The Orchard-Pit
Piled deep below the screening apple-branch
They lie with bitter apples in their hands:
And some are only ancient bones that blanch,
And some had ships that last year's wind did launch,
And some were yesterday the lords of lands.
In the soft dell, among the apple-trees,
High up above the hidden pit she stands,
And there for ever sings, who gave to these,
That lie below, her magic hour of ease,
And those her apples holden in their hands.
This in my dreams is shown me; and her hair
Crosses my lips and draws my burning breath;
Her song spreads golden wings upon the air,
Life's eyes are gleaming from her forehead fair,
And from her breasts the ravishing eyes of Death.
Men say to me that sleep hath many dreams,
Yet I knew never but this dream alone:
There, from a dried-up channel, once the stream's,
The glen slopes up; even such in sleep it seems
As to my waking sight the place well known.
My love I call her, and she loves me well:
But I love her as in the maelstrom's cup
The whirled stone loves the leaf inseparable
That clings to it round all the circling swell,
And that the same last eddy swallows up.
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From guest Belka (contact)
also read bestiaire and fell in love with the poem. "And one kiss I had of her mouth, as I took the apple from her hand. But while I bit it, my brain whirled and my foot stumbled: and I felt my crashing fall through the tangled boughs beneath her feet and saw the dead white faces that welcomed me in the pit" -
OMG
From guest ratzel (contact)
I first found this poem in the book of "Bestiaire"-by julio cortazar- and i thought "This is one of the best poems I've read" and I was not wrong... thanks a lot monsieur Rossetti... vous continuez à alimenter nos fantasmes et laissez votre imagination Voyage avec nous -
Cerridwen is that you?
From guest Branynn (contact)
Dante my good man, I do believe that you speak of a druid Lady? What shall the Church say? I love this! -Branynn
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