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Songs
of the Common Day, and Ave!
An
Ode for the Shelley Centenary
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
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THE
CICADA IN THE FIRS
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CHARM
of the vibrant, white September sun—
How tower the firs
to take it, tranced and still!
Their scant ranks
crown the pale, round, pasture-hill,
And watch, far down, the austere waters run
Their circuit thro' the serious marshes dun.
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bird-call stirs the blue; but strangely thrill
The blunt-faced,
brown cicada's wing-notes shrill,
A web of silver o'er the silence spun.
O zithern-winged
musician, whence it came,
I wonder, this insistent
song of thine!
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Did
once the highest string of Summer's lyre,
Snapt on some tense chord slender as a flame,
Take form again in
these vibrations fine
That o'er the tranquil
spheres of noon aspire? |
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