Carol and Cadence New poems: MDCCCCII-MDCCCCVII: By John Payne |
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 | Carol and Cadence |  |
37.
Ah, Summer, sorry Summer,
How many an age bygone
It seems since thou, loath comer,
Year's noontide after dawn,
Slow following on the feet
Of Spring, thy youngling sweet,
With birds' and breezes' clamour,
Late wakening, soon withdrawn,
Hast flowered field and street,
Hast gladdened lane and lawn
With glory and with glamour!
How many an age bygone
It seems since thou, loath comer,
Year's noontide after dawn,
Slow following on the feet
Of Spring, thy youngling sweet,
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Late wakening, soon withdrawn,
Hast flowered field and street,
Hast gladdened lane and lawn
With glory and with glamour!
Alack, the time is Winter!
The ways with snow are sealed
And dumb and fixed as flint are
The furrows of each field:
No birds are left to sing;
Snow-silenced pipe and wing,
Ice-prisoned wood and weald,
Frost-fettered hue and tint are.
What should the snowtide yield?
Done Summer out and Spring
By Winter's witless dint are.
The ways with snow are sealed
And dumb and fixed as flint are
The furrows of each field:
No birds are left to sing;
Snow-silenced pipe and wing,
Ice-prisoned wood and weald,
Frost-fettered hue and tint are.
What should the snowtide yield?
Done Summer out and Spring
By Winter's witless dint are.
Yet where's the call for sorrow?
Leave dead to bury dead!
For me the winter morrow
Is sweet with summer sped:
Beneath the frost-red moon,
The Yule-pale sun, this boon
God granteth me, to borrow
Spring's memoried goodlihead,
To tell the tale of June
And Summer's golden thread
To weave December thorow.
Leave dead to bury dead!
For me the winter morrow
Is sweet with summer sped:
Beneath the frost-red moon,
The Yule-pale sun, this boon
God granteth me, to borrow
Spring's memoried goodlihead,
To tell the tale of June
And Summer's golden thread
To weave December thorow.
Forsooth, I do remember
Yet to have smelt the rose;
Yet, in my life's December,
Midmost the Winter's woes,
I mind me of the May,
I hear the throstle's lay:
Though stark in every member
The world is with the snows,
In me the summer day
I feel; for me June glows
Yet in the Yuletide ember.
Yet to have smelt the rose;
Yet, in my life's December,
Midmost the Winter's woes,
I mind me of the May,
I hear the throstle's lay:
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The world is with the snows,
In me the summer day
I feel; for me June glows
Yet in the Yuletide ember.
Yea, Winter gladness bringeth
To this old heart of mine,
Far goodlier than springeth
Of April's flowering wine;
Beneath the frozen pole
Of Yuletide, in my soul
A rarer rapture ringeth
Than stirs in Summer's shine:
Through vernal woods there roll
No tides of tune divine
As this in me that singeth.
To this old heart of mine,
Far goodlier than springeth
Of April's flowering wine;
Beneath the frozen pole
Of Yuletide, in my soul
A rarer rapture ringeth
Than stirs in Summer's shine:
Through vernal woods there roll
No tides of tune divine
As this in me that singeth.
This is my singing season;
When mute are sky and sea,
When white with Winter's treason
Are field and lawn and lea
And all is sad, the strong
Sweet spirit of unreason,
That is the soul of song,
Springs up again in me
And carols loud and long,
Rejoicing, as one free
At last that is from prison.
When mute are sky and sea,
When white with Winter's treason
Are field and lawn and lea
And all is sad, the strong
Sweet spirit of unreason,
That is the soul of song,
Springs up again in me
And carols loud and long,
Rejoicing, as one free
At last that is from prison.
| Carol and Cadence | |