A Midsummer Holiday and Other Poems Part 6

This bright sharp death s.h.i.+nes everywhere; Life yearns for solace toward the sea.

Earth seems a corpse upon the pyre; The sun, a scourge for slaves to bear.

All power to fear, all keen desire, Lies dead as dreams of days that were Before the new-born world lay bare In heaven's wide eye, whereunder we Lie breathless till the season spare: Life yearns for solace toward the sea.

Fierce hours, with ravening fangs that tire On spirit and sense, divide and share The throbs of thoughts that scarce respire, The throes of dreams that scarce forbear One mute immitigable prayer For cold perpetual sleep to be Shed snowlike on the sense of care.

Life yearns for solace toward the sea.

The dust of ways where men suspire Seems even the dust of death's dim lair.

But though the feverish days be dire The sea-wind rears and cheers its fair Blithe broods of babes that here and there Make the sands laugh and glow for glee With gladder flowers than gardens wear.

Life yearns for solace toward the sea.

The music dies not off the lyre That lets no soul alive despair.

Sleep strikes not dumb the breathless choir Of waves whose note bids sorrow spare.

As glad they sound, as fast they fare, As when fate's word first set them free And gave them light and night to wear.

Life yearns for solace toward the sea.

For there, though night and day conspire To compa.s.s round with toil and snare And changeless whirl of change, whose gyre Draws all things deathwards unaware, The spirit of life they scourge and scare, Wild waves that follow on waves that flee Laugh, knowing that yet, though earth despair, Life yearns for solace toward the sea.

_HEARTSEASE COUNTRY._

TO ISABEL SWINBURNE.

The far green westward heavens are bland, The far green Wilts.h.i.+re downs are clear As these deep meadows hard at hand: The sight knows hardly far from near, Nor morning joy from evening cheer.

In cottage garden-plots their bees Find many a fervent flower to seize And strain and drain the heart away From ripe sweet-williams and sweet-peas At every turn on every way.

But gladliest seems one flower to expand Its whole sweet heart all round us here; 'Tis Heartsease Country, Pansy Land.

Nor sounds nor savours harsh and drear Where engines yell and halt and veer Can vex the sense of him who sees One flower-plot midway, that for trees Has poles, and sheds all grimed or grey For bowers like those that take the breeze At every turn on every way.

Content even there they smile and stand, Sweet thought's heart-easing flowers, nor fear, With reek and roaring steam though fanned, Nor shrink nor perish as they peer.

The heart's eye holds not those more dear That glow between the lanes and leas Where'er the homeliest hand may please To bid them blossom as they may Where light approves and wind agrees At every turn on every way.

Sister, the word of winds and seas Endures not as the word of these Your wayside flowers whose breath would say How hearts that love may find heart's ease At every turn on every way.

_A BALLAD OF APPEAL._

TO CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI.

Song wakes with every wakening year From hearts of birds that only feel Brief spring's deciduous flower-time near: And song more strong to help or heal Shall silence worse than winter seal?

From love-lit thought's remurmuring cave The notes that rippled, wave on wave, Were clear as love, as faith were strong; And all souls blessed the soul that gave Sweet water from the well of song.

All hearts bore fruit of joy to hear, All eyes felt mist upon them steal For joy's sake, trembling toward a tear, When, loud as marriage-bells that peal, Or flutelike soft, or keen like steel, Sprang the sheer music; sharp or grave, We heard the drift of winds that drave, And saw, swept round by ghosts in throng, Dark rocks, that yielded, where they clave, Sweet water from the well of song.

Blithe verse made all the dim sense clear That smiles of babbling babes conceal: Prayer's perfect heart spake here: and here Rose notes of blameless woe and weal, More soft than this poor song's appeal.

Where orchards bask, where cornfields wave, They dropped like rains that cleanse and lave, And scattered all the year along, Like dewfall on an April grave, Sweet water from the well of song.

Ballad, go bear our prayer, and crave Pardon, because thy lowlier stave Can do this plea no right, but wrong.

Ask nought beside thy pardon, save Sweet water from the well of song.

_CRADLE SONGS._

(TO A TUNE OF BLAKE'S)

I.

Baby, baby bright, Sleep can steal from sight Little of your light:

Soft as fire in dew, Still the life in you Lights your slumber through.

Four white eyelids keep Fast the seal of sleep Deep as love is deep:

Yet, though closed it lies, Love behind them spies Heaven in two blue eyes.

II.

Baby, baby dear, Earth and heaven are near Now, for heaven is here.

Heaven is every place Where your flower-sweet face Fills our eyes with grace.

Till your own eyes deign Earth a glance again, Earth and heaven are twain.

Now your sleep is done, s.h.i.+ne, and show the sun Earth and heaven are one.

III.

Baby, baby sweet, Love's own lips are meet Scarce to kiss your feet.

Hardly love's own ear, When your laugh crows clear, Quite deserves to hear.

Hardly love's own wile, Though it please awhile, Quite deserves your smile.

Baby full of grace, Bless us yet a s.p.a.ce: Sleep will come apace.

IV.