Sixteen Poems | Page 5

and we may grieve?Until the perfect closing of the night.?Listen to us, thou gray Autumnal Eve,?Whose part is silence. At thy verge the clouds?Are broken into melancholy gold;?The waifs of Autumn and the feeble flow'rs?Glimmer along our woodlands in wet light;?Within thy shadow thou dost weave the shrouds?Of joy and great adventure, waxing cold,?Which once, or so it seemed, were full of might.?Some power it was, that lives not with us now,?A thought we had, but could not, could not hold.?O sweetly, swiftly pass'd:--air sings and murmurs;?Green leaves are gathering on the dewy bough;?O sadly, swiftly pass'd:--air sighs and mutters;?Red leaves are dropping on the rainy mould.?Then comes the snow, unfeatured, vast, and white.?O what is gone from us, we fancied ours?--
THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE
When the spinning-room was here?Came Three Damsels, clothed in white,?With their spindles every night;?One and Two and three fair Maidens,?Spinning to a pulsing cadence,?Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;?Till the eleventh hour was toll'd,?Then departed through the wold.
Years ago, and years ago;?And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Three white Lilies, calm and clear,?And they were loved by every one;?Most of all, the Pastor's Son,?Listening to their gentle singing,?Felt his heart go from him, clinging?Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere.?Sued each night to make them stay,?Sadden'd when they went away.
Years ago, and years ago;?And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Hands that shook with love and fear?Dared put back the village clock,--?Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock,?Flow'd the song with subtle rounding,?Till the false 'eleven' was sounding;?Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere?Swiftly, softly, left the room,?Like three doves on snowy plume.
Years ago, and years ago;?And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
One that night who wander'd near?Heard lamentings by the shore,?Saw at dawn three stains of gore?In the waters fade and dwindle.?Never more with song and spindle?Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere,?The Pastor's Son did pine and die;?Because true love should never lie.
Years ago, and years ago;?And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
TWILIGHT VOICES
Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals?Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere,?Heaven and Hell from invisible portals?Breathing comfort and ghastly fear,
Voices I hear;?I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,?Wavering by on the dusky blast,--?'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;?Come, let us go, for the day is past!'
Troops of joys are they, now departed??Winged hopes that no longer stay??Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted??Powers that have linger'd their latest day?
What do they say??What do they sing? I hear them calling,?Whispering, gathering, flying fast,--?'Come, come, for the night is falling;?Come, come, for the day is past!'
Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted;?Mortal, thy sands of life run low;?Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:?Time is ending;--we go, we go.'
Sing they so??Mystical voices, floating, calling;?Dim farewells--the last, the last??Come, come away, the night is falling;?'Come, come away, the day is past.'
See, I am ready, Twilight voices!?Child of the spirit-world am I;?How should I fear you? my soul rejoices,?O speak plainer! O draw nigh!
Fain would I fly!?Tell me your message, Ye who are calling?Out of the dimness vague and vast;?Lift me, take me,--the night is falling;?Quick, let us go,--the day is past.
THE LOVER AND BIRDS
Within a budding grove,?In April's ear sang every bird his best,?But not a song to pleasure my unrest,?Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love;?Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.
To every word
Of every bird
I listen'd, and replied as it behove.

Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet!
Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!'?'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb awhile, in fear?Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,?And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.'
Yet from a twig,
With voice so big,
The little fowl his utterance did repeat.
Then I, 'The man forlorn?Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.'?'And what'll he do? What'll he do?' scoff'd?The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn,?Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft
With cackling laugh;
Whom I, being half
Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn.