Edward Cracroft Lefroy: His Life and Poems including a Reprint of Echoes from Theocritus: By Wilfred Austin Gill: With a Critical Estimate of the Sonnets by the late John Addington Symonds |
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 | LYRICAL POEMS |
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 | Edward Cracroft Lefroy: His Life and Poems |  |
149
LYRICAL POEMS
151
AT LYNMOUTH
Sunny sky o'er sunny sea,
Tiny waves that ripple in,
Where beside the little quay
Rattles down the noisy Lyn;
Rugged rocks that overhead
Blend and blazon every hue,
Glowing purple, blushing red
At the sea's diviner blue;
Did your pencil ever paint,
Any picture half as quaint,
Half as lovely, half as sweet,
Marguerite?
Tiny waves that ripple in,
Where beside the little quay
Rattles down the noisy Lyn;
Rugged rocks that overhead
Blend and blazon every hue,
Glowing purple, blushing red
At the sea's diviner blue;
Did your pencil ever paint,
Any picture half as quaint,
Half as lovely, half as sweet,
Marguerite?
Deep sequestered, tree-begirt,
In the vale the village sleeps,
Fenced around and screened from hurt
By the crag-surmounted steeps;
Under eaves white roses smile,
Gable-high the fuchsia climbs,
Ruddy-tinted roofs of tile
Peep from out the leafy limes;
Of all Edens 'neath the sun,
Found or fancied, is there one
More enchanting, more complete,
Marguerite?
In the vale the village sleeps,
Fenced around and screened from hurt
By the crag-surmounted steeps;
Under eaves white roses smile,
Gable-high the fuchsia climbs,
Ruddy-tinted roofs of tile
Peep from out the leafy limes;
Of all Edens 'neath the sun,
Found or fancied, is there one
More enchanting, more complete,
Marguerite?
Let us wander hand in hand
Out of shadow into light,
View the beauties of the land
From this bare unwooded height;
Hill and valley, rock and rill,
All in rich profusion lie,
Rock and river, vale and hill
Stretched before the dazzled eye;
Could the storied Isles of Bliss
Shew a scene as fair as this
Here unfolded at our feet,
Marguerite?
Out of shadow into light,
View the beauties of the land
From this bare unwooded height;
Hill and valley, rock and rill,
All in rich profusion lie,
Rock and river, vale and hill
Stretched before the dazzled eye;
152
Shew a scene as fair as this
Here unfolded at our feet,
Marguerite?
Now descending let us pass
Far from sight and sound of men,
Where the fern and scented grass
Carpet soft the shaded glen;
Where the river in its flow,
Leaping down with merry glee,
Finds a sister stream, and, lo!
Greets and bears her to the sea.
Lovely spot! who would not stay,
Learning all the live-long day
Lessons from this “waters-meet,”
Marguerite?
Far from sight and sound of men,
Where the fern and scented grass
Carpet soft the shaded glen;
Where the river in its flow,
Leaping down with merry glee,
Finds a sister stream, and, lo!
Greets and bears her to the sea.
Lovely spot! who would not stay,
Learning all the live-long day
Lessons from this “waters-meet,”
Marguerite?
July 1876.
153
AUTUMN LEAVES
O leaflets, old and brown and sere,
It is full time to quit your bough;
The autumn visage of the year
Is frowning on you even now.
Farewell!
How sad the tale ye tell
Of summer past we know not how,—
Bright minutes fled beyond recall,
And scarcely used, if used at all!
It is full time to quit your bough;
The autumn visage of the year
Is frowning on you even now.
Farewell!
How sad the tale ye tell
Of summer past we know not how,—
Bright minutes fled beyond recall,
And scarcely used, if used at all!
The northern breeze will thin your crown,
And cut the laggards with his knife;
Contending blasts will hurl you down,
The victims of their windy strife.
Frail things!
And yet from death forth-springs
The promise of another life;
Your very selves in altered guise
Again shall smile to sunny skies.
And cut the laggards with his knife;
Contending blasts will hurl you down,
The victims of their windy strife.
Frail things!
And yet from death forth-springs
The promise of another life;
Your very selves in altered guise
Again shall smile to sunny skies.
October 1876.
154
TO A MAIDEN WHO WISHES TO DRESS A LA MODE
O let me love thee as thou art,
Not as thou mayest be,
If twenty toilet-tricks impart
A fancied grace to thee.
So many simple charms are blent
Beneath that witching eye,
The soul that is not thus content
Is hard to satisfy.
Not as thou mayest be,
If twenty toilet-tricks impart
A fancied grace to thee.
So many simple charms are blent
Beneath that witching eye,
The soul that is not thus content
Is hard to satisfy.
And wherefore try such doubtful ways?
What dost thou seek to gain?
To bind a lover in whose gaze
Each other maid is plain?
If all the nymphs of Gaul combine
To deck thee with their store,
My heart's already wholly thine,
I cannot give thee more.
What dost thou seek to gain?
To bind a lover in whose gaze
Each other maid is plain?
If all the nymphs of Gaul combine
To deck thee with their store,
My heart's already wholly thine,
I cannot give thee more.
Then ever leave such borrowed plumes
To birds that doubt their own,
Assured that she is blest who blooms
With nature's grace alone.
Thou least of all hast need to boast
A loveliness suborned;
The beauty which entrances most
Is beauty unadorned.
To birds that doubt their own,
Assured that she is blest who blooms
With nature's grace alone.
Thou least of all hast need to boast
A loveliness suborned;
The beauty which entrances most
Is beauty unadorned.
October 1876.
155
ODE
On a prospect (not distant) of being ploughed a second time
O Plough, it is long since I met you,
So cruelly keen in the “schools,”
But still I could never forget you,
“Forget” is the tonic of fools.
So cruelly keen in the “schools,”
But still I could never forget you,
“Forget” is the tonic of fools.
Ah, then I was youthful and tender,
And yours was a terrible name;
If my knowledge of grammar was slender,
I still kept a feeling of shame.
And yours was a terrible name;
If my knowledge of grammar was slender,
I still kept a feeling of shame.
Afresh you would like to make tingle
Every nerve in my system: in vain!
Your triumph is over,—'twas single;
You cannot enjoy it again.
Every nerve in my system: in vain!
Your triumph is over,—'twas single;
You cannot enjoy it again.
To-day I am tougher and older,
My freshness has vanished, and now,
With a back that is hard as a boulder,
I laugh at your malice, O Plough!
My freshness has vanished, and now,
With a back that is hard as a boulder,
I laugh at your malice, O Plough!
November 1876.
156
TO AMARYLLIS
I love thee with a love so deep
And in its depth so strong,
Its spells transmute life's thorns to fruit,
And sorrows into song.
For Beauty dead I could not weep,
She cannot die to me;
I love thee with a love so deep,
So strong my love for thee.
And in its depth so strong,
Its spells transmute life's thorns to fruit,
And sorrows into song.
For Beauty dead I could not weep,
She cannot die to me;
I love thee with a love so deep,
So strong my love for thee.
I love thee with a love so rich,
That in its charm so rare,
E'en Midas' self had left his pelf,
And for thy sake gone bare;
And yet not bare with half a niche
In Eros' fane near thee;
I love thee with a love so rich,
So rare my love for thee.
That in its charm so rare,
E'en Midas' self had left his pelf,
And for thy sake gone bare;
And yet not bare with half a niche
In Eros' fane near thee;
I love thee with a love so rich,
So rare my love for thee.
I love thee with a love so true,
And in its truth so tried,
That ere it pale life's force must fail,
Or Time roll back his tide.
By slow degrees the sapling grew,
Not quickly bends the tree;
I love thee with a love so true,
So tried my love for thee.
And in its truth so tried,
That ere it pale life's force must fail,
Or Time roll back his tide.
By slow degrees the sapling grew,
Not quickly bends the tree;
I love thee with a love so true,
So tried my love for thee.
I love thee with a love that is
The best of loves that are,—
A lustrous stone, which shines alone
'Mid lesser lights a star;
A star that adds to very bliss
Another glint of glee;—
I love thee with a love like this,—
O what's thy love for me?
The best of loves that are,—
A lustrous stone, which shines alone
'Mid lesser lights a star;
A star that adds to very bliss
Another glint of glee;—
I love thee with a love like this,—
O what's thy love for me?
January 1877.
157
RONDEAUS
IN THE MANNER OF MR. AUSTIN DOBSON
I
When Phillis frowns, an ugly blight
Descends where all before was light,
Steals o'er the sunshine of her face,
And quite eclipses half the grace
Wherewith the queenly maid is dight.
