Minuscula Lyrics of Nature, Art and Love. By Francis William Bourdillon |
 | I. | Part I
Art and Nature |
 | II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | Minuscula |  |
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I. Part I
Art and Nature
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The Shelley Memorial
(in University College, Oxford)
Itaque testimonio estis vobismet ipsis: quod filii estis eorum qui prophetas occiderunt.
This is not Shelley—this dead mask of Death!
Here is no marble Immortality,
But fleshly petrifaction. Could the breath
Come back to this, yet nevermore should he,
The stately spirit of full stature, deign
In this small corpse to lodge, and live again.
Here is no marble Immortality,
But fleshly petrifaction. Could the breath
Come back to this, yet nevermore should he,
The stately spirit of full stature, deign
In this small corpse to lodge, and live again.
This is not Shelley! Have our eyes not seen
Shelley, the child of morning, with the light
Of Heaven about him, and a brow serene
As Orient noonday, smile on Death and Night,
As the unhappy sisters of man's sorrow,
That might not live to the bright human morrow?
Shelley, the child of morning, with the light
Of Heaven about him, and a brow serene
As Orient noonday, smile on Death and Night,
As the unhappy sisters of man's sorrow,
That might not live to the bright human morrow?
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This marble but records Death's victory
In Death's own lying language; who doth boast
That o'er all Being he hath empery,
And nothing liveth when the breath is lost.
So cold, so white, he cries, your Shelley lay!
Such lifeless limbs! Such heavy soul-less clay!
In Death's own lying language; who doth boast
That o'er all Being he hath empery,
And nothing liveth when the breath is lost.
So cold, so white, he cries, your Shelley lay!
Such lifeless limbs! Such heavy soul-less clay!
Where is his Immortality—ah, where?
Is this the sky of Shelley? These his stars?
This small blue dome, as low, as near, as bare
As infant man believed it, and these sparse
Gold spangles! Could ye mock our Shelley more
'Twixt him and Heav'n than draw this tinsel o'er?
Is this the sky of Shelley? These his stars?
This small blue dome, as low, as near, as bare
As infant man believed it, and these sparse
Gold spangles! Could ye mock our Shelley more
'Twixt him and Heav'n than draw this tinsel o'er?
Yet who here standing blames the sculptor's art?
So deftly moulded is each marble limb!
Such deathly languor lies on every part!
So like is this to what was left of him,
When the wave-wantons, tiring of a prey
Teased vainly, flung the emptied flesh away!
So deftly moulded is each marble limb!
Such deathly languor lies on every part!
So like is this to what was left of him,
When the wave-wantons, tiring of a prey
Teased vainly, flung the emptied flesh away!
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Not his the fault, the sculptor's! Is it ours,
Who leave no more to Art her old domain
Of Fancy, and though sky and sea she scours,
No more allow her to present us plain
Her aery visions, or to unseen things
Lend bodies visible and birdlike wings?
Who leave no more to Art her old domain
Of Fancy, and though sky and sea she scours,
No more allow her to present us plain
Her aery visions, or to unseen things
Lend bodies visible and birdlike wings?
She bears Egyptian bondage, set to make
No likeness but what workman souls may see
And test by finger-touch—the fowler's lake,
The fisher's river-side, the woodman's tree,
The face in soul-less hours of common life,
The body naked for the surgeon's knife.
No likeness but what workman souls may see
And test by finger-touch—the fowler's lake,
The fisher's river-side, the woodman's tree,
The face in soul-less hours of common life,
The body naked for the surgeon's knife.
Where are her ancient glories, when to man
She brought a revelation all divine,
And opened his dull eyes, and bade him scan
Shy Nature, to discern why she did shine,
For all her sorrows, with so calm a light;
And, through the outward, woke the inward sight?
She brought a revelation all divine,
And opened his dull eyes, and bade him scan
Shy Nature, to discern why she did shine,
For all her sorrows, with so calm a light;
And, through the outward, woke the inward sight?
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Here had the Greek made plain in mortal form
The seed of the Immortals, the half-god;
Here had the Florentine shewn flesh all warm
With mystic fire-tints from the Rose of God;
The rudest missal-scribe, his rough child-way,
Had drawn the soul-shape 'scaping from the clay.
The seed of the Immortals, the half-god;
Here had the Florentine shewn flesh all warm
With mystic fire-tints from the Rose of God;
The rudest missal-scribe, his rough child-way,
Had drawn the soul-shape 'scaping from the clay.
We only, lords of lightning and of light,
All Nature's magic working to our wand,
Are yet forbidden the most simple sight
Of the informing soul in sea or land,
In hills and clouds and the blue deeps above,
And woman's beauty, and the face we love.
