim leaves and things of old, remembers:
Would he not, rousing at her name's sweet rumour,
Pace to behold her?
Oh me! what glories would her eyes enkindle,
Eyes with their quick imaginative rapture!
How shall I picture to her all the strangeness,
All the enchantment,
In that enchanted land of noon? My heart faints
And my tongue falters: for long ago, Myvanwy,
Deep in the east where now but evening gathers,
Lost is my country.
Long ago hither in passionate boyhood,
Lightly an exile, lightly leagues I wandered
Over the bitter foam: so far Fate led me
Only to love thee.
Lost is that country, and all but forgotten
'Mid these chill breezes, yet still, oh, believe me,
All her meridian suns and ardent summers
Burn in my bosom.
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