Little Apollo Eolian
With what words doth ye describe
thy deep soul,
little Eolian, Apollo?
What ask of me thy plea,
poesy 'darling' to see;
With prim pleasure as a painter
(druid) so brown with earth?
so sober as wakefulness -----
..... tis not bitter sometimes
to hold a thing of damp love
in the throes of day's end,
forsaken.....
in drunk mood,
staring your soul in the stars;
To Byron I am oft too fond,
little lush I am, as he -----
his 'cup half-empty'
But sober, Keats, Wordsworth (Tennyson)
my company to be.....
and the cottage heath by the sea,
where the waterfall flows to peace,
and a maiden most fair to tickle my feet;
soft summer moons,
pink and looming to greet,
fleeting.....
To wine and Byron and Shelley,
Swinburne does fine;
Little Apollo Eolian chiming in breeze,
sing me a little Shakespeare,
there in the gossamer wood.....
neath the misted moon.....
Where the days are long as they are fair,
and what moods you bring me ----
I do not care,
long as somewhere William is there,
by she and the meadow,
winding mountain trail
(and all that's fair)
' Little Apollo Eolian '
** Inspired by the Eolian Harp, which responded to gusts of breeze**
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