Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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YVONNE. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
YVONNE.
Most beautiful, most rare,
Crowned beyond reach of care
With brighter charm of eye and arm,
Than woman ever bare.
No bud, but a white blossom
Of brow and ripened bosom,
Thou showest yet new graces
And pride is in thy paces.
O still go gladly on,
In all the magic of thy might
Woven of day and deepest night,
Yvonne.
Crowned beyond reach of care
With brighter charm of eye and arm,
Than woman ever bare.
No bud, but a white blossom
Of brow and ripened bosom,
Thou showest yet new graces
And pride is in thy paces.
O still go gladly on,
In all the magic of thy might
Woven of day and deepest night,
Yvonne.
420
Most delicate, most dear,
Thy face is calmly clear,
Yet the gray sky of mystery
Is shadowed forth in fear.
For in those conquering glances
Where joy superbly dances,
Lurks low another vision
As if divine derision.
For light, that never shone
Before on any human head,
Is from thy splendid pathway spread
Yvonne.
Thy face is calmly clear,
Yet the gray sky of mystery
Is shadowed forth in fear.
For in those conquering glances
Where joy superbly dances,
Lurks low another vision
As if divine derision.
For light, that never shone
Before on any human head,
Is from thy splendid pathway spread
Yvonne.
Most exquisite, most fair,
Wrought of delight and air
And every sweet, in form and feet,
And the wide world's despair.
As from the sun the noonshine,
And out of dark the moonshine,
Thou of thy glory givest
And in each rapture livest.
When lesser gifts are gone,
Thine hardly have begun to be
And gather more than art can see,
Yvonne.
Wrought of delight and air
And every sweet, in form and feet,
And the wide world's despair.
As from the sun the noonshine,
And out of dark the moonshine,
Thou of thy glory givest
And in each rapture livest.
When lesser gifts are gone,
Thine hardly have begun to be
And gather more than art can see,
Yvonne.
Most wonderful, most white,
No thorns of petty spite
Do mar thy years above our tears,
In freshness infinite.
Though from the dazzling dimness
Surge up, at times, in grimness
Gaunt shapes and grisly shadows,
Like clouds on summer meadows.
But still walk greatly on,
And leave the earth a lovelier sheen
Where thou hast but a moment been,
Yvonne.
No thorns of petty spite
Do mar thy years above our tears,
In freshness infinite.
Though from the dazzling dimness
Surge up, at times, in grimness
Gaunt shapes and grisly shadows,
Like clouds on summer meadows.
But still walk greatly on,
And leave the earth a lovelier sheen
Where thou hast but a moment been,
Yvonne.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |