Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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WHITE MAGIC. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
WHITE MAGIC.
Take, O take the magic bowl,
Feed it with most lovely things,
Tears and laughter that will shake the very rafter,
Echoing on in the hereafter,
Light of lilies and the soul
Of our hidden spells and springs,
And the death-bell's passing toll
With the waft of angel wings;
Mix them kindly, mix them madly, dumbly, blindly
With the moonlit dews that rest,
And the red so unconfin'dly
Sleeping on the rose's breast.
Feed it with most lovely things,
Tears and laughter that will shake the very rafter,
Echoing on in the hereafter,
Light of lilies and the soul
Of our hidden spells and springs,
And the death-bell's passing toll
With the waft of angel wings;
Mix them kindly, mix them madly, dumbly, blindly
With the moonlit dews that rest,
And the red so unconfin'dly
Sleeping on the rose's breast.
Take, O take a virgin heart
From the baby as it dreams
Of its mother and the kisses rained that smother
Lips responding to no other;
Mingle it with masons' art,
Deft to catch the morning gleams,
White on turrets as they start
Upward like embodied beams;
Throw in buttercups and daisies, and the shutter
Dropt by shadows when they fall,
Mirth and melodies that utter
Pain within the woof of all.
From the baby as it dreams
Of its mother and the kisses rained that smother
Lips responding to no other;
Mingle it with masons' art,
Deft to catch the morning gleams,
White on turrets as they start
Upward like embodied beams;
Throw in buttercups and daisies, and the shutter
Dropt by shadows when they fall,
Mirth and melodies that utter
Pain within the woof of all.
Take, O take the lambent fire,
And the cunning flowers of frost
Dimly painted on the windows as if sainted
And for evermore untainted;
Blend them with the marriage tire
Of a maiden loved and lost,
And ineffable desire
For the pathway yet uncrost;
Freely scatter snow, and honeyed words that flatter
Fools and still have something true,
Grace of children and their chatter,
And a blessed rift of blue.
And the cunning flowers of frost
Dimly painted on the windows as if sainted
And for evermore untainted;
Blend them with the marriage tire
Of a maiden loved and lost,
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For the pathway yet uncrost;
Freely scatter snow, and honeyed words that flatter
Fools and still have something true,
Grace of children and their chatter,
And a blessed rift of blue.
Take, O take from clouded skies
Thunder, and of purple air
Bloom and winning charms from breezes all a-spinning
Webs that break and keep beginning;
Add to colour where it lies
On the cheek and haunting hair
Of a woman's sorceries,
Innocent that she is fair;
Join to clamour of the strife that secret glamour
Softening low the steps of lust,
And on waves that stir and stammer
Cast a handful of gray dust.
Thunder, and of purple air
Bloom and winning charms from breezes all a-spinning
Webs that break and keep beginning;
Add to colour where it lies
On the cheek and haunting hair
Of a woman's sorceries,
Innocent that she is fair;
Join to clamour of the strife that secret glamour
Softening low the steps of lust,
And on waves that stir and stammer
Cast a handful of gray dust.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |