13 JAUNTS FROM STRATFORD
Reading edition
—“Loin de Stratford”: Paul Verville.
III—IN VERONA
“Il m’étonne de voir que le vieux Capulet”
I had not thought the house of Capulet Might boast a daughter of such colorful grace As this whole-hearted girl, with flower-soft face Round which the glory of her hair is set Like some great golden halo;—and, as yet, Love is to her a word that, spoken, spurs Wonder alone, since love administers In nothing to the mirth of Juliet. What if some day I woke this heart unharried As yet by love, and won these lips more red Than rain-tossed cherries?—Look, the dancers go. What’s he that would not dance? If he be married My grave is like to be my wedding-bed. —God rest you, sweet! the knave is Romeo.
XII—IN TROY
“Le Scamandre engourdi, qui la lune illumine”
Stagnant Scamander, which the moon—a slight Frail-seeming crescent toiling through gaunt trees Mid stars that follow her like golden bees,— Makes glittering; beyond its marge a white Glitter of tossed bleached bones where camp-dogs fight For offal, and a glitter of panoplies Where sentinels prowl; and partly shrouding these, Thin fever-breeding mists and dubious night. And one clear song—fond, as all love-songs be— From Troilus’ fevered lips that give fond vent To love and wonder and idolatry, Snapped short; and mutterings of thunder, blent With cries of mourners, and the garrulous glee Of Cressida in Diomedes’ tent.