The Home Book of Verse Volume Iii Part 57

I heard the dream of lovers, as they found At last their hour of bliss, And fear and pain and long suspense were drowned In one heart-healing kiss.

I heard the lullaby of babes, that grew To sons and daughters fair; And childhood's angels, singing as they flew, And sobs of secret prayer.

I heard the voyagers who seemed to sail Into the sapphire sky, And sad, weird voices in the autumn gale, As the swift ships went by;

And sighs suppressed and converse soft and low About the sufferer's bed, And what is uttered when the stricken know That the dear one is dead;

And steps of those who, in the Sabbath light, Muse with transfigured face; And hot lips pressing, through the long, dark night, The pillow's empty place;

And fervent greetings of old friends, whose path In youth had gone apart, But to each other brought life's aftermath, With uncorroded heart.

The music of the seasons touched the strain, Bird-joy and laugh of flowers, The orchard's bounty and the yellow grain, Snow storm and sunny showers;

And secrets of the soul that doubts and yearns And gropes in regions dim, Till, meeting Christ with raptured eye, discerns Its perfect life in Him.

So, thinking of the Master and his tears, And how the birds are kept, I sank in arms that folded me from fears, And like an infant, slept.

Horatio Nelson Powers [1826-1890]

ITYLUS

Swallow, my sister, O sister swallow, How can thine heart be full of the spring?

A thousand summers are over and dead.

What hast thou found in the spring to follow?

What hast thou found in thine heart to sing?

What wilt thou do when the summer is shed?

O swallow, sister, O fair swift swallow, Why wilt thou fly after spring to the south, The soft south whither thine heart is set?

Shall not the grief of the old time follow?

Shall not the song thereof cleave to thy mouth?

Hast thou forgotten ere I forget?

Sister, my sister, O fleet sweet swallow, Thy way is long to the sun and the south; But I, fulfilled of my heart's desire, Shedding my song upon height, upon hollow, From tawny body and sweet small mouth Feed the heart of the night with fire.

I the nightingale all spring through, O swallow, sister, O changing swallow, All spring through till the spring be done, Clothed with the light of the night on the dew, Sing, while the hours and the wild birds follow, Take flight and follow and find the sun.

Sister, my sister, O soft light swallow, Though all things feast in the spring's guest-chamber, How hast thou heart to be glad thereof yet?

For where thou fliest I shall not follow, Till life forget and death remember, Till thou remember and I forget.

Swallow, my sister, O singing swallow, I know not how thou hast heart to sing.

Hast thou the heart? is it all pa.s.sed over?

Thy lord the summer is good to follow, And fair the feet of thy lover the spring: But what wilt thou say to the spring thy lover?

O swallow, sister, O fleeting swallow, My heart in me is a molten ember And over my head the waves have met.

But thou wouldst tarry or I would follow Could I forget or thou remember, Couldst thou remember and I forget.

O sweet stray sister, O shifting swallow, The heart's division divideth us.

Thy heart is light as a leaf of a tree; But mine goes forth among sea-gulfs hollow To the place of the slaying of Itylus, The feast of Daulis, the Thracian sea.

O swallow, sister, O rapid swallow, I pray thee sing not a little s.p.a.ce.

Are not the roofs and the lintels wet?

The woven web that was plain to follow, The small slain body, the flower-like face, Can I remember if thou forget?

O sister, sister, thy first-begotten!

The hands that cling and the feet that follow, The voice of the child's blood crying yet, Who hath remembered me? who hath forgotten?

Thou hast forgotten, O summer swallow, But the world shall end when I forget.

Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909]

THE THROSTLE

"Summer is coming, summer is coming, I know it, I know it, I know it.

Light again, leaf again, life again, love again,"

Yes, my wild little Poet.

Sing the new year in under the blue.

Last year you sang it as gladly.

"New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new That you should carol so madly?

"Love again, song again, nest again, young again,"

Never a prophet so crazy!

And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend, See, there is hardly a daisy.

"Here again, here, here, here, happy year!"

O warble unchidden, unbidden!

Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, And all the winters are hidden.

Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]

OVERFLOW

Hush!

With sudden gush As from a fountain, sings in yonder bush The Hermit Thrush.

Hark!

Did ever Lark With swifter scintillations fling the spark That fires the dark?

Again, Like April rain Of mist and sunshine mingled, moves the strain O'er hill and plain.

Strong As love, O Song, In flame or torrent sweep through Life along, O'er grief and wrong.