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Idyls of Norway and other poems

Boyesen, Hjalmar Hjorth (1848-1895)

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[section]
  
DEDICATION TO L. K. B.
  
THE LOST HELLAS.
  
ELEGY ON A. G. L.
  
AWAKE!
  
THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN.
  
ELEGY ON PRESIDENT GARFIELD.
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IDYLS OF NORWAY.
  
BRIER-ROSE.
  
HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD.
  
THORALF AND SYNNÖV.
  
LITTLE SIGRID.
  
MARIT AND I.
  
THORA.
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EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE., Etc.
  
EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE.
  
NORWAY.
  
THE NIXY.
  
AN EVERY-DAY TRAGEDY.
  
THE ELF-MAIDENS.
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NORSE STAVES.
  
INTRODUCTION.
  
STAVE IN “GUNNAR.”
  
COME, FAIREST MAID.
  
TELL ME, ILKA.
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SONNETS.
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JUNO LUDOVISI.
 1. 
[I. White, silent goddess, whose divine repose]
 2. 
[II. Sublime the thought that dwells within this stone]
 3. 
[III. Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway]
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EVOLUTION.
 1. 
[I. Broad were the bases of all being laid]
 2. 
[II. I am the child of earth and air and sea]
 3. 
[III. A sacred kinship I would not forego]
 4. 
[IV. I stood and gazed with wonder blent with awe]
 5. 
[V. Sublime is life, though in beginnings base]
  
TO BAYARD TAYLOR.
 1. 
I.—THE SEA.
 2. 
II.—THE AIR.
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TO LILLIE.
 1. 
I SAT AND GAZED INTO THE BURNING SKY.
 2. 
I SAW THE LILY PALE AND PERFECT GROW.
 3. 
WITHIN THE ROSE I FOUND A TREMBLING TEAR.
 4. 
HOW CAN I LIGHTLY SPEAK THY WONDROUS NAME.
 5. 
AN ANXIOUS WHISPER STEALS UNTO MY EAR.
 6. 
THY GRACIOUS FACE I GREET WITH GLAD SURPRISE.
 7. 
YES, MY OLD SELF IS DEAD; AND IT IS WELL.
 8. 
IF I SHOULD LOSE THEE, DARLING, AND BEHOLD.
 9. 
I SAW THEE DRIFTING, DRIFTING FAR AWAY.
 10. 
I WONDER OFT WHY GOD, WHO IS SO GOOD.
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CALPURNIA.
 1. 
I. PRELUDE.
 2. 
II. IN THE PALACE OF THE CÆSARS.
 3. 
III. IN THE FLAVIAN ARENA.
 4. 
IV. IN THE CATACOMBS OF ST. CALIXTUS.

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136

I SAW THE LILY PALE AND PERFECT GROW.

II.

I saw the lily pale and perfect grow
Amid its silent sisters in the mead.
Methought within its chilly depth to read
A maidenly severity, as though
A cool young life lay slumbering in the snow
Of its frail substance. In that chalice white
Whose fairy texture shone against the light
An unawakened pulse beat faint and slow.
And I remembered, love, thy coy disdain,
When thou my love for thee hadst first divined:
Thy proud, shy tenderness—too proud to feign
That wilful blindness which is yet not blind.
Then toward the sun thy lily-life I turned—
With sudden splendor flushed its chalice burned.
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