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diff --git a/18524.txt b/18524.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2cf9805 --- /dev/null +++ b/18524.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1682 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Dark Month, by Algernon Charles Swinburne + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Dark Month + From Swinburne's Collected Poetical Works Vol. V + +Author: Algernon Charles Swinburne + +Release Date: June 7, 2006 [EBook #18524] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DARK MONTH *** + + + + +Produced by Louise Pryor, Paul Murray and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +A Dark Month + + +By +Algernon Charles Swinburne + +Taken from The Collected Poetical Works of +Algernon Charles Swinburne (Vol. V) + + + + +THE COLLECTED POETICAL WORKS +OF ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE + + +VOL. V + +STUDIES IN SONG : A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS : SONNETS ON +ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS : THE HEPTALOGIA : ETC. + + + + +SWINBURNE'S POETICAL WORKS + + + I. POEMS AND BALLADS (First Series). + + II. SONGS BEFORE SUNRISE, and SONGS OF TWO NATIONS. + + III. POEMS AND BALLADS (Second and Third Series), and + SONGS OF THE SPRING TIDES. + + IV. TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE, THE TALE OF BALEN, + ATALANTA IN CALYDON, ERECHTHEUS. + + V. STUDIES IN SONG, A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS, SONNETS ON ENGLISH + DRAMATIC POETS, THE HEPTALOGIA, ETC. + + VI. A MIDSUMMER HOLIDAY, ASTROPHEL, A CHANNEL PASSAGE AND OTHER + POEMS. + + +LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN + + + + +STUDIES IN SONG : A CENTURY OF ROUNDELS : SONNETS ON +ENGLISH DRAMATIC POETS : THE HEPTALOGIA : ETC. + +By + +Algernon Charles Swinburne + + +1917 + +LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN + + + + +_First printed (Chatto), 1904_ +_Reprinted 1904, '09, '10, '12_ +_(Heinemann), 1917_ + + +_London: William Heinemann, 1917_ + + + + +A DARK MONTH + +"La maison sans enfants!"--VICTOR HUGO. + + + I + + A month without sight of the sun + Rising or reigning or setting + Through days without use of the day, + Who calls it the month of May? + The sense of the name is undone + And the sound of it fit for forgetting. + + We shall not feel if the sun rise, + We shall not care when it sets: + If a nightingale make night's air + As noontide, why should we care? + Till a light of delight that is done rise, + Extinguishing grey regrets; + + Till a child's face lighten again + On the twilight of older faces; + Till a child's voice fall as the dew + On furrows with heat parched through + And all but hopeless of grain, + Refreshing the desolate places-- + + Fall clear on the ears of us hearkening + And hungering for food of the sound + And thirsting for joy of his voice: + Till the hearts in us hear and rejoice, + And the thoughts of them doubting and darkening + Rejoice with a glad thing found. + + When the heart of our gladness is gone, + What comfort is left with us after? + When the light of our eyes is away, + What glory remains upon May, + What blessing of song is thereon + If we drink not the light of his laughter? + + No small sweet face with the daytime + To welcome, warmer than noon! + No sweet small voice as a bird's + To bring us the day's first words! + Mid May for us here is not Maytime: + No summer begins with June. + + A whole dead month in the dark, + A dawn in the mists that o'ercome her + Stifled and smothered and sad-- + Swift speed to it, barren and bad! + And return to us, voice of the lark, + And remain with us, sunlight of summer. + + + II + + Alas, what right has the dawn to glimmer, + What right has the wind to do aught but moan? + All the day should be dimmer + Because we are left alone. + + Yestermorn like a sunbeam present + Hither and thither a light step smiled, + And made each place for us pleasant + With the sense or the sight of a child. + + But the leaves persist as before, and after + Our parting the dull day still bears flowers; + And songs less bright than his laughter + Deride us from birds in the bowers. + + Birds, and blossoms, and sunlight only, + As though such folly sufficed for spring! + As though the house were not lonely + For want of the child its king! + + + III + + Asleep and afar to-night my darling + Lies, and heeds not the night, + If winds be stirring or storms be snarling; + For