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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416392" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sunday at Hampstead</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(AN VERY IDLE IDYLL BY A VERY HUMBLE MEMBER OF THE GREAT AND NOBLE LONDON MOB.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is the Heath of Hampstead, <br>This is the Dome of Saint Paul’s; <br>Beneath, on the serried house-tops, <br>A chequered luster falls: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the might city of London, <br>Under the clouds and the light, <br>Seems a low, wet beach, half shingle, <br>With a few sharp rocks upright. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here we sit, my darling, <br>And dream an hour away: <br>The donkeys are hurried and worried, <br>But we are not donkeys to-day: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through all the weary week, dear, <br>We toil in the murk down there, <br>Tied to a desk and a counter, <br>A patient, stupid pair! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But on Sunday we slip our thether, <br>And away from the smoke and the smirch; <br>Too grateful to God for His Sabbath <br>To shut its hours in a church. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Away to the green, green country, <br>Under the open sky; <br>Where the earth’s sweet breath is incense <br>And the lark sings psalms on high. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On Sunday we’re Lord and Lady, <br>With ten times the love and glee <br>Of those pale, languid rich ones <br>Who are always and never free. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The drawl and stare and simper, <br>So fine and cold and staid, <br>Like exquisite waxwork figures <br>That must be kept in the shade. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We can laugh out loud when merry, <br>We can romp at kiss-in-the-ring, <br>We can take our beer at a public, <br>We can loll on the grass and sing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Would you grieve very much, my darling, <br>If all yon low wet shore <br>Were drowned by a mighty flood tide, <br>And we never toiled there more? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Wicked—there is no sin, dear, <br>In an idle dreamer’s head; <br>He turns the world topsy-turvy <br>To prove that his soul’s not dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am sinking, sinking, sinking; <br>It’s hard to sit upright! <br>Your lap is the softest pillow! <br>Good night, my love, good night! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>II </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How your eyes dazzle down into my soul! <br>I drink and drink of their deep violet wine, <br>And ever thirst the more, although my whole <br>Dazed being whirls in drunkenness divine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pout down your lips for that bewildering smile, <br>And kiss me for the interruption, Sweet! <br>I had escaped you: floating for awhile <br>In that far cloud ablaze with living heat: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I floated with it though the solemn skies, <br>I melted with it up the Crystal Sea <br>Into the heaven of Heavens; and shut my eyes <br>To fell eternal rest enfolding me . . . </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Well, I prefer on tyrannous girl down here, <br>You jealous violet-eyed Bewitcher, you! <br>To being lord in Mohammed's seventh sphere <br>Of meekest hours threescore ten and two! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>III </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it hundreds of years ago, my Love, <br>Was it thousands of miles away, <br>The two poor creatures we know, my Love, <br>Were toiling day by day; <br>Were toiling weary, weary., <br>With many myriads more, <br>In a City dark and dreary <br>On a sullen river’s shore? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it truly a fact or a dream, my Love? <br>I think my brain still reels, <br>And my ears still throbbing seem, my Love, <br>With the rush and clang of wheels; <br>Of vast machinery roaring <br>Forever in skyless gloom; <br>Where the poor slaves peach imploring, <br>Found peace alone in the tomb. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Was it hundreds of years ago, my Love, <br>Was it thousands of miles away? <br>Or was it a dream to show, my Love, <br>The rapture of today? <br>This day of holy splendor, <br>This Sabbath of rich rest, <br>Wherein to God we render <br>All praise by being blest. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IV </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Eight of us promised to meet here <br>And tea together at five: <br>And -- who would ever believe it? -- <br>We are the first to arrive! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, shame on us, in darling; <br>It is a monstrous crime <br>To make a tryst with others <br>And be before our time! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lizzie is off with William, <br>Quite happy for her part; <br>Our sugar in her pocket, <br>And the sweet love in her heart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mary and Dick so grandly <br>Parade suburban streets; <br>His waistcoat and her bonnet <br>Proving the best of treats. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Fanny plagues big Robert <br>With tricks of the wildest glee: <br>0 Fanny, you'll get in hot water <br>If you do not bring us our tea! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why, bless me, look at that table, <br>Every one of them there! -- <br>'Ha, here at last we have them, <br>The always behindhand pair! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'When the last trumpet-solo <br>Strikes up instead of the lark, <br>They'll turn in their sleep just grunting <br>Who's up so soon in the dark?' