Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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MY CASTLE IN THE AIR. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
MY CASTLE IN THE AIR.
When the duty now seems double
And my buoyant hope takes flight,
While the shadow as of night
Makes the pastime toil and trouble;
When no service brings me joy
And the rapid
Stream runs vapid,
And a plaything is no toy;
Then with all my griefs and crosses
Once so welcome and so fair,
Off I fly with loves and losses
To my Castle in the Air.
And my buoyant hope takes flight,
While the shadow as of night
Makes the pastime toil and trouble;
When no service brings me joy
And the rapid
Stream runs vapid,
And a plaything is no toy;
Then with all my griefs and crosses
Once so welcome and so fair,
Off I fly with loves and losses
To my Castle in the Air.
If the task that was a pleasure
Palls upon my weary brain,
And the old delicious pain
Of pursuing yields no treasure;
If the sacramental cup
Of afflictions'
Benedictions
As pure bitterness foams up;
Then from every bane and burden
That with bliss no longer pair,
Off I fly for other guerdon
To my Castle in the Air.
Palls upon my weary brain,
And the old delicious pain
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If the sacramental cup
Of afflictions'
Benedictions
As pure bitterness foams up;
Then from every bane and burden
That with bliss no longer pair,
Off I fly for other guerdon
To my Castle in the Air.
Should my children be too fretful
And the dreary hours drag by,
Each like an eternity,
And good fortune pass forgetful;
Should the sun be clouded quite
And the noonrise,
Pale as moonrise,
Or the lily not look white;
Then from earth and all its minions,
Busy street and climbing stair,
Off I fly on eagle pinions
To my Castle in the Air.
And the dreary hours drag by,
Each like an eternity,
And good fortune pass forgetful;
Should the sun be clouded quite
And the noonrise,
Pale as moonrise,
Or the lily not look white;
Then from earth and all its minions,
Busy street and climbing stair,
Off I fly on eagle pinions
To my Castle in the Air.
Do the cares that come to gladness
As with roses wed the thorn
And the mist enwraps the morn,
Bow my mirth to thoughts of madness?
Do the prizes pierce my hand,
While ambition
Proves perdition,
And the crowning is a brand?
Then from all the frantic hurry
Of our modern Mammon's lair,
Off I fly beyond the worry
To my Castle in the Air.
As with roses wed the thorn
And the mist enwraps the morn,
Bow my mirth to thoughts of madness?
Do the prizes pierce my hand,
While ambition
Proves perdition,
And the crowning is a brand?
Then from all the frantic hurry
Of our modern Mammon's lair,
Off I fly beyond the worry
To my Castle in the Air.
When the balm of high anointing
Ceases to assuage my breast,
And the fever of unrest
Burns with dreadful disappointing;
When the colour leaves the flower,
And the starlit
Eyes and scarlet
Lips desert my lady's bower;
Off I fly from fading visions
And the empty heart or chair,
With their mockings and derisions,
To my Castle in the Air.
Ceases to assuage my breast,
And the fever of unrest
Burns with dreadful disappointing;
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And the starlit
Eyes and scarlet
Lips desert my lady's bower;
Off I fly from fading visions
And the empty heart or chair,
With their mockings and derisions,
To my Castle in the Air.
If the faces long so kindly,
Which I could not but adore,
Smile not now as heretofore,
And away from me turn blindly;
If the hand, with kissing clasp
Of warm fingers,
No more lingers
All responsive in my grasp;
Then to brightness ever beaming,
And to beauty ever fair,
Off I fly on clouds of dreaming
To my Castle in the Air.
Which I could not but adore,
Smile not now as heretofore,
And away from me turn blindly;
If the hand, with kissing clasp
Of warm fingers,
No more lingers
All responsive in my grasp;
Then to brightness ever beaming,
And to beauty ever fair,
Off I fly on clouds of dreaming
To my Castle in the Air.
Do not ask me where the column
Of my calm and cloistered seat,
In its rapturous retreat,
Rises white and pure and solemn;
Do not lightly seek to guess,
Where these graces'
Pleasant places
Sleep in languid loveliness;
When my joy runs high, or only
Deeps beneath me sigh despair,
Off I fly aloft and lonely
To my Castle in the Air.
Of my calm and cloistered seat,
In its rapturous retreat,
Rises white and pure and solemn;
Do not lightly seek to guess,
Where these graces'
Pleasant places
Sleep in languid loveliness;
When my joy runs high, or only
Deeps beneath me sigh despair,
Off I fly aloft and lonely
To my Castle in the Air.
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