O swallow, thou art come at last!The rain is sweet upon the leavesNow Winter's wrath is overpast,A wreath of blossom April weaves.Swift through the air thy light wings pass,Young willows droop their garlands greenOver the tranquil pool, thy glassWhere silver lilies float serene,O songless bird! The cuckoo sings,Filling the valley with his voice;The larks, on their exultant wings,In the blue deep of skies rejoice.There is more music in thy flight,Through sun or showers, swift and strong,A creature of the air and lightThou art, the very soul of song.
O swallow, thou art come at last!The rain is sweet upon the leavesNow Winter's wrath is overpast,A wreath of blossom April weaves.
Swift through the air thy light wings pass,Young willows droop their garlands greenOver the tranquil pool, thy glassWhere silver lilies float serene,
O songless bird! The cuckoo sings,Filling the valley with his voice;The larks, on their exultant wings,In the blue deep of skies rejoice.
There is more music in thy flight,Through sun or showers, swift and strong,A creature of the air and lightThou art, the very soul of song.
Hills that are bleak and bareLit by the light of noon,Grow like a vision rareIn radiance of the moon.So have I seen thy face,Beautiful ever, litBy some informing graceWhich all transfigured it.
Hills that are bleak and bareLit by the light of noon,Grow like a vision rareIn radiance of the moon.
So have I seen thy face,Beautiful ever, litBy some informing graceWhich all transfigured it.
Build for this little hourA house where Love may sleep,Some tranquil, fragrant bower.A place where Grief may weepBuild for a little while,In thine heart's hidden deep;A place where Joy may smileTo make the hours fly fast,And time and tears beguile.Build not a house to last;Perishes every flowerWhen Autumn once is past.Build for this little hour.
Build for this little hourA house where Love may sleep,Some tranquil, fragrant bower.
A place where Grief may weepBuild for a little while,In thine heart's hidden deep;
A place where Joy may smileTo make the hours fly fast,And time and tears beguile.
Build not a house to last;Perishes every flowerWhen Autumn once is past.
Build for this little hour.
Lyres of the woods, that awakenLongings and infinite tears,Memories stretching, forsaken,Hands through the mist of the years,Crowd through the branches that listen,Shining with tears of the skies,Dew-silvered branches that glisten,Pools where the radiance lies,Lighting a shadowy chamberWith glory of magical dreams,Pearl, crystal, and wavering amberIn arrowy gleams.Myriad lyres! O voicesOf Earth, and Ocean, and Air,The pulse of thy music rejoicesWith passion, the heart of despair;Singing, eternally singing.Ye are wasted with pain as with fire,But voyaging ever and winging,Arrayed in the wings of desire,Through the ocean of light to the portalsShining with silver that barThe house of the deathless immortals,Divine but afar.
Lyres of the woods, that awakenLongings and infinite tears,Memories stretching, forsaken,Hands through the mist of the years,Crowd through the branches that listen,Shining with tears of the skies,Dew-silvered branches that glisten,Pools where the radiance lies,Lighting a shadowy chamberWith glory of magical dreams,Pearl, crystal, and wavering amberIn arrowy gleams.
Myriad lyres! O voicesOf Earth, and Ocean, and Air,The pulse of thy music rejoicesWith passion, the heart of despair;Singing, eternally singing.Ye are wasted with pain as with fire,But voyaging ever and winging,Arrayed in the wings of desire,Through the ocean of light to the portalsShining with silver that barThe house of the deathless immortals,Divine but afar.
Sweet white mother of rose-white dreams,Through my windows the song of birds pours inAnd the sunlight on to my table streams.As a clear globe prisons the golden light,So I prison the dreams you shed on me,Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white.In a crystal globe I prison all things:Sound is frozen to silence there;Cover me over with wide white wings,Prison my life in thy crystal sphere,As a clear globe prisons the golden light,Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white.
Sweet white mother of rose-white dreams,Through my windows the song of birds pours inAnd the sunlight on to my table streams.
As a clear globe prisons the golden light,So I prison the dreams you shed on me,Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white.
In a crystal globe I prison all things:Sound is frozen to silence there;Cover me over with wide white wings,Prison my life in thy crystal sphere,As a clear globe prisons the golden light,Sweet white mother of dreams rose-white.
