Puslapio vaizdai
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Here

my

love turned to me, but her eyes told Her thought with smiles before she spake

a word; And being quick their meaning to behold I could not choose but echo what we

heard : “Sweet heart, wouldst thou for all the

world be old ?

They saw nor heard us, who a space above, With hands clasped close as hers were

clasped in bis,

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Crowd her chamber with your sweets —

Not a flower but grows for her! Make her bed with linen sheets

That have lain in lavender ; Light a fire before she come Lest she find us chill at home.

COCKAYNE COUNTRY

Ah, what joy when Celia stands

By the leaping blaze at last, Stooping down to warm her hands

All benumbed with the blast, While we hide her cloak away To assure us she shall stay.

NEAR where yonder evening star

Makes a glory in the air,
Lies a land dream-found and far

Where it is light alway.
There those lovely ghosts repair

Who in Sleep's enchantment are,
In Cockayne dwell all things fair.

(But it is far away.) Through the gates — a goodly sight

Troops of men and maidens come, There shut out from Heaven at night

Belated angels stray ; Down those wide-arched groves they roam

Through a land of great delight, Dreaming they are safe at home.

(But it is far away.) There the leaves of all the trees

Written are with a running rhyme, There all poets live at peace,

And lovers are true, they say.

Cyder bring and cowslip wine,

Fruits and flavors from the East, Pears and pippins too, and fine

Saffron loaves to make a feast: China dishes, silver cups, For the board where Celia sups !

Then, when all the feasting's done,

She shall draw us round the blaze, Laugh, and tell us every one

Of her far triumphant days —
Celia, out of doors a star,
By the hearth a holier Lar!

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Give me, O friend, the secret of thy heart Then on the fruitful Forest-boughs
Safe in my breast to hide,

For ages long the unquiet ape So that the leagues which keep our lives | Swung happy in his airy house apart

And plucked the apple and sucked the May not our souls divide.

grape.

Give me the secret of thy life to lay Until in him at length there stirred
Asleep within my own,

The old, unchanged, remote distress, Nor dream that it shall mock thee any day That pierced his world of wind and bird By any sign or tone.

With some divine unhappiness.

Not Love, nor the wild fruits he sought ;

Nor the fierce battles of his clan Could still the unborn and aching thought

Until the brute became the man.

Long since. ... And now the same unrest

Goads to the same invisible goal, Till some new gift, undreamed, unguessed, End the new

travail of the soul.

Many a captain who would not drink,

Hath drunken deeply there -
Many a captain is fallen and drowned,

And many a knight is dead,
And many die in the misty dawn

While forts are burning red.
The blood ran off our spears all night

As the rain runs off the roofs -
God rest their souls that fell i' the fight

Among our horses' hoofs ! They came to rob us of our own

With sword and spear and lance, They fell and clutched the stubborn

earth, And bit the dust of France !

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A BALLAD OF ORLEANS

1429 The fray began at the middle-gate,

Between the night and the day ; Before the matin bell was rung

The foe was far away.
There was no knight in the land of France

Could gar that foe to flee,
Till up there rose a young maiden,

And drove them to the sea.

We fought across the moonless dark

Against their unseen hands A knight came out of Paradise

And fought among our bands. Fight on, Ő maiden knight of God,

Fight on and do not tireFor lo ! the misty break o' the day

Sees all their forts on fire !

Sixty forts around Orleans town,

And sixty forts of stone! Sirty forts at our gates last night

To-day there is not one !

Talbot, Suffolk, and Pole are fled

Beyond the Loire, in fear

Sixty forts around Orleans town,

And sixty forts of stone ! Sixty forts at our gates last night

To-day there is not one !

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His wife and child went clothed in rags,

And in a windy garret starved : He trod his measures on the flags,

And high on heaven his music carved.

We are too young to fall to dust,

And too unsatisfied to die.”

Wistful he grew, but never feared ;

For always on the midnight skies His rich orchestral score appeared

In stars and zones and galaxies.

He sought to copy down his score :

The moonlight was his lamp: he said, “Listen, my love ;” but on the floor

His wife and child were lying dead.

He lifted up against his breast

The woman's body stark and wan; And to her withered bosom prest

The little skin-clad skeleton. “You see you are alive,” he cried.

He rocked them gently to and fro. No, no, my love, you have not died ;

Nor you, my little fellow; no." Long in his arms he strained his dead

And crooned an antique lullaby ; Then laid them on the lowly bed,

And broke down with a doleful cry. “ The love, the hope, the blood, the

brain, Of her and me, the budding life, And my great music, -all in vain !

My unscored work, my child, my wife !

Her hollow eyes were open wide ;

He deemed she heard with special zest: Her death's-head infant coldly eyed

The desert of her shrunken breast.

“We drop into oblivion,

And nourish some suburban sod : My work, this woman, this my son,

Are now no more : there is no God.

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“ Listen, my love : my work is done ;

I tremble as I touch the page To sign the sentence of the sun

And crown the great eternal age. “The slow adagio begins ;

The winding-sheets are ravelled out That swathe the minds of men, the sins That

wrap their rotting souls about. « The dead are heralded along ;

With silver trumps and golden drums, And flutes and oboes, keen and strong,

My brave andante singing comes. “ Then like a python's sumptuous dress

The frame of things is cast away, And out of time's obscure distress

The thundering scherzo crashes Day. “For three great orchestras I hope

My mighty music shall be scored : On three high hills they shall have scope,

With heaven's vault for a sounding-board.

“ The world's a dustbin ; we are due,

And death's cart waits : be life accurst!" He stumbled down beside the two, And, clasping them, his great heart

burst.

Straightway he stood at heaven's gate,

Abashed and trembling for his sin : I trow he had not long to wait,

For God came out and let him in.

And then there ran a radiant pair,

Ruddy with haste and eager-eyed, To meet him first upon the stair,

His wife and child beatified.

“ Sleep well, love ; let your eyelids fall ;

Cover the child ; good-night, and if What ? Speak . . . the traitorous end of

all ! Both ... cold and hungry ... cold and

stiff !

They clad him in a robe of light,

And gave him heavenly food to eat ; Great seraphs praised him to the height,

Archangels sat about his feet.

“ But no, God means us well, I trust :

Dear ones, be happy, hope is nigh :

God, smiling, took him by the hand,

And led him to the brink of heaven : He saw where systems whirling stand,

Where galaxies like snow are driven.

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