The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan In Two Volumes. With a Portrait |
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EARTH AND THE SOUL.
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| II. |
 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
EARTH AND THE SOUL.
‘Child of my bosom, babe of my bearing;
Why dost thou turn from me now thou art old?
Why, like a wild bird for passage preparing,
Shrink from my touch with a tremor of cold?’
‘Mother, I dread thee! mother, I fear thee!
Darkness and silence are hid in thy core;
Deep is thy voice, and I tremble to hear thee;
Let me begone, for thou lov'st me no more!’
Why dost thou turn from me now thou art old?
Why, like a wild bird for passage preparing,
Shrink from my touch with a tremor of cold?’
‘Mother, I dread thee! mother, I fear thee!
Darkness and silence are hid in thy core;
Deep is thy voice, and I tremble to hear thee;
Let me begone, for thou lov'st me no more!’
‘Love thee not, dearest one, son of my splendour,
Love thee not? How shall I smile thee a sign?
See my soft arms, they are kindly and tender!
See my fond face, flushing upward to thine!’
‘Mother, thy face looketh dreadful and ghastly!
Mother, thy breath is as frost on my hair!
Hold me not, stay me not, time speedeth fastly,
Look, a kind Hand beckons softly up there!’
Love thee not? How shall I smile thee a sign?
See my soft arms, they are kindly and tender!
See my fond face, flushing upward to thine!’
‘Mother, thy face looketh dreadful and ghastly!
Mother, thy breath is as frost on my hair!
Hold me not, stay me not, time speedeth fastly,
Look, a kind Hand beckons softly up there!’
‘Child, yet a while ere thy cruel feet fare on!
See, in my lap lie the flowers of the May;
See, in my hair twine the roses of Sharon;
See, on my breast gleam the gems of Cathay!’
‘Mother, I know thou art queenly and splendid,
Yet is there death in the blush of thy bloom;
Touch me not, mother—my childhood is ended,
Dark is thy shadow and dreadful thy doom.’
See, in my lap lie the flowers of the May;
See, in my hair twine the roses of Sharon;
See, on my breast gleam the gems of Cathay!’
‘Mother, I know thou art queenly and splendid,
Yet is there death in the blush of thy bloom;
Touch me not, mother—my childhood is ended,
Dark is thy shadow and dreadful thy doom.’
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‘Child, 'twas I bare thee! child, 'twas I fashioned
Those gleaming limbs, and those ringlets of light,
Made thee a spirit sublime and impassioned,
Read thee the Book of the stars night by night,
Led thy frail feet when they failed sorrow-laden,
Whispered thee wonders of death and of birth,
Made thee the heir of the garden of Aiden,
Child, it was I, thy poor mother, the Earth!’
Those gleaming limbs, and those ringlets of light,
Made thee a spirit sublime and impassioned,
Read thee the Book of the stars night by night,
Led thy frail feet when they failed sorrow-laden,
Whispered thee wonders of death and of birth,
Made thee the heir of the garden of Aiden,
Child, it was I, thy poor mother, the Earth!’
‘Mother, I know it! and oh, how I loved thee,
When on thy bosom I leapt as a child,
Shared each still pleasure that filled thee and moved thee,
Thrilled to the bliss of thy face when it smiled.
Yea, but I knew not thy glory was fleeing,
Not till that night thou didst read me the scroll,
Sobbed in my ear the dark sccret of Being;
Mother, I wept—thy fair creature, the Soul!’
When on thy bosom I leapt as a child,
Shared each still pleasure that filled thee and moved thee,
Thrilled to the bliss of thy face when it smiled.
Yea, but I knew not thy glory was fleeing,
Not till that night thou didst read me the scroll,
Sobbed in my ear the dark sccret of Being;
Mother, I wept—thy fair creature, the Soul!’
‘Child, wherefore weep? Since the secret is spoken,
Lie in mine arms—I will rock thee to rest;
Ne'er shall thy slumber be troubled and broken,
Low will I sing to thee, held to my breast.
Oh, it is weary to wander and wander;
Child of my fashioning, stay with me here.’
‘Mother, I cannot; 'tis brighter up yonder;
Dark is thy brow with the shadow I fear!’
Lie in mine arms—I will rock thee to rest;
Ne'er shall thy slumber be troubled and broken,
Low will I sing to thee, held to my breast.
Oh, it is weary to wander and wander;
Child of my fashioning, stay with me here.’
‘Mother, I cannot; 'tis brighter up yonder;
Dark is thy brow with the shadow I fear!’
‘Child, yet one kiss! yet one kiss, ere thou flyest!’
‘Nay, for thy lips have the poison of death!’
‘Child, one embrace!’ ‘Nay, all vainly thou criest;
I see thy face darken, I shrink at thy breath.’
‘Go, I have wept for thee, toiled for thee, borne with thee,
Pardoned thee freely each taint and each stain.
Take the last love of my bosom forlorn with thee—
Seek the great Void for a kinder in vain!’
‘Nay, for thy lips have the poison of death!’
‘Child, one embrace!’ ‘Nay, all vainly thou criest;
I see thy face darken, I shrink at thy breath.’
‘Go, I have wept for thee, toiled for thee, borne with thee,
Pardoned thee freely each taint and each stain.
Take the last love of my bosom forlorn with thee—
Seek the great Void for a kinder in vain!’
‘Mother, I go; but if e'er I discover
That which I seek in those regions untrod,
I will come back to thee; softly bend over
Thy pillow, and whisper the secret of God.’
‘Child, thou wilt find me asleep in black raiment.
Dead by the side of the infinite Sea;
Drop one immortelle above me for payment
Of all the wild love I have wasted on thee!’
That which I seek in those regions untrod,
I will come back to thee; softly bend over
Thy pillow, and whisper the secret of God.’
‘Child, thou wilt find me asleep in black raiment.
Dead by the side of the infinite Sea;
Drop one immortelle above me for payment
Of all the wild love I have wasted on thee!’
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |