The Alhambra and Other Poems By F. B. Money-Coutts [i.e. F. B. T. Coutts-Nevill] |
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Stodham Woods |
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 | The Alhambra and Other Poems |  |
34
Stodham Woods
I cannot tell where I have been,
This sweet fore-noon, with tempered tune,
Or worthy of the scene.
This sweet fore-noon, with tempered tune,
Or worthy of the scene.
This is the time when fresh primroses
Are in the forefront of Spring posies,
And nestling down between their groups
The violet stoops,
While still along the byway shine
Spring's natal stars, the celandine.
Are in the forefront of Spring posies,
And nestling down between their groups
The violet stoops,
While still along the byway shine
Spring's natal stars, the celandine.
Though the blackthorn's bloom is set,
Braving the chill breeze's bite
With blossom white,
Bracken-curls are stubborn yet!
Save those splashes of pale flowers,
Born in March, of April-showers,
The woods are brown, and dead leaves choke the bowers.
Braving the chill breeze's bite
With blossom white,
Bracken-curls are stubborn yet!
Save those splashes of pale flowers,
Born in March, of April-showers,
The woods are brown, and dead leaves choke the bowers.
So Nature seems to hesitate
Ere she assume her summer state;
Such buds are there that long to bloom,
Such glows impatient of the gloom;
So much there seems in act to sing,
Such wistfulness, such preluding!
Ere she assume her summer state;
Such buds are there that long to bloom,
Such glows impatient of the gloom;
So much there seems in act to sing,
Such wistfulness, such preluding!
35
I wandered where these pleasures meet;
The mossy path beneath my feet
As in a girdle clasped the hill,
Along whose base a tinkling rill
With gentle flood
Was whispering to the whispering wood.
The mossy path beneath my feet
As in a girdle clasped the hill,
Along whose base a tinkling rill
With gentle flood
Was whispering to the whispering wood.
Perchance it fears the open field,
That stretches to the seaward Downs,
And seeks in forest arms to shield
Its shyness from the proffered crowns,
The sun-enamelled green and gold,
Of meadows amorously bold.
That stretches to the seaward Downs,
And seeks in forest arms to shield
Its shyness from the proffered crowns,
The sun-enamelled green and gold,
Of meadows amorously bold.
Perchance—But ah! my spirit faints
In presence of these woodland saints!
Divinity of flower and tree,
And musing water's minstrelsy,
The building bird's hilarity,
The thrill, the frolic, and the glee,—
With these we hold no parity!
They foil the bards that master me!
In presence of these woodland saints!
Divinity of flower and tree,
And musing water's minstrelsy,
The building bird's hilarity,
The thrill, the frolic, and the glee,—
With these we hold no parity!
They foil the bards that master me!
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