 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
130
THE THISTLEDOWN
As through the summer land we sped,—
(The busy wheels rushed on,)—
I turned the tedious page, and read
The woes of Jill and John.
Oh for a breath of frosty breeze,
I sighed, for the chill sharp weather,
To arrest the languorous mood, and freeze
The melting soul together.
Over the soiled page, suddenly,
With pinions golden-brown,
Came drifting, drifting, delicate, shy,
An arrowy thistledown.
(The busy wheels rushed on,)—
I turned the tedious page, and read
The woes of Jill and John.
Oh for a breath of frosty breeze,
I sighed, for the chill sharp weather,
To arrest the languorous mood, and freeze
The melting soul together.
Over the soiled page, suddenly,
With pinions golden-brown,
Came drifting, drifting, delicate, shy,
An arrowy thistledown.
In the gust the flapping curtain beat;
It started, light as the fawn,
Stepping at dusk with dainty feet
On the pine-girt mountain-lawn.
I closed the book with zealous care,
I prisoned the fair frail thing,
That rode so free on wings of the air,
Aimlessly wandering.
One glance I cast on the fleeting scene;—
(The turning wheels flew fast)—
It started, light as the fawn,
Stepping at dusk with dainty feet
On the pine-girt mountain-lawn.
I closed the book with zealous care,
I prisoned the fair frail thing,
That rode so free on wings of the air,
Aimlessly wandering.
One glance I cast on the fleeting scene;—
(The turning wheels flew fast)—
131
A pasture, ridged with tumbled green;
A spring through the rushes passed;
'Twas here your merry kinsmen stood
In glory self-decreed,
Bonny trespassers, fearless, rude,
Close-packed with feathery seed.
There hung a wood, that wheeling showed
A shade-flecked avenue,
Deep-rutted climbed the woodland road,
The castle towers looked through.
A grey high-shouldered church beside
The green downs, steep and tall,
With wind-swept pastures, terraced wide,
And blue sky over all.
A spring through the rushes passed;
'Twas here your merry kinsmen stood
In glory self-decreed,
Bonny trespassers, fearless, rude,
Close-packed with feathery seed.
There hung a wood, that wheeling showed
A shade-flecked avenue,
Deep-rutted climbed the woodland road,
The castle towers looked through.
A grey high-shouldered church beside
The green downs, steep and tall,
With wind-swept pastures, terraced wide,
And blue sky over all.
Ten years ago! and memory tossed
The tiny thought aside;
I deemed that picture whelmed and lost,
In the dim years' shadowy tide;
Again I turn the tedious page,
Alone in the sombre town,
And here lies prisoned, and wan with age,
The faded thistledown.
Out of the dark the visions swim,
The high downs terraced green,
The huddling church, the avenue dim,
The castle peers between.
The tiny thought aside;
I deemed that picture whelmed and lost,
In the dim years' shadowy tide;
Again I turn the tedious page,
Alone in the sombre town,
And here lies prisoned, and wan with age,
The faded thistledown.
Out of the dark the visions swim,
The high downs terraced green,
The huddling church, the avenue dim,
The castle peers between.
I praise the cunning thought that lays
Her hoarded sweetness by,
And half surprised, half proud, betrays
Her hidden treasury;
Darts through my soul a sudden fear,
A thought too dark to spell;—
My heart, if all things are as clear
Recorded, is it well?
Her hoarded sweetness by,
And half surprised, half proud, betrays
Her hidden treasury;
132
A thought too dark to spell;—
My heart, if all things are as clear
Recorded, is it well?
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |