Poems of To-Day: an Anthology Part 30

139. I WILL NOT LET THEE GO

I will not let thee go.

Ends all our month-long love in this?

Can it be summed up so, Quit in a single kiss?

I will not let thee go.

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I will not let thee go.

If thy words' breath could scare thy deeds, As the soft south can blow And toss the feathered seeds, Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

Had not the great sun seen, I might: Or were he reckoned slow To bring the false to light, Then might I let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

The stars that crowd the summer skies Have watched us so below With all their million eyes, I dare not let thee go.

I will not let thee go.

Have we not chid the changeful moon, Now rising late, and now Because she set too soon, And shall I let thee go?

I will not let thee go.

Have not the young flowers been content, Plucked ere their buds could blow, To seal our sacrament?

I cannot let thee go.

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I will not let thee go.

I hold thee by too many bands: Thou sayest farewell, and lo!

I have thee by the hands, And will not let thee go.

_Robert Bridges._

140. PARTED

Farewell to one now silenced quite, Sent out of hearing, out of sight,-- My friend of friends, whom I shall miss.

He is not banished, though, for this,-- Nor he, nor sadness, nor delight.

Though I shall talk with him no more, A low voice sounds upon the sh.o.r.e.

He must not watch my resting-place, But who shall drive a mournful face From the sad winds about my door?

I shall not hear his voice complain, But who shall stop the patient rain?

His tears must not disturb my heart, But who shall change the years, and part The world from every thought of pain?

Although my life is left so dim, The morning crowns the mountain-rim; Joy is not gone from summer skies, Nor innocence from children's eyes, And all these things are part of him.

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He is not banished, for the showers Yet wake this green warm earth of ours.

How can the summer but be sweet?

I shall not have him at my feet, And yet my feet are on the flowers.

_Alice Meynell._

141. ELEGY ON A LADY, WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER BETROTHED KILLED

a.s.semble, all ye maidens, at the door, And all ye loves, a.s.semble; far and wide Proclaim the bridal, that proclaimed before Has been deferred to this late eventide: For on this night the bride, The days of her betrothal over, Leaves the parental hearth for evermore; To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover.

Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain Yet all unvisited, the silken gown: Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain Her dearer friends provided: sere and brown Bring out the festal crown, And set it on her forehead lightly: Though it be withered, twine no wreath again; This only is the crown she can wear rightly.

Cloak her in ermine, for the night is cold, And wrap her warmly, for the night is long; In pious hands the flaming torches hold, While her attendants, chosen from among

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Her faithful virgin throng, May lay her in her cedar litter, Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold, Roses, and lilies white that best befit her.

Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be Not without music, nor with these alone; But let the viol lead the melody, With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan Of sinking semitone; And, all in choir, the virgin voices Rest not from singing in skilled harmony The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices.

Let the priests go before, arrayed in white, And let the dark-stoled minstrels follow slow, Next they that bear her, honoured on this night, And then the maidens, in a double row, Each singing soft and low, And each on high a torch upstaying: Unto her lover lead her forth with light, With music, and with singing, and with praying.

'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came, And found her trusty window open wide, And knew the signal of the timorous flame, That long the restless curtain would not hide Her form that stood beside; As scarce she dared to be delighted, Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted.

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But now for many days the dewy gra.s.s Has shown no markings of his feet at morn: And watching she has seen no shadow pa.s.s The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne Upon her ear forlorn.

In vain she has looked out to greet him; He has not come, he will not come, alas!

So let us bear her out where she must meet him.

Now to the river bank the priests are come: The bark is ready to receive its freight: Let some prepare her place therein, and some Embark the litter with its slender weight: The rest stand by in state, And sing her a safe pa.s.sage over; While she is oared across to her new home, Into the arms of her expectant lover.

And thou, O lover, that art on the watch, Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams, The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and s.n.a.t.c.h The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,-- Thou, when the torchlight gleams, When thou shalt see the slow procession, And when thine ears the fitful music catch, Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession.

_Robert Bridges._

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142. AN EPITAPH

Here lies a most beautiful lady, Light of step and heart was she; I think she was the most beautiful lady That ever was in the West Country.

But beauty vanishes; beauty pa.s.ses; However rare--rare it be; And when I crumble, who will remember This lady of the West Country?