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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539784" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lachrymæ Musarum</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Low, like another's, lies the laurelled head:<br>The life that seemed a perfect song is o'er:<br>Carry the last great bard to his last bed.<br>Land that he loved, thy noblest voice is mute.<br>Land that he loved, that loved him! nevermore<br>Meadow of thine, smooth lawn or wild sea-shore,<br>Gardens of odorous bloom and tremulous fruit,<br>Or woodlands old, like Druid couches spread,<br>The master's feet shall tread.<br>Death's little rift hath rent the faultless lute:<br>The singer of undying songs is dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo, in this season pensive-hued and grave,<br>While fades and falls the doomed, reluctant leaf<br>From withered Earth's fantastic coronal,<br>With wandering sighs of forest and of wave<br>Mingles the murmur of a people's grief<br>For him whose leaf shall fade not, neither fall.<br>He hath fared forth, beyond these suns and showers.<br>For us, the autumn glow, the autumn flame,<br>And soon the winter silence shall be ours:<br>Him the eternal spring of fadeless fame<br>Crowns with no mortal flowers.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Rapt though he be from us,<br>Virgil salutes him, and Theocritus;<br>Catullus, mightiest-brained Lucretius, each<br>Greets him, their brother, on the Stygian beach;<br>Proudly a gaunt right hand doth Dante reach;<br>Milton and Wordsworth bid him welcome home;<br>Bright Keats to touch his raiment doth beseech;<br>Coleridge, his locks aspersed with fairy foam,<br>Calm Spenser, Chaucer suave,<br>His equal friendship crave:<br>And godlike spirits hail him guest, in speech<br>Of Athens, Florence, Weimar, Stratford, Rome.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What needs his laurel our ephemeral tears,<br>To save from visitation of decay?<br>Not in this temporal sunlight, now, that bay<br>Blooms, nor to perishable mundane ears<br>Sings he with lips of transitory clay;<br>For he hath joined the chorus of his peers<br>In habitations of the perfect day:<br>His earthly notes a heavenly audience hears,<br>And more melodious are henceforth the spheres,<br>Enriched with music stol'n from earth away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He hath returned to regions whence he came.<br>Him doth the spirit divine<br>Of universal loveliness reclaim.<br>All nature is his shrine.<br>Seek him henceforward in the wind and sea,<br>In earth's and air's emotion or repose,<br>In every star's august serenity,<br>And in the rapture of the flaming rose.<br>There seek him if ye would not seek in vain,<br>There, in the rhythm and music of the Whole;<br>Yea, and for ever in the human soul<br>Made stronger and more beauteous by his strain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For lo! creation's self is one great choir,<br>And what is nature's order but the rhyme<br>Whereto the worlds keep time,<br>And all things move with all things from their prime?<br>Who shall expound the mystery of the lyre?<br>In far retreats of elemental mind<br>Obscurely comes and goes<br>The imperative breath of song, that as the wind<br>Is trackless, and oblivious whence it blows.<br>Demand of lilies wherefore they are white,<br>Extort her crimson secret from the rose,<br>But ask not of the Muse that she disclose<br>The meaning of the riddle of her might:<br>Somewhat of all things sealed and recondite,<br>Save the enigma of herself, she knows.<br>The master could not tell, with all his lore,<br>Wherefore he sang, or whence the mandate sped;<br>Ev'n as the linnet sings, so I, he said;--<br>Ah, rather as the imperial nightingale,<br>That held in trance the ancient Attic shore,<br>And charms the ages with the notes that o'er<br>All woodland chants immortally prevail!<br>And now, from our vain plaudits greatly fled,<br>He with diviner silence dwells instead,<br>And on no earthly sea with transient roar,<br>Unto no earthly airs, he trims his sail,<br>But far beyond our vision and our hail<br>Is heard for ever and is seen no more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No more, O never now,<br>Lord of the lofty and the tranquil brow<br>Whereon nor snows of time<br>Have fall'n, nor wintry rime,<br>Shall men behold thee, sage and mage sublime.<br>Once, in his youth obscure,<br>The maker of this verse, which shall endure<br>By splendour of its theme that cannot die,<br>Beheld thee eye to eye,<br>And touched through thee the hand<br>Of every hero of thy race divine,<br>Ev'n to the sire of all the laurelled line,<br>The sightless wanderer on the Ionian strand,<br>With soul as healthful as the poignant brine,<br>Wide as his skies and radiant as his seas,<br>Starry from haunts of his Familiars nine,<br>Glorious Mæonides.<br>Yea, I beheld thee, and behold thee yet:<br>Thou hast forgotten, but can I forget?<br>The accents of thy pure and sovereign tongue,<br>Are they not ever goldenly impressed<br>On memory's palimpsest?<br>I see the wizard locks like night that hung,<br>I tread the floor thy hallowing feet have trod;<br>I see the hands a nation's lyre that strung,<br>The eyes that looked through life and gazed on God.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The seasons change, the winds they shift and veer;<br>The grass of yesteryear<br>Is dead; the birds depart, the groves decay:<br>Empires dissolve and peoples disappear:<br>Song passes not away.<br>Captains and conquerors leave a little dust,<br>And kings a dubious legend of their reign;<br>The swords of Cæsars, they are less than rust:<br>The poet doth remain.<br>Dead is Augustus, Maro is alive;<br>And thou, the Mantuan of our age and clime,<br>Like Virgil shalt thy race and tongue survive,<br>Bequeathing no less honeyed words to time,<br>Embalmed in amber of eternal rhyme,<br>And rich with sweets from every Muse's hive;<br>While to the measure of the cosmic rune<br>For purer ears thou shalt thy lyre attune,<br>And heed no more the hum of idle praise<br>In that great calm our tumults cannot reach,<br>Master who crown'st our immelodious days<br>With flower of perfect speech.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Watson">William Watson</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=539784" data-title="Lachrymæ Musarum de William Watson" data-description="Low, like another's, lies the laurelled head:
The life that seemed a perfect song is o'er:
Carry the last great bard to his last bed.
Land that he loved, thy noblest voice is mute.
Land that he loved, that loved him! nevermore
Meadow of thine, smo..."></div>
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