Young Juan wandered by the glassy brooks
Young Juan wandered by the glassy brooks
Thinking unutterable things. He threw
Himself at length within the leafy nooks
Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew.
There poets find materials for their books,
And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible,
Unless like Wordsworth they prove unintelligible.
He, Juan (and not Wordsworth), so pursued
His self-communion with his own high soul
Until his mighty heart in its great mood
Had mitigated part, though not the whole
Of its disease. He did the best he could
With things not very subject to control
And turned, without perceiving his condition,
Like Coleridge into a metaphysician.
He thought about himself and the whole earth,
Of man the wonderful and of the stars
And how the deuce they ever could have birth,
And then he thought of earthquakes and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,
Of air balloons and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies.
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.
In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern
Longings sublime and aspirations high,
Which some are born with, but the most part learn
To plague themselves withal, they know not why.
'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern
His brain about the action of the sky.
If you think 'twas philosophy that this did,
I can't help thinking puberty assisted.
He pored upon the leaves and on the flowers
And heard a voice in all the winds; and then
He thought of wood nymphs and immortal bowers,
And how the goddesses came down to men.
He missed the pathway, he forgot the hours,
And when he looked upon his watch again,
He found how much old Time had been a winner.
He also found that he had lost his dinner.
Thus would he while his lonely hours away
Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted.
Nor glowing reverie nor poet's lay
Could yield his spirit that for which it panted,
A bosom whereon he his head might lay
And hear the heart beat with the love it granted,
With several other things, which I forget
Or which at least I need not mention yet.
Thinking unutterable things. He threw
Himself at length within the leafy nooks
Where the wild branch of the cork forest grew.
There poets find materials for their books,
And every now and then we read them through,
So that their plan and prosody are eligible,
Unless like Wordsworth they prove unintelligible.
He, Juan (and not Wordsworth), so pursued
His self-communion with his own high soul
Until his mighty heart in its great mood
Had mitigated part, though not the whole
Of its disease. He did the best he could
With things not very subject to control
And turned, without perceiving his condition,
Like Coleridge into a metaphysician.
He thought about himself and the whole earth,
Of man the wonderful and of the stars
And how the deuce they ever could have birth,
And then he thought of earthquakes and of wars,
How many miles the moon might have in girth,
Of air balloons and of the many bars
To perfect knowledge of the boundless skies.
And then he thought of Donna Julia's eyes.
In thoughts like these true wisdom may discern
Longings sublime and aspirations high,
Which some are born with, but the most part learn
To plague themselves withal, they know not why.
'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern
His brain about the action of the sky.
If you think 'twas philosophy that this did,
I can't help thinking puberty assisted.
He pored upon the leaves and on the flowers
And heard a voice in all the winds; and then
He thought of wood nymphs and immortal bowers,
And how the goddesses came down to men.
He missed the pathway, he forgot the hours,
And when he looked upon his watch again,
He found how much old Time had been a winner.
He also found that he had lost his dinner.
Thus would he while his lonely hours away
Dissatisfied, nor knowing what he wanted.
Nor glowing reverie nor poet's lay
Could yield his spirit that for which it panted,
A bosom whereon he his head might lay
And hear the heart beat with the love it granted,
With several other things, which I forget
Or which at least I need not mention yet.
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