 | Odes (1894) |  |
3
TO H. D. TRAILL
Traill, at whose board 'tis good to sit,
And take no thought of hours that flit
Fledged with the tongues of bard and wit—
(Though none, or few,
The latter title may befit
So well as you)—
And take no thought of hours that flit
Fledged with the tongues of bard and wit—
(Though none, or few,
The latter title may befit
So well as you)—
'Tis now a twelve-month's space and more
Since feet of mine have sought your door,
There where one fancies London's roar
Long leagues away,
And Thames an old-time-haunted shore
Keeps to this day.
Since feet of mine have sought your door,
There where one fancies London's roar
Long leagues away,
4
Keeps to this day.
For I, with course 'twere hard to trace,
Have southward, northward, set my face,
Coy to the vast and vague embrace
Of London's arms,
The siren's all-too liberal grace
And venal charms.
Have southward, northward, set my face,
Coy to the vast and vague embrace
Of London's arms,
The siren's all-too liberal grace
And venal charms.
Daily on matron, man, and maid,
The dome of Wren hath cast its shade,
But I beyond its beck have strayed
By land and sea;
And you a hundred mots have made
Unheard by me!
The dome of Wren hath cast its shade,
But I beyond its beck have strayed
By land and sea;
And you a hundred mots have made
Unheard by me!
5
The loser I. Yet mine some gain
From vagrant hours of sun and rain
And steps that still by mount or plain
Carried a mind
To one thing constant, as the vane
Is to the wind—
From vagrant hours of sun and rain
And steps that still by mount or plain
Carried a mind
To one thing constant, as the vane
Is to the wind—
The service of that mistress hard
To whom a fixed and sole regard
Your vowed and dedicated bard
Dares not refuse,
Would he at last the least reward
Win from his Muse.
To whom a fixed and sole regard
Your vowed and dedicated bard
Dares not refuse,
Would he at last the least reward
Win from his Muse.
For still we rhymers, great or small,
Must gather, would we live at all,
Such casual manna as may fall,
A niggard meed,
On mortals whom the immortals call
But seldom feed.
Must gather, would we live at all,
6
A niggard meed,
On mortals whom the immortals call
But seldom feed.
And so, perhaps with fond pretence
That to the force of sheer, immense,
Importunate lyric opulence
Our lays are due,
We publish all our soul for pence—
Ay me, how few!
That to the force of sheer, immense,
Importunate lyric opulence
Our lays are due,
We publish all our soul for pence—
Ay me, how few!
Happiest and best of singers he,
Who, in Art's bondage greatly free,
Can harvest, from all things that be,
Grist for the mill
Whose wheel a copious Castaly
Turns at his will.
Who, in Art's bondage greatly free,
Can harvest, from all things that be,
Grist for the mill
7
Turns at his will.
Whate'er we know, whate'er we dream,
All things that are, all things that seem,
All that in Nature's Academe
Her graduates learn,
Was Bacon's province, Shakespeare's theme,
Goethe's concern.
All things that are, all things that seem,
All that in Nature's Academe
Her graduates learn,
Was Bacon's province, Shakespeare's theme,
Goethe's concern.
The poem, well the poet knows,
In ambush lurks where'er he goes,—
Lisps hidden in each wind that blows,
Laughs in each wave,
Sighs from the bosom of the rose,
Wails from the grave.
In ambush lurks where'er he goes,—
Lisps hidden in each wind that blows,
Laughs in each wave,
Sighs from the bosom of the rose,
Wails from the grave.
8
And Orphic laws of lute and verse
All the symphonious worlds coerce,
That hour by hour their parts rehearse,
Winds, strings, and reeds,
In this orchestral universe
The Maestro leads.
All the symphonious worlds coerce,
That hour by hour their parts rehearse,
Winds, strings, and reeds,
In this orchestral universe
The Maestro leads.
But though all life and death and birth,
And all the heaven's enzoning girth,
Earth, and the waters 'neath the earth,
Are Song's domain,
Nor aught so lowly but is worth
The loftiest strain,—
And all the heaven's enzoning girth,
Earth, and the waters 'neath the earth,
Are Song's domain,
Nor aught so lowly but is worth
The loftiest strain,—
'Tis from those moods in which Life stands
With feet earth-planted, yet with hands
Stretched toward visionary lands,
Where vapours lift
A moment, and aërial strands
Gleam through the rift,
With feet earth-planted, yet with hands
9
Where vapours lift
A moment, and aërial strands
Gleam through the rift,
The poet wins, in hours benign,
At older than the Delphic shrine,
Those intimations faint and fine,
To which belongs
Whatever character divine
Invest his songs.
At older than the Delphic shrine,
Those intimations faint and fine,
To which belongs
Whatever character divine
Invest his songs.
And could we live more near allied
To cloud and mountain, wind and tide,
Cast this unmeaning coil aside,
And go forth free,
The World our goal, Desire our guide,—
We then might see
To cloud and mountain, wind and tide,
Cast this unmeaning coil aside,
And go forth free,
10
We then might see
Those master moments grow less rare,
And oftener feel that nameless air
Come rumouring from we know not where;
And touch at whiles
Fantastic shores, the fringes fair
Of fairy isles,
And oftener feel that nameless air
Come rumouring from we know not where;
And touch at whiles
Fantastic shores, the fringes fair
Of fairy isles,
And hail the mystic bird that brings
News from the inner courts of things,
The eternal courier-dove whose wings
Are never furled;
And hear the bubbling of the springs
That feed the world.
News from the inner courts of things,
The eternal courier-dove whose wings
Are never furled;
And hear the bubbling of the springs
That feed the world.
11
You smile at this too soaring strain?
Well, in the smile is no disdain;
And if a more terrestrial vein
Befit my rhyme—
I promise not to soar again,
At least, this time.
Well, in the smile is no disdain;
And if a more terrestrial vein
Befit my rhyme—
I promise not to soar again,
At least, this time.
And sooth to say, a humbler end
This verse was meant to serve, O friend:
For since to you I may not wend
(Such leagues deter
The else not laggard feet), I send
This messenger;
This verse was meant to serve, O friend:
For since to you I may not wend
(Such leagues deter
The else not laggard feet), I send
This messenger;
And bid him tarry not, but flee,
And greet you well where'er you be;
And pray he may not piteously
Faint by the road—
Of good regards for thine and thee
So large his load.
And greet you well where'er you be;
12
Faint by the road—
Of good regards for thine and thee
So large his load.
| Odes (1894) | |