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 | Here be blue and white violets from the garden wherein grew meadowsweet |  |
[Dear Maid, to whom I sent last year]
Dear Maid, to whom I sent last year
My Meadowsweet.
By blossoms asking thee to hear,
In hours of wheat
And staring poppies, all I need—
My love's unswerving cross and creed
My Meadowsweet.
By blossoms asking thee to hear,
In hours of wheat
And staring poppies, all I need—
My love's unswerving cross and creed
Take, for a pity comes again,
These Violets.
Scentless, perchance, and torn by rain
When rain forgets
On angry days to spare the soft
Green stem that bears the blue aloft
These Violets.
Scentless, perchance, and torn by rain
When rain forgets
On angry days to spare the soft
Green stem that bears the blue aloft
So let my flowers come to thee
In sweet content;
And may thy heart one moment be
Their firmament.
That when they fade, at fair things must,
No god shall rank them common dust
In sweet content;
And may thy heart one moment be
Their firmament.
That when they fade, at fair things must,
No god shall rank them common dust
A LOVE SONG.
Thou art to me like wells in wildernesses
That save the thirsty from consuming skies;
Thy hand, thy voice, thine ev'ry gesture blesses—
I know thee mine, and I am thine!
I kiss thy lips and live in paradise—
I feel thy heart proclaim it paradise!
That save the thirsty from consuming skies;
Thy hand, thy voice, thine ev'ry gesture blesses—
I know thee mine, and I am thine!
I kiss thy lips and live in paradise—
I feel thy heart proclaim it paradise!
Tho' summer fall and grass be dead at even,
Art thou not here, my love with angel eyes?
Tho' stars and gods alike should fall from heaven
Thou still art mine, and I am thine!
Thy head is on my breast in paradise—
Thy lips on mine proclaim it paradise!
Art thou not here, my love with angel eyes?
Tho' stars and gods alike should fall from heaven
Thou still art mine, and I am thine!
Thy head is on my breast in paradise—
Thy lips on mine proclaim it paradise!
A TRAGEDY.
He lies upon a bloody rock
Down, down a thousand dizzy feet,
A man before the fatal shock,
Who now is only eagles' meat!
An avalanche? A careless pace?
No, none of these!—a woman's face!
Down, down a thousand dizzy feet,
A man before the fatal shock,
Who now is only eagles' meat!
An avalanche? A careless pace?
No, none of these!—a woman's face!
His wife is in a chamber, far
Beyond the horror down below,
Upon her head a diamond star,
And at her feet the dead man's foe!
God! how the hasty vultures dart
To scratch his eyes and tear his heart!
Beyond the horror down below,
Upon her head a diamond star,
And at her feet the dead man's foe!
God! how the hasty vultures dart
To scratch his eyes and tear his heart!
One with its claws upon his mouth
Strikes at the torn and gory coat;
While she who slew him, in the south,
Bares all the brilliance of her throat
To trap the liar's kiss, and says,
Thank God he's gone! O world—O ways!
Strikes at the torn and gory coat;
While she who slew him, in the south,
Bares all the brilliance of her throat
To trap the liar's kiss, and says,
Thank God he's gone! O world—O ways!
LULLABY.
Sleep, my angels, side by sideTill the morrow's coming;
Till the rosebuds open wide
At the brown bee's humming:
Clover-spice and butterfly,
Faithful in the meadows,
Stay where mottled cattle sigh
In the cooling shadows.
Angel rosebuds, dream and wait
Till the sun is peeping
At my maid and at her mate,
Rosebud angels, sleeping.
UNHEEDED.
With all the words that love could hope to wake
I strove to aid my soul's divine endeavour;
But Ruth would never listen. How I ache
To speak no more again, no more for ever!
I strove to aid my soul's divine endeavour;
But Ruth would never listen. How I ache
To speak no more again, no more for ever!
O saffron tulips in the heart-shaped bed,
Her coldness could not understand my crying;
And now I would (for joy and hope are sped)
That I, ere ye are dead, might lay a-dying!
Her coldness could not understand my crying;
And now I would (for joy and hope are sped)
That I, ere ye are dead, might lay a-dying!
KISMET.
The Moslem squatting on his mat,
The Persian praying on his rug,
Has this upon his tongue full pat—
Life is a grave already dug.
The Persian praying on his rug,
Has this upon his tongue full pat—
Life is a grave already dug.
And what if on the peach we find
The silver trail of midnight slug?
Death is the fruit, the world the rind—
Life is a grave already dug.
The silver trail of midnight slug?
Death is the fruit, the world the rind—
Life is a grave already dug.
Put by the idol at your side,
The pearl you prize, the gold you hug;
Remember most the churchyard ride—
Life is a grave already dug.
The pearl you prize, the gold you hug;
Remember most the churchyard ride—
Life is a grave already dug.
So nipping winds and changing friends
Are worth at most a shoulder-shrug;
And peace begins when breathing ends—
Life is a grave already dug.
Are worth at most a shoulder-shrug;
And peace begins when breathing ends—
Life is a grave already dug.
I CARE NOT NOW.
I care not now as once I cared
When Time retain'd and Mercy spar'd
The whiteness of her breast;
But now that she has been forgiven
The curse of living out of heaven
Let me lie down and rest.
When Time retain'd and Mercy spar'd
The whiteness of her breast;
But now that she has been forgiven
The curse of living out of heaven
Let me lie down and rest.
Nor shall I heed if Fortune smite
My patient cheek in sullen spite;
Nor shall I moan the pain
Of seeing ev'ry joy rush past
So I may learn the peace at last
Of touching her again.
My patient cheek in sullen spite;
Nor shall I moan the pain
Of seeing ev'ry joy rush past
So I may learn the peace at last
Of touching her again.
For she was tender, tried and true,
And lulled me when the tempest blew
Where lulling is the best;
And now that Death has robbed my head,
For (Christ accept her!) she is dead—
Let me lie down and rest.
And lulled me when the tempest blew
Where lulling is the best;
And now that Death has robbed my head,
For (Christ accept her!) she is dead—
Let me lie down and rest.
PASSING.
O gather round me, fond and few!
'Tis eventime, and ere the dew
Has hung its diamond on the rue
Or on the sorrel leaf,
My soul, so long a restless bird
Whose wings upon the cage God heard,
Shall win its sunshine, undisturbed,
And sing farewell to grief.
'Tis eventime, and ere the dew
Has hung its diamond on the rue
Or on the sorrel leaf,
My soul, so long a restless bird
Whose wings upon the cage God heard,
Shall win its sunshine, undisturbed,
And sing farewell to grief.
Is Laura here? Ah, angel-friend,
My life had made a bitter end
Without your hands and lips to send
The traveller on his road!
If God to us who die denies
All faces far from Paradise
I will not, Love, forget your eyes
That helped me bear my load.
My life had made a bitter end
Without your hands and lips to send
The traveller on his road!
If God to us who die denies
All faces far from Paradise
I will not, Love, forget your eyes
That helped me bear my load.
Will you remember for my sake
The islet of the girdled lake
Whose mountains in the water make
A dim, inverted range?
These giants through the gaping crust
Of earth Time's hand may haply thrust,
But memories of the pearl of trust
Serve no fine laws of change.
The islet of the girdled lake
Whose mountains in the water make
A dim, inverted range?
These giants through the gaping crust
Of earth Time's hand may haply thrust,
But memories of the pearl of trust
Serve no fine laws of change.
I will remember lanes we trod,
The lark that made divine its clod,
Aye, at the very feet of God
I will remember you!
So urgent that my soul might pass
From slender songs of bud and grass
To forge the chant should sound—alas!—
Far up the aisles of blue!
The lark that made divine its clod,
Aye, at the very feet of God
I will remember you!
So urgent that my soul might pass
From slender songs of bud and grass
To forge the chant should sound—alas!—
Far up the aisles of blue!
Oh, if the modest little lyre,
My plaything, ever did aspire
To strike a sudden verse of fire
Your spirit smote the strings!
While fervour lingered in your face,
Like western glows of evening grace,
I sought my haunts—some secret place—
And babbled with the springs.
My plaything, ever did aspire
To strike a sudden verse of fire
Your spirit smote the strings!
While fervour lingered in your face,
Like western glows of evening grace,
I sought my haunts—some secret place—
And babbled with the springs.
Your spirit, rarer than the lone
Great star that clasps Creation's zone,
Dreamed in a cloudland of its own
Obeying no behest:
Apollo gave my rustic muse
One only choice—Sing not, or choose
Lyrics of cherries, corn and yews—
And these are in your breast!
Great star that clasps Creation's zone,
Dreamed in a cloudland of its own
Obeying no behest:
Apollo gave my rustic muse
One only choice—Sing not, or choose
Lyrics of cherries, corn and yews—
And these are in your breast!
Tho' singing but the shy and sweet
Untrod by multitudes of feet,
Songs bounded by the brook and wheat,
I have not failed in this—
The only lure my woodland note,
To win all England's whitest throat!
O bards in gold and fire who wrote,
Be yours all other bliss!
Untrod by multitudes of feet,
Songs bounded by the brook and wheat,
I have not failed in this—
The only lure my woodland note,
To win all England's whitest throat!