his sleep is its own sweet light. + + I sit where he sat beside me quaffing + The wine of story and song + Poured forth of immortal cups, and laughing + When mirth in the draught grew strong. + + I broke the gold of the words, to melt it + For hands but seven years old, + And they caught the tale as a bird, and felt it + More bright than visible gold. + + And he drank down deep, with his eyes broad beaming, + Here in this room where I am, + The golden vintage of Shakespeare, gleaming + In the silver vessels of Lamb. + + Here by my hearth where he was I listen + For the shade of the sound of a word, + Athirst for the birdlike eyes to glisten, + For the tongue to chirp like a bird. + + At the blast of battle, how broad they brightened, + Like fire in the spheres of stars, + And clung to the pictured page, and lightened + As keen as the heart of Mars! + + At the touch of laughter, how swift it twittered + The shrillest music on earth; + How the lithe limbs laughed and the whole child glittered + With radiant riot of mirth! + + Our Shakespeare now, as a man dumb-stricken, + Stands silent there on the shelf: + And my thoughts, that had song in the heart of them, sicken, + And relish not Shakespeare's self. + + And my mood grows moodier than Hamlet's even, + And man delights not me, + But only the face that morn and even + My heart leapt only to see. + + That my heart made merry within me seeing, + And sang as his laugh kept time: + But song finds now no pleasure in being, + And love no reason in rhyme. + + + IV + + Mild May-blossom and proud sweet bay-flower, + What, for shame, would you have with us here? + It is not the month of the May-flower + This, but the fall of the year. + + Flowers open only their lips in derision, + Leaves are as fingers that point in scorn + The shows we see are a vision; + Spring is not verily born. + + Yet boughs turn supple and buds grow sappy, + As though the sun were indeed the sun: + And all our woods are happy + With all their birds save one. + + But spring is over, but summer is over, + But autumn is over, and winter stands + With his feet sunk deep in the clover + And cowslips cold in his hands. + + His hoar grim head has a hawthorn bonnet, + His gnarled gaunt hand has a gay green staff + With new-blown rose-blossom on it: + But his laugh is a dead man's laugh. + + The laugh of spring that the heart seeks after, + The hand that the whole world yearns to kiss, + It rings not here in his laughter, + The sign of it is not this. + + There is not strength in it left to splinter + Tall oaks, nor frost in his breath to sting: + Yet it is but a breath as of winter, + And it is not the hand of spring. + + + V + + Thirty-one pale maidens, clad + All in mourning dresses, + Pass, with lips and eyes more sad + That it seems they should be glad, + Heads discrowned of crowns they had, + Grey for golden tresses. + + Grey their girdles too for green, + And their veils dishevelled: + None would say, to see their mien, + That the least of these had been + Born no baser than a queen, + Reared where flower-fays revelled. + + Dreams that strive to seem awake, + Ghosts that walk by daytime, + Weary winds the way they take, + Since, for one child's absent sake, + May knows well, whate'er things make + Sport, it is not Maytime. + + + VI + + A hand at the door taps light + As the hand of my heart's delight: + It is but a full-grown hand, + Yet the stroke of it seems to start + Hope like a bird in my heart, + Too feeble to soar or to stand. + + To start light hope from her cover + Is to raise but a kite for a plover + If her wings be not fledged to soar. + Desire, but in dreams, cannot ope + The door that was shut upon hope + When love went out at the door. + + Well were it if vision could keep + The lids of desire as in sleep + Fast locked, and over his eyes + A dream with the dark soft key + In her hand might hover, and be + Their keeper till morning rise; + + The morning that brings after many + Days fled with no light upon any + The small face back which is gone; + When the loved little hands once more + Shall struggle and strain at the door + They beat their summons upon. + + + VII + + If a soul for but seven days were cast out of heaven and its mirth, + They would seem to her fears like as seventy years upon earth. + + Even and morrow should seem to her sorrow as long + As the passage of numberless ages in slumberless song. + + Dawn, roused by the lark, would be surely as dark in her sight + As her measureless