 | The Poetical Works of John Payne |  |
VII.A DREAM-LIFE.
A man lived once within the busy town
And filled his days with labour hard and sore:
From break of morn, until the night fell down,
He worked for bread amid the city's roar.
And filled his days with labour hard and sore:
From break of morn, until the night fell down,
He worked for bread amid the city's roar.
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His toil was with no love or friendship blest,
His path of life was blank and cold and sere;
The one faint hope that lingered in his breast
Served but to make his present lot more drear.
His path of life was blank and cold and sere;
The one faint hope that lingered in his breast
Served but to make his present lot more drear.
He had once loved and (dead to all but him)
Love's memory yet lingered in his heart;
Although his soul was sere and eyes grown dim,
That guest from him might nevermore depart.
Love's memory yet lingered in his heart;
Although his soul was sere and eyes grown dim,
That guest from him might nevermore depart.
A lonely man, throughout the weary day
His hands ceased not from dull and cheerless strife;
The outer world for him had long grown gray
And little beauty blossomed in his life.
His hands ceased not from dull and cheerless strife;
The outer world for him had long grown gray
And little beauty blossomed in his life.
But in his heart there was a quiet nook,
Where lay old memories, adust and dim;
He read on Sundays in the Hebrew book,
And dreams of his dead youth came back to him.
Where lay old memories, adust and dim;
He read on Sundays in the Hebrew book,
And dreams of his dead youth came back to him.
He read of king and warrior and priest,
Heard in his ears the battle's thunderous din,
And from his heart the pain of toiling ceased
And all his soul had peace from care and sin.
Heard in his ears the battle's thunderous din,
And from his heart the pain of toiling ceased
And all his soul had peace from care and sin.
He read; and Spring flowered round his weary life;
He smelt the sweet faint primroses again
And saw white wind-flowers in the woodglooms rife,
Heard on the grass the apple-blossoms rain:
He smelt the sweet faint primroses again
And saw white wind-flowers in the woodglooms rife,
Heard on the grass the apple-blossoms rain:
He saw the azure canopy of heaven,
With white-winged clouds that glittered in the sun;
He saw the wood-deeps by the sunbeams riven
And gold lights flower through the shadows dun.
With white-winged clouds that glittered in the sun;
He saw the wood-deeps by the sunbeams riven
And gold lights flower through the shadows dun.
He read; and he was ankle-deep in grass,
With cowslip-umbels nodding at his feet,
And saw the shadows of the sun-clouds pass,
Where with the brook the heavens seemed to meet.
With cowslip-umbels nodding at his feet,
And saw the shadows of the sun-clouds pass,
Where with the brook the heavens seemed to meet.
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He heard the songful babble of the stream,
That from its pebbles drew sweet undertones,
And watched the minnows, in the golden gleam,
Dart in and out the brown and dappled stones.
That from its pebbles drew sweet undertones,
And watched the minnows, in the golden gleam,
Dart in and out the brown and dappled stones.
He read; and fragrance of the scented pines
Rose round his spirit, like a mist of balm;
He saw red fruitage on the strawberry-bines
Glow in the hedges in the summer calm.
Rose round his spirit, like a mist of balm;
He saw red fruitage on the strawberry-bines
Glow in the hedges in the summer calm.
Nesh eyebright looked at him and meadow-sweet;
He smelt the scent of the crushed grass again
And wild-thyme sent up perfume from his feet,
The plant that yields us fragrance from its pain.
He smelt the scent of the crushed grass again
And wild-thyme sent up perfume from his feet,
The plant that yields us fragrance from its pain.
Once more he passed through woods by autumn worn
And trod brown carpets of the rustling leaves;
He saw the gold sun glitter on the corn
And heard the sickle shear the russet sheaves.
And trod brown carpets of the rustling leaves;
He saw the gold sun glitter on the corn
And heard the sickle shear the russet sheaves.
He heard sweet voices through the mists of years
And quaint wild snatches of forgotten rhyme;
And many a love he had embalmed in tears
Re-lived for him its early blossom-time.
And quaint wild snatches of forgotten rhyme;
And many a love he had embalmed in tears
Re-lived for him its early blossom-time.
The week-day toil was but a dreary dream,
In which the voices of the birds were hushed;
It was the things of life that did but seem;
The true things on his Sabbath vision rushed.
In which the voices of the birds were hushed;
It was the things of life that did but seem;
The true things on his Sabbath vision rushed.
A dream of summer held his weary soul,
Although his life seemed echoless and dumb,
His spirit from the webs of working stole,
And when he died, he thought the Spring was come.
Although his life seemed echoless and dumb,
His spirit from the webs of working stole,
And when he died, he thought the Spring was come.
| The Poetical Works of John Payne | |