Descends where all before was light,
Steals o'er the sunshine of her face,
And quite eclipses half the grace
Wherewith the queenly maid is dight.
Her faëry guards in very fright
Unfold their wings, and take to flight;
Creatures of earth and air give place,
When Phillis frowns.
Unfold their wings, and take to flight;
Creatures of earth and air give place,
When Phillis frowns.
I may not—would not, if I might,—
Behold at large the woeful sight.
Let Nature's healing sleep efface
Unlovely lines in soft embrace:
Sweet Day, adieu! Come, gentle Night,
When Phillis frowns!
Behold at large the woeful sight.
Let Nature's healing sleep efface
Unlovely lines in soft embrace:
Sweet Day, adieu! Come, gentle Night,
When Phillis frowns!
II
O Love, how fair thou art to-day—
I would thy face were so alway!
O Love, how fair thou art; and yet
How apt, O Love, to play coquette,
As if the part were sweet to play.
I would thy face were so alway!
O Love, how fair thou art; and yet
How apt, O Love, to play coquette,
As if the part were sweet to play.
At times as bright and blithe and gay
As ripples in the coral bay,—
Without foreboding or regret,—
O Love, how fair!
As ripples in the coral bay,—
Without foreboding or regret,—
O Love, how fair!
158
At times; but 'tis not always May,
And when thy votaress, Miss A.
Makes up with him for whist a set,
Or trills with him the soft duet,
'Tis not so easy then to say,
“O Love, how fair!”
And when thy votaress, Miss A.
Makes up with him for whist a set,
Or trills with him the soft duet,
'Tis not so easy then to say,
“O Love, how fair!”
III
To see His face is all her prayer;—
To see His face,—no matter where:
The sight of e'en the faintest trace
Would glorify a desert-place,
And make the wilderness look fair.
To see His face,—no matter where:
The sight of e'en the faintest trace
Would glorify a desert-place,
And make the wilderness look fair.
The heaviest burden Love could share,
The direst peril Love would dare,
If only for a little space
To see His face.
The direst peril Love would dare,
If only for a little space
To see His face.
Not yet, not here; Sweet soul, forbear
To fret for one beyond thy care.
With hope assured, take heart of grace;
The wheels of Time roll on apace;
When death comes nigh, look up, prepare
To see His face.
To fret for one beyond thy care.
With hope assured, take heart of grace;
The wheels of Time roll on apace;
When death comes nigh, look up, prepare
To see His face.
IV
Forget-me-not! How Nature rears
Emblems of human hopes and fears
Under our feet! See where they grow,
The tiny flowers that lovers know.
And fame of old romance endears.
Emblems of human hopes and fears
Under our feet! See where they grow,
The tiny flowers that lovers know.
And fame of old romance endears.
159
We part to-night! the moment nears;
Here is a blossom dewed with tears.
Reject it,—well! Accept, and so
Forget me not!
Here is a blossom dewed with tears.
Reject it,—well! Accept, and so
Forget me not!
Either let fate produce the shears,
And nip the bond that disappears;
Forget me now before you go,—
Or take the gift my hands bestow,
And then, through all the length of years
Forget me not!
And nip the bond that disappears;
Forget me now before you go,—
Or take the gift my hands bestow,
And then, through all the length of years
Forget me not!
May 1878.
160
THE DEAD POET
Blow the trumpet loud and clear;
Blow, and yet 'tis somewhat late.
Could the sound have reached his ear,
His had been a happier fate.
Blow, and yet 'tis somewhat late.
Could the sound have reached his ear,
His had been a happier fate.
While we had him, what his guerdon?
Wormwood rendered for his song,
Till he sank beneath the burden,—
You have waited over-long.
Wormwood rendered for his song,
Till he sank beneath the burden,—
You have waited over-long.
Gold and glory heaped for many,
Not a kindly word for him;
Ah! he would have blessed a penny,
When the light of life was dim.
Not a kindly word for him;
Ah! he would have blessed a penny,
When the light of life was dim.
Words that might have cheered, unspoken,
Shouted now, but all in vain;
If the silver cord be broken,
Is it ever joined again?
Shouted now, but all in vain;
If the silver cord be broken,
Is it ever joined again?
Call him noble, call him brave,
Call him genius, if you will;
But to call him from his grave
Far transcendeth all your skill.
Call him genius, if you will;
But to call him from his grave
Far transcendeth all your skill.
May 1878.
161
VALEDICTORY
TO H. M. H.
Farewell! you pass to western lands
Across the weary waste of sea,
In heart aglow with eager hands
To seize the life which is to be.
Across the weary waste of sea,
In heart aglow with eager hands
To seize the life which is to be.
Amid the work you go to find
Upon that other busy shore,
You may not often bring to mind
The finished course that went before.
Upon that other busy shore,
You may not often bring to mind
The finished course that went before.
But we at home shall oft recall
A love in deed so firm and true,
And if you think of us at all,
So think as we shall think of you.
A love in deed so firm and true,
And if you think of us at all,
So think as we shall think of you.
At last return when life is low,
And find a corner vacant yet
In hearts that loved long years ago,
And never will, or can, forget.
And find a corner vacant yet
In hearts that loved long years ago,
And never will, or can, forget.
162
IS IT SO?
Is it so? Yester-eve, did you say,
He was taken away,
Without semblance of mercy or ruth
In the bloom of his youth,
Away from the hopes and the fears
Of young passionate years,
And the promise of strength as he grew
To his prime—is it true?
He was taken away,
Without semblance of mercy or ruth
In the bloom of his youth,
Away from the hopes and the fears
Of young passionate years,
And the promise of strength as he grew
To his prime—is it true?
Very hard it must seem to the man
With a cut-and-dried plan
Of creation, which quite supersedes
All the time-honoured creeds,
And allots to each being a sphere
Which is pleasantly clear
While he holds his own place in the rank;—
If he dies, there's a blank.
With a cut-and-dried plan
Of creation, which quite supersedes
All the time-honoured creeds,
And allots to each being a sphere
Which is pleasantly clear
While he holds his own place in the rank;—
If he dies, there's a blank.
But to you who are not narrow-brained
Does it seem unexplained,
Unsolved, like a riddle, this end,
This death of our friend?
Does it seem unexplained,
Unsolved, like a riddle, this end,
This death of our friend?
Oxford.
163
HEROISM: A THOUGHT
Thou wouldst be Hero? Wait not then supinely
For fields of fine romance which no day brings
The finest life lies oft in doing finely
A multitude of unromantic things.
For fields of fine romance which no day brings
The finest life lies oft in doing finely
A multitude of unromantic things.
The heroism of thy true endeavour
Shall gild the common-place of common days,
And God Himself shall guard thy work for ever,
And crown it with eternity of praise.
Shall gild the common-place of common days,
And God Himself shall guard thy work for ever,
And crown it with eternity of praise.
164
O LOVE, O LOVE, HOW LONG?
The tree that yearns with drooping crest
O'er some deep river's tranquil breast
At length grows downward, and is blest—
O Love, O Love, how long?
O'er some deep river's tranquil breast
At length grows downward, and is blest—
O Love, O Love, how long?
Belated birds at set of sun
Go sailing homeward one by one,
For sweets are earned when toil is done—
O Love, O Love, how long?
Go sailing homeward one by one,
For sweets are earned when toil is done—
O Love, O Love, how long?
The creeper through the tangled maze
Of brushwood following lightless ways
Shall some day reach the unclouded rays—
O Love, O Love, how long?
Of brushwood following lightless ways
Shall some day reach the unclouded rays—
O Love, O Love, how long?
The barque that strains with groaning mast
Though troubled seas and skies o'ercast
Shall sight the wished-for port at last—
O Love, O Love, how long?
Though troubled seas and skies o'ercast
Shall sight the wished-for port at last—
O Love, O Love, how long?
The traveller spent by many a mile
Plods grimly on, yet knows the while
That all will end in one fond smile—
O Love, O Love, how long?
Plods grimly on, yet knows the while
That all will end in one fond smile—
O Love, O Love, how long?
The hope of pleasure softens pain,
And if by suffering men attain,
A present loss is future gain—
O Love, O Love, how long?
And if by suffering men attain,
A present loss is future gain—
O Love, O Love, how long?
165
SONG
O careful out of measure
To fence your lovely treasure
With prudence unavailing
From what must surely be,
How quick you scent a danger
From any comely stranger
Who leans upon a railing,
Or lurks beneath a tree!
To fence your lovely treasure
With prudence unavailing
From what must surely be,
How quick you scent a danger
From any comely stranger
Who leans upon a railing,
Or lurks beneath a tree!
