 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
AZALEAS.
SHE hath no knowledge of the things that stir
This modern life of men to toil and stress:
Her life is folded in the loveliness
Of its sweet self. Around and over her,
Flower-petals hover; scents of rose and myrrh
Cloister her in from all the worldly ways.
Life flows about her, like her pale robe's haze
Or the blue vapour round a thurifer,
Folding her being in an equal dream,
Wherein the birds sing ever, where the flowers
Renew Spring's gladness with the new sun's beam
And all the year is peaceful in the hours,
Heedless of all the weary shapes that seem
And wander in this sad wan life of ours.
This modern life of men to toil and stress:
Her life is folded in the loveliness
Of its sweet self. Around and over her,
Flower-petals hover; scents of rose and myrrh
Cloister her in from all the worldly ways.
Life flows about her, like her pale robe's haze
Or the blue vapour round a thurifer,
Folding her being in an equal dream,
Wherein the birds sing ever, where the flowers
Renew Spring's gladness with the new sun's beam
And all the year is peaceful in the hours,
Heedless of all the weary shapes that seem
And wander in this sad wan life of ours.
Fair as an alabaster vase she stands,
Wherein the unchecked soul is luminous
And glorifies its peaceful dwelling-house;
Gathering the forspent blossoms with her hands
Into the dainty cup, with azure bands
Enwound; for all the things she cherisheth
Are lovely as herself, even in death,
And glitter with the glory of the lands
Beyond the ken of man, where Venus waits
And Eros sleeps beside Adonis' bed,
Low-laid in lilies, where the dreamland's gates
Enclose all loveliest things that men deem dead,
Until the weary span of years be sped,
That shall reclothe them with their pristine states.
Wherein the unchecked soul is luminous
And glorifies its peaceful dwelling-house;
Gathering the forspent blossoms with her hands
Into the dainty cup, with azure bands
Enwound; for all the things she cherisheth
Are lovely as herself, even in death,
And glitter with the glory of the lands
Beyond the ken of man, where Venus waits
And Eros sleeps beside Adonis' bed,
161
Enclose all loveliest things that men deem dead,
Until the weary span of years be sped,
That shall reclothe them with their pristine states.
Dim flowers of dreams, white maiden of a dream,
She knoweth not that we are kin to her:
She heareth not the clamour and the stir
Of joyless men about her gates. The stream
Wakes her with babbling and the gold sun's beam
Beckons her forth into the budded day.
Standing upon the marble silver-grey,
Blush-white in myrtle-green and orange-gleam,
She strokes her doves and sees the swans adown
The ripples waver in the brooklet's glass:
Then, folding in her hands her broidered gown,
She wanders, smiling, through the jewelled grass,
Plucking the violets from their moss-deeps brown;
And all things smile to her as she doth pass.
She knoweth not that we are kin to her:
She heareth not the clamour and the stir
Of joyless men about her gates. The stream
Wakes her with babbling and the gold sun's beam
Beckons her forth into the budded day.
Standing upon the marble silver-grey,
Blush-white in myrtle-green and orange-gleam,
She strokes her doves and sees the swans adown
The ripples waver in the brooklet's glass:
Then, folding in her hands her broidered gown,
She wanders, smiling, through the jewelled grass,
Plucking the violets from their moss-deeps brown;
And all things smile to her as she doth pass.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |