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‘They toil not, neither do they spin’
ONE morn before me were three figures seen, | |
| With bowèd necks, and joinèd hands, side-faced; | |
| And one behind the other stepp’d serene, | |
| In placid sandals, and in white robes graced; | |
| They pass’d, like figures on a marble urn, | 5 |
| When shifted round to see the other side; | |
| They came again; as when the urn once more | |
| Is shifted round, the first seen shades return; | |
| And they were strange to me, as may betide | |
| With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore. | 10 |
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| How is it Shadows! that I knew ye not? | |
| How came ye muffled in so hush a mask? | |
| Was it a silent deep-disguised plot | |
| To steal away, and leave without a task | |
| My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour; | 15 |
| The blissful cloud of summer-indolence | |
| Benumbed my eyes; my pulse grew less and less; | |
| Pain had no sting, and pleasure’s wreath no flower: | |
| O why did ye not melt, and leave my sense | |
| Unhaunted quite of all but—nothingness? | 20 |
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| A third time passed they by, and, passing, turn’d | |
| Each one the face a moment whiles to me; | |
| Then faded, and to follow them I burn’d | |
| And arch’d for wings, because I knew the three; | |
| The first was a fair Maid, and Love her name; | 25 |
| The second was Ambition, pale of cheek, | |
| And ever watchful with fatigued eye; | |
| The last, whom I love more, the more of blame | |
| Is heap’d upon her, maiden most unmeek,— | |
| I knew to be my demon Poesy. | 30 |
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| They faded, and forsooth! I wanted wings: | |
| O folly! What is Love? and where is it? | |
| And for that poor Ambition! it springs | |
| From a man’s little heart’s short fever-fit; | |
| For Poesy!—no,—she has not a joy,— | 35 |
| At least for me,—so sweet as drowsy noons, | |
| And evenings steep’d in honied indolence; | |
| O, for an age so sheltered from annoy, | |
| That I may never know how change the moons, | |
| Or hear the voice of busy common-sense! | 40 |
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| And once more came they by;—alas! wherefore? | |
| My sleep had been embroider’d with dim dreams; | |
| My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o’er | |
| With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams: | |
| The morn was clouded, but no shower fell, | 45 |
| Tho’ in her lids hung the sweet tears of May; | |
| The open casement press’d a new-leav’d vine, | |
| Let in the budding warmth and throstle’s lay; | |
| O Shadows! ’twas a time to bid farewell! | |
| Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine. | 50 |
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| So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise | |
| My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass; | |
| For I would not be dieted with praise, | |
| A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce! | |
| Fade softly from my eyes, and be once more | 55 |
| In masque-like Figures on the dreamy urn; | |
| Farewell! I yet have visions for the night, | |
| And for the day faint visions there is store; | |
| Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright. | |
| Into the clouds, and never more return! | 60 |
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