 | Evensong |  |
33
GORSE IN IRELAND
All the sweets of all the honey-bells
Gathered to a flask or pomander,
All the gold of honey-dropping wells,
Spice and amber, oil and nard, were there.
Gathered to a flask or pomander,
All the gold of honey-dropping wells,
Spice and amber, oil and nard, were there.
Walls of gold beside the purple bay,
And a thousand thousand golden bees
Rifling honey through the golden day,
Clogged in honey to the thighs and knees.
And a thousand thousand golden bees
Rifling honey through the golden day,
Clogged in honey to the thighs and knees.
Birds sang low and loud in a hid house,
Dew and honey in the shaken rain.
O the speckled throats in the green boughs!
Half 'twas ecstacy and half 'twas pain.
Dew and honey in the shaken rain.
O the speckled throats in the green boughs!
Half 'twas ecstacy and half 'twas pain.
As we walked between the golden walls,
The brown cliff ran over living gold;
Golden rain and golden waterfalls
Tumbling down to sands, sober and cold.
The brown cliff ran over living gold;
Golden rain and golden waterfalls
Tumbling down to sands, sober and cold.
All the browns and tawnies, deep and bright,
Of a golden pansy clad the hill,
Nor were peacocks' colours out of sight
Nor forgotten orange and daffodil.
Of a golden pansy clad the hill,
Nor were peacocks' colours out of sight
Nor forgotten orange and daffodil.
Sweet the day was, a sweet pomander,
Gathered from the East, all nard and spice,
Blown upon by every honeyed air,
And the golden world was Paradise.
Gathered from the East, all nard and spice,
Blown upon by every honeyed air,
And the golden world was Paradise.
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