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Gone are the fair old dreams, and one by one, As, one by one, the means to reach them went, As, one by one, the stars in riot and disgrace, I squandered what . . .
There shut the door, alas! on many a hope Too many; My face is set to the autumnal slope, Where the loud winds shall . . .
There shut the door, alas! on many a hope, And yet some hopes remain that shall decide My rest of years and down the autumnal slope.
Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I Loved, as all men have loved them; gone!
I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on high- Dreams of the knight's stout heart and tempered will.
Not in Elysian lands they take their way; Not as of yore across the gay champaign, Towards some dream city, towered . . .
and my . . .
The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain, Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky November's russet woodlands toss and wail, Still the white road goes thro' them, still may I, Strong in new purpose, G.o.d, may still prevail.
I and my like, improvident sailors!
At whose light fall awaking, all my heart Grew populous with gracious, favoured thought, And all night long thereafter, hour by hour, The pageant of dead love before my eyes Went proudly, and old hopes with downcast head Followed like Kings, subdued in Rome's imperial hour, Followed the car; and I . . .
SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O G.o.d
SINCE thou hast given me this good hope, O G.o.d, That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod And the great woods embower me, and white dawn And purple even sweetly lead me on From day to day, and night to night, O G.o.d, My life shall no wise miss the light of love; But ever climbing, climb above Man's one poor star, man's supine lands, Into the azure steadfastness of death, My life shall no wise lack the light of love, My hands not lack the loving touch of hands; But day by day, while yet I draw my breath, And day by day, unto my last of years, I shall be one that has a perfect friend.
Her heart shall taste my laughter and my tears, And her kind eyes shall lead me to the end.
G.o.d GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART
G.o.d gave to me a child in part, Yet wholly gave the father's heart: Child of my soul, O whither now, Unborn, unmothered, goest thou?
You came, you went, and no man wist; Hapless, my child, no breast you kist; On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb, Nor knew the kindly feel of home.
My voice may reach you, O my dear- A father's voice perhaps the child may hear; And, pitying, you may turn your view On that poor father whom you never knew.
Alas! alone he sits, who then, Immortal among mortal men, Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through With your dear mother wondered over you.
OVER THE LAND IS APRIL
OVER the land is April, Over my heart a rose; Over the high, brown mountain The sound of singing goes.
Say, love, do you hear me, Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain, Love, do you hear me sing?
By highway, love, and byway The snows succeed the rose.
Over the high, brown mountain The wind of winter blows.
Say, love, do you hear me, Hear my sonnets ring?
Over the high, brown mountain I sound the song of spring, I throw the flowers of spring.
Do you hear the song of spring?
Hear you the songs of spring?
LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START
LIGHT as the linnet on my way I start, For all my pack I bear a chartered heart.
Forth on the world without a guide or chart, Content to know, through all man's varying fates, The eternal woman by the wayside waits.
COME, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY
COME, here is adieu to the city And hurrah for the country again.
The broad road lies before me Watered with last night's rain.
The timbered country woos me With many a high and bough; And again in the s.h.i.+ning fallows The ploughman follows the plough.
The whole year's sweat and study, And the whole year's sowing time, Comes now to the perfect harvest, And ripens now into rhyme.
For we that sow in the Autumn, We reap our grain in the Spring, And we that go sowing and weeping Return to reap and sing.
IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE
IT blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year; The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier.
The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro, A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane.
Autumn leaves and rain, The pa.s.sion of the gale.
NE SIT ANCILLae TIBI AMOR PUDOR
