Nephelidia : Running Alliterations

Beauties of English Index

Nephelidia : Running Alliterations

From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn

through a notable nimbus of nebulous noonshine,

Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that

flickers with fear of the flies as they float,

Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a

marvel of mystic miraculous moonshine,

These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that

thicken and threaten with throbs through the throat?

Thicken and thrill as a theatre thronged at appeal of

actor's appalled agitation

Fainter with fear of the fires of the future than

pale with the promise of pride in the pest :

Flushed with the famishing fullness of fever

that reddens with radiance of rather recreation

Gaunt as the ghastliest of glimpses that gleam

through the gloom of the gloaming when ghosts go aghast?

Nay, for the nick of the tick of the time is a

temulaus touch on the temples of terror,

Strained as the Sinews yet strenuous with strife

of the dead who is dumb as the dust-heaps of death :

Surely no soul is it sweet as the spasm of erotic

emotional exquisite error,

Bathed in the balms of beautified bliss, beatific

itself by beatitude's breath.

Surely no spirit or sense of a soul that was soft to

the spirit and soul of our senses.

Sweetens the stress of suspiring suspicion that sobc

in the semblance and sound of a sigh :

Only this oracle opens Olympian in mystical moods

and triangular tenses -

Life is the lust of a lamp for the light is dark still

the dawn of the day when we die'.

Mild is the mirk and monotonous musk of memory

melodiously mute as it may be,

While the hope in the heart of a hero is bruised by

the breach of men's rapiers, resigned to the rod :

Made meek as a mother whose bosom-beats bound

with the bliss-bringing bulk of a balm-breathing baby.

As they grope through the graveyard of creeds,

under skies growing green at a groan for the grimness of God.

Blank is the book of his bounty beholden of old,

and its binding is blacker than bluer :

Out of blue into black is the scheme of the skies,

and their dews are the Wine of the bloodshed of things :

Till the darkling desire of delight shall be free as a

fawn that is freed from the fangs that pursue her.

Till the hearts of hell shall be hushed by a hymn

from the hunt that has hurried the kennel of kings.

This Poem ( Nephelidia ) with running alliterations was written by Algernon Charles Swinburne.
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