The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 59

O my love, from beyond the sky I am calling thy heart, and who but I?

Fresh as love is the breeze of June, In the dappled shade of the summer noon.

Catullus, throwing his heart away, Gave fewer kisses every day.

Heracleitus, spending his youth In search of wisdom, had less of truth.

Flame of fire was the poet's desire: The thinker found that life was fire.

O my love! my song is done: My kiss hath both their fires in one.

8

To my love I whisper, and say Knowest thou why I love thee?--Nay: Nay, she saith; O tell me again.--

When in her ear the secret I tell, She smileth with joy incredible--

Ha! she is vain--O nay-- Then tell us!--Nay, O nay.

But this is in my heart, That Love is Nature's perfect art, And man hath got his fancy hence, To clothe his thought in forms of sense.

Fair are thy works, O man, and fair Thy dreams of soul in garments rare, Beautiful past compare, Yea, G.o.dlike when thou hast the skill To steal a stir of the heavenly thrill:

But O, have care, have care!

'Tis envious even to dare: And many a fiend is watching well To flush thy reed with the fire of h.e.l.l.

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My delight and thy delight Walking, like two angels white, In the gardens of the night:

My desire and thy desire Twining to a tongue of fire, Leaping live, and laughing higher; Thro' the everlasting strife In the mystery of life.

Love, from whom the world begun, Hath the secret of the sun.

Love can tell, and love alone, Whence the million stars were strewn, Why each atom knows its own, How, in spite of woe and death, Gay is life, and sweet is breath:

This he taught us, this we knew, Happy in his science true, Hand in hand as we stood Neath the shadows of the wood, Heart to heart as we lay In the dawning of the day.

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SEPTUAGESIMA

Now all the windows with frost are blinded, As punctual day with greedy smile Lifts like a Cyclops evil-minded His ruddy eyeball over the isle.

In an hour 'tis paled, in an hour ascended A dazzling light in the cloudless grey.

Steel is the ice; the snow unblended Is trod to dust on the white highway.

The lambkins frisk; the shepherd is melting Drink for the ewes with a fire of straw: The red flames leap at the wild air pelting Bitterly thro' the leafless shaw.

Around, from many a village steeple The sabbath-bells hum over the snow: I give a blessing to parson and people Across the fields as away I go.

Over the hills and over the meadows Gay is my way till day be done: Blue as the heaven are all the shadows, And every light is gold in the sun.

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The sea keeps not the Sabbath day, His waves come rolling evermore; His noisy toil grindeth the sh.o.r.e, And all the cliff is drencht with spray.

Here as we sit, my love and I, Under the pine upon the hill, The sadness of the clouded sky, The bitter wind, the gloomy roar, The seamew's melancholy cry With loving fancy suit but ill.

We talk of moons and cooling suns, Of geologic time and tide, The eternal sluggards that abide While our fair love so swiftly runs,

Of nature that doth half consent That man should guess her dreary scheme Lest he should live too well content In his fair house of mirth and dream:

Whose labour irks his ageing heart, His heart that wearies of desire, Being so fugitive a part Of what so slowly must expire.

She in her agelong toil and care Persistent, wearies not nor stays, Mocking alike hope and despair.

--Ah, but she too can mock our praise, Enchanted on her brighter days,

Days, that the thought of grief refuse, Days that are one with human art, Worthy of the Virgilian muse, Fit for the gaiety of Mozart.

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Riding adown the country lanes One day in spring, Heavy at heart with all the pains Of man's imagining:--

The mist was not yet melted quite Into the sky: The small round sun was dazzling white, The merry larks sang high:

The gra.s.sy northern slopes were laid In sparkling dew, Out of the slow-retreating shade Turning from sleep anew:

Deep in the sunny vale a burn Ran with the lane, O'erhung with ivy, moss and fern It laughed in joyful strain:

And primroses shot long and lush Their cl.u.s.ter'd cream; Robin and wren and amorous thrush Carol'd above the stream:

The stillness of the lenten air Call'd into sound The motions of all life that were In field and farm around:

So fair it was, so sweet and bright, The jocund Spring Awoke in me the old delight Of man's imagining,

Riding adown the country lanes: The larks sang high.-- O heart! for all thy griefs and pains Thou shalt be loth to die.