Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
 |
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| IV. |
| V. |
|
THE SORROW OF THINGS. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
THE SORROW OF THINGS.
There was a sorrow at the heart of things,
I thought and dreamed of gladness
Among the shocks and overshadowings,
And murmurs as of madness;
Where 'er I went, in daily discontent
I found the foot of sadness.
It wailed in winds, and sobbed in piteous pleas
From the great surge of far tormented seas,
Which broke on shores untravelled;
It trembled up, where fairies liked to sup
That sipped the sweetness of the buttercup,
A mystery not unravelled.
I thought and dreamed of gladness
Among the shocks and overshadowings,
And murmurs as of madness;
Where 'er I went, in daily discontent
I found the foot of sadness.
It wailed in winds, and sobbed in piteous pleas
From the great surge of far tormented seas,
Which broke on shores untravelled;
It trembled up, where fairies liked to sup
That sipped the sweetness of the buttercup,
A mystery not unravelled.
It made the monarch's crown a ring of fire
And clouded all the glitter,
While in the maiden's delicate attire
Its thread was black and bitter;
And the sweet bird, by God's own music stirred,
Learnt thus its mournful twitter.
And on the dazzling blue of doming skies
It lay like unshed tears on troubled eyes,
And whispered they were mortal;
It seemed to slip from even the rosie st lip,
And stronger than the web of statesmanship,
Creaked in the palace portal.
And clouded all the glitter,
While in the maiden's delicate attire
Its thread was black and bitter;
And the sweet bird, by God's own music stirred,
271
And on the dazzling blue of doming skies
It lay like unshed tears on troubled eyes,
And whispered they were mortal;
It seemed to slip from even the rosie st lip,
And stronger than the web of statesmanship,
Creaked in the palace portal.
But then betwixt the moonrise and the morn
When the tired earth was resting,
I saw a cherub playing with a thorn
That pierced a king's investing;
And oft he plied the cruel point, and tried
It for his own true testing.
And then into the twilight of my brain
Dawned slowly the pure blessedness of pain,
And passion's blood-red stigma;
The causeless care which killed and did not spare,
Now to the laughter of a child laid bare
The soul of its enigma.
When the tired earth was resting,
I saw a cherub playing with a thorn
That pierced a king's investing;
And oft he plied the cruel point, and tried
It for his own true testing.
And then into the twilight of my brain
Dawned slowly the pure blessedness of pain,
And passion's blood-red stigma;
The causeless care which killed and did not spare,
Now to the laughter of a child laid bare
The soul of its enigma.
And the old sorrow at the heart of things,
Became the secret flutter
Of beautiful but prisoned angel wings,
And words they could not utter;
Which but for grief would never find relief,
Behind the fleshly shutter.
While all the misery was to kindness kin,
Or just the sunlight fretting to come in
And flood the life with glory;
For only thus might insight come to us,
By awful searchings yet most amorous
To tell God's dear love story.
Became the secret flutter
Of beautiful but prisoned angel wings,
And words they could not utter;
Which but for grief would never find relief,
Behind the fleshly shutter.
While all the misery was to kindness kin,
Or just the sunlight fretting to come in
And flood the life with glory;
For only thus might insight come to us,
By awful searchings yet most amorous
To tell God's dear love story.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |