Poems By the author of "The Patience of Hope" [i.e. Dora Greenwell] |
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93
II. THE SERENADE.
Last night, as Thou thy wonted round didst make,
Beloved watcher, sore I chid the wind,
When citron scents were wooing it, to take
Thy sweetness from me, leaving theirs behind!
For ever, though my very soul did wake
To catch that broken music, tenderness
Was fain to fill its pauses with a guess!
Beloved watcher, sore I chid the wind,
When citron scents were wooing it, to take
Thy sweetness from me, leaving theirs behind!
For ever, though my very soul did wake
To catch that broken music, tenderness
Was fain to fill its pauses with a guess!
And “Oh, my prisoned jewel”
(so I strove
To bind these links, the breezes' envious dole
In one), thou calledst me “thy star, thy dove,
Thy rose, thy angel, treasure of thy soul!”
These words came fitfully, the strain passed by;
Then from these scattered fragments Love and I
Sat down to frame one bright mosaic whole!
To bind these links, the breezes' envious dole
In one), thou calledst me “thy star, thy dove,
Thy rose, thy angel, treasure of thy soul!”
These words came fitfully, the strain passed by;
Then from these scattered fragments Love and I
Sat down to frame one bright mosaic whole!
Thou callest me thy Rose!
O that indeed I were
A white rose—dewy fair,
Or ruby-red—that glows
On India's fervid air;
For then would I enclose
My fragrance shut within thy heart, and dwell
As lives the flower's quick spirit in the cell
It floods with sweetness, sweetness never knowing
Loss for the bounty of its overflowing!
O that indeed I were
A white rose—dewy fair,
Or ruby-red—that glows
On India's fervid air;
For then would I enclose
My fragrance shut within thy heart, and dwell
As lives the flower's quick spirit in the cell
94
Loss for the bounty of its overflowing!
Thou callest me thy Pearl!
O that indeed I were
A bright pearl gleaming fair,
A white pearl in its quivering lustre, yet
Faint-shining like a tear,—a tear that met
With comfort ere it fell, and trembling hung
Awhile, all round and glistening, where it sprung;
Then would I fall and lie,
Beloved, in thy cup dissolving slow
At Life's great banquet, and thou shouldst not know
What gave thy wine the tinge of ecstasy!
O that indeed I were
A bright pearl gleaming fair,
A white pearl in its quivering lustre, yet
Faint-shining like a tear,—a tear that met
With comfort ere it fell, and trembling hung
Awhile, all round and glistening, where it sprung;
Then would I fall and lie,
Beloved, in thy cup dissolving slow
At Life's great banquet, and thou shouldst not know
What gave thy wine the tinge of ecstasy!
O that indeed I were
A star, a jewel rare,
A soft snow-plumaged dove,
An Angel from above;
Thou sayest, “These are mine,”
And hast but one poor heart; yet love,
Love on, and all are thine!
A star, a jewel rare,
A soft snow-plumaged dove,
An Angel from above;
Thou sayest, “These are mine,”
And hast but one poor heart; yet love,
Love on, and all are thine!
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