 | Orchard Songs |  |
5
A COTSWOLD VILLAGE
Roses!
Great wild roses,
Aisles of bud and whitethroat song
All along
The lower lanes
Where Peace,
That first inhabitant of earth,
Remains:
Folding her hands as day begins
And closes
She, tranquil, watches May
That melts to June in roses,
Great wild roses,
Roses!
These are so fair that they should rest
My rivals on the snowdrop breast
Where God, by some sweet circle of event,
Has lent me refuge when I turn
From street and stool
And work by rule,
Scarred by the plea of endless discontent,
The wine of morning sunshine stale or spent.
Great wild roses,
Aisles of bud and whitethroat song
All along
The lower lanes
Where Peace,
That first inhabitant of earth,
Remains:
Folding her hands as day begins
And closes
She, tranquil, watches May
That melts to June in roses,
Great wild roses,
Roses!
These are so fair that they should rest
My rivals on the snowdrop breast
6
Has lent me refuge when I turn
From street and stool
And work by rule,
Scarred by the plea of endless discontent,
The wine of morning sunshine stale or spent.
We neither spoke.
The leafy lyrics of the stripling oak
Sang us along.
Hamlet by hamlet passed,
And yellow sheep,
We came at last
Upon the hills that keep,
As mothers watch their babes asleep,
Long Compton guarded in the vale:
There as a dreaming child it lay
And took the evening light;
It was the vocal end of day
And larks in giddy flight
So out of view made music ring
That clouds, not birds,
Appeared to sing.
The leafy lyrics of the stripling oak
Sang us along.
Hamlet by hamlet passed,
And yellow sheep,
We came at last
Upon the hills that keep,
As mothers watch their babes asleep,
7
There as a dreaming child it lay
And took the evening light;
It was the vocal end of day
And larks in giddy flight
So out of view made music ring
That clouds, not birds,
Appeared to sing.
Go home, go home, ye doves, from out the field!
Fly to your forest cradles, fly!
In ambuscades of greenery concealed
Ponder the day gone by.
The shepherd is gone home,
The last rooks come,
Dear Jenny Wren shall whistle nothing more;
His team well-housed and fed
The ploughman thinks of bed,
And smiles upon his sweetheart at the door.
Down Gipsy Lane we roam,
Go home, ye doves, go home!
Little of sunlight now
This fruitful valley holds,
Deeper the greys invade,
Fainter become the golds;
The youngling's tap is on the pane,
And maids with sewing mothers sigh;
Go home, go home, ye doves, from out the field,
To forest cradles fly!
Fly to your forest cradles, fly!
In ambuscades of greenery concealed
Ponder the day gone by.
The shepherd is gone home,
The last rooks come,
8
His team well-housed and fed
The ploughman thinks of bed,
And smiles upon his sweetheart at the door.
Down Gipsy Lane we roam,
Go home, ye doves, go home!
Little of sunlight now
This fruitful valley holds,
Deeper the greys invade,
Fainter become the golds;
The youngling's tap is on the pane,
And maids with sewing mothers sigh;
Go home, go home, ye doves, from out the field,
To forest cradles fly!
9
We walked toward the inn.
O host and hostess looking forth
To make the welcome warm,
What man may fare from south to north,
From palace or from farm,
Shall early learn your kindly hearts
And never come to harm!
O host and hostess looking forth
To make the welcome warm,
What man may fare from south to north,
From palace or from farm,
Shall early learn your kindly hearts
And never come to harm!
O happy days!
O days of country beauty made more sweet
By steppings of dear feet
And voices captured from the city's stress
To add a charm to all the loveliness
Of leaf and land!
The lesser whitethroat in the orchard growth
Beneath an apple planned
A hive for nest,
And as we lay and watched
The while she matched
Each grassy joist and beam,
The fluffy architect, unstirred,
Rounded the entrance with her beak
Or smoothed the cup
Where she would dream
Upon her family of eggs,
And warm them into song
Where pears and pippins throng.
O days of country beauty made more sweet
By steppings of dear feet
And voices captured from the city's stress
To add a charm to all the loveliness
Of leaf and land!
The lesser whitethroat in the orchard growth
10
A hive for nest,
And as we lay and watched
The while she matched
Each grassy joist and beam,
The fluffy architect, unstirred,
Rounded the entrance with her beak
Or smoothed the cup
Where she would dream
Upon her family of eggs,
And warm them into song
Where pears and pippins throng.
Early we rose and raced to catch
Initial glories of the morn;
The air itself was an embrace,
And Beauty, living in the place,
Seemed growing personal and kind,
Till in my heart,
Till on my face
I felt the thrill
That comes when lips I love consent,
Obedient to my will.
So hour by hour and day by day
Long Compton nursed our idleness,
Each meadow-path, each woodland way
Where campion calls and bluebells press
Conferred its bounty of delight;
And when the fields of heaven were bright
With stars that have a native fire,
And those that do conspire
To rob a sun,
We knew a lane
Where in a briar's heart a bird
Released a strain
To cheer the mother musing on her eggs,
And promise her a son
Whose tender tale
Should shake the sleeping rosebud into dreams
And be the wonder of this Cotswold vale.
Initial glories of the morn;
11
And Beauty, living in the place,
Seemed growing personal and kind,
Till in my heart,
Till on my face
I felt the thrill
That comes when lips I love consent,
Obedient to my will.
So hour by hour and day by day
Long Compton nursed our idleness,
Each meadow-path, each woodland way
Where campion calls and bluebells press
Conferred its bounty of delight;
And when the fields of heaven were bright
With stars that have a native fire,
And those that do conspire
12
We knew a lane
Where in a briar's heart a bird
Released a strain
To cheer the mother musing on her eggs,
And promise her a son
Whose tender tale
Should shake the sleeping rosebud into dreams
And be the wonder of this Cotswold vale.
When time is weary of my company
Here let me rest.
If I should end within four walls
With bricks around,
Buy me no smoky patch of city ground,
But bring me to these acres of repose
Whose natural consecration is most sure,
That I may sleep beneath a country rose
And where the dew is pure;
For in this valley God appeared to me,
And where my soul is let my body be.
Here let me rest.
If I should end within four walls
With bricks around,
Buy me no smoky patch of city ground,
13
Whose natural consecration is most sure,
That I may sleep beneath a country rose
And where the dew is pure;
For in this valley God appeared to me,
And where my soul is let my body be.
What time the Father walked His earth
He trod, I know, these Cotswold slopes;
With silence and with sound
He clothed each mound;
The shadow of His robe goes over them,
The bounties of His wisdom cover them
And whoso cometh here
To tread this sod—
He sees the neighbour neighbourly,
And learning all Long Compton's loveliness
The better learns his God.
He trod, I know, these Cotswold slopes;
With silence and with sound
He clothed each mound;
The shadow of His robe goes over them,
The bounties of His wisdom cover them
And whoso cometh here
To tread this sod—
14
And learning all Long Compton's loveliness
The better learns his God.
15
PARTING
Why, love, don't weep!
Our joy was long,
Sweet twenty years
Of smile and song.
I shall but wait
Asleep, asleep,
For you to come—
Why, love, don't weep!
Our joy was long,
Sweet twenty years
Of smile and song.
I shall but wait
Asleep, asleep,
For you to come—
Why, love, don't weep!
Why, love, don't weep!
The end is this;
There comes a bound
To speech and kiss:
For joy like ours
The price is cheap—
Sweet twenty years!
Why, love, don't weep!
The end is this;
There comes a bound
To speech and kiss:
For joy like ours
The price is cheap—
Sweet twenty years!
Why, love, don't weep!
24
AN ORCHARD DANCE
All work is over at the farm
And men and maids are ripe for glee;
Love slips among them sly and warm
Or calls them to the chestnut-tree.
As Colin looks askance at Jane
He draws his hand across his mouth;
She understands the rustic pain,
And something of the tender south
About her milkmaid beauty flits.
Her dress of lilac print for guide
Draws shepherd Colin where she sits,
Who, faring to her lovely side
To snatch his evening pension tries,
But skimming like a bird from clutch
The maid escapes his Cupid touch,
And speeding down a passage flies
Not fast enough to cheat his eyes.
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
How swiftly still the virgin runs
She's sure at last to be embraced!
Now Colin fires at kiss delayed,
And faster flits the red stone floor
Till Fortune yields the tricky maid
A captive at the pantry door!
And men and maids are ripe for glee;
Love slips among them sly and warm
Or calls them to the chestnut-tree.
As Colin looks askance at Jane
He draws his hand across his mouth;
She understands the rustic pain,
And something of the tender south
About her milkmaid beauty flits.
Her dress of lilac print for guide
Draws shepherd Colin where she sits,
Who, faring to her lovely side
To snatch his evening pension tries,
But skimming like a bird from clutch
The maid escapes his Cupid touch,
And speeding down a passage flies
26
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
How swiftly still the virgin runs
She's sure at last to be embraced!
Now Colin fires at kiss delayed,
And faster flits the red stone floor
Till Fortune yields the tricky maid
A captive at the pantry door!
The farmer with his fifty years
Is not too old to join the fun;
He pulls the milkmaids' pinky ears
And bids a likely stripling run
To find the fiddlers for a dance:
And in the cherry orchard there
A tune shall mingle with romance,
And love be brave in open air.
Is not too old to join the fun;
He pulls the milkmaids' pinky ears
And bids a likely stripling run
To find the fiddlers for a dance:
And in the cherry orchard there
27
And love be brave in open air.
The village wakens to the bliss,
The crones and gaffers crawl to see
The country game of step and kiss
Beneath the laden cherry-tree.
The chairs and benches now are set,
Old John is wheedled from his pet,
The cider cup with beady eyes
Responds to winkings of the skies.
The farmer, burly in his chair,
Now claps for ev'ry fond and fair
To foot it on the grassy patch
While rustic violinists snatch
From out those varnished birds of wood
A tune to jink it in the blood.
Now Jane and Colin in a trice
Float sweetly round not less than thrice
Before their motion draws a pair
To revel with the dancing air.
The thrush, that on his velvet wipes
His juicy bill, protesting pipes,
And, somewhat as a piccolo,
Doth race the concord of the bow.
A virgin yonder by the tree
Rejects a mate who saucily
Would press, if she might only start,
Her modest homespun to his heart.
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
Though like a finch the maiden flies
She's sure at last to be embraced.
The crones and gaffers crawl to see
The country game of step and kiss
Beneath the laden cherry-tree.
The chairs and benches now are set,
Old John is wheedled from his pet,
The cider cup with beady eyes
Responds to winkings of the skies.
The farmer, burly in his chair,
Now claps for ev'ry fond and fair
To foot it on the grassy patch
While rustic violinists snatch
From out those varnished birds of wood
28
Now Jane and Colin in a trice
Float sweetly round not less than thrice
Before their motion draws a pair
To revel with the dancing air.
The thrush, that on his velvet wipes
His juicy bill, protesting pipes,
And, somewhat as a piccolo,
Doth race the concord of the bow.
A virgin yonder by the tree
Rejects a mate who saucily
Would press, if she might only start,
Her modest homespun to his heart.
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
Though like a finch the maiden flies
29
The orchard now is in full bloom
With rosy cheek and snowdrop throat;
The stars invade the growing gloom,
And rarelier sounds the blackbird's note.
But in this dewy little park
Love burns the brighter for the dark,
And till he use a stricter rule
Dear Cicely's cheek shall never cool!
