 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
A MEETING AND ADVICE
True heart, under grey-green arches
Where the crimson cones of larches
Bud in bristle leaves;
Print thy feet in dewy places,
Where, amid the king-cup faces,
The mead-spider weaves.
Where the crimson cones of larches
Bud in bristle leaves;
Print thy feet in dewy places,
Where, amid the king-cup faces,
The mead-spider weaves.
On the down thy raiment glistens,
In his nest the wheatear listens,
From thee flows a lay;
Doves refrain to pipe their trouble,
Ledges of hill fountains bubble;
Give thee, love, good day.
In his nest the wheatear listens,
From thee flows a lay;
Doves refrain to pipe their trouble,
Ledges of hill fountains bubble;
Give thee, love, good day.
Art thou cold, because I follow
Up the wood-way, in whose hollow
Bluebells haunt the rills?
Wind-flowers carpet all the cover,
And there come, now March is over,
Shoaling daffodils.
Up the wood-way, in whose hollow
Bluebells haunt the rills?
Wind-flowers carpet all the cover,
And there come, now March is over,
Shoaling daffodils.
Ah, my love, thy shadow only
Warms the folded dew-drop, lonely
In secluded dells.
Hear my April prayer unchidden,
One which birds in nest-down hidden
To their consorts tell.
Warms the folded dew-drop, lonely
In secluded dells.
Hear my April prayer unchidden,
One which birds in nest-down hidden
To their consorts tell.
Young and lonely hold no measure,
Youth's a mint of sterling treasure;
If we hoard, we lose.
Age a coin, which Love refusing,
Out of date and out of using,
Takes not as his dues.
Youth's a mint of sterling treasure;
If we hoard, we lose.
Age a coin, which Love refusing,
Out of date and out of using,
Takes not as his dues.
88
Rose-buds, in a land of roses,
Wither ere they come to posies;
Maiden roses mourn.
Sweet mouths many are not tasted,
Or their kisses won are wasted,
Hour and year forsworn.
Wither ere they come to posies;
Maiden roses mourn.
Sweet mouths many are not tasted,
Or their kisses won are wasted,
Hour and year forsworn.
Though all ends in loveless sleep,
When the ripe hour beckons, reap—
Reap, nor sourly say,—
“Fresh cheeks wear not weeping-stain;
Love is spoil and wedded pain
Taint their rose away.
When the ripe hour beckons, reap—
Reap, nor sourly say,—
“Fresh cheeks wear not weeping-stain;
Love is spoil and wedded pain
Taint their rose away.
“Wisest he who can despise
Cupid's evanescent dyes,
Passion's brittle prime;
He shall revel long and well
In a careless citadel,
Monarch of his time.”
Cupid's evanescent dyes,
Passion's brittle prime;
He shall revel long and well
In a careless citadel,
Monarch of his time.”
Answer, Dove, “tho' Love's best sweet,
Like an angel's glorious feet,
Flash and pass no more.”
Answer, sweet, “Love may not last,
Yet the perfume of his past
Lives in riper store.
Like an angel's glorious feet,
Flash and pass no more.”
Answer, sweet, “Love may not last,
Yet the perfume of his past
Lives in riper store.
“He, who wavered long at noon,
Sits alone in darkness soon,
White with dusty snow.
Eyes can answer, hands as well,
Rusting years unlearn their spell.”
Answer, dearest, so—
Sits alone in darkness soon,
White with dusty snow.
Eyes can answer, hands as well,
Rusting years unlearn their spell.”
Answer, dearest, so—
Fortune plays not twice the giver,
Leave it once and lose it ever,
As we speak, 'tis flown.
Bind Love, ere the child-god spread
Gauzy wings above his head,
And fickle leaves his throne.
Leave it once and lose it ever,
As we speak, 'tis flown.
Bind Love, ere the child-god spread
Gauzy wings above his head,
And fickle leaves his throne.
89
So that when thy merry weather,
Loses heart and changes feather,
And Time's hearth is grey;
Love will save one fervid ember,
That wild east or bleak December
Will not quench away.
Loses heart and changes feather,
And Time's hearth is grey;
Love will save one fervid ember,
That wild east or bleak December
Will not quench away.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |