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The Autumn Garden

by Edmund Gosse

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26

Joy

I have seen, I too, the April face of joy,
The pale wet blue, the flying yellow cloud;
I have felt the wind across the mountain-side,
Cold after hail, and in the primrose dell
The sunlight warmer than a mother's hands.
O to embrace the trembling lips of joy!
O to catch sight, deep in the shivering grass,
Of golden, snow-white, lilac blooms of Spring,
Ghosts from the underworld miraculous,
Saints rearisen from sordid clods of sin.
But what is joy, and what are flowers and clouds,
And what the diapason of the birds,
And what the holiness and bliss of thought,
Unless another shares them? Magic gold
That fades while greedy fingers clutch at it.
Pure would I be, and yet not cold nor thin,
Uplifted in the dream of lovely life
Renascent, yet nor arrogant nor dense,
But like a mirror to reflect the sky
On pensive hearts shut up in silentness.

27

Ah! how to flash the marvel back on these!
Ah! how to carry in my shining eyes
The April azure, in my thingling hands
The new-born sun-warmth, how to pour them forth
Into cold breasts that languish in the gloom?
Since, while the glory floods me, it is gone!
Gray grow the skies, doleful the dripping boughs;
My eyes and hands are empty as before;
Of all the promised benefactions, hope
And memory, faded memory, sole survive.
Ah! seize the rapturous moment, bind the charm!
Let love run faster than the halcyon gleam
That sanctified these waters and this glade!
Let me be fleet in tenderness, and swift
In kindliest answer to the impulse given.
So, and not otherwise, the blue may shine
In mortal eyes, while all the heavens grow dull;
So, and not otherwise, the breath of balm
Be wafted thro' the dolorous hurricane,
And joy persist through all vicissitude.