 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
46
AN OLD ORCHARD.
Seven trees within the orchard grew
By storm of shower or stealth of dew;
Spring broke their blossom into light,
And when soft Summer had warm'd them through,
Sere leaves hung there and fruit-balls bright,
Red-gold against the burning blue.
By storm of shower or stealth of dew;
Spring broke their blossom into light,
And when soft Summer had warm'd them through,
Sere leaves hung there and fruit-balls bright,
Red-gold against the burning blue.
The wings of many birds all day
Beat there, and butterflies at play
Flew circling in the boughs above:
While on the under-grass there lay
Soft shapes the winds and sunbeams wove,
Like dim drown'd flowers that swing and sway.
Beat there, and butterflies at play
Flew circling in the boughs above:
While on the under-grass there lay
Soft shapes the winds and sunbeams wove,
Like dim drown'd flowers that swing and sway.
47
When, like a sword, the sharp noon-light
Smote blindly down with fire and blight,
Their presence stole the heat like dew,
As when Day's ebbing flood leaves bright
Her pebbled floor, whose gold shines through
The deep'ning of the tides of night.
Smote blindly down with fire and blight,
Their presence stole the heat like dew,
As when Day's ebbing flood leaves bright
Her pebbled floor, whose gold shines through
The deep'ning of the tides of night.
Loud as a lyre of seven sweet strings,
The swift wind's subtle fingerings
Swept through them: they loved more to gaze
Silent, through lifted hands, where springs
The full moon seen as God's own face
By shuddering angels through shut wings.
The swift wind's subtle fingerings
Swept through them: they loved more to gaze
Silent, through lifted hands, where springs
The full moon seen as God's own face
By shuddering angels through shut wings.
For then the weak moon-wine, that spills
From her pearl-cup, flows down and fills
Blanching all night their furrow'd seams,
And sleeps along their side, and stills
The hid green heart with silver dreams
Of Fauns and Fairy-haunted hills.
From her pearl-cup, flows down and fills
Blanching all night their furrow'd seams,
And sleeps along their side, and stills
The hid green heart with silver dreams
Of Fauns and Fairy-haunted hills.
48
Till from the mute sky's redd'ning lip
The sun bursts, like a burning ship
Far out at sea: then would they wake
Wind-stirr'd, or startled by the grip
Of some bird's feet whose silvery shake
Sets all their dazzling dews adrip.—
The sun bursts, like a burning ship
Far out at sea: then would they wake
Wind-stirr'd, or startled by the grip
Of some bird's feet whose silvery shake
Sets all their dazzling dews adrip.—
Round them, half-ruin'd, half still upright,
An old wall ran; the starr'd eye-bright
Grew there, and poppies like blood shed,
Nightshade, and whortles eyed like night,
And wild-grape vines that clung and fled—
Each globe's gloom'd velvet touch'd with light.
An old wall ran; the starr'd eye-bright
Grew there, and poppies like blood shed,
Nightshade, and whortles eyed like night,
And wild-grape vines that clung and fled—
Each globe's gloom'd velvet touch'd with light.
Wherein if any creature stood
Of brutish heart or violent mood,
The colours and calm air could tame
His nature, and attune his blood
From baneful thoughts and things of blame
To what was beautiful and good.
Of brutish heart or violent mood,
The colours and calm air could tame
His nature, and attune his blood
From baneful thoughts and things of blame
To what was beautiful and good.
49
Yea, had one sinn'd the grievous sin
To have scorn'd love, not liv'd herein,
Nor worshipp'd any loveliness,
That hour his whole heart would begin
To beat with faint new eagerness
Toward that which in the end shall win.
To have scorn'd love, not liv'd herein,
Nor worshipp'd any loveliness,
That hour his whole heart would begin
To beat with faint new eagerness
Toward that which in the end shall win.
For all those fruits and flowers, the trees,
The weak green grasses at their knees,
Had secret powers to steal away
Men's hearts to their own harmonies—
So fared this Orchard, night and day,
Which God make blossom and increase.
The weak green grasses at their knees,
Had secret powers to steal away
Men's hearts to their own harmonies—
So fared this Orchard, night and day,
Which God make blossom and increase.
| Poems by James Rhoades | |