 | Odes (1894) |  |
13
TO ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON
In that grave shade august
That round your Eton clings,
To you the centuries must
Be visible corporate things,
And the high Past appear
Affably real and near,
For all its grandiose airs, caught from the mien of Kings.
That round your Eton clings,
To you the centuries must
Be visible corporate things,
And the high Past appear
Affably real and near,
For all its grandiose airs, caught from the mien of Kings.
The new age stands as yet
Half built against the sky,
Open to every threat
Of storms that clamour by:
Scaffolding veils the walls,
And dim dust floats and falls,
As, moving to and fro, their tasks the masons ply.
Half built against the sky,
Open to every threat
Of storms that clamour by:
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And dim dust floats and falls,
As, moving to and fro, their tasks the masons ply.
But changeless and complete,
Rise unperturbed and vast,
Above our din and heat,
The turrets of the Past,
Mute as that city asleep,
Lulled with enchantments deep,
Far in Arabian dreamland built where all things last.
Rise unperturbed and vast,
Above our din and heat,
The turrets of the Past,
Mute as that city asleep,
Lulled with enchantments deep,
Far in Arabian dreamland built where all things last.
Who loves not to explore
That palace of Old Time,
Awed by the spires that soar
In ghostly dusk sublime,
And gorgeous-windowed halls,
And leagues of pictured walls,
And dungeons that remember many a crimson crime?
That palace of Old Time,
Awed by the spires that soar
In ghostly dusk sublime,
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And leagues of pictured walls,
And dungeons that remember many a crimson crime?
Yet, in those phantom towers
Not thine, not mine, to dwell,
Rapt from the living hours
By some rich lotus-spell;
And if our lute obey
A mode of yesterday,
'Tis that we deem 'twill prove to-morrow's mode as well.
Not thine, not mine, to dwell,
Rapt from the living hours
By some rich lotus-spell;
And if our lute obey
A mode of yesterday,
'Tis that we deem 'twill prove to-morrow's mode as well.
This neighbouring joy and woe—
This present sky and sea—
These men and things we know,
Whose touch we would not flee—
To us, O friend, shall long
Yield aliment of song:
Life as I see it lived is great enough for me.
This present sky and sea—
These men and things we know,
Whose touch we would not flee—
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Yield aliment of song:
Life as I see it lived is great enough for me.
In high relief against
That reverend silence set,
Wherein your days are fenced
From the world's peevish fret,
There breaks on old Earth's ears
The thunder of new years,
Rousing from ancient dreams the Muse's anchoret.
That reverend silence set,
Wherein your days are fenced
From the world's peevish fret,
There breaks on old Earth's ears
The thunder of new years,
Rousing from ancient dreams the Muse's anchoret.
Well if the coming time,
With loud and strident tongue,
Hush not the sound of rhyme,
Drown not the song half sung,
Ev'n as a dissonant age
Choked with polemic rage
The starriest voice that e'er on English ears hath rung,
With loud and strident tongue,
Hush not the sound of rhyme,
Drown not the song half sung,
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Choked with polemic rage
The starriest voice that e'er on English ears hath rung,
And bade her seer a while
Pause and put by the bard,
Till this tormented isle,
With feuds and factions jarred,
Some leisure might regain
To hear the long-pent strain
Re-risen from storm and fire, immortal and unmarred.
Pause and put by the bard,
Till this tormented isle,
With feuds and factions jarred,
Some leisure might regain
To hear the long-pent strain
Re-risen from storm and fire, immortal and unmarred.
| Odes (1894) | |