Shifting Scenes and Other Poems By J. Stanyan Bigg |
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 | Shifting Scenes and Other Poems |  |
72
XI. HOPE.
Hayti in the Garden, singing.
Another day! Another day
Cometh in cool and calm,
With flashing rills, and music-thrills,
With bee, and bud, and balm;
Adown the heavens he traileth light
And crimson as he goes;
And all earth's nestlings, eager and bright,
Purple and pallid, blue and white,
Their daintiest hearts unclose;
And a flutter of homage greeteth him,
And a garlanded glory meeteth him,
And a dance of springs
And a rush of wings
Go with him as he goes!
Cometh in cool and calm,
With flashing rills, and music-thrills,
With bee, and bud, and balm;
Adown the heavens he traileth light
And crimson as he goes;
And all earth's nestlings, eager and bright,
Purple and pallid, blue and white,
Their daintiest hearts unclose;
And a flutter of homage greeteth him,
And a garlanded glory meeteth him,
And a dance of springs
And a rush of wings
Go with him as he goes!
Another day! Another day
Showering from on high,
In bright attire, in car of fire,
Burneth along the sky;
And every dew-cup, to the brim,
Trembles with wine of gold,
And, caught in silver, with a swim
Of purple and azure, rich and dim,
Go mists o'er wood and wold;
And a song leaps up like a thing of light,
From the hush of the woods, half drowned in night,
And a flashing wing dips darkly bright
From out of the cloud that saileth white
With him o'er wood and wold,
And a blush of bowers,
And a dance of flowers,
Litter his path with gold.
Showering from on high,
In bright attire, in car of fire,
Burneth along the sky;
73
Trembles with wine of gold,
And, caught in silver, with a swim
Of purple and azure, rich and dim,
Go mists o'er wood and wold;
And a song leaps up like a thing of light,
From the hush of the woods, half drowned in night,
And a flashing wing dips darkly bright
From out of the cloud that saileth white
With him o'er wood and wold,
And a blush of bowers,
And a dance of flowers,
Litter his path with gold.
Another day! Another day
Cometh in cool and calm,
With flashing rills, with music-thrills,
With bee, and bud, and balm;
And now no more the weary rose
Lifteth her head in vain;
In his burning kiss her red lip blows,
In his look of love her red cheek glows—
She hath caught his fiery stain;
And the purple tufts where the violets are
No longer stir and sigh—
“Oh! the Day, the Day, in his golden car,
And his crimson robes—he flames afar,
But he never cometh nigh”—
For they feel him on their veinèd tips,
They feel him on their dusky lips,
He flames up in their eye.
And a drowsied odour shimmer,
And a mellowed purple glimmer,
And a whirl of white
And a dance of light
Go with him gleaming by.
Cometh in cool and calm,
With flashing rills, with music-thrills,
With bee, and bud, and balm;
And now no more the weary rose
Lifteth her head in vain;
In his burning kiss her red lip blows,
In his look of love her red cheek glows—
She hath caught his fiery stain;
And the purple tufts where the violets are
No longer stir and sigh—
“Oh! the Day, the Day, in his golden car,
And his crimson robes—he flames afar,
But he never cometh nigh”—
74
They feel him on their dusky lips,
He flames up in their eye.
And a drowsied odour shimmer,
And a mellowed purple glimmer,
And a whirl of white
And a dance of light
Go with him gleaming by.
Another day! Another day
Cometh with cool and calm,
With flashing rills, with music-thrills,
With bee, and bud, and balm;
And into my inmost heart he goes
With bird, and bud, and beam,
And every withered blossom blows,
And every thorn sprouts out a rose,
And every waste-place gleams and glows,
And brightens like a dream;
And a thousand love-caresses
Shake out their silken tresses,
And dance along the way,
Where the bliss-bud bloweth,
Where the day-dawn goeth,
Where the life-stream floweth
For ever and aye;
And all the dewy splendour
Of the passion strange and tender,
With its silent, sweet surrender,
Is with me now alway,
And faileth not,
And paleth not,
With the pale and fainting day.
Cometh with cool and calm,
With flashing rills, with music-thrills,
With bee, and bud, and balm;
And into my inmost heart he goes
With bird, and bud, and beam,
And every withered blossom blows,
And every thorn sprouts out a rose,
And every waste-place gleams and glows,
And brightens like a dream;
And a thousand love-caresses
Shake out their silken tresses,
And dance along the way,
Where the bliss-bud bloweth,
Where the day-dawn goeth,
Where the life-stream floweth
For ever and aye;
And all the dewy splendour
Of the passion strange and tender,
With its silent, sweet surrender,
75
And faileth not,
And paleth not,
With the pale and fainting day.
| Shifting Scenes and Other Poems | |