Then close the blind demurely,
And lock the door securely,
And lest a fraud should happen,
Be watchful of the key;
But O you may be certain
That Love will draw the curtain,
And throw the casement open,
And look abroad to see.
And lock the door securely,
And lest a fraud should happen,
Be watchful of the key;
But O you may be certain
That Love will draw the curtain,
And throw the casement open,
And look abroad to see.
And if the Fates be kindly,
And manage not too blindly,
Young Love will hatch a treason,
And struggle to be free;
And though you may not guess it,
Nor any sign confess it,
The lips you think in prison
Will be kissing on the lea.
And manage not too blindly,
Young Love will hatch a treason,
And struggle to be free;
And though you may not guess it,
Nor any sign confess it,
The lips you think in prison
Will be kissing on the lea.
166
LOVE'S DELAY
They sat—they two—upon the cliff together,
And watched the moonlight dance along the swell,
Till broke upon their pleasance 'mid the heather
The midnight warning of the village bell.
And watched the moonlight dance along the swell,
Till broke upon their pleasance 'mid the heather
The midnight warning of the village bell.
“Good night, my love,” he said; “we pass the measure
Of blessing which in one day's lap can lie;
To linger later were to weary Pleasure,
And draw some brightness from Tomorrow's eye.”
Of blessing which in one day's lap can lie;
To linger later were to weary Pleasure,
And draw some brightness from Tomorrow's eye.”
They rose, and gave a last fond look at ocean,
And then another, and again one more,
And lingering thus, at every homeward motion
They noted some delight unseen before.
And then another, and again one more,
And lingering thus, at every homeward motion
They noted some delight unseen before.
So waned the Night; and when young Morn upstarted
And quenched pale Luna's lamp with ruddier glare,
He found them parting yet, and yet unparted,—
Still pledged to move, and still love-anchored there.
And quenched pale Luna's lamp with ruddier glare,
He found them parting yet, and yet unparted,—
Still pledged to move, and still love-anchored there.
167
DON'T YOU THINK—?
Don't you think that if a torrent,
Rushing on its seaward way,
Found a jewel lying softly
On its bed of primal clay,
It would seize and bear it onward,
Smiling with a smile of spray?
Rushing on its seaward way,
Found a jewel lying softly
On its bed of primal clay,
It would seize and bear it onward,
Smiling with a smile of spray?
Don't you think that any zephyr
With a spirit of its own,
If it met a little cloudlet
Idling where no wind had blown,
Quick would clasp it,—quite refusing
Any more to fly alone?
With a spirit of its own,
If it met a little cloudlet
Idling where no wind had blown,
Quick would clasp it,—quite refusing
Any more to fly alone?
Don't you think that Love the Torrent,
Love the Zephyr, whereso'er
It shall meet a soul untrammelled,
Happy, free, and debonair,
Can and will and must embrace it,
All eternity to share?
Love the Zephyr, whereso'er
It shall meet a soul untrammelled,
Happy, free, and debonair,
Can and will and must embrace it,
All eternity to share?
168
THE PAGE
I
“Room for Her Highness, ladies gay!
Gentlemen-ushers, clear the way!”
A flourish of trumpets makes known to all
That Madame de Bourbon will open the ball.
Gentlemen-ushers, clear the way!”
A flourish of trumpets makes known to all
That Madame de Bourbon will open the ball.
With stately mien, and paces slow,
Up to the daïs the courtiers go,
But what is the creature that strives amain
To carry the weight of the royal train?
Up to the daïs the courtiers go,
But what is the creature that strives amain
To carry the weight of the royal train?
Is it an imp in human shape,
Or a stunted kind of hairless ape?
Surely it beggars the best of eyes
To follow a form in such disguise.
Or a stunted kind of hairless ape?
Surely it beggars the best of eyes
To follow a form in such disguise.
Look at him well, and then confess
That if, as they say, the art of dress
Is the power to hide, there can't be room
For any reform in yon costume.
That if, as they say, the art of dress
Is the power to hide, there can't be room
For any reform in yon costume.
A tunic of red with golden lace,
A collar that seems to fence his face,
A velvet pelisse of sapphire blue
And a monster rosette on either shoe;
A collar that seems to fence his face,
A velvet pelisse of sapphire blue
And a monster rosette on either shoe;
Fettered with ribands; condemned to wear
A wig of somebody else's hair,
A necklace of gems as large as eggs,
And a sword that is always between his legs;
A wig of somebody else's hair,
A necklace of gems as large as eggs,
And a sword that is always between his legs;
More than monkey, and less than man—
There never was seen, since Time began,
Such a queer grotesque, I dare engage,
As Madame de Bourbon's youngest page.