Love is but a wind that blowsOver waves, or fields of corn,Floating petals, falling snows,The swift passing of the dawn.These are all Love's signs, perchance,Floating, fragile, drifting things!Dead leaves are we in the dance,Moved by his unresting wings.Love is light within thine eyes,Dearest! Love is all thy tears.Let us for this hour be wise:What have we to hope from years?
Love is but a wind that blowsOver waves, or fields of corn,Floating petals, falling snows,The swift passing of the dawn.
These are all Love's signs, perchance,Floating, fragile, drifting things!Dead leaves are we in the dance,Moved by his unresting wings.
Love is light within thine eyes,Dearest! Love is all thy tears.Let us for this hour be wise:What have we to hope from years?
Like foam and fire and frostThe hours dissolve and go;Let not our time be lost.Though the day seemeth slow,Its feet are shod with fire.Ceaseless the minutes flow.Love, let us slake desireAt Life's deep well. Alas!Full soon our Youth will tireAnd we be mown like grass.Make of this hour the most,Ere on light wings it passLike foam and fire and frost.
Like foam and fire and frostThe hours dissolve and go;Let not our time be lost.
Though the day seemeth slow,Its feet are shod with fire.Ceaseless the minutes flow.
Love, let us slake desireAt Life's deep well. Alas!Full soon our Youth will tire
And we be mown like grass.Make of this hour the most,Ere on light wings it pass
Like foam and fire and frost.
TO RONALD GRAY
Breathe soft, my flute, to-night thy wonted melodyUntil, with careful hands, she lift the lattice-bars,Showing her face among the faces of the stars;Breathe soft, my flute, to-night till she come forth to me.The choirs of birds are hushed within their bower of leaves,But thou must pierce the darkness and the gathered gloom,Climbing toward the lattice of her little room,Where the sweet vines have hung their garlands from the eaves.Surely no cheating dream, nor sightless depth of sleepWill close her sense to music wrought for her delight;Bid her come forth, like Cynthia, into the night;Tell her, my flute, that here I sit alone and weep.Fill the green orchard paths with music wrought of tears,With kisses hot, with love my lips have left unshed,Stretch hands for me through all this darkness to her bed,Touch her soft hair, and breathe my message in her ears.Lo! I have gifts for thee, gifts from Amyclae brought,Shoes for the feet I love, and shawls of scarlet wool,Come, my beloved! we shall sit beside the poolAnd watch within its glass the heavens star-inwrought.Sleep hath thy mother lapped in heavy shrouds of peace;Steal forth on silent feet, mine arms leap out for thee....Shy as the moon she comes and bends her face to me,Heavy with love to give my heart from love release.
Breathe soft, my flute, to-night thy wonted melodyUntil, with careful hands, she lift the lattice-bars,Showing her face among the faces of the stars;Breathe soft, my flute, to-night till she come forth to me.
The choirs of birds are hushed within their bower of leaves,But thou must pierce the darkness and the gathered gloom,Climbing toward the lattice of her little room,Where the sweet vines have hung their garlands from the eaves.
Surely no cheating dream, nor sightless depth of sleepWill close her sense to music wrought for her delight;Bid her come forth, like Cynthia, into the night;Tell her, my flute, that here I sit alone and weep.
Fill the green orchard paths with music wrought of tears,With kisses hot, with love my lips have left unshed,Stretch hands for me through all this darkness to her bed,Touch her soft hair, and breathe my message in her ears.
Lo! I have gifts for thee, gifts from Amyclae brought,Shoes for the feet I love, and shawls of scarlet wool,Come, my beloved! we shall sit beside the poolAnd watch within its glass the heavens star-inwrought.
Sleep hath thy mother lapped in heavy shrouds of peace;Steal forth on silent feet, mine arms leap out for thee....Shy as the moon she comes and bends her face to me,Heavy with love to give my heart from love release.
When light wells up from her secret springsAnd the stars are quenched in a purer fire,From the blue of the heavens a blithe bird singsOf the day's delight and the earth's desire.Heart of my being, reply, reply!So Love singethOut of the deep of a dawning sky,A little moment is all he bringeth.When silver rays into shadows swoon,A bird sings out of the calm of nightTo the wandering sail of the wasted moonAnd the stars that jewel the skies with light.Heart of my being, rejoice, rejoice!Night hath givenTo all thy yearnings one faultless voice,A prayer to trouble the peace of heaven.
When light wells up from her secret springsAnd the stars are quenched in a purer fire,From the blue of the heavens a blithe bird singsOf the day's delight and the earth's desire.Heart of my being, reply, reply!So Love singethOut of the deep of a dawning sky,A little moment is all he bringeth.
When silver rays into shadows swoon,A bird sings out of the calm of nightTo the wandering sail of the wasted moonAnd the stars that jewel the skies with light.Heart of my being, rejoice, rejoice!Night hath givenTo all thy yearnings one faultless voice,A prayer to trouble the peace of heaven.
Softly, on little feet that make no sound,With laughter that one does not hear, they treadUpon the primroses that star the ground,Latticed by shade from branches overhead,Swaying in moonlight; but their footsteps makeA twinkling like the raindrops on the lake.The shy things that love silence and the nightAre fearless at their coming; as they pass,Neither the nightingale nor owl take flight,So gentle is each footfall on the grass;They are a part of silence, and a partOf sweetness sprung from tears hid in the heart.Their faces we may not caress, nor hearThe little bodies that are soft as dreams;Their life is rounded by another sphere,They are as frail as shadows seen in streams:A ripple might efface them, but they keepShadows of their existence in our sleep.
Softly, on little feet that make no sound,With laughter that one does not hear, they treadUpon the primroses that star the ground,Latticed by shade from branches overhead,Swaying in moonlight; but their footsteps makeA twinkling like the raindrops on the lake.
The shy things that love silence and the nightAre fearless at their coming; as they pass,Neither the nightingale nor owl take flight,So gentle is each footfall on the grass;They are a part of silence, and a partOf sweetness sprung from tears hid in the heart.
Their faces we may not caress, nor hearThe little bodies that are soft as dreams;Their life is rounded by another sphere,They are as frail as shadows seen in streams:A ripple might efface them, but they keepShadows of their existence in our sleep.
Sweet, though death may have thee utterly,Thou art with me:For when I sleep, mine earWakes for thy voice, to hearThee; and I know at last that thou art near.My soul then seems to put out hands,At thy commands,Through the thin veils of fleshThat hold it in a mesh,For thy two hands to consecrate afresh.Thoughts that all day are hidden deepRise up in sleep:The reconciling nightHolds thee for my delight,Beyond the senses or of sound or sight.
Sweet, though death may have thee utterly,Thou art with me:For when I sleep, mine earWakes for thy voice, to hearThee; and I know at last that thou art near.
My soul then seems to put out hands,At thy commands,Through the thin veils of fleshThat hold it in a mesh,For thy two hands to consecrate afresh.
Thoughts that all day are hidden deepRise up in sleep:The reconciling nightHolds thee for my delight,Beyond the senses or of sound or sight.
The wind is stillAnd the night full of sighs.Hast thou drunk thy fillOf mine eyes?Yea, of thine eyes;But my heart is a-thirstFor what stirred first,Like a light in the skiesLike a light that flowsOver barriers:It has come and it goes,Love full of tears.
The wind is stillAnd the night full of sighs.Hast thou drunk thy fillOf mine eyes?
Yea, of thine eyes;But my heart is a-thirstFor what stirred first,Like a light in the skies
Like a light that flowsOver barriers:It has come and it goes,Love full of tears.
Sleep, sleep, curtained roundBy dim-coloured tapestries,Wrought of dreams, nor let the soundStir thee of my melodies.May sleep come to thee as slowAnd as soft as falling snow!Stars set in their spheresPresage for thee all delight;Sleep fall soft as tearsOf the stars the dews of night;All fair things about thee keep,Music that doth mix with sleep.Dreams come, shining things,Through the curtains of thy bed;Doves fly with soft wingsRound thy golden, drowsy head:Sleep, dream, dreaming smile,Curtained from the world awhile.
Sleep, sleep, curtained roundBy dim-coloured tapestries,Wrought of dreams, nor let the soundStir thee of my melodies.May sleep come to thee as slowAnd as soft as falling snow!
Stars set in their spheresPresage for thee all delight;Sleep fall soft as tearsOf the stars the dews of night;All fair things about thee keep,Music that doth mix with sleep.
Dreams come, shining things,Through the curtains of thy bed;Doves fly with soft wingsRound thy golden, drowsy head:Sleep, dream, dreaming smile,Curtained from the world awhile.
