Click here to Download A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book by Amy Lowell Language English having PDF Size 1 MB and No of Pages 52.
Before the Altar, bowed, he stands With empty hands; Upon it perfumed offerings burn Wreathing with smoke the sacrificial urn. Not one of all these has he given, No flame of his has leapt to Heaven Firesouled, vermilion-hearted, Forked, and darted, Consuming what a few spare pence Have cheaply bought, to fling from hence In idly-asked petition.
A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book by Amy Lowell
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|No of Pages||52|
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His sole condition Love and poverty. And while the moon Swings slow across the sky, Athwart a waving pine tree, And soon Tips all the needles there With silver sparkles, bitterly He gazes, while his soul Grows hard with thinking of the poorness of his dole.
“Shining and distant Goddess, hear my prayer Where you swim in the high air! With charity look down on me, Under this tree, Tending the gifts I have not brought, The rare and goodly things I have not sought. Instead, take from me all my life! “Upon the wings Of shimmering moonbeams I pack my poet’s dreams For you.
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My wearying strife, My courage, my loss, Into the night I toss For you. Golden Divinity, Deign to look down on me Who so unworthily Offers to you: All life has known, Seeds withered unsown, Hopes turning quick to fears, Laughter which dies in tears. The shredded remnant of a man Is all the span And compass of my offering to you.
As one who sails upon a wide, blue sea Far out of sight of land, his mind intent Upon the sailing of his little boat, On tightening ropes and shaping fair his course, Hears suddenly, across the restless sea, The rhythmic striking of some towered clock, And wakes from thoughtless idleness to time: Time, the slow pulse which beats eternity!
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So through the vacancy of busy life At intervals you cross my path and bring The deep solemnity of passing years. For you I have shed bitter tears, for you I have relinquished that for which my heart Cried out in selfish longing. And to-night Having just left you, I can say: “‘T is well.
Thank God that I have known a soul so true, So nobly just, so worthy to be loved!” High up above the open, welcoming door It hangs, a piece of wood with colours dim. Once, long ago, it was a waving tree And knew the sun and shadow through the leaves Of forest trees, in a thick eastern wood.
The winter snows had bent its branches down, The spring had swelled its buds with coming flowers, Summer had run like fire through its veins, While autumn pelted it with chestnut burrs, And strewed the leafy ground with acorn cups. Dark midnight storms had roared and crashed among Its branches, breaking here and there a limb. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book
But every now and then broad sunlit days Lovingly lingered, caught among the leaves. Yes, it had known all this, and yet to us It does not speak of mossy forest ways, Of whispering pine trees or the shimmering birch; But of quick winds, and the salt, stinging sea! An artist once, with patient, careful knife, Had fashioned it like to the untamed sea.
Here waves uprear themselves, their tops blown back By the gay, sunny wind, which whips the blue And breaks it into gleams and sparks of light. Among the flashing waves are two white birds Which swoop, and soar, and scream for very joy At the wild sport. Now diving quickly in, Questing some glistening fish.
Now flying up, Their dripping feathers shining in the sun, While the wet drops like little glints of light, Fall pattering backward to the parent sea. Gliding along the green and foam-flecked hollows, Or skimming some white crest about to break, The spirits of the sky deigning to stoop And play with ocean in a summer mood. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book
Hanging above the high, wide open door, It brings to us in quiet, firelit room, The freedom of the earth’s vast solitudes, Where heaping, sunny waves tumble and roll, And seabirds scream in wanton happiness. The Fool Errant sat by the highway of life And his gaze wandered up and his gaze wandered down.
A vigorous youth, but with no wish to walk, Yet his longing was great for the distant town. He whistled a little frivolous tune Which he felt to be pulsing with ecstasy, For he thought that success always followed desire, Such a very superlative fool was he.
A maiden came by on an ambling mule, Her gown was rose-red and her kerchief blue, On her lap she carried a basket of eggs. Thought the fool, “There is certainly room for two.” So he jauntily swaggered towards the maid And put out his hand to the bridle-rein. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book
“My pretty girl,” quoth the fool, “take me up, For to ride with you to the town I am fain.” But the maiden struck at his upraised arm And pelted him hotly with eggs, a score. The mule, lashed into a fury, ran; The fool went back to his stone and swore.
Then out of the cloud of settling dust The burly form of an abbot appeared, Reading his office he rode to the town. And the fool got up, for his heart was cheered. He stood in the midst of the long, white road And swept off his cap till it touched the ground. “Ah, Reverent Sir, well met,” said the fool, “A worthier transport never was found.
“I pray you allow me to mount with you, Your palfrey seems both sturdy and young.” The abbot looked up from the holy book And cried out in anger, “Hold your tongue! “How dare you obstruct the King’s highroad, You saucy varlet, get out of my way.” Then he gave the fool a cut with his whip And leaving him smarting, he rode away. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Download
The fool was angry, the fool was sore, And he cursed the folly of monks and maids. “If I could but meet with a man,” sighed the fool, “For a woman fears, and a friar upbraids.” Then he saw a flashing of distant steel And the clanking of harness greeted his ears, And up the road journeyed knights-at-arms, With waving plumes and glittering spears.
