O’ER the country I peer by the stream from the rushes,And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
O’er the green slope, o’er forests, gardens, meads aroundMy eyes feast on the azure, and the dreamy sound Of music-making waves is mine.I warm me in the sun, and glide amid the reeds,Straightway the thicket sprinkles dew o’er me in beads, —O would that they were drops of wine.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
Let at Diana’s hunting quiver woods and brakes,I hearken in the shadow, how that the throstle makes The stillness bright with pearly notes. How the cicada on the elm at noon-tide sings,And how the dragon-fly with topaz-tinted wings Around the lotus-blossom floats.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
I heed not notes, that from the dulcet reed-pipe sweep,Whereon Pan makes his music when the valleys sleep, When in the waves the sun has flown:The snail delights me more, that in the grass I see,How that he moves his horns, moving on sluggishly, And wasps ’mid apricots adrone.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
Only ’mid sweltering heat within a hollow grot,I hide me, and I bask on moistened grassy plot, That wanton breezes scarce can wave :And ponder, solaced by the wavelets’ mystic layOn many a Dryad, who before me fled away. O deep and fragrance-laden cave!
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
At eve amid the reeds in ambush I, unseen,Behold the Erymanthine maids with timid mien Lay in the bath their garb aside.How in the flood they leap, when in their midst I dash,Until the waters splash, and ‘mid the rushes flash, Like diamonds in a gleaming tide.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
I tarry; days depart, the clouds float on; the din,Music and mirth of waves lure me to bathe therein; I plunge amid them, headlong-wise.A coil of ocean-grass among my locks has strayed,And pearls upon my beard, that, splendidly arrayed, Like to Poseidon is my guise.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
And nigh is now the time, when that the fruit is shed,And o’er the unclad poles like topaz-trinkets spread, O Helios’ sacred son, thou vine!I crush it in the goblet with the self-same zest,As if, O Maenad, my rough hands thy naked breast, Unveiled, untrammelled might entwine.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
Joy comes upon the world: make ready bowers for her—The Maenads in the woods with thyrses are astir, My eyes with mighty dawn are bright.Uncouth am I, I know; yea, vile,—’tis naught to me,I bow the heads of lovers nearer ’neath some tree, I am the cup’s deep-hid delight.
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.
I am the heave of breasts, lips secretly aquiver,That yearn for kisses; things in being I deliver, Not e’en the gods my spell can break.When Jove, to seize Europa, guised him as a steer,I took him by the horns and whispered in his ear: “Behold, the satyr in thee spake!”
O’er the country I peer by the stream from the rushes, And I tarry content till the grape ripely flushes.Spirit and World (1878)