Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments By Frederic W. H. Myers: Edited by his Wife Eveleen Myers |
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[Who to the grave child-eyes could teach] |
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 | Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments |  |
254
[Who to the grave child-eyes could teach]
Who to the grave child-eyes could teach
Unknown Love's tremor and his play;
The silences that crown his speech,
His bitter-sweet and mourning way?
Unknown Love's tremor and his play;
The silences that crown his speech,
His bitter-sweet and mourning way?
Thro' those dark deeps I saw him rise,
And stir the spirit's soft control,
And shake the imaged world that lies
Fair on the mirror of her soul.
And stir the spirit's soft control,
And shake the imaged world that lies
Fair on the mirror of her soul.
How oft thro' woodlands undefiled
She rode amid the spring-tide's stir!
Fierce creatures at her touch were mild
And dumb things spake for love of her.
She rode amid the spring-tide's stir!
Fierce creatures at her touch were mild
And dumb things spake for love of her.
Then all at once her heart would beat,
And from her gaze the gladness died;
She drew the rein, before her feet
The sunset vales lay glorified.
And from her gaze the gladness died;
She drew the rein, before her feet
The sunset vales lay glorified.
Alone and ardent, fair and young,
O woman smit with woman's pain!
O song thro' all her being sung
Of Love delaying, Love in vain!
O woman smit with woman's pain!
O song thro' all her being sung
Of Love delaying, Love in vain!
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That voiceless passion Love had heard,
Denied it strangely, strangely gave;
Sighed in a smile and sent my bird
Bright-plumaged o'er the sundering wave.
Denied it strangely, strangely gave;
Sighed in a smile and sent my bird
Bright-plumaged o'er the sundering wave.
As though the soul of all things wild,
The soul of all things brave and free,
Came in the likeness of a child
From tossing forests over-sea;
The soul of all things brave and free,
Came in the likeness of a child
From tossing forests over-sea;
And softly to my bosom stole,
And o'er my heart in freshness blew,
Until that living loving soul
Became my life, my love anew.
And o'er my heart in freshness blew,
Until that living loving soul
Became my life, my love anew.
| Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments | |