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Robert Laurence Binyon - Douro
Work rating: Low

The dripping of the boughs in silence heard
 Softly; the low note of some lingering bird
 Amid the weeping vapour; the chill fall
 Of solitary evening upon all
 That stirs and hopes and apprehends and grieves,
 With pining odours of the ruined leaves
 Have like a dew distilled upon my heart
 The air of death: but now recoiling start
 Longing and keen remembrance out of sighs;
 And forward the desiring spirit flies
 Toward the wild peace of that illumined shore,
 Which, left behind her, yet still shines before;
 To Douro, rushing through the mighty hills.
 Now his great stream with fancied splendour fills
 Even this brooding twilight; a swift ghost,
 Journeying forever to the glimmering coast,
 Where his majestic voice is heard afar,
 Exulting dim upon that ocean bar.
 O Douro, gliding by dark woods, and fleet
 Beneath thy shadowy rocks in the noon heat,
 How my heart faints to follow after thee
 On one true course to my deep destined sea!
 To take no care of dimness or sunshine,
 Urged ever by an inward way divine,
 Nor falter in this heavy gloom that brings
 So thick upon me lamentable things
 Of earth, and hinders the swift spirit`s wings,
 And clouds the steadfast vision that sustains
 Alone the trembling heart amid perpetual pains.

 Dear friend, who thirstest, even as I, to be
 Heir and possessor of sweet liberty,
 Once more in memory let us pluck the hour
 That bloomed so perfect, and renew the power
 Of joy within our wondering breasts, to feel
 That freshness of eternal things, and heal
 All our unhappy thoughts in those pure rays.
 Not yet the last of these delightful days
 Into the dark unwillingly has flown,
 And thou and I upon a hill o`ergrown,
 That indolently shadows Douro stream,
 Together watch the wonderful clear dream
 Of evening. Under the dark shore of pines
 Noiselessly running, the wide water shines.
 Curving afar, from where the mountains lift
 Their burning heads, through many a forest rift
 The River comes, scenting the spaces free
 In this broad channel, of his welcoming sea.
 No more by silent precipices hewn
 Out of the night, murmuring a lonely tune
 To craggy Fregeneda; nor where shines
 Regoa, throned among her purple vines,
 Impetuously seeking valleys new;
 But smoothing his broad mirror to the hue
 And peace of heaven, unhasting now he flows
 And with the sky unfathomably glows,
 Even as on yonder shore the woods receive
 In their empurpled bosoms the warm eve.
 As when a lover gazes tenderly
 Upon his loved one, and, as tender, she
 Hushes her heart, her joy to realize,
 So hushed, so lovely, so contented lies
 Earth, by that earnest--gazing glory blest.
 But on this hither bank that fervent West
 Is hidden behind us, and the stems around
 Spring shadowy from the bare and darkling ground.
 Only a single pine out of the shade
 Emerges, in what splendour soft arrayed!
 Magical clearness, warming to the sight
 As to the touch it would be: plumed with light,
 Motionless upward the tree soars and burns.
 But now the dews upon the freshened ferns
 In the dim hollow gather, and cool scent
 Of herbage with the pine`s pure odour blent,
 And voices of the villagers below
 As home, with music, up the stream they row,
 Greet us descending; every blossom sleeps,
 And bluer and more blue the evening steeps
 Water and fragrant grass and the straight stems
 In tender mystery. Down a path that hems
 The hollow, to our waiting boat we come.
 Pale purple flames shining amid the gloom
 Signal the autumn crocus: look, afar,
 Betwixt the tree--tops, the first--ventured star!
 Soon gliding homeward under shadowy shores
 And deepened sky, to the repeated oars`
 Strong chime we hasten. Now along pale sand
 Our ripple leaps in silver; now the land,
 High over the swift water darkly massed,
 Echoes our falling blades as we go past;
 Until, enthroned upon her hills divine,
 The city nears us: lights begin to shine
 Scarce from the stars distinguished, so the gloom
 Has mingled earth and sky; more steeply loom
 The banks on either side, at intervals
 Tufted with trees, or crowned with winding walls;
 And now at last the river opens large,
 Filled with the city`s murmur; from his marge,
 Slope over slope, the glimmering terraces
 Rise, and their scattered lamps` bright images
 Cast on the wavering water; and we hear
 The sound of soft bells, and cries faint or near
 From the dim wharves, or anchored ships, whose spars
 Entangle in dark meshes the white stars.
 And pale smoke rising blue on the blue air
 Sleeps in a thin cloud under heights that bear
 Towers and roofs lofty against the west,
 Where yet a clearness lingers. Now the breast
 Of Douro heaves, foreboding whither bound
 His currents hasten, and with joyous sound,
 As though the encountering brine new pulses gave,
 Lifts, to outrace our speed, his buoyant wave.
 For, hearken, up the peaceful evening borne
 Out of the wide sea--gates, low thunders warn
 Of Ocean beating with his sleepless surge
 Along the wild sand--marges: the deep dirge
 Of mariners, that wakes the widow`s ear
 At night, far inland, terrible and near.
 Fainter, this eve, he murmurs than as oft
 His troubled music: here, by distance soft,
 The abrupt volley, the sharp shattering roar,
 And seethe of foam flung tumbling up the shore,
 Mingle in one wide rumour, that all round
 Is heard afar, robing the air with sound.
 Deep in my heart I hear it. The still night
 Deepens, as we ascend the homeward height,
 And loud or low, in following intervals,
 Over the hills the sound unwearied falls;
 And as upon my bed my heavy eyes
 Close up, the drowsing mind re--occupies.

 O what a vision floats into my sleep!
 As a night--shutting flower, my senses keep
 The live day`s lingering odours and warm hues,
 That thought and motion with themselves transfuse,
 Till sound and light and perfume are but one,
 Mingled in fires of the embracing sun.
 Yet still I am aware of Ocean stirred
 Far off, and like a grave rejoicing heard.
 Am I awake, or in consenting dreams
 Pour thither all my thought`s tumultuous streams?
 His voice, to meet them, a deep answer sends:
 My soul, to listen, her light wing suspends,
 And, pillowed upon undulating sound,
 For all desire hath satisfaction found.
 He calls her thither, where the winds uncage
 Vast longing, that the unsounded seas assuage.
 Breeze after breeze her wingèd pinnace bears
 Over the living water, that prepares
 Still widening mystery: she her speed the more
 Urges, exulting to have lost the shore,
 Supported by the joy that sets her free,
 Delighted mistress of her destiny,
 Fills the wide night with beating of her wing,
 And is content, for ever voyaging
 By timeless courses, over worlds unknown,
 Lifted and lost, abounding and alone.
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