Flower Pieces and other poems By William Allingham: With two designs by Dante Gabriel Rossetti |
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 | Flower Pieces and other poems |  |
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FLOWER PIECES.
‘Beauty too is infinite.’
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FLOWERS AND MONTHS.
I. DAISY.
O Daisy—‘Day's Eye’—on this New Year's Day
Opening thy circlet on our grassy mount
To greet the low-arch'd Sun far south-away,
As mystically perfect each small ray
As the vast billow of light and life whose fount,
Glorious beyond conception, yet doth count
Only as one flow'r in God's garden,—yea,
Face, little Bloom, our King-Orb, front to front.
Opening thy circlet on our grassy mount
To greet the low-arch'd Sun far south-away,
As mystically perfect each small ray
As the vast billow of light and life whose fount,
Glorious beyond conception, yet doth count
Only as one flow'r in God's garden,—yea,
Face, little Bloom, our King-Orb, front to front.
Ye both are creatures of one substance wrought
In deeps beyond our subtlest exploration,
Thence into living form and due relation
Lifted by power that works in beauty: nought
So made but with its home too in Man's thought,
Microcosm of the whole divine creation.
In deeps beyond our subtlest exploration,
Thence into living form and due relation
Lifted by power that works in beauty: nought
So made but with its home too in Man's thought,
Microcosm of the whole divine creation.
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II. SNOWDROP.
(In Time of War.)
An old name for the Snowdrop was ‘Fair Maid of February,’ in honour of the Blessed Virgin Mary; the Feast of the Purification, otherwise called Candlemas Day, falling on the second of this month.
Fair Maid of February—drop of snow
Enchanted to a flow'r, and therewithin
A dream of April's green—who without sin
Conceived wast, but how no man may know;
I would thou mightest, being of heavenly kin,
Pray for us all (thy lips are pure, altho'
The soil be soak'd with tears and blood), to win
Some ruth for human folly, guilt and woe.
Enchanted to a flow'r, and therewithin
A dream of April's green—who without sin
Conceived wast, but how no man may know;
I would thou mightest, being of heavenly kin,
Pray for us all (thy lips are pure, altho'
The soil be soak'd with tears and blood), to win
Some ruth for human folly, guilt and woe.
A flitting phantasy and fond conceit!
Yet mark this little white-green bell, three-cleft,
Nor say of miracles the Earth's bereft.
Lo, for our comfort, here is one complete:
And after this the whole new spring-time left,
And all the roses that make summer sweet.
Yet mark this little white-green bell, three-cleft,
Nor say of miracles the Earth's bereft.
Lo, for our comfort, here is one complete:
And after this the whole new spring-time left,
And all the roses that make summer sweet.
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III. DAFFODIL.
Gold tassel upon March's bugle-horn,
Whose blithe reveille blows from hill to hill
And every valley rings—O Daffodil!
What promise for the season newly born?
Shall wave on wave of flow'rs, full tide of corn,
O'erflow the world, then fruited Autumn fill
Hedgerow and garth? Shall tempest, blight, or chill
Turn all felicity to scathe and scorn?
Whose blithe reveille blows from hill to hill
And every valley rings—O Daffodil!
What promise for the season newly born?
Shall wave on wave of flow'rs, full tide of corn,
O'erflow the world, then fruited Autumn fill
Hedgerow and garth? Shall tempest, blight, or chill
Turn all felicity to scathe and scorn?
Tantarrara! the joyous Book of Spring
Lies open, writ in blossoms; not a bird
Of evil augury is seen or heard:
Come now, like Pan's old crew we'll dance and sing,
Or Oberon's; for hill and valley ring
To March's bugle-horn,—Earth's blood is stirr'd.
Lies open, writ in blossoms; not a bird
Of evil augury is seen or heard:
Come now, like Pan's old crew we'll dance and sing,
Or Oberon's; for hill and valley ring
To March's bugle-horn,—Earth's blood is stirr'd.
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IV. PRIMROSE.
The rancour of the East Wind quell'd, a thrush
Joyfully talking on through glittering rain,
O see the yellow tufts along the lane,
Crowding the copse round every budded bush,
Dotting the dingle by its brooklet's gush,
And elm path's mossy border,—who not fain
To drink their tender sweetness, cool and fresh,
The very breath of Spring, return'd again?
Joyfully talking on through glittering rain,
O see the yellow tufts along the lane,
Crowding the copse round every budded bush,
Dotting the dingle by its brooklet's gush,
And elm path's mossy border,—who not fain
To drink their tender sweetness, cool and fresh,
The very breath of Spring, return'd again?
The Child's Flow'r, in the childhood of the year:
Our slopes and woods but yesterday were drear,
Now all the country breaks into a smile
Of Primroses, and Youth is full of cheer;
This fragrant vernal breeze in some, the while,
Waking old thoughts, unutterably dear.
Our slopes and woods but yesterday were drear,
Now all the country breaks into a smile
Of Primroses, and Youth is full of cheer;
This fragrant vernal breeze in some, the while,
Waking old thoughts, unutterably dear.
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V. HAWTHORN.
