4
HOME PASTORALS.
Foxy our grapes, of earthy tang and a wildwood astringence
Unto fastidious tongues; but later, it may be, their juices,
Mellowed by time, shall grow to be sweet on the palates of others.
So will I paint in my verse the forms of the life I am born to,
Not medieval, or ancient! For whatso hath palpable colors,
Drawn from being and blood, nor thrown by the spectrum of Fancy,
Charms in the Future even as truth of the Past in the Present.
Unto fastidious tongues; but later, it may be, their juices,
Mellowed by time, shall grow to be sweet on the palates of others.
So will I paint in my verse the forms of the life I am born to,
Not medieval, or ancient! For whatso hath palpable colors,
Drawn from being and blood, nor thrown by the spectrum of Fancy,
Charms in the Future even as truth of the Past in the Present.
II.
Not for this, nor for nearer voices of intimate counsel,—
When were ever they heeded?—but since I am sated with visions,
Sated with all the siren Past and its rhythmical phantoms,
Here will I seek my songs in the quiet fields of my boyhood,
Here, where the peaceful tent of home is pitched for a season.
Not for this, nor for nearer voices of intimate counsel,—
When were ever they heeded?—but since I am sated with visions,
Sated with all the siren Past and its rhythmical phantoms,
Here will I seek my songs in the quiet fields of my boyhood,
Here, where the peaceful tent of home is pitched for a season.