There never was seen, since Time began,
Such a queer grotesque, I dare engage,
As Madame de Bourbon's youngest page.
169
II
The ball is over: with aching head
The poor little page steals off to bed,
And stripped of the velvet and gold brocade
Is simply the boy that God has made.
The poor little page steals off to bed,
And stripped of the velvet and gold brocade
Is simply the boy that God has made.
Sleep sound, tired fellow! Sweet dreams be yours
Of the château away on the Gascon moors;
Of the father, so stern and yet so true,
Of the mother whose prayers are all for you;
Of the château away on the Gascon moors;
Of the father, so stern and yet so true,
Of the mother whose prayers are all for you;
Of the dear little Marie you long to kiss,
And the sturdy limbs of young Narcisse;
Of Léon the hound, polite and tame,
But ever agog for sport or game;
And the sturdy limbs of young Narcisse;
Of Léon the hound, polite and tame,
But ever agog for sport or game;
Of Jacquot the pony you once could ride
At your own free will o'er the country-side;—
Till the sun looks in through the window-pane,
And you lose your boyhood over again.
At your own free will o'er the country-side;—
Till the sun looks in through the window-pane,
And you lose your boyhood over again.
170
COLORES
A MOAN AFTER MOON-SET
O thou that art sanguine and subtle,
With fingers so wicked and white,
And eyes that are black as a cuttle,
And brows that are blue as a blight.
O terriblest torture invented!
O purplest passion intense!
(Have you heard of a poet demented,
Benign Common-sense?)
With fingers so wicked and white,
And eyes that are black as a cuttle,
And brows that are blue as a blight.
O terriblest torture invented!
O purplest passion intense!
(Have you heard of a poet demented,
Benign Common-sense?)
O love that is redder than roses!
O hate that is whiter than snow!
That blinkedly blindedly blazes,
When black-blooded blast-blisses blow;
Desert us, disdain us, O never!
Still fashion our fatuous fate;
O lick us and kick us for ever,
Red love and white hate!
O hate that is whiter than snow!
That blinkedly blindedly blazes,
When black-blooded blast-blisses blow;
Desert us, disdain us, O never!
Still fashion our fatuous fate;
O lick us and kick us for ever,
Red love and white hate!
Let thy crying out-crimson the poppy,
Thy yellings out-yellow the moon
All gilt with the gold of her copy
While thy moanings are simply maroon;
Let the robe of thy redness be rounded,
And the doom of desire be dense;
(Let the meaning of this be expounded,
Say I, Common-sense.)
Thy yellings out-yellow the moon
All gilt with the gold of her copy
While thy moanings are simply maroon;
Let the robe of thy redness be rounded,
And the doom of desire be dense;
(Let the meaning of this be expounded,
Say I, Common-sense.)
171
By the foam and the froth and the flashes,
The flashes, the froth and the foam,
By the crag-cradled craving and crashes
Through globulous glimmering gloom,
By the red, by the redder, the reddest,
The greenest, the greener, the green,
By the folly that feeds where thou feddest,
And licks thy plate clean.
The flashes, the froth and the foam,
By the crag-cradled craving and crashes
Through globulous glimmering gloom,
By the red, by the redder, the reddest,
The greenest, the greener, the green,
By the folly that feeds where thou feddest,
And licks thy plate clean.
By the fin-smashing fists that have smitten
The bruises that blacken and bud,
By the tawny-tailed cur that has bitten
When the thong has come down with a thud,
By all that is cruel and crimson,
By all that is mean and immense,
(In a word, by the horrors he hymns on,
Benign Common-sense.)
The bruises that blacken and bud,
By the tawny-tailed cur that has bitten
When the thong has come down with a thud,
By all that is cruel and crimson,
By all that is mean and immense,
(In a word, by the horrors he hymns on,
Benign Common-sense.)
Who shall say whether red is ecstatic,
Or green a more furious hue?
Must it always remain problematic
Whether passion is purple or blue?
Sea-serpents sequestered in sadness,
That satiate sorrow with salt,
O read us this riddle of madness,
Since we are at fault!
Or green a more furious hue?
Must it always remain problematic
Whether passion is purple or blue?
