Carol and Cadence New poems: MDCCCCII-MDCCCCVII: By John Payne |
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THE LORIOT. |
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 | Carol and Cadence |  |
57
THE LORIOT.
Thy golden flute,
Loriot, I hear, when else the meads are mute
For middle June.
Yonder, where down the hills together lean
And in their blossom-broidered lap of green
The cherry orchards hold,
I catch thy frank, contentful, frolic tune.
At thee the tomtits scold,
Jealous, belike, for that their time of song
Is past, whilst thou thy ditty dost prolong,
Though Summer's silence is on wood and wold:
But thou,
Unheeding, caroll'st on the bending bough,
Content to live and drive thy purple beak
Into the cherry's red and white and yellow cheek.
Loriot, I hear, when else the meads are mute
For middle June.
Yonder, where down the hills together lean
And in their blossom-broidered lap of green
The cherry orchards hold,
I catch thy frank, contentful, frolic tune.
At thee the tomtits scold,
Jealous, belike, for that their time of song
Is past, whilst thou thy ditty dost prolong,
Though Summer's silence is on wood and wold:
But thou,
Unheeding, caroll'st on the bending bough,
Content to live and drive thy purple beak
Into the cherry's red and white and yellow cheek.
To France's fields
Thy homely strain its gentle glamour yields,
Where else, in time
Of cherries ripe and ruddy on the trees
And oxeye daisies in the luscious leas,
The sunny summer day
Might fare forlorn and sad for lack of rhyme.
None grudgeth thee, in pay
Of thy sweet song, the cherries thou dost eat
And all the world thy singing enough sweet
Holdeth, now songtide over is with May,
As one,
Whose blossom-time of Life is overrun,
Unto some lowly love for solacement
Turns of his empty heart and is with peace content.
Thy homely strain its gentle glamour yields,
Where else, in time
Of cherries ripe and ruddy on the trees
And oxeye daisies in the luscious leas,
The sunny summer day
Might fare forlorn and sad for lack of rhyme.
None grudgeth thee, in pay
Of thy sweet song, the cherries thou dost eat
And all the world thy singing enough sweet
Holdeth, now songtide over is with May,
As one,
Whose blossom-time of Life is overrun,
Unto some lowly love for solacement
Turns of his empty heart and is with peace content.
| Carol and Cadence | |