In a garden and other poems By H. C. Beeching |
 | IN A GARDEN |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
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 | In a garden and other poems |  |
1
IN A GARDEN
3
I.
[What is the world trying to say?]
What is the world trying to say?
Why is the light so tender and grey—
Why are the tremulous leaves a-sway
On the trees new fledge with the faintest green?
Nay, he were wise who could say what these things mean,
and tell the secret of May.
Why is the light so tender and grey—
Why are the tremulous leaves a-sway
On the trees new fledge with the faintest green?
Nay, he were wise who could say what these things mean,
and tell the secret of May.
What is my heart trying to say?
Why does it tremble and hurry and stay
At the sight of a leaf on a sunny day,
Of a leaf tho' never so delicate-green?
Nay, he were wise who could say what these things mean,
and tell the secret of May.
Why does it tremble and hurry and stay
At the sight of a leaf on a sunny day,
Of a leaf tho' never so delicate-green?
Nay, he were wise who could say what these things mean,
and tell the secret of May.
II.
[You came, the vernal equinox]
You came, the vernal equinox
Brought on the solstice in a day;
Crocuses in their beds of box
Straight changed to tulips, striped and gay.
Brought on the solstice in a day;
Crocuses in their beds of box
Straight changed to tulips, striped and gay.
4
You went, and summer fled with you;
'Twas autumn, nay 'twas winter here;
Cold winds drove snow-clouds up the blue
And bared the disenchanted year.
'Twas autumn, nay 'twas winter here;
Cold winds drove snow-clouds up the blue
And bared the disenchanted year.
Idly I mourn, or idly go
Thro' all the wan dishevelled place,
In hope some one red rose may blow
The harbinger of your sweet face.
Thro' all the wan dishevelled place,
In hope some one red rose may blow
The harbinger of your sweet face.
III.
[Green leaves panting for joy with the great wind rushing through]
Green leaves panting for joy with the great wind rushing through:
A burst of the sun from cloud and a sparkle on valley and hill,
Gold on the corn, and red on the poppy, and on the rill
Silver, and over all white clouds afloat in the blue.
A burst of the sun from cloud and a sparkle on valley and hill,
Gold on the corn, and red on the poppy, and on the rill
Silver, and over all white clouds afloat in the blue.
Swallows that dark, a lark unseen, innumerous song
Chirruped and twittered, a lowing of cows in the meadow grass,
Murmuring gnats, and bees that suck their honey and pass:
God is alive, and at work in the world:—we did it wrong.
Chirruped and twittered, a lowing of cows in the meadow grass,
Murmuring gnats, and bees that suck their honey and pass:
God is alive, and at work in the world:—we did it wrong.
5
Human eyes, and human hands, and a human face
Darkly beheld before in a vision, not understood:—
Do I at last begin to feel as I stand and gaze
Why God waited for this, then called the world very good?
Darkly beheld before in a vision, not understood:—
Do I at last begin to feel as I stand and gaze
Why God waited for this, then called the world very good?
IV.
[Sick and sullen and sad the slow days go]
Sick and sullen and sad the slow days go;
Fog creeps over the land, and frost and snow
Grip on the springs of joy and stop their flow.
Fog creeps over the land, and frost and snow
Grip on the springs of joy and stop their flow.
Yet at thy voice, beloved, the ice to-day
Felt the ardours of Spring, and fell away,
Bubbled again and sang with the joy of May.
Felt the ardours of Spring, and fell away,
Bubbled again and sang with the joy of May.
V.
[May-month is dawning]
May-month is dawning,May-month so fair and fleet,
The white thorn blossoms
Around my lady's bower;
Golden the cowslips
Are springing round her feet;
But ev'n the violet
Is not so sweet a flower.
6
VI.
[O faithless heart, for once, for once believe]
O faithless heart, for once, for once believe:
Open thine eyes, can seeing then deceive?
Open thine eyes, can seeing then deceive?
O hopeless thirst—for once, for once drink deep;
Look! joy's full cup is given thee, tho' thou sleep.
Look! joy's full cup is given thee, tho' thou sleep.
O loveless life, break forth and bud; thy rod
Shall bear sweet almonds from the graft of God.
Shall bear sweet almonds from the graft of God.
O stammering tongue, for once, for once speak true:
To-day you plight the troth she giveth you.
To-day you plight the troth she giveth you.
VII.
[Roses white and pink and red]
Roses white and pink and red
Who this dewy evening shed
Round our path a faint perfume:—
'Tis my love that thus you greet,
Deigning sweets to one as sweet
From your close-locked treasure-room.
