The Poetical Works Of Robert Bridges Part 65

And suddenly thou stakest all thy charms, And leapest on me; and in thy circling arms When almost stifled with their wild embrace, I feel thy hot tears sheltering on my face.

1901.

6

VIVAMUS

When thou didst give thy love to me, Asking no more of G.o.ds or men I vow'd I would contented be, If Fate should grant us summers ten.

But now that twice the term is sped, And ever young my heart and gay, I fear the words that then I said, And turn my face from Fate away.

To bid thee happily good-bye I have no hope that I can see, No way that I shall bravely die, Unless I give my life for thee.

1901.

7

One grief of thine if truth be confest Was joy to me; for it drave to my breast Thee, to my heart to find thy rest.

How long it was I never shall know: I watcht the earth so stately and slow, And the ancient things that waste and grow.

But now for me what speed devours Our heavenly life, our brilliant hours!

How fast they fly, the stars and flowers!

8

In still midsummer night When the moon is late And the stars all watery and white For her coming wait,

A spirit, whose eyes are possest By wonder new, Pa.s.seth--her arms upon her breast Enwrapt from the dew In a raiment of azure fold With diaper Of flower'd embroidery of gold Bestarr'd with silver.

The daisy folk are awake Their carpet to spread, And the thron'd stars gazing on her make Fresh crowns for her head,

Netted in her floating hair As she drifteth free Between the starriness of the air And the starry lea,

From the silent-shadow'd vale By the west wind drawn Aloft to melt into the pale Moonrise of dawn.

1910.

9

MELANCHOLIA

The sickness of desire, that in dark days Looks on the imagination of despair, Forgetteth man, and stinteth G.o.d his praise; Nor but in sleep findeth a cure for care.

Incertainty that once gave scope to dream Of laughing enterprise and glory untold, Is now a blackness that no stars redeem, A wall of terror in a night of cold.

Fool! thou that hast impossibly desired And now impatiently despairest, see How nought is changed: Joy's wisdom is attired Splendid for others' eyes if not for thee: Not love or beauty or youth from earth is fled: If they delite thee not, 'tis thou art dead.

1904.

10

TO THE PRESIDENT OF MAGDALEN COLLEGE, OXFORD

Since now from woodland mist and flooded clay I am fled beside the steep Devonian sh.o.r.e, Nor stand for welcome at your gothic door, 'Neath the fair tower of Magdalen and May, Such tribute, Warren, as fond poets pay For generous esteem, I write, not more Enhearten'd than my need is, reckoning o'er My life-long wanderings on the heavenly way:

But well-befriended we become good friends, Well-honour'd honourable; and all attain Somewhat by fathering what fortune sends.

I bid your presidency a long reign, True friend; and may your praise to greater ends Aid better men than I, nor me in vain.

11

TO JOSEPH JOACHIM

Belov'd of all to whom that Muse is dear Who hid her spirit of rapture from the Greek, Whereby our art excelleth the antique, Perfecting formal beauty to the ear; Thou that hast been in England many a year The interpreter who left us nought to seek, Making Beethoven's inmost pa.s.sion speak, Bringing the soul of great Sebastian near:

Their music liveth ever, and 'tis just That thou, good Joachim, so high thy skill, Rank (as thou shalt upon the heavenly hill) Laurel'd with them, for thy enn.o.bling trust Remember'd when thy loving hand is still And every ear that heard thee stopt with dust.

12

TO THOS. FLOYD

How fares it, friend, since I by Fate annoy'd Left the old home in need of livelier play For body and mind? How fare, this many a day, The stubborn thews and ageless heart of Floyd?

If not too well with country sport employ'd, Visit my flock, the breezy hill that they Choose for their fold; and see, for thence you may, From rising walls all roofless yet and void,

The lovely city, thronging tower and spire, The mind of the wide landscape, dreaming deep, Grey-silvery in the vale; a shrine where keep Memorial hopes their pale celestial fire: Like man's immortal conscience of desire, The spirit that watcheth in me ev'n in my sleep.

1906.

13

LA GLOIRE DE VOLTAIRE

A DIALOGUE IN VERSE.

A.

_Je donnerais pour revivre a vingt ans L'or de Rothschild, la gloire de Voltaire._ I like that: Beranger in his printems, Voltaire and Rothschild: what three graces there Foot it together! But of old Voltaire, I'd ask what Beranger found so sublime In that man's glory to adorn his rhyme.

Was it mere fame?