 | City Poems |  |
There was a ruined chapel on the coast,
And by it lay a little grassy grave
Still as a couching lamb. The people told
How years ago, a grey-haired, childless man,
(His name is still remembered by the world,)
Came to these shores, and lay down there to rest
Till the last trumpet's cry. Near it I sat
On my last afternoon; and while the wind
Chequered my page with shadows of the grass,
I wrote this love-song sitting by the grave,
Nor smiled to think that so ran on the world.
And by it lay a little grassy grave
Still as a couching lamb. The people told
How years ago, a grey-haired, childless man,
(His name is still remembered by the world,)
Came to these shores, and lay down there to rest
Till the last trumpet's cry. Near it I sat
On my last afternoon; and while the wind
Chequered my page with shadows of the grass,
152
Nor smiled to think that so ran on the world.
“Mary, Mary, sweetest name!
Linked with many a poet's fame.
A Mary, with meek eyes of blue,
And low sweet answers, gently drew
The weary Christ to Bethany,
When no home on earth had He.
Linked with many a poet's fame.
A Mary, with meek eyes of blue,
And low sweet answers, gently drew
The weary Christ to Bethany,
When no home on earth had He.
“When first I saw your tender face,
Saw you, loved you from afar,
My soul was like forlornest space
Made sudden happy by a star.
I heard the lark go up to meet the dawn,
The sun is sinking in the splendid sea;
Through this long day hast thou had one, but one
Poor thought of me?
Saw you, loved you from afar,
My soul was like forlornest space
Made sudden happy by a star.
I heard the lark go up to meet the dawn,
The sun is sinking in the splendid sea;
Through this long day hast thou had one, but one
Poor thought of me?
“O happiest of isles!
In every garden blows
The large voluptuous-bosomed rose
For musky miles and miles.
I wander round this garden coast;
I see the glad blue waters run;
In the light of Thy beauty I am lost,
As the lark is lost in the sun.
In every garden blows
153
For musky miles and miles.
I wander round this garden coast;
I see the glad blue waters run;
In the light of Thy beauty I am lost,
As the lark is lost in the sun.
“O heart! 'twas thine own happiness that gave
The beauty which has been upon the earth,
The glory stretching from day's golden birth
Unto his crimson grave.
From thee is every sight;
From thee the splendour of the firth,
The banquet of the morning light.
The beauty which has been upon the earth,
The glory stretching from day's golden birth
Unto his crimson grave.
From thee is every sight;
From thee the splendour of the firth,
The banquet of the morning light.
“Yet, Love, thy very happiness alarms!
To be beloved is something so divine,
I dare not hope it can be mine.
My heart is stirring like a nest with young—
I know that many and many a former brood
Were robbed by cruel fate, and never sung
Within a summer wood.
Something forbodes me pain;
The image of my fear—
A maypole standing in the mocking rain
With garlands torn and sere!
To be beloved is something so divine,
I dare not hope it can be mine.
My heart is stirring like a nest with young—
I know that many and many a former brood
154
Within a summer wood.
Something forbodes me pain;
The image of my fear—
A maypole standing in the mocking rain
With garlands torn and sere!
| City Poems | |