Who this dewy evening shed
Round our path a faint perfume:—
'Tis my love that thus you greet,
Deigning sweets to one as sweet
From your close-locked treasure-room.
Let not spikenard make pretence,
Odorous gums that drug the sense,
Balm or musk to vie with this:
Not the spices for the Spouse
Heaped in her Beloved's house,
Cinnamon and ambergris.
Odorous gums that drug the sense,
Balm or musk to vie with this:
Not the spices for the Spouse
Heaped in her Beloved's house,
Cinnamon and ambergris.
7
Roses white and pink and red
Whose dim petals thickly spread
Carpet o'er the shaven grass;
Could you know—her feet are fair
And as soft as rose-leaves are,
Kiss them lightly as they pass.
Whose dim petals thickly spread
Carpet o'er the shaven grass;
Could you know—her feet are fair
And as soft as rose-leaves are,
Kiss them lightly as they pass.
VIII.
[What sound is that borne on the breeze]
He.What sound is that borne on the breeze,
From what heart-thrilling strain,
Out of the glowing depth of emerald trees,
Just heard, then lost again?
She.
It was the nightingale, whose fervent heart
Thus meditates his part
While his bride tarries; or to guide
er beauty to his side.
He.
He is the true interpreter of love.
For who that listens to his lay
In covert hid from the unaccustomed sun
This warm spring day,
Knows if that passion be or glad or sad,
If pain or joy his numbers move;
'Tis hope, nay 'tis despair, nay rapture mad,
Nay all of these in one.
8
Stretch hither then, dear bird, thy tawny wing;
To our lone garden come and sing
In thy deep-throated way
The love we cannot say.
He.
Yet come not at high noon,
Come when the silver moon
Lights up the chestnut tapers, and broad lamps
Of the white, spreaded rose;
And makes the luminous pinks and lustrous may
Fairer than ere by day;
And the deep stillness grows
Deeper, the spell more deep;
No sound save in the stall an ox that champs,
Or disturbed, scampering sheep.
IX.
[When first I loved, 'twas not your eyes]
“Dixit et avertens.”
When first I loved, 'twas not your eyes
That quenched ambition in despair:
Or eyelids folding petal-wise:
Or golden burnish in brown hair:
Or ebb and flow of red and white:
Tho' now I taste their full delight.
That quenched ambition in despair:
Or eyelids folding petal-wise:
Or golden burnish in brown hair:
Or ebb and flow of red and white:
Tho' now I taste their full delight.
9
'Twas in this lovely garden first
I saw your loveliness displayed;
You sat; my heart was high, and durst
Sit by you wondering, undismay'd;
You rose: my heart fell on its face
And knew the Genius of the place.
I saw your loveliness displayed;
You sat; my heart was high, and durst
Sit by you wondering, undismay'd;
You rose: my heart fell on its face
And knew the Genius of the place.
So not by any common sign,
Ambrosial hair, or roseate hue,
That witnesses to race divine,
Troy's prince his goddess mother knew;
But when she turned her steps, “'Tis thou,
Venus, I knew thee not till now.”
Ambrosial hair, or roseate hue,
That witnesses to race divine,
Troy's prince his goddess mother knew;
But when she turned her steps, “'Tis thou,
Venus, I knew thee not till now.”
X.
[In the eaves a swallow cri'th]
In the eaves a swallow cri'th,
And hark, the sound of whetting,
Whetting and whetting the scythe
On the dewy lawn: O blithe,
Blithe sound, there's no forgetting.
And hark, the sound of whetting,
Whetting and whetting the scythe
On the dewy lawn: O blithe,
Blithe sound, there's no forgetting.
For the grass is mown to-day;
O delicate scent and sweet!
Sweeter than seeded hay,
More sweet, and ah, more fleet!
It is blown, it is flown away.
O delicate scent and sweet!
Sweeter than seeded hay,
More sweet, and ah, more fleet!
It is blown, it is flown away.
10
XI.
[In all my borders I my true love seek]
In all my borders I my true love seek
By flowery signs to set:
Praising the rose-carnation for her cheek,
Her hair the violet;
By flowery signs to set:
Praising the rose-carnation for her cheek,
Her hair the violet;
Flowers that with sweet returns each season bloom,
As each its impulse wakes,
Making air fragrant with a purple gloom,
Or whorl of crimson flakes.
As each its impulse wakes,
Making air fragrant with a purple gloom,
Or whorl of crimson flakes.
