CHANT ROYAL OF THE GOD OF LOVE.
O MOST fair God! O Love both new and old,
That wast before the flowers of morning blew,
Before the glad sun in his mail of gold
Leapt into light across the first day's dew,
That art the first and last of our delight,
That in the blue day and the purple night
Holdest the heart of servant and of king,
Lord of liesse, sovran of sorrowing,
That in thy hand hast heaven's golden key
And hell beneath the shadow of thy wing,
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
What thing rejects thine empery? Who so bold
But at thine altars in the dusk they sue?
Even the strait pale Goddess, silver-stoled,
That kissed Endymion when the Spring was new,
To thee did homage in her own despite,
When, in the shadow of her wings of white,
She slid down trembling from her moonèd ring
To where the Latmian youth lay slumbering.
And in that kiss put off cold chastity.
Who but acclaim, with voice and pipe and string,
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee?
Master of men and gods, in every fold
Of thy wide vans, the sorceries that renew
The labouring earth tranced with the winter's cold
Lie hid, the quintessential charms that woo
The souls of flowers, slain with the sullen might
Of the dead year, and draw them to the light.
Balsam and blessing to thy garments cling:
Skyward and seaward, whilst thy white palms fling
Their spells of healing over land and sea,
One shout of homage makes the welkin ring,
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
I see thee throned aloft: thy fair hands hold
Myrtles for joy and euphrasy and rue:
Laurels and roses round thy white brows rolled,
And in thine eyes the royal heaven's hue:
But in thy lip's clear colour, ruddy bright,
The heart's blood burns of many a hapless wight.
Thou art not only fair and sweet as Spring:
Terror and beauty, fear and wondering,
Meet on thy front, amazing all who see.
All men do praise thee, ay, and every thing:
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
I fear thee, though I love. Who shall behold
The sheer sun blazing in the orbèd blue,
What while the noontide over hill and wold
Flames like a fire, except his mazèd view
Wither and tremble? So thy splendid sight
Fills me with mingled gladness and affright.
Thy visage haunts me in the wavering
Of dreams and in the dawn, awakening,
I feel thy splendour streaming full on me.
Both joy and fear unto thy feet I bring:
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
ENVOI.
God above gods, high and eternal king!
Whose praise the symphonies of heaven sing,
I find no whither from thy power to flee
Save in thy pinions' vast o'ershadowing:
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
