Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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NEPENTHE. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
NEPENTHE.
I sit among the flowers at fancy's loom,
And fashion day and night
In visions of delight;
To weave the glow of sunrise and the gloom
At midnight with the withered leaves and bloom,
For one great glamoured sight.
I see the shadows pass upon the pictured grass,
And in the streams reflected dreams
As from a magic glass;
They are more near and dimly dear
Than noontide's garish gleams.
And though men wonder why, I make new earth and sky, and toil exceedingly.
And fashion day and night
In visions of delight;
To weave the glow of sunrise and the gloom
At midnight with the withered leaves and bloom,
For one great glamoured sight.
I see the shadows pass upon the pictured grass,
And in the streams reflected dreams
As from a magic glass;
They are more near and dimly dear
Than noontide's garish gleams.
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For I have drunk the gods' nepenthe deep,
And look beyond the stars
Or these poor human bars,
Into the soft eternities of sleep;
Below me mortals blindly crawl and creep,
And gather scorn and scars.
I know the inmost act is fiction and not fact,
And carven clay receives no ray
Until the bowl is crackt;
The thought is thing, and carries Spring
Of everlasting day.
And though men wonder how, with sad and sicklied brow I keep my sacred vow.
And look beyond the stars
Or these poor human bars,
Into the soft eternities of sleep;
Below me mortals blindly crawl and creep,
And gather scorn and scars.
I know the inmost act is fiction and not fact,
And carven clay receives no ray
Until the bowl is crackt;
The thought is thing, and carries Spring
Of everlasting day.
And though men wonder how, with sad and sicklied brow I keep my sacred vow.
I catch the moment on its wing of grace
And pluck its soul of joy,
As from a jewelled toy,
Out of the rapture of its fleeting trace;
Till flesh and bone with burning fires embrace,
Which blast yet not destroy.
The dew and dawn that fly are the reality,
In outward shapes the trick escapes
Which is Infinity;
Time hath no part within that heart,
Which matter darkly drapes.
And though men wonder much, my destiny is such and owns a higher touch.
And pluck its soul of joy,
As from a jewelled toy,
Out of the rapture of its fleeting trace;
Till flesh and bone with burning fires embrace,
Which blast yet not destroy.
The dew and dawn that fly are the reality,
In outward shapes the trick escapes
Which is Infinity;
Time hath no part within that heart,
Which matter darkly drapes.
And though men wonder much, my destiny is such and owns a higher touch.
I sit at fancy's web among the flowers,
And fashion sun and moon
Into a fairer noon;
And of the purple shades and pearly showers
I build in crystal steps white temple towers,
A wonder and a boon.
They see the ragged ends but not the Form, that bends
My purpose bond to heights beyond
And ever upward tends;
I plan and ply the tapestry,
Nor could in death despond.
And though men mark one side—the roughness, not the pride—its glory is my guide.
And fashion sun and moon
Into a fairer noon;
And of the purple shades and pearly showers
I build in crystal steps white temple towers,
A wonder and a boon.
They see the ragged ends but not the Form, that bends
My purpose bond to heights beyond
And ever upward tends;
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Nor could in death despond.
And though men mark one side—the roughness, not the pride—its glory is my guide.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |