 | The Autumn Garden |  |
9
The Bust
My daughters, on my birthday-dawn,
Deep midst our London garden-trees,
Set up the image of a Faun,
All garlanded and tricked to please.
Deep midst our London garden-trees,
Set up the image of a Faun,
All garlanded and tricked to please.
Against the door's dark cinnabar
The white bust twinkles, like a star,
High on its slender pedestal:
The heavy chestnuts, green and brown,
Throw verdurous lights and shadows down,
While birds about it flit and fall.
The serpent-locks bear stain on stain
From loose crushed leaf and sudden storm;
Within the laughing eyes, the rain
Has channelled out the dainty form.
The white bust twinkles, like a star,
High on its slender pedestal:
The heavy chestnuts, green and brown,
Throw verdurous lights and shadows down,
While birds about it flit and fall.
The serpent-locks bear stain on stain
From loose crushed leaf and sudden storm;
Within the laughing eyes, the rain
Has channelled out the dainty form.
In Greece 'twas marble long ago,
Pentelican, as pure as snow
And crystalline as mountain frost,
But here, in London, sculpture's breath
Pants to a plaster-cloudy death,
Till all the lovelier gleam is lost.
Yet fondly, from my trellised bower,
I gaze, this magic twilight hour,
Upon the Faun that smiles, and smiles,
And mystifies, and still beguiles.
Pentelican, as pure as snow
And crystalline as mountain frost,
But here, in London, sculpture's breath
Pants to a plaster-cloudy death,
Till all the lovelier gleam is lost.
10
I gaze, this magic twilight hour,
Upon the Faun that smiles, and smiles,
And mystifies, and still beguiles.
His curling lips are reft apart
With folds of that grimacing stain
Which now exaggerates the art
That modelled, with a drift of rain;
I see him as he lived in Greece;
I see the pipes, the humble fleece,
The fillet and the bunch of nuts,
The little gifts which shepherds laid
Upon the wild thyme in the glade
That sloped down softly towards their huts;
Ambiguous apparition, made
To tell their terror and their trade!
With folds of that grimacing stain
Which now exaggerates the art
That modelled, with a drift of rain;
I see him as he lived in Greece;
I see the pipes, the humble fleece,
The fillet and the bunch of nuts,
The little gifts which shepherds laid
Upon the wild thyme in the glade
That sloped down softly towards their huts;
Ambiguous apparition, made
To tell their terror and their trade!
O Faun, within the folding night
Thou fadest to a star of white;
Thy lidded eyes, thy serpent-hair,
Thy twisted throat of mystery,
Thy narrow brows unscored by care,
I still divine, yet hardly see.
Instead of purple Attic wine,
Satyric ghost, I pour to thee
Pure water, flung out far and fine,
In drops that pierce the night, and shine.
O Faun, be bountiful to me!
Thou fadest to a star of white;
Thy lidded eyes, thy serpent-hair,
Thy twisted throat of mystery,
Thy narrow brows unscored by care,
I still divine, yet hardly see.
Instead of purple Attic wine,
Satyric ghost, I pour to thee
Pure water, flung out far and fine,
In drops that pierce the night, and shine.
O Faun, be bountiful to me!
11
O bless my hearth and home, as when,
Outspeeded by the Maenades,
Thou paused'st near the haunts of men,
To bless the fishers of the seas;
Or leaning to the reddened rocks
To watch the fleecy, loitering flocks
Of shepherds in the darkling glen;
Or bending with illusive smile
To see the rustic troop defile,
And lights spring out at eve as now;
Then on thy goat-feet sped'st amain
To join the timbrel-whirling train
Of nymphs upon the mountain's brow.
Outspeeded by the Maenades,
Thou paused'st near the haunts of men,
To bless the fishers of the seas;
Or leaning to the reddened rocks
To watch the fleecy, loitering flocks
Of shepherds in the darkling glen;
Or bending with illusive smile
To see the rustic troop defile,
And lights spring out at eve as now;
Then on thy goat-feet sped'st amain
To join the timbrel-whirling train
Of nymphs upon the mountain's brow.
O bless my empty ears with song,
Since thou hast flung from laughing lips
The reedy pipes that did them wrong,
That thy mouth's music might eclipse
All pastoral fluting! In this heart,—
This old, weak, weary heart of mine,—
An ancient spirit stands apart
And listens for a sound from thine.
Sing, Faun, of all the opening world,
So delicate, so dewy-pearled,
That budded round thy daring eyes,
When first amid the strain and stir
Of many a fragrant, whispering fir
Thou gazed'st with a babe's surprise,
And from thy russet-needled bed,
Down the long avenue of pines,
Saw'st the slow sunrise ridge with red
The dim white Ocean's long-drawn lines.
Since thou hast flung from laughing lips
The reedy pipes that did them wrong,
That thy mouth's music might eclipse
All pastoral fluting! In this heart,—
This old, weak, weary heart of mine,—
An ancient spirit stands apart
And listens for a sound from thine.
Sing, Faun, of all the opening world,
So delicate, so dewy-pearled,
That budded round thy daring eyes,
When first amid the strain and stir
Of many a fragrant, whispering fir
Thou gazed'st with a babe's surprise,
And from thy russet-needled bed,
Down the long avenue of pines,
12
The dim white Ocean's long-drawn lines.
O speak, eternal lips of youth,
Some word to age that flags so fast!
Hast thou no tenderness, no ruth
For wingèd years that flutter past?
Immortal Faun, tho' cold thou art,
In thy unaltered smile I read
A presage to my smouldering heart
That can but leap to thee, and bleed.
O guide it through this darker day,
When all has sunk to cloud and clay,
When even thine own immortal form
Has lost the marble of its birth,
And shadows of the final storm
Close over this dejected earth!
Some word to age that flags so fast!
Hast thou no tenderness, no ruth
For wingèd years that flutter past?
Immortal Faun, tho' cold thou art,
In thy unaltered smile I read
A presage to my smouldering heart
That can but leap to thee, and bleed.
O guide it through this darker day,
When all has sunk to cloud and clay,
When even thine own immortal form
Has lost the marble of its birth,
And shadows of the final storm
Close over this dejected earth!
O lift me, cold sardonic Bust,
Above the silence and the dust;
Teach me thine old, sublime, severe
Philosophy of light and love,
Bid me be calm, as leaves are green,
And humble, as the stars above.
Above the silence and the dust;
Teach me thine old, sublime, severe
Philosophy of light and love,
Bid me be calm, as leaves are green,
And humble, as the stars above.
Stars? They are salt around my head,
And brushed by leaves like quivering hands.
The ancient goatherd, that was dead,
Lives, and condones, and understands.
And brushed by leaves like quivering hands.
The ancient goatherd, that was dead,
Lives, and condones, and understands.
| The Autumn Garden | |