Verse > Anthologies > Samuel Waddington, ed. > The Sonnets of Europe
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Samuel Waddington, comp.  The Sonnets of Europe.  1888.
 
Memory
By Erik Johan Stagnelius (1793–1823)
 
Translated by Edmund Gosse

O CAMP of flowers, with poplars girdled round,
  Grey guardians of life’s soft and purple bud!
  O silver spring, beside whose brimming flood
My pensive childhood its Elysium found!
O happy hours by love and fancy crowned,        5
  Whose horn of plenty flatteringly subdued
  My heart into a trance, whence, with a rude
And horrid blast, fate came my soul to hound!
Who was the goddess that empowered you all
  Thus to bewitch me? Out of wasting snow        10
  And lily-leaves her head-dress should be made!
Weep, my poor lute! nor on Astræa call,
  She will not smile, nor I, who mourn below,
  Till I, a shade in heaven, clasp her, a shade.
 
 
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