Ernest Rhys
A queen lived in the South;And music was her mouth,And sunshine was her hair,By day, and all the nightThe drowsy embers thereRemember’d still the light;My soul, was she not fair!But for her eyes—they madeAn iron man afraid;Like sky-blue pools they were,Watching the sky that knewItself transmuted thereLight blue, or deeper blue;My soul, was she not fair!The lifting of her handsMade laughter in the landsWhere the sun is, in the South:But my soul learnt sorrow thereIn the secrets of her mouth,Her eyes, her hands, her hair:O soul, was she not fair!
A queen lived in the South;And music was her mouth,And sunshine was her hair,By day, and all the nightThe drowsy embers thereRemember’d still the light;My soul, was she not fair!But for her eyes—they madeAn iron man afraid;Like sky-blue pools they were,Watching the sky that knewItself transmuted thereLight blue, or deeper blue;My soul, was she not fair!The lifting of her handsMade laughter in the landsWhere the sun is, in the South:But my soul learnt sorrow thereIn the secrets of her mouth,Her eyes, her hands, her hair:O soul, was she not fair!
A queen lived in the South;And music was her mouth,And sunshine was her hair,By day, and all the nightThe drowsy embers thereRemember’d still the light;My soul, was she not fair!
A queen lived in the South;
And music was her mouth,
And sunshine was her hair,
By day, and all the night
The drowsy embers there
Remember’d still the light;
My soul, was she not fair!
But for her eyes—they madeAn iron man afraid;Like sky-blue pools they were,Watching the sky that knewItself transmuted thereLight blue, or deeper blue;My soul, was she not fair!
But for her eyes—they made
An iron man afraid;
Like sky-blue pools they were,
Watching the sky that knew
Itself transmuted there
Light blue, or deeper blue;
My soul, was she not fair!
The lifting of her handsMade laughter in the landsWhere the sun is, in the South:But my soul learnt sorrow thereIn the secrets of her mouth,Her eyes, her hands, her hair:O soul, was she not fair!
The lifting of her hands
Made laughter in the lands
Where the sun is, in the South:
But my soul learnt sorrow there
In the secrets of her mouth,
Her eyes, her hands, her hair:
O soul, was she not fair!
A SONG OF HAPPINESS
Ah, Happiness:Who called you “Earandel”?(Winter-star, I think, that is);And who can tell the lovely curveBy which you seem to come, then swerveBefore you reach the middle-earth?And who is there can hold your wing,Or bind you in your mirth,Or win you with a least caress,Or tear, or kiss, or anything—Insensate Happiness?Once I thought to have youFast there in a child:All her heart she gave you,Yet you would not stay.Cruel, and careless,Not half reconciled,Pain you cannot bear;When her yellow hairLay matted, every tress;When those looks of hers,Were no longer hers,You went: in a dayShe wept you all away.Once I thought to giveYou, plighted, holily—No more fugitive,Returning like the sea:But they that share so wellHeaven must portion HellIn their copartnery:Care, ill fate, ill health,Came we know not howAnd broke our commonwealth.Neither has you now.Some wait you on the road,Some in an open doorLook for the face you showedOnce there—no more.You never wear the dressYou danced in yesterday;Yet, seeming gone, you stay,And come at no man’s call:Yet, laid for burial,You lift up from the deadYour laughing, spangled head.Yes, once I did pursueYou, unpursuable;Loved, longed for, hoped for you—Blue-eyed and morning brow’d.Ah, lovely Happiness!Now that I know you well,I dare not speak aloudYour fond name in a crowd;Nor conjure you by night,Nor pray at morning-light,Nor count at all on you:But, at a stroke, a breath,After the fear of death,Or bent beneath a load;Yes, ragged in the dress,And houseless on the road,I might surprise you there.Yes: who of us shall sayWhen you will come, or where?Ask children at their play,The leaves upon the tree,The ships upon the sea,Or old men who survived,And lived, and loved, and wived.Ask sorrow to confessYour sweet improvidence,And prodigal expenseAnd cold economy,Ah, lovely Happiness!