measure of shadowless pleasure was bright. + + Noon, gilt but with glory of gold, would be hoary and grey + In her eyes that had gazed on the depths, unamazed with the day. + + Night hardly would seem to make darker her dream never done, + When it could but withhold what a man may behold of the sun. + + For dreams would perplex, were the days that should vex her but seven, + The sight of her vision, made dark with division from heaven. + + Till the light on my lonely way lighten that only now gleams, + I too am divided from heaven and derided of dreams. + + + VIII + + A twilight fire-fly may suggest + How flames the fire that feeds the sun: + "A crooked figure may attest + In little space a million." + + But this faint-figured verse, that dresses + With flowers the bones of one bare month, + Of all it would say scarce expresses + In crooked ways a millionth. + + A fire-fly tenders to the father + Of fires a tribute something worth: + My verse, a shard-borne beetle rather, + Drones over scarce-illumined earth. + + Some inches round me though it brighten + With light of music-making thought, + The dark indeed it may not lighten, + The silence moves not, hearing nought. + + Only my heart is eased with hearing, + Only mine eyes are soothed with seeing, + A face brought nigh, a footfall nearing, + Till hopes take form and dreams have being. + + + IX + + As a poor man hungering stands with insatiate eyes and hands + Void of bread + Right in sight of men that feast while his famine with no least + Crumb is fed, + + Here across the garden-wall can I hear strange children call, + Watch them play, + From the windowed seat above, whence the goodlier child I love + Is away. + + Here the sights we saw together moved his fancy like a feather + To and fro, + Now to wonder, and thereafter to the sunny storm of laughter + Loud and low-- + + Sights engraven on storied pages where man's tale of seven + swift ages + All was told-- + Seen of eyes yet bright from heaven--for the lips that laughed + were seven + Sweet years old. + + + X + + Why should May remember + March, if March forget + The days that began with December + The nights that a frost could fret? + + All their griefs are done with + Now the bright months bless + Fit souls to rejoice in the sun with, + Fit heads for the wind's caress; + + Souls of children quickening + With the whole world's mirth, + Heads closelier than field-flowers thickening + That crowd and illuminate earth, + + Now that May's call musters + Files of baby bands + To marshal in joyfuller clusters + Than the flowers that encumber their hands. + + Yet morose November + Found them no less gay, + With nought to forget or remember + Less bright than a branch of may. + + All the seasons moving + Move their minds alike + Applauding, acclaiming, approving + All hours of the year that strike. + + So my heart may fret not, + Wondering if my friend + Remember me not or forget not + Or ever the month find end. + + Not that love sows lighter + Seed in children sown, + But that life being lit in them brighter + Moves fleeter than even our own. + + May nor yet September + Binds their hearts, that yet + Remember, forget, and remember, + Forget, and recall, and forget. + + + XI + + As light on a lake's face moving + Between a cloud and a cloud + Till night reclaim it, reproving + The heart that exults too loud, + + The heart that watching rejoices + When soft it swims into sight + Applauded of all the voices + And stars of the windy night, + + So brief and unsure, but sweeter + Than ever a moondawn smiled, + Moves, measured of no tune's metre, + The song in the soul of a child; + + The song that the sweet soul singing + Half listens, and hardly hears, + Though sweeter than joy-bells ringing + And brighter than joy's own tears; + + The song that remembrance of pleasure + Begins, and forgetfulness ends + With a soft swift change in the measure + That rings in remembrance of friends + + As the moon on the lake's face flashes, + So haply may gleam at whiles + A dream through the dear deep lashes + Whereunder a child's eye smiles, + + And the least of us all that love him + May take for a moment part + With angels around and above him, + And I find place in his heart. + + + XII + + Child, were you kinless and lonely-- + Dear, were you kin to me-- + My love were compassionate only + Or such as it needs would be. + + But eyes of father and mother + Like sunlight shed on you shine: + What need you have heed of another + Such new strange love as is mine? + + It is not meet if unruly + Hands take of the children's bread + And cast it to dogs; but truly + The dogs after all would be fed. + + On crumbs from the children's table + That crumble, dropped from above, + My heart feeds, fed with unstable + Loose waifs of a child's light love. + + Though love in your heart were brittle + As glass that breaks with a touch, + You haply would lend him a little + Who surely would give you much. + + + XIII + + Here is a rough + Rude sketch of my friend, + Faint-coloured enough + And unworthily penned. + + Fearlessly fair + And triumphant he stands, + And holds unaware + Friends' hearts in his hands; + + Stalwart and straight + As an oak that should bring + Forth gallant and great + Fresh roses in spring. + + On the paths of his pleasure + All graces that wait + What metre shall measure + What rhyme shall relate + + Each action, each motion, + Each feature, each limb, + Demands a devotion + In honour of him: + + Head that the hand + Of a god might have blest, + Laid lustrous and bland + On the curve of its crest: + + Mouth sweeter than cherries, + Keen eyes as of Mars, + Browner than berries + And brighter than stars. + + Nor colour nor wordy + Weak song can declare + The stature how sturdy, + How stalwart his air. + + As a king in his bright + Presence-chamber may be, + So seems he in height-- + Twice higher than your knee. + + As a warrior sedate + With reserve of his power, + So seems he in state-- + As tall as a flower: + + As a rose overtowering + The ranks of the rest + That beneath it lie cowering, + Less bright than their best. + + And his hands are as sunny + As ruddy ripe corn + Or the browner-hued honey + From heather-bells borne. + + When summer sits proudest, + Fulfilled with its mirth, + And rapture is loudest + In air and on earth, + + The suns of all hours + That have ripened the roots + Bring forth not such flowers + And beget not such fruits. + + And well though I know it, + As fain would I write, + Child, never a poet + Could praise you aright. + + I bless you? the blessing + Were less than a jest + Too poor for expressing; + I come to be blest, + + With humble and dutiful + Heart, from above: + Bless me, O my beautiful + Innocent love! + + This rhyme in your praise + With a smile was begun; + But the goal of his ways + Is uncovered to none, + + Nor pervious till after + The limit impend; + It is not in laughter + These rhymes of you end. + + + XIV + + Spring, and fall, and summer, and winter, + Which may Earth love least of them all, + Whose arms embrace as their signs imprint her, + Summer, or winter, or spring, or fall? + + The clear-eyed spring with the wood-birds mating, + The rose-red summer with eyes aglow, + The yellow fall with serene eyes waiting, + The wild-eyed winter with hair all snow? + + Spring's eyes are soft, but if frosts benumb her + As winter's own will her shrewd breath sting: + Storms may rend the raiment of summer, + And fall grow bitter as harsh-lipped spring. + + One sign for summer and winter guides me, + One for spring, and the like for fall: + Whichever from sight of my friend divides me, + That is the worst ill season of all. + + + XV + + Worse than winter is spring + If I come not to sight of my king: + But then what a spring will it be + When my king takes homage of me! + + I send his grace from afar + Homage, as though to a star; + As a shepherd whose flock takes flight + May worship a star by night. + + As a flock that a wolf is upon + My songs take flight and are gone: + No heart is in any to sing + Aught but the praise of my king. + + Fain would I once and again + Sing deeds and passions of men: + But ever a child's head gleams + Between my work and my dreams. + + Between my hand and my eyes + The lines of a small face rise, + And the lines I trace and retrace + Are none but those of the face. + + + XVI + + Till the tale of all this flock of days alike + All be done, + Weary days of waiting till the month's hand strike + Thirty-one, + Till the clock's hand of the month break off, and end + With the clock, + Till the last and whitest sheep at last be penned + Of the flock, + I their shepherd keep the count of night and day + With my song, + Though my song be, like this month which once was May, + All too long. + + + XVII + + The incarnate sun, a tall strong youth, + On old Greek eyes in sculpture smiled: + But trulier had it given the truth + To shape him like a child. + + No face full-grown of all our dearest + So lightens all