The fiddlers storm a tomboy tune,
The shepherds closer clasp the girls
While skirts the more desert the shoon,
And rebel leap the lovely curls.
The farmer glows within his chair
And muses on the dancing time
When he and She—a matchless pair—
Were warm and nimble in their prime.
God bless the man who, duller grown,
Can feel the younger heaven anew
By granting to his maids and men
A romp by starlight in the dew!
Ah, greenwood ways and greenwood days,
And soft pursuings of the waist,
The cheek must yellow out of praise,
And bent be those who once embraced!
With rosy cheek and snowdrop throat;
The stars invade the growing gloom,
And rarelier sounds the blackbird's note.
But in this dewy little park
Love burns the brighter for the dark,
And till he use a stricter rule
Dear Cicely's cheek shall never cool!
The fiddlers storm a tomboy tune,
The shepherds closer clasp the girls
While skirts the more desert the shoon,
And rebel leap the lovely curls.
The farmer glows within his chair
And muses on the dancing time
30
Were warm and nimble in their prime.
God bless the man who, duller grown,
Can feel the younger heaven anew
By granting to his maids and men
A romp by starlight in the dew!
Ah, greenwood ways and greenwood days,
And soft pursuings of the waist,
The cheek must yellow out of praise,
And bent be those who once embraced!
And now they pant against the trees,
And, using darkness for their plan,
Girls loose the garters at their knees
And mend the clumsiness of man.
One virgin, thankful for the dance,
About the music shyly trips—
Her Love's a fiddler, and her love
Pops fruit in Paganini's lips;
Or finding on the starlit tree
The wife and husband cherry there,
She hangs the couple at his cheek
And hides the stalk with tufts of hair.
The girls are at the cider-cup,
And shepherds tilt the yellow base
Until a giddy amber flood
Runs, kissing, over Cicely's face,
And Dora's upper lip doth shine
With winking beads of apple-wine.
The fiddlers scrape a farewell tune,
The dancers dwindle in the dusk
While summer puffs of easy wind
Bring hints of cottage garden musk.
And, using darkness for their plan,
Girls loose the garters at their knees
And mend the clumsiness of man.
One virgin, thankful for the dance,
31
Her Love's a fiddler, and her love
Pops fruit in Paganini's lips;
Or finding on the starlit tree
The wife and husband cherry there,
She hangs the couple at his cheek
And hides the stalk with tufts of hair.
The girls are at the cider-cup,
And shepherds tilt the yellow base
Until a giddy amber flood
Runs, kissing, over Cicely's face,
And Dora's upper lip doth shine
With winking beads of apple-wine.
The fiddlers scrape a farewell tune,
The dancers dwindle in the dusk
While summer puffs of easy wind
32
And thus the revel dearly ends
With milkmaid's palm in shepherd's hand,
And lovers grow from only friends
Where plum and pear and apple stand.
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
How fast so-e'er the virgin flies
She's sure at last to be embraced!
With milkmaid's palm in shepherd's hand,
And lovers grow from only friends
Where plum and pear and apple stand.
Ah, sweet-lip ways and sweet-lip days,
And sweetheart captures of the waist,
How fast so-e'er the virgin flies
She's sure at last to be embraced!
33
DELIA
Delia, that will not kiss,
Is hardly ripe
To glow again at airs
Of shepherd-pipe.
Sing of the flock to-day,
And wait for Love
To storm the simple breast,
And stir the dove.
Is hardly ripe
To glow again at airs
Of shepherd-pipe.
Sing of the flock to-day,
And wait for Love
To storm the simple breast,
And stir the dove.
Touch but her tender waist
And she shall cry!
But Love may come before
Her tears are dry.
Then, shepherd, tune to trees
Your wanton pipe;
Delia, that will not kiss,
Is hardly ripe.
And she shall cry!
But Love may come before
Her tears are dry.
Then, shepherd, tune to trees
Your wanton pipe;
Delia, that will not kiss,
Is hardly ripe.
34
BABY
Come, Mother, bring the baby out,
And let her roll—the grass is dry!
Take off her shoes, and she shall kick
Those pinky toes toward the sky.
And let her roll—the grass is dry!
Take off her shoes, and she shall kick
Those pinky toes toward the sky.
The firmament forgive her crime!
And as a sign of love and grace
May God, who holds it, send my child
Her mother's hair, her mother's face!
And as a sign of love and grace
May God, who holds it, send my child
Her mother's hair, her mother's face!
See, Mary, here's a cherry-tree
To make her eyes grow round and bright;
Oh, how she chatters to the fruit—
The dimpled bundle of delight!
To make her eyes grow round and bright;
Oh, how she chatters to the fruit—
The dimpled bundle of delight!
There, sweetheart! See the gaudy cheek,
And see the naughty lurking stone;
And now each juicy half (my word!)
Is Baby Rosebud's very own!
And see the naughty lurking stone;
And now each juicy half (my word!)
Is Baby Rosebud's very own!
37
Dear Mother, as I watch this child
Stare upward to the depthless blue,
My spirit, fleeter than the gaze,
Goes up with thanks for her and you.
Stare upward to the depthless blue,
My spirit, fleeter than the gaze,
Goes up with thanks for her and you.
God, blight my orchard, scourge my friend,
And drive my blackbird from his tree,
But leave this babe for Mary's breast,
And let me tend them both for Thee!
And drive my blackbird from his tree,
But leave this babe for Mary's breast,
And let me tend them both for Thee!
38
CONVALESCENCE
Three weeks her face was snowy white
From memory of her pain,
But then, with dear, recapturing light
A gradual glow again
From memory of her pain,
But then, with dear, recapturing light
A gradual glow again
Taught almost tintless buds to show
Their mimicry of pink;
They were but ghosts of former glow,
But yet a lovely link
Their mimicry of pink;
They were but ghosts of former glow,
But yet a lovely link
Between the opulence of health,
The poverty of care,
When she but grew my greater wealth,
And fathomlessly fair.
The poverty of care,
When she but grew my greater wealth,
And fathomlessly fair.
At last the happy edict gave
A boundary to alarms,
And lifting her, myself the slave,
Heaven trembled in my arms!
A boundary to alarms,
And lifting her, myself the slave,
Heaven trembled in my arms!
46
Now wife and babe before my fire
In speechless converse rest;
The milky comfort, his desire,
And hers, the bounteous breast.
In speechless converse rest;
The milky comfort, his desire,
And hers, the bounteous breast.
One arm is free, and strong with joy
Around me warmly slips
When that I stoop to bless the boy,
And touch him with my lips.
Around me warmly slips
When that I stoop to bless the boy,
And touch him with my lips.
52
THE NIGHTINGALE
Whereas the blackbird and the thrush
Are fondly English in their song,
And finely pipe great island airs
Where bloomy orchards throng,
Are fondly English in their song,
And finely pipe great island airs
Where bloomy orchards throng,
The nightingale has all the East
Within his dear tumultuous breast;
World-passions and the strong refrains
That ring in wild unrest.
Within his dear tumultuous breast;
World-passions and the strong refrains
That ring in wild unrest.
Circassian music he can sing,
Rough mountain loves, and stories meek
That in the vineyard valley run
From traitor cheek to cheek.
Rough mountain loves, and stories meek
That in the vineyard valley run
From traitor cheek to cheek.
And all the secrets of desire,
By right of lyric ancestry,
From out a midnight hawthorn bush
He now reveals to me.
By right of lyric ancestry,
From out a midnight hawthorn bush
He now reveals to me.
56
AT MIDNIGHT
Now that the living sleep
And the dead awake,
Joy shall return to me
And my cold hands take.
And the dead awake,
Joy shall return to me
And my cold hands take.
Here at the midnight hour
I shall feel again
Love in a kiss, and then
The resulting pain.
I shall feel again
Love in a kiss, and then
The resulting pain.
But when the dawn shall speed
With its stealth and flash,
Deep in my heart the fire
Shall again be ash.
With its stealth and flash,
Deep in my heart the fire
Shall again be ash.
58
A PASTORAL
[Who would shepherd pipes forsake]
Who would shepherd pipes forsake
If there greet him dearly
Cupid in the knee-deep brake
Singing sweet and clearly?
Who to London deserts go,
Scanning friendless faces,
If there beat a heart for him
Under Laura's laces?
If there greet him dearly
Cupid in the knee-deep brake
Singing sweet and clearly?
Who to London deserts go,
Scanning friendless faces,
If there beat a heart for him
Under Laura's laces?
As I near the leafy oak,
Laura, swift as starling,
Brings her cheek for me to stroke—
Little fragrant darling!
Take your air in Rotten Row,
Gentlemen of leisure,
Milkmaid kiss and velvet sloe
Fashion me my pleasure!
Laura, swift as starling,
Brings her cheek for me to stroke—
Little fragrant darling!
Take your air in Rotten Row,
Gentlemen of leisure,
Milkmaid kiss and velvet sloe
Fashion me my pleasure!
59
While we sit the stilly skies
Change from blue to purple,
And my arm in daring lies
Round a homespun circle!
Thus doth pastoral delight
Follow shepherd-duty,
Speeding to my heart at night
Laura's love and beauty!
Change from blue to purple,
And my arm in daring lies
Round a homespun circle!
Thus doth pastoral delight
Follow shepherd-duty,
Speeding to my heart at night
Laura's love and beauty!
71
HAPPY LIFE
Baby beauty on my knee,
Baby's mother near me;
Master Bullfinch grown so tame
That he cannot fear me;
Brooks to tell of dipping maids,
Ruby cloves to scent me—
What a happy, happy life
God in trust has lent me!
Baby's mother near me;
Master Bullfinch grown so tame
That he cannot fear me;
Brooks to tell of dipping maids,
Ruby cloves to scent me—
What a happy, happy life
God in trust has lent me!
Baby tumbles on our bed,
Either cheek a cherry,
Raiding Laura's lovely heart,
Mischievous and merry!
Infant swallows at my eaves
Twitter, and content me—
What a happy, happy life
God in trust has lent me!
Either cheek a cherry,
Raiding Laura's lovely heart,
Mischievous and merry!
Infant swallows at my eaves
Twitter, and content me—
What a happy, happy life
God in trust has lent me!
72
INSPIRATION
I lay my head on the foolscap page,
Bidden to sing, and being mute;
No help there came with the lovely air
Of the blackbird's magic flute.
Bidden to sing, and being mute;
No help there came with the lovely air
Of the blackbird's magic flute.
My Love ran in, and she kissed my cheek.
Lyrics woke in my blood and rang;
Her hair glowed gold by the foolscap page,
And the barren singer sang.
Lyrics woke in my blood and rang;
Her hair glowed gold by the foolscap page,
And the barren singer sang.
73
TO DORA
God's mercy, Dora, what's a kiss
That you should whimper like a child?
A maid was ne'er as coy as this,
A woodlark never was so wild.
There went, i' faith, no niggard pinch
You little pecking sweetbill finch!
That you should whimper like a child?
A maid was ne'er as coy as this,
A woodlark never was so wild.
There went, i' faith, no niggard pinch
You little pecking sweetbill finch!
Come, loveliness, 'tis but the task
Of mating Cupid's red to red;
A rosebud touch is all I ask,
Lift up, dear nun, this shining head!
There! see how good a thing it is—
God's mercy, Dora, what's a kiss?
Of mating Cupid's red to red;
A rosebud touch is all I ask,
Lift up, dear nun, this shining head!
There! see how good a thing it is—
God's mercy, Dora, what's a kiss?
74
CLARINDA'S BEAUTY
The tree may win the stripling
With its clusters round and red,
And a shepherdess may languish
Till his silly mouth is fed;
But Clarinda has an orchard
Where sweet circles grow for me,
And no shepherd, though he covet,
Dares approach my cherry-tree!
With its clusters round and red,
And a shepherdess may languish
Till his silly mouth is fed;
But Clarinda has an orchard
Where sweet circles grow for me,
And no shepherd, though he covet,
Dares approach my cherry-tree!
The mistress airs her velvet
Ev'ry Sunday down the aisle
As the sunburnt farmers titter,
And the saucy milkmaids smile;
Though it cost a mort of money
And can make the children stare,
'Tis a thistle to the softness
That Clarinda's cheek doth wear.
Ev'ry Sunday down the aisle
As the sunburnt farmers titter,
And the saucy milkmaids smile;
Though it cost a mort of money
And can make the children stare,
'Tis a thistle to the softness
That Clarinda's cheek doth wear.
75
But when my sweetheart dangles
In the Avon as it goes
Her feet, and cattle ponder
On the marvel of her hose,
Not a virgin ever trusted
Such a comely white as this
To the chilly river fingers,
And for water-lips to kiss!
In the Avon as it goes
Her feet, and cattle ponder
On the marvel of her hose,
Not a virgin ever trusted
Such a comely white as this
To the chilly river fingers,
And for water-lips to kiss!
76
REGRET
O human bird, whose nest has been
Within my heart a thousand days,
To fly away so suddenly
When April glittered in her green,
And woodland aisles
For leafy miles
In fifty fine harmonious ways
Were musical with flying praise,
Was a strange winging from my life,
O false and fair—
Was a departure that the sense
Could nowhere gather strength to bear!
Within my heart a thousand days,
To fly away so suddenly
When April glittered in her green,
And woodland aisles
For leafy miles
In fifty fine harmonious ways
Were musical with flying praise,
Was a strange winging from my life,
O false and fair—
Was a departure that the sense
Could nowhere gather strength to bear!
Day comes.
The Artist of the dawn
Makes all the sky a masterpiece;
The dewdrops vanish from the lawn
And from the shepherd's sheep.
Each day's a miracle to cheat the mind,
Night brings the wonder, sleep;
But all along the lane there flies
My loss of her whose helping eyes
Made olden moments kind;
And in the pulsing heart of night,
When darkness seems to throb to light,
Remembrance of my whitethroat yet
Comes with a great regret.
No blackbird's magic in the bush,
Succeeded by the aching hush,
Can win me from my thought of her;
And all that Father Avon says
To leagues of blue forget-me-nots
Cannot cast out
My dream of Jenny's girlish ways,
Her lovely pout;
And all those perished days
When on my knees
She sat contented till the sun was set—
God has not fashioned me to think them nought,
Or taught me to forget!
The Artist of the dawn
Makes all the sky a masterpiece;
77
And from the shepherd's sheep.
Each day's a miracle to cheat the mind,
Night brings the wonder, sleep;
But all along the lane there flies
My loss of her whose helping eyes
Made olden moments kind;
And in the pulsing heart of night,
When darkness seems to throb to light,
Remembrance of my whitethroat yet
Comes with a great regret.
No blackbird's magic in the bush,
Succeeded by the aching hush,
Can win me from my thought of her;
And all that Father Avon says
To leagues of blue forget-me-nots
78
My dream of Jenny's girlish ways,
Her lovely pout;
And all those perished days
When on my knees
She sat contented till the sun was set—
God has not fashioned me to think them nought,
Or taught me to forget!
85
A CONTRAST
The apple in my garden
Is a round of bloom and scent,
With the grass beneath it pointing
To the blue above it bent:
Here's dew of dawn, and music
That can shame a city's rush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
Is a round of bloom and scent,
With the grass beneath it pointing
To the blue above it bent:
Here's dew of dawn, and music
That can shame a city's rush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
At middle day the blossom
Takes the utmost of the sun;
The tits as sweet explorers
All along the branches run:
'Tis wild-birds' country piping
That can make the forehead flush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
Takes the utmost of the sun;
The tits as sweet explorers
All along the branches run:
'Tis wild-birds' country piping
That can make the forehead flush;
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
86
As Mary milks the cattle,
And I stoop to kiss her cheek,
The lilac shakes with lyrics
From the song-bird's easy beak:
'Twas God who made him poet—
How his masterpieces gush!
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
And I stoop to kiss her cheek,
The lilac shakes with lyrics
From the song-bird's easy beak:
'Twas God who made him poet—
How his masterpieces gush!
For Town the hurdy-gurdy,
But for Warwickshire the thrush!
87
A SONG
[All night I have lain in the Gipsies' camp]
All night I have lain in the Gipsies' camp,
Heel to heel with a gipsy lass,
With a planet hung in the sky for lamp,
And for bed the honest grass:
At morn I have wended upon my way,
Taking only as baggage this—
The love that lies in a gipsy's eyes
And a gipsy maiden's kiss.
Heel to heel with a gipsy lass,
With a planet hung in the sky for lamp,
And for bed the honest grass:
At morn I have wended upon my way,
Taking only as baggage this—
The love that lies in a gipsy's eyes
And a gipsy maiden's kiss.
All day I have pined for the greensward girl,
Brown and sweet in the forest hush,
Where a man may play with a southland curl,
And a southland virgin's blush:
I'd give my wealth if there warmed me again,
Filling eve with a daring bliss,
The heart that pressed at a gipsy's vest,
And a wildwood gipsy's kiss.
Brown and sweet in the forest hush,
Where a man may play with a southland curl,
And a southland virgin's blush:
I'd give my wealth if there warmed me again,
Filling eve with a daring bliss,
The heart that pressed at a gipsy's vest,
And a wildwood gipsy's kiss.