Ah, Happiness:Who called you “Earandel”?(Winter-star, I think, that is);And who can tell the lovely curveBy which you seem to come, then swerveBefore you reach the middle-earth?And who is there can hold your wing,Or bind you in your mirth,Or win you with a least caress,Or tear, or kiss, or anything—Insensate Happiness?Once I thought to have youFast there in a child:All her heart she gave you,Yet you would not stay.Cruel, and careless,Not half reconciled,Pain you cannot bear;When her yellow hairLay matted, every tress;When those looks of hers,Were no longer hers,You went: in a dayShe wept you all away.Once I thought to giveYou, plighted, holily—No more fugitive,Returning like the sea:But they that share so wellHeaven must portion HellIn their copartnery:Care, ill fate, ill health,Came we know not howAnd broke our commonwealth.Neither has you now.Some wait you on the road,Some in an open doorLook for the face you showedOnce there—no more.You never wear the dressYou danced in yesterday;Yet, seeming gone, you stay,And come at no man’s call:Yet, laid for burial,You lift up from the deadYour laughing, spangled head.Yes, once I did pursueYou, unpursuable;Loved, longed for, hoped for you—Blue-eyed and morning brow’d.Ah, lovely Happiness!Now that I know you well,I dare not speak aloudYour fond name in a crowd;Nor conjure you by night,Nor pray at morning-light,Nor count at all on you:But, at a stroke, a breath,After the fear of death,Or bent beneath a load;Yes, ragged in the dress,And houseless on the road,I might surprise you there.Yes: who of us shall sayWhen you will come, or where?Ask children at their play,The leaves upon the tree,The ships upon the sea,Or old men who survived,And lived, and loved, and wived.Ask sorrow to confessYour sweet improvidence,And prodigal expenseAnd cold economy,Ah, lovely Happiness!
Ah, Happiness:Who called you “Earandel”?(Winter-star, I think, that is);And who can tell the lovely curveBy which you seem to come, then swerveBefore you reach the middle-earth?And who is there can hold your wing,Or bind you in your mirth,Or win you with a least caress,Or tear, or kiss, or anything—Insensate Happiness?
Ah, Happiness:
Who called you “Earandel”?
(Winter-star, I think, that is);
And who can tell the lovely curve
By which you seem to come, then swerve
Before you reach the middle-earth?
And who is there can hold your wing,
Or bind you in your mirth,
Or win you with a least caress,
Or tear, or kiss, or anything—
Insensate Happiness?
Once I thought to have youFast there in a child:All her heart she gave you,Yet you would not stay.Cruel, and careless,Not half reconciled,Pain you cannot bear;When her yellow hairLay matted, every tress;When those looks of hers,Were no longer hers,You went: in a dayShe wept you all away.
Once I thought to have you
Fast there in a child:
All her heart she gave you,
Yet you would not stay.
Cruel, and careless,
Not half reconciled,
Pain you cannot bear;
When her yellow hair
Lay matted, every tress;
When those looks of hers,
Were no longer hers,
You went: in a day
She wept you all away.
Once I thought to giveYou, plighted, holily—No more fugitive,Returning like the sea:But they that share so wellHeaven must portion HellIn their copartnery:Care, ill fate, ill health,Came we know not howAnd broke our commonwealth.Neither has you now.
Once I thought to give
You, plighted, holily—
No more fugitive,
Returning like the sea:
But they that share so well
Heaven must portion Hell
In their copartnery:
Care, ill fate, ill health,
Came we know not how
And broke our commonwealth.
Neither has you now.
Some wait you on the road,Some in an open doorLook for the face you showedOnce there—no more.You never wear the dressYou danced in yesterday;Yet, seeming gone, you stay,And come at no man’s call:Yet, laid for burial,You lift up from the deadYour laughing, spangled head.
Some wait you on the road,
Some in an open door
Look for the face you showed
Once there—no more.
You never wear the dress
You danced in yesterday;
Yet, seeming gone, you stay,
And come at no man’s call:
Yet, laid for burial,
You lift up from the dead
Your laughing, spangled head.
Yes, once I did pursueYou, unpursuable;Loved, longed for, hoped for you—Blue-eyed and morning brow’d.Ah, lovely Happiness!Now that I know you well,I dare not speak aloudYour fond name in a crowd;Nor conjure you by night,Nor pray at morning-light,Nor count at all on you:
Yes, once I did pursue
You, unpursuable;
Loved, longed for, hoped for you—
Blue-eyed and morning brow’d.
Ah, lovely Happiness!
Now that I know you well,
I dare not speak aloud
Your fond name in a crowd;
Nor conjure you by night,
Nor pray at morning-light,
Nor count at all on you:
But, at a stroke, a breath,After the fear of death,Or bent beneath a load;Yes, ragged in the dress,And houseless on the road,I might surprise you there.Yes: who of us shall sayWhen you will come, or where?Ask children at their play,The leaves upon the tree,The ships upon the sea,Or old men who survived,And lived, and loved, and wived.Ask sorrow to confessYour sweet improvidence,And prodigal expenseAnd cold economy,Ah, lovely Happiness!
But, at a stroke, a breath,
After the fear of death,
Or bent beneath a load;
Yes, ragged in the dress,
And houseless on the road,
I might surprise you there.
Yes: who of us shall say
When you will come, or where?
Ask children at their play,
The leaves upon the tree,
The ships upon the sea,
Or old men who survived,
And lived, and loved, and wived.
Ask sorrow to confess
Your sweet improvidence,
And prodigal expense
And cold economy,
Ah, lovely Happiness!