 | Pomander of Verse |  |
77
BERGAMOT
79
VILLEGGIATURE
My window, framed in pear-tree bloom,
White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:
So, by the pear-tree, to my room
Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.
White-curtained shone, and softly lighted:
So, by the pear-tree, to my room
Your ghost last night climbed uninvited.
Your solid self, long leagues away,
Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me;
And yet you found this Romeo's way,
And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.
Deep in dull books, had hardly missed me;
And yet you found this Romeo's way,
And through the blossom climbed and kissed me.
I watched the still and dewy lawn,
The pear-tree boughs hung white above you;
I listened to you till the dawn,
And half forgot I did not love you.
The pear-tree boughs hung white above you;
I listened to you till the dawn,
And half forgot I did not love you.
Oh, dear! what pretty things you said,
What pearls of song you threaded for me!
I did not—till your ghost had fled—
Remember how you always bore me!
What pearls of song you threaded for me!
I did not—till your ghost had fled—
Remember how you always bore me!
80
TOWN AND COUNTRY
The Sun tells to Trafalgar Square
His old and radiant story,
And touches in the young spring air
The pepper-pots to glory.
His old and radiant story,
And touches in the young spring air
The pepper-pots to glory.
Spring's robe down Piccadilly floats,
The parks glow with her treasure,
And button-holes of morning coats
Rhyme with her royal pleasure.
The parks glow with her treasure,
And button-holes of morning coats
Rhyme with her royal pleasure.
Now persons beautifully dressed
In Bond-street shop and saunter,
And town—by Spring's soft breath caressed—
Would as its mistress vaunt her.
In Bond-street shop and saunter,
And town—by Spring's soft breath caressed—
Would as its mistress vaunt her.
But far away from square and street,
Where willows shine and shiver,
The splendour of her silver feet
Is on the wood and river.
Where willows shine and shiver,
The splendour of her silver feet
Is on the wood and river.
She laughs among the tree-roots brown,
Among the dewy clover,
For Spring coquets but with the town;
The country is her lover.
Among the dewy clover,
For Spring coquets but with the town;
The country is her lover.
81
REJECTED
We wandered down the meadow way—
The path beside the hedge is shady,—
You did not see the silver may,
You talked of Art, my sweet blind Lady.
The path beside the hedge is shady,—
You did not see the silver may,
You talked of Art, my sweet blind Lady.
You talked of values and of tone,
Of square touch and New English crazes;
Could you not see we were alone,
Where God's hand paints the world with daisies?
Of square touch and New English crazes;
Could you not see we were alone,
Where God's hand paints the world with daisies?
You spoke of Paris and of Rome
And in the hedgerow's thorny shadows
A white-throat sang a song of home,
Of English lanes and English meadows.
And in the hedgerow's thorny shadows
A white-throat sang a song of home,
Of English lanes and English meadows.
You talked about the aims of Art
And how all Art must needs be moral;
I heard you with a sinking heart
And watched the waving crimson sorrel.
And how all Art must needs be moral;
I heard you with a sinking heart
And watched the waving crimson sorrel.
For when I found you had not heard
The song—nor seen the dewy clover,
I cared no more to find the word
Should make you hear and see a lover!
The song—nor seen the dewy clover,
I cared no more to find the word
Should make you hear and see a lover!
82
COMPENSATION
Lady, I see you every day—
More than your other lovers do;
I sit beside you at the Play,
And in the Park I ride with you.
More than your other lovers do;
I sit beside you at the Play,
And in the Park I ride with you.
Through picture shows with you I roam
With you I shop and dance and dine;
I know the hours when you're “at home’
To no one else's knock but mine.
With you I shop and dance and dine;
I know the hours when you're “at home’
To no one else's knock but mine.
And yet so near and yet so far,
I scarce dare look at you, for fear
I should remark, “How sweet you are,
How charming, and how very dear!”
I scarce dare look at you, for fear
I should remark, “How sweet you are,
How charming, and how very dear!”
I dare not touch that hand of yours,
Or lend my voice a tender tone;
I know my state of grace endures
By fasting and by prayer alone.
Or lend my voice a tender tone;
I know my state of grace endures
By fasting and by prayer alone.
But, in my lonely dreamlit nights,
I kiss your hands, your lips, your eyes;
For absence grants me all the rights
Your presence evermore denies.
I kiss your hands, your lips, your eyes;
For absence grants me all the rights
Your presence evermore denies.
83
THE LAST DITCH
Love, through your varied views on Art
Untiring have I followed you,
Content to know I had your heart
And was your Art-ideal, too.
Untiring have I followed you,
Content to know I had your heart
And was your Art-ideal, too.
As, dear, I was when first we met.
('Twas at the time you worshipped Leighton,
And were attempting to forget
Your Foster and your Noel Paton.)
('Twas at the time you worshipped Leighton,
And were attempting to forget
Your Foster and your Noel Paton.)
“Love rhymes with Art,” said your dear voice,
And, at my crude, uncultured age,
I could but blushingly rejoice
That you had passed the Rubens stage.
