A Midsummer Holiday and Other Poems | Page 2

ever the secret that shadow and silence teach,?Hears ever the notes that or ever they swell subside,?Sees ever the light that lights not the loud world's tide,?Clasps ever the cause of the lifelong scheme's control?Wherethrough we pursue, till the waters of life be dried,?The goal that is not, and ever again the goal.
Friend, what have we sought or seek we, whate'er betide,?Though the seaboard shift its mark from afar descried,?But aims whence ever anew shall arise the soul??Love, thought, song, life, but show for a glimpse and hide?The goal that is not, and ever again the goal.
A HAVEN.
East and north a waste of waters, south and west?Lonelier lands than dreams in sleep would feign to be,?When the soul goes forth on travel, and is prest?Round and compassed in with clouds that flash and flee?Dells without a streamlet, downs without a tree,?Cirques of hollow cliff that crumble, give their guest?Little hope, till hard at hand he pause, to see?Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest.
Many a lone long mile, by many a headland's crest,?Down by many a garden dear to bird and bee,?Up by many a sea-down's bare and breezy breast,?Winds the sandy strait of road where flowers run free.?Here along the deep steep lanes by field and lea?Knights have carolled, pilgrims chanted, on their quest,?Haply, ere a roof rose toward the bleak strand's lee,?Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest.
Are the wild lands cursed perchance of time, or blest,?Sad with fear or glad with comfort of the sea??Are the ruinous towers of churches fallen on rest?Watched of wanderers woful now, glad once as we,?When the night has all men's eyes and hearts in fee,?When the soul bows down dethroned and dispossest??Yet must peace keep guard, by day's and night's decree,?Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest.
Friend, the lonely land is bright for you and me?All its wild ways through: but this methinks is best,?Here to watch how kindly time and change agree?Where the small town smiles, a warm still sea-side nest.
ON A COUNTRY ROAD.
Along these low pleached lanes, on such a day,?So soft a day as this, through shade and sun,?With glad grave eyes that scanned the glad wild way,?And heart still hovering o'er a song begun,?And smile that warmed the world with benison,?Our father, lord long since of lordly rhyme,?Long since hath haply ridden, when the lime?Bloomed broad above him, flowering where he came.?Because thy passage once made warm this clime,?Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name.
Each year that England clothes herself with May,?She takes thy likeness on her. Time hath spun?Fresh raiment all in vain and strange array?For earth and man's new spirit, fain to shun?Things past for dreams of better to be won,?Through many a century since thy funeral chime?Rang, and men deemed it death's most direful crime?To have spared not thee for very love or shame;?And yet, while mists round last year's memories climb,?Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name.
Each turn of the old wild road whereon we stray,?Meseems, might bring us face to face with one?Whom seeing we could not but give thanks, and pray?For England's love our father and her son?To speak with us as once in days long done?With all men, sage and churl and monk and mime,?Who knew not as we know the soul sublime?That sang for song's love more than lust of fame.?Yet, though this be not, yet, in happy time,?Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name.
Friend, even as bees about the flowering thyme,?Years crowd on years, till hoar decay begrime?Names once beloved; but, seeing the sun the same,?As birds of autumn fain to praise the prime,?Our father Chaucer, here we praise thy name.
THE MILL GARDEN.
Stately stand the sunflowers, glowing down the garden-side, Ranged in royal rank arow along the warm grey wall,?Whence their deep disks burn at rich midnoon afire with pride, Even as though their beams indeed were sunbeams, and the tall Sceptral stems bore stars whose reign endures, not flowers that fall. Lowlier laughs and basks the kindlier flower of homelier fame, Held by love the sweeter that it blooms in Shakespeare's name, Fragrant yet as though his hand had touched and made it thrill, Like the whole world's heart, with warm new life and gladdening flame. Fair befall the fair green close that lies below the mill!
Softlier here the flower-soft feet of refluent seasons glide, Lightlier breathes the long low note of change's gentler call. Wind and storm and landslip feed the lone sea's gulf outside, Half a seamew's first flight hence; but scarce may these appal Peace, whose perfect seal is set for signet here on all.?Steep and deep and sterile, under fields no plough can tame, Dip the cliffs full-fledged with poppies red as love or shame, Wide wan daisies bleak and bold,