88
CICELY BATHING
The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely's bathing at the pool
With other virgins three.
And the dove told me
That Cicely's bathing at the pool
With other virgins three.
The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely floating on the wave
Woke music in the tree.
And the dove told me
That Cicely floating on the wave
Woke music in the tree.
The brook told the dove
And the dove told me
That Cicely's drying in the sun,
A snowy sight to see.
And the dove told me
That Cicely's drying in the sun,
A snowy sight to see.
89
HESTER SINCLAIR
Hester Sinclair passed me by,
Busy at her glove—
Hester Sinclair whom I call
Lavender and love!
Busy at her glove—
Hester Sinclair whom I call
Lavender and love!
Little waves of muslin film
Lapping at her feet,
Hester trips, all snow in snow,
Country fair and sweet.
Lapping at her feet,
Hester trips, all snow in snow,
Country fair and sweet.
Hester Sinclair homes to me—
Mine this woodland dove!
Hester trembles in my arms
Lavender and love!
Mine this woodland dove!
Hester trembles in my arms
Lavender and love!
90
BETTER SO
Friend, you did well to die!
How agonising was that hour
When the last inch of candle grew
A heated pool; when at the pane
The morning wind, a bully, blew,
While you, no whit discomfited
By all these great Spring gusts at play,
In all the sorcery of senselessness
Did hardly stay
To breathe away
The fragments of your span,
Last lingerings of the man
So soon to fashion us supreme distress.
In the acacia on the lawn
The storm-cock whistled vengeance and disdain;
The milder thrush, in harmony with fate,
Piped cheerly through the active flight of rain
Ineffably sedate.
Below him in the lilac-tree
The blackbird in his cottage green
Did sing between
The plainings and content.
O God, I thought, bring back again
His pleasure in the firmament;
Instruct his ears to catch
Some redstart's whisper, some reviving snatch
Of chaffinch music, ere, the morning spent,
These servants of the dawn,
These breathing songs,
Desert the lawn!
His ears, O Lord, were reverent,
And Thou dost know
He loved Thy miracles
With all his force,
Praising Thee daily more because Thy love
Mellowed the woodland with the soothing dove,
Set linnets in the gorse,
Made sweet the darkness with the nightingale
That we might find his comfort in the vale
Though seeing not its source.
Give him to hear again our words,
To hear the birds;
To drink the landscape's distances
With those deep eyes
In ecstasies
At finding spread around him everywhere
The everlasting sameness and surprise.
How agonising was that hour
When the last inch of candle grew
A heated pool; when at the pane
The morning wind, a bully, blew,
While you, no whit discomfited
By all these great Spring gusts at play,
In all the sorcery of senselessness
Did hardly stay
To breathe away
The fragments of your span,
Last lingerings of the man
91
In the acacia on the lawn
The storm-cock whistled vengeance and disdain;
The milder thrush, in harmony with fate,
Piped cheerly through the active flight of rain
Ineffably sedate.
Below him in the lilac-tree
The blackbird in his cottage green
Did sing between
The plainings and content.
O God, I thought, bring back again
His pleasure in the firmament;
Instruct his ears to catch
Some redstart's whisper, some reviving snatch
Of chaffinch music, ere, the morning spent,
These servants of the dawn,
92
Desert the lawn!
His ears, O Lord, were reverent,
And Thou dost know
He loved Thy miracles
With all his force,
Praising Thee daily more because Thy love
Mellowed the woodland with the soothing dove,
Set linnets in the gorse,
Made sweet the darkness with the nightingale
That we might find his comfort in the vale
Though seeing not its source.
Give him to hear again our words,
To hear the birds;
To drink the landscape's distances
With those deep eyes
93
At finding spread around him everywhere
The everlasting sameness and surprise.
Friend, you did well to die!
The incarnation of ideals
Is slow;
The health of nations mendeth not;
They go
From base to base
Immeasurably fraudulent
In gross and cunning government.
But you did burn to see
A Brotherhood arise
That in nobility should not misfit
The Maker of our skies;
But day by day more separate we stand,
Pursuing pelf,
Adoring self,
One blood, one fate, but not one Band.
Due to the spade and promised to the earth
We buy our guinea's worth of evening mirth,
Go home and ponder how the money spent
Shall be extorted from the negligent,
Improvident
Poor brother, who, with equal worth,
By all the devilry of biting need
Comes as a test of our prevailing creed
To beg, for Christ's sake, aid!
We, dressing for the tomb and promised to the spade,
Make profit of his hurt
In golden dirt!
The incarnation of ideals
Is slow;
The health of nations mendeth not;
They go
From base to base
Immeasurably fraudulent
In gross and cunning government.
But you did burn to see
A Brotherhood arise
That in nobility should not misfit
94
But day by day more separate we stand,
Pursuing pelf,
Adoring self,
One blood, one fate, but not one Band.
Due to the spade and promised to the earth
We buy our guinea's worth of evening mirth,
Go home and ponder how the money spent
Shall be extorted from the negligent,
Improvident
Poor brother, who, with equal worth,
By all the devilry of biting need
Comes as a test of our prevailing creed
To beg, for Christ's sake, aid!
We, dressing for the tomb and promised to the spade,
Make profit of his hurt
95
How this would wrench your heart if you were nigh,
You who with me
Could bear to see
Espousals of the brick and of the glade—
The serpent street crawl greedy to the wood,
The mason drive the pigeon from her bough,
The hind, dismayed,
From following his plough,
If all this robbery from Nature meant
A crop of fresh content;
If all these rendings of her verdant robe,
Invasions of her temples gave
Serener glory to the globe,
A thrilling to the slave!
You who with me
Could bear to see
Espousals of the brick and of the glade—
The serpent street crawl greedy to the wood,
The mason drive the pigeon from her bough,
The hind, dismayed,
From following his plough,
If all this robbery from Nature meant
A crop of fresh content;
If all these rendings of her verdant robe,
Invasions of her temples gave
Serener glory to the globe,
96
Brother, they drive the field-mouse hence,
They steal the finches' home;
From mead to mead, from fence to fence,
With all the power of impotence
The merchant-princes come,
Sending the workmen first to clear the way,
To build and slay.
In half a hundred dingles where of yore
We lay on moss, and spake of Evermore
While blackbirds shrilled the present in our ears,
Are cots and babes and tears!
With moss and melody and woodlands dense
Fled Innocence,
As She will fly from centres of repose,
Northward and southward, east and west,
Within her bosom thrusting as She goes
Her honeysuckle and her pink wild-rose.
They steal the finches' home;
From mead to mead, from fence to fence,
With all the power of impotence
The merchant-princes come,
Sending the workmen first to clear the way,
To build and slay.
In half a hundred dingles where of yore
We lay on moss, and spake of Evermore
While blackbirds shrilled the present in our ears,
Are cots and babes and tears!
With moss and melody and woodlands dense
Fled Innocence,
97
Northward and southward, east and west,
Within her bosom thrusting as She goes
Her honeysuckle and her pink wild-rose.
How this would wrench your heart if you were nigh!
Friend, it was well—that bitter vanishing—
Friend, you did well to die!
Friend, it was well—that bitter vanishing—
Friend, you did well to die!
98
DORA'S RIBBON
Plague upon the ribbon
And the bow beneath my chin!
Bells no longer call me,
And the service should begin.
Kate will walk with Colin,
Mary go with John—
Drat the band of cherry silk
That won't go on!
And the bow beneath my chin!
Bells no longer call me,
And the service should begin.
Kate will walk with Colin,
Mary go with John—
Drat the band of cherry silk
That won't go on!
Plague upon the ribbon!
I must fix it with a pin!
Yet the bow looks pretty
As it cuddles at my chin!
Richard's in the garden
Looking at my pane—
Sunday next the cherry band
May sulk again!
I must fix it with a pin!
Yet the bow looks pretty
As it cuddles at my chin!
Richard's in the garden
Looking at my pane—
Sunday next the cherry band
May sulk again!
99
COMFORT
How poorly reaches to my heart,
When all my joy is in eclipse,
The stilted comfort and the noise
Of kind, but useless, lips.
When all my joy is in eclipse,
The stilted comfort and the noise
Of kind, but useless, lips.
But down the road an arrow's flight
Where evening brings the sleepy birds,
The thinnest twitter in the green
Is more than clumsy words.
Where evening brings the sleepy birds,
The thinnest twitter in the green
Is more than clumsy words.
And in that forest synagogue,
Whose aisles are paved with bloom and sod,
A broken heart may haply find
The tenderness of God.
Whose aisles are paved with bloom and sod,
A broken heart may haply find
The tenderness of God.
100
TO A GLOW-WORM
In thee there lives the energy
Can make the turf a heaven,
May birds that peck thy candle die
By Parson Rook unshriven!
Can make the turf a heaven,
May birds that peck thy candle die
By Parson Rook unshriven!
Thou art a child the Father's hand
Within this fruity acre
Dropt in the grass, as shy and still
As any virgin Quaker!
Within this fruity acre
Dropt in the grass, as shy and still
As any virgin Quaker!
Thou tiny, unofficial lamp
Within my orchard burning,
Dost signal by this living star
Thy husband home returning?
Within my orchard burning,
Dost signal by this living star
Thy husband home returning?
Here at this cherry's grassy base
Thou'rt sure of no upbraiding;
Too small thy lantern to arouse
The thrush for midnight raiding.
Thou'rt sure of no upbraiding;
Too small thy lantern to arouse
The thrush for midnight raiding.
101
As tender girls at water-play
Grow blanched when shepherds whistle,
So fades thy spark if carelessly
I brush this neighbour thistle.
Grow blanched when shepherds whistle,
So fades thy spark if carelessly
I brush this neighbour thistle.
Ah, how my freckled lads would run,
A knee apiece would capture,
And prattle questions if they watched
Thy lovely light in rapture!
A knee apiece would capture,
And prattle questions if they watched
Thy lovely light in rapture!
102
A SONG
[It was the time when heaven comes down]
It was the time when heaven comes down
And paves the wood with blue;
A firmament of hyacinths
Drank deep of forest dew:
The cooing of a lonely dove
Went mourning on the breeze,
And over all there swayed the songs
And sighings of the breeze.
And paves the wood with blue;
A firmament of hyacinths
Drank deep of forest dew:
The cooing of a lonely dove
Went mourning on the breeze,
And over all there swayed the songs
And sighings of the breeze.
The velvet palms of moss caressed
And comforted my face;
An angel joy from Paradise
Seemed truant in the place:
The forest was a voice, and sang,
O Love long dead, of you
What time the gracious heaven came down
And paved the wood with blue.
And comforted my face;
An angel joy from Paradise
Seemed truant in the place:
The forest was a voice, and sang,
O Love long dead, of you
What time the gracious heaven came down
And paved the wood with blue.
103
AT EVENING
Below her in the valley farm
She heard the rustic mirth;
The pastures lessened to a line
Was heaven as much as earth.
She heard the rustic mirth;
The pastures lessened to a line
Was heaven as much as earth.
The fiddle poured a dancing tune,
That called her feet. And oh!
Her heart was hungry for the lad
She danced with long ago!
That called her feet. And oh!
Her heart was hungry for the lad
She danced with long ago!
104
OLD LETTERS
Last night some yellow letters fell
From out a scrip I found by chance;
Among them was the silent ghost,
The spirit of my first romance:
And in a faint blue envelope
A withered rose long lost to dew
Bore witness to the dashing days
When love was large and wits were few.
From out a scrip I found by chance;
Among them was the silent ghost,
The spirit of my first romance:
And in a faint blue envelope
A withered rose long lost to dew
Bore witness to the dashing days
When love was large and wits were few.
Yet standing there all worn and grey
The teardrops quivered in my eyes
To think of Youth's unshaken front,
The forehead lifted to the skies;
How rough a hill my eager feet
Flung backward when upon its crest
I saw the flutter of the lace
The wind awoke on Helen's breast!
The teardrops quivered in my eyes
To think of Youth's unshaken front,
The forehead lifted to the skies;
How rough a hill my eager feet
Flung backward when upon its crest
I saw the flutter of the lace
The wind awoke on Helen's breast!
105
How thornless were the roses then
When fresh young eyes and lips were kind
When Cupid in our porches proved
How true the tale that Love is blind!
But Red-and-White and Poverty
Would only mate while shone the May;
Then came a Bag of Golden Crowns
And jingled Red-and-White away.
When fresh young eyes and lips were kind
When Cupid in our porches proved
How true the tale that Love is blind!
But Red-and-White and Poverty
Would only mate while shone the May;
Then came a Bag of Golden Crowns
And jingled Red-and-White away.
Grown old and niggard of romance
I wince not much at aught askew,
And often ask my favourite cat
What else had Red-and-White to do?
And here's the bud that rose and sank,
A crimson island on her breast—
Why should I burn it? Once again
Hide, rose, and dream. God send me rest.
I wince not much at aught askew,
And often ask my favourite cat
What else had Red-and-White to do?
And here's the bud that rose and sank,
A crimson island on her breast—
Why should I burn it? Once again
Hide, rose, and dream. God send me rest.
106
MORNING
The throstle and the dawn
Together come
That light and music may
Invade my home;
Together come
That light and music may
Invade my home;
And wakefulness begins
In Laura's hands;
Upon her pillow stir
Those glowing strands
In Laura's hands;
Upon her pillow stir
Those glowing strands
That lure me till I kiss
Her dreamy eyes
To win her back from sleep
To Paradise.
Her dreamy eyes
To win her back from sleep
To Paradise.
107
A LULLABY
Sleep, dearest, sleep.
The birds are still,
The trees are hushed
Upon the hill.
Oh, in green dreamland valleys deep
Rest, dearest, rest—sleep, dearest, sleep.
The birds are still,
The trees are hushed
Upon the hill.
Oh, in green dreamland valleys deep
Rest, dearest, rest—sleep, dearest, sleep.
Rest, Alice, rest,
And wait for me.
If Gods be kind
I come to thee!
Oh, in thine eyes the dawn is deep,
Rest, Alice, rest—sleep, Alice, sleep.
And wait for me.
If Gods be kind
I come to thee!
Oh, in thine eyes the dawn is deep,
Rest, Alice, rest—sleep, Alice, sleep.
108
TO MY LOVE
(With a rose)
That freedom thou dost now controlOnce basely commerced with my soul;
All inward enterprise, unchid,
In fancy grew as Fancy bid;
But now, possessed by thee, it grows
So clean a captive as this rose.
109
A DEFENCE
(Written on being charged with undue frankness)
Dear country Muse, my heart's delight,
Whose purity displays
The rounded nude of loveliness
For shepherd-pipes to praise—
Whose purity displays
The rounded nude of loveliness
For shepherd-pipes to praise—
Dear Muse, that dancing on the green
Inspired my country tone,
Have I who saw your chastity
In seeing lost my own?
Inspired my country tone,
Have I who saw your chastity
In seeing lost my own?
Have I, for all your liberal love
And wildflower music, taught
A multitude your bosom's white
Uncovered, but unsought—
And wildflower music, taught
A multitude your bosom's white
Uncovered, but unsought—
And not this lesson from your snow,
This knowledge from your knee—
That more of virtue, less of robe,
Belongs to purity?
This knowledge from your knee—
That more of virtue, less of robe,
Belongs to purity?
110
With glimpses of a sunny neck,
And ripe untrespassed lips
That boasted even brighter red
Than any autumn hips,
And ripe untrespassed lips
That boasted even brighter red
Than any autumn hips,
Barefooted, in a rebel robe
That kissed your careless knee
And showed the splendour of your shape
With woodland modesty,
That kissed your careless knee
And showed the splendour of your shape
With woodland modesty,
You danced adown a forest-aisle
And taught me from the store
Of simple airs your lyric lips
Shall sing for evermore.
And taught me from the store
Of simple airs your lyric lips
Shall sing for evermore.
In what array your beauty came—
I sang it as I might;
So sings the pupil blackbird, so
The poet of the night;
I sang it as I might;
So sings the pupil blackbird, so
The poet of the night;
111
The thrush, a student of your dance,
Divinely serenades
Your revelation of the limbs
That twinkle in the glades.
Divinely serenades
Your revelation of the limbs
That twinkle in the glades.
Should I within your leafy school
The only scholar sit
To pipe discordantly, and be
Less trusted than the tit?
The only scholar sit
To pipe discordantly, and be
Less trusted than the tit?
Not so, sweet country Muse! The wood
Demands the scanty gown;
Why should their London velvets clog
Your dances on the down?
Demands the scanty gown;
Why should their London velvets clog
Your dances on the down?
I have not shamed you, O my love,
So friendly and so wild!
You shall not blush to teach again
Your lover and your child!
So friendly and so wild!
You shall not blush to teach again
Your lover and your child!
112
Who call me base must think me base;
But soon afresh for me
Your speeding footsteps in the grass
Shall prove my purity!
But soon afresh for me
Your speeding footsteps in the grass
Shall prove my purity!
| Orchard Songs | |