 | The Mockers and other Verses |  |
90
THE SORROWS OF SONG
I
FROM THE BUSH
This soothly is the maker's grief of old
And evermore: Thou hast seen one brier spray
High in the hedgerow deck a summer's day
With lovely light that wild-rose buds unfold
When half they hide their girdle of faëry gold
Fine wrought: worth well the halting by the way,
The baffled spring, mocked grasp, and long essay,
That here at last have given it to thine hold:
And evermore: Thou hast seen one brier spray
High in the hedgerow deck a summer's day
With lovely light that wild-rose buds unfold
When half they hide their girdle of faëry gold
Fine wrought: worth well the halting by the way,
The baffled spring, mocked grasp, and long essay,
That here at last have given it to thine hold:
Yet show thee how or ever thou couldst forbear
Thy strife with writhen stem and thorny sting,
Full many a pure frail petal unaware
Went fluttering earthward like a white moth-wing,
And all the world might call the remnant fair—
Thou still wouldst mark and mourn each empty ring.
Thy strife with writhen stem and thorny sting,
Full many a pure frail petal unaware
Went fluttering earthward like a white moth-wing,
And all the world might call the remnant fair—
Thou still wouldst mark and mourn each empty ring.
91
II
IN THE HAND
Where shadow and silence weave no spells in vain,
There dreams and day-banned musings throng at will,
Waxed bold and swift as wild birds if we spill
Athwart the frost-bound path a streak of grain:
So thou, long since for some rare fancy fain,
Might sing thee measured lays, through all these still
Dim hours hast watched, intent thy grasp to fill
With such a prize ere morning stirred again.
There dreams and day-banned musings throng at will,
Waxed bold and swift as wild birds if we spill
Athwart the frost-bound path a streak of grain:
So thou, long since for some rare fancy fain,
Might sing thee measured lays, through all these still
Dim hours hast watched, intent thy grasp to fill
With such a prize ere morning stirred again.
And haply seeing how fast and thick they came,
Ambushed, hast deemed the snare an easy feat,
Full soon to learn the fairest were the fleet:
This captive, fluttering till thine hand shall tame,
Is spoil thereof not that his song was sweet
Or plumage gay, but since his wing was lame.
Ambushed, hast deemed the snare an easy feat,
Full soon to learn the fairest were the fleet:
This captive, fluttering till thine hand shall tame,
Is spoil thereof not that his song was sweet
Or plumage gay, but since his wing was lame.
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