All Nature's magic working to our wand,
Are yet forbidden the most simple sight
Of the informing soul in sea or land,
In hills and clouds and the blue deeps above,
And woman's beauty, and the face we love.
One was there, son of England, whom not yet
The dust of years hides deeply, who perchance
With visionary touch had made forget
This dead marred body, left but to enhance
The bright miraculous likeness upward drawn,
The unprisoned spirit springing to the Dawn.
The dust of years hides deeply, who perchance
With visionary touch had made forget
This dead marred body, left but to enhance
The bright miraculous likeness upward drawn,
The unprisoned spirit springing to the Dawn.
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But Blake, the last Prometheus, is no more,
And the dark Heaven has shut her gates again.
Turn to the sleeper here, if in the lore
He left us we may find some balm for pain,
May find him living, though this gray-hued Death
So grimly to his dying witnesseth.
And the dark Heaven has shut her gates again.
Turn to the sleeper here, if in the lore
He left us we may find some balm for pain,
May find him living, though this gray-hued Death
So grimly to his dying witnesseth.
There do we find him, with his young-god's face
For ever to the East—for ever sure
Of the delaying sunrise, and the grace
To dawn upon the dark earth, full and pure
And holy, though a hundred such as he
Should die in faith before that day shall be.
For ever to the East—for ever sure
Of the delaying sunrise, and the grace
To dawn upon the dark earth, full and pure
And holy, though a hundred such as he
Should die in faith before that day shall be.
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An Artist's Litany
Wisdom to others—to see
Thy face and live;
But the hunger of Beauty to me,
Good Father, give!
Thy face and live;
But the hunger of Beauty to me,
Good Father, give!
In Earth and Heaven to know
Transfiguring light:
To drink of the sunset glow
With the inward sight:
Transfiguring light:
To drink of the sunset glow
With the inward sight:
The glory of Heaven to learn
From a wayside weed:
The Eden of God to discern
In a daisied mead:
From a wayside weed:
The Eden of God to discern
In a daisied mead:
To look through lustrous eyes
To the soul of a girl,
And covet no selfish prize
Of casquet or pearl:
To the soul of a girl,
And covet no selfish prize
Of casquet or pearl:
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Crown of the Maker's craft,
The white-limbed Eve,
To worship, and no warm waft
Of the flesh receive!
The white-limbed Eve,
To worship, and no warm waft
Of the flesh receive!
Wisdom to others—to see
Thy face and live:
But the hunger of Beauty to me,
Good Father, give!
Thy face and live:
But the hunger of Beauty to me,
Good Father, give!
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When Music Dies
The doors of Eden close
When music dies.
The odours of the rose,
The warm wind's sights—
When music dies.
The odours of the rose,
The warm wind's sights—
Ev'n as a dream they fade:
The dew-washed feet
Pass from the cedarn shade
To sands and heat.
The dew-washed feet
Pass from the cedarn shade
To sands and heat.
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Joy's Way
Skimming an idle stone along the lake
An idle day,
Sudden I saw a little rainbow wake
Among the spray,
Which, trying oft, I could no more remake.
An idle day,
Sudden I saw a little rainbow wake
Among the spray,
Which, trying oft, I could no more remake.
This is Joy's way!
All in a moment on our eyes to break,
Then flee away,
Nor all our labour e'er can bring it back,
Nor all our play.
All in a moment on our eyes to break,
Then flee away,
Nor all our labour e'er can bring it back,
Nor all our play.
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To a Lark
O little singing bird,
If I could word
In as sweet human phrase
Thy hymn of praise,
If I could word
In as sweet human phrase
Thy hymn of praise,
The world should hearken me
As I do thee,
And I should heed no more
Than thou, but soar!
As I do thee,
And I should heed no more
Than thou, but soar!
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Queen Spring
I met Queen Spring in the Hanger
That slopes to the river gray;
Yestreen the thrushes sang her,
But she came herself to-day.
That slopes to the river gray;
Yestreen the thrushes sang her,
But she came herself to-day.
She is fair as a mortal maiden;
But all I saw was the clouds
With a new refulgence laden
As they drifted by in crowds.
But all I saw was the clouds
With a new refulgence laden
As they drifted by in crowds.
Her voice is sweet as a viol;
But all I heard was the song
Of the blackbird making trial
If yet his notes were strong.
But all I heard was the song
Of the blackbird making trial
If yet his notes were strong.
Her touch is soft as the water;
But all I felt was the kiss
Of the warm South wind that had brought her
On those wide wings of his.
But all I felt was the kiss
Of the warm South wind that had brought her
On those wide wings of his.
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Her breath is sweet as the showers;
But all I caught was the scent
Of her sacred primrose flowers
Flinging incense where she went.
