 | A verdant country |  |
1
GOING SOUTH.
It is ever so far away
For the swallow to fly;
And she peeped from an English thatch
At a round of sky!
For the swallow to fly;
And she peeped from an English thatch
At a round of sky!
But the elders have told her tales
Of the sister blues;
And she starts at the wink of dawn
On her windy cruise.
Of the sister blues;
And she starts at the wink of dawn
On her windy cruise.
She can tell her path in the void,
Though her native sod
Was here in a Warwickshire lane;
For her pilot's God.
Though her native sod
Was here in a Warwickshire lane;
For her pilot's God.
8
WAGES.
My lass, when God
To suffer sent me,
No gifts He gave,
But only lent me
For gold, my breath,
For silver, labour;
The sky as friend,
The grass as neighbour.
To suffer sent me,
No gifts He gave,
But only lent me
For gold, my breath,
For silver, labour;
The sky as friend,
The grass as neighbour.
The Vineyard called
For workers many;
At eve I took
God's punctual penny:
Because I bowed
Content, I fancy
He gave me you
For wages, Nancy!
For workers many;
At eve I took
God's punctual penny:
Because I bowed
Content, I fancy
He gave me you
For wages, Nancy!
15
IN PAIN.
Pain is the language of decay,
The tongue of human impotence;
It waits upon our coming here,
Our going hence,
Implacably austere:
And from our earliest breath,
Which is the birth of death,
A soft-foot mute
It seems to prophesy a coming sleep,
Another sphere.
The tongue of human impotence;
It waits upon our coming here,
Our going hence,
Implacably austere:
And from our earliest breath,
Which is the birth of death,
A soft-foot mute
It seems to prophesy a coming sleep,
Another sphere.
Long have I journeyed thro' the Great Fatigue
Of life.
Lo, I have had my share of grass and birds—
And strife.
For me has Pain, the sentinel,
Been vigilant
To pace my plot and dwell
Within my tent;
Oft in the night with small alarms
Has stirred me out of rest,
Alert, oppressed,
Till shepherded within thine arms
And on thy breast,
O loving Lady, in the curse of Pain
I have been blest—
Have felt soft hands rebuke the agony,
And stroke my face
With fingers that are ministers of love,
Ambassadors of peace
To bring release
For that sharp prisoned pain along my brow
As, would to God, they brought it, Lady, now!
Of life.
Lo, I have had my share of grass and birds—
And strife.
For me has Pain, the sentinel,
Been vigilant
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Within my tent;
Oft in the night with small alarms
Has stirred me out of rest,
Alert, oppressed,
Till shepherded within thine arms
And on thy breast,
O loving Lady, in the curse of Pain
I have been blest—
Have felt soft hands rebuke the agony,
And stroke my face
With fingers that are ministers of love,
Ambassadors of peace
To bring release
For that sharp prisoned pain along my brow
As, would to God, they brought it, Lady, now!
21
THE FIRST KISS.
On Helen's heart the day were night!
But I may not adventure there:
Her breast is guarded by a right,
And she is true as fair.
But I may not adventure there:
Her breast is guarded by a right,
And she is true as fair.
And though in happy days her eyes
The glow within mine own could please,
She's purer than the babe who cries
For empire on her knees.
The glow within mine own could please,
She's purer than the babe who cries
For empire on her knees.
Her love is for her lord and child,
And unto them belongs her snow;
But none can rob me of her wild
Young kiss of long ago!
And unto them belongs her snow;
But none can rob me of her wild
Young kiss of long ago!
25
A WISH.
When I am done with the pen and ink
And only sleep in careless hope
O bear me to the Cotswold hills
And leave me on the southern slope!
And only sleep in careless hope
O bear me to the Cotswold hills
And leave me on the southern slope!
The modesty of nature glows
And mingles with the country air;
The peace of God is on the land,
And passeth understanding there.
And mingles with the country air;
The peace of God is on the land,
And passeth understanding there.
Come, sweet and dearest, nor deny
The tribute of one gentle pain;
Refresh my primrose with a tear;
But never wish me home again.
The tribute of one gentle pain;
Refresh my primrose with a tear;
But never wish me home again.
26
TO MY BROTHERS.
O brothers, who must ache and stoop
O'er wordy tasks in London Town,
How scantly Laura trips for you—
A poem in a gown!
How rare if Grub-Street grew a lawn!
How sweet if Nature's lap could spare
A dandelion for the Strand,
A cowslip for Mayfair!
O'er wordy tasks in London Town,
How scantly Laura trips for you—
A poem in a gown!
How rare if Grub-Street grew a lawn!
How sweet if Nature's lap could spare
A dandelion for the Strand,
A cowslip for Mayfair!
But here, from immaterial lyres,
There rings in easy confidence
A blackbird's bright philosophy
On apple-spray or fence:
For ploughmen wending home from toil
Some patriot thrush outpours his lay,
And voices, wildly eloquent,
The diary of his day.
There rings in easy confidence
A blackbird's bright philosophy
On apple-spray or fence:
For ploughmen wending home from toil
Some patriot thrush outpours his lay,
And voices, wildly eloquent,
The diary of his day.
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These living lyrics you may hear,
Remembering the lane's romance,
All hung in wicker hells to chirp
Thin ghosts of utterance:
But where the gusts of liberty
Make Ragged Robin wisely bend,
They quicken hedgerows with their song,
Melodiously unpenned.
Remembering the lane's romance,
All hung in wicker hells to chirp
Thin ghosts of utterance:
But where the gusts of liberty
Make Ragged Robin wisely bend,
They quicken hedgerows with their song,
Melodiously unpenned.
If souls of mighty singers leave
The vacant body to its hush.
Does Shelley linger in the lark,
Or Keats possess the thrush?
The end is undecaying doubt,
And in some blackbird's bosom still
Great Tennyson may sweeten eve
And whistle on the hill.
The vacant body to its hush.
Does Shelley linger in the lark,
Or Keats possess the thrush?
The end is undecaying doubt,
And in some blackbird's bosom still
Great Tennyson may sweeten eve
And whistle on the hill.
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Come, brothers, to this clean delight,
And watch the velvet-headed tit.
Here's honest sorrel in the grass
And sturdy cuckoo-spit:
What shepherds hear you shall not miss,
And at deliverance of dawn
Shall see a miracle of bloom
Across the sparkling lawn.
And watch the velvet-headed tit.
Here's honest sorrel in the grass
And sturdy cuckoo-spit:
What shepherds hear you shall not miss,
And at deliverance of dawn
Shall see a miracle of bloom
Across the sparkling lawn.
The forest musically begs
To fan you with its leafy love;
O fall asleep upon this moss
Entreated by the dove!
Here shall that sweet Conservative,
Dear Mother Nature, lend to you
Her lovely rural elements
Beneath the primal blue.
To fan you with its leafy love;
O fall asleep upon this moss
Entreated by the dove!
Here shall that sweet Conservative,
Dear Mother Nature, lend to you
Her lovely rural elements
Beneath the primal blue.
29
O brothers, who must ache and stoop
O'er wordy tasks in London Town,
How scantly Laura trips for you—
A poem in a gown!
How good if Fleet-street grew a lawn!
How sweet if garden-plots could spare
A bed of cloves to scent the Strand,
A pansy for Mayfair!
O'er wordy tasks in London Town,
How scantly Laura trips for you—
A poem in a gown!
How good if Fleet-street grew a lawn!
How sweet if garden-plots could spare
A bed of cloves to scent the Strand,
A pansy for Mayfair!
30
THE BUDDING OF THE ORCHARD.
O the budding of the orchard
Is a heralding of June;
Of the woodlark's brighter bosom,
And the freedom of her tune.
In the hedge's heart the sparrow
Tends her sapphire eggs in love
Till the song that's in the oval
Makes a music for the grove.
And the grass beside the river
Grows the long cool green of joy
For the creature in its comfort,
And the maiden and the boy.
Is a heralding of June;
Of the woodlark's brighter bosom,
And the freedom of her tune.
In the hedge's heart the sparrow
Tends her sapphire eggs in love
Till the song that's in the oval
Makes a music for the grove.
And the grass beside the river
Grows the long cool green of joy
For the creature in its comfort,
And the maiden and the boy.
O the budding of the orchard
Is a promise to my hope
Of the grey and opal evening
Over lambs upon the slope.
I shall see the stock and pansy
And the brown of Cicely's arm;
I shall hear the harness tinkle,
And the cattle at the farm:
And the God above my forehead
In his camp of beam and blue
For the colony of rosebuds
Shall remember drops of dew.
Is a promise to my hope
Of the grey and opal evening
Over lambs upon the slope.
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And the brown of Cicely's arm;
I shall hear the harness tinkle,
And the cattle at the farm:
And the God above my forehead
In his camp of beam and blue
For the colony of rosebuds
Shall remember drops of dew.
32
A PRAYER.
Tend me my birds, and bring again
The brotherhood of woodland life,
So shall I wear the seasons round
A friend to need, a foe to strife;
The brotherhood of woodland life,
So shall I wear the seasons round
A friend to need, a foe to strife;
Keep me my heritage of lawn,
And grant me, Father, till I die
The fine sincerity of light
And luxury of open sky.
And grant me, Father, till I die
The fine sincerity of light
And luxury of open sky.
So, learning always, may I find
My heaven around me everywhere,
And go in hope from this to Thee,
The pupil of Thy country air.
My heaven around me everywhere,
And go in hope from this to Thee,
The pupil of Thy country air.
| A verdant country | |