 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
ARROW OF LOVE
Arrow of Love, is thy wound small,
Or can it slay men after all?
Dart of Desire, is thy hurt brief,
Or does its pain crown human grief?
O lip of Eros, is your breath
Gentle as sleep or harsh as death?
Ah, Love, but why in after years
Must thy son bring us burning tears?
A scar recalls thy touches bland,
Their pressure deepens to a brand.
And he, the deity of pain,
Sits pining, as a moon in wane.
Or can it slay men after all?
Dart of Desire, is thy hurt brief,
Or does its pain crown human grief?
O lip of Eros, is your breath
Gentle as sleep or harsh as death?
Ah, Love, but why in after years
Must thy son bring us burning tears?
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Their pressure deepens to a brand.
And he, the deity of pain,
Sits pining, as a moon in wane.
His eyes are faded with despair,
The violet sickens in his hair.
And lonely in a land of reeds
He weeps his vanished days and deeds.
For ashes stain the gracious head;
The garment of his glory dead
Is rent with sighing “well-a-day!”
His wings are dusty, flakes of clay
Harden upon his comely feet;
His voice is shaken and unsweet,
Hollow and thin his answer, low
As some lamb's bleating in the snow.
The violet sickens in his hair.
And lonely in a land of reeds
He weeps his vanished days and deeds.
For ashes stain the gracious head;
The garment of his glory dead
Is rent with sighing “well-a-day!”
His wings are dusty, flakes of clay
Harden upon his comely feet;
His voice is shaken and unsweet,
Hollow and thin his answer, low
As some lamb's bleating in the snow.
Against a spit of tawny land
Love sits lamenting. On each hand
The water of a tarn is still;
The dead clouds hang without a will.
One solitary rose-bush near,
With cankered bloom and leaves gone sere,
Is in his sight, and moves his breath
To sing about this rose's death;
And, as his thoughts are rough and few,
They make his measures rugged too.
One only cadence hears his grief,
The dry fall of each broken leaf.
Love sits lamenting. On each hand
The water of a tarn is still;
The dead clouds hang without a will.
One solitary rose-bush near,
With cankered bloom and leaves gone sere,
Is in his sight, and moves his breath
To sing about this rose's death;
And, as his thoughts are rough and few,
They make his measures rugged too.
One only cadence hears his grief,
The dry fall of each broken leaf.
The Lament.
O my fresh rose, my rose of dew,
Thy heart is stained and old;
Thy petals are no longer new,
No incense fills each purple fold.
At thy best who held thee dearer?
But June is gone and snows are nearer.
Thy heart is stained and old;
Thy petals are no longer new,
No incense fills each purple fold.
At thy best who held thee dearer?
But June is gone and snows are nearer.
O my rose, my rose of June,
Faded daughter of the field,
Save thy perfume for a noon
Longer, and endure to yield
A little more delight, ere I am lonely
Over my dead rose, who loved one rose only.
Faded daughter of the field,
Save thy perfume for a noon
Longer, and endure to yield
A little more delight, ere I am lonely
Over my dead rose, who loved one rose only.
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The Answer
O my love, my queen of May,
The light of youth is gone.
Thy pretty tresses gather grey,
Thy rosy lips are wan.
Will thy grey eyes alter yet,
And their nuptial smile forget?
The light of youth is gone.
Thy pretty tresses gather grey,
Thy rosy lips are wan.
Will thy grey eyes alter yet,
And their nuptial smile forget?
O my love, will Time deceive,
Will he alter true Love so?
There is more in Love, believe,
Than the silly nations know;
More in Love when bloom is dead
Than the roses round his head.
Will he alter true Love so?
There is more in Love, believe,
Than the silly nations know;
More in Love when bloom is dead
Than the roses round his head.
O my love, and if thou need
Harbour when the north-winds blow;
If thy tender foot-prints bleed
On the flints among the snow;
Love will raise a sheltered cot,
Where the ice blast enters not.
Harbour when the north-winds blow;
If thy tender foot-prints bleed
On the flints among the snow;
Love will raise a sheltered cot,
Where the ice blast enters not.
O my true-love, we are wise;
When snow whitens all our land,
Underneath the cloudy skies
We will travel hand in hand.
Since we have not far to go
To our rest beyond the snow.
When snow whitens all our land,
Underneath the cloudy skies
We will travel hand in hand.
Since we have not far to go
To our rest beyond the snow.
Conclusion
So Love lamented by the brim,And I arose and answered him.
Until his rainy eyes became
Divine once more with subtle flame.
And down he leant to glean again
His arrows scattered on the plain;
And hitched his shoulder-quiver right,
And felt his loosened bow-string tight;
And shook the tresses from his eyes,
And gave a few short dreamy sighs;
Until a sunbeam smote his wing;
He shivered lightly at its sting;
And with a slow smile then arose,
But in departure one fair rose
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While o'er the sullen mere-waves fast
Beams numberless in golden beads
Rocked on the ripples and the reeds.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |