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109
TO HIS BELOVED FRIEND S. D. H.
sendeth his poor friend S. I. these, after some temporary satiety of Elizabethan Sonnets and Lyrics.
Lovely they fall those rich enrapturing rhymes,
And fancies delicate,
Of great Elizabeth's proud time and state!
From imagery of what strange thought and climes
That “nest of singing birds”
Its inspiration copiously drew!
What witchery of mellifluous words
Unrivalled, inexhaustible their mastery knew!
Ah! with what envious heart we of this boastful age
Yearn longingly back to dream o'er that past heritage!
And fancies delicate,
Of great Elizabeth's proud time and state!
From imagery of what strange thought and climes
That “nest of singing birds”
Its inspiration copiously drew!
What witchery of mellifluous words
Unrivalled, inexhaustible their mastery knew!
Ah! with what envious heart we of this boastful age
Yearn longingly back to dream o'er that past heritage!
If one unmated overtops them all—
One genius manifold
Life's deepest tragedies in art supreme to mould,
Or striking its lightest note our sense enthrall—
Yet that proud voice rings out
From no land barren of companionship:
But as in Springtide 'tis, when joyous rout
Of feathered choristers innumerable doth grip
Our ravished ear, though over all there crownèd reigns
God's miracle of sound in matchless Philomela's strains.
One genius manifold
Life's deepest tragedies in art supreme to mould,
Or striking its lightest note our sense enthrall—
Yet that proud voice rings out
From no land barren of companionship:
But as in Springtide 'tis, when joyous rout
Of feathered choristers innumerable doth grip
Our ravished ear, though over all there crownèd reigns
God's miracle of sound in matchless Philomela's strains.
So exquisitely wrought these measures are
They beggar questioning:
Yet will our latter day sure sometimes bring
In cruel train of wan-browed doubt and care
A longing infinite
For themes more human, less fantastical;
Wearied a little of this pageant bright
Upon our sated sense it 'gins to pall:
Glorious the sun, glorious the unflecked cerulean sky—
Yet cloudland and storm break in how welcome by-and-bye!
They beggar questioning:
Yet will our latter day sure sometimes bring
In cruel train of wan-browed doubt and care
A longing infinite
For themes more human, less fantastical;
110
Upon our sated sense it 'gins to pall:
Glorious the sun, glorious the unflecked cerulean sky—
Yet cloudland and storm break in how welcome by-and-bye!
1921.
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