 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
171
A CANTICLE OF COMMON THINGS
I praise Thee, Father, for the sky,
Thy soft translucent canopy,
The pompous cloudland trailing by.
Thy soft translucent canopy,
The pompous cloudland trailing by.
For large and level plains that swell
To wooded height, sequestered dell,
Not waste, but tilled and watered well;
To wooded height, sequestered dell,
Not waste, but tilled and watered well;
For elms that break in cloudy green,
With hamlet roofs that peep between,
For orchards rather guessed than seen.
With hamlet roofs that peep between,
For orchards rather guessed than seen.
For water, wayward sprite, that runs
So clear and deep neath dusty suns,
To cleanse and cool Thy little ones;
So clear and deep neath dusty suns,
To cleanse and cool Thy little ones;
For thundering weirs and silent wells,
For water-plants with humid cells,
Pink willow-herb and cumfrey-bells.
For water-plants with humid cells,
Pink willow-herb and cumfrey-bells.
For autumn with his flaming hand
Dashed on the covert, with the brand
Of death, and silence subtly planned;
Dashed on the covert, with the brand
Of death, and silence subtly planned;
172
For summer indolently fair,
For winter with her keener air,
For spring with her surprises rare.
For winter with her keener air,
For spring with her surprises rare.
I praise Thee, Father, for the prize
Of friendship, whether wild or wise,
The sudden glance of answering eyes;
Of friendship, whether wild or wise,
The sudden glance of answering eyes;
For motions of bewildering grace,
For spirits sweeter than the face
That screens them; for that lost embrace.
For spirits sweeter than the face
That screens them; for that lost embrace.
For sessions leisurely and sweet,
When firelight warms the idle feet,
Where fact and fantasy compete.
When firelight warms the idle feet,
Where fact and fantasy compete.
For music—ah, the gracious thing!—
Or blown aloft on airy wing,
Or throbbing from the tremulous string;
Or blown aloft on airy wing,
Or throbbing from the tremulous string;
When in the hushed and crowded choir
A thousand blended pipes conspire
To thrill the soul with vague desire.
A thousand blended pipes conspire
To thrill the soul with vague desire.
For jests that instantly beguile
The saddest brows to unbend and smile;
For masters of melodious style,
The saddest brows to unbend and smile;
For masters of melodious style,
For mighty minds to cheer me bent,
More keen than mine, more eloquent,
And how divinely different!
More keen than mine, more eloquent,
And how divinely different!
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For all illusions, trebly sweet,
Fond dreams of pleasure made complete,
And harbourage for weary feet.
Fond dreams of pleasure made complete,
And harbourage for weary feet.
For stubborn hopes that will not die,
Though flouted by the sullen sky,
And based on saddest memory.
Though flouted by the sullen sky,
And based on saddest memory.
For faith that, when my need is sore,
Gleams from a partly-open door,
And shows the firelight on the floor.
Gleams from a partly-open door,
And shows the firelight on the floor.
For truth herself, that, howsoe'er
Blind in my vileness I despair,
Reigns peerless, absolutely fair;
Blind in my vileness I despair,
Reigns peerless, absolutely fair;
For wholesome shame, that strongly schools
The raging impulses of fools
By sudden pangs or patient rules.
The raging impulses of fools
By sudden pangs or patient rules.
For love, that, when my spirit trips,
Through the cold throng towards me slips,
And rains soft kisses on my lips.
Through the cold throng towards me slips,
And rains soft kisses on my lips.
I praise Thee, Father, though Thou thrust
Me crying in the common dust,
Not as I would but as I must.
Me crying in the common dust,
Not as I would but as I must.
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |