My Lyrical Life Poems Old and New. By Gerald Massey |
 | 1. |
|
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| 2. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
|
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. | XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
|
|
 | My Lyrical Life |  |
314
XVIII.
“
The
Larch is snooding her tresses
In a twine of the daintiest green;
With fresh spring-breath the Hawthorn heaves
His breast to the sunny sheen.
A shower of spring-green sprinkles the Lime;
A shower of spring-gold the Broom;
And each rathe tint of the tender time
Wakes the wish that my Lady were Home.
In a twine of the daintiest green;
With fresh spring-breath the Hawthorn heaves
His breast to the sunny sheen.
A shower of spring-green sprinkles the Lime;
A shower of spring-gold the Broom;
And each rathe tint of the tender time
Wakes the wish that my Lady were Home.
“In the Coppice, the dear Primroses
Are the smile of each dim green nook,
Gravely gladsome; sunny but cool
With the sound of the gurgling brook.
And by the wayside in a burst of delight
From the world of Fairy and Gnome,
All the Flowers are crowding to see the sight
At their Windows. My Lady, come Home!
Are the smile of each dim green nook,
Gravely gladsome; sunny but cool
With the sound of the gurgling brook.
And by the wayside in a burst of delight
From the world of Fairy and Gnome,
All the Flowers are crowding to see the sight
At their Windows. My Lady, come Home!
“The Country's growing glorious
Quietly day by day;
The colour of April comes and goes
In a blush to meet the May.
And the spring-rains steal from their heaven of shade,
In a veil of tender gloam,
With a splendid sparkle for every blade:
Dear my Lady, come Home!
Quietly day by day;
The colour of April comes and goes
In a blush to meet the May.
And the spring-rains steal from their heaven of shade,
In a veil of tender gloam,
With a splendid sparkle for every blade:
Dear my Lady, come Home!
“The Spirit of Gladness floating
Goes up in a sound of song:
Robin sings in the rich eve-lights;
The Throstle all day long:
The Lark in his heaven that soars above
Each morn with more distant dome;
All sweet! but sweeter the voice we love.
Come Home, my Lady, come Home!
Goes up in a sound of song:
Robin sings in the rich eve-lights;
The Throstle all day long:
315
Each morn with more distant dome;
All sweet! but sweeter the voice we love.
Come Home, my Lady, come Home!
“Your Apple-blooms are fragrant
Beyond the breath of the South;
Every bud, for an airy kiss,
Is lifting a rosy wee mouth.
A greener glory hour by hour,
And a peep of ruddier bloom,
But the leafy world waiteth its Human Flower.
Dear my Lady, come Home!
Beyond the breath of the South;
Every bud, for an airy kiss,
Is lifting a rosy wee mouth.
A greener glory hour by hour,
And a peep of ruddier bloom,
But the leafy world waiteth its Human Flower.
Dear my Lady, come Home!
“Our thoughts are as the Violets
Around the Ash-tree root,
That breathe the earliest hints of Spring
At their lofty lady's foot,
And wonder why she still delays—
When the sea of life is a-foam
With flowers—to crown her in these glad days.
Come Home, my Lady, come Home!
Around the Ash-tree root,
That breathe the earliest hints of Spring
At their lofty lady's foot,
And wonder why she still delays—
When the sea of life is a-foam
With flowers—to crown her in these glad days.
Come Home, my Lady, come Home!
“Come! feel the deepening dearness
About the grand old place.
Come! let us see the cordial smile
Once more in our Lady's face.
Winter was dreary: of waiting we weary:
Best of all joy-bringers, come!
Spread bonny white sails! blow balmy spring-gales!
And bring my Lady Home!”
About the grand old place.
Come! let us see the cordial smile
Once more in our Lady's face.
Winter was dreary: of waiting we weary:
Best of all joy-bringers, come!
Spread bonny white sails! blow balmy spring-gales!
And bring my Lady Home!”
| My Lyrical Life | |