Bulchevy's Book of English Verse Part 145

Then a little fellow, mouth up and on tiptoe, Said, 'I will kiss you': she laugh'd and lean'd her cheek.

Doves of the fir-wood walling high our red roof Through the long noon coo, crooning through the coo.

Loose droop the leaves, and down the sleepy roadway Sometimes pipes a chaffinch; loose droops the blue.

Cows flap a show tail knee-deep in the river, Breathless, given up to sun and gnat and fly.

Nowhere is she seen; and if I see her nowhere, Lighting may come, straight rains and tiger sky.

O the golden sheaf, the rustling treasure-armful!

O the nutbrown tresses nodding interlaced!

O the treasure-tresses one another over Nodding! O the girdle slack about the waist!

Slain are the poppies that shot their random scarlet Quick amid the wheat-ears: wound about the waist, Gather'd, see these brides of Earth one blush of ripeness!

O the nutbrown tresses nodding interlaced!

Large and smoky red the sun's cold disk drops, Clipp'd by naked hills, on violet shaded snow: Eastward large and still lights up a bower of moonrise, Whence at her leisure steps the moon aglow.

Nightlong on black print-branches our beech-tree Gazes in this whiteness: nightlong could I.

Here may life on death or death on life be painted.

Let me clasp her soul to know she cannot die!

Gossips count her faults; they scour a narrow chamber Where there is no window, read not heaven or her.

'When she was a tiny,' one aged woman quavers, Plucks at my heart and leads me by the ear.

Faults she had once as she learn'd to run and tumbled: Faults of feature some see, beauty not complete.

Yet, good gossips, beauty that makes holy Earth and air, may have faults from head to feet.

Hither she comes; she comes to me; she lingers, Deepens her brown eyebrows, while in new surprise High rise the lashes in wonder of a stranger; Yet am I the light and living of her eyes.

Something friends have told her fills her heart to br.i.m.m.i.n.g, Nets her in her blushes, and wounds her, and tames.-- Sure of her haven, O like a dove alighting, Arms up, she dropp'd: our souls were in our names.

Soon will she lie like a white frost sunrise.

Yellow oats and brown wheat, barley pale as rye, Long since your sheaves have yielded to the thresher, Felt the girdle loosen'd, seen the tresses fly.

Soon will she lie like a blood-red sunset.

Swift with the to-morrow, green-wing'd Spring!

Sing from the South-west, bring her back the truants, Nightingale and swallow, song and dipping wing.

Soft new beech-leaves, up to beamy April Spreading bough on bough a primrose mountain, you Lucid in the moon, raise lilies to the skyfields, Youngest green transfused in silver s.h.i.+ning through: Fairer than the lily, than the wild white cherry: Fair as in image my seraph love appears Borne to me by dreams when dawn is at my eyelids: Fair as in the flesh she swims to me on tears.

Could I find a place to be alone with heaven, I would speak my heart out: heaven is my need.

Every woodland tree is flus.h.i.+ng like the dogwood, Flas.h.i.+ng like the whitebeam, swaying like the reed.

Flus.h.i.+ng like the dogwood crimson in October; Streaming like the flag-reed South-west blown; Flas.h.i.+ng as in gusts the sudden-lighted whitebeam: All seem to know what is for heaven alone.

George Meredith. 1828-1909

773. Phoebus with Admetus

WHEN by Zeus relenting the mandate was revoked, Sentencing to exile the bright Sun-G.o.d, Mindful were the ploughmen of who the steer had yoked, Who: and what a track show'd the upturn'd sod!

Mindful were the shepherds, as now the noon severe Bent a burning eyebrow to brown evetide, How the rustic flute drew the silver to the sphere, Sister of his own, till her rays fell wide.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

Chirping none, the scarlet cicalas crouch'd in ranks: Slack the thistle-head piled its down-silk gray: Scarce the stony lizard suck'd hollows in his flanks: Thick on spots of umbrage our drowsed flocks lay.

Sudden bow'd the chestnuts beneath a wind unheard, Lengthen'd ran the gra.s.ses, the sky grew slate: Then amid a swift flight of wing'd seed white as curd, Clear of limb a Youth smote the master's gate.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

Water, first of singers, o'er rocky mount and mead, First of earthly singers, the sun-loved rill, Sang of him, and flooded the ripples on the reed, Seeking whom to waken and what ear fill.