Sea-serpents sequestered in sadness,
That satiate sorrow with salt,
O read us this riddle of madness,
Since we are at fault!
So the saffron shall simulate sable,
The bluest and blackest shall blend,
All the bases shall build them a Babel,
Red, blue, green,—and so on to the end.
(Ye bards that make Bedlam your model,
Remove your absurdities hence!
Come down and redeem us from twaddle,
Benign Common-sense!)
The bluest and blackest shall blend,
All the bases shall build them a Babel,
Red, blue, green,—and so on to the end.
(Ye bards that make Bedlam your model,
Remove your absurdities hence!
Come down and redeem us from twaddle,
Benign Common-sense!)
Oxford, 1876.
172
LOOKING BACK
We walked in June thro' garden beds
Made bright with every flower that blows,
And high above their dewy heads
A rose, and yet again a rose.
Made bright with every flower that blows,
And high above their dewy heads
A rose, and yet again a rose.
They bent to meet you from the stem,
You touched their petals as we passed;
(No gentler hand could fall on them)
“Sweet things,” you murmured,—“while they last.
You touched their petals as we passed;
(No gentler hand could fall on them)
“Sweet things,” you murmured,—“while they last.
And I on cheerful thoughts intent:
“How well they grace their tiny room!
Without a struggle yielding scent,
Without an effort spreading bloom.
“How well they grace their tiny room!
Without a struggle yielding scent,
Without an effort spreading bloom.
And why should we so toil to please,
When simple truth is all in all?
What can we compass more than these?”
You smiled and said, “But ah, they fall!”
When simple truth is all in all?
What can we compass more than these?”
You smiled and said, “But ah, they fall!”
November glooms are round us now,
I sit within and dream of you—
Your look, your smile, your thoughtful brow,
Your pensive word—alas, 'twas true!
I sit within and dream of you—
Your look, your smile, your thoughtful brow,
Your pensive word—alas, 'twas true!
The fairest thing makes shortest stay,
The sweetest thing the soonest goes;
Shed were the rose's leaves to-day,
And you—you went before the rose!
The sweetest thing the soonest goes;
Shed were the rose's leaves to-day,
And you—you went before the rose!
1884.
173
“LORD, AND WHAT SHALL THIS MAN DO?”
O Lord, Thy wisdom leads us best
To where our duties lie;
Thou giv'st without perturbing quest
The light to find them by.
To where our duties lie;
Thou giv'st without perturbing quest
The light to find them by.
And if our hearts would fain be told,
For self or dearest friend,
What doom in God's high book is scrolled,
What work His love shall send;
For self or dearest friend,
What doom in God's high book is scrolled,
What work His love shall send;
Let this thought be for comfort—not
To Peter, not to John,
Was told the fulness of the lot
That years were leading on.
To Peter, not to John,
Was told the fulness of the lot
That years were leading on.
To one a glimpse was given, no more,
In dark prophetic show,—
To one not then imperious, nor
Importunate to know.
In dark prophetic show,—
To one not then imperious, nor
Importunate to know.
And he to whom a little while
Would bring that vision fair,
Heard not as yet of Patmos' Isle,
And what should greet him there.
Would bring that vision fair,
Heard not as yet of Patmos' Isle,
And what should greet him there.
But feed My sheep, the Saviour said,
Disciple, follow Me!
In My pure footsteps meekly tread,—
The rest is not for thee!
Disciple, follow Me!
In My pure footsteps meekly tread,—
The rest is not for thee!
174
And so to us the warning comes,
When faith is tossed at sea,—
The simple word of trust which sums
True Love's philosophy.
When faith is tossed at sea,—
The simple word of trust which sums
True Love's philosophy.
Hereafter lies with God—enough!
Our path begins from here;
Our next step, be it smooth or rough,
Our Master maketh clear.
Our path begins from here;
Our next step, be it smooth or rough,
Our Master maketh clear.
No hearts with sacred love elate,
Whose lamps are burning still,
Can linger in such vexed estate
As not to know His will.
Whose lamps are burning still,
Can linger in such vexed estate
As not to know His will.
Our shades shall never lie so deep,
Our landscape grow so dim,
That we need fail to feed His sheep,
Or cease from following Him.
Our landscape grow so dim,
That we need fail to feed His sheep,
Or cease from following Him.
| Edward Cracroft Lefroy: His Life and Poems | |