 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
AMARANTH
When I have done with hornet grief,
Nor fear the blind-worm, envy's sting,
When graveward Lethe brings relief,
And calms the love-god's fretful wing.
Nor fear the blind-worm, envy's sting,
When graveward Lethe brings relief,
And calms the love-god's fretful wing.
When I am clear of human kind,
And slumber with the patient dead,
Will she, the cruel, care to find
Where they have laid my lonely head?
And slumber with the patient dead,
Will she, the cruel, care to find
Where they have laid my lonely head?
And, once or twice, when spring is here,
Forego some trivial social tie,
To bring my grave a niggard tear,
The sequel of a scanty sigh?
Forego some trivial social tie,
To bring my grave a niggard tear,
The sequel of a scanty sigh?
Weep! just enough to give your eyes
A brightness, as of April rain:
One tear for all my thousand sighs,
And countless kisses given in vain.
A brightness, as of April rain:
One tear for all my thousand sighs,
And countless kisses given in vain.
375
Assign my solemn resting-place
Six moments of thy bustling day,
Between the drive, the mart, the race,
The rout, the concert, and the play.
Six moments of thy bustling day,
Between the drive, the mart, the race,
The rout, the concert, and the play.
Let worldlings and their world forget
To rule thee, darling, for an hour;
Give me a fragment of regret,
Bring me some silly wayside flower.
To rule thee, darling, for an hour;
Give me a fragment of regret,
Bring me some silly wayside flower.
And ask thy heart, that heart of steel,
How comes this man to sleep below?
What phase of death was his to feel,
What shock of doom, what lethal blow?
How comes this man to sleep below?
What phase of death was his to feel,
What shock of doom, what lethal blow?
Speak in soft accents of thy friend;
Dear heart, he cannot vex thee now,
For lovers' quarrels surely end,
When dust is on the lover's brow.
Dear heart, he cannot vex thee now,
For lovers' quarrels surely end,
When dust is on the lover's brow.
And let thy voice, I found so sweet,
Discuss my fate, appraise my deeds;
And garner in thy heart my wheat,
And clean forget my idle weeds.
Discuss my fate, appraise my deeds;
And garner in thy heart my wheat,
And clean forget my idle weeds.
So let me feign and cheat my mind,
That thou wilt so rehearse my tale,
That I may fancy thou art kind,
When kindness is of small avail.
That thou wilt so rehearse my tale,
That I may fancy thou art kind,
When kindness is of small avail.
Say this—“I read, my ancient love,
The record of thy name and years,
Graved on the slab thy rest above:
'Tis brief—as brief as woman's tears.”
The record of thy name and years,
Graved on the slab thy rest above:
'Tis brief—as brief as woman's tears.”
Say then—“The long and sweet desire,
The fearless Hope, the granite Trust,
The poet's lips, the lover's fire,
Are ended—in a little dust.
The fearless Hope, the granite Trust,
The poet's lips, the lover's fire,
Are ended—in a little dust.
“My old dead love was good and kind,
But he was broken down with woes:
And doubts upon his deeper mind
Made havoc in my dreams of rose.
But he was broken down with woes:
And doubts upon his deeper mind
Made havoc in my dreams of rose.
376
“I said, Ye ages, bring me then
A perfect lover, rich and great,
A captain and a king of men,
Unroll him, misty clouds of Fate.
A perfect lover, rich and great,
A captain and a king of men,
Unroll him, misty clouds of Fate.
“But this poor love of homespun gray,
This honest heart, these faded eyes,
Come anywhen and any day—
My beauty claims a lordlier prize.”
This honest heart, these faded eyes,
Come anywhen and any day—
My beauty claims a lordlier prize.”
“He trod the humbler fields of time:
How should he gain me gear or gold?
How should this dullard hope to climb,
Who hardly knew how Faith is sold?
How should he gain me gear or gold?
How should this dullard hope to climb,
Who hardly knew how Faith is sold?
“He was no senate quack, who came
To nibble at the public purse,
And rise, a charlatan, to fame
By leaving bad a little worse.
To nibble at the public purse,
And rise, a charlatan, to fame
By leaving bad a little worse.
“The balm of popular success
Ignored his inconspicuous head,
The unction of the daily press
In inky blessings ne'er was shed.
Ignored his inconspicuous head,
The unction of the daily press
In inky blessings ne'er was shed.
“He spun no cotton, owned no banks,
He ran no racers, gave no balls,
He had no deer with dappled flanks
To trot around his stuccoed halls.
He ran no racers, gave no balls,
He had no deer with dappled flanks
To trot around his stuccoed halls.
“He came no king of beer to crowd
The jostling streets with barrelled drays.
No huckster, full of promise, loud
To sing the mighty Mammon's praise.
The jostling streets with barrelled drays.
No huckster, full of promise, loud
To sing the mighty Mammon's praise.
“Too proud to tell the rabble votes,
That all the mob demands is true:
Too dull to learn the parrot notes
Of Freedom from the last Review.
That all the mob demands is true:
Too dull to learn the parrot notes
Of Freedom from the last Review.
“Too slow to feign a patriot fire,
Then clutch the prizes of the game;
Or follow ankle-deep in mire
The beckoning smile of spurious Fame.
Then clutch the prizes of the game;
Or follow ankle-deep in mire
The beckoning smile of spurious Fame.
377
“He did not trust some cherub black,
To ope the El Dorado gate,
Nor went with every lantern jack,
Who flickers o'er a festering State.
To ope the El Dorado gate,
Nor went with every lantern jack,
Who flickers o'er a festering State.
“He stood aside and watched the strife,
Weary, and longing to depart:
He left, as assets of his life,
The record of a wasted heart.
Weary, and longing to depart:
He left, as assets of his life,
The record of a wasted heart.
“At least he loved me: this concede:
But I entrenched my soul in pride.
So when I scorned and would not heed,
He drew Life's curtain down and died.
But I entrenched my soul in pride.
So when I scorned and would not heed,
He drew Life's curtain down and died.
“Yet thro' the pleading of his vows
Ambition whispered, ‘Do not yield,
He is as poor as some church mouse,
I lead you to a golden field.’
Ambition whispered, ‘Do not yield,
He is as poor as some church mouse,
I lead you to a golden field.’
“Of all my lovers that remain,
None loved me with so firm a zeal.
My shallow fancy could not feign
A passion, which I dared not feel.
None loved me with so firm a zeal.
My shallow fancy could not feign
A passion, which I dared not feel.
“He was too humble in his suit,
And I too proud in my disdain;
And now, because his lips are mute,
I fain would hear their love again.
And I too proud in my disdain;
And now, because his lips are mute,
I fain would hear their love again.
“I fain would have thee at my side,
When Spring is reaching out her hands,
When April, like a weeping bride,
Sails o'er the rosy orchard lands.
When Spring is reaching out her hands,
When April, like a weeping bride,
Sails o'er the rosy orchard lands.
“When May winds bathe the reedy isles,
Where swans are nesting with their broods,
And sheets of sapphire pave for miles
The floors of hyacinthine woods.
Where swans are nesting with their broods,
And sheets of sapphire pave for miles
The floors of hyacinthine woods.
“When sweet-field roses fringe the lane,
And balmy hangs the incense thorn:
And, dreaming of ambrosial rain,
The violet wakens, morn by morn,
And balmy hangs the incense thorn:
And, dreaming of ambrosial rain,
The violet wakens, morn by morn,
378
“He will not wake, tho' snowdrops rise,
Nor greet the woodland bells of blue:—
I hail thee, love, with streaming eyes,
Adieu, my love! my love, adieu!
Nor greet the woodland bells of blue:—
I hail thee, love, with streaming eyes,
Adieu, my love! my love, adieu!
“Thou canst not breathe the morning breath,
Nor hear the bees about the bloom,
Nor see them settle on this wreath,
My trembling fingers bring thy tomb.
Nor hear the bees about the bloom,
Nor see them settle on this wreath,
My trembling fingers bring thy tomb.
“I bring thee amaranth and rue.
I leave my garland and depart,
More bitter than the branch of yew
The anguish of my aching heart.’
I leave my garland and depart,
More bitter than the branch of yew
The anguish of my aching heart.’
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |