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L'Oiseau Bleu
(After Charles Conder)
A PARTING golden haze
Reveals a lime-grit place
Of garden-alleys still
That wonders fill-
Fruit-feasting while the slow
Foutnain-rain laps below
Cold-dreaming naiades’
Long green-grey knees-
Great hats and low ripe hair ;
Sacque-bosoms almost bare ;
Silk skirts soft-puffed and wide,
Drooping beside-
Small faces, hesitant, pale-
Gwons-trees-all tremulous, frail ;
Faint violet, faint green,
Faint rose scarce-seen.
Where is this gathering's
Dance-consort of slim strings?
In it I long to play
The viola
Tuned to the undertone
Of water plashing down
Deep mable honey-dull
Of ripples full.
Mid bergomask or fain
Impossible pavane
The blue bird of romance
Floats o’er the dance.
A madam elegant,
A dandy figurant
In vain the bird pursue
(As I do too) ;
Yet it is near, so near,
This land fantastic, dear
(Where none but one can come)
The bird drops home.
(1901.)
Gordon Bottomley