My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
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ON A WEDDING-DAY. |
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 | My Lyrical Life |  |
ON A WEDDING-DAY.
Thus, hand in hand, and heart in heart,
Face nestling unto face,
Forgotten things like Spirits start
From many a hiding-place!
There is no sound of Babe or Bird,
And all the stillness seems
Sweet as the music only heard
Adown the land of dreams.
Face nestling unto face,
Forgotten things like Spirits start
From many a hiding-place!
There is no sound of Babe or Bird,
And all the stillness seems
Sweet as the music only heard
Adown the land of dreams.
And if, because it is so proud,
My heart will find a voice,
And in its dear dream love aloud,
And speak of sweet still joys,
It is no genuine gift of God,
But only Goblin Gold,
That withers into dead leaves, should
The secret tale be told.
My heart will find a voice,
And in its dear dream love aloud,
And speak of sweet still joys,
It is no genuine gift of God,
But only Goblin Gold,
That withers into dead leaves, should
The secret tale be told.
Nine years ago you came to me,
And nestled on my breast,
A soft and wingèd mystery
That settled here to rest;
And my heart rocked its Babe of bliss,
And soothed its child of air,
With something 'twixt a song and kiss,
To keep it nestling there.
And nestled on my breast,
A soft and wingèd mystery
That settled here to rest;
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And soothed its child of air,
With something 'twixt a song and kiss,
To keep it nestling there.
At first I thought the fairy form
Too spirit-soft and good
To fill my poor, low nest with warm
And wifely womanhood.
But such a cozy peep of home
Did your dear eyes unfold;
And in their deep and dewy gloom
What tales of love were told!
Too spirit-soft and good
To fill my poor, low nest with warm
And wifely womanhood.
But such a cozy peep of home
Did your dear eyes unfold;
And in their deep and dewy gloom
What tales of love were told!
In dreamy curves your beauty drooped,
As tendrils lean to twine,
And very graciously they stooped
To bear their fruit, my Vine!
To bear such blessed fruit of love
As tenderly increased
Among the ripe vine-branches of
Your balmy-breathing breast.
As tendrils lean to twine,
And very graciously they stooped
To bear their fruit, my Vine!
To bear such blessed fruit of love
As tenderly increased
Among the ripe vine-branches of
Your balmy-breathing breast.
We cannot boast to have bickered not
Since you and I were wed;
We have not lived the smoothest lot,
Nor made the downiest bed!
Time has not passed o'erhead in Stars,
And underfoot in flowers,
With wings that slept on fragrant airs
Through all the happy hours.
Since you and I were wed;
We have not lived the smoothest lot,
Nor made the downiest bed!
Time has not passed o'erhead in Stars,
And underfoot in flowers,
With wings that slept on fragrant airs
Through all the happy hours.
It is our way, more fate than fault,
Love's cloudy fire to clear,
To find some virtue in the salt
That sparkles in a tear!
Pray God it all come right at last,
Pray God it so befall,
That when our day of life is past
The end may crown it all.
Love's cloudy fire to clear,
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That sparkles in a tear!
Pray God it all come right at last,
Pray God it so befall,
That when our day of life is past
The end may crown it all.
Ah, Dear! though lives may pull apart
Down to the roots of love,
One thought will bend us heart to heart,
Till lips re-wed above!
One thought the knees of pride will bow
Down to the grave-yard sod;
You are the Mother of Angels now!
We have two babes with God.
Down to the roots of love,
One thought will bend us heart to heart,
Till lips re-wed above!
One thought the knees of pride will bow
Down to the grave-yard sod;
You are the Mother of Angels now!
We have two babes with God.
Cling closer, closer, for their loss,
About our darlings left,
And let their memories grow like moss
That healeth rent and rift;—
For his dear sake, our Soldier Boy,
For whom we nightly plead
That he may live for God, and die
For England in her need,—
About our darlings left,
And let their memories grow like moss
That healeth rent and rift;—
For his dear sake, our Soldier Boy,
For whom we nightly plead
That he may live for God, and die
For England in her need,—
For her, who like a dancing boat
Leaps o'er life's solemn waves,
Our little Lightheart who can float
And frolic over graves;
And Grace, who making music goes,
As in some shady place
A Brooklet, prattling to the boughs,
Looks up with its bright face.
Leaps o'er life's solemn waves,
Our little Lightheart who can float
And frolic over graves;
And Grace, who making music goes,
As in some shady place
A Brooklet, prattling to the boughs,
Looks up with its bright face.
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Cling closer, closer, life to life,
Cling closer, heart to heart;
The time will come; my own wed Wife,
When you and I must part!
Let nothing break our band but Death,
For in the worlds above
'Tis the breaker Death that soldereth
Our ring of Wedded Love.
Cling closer, heart to heart;
The time will come; my own wed Wife,
When you and I must part!
Let nothing break our band but Death,
For in the worlds above
'Tis the breaker Death that soldereth
Our ring of Wedded Love.
| My Lyrical Life | |