And, at my crude, uncultured age,
I could but blushingly rejoice
That you had passed the Rubens stage.
When Madox Brown and Morris swayed
Your taste, did I not dress and look
Like any Middle Ages maid
In an illuminated book?
Your taste, did I not dress and look
Like any Middle Ages maid
In an illuminated book?
I wore strange garments, without shame,
Of formless form and toneless tones,
I might have stepped out of the frame
Of a Rossetti or Burne-Jones.
Of formless form and toneless tones,
I might have stepped out of the frame
Of a Rossetti or Burne-Jones.
84
I stole soft frills from Marcus Stone,
My waist wore Herkomer's disguise,
My slender purse was strained, I own,
But—my silk lay as Sargent's lies.
My waist wore Herkomer's disguise,
My slender purse was strained, I own,
But—my silk lay as Sargent's lies.
And when you were abroad—in Prague—
'Mid Cherets I had shone, a star;
Then for your sake I grew as vague
As Mr Whistler's ladies are.
'Mid Cherets I had shone, a star;
Then for your sake I grew as vague
As Mr Whistler's ladies are.
But now at last you sue in vain,
For here a life's submission ends:
Not even for you will I grow plain
As Aubrey Beardsley's “lady friends.”
For here a life's submission ends:
Not even for you will I grow plain
As Aubrey Beardsley's “lady friends.”
Here I renounce your hand—unless
You find your Art-ideal elsewhere;
I will not wear the kind of dress
That Laurence Housman's people wear!
You find your Art-ideal elsewhere;
I will not wear the kind of dress
That Laurence Housman's people wear!
85
THE CHOICE
Plague take the dull and dusty town,
Its paved and sordid mazes,
Now Spring has trimmed her pretty gown
With buttercups and daisies!
Its paved and sordid mazes,
Now Spring has trimmed her pretty gown
With buttercups and daisies!
With half my heart I long to lie
Among the flowered grasses,
And hear the loving leaves that sigh
As their sweet Mistress passes.
Among the flowered grasses,
And hear the loving leaves that sigh
As their sweet Mistress passes.
Through picture-shows I make my way
While flower-crowned maids go maying,
And all the cultured things I say
That cultured folk are saying.
While flower-crowned maids go maying,
And all the cultured things I say
That cultured folk are saying.
For I renounce Spring's darling face,
With may-bloom fresh upon it:
My Mistress lives in Grosvenor-place
And wears a Bond-street bonnet!
With may-bloom fresh upon it:
My Mistress lives in Grosvenor-place
And wears a Bond-street bonnet!
86
A COMEDY
Madam, you bade me act a part,
A comedy of your devising—
Forbade me to consult my heart,
To be sincere—or compromising.
A comedy of your devising—
Forbade me to consult my heart,
To be sincere—or compromising.
The play was not my own device,
My stage-struck youth lies far behind me;
And yet—I thought it would be nice
To play the part that you assigned me.
My stage-struck youth lies far behind me;
And yet—I thought it would be nice
To play the part that you assigned me.
Thus have I learned my rôle so well
That, as I play, you question whether
Fate has not taught your jest a spell
To bind me to you altogether.
That, as I play, you question whether
Fate has not taught your jest a spell
To bind me to you altogether.
The truth is this: so ill I wrought
In mastering the part you gave me,
That now 'tis tyrant of my thought,
And nothing in the world can save me!
In mastering the part you gave me,
That now 'tis tyrant of my thought,
And nothing in the world can save me!
Between me and my work, your face,
In haunting fashion, daily lingers;
Your eyes make mine their dwelling place
Your dream-hand thrills my idle fingers.
In haunting fashion, daily lingers;
Your eyes make mine their dwelling place
Your dream-hand thrills my idle fingers.
87
Through death-white nights I dream of you—
Of what might move, and what has moved you—
Ah! no! There's nothing you can do! . . .
. . . It's not as though I really loved you.
Of what might move, and what has moved you—
Ah! no! There's nothing you can do! . . .
. . . It's not as though I really loved you.
88
THE END
Adieu, Madame! The moon of May
Wanes now above the orchard grey;
The white May-blossoms fall like snow,
As Love foretold a month ago—
Or was it only yesterday?
Wanes now above the orchard grey;
The white May-blossoms fall like snow,
As Love foretold a month ago—
Or was it only yesterday?
All pleasant things must pass away;
You would not, surely, have me stay?
I own I shun the inference! No!
Adieu, Madame!
You would not, surely, have me stay?
I own I shun the inference! No!
Adieu, Madame!
Come, dry your eyes, for not this way
Should end your pretty pastoral play.
You have no heart—you told me so—
And I adore you, as you know;
Smile, while I break my heart and say
Adieu, Madame!
Should end your pretty pastoral play.
You have no heart—you told me so—
And I adore you, as you know;
Smile, while I break my heart and say
Adieu, Madame!
| Pomander of Verse | |