And brisk upon my way I smote the stroke to sever, And should have lost that day My life's delight for ever; But when I saw her start And turn aside and tremble ; — Ah! To rob the night of mystery, or the flowers Of their sweet delicacy ere they go? She also came and heard; O my joy, What, said she, is this word? Lay the stern in beneath this bowering tree! Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains, Ye anthems of plaintive woe, My spirit was sad when I was young ; Ah sorrowful long-ago! Many an afternoon Of the summer day Dreaming here I lay; And I know how soon, Idly at its hour, First the deep bell hums From the minster tower, And then evening comes, Creeping up the glade, With her lengthening shade, And the tardy boon, Of her brightening moon. One phrase was all his pleading, He spoke of love and home: To her who gave him heeding He sang his question, ' Come. O pool and flowery thickets, hear my vow! The laughing timbrels of June, That curtained the birds' cradles, and screened their song, That sheltered the cooing doves at noon, Of airy fans the delicate throng, — Torn and scattered around: Far out afield they lie, In the watery furrows die, In grassy pools of the flood they sink and drown, Green-golden, orange, vermilion, golden and brown, The high year's flaunting crown Shattered and trampled down. With brightest visions our fond hopes repair, Or crown our melancholy with despair; From death, still death, still would a comfort come : Since of this world the essential joy must fall In all distributed, in each thing some, In nothing all, and all complete in all ; Till pleasure, ageing to her full increase, Puts on perfection, and is throned in peace. My spirit sang all day Oh my joy Nothing my tongue could say Only my joy My heart an echo caught Oh my joy And spake Tell me thy thought Hide not thy joy My eyes can peer around Oh my joy What beauty hast thou found? And on this side the island, where the pool Eddies away, are tangled mass on mass The water-weeds, that net the fishes cool, And scarce allow a narrow stream to pass; Where spreading crowfoot mars The drowning nenuphars, Waving the tassels of her silken grass Below her silver stars.
We shall row safely home; only too soon, — So pleasant 'tis, whether we float or pull. So let us bear her out where she must meet him. Aching and hot as my tired eyes be, She is all that I wish to see. I heard a linnet courting His lady in the spring; His mates were idly sporting, Nor stayed to hear him sing His song of love. I love my lady's eyes I made another song I praise the tender flower I saw the Virgin-mother I stand on the cliff I will not let thee go Joy, sweetest life-born joy Let praise devote thy work Let us, as by this verdant bank Long are the hours the sun is above Love on my heart from heaven fell My bed and pillow are cold My eyes for beauty pine My spirit kisseth thine.
Like autumn flowers that brave the frost, And make their show when hope is lost, These 'mong the fruits and mellow scent Mourn not the high-sunned summer spent. Pd make my depths transparent, And still, that she should lean O'er the boat's edge, to ponder The sights that swam between. The wanderer, loitering o'er the scene enchanted, Weeps, and despairs of spring. Smile of love, a flower planted, Sprung in the garden of joy that art: Eyes that shine witha glow enchanted, Whose spreading fires encircle my heart, And warm with a noon-ray drenched in fire My land of delight, my land of desire! No, 19 is a pretty close translation of a poem by Th6ophile Gautier, which is itself a translation from the English by Thomas Moore in The Epicurean. The freshets are unbound, And leaping from the hill, Their mossy banks refill With streams of light and sound : And scattered down the meads, From hour to hour unfold A thousand buds and beads In stars and cups of gold.
Again shall pleasure overflow Thy cup with sweetness, thou shalt taste Nothing but sweetness, and shalt grow Half sad for sweetness run to waste. But a knock at the door, a step on the stair Will startle, alas, my love from her chair. So I lay thee there, thy sunken eyelids closing, — Go lie thou there in thy coffin, thy last little bed! I there before thee, in the country so well thou knowest, Already arrived am inhaling the odorous air: I watch thee enter unerringly where thou goest, And anchor queen of the strange shipping there, Thy sails for awnings spread, thy masts bare: Nor is aught from the foaming reef to the snow- capped, grandest Peak, that is over the feathery palms more fair Than thou, so upright, so stately, and still thou standest. Now he that loves indeed His pleasure must awake, Lest any pleasure take Its flight, and he not heed; For of his few short years Another now invites His hungry soul, and cheers His life with new delights. Let us, as by this verdant bank we float, Search down the marge to find some shady pool; Where we may rest awhile and moor our boat, And bathe our tired limbs in the waters cool.
She has no lovers like the red, That dances with the noble corn: Her blossoms on the waves are shed, Where she stands shivering and forlorn. From distant hills their shadows creep, Arrive in turn and mount the lea, And flit across the downs, and leap Sheer off the cliff upon the sea ; And sail and sail far out of sight. Assemble, all ye maidens Awake, my heart, to be loved A winter's night with the snow about Because thou canst not see. In lofty thought strive, O spirit, for ever: In courage and strength pursue thine own endeavour. No sight of man, nor sight of life, no stroke, No voice the somnolence and silence broke. Fire of heaven, whose starry arrow Pierces the veil of timeless night: Molten spheres, whose tempests narrow Their floods to a beam of gentle light: To charm with a moon-ray quenched from fire The land of delight, the land of desire! Ends all our month-long love in this? Beneath the noonday sun, Swiftly, O river, run! Will Love again awake, That lies asleep so long? Last modified: 2014-06-16 10:01:22 Line count: 25 Word count: 103 Gentle Reminder This website began in 1995 as a personal project, and I have been working on it full-time without a salary since 2008.
