THIS is the glamour of the world antique:
The thyme-scents of Hymettus fill the air,
And in the grass narcissus-cups are fair.
The full brook wanders through the ferns to seek
The amber haunts of bees; and on the peak
Of the soft hill, against the gold-marged sky,
She stands, a dream from out the days gone by.
Entreat her not. Indeed, she will not speak!
Her eyes are full of dreams; and in her ears
There is the rustle of immortal wings;
And ever and anon the slow breeze bears
The mystic murmur of the songs she sings.
Entreat her not: she sees thee not, nor hears
Aught but the sights and sounds of bygone springs.
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Comments
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This poem made me think of a beautiful feild with a beautiful lady in the field.
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I like it . Very good work. Very artistic
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Amazing
You fill it with such sounds sights smells and feeling it almost jumps of the page. I read it 3 times and i can't wait to read it again. Great work, I am looking at your other stuff. -
Its fantastic
This is a very nice piece of art , it is very passionate. It so vividly describes the surrounding that u can like actually smell the thymescents of Hymettus and hear the mystic murmur of the songs she sings.
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