A Century of Roundels Part 6

Three times thrice the world has fallen on slumber, Shone and waned and withered in a trice, Frost has fettered Thames and Tyne and Humber Three times thrice,

Fogs have swoln too thick for steel to slice, Cloud and mud have soiled with grime and umber Earth and heaven, defaced as souls with vice,

Winds have risen to wreck, snows fallen to c.u.mber, s.h.i.+ps and chariots, trapped like rats or mice, Since my king first smiled, whose years now number Three times thrice.

III.

Three times thrice, in wine of song full-flowing, Pledge, my heart, the child whose eyes suffice, Once beheld, to set thy joy-bells going Three times thrice.

Not the lands of palm and date and rice Glow more bright when summer leaves them glowing, Laugh more light when suns and winds entice.

Noon and eve and midnight and c.o.c.k-crowing, Child whose love makes life as paradise, Love should sound your praise with clarions blowing Three times thrice.

NOT A CHILD

I.

'Not a child: I call myself a boy,'

Says my king, with accent stern yet mild, Now nine years have brought him change of joy; 'Not a child.'

How could reason be so far beguiled, Err so far from sense's safe employ, Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?

Seeing his face bent over book or toy, Child I called him, smiling: but he smiled Back, as one too high for vain annoy - Not a child.

II.

Not a child? alack the year!

What should ail an undefiled Heart, that he would fain appear Not a child?

Men, with years and memories piled Each on other, far and near, Fain again would so be styled:

Fain would cast off hope and fear, Rest, forget, be reconciled: Why would you so fain be, dear, Not a child?

III.

Child or boy, my darling, which you will, Still your praise finds heart and song employ, Heart and song both yearning toward you still, Child or boy.

All joys else might sooner pall or cloy Love than this which inly takes its fill, Dear, of sight of your more perfect joy.

Nay, be aught you please, let all fulfil All your pleasure; be your world your toy: Mild or wild we love you, loud or still, Child or boy.

TO DORA DORIAN

Child of two strong nations, heir Born of high-souled hope that smiled, Seeing for each brought forth a fair Child,

By thy gracious brows, and wild Golden-clouded heaven of hair, By thine eyes elate and mild,

Hope would fain take heart to swear Men should yet be reconciled, Seeing the sign she bids thee bear, Child.

THE ROUNDEL

A roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere, With craft of delight and with cunning of sound unsought, That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear A roundel is wrought.

Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught - Love, laughter, or mourning--remembrance of rapture or fear - That fancy may fas.h.i.+on to hang in the ear of thought.

As a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear Pause answer to pause, and again the same strain caught, So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear, A roundel is wrought.

AT SEA

'Farewell and adieu' was the burden prevailing Long since in the chant of a home-faring crew; And the heart in us echoes, with laughing or wailing, Farewell and adieu.

Each year that we live shall we sing it anew, With a water untravelled before us for sailing And a water behind us that wrecks may bestrew.

The stars of the past and the beacons are paling, The heavens and the waters are h.o.a.rier of hue: But the heart in us chants not an all unavailing Farewell and adieu.

WASTED LOVE

What shall be done for sorrow With love whose race is run?

Where help is none to borrow, What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun The web, or drawn the furrow: No rest their toil hath won.

His task is all gone thorough, And fruit thereof is none: And who dare say to-morrow What shall be done?

BEFORE SUNSET