Water, sweetest soother to kiss a wound and cool, Sweetest and divinest, the sky-born brook, Chuckled, with a whimper, and made a mirror-pool Round the guest we welcomed, the strange hand shook.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

Many swarms of wild bees descended on our fields: Stately stood the wheatstalk with head bent high: Big of heart we labour'd at storing mighty yields, Wool and corn, and cl.u.s.ters to make men cry!

Hand-like rush'd the vintage; we strung the bellied skins Plump, and at the sealing the Youth's voice rose: Maidens clung in circle, on little fists their chins; Gentle beasties through push'd a cold long nose.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

Foot to fire in snowtime we trimm'd the slender shaft: Often down the pit spied the lean wolf's teeth Grin against his will, trapp'd by masterstrokes of craft; Helpless in his froth-wrath as green logs seethe!

Safe the tender lambs tugg'd the teats, and winter sped Whirl'd before the crocus, the year's new gold.

Hung the hooky beak up aloft, the arrowhead Redden'd through his feathers for our dear fold.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

Tales we drank of giants at war with G.o.ds above: Rocks were they to look on, and earth climb'd air!

Tales of search for simples, and those who sought of love Ease because the creature was all too fair.

Pleasant ran our thinking that while our work was good.

Sure as fruits for sweat would the praise come fast.

He that wrestled stoutest and tamed the billow-brood Danced in rings with girls, like a sail-flapp'd mast.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

Lo, the herb of healing, when once the herb is known, s.h.i.+nes in shady woods bright as new-sprung flame.

Ere the string was tighten'd we heard the mellow tone, After he had taught how the sweet sounds came.

Stretch'd about his feet, labour done, 'twas as you see Red pomegranates tumble and burst hard rind.

So began contention to give delight and be Excellent in things aim'd to make life kind.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

You with sh.e.l.ly horns, rams! and, promontory goats, You whose browsing beards dip in coldest dew!

Bulls, that walk the pastures in kingly-flas.h.i.+ng coats!

Laurel, ivy, vine, wreathed for feasts not few!

You that build the shade-roof, and you that court the rays, You that leap besprinkling the rock stream-rent: He has been our fellow, the morning of our days; Us he chose for housemates, and this way went.

G.o.d! of whom music And song and blood are pure, The day is never darken'd That had thee here obscure.

George Meredith. 1828-1909

774. Tardy Spring

NOW the North wind ceases, The warm South-west awakes; Swift fly the fleeces, Thick the blossom-flakes.

Now hill to hill has made the stride, And distance waves the without-end: Now in the breast a door flings wide; Our farthest smiles, our next is friend.

And song of England's rush of flowers Is this full breeze with mellow stops, That spins the lark for s.h.i.+ne, for showers; He drinks his hurried flight, and drops.

The stir in memory seem these things, Which out of moisten'd turf and clay, Astrain for light push patient rings, Or leap to find the waterway.

'Tis equal to a wonder done, Whatever simple lives renew Their tricks beneath the father sun, As though they caught a broken clue: So hard was earth an eyewink back; But now the common life has come, The blotting cloud a dappled pack, The gra.s.ses one vast underhum.

A City clothed in snow and soot, With lamps for day in ghostly rows, Breaks to the scene of hosts afoot, The river that reflective flows: And there did fog down crypts of street Play spectre upon eye and mouth:-- Their faces are a gla.s.s to greet This magic of the whirl for South.

A burly joy each creature swells With sound of its own hungry quest; Earth has to fill her empty wells, And speed the service of the nest; The phantom of the snow-wreath melt, That haunts the farmer's look abroad, Who sees what tomb a white night built, Where flocks now bleat and sprouts the clod.

For iron Winter held her firm; Across her sky he laid his hand; And bird he starved, he stiffen'd worm; A sightless heaven, a shaven land.

Her s.h.i.+vering Spring feign'd fast asleep, The bitten buds dared not unfold: We raced on roads and ice to keep Thought of the girl we love from cold.

But now the North wind ceases, The warm South-west awakes, The heavens are out in fleeces, And earth's green banner shakes.