 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
A WOODLAND GRAVE
Bring no jarring lute this way
To demean her sepulchre,
Toys of love and idle day
Vanish as we think of her.
We, who read her epitaph,
Find the world not worth a laugh.
To demean her sepulchre,
Toys of love and idle day
Vanish as we think of her.
We, who read her epitaph,
Find the world not worth a laugh.
270
Light, our light, what dusty night
Numbs the golden drowsy head?
Lo! empathed in pearls of light,
Morn resurgent from the dead:
From whose amber shoulders flow
Shroud and sheet of cloudy woe.
Numbs the golden drowsy head?
Lo! empathed in pearls of light,
Morn resurgent from the dead:
From whose amber shoulders flow
Shroud and sheet of cloudy woe.
Woods are dreaming, and she dreams:
Through the foliaged roof above
Down immeasurably streams
Splendour like an angel's love.
Till the tomb and gleaming urn
In a mist of glory burn.
Through the foliaged roof above
Down immeasurably streams
Splendour like an angel's love.
Till the tomb and gleaming urn
In a mist of glory burn.
Cedars there in outspread palls
Lean their rigid canopies.
Yet a lark note through them falls,
As he scales his orient skies.
That aërial song of his,
Sweet, might come from thee in bliss.
Lean their rigid canopies.
Yet a lark note through them falls,
As he scales his orient skies.
That aërial song of his,
Sweet, might come from thee in bliss.
There the roses pine and weep
Strong, delicious, human tears.
There the posies o'er her sleep
Through the years—ah! through the years,
Spring on spring renew the show
Of their frail memorial woe.
Strong, delicious, human tears.
There the posies o'er her sleep
Through the years—ah! through the years,
Spring on spring renew the show
Of their frail memorial woe.
Wreaths of intertwisted yew
Lay for cypress where she lies.
Mingle perfume from the blue
Of the forest violet's eyes.
Let the squirrel sleek its fur,
And the primrose peep at her.
Lay for cypress where she lies.
Mingle perfume from the blue
Of the forest violet's eyes.
Let the squirrel sleek its fur,
And the primrose peep at her.
We have seen three winters sow
Hoar-frost on thy winding-sheet:
Snows return again, and thou
Hearest not the crisping sleet.
Winds arise and winds depart,
Yet no tempest rocks thy heart.
Hoar-frost on thy winding-sheet:
Snows return again, and thou
Hearest not the crisping sleet.
Winds arise and winds depart,
Yet no tempest rocks thy heart.
271
We have seen with fiery tongue
Thrice the infant crocus born:
Thrice its trembling curtain hung
In a chink of frozen morn.
This can rear its silken crest:
Nothing thaws her ice-bound breast.
Thrice the infant crocus born:
Thrice its trembling curtain hung
In a chink of frozen morn.
This can rear its silken crest:
Nothing thaws her ice-bound breast.
We have eaten, we have earned
Wine of grief and bread of care,
We, who saw her first inurned
In the dust and silence there.
We have wept—ah! God—not so:
Trivial tears dried long ago.
Wine of grief and bread of care,
We, who saw her first inurned
In the dust and silence there.
We have wept—ah! God—not so:
Trivial tears dried long ago.
But we yearn and make our moan
For the step we used to know:
Gentle hand and tender tone,
Laughter in a silver flow—
All that sweetness in thy chain,
Tyrant Grave, restore again.
For the step we used to know:
Gentle hand and tender tone,
Laughter in a silver flow—
All that sweetness in thy chain,
Tyrant Grave, restore again.
Bring again the maid who died:
We have withered since she went.
O unseal the shadowy side
Of her marble monument—
Earth, disclose her as she lies
Dozed with woodland lullabies.
We have withered since she went.
O unseal the shadowy side
Of her marble monument—
Earth, disclose her as she lies
Dozed with woodland lullabies.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |