E. C. DICKINSON(NON-COLL.)A CHILD'S VOICE'Twasin a far back swallow-timeWhen the air was filled with chimeOf Sunday bells that danced in tuneWith Eastern phantasies,A child within a garden's boonOft sighed with saddened eyes.A swallow screamed and wheeled at himBeside the greenhouse door;It knew that there he strove to limnThe need in his soul's core:And he is lonely and sad who tellsHis need to Sunday bells.Of playfellows there was not oneTo whom at wake of sunThe child might turn to speak a dreamOf lazy summer seasO'er which a ship rode fair of beamBringing his soul's keys;And how a wondrous alien boyTrod proud that ship of Fate.There mid the bells of Sunday joyHe whispered, "Come not lateWithin my longing, for my playWon't keep for any day.""The greenhouse tank is stagnant nowUnder the cherry bough;And there a ship is by the quay,The joy of my Baghdad.Oh come, oh come and play with meThat I should not be sad."The jewelled shade of evening's hoodHeld many Eastern tales;And cinnamon and sandalwoodLurked in his camels' bales.But then a swallow harshly screamedAnd tumbled what he dreamed.And that was back in swallow-timeWith life a child's rhyme.And some came true of what he dreamed,And some has been forgot.But life with sadness still is seamed,And thorns take long to rot.RIVER SONGOneday I would be gladAnd with all quiet beExcept your cadenced murmurBeside the willow-tree.One day I would be gladWith fields of king-cup gold:One day of dancing waterBelow the cuckoo-fold.One day I would be gladWith crowned vermilion kingsWhose scarves are lilies blowingWhere youth for ever sings.One day I would be gladWith Oxford's poplared grace:One day with love between usAnd then—to lose your face.
E. C. DICKINSON(NON-COLL.)
E. C. DICKINSON(NON-COLL.)
'Twasin a far back swallow-timeWhen the air was filled with chimeOf Sunday bells that danced in tuneWith Eastern phantasies,A child within a garden's boonOft sighed with saddened eyes.A swallow screamed and wheeled at himBeside the greenhouse door;It knew that there he strove to limnThe need in his soul's core:And he is lonely and sad who tellsHis need to Sunday bells.Of playfellows there was not oneTo whom at wake of sunThe child might turn to speak a dreamOf lazy summer seasO'er which a ship rode fair of beamBringing his soul's keys;And how a wondrous alien boyTrod proud that ship of Fate.There mid the bells of Sunday joyHe whispered, "Come not lateWithin my longing, for my playWon't keep for any day."
'Twasin a far back swallow-timeWhen the air was filled with chimeOf Sunday bells that danced in tuneWith Eastern phantasies,A child within a garden's boonOft sighed with saddened eyes.A swallow screamed and wheeled at himBeside the greenhouse door;It knew that there he strove to limnThe need in his soul's core:And he is lonely and sad who tellsHis need to Sunday bells.Of playfellows there was not oneTo whom at wake of sunThe child might turn to speak a dreamOf lazy summer seasO'er which a ship rode fair of beamBringing his soul's keys;And how a wondrous alien boyTrod proud that ship of Fate.There mid the bells of Sunday joyHe whispered, "Come not lateWithin my longing, for my playWon't keep for any day."
'Twasin a far back swallow-timeWhen the air was filled with chimeOf Sunday bells that danced in tuneWith Eastern phantasies,A child within a garden's boonOft sighed with saddened eyes.
'Twasin a far back swallow-time
When the air was filled with chime
Of Sunday bells that danced in tune
With Eastern phantasies,
A child within a garden's boon
Oft sighed with saddened eyes.
A swallow screamed and wheeled at himBeside the greenhouse door;It knew that there he strove to limnThe need in his soul's core:And he is lonely and sad who tellsHis need to Sunday bells.
A swallow screamed and wheeled at him
Beside the greenhouse door;
It knew that there he strove to limn
The need in his soul's core:
And he is lonely and sad who tells
His need to Sunday bells.