And ye, who blanch your glow, violets more rare,
Carnations, foam of light;
Be pledges of a beauty still more fair
When hair and cheek are white.
Carnations, foam of light;
Be pledges of a beauty still more fair
When hair and cheek are white.
XII.
[Dearest, these household cares remit]
Dearest, these household cares remit;
And while the sky is blue to-day,
Here in this sunny shelter sit,
To list the blackbird's lay.
And while the sky is blue to-day,
Here in this sunny shelter sit,
To list the blackbird's lay.
Is all so rare, romantic boy?
Is love so new and strange, that thou
Must with that wild and shrilling joy
Thrill the yet wintry bough?
Is love so new and strange, that thou
Must with that wild and shrilling joy
Thrill the yet wintry bough?
11
Ah, now 'tis softer grown, more sweet,—
“I come, I come, O love, O my love,”—
And he is fluttering to her feet
In yonder purple grove.
“I come, I come, O love, O my love,”—
And he is fluttering to her feet
In yonder purple grove.
Now hark! all summer swells the note
And dreams of mellow ripeness make
So ripe, so rich his warbling throat
For spouse and children's sake.
And dreams of mellow ripeness make
So ripe, so rich his warbling throat
For spouse and children's sake.
Lover and prophet, see! the flower
Of cherry is hardly white, and figs
Are leafless, and thy nuptial bower
A cage of rattling twigs.
Of cherry is hardly white, and figs
Are leafless, and thy nuptial bower
A cage of rattling twigs.
Yet faith is evidence, and hope
Substance, and love sufficient fire;
And Art in these finds ampler scope
Than in fulfilled desire.
Substance, and love sufficient fire;
And Art in these finds ampler scope
Than in fulfilled desire.
So play thy Pan's pipe, happy Faun,
Till some May night with moonshine pale,
Thou pin'st, to hear by wood or lawn
Apollo's nightingale.
Till some May night with moonshine pale,
Thou pin'st, to hear by wood or lawn
Apollo's nightingale.
12
XIII.
[Thro' the open windows come]
Thro' the open windows come,
Thro' the heated summer air
Where the notes of birds are dumb,
Moanings of a deep despair.
And the listener, on the lawn
Digging plantains, holds his breath;
For he knows the lists are drawn
In a strife 'twixt life and death.
Thro' the heated summer air
Where the notes of birds are dumb,
Moanings of a deep despair.
And the listener, on the lawn
Digging plantains, holds his breath;
For he knows the lists are drawn
In a strife 'twixt life and death.
Half his song the blackbird tries,
Stops again for utter drouth;
So the sun thro' shadeless skies
Shoots his arrows from the south:
But that quiet moan comes yet,
Chokes the heart of one who hears
With vain longing, vain regret,
Till his soul throbs in his ears.
Stops again for utter drouth;
So the sun thro' shadeless skies
Shoots his arrows from the south:
But that quiet moan comes yet,
Chokes the heart of one who hears
With vain longing, vain regret,
Till his soul throbs in his ears.
Slow the hours go creeping by,
Yet the weary moan is sore;
Sudden then the wailing cry
Of a voice unknown before
Pierces thro' it. Oh delight!
Heart rejoice, tears have your way,
Praised be God in depth and height
For the child that's born to-day!
Yet the weary moan is sore;
Sudden then the wailing cry
Of a voice unknown before
Pierces thro' it. Oh delight!
Heart rejoice, tears have your way,
Praised be God in depth and height
For the child that's born to-day!
13
XIV.
[With dreams the sunbeams steep]
With dreams the sunbeams steep
My bower that a bower will be
In a month, for March this year
Is kind as the month of maying:
And a sound of the sea brings sleep;
Nay, sleep brings a sound of the sea,
For it is but the wind that I hear
In the heavy fir-tree swaying.
My bower that a bower will be
In a month, for March this year
Is kind as the month of maying:
And a sound of the sea brings sleep;
Nay, sleep brings a sound of the sea,
For it is but the wind that I hear
In the heavy fir-tree swaying.
What hear you as you stand,
O love, by the shore of the sea?
The surf, or the gull's sad cry,
Or the shouts of children playing?
Nay, shouts from a far-off land,
And a plover's cry on the lea,
And the sough of the winds that sigh
In the heavy fir-tree swaying.
O love, by the shore of the sea?
The surf, or the gull's sad cry,
Or the shouts of children playing?
Nay, shouts from a far-off land,
And a plover's cry on the lea,
And the sough of the winds that sigh
In the heavy fir-tree swaying.