O bards in gold and fire who wrote,
Be yours all other bliss!
Noble it is to lead the van,
And make man tenderer to man;
Noble to preach some shining plan
Of changing men to gods!
I felt the honours of the task,
But, looking backward, loved to bask
Content to learn, to only ask
Laura, my birds, my clods!
And make man tenderer to man;
Noble to preach some shining plan
Of changing men to gods!
I felt the honours of the task,
But, looking backward, loved to bask
Content to learn, to only ask
Laura, my birds, my clods!
Dearest, you know two brothers' strife
Warred round the rapture of your life;
For either craved you as his wife,
And well you loved them both:
On me the marvel of you came,
Whereat my brother's heart was flame;
Years have not served his wrath to tame,
For he was sorely wroth.
Warred round the rapture of your life;
For either craved you as his wife,
And well you loved them both:
On me the marvel of you came,
Whereat my brother's heart was flame;
Years have not served his wrath to tame,
For he was sorely wroth.
But now the ancient rancour flies—
Melting affection in his eyes,
He weeps because his brother dies—
Thank Death who brings me this!
You love him, Laura. For my sake
Let me, tho' dying, live to make
This man my heir, that he may take
Your brow, your breast, your kiss.
Melting affection in his eyes,
He weeps because his brother dies—
Thank Death who brings me this!
You love him, Laura. For my sake
Let me, tho' dying, live to make
This man my heir, that he may take
Your brow, your breast, your kiss.
And when you pause amid the lakes
To worship where the mountain shakes
In rainbow-film and foamy flakes,
The waters from its flanks,
Pray that my soul may live to see
Joy springing from this trinity;
For all its flower and fruit must be
My heritage of thanks.
To worship where the mountain shakes
In rainbow-film and foamy flakes,
The waters from its flanks,
Pray that my soul may live to see
Joy springing from this trinity;
For all its flower and fruit must be
My heritage of thanks.
Come closer, brother! Clasp her hand.
The while they fall—these grains of sand—
I am a monarch whose command
Evokes a swift consent.
When I am dead, and on my mound
Daisies and drops of rain abound,
Remember me as one who found
In sacrifice content.
The while they fall—these grains of sand—
I am a monarch whose command
Evokes a swift consent.
When I am dead, and on my mound
Daisies and drops of rain abound,
Remember me as one who found
In sacrifice content.
Ah, surely, having birds and shades
And dewy violets in the glades
Which, stolen from their dark green blades,
May sweeten Laura's lace,
You will at eve when upward springs
The glory of her voice that rings
More clearly than the skylark sings
Forgive my honoured face.
And dewy violets in the glades
Which, stolen from their dark green blades,
May sweeten Laura's lace,
You will at eve when upward springs
The glory of her voice that rings
More clearly than the skylark sings
Forgive my honoured face.
And if the years be stern or mild
Pour out upon my widowed child
A love almighty, undefiled—
This is the wage I crave!
And sometimes (for I shall be dead)
Oh, let her come with roses red!
And on the cross above my head
Carve this to keep my grave:—
Pour out upon my widowed child
A love almighty, undefiled—
This is the wage I crave!
And sometimes (for I shall be dead)
Oh, let her come with roses red!
And on the cross above my head
Carve this to keep my grave:—
He sang a simple forest song;
To him the day was never long
Amid the blooms and feathered throng
He loved with all his heart:
He took the hand he knew was pure;
He preached the faith he felt was sure;
God taught him how he should endure
And gird him to depart.
To him the day was never long
Amid the blooms and feathered throng
He loved with all his heart:
He took the hand he knew was pure;
He preached the faith he felt was sure;
God taught him how he should endure
And gird him to depart.
Our Father—Ah, I cannot see—
Forgive our trespasses as we
Forgive in memory of Thee—
A bird! She sings my knell!
O wealth of rapture all too late,
My little lyre, the spoil of fate,
To speechlessness is consecrate!
Laura, my love, farewell!
Forgive our trespasses as we
Forgive in memory of Thee—
A bird! She sings my knell!
O wealth of rapture all too late,
My little lyre, the spoil of fate,
To speechlessness is consecrate!
Laura, my love, farewell!
LATE-COMING.
Then, like a dove descending, from her eyes
Came Love, and sank upon my anxious breast:
'Twas strange in him to leave his paradise
And deep blue mansions in serener skies
To flutter down, the answer of my cries,
And make—so late, so late—my heart his nest!
Came Love, and sank upon my anxious breast:
'Twas strange in him to leave his paradise
And deep blue mansions in serener skies
To flutter down, the answer of my cries,
And make—so late, so late—my heart his nest!
Shall I all rudely hewn and all unmild
Rock him and lull him that he please to stay?
O heavy hands, be tender with the child!
Tho' lacking purple pillows softly piled
I know a heart can house him, strong and wild,
A heart to break when he shall wing away!
Rock him and lull him that he please to stay?
O heavy hands, be tender with the child!
Tho' lacking purple pillows softly piled
I know a heart can house him, strong and wild,
A heart to break when he shall wing away!
LOVE.
Love that is loveDefies all rule and measure;
Love that is love
Is time and life and treasure
And peace and pain
And restlessness and leisure;
But not, poor fool,
A sweet perpetual pleasure!
PERVERSITY.
In the yellow pitOf a rose's heart,
Half hid from view
A diamond shone
That was made of dew!
But none had wit
To want the stone
That flashed apart,
Alight, alone,
In the yellow cup
Of a rose's heart.
But silver vein
And mass of gold
With endless pain
And toil untold
They strove to win
For years and years,
That they might reap
A crop of tears.
[They gamble in that house, my friend]
“Some rhymster it may be whose bitter pen
Shall pay them their mudstains with interest again.”
Shall pay them their mudstains with interest again.”
They gamble in that house, my friend,
And gamble, too, with lives
So anxious do they seem to turn
Their daughters into wives!
They shuffle with men's hopes and hearts,
And mark the game with tears;
And trifle with the love that soils
Or sanctifies our years.
And gamble, too, with lives
So anxious do they seem to turn
Their daughters into wives!
They shuffle with men's hopes and hearts,
And mark the game with tears;
And trifle with the love that soils
Or sanctifies our years.
The gamblers sit and subtly stake
With false united cares
Sweet Delia, dancing in the hall,
And Daphne, on the stairs:
And if so be that Love is poor
In land and golden sheaves
They play against his poverty,
With long suits up their sleeves.
With false united cares
Sweet Delia, dancing in the hall,
And Daphne, on the stairs:
And if so be that Love is poor
In land and golden sheaves
They play against his poverty,
With long suits up their sleeves.
Ah, friend, when Daphne's lips confessed
Beneath the moonlit may;
And that rare bosom rose and sank,
More eloquent than they,
You took her face between your hands,
And, gazing in her eyes,
Said, Daphne, you are Eve, and all
This garden Paradise.
Beneath the moonlit may;
And that rare bosom rose and sank,
More eloquent than they,
You took her face between your hands,
And, gazing in her eyes,
Said, Daphne, you are Eve, and all
This garden Paradise.
Ah, lovers' songs and lovers' sighs
And lovers' golden lute!
Ah, where's an Eden serpentless,
With unforbidden fruit?
Sir Plutus with his money-bags
Soon jingled her away
Whose beating heart was close to yours
Beneath the moonlit may!
And lovers' golden lute!
Ah, where's an Eden serpentless,
With unforbidden fruit?
Sir Plutus with his money-bags
Soon jingled her away
Whose beating heart was close to yours
Beneath the moonlit may!
Of all the plots that ever thrive
By lying, sword, or dart
Thrice-cursed be those some mothers make
To burst, and break a heart!
Small marvel, friend, that you should write
A truth my spirit shares:—
The while I slept (Ah Love, my Love!)
An enemy sowed tares!
By lying, sword, or dart
Thrice-cursed be those some mothers make
To burst, and break a heart!
Small marvel, friend, that you should write
A truth my spirit shares:—
The while I slept (Ah Love, my Love!)
An enemy sowed tares!
My dog, tho' kennelled for a year,
Had not forgot so soon;
A baby, sobbing for its ball,
Or crying for the moon!
I will not herd with little hearts
That barter smiles for pelf—
God keep me from such narrow ways
A world unto myself!
Had not forgot so soon;
A baby, sobbing for its ball,
Or crying for the moon!
I will not herd with little hearts
That barter smiles for pelf—
God keep me from such narrow ways
A world unto myself!
Could you believe that, as it were,
In ashes and in rags,
These plotters would have had me cheat
Sir Plutus Money-bags?
Sir Plutus with his front of brass
Was yet too fine a clay
To take the shape of hands that broke
My branch of moonlit may!
In ashes and in rags,
These plotters would have had me cheat
Sir Plutus Money-bags?
Sir Plutus with his front of brass
Was yet too fine a clay
To take the shape of hands that broke
My branch of moonlit may!
And so they would have had me hurl
The king from out her heart!
But should I stab him with a blade
Of which I knew the smart?
No! She shall see me in her home
And from her husband's breast,
Where mischief-makers trouble not
And weary, she shall rest!
