 | Pomander of Verse |  |
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AMBERGRIS
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THE SPIDER QUEEN
In the deep heart of furthest fairyland
Where foot of man has never trodden yet
The enchanted portals of her palace stand,
And there her sleepless sentinels are set.
Where foot of man has never trodden yet
The enchanted portals of her palace stand,
And there her sleepless sentinels are set.
All round grow forests of white eglantine
And drooping, dreaming clematis; there blows
The purple nightshade; there pale bindweeds twine
And there the pale, frail flower of slumber grows.
And drooping, dreaming clematis; there blows
The purple nightshade; there pale bindweeds twine
And there the pale, frail flower of slumber grows.
Her palaces are decked with gleaming wings,
Hung o'er with webs through spacious bower and hall,
Filled through and through with precious priceless things;
She is their mistress and she hates them all.
Hung o'er with webs through spacious bower and hall,
Filled through and through with precious priceless things;
She is their mistress and she hates them all.
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No darkling webs, woven in dust and gloom,
Adorn her palace walls; there gleam astir
Live threads of light, spun for a fairy's loom,
And stolen by her slaves and brought to her.
Adorn her palace walls; there gleam astir
Live threads of light, spun for a fairy's loom,
And stolen by her slaves and brought to her.
She wears a robe woven of the July sun,
Mixed with green threads won from the East at dawn,
Bordered with silver moonrays, finely spun,
And gemmed with glowworms from some shadowy lawn.
Mixed with green threads won from the East at dawn,
Bordered with silver moonrays, finely spun,
And gemmed with glowworms from some shadowy lawn.
She wears a crown of dewdrops bright like tears,
Her girdle is a web of rainbow dyes;
She knows no youth, nor age; the hours and years
Leave never a shadow on her lips and eyes.
Her girdle is a web of rainbow dyes;
She knows no youth, nor age; the hours and years
Leave never a shadow on her lips and eyes.
In magic rings of green and glistening light
Her fairies dance, in star-spun raiment clad,
Her people do her bidding day and night,
Her dark-robed servants toil to make her glad.
Her fairies dance, in star-spun raiment clad,
Her people do her bidding day and night,
Her dark-robed servants toil to make her glad.
Her minstrels play to her—her singers raise
Soft songs, more sweet than man has ever heard,
With endless rhythms of love her courtiers praise,
And all their heart is in their every word.
Soft songs, more sweet than man has ever heard,
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And all their heart is in their every word.
She is the mistress of all things that set
Snare of fine webs to win their hearts' desire,
Queen of all folk who weave the death-strong net
Between the poppy and the wild-rose briar.
Snare of fine webs to win their hearts' desire,
Queen of all folk who weave the death-strong net
Between the poppy and the wild-rose briar.
Yet sits despair upon that brow of hers,
And sorrow in her eyes makes festival;
The soul of grief with her sad soul confers,
And she sits lonely in her crowded hall;
And sorrow in her eyes makes festival;
The soul of grief with her sad soul confers,
And she sits lonely in her crowded hall;
Because she has woven a web of her bright hair—
A tear-bright web, to catch one soul; and he
Beheld her, in her beauty, set the snare,
And seeing laughed, and laughing passed out free!
A tear-bright web, to catch one soul; and he
Beheld her, in her beauty, set the snare,
And seeing laughed, and laughing passed out free!
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THE GOLDEN ROSE
A poor lost princess, weary and worn,
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,
And he took her in at his palace door.
Came over the down by the wind-washed moor,
And the king looked out on her grace forlorn,
And he took her in at his palace door.
He made her queen, he gave her a crown,
Bidding her rest and be glad and gay
In his golden town, with a golden gown,
And a new gold lily every day.
Bidding her rest and be glad and gay
In his golden town, with a golden gown,
And a new gold lily every day.
But the crown is heavy, the gold gown gray,
And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows;
For he brings a gold lily every day,
But no king gathers the golden rose.
And the queen's pale breast is like autumn snows;
For he brings a gold lily every day,
But no king gathers the golden rose.
One came at last to the palace keep
By worlds of water and leagues of land,
Gray were his garments, his eyes were deep,
And he held the golden rose in his hand.
By worlds of water and leagues of land,
Gray were his garments, his eyes were deep,
And he held the golden rose in his hand.
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She left gold gown, gold town, gold crown,
And followed him straight to a world apart,
And he left her asleep on the wind-washed down,
With the golden rose on her quiet heart.
And followed him straight to a world apart,
And he left her asleep on the wind-washed down,
With the golden rose on her quiet heart.
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INSPIRATION
I wandered in the enchanted wood,
And as I wandered there, I sang
A song I never understood,
Though sweet the music rang.
And as I wandered there, I sang
A song I never understood,
Though sweet the music rang.
I held a lily white and fair,
Its perfume was a song divine,
A song like moonlight and clear air,
No rose-hued cloud like mine.
Its perfume was a song divine,
A song like moonlight and clear air,
No rose-hued cloud like mine.
Beneath pale moon and wind-winged skies
My lips were dumb as one drew near,
Folded warm wings across my eyes
And whispered in my ear.
My lips were dumb as one drew near,
Folded warm wings across my eyes
And whispered in my ear.
He left a flame-flower in my hand,
And bade me sing as heretofore
The song I could not understand;
But I can sing no more.
And bade me sing as heretofore
The song I could not understand;
But I can sing no more.
His secret seals my dumb lips fast,
My lily withered 'neath his wing;
But now I understand at last
The song I used to sing.
My lily withered 'neath his wing;
But now I understand at last
The song I used to sing.
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FLOWER OF ALOE
How can I tell you how I love you, dear?
There is no music now the world is old;
The songs have all been sung, the tales all told
Broken the vows are all this many a year.
There is no music now the world is old;
The songs have all been sung, the tales all told
Broken the vows are all this many a year.
Had we but met when all the world was new,
When virgin blossoms decked untrodden fields,
I had plucked all the buds that summer yields
And woven a garland, worthy even of you.
When virgin blossoms decked untrodden fields,
I had plucked all the buds that summer yields
And woven a garland, worthy even of you.
Or had I sung when rhymes were yet unwed,
And crowned their marriage in the songs I made,
I had laid them down before you unafraid,
Meet offering to your grace and goodlihead.
And crowned their marriage in the songs I made,
I had laid them down before you unafraid,
Meet offering to your grace and goodlihead.
But all the dreams are dreamed, and no new heat
Touches life's altars, all the scents are burnt,
The truths all taught and all the lessons learnt,
And no new stars lead kings to kiss Love's feet.
Touches life's altars, all the scents are burnt,
The truths all taught and all the lessons learnt,
And no new stars lead kings to kiss Love's feet.
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For now in this grey world, of youth bereft,
Love has no throne, no sceptre and no crown;
His groves are hushed, his altars are cast down,
And we who worship—we have nothing left.
Love has no throne, no sceptre and no crown;
His groves are hushed, his altars are cast down,
And we who worship—we have nothing left.
And yet—your lips! The God has built him there
An altar which has known nor flower nor flame:
There may we burn the incense to Love's name,
There the immortal virgin rose be fair.
An altar which has known nor flower nor flame:
There may we burn the incense to Love's name,
There the immortal virgin rose be fair.
So—since my lips have known but one desire,
And all my flowers of life are vowed to you—
For us, at least, the old world has something new:
For me the altar—and for you the fire!
And all my flowers of life are vowed to you—
For us, at least, the old world has something new:
For me the altar—and for you the fire!
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THE LOST EMBASSY
The lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees—
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees—
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
From her tower window the Princess leant,
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
“White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close,
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh—in the sun—with me!”
Where the white light butterflies came and went;
She dropped soft kisses by twos and threes:
“White butterflies mine, will you carry these
To my Prince in prison? for they, who knows,
May break the spell that has held him close,
And wake him and win him to stand up free
And laugh—in the sun—with me!”
White lilies, gold in the golden sun,
White Princess, gold in your golden gown—
Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire—
Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
White Princess, gold in your golden gown—
Far off lies the sad, enchanted town!
Bright wings, light wings, white wings that tire,
Though they carry the flower of the heart's desire—
Will you trust to these, too white, too slight
To bring back the fruit of heart's delight?
All round and about the spell-bound town
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
There are no green coverts, no welcoming flowers
For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay—
One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
“Bright wings, light wings, white wings,” he cried,
“You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free—
She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes—
But no live butterflies come my way!”
The ways are dusty, the woods are brown;
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For little weary butterfly wings,
No dew, no lilies, no glad live things.
'Neath the sky of steel and the brazen sun
White wings, kiss-laden, dropped one by one:
By twos and threes they dropped by the way,
And only one reached the grim, gray tower
Where, witched from his kingdom, the poor Prince lay—
One poor tired butterfly, smirched and gray
With the dust of the town and the weary way,
And it lit on the Prince's hand and died.
“Bright wings, light wings, white wings,” he cried,
“You, only you, might have lived and borne
My prayer to my love in her tower forlorn,
And brought back the kiss that could set me free—
She might have broken the spell that lies
On my foolish heart and my foolish eyes—
But no live butterflies come my way!”
The winds are cold and the skies are gray,
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
And all the lilies died yesterday;
The Princess leans from her steel-wrought tower
To watch for her butterflies hour by hour.
Poor little Princess, you watch in vain!
Butterflies die where the green wood browns,
And kisses sent to enchanted towns
Never come home again.
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THE GIFT OF THE GODS
“Give me thy dreams,” she said, and I,
With empty hands and very poor,
Watched my fair flowery visions die
Upon the temple's marble floor.
With empty hands and very poor,
Watched my fair flowery visions die
Upon the temple's marble floor.
“Give joy,” she said. I let joy go;
I saw with cold, unclouded eyes
The crimson of the sunset glow
Across the disenchanted skies.
I saw with cold, unclouded eyes
The crimson of the sunset glow
Across the disenchanted skies.
“Give me thy youth,” she said. I gave,
And, sudden-clouded, died the sun,
And on the green mound of a grave
Fell the slow raindrops, one by one.
And, sudden-clouded, died the sun,
And on the green mound of a grave
Fell the slow raindrops, one by one.
“Give love,” she cried. I gave that too.
“Give beauty.” Beauty sighed and fled;
For what on earth should beauty do,
When love, who was her life, was dead?
“Give beauty.” Beauty sighed and fled;
For what on earth should beauty do,
When love, who was her life, was dead?
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She took the balm of innocent tears
To hiss upon her altar-coal;
She took the hopes of all my years,
And, at the last, she took my soul.
To hiss upon her altar-coal;
She took the hopes of all my years,
And, at the last, she took my soul.
With heart made empty of delight,
And hands that held no more fair things,
I questioned her—“What shall requite
The savour of my offerings?”
And hands that held no more fair things,
I questioned her—“What shall requite
The savour of my offerings?”
“The Gods,” she said, “with generous hand
Give guerdon for thy gifts of cost—
Wisdom is thine—to understand
The worth of all that thou hast lost!”
Give guerdon for thy gifts of cost—
Wisdom is thine—to understand
The worth of all that thou hast lost!”
| Pomander of Verse | |