But all I caught was the scent
Of her sacred primrose flowers
Flinging incense where she went.
For so do the things diviner
Come within human ken,
Through some perception finer
Than the fivefold senses of men.
Come within human ken,
Through some perception finer
Than the fivefold senses of men.
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Maytime
Oh, the Maytime
Is the playtime!
Petals falling,
Cuckoos calling,
Here and there;
Flowers springing
Wood-birds singing
Everywhere.
Is the playtime!
Petals falling,
Cuckoos calling,
Here and there;
Flowers springing
Wood-birds singing
Everywhere.
Oh, the woodland
Is the good land!
All that rare is
In Maytime there is.
Is the good land!
All that rare is
In Maytime there is.
In sweet places
Children's features
Take the graces
Of wild creatures,
Till their faces
Gleam and dimple
With the simple
Look of flowers;
And their brightening
Is the enlightening
Of dark hours.
Children's features
Take the graces
Of wild creatures,
Till their faces
Gleam and dimple
With the simple
Look of flowers;
And their brightening
Is the enlightening
Of dark hours.
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An Autumn Song
Lay by, sweet woodlands, your array
Of gold and green!
How should ye wear it in the day
When Spring, your Queen,
Is chased away
By rebels from her bright demesne?
Of gold and green!
How should ye wear it in the day
When Spring, your Queen,
Is chased away
By rebels from her bright demesne?
Farewell, delight of lustrous leaves
And shining flowers!
Many an unseen hand unweaves
The royal bowers.
Earth's self receives
Sullenly the usurping Powers.
And shining flowers!
Many an unseen hand unweaves
The royal bowers.
Earth's self receives
Sullenly the usurping Powers.
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Corydalis
There is a little plant that weaves
About the withered gorse its leaves
Upon the Malvern Hills;
And lifts a tiny tuft of flowers,
To take the sunshine and the showers,
The heats and dewy chills.
About the withered gorse its leaves
Upon the Malvern Hills;
And lifts a tiny tuft of flowers,
To take the sunshine and the showers,
The heats and dewy chills.
We may not think a soul is there,
Nor courage, though it seems to dare
The rains, the early snows;
Nor patience, though so late it clings,
Nor pity for unhappier things,
Though round rough stems it grows.
Nor courage, though it seems to dare
The rains, the early snows;
Nor patience, though so late it clings,
Nor pity for unhappier things,
Though round rough stems it grows.
Nor any joy to be admired,
Nor soft desire to be desired,
Although so fair it be.
Yet, gentle maid, I pray thee make
A parable hereof, and take
This fable unto thee!
Nor soft desire to be desired,
Although so fair it be.
Yet, gentle maid, I pray thee make
A parable hereof, and take
This fable unto thee!
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Catchwords
Though joy and grief and pain
More fast our memories bleach
Than sun and wind and rain
The fall'n leaves of the beech:
More fast our memories bleach
Than sun and wind and rain
The fall'n leaves of the beech:
Yet what light things remain!
Some look, some little speech,
Remembered, brings again
His life's great hour to each.
Some look, some little speech,
Remembered, brings again
His life's great hour to each.
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Found Drowned
The sigh of the sea-wind wakes not
The dead in the deep:
The lapse of the light wave breaks not
Their dreamless sleep.
The dead in the deep:
The lapse of the light wave breaks not
Their dreamless sleep.
Nor the sorrow of those that loved them,
Nor the love of the loved, again
Can make this thing that the light waves fling
A creature of joy and pain.
Nor the love of the loved, again
Can make this thing that the light waves fling
A creature of joy and pain.
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The Myriad-Mother
The storm is dying with the day,
And crimson fringes fret the gray;
The shifting clouds show lakes of blue,
And in the West the sun looks through.
And crimson fringes fret the gray;
The shifting clouds show lakes of blue,
And in the West the sun looks through.
Listen, through all the woods is plain
The music of melodious rain,
And from the oak the blackbird's psalm
Hushes the weeping woods to calm.
The music of melodious rain,
And from the oak the blackbird's psalm
Hushes the weeping woods to calm.
O Nature, whom thy children trust,
Mother of myriads, it is just!
My grief has had thy tears awhile;
Smile now for others who can smile!
Mother of myriads, it is just!
My grief has had thy tears awhile;
Smile now for others who can smile!
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At Even
O toilers of the day!How, when the even-calm
Droppeth like sweetest balm
Upon your weary brows, can ye not pray?
But nay!
Some to the hot play-house,
Some to the rank carouse,
Forgetting God, ye go astray.
And all the while above,
The lamps of heavenly love,
The shining stars, show the more excellent way.
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Winged Ants
These little crawling ants for one day's space
Had Iris-wings of gossamer, and flew,
Light as the down of thistles, in the face
Of smiling heaven, whose frown not yet they knew.
The world was all a wonder, green and blue;
And light the labour down soft winds to race,
Ere yet they learned earth's dust to be their place,
Toil their inheritance, and death their due.
Had Iris-wings of gossamer, and flew,
Light as the down of thistles, in the face
Of smiling heaven, whose frown not yet they knew.
The world was all a wonder, green and blue;
And light the labour down soft winds to race,
Ere yet they learned earth's dust to be their place,
Toil their inheritance, and death their due.
O human toilers! though no good ye know
But labour, and no certain goal but death,
Was not your youth in dreams iridian dressed?
Why will ye those bright memories forgo,
Nor list again your childhood's lore, which saith,
Not life laborious, but life winged, is best?
But labour, and no certain goal but death,
Was not your youth in dreams iridian dressed?
Why will ye those bright memories forgo,
Nor list again your childhood's lore, which saith,
Not life laborious, but life winged, is best?
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The Lodestar
What shipmen steering by yon star
What separate ports have gained!
What climes, what seas, what havens far
By that one guide attained!
What separate ports have gained!
What climes, what seas, what havens far
By that one guide attained!
So shines the unreached Heavenly Light
To every seeking soul,
And guides each several seeker right
Unto his several goal.
To every seeking soul,
And guides each several seeker right
Unto his several goal.
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In a Cage
O heart, what boots thy wild wing-beating
At prison bars?
To thee the hope of flowers is cheating
As hope of stars.
At prison bars?
To thee the hope of flowers is cheating
As hope of stars.
What sadness can the sunlight bring thee,
The air so mild?
What sorrow can the blithe birds sing thee
To weep so wild?
The air so mild?
What sorrow can the blithe birds sing thee
To weep so wild?
Alas! the Spring is in all places,
And soft the air;
The woods are bright with primrose faces,
And I not there!
And soft the air;
The woods are bright with primrose faces,
And I not there!
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Poeta atque Navis
Poeta.Art thou, poor wave-beat hull, the same
We watched amid the port's acclaim
Receive on wreathèd prow thy name?
Poor ship! How hard have dealt with thee
The fortunes of the wind and sea,
Who seemed for fairer fate to be!
Navis.
The fortunes of the wind and sea,
Who seemed for fairer fate to be!
And thou, poor world-sick soul, art thou
The same on whose unwrinkled brow
Was set for crown the laurel bough?
Now have I rest from wind and wave:
But thou hast still the storms to brave
Of life whose haven is the grave.
But thou hast still the storms to brave
Of life whose haven is the grave.
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Shadows
Most strange it is to stand when shades are free—
Loosed from the light that chained them here and there,
To hold their hushed dominion everywhere—
To stand and commune with them silently.
For one was bound by daylight's tyrant glare
The faithful follower of a cur to be;
And one was forced—light fetters needed he—
To wait all day upon a maiden fair.
Loosed from the light that chained them here and there,
To hold their hushed dominion everywhere—
To stand and commune with them silently.
For one was bound by daylight's tyrant glare
The faithful follower of a cur to be;
And one was forced—light fetters needed he—
To wait all day upon a maiden fair.
And each wore then the shape of love or loathing
Of him whom Day their daylong master made;
Now all have doffed their loved or hated clothing,
And mingle o'er the earth in shapeless shade.
And we, when Death shall lose our souls from Self,
Shall shudder to have served so foul an elf.
Of him whom Day their daylong master made;
Now all have doffed their loved or hated clothing,
And mingle o'er the earth in shapeless shade.
And we, when Death shall lose our souls from Self,
Shall shudder to have served so foul an elf.
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The Sinner
I saw one crouching in a place of gloom,
Loaded with chains, abject and miserable.
A prayer broke from him: suddenly the room
Lightened, and lo, an angel veritable
Straight from God's presence. Th' iron ponderable
Shrivelled like web-work of Arachne's loom;
He stretched his limbs, he changed that living tomb
For space and light and airs esperitable.
Loaded with chains, abject and miserable.
A prayer broke from him: suddenly the room
Lightened, and lo, an angel veritable
Straight from God's presence. Th' iron ponderable
Shrivelled like web-work of Arachne's loom;
He stretched his limbs, he changed that living tomb
For space and light and airs esperitable.
I saw him kneeling, weeping praise to God.
I looked again: the prisoner, lately free,
Of his own will had entered that dark door
Again—again his limbs the fetters wore
By his own will. O Jesu! can Thy blood,
Can all the might of Heaven save him, or me?
I looked again: the prisoner, lately free,
Of his own will had entered that dark door
Again—again his limbs the fetters wore
By his own will. O Jesu! can Thy blood,
Can all the might of Heaven save him, or me?
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