The king from out her heart!
But should I stab him with a blade
Of which I knew the smart?
No! She shall see me in her home
And from her husband's breast,
Where mischief-makers trouble not
And weary, she shall rest!
They played with tools of sharpest edge,
And when they found them keen
Imagined I would be the knave—
A dirty go-between!
But Daphne, shrinking from their kiss
And honeyed words, was sure
My life would cast out love to keep
A conscience nobly pure.
And when they found them keen
Imagined I would be the knave—
A dirty go-between!
But Daphne, shrinking from their kiss
And honeyed words, was sure
My life would cast out love to keep
A conscience nobly pure.
They gamble in that house, my friend,
And gamble, too, with lives,
So anxious do they seem to turn
Their daughters into wives!
They try to measure hopes and hearts
Like inches, feet, and yards;
And wince not if they chance to find
A blood-stain on the cards!
And gamble, too, with lives,
So anxious do they seem to turn
Their daughters into wives!
They try to measure hopes and hearts
Like inches, feet, and yards;
And wince not if they chance to find
A blood-stain on the cards!
Friends of a June no longer June,
To you it has occurred
To whip a dreamer from his dreams,
And stir his singing-bird.
For red-rose days in dumb years dead
Your payment is a wrong;
So, in his larger charity,
He pays you with a song!
To you it has occurred
To whip a dreamer from his dreams,
And stir his singing-bird.
For red-rose days in dumb years dead
Your payment is a wrong;
So, in his larger charity,
He pays you with a song!
DESPAIR.
Ah, when I think that all is gone,
Thy presence and thy comforting,
I would my soul were as a stone
The urchin drops into a spring—
A stone to sink and not again
Feel the boy's hand or break the rain!
Thy presence and thy comforting,
I would my soul were as a stone
The urchin drops into a spring—
A stone to sink and not again
Feel the boy's hand or break the rain!
I would renounce my lease of mind,
And be a fruitless garden-clod
Too base for maids on me to find
The simplest blossom of their God.
O that I ever thought or loved,
Hoped, and so melancholy proved!
And be a fruitless garden-clod
Too base for maids on me to find
The simplest blossom of their God.
O that I ever thought or loved,
Hoped, and so melancholy proved!
A DRINKING SONG.
There's an inch or so's canary
In the bottom of the cup,
So, my comrades, pass it round to me again!
I can quaff till Dawn is coming
With her rosy cheeks, and humming
As she flits across the vineyards in the plain.
Drink, fine fellows!
Rare wine mellows
Pith
And sinew,
Brawn
And thews!
Nought of foreign's
In your goblets
Save Aurora's slender dews!
In the bottom of the cup,
So, my comrades, pass it round to me again!
I can quaff till Dawn is coming
With her rosy cheeks, and humming
As she flits across the vineyards in the plain.
Drink, fine fellows!
Rare wine mellows
Pith
And sinew,
Brawn
And thews!
Nought of foreign's
In your goblets
Save Aurora's slender dews!
There's a health or so for pledging
Ere the channel of the cup
Runs as dry as thrifty streamlets in the heat.
Let us pray the summer vintage
To be prodigal of mintage
That shall jingle in our hearts and heads and feet!
Drink, fine fellows!
Rare wine mellows
Pith
And sinew,
Brawn
And thews!
Nought of foreign's
On your whiskers
Save Aurora's slender dews!
Ere the channel of the cup
Runs as dry as thrifty streamlets in the heat.
Let us pray the summer vintage
To be prodigal of mintage
That shall jingle in our hearts and heads and feet!
Drink, fine fellows!
Rare wine mellows
Pith
And sinew,
Brawn
And thews!
Nought of foreign's
On your whiskers
Save Aurora's slender dews!
STREPHON TO CHLORIS.
Chloris, unbend that gathered brow!
'Twas but a straying touch or twain
That followed on this slope of snow
The azure runnel of a vein!
Come, sweet, be neither saint nor shrew—
The heart behind the hand was true.
'Twas but a straying touch or twain
That followed on this slope of snow
The azure runnel of a vein!
Come, sweet, be neither saint nor shrew—
The heart behind the hand was true.
Now had I stormed thy garter-knot
I would not christen thee unkind!
But nought of pure hath been forgot,
So kiss me, dear, and change thy mind.
Be nun-like now—I care no groat
So I am shepherd for thy throat!
I would not christen thee unkind!
But nought of pure hath been forgot,
So kiss me, dear, and change thy mind.
Be nun-like now—I care no groat
So I am shepherd for thy throat!
| Here be blue and white violets from the garden wherein grew meadowsweet | |