The Poems of Digby Mackworth Dolben Edited with a Memoir by Robert Bridges |
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 | The Poems of Digby Mackworth Dolben |  |
Five knots of snowdrops on the garden bank
Beneath the hill—how satisfied they seem
Against the barren hedge, wherein by this
The pleasant saps and juices are astir
To work the greening snowdrops do not see.
I leaning from my window am in doubt
If summer brings a flower so loveable,
Of such a meditative restfulness
As this, with all her roses and carnations.
The morning hardly stirs their noiseless bells;
Yet could I fancy that they whispered ‘Home’,
For all things gentle all things beautiful
I hold, my mother, for a part of thee.[OMITTED]
As watered grass beyond the glaring street,
As drop of evening on a fighting field,
As convent bells that chime for complin-tide
Heard in the gas-light of the theatre,
So unto me the image of a face,
A certain face that all the angels know.
[OMITTED]Bright are the diadems of all pure loves,
But none so bright as that whereon are set
The mingled names of Father and of Mother.
Dear are true friends, and sweet is gratitude
For grateful deeds; but what the sum of all
To that perennial love we hardly thank
More than the sun for shining while 'tis day,
Or at the dusk the cheerful candlelight?
Beneath the hill—how satisfied they seem
Against the barren hedge, wherein by this
The pleasant saps and juices are astir
To work the greening snowdrops do not see.
I leaning from my window am in doubt
If summer brings a flower so loveable,
Of such a meditative restfulness
As this, with all her roses and carnations.
The morning hardly stirs their noiseless bells;
Yet could I fancy that they whispered ‘Home’,
For all things gentle all things beautiful
100
As watered grass beyond the glaring street,
As drop of evening on a fighting field,
As convent bells that chime for complin-tide
Heard in the gas-light of the theatre,
So unto me the image of a face,
A certain face that all the angels know.
[OMITTED]Bright are the diadems of all pure loves,
But none so bright as that whereon are set
The mingled names of Father and of Mother.
Dear are true friends, and sweet is gratitude
For grateful deeds; but what the sum of all
To that perennial love we hardly thank
More than the sun for shining while 'tis day,
Or at the dusk the cheerful candlelight?
| The Poems of Digby Mackworth Dolben | |