 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
253
THE RINGDOVE
Grey dove, that croonest in the solemn fir,
Lost in unutterable, deep content,
Soon will the drowsy forest be astir,
Soon will the loud wind thunder imminent.
But while the shadows lengthen, while the light
Slants from the West across the red-stemmed grove,
Croon thy soft lay of intimate delight,
Of rapturous solitude, and gracious love.
Lost in unutterable, deep content,
Soon will the drowsy forest be astir,
Soon will the loud wind thunder imminent.
But while the shadows lengthen, while the light
Slants from the West across the red-stemmed grove,
Croon thy soft lay of intimate delight,
Of rapturous solitude, and gracious love.
Thou from the branching fastness canst discern
The woodways winding green, the island knolls
Crowned with tall oaks, and rimmed with rusty fern,
The beeches, with their plain and rounded boles,
Widespreading, over smooth and crackling floors;
The chestnuts splashed with golden bravery,
The pine, a slender pyramid, that soars
With velvet greenness to the freer sky.
The woodways winding green, the island knolls
Crowned with tall oaks, and rimmed with rusty fern,
The beeches, with their plain and rounded boles,
Widespreading, over smooth and crackling floors;
The chestnuts splashed with golden bravery,
The pine, a slender pyramid, that soars
With velvet greenness to the freer sky.
Croon as thou wilt: no enemy is near:
Close for awhile thy proud and wary eyes,
Speak to my heart, while yet I linger near,
Thy patient peace, thy languorous mysteries.
Left to herself, how musical of mood
The world's old heart, beside her chosen shore!
The din, the shattering tumult, and the rude
Thunder of battle should be heard no more.
Close for awhile thy proud and wary eyes,
Speak to my heart, while yet I linger near,
Thy patient peace, thy languorous mysteries.
254
The world's old heart, beside her chosen shore!
The din, the shattering tumult, and the rude
Thunder of battle should be heard no more.
No more the wild uproarious thirst of life
The din of words whose purpose is the same:
The weary enmities, the feverous strife,
Here in this peace are nothing but a name.
Peace, strenuous peace, is thine and mine to-day,
Sedatest energy, divine desire,
This be my part in thy unconscious lay,—
Strongly to hope and softly to aspire.
The din of words whose purpose is the same:
The weary enmities, the feverous strife,
Here in this peace are nothing but a name.
Peace, strenuous peace, is thine and mine to-day,
Sedatest energy, divine desire,
This be my part in thy unconscious lay,—
Strongly to hope and softly to aspire.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |