 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
THE HEDGE
There is a hedge, where round deep ivy root
The wren creeps darkling in her covert shy;
The dunnock trills a hesitating flute,
And bramble-berries lure the burnished fly.
The wren creeps darkling in her covert shy;
The dunnock trills a hesitating flute,
And bramble-berries lure the burnished fly.
455
On either side in rough disorder hang
Long straws and ears torn from the brushing wain,
And the strong red thorned roses fix their fang
And toll, as gleaners toll, the passing grain.
Long straws and ears torn from the brushing wain,
And the strong red thorned roses fix their fang
And toll, as gleaners toll, the passing grain.
There bindweed lilies cupped in roseate dew,
And bryony's polished leaves tuft vine-like fruit,
And purple-stemmed the honeysuckle grew,
With intertwisted amatory shoot.
And bryony's polished leaves tuft vine-like fruit,
And purple-stemmed the honeysuckle grew,
With intertwisted amatory shoot.
And here the dragon-fly in glory is
Moving in mailed array a burning star,
And like a white-veiled nun the clematis
Peeps on the world behind her cloister bar.
Moving in mailed array a burning star,
And like a white-veiled nun the clematis
Peeps on the world behind her cloister bar.
And here are privet blossoms for the bees.
And many a poised enamelled butterfly
Comes to my hedge and sips the dew at ease,
Kissing the faces of the flowers thereby.
And many a poised enamelled butterfly
Comes to my hedge and sips the dew at ease,
Kissing the faces of the flowers thereby.
There, coarse and rank, the furrowy kexes spired,
And wild hop curved in many a gay festoon,
And marestail in all nosegays undesired
Jostled the musk-rose, summer's sweetest boon.
And wild hop curved in many a gay festoon,
And marestail in all nosegays undesired
Jostled the musk-rose, summer's sweetest boon.
Now gaze across the arum's fiery head,
Which lights the inner hedge up like a torch,
And lo, behold, not fifty yards ahead,
A gabled cottage with a bowery porch.
Which lights the inner hedge up like a torch,
And lo, behold, not fifty yards ahead,
A gabled cottage with a bowery porch.
And here I feed on prospect fairer far
Than sight of flower or bird or any tree,
And here I watch the rising of that star
Whose ray is more than Hesperus to me.
Than sight of flower or bird or any tree,
And here I watch the rising of that star
Whose ray is more than Hesperus to me.
The drifted petals of cape jessamine
Perfume the entrance with their falling shower,
While high in air the crowded rose divine
Around that threshold weaves a royal bower.
Perfume the entrance with their falling shower,
While high in air the crowded rose divine
Around that threshold weaves a royal bower.
Within the porch and shadowed from the heat,
In wicker cage a blackbird pipes his song,
Sighs for the dewy woods expanded sweet
And trills the rapture of his captive wrong.
In wicker cage a blackbird pipes his song,
Sighs for the dewy woods expanded sweet
And trills the rapture of his captive wrong.
456
A spinning wheel beside the doorway stands;
Some one will come and turn it by and bye,
And twist the slender thread with fairy hands,
And sit and sing, or sit and heave a sigh.
Some one will come and turn it by and bye,
And twist the slender thread with fairy hands,
And sit and sing, or sit and heave a sigh.
She weaves me days of smile and nights of tear,
She winds me love and she unwinds despair,
She seems like Fortune, bending o'er her sphere,
As pitiless as Fortune and as fair.
She winds me love and she unwinds despair,
She seems like Fortune, bending o'er her sphere,
As pitiless as Fortune and as fair.
She weaves a wondrous web about my soul,
Until her wheel goes round, I watch and wait,
For yonder spinning maiden must control
The thread of my existence like a Fate.
Until her wheel goes round, I watch and wait,
For yonder spinning maiden must control
The thread of my existence like a Fate.
August 30th, 1895.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |