The Poetical Works of John Payne Definitive Edition in Two Volumes |
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A SONG OF DEAD LOVE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
A SONG OF DEAD LOVE.
THERE came to me a dream in the midnight
Of a fair shape beseen with glittering hair,
The semblance of a woman, very fair,
Yea, and most sorrowful; for all the light
Within her eyes was faded for despite
Of a fair shape beseen with glittering hair,
The semblance of a woman, very fair,
Yea, and most sorrowful; for all the light
Within her eyes was faded for despite
Of worldly woe, and all her bloom was fled,
For grieving over ghosts of dead delight
And wearying for Love and all his might,
That in the petals of the rose lay dead,
Mourned over by the lily's heavy head.
For grieving over ghosts of dead delight
And wearying for Love and all his might,
That in the petals of the rose lay dead,
Mourned over by the lily's heavy head.
‘If any love,’ to me the shape did say,
(And as she spoke I turned me in my bed,
Wondering to look upon her goodlihead,)
‘Most meet it is, I should upon thee lay
The task of warning him from love away.
(And as she spoke I turned me in my bed,
Wondering to look upon her goodlihead,)
‘Most meet it is, I should upon thee lay
The task of warning him from love away.
‘For bitter sooth it is that Love doth lie
All sadly buried from the eyes of day,
Under the shredded petals of the May;
And with his death did ease of lovers die
And nought is left for them but tear and sigh.
All sadly buried from the eyes of day,
Under the shredded petals of the May;
And with his death did ease of lovers die
And nought is left for them but tear and sigh.
272
‘Wherefore, if one have the desire of it,
Unknowing what withal he must aby,
This strait commandment unto thee give I,
That thou with song do of Love's death let wit
Those foolish souls that still their lives do knit
Unknowing what withal he must aby,
This strait commandment unto thee give I,
That thou with song do of Love's death let wit
Those foolish souls that still their lives do knit
‘About an idle woman's gold-red hair
And in the empty courts of Love do sit,
Watching the torches for his funeral lit,
That they should win their senses to forbear
From loving aught, because the thing is fair.
And in the empty courts of Love do sit,
Watching the torches for his funeral lit,
That they should win their senses to forbear
From loving aught, because the thing is fair.
‘For, of a truth, henceforth the end of love
Shall be no more as it hath been whilere;
Since he is dead, to whom there did repair
Sick souls for solace. Whoso tastes thereof
Heart-hunger all his days shall surely prove
Shall be no more as it hath been whilere;
Since he is dead, to whom there did repair
Sick souls for solace. Whoso tastes thereof
Heart-hunger all his days shall surely prove
‘And shall on no wise come to ease his pain;
For, since Love's light is faded from above
The world into the grave, his silver dove—
That wont whilom all lovers to assain
With balm and quickly make them whole again,
For, since Love's light is faded from above
The world into the grave, his silver dove—
That wont whilom all lovers to assain
With balm and quickly make them whole again,
‘Nestling soft wings against their wounded hearts—
Has for the sorrow of its Lord's death ta'en
The semblance of a falcon, all a-stain
With blood and milk, that of his rancour darts
His ruddy beak into each heart that smarts
Has for the sorrow of its Lord's death ta'en
The semblance of a falcon, all a-stain
With blood and milk, that of his rancour darts
His ruddy beak into each heart that smarts
‘With lover's woe and delving in the breast,
Doth tear and lacerate the inward parts,
Until all hope of future ease departs
From the sad soul and men are all opprest
With unsalved love unto the utterest.
Doth tear and lacerate the inward parts,
Until all hope of future ease departs
From the sad soul and men are all opprest
With unsalved love unto the utterest.
273
‘Wherefore, sing thou and warn the folk of ill!’
And I: ‘O lady, would my tongue were blest
With happy words! But lo! I have no rest
For agonies of love, that doth fulfil
My sleepless soul and all its cruel will
And I: ‘O lady, would my tongue were blest
With happy words! But lo! I have no rest
For agonies of love, that doth fulfil
My sleepless soul and all its cruel will
‘Doth wreak on me, to bring me to despair.
How shall I ward from men the darts that kill,
When I myself am of their poison still
Nigh stricken unto death? O lady fair!
Teach me how I may win the bird to spare,
How shall I ward from men the darts that kill,
When I myself am of their poison still
Nigh stricken unto death? O lady fair!
Teach me how I may win the bird to spare,
‘And then I will make shift for men to sing,
As thou dost bid.’ But she, with such an air
Of pity, answered, ‘First the song must fare,—
And haply salve shall rest upon its wing.’
Wherefore I made this song, awakening.
As thou dost bid.’ But she, with such an air
Of pity, answered, ‘First the song must fare,—
And haply salve shall rest upon its wing.’
Wherefore I made this song, awakening.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |