 | Le Cahier Jaune |  |
65
IN THE SOUTH.
In the sunny summer weather, in a garden by the sea,Where the breeze scarce stirs the drooping fans of many a tropic tree,
Only all the lazy morning to attend my listless dreams,
Doth the languid eucalyptus breathe the sound of falling streams;
High above the huddling houses blinking white with shuttered eyes,
You may see the city, roof by roof, and tower by tower arise,
Dazzling walls embowered in greenness, spires that peep through palm and plane,
Vines that droop o'er trellised terrace, runlets that forget the rain,
Upwards ever upwards climbing, till the high-piled tops are won,
Streaked with tracts of sombre woodland quivering in the steady sun.
Or about the league-long crest the vaporous cloud is folded gray,
When the sea is white with breakers and the beach is wet with spray,
And the hills are flecked with coursing shadows, and the hasty wind
Blusters through the garden that was late so indolent and kind.
When the sea is white with breakers and the beach is wet with spray,
And the hills are flecked with coursing shadows, and the hasty wind
Blusters through the garden that was late so indolent and kind.
But to-night sweet peace enfolds me; only from the lazy town
Floats the hum of summer voices, and the mighty ships swing down,
Blowing here a mellower horn to bid the wandering truant home,
Or the solemn convent bells are rung in many a sounding dome,
Or the watch-dog bays belated, and with shrill effusive note
Cocks are challenging the morning perched in homesteads far remote;
Idle sounds that mingle with the flying footsteps of the breeze,
Hurrying to cool vales of sunrise o'er the crests of rippling seas.
Floats the hum of summer voices, and the mighty ships swing down,
Blowing here a mellower horn to bid the wandering truant home,
Or the solemn convent bells are rung in many a sounding dome,
66
Cocks are challenging the morning perched in homesteads far remote;
Idle sounds that mingle with the flying footsteps of the breeze,
Hurrying to cool vales of sunrise o'er the crests of rippling seas.
Man, unlike his fellow-brutes, that wounded creep apart to die,
Flies from shelter, basks in light, and smiles in alien company.
Mocked by life and hope that flies before him, drawing fiercer breath,
Darkens light and poisons laughter with the undertone of death.
Flies from shelter, basks in light, and smiles in alien company.
Mocked by life and hope that flies before him, drawing fiercer breath,
Darkens light and poisons laughter with the undertone of death.
Oh! the world is strong and careless, soft the sky and still the sea;
What avails the myriad gladness, if it be not glad for me?
What for me the brooding sunlight and the creeper's scented breath,
When a thousand trembling hands are beating at the doors of death?
What avails the fragrant passion of the clustering spires of bloom,
If I chafe in hopeless longing, if I pine in lonely gloom?
Yet I think the load would lighten, could I think that endless pain
Were the seed of love and laughter, when the world is born again.
I could laugh at suffering, were it pledge of some imparted joy,
Gave it but a momentary gladness to a thoughtless boy.
Thus I wrote beneath the trailing vines, not knowing what might be,
What avails the myriad gladness, if it be not glad for me?
What for me the brooding sunlight and the creeper's scented breath,
When a thousand trembling hands are beating at the doors of death?
What avails the fragrant passion of the clustering spires of bloom,
If I chafe in hopeless longing, if I pine in lonely gloom?
Yet I think the load would lighten, could I think that endless pain
Were the seed of love and laughter, when the world is born again.
I could laugh at suffering, were it pledge of some imparted joy,
Gave it but a momentary gladness to a thoughtless boy.
In an island ringed about by the interminable sea.
Madeira, 1890.
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