XV.
['Tis April, but the drought of March]
'Tis April, but the drought of March
Is not yet piercèd by sweet showers;
The unsheathed sunbeams smite and parch
The springing grass, the o'erhasting flowers.
Is not yet piercèd by sweet showers;
The unsheathed sunbeams smite and parch
The springing grass, the o'erhasting flowers.
14
Our lily of the valley, see,
That hardly ripens for Mid-May,
My love's first pledge and annual fee,
Is blown a month before the day.
That hardly ripens for Mid-May,
My love's first pledge and annual fee,
Is blown a month before the day.
The lawn grows rusty, dusty red,
For tho' all night the gracious dew
Bathes each wan blade, that else were dead,
It cannot their dried sap renew.
For tho' all night the gracious dew
Bathes each wan blade, that else were dead,
It cannot their dried sap renew.
But in the orchard is a place
Where we may lie, and feel the fall
Of apple-petals on our face,
And drowsing hear the cuckoo's call,
Where we may lie, and feel the fall
Of apple-petals on our face,
And drowsing hear the cuckoo's call,
The ring-dove's melancholy note,
The blackbirds fluting, and the hum
Of bees above us, more remote,
As slumber steals our senses. Come.
The blackbirds fluting, and the hum
Of bees above us, more remote,
As slumber steals our senses. Come.
XVI.
[O happy garden, in May air]
O happy garden, in May air
With lawns and wilding arbours fair
And alleys pleached of quick and yew
To cloister those from curious view
Who tread their paths of springing green;
And, save of nesting birds unseen,
Listen and tell of love as they,
While youth is youth and May is May.
With lawns and wilding arbours fair
And alleys pleached of quick and yew
To cloister those from curious view
Who tread their paths of springing green;
And, save of nesting birds unseen,
15
While youth is youth and May is May.
Take hands and walk, as we walk'd then
Through the long shade to sun again,
And watch'd the dial silently
Brood o'er his lighten'd hours (as we,
After our many days of cloud;)
And heard the blackbird fluting loud
Fantastic descant from the beech,
Then speed him home with chattering screech.
We laughed, “Shy artist, who's thy foe?”
Nor knew the dread that parents know.
From the nigh copse a turtle-dove
Pour'd forth his passionate tale of love
In smothered sobs from too full heart;
We heard in trance our own love's smart.
Then all the breadth of heaven's high hall
Shook with the plaintive cuckoo's call,
Now faint, now resonantly clear,
Then faint again, as far or near
His homeless home he wander'd free,
A “Pilgrim of Eternity.”
Through the long shade to sun again,
And watch'd the dial silently
Brood o'er his lighten'd hours (as we,
After our many days of cloud;)
And heard the blackbird fluting loud
Fantastic descant from the beech,
Then speed him home with chattering screech.
We laughed, “Shy artist, who's thy foe?”
Nor knew the dread that parents know.
From the nigh copse a turtle-dove
Pour'd forth his passionate tale of love
In smothered sobs from too full heart;
We heard in trance our own love's smart.
Then all the breadth of heaven's high hall
Shook with the plaintive cuckoo's call,
Now faint, now resonantly clear,
Then faint again, as far or near
His homeless home he wander'd free,
A “Pilgrim of Eternity.”
The spell broke with the smile, and so
We turn'd our steps and loiter'd slow
'Twixt borders pale with later spring;—
Polyanthus crowding ring on ring,
Love's banner, heartsease, balm for thought,
White tulips, blue forget-me-not.
One slim narcissus drooped his head,
And from her closely curtain'd bed
One lily shook out half her bells;
Each pluck'd; which kept? the rhyme not tells.
We turn'd our steps and loiter'd slow
16
Polyanthus crowding ring on ring,
Love's banner, heartsease, balm for thought,
White tulips, blue forget-me-not.
One slim narcissus drooped his head,
And from her closely curtain'd bed
One lily shook out half her bells;
Each pluck'd; which kept? the rhyme not tells.
As yet the wise respective world
Had not her pomp of plumes unfurl'd
Or tassell'd gold on tree and tree,
T' enhance their fresh embroidery.
For Boreas bluster'd still, and th' East
Palsied the sap in plant and beast.
Had not her pomp of plumes unfurl'd
Or tassell'd gold on tree and tree,
T' enhance their fresh embroidery.
For Boreas bluster'd still, and th' East
Palsied the sap in plant and beast.
Only Pomona knew no fear
For her white breast had brush'd the pear,
And now her fingers 'gan to fling
On th' apples pink enamelling.
