AS one that for a weary space has lain
Lull’d by the song of Circe and her wine
In gardens near the pale of Proserpine,
Where that Aeaean isle forgets the main,
And only the low lutes of love complain,
And only shadows of wan lovers pine-
As such an one were glad to know the brine
Salt on his lips, and the large air again-
So gladly from the songs of modern speech
Men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free
Shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers,
And through the music of the languid hours
They hear like Ocean on a western beach
The surge and thunder of the Odyssey.



 

***

Other Poems by Andrew Lang

Andrew Lang’s page

 


Andrew Lang
Latest posts by Andrew Lang (see all)

4 Responses

  1. In addition, I had a wonderful time with that. In spite of the fact that both the narration and the images are of a very high level, you realise that you are anxiously expecting what will happen next. Regardless of whether you choose to defend this stroll or not, it will be essentially the same every time.

  2. I loved you even more than you’ll say here. The picture is nice and your writing is stylish, but you read it quickly. I think you should give it another chance soon. I’ll likely do that again and again if you keep this walk safe.

  3. Just wish to say your article is as surprising The clearness in your post is just cool and i could assume youre an expert on this subject Fine with your permission allow me to grab your RSS feed to keep updated with forthcoming post Thanks a million and please keep up the enjoyable work

  4. I just could not leave your web site before suggesting that I really enjoyed the standard information a person supply to your visitors Is gonna be again steadily in order to check up on new posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *