Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc | Page 9

you of all that bled
Grudged once one drop that fell:?Not one to life reluctant said
Farewell.
V
Strange love they have given you, love disloyal,
Who mock with praise your name,?To leave a head so rare and royal
Too low for praise or blame.
You could not love nor hate, they tell us,
You had nor sense nor sting:?In God's name, then, what plague befell us
To fight for such a thing?
"Some faults the gods will give," to fetter
Man's highest intent:?But surely you were something better
Than innocent!
No maid that strays with steps unwary
Through snares unseen,?But one to live and die for; Mary,
The Queen.
VI
Forgive them all their praise, who blot
Your fame with praise of you:?Then love may say, and falter not,
Adieu.
Yet some you hardly would forgive
Who did you much less wrong?Once: but resentment should not live
Too long.
They never saw your lip's bright bow,
Your swordbright eyes,?The bluest of heavenly things below
The skies.
Clear eyes that love's self finds most like
A swordblade's blue,?A swordblade's ever keen to strike,
Adieu.
VII
Though all things breathe or sound of fight
That yet make up your spell,?To bid you were to bid the light
Farewell.
Farewell the song says only, being
A star whose race is run:?Farewell the soul says never, seeing
The sun.
Yet, wellnigh as with flash of tears,
The song must say but so?That took your praise up twenty years
Ago.
More bright than stars or moons that vary,
Sun kindling heaven and hell,?Here, after all these years, Queen Mary,
Farewell.
HERSE
When grace is given us ever to behold
A child some sweet months old,?Love, laying across our lips his finger, saith,
Smiling, with bated breath,?Hush! for the holiest thing that lives is here,
And heaven's own heart how near!?How dare we, that may gaze not on the sun,
Gaze on this verier one??Heart, hold thy peace; eyes, be cast down for shame;
Lips, breathe not yet its name.?In heaven they know what name to call it; we,
How should we know? For, see!?The adorable sweet living marvellous
Strange light that lightens us?Who gaze, desertless of such glorious grace,
Full in a babe's warm face!?All roses that the morning rears are nought,
All stars not worth a thought,?Set this one star against them, or suppose
As rival this one rose.?What price could pay with earth's whole weight of gold
One least flushed roseleaf's fold?Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine
From each warm curve and line,?Each charm of flower-sweet flesh, to reillume
The dappled rose-red bloom?Of all its dainty body, honey-sweet
Clenched hands and curled-up feet,?That on the roses of the dawn have trod
As they came down from God,?And keep the flush and colour that the sky
Takes when the sun comes nigh,?And keep the likeness of the smile their grace
Evoked on God's own face?When, seeing this work of his most heavenly mood,
He saw that it was good??For all its warm sweet body seems one smile,
And mere men's love too vile?To meet it, or with eyes that worship dims
Read o'er the little limbs,?Read all the book of all their beauties o'er,
Rejoice, revere, adore,?Bow down and worship each delight in turn,
Laugh, wonder, yield, and yearn.?But when our trembling kisses dare, yet dread,
Even to draw nigh its head,?And touch, and scarce with touch or breath surprise
Its mild miraculous eyes?Out of their viewless vision--O, what then,
What may be said of men??What speech may name a new-born child? what word
Earth ever spake or heard??The best men's tongue that ever glory knew
Called that a drop of dew?Which from the breathing creature's kindly womb
Came forth in blameless bloom.?We have no word, as had those men most high,
To call a baby by.?Rose, ruby, lily, pearl of stormless seas--
A better word than these,?A better sign it was than flower or gem
That love revealed to them:?They knew that whence comes light or quickening flame,
Thence only this thing came,?And only might be likened of our love
To somewhat born above,?Not even to sweetest things dropped else on earth,
Only to dew's own birth.?Nor doubt we but their sense was heavenly true,
Babe, when we gaze on you,?A dew-drop out of heaven whose colours are
More bright than sun or star,?As now, ere watching love dare fear or hope,
Lips, hands, and eyelids ope,?And all your life is mixed with earthly leaven.
O child, what news from heaven?
TWINS
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED TO W. M. R. AND L. R.
April, on whose wings?Ride all gracious things,?Like the star that brings?All things good to man,?Ere his light, that yet?Makes the month shine, set,?And fair May forget?Whence her birth began,
Brings, as heart would choose,?Sound of golden news,?Bright as kindling dews?When the dawn begins;?Tidings clear as mirth,?Sweet as air and earth?Now that hail the birth,?Twice thus blest, of twins.
In the lovely land?Where with hand in hand?Lovers wedded stand?Other joys before?Made your mixed life sweet:?Now, as Time sees meet,?Three glad blossoms greet?Two glad blossoms more.
Fed with sun and dew,?While your joys were new,?First arose and grew?One bright olive-shoot:?Then a fair and fine?Slip of warm-haired pine?Felt the sweet sun shine?On its leaf and fruit.
And it wore for mark?Graven on the dark?Beauty of its bark?That the noblest