our darkness, none + Most loved of all our hearts hold nearest + To far outshines the sun, + + As when with sly shy smiles that feign + Doubt if the hour be clear, the time + Fit to break off my work again + Or sport of prose or rhyme, + + My friend peers in on me with merry + Wise face, and though the sky stay dim + The very light of day, the very + Sun's self comes in with him. + + + XVIII + + Out of sight, + Out of mind! + Could the light + Prove unkind? + + Can the sun + Quite forget + What was done + Ere he set? + + Does the moon + When she wanes + Leave no tune + That remains + + In the void + Shell of night + Overcloyed + With her light? + + Must the shore + At low tide + Feel no more + Hope or pride, + + No intense + Joy to be, + In the sense + Of the sea-- + + In the pulses + Of her shocks + It repulses, + When its rocks + + Thrill and ring + As with glee? + Has my king + Cast off me, + + Whom no bird + Flying south + Brings one word + From his mouth? + + Not the ghost + Of a word. + Riding post + Have I heard, + + Since the day + When my king + Took away + With him spring, + + And the cup + Of each flower + Shrivelled up + That same hour, + + With no light + Left behind. + Out of sight, + Out of mind! + + + XIX + + Because I adore you + And fall + On the knees of my spirit before you-- + After all, + + You need not insult, + My king, + With neglect, though your spirit exult + In the spring, + + Even me, though not worth, + God knows, + One word of you sent me in mirth, + Or one rose + + Out of all in your garden + That grow + Where the frost and the wind never harden + Flakes of snow, + + Nor ever is rain + At all, + But the roses rejoice to remain + Fair and tall-- + + The roses of love, + More sweet + Than blossoms that rain from above + Round our feet, + + When under high bowers + We pass, + Where the west wind freckles with flowers + All the grass. + + But a child's thoughts bear + More bright + Sweet visions by day, and more fair + Dreams by night, + + Than summer's whole treasure + Can be: + What am I that his thought should take pleasure, + Then, in me? + + I am only my love's + True lover, + With a nestful of songs, like doves + Under cover, + + That I bring in my cap + Fresh caught, + To be laid on my small king's lap-- + Worth just nought. + + Yet it haply may hap + That he, + When the mirth in his veins is as sap + In a tree, + + Will remember me too + Some day + Ere the transit be thoroughly through + Of this May-- + + Or perchance, if such grace + May be, + Some night when I dream of his face. + Dream of me. + + Or if this be too high + A hope + For me to prefigure in my + Horoscope, + + He may dream of the place + Where we + Basked once in the light of his face, + Who now see + + Nought brighter, not one + Thing bright, + Than the stars and the moon and the sun, + Day nor night. + + + XX + + Day by darkling day, + Overpassing, bears away + Somewhat of the burden of this weary May. + + Night by numbered night, + Waning, brings more near in sight + Hope that grows to vision of my heart's delight. + + Nearer seems to burn + In the dawn's rekindling urn + Flame of fragrant incense, hailing his return. + + Louder seems each bird + In the brightening branches heard + Still to speak some ever more delightful word. + + All the mists that swim + Round the dawns that grow less dim + Still wax brighter and more bright with hope of him. + + All the suns that rise + Bring that day more near our eyes + When the sight of him shall clear our clouded skies. + + All the winds that roam + Fruitful fields or fruitless foam + Blow the bright hour near that brings his bright face home. + + + XXI + + I hear of two far hence + In a garden met, + And the fragrance blown from thence + Fades not yet. + + The one is seven years old, + And my friend is he: + But the years of the other have told + Eighty-three. + + To hear these twain converse + Or to see them greet + Were sweeter than softest verse + May be sweet. + + The hoar old gardener there + With an eye more mild + Perchance than his mild white hair + Meets the child. + + I had rather hear the words + That the twain exchange + Than the songs of all the birds + There that range, + + Call, chirp, and twitter there + Through the garden-beds + Where the sun alike sees fair + Those two heads, + + And which may holier be + Held in heaven of those + Or more worth heart's thanks to see + No man knows. + + + XXII + + Of such is the kingdom of heaven, + No glory that ever was shed + From the crowning star of the seven + That crown the north world's head, + + No word that ever was spoken + Of human or godlike tongue, + Gave ever such godlike token + Since human harps were strung. + + No sign that ever was given + To faithful or faithless eyes + Showed ever beyond clouds riven + So clear a Paradise. + + Earth's creeds may be seventy times seven + And blood have defiled each creed: + If of such be the kingdom of heaven, + It must be heaven indeed. + + + XXIII + + The wind on the downs is bright + As though from the sea: + And morning and night + Take comfort again with me. + + He is nearer to-day, + Each night to each morning saith, + Whose return shall revive dead May + With the balm of his breath. + + The sunset says to the moon, + He is nearer to-night + Whose coming in June + Is looked for more than the light. + + Bird answers to bird, + Hour passes the sign on to hour, + And for joy of the bright news heard + Flower murmurs to flower. + + The ways that were glad of his feet + In the woods that he knew + Grow softer to meet + The sense of his footfall anew. + + He is near now as day, + Says hope to the new-born light: + He is near now as June is to May, + Says love to the night. + + + XXIV + + Good things I keep to console me + For lack of the best of all, + A child to command and control me, + Bid come and remain at his call. + + Sun, wind, and woodland and highland, + Give all that ever they gave: + But my world is a cultureless island, + My spirit a masterless slave. + + And friends are about me, and better + At summons of no man stand: + But I pine for the touch of a fetter, + The curb of a strong king's hand. + + Each hour of the day in her season + Is mine to be served as I will: + And for no more exquisite reason + Are all served idly and ill. + + By slavery my sense is corrupted, + My soul not fit to be free: + I would fain be controlled, interrupted, + Compelled as a thrall may be. + + For fault of spur and of bridle + I tire of my stall to death: + My sail flaps joyless and idle + For want of a small child's breath. + + + XXV + + Whiter and whiter + The dark lines grow, + And broader opens and brighter + The sense of the text below. + + Nightfall and morrow + Bring nigher the boy + Whom wanting we want not sorrow, + Whom having we want no joy. + + Clearer and clearer + The sweet sense grows + Of the word which hath summer for hearer, + The word on the lips of the rose. + + Duskily dwindles + Each deathlike day, + Till June rearising rekindles + The depth of the darkness of May. + + + XXVI + + "In his bright radiance and collateral light + Must I be comforted, not in his sphere." + + Stars in heaven are many, + Suns in heaven but one: + Nor for man may any + Star supplant the sun. + + Many a child as joyous + As our far-off king + Meets as though to annoy us + In the paths of spring. + + Sure as spring gives warning, + All things dance in tune: + Sun on Easter morning, + Cloud and windy moon, + + Stars between the tossing + Boughs of tuneful trees, + Sails of ships recrossing + Leagues of dancing seas; + + Best, in all this playtime, + Best of all in tune, + Girls more glad than Maytime, + Boys more bright than June; + + Mixed with all those dances, + Far through field and street + Sing their silent glances, + Ring their radiant feet. + + Flowers wherewith May crowned us + Fall ere June be crowned: + Children blossom round us + All the whole year round. + + Is the garland worthless + For one rose the less, + And the feast made mirthless? + Love, at least, says yes. + + Strange it were, with many + Stars enkindling air, + Should but one find any + Welcome: strange it were, + + Had one star alone won + Praise for light from far: + Nay, love needs his own one + Bright particular star. + + Hope and recollection + Only lead him right + In its bright reflection + And collateral light. + + Find as yet we may not + Comfort in its sphere: + Yet these days will weigh not + When it warms us here; + + When full-orbed it rises, + Now divined afar: + None in all the skies is + Half so good a star; + + None that seers importune + Till a sign be won: + Star of our good fortune, + Rise and reign, our sun! + + + XXVII + + I pass by the small room now forlorn + Where once each night as I passed I knew + A child's bright sleep from even to morn + Made sweet the whole night through. + + As a soundless shell, as a songless nest, + Seems now the room that was radiant then + And fragrant with his happier rest + Than that of slumbering men. + + The day therein is less than the day, + The night is indeed night now therein: + Heavier the dark seems there to weigh, + And slower the dawns begin. + + As a nest fulfilled with birds, as a shell + Fulfilled with breath of a god's own hymn, + Again shall be this bare blank cell, + Made sweet again with him. + + + XXVIII + + Spring darkens before us, + A flame going down, + With chant from the chorus + Of days without crown-- + Cloud, rain, and sonorous + Soft wind on the down. + + She is wearier not of us + Than we of the dream + That spring was to love us + And joy was to gleam + Through the shadows above us + That shift as they stream. + + Half dark and half hoary, + Float far on the loud + Mild wind, as a glory + Half pale and half proud + From the twilight of story, + Her tresses of cloud; + + Like phantoms that glimmer + Of glories of old + With ever yet dimmer + Pale circlets of gold + As darkness grows grimmer + And memory more cold. + + Like hope growing clearer + With wane of the moon, + Shines toward us the nearer + Gold frontlet of June, + And a face with it dearer + Than midsummer noon. + + + XXIX + + You send me your love in a letter, + I send you my love in a song: + Ah child, your gift is the better, + Mine does you but wrong. + + No fame, were the best less brittle, + No praise, were it wide as earth, + Is worth so much as a little + Child's love may be worth. + + We see the children above us + As they might angels above: + Come back to us, child, if you love us, + And bring us your love. + + + XXX + + No time for books or for letters: + What time should there be? + No room for tasks and their fetters: + Full room to be free. + + The wind and the sun and the Maytime + Had never a guest + More worthy the most that his playtime + Could give of its best. + + If rain should come on, peradventure, + (But sunshine forbid!) + Vain hope in us haply might venture + To dream as it did. + + But never may come, of all comers + Least welcome, the rain, + To mix with his servant the summer's + Rose-garlanded train! + + He would write, but his hours are as busy + As bees in the sun, + And the jubilant whirl of their dizzy + Dance never is done. + + The message is more than a letter, + Let love understand, + And the thought of his joys even better + Than sight of his hand. + + + XXXI + + Wind, high-souled, full-hearted + South-west wind of the spring! + Ere April and earth had parted, + Skies, bright with thy forward wing, + Grew dark in an hour with the shadow behind it, that bade not a + bird dare sing. + + Wind whose feet are sunny, + Wind whose wings are cloud, + With lips more sweet than honey + Still, speak they low or loud, + Rejoice now again in the strength of thine heart: let the depth of + thy soul wax proud. + + We hear thee singing or sighing, + Just not given to sight, + All but visibly flying + Between the clouds and the light, + And the light in our hearts is enkindled, the shadow therein of the + clouds put to flight. + + From the gift of thine hands we gather + The core of the flowers therein, + Keen glad heart of heather, + Hot sweet heart of whin, + Twin breaths in thy godlike breath close blended of wild spring's + wildest of kin. + + All but visibly beating + We feel thy wings in the far + Clear waste, and the plumes of them fleeting, + Soft as swan's plumes are, + And strong as a wild swan's pinions, and swift as the flash of the + flight of a star. + + As the flight of a planet enkindled + Seems thy far soft flight + Now May's reign has dwindled + And the crescent of June takes light + And the presence of summer is here, and the hope of a welcomer + presence in sight. + + Wind, sweet-souled, great-hearted + Southwest wind on the wold! + From us is a glory departed + That now shall return as of old, + Borne back on thy wings as an eagle's expanding, and crowned with + the sundawn's gold. + + There is not a flower but rejoices, + There is not a leaf but has heard: + All the fields find voices, + All the woods are stirred: + There is not a nest but is brighter because of the coming of one + bright bird. + + Out of dawn and morning, + Noon and afternoon, + The sun to the world gives warning + Of news that brightens the moon; + And the stars all night exult with us, hearing of joy that shall + come with June. + + + + +{Transcriber's note: + + The line in number VII + + To far outshines the sun, + + appears thus in the original. 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