The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 41

Above the house I'd hover Where dwells my love, and wait Till haply I might spy her Throw back the garden-gate.

There in the summer evening I would bedeck the moon; I would float down and screen her From the sun's rays at noon;

And if her flowers should languish, Or wither in the drought Upon her tall white lilies I'd pour my heart's blood out:

So if she wore one only, And shook not out the rain, Were I a cloud, O cloudlet, I had not lived in vain.

[_A cloud speaks._

A CLOUD.

But were I thou, O ocean, I would not chafe and fret As thou, because a limit To thy desires is set.

I would be blue, and gentle, Patient, and calm, and see If my smiles might not tempt her, My love, to come to me.

I'd make my depths transparent, And still, that she should lean O'er the boat's edge to ponder The sights that swam between.

I would command strange creatures, Of bright hue and quick fin, To stir the water near her, And tempt her bare arm in.

I'd teach her spend the summer With me: and I can tell, That, were I thou, O ocean, My love should love me well.

But on the mad cloud scudded, The breeze it blew so stiff; And the sad ocean bellowed, And pounded at the cliff.

5

I heard a linnet courting His lady in the spring: His mates were idly sporting, Nor stayed to hear him sing His song of love.-- I fear my speech distorting His tender love.

The phrases of his pleading Were full of young delight; And she that gave him heeding Interpreted aright His gay, sweet notes,-- So sadly marred in the reading,-- His tender notes.

And when he ceased, the hearer Awaited the refrain, Till swiftly perching nearer He sang his song again, His pretty song:-- Would that my verse spake clearer His tender song!

Ye happy, airy creatures!

That in the merry spring Think not of what misfeatures Or cares the year may bring; But unto love Resign your simple natures, To tender love.

6

Dear lady, when thou frownest, And my true love despisest, And all thy vows disownest That sealed my venture wisest; I think thy pride's displeasure Neglects a matchless treasure Exceeding price and measure.

But when again thou smilest, And love for love returnest, And fear with joy beguilest, And takest truth in earnest; Then, though I sheer adore thee, The sum of my love for thee Seems poor, scant, and unworthy.

7

I will not let thee go.

Ends all our month-long love in this?

Can it be summed up so, Quit in a single kiss?

I will not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds, As the soft south can blow And toss the feathered seeds, Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

Had not the great sun seen, I might; Or were he reckoned slow To bring the false to light, Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

The stars that crowd the summer skies Have watched us so below With all their million eyes, I dare not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

Have we not chid the changeful moon, Now rising late, and now Because she set too soon, And shall I let thee go?

I will not let thee go.

Have not the young flowers been content, Plucked ere their buds could blow, To seal our sacrament?

I cannot let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

I hold thee by too many bands: Thou sayest farewell, and lo!

I have thee by the hands, And will not let thee go.

8

I found to-day out walking The flower my love loves best.

What, when I stooped to pluck it, Could dare my hand arrest?

Was it a snake lay curling About the root's thick crown?

Or did some hidden bramble Tear my hand reaching down?

There was no snake uncurling, And no thorn wounded me; 'Twas my heart checked me, sighing She is beyond the sea.

9

A poppy grows upon the sh.o.r.e, Bursts her twin cup in summer late: Her leaves are glaucous-green and h.o.a.r, Her petals yellow, delicate.

Oft to her cousins turns her thought, In wonder if they care that she Is fed with spray for dew, and caught By every gale that sweeps the sea.

She has no lovers like the red, That dances with the n.o.ble corn: Her blossoms on the waves are shed, Where she stands s.h.i.+vering and forlorn.

10

Sometimes when my lady sits by me My rapture's so great, that I tear My mind from the thought that she's nigh me, And strive to forget that she's there.

And sometimes when she is away Her absence so sorely does try me, That I shut to my eyes, and a.s.say To think she is there sitting by me.