(O frosts, join not with rain to mar
More cunning workmanship than far
Ind fashions by her delicate waves
To deck the Nereids in dim caves!)
For her white breast had brush'd the pear,
And now her fingers 'gan to fling
On th' apples pink enamelling.
(O frosts, join not with rain to mar
More cunning workmanship than far
Ind fashions by her delicate waves
To deck the Nereids in dim caves!)
The season strain'd forward, and we
Strain'd forward ampler bliss to see—
Summer for spring, for blossom fruit;
And we have tasted,—and shall do't,
If God allow, not once again—
Autumn's joy wrought from smiles and pain.
And now once more 'tis May—once more
June's breath stirs rapture, blown before
Her footsteps, and the rose's blood
Tingles, the ruby gems i' th' wood
Leap into twisted leaves, unfold
To spray, as one but cries “Behold!”
And in the spray's heart lurks—O June,
O heart of the year, thy heart makes swoon
Th' o'erquicken'd sense, but ev'n thy name
Wakes on man's heart new wings of flame!
Strain'd forward ampler bliss to see—
17
And we have tasted,—and shall do't,
If God allow, not once again—
Autumn's joy wrought from smiles and pain.
And now once more 'tis May—once more
June's breath stirs rapture, blown before
Her footsteps, and the rose's blood
Tingles, the ruby gems i' th' wood
Leap into twisted leaves, unfold
To spray, as one but cries “Behold!”
And in the spray's heart lurks—O June,
O heart of the year, thy heart makes swoon
Th' o'erquicken'd sense, but ev'n thy name
Wakes on man's heart new wings of flame!
O happy garden, two long years
Have all thy voices charm'd our ears
From discord, din, and rough unrest
That drive off peace, too timorous guest.
The ever-circling years shall bring
Thee but more beautiful a spring;
(More beauteous spring, O love, to thee)
In spite of winter's jealousy!
Which of us twain shall sooner go
The separate path; ah, who can know!
One May perhaps while thrushes call
On Love in sweet antiphonal,
An air shall blow, a whisper'd sigh;
And one the other sitting by
Shall rise and quit this leafy place
With backward hands, and what still face!
Have all thy voices charm'd our ears
From discord, din, and rough unrest
That drive off peace, too timorous guest.
The ever-circling years shall bring
Thee but more beautiful a spring;
(More beauteous spring, O love, to thee)
In spite of winter's jealousy!
Which of us twain shall sooner go
The separate path; ah, who can know!
One May perhaps while thrushes call
On Love in sweet antiphonal,
18
And one the other sitting by
Shall rise and quit this leafy place
With backward hands, and what still face!
Nay, tears avail not, but our love
Avails death's terror to remove.
Love dies not nor can lovers die;
And though vast worlds between them lie,
Th' intelligencing current thrills
From each to each the thought love wills.
Remember'st not the dreary day
When I must journey, how (you say)
A nightingale, ev'n love's own bird,
In our fair garden else unheard,
Pour'd from the lilac, melting-sweet,
His throated jewels at your feet,
Till blissful night return'd me home;
And is death more than absence? Come
Leave care, 'tis May, and still we are here,
And shall be, shall be, many a year,
Hearkening these swallows, and without
The struck ball, and the echoing shout
Of village children at their play,
In the quiet air at end of day.
Avails death's terror to remove.
Love dies not nor can lovers die;
And though vast worlds between them lie,
Th' intelligencing current thrills
From each to each the thought love wills.
Remember'st not the dreary day
When I must journey, how (you say)
A nightingale, ev'n love's own bird,
In our fair garden else unheard,
Pour'd from the lilac, melting-sweet,
His throated jewels at your feet,
Till blissful night return'd me home;
And is death more than absence? Come
Leave care, 'tis May, and still we are here,
And shall be, shall be, many a year,
Hearkening these swallows, and without
The struck ball, and the echoing shout
Of village children at their play,
In the quiet air at end of day.
19
XVII.
[Rose and lily, white and red]
“Here's a few flowres, but 'bout midnight more,
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night.”
The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night.”
Rose and lily, white and red,
From my garden garlanded,
These I brought and thought to grace
The perfection of thy face.
From my garden garlanded,
These I brought and thought to grace
The perfection of thy face.
Other roses, pink and pale,
Lilies of another vale,
Thou hast bound around thy head
In the garden of the dead.
Lilies of another vale,
Thou hast bound around thy head
In the garden of the dead.
| In a garden and other poems | |