Poems by William Ernest Henley Part 12

1875

XVI

While the west is paling Stars.h.i.+ne is begun.

While the dusk is failing Glimmers up the sun.

So, till darkness cover Life's retreating gleam, Lover follows lover, Dream succeeds to dream.

Stoop to my endeavour, O my love, and be Only and for ever Sun and stars to me.

1876

XVII

The sands are alive with suns.h.i.+ne, The bathers lounge and throng, And out in the bay a bugle Is lilting a gallant song.

The clouds go racing eastward, The blithe wind cannot rest, And a shard on the s.h.i.+ngle flashes Like the s.h.i.+ning soul of a jest;

While children romp in the surges, And sweethearts wander free, And the Firth as with laughter dimples . . .

I would it were deep over me!

1875

XVIII--To A. D.

The nightingale has a lyre of gold, The lark's is a clarion-call, And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute, But I love him best of all.

For his song is all of the joy of life, And we in the mad, spring weather, We two have listened till he sang Our hearts and lips together.

1876

XIX

Your heart has trembled to my tongue, Your hands in mine have lain, Your thought to me has leaned and clung, Again and yet again, My dear, Again and yet again.

Now die the dream, or come the wife, The past is not in vain, For wholly as it was your life Can never be again, My dear, Can never be again.

1876

XX

The surges gushed and sounded, The blue was the blue of June, And low above the brightening east Floated a shred of moon.

The woods were black and solemn, The night winds large and free, And in your thought a blessing seemed To fall on land and sea.

1877

XXI

We flash across the level.

We thunder thro' the bridges.

We bicker down the cuttings.

We sway along the ridges.

A rush of streaming hedges, Of jostling lights and shadows, Of hurtling, hurrying stations, Of racing woods and meadows.

We charge the tunnels headlong - The blackness roars and shatters.

We crash between embankments - The open spins and scatters.

We shake off the miles like water, We might carry a royal ransom; And I think of her waiting, waiting, And long for a common hansom.

1876

XXII

The West a glimmering lake of light, A dream of pearly weather, The first of stars is burning white - The star we watch together.

Is April dead? The unresting year Will shape us our September, And April's work is done, my dear - Do you not remember?

O gracious eve! O happy star, Still-flas.h.i.+ng, glowing, sinking! - Who lives of lovers near or far So glad as I in thinking?

The gallant world is warm and green, For May fulfils November.