Poems of To-Day: an Anthology Part 13

Else, he that wishes solitude is safe, Whether he bathe at morning in the stream: Or lead his love there when the hot hours chafe The meadows, busy with a blurring steam; Or watch, as fades the light, The gibbous moon grow bright, Until her magic rays dance in a dream, And glorify the night.

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Where is this bower beside the silver Thames?

O pool and flowery thickets, hear my vow!

O trees of freshest foliage and straight stems, No sharer of my secret I allow: Lest ere I come the while Strange feet your shades defile; Or lest the burly oarsman turn his prow Within your guardian isle.

_Robert Bridges._

57. BAB-LOCK-HYTHE

In the time of wild roses As up Thames we travelled Where 'mid water-weeds ravelled The lily uncloses,

To his old sh.o.r.es the river A new song was singing, And young shoots were springing On old roots for ever.

Dog-daisies were dancing, And flags flamed in cl.u.s.ter, On the dark stream a l.u.s.tre Now blurred and now glancing.

A tall reed down-weighing The sedge-warbler fluttered; One sweet note he uttered, Then left it soft-swaying.

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By the bank's sandy hollow My dipt oars went beating, And past our bows fleeting Blue-backed shone the swallow.

High woods, heron-haunted, Rose, changed, as we rounded Old hills greenly mounded, To meadows enchanted.

A dream ever moulded Afresh for our wonder, Still opening asunder For the stream many-folded;

Till sunset was r.i.m.m.i.n.g The West with pale flushes; Behind the black rushes The last light was dimming;

And the lonely stream, hiding Shy birds, grew more lonely, And with us was only The noise of our gliding.

In cloud of gray weather The evening o'erdarkened, In the stillness we hearkened; Our hearts sang together.

_Laurence Binyon._

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58. ROWER'S CHANT

Row till the land dip 'neath The sea from view.

Row till a land peep up, A home for you.

Row till the mast sing songs Welcome and sweet.

Row till the waves, out-stripped, Give up dead beat.

Row till the sea-nymphs rise To ask you why Rowing you tarry not To hear them sigh.

Row till the stars grow bright Like certain eyes.

Row till the noon be high As hopes you prize.

Row till you harbour in All longing's port.

Row till you find all things For which you sought.

_T. Sturge Moore._

59. FAREWELL

Not soon shall I forget--a sheet Of golden water, cold and sweet, The young moon with her head in veils Of silver, and the nightingales.

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A wain of hay came up the lane-- O fields I shall not walk again, And trees I shall not see, so still Against a sky of daffodil!

Fields where my happy heart had rest, And where my heart was heaviest, I shall remember them at peace Drenched in moon-silver like a fleece.

The golden water sweet and cold, The moon of silver and of gold, The dew upon the gray gra.s.s-spears, I shall remember them with tears.

_Katharine Tynan._

60. A s.h.i.+P, AN ISLE, A SICKLE MOON

A s.h.i.+p, an isle, a sickle moon-- With few but with how splendid stars The mirrors of the sea are strewn Between their silver bars!

An isle beside an isle she lay, The pale s.h.i.+p anch.o.r.ed in the bay, While in the young moon's port of gold A star-s.h.i.+p--as the mirrors told-- Put forth its great and lonely light To the unreflecting Ocean, Night.

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And still, a s.h.i.+p upon her seas, The isle and the island cypresses Went sailing on without the gale: And still there moved the moon so pale, A crescent s.h.i.+p without a sail!

_James Elroy Flecker._

61. NOD

Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.