A green world, prankt with flow'rs, and fill'd with songs;
And if our woodlands have their own May-Queen,
Surely to thee, fair May, this crown belongs,
With cluster'd pearls upon thy robe of green,
And broideries of white bloom; or all one sheen
Thou and thy maidens, worshipp'd by the throngs
In various verdure—tho' sad Yew is seen
Still with the black cloak round his ancient wrongs.
And if our woodlands have their own May-Queen,
Surely to thee, fair May, this crown belongs,
With cluster'd pearls upon thy robe of green,
And broideries of white bloom; or all one sheen
Thou and thy maidens, worshipp'd by the throngs
In various verdure—tho' sad Yew is seen
Still with the black cloak round his ancient wrongs.
Soft winds o'er sunlit grass bear news of thee.
Blue, darkening, feels the moonrise. Then, elate,
Thy coaxing Nightingales whose love is great
For thee, sweet Thorn, not sharp as feign'd to be,
Call hearts and lips—how loth to separate!—
Into the shadow of the trysting-tree.
Blue, darkening, feels the moonrise. Then, elate,
Thy coaxing Nightingales whose love is great
For thee, sweet Thorn, not sharp as feign'd to be,
Call hearts and lips—how loth to separate!—
Into the shadow of the trysting-tree.
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VI. WILD ROSE.
Some innocent girlish Kisses by a charm
Changed to a flight of small pink Butterflies,
To waver under June's delicious skies
Across gold-sprinkled meads—the merry swarm
A smiling powerful word did next transform
To little Roses mesh'd in green, allies
Of earth and air, and everything we prize
For mirthful, gentle, delicate, and warm.
Changed to a flight of small pink Butterflies,
To waver under June's delicious skies
Across gold-sprinkled meads—the merry swarm
A smiling powerful word did next transform
To little Roses mesh'd in green, allies
Of earth and air, and everything we prize
For mirthful, gentle, delicate, and warm.
See, Rosie! sure thy sister-flow'r it is
(Rosa Sylvestris one hath named thee well);
Methinks I could imagine gloomy Dis
Whirling you, with a wildrose wreath, to—dwell
In Hades. Only one thing sweet as this,
One thing—come closer—nay, I'll never tell!
(Rosa Sylvestris one hath named thee well);
Methinks I could imagine gloomy Dis
Whirling you, with a wildrose wreath, to—dwell
In Hades. Only one thing sweet as this,
One thing—come closer—nay, I'll never tell!
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VII. HONEYSUCKLE.
First a cloud of fragrance. Then one sees
Coronets of ivory, coral, and gold,
Full of luscious treasure for the bees,
In their hedgerow-wreathage manifold
Clustering, or outswinging at their ease,
Watching in the hayfield those who hold
Scythe and rake, or overpeering bold
Dusty wayfarers 'twixt roadside trees.
Coronets of ivory, coral, and gold,
Full of luscious treasure for the bees,
In their hedgerow-wreathage manifold
Clustering, or outswinging at their ease,
Watching in the hayfield those who hold
Scythe and rake, or overpeering bold
Dusty wayfarers 'twixt roadside trees.
Honeysuckle-scented Summer Night!
Leaves above and dewy woods around,
Save the purring nightjar not a sound,
Save the tender glowing stars no light,—
Thou hast hid thy lovers out of sight,
Bower'd, or wandering through enchanted ground.
Leaves above and dewy woods around,
Save the purring nightjar not a sound,
Save the tender glowing stars no light,—
Thou hast hid thy lovers out of sight,
Bower'd, or wandering through enchanted ground.
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VIII. MEADOWSWEET.
Through grass, through amber'd cornfields, our slow Stream—
Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall,
And Meadowsweet, the chosen from them all
By wandering children, yellow as the cream
Of those great cows—winds on as in a dream
By mill and footbridge, hamlet old and small
(Red roofs, gray tower), and sees the sunset gleam
On mullion'd windows of an ivied Hall.
Fringed with its flags and reeds and rushes tall,
And Meadowsweet, the chosen from them all
By wandering children, yellow as the cream
Of those great cows—winds on as in a dream
By mill and footbridge, hamlet old and small
(Red roofs, gray tower), and sees the sunset gleam
On mullion'd windows of an ivied Hall.
There, once upon a time, the heavy King
Trod out its perfume from the Meadowsweet,
Strown like a woman's love beneath his feet,
In stately dance or jovial banqueting,
When all was new; and in its wayfaring
Our Streamlet curved, as now, through grass and wheat.
Trod out its perfume from the Meadowsweet,
Strown like a woman's love beneath his feet,
In stately dance or jovial banqueting,
When all was new; and in its wayfaring
Our Streamlet curved, as now, through grass and wheat.
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IX. HEATHER.
Vast barren hills and moors, cliffs over lakes,
Great headlands by the sea—a lonely land!
With Fishers' huts beside a yellow strand
Where wave on wave in foam and thunder breaks,
Or else a tranquil blue horizon takes
Sunlight and shadow. Few can understand
The poor folk's ancient tongue, sweet, simple, grand,
Wherein a dreamy old-world half awakes.
