The poetical works of Leigh Hunt Now finally collected, revised by himself, and edited by his son, Thornton Hunt. With illustrations by Corbould |
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| SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS. |
 | The poetical works of Leigh Hunt |  |
289
SONGS AND CHORUS OF THE FLOWERS.
ROSES.
We are blushing Roses,
Bending with our fulness,
'Midst our close-capp'd sister buds,
Warming the green coolness.
Bending with our fulness,
'Midst our close-capp'd sister buds,
Warming the green coolness.
Whatsoe'er of beauty
Yearns and yet reposes,
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath,
Took a shape in roses.
Yearns and yet reposes,
Blush, and bosom, and sweet breath,
Took a shape in roses.
Hold one of us lightly,—
See from what a slender
Stalk we bow'r in heavy blooms,
And roundness rich and tender.
See from what a slender
Stalk we bow'r in heavy blooms,
And roundness rich and tender.
Know you not our only
Rival flow'r—the human?
Loveliest weight on lightest foot,
Joy-abundant woman?
Rival flow'r—the human?
Loveliest weight on lightest foot,
Joy-abundant woman?
LILIES.
We are Lilies fair,
The flower of virgin light;
Nature held us forth, and said,
“Lo! my thoughts of white.”
The flower of virgin light;
Nature held us forth, and said,
“Lo! my thoughts of white.”
Ever since then, angels
Hold us in their hands;
You may see them where they take
In pictures their sweet stands.
Hold us in their hands;
You may see them where they take
In pictures their sweet stands.
Like the garden's angels
Also do we seem,
And not the less for being crown'd
With a golden dream.
Also do we seem,
And not the less for being crown'd
With a golden dream.
Could you see around us
The enamour'd air,
You would see it pale with bliss
To hold a thing so fair.
The enamour'd air,
You would see it pale with bliss
To hold a thing so fair.
290
VIOLETS.
We are violets blue,
For our sweetness found
Careless in the mossy shades,
Looking on the ground.
Love's dropp'd eyelids and a kiss,—
Such our breath and blueness is.
For our sweetness found
Careless in the mossy shades,
Looking on the ground.
Love's dropp'd eyelids and a kiss,—
Such our breath and blueness is.
Io, the mild shape
Hidden by Jove's fears,
Found us first i' the sward, when she
For hunger stoop'd in tears.
“Wheresoe'er her lip she sets,”
Jove said, “be breaths call'd Violets.”
Hidden by Jove's fears,
Found us first i' the sward, when she
For hunger stoop'd in tears.
“Wheresoe'er her lip she sets,”
Jove said, “be breaths call'd Violets.”
SWEET-BRIAR.
Wild-rose, Sweet-briar, Eglantine,
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,
And the scent—oh, that's divine!
Happy-sweet and pungent-fine,
Pure as dew, and pick'd as wine.
All these pretty names are mine,
And scent in every leaf is mine,
And a leaf for all is mine,
And the scent—oh, that's divine!
Happy-sweet and pungent-fine,
Pure as dew, and pick'd as wine.
As the rose in gardens dress'd
Is the lady self-possess'd,
I'm the lass in simple vest,
The country lass whose blood's the best.
Were the beams that thread the briar
In the morn with golden fire
Scented too, they'd smell like me,
All Elysian pungency.
Is the lady self-possess'd,
I'm the lass in simple vest,
The country lass whose blood's the best.
Were the beams that thread the briar
In the morn with golden fire
Scented too, they'd smell like me,
All Elysian pungency.
POPPIES.
We are slumberous poppies,
Lords of Lethe downs,
Some awake, and some asleep,
Sleeping in our crowns.
What perchance our dreams may know,
Let our serious beauty show.
Lords of Lethe downs,
Some awake, and some asleep,
Sleeping in our crowns.
What perchance our dreams may know,
Let our serious beauty show.
291
Central depth of purple,
Leaves more bright than rose,
Who shall tell what brightest thought
Out of darkest grows?
Who, through what funereal pain
Souls to love and peace attain?
Leaves more bright than rose,
Who shall tell what brightest thought
Out of darkest grows?
Who, through what funereal pain
Souls to love and peace attain?
Visions aye are on us,
Unto eyes of power,
Pluto's always setting sun,
And Proserpine's bower:
There, like bees, the pale souls come
For our drink with drowsy hum.
Unto eyes of power,
Pluto's always setting sun,
And Proserpine's bower:
There, like bees, the pale souls come
For our drink with drowsy hum.
Taste, ye mortals, also;
Milky-hearted, we;
Taste, but with a reverent care;
Active-patient be.
Too much gladness brings to gloom
Those who on the gods presume.
Milky-hearted, we;
Taste, but with a reverent care;
Active-patient be.
Too much gladness brings to gloom
Those who on the gods presume.
| The poetical works of Leigh Hunt | |