The Nympholept

A poem by Alan Seeger (1888-1916)

There was a boy — not above childish fears —

With steps that faltered now and straining ears,

Timid, irresolute, yet dauntless still,

Who one bright dawn, when each remotest hill

Stood sharp and clear in Heaven’s unclouded blue

And all Earth shimmered with fresh-beaded dew,

Risen in the first beams of the gladdening sun,

Walked up into the mountains. One by one

Each towering trunk beneath his sturdy stride

Fell back, and ever wider and more wide

The boundless prospect opened. Long he strayed,

From dawn till the last trace of slanting shade

Had vanished from the canyons, and, dismayed

At that far length to which his path had led,

He paused — at such a height where overhead

The clouds hung close, the air came thin and chill,

And all was hushed and calm and very still,

Save, from abysmal gorges, where the sound

Of tumbling waters rose, and all around

The pines, by those keen upper currents blown,

Muttered in multitudinous monotone.

Here, with the wind in lovely locks laid bare,

With arms oft raised in dedicative prayer,

Lost in mute rapture and adoring wonder,

He stood, till the far noise of noontide thunder,

Rolled down upon the muffled harmonies

Of wind and waterfall and whispering trees,

Made loneliness more lone. Some Panic fear

Would seize him then, as they who seemed to hear

In Tracian valleys or Thessalian woods

The god’s hallooing wake the leafy solitudes;

I think it was the same: some piercing sense

Of Deity’s pervasive immanence,

The Life that visible Nature doth indwell

Grown great and near and all but palpable . . .

He might not linger, but with winged strides

Like one pursued, fled down the mountain-sides —

Down the long ridge that edged the steep ravine,

By glade and flowery lawn and upland green,

And never paused nor felt assured again

But where the grassy foothills opened. Then,

While shadows lengthened on the plain below

And the sun vanished and the sunset-glow

Looked back upon the world with fervid eye

Through the barred windows of the western sky,

Homeward he fared, while many a look behind

Showed the receding ranges dim-outlined,

Highland and hollow where his path had lain,

Veiled in deep purple of the mountain rain.

Poetry Monster – Home

A few random poems:

External links

Bat’s Poetry Page – more poetry by Fledermaus

Talking Writing Monster’s Page –

Batty Writing – the bat’s idle chatter, thoughts, ideas and observations, all original, all fresh

Poems in English 

• Memorials of A Tour In Scotland, 1803 I. Departure From The Vale Of Grasmere, August 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Matthew by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Maternal Grief by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Mark The Concentrated Hazels That Enclose by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lucy by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lucy Gray [or Solitude] by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Louisa: After Accompanying Her On A Mountain Excursion by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Look Now On That Adventurer Who Hath Paid by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• London, 1802 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written On A Blank Leaf In A Copy Of The Author’s Poem “The Excursion,” by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written In Early Spring by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Written As A School Exercise At Hawkshead, Anno Aetatis 14 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines On The Expected Invasion, 1803 by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Left Upon The Seat Of A Yew-Tree, by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Laodamia by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• Lament Of Mary Queen Of Scots by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It was an April morning: fresh and clear by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It Is No Spirit Who From Heaven Hath Flown by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth
• It Is a Beauteous Evening by William Wordsworth by William Wordsworth

More external links (open in a new tab):

Russian Commerce Agency

Dealing Monster

Doska or the Board – write anything

Search engines:

Yandex – the best search engine for searches in Russian (and the best overall image search engine, in any language, anywhere)

Qwant – the best search engine for searches in French, German as well as Romance and Germanic languages.

Ecosia – a search engine that supposedly… plants trees

Duckduckgo – the real alternative and a search engine that actually works. Without much censorship or partisan politics.

Yahoo– yes, it’s still around, amazingly, miraculously, incredibly, but now it seems to be powered by Bing.

 

Parallel Translations of Poetry

Poems by Author and Category

The Poetry Repository – an online library of poems, poetry, verse and poetic works