Lord Byron (1788–1824). Poetry of Byron. 1881.
II. Descriptive and NarrativeThe Drachenfels
T
Frowns o’er the wide and winding Rhine,
Whose breast of waters broadly swells
Between the banks which bear the vine,
And hills all rich with blossom’d trees,
And fields which promise corn and wine,
And scatter’d cities crowning these,
Whose far white walls along them shine,
Have strew’d a scene, which I should see
With double joy wert thou with me.
And hands which offer early flowers, Walk smiling o’er this paradise; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, And many a rock which steeply lowers, And noble arch in proud decay, Look o’er this vale of vintage-bowers; But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! Though long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must wither’d be, But yet reject them not as such; For I have cherish’d them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And guide thy soul to mine even here, When thou behold’st them drooping nigh, And know’st them gather’d by the Rhine, And offer’d from my heart to thine! The charm of this enchanted ground, And all its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round: The haughtiest breast its wish might bound; Through life to dwell delighted here; Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine!