Carol and Cadence New poems: MDCCCCII-MDCCCCVII: By John Payne |
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 | Carol and Cadence |  |
14.
Clover, nothing everywhere but clover,
In the flush of May,
Carpeting the flowering fields all over,
As it were the breaking of the day,
From the shadowy interstellar spaces,
Where it shelters from the swarthy night,
With the darkness gone,
Coming sudden on them, they
Had, awaking to the wildering light,
Dipped and bathed their dimpled blooming faces
In the rosy, pearly flush of dawn.
In the flush of May,
Carpeting the flowering fields all over,
As it were the breaking of the day,
From the shadowy interstellar spaces,
Where it shelters from the swarthy night,
With the darkness gone,
Coming sudden on them, they
Had, awaking to the wildering light,
Dipped and bathed their dimpled blooming faces
In the rosy, pearly flush of dawn.
Green and gold and red and blue the shore is,
Like an Indian dove;
Glittering with the spreading sunset-glories
Is the sea below, the heaven above;
In the rainbow splendours sleeping, steeping,
Of the many-coloured death of Day,
Lies the emerald corn.
Natheless, true to their first love,
Rosy yet the meadows spread away,
Faithful ever the remembrance keeping
And the colour of the crimson morn.
Like an Indian dove;
Glittering with the spreading sunset-glories
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In the rainbow splendours sleeping, steeping,
Of the many-coloured death of Day,
Lies the emerald corn.
Natheless, true to their first love,
Rosy yet the meadows spread away,
Faithful ever the remembrance keeping
And the colour of the crimson morn.
As the clover-meadows thou, old soul, art
Faithful to the end;
Constant thou through Life's delight and dole art;
Though the clouds soar upward or descend,
Whether Summer, in the skies unfolding,
Flood the world-all with the whelming sun
Or, with iron glove,
Winter's snows all life suspend,
Faithful art thou to the things fordone,
To Life's morn in thought forever holding
And the rosy memory of first love.
Faithful to the end;
Constant thou through Life's delight and dole art;
Though the clouds soar upward or descend,
Whether Summer, in the skies unfolding,
Flood the world-all with the whelming sun
Or, with iron glove,
Winter's snows all life suspend,
Faithful art thou to the things fordone,
To Life's morn in thought forever holding
And the rosy memory of first love.
| Carol and Cadence | |