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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408317" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Galatea</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">A SILVER slope, a fall of firs, a league of gleaming grasses,<br>And fiery cones, and sultry spurs, and swarthy pits and passes!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The long-haired Cyclops bated breath, and bit his lip and hearkened,<br>And dug and dragged the stone of death, by ways that dipped and darkened.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Across a tract of furnaced flints there came a wind of water,<br>From yellow banks with tender hints of Tethys’ white-armed daughter.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She sat amongst wild singing weeds, by beds of myrrh and moly;<br>And Acis made a flute of reeds, and drew its accents slowly;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And taught its spirit subtle sounds that leapt beyond suppression,<br>And paused and panted on the bounds of fierce and fitful passion.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then he who shaped the cunning tune, by keen desire made bolder,<br>Fell fainting, like a fervent noon, upon the sea-nymph’s shoulder.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sicilian suns had laid a dower of light and life about her:<br>Her beauty was a gracious flower—the heart fell dead without her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Ah, Galate,” said Polypheme, “I would that I could find thee<br>Some finest tone of hill or stream, wherewith to lull and bind thee!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“What lyre is left of marvellous range, whose subtle strings, containing<br>Some note supreme, might catch and change, or set thy passion waning?—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Thy passion for the fair-haired youth whose fleet, light feet perplex me<br>By ledges rude, on paths uncouth, and broken ways that vex me?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">“Ah, turn to me! else violent sleep shall track the cunning lover;<br>And thou wilt wait and thou wilt weep when I his haunts discover.”</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But golden Galatea laughed, and Thosa’s son, like thunder,<br>Broke through a rifty runnel shaft, and dashed its rocks asunder,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And poised the bulk, and hurled the stone, and crushed the hidden Acis,<br>And struck with sorrow drear and lone the sweetest of all faces.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Zeus, the mighty Father, she, with plaint and prayer, departed:<br>Then from fierce Aetna to the sea a fountained water started—</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A lucent stream of lutes and lights—cool haunt of flower and feather,<br>Whose silver days and yellow nights made years of hallowed weather.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here Galatea used to come, and rest beside the river;<br>Because, in faint, soft, blowing foam, her shepherd lived for ever.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Kendall">Henry Kendall</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408317" data-title="Galatea de Henry Kendall" data-description="A SILVER slope, a fall of firs, a league of gleaming grasses,
And fiery cones, and sultry spurs, and swarthy pits and passes!

The long-haired Cyclops bated breath, and bit his lip and hearkened,
And dug and dragged the stone of death, by ways tha..."></div>
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