by Dinah Roe
And high Carlion that now the steep sea hides
To the wind-hollowed heights and gusty bays
10 Of sheer Tintagel, fair with famous days.
Above the stem a gilded swallow shone,
Wrought with straight wings and eyes of glittering stone
As flying sunward oversea, to bear
Green summer with it through the singing air.
15 And on the deck between the rowers at dawn,
As the bright sail with brightening wind was drawn,
Sat with full face against the strengthening light
Iseult, more fair than foam or dawn was white.
Her gaze was glad past love’s own singing of,
20 And her face lovely past desire of love.
Past thought and speech her maiden motions were,
And a more golden sunrise was her hair.
The very veil of her bright flesh was made
As of light woven and moonbeam-coloured shade
25 More fine than moonbeams; white her eyelids shone
As snow sun-stricken that endures the sun,
And through their curled and coloured clouds of deep
Luminous lashes thick as dreams in sleep
Shone as the sea’s depth swallowing up the sky’s
30 The springs of unimaginable eyes.
As the wave’s subtler emerald is pierced through
With the utmost heaven’s inextricable blue,
And both are woven and molten in one sleight
Of amorous colour and implicated light
35 Under the golden guard and gaze of noon,
So glowed their awless amorous plenilune,
Azure and gold and ardent grey, made strange
With fiery difference and deep interchange
Inexplicable of glories multiform;
40 Now as the sullen sapphire swells toward storm
Foamless, their bitter beauty grew acold,
And now afire with ardour of fine gold.
Her flower-soft lips were meek and passionate,
For love upon them like a shadow sate
45 Patient, a foreseen vision of sweet things,
A dream with eyes fast shut and plumeless wings
That knew not what man’s love or life should be,
Nor had it sight nor heart to hope or see
What thing should come, but childlike satisfied
50 Watched out its virgin vigil in soft pride
And unkissed expectation; and the glad
Clear cheeks and throat and tender temples had
Such maiden heat as if a rose’s blood
Beat in the live heart of a lily-bud.
55 Between the small round breasts a white way led
Heavenward, and from slight foot to slender head
The whole fair body flower-like swayed and shone
Moving, and what her light hand leant upon
Grew blossom-scented: her warm arms began
60 To round and ripen for delight of man
That they should clasp and circle: her fresh hands,
Like regent lilies of reflowering lands
Whose vassal firstlings, crown and star and plume,
Bow down to the empire of that sovereign bloom,
65 Shone sceptreless, and from her face there went
A silent light as of a God content;
Save when, more swift and keen than love or shame,
Some flash of blood, light as the laugh of flame,
Broke it with sudden beam and shining speech,
70 As dream by dream shot through her eyes, and each
Outshone the last that lightened, and not one
Showed her such things as should be borne and done.
Though hard against her shone the sunlike face
That in all change and wreck of time and place
75 Should be the star of her sweet living soul.
A Death on Easter Day
The strong spring sun rejoicingly may rise,
Rise and make revel, as of old men said,
Like dancing hearts of lovers newly wed:
A light more bright than ever bathed the skies
5 Departs for all time out of all men’s eyes.
The crowns that girt last night a living head
Shine only now, though deathless, on the dead:
Art that mocks death, and Song that never dies.
Albeit the bright sweet mothlike wings be furled,
10 Hope sees, past all division and defection,
And higher than swims the mist of human breath,
The soul most radiant once in all the world
Requickened to regenerate resurrection
Out of the likeness of the shadow of death.
A Ballad of Appeal To Christina G. Rossetti
Song wakes with every wakening year
From hearts of birds that only feel
Brief spring’s deciduous flower-time near:
And song more strong to help or heal
5 Shall silence worse than winter seal?
From love-lit thought’s remurmuring cave
The notes that rippled, wave on wave,
Were clear as love, as faith were strong;
And all souls blessed the soul that gave
10 Sweet water from the well of song.
All hearts bore fruit of joy to hear,
All eyes felt mist upon them steal
For joy’s sake, trembling toward a tear,
When, loud as marriage-bells that peal,
15 Or flutelike soft, or keen like steel,
Sprang the sheer music; sharp or grave,
We heard the drift of winds that drave,
And saw, swept round by ghosts in throng,
Dark rocks, that yielded, where they clave,
20 Sweet water from the well of song.
Blithe verse made all the dim sense clear
That smiles of babbling babes conceal:
Prayer’s perfect heart spake here: and here
Rose notes of blameless woe and weal,
25 More soft than this poor song’s appeal.
Where orchards bask, where cornfields wave,
They dropped like rains that cleanse and lave,
And scattered all the year along,
Like dewfall on an April grave,
30 Sweet water from the well of song.
Ballad, go bear our prayer, and crave
Pardon, because thy lowlier stave
Can do this plea no right, but wrong.
Ask nought beside thy pardon, save
35 Sweet water from the well of song.
JOHN PAYNE
This is the House of Dreams. Whoso is fain
To enter in this shadow-land of mine,
He must forget the utter Summer’s shine
And all the daylight ways of hand and brain:
5 Here is the white moon ever on the wane,
And here the air is sad with many a sign
Of haunting mysteries, – the golden wine
Of June falls never, nor the silver rain
Of hawthorns pallid with the joy of Spring;
10 But many a mirage of pale memories
Veils up the sunless aisles: upon the breeze
A music of waste sighs doth float and sing;
And in the shadow of the sad-flower’d trees,
The ghosts of men’s desire walk wandering.
From Sir Floris
I
THE FIRST COMING OF THE DOVE
Hard by the confluence of Rhone
A castle of old times alone
Upon a high grey hill did stand,
And look’d across the pleasant land;
5 And of the castle castellain
And lord of all the wide domain
Of golden field and purple wood
And vineyards where the vine-rows stood
In many a trellis, Floris was;
10 A good knight and a valorous,
And in a
ll courtesies approved,
That unto valiantise behoved.
Full young he was and fair of face,
And among ladies had much grace,
15 And favour of all men likewise:
For in such stout and valiant guise
His years of manhood had he spent
In knightly quest and tournament,
There was no knight in all the land
20 Whose name in more renown did stand,
And the foe quaked to look upon
The white plume of his morion,
When through the grinding shock of spears
Sir Floris’ war-cry pierced their ears
25 And over all the din was blown
The silver of his clarion.
So was much ease prepared for him,
And safety from the need and grim
Hard battle against gibe and sneer
30 That must full oft be foughten here –
For evil fortune and the lack
Of strength to thrust the envious back –
By many a noble soul and true;
And had he chosen to ensue
35 The well-worn path that many tread
For worship, all his life were spread
Before him, level with delight.
But if in shock of arms and fight
Of squadrons he disdainèd not
40 To win renown, the silken lot
Of those that pass their days in ease
And dalliance on the flower’d leas
Of life was hateful to his soul;
And so – when once the battle’s roll
45 And thunder was from off the lands
Turn’d back and from the war-worn hands
The weapons fell – he could not bring
His heart to brook the wearying
Of peace and indolent disport
50 Of ease. Wherefore he left the court –
So secretly that no one knew
Awhile his absence – and withdrew
A season to his own demesne,
And there in solitude was fain
55 To yearn for some fair chance to hap
And win his living from the lap
Of drowsy idlesse with some quest,
That should from that unlovely rest
Redeem him to the old delight
60 Of plucking – in the bold despite
Of danger – from the brows of Fate
Some laurel. Nor had he to wait
The cooling of his knightly fire;
There was vouchsafed to his desire,
65 Ere long, a very parlous quest,
That should unto the utterest
Assay his knightly worth and test
The temper of his soul full well
And sore. And in this wise it fell.
70 It chanced one night, – most nigh the time
When through the mist-wreaths and the rime
The hours begin to draw toward
The enchanted birthnight of the Lord, –
That in the midnight, on his bed,
75 He heard in dreams a voice that said
‘Arise, Sir Floris, get thee forth,
‘An thou wouldst prove thee knight of worth!’
A Birthday Song
I
The rose-time and the roses
Call to me, dove of mine;
I hear the birdsong-closes
Ring out in the sunshine;
5 In all the wood-reposes
There runs a magic wine
Of music all divine.
All things have scent and singing;
The happy earth is ringing
10 With praise of love and June:
Have I alone no tune,
No sound of music-making
To greet my love’s awaking
This golden summer noon?