Sweet as the lutes of love, from fields of sleepCome murmurs of the rain; and reveriesHaunt the green ways their tryst with eve to keep.Slumberous music, fragile melodies,Move in the chiming leaves, like that loved pain,Which fills the heart with restless memories.Chime of the leaves and murmur of the rainIn mine own soul there are, and voices sweet,Which help me the lost moments to regain.The hours dance round me on their slender feetWith joys that pierce my heart, as keen as spearsRemembered sorrows, pleasures that were fleetTo vanish, or dissolve in dew of tears:Seeing them thus, I cannot choose but weep.Surely in this wise God shall reap the years.Sweet with the fruits of love, from fields of sleep.
Sweet as the lutes of love, from fields of sleepCome murmurs of the rain; and reveriesHaunt the green ways their tryst with eve to keep.
Slumberous music, fragile melodies,Move in the chiming leaves, like that loved pain,Which fills the heart with restless memories.
Chime of the leaves and murmur of the rainIn mine own soul there are, and voices sweet,Which help me the lost moments to regain.
The hours dance round me on their slender feetWith joys that pierce my heart, as keen as spearsRemembered sorrows, pleasures that were fleet
To vanish, or dissolve in dew of tears:Seeing them thus, I cannot choose but weep.Surely in this wise God shall reap the years.
Sweet with the fruits of love, from fields of sleep.
Yea, it is dawn, alas!Gray is the earth, and cold;Swift was our night to pass.Thy hair is like fine gold,Over the pillows spreadAnd on the sheet's white foldThe light falls on thine headAnd trembles in thine eyesFrom which the dreams have fled.But they keep memories;Love burnt us up like grass:Surely Love never dies!Yea, it is dawn, alas!
Yea, it is dawn, alas!Gray is the earth, and cold;Swift was our night to pass.
Thy hair is like fine gold,Over the pillows spreadAnd on the sheet's white fold
The light falls on thine headAnd trembles in thine eyesFrom which the dreams have fled.
But they keep memories;Love burnt us up like grass:Surely Love never dies!
Yea, it is dawn, alas!
Death hath not slain thee all: when twilight spendsHer liquid amber in the latest ebbWithdrawing, and the day in silence ends,Expectant of the stars, when through the webOf woven boughs fall glimmering silver spears,Our dreaming heart will stir, as if a lightCaress had touched it, and fill up with tears,Remembering: nor only with the nightFall that sweet sadness, light in a dark place,Memory. Shrouded in her shrine of flesh,The soul sits brooding, veiled of form and faceBy Time, and in our mortal nature's meshTrammelled, yet sometimes hears the sound of wingsAnd sees, far off, divine, immortal things.
Death hath not slain thee all: when twilight spendsHer liquid amber in the latest ebbWithdrawing, and the day in silence ends,Expectant of the stars, when through the webOf woven boughs fall glimmering silver spears,Our dreaming heart will stir, as if a lightCaress had touched it, and fill up with tears,Remembering: nor only with the nightFall that sweet sadness, light in a dark place,Memory. Shrouded in her shrine of flesh,The soul sits brooding, veiled of form and faceBy Time, and in our mortal nature's meshTrammelled, yet sometimes hears the sound of wingsAnd sees, far off, divine, immortal things.
When my poor bones are hearsed in quiet clay,And final sleep hath sealed my wondering eyes,The moon as now will sail through tranquil skies;The soft wind in the meadow-grasses play;And sacred Eve, with half-closed eyelids, dream;And Dawn, with rosy fingers, draw the veilsOf silver from her shining face; and galesSing loudly; and the rain from eaveshoots streamWith bubbling music. Seek my soul in these;I am a part of them; and they will keepPerchance the music which I wrought with tears.When the moon shines above the silent treesYour eyes shall see me; and when soft as sleepCome murmurs of the rain, ah, bend your ears!
When my poor bones are hearsed in quiet clay,And final sleep hath sealed my wondering eyes,The moon as now will sail through tranquil skies;The soft wind in the meadow-grasses play;And sacred Eve, with half-closed eyelids, dream;And Dawn, with rosy fingers, draw the veilsOf silver from her shining face; and galesSing loudly; and the rain from eaveshoots streamWith bubbling music. Seek my soul in these;I am a part of them; and they will keepPerchance the music which I wrought with tears.When the moon shines above the silent treesYour eyes shall see me; and when soft as sleepCome murmurs of the rain, ah, bend your ears!
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Transcriber's Note:Obvious misspellings and omissions were corrected.Uncertain misspellings or ancient words were not corrected.The book cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
Transcriber's Note:
Obvious misspellings and omissions were corrected.
Uncertain misspellings or ancient words were not corrected.
The book cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.