 | Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton |  |
20
UNDER THE ALDER-TREE.
It was a sad soul sitting
Beneath an Alder-tree;
From death's insensate fiction
He was not yet set free;
Not spirit's life but body's death
Was all that he could see,
And so he sat, and thus he cried,
Beneath the Alder-tree.
Beneath an Alder-tree;
From death's insensate fiction
He was not yet set free;
Not spirit's life but body's death
Was all that he could see,
And so he sat, and thus he cried,
Beneath the Alder-tree.
Chain of life, me binding down
To the rock of misery,
With the sorrow-vulture eating
At the heart, I weary o' thee,
For She cannot come again,
Cannot come ever to me.
Joy,—all joy,—all joy is o'er,—
Joy of speech or silent eyes,—
Mine, ah mine no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the wind waileth where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
To the rock of misery,
With the sorrow-vulture eating
At the heart, I weary o' thee,
For She cannot come again,
Cannot come ever to me.
Joy,—all joy,—all joy is o'er,—
Joy of speech or silent eyes,—
Mine, ah mine no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the wind waileth where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
21
Face, where, while we gaze on 't, feeling,
Penetrate with purity,
Springs from soul-roots, through the feature
Upward branching like a tree,—
Oh, Her looks! They were like skies
Raining blessing ever on me!
Ever on me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er;
Lost, ah, lost the love of her eyes,
They shall smile no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the leaf withereth where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Penetrate with purity,
Springs from soul-roots, through the feature
Upward branching like a tree,—
Oh, Her looks! They were like skies
Raining blessing ever on me!
Ever on me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er;
Lost, ah, lost the love of her eyes,
They shall smile no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the leaf withereth where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Then a step so softly stately,
So divinely womanly,
That than angel's own it seemeth
Not by one sin's weight less free,—
Oh, Her step! And it always came
Springing lighter, springing to me!
To me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er, 'tis o'er;
She never, never to meet me flies;
She will come no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me;
Green grass is growing where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
So divinely womanly,
That than angel's own it seemeth
Not by one sin's weight less free,—
Oh, Her step! And it always came
Springing lighter, springing to me!
To me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er, 'tis o'er;
She never, never to meet me flies;
She will come no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me;
Green grass is growing where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
22
Then a mouth, whereto is given
Voice to be the clue and key
To old dreams that rocked the poet
On the cradle of their knee:—
Oh, Her voice! 'Twas like high heaven
Saying kind things ever to me!
Ever to me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er;
I call, and call; she never replies;
Speak she will no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the owl hoots where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Voice to be the clue and key
To old dreams that rocked the poet
On the cradle of their knee:—
Oh, Her voice! 'Twas like high heaven
Saying kind things ever to me!
Ever to me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er;
I call, and call; she never replies;
Speak she will no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the owl hoots where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Then a sudden, sweet emotion
Of so absolute purity
That for once we understand
How sacred mortal flesh can be:—
Oh, Her touch! Oh, soft her hand,
Soft, warm, kind, ever to me!
Ever to me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er,
And a voice within me cries
She shall press my hand no more
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For nettles thrive where my Love lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Of so absolute purity
That for once we understand
How sacred mortal flesh can be:—
Oh, Her touch! Oh, soft her hand,
Soft, warm, kind, ever to me!
Ever to me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er,
And a voice within me cries
She shall press my hand no more
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For nettles thrive where my Love lies
Under the Alder-tree.
23
Then a touch at whose intenseness,—
Like an electricity
Sheathed in down,—flesh, soul, change places
Till we know not which we be;—
Kiss, like pressure of angel's wing
Warm of heaven's glory, ever to me!
Ever to me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er;
She shall hallow my cheeks, mine eyes,
With her lips no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the worm gnaws where my Love lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Like an electricity
Sheathed in down,—flesh, soul, change places
Till we know not which we be;—
Kiss, like pressure of angel's wing
Warm of heaven's glory, ever to me!
Ever to me? Wo 's me, 'tis o'er;
She shall hallow my cheeks, mine eyes,
With her lips no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For the worm gnaws where my Love lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Evermore the sorrow-vulture
Eateth at the spirit's core.
Fate and death away have taken
What they never may restore;
For She will not come again,—
Come again, for evermore!
Bliss,—all bliss,—all bliss is o'er,
Naught but death's dismay and sighs,
For She's mine no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For cold stones cover her where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
Eateth at the spirit's core.
Fate and death away have taken
What they never may restore;
For She will not come again,—
Come again, for evermore!
Bliss,—all bliss,—all bliss is o'er,
Naught but death's dismay and sighs,
For She's mine no more, no more,
To heal the heart all broken in me,
For cold stones cover her where she lies
Under the Alder-tree.
| Poems by Henry Septimus Sutton | |