I hold thee by too many bands: Thou sayest farewell, and lo! The idle life I lead The pinks along my garden walk9. Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! On high the hot sun smiles, and banks of cloud uptower In bulging heads that crowd for miles the dazzlin south. And yet if voices of fancy's choir Again in mine ear awake Your old lament, 'tis dear to me still, Nor all for memory's sake : 'Tis like the dirge of sorrow dead, Whose tears are wiped away; Or drops of the shower, when rain is o'er, That jewel the brightened day. About All Saints Fulham Choir The All Saints Fulham Church is the home of three choirs. Wherefore to-night so full of care, My soul, revolving hopeless strife, Pointing at hindrance, and the bare Painful escapes of fitful life? For on this path, at every turn and corner, The fancy of her figure on me falls: Yet walks she with the slow step of a mourner, Nor hears my voice that calls. Because thou canst not see, Because thou canst not know The black and hopeless woe That hath encompassed me: Because, should I confess The thought of my despair, My words would wound thee less Than swords can hurt the air: Because with thee I seem As one invited near To taste the faery cheer Of spirits in a dream ; Of whom he knoweth nought Save that they vie to make All motion, voice and thought A pleasure for his sake: Therefore more sweet and strange Has been the mystery Of thy long love to me, That doth not quit, nor change, Nor tax my solemn heart, That kisseth in a gloom, Knowing not who thou art That givest, nor to whom. Tis fled: but I thought to-day 1 never could here abide, If thou wert longer away.
While pleasure yet can be Pleasant, and fancy sweet, I bid all care retreat From my philosophy; Which, when I come to try Your simpler life, will find, I doubt not, joys to vie With those I leave behind. Gome more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake, And awake my heart to be loved : awake, awake! No toil he maketh his by day, No home his own by night ; But wheresoe'er he take his way, He killeth our delight. Her dress was greener than the tenderest leaf That trembled in the sunset glare aglow: Herself more delicate than is the brief, Pink apple-blossom, that May showers lay low, And more delicious than 's the earliest streak The blushing rose shows of her crimson cheek. But deep in the glen's bosom Summer slept in the fire Of the odorous gorse-blossom And the hot scent of the brier. As still I dream 'tis me whom thou invitest, Me thou delightest? There as I sit, from her head thrown back Her hair falls straight in a shadow black. Would that my verse spake clearer, Their tender loves! My heart an echo caught — O my joy— And spake, Tell me thy thought, Hide not thy joy. Whither, O splendid ship, thy white sails crowding, Leaning across the bosom of the urgent West, That fearest nor sea rising, nor sky clouding, Whither away, fair rover, and what thy quest? But if a maiden with her lips Suck from the wound the blood that drips, And drink the poison from the wound, The simple remedy is found That of their deadly terror strips His poisoned shafts.
Although 'tis not yet spring And keen the air; Hale Winter, half resigning ere he go, Doth to his heiress shew His kingdom fair. And every eve I say, Noting my step in bliss, That I have known no day In all my life like this. Or deep in wintertide When winds without make moan, I love my own fireside Not least when most alone. Where is this bower beside the silver Thames? Of two things open left for lovers parted 'Twas thine to scorn the past and go lighthearted : But I would ever dream I still possess it, And thus caress it. Then oft I turn the page In which our country's name, Spoiling the Greek of fame, Shall sound in every age: Or some Terentian play Renew, whose excellent Adjusted folds betray How once Menander went. The last clouds fare With fainting speed, and their thin streamers fly In melting drifts of the sky.
If you are a member of a group, you will not see the files if the group membership has expired. Again with pleasant green All women born. Then what charm company Can give, know I, — if wine Go round, or throats combine To set dumb music free. Fly with delight, fly hence! Was it a snake lay curling About the root's thick crown? The cliff- top has a carpet Of lilac gold and green : The blue sky bounds the ocean, The white clouds scud between. Yet is thy perfume sweet; Thy petals red Yet tell of summer heat, And the gay bed: Yet yet recall the glow Of the gazing sun, When at thy bush we two Joined hands in one. For what wert thou to me? He gives the creaking sails a spin, The circling millstones faster flee, The shuddering timbers groan within, And down the shoots the meal runs free. He worked on translating and updating several hymns for the many of which are still in use today including All My Hope on God Is Founded and O Sacred Head, Sore Wounded.
But swim not far in the stream, the weeds grow thick, And hot on the bare head the sunbeams shoot. My eyes gan peer around, O my joy What beauty hast thou found? To a world, do I think, that rights the disaster of this? And so I sit here night by night, In rest and enjoyment of love's delight. Si In quiet days for a time Sad Autumn lingering warm Shall humour their faded prime. Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires : That are my soul herself in pangs sublime Rising and flying to heaven before her time : What doth tempt you forth To drown in the south or shiver in the frosty north? Beyond, deserted wharfs and vacant sheds, With empty boats and barges moored along, And rafts half sunken, fringed with weedy shreds, And sodden beams, once soaked to season strong. All through that idle afternoon we strayed Upon our proposed travel well begun, As loitering by the woodland's dreamy shade, Past shallow islets floating in the sun, Or searching down the banks for rarer flowers We lingered out the pleasurable hours.