Great headlands by the sea—a lonely land!
With Fishers' huts beside a yellow strand
Where wave on wave in foam and thunder breaks,
Or else a tranquil blue horizon takes
Sunlight and shadow. Few can understand
The poor folk's ancient tongue, sweet, simple, grand,
Wherein a dreamy old-world half awakes.
And on these hills a thousand years ago
Their fathers wander'd, sun and stars for clock,
With minds to wing above and creep below;
Heard what we hear, the ocean's solemn shock,—
Saw what we see, this Heather-flow'r aglow,
Empurpling league-long slope and crested rock.
Their fathers wander'd, sun and stars for clock,
With minds to wing above and creep below;
Heard what we hear, the ocean's solemn shock,—
Saw what we see, this Heather-flow'r aglow,
Empurpling league-long slope and crested rock.
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X. IVY.
Green leaves, green flow'rs, green berries, gothic fret
Of woven green, from year to century,—
On ground, wall, wayside, mountain-crag, old tree,
In town or wilderness, the living net
Of Ivy richly clothes bare poverty,
Adds to the stateliest house a beauty yet,
Pathos to ruin'd arch and parapet,
With cottage, church-tower, tomb, can well agree.
Of woven green, from year to century,—
On ground, wall, wayside, mountain-crag, old tree,
In town or wilderness, the living net
Of Ivy richly clothes bare poverty,
Adds to the stateliest house a beauty yet,
Pathos to ruin'd arch and parapet,
With cottage, church-tower, tomb, can well agree.
No luck misfits thee, Ivy, great or mean,
Mirthful or solemn; right for Pluto's bower,
Bacchus's jolly garland. Now, serene,
You welcome winter, choose for time to flower
The misty month when most things crouch and cower.
Green is Youth's colour. Hail, Prince Evergreen!
Mirthful or solemn; right for Pluto's bower,
Bacchus's jolly garland. Now, serene,
You welcome winter, choose for time to flower
The misty month when most things crouch and cower.
Green is Youth's colour. Hail, Prince Evergreen!
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XI. CHRYSANTHEMUM.
The rustic family of Oxeyes claim
A royal Cousin, clad in purple and gold,
Pearl, ruby, fleecy colours such as fold
The couching sun, and with a lofty name,
Chrysanthemum—appearing bright and bold
To startle poor November with a flame
Of sumptuous flowerage, making summer tame,
And flush with Eastern pomp the dark and cold.
A royal Cousin, clad in purple and gold,
Pearl, ruby, fleecy colours such as fold
The couching sun, and with a lofty name,
Chrysanthemum—appearing bright and bold
To startle poor November with a flame
Of sumptuous flowerage, making summer tame,
And flush with Eastern pomp the dark and cold.
Voyager from Japan and broad Cathay,
The slant-eyed Yellow People love thee much
(All Humans love a flow'r), and know the way
To fix their garden favourite with fine touch
In shapes of art: how joyful we to clutch
Their gifts—but shall we clasp their hands one day
The slant-eyed Yellow People love thee much
(All Humans love a flow'r), and know the way
To fix their garden favourite with fine touch
In shapes of art: how joyful we to clutch
Their gifts—but shall we clasp their hands one day
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XII. GORSE.
Bloom of the Common, common bloom, gold honey,
Sweet like a healthy life in every season,
Nature still grows thee, Gorse, regales her bees on
Stretches of English land, wide, windy, sunny,
Free from the fetters of that monster, Money,
Big with delusive promise full of treason;
Harbours the wren, the furzeling, and the coney,
Feeds goose and ass there,—Soul too, lord of reason.
Sweet like a healthy life in every season,
Nature still grows thee, Gorse, regales her bees on
Stretches of English land, wide, windy, sunny,
Free from the fetters of that monster, Money,
Big with delusive promise full of treason;
Harbours the wren, the furzeling, and the coney,
Feeds goose and ass there,—Soul too, lord of reason.
Wild wealth of merry May, of dim December!
Swedish Linnæus fell upon his knees
To thank with joy the Everliving Power
(No scraps of lore forbade him to remember)
Giving such wondrous beauty to a Flower,
To Man the beauty-loving eye that sees.
Swedish Linnæus fell upon his knees
To thank with joy the Everliving Power
(No scraps of lore forbade him to remember)
Giving such wondrous beauty to a Flower,
To Man the beauty-loving eye that sees.
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FLOWERS AND POETS.
[Long years ago these Flowers were cull'd]
Long years ago these Flowers were cull'd,Entwining gentle Names:
By younger hands be others pull'd
To garland other fames.
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PRELUDE.
Likeness, ofter found than soughtOr by wit's exertion wrought,
Here 'tween two delights exprest,
In the various tinge is drest
Playing on it from affection's
Sympathizing recollections.
When you find the fancy just,
Wreathe the Blossom round the Bust.
Nor of Fancy's birth may be
Every correspondency.
Say that matter's but expansion
Of that force whose central mansion
Is the soul that each man shares,
And so each like Atlas bears
Earth on's shoulders—in his head,
Here involved, what's there outspread;
Thus each modal element
A faculty doth represent,
And the beauty creamed in Flowers
Mind's distinct poetic powers—
Poured in both from one completeness
Into various moulds of sweetness;
Say that we, in scanning over
Do not fancy, but discover
Where the Inner's like the Outer;
Then, whoe'er will be a doubter,
Let him prove it is not so.
I meantime my guesses show,
And my fellow-children bid
Search where mother's hand hath hid.
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WALLFLOWER.
This dark-red Wallflower seemeth well to meDan Chaucer's emblem meetest for to be:
So rich it is, yet sturdy in its hue;
So sweet in scent, yet very wholesome too;
So freshly thriving in a homely place,
Yet in the rarest knots a welcome grace.
HONEYSUCKLE.
One summer noon, all carelessly dispreadWhere lush green trails a thickest bower did form,
I gazed on trumpet-blossoms overhead
Dropping with honey sweetness, amber-warm,
Till sleep came softly. Oh, what maiden charm
Flush'd dainty-bright that bower, in vision seen!
What noble knighthood there did swiftly arm
For high emprises of the Faëry Queen!
Murmuring a word, I woke—'twas Spenser's name I ween.
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ROSES.
All Roses be the crown for Shakespeare's head,
The half-green buddings and the bossy blooms,
Virginal white and tender maiden-blush,
Nor that rejected where a canker's hid
To move us more than beauty, rival flow'rs
Embracing here of York and Lancaster,
Shy wildings from the forest, proud ones woo'd
By nightingales in gardens of the South,
Or worn by Cleopatra,—rose on rose,
Roses from every region of the world!
The half-green buddings and the bossy blooms,
Virginal white and tender maiden-blush,
Nor that rejected where a canker's hid
To move us more than beauty, rival flow'rs
Embracing here of York and Lancaster,
Shy wildings from the forest, proud ones woo'd
By nightingales in gardens of the South,
Or worn by Cleopatra,—rose on rose,
Roses from every region of the world!
Vicegerent to Queen Flora, free thou giv'st
Thy royalty the air, thy favours fling
To cottage threshold or a palace-hall,
Or delicately wreathe the wayside hedge;
All zones are native to thee; never sun
Can scorch the whiteness of thy pearly brow,
Or wan the flushing of thy cherub cheek;
Unsickly is thy spirit, and breathes out
Exhilaration, buoyancy and triumph,
Wedded to richness without paragon;
That even thy cast-off leaves are precious things,
And thy nice essence of a dearer rate
Than the oft-furnaced gold,—O rarest thou
And commonest, most cheap, most prizable,
Of all the Flowers in garden or in field,
Of all that earth from east to west can yield!
Thy royalty the air, thy favours fling
To cottage threshold or a palace-hall,
Or delicately wreathe the wayside hedge;
All zones are native to thee; never sun
Can scorch the whiteness of thy pearly brow,
Or wan the flushing of thy cherub cheek;
Unsickly is thy spirit, and breathes out
Exhilaration, buoyancy and triumph,
Wedded to richness without paragon;
That even thy cast-off leaves are precious things,
And thy nice essence of a dearer rate
Than the oft-furnaced gold,—O rarest thou
And commonest, most cheap, most prizable,
Of all the Flowers in garden or in field,
Of all that earth from east to west can yield!
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AGAVE.
Amid a stately space of garden ground,
Proud of its old ancestral seat in ken
Of Andes or of Appalachian hills,
The Agave towers, and step by step is built
Above its weighty leaves the mass of bloom,
Slow-nurtured pyramid, with which compared,
Flowers at its base appear like shepherds' huts
Round those Nilotic structures that beheld
Isis and Orus and the Memphian Gods,
Long ruin'd, they still firm.
Proud of its old ancestral seat in ken
Of Andes or of Appalachian hills,
The Agave towers, and step by step is built
Above its weighty leaves the mass of bloom,
Slow-nurtured pyramid, with which compared,
Flowers at its base appear like shepherds' huts
Round those Nilotic structures that beheld
Isis and Orus and the Memphian Gods,
Long ruin'd, they still firm.
For whom but thee
(Although of foreign stock its pilèd wealth),
O great Blind Man of England, to whose sight,
Earth being shut out, unroll'd the Wars of Heaven
And sweetness of the primal Paradise,—
For whom but thee, this mighty Agave blows?
(Although of foreign stock its pilèd wealth),
O great Blind Man of England, to whose sight,
Earth being shut out, unroll'd the Wars of Heaven
And sweetness of the primal Paradise,—
For whom but thee, this mighty Agave blows?
HYACINTH.
For Keats, O Hyacinthus, thus dost showThy sumptuous curling bells of crispèd snow,
Ingrainèd pure as snow's first feathering,
Or dyèd like the richness of Night's wing,
Or sapphire morn, or roseate even-bloom,
And loaden down with luscious perfume.
Were but thine old inscription legible
'Twould suit our modern loss too sadly well.
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EGYPTIAN LOTOS.
A mighty stream from undiscover'd fountainsPours through an ancient and deserted land,
With cities of the dead along its mountains,
Tombs of forgotten kings amid its sand,
And shatter'd temples, where the priestly band
With all their gods have moulder'd;—on its tide
This necromantic Lily doth expand,
Unveiling like a pale and queenly bride,
And float—as loved to float Alastor dreamy-eyed.
SWEETBRIAR.
Leigh Hunt, the bloom I name for thineIs pretty, pointed Eglantine:
Flusht with the gentlest garden hue,
Yet with a wilding freshness too;
With fragrant breath in fine flower-lips,
And fragrance to green finger-tips;
And all its sweetness sweeter yet,
With dews or showery droppings wet.
For not in blossom books alone
Thy Poetry and Love are shown;
And tearful trials of this earth
But draw their richest essence forth.
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BLUEBELL OF SCOTLAND.
Of all that bloom in field or fell,O Scott of Scots, how passing well
The Scottish flow'r, the wild Bluebell,
May be assign'd to you.
On breezy heath it nods to greet
The happy rover's bounding feet,
Whose eye with welcome laughs to meet
The glance of kindly blue;
Or on some mouldering donjon tow'r
Waves in the wind its slender flow'r
Where 'scutcheon'd banners flew—
A bright existence, springing gay
From time's despoil and power's decay.
JASMIN.
The colour'd sunset's waning glow,The coy sparks trembling forth on high,
The summer moon, alifting slow
Amid the purple summer sky,
Melt through these dim and fragil bars
Our dream-enfolding Jasmin weaves;
While scarce its own white scented stars
Divide their shadowy heav'n of leaves.
What dreams are in the dusk afloat?—
A ruin'd ‘Dragon on the Heath,’
Mount Ida, Locksley, Camelot;
A Poet with a Jasmin wreath.
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TIGER-LILY.
This is an Indian sun, well-nigh,
And the hour in a deep green shade to lie.
But strolling off from your palanquin
As though in your English barouche you'd been,
If there should ray through the forest-gloom edge,
Under the jungle-grass's white plumage,
Two sudden stars of fierce red fire
Just in front, and nigher and nigher
Crawling, you saw—and those eyes unwinking
Tied you from running, upheld you from sinking,
Till the claw'd yellow Strength all swarthy barr'd,
With that serpenting tail stretched stiff and hard
Should crash—
And the hour in a deep green shade to lie.
But strolling off from your palanquin
As though in your English barouche you'd been,
If there should ray through the forest-gloom edge,
Under the jungle-grass's white plumage,
Two sudden stars of fierce red fire
Just in front, and nigher and nigher
Crawling, you saw—and those eyes unwinking
Tied you from running, upheld you from sinking,
Till the claw'd yellow Strength all swarthy barr'd,
With that serpenting tail stretched stiff and hard
Should crash—
Our gentle garden-border,
Can it feed us with fancies of murder?
Lily that set us off on such freaks
Rich with dark splendid spots and streaks,
A crown on a sceptre—blame you? or else us?
Surely not him!—but see ‘Paracelsus.’
Can it feed us with fancies of murder?
Lily that set us off on such freaks
Rich with dark splendid spots and streaks,
A crown on a sceptre—blame you? or else us?
Surely not him!—but see ‘Paracelsus.’
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GARLANDS.
In idle shade to mark them one by one
We may not loiter, for the waning hours
Through garden, field, and woodland haste us on,
To match no meaner flowers.
We may not loiter, for the waning hours
Through garden, field, and woodland haste us on,
To match no meaner flowers.
This Passion-Flow'r, the delicate and strange
And dim, as though half-faded into air
By enchantment, or awaiting some high change,
Let none but Coleridge wear.
And dim, as though half-faded into air
By enchantment, or awaiting some high change,
Let none but Coleridge wear.
Midst quaintly crumpled leaves the Violet
Hides close and warm its tufts of sweetness blue,
For Hood;—and if his flower be softly wet,
Say, is it more than due?
Hides close and warm its tufts of sweetness blue,
For Hood;—and if his flower be softly wet,
Say, is it more than due?
Aspiring, shrinking, Lily of the Vale,
The word ‘Elizabeth’ is faintly toll'd
From all thine arching chime of silver pale
In dark green turret-fold.
The word ‘Elizabeth’ is faintly toll'd
From all thine arching chime of silver pale
In dark green turret-fold.
Run, children! run away to Mary Howitt
With early Primrose-bunches and a song.
To Barnes (true poet, if not many know it)
Let Apple-bloom belong.
With early Primrose-bunches and a song.
To Barnes (true poet, if not many know it)
Let Apple-bloom belong.
‘The milk-white Thorn’ where ploughmen at mid-day
And lovers in the friendly gloaming sit,
And every wild-bird brings its sweetest lay,
For whom but Burns is fit?
And lovers in the friendly gloaming sit,
And every wild-bird brings its sweetest lay,
For whom but Burns is fit?
Geranium, thou, methinks, for Emerson;
The choice and home-familiar, featly blent,
Mystical naivety, fresh antiqueness, run
Through shape, fine hues, and scent,
The choice and home-familiar, featly blent,
Mystical naivety, fresh antiqueness, run
Through shape, fine hues, and scent,
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And Thomas Cárlyle—think you he being named
Among the Muse's children, 'twould offend her?
Or Queen of Flow'rs refuse the Cactus claim'd
For ruggedness and splendour?
Among the Muse's children, 'twould offend her?
Or Queen of Flow'rs refuse the Cactus claim'd
For ruggedness and splendour?
The shadows fall: so, quickly as we may,
We touch for Herrick, never sad or cold,
This Meadowsweet that borders fields of hay;
For Chapman, Marygold:
We touch for Herrick, never sad or cold,
This Meadowsweet that borders fields of hay;
For Chapman, Marygold:
The flaming Peony with Marlowe mate;
The Rhododendron give to Dryden's charge;
To Ben the Dahlia, burly-elaborate,
Iris to holy George.
The Rhododendron give to Dryden's charge;
To Ben the Dahlia, burly-elaborate,
Iris to holy George.
Lavender, Quarles; Sweet-William's honest face,
Marvel; John Fletcher must Convolvulus get;
Pope the Camellia, nursed for lamplight grace;
Goldsmith the Mignonette.
Marvel; John Fletcher must Convolvulus get;
Pope the Camellia, nursed for lamplight grace;
Goldsmith the Mignonette.
The dark sward's spirts of early Crocus-flame,
Purpure, and Or, and Argent, do thou take,
Boy Chatterton; and ‘crown'd with a golden dream,’
This angel Lily, Blake.
Purpure, and Or, and Argent, do thou take,
Boy Chatterton; and ‘crown'd with a golden dream,’
This angel Lily, Blake.
Elliott's, a Foxglove from the Yorkshire fells;
This double Cowslip must be Cowper's right;
Hemans's Gillyflower; and L. E. L.'s,
Anemone, the white.
This double Cowslip must be Cowper's right;
Hemans's Gillyflower; and L. E. L.'s,
Anemone, the white.
Rich Pansy, gravely ‘freakt,’ to Wordsworth goes;
To Byron, Sunflower; Moore, the gay Sweet-Pea,
Flower-butterfly; where Southey's blazon grows
In Garden Poppy see.
To Byron, Sunflower; Moore, the gay Sweet-Pea,
Flower-butterfly; where Southey's blazon grows
In Garden Poppy see.
25
Give Hogg the Wild Thyme from a fairy knowe;
And Ramsay, Broom; and Allan Cunningham
Scotch Whin; and Clare the Buttercup. Allow
For Daisy, Bloomfield's claim.
And Ramsay, Broom; and Allan Cunningham
Scotch Whin; and Clare the Buttercup. Allow
For Daisy, Bloomfield's claim.
May Landor not disdain thee, Asphodel!
Ah, Edgar Poe, the Dwale, the Dwale's thine own.
Methinks the wholesome Heather suits thee well,
Brave Irish Ferguson.
Ah, Edgar Poe, the Dwale, the Dwale's thine own.
Methinks the wholesome Heather suits thee well,
Brave Irish Ferguson.
Campbell, the choice Auricula is thine,
Cultured, compact; the Hollyhock's firm pride
Macaulay's; Double Rocket, hearty and fine,
For Clough we lay aside.
Cultured, compact; the Hollyhock's firm pride
Macaulay's; Double Rocket, hearty and fine,
For Clough we lay aside.
Light melts from heav'n. Our curfew be the same
As folds the latest of these happy clans.
New bridals may another day proclaim,
And none forbid the banns!
As folds the latest of these happy clans.
New bridals may another day proclaim,
And none forbid the banns!
POSTSCRIPT.
Once (oh, not immodest deemYour friend, if he relate his dream)
Fast asleep as I was laid
In translucent summer shade,
Flora came, and stooping down,
Bless'd me also with a crown,
For adding, over all her dowers,
One new sweetness to the Flowers.
Woven of what bloom or leaf
Never knew I: to my grief,
When I lifted hand to head
Swift th'unreal honour fled.
26
TO EÄRINÉ.
‘Eäriné,
Who had her very being, and her name,
With the first knots or buddings of the Spring.’
Ben Jonson.
Who had her very being, and her name,
With the first knots or buddings of the Spring.’
Ben Jonson.
Saint Valentine kindles the crocus,
Saint Valentine wakens the birds;
I would that his power could evoke us
In tender and musical words!
Saint Valentine wakens the birds;
I would that his power could evoke us
In tender and musical words!
I mean, us unconfident lovers,
Whose doubtful or stammering tongue
No help save in rhyming discovers;
Since what can't be said may be sung.
Whose doubtful or stammering tongue
No help save in rhyming discovers;
Since what can't be said may be sung.
So, Fairest and Sweetest, your pardon
(If no better welcome) I pray!
There's spring-time in grove and in garden;
Perchance it may breathe in my lay.
(If no better welcome) I pray!
There's spring-time in grove and in garden;
Perchance it may breathe in my lay.
I think and I dream (did you know it?)
Of somebody's eyes, her soft hair,
The neck bending whitely below it,
The dress that she chances to wear.
Of somebody's eyes, her soft hair,
The neck bending whitely below it,
The dress that she chances to wear.
Each tone of her voice I remember,
Each turn of her head, of her arm;
Methinks, had she faults out of number,
Being hers, they were certain to charm.
Each turn of her head, of her arm;
Methinks, had she faults out of number,
Being hers, they were certain to charm.
From her every distance I measure;
Each mile of a journey, I say—
‘I'm so much the nearer my treasure,’
Or ‘so much the farther away.’
Each mile of a journey, I say—
‘I'm so much the nearer my treasure,’
Or ‘so much the farther away.’
27
And love writes my almanac also;
The good days and bad days occur,
The fasts and the festivals fall so,
By seeing or not seeing her.
The good days and bad days occur,
The fasts and the festivals fall so,
By seeing or not seeing her.
Who know her, they're happy, they only;
Whatever she looks on turns bright;
Wherever she is not, is lonely;
Wherever she is, is delight.
Whatever she looks on turns bright;
Wherever she is not, is lonely;
Wherever she is, is delight.
So friendly her face that I tremble,
On friendship so sweet having ruth:
But why should I longer dissemble?
Or will you not guess at the truth?
On friendship so sweet having ruth:
But why should I longer dissemble?
Or will you not guess at the truth?
And that is—dear Maiden, I love you!
You sweetest and brightest and best!—
Good luck to the roof-tree above you,
The floor where your footstep is press'd!
You sweetest and brightest and best!—
Good luck to the roof-tree above you,
The floor where your footstep is press'd!
May some new deliciousness meet you
On every new day of the Spring;
Each flow'r in its turn bloom to greet you,
Lark, mavis, and nightingale sing!
On every new day of the Spring;
Each flow'r in its turn bloom to greet you,
Lark, mavis, and nightingale sing!
May kind vernal powers in your bosom
Their tenderest influence shed!
May I when the Rose is in blossom
Enweave you a crown, white and red!
Their tenderest influence shed!
May I when the Rose is in blossom
Enweave you a crown, white and red!
28
WAYSIDE FLOWERS.
Pluck not the wayside-flower,It is the traveller's dower;
A thousand passers-by
Its beauties may espy,
May win a touch of blessing
From Nature's mild caressing.
The sad of heart perceives
A violet under leaves
Like some fresh-budding hope;
The primrose on the slope
A spot of sunshine dwells,
And cheerful message tells
Of kind renewing power;
The nodding bluebell's dye
Is drawn from happy sky.
Then spare the wayside-flower!
It is the traveller's dower.
29
THE CHOICE.
Now let me choose a native blossom,
Ere I quit the sunny fields,
Fittest for my Lucy's bosom,
Hill, or brake, or meadow yields.
Ere I quit the sunny fields,
Fittest for my Lucy's bosom,
Hill, or brake, or meadow yields.
Flag or Poppy I'll not gather,
Briony or Pimpernel;
Scented Thyme or sprouting Heather,
Though they please me both so well.
Briony or Pimpernel;
Scented Thyme or sprouting Heather,
Though they please me both so well.
Purpling Vetches, crimson Clover,
Pea-bloom winglets, pied and faint,
Bluebell, Windflow'r, pass them over;
Sober Mallow, Orchis quaint.
Pea-bloom winglets, pied and faint,
Bluebell, Windflow'r, pass them over;
Sober Mallow, Orchis quaint.
Striped Convolvulus in hedges,
Columbine, and Mountain-Pink;
Lilies, floating seen through sedges,
Violets nestling by the brink;
Columbine, and Mountain-Pink;
Lilies, floating seen through sedges,
Violets nestling by the brink;
Creamy Elder, blue Germander,
Betony that seeks the shade;
Nor where Honeysuckles wander
May that luscious balm persuade.
Betony that seeks the shade;
Nor where Honeysuckles wander
May that luscious balm persuade.
Sad Forget-me-not's a token
Full of partings and mishaps;
Leave the Foxglove spire unbroken,
Lest the Fairies want for caps.
Full of partings and mishaps;
Leave the Foxglove spire unbroken,
Lest the Fairies want for caps.
Crimson Loose-strife, Crowfoot, Pansy,
Golden Gorse, or golden Broom,
Eyebright cannot fix my fancy,
Nor the Meadowsweet's perfume.
Golden Gorse, or golden Broom,
Eyebright cannot fix my fancy,
Nor the Meadowsweet's perfume.
30
Azure, scarlet, pink or pearly,
Rustic friends in field or grove,
Each of you I prize full dearly,
None of you is for my Love.
Rustic friends in field or grove,
Each of you I prize full dearly,
None of you is for my Love.
Wild-Rose! delicately flushing
All the border of the dale—
Art thou like a pale cheek blushing,
Or a red cheek turning pale?
All the border of the dale—
Art thou like a pale cheek blushing,
Or a red cheek turning pale?
Is it sorrow? is it gladness?
Lover's hopes, or lover's fears?
Or a most delicious sadness,
Mingled up of smiles and tears?
Lover's hopes, or lover's fears?
Or a most delicious sadness,
Mingled up of smiles and tears?
Come!—no silky leaflet shaken—
To a breast as pure and fair;
Come! and thoughts more tender waken
Than thy fragrant spirit there.
To a breast as pure and fair;
Come! and thoughts more tender waken
Than thy fragrant spirit there.
31
IN A GARDEN.
Betwixt our apple-boughs, how clear
The violet western hills appear,
As calmly ends another day
Of Earth's long history,—from the ray
She with slow majestic motion
Wheeling continent and ocean
Into her own dim shade, wherethrough
The Outer Heavens come into view,
Deep beyond deep.
The violet western hills appear,
As calmly ends another day
Of Earth's long history,—from the ray
She with slow majestic motion
Wheeling continent and ocean
Into her own dim shade, wherethrough
The Outer Heavens come into view,
Deep beyond deep.
In thought conceive
This rolling Globe whereon we live
(For in the mind, and there alone
A picture of the world is shown),
How huge it is, how full of things,
As round the royal Sun it swings,
In one of many subject rings—
Carrying our Cottage with the rest,
Its rose-lawn and its martin's nest.
This rolling Globe whereon we live
(For in the mind, and there alone
A picture of the world is shown),
How huge it is, how full of things,
As round the royal Sun it swings,
In one of many subject rings—
Carrying our Cottage with the rest,
Its rose-lawn and its martin's nest.
But, number every grain of sand
Wherever salt wave touches land;
Number in single drops the sea;
Number the leaves on every tree;
Number Earth's living creatures, all
That run, that fly, that swim, that crawl;
Of sands, drops, leaves, and lives, the count
Add up into one vast amount;
And then, for every separate one
Of all those, let a flaming Sun
Whirl in the boundless skies, with each
Its massy planets, to outreach
All sight, all thought: for all we see,
Encircled with Infinity,
Is but an island.
Wherever salt wave touches land;
Number in single drops the sea;
Number the leaves on every tree;
Number Earth's living creatures, all
That run, that fly, that swim, that crawl;
Of sands, drops, leaves, and lives, the count
Add up into one vast amount;
And then, for every separate one
Of all those, let a flaming Sun
Whirl in the boundless skies, with each
Its massy planets, to outreach
All sight, all thought: for all we see,
Encircled with Infinity,
Is but an island.
32
Look aloft,
The stars are gathering. Cool and soft
The twilight in our garden-croft
Purples the crimson-folded rose,
(O tell me how so sweet it grows)
Makes gleam like stars the cluster'd white;
And Beauty too is infinite.
The stars are gathering. Cool and soft
The twilight in our garden-croft
Purples the crimson-folded rose,
(O tell me how so sweet it grows)
Makes gleam like stars the cluster'd white;
And Beauty too is infinite.
AT A WINDOW.
To ------
Search the round Earth, and Heavens afar,
Man is the highest thing you find:
Yet all the powers of all mankind
Drawn to a point, could never make
One scented little Jasmin-Star
Of these that by our window shake
As stirs the fitful evening wind,
Showing, in purple depth between
The frondage, Sirius glancing keen.
Man is the highest thing you find:
Yet all the powers of all mankind
Drawn to a point, could never make
One scented little Jasmin-Star
Of these that by our window shake
As stirs the fitful evening wind,
Showing, in purple depth between
The frondage, Sirius glancing keen.
Look back into the twilight room,
And see amid the tender gloom
Our favourite Picture glimmering rich,
Our dear Greek Goddess in her niche,
Our fifty priceless Books a-row,
And Music where she mildly waits
To open with a touch Heaven's gates.
Say hath not Art, man's proper power,
Its world of miracles to show?
The boundless world of star and flower,
All that exists, above, below,
Is chaos, blind and deaf and dumb,
Until within the Soul it come
(That essence of its gross), perceive
Itself at last, and instant weave
A Universe of Beauty, wrought
Of interflow, within, without,—
Soul's joy: which in its own fine ways
Art expresses and conveys.
And see amid the tender gloom
Our favourite Picture glimmering rich,
Our dear Greek Goddess in her niche,
Our fifty priceless Books a-row,
And Music where she mildly waits
To open with a touch Heaven's gates.
Say hath not Art, man's proper power,
Its world of miracles to show?
The boundless world of star and flower,
All that exists, above, below,
33
Until within the Soul it come
(That essence of its gross), perceive
Itself at last, and instant weave
A Universe of Beauty, wrought
Of interflow, within, without,—
Soul's joy: which in its own fine ways
Art expresses and conveys.
How Nature hides her music-tones!
More deeply than her precious stones.
How we have found and set them! Nay,
To-night, Love, do not sing or play,
But improvise—A Starry Night,
And Beauty too is infinite:
Its source the Loving Soul, a Face
Like yours its choicest dwelling-place.
More deeply than her precious stones.
How we have found and set them! Nay,
To-night, Love, do not sing or play,
But improvise—A Starry Night,
And Beauty too is infinite:
Its source the Loving Soul, a Face
Like yours its choicest dwelling-place.
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