ALICE MEYNELL
The paralytic man has dropped in deathThe crossing-sweeper’s brush to which he clung,One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath,Although his hair was young.I saw this year the winter vines of France,Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth,Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance,On long hills to the South.Great green and golden hands of leaves ere longShall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide.And oh! his might, his sweet, his wine, his song,His stature, since he died!
The paralytic man has dropped in deathThe crossing-sweeper’s brush to which he clung,One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath,Although his hair was young.I saw this year the winter vines of France,Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth,Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance,On long hills to the South.Great green and golden hands of leaves ere longShall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide.And oh! his might, his sweet, his wine, his song,His stature, since he died!
The paralytic man has dropped in deathThe crossing-sweeper’s brush to which he clung,One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath,Although his hair was young.
The paralytic man has dropped in death
The crossing-sweeper’s brush to which he clung,
One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath,
Although his hair was young.
I saw this year the winter vines of France,Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth,Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance,On long hills to the South.
I saw this year the winter vines of France,
Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth,
Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance,
On long hills to the South.
Great green and golden hands of leaves ere longShall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide.And oh! his might, his sweet, his wine, his song,His stature, since he died!
Great green and golden hands of leaves ere long
Shall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide.
And oh! his might, his sweet, his wine, his song,
His stature, since he died!
With this ambiguous earthHis dealings have been told us. These abide:The signal to a maid, the human birth,The lesson, and the young Man crucified.But not a star of allThe innumerable host of stars has heardHow He administered this terrestrial ball.Our race have kept their Lord’s entrusted Word.Of His earth-visiting feetNone knows the secret, cherished, perilous,The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet,Heart-shattering secret of His way with us.No planet knows that thisOur wayside planet, carrying land and wave,Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss,Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave.Nor, in our little day,May His devices with the heavens be guessed,His pilgrimage to thread the Milky WayOr His bestowals there be manifest.But in the eternities,Doubtless we shall compare together, hearA million alien Gospels, in what guiseHe trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear.O, be prepared, my soul!To read the inconceivable, to scanThe countless forms of God those stars unrollWhen, in our turn, we show to them a Man.
With this ambiguous earthHis dealings have been told us. These abide:The signal to a maid, the human birth,The lesson, and the young Man crucified.But not a star of allThe innumerable host of stars has heardHow He administered this terrestrial ball.Our race have kept their Lord’s entrusted Word.Of His earth-visiting feetNone knows the secret, cherished, perilous,The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet,Heart-shattering secret of His way with us.No planet knows that thisOur wayside planet, carrying land and wave,Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss,Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave.Nor, in our little day,May His devices with the heavens be guessed,His pilgrimage to thread the Milky WayOr His bestowals there be manifest.But in the eternities,Doubtless we shall compare together, hearA million alien Gospels, in what guiseHe trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear.O, be prepared, my soul!To read the inconceivable, to scanThe countless forms of God those stars unrollWhen, in our turn, we show to them a Man.
With this ambiguous earthHis dealings have been told us. These abide:The signal to a maid, the human birth,The lesson, and the young Man crucified.
With this ambiguous earth
His dealings have been told us. These abide:
The signal to a maid, the human birth,
The lesson, and the young Man crucified.
But not a star of allThe innumerable host of stars has heardHow He administered this terrestrial ball.Our race have kept their Lord’s entrusted Word.
But not a star of all
The innumerable host of stars has heard
How He administered this terrestrial ball.
Our race have kept their Lord’s entrusted Word.
Of His earth-visiting feetNone knows the secret, cherished, perilous,The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet,Heart-shattering secret of His way with us.
Of His earth-visiting feet
None knows the secret, cherished, perilous,
The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet,
Heart-shattering secret of His way with us.
No planet knows that thisOur wayside planet, carrying land and wave,Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss,Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave.
No planet knows that this
Our wayside planet, carrying land and wave,
Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss,
Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave.
Nor, in our little day,May His devices with the heavens be guessed,His pilgrimage to thread the Milky WayOr His bestowals there be manifest.
Nor, in our little day,
May His devices with the heavens be guessed,
His pilgrimage to thread the Milky Way
Or His bestowals there be manifest.
But in the eternities,Doubtless we shall compare together, hearA million alien Gospels, in what guiseHe trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear.
But in the eternities,
Doubtless we shall compare together, hear
A million alien Gospels, in what guise
He trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear.
O, be prepared, my soul!To read the inconceivable, to scanThe countless forms of God those stars unrollWhen, in our turn, we show to them a Man.
O, be prepared, my soul!
To read the inconceivable, to scan
The countless forms of God those stars unroll
When, in our turn, we show to them a Man.
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—The thought of thee—and in the blue Heaven’s height,And in the sweetest passage of a song.Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throngThis breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden tho’ bright;Yet it must never, never come in sight;I must stop short of thee the whole day long.But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—With the first dream that comes with the first sleepI run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—The thought of thee—and in the blue Heaven’s height,And in the sweetest passage of a song.Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throngThis breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden tho’ bright;Yet it must never, never come in sight;I must stop short of thee the whole day long.But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—With the first dream that comes with the first sleepI run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—The thought of thee—and in the blue Heaven’s height,And in the sweetest passage of a song.
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the thought that lurks in all delight—
The thought of thee—and in the blue Heaven’s height,
And in the sweetest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throngThis breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden tho’ bright;Yet it must never, never come in sight;I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng
This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden tho’ bright;
Yet it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—With the first dream that comes with the first sleepI run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—
With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart.
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses,O time-worn woman, think of her who blessesWhat thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses.O mother, for the weight of years that break thee!O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee,And from the changes of my heart must make thee.O fainting traveller, morn is grey in heaven.Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven?And are they calm about the fall of even?Pause near the ending of thy long migration,For this one sudden hour of desolationAppeals to one hour of thy meditation.Suffer, O silent one, that I remind theeOf the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee,Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee.Know that the mournful plain where thou must wanderIs but a grey and silent world, but ponderThe misty mountains of the morning yonder.Listen:—the mountain winds with rain were fretting,And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting.I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting.What part of this wild heart of mine I know notWill follow with thee where the great winds blow not,And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not.Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in itTell what the way was when thou didst begin it,And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it.Oh, in some hour of thine my thoughts shall guide thee.Suddenly, though time, darkness, silence, hide thee,This wind from thy lost country flits beside thee,—Telling thee: all thy memories moved the maiden,With thy regrets was morning over-shaden,With sorrow, thou hast left, her life was laden.But whither shall my thoughts turn to pursue thee?Life changes, and the years and days renew thee.Oh, Nature brings my straying heart unto thee;Her winds will join us, with their constant kissesUpon the evening as the morning tresses,Her summers breathe the same unchanging blisses.And we, so altered in our shifting phases,Track one another ’mid the many mazesBy the eternal child-breath of the daisies.I have not writ this letter of diviningTo make a glory of thy silent pining,A triumph of thy mute and strange declining.Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded.Only one morning, and the day was clouded.And one old age with all regrets is crowded.Oh hush, oh hush! Thy tears my words are steeping.Oh hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping?Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping?Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her.Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letterThat breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her:The one who now thy faded features guesses,With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses,With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses.
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses,O time-worn woman, think of her who blessesWhat thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses.O mother, for the weight of years that break thee!O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee,And from the changes of my heart must make thee.O fainting traveller, morn is grey in heaven.Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven?And are they calm about the fall of even?Pause near the ending of thy long migration,For this one sudden hour of desolationAppeals to one hour of thy meditation.Suffer, O silent one, that I remind theeOf the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee,Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee.Know that the mournful plain where thou must wanderIs but a grey and silent world, but ponderThe misty mountains of the morning yonder.Listen:—the mountain winds with rain were fretting,And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting.I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting.What part of this wild heart of mine I know notWill follow with thee where the great winds blow not,And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not.Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in itTell what the way was when thou didst begin it,And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it.Oh, in some hour of thine my thoughts shall guide thee.Suddenly, though time, darkness, silence, hide thee,This wind from thy lost country flits beside thee,—Telling thee: all thy memories moved the maiden,With thy regrets was morning over-shaden,With sorrow, thou hast left, her life was laden.But whither shall my thoughts turn to pursue thee?Life changes, and the years and days renew thee.Oh, Nature brings my straying heart unto thee;Her winds will join us, with their constant kissesUpon the evening as the morning tresses,Her summers breathe the same unchanging blisses.And we, so altered in our shifting phases,Track one another ’mid the many mazesBy the eternal child-breath of the daisies.I have not writ this letter of diviningTo make a glory of thy silent pining,A triumph of thy mute and strange declining.Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded.Only one morning, and the day was clouded.And one old age with all regrets is crowded.Oh hush, oh hush! Thy tears my words are steeping.Oh hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping?Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping?Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her.Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letterThat breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her:The one who now thy faded features guesses,With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses,With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses.
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses,O time-worn woman, think of her who blessesWhat thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses.
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses,
O time-worn woman, think of her who blesses
What thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses.
O mother, for the weight of years that break thee!O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee,And from the changes of my heart must make thee.
O mother, for the weight of years that break thee!
O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee,
And from the changes of my heart must make thee.
O fainting traveller, morn is grey in heaven.Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven?And are they calm about the fall of even?
O fainting traveller, morn is grey in heaven.
Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven?
And are they calm about the fall of even?
Pause near the ending of thy long migration,For this one sudden hour of desolationAppeals to one hour of thy meditation.
Pause near the ending of thy long migration,
For this one sudden hour of desolation
Appeals to one hour of thy meditation.
Suffer, O silent one, that I remind theeOf the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee,Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee.
Suffer, O silent one, that I remind thee
Of the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee,
Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee.
Know that the mournful plain where thou must wanderIs but a grey and silent world, but ponderThe misty mountains of the morning yonder.
Know that the mournful plain where thou must wander
Is but a grey and silent world, but ponder
The misty mountains of the morning yonder.
Listen:—the mountain winds with rain were fretting,And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting.I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting.
Listen:—the mountain winds with rain were fretting,
And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting.
I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting.
What part of this wild heart of mine I know notWill follow with thee where the great winds blow not,And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not.
What part of this wild heart of mine I know not
Will follow with thee where the great winds blow not,
And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not.
Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in itTell what the way was when thou didst begin it,And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it.
Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in it
Tell what the way was when thou didst begin it,
And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it.
Oh, in some hour of thine my thoughts shall guide thee.Suddenly, though time, darkness, silence, hide thee,This wind from thy lost country flits beside thee,—
Oh, in some hour of thine my thoughts shall guide thee.
Suddenly, though time, darkness, silence, hide thee,
This wind from thy lost country flits beside thee,—
Telling thee: all thy memories moved the maiden,With thy regrets was morning over-shaden,With sorrow, thou hast left, her life was laden.
Telling thee: all thy memories moved the maiden,
With thy regrets was morning over-shaden,
With sorrow, thou hast left, her life was laden.
But whither shall my thoughts turn to pursue thee?Life changes, and the years and days renew thee.Oh, Nature brings my straying heart unto thee;
But whither shall my thoughts turn to pursue thee?
Life changes, and the years and days renew thee.
Oh, Nature brings my straying heart unto thee;
Her winds will join us, with their constant kissesUpon the evening as the morning tresses,Her summers breathe the same unchanging blisses.
Her winds will join us, with their constant kisses
Upon the evening as the morning tresses,
Her summers breathe the same unchanging blisses.
And we, so altered in our shifting phases,Track one another ’mid the many mazesBy the eternal child-breath of the daisies.
And we, so altered in our shifting phases,
Track one another ’mid the many mazes
By the eternal child-breath of the daisies.
I have not writ this letter of diviningTo make a glory of thy silent pining,A triumph of thy mute and strange declining.
I have not writ this letter of divining
To make a glory of thy silent pining,
A triumph of thy mute and strange declining.
Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded.Only one morning, and the day was clouded.And one old age with all regrets is crowded.
Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded.
Only one morning, and the day was clouded.
And one old age with all regrets is crowded.
Oh hush, oh hush! Thy tears my words are steeping.Oh hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping?Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping?
Oh hush, oh hush! Thy tears my words are steeping.
Oh hush, hush, hush! So full, the fount of weeping?
Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping?
Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her.Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letterThat breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her:
Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her.
Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letter
That breaks thy heart; the one who wrote, forget her:
The one who now thy faded features guesses,With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses,With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses.
The one who now thy faded features guesses,
With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses,
With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses.
Brief, on a flying night,From the shaken tower,A flock of bells take flight,And go with the hour.Like birds from the cote to the gales,Abrupt—O hark!A fleet of bells set sails,And go to the dark.Sudden the cold airs swing.Alone, aloud,A verse of bells takes wingAnd flies with the cloud.
Brief, on a flying night,From the shaken tower,A flock of bells take flight,And go with the hour.Like birds from the cote to the gales,Abrupt—O hark!A fleet of bells set sails,And go to the dark.Sudden the cold airs swing.Alone, aloud,A verse of bells takes wingAnd flies with the cloud.
Brief, on a flying night,From the shaken tower,A flock of bells take flight,And go with the hour.
Brief, on a flying night,
From the shaken tower,
A flock of bells take flight,
And go with the hour.
Like birds from the cote to the gales,Abrupt—O hark!A fleet of bells set sails,And go to the dark.
Like birds from the cote to the gales,
Abrupt—O hark!
A fleet of bells set sails,
And go to the dark.
Sudden the cold airs swing.Alone, aloud,A verse of bells takes wingAnd flies with the cloud.
Sudden the cold airs swing.
Alone, aloud,
A verse of bells takes wing
And flies with the cloud.