William Bell Scott Poems

This is the street where Shakespeare's childhood grew
To Shakespeare's manhood, back to which he drew,
To walk in peace along the paths he knew.
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Once on a time, as stories tell,
Teliessin, Cymric master-bard,
Leant o'er the fire in the bardic hall,
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What sound was there?
An apple fallen, I declare,
Ripe and red, and we will share,
As we have shared so much beside:
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Let us lie upon the grass
Beneath this apple-tree,
To mark the shining white clouds
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Saint Dominic had a vision: Mary mild
Stood by him shining in her robes of light,
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Light-girded Phœbus, Phœbus, here
Beside thy gold-shod feet I shear
My boyhood's hair so fair, so long
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By Bacchus, no!
Good Bacchus, be not slow
To keep them back beyond the floe
Of Danube's waters, where the snow
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That leaf, the earliest of the year
To fall, hath dropped upon your hair,
I saw it wavering in the air,
Then drop as if directed where!
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'Let him lie still,' the young wife cried, 'right soon
I shall be back,' and on my lap she laid
Her swaddled nu ...
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I pace the garden paths alone,
Waiting till the close of day;
It is not well aloud to moan,
So end I this small book straightway.
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