That the heart of the hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear
A roundel is wrought.
Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught–
Love, laughter, or mourning–remembrance of rapture or fear–
That fancy may fashion to hang in the ear of thought.
As a bird’s quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear
Pause answer to pause, and again the same strain caught,
So moves the device whence, round as a pearl or tear,
A roundel is wrought.
Mother fair as the morning, where is now the place of thy foemen found?Still the sea that salutes us free proclaims them stricken, acclaimsthee crowned.Time may change, and the skies grow strange with signs of treason, andfraud, and fear:Foes in union of strange communion may rise against thee from far andnear:Sloth and greed on thy…
(Time, swift to fasten and swift to severHand from hand, as we stand by the sea)I will say no word that a man might sayWhose whole life’s love goes down in a day;For this could never have been; and never,Though the gods and the years relent, shall be.Is it worth a tear, is it worth…
Hope from the front of youth in godlike cheerLooks Godward, past the shades where blind men gropeRound the dark door that prayers nor dreams can ope,And makes for joy the very darkness dearThat gives her wide wings play; nor dreams that fearAt noon may rise and pierce the heart of hope.Then, when the soul leaves…
A babe’s feet, venturing, scarce completeA little way.Eyes full of dawning dayLook up for mother’s eyes to meet,Too blithe for song to say.Glad as the golden spring to greetIts first live leaflet’s play,Love, laughing, leads the little feetA little way.
Yet of the living light that all too soonThree months bade wane.Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain,Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tuneThat death smote silent when he smote again.First went my friend, in life’s mid light of noon,Who loved the lord of music: then the strainWhence earth was kindled…
O wonderful and perfect heart, for whomThe lyrist liberty made life a lyre;O heavenly heart, at whose most dear desireDead love, living and singing, cleft his tomb,And with him risen and regent in death’s roomAll day thy choral pulses rang full choir;O heart whose beating blood was running song,O sole thing sweeter than thine own…
