Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wist that ye should not fall. Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all. But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide in the end; Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend. O daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blossom of birth, I am also, I also thy brother; I go as I came unto earth. In the night where thine eyes are as moons are in heaven, the night where thou art, Where the silence is more than all tunes, where sleep overflows from the heart, Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white, And the wind falls faint as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night, And the murmur of spirits that sleep in the shadow of Gods from afar Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star, In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun, Let my soul with their souls find place, and forget what is done and undone. Thou art more than the Gods who number the days of our temporal breath; For these give labour and slumber; but thou, Proserpina, death. Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. I know I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep; even So. For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span A little soul for a little bears up this Corpse which is man.1 So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither weep; For there is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep. 1 Ψυχάριον εἴ βαστάζον νεκρόν.-EPICTETUS. COVENTRY PATMORE [1823-1896] THE REVELATION AN idle poet, here and there, Looks round him; but, for all the rest, The world, unfathomably fair, Is duller than a witling's jest. Love wakes men, once a life-time each, That and the Child's unheeded dream THE SPIRIT'S EPOCHS NOT in the crises of events, Of compassed hopes, or fears fulfilled, Are life's delight and depth revealed. That went before, or was postponed; But, ah, the walk that afternoon [Preludes from THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.] GEORGE MEREDITH [1828-1909] LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT ON a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose. He reached a middle height, and at the stars, LOVE'S DEATH In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour [From MODERN LOVE.] LOVE IN THE VALLEY UNDER yonder beech-tree single on the greensward, Press her parting lips as her waist I gather slow, Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow, Hard, but oh the glory of the winning were she won! When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror, Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded, More love should I have, and much less care. Heartless she is as the shadow in the meadows Earth to her is young as the slip of the new moon. stones Off a sunny border, she was made to bruise and bless. Lovely are the curves of the white owl sweeping Stepping down the hill with her fair companions, Happy happy time, when the white star hovers Low over dim fields fresh with bloomy dew, Near the face of dawn, that draws athwart the darkness, Threading it with colour, like yewberries the yew. Thicker crowd the shades as the grave East deepens Glowing, and with crimson a long cloud swells. Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and lighting Ay, but shows the South-West a ripple-feather'd bosom Blown to silver while the clouds are shaken and ascend Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, there comes a sunset Rich, deep like love in beauty without end. When at dawn she sighs, and like an infant to the window Turns grave eyes craving light, released from dreams, Beautiful she looks, like a white water-lily Bursting out of bud in havens of the streams. |