Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt. b. 1840822. Written at Florence
O WORLD, in very truth thou art too young; | |
When wilt thou learn to wear the garb of age? | |
World, with thy covering of yellow flowers, | |
Hast thou forgot what generations sprung | |
Out of thy loins and loved thee and are gone? | 5 |
Hast thou no place in all their heritage | |
Where thou dost only weep, that I may come | |
Nor fear the mockery of thy yellow flowers? | |
O world, in very truth thou art too young. | |
The heroic wealth of passionate emprize | 10 |
Built thee fair cities for thy naked plains: | |
How hast thou set thy summer growth among | |
The broken stones which were their palaces! | |
Hast thou forgot the darkness where he lies | |
Who made thee beautiful, or have thy bees | 15 |
Found out his grave to build their honeycombs? | |
O world, in very truth thou art too young: | |
They gave thee love who measured out thy skies, | |
And, when they found for thee another star, | |
Who made a festival and straightway hung | 20 |
The jewel on thy neck. O merry world, | |
Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes | |
Which first look’d love in thine? Thou hast not furl’d | |
One banner of thy bridal car for them. | |
O world, in very truth thou art too young. | 25 |
There was a voice which sang about thy spring, | |
Till winter froze the sweetness of his lips, | |
And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue | |
Before thy nightingales were come again. | |
O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing? | 30 |
Say, has thy merriment no secret pain, | |
No sudden weariness that thou art young? |