Collected Poems Volume I Part 34

A drizzle of drifting rain And a blurred white lamp o'erhead, That shines as my love will shine again In the world of the dead.

Round me the wet black night, And, afar in the limitless gloom, Crimson and green, two blossoms of light, Two stars of doom.

But the night of death is aflare With a torch of back-blown fire, And the coal-black deeps of the quivering air Rend for my soul's desire.

Leap, heart, for the pulse and the roar And the lights of the streaming train That leaps with the heart of thy love once more Out of the mist and the rain.

Out of the desolate years The thundering pageant flows; But I see no more than a window of tears Which her face has turned to a rose.

OXFORD REVISITED

Changed and estranged, like a ghost, I pa.s.s the familiar portals, Echoing now like a tomb, they accept me no more as of old; Yet I go wistfully onward, a shade thro' a kingdom of mortals Wanting a face to greet me, a hand to grasp and to hold.

Hardly I know as I go if the beautiful City is only Mocking me under the moon, with its streams and its willows agleam, Whether the City or friends or I that am friendless and lonely, Whether the boys that go by or the time-worn towers be the dream;

Whether the walls that I know, or the unknown fugitive faces, Faces like those that I loved, faces that haunt and waylay, Faces so like and unlike, in the dim unforgettable places, Startling the heart into sickness that aches with the sweet of the May,--

Whether all these or the world with its wars be the wandering shadows!

Ah, sweet over green-gloomed waters the may hangs, crimson and white; And quiet canoes creep down by the warm gold dusk of the meadows, Lapping with little splashes and ripples of silvery light.

Others as I have returned: I shall see the old faces to-morrow, Down by the gay-coloured barges, alert for the throb of the oars, Wanting to row once again, or tenderly jesting with sorrow Up the old stairways and noting the strange new names on the doors.

Is it a dream? And I know not nor care if there be an awaking Ever at all any more, for the years that have torn us apart, Few, so few as they are, will ever be rending and breaking: Sooner by far than I knew have they wrought this change for my heart!

Well; I grow used to it now! Could the dream but remain and for ever, With the flowers round the grey quadrangle laughing as time grows old!

For the waters go down to the sea, but the sky still gleams on the river!

We plucked them--but there shall be lilies, ivory lilies and gold.

And still, in the beautiful City, the river of life is no duller, Only a little strange as the eighth hour dreamily chimes, In the City of friends and echoes, ribbons and music and colour, Lilac and blossoming chestnut, willows and whispering limes.

Over the Radcliffe Dome the moon as the ghost of a flower Weary and white awakes in the phantom fields of the sky: The trustful shepherded clouds are asleep over steeple and tower, Dark under Magdalen walls the Cher like a dream goes by.

Back, we come wandering back, poor ghosts, to the home that one misses Out in the shelterless world, the world that was heaven to us then, Back from the coil and the vastness, the stars and the boundless abysses, Like monks from a pilgrimage stealing in bliss to their cloisters again.

City of dreams that we lost, accept now the gift we inherit-- Love, such a love as we knew not of old in the blaze of our noon, We that have found thee at last, half City, half heavenly Spirit, While over a mist of spires the sunset mellows the moon.

THE THREE SHIPS

(_To an old Tune_)

I

As I went up the mountain-side, The sea below me glittered wide, And, Eastward, far away, I spied On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, The three great ships that take the tide On Christmas Day in the morning.

II

Ye have heard the song, how these must ply From the harbours of home to the ports o' the sky!

Do ye dream none knoweth the whither and why On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, The three great ships go sailing by On Christmas Day in the morning?

III

Yet, as I live, I never knew That ever a song could ring so true, Till I saw them break thro' a haze of blue On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; And the marvellous ancient flags they flew On Christmas Day in the morning!

IV

From the heights above the belfried town I saw that the sails were patched and brown, But the flags were a-flame with a great renown On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, And on every mast was a golden crown On Christmas Day in the morning.

V

Most marvellous ancient ships were these!

Were their prows a-plunge to the Chersonese?

For the pomp of Rome or the glory of Greece, On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day, Were they out on a quest for the Golden Fleece On Christmas Day in the morning?

VI

And the sun and the wind they told me there How goodly a load the three ships bear, For the first is gold and the second is myrrh On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day; And the third is frankincense most rare On Christmas Day in the morning.

VII

They have mixed their shrouds with the golden sky, They have faded away where the last dreams die ...

Ah yet, will ye watch, when the mist lifts high On Christmas Day, on Christmas Day?

Will ye see three ships come sailing by On Christmas Day in the morning?

SLUMBER-SONGS OF THE MADONNA

PRELUDE

Dante saw the great white Rose Half unclose; Dante saw the golden bees Gathering from its heart of gold Sweets untold, Love's most honeyed harmonies.