Sonnet Xiv. Glastonbury. Poem by Henry Alford

Sonnet Xiv. Glastonbury.



On thy green marge, thou vale of Avalon,
Not for that thou art crowned with ancient towers
And shafts and clustered pillars many a one,
Love I to dream away the sunny hours;
Not for that here in charmèd slumber lie
The holy relics of that British king
Who was the flower of knightly chivalry,
Do I stand blest past power of uttering;--
But for that on thy cowslip--sprinkled sod
Alit of old the olive--bearing bird,
Meek messenger of purchased peace with God;
And the first hymns that Britain ever heard
Arose, the low preluding melodies
To the sweetest anthem that hath reached the skies.
;;;
Sonnet XV. Sunset At Burton Pynsent, Somerset.
How bare and bright thou sinkest to thy rest
Over the burnished line of the Severn sea:
While somewhat of thy power thou buriest
In ruddy mists, that we may look on thee.
And while we stand and wonder, we may see
Far mountain--tops in visible glory drest,
Where 'twixt yon purple hills the sight is free
To search the regions of the dim north--west,
But shadowy bars have crossed thee: suddenly
Thou'rt fallen among strange clouds;--yet not the less
Thy presence know we by the radiancy
That doth thy shroud with golden fringes dress;
Even as hidden love to faithful eye
Brightens the edges of obscure distress.

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