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Babble and gabble, you rabble, <br>A thousand in full yell! <br>And this is your Tower of Babel, <br>This not-to-be-finished Hotel. * </div><div style="margin:10px 0">* THOMSON'S NOTE: Since finished, in a fashion. The verses were written in 1863. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'You should see it in the drawing, <br>You'd think a Palace they make, <br>Like the one in the Lady of Lyons, <br>With this pond for the lovely lake!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I wish it wasn't Sunday, <br>There's no amusement at all: <br>Who was here Hot-cross-bun-day? <br>We had such an open-air ball! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The bands played polkas, waltzes, <br>Quadrilles; it was glorious fun! <br>And each gentleman gave them a penny <br>After each dance was done.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Mary is going to chapel, <br>And what takes her there, do you guess? <br>Her sweet little duck of a bonnet, <br>And her new second-hand silk dress.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'We went to Church one Sunday, <br>But felt we had no right there; <br>For it's only a place for the grand folk <br>Who come in a carriage and pair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And I laughed out loud, -- it was shameful! <br>But Fanny said, Oh, what lives! <br>He must have been clever, the rascal, <br>To manage seven hundred wives!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Suppose we play Hunt-the-Slipper?' <br>'We can't, there's the crinoline!' --- 'Phew!! <br>Bother it, always a nuisance!' <br>'Hoop-de-dooden-do!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I think I've seen all the girls here, <br>About a thousand, or more; <br>But none of them half so pretty <br>As our own loving four.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Thank you! and I've been listening <br>To lots of the men, the knaves; <br>But none of them half such humbugs <br>As our devoted slaves.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Do you see those purple flushes? <br>The sun will set in state: <br>Up all! we must cross to the heath, friends, <br>Before it gets too late. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'We will couch in the fern together, <br>And watch for the moon and the stars; <br>And the slim tree-tops will be lighted, <br>So the boys may light their cigars. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And while the sunset glory <br>Burns down in crimson and gold, <br>LAZY shall tell us a story <br>Of his wonderful times of old.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>V </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ten thousand years ago, ('No more than that?') <br>Ten thousand years, ('The age of Robert's hat!'- <br>'Silence you gods!' -- 'Pinch Fanny!' -- 'Now we're good.') <br>This place where we are sitting was a wood, <br>Savage and desert save for one rude home <br>Of wattles plastered with stiff clay and loam; <br>And here, in front, upon the grassy mire <br>Four naked squaws were squatted round a fire: <br>Then four tall naked wild men crushing through <br>The tangled Underfeed came into view; <br>Two of them bent beneath a mighty boar, <br>The third was gashed and bleeding, number four <br>Strutted full-drest in war-paint, ('That was Dick!') <br>Blue of a devilish pattern laid on thick. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The squaws jumped up to roast the carcass whole; <br>The braves sank silent, stark 'gainst root and bole. <br>The meat half-done, they tore it and devoured, <br>Sullenly ravenous; the women cowered <br>Until their lords had finished, then partook. <br>Mist rose; all crept into their cabin nook, <br>And staked the month; the floor was one broad bed <br>Of rushes dried with fox and bearskins spread. <br>Wolves howled and wild cats wailed; they snored; and so <br>The long night passed, shedding a storm of snow; <br>This very night ten thousand years ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VI </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ten thousand years before, ('Come, draw it mild! <br>Don't waste Conk-ology like that, my child!') <br>From where we sit to the horizon's bound <br>A level brilliant plain was spread all round, <br>As level and as brilliant as a sea <br>Under the burning sun; high as your knee <br>Aflame with flowers, yellow and blue and red: <br>Long lines of palm-trees marked out there the bed <br>Of a great river, and among them gleamed <br>A few grey tents. Then four swift horsemen streamed <br>Out of the West, magnificent in ire, <br>Churning the meadow into flakes of fire, <br>Brandishing monstrous spears as if in fight, <br>They wheeled, ducked, charged, and shouted fierce delight: <br>So till they reach the camp: the women there <br>Awaiting them the evening meal prepare; <br>Milk from the goats and camels, dates plucked fresh, <br>Cool curds and cheese, millet, sweet broiled kid's flesh. <br>The spear struck deep hath picketed each barb; <br>A grave proud turbaned man in flowing garb <br>Sups with a grave meek woman, humbly proud, <br>Whose eyes flash empire. Then the solemn crowd <br>Of stars above, the silent plain below, <br>Until the East resumes its furnace-glow; <br>This same night twenty thousand years ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VII </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ten thousand years before, ('But if you take <br>Such mouthfuls, you will soon eat up Time's cake!') <br>Where we are sitting rose in splendid light <br>A broad cool marble palace; from the height <br>Broad terrace-gardens stairlike sank away <br>Down to the floor of a deep sapphire bay. <br>Where the last slope slid greenly to the wave, <br>And dark rich glossy foliage shadow gave, <br>Four women -- or four goddesses -- leaned calm, <br>Of mighty stature, graceful as the palm: <br>One stroked with careless hand a lion's mane, <br>One fed an eagle; while a measured strain <br>Was poured forth by the others, harp and voice, <br>Music to make the universe rejoice. <br>An isle was in the offing seen