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El Clarin
CLARIN, from what glens of air | |
| Chime your cameo-colored bells? | |
| When they ring, I know them rare, | |
| Fluted like the lips of shells | |
| For the tone to ripple down, | 5 |
| Honey-pale or amber-brown. | |
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| When the tawny evening spills | |
| Drops of topaz down the pine, | |
| Light denied the dusking hills, | |
| Do you gather and confine | 10 |
| In some clear aerial jar, | |
| On the branch where flits the star? | |
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| Do you pour the liquid light | |
| Early from your lyric urn? | |
| Nay, it was at midmost night | 15 |
| That I heard among the fern | |
| Golden drops that fell in showers, | |
| Shaken down as out of flowers! | |
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| When the rain of light was gone, | |
| Poured in rhyming gold like rain, | 20 |
| How your elfin bells at dawn | |
| Delicately chimed again, | |
| Soft as sea-shells murmur of | |
| Her whose lovely name is Love! | |
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| Did the Foam-born brim those bells | 25 |
| With the wistful melodies | |
| Of enchanted vocal shells? | |
| Does the satin sigh of trees | |
| Bring a memory of foam? | |
| Clarin, do you sing of home? | 30 |
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