II
15 Ah, love! my roses linger
For sunshine of thine eyes;
For Love the music-bringer,
My linnets wait to rise;
All dumb are birds and singer:
20 The song in kisses dies
And sound of happy sighs.
What need of songs and singing,
When love for us is ringing
Bells of enchanted gold?
25 Dear, whilst my arms enfold
My love, our kisses fashion
Tunes of more perfect passion
Than verses new or old.
Dream-Life
It seems to me sometimes that I am dead
And watch the live world in its ceaseless stream
Pass by me through the pauses of a dream.
The dawn breaks blue on them, the sunset’s red
5 Burns on their smiles and on the tears they shed;
The moonlight floods them with its silver gleam:
To me they are as ghosts, that do but seem;
Their grief is strange to me, their gladness dread.
Life lapses, like a vision dim and grey,
10 Before my sight, a cloud-wrack in the sky:
Since I am dead I can no longer die:
Ah, can it be this doom is laid on me,
To see the tired world slowly pass away,
Nor die, but live on everlastingly?
Love’s Amulet
Song, be strong and true to hold
Love within thy locks of gold:
Bind my lady’s thought with rhyme;
Kiss her if her lips grow cold;
5 Bring her thoughts of Summer-prime,
Lest her heart catch winter-time.
Song, be quick and bold.
Take her flowers of love and light,
Blossoms of her soul’s delight,
10 Roses of her heart’s desire;
Bind her brow with lilies white;
Lilies’ snow and roses’ fire
Hold love’s summer ever by her,
In the world’s despite.
15 Strew the Springtime in her way,
Lest she weary of the day,
Lest the lonely hours be long;
Be her season ever May,
May, when Love is safe from wrong
20 And with larks’ and linnets’ song
All the world is gay.
Sweet, I wind thee with a chain,
Verses linked in one refrain,
‘Love me, love, who love but thee,’
25 Piping ever and again;
Bind thy thought and heart to be
Constant aye to Love and me
Thorow joy and pain.
Faded Love
Farewell, sweetheart! Farewell, our golden days!
So runs the cadence, ringing out the tune
Of sighs and kisses: for the tale of June
Is told, and all the length of flowered ways
5 Fades in the distance, as the new life lays
Its hand upon the strings, and all too soon
Breaks the brief song of birds and flowers and moon
That held the Maytime – what is this that stays?
– A white-robed figure, with sad eyes that hold
10 A far-off dream of never-travelled ways, –
Wan with white lips and hands as pale and cold
As woven garlands of long-vanished Mays,
And the sun’s memory halo-like above
Its head? – It is the thought of faded Love.
Rondeau
Life lapses by for you and me,
Our sweet days pass us by and flee,
And evermore Death draws us nigh:
The blue fades fast out of our sky,
5 The ripple ceases from our sea.
What would we not give, you and I,
The early sweet of life to buy!
Alas! sweetheart, that cannot we;
Life lapses by.
10 But though our young years buried lie,
Shall love with Spring and Summer die?
What if the roses faded be!
We in each other’s
eyes will see
New Springs, nor question how or why
15 Life lapses by.
Sad Summer
Ah Summer, lady of the flowered lands,
When shall thy lovely looks bring back to me
– To me who strain into the grey sad sea
Of dreams unsatisfied, and with stretched hands
5 Implore the stern sky and the changeless sands
For some faint sign of that which was to be
So perfect and so fair a life to see –
The time of songs and season of flower-bands?
At least, for guerdon of full many a lay
10 In praise of thee and of thy youngling Spring,
What time my lips were yet attuned to sing,
Let not thy roses redden in my way
Too flauntingly, nor all thy golden day
Insult my silence with too glad a ring.
ARTHUR O’SHAUGHNESSY
Ode
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams; –
5 World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems.
With wonderful deathless ditties
10 We build up the world’s great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire’s glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
15 And three with a new song’s measure
Can trample a kingdom down.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing,
20 And Babel itself in our mirth;
And o’erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world’s worth;
For each age is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.
25 A breath of our inspiration
Is the life of each generation;
A wondrous thing of our dreaming
Unearthly, impossible seeming –
The soldier, the king, and the peasant
30 Are working together in one,
Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.