 | Poems |  |
1
THE WORLD'S WINTER.
Saidst thou, The night is ending, day is near?
Nay now, my soul, not so;
We are sunk back into the darkness drear,
And scarcely soon shall know
Even remembrance of the sweet dead day;
Ay, and shall lose full soon
The memory of the moon,
The moon of early night, that cheered our sunless way.
Nay now, my soul, not so;
We are sunk back into the darkness drear,
And scarcely soon shall know
Even remembrance of the sweet dead day;
Ay, and shall lose full soon
The memory of the moon,
The moon of early night, that cheered our sunless way.
Once, from the brows of Might,
Leapt with a cry to light
Pallas the Forefighter;
Then straight to strive with her
She called the Lord of Sea
In royal rivalry
For Athens, the Supreme of things,
The company of crownless kings.
A splendid strife the Queen began,
In that her kingdom making man
Not less than equal her own line
Inhabiting the hill divine.
Leapt with a cry to light
Pallas the Forefighter;
Then straight to strive with her
She called the Lord of Sea
In royal rivalry
2
The company of crownless kings.
A splendid strife the Queen began,
In that her kingdom making man
Not less than equal her own line
Inhabiting the hill divine.
Ah Fate, how short a span
Gavest thou then to God and godlike man!
The impious fury of the stormblasts now
Sweeps unrebuked across Olympus' brow;
The fair Forefighter in the strife
For light and grace and glorious life
They sought and found not; she and hers
Had yielded to the troublous years;
No more they walked with men, heaven's high interpreters.
Gavest thou then to God and godlike man!
The impious fury of the stormblasts now
Sweeps unrebuked across Olympus' brow;
The fair Forefighter in the strife
For light and grace and glorious life
They sought and found not; she and hers
Had yielded to the troublous years;
No more they walked with men, heaven's high interpreters.
Yet, o'er the gulf of wreck and pain,
How softly strange there rose again,
Against the darkness dimly seen,
Another face, another queen,
The Maiden Mother, in whose eyes
The smile of God reflected lies;
Who saw around her gracious feet
The maddening waves of warfare meet,
And stretching forth her fingers fair
Upon the hushed and wondering air
Shed round her for man's yearning sight
A space of splendour in the night.
How softly strange there rose again,
3
Another face, another queen,
The Maiden Mother, in whose eyes
The smile of God reflected lies;
Who saw around her gracious feet
The maddening waves of warfare meet,
And stretching forth her fingers fair
Upon the hushed and wondering air
Shed round her for man's yearning sight
A space of splendour in the night.
Are her sweet feet not stayed?
Nay, she is also gone, the Mother-maid:
And with her all the gracious company
That made it hope to live, and joy to die.
The Lord is from the altar gone,
His golden lamp in dust o'erthrown,
The pealing organ's ancient voice
Hath wandered to an empty noise,
And all the angel heads and purple wings are flown.
Nay, she is also gone, the Mother-maid:
And with her all the gracious company
That made it hope to live, and joy to die.
The Lord is from the altar gone,
His golden lamp in dust o'erthrown,
The pealing organ's ancient voice
Hath wandered to an empty noise,
And all the angel heads and purple wings are flown.
4
Wherefore in this twice-baffled barrenness,
This unconsoled twice-desolate distress,
For our bare world and bleak
We only dare to seek
A little respite for a little while,
Knowing all fair things brief,
And ours most brief, seeing our very smile,
Mid these our fates forlorn,
Is only child of grief,
And unto grief returneth, hardly born.
This unconsoled twice-desolate distress,
For our bare world and bleak
We only dare to seek
A little respite for a little while,
Knowing all fair things brief,
And ours most brief, seeing our very smile,
Mid these our fates forlorn,
Is only child of grief,
And unto grief returneth, hardly born.
We will not have desire for the sweet spring,
Nor mellowing midsummer—
We have no right to her:
The autumn primrose and late-flowering
Pale-leaved inodorous
Violet and rose shall be enough for us:
Enough for our last boon,
That haply where no bird belated grieves,
We watch, through some November afternoon,
The dying sunlight on the dying leaves.
Nor mellowing midsummer—
We have no right to her:
The autumn primrose and late-flowering
Pale-leaved inodorous
Violet and rose shall be enough for us:
Enough for our last boon,
That haply where no bird belated grieves,
5
The dying sunlight on the dying leaves.
Ah, heard I then through the sad silence falling
Notes of a new Orphean melody,
Not up to earth but down to darkness calling,
Down to the fair Elysian company,
Ah then how willing an Eurydice
The kindly ghosts should draw with noiseless hand
My shadowy soul into the shadowy land;
For on the earth is endless winter come,
And all sweet sounds and echoes sweet are dumb.
Notes of a new Orphean melody,
Not up to earth but down to darkness calling,
Down to the fair Elysian company,
Ah then how willing an Eurydice
The kindly ghosts should draw with noiseless hand
My shadowy soul into the shadowy land;
For on the earth is endless winter come,
And all sweet sounds and echoes sweet are dumb.
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