English Roses by F. Harald Williams [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
MAN THAT IS BORN OF WOMAN. |
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| VI. |
 | English Roses |  |
MAN THAT IS BORN OF WOMAN.
Man that is born of woman, mingled of love and light,
Sorrow and all things human, goeth from night to night;
Out of the darkness taken, out of the silence brought,
Just for a moment shaken dimly by dream and thought;
Laid in the lap of beauty holy and strong and mild,
Cradled in arms of Duty, nursed like a baby child;
Dazzled by many a vision haunting his troubled sleep,
Hopes that in dear derision back in the formless deep
Ebb with their unsaid knowledge; cheated by cries that thrill
Cloister and reverend college—man is in darkness still;
Man that is born of woman, rising up early and late
Resting, is doomed, and no man born may resist his fate.
Sorrow and all things human, goeth from night to night;
Out of the darkness taken, out of the silence brought,
Just for a moment shaken dimly by dream and thought;
Laid in the lap of beauty holy and strong and mild,
Cradled in arms of Duty, nursed like a baby child;
Dazzled by many a vision haunting his troubled sleep,
Hopes that in dear derision back in the formless deep
Ebb with their unsaid knowledge; cheated by cries that thrill
Cloister and reverend college—man is in darkness still;
Man that is born of woman, rising up early and late
Resting, is doomed, and no man born may resist his fate.
Man, by the Unseen Potter moulded of mist and clay
Yet though the fire grow hotter, maketh the night his day;
Out of the gulf of shadows shining a little space,
Set like a flower in meadows flushed with a dying grace;
Coming from awful stillness forth from Creation's womb,
Merely with pain and illness buildeth himself a tomb;
Learning in vain for ever how he may truly talk,
Where with his lame endeavour feet can in blindness walk
Surely, nor stray or stumble; finding his meat of tears,
Slow and by stages humble telleth his tale of years;
Man by the Unseen Potter fashioned of fears though brave,
Vanquished and still a plotter diggeth him but a grave.
Yet though the fire grow hotter, maketh the night his day;
Out of the gulf of shadows shining a little space,
Set like a flower in meadows flushed with a dying grace;
Coming from awful stillness forth from Creation's womb,
Merely with pain and illness buildeth himself a tomb;
Learning in vain for ever how he may truly talk,
Where with his lame endeavour feet can in blindness walk
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Slow and by stages humble telleth his tale of years;
Man by the Unseen Potter fashioned of fears though brave,
Vanquished and still a plotter diggeth him but a grave.
Man, that is shaped of madness, doubting, decay and mirth,
Sinketh at last with sadness leavened of earth in earth;
Over his head the mountains climb and he climbeth too,
Under his step the fountains flow as his weepings do;
Stars on his pathway twinkle faintly and up he turns,
Passions beneath him sprlnkle blood from their crimson urns;
Phantoms before him glimmer waving the wrecker's torch,
Only to leave him dimmer lost in the outside porch,
Loves with their bondage pleasant hold him deceived awhile,
Lured by the mocking present into a ghastly smile;
Man that is shaped of madness, laying aside his husk
Painted with grief and gladness, passeth from dusk to dusk.
Sinketh at last with sadness leavened of earth in earth;
Over his head the mountains climb and he climbeth too,
Under his step the fountains flow as his weepings do;
Stars on his pathway twinkle faintly and up he turns,
Passions beneath him sprlnkle blood from their crimson urns;
Phantoms before him glimmer waving the wrecker's torch,
Only to leave him dimmer lost in the outside porch,
Loves with their bondage pleasant hold him deceived awhile,
Lured by the mocking present into a ghastly smile;
Man that is shaped of madness, laying aside his husk
Painted with grief and gladness, passeth from dusk to dusk.
Man yet is more than mortal, meant for no dwelling here,
Tending toward some portal up in some purple sphere;
Where in the shade of glory curtained from feeble sight,
After a sunset gory trembleth a dawn's delight;
Out of the smoke and ashes leapeth the heart of flame
Bright with aurora flashes, kissing the brow of shame;
Past all the channels bitter scoring mistaken deed,
Nature is ploughed and fitter soil for the golden seed;
Not like the purblind seeing now on the narrow clod,
Bliss of a greater being broadening up to God;
Man yet is more than mortal, somehow his soul will rend
Bars of his bounds consortal, sometime the night must end.
Tending toward some portal up in some purple sphere;
Where in the shade of glory curtained from feeble sight,
After a sunset gory trembleth a dawn's delight;
Out of the smoke and ashes leapeth the heart of flame
Bright with aurora flashes, kissing the brow of shame;
Past all the channels bitter scoring mistaken deed,
Nature is ploughed and fitter soil for the golden seed;
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Bliss of a greater being broadening up to God;
Man yet is more than mortal, somehow his soul will rend
Bars of his bounds consortal, sometime the night must end.
| English Roses | |