afar, <br>Deep-purple based, its peak a glittering star; <br>Whence rowed a galley (drooped the silken sails), <br>A dragon-barque with golden burning scales. <br>Then four bronzed giants leapt to land, embraced <br>The glorious women, chantin : 'Did we haste? <br>The Cavern-Voice hath silenced all your fears; <br>Peace on our earth another thousand years!' <br>On fruits and noble wine, with song's rich flow, <br>They feasted in the sunset's golden glow; <br>This same night thirty thousand years ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>VIII </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ten thousand years before, ('Another ten! <br>Good Lord, how greedy are these little men!') <br>This place where we are sitting ('Half asleep.') <br>Was in the sea a hundred fathoms deep: <br>A floor of silver sand so fine and soft, <br>A coral forest branching far aloft; <br>Above, the great dusk emerald golden-green; <br>Silence profound and solitude serene. <br>Four mermaids sit beneath the coral rocks, <br>Combing with golden combs their long green locks, <br>And wreathing them with little pearly shells; <br>Four mermen came from out the deep-sea dells, <br>And whisper to them, and they all turn pale: <br>Then through the hyaline a voice of wail, <br>With passionate gestures, 'Ever alas for woe ! <br>A rumour cometh down the Ocean-flow, <br>A word calamitous! that we shall be <br>All disinherited from the great sea: <br>Our tail with which like fishes we can swim <br>Shall split into an awkward double-limb, <br>And we must waddle on the arid soil, <br>And build dirt-huts, and get our food with toil, <br>And lose our happy, happy lives!' And so <br>These gentle creatures wept 'Alas for woe!' <br>This same night forty thousand years ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>IX </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Are you not going back a little more? <br>What was the case ten thousand years before?' <br>Ten thousand years before 'twas Sunday night; <br>Four lovely girls were listening with delight, <br>Three noble youths admired another youth <br>Discoursing History crammed full of truth: <br>They all were sitting upon Hampstead Heath, <br>And monstrous grimy London lay beneath. <br>'The stupidest story LAZY ever told; <br>I've no more faith in his fine times of old.' <br>'How do you like our prospects now, my dears? <br>We'll all be mermaids in ten thousand years.' <br>'Mermaids arc beautiful enough, but law! <br>Think of becoming a poor naked squaw!' <br>'But in these changes, sex will change no doubt; <br>We'll all be men and women turn about.' <br>'Then these four chaps will be the squaws?-that's just; <br>With lots of picaninnies, I do trust!' <br>'If changes go by fifty thousand, yes; <br>But if by ten, they last were squaws, I guess!' <br>'Come on; we'll go and do the very beers <br>We did this night was fifty thousand years.' <br>Thou prophet, thou deep sage! we'll go, we'll go: <br>The ring is round, Life naught, the World an 0; <br>This night is fifty thousand years ago! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>X </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As we rush, as we rush in the Train, <br>The trees and the houses come wheeling back, <br>But the starry heavens about the plain <br>Come flying on our track. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As we rush, as we rush in the Train, <br>The trees and the houses go wheeling back, <br>But the starry heavens above the plain <br>Come flying on our track. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">All the beautiful stars of the sky, <br>The silver doves of the forest of Night, <br>Over the dull earth swarm and fly, <br>Companions of our flight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We will rush ever on without fear; <br>Let the goal be far, the flight be fleet! <br>For we carry the Heavens with us, dear, <br>While the Earth slips from our feet! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XI </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Day after day of this azure May <br>The blood of the Spring has swelled in my veins; <br>Night after night of broad moonlight <br>A mystical dream has dazzled my brains. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A seething might, a fierce delight, <br>The blood of the Spring is the wine of the world; <br>My veins run fire and thrill desire, <br>Every leaf of my heart's red rose uncurled. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A sad sweet calm, a tearful balm, <br>The light of the Moon is the trance of the world; <br>My brain is fraught with yearning thought, <br>And the rose is pale and its leaves are furled. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O speed the day, thou dear, dear May, <br>And hasten the night I charge thee, O June, <br>When the trance divine shall burn with the wine <br>And the red rose unfurl all its fire to the Moon! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XII </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O mellow moonlight warm, <br>Weave round my Love a charm; <br>O countless starry eyes, <br>Watch from the holy skies; <br>O ever-solemn Night, <br>Shield her within thy might: <br>Watch her, my little one! <br>Shield her my darling! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">How my heart shrinks with fear, <br>Nightly to leave thee, dear; <br>Lonely and pure within <br>Vast glooms of woe and sin: <br>Our wealth of love and bliss <br>Too heavenly perfect is: <br>Good night, my little one! <br>God keep thee, darling!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</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=416392" data-title="Sunday at Hampstead de James Thomson" data-description="I 

(AN VERY IDLE IDYLL BY A VERY HUMBLE MEMBER OF THE GREAT AND NOBLE LONDON MOB.) 

This is the Heath of Hampstead, 
This is the Dome of Saint Paul’s; 
Beneath, on the serried house-tops, 
A chequered luster falls: 

And the might city of Lond..."></div>
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