 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
444
THE SICK FLOWER
Hang thy head, O gaudy flower,
Droop thy petals, droop and fade!
Winter sweeps the ruined bower,
Tempest rolls o'er glen and glade.
Droop thy petals, droop and fade!
Winter sweeps the ruined bower,
Tempest rolls o'er glen and glade.
Born a bud in balmy May,
Broad and strong in sequent June,
Waning in October gray,
Like a dull and dying tune.
Broad and strong in sequent June,
Waning in October gray,
Like a dull and dying tune.
Sick thou art, thy prime is o'er;
Never shall the roving bee
Come for nectar at thy door,
Thy cup will cease to load his knee.
Never shall the roving bee
Come for nectar at thy door,
Thy cup will cease to load his knee.
Thy mantle fine of fairy leaves
To ruined lace the wire-worms drill;
His liquid nest the froth-fly weaves,
The weevil bites his bitter fill.
To ruined lace the wire-worms drill;
His liquid nest the froth-fly weaves,
The weevil bites his bitter fill.
O hadst thou gained a daisy's birth,
Or risen a globe of clover small,
Thou hadst not gone to mother earth
In such a tattered funeral!
Or risen a globe of clover small,
Thou hadst not gone to mother earth
In such a tattered funeral!
Thou hadst not soiled in woodland clay
The record of thy ampler hour,
O waning love, O setting day,
O last-drawn breath of dying flower!
The record of thy ampler hour,
O waning love, O setting day,
O last-drawn breath of dying flower!
The homely cheek that bore no blush
Fades gently at the touch of pain;
But now to mock thy roseate flush
Some harsh and tawdry tints remain.
Fades gently at the touch of pain;
But now to mock thy roseate flush
Some harsh and tawdry tints remain.
Thy face is like some shipwrecked star,
Which looks from heaven with dim desire,
But cannot dart one beam afar,
For chill grows all her spheral fire.
Which looks from heaven with dim desire,
But cannot dart one beam afar,
For chill grows all her spheral fire.
445
O ruined blossom! pine and weep,
And let thy dewdrop tears rain fast;
Pass gently to thy flowerless sleep,
Dirged by the bitter autumn blast.
And let thy dewdrop tears rain fast;
Pass gently to thy flowerless sleep,
Dirged by the bitter autumn blast.
September 16th, 1895.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |