Carol and Cadence New poems: MDCCCCII-MDCCCCVII: By John Payne |
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THE LABURNUM. |
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 | Carol and Cadence |  |
THE LABURNUM.
The time is here again of Heaven-appointed May:
Despite the pains and cares, that scar Life's sorry page,
The hawthorn everywhere once more is growing grey,
After its gracious wont, with youth and not with age:
The lilacs take the sense
With their ripe redolence,
And to the grim grey walls of London's wastes of stone
The lush laburnum lends a radiance of its own.
Despite the pains and cares, that scar Life's sorry page,
The hawthorn everywhere once more is growing grey,
After its gracious wont, with youth and not with age:
The lilacs take the sense
With their ripe redolence,
And to the grim grey walls of London's wastes of stone
The lush laburnum lends a radiance of its own.
True to its pristine tryst with the returning Prime,
Each year, when at the gate of gladness Springtide knocks
And Life takes heart again for hue and scent and rhyme,
O'er every garden-wall it hangs its glittering locks
And for a week or two,
Beneath the mottled blue
Of May's uncertain sky and in its rathe sun-beam,
Unhindered of the smoke, it dreams its golden dream.
Each year, when at the gate of gladness Springtide knocks
And Life takes heart again for hue and scent and rhyme,
O'er every garden-wall it hangs its glittering locks
And for a week or two,
Beneath the mottled blue
Of May's uncertain sky and in its rathe sun-beam,
Unhindered of the smoke, it dreams its golden dream.
But little heart it hath to leaf; its soul in flowers
Well nigh it spends; and when the splendid summertime,
Declining, giveth place to Autumn's placid hours,
The winsome webs of green, its slender boughs that hide,
Are quick to fade and fall;
And bare it bideth all
Till Spring to it recall its Attic hills of old
And into flower translate its memories of gold.
Well nigh it spends; and when the splendid summertime,
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The winsome webs of green, its slender boughs that hide,
Are quick to fade and fall;
And bare it bideth all
Till Spring to it recall its Attic hills of old
And into flower translate its memories of gold.
Laburnum, exiled thou in London art as I,
Yet thy Greek gracious name rememberest, Cytisus;
Whilst I forgotten have, beneath this stranger sky,
The name I bore erewhen in worlds more luminous.
But I no less, sweet tree,
In this am like to thee,
That I, as thou, anon, despite Life's wintry clime,
Remember me of Spring and flower with golden rhyme.
Yet thy Greek gracious name rememberest, Cytisus;
Whilst I forgotten have, beneath this stranger sky,
The name I bore erewhen in worlds more luminous.
But I no less, sweet tree,
In this am like to thee,
That I, as thou, anon, despite Life's wintry clime,
Remember me of Spring and flower with golden rhyme.
| Carol and Cadence | |