On Viol and Flute :: :: University of Virginia Library

On Viol and Flute

By Edmund W. Gosse

Gosse, Edmund (1849-1928)

[dedication]

II.

III.

IV.

IV. DEJECTION AND DELAY.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIII. CONFIDENT LOVE.

XIV.

XIV. LOVERS' QUARREL.

XV.

XV. RECONCILIATION.

XVI.

XVI. THE FEAR OF DEATH.

XVII.

XVII. EXPERIENCE.

XVIII.

XVIII. THE EXCHANGE.

XIX.

XIX. UNDER THE APPLE-TREE.

XX.

XX. EPITHALAMIUM

FLOWER OF THE MARIGOLD.

SUNSHINE BEFORE SUNRISE.

FROM THE NORWEGIAN OF IBSEN.

LÜBECK.

MOORLAND.

ANDANTE.

[O wind of Provence, subtle wind that blows]

ON A LUTE FOUND IN A SARCOPHAGUS.

THE PARADISE OF A WEARIED SOUL.

SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN OF FRANCESCO REDI.

I. PROEM.

II.

II. THE GARDEN OF EARTHLY LOVE.

III.

III. CAPTIVITY.

IV.

IV. HEAVENLY LOVE.

V. THE CREATION OF MY LADY.

VI.

VI. GRIEF.

VII.

VII. THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES.

VIII.

VIII. LOVE THE MUSICIAN.

IX.

IX. THE END OF EARTHLY LOVE.

X. REPENTANCE.

ADAGIO.

[The saint of old who saw the witch-fire shine]

THE APOTHEOSIS OF ST. DOROTHY.

TO HENRIK IBSEN IN DRESDEN.

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MOORLAND.

Now the buttercups of May
Twinkle fainter day by day,
And the stalks of flowering clover
Make the June fields red all over,—

Now the cuckoo, like a bell,
Modulates a sad farewell,
And the nightingale, perceiving
Love's warm tokens, ends her grieving,—

Now the coyest lovers find
Hollows suited to their mind,
Where, in sultry twilight weather,
Lips and hair may melt together,—

Let us twain arise and go
Where the freshening breezes blow,
Where the granite giant moulders
In his circling cairn of boulders!

Just a year ago to-day,
Friend, we climbed the self-same way,
Through the village-green, and higher
Past the smithy's thundering fire.

Up and up and where the hill
Wound us by the cider-still;
Where the scythers from the meadow
Sat along the hedge for shadow;

Where the little wayside-inn
Signals that the moors begin,
Ah! remember all our laughter,
Loitering at the bar,—and after!

All must be the same to-day,
All must look the same old way,
Only that the sweet child-maiden
We admired so well, fruit-laden,

Now, like an expanded bud,
Must be blown to womanhood,
And the fuller lips and bosom
Must proclaim the perfect blossom.

One step more! Before us, lo!
Sheer the great ravine below,
Empty, save where one brown plover
Wheels across the ferny cover!

Here, where all the valley lies
Like a scroll before our eyes,
Let us spend our golden leisure
In a world of lazy pleasure.

Comrade, let your heart forget
All the thoughts that fray and fret;
Till the sun-down flares out yonder,
Stretch here in the fern, and ponder.

Only just to touch your hair
Is as much as I can bear,
Or with clinging languid fingers
Half to press your hand that lingers.

See, below us, where the stream
Winds with broken silver gleam,
How the nervous quivering sallows
Bend and dare not touch the shallows!

In that willow-shaded pool,
When last June the airs were cool,
How we made the hot noon shiver
With our plunge into the river.

In the sweet sun, side by side,
You and I and none beside!
Head and hands, thrown backward, slacken,
Sunk into the soft warm bracken.

Up in heaven a milky sky
Floats across us leisurely;
When we close our eyes, the duller
Half-light seems a faint red colour.

In this weary life of ours
Pass too many leaden hours;
In our chronicles of passion
Too much apes the world's dull fashion.

If our spirits strive to be
Pure and high in their degree,
Let us learn the soaring pæan
Under God's own empyrean.

Leisure in the sun and air
Makes the spirit strong and fair;
Flaccid veins and pallid features
Are not fit for sky-born creatures.

Come then, for the hours of May
Wane and falter, day by day,
And the thrushes' first June chorus
Will have waked the woods before us!