Of playfellows there was not oneTo whom at wake of sunThe child might turn to speak a dreamOf lazy summer seasO'er which a ship rode fair of beamBringing his soul's keys;
Of playfellows there was not one
To whom at wake of sun
The child might turn to speak a dream
Of lazy summer seas
O'er which a ship rode fair of beam
Bringing his soul's keys;
And how a wondrous alien boyTrod proud that ship of Fate.There mid the bells of Sunday joyHe whispered, "Come not lateWithin my longing, for my playWon't keep for any day."
And how a wondrous alien boy
Trod proud that ship of Fate.
There mid the bells of Sunday joy
He whispered, "Come not late
Within my longing, for my play
Won't keep for any day."
"The greenhouse tank is stagnant nowUnder the cherry bough;And there a ship is by the quay,The joy of my Baghdad.Oh come, oh come and play with meThat I should not be sad."The jewelled shade of evening's hoodHeld many Eastern tales;And cinnamon and sandalwoodLurked in his camels' bales.But then a swallow harshly screamedAnd tumbled what he dreamed.And that was back in swallow-timeWith life a child's rhyme.And some came true of what he dreamed,And some has been forgot.But life with sadness still is seamed,And thorns take long to rot.
"The greenhouse tank is stagnant nowUnder the cherry bough;And there a ship is by the quay,The joy of my Baghdad.Oh come, oh come and play with meThat I should not be sad."The jewelled shade of evening's hoodHeld many Eastern tales;And cinnamon and sandalwoodLurked in his camels' bales.But then a swallow harshly screamedAnd tumbled what he dreamed.And that was back in swallow-timeWith life a child's rhyme.And some came true of what he dreamed,And some has been forgot.But life with sadness still is seamed,And thorns take long to rot.
"The greenhouse tank is stagnant nowUnder the cherry bough;And there a ship is by the quay,The joy of my Baghdad.Oh come, oh come and play with meThat I should not be sad."
"The greenhouse tank is stagnant now
Under the cherry bough;
And there a ship is by the quay,
The joy of my Baghdad.
Oh come, oh come and play with me
That I should not be sad."
The jewelled shade of evening's hoodHeld many Eastern tales;And cinnamon and sandalwoodLurked in his camels' bales.But then a swallow harshly screamedAnd tumbled what he dreamed.
The jewelled shade of evening's hood
Held many Eastern tales;
And cinnamon and sandalwood
Lurked in his camels' bales.
But then a swallow harshly screamed
And tumbled what he dreamed.
And that was back in swallow-timeWith life a child's rhyme.And some came true of what he dreamed,And some has been forgot.But life with sadness still is seamed,And thorns take long to rot.
And that was back in swallow-time
With life a child's rhyme.
And some came true of what he dreamed,
And some has been forgot.
But life with sadness still is seamed,
And thorns take long to rot.
Oneday I would be gladAnd with all quiet beExcept your cadenced murmurBeside the willow-tree.One day I would be gladWith fields of king-cup gold:One day of dancing waterBelow the cuckoo-fold.One day I would be gladWith crowned vermilion kingsWhose scarves are lilies blowingWhere youth for ever sings.One day I would be gladWith Oxford's poplared grace:One day with love between usAnd then—to lose your face.
Oneday I would be gladAnd with all quiet beExcept your cadenced murmurBeside the willow-tree.One day I would be gladWith fields of king-cup gold:One day of dancing waterBelow the cuckoo-fold.One day I would be gladWith crowned vermilion kingsWhose scarves are lilies blowingWhere youth for ever sings.One day I would be gladWith Oxford's poplared grace:One day with love between usAnd then—to lose your face.
Oneday I would be gladAnd with all quiet beExcept your cadenced murmurBeside the willow-tree.
Oneday I would be glad
And with all quiet be
Except your cadenced murmur
Beside the willow-tree.
One day I would be gladWith fields of king-cup gold:One day of dancing waterBelow the cuckoo-fold.
One day I would be glad
With fields of king-cup gold:
One day of dancing water
Below the cuckoo-fold.
One day I would be gladWith crowned vermilion kingsWhose scarves are lilies blowingWhere youth for ever sings.
One day I would be glad
With crowned vermilion kings
Whose scarves are lilies blowing
Where youth for ever sings.
One day I would be gladWith Oxford's poplared grace:One day with love between usAnd then—to lose your face.
One day I would be glad
With Oxford's poplared grace:
One day with love between us
And then—to lose your face.