Page:Andromeda, and other poems - Kingsley (1858).djvu/77

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.

65

ELEGIACS.

WEARILY stretches the sand to the surge, and the surge to the cloudland; Wearily onward I ride, watching the water alone. Not as of old, like Homeric Achilles, κυδεἲ γαιων, Joyous knight-errant of God, thirsting for labour and strife; No more on magical steed borne free through the regions of ether, But, like the hack which I ride, selling my sinew for gold. Fruit-bearing autumn is gone; let the sad quiet winter hang o'er me— What were the spring to a soul laden with sorrow and shame?
This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.