Читать книгу A Sheaf of Verses: Poems - Radclyffe Hall - Страница 3
ОглавлениеKINSHIP
Sunlight and shade,
Moorland and glade,
Evening and day,
Winter and May,
Troubadour breeze,
Amorous trees,
Pondering Hills,
Gold daffodils
Born of the Spring,
Thrushes that sing
Passionate notes
From downy throats,
Be unto me
Each one of ye
Sister or brother;
And Earth be my mother!
THE MOON'S MESSAGE
The Moon looked in at the window,
And smiled as I wrote to you,
She lay like a frail white maiden,
In shadowy folds of blue.
Her bosom was bare and tender,
And slight, for she still was young,
And down from her dainty shoulders
A mantle of starlight hung.
She wooed with a wanton ardour
The winds till they lulled to sighs,
And night was transformed with beauty,
For love of her limpid eyes.
The soul of the cloudy darkness
Awakened beneath her beams,
The sky swooned away with longing,
The Earth stirred in tender dreams.
Alas! for the moon was cruel,
Far colder than snow was she,
Her heart was a burnt-out Planet,
Her light but a fallacy:
And she looked at my open letter,
And called from her couch on high,
"Pray give my love to my Sister
Who is even more cold than I."
ON A BATTLE FIELD
Once o'er this hill whereon we stand,
Just you and I, hand clasp'd in hand
Amid the silence, and the space,
A mighty battle rent the air,
With dying curse and choking prayer;
'Mid shot and shell death stalked apace.
Is it conceivable to you—
So much at peace—because we two
Are close together, or to me?
The silent beauty of the noon
Seems like a Heaven-granted boon,
Aglow with tender ecstasy.
A little mist of hazy blue
Is slowly hiding from our view
The city's domes and slender spires,
As thro' a bridal veil the sun
Subdued and shy lights one by one
The virgin clouds with blushing fires.
The wind has fallen; very low
We hear his wings brush past, and know
He creeps away to dream and rest;
How sweet to be alone, to feel
You breathe one longing sigh, and steal
A little closer to my breast.
Is anything worth while but this?
We may not perish for a kiss,
Yet thus it were not hard to die!
War strews the earth with countless dead,
And after all is done and said,
The end is love, and you and I!
TO ——
The world that thro' its vale of tears
Looks out upon Eternity
Has yet one smile for us, and we
Still youthful in the count of years,
May add our smiles, and kiss the lips
Of life, for whosoever sips
The wine within that ruddy bowl
Has quaffed defiance to the spheres.
Beloved, see, I drink thereto!
And pass the goblet on to you.
THE ALL-MOTHER'S AWAKENING
To-day the still, deep mind of the Earth
Has steeped in longing her wistful eyes,
A sense of wonder and glad surprise
Thrills thro' her heart with a thought of birth.
The grave All-Mother looks up and smiles,
Her breath comes balmy from sunlit mouth,
Her bosom bare to the ardent south
Is fanned by perfume from fruitful miles.
All winter long has the dear Earth slept
In drifts of snow, 'neath the bane of frost,
Her children sought for the Mother lost,
Yet found her not, and in anguish wept.
All winter long have my senses cried
For warmth of sun, and the blue of sky,
The hard north answered to mock my sigh,
And all the glory of life denied.
The cold mists drifting on land and sea,
Like ghosts of passions burnt out and chill,
Smote heart and soul with the fear of ill,
That cast its awfulness over me.
The dank gray sails, and the dank gray shore,
They melted each in the other's face,
With clammy kiss, in a wan embrace
That left them colder than e'en before.
And thro' the boughs of the moss-grown trees
The sap flowed sluggish, or not at all,
While here and there would a dead leaf fall,
Like thought of harrowing memories.
Then from the heart of the Universe
There rose a wail of unending woe,
An anguished prayer from the deeps below:
"Oh! Mother, lift from our souls the curse!"
"Oh! Mother, quicken thy sacred womb,
With fire that throbs in the veins of Spring,
Behold the numbness of everything,
And only thou can avert the doom."
"Oh! Mother, hear us!" But silent still
The Earth slept on, as it were in death.
Her ice-bound bosom stirred not with breath,
So fast she lay 'neath the winter's will.
I joined my prayer to the wind and trees,
I joined my cry to the striving soil,
I said, "Oh! Mother, our endless toil
Has made us sicken with miseries.
"Rise up! and help us again to live,
Rise up! uncover thy fruitful breast,
We faint in winter's unrestful rest,
We burn with longings to love and give."
And as I spoke came a voice more strong
Than all creation's, o'er land and sea
It called our Mother to ecstasy,
And lo! she stirred, who had slept so long.
She stirred, she opened her drowsy eyes,
And bending down from the dome above,
Beheld the form of embodied Love,
As Spring stepped Earthward from Paradise.
A SUMMER THOUGHT
I often think that all those vast desires
For purer joys, that thrill the human heart,
Vague yearnings such as solitude inspires,
That nameless something silence can impart,
Could after all be quenched by simple things,
Whose spirits dwell within the wide-eyed flowers,
Or haunt deep glades, where scent of primrose clings
About the garments of the passing hours.
MOTH TO THE FLAME
Moth to the flame!
Fool that you be,
Life's but a game,
Love is the same,
Better go free!
Moth to the fire!
Madness your fate;
Burnt of desire,
If you expire,
Joy comes too late.
Moth to the kiss
Bringing you death!
"Gladly for this
Agonized bliss,
With my last breath
Will I adore
As ne'er before!"
Foolish Moth saith.
A TWILIGHT FANCY
Dear, give me the tips of your fingers
To hold in this scented gloom,
'Mid the sighs of the dying roses,
That steal through the breeze-swept room;
I would have you but lightly touch me,
A phantom might stir the dress,
In its passing, of some lost lover
With just such a faint caress;
Or a butterfly wan with summer
Brush thus with his down-flecked wings
The bells of the altar lilies
He touches, and lightly rings.
So give me the tips of your fingers,
Not your hand, lest I break the spell
Of the moment with too much passion,
And lose what I love so well.
