Why art thou sad, my dearest,
Since now my voice thou hearest ?
Who with a kiss restore
Thy valour of yore.
WHY hast thou nothing in thy face?
Thou idol of the human race,
Thou tyrant of the human heart,
The flower of lovely youth that art;
Yea, and that standest in thy youth
An image of eternal Truth,
With thy exuberant flesh so fair,
That only Pheidias might compare,
Ere from his chaste marmoreal form
Time had decayed the colours warm ;
Like to his gods in thy proud dress,
Thy starry sheen of nakedness.
Surely thy body is thy mind,
For in thy face is nought to find,
Only thy soft unchristen'd smile,
That shadows neither love nor guile,
But shameless will and power immense,
In secret sensuous innocence.
O king of joy, what is thy thought? I dream thou knowest it is nought, And wouldst in darkness come, but thou Makest the light where'er thou go.
Ah yet no victim of thy grace,
None who e'er long'd for thy embrace,
Hath cared to look upon thy face.
THE FAIR BRASS
AN effigy of brass
Trodden by careless feet
Of worshippers that pass,
Beautiful and complete,
Lieth in the sombre aisle
Of this old church unwreckt,
And still from modern style
Shielded by kind neglect.
It shows a warrior arm'd:
Across his iron breast
His hands by death are charm'd
To leave his sword at rest,
Wherewith he led his men
O'ersea, and smote to hell
The astonisht Saracen,
Nor doubted he did well.
Would we could teach our sons
His trust in face of doom,
Or give our bravest ones
A comparable tomb :
Such as to look on shrives
The heart of half its care;
So in each line survives
The spirit that made it fair;
So fair the characters,
With which the dusty scroll,
That tells his title, stirs
A requiem for his soul.
Yet dearer far to me,
And brave as he are they,
Who fight by land and sea
For England at this day;
Whose vile memorials,
In mournful marbles gilt,
Deface the beauteous walls
By growing glory built :
Heirs of our antique shrines,
Sires of our future fame,
Whose starry honour shines
In many a noble name
Across the deathful days,
Link'd in the brotherhood
That loves our country's praise,
And lives for heavenly good.
SPIRIT of grace and beauty,
Whom men so much miscall:
Maidenly, modest duty,
I cry thee fair befall!
Pity for them that shun thee,
Sorrow for them that hate,
Glory, hath any won thee
To dwell in high estate!
But rather thou delightest
To walk in humble ways,
Keeping thy favour brightest
Uncrown'd by foolish praise;
In such retirement dwelling,
Where, hath the worldling been,
He straight returneth telling
Of sights that he hath seen,
Of simple men and truest
Faces of girl and boy;
The souls whom thou enduest
With gentle peace and joy.
Fair from my song befall thee, Spirit of beauty and grace! Men that so much miscall thee Have never seen thy face.
THE IDLE FLOWERS
I HAVE SOWN upon the fields
Eyebright and Pimpernel,
And Pansy and Poppy-seed
Ripen'd and scatter'd well,
And silver Lady-smock
The meads with light to fill,
Cowslip and Buttercup,
Daisy and Daffodil ;
King-cup and Fleur-de-lys
Upon the marsh to meet
With Comfrey, Watermint,
Loose-strife and Meadowsweet;
And all along the stream
My care hath not forgot
Crowfoot's white galaxy
And love's Forget-me-not:
And where high grasses wave Shall great Moon-daisies blink, With Rattle and Sorrel sharp And Robin's ragged pink.
Thick on the woodland floor
Gay company shall be,
Primrose and Hyacinth
And frail Anemone,
Perennial Strawberry-bloom,
Woodsorrel's pencilled veil,
Dishevel'd Willow-weed
And Orchis purple and pale,
Bugle, that blushes blue,
And Woodruff's snowy gem,
Proud Foxglove's finger-bells
And Spurge with milky stem.
High on the downs so bare, Where thou dost love to climb, Pink Thrift and Milkwort are, Lotus and scented Thyme;
And in the shady lanes Bold Arum's hood of green, Herb Robert, Violet, Starwort and Celandine;
And by the dusty road Bedstraw and Mullein tall, With red Valerian
And Toadflax on the wall,
Yarrow and Chicory,
That hath for hue no like,
Silene and Mallow mild
And Agrimony's spike,
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