The fool took notice and slowly arose, Not quite so sure was his foolish heart. If priests and women would none of him Was it likely a knight would take his part? Some men there are who find in nature all Their inspiration, hers the sympathy Which spurs them on to any great endeavor, To them the fields and woods are closest friends.
And they hold dear communion with the hills; The voice of waters soothes them with its fall, And the great winds bring healing in their sound. To them a city is a prison house Where pent up human forces labour and strive, Where beauty dwells not, driven forth by man; But where in winter they must live until Summer gives back the spaces of the hills. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Download
To me it is not so. I love the earth And all the gifts of her so lavish hand: Sunshine and flowers, rivers and rushing winds, Thick branches swaying in a winter storm, And moonlight playing in a boat’s wide wake; But more than these, and much, ah, how much more, I love the very human heart of man.
Above me spreads the hot, blue mid-day sky, Far down the hillside lies the sleeping lake Lazily reflecting back the sun, And scarcely ruffled by the little breeze Which wanders idly through the nodding ferns. The blue crest of the distant mountain, tops The green crest of the hill on which I sit.
And it is summer, glorious, deep-toned summer, The very crown of nature’s changing year When all her surging life is at its full. To me alone it is a time of pause, A void and silent space between two worlds, When inspiration lags, and feeling sleeps, Gathering strength for efforts yet to come. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Download
For life alone is creator of life, And closest contact with the human world Is like a lantern shining in the night To light me to a knowledge of myself. I love the vivid life of winter months In constant intercourse with human minds, When every new experience is gain And on all sides we feel the great world’s heart; The pulse and throb of life which makes us men!
A near horizon whose sharp jags Cut brutally into a sky Of leaden heaviness, and crags Of houses lift their masonry Ugly and foul, and chimneys lie And snort, outlined against the gray Of lowhung cloud. I hear the sigh The goaded city gives, not day Nor night can ease her heart, her anguished labours stay.
Below, straight streets, monotonous, From north and south, from east and west, Stretch glittering; and luminous Above, one tower tops the rest And holds aloft man’s constant quest: Time! Joyless emblem of the greed Of millions, robber of the best Which earth can give, the vulgar creed Has seared upon the night its flaming ruthless screed. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Download
O Night! Whose soothing presence brings The quiet shining of the stars. O Night! Whose cloak of darkness clings So intimately close that scars Are hid from our own eyes. Beggars By day, our wealth is having night To burn our souls before altars Dim and tree-shadowed, where the light Is shed from a young moon, mysteriously bright.
Where art thou hiding, where thy peace? This is the hour, but thou art not. Will waking tumult never cease? Hast thou thy votary forgot? Nature forsakes this man-begot And festering wilderness, and now The long still hours are here, no jot Of dear communing do I know; Instead the glaring, man-filled city groans below!
What torture lurks within a single thought When grown too constant, and however kind, However welcome still, the weary mind Aches with its presence. Dull remembrance taught Remembers on unceasingly; unsought The old delight is with us but to find That all recurring joy is pain refined, Become a habit, and we struggle, caught. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Free
You lie upon my heart as on a nest, Folded in peace, for you can never know How crushed I am with having you at rest Heavy upon my life. I love you so You bind my freedom from its rightful quest. In mercy lift your drooping wings and go. Thou dear and well-loved haunt of happy hours.
How often in some distant gallery, Gained by a little painful spiral stair, Far from the halls and corridors where throng The crowd of casual readers, have I passed Long, peaceful hours seated on the floor Of some retired nook, all lined with books, Where reverie and quiet reign supreme!
Above, below, on every side, high shelved From careless grasp of transient interest, Stand books we can but dimly see, their charm Much greater that their titles are unread; While on a level with the dusty floor Others are ranged in orderly confusion, And we must stoop in painful posture while We read their names and learn their histories. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Free
The little gallery winds round about The middle of a most secluded room, Midway between the ceiling and the floor. A type of those high thoughts, which while we read Hover between the earth and furthest heaven As fancy wills, leaving the printed page; For books but give the theme, our hearts the rest.
Enriching simple words with unguessed harmony And overtones of thought we only know. And as we sit long hours quietly, Reading at times, and at times simply dreaming, The very room itself becomes a friend, The confidant of intimate hopes and fears; A place where are engendered pleasant thoughts.
And possibilities before unguessed Come to fruition born of sympathy. And as in some gay garden stretched upon A genial southern slope, warmed by the sun, The flowers give their fragrance joyously To the caressing touch of the hot noon; So books give up the all of what they mean Only in a congenial atmosphere. A Dome of Many-coloured Glass PDF Book Free
Only when touched by reverent hands, and read By those who love and feel as well as think. For books are more than books, they are the life, The very heart and core of ages past, The reason why men lived, and worked, and died, The essence and quintessence of their lives.
And we may know them better, and divine The inner motives whence their actions sprang, Far better than the men who only knew Their bodily presence, the soul forever hid From those with no ability to see. They wait here quietly for us to come And find them out, and know them for our friends.
These men who toiled and wrote only for this, To leave behind such modicum of truth As each perceived and each alone could tell. Silently waiting that from time to time It may be given them to illuminate Dull daily facts with pristine radiance For some long-waited-for affinity Who lingers yet in the deep womb of time.