 | Poems |  |
5
BIRD AND BROOK.
Bird that pipest on the bough,
Would that I could sing as thou;
Runnel gurgling on beneath,
Would I owned thy liquid breath;
I would make a lovely lay
Worthy of the pure-bright day.
Would that I could sing as thou;
Runnel gurgling on beneath,
Would I owned thy liquid breath;
I would make a lovely lay
Worthy of the pure-bright day.
Worthy of the freshness spread
Round my path and o'er my head;
Of the unseen airs that rise
Incensing the morning skies
As from opening buds they spring
In the dew's evanishing.
Round my path and o'er my head;
Of the unseen airs that rise
Incensing the morning skies
As from opening buds they spring
In the dew's evanishing.
Brighter yet, and even more clear
Than that blue encasing sphere,
Worthy of the gentle eyes
Opening on this paradise,
With their inner heavens as deep,
Fresh from youth's enchanted sleep.
Than that blue encasing sphere,
Worthy of the gentle eyes
Opening on this paradise,
With their inner heavens as deep,
Fresh from youth's enchanted sleep.
6
Worthy of the voices sweet
That my daily risings greet,
And, to even-song addressed,
Ere we lay us down to rest,
Lift my spirit's laggard weight
Half-way to the heavenly gate.
That my daily risings greet,
And, to even-song addressed,
Ere we lay us down to rest,
Lift my spirit's laggard weight
Half-way to the heavenly gate.
I would make it with a dance
Of the rhythmic utterance,
With a gambit and retreat
Of the counter-trilling feet
And a frolic of the tone
To the song-bird only known.
Of the rhythmic utterance,
With a gambit and retreat
Of the counter-trilling feet
And a frolic of the tone
To the song-bird only known.
With a soft transfusing fall
Would I make my madrigal,
Full as rills that, as they pass,
Shake the springing spikes of grass,
And that ample under-speech
Only running waters reach.
Would I make my madrigal,
Full as rills that, as they pass,
Shake the springing spikes of grass,
And that ample under-speech
Only running waters reach.
I would sing it loud and well,
Till the spirits of Amabel,
And of Ethel, from their nests,
Caught with new delicious zests
Of the soul's life out-of-door,
Forth should peep, and crave for more.
Till the spirits of Amabel,
And of Ethel, from their nests,
Caught with new delicious zests
Of the soul's life out-of-door,
Forth should peep, and crave for more.
But, because I own not these,
Oh, ye mountains and ye trees,
Oh, ye tracts of heavenly air,
Voices sweet, and sweet eyes fair
Of my darlings, ye must rest
In my rhyme but half-expressed.
Oh, ye mountains and ye trees,
7
Voices sweet, and sweet eyes fair
Of my darlings, ye must rest
In my rhyme but half-expressed.
Yea, and if I had them all,
Voice of bird and brook at call,
And could speak as winds in woods
Or with tumult of the floods,
Yet a theme there would remain
I should still essay in vain.
Voice of bird and brook at call,
And could speak as winds in woods
Or with tumult of the floods,
Yet a theme there would remain
I should still essay in vain.
For my soul would strive to raise,
If it might, a song of praise,
All unworthy though it were,
To the Maker of the air,
To the Giver of the life
Breathing round me joyous-rife.
If it might, a song of praise,
All unworthy though it were,
To the Maker of the air,
To the Giver of the life
Breathing round me joyous-rife.
Giver of that general joy
Brightening face of girl and boy,
Sender of those soul-reliefs
Hidden in our boons of griefs,
Lest with surfeit and excess
We surcharge life's blessedness.
Brightening face of girl and boy,
Sender of those soul-reliefs
Hidden in our boons of griefs,
Lest with surfeit and excess
We surcharge life's blessedness.
Such a lay to frame aright,
Waft me to some mountain-height
Far from man's resort, and bring,
From the world's environing,
All that lives of sweet and strong
To the dressing of the song.
Waft me to some mountain-height
Far from man's resort, and bring,
From the world's environing,
8
To the dressing of the song.
I would clothe its mighty words
With the lowings of the herds
Loosed to pasture; with the shout
Of the monsoon bursting out
Past the Himalayan flanks
O'er the empty Indian tanks.
With the lowings of the herds
Loosed to pasture; with the shout
Of the monsoon bursting out
Past the Himalayan flanks
O'er the empty Indian tanks.
With a noise of many waves
Would I fill the sounding staves;
Yea, the great sea-monsters make
Of my rapture to partake,
Till their gambollings they'd lend
To the hymn's triumphant end.
Would I fill the sounding staves;
Yea, the great sea-monsters make
Of my rapture to partake,
Till their gambollings they'd lend
To the hymn's triumphant end.
But, oh God, at thought of Thee
And of Thine immensity,
All my fancy's gathered powers
Droop and faint as summer flowers
By the high meridian sun
In his glory glanced upon.
And of Thine immensity,
All my fancy's gathered powers
Droop and faint as summer flowers
By the high meridian sun
In his glory glanced upon.
And, behold, this earth we tread,
Though the thin film o'er it spread,
Called by men the atmosphere,
Thrill with life's vibrations clear,
Yet achieves its ordered round
Through the heavens, without a sound.
Though the thin film o'er it spread,
Called by men the atmosphere,
Thrill with life's vibrations clear,
Yet achieves its ordered round
Through the heavens, without a sound.
9
And the worlds that further are
Hold not converse, star with star;
And the comets speeding hither
Through the parted deeps of ether,
Teach through all their lives of law,
Silence is the speech of awe.
Hold not converse, star with star;
And the comets speeding hither
Through the parted deeps of ether,
Teach through all their lives of law,
Silence is the speech of awe.
So, in awe and wonder mute,
Let the throstle's warbling flute
And the stream's melodious babble
Hint the thoughts unutterable,
Till Himself do touch the wire
Of another David's lyre.
Let the throstle's warbling flute
And the stream's melodious babble
Hint the thoughts unutterable,
Till Himself do touch the wire
Of another David's lyre.
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