 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
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ELDER-FLOWER
This is the time of the Elder-flower,
The Elder that comes before the Rose;
The world is all one Elder bower
To him who sees and him who knows;
Through England you may walk to-day,
But the Elder-flower is all the way.
The Elder that comes before the Rose;
The world is all one Elder bower
To him who sees and him who knows;
Through England you may walk to-day,
But the Elder-flower is all the way.
The nights are white, the North is white;
Although the hawthorn and May moon
Have passed, there is another light
Broad over all the earth in June;
Not perfect-sweet, nor perfect-fair,
Yet full of fragrance on the air.
Although the hawthorn and May moon
Have passed, there is another light
Broad over all the earth in June;
Not perfect-sweet, nor perfect-fair,
Yet full of fragrance on the air.
The Elder everywhere is queen
In the tall flowering of the grass;
O'er ragged corners dark and mean
A sudden glory now doth pass;
Each cottage shed and yard to-day
In homely white and green is gay.
In the tall flowering of the grass;
O'er ragged corners dark and mean
A sudden glory now doth pass;
Each cottage shed and yard to-day
In homely white and green is gay.
When the first wave of long green grass
Before the mower's scythe sweeps down,
When the first rose's petals pass
In showers, the year has lost her crown,
The glory of her youth is done,
The earth has turned her from the sun.
Before the mower's scythe sweeps down,
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In showers, the year has lost her crown,
The glory of her youth is done,
The earth has turned her from the sun.
But now there is no pause at all
Betwixt enchanted day and day,
At midnight wakes the cuckoo's call,
The grasses sleep not on the way,
And when the Elder overflows,
All hours are ripening to the Rose.
Betwixt enchanted day and day,
At midnight wakes the cuckoo's call,
The grasses sleep not on the way,
And when the Elder overflows,
All hours are ripening to the Rose.
Oh, my boy and my girl so sweet!
Brother and sister, hand in hand,
Swifter than roes with bounding feet,—
Blue were the skies above the land,
When those twin faces shone together;
Then it was always summer weather.
Brother and sister, hand in hand,
Swifter than roes with bounding feet,—
Blue were the skies above the land,
When those twin faces shone together;
Then it was always summer weather.
They climbed in the branches, they made their nest,
They hid in the haze of Elder-flowers,
In the long days,—all days were best,—
The swallows skimmed through the golden hours;
‘This is my secret! come and see;
Here is my house in the Elder-tree.’
They hid in the haze of Elder-flowers,
In the long days,—all days were best,—
The swallows skimmed through the golden hours;
‘This is my secret! come and see;
Here is my house in the Elder-tree.’
A rustling in the boughs was heard,
And through thick leaves a sunny head
Peeped out, and happy whispers stirred,
Till hushed by some intrusive tread;
And the old tree shook with a silver shower
Of laughter out of the Elder-flower.
And through thick leaves a sunny head
Peeped out, and happy whispers stirred,
Till hushed by some intrusive tread;
And the old tree shook with a silver shower
Of laughter out of the Elder-flower.
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And then in the Elder-berry time,
What gladness of gathering, to and fro!
One for the topmost bunch to climb,
One with the basket heaped below;
The autumn brought them treasure and glee
In the purple fruit of the Elder-tree.
What gladness of gathering, to and fro!
One for the topmost bunch to climb,
One with the basket heaped below;
The autumn brought them treasure and glee
In the purple fruit of the Elder-tree.
The making of Elder-berry wine!
What busy feet went up and down!
The secret store, the deep design,
The hands and faces stained and brown;
No one else might share or see
The progress of their industry.
What busy feet went up and down!
The secret store, the deep design,
The hands and faces stained and brown;
No one else might share or see
The progress of their industry.
The old dark cellar was full of joy,—
Young voices over the crimson wine:
What was the triumph of girl and boy!
No one thought it would be so fine.
When the ground was hard and the stars were bright,
They ran down the road on Christmas night.
Young voices over the crimson wine:
What was the triumph of girl and boy!
No one thought it would be so fine.
When the ground was hard and the stars were bright,
They ran down the road on Christmas night.
They knocked, they opened the poor man's door,
(‘And blessings be on your darling head!’)
‘We have brought you some of our wine for store,
To make you merry and warm,’ they said;
Their loving eyes in the fire-light shone,
And the place was gladder they looked upon.
(‘And blessings be on your darling head!’)
‘We have brought you some of our wine for store,
To make you merry and warm,’ they said;
Their loving eyes in the fire-light shone,
And the place was gladder they looked upon.
Yes, June is here with all her leaves,
And the birds still fly by two and two;
But the Elder-tree in the garden grieves,
‘My bright-faced children, where are you?
Who nestles now in my flowery foam,
Close by the doorways of your home?
And the birds still fly by two and two;
But the Elder-tree in the garden grieves,
‘My bright-faced children, where are you?
Who nestles now in my flowery foam,
Close by the doorways of your home?
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One passes, nor looks up at me:—
Are these my eyes of dancing blue?
But where is the one I used to see,
With waving hair, that walked with you?
Nine years I watched him grow in grace,
Two years I have missed him from his place;
Where is the boy with the angel's face?’
Are these my eyes of dancing blue?
But where is the one I used to see,
With waving hair, that walked with you?
Nine years I watched him grow in grace,
Two years I have missed him from his place;
Where is the boy with the angel's face?’
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