Part 15

THE full sea rolls and thunders In glory and in glee. O, bury me not in the senseless earth But in the living sea!

Ay, bury me where it surges A thousand miles from shore, And in its brotherly unrest I’ll range for evermore.

1876

XXV

IN the year that’s come and gone, love, his flying feather Stooping slowly, gave us heart, and bade us walk together. In the year that’s coming on, though many a troth be broken, We at least will not forget aught that love hath spoken.

In the year that’s come and gone, dear, we wove a tether All of gracious words and thoughts, binding two together. In the year that’s coming on with its wealth of roses We shall weave it stronger, yet, ere the circle closes.

In the year that’s come and gone, in the golden weather, Sweet, my sweet, we swore to keep the watch of life together. In the year that’s coming on, rich in joy and sorrow, We shall light our lamp, and wait life’s mysterious morrow.

1877

XXVI

IN the placid summer midnight, Under the drowsy sky, I seem to hear in the stillness The moths go glimmering by.

One by one from the windows The lights have all been sped. Never a blind looks conscious— The street is asleep in bed!

But I come where a living casement Laughs luminous and wide; I hear the song of a piano Break in a sparkling tide;

And I feel, in the waltz that frolics And warbles swift and clear, A sudden sense of shelter And friendliness and cheer . . .

A sense of tinkling glasses, Of love and laughter and light— The piano stops, and the window Stares blank out into the night.

The blind goes out, and I wander To the old, unfriendly sea, The lonelier for the memory That walks like a ghost with me.

XXVII

SHE sauntered by the swinging seas, A jewel glittered at her ear, And, teasing her along, the breeze Brought many a rounded grace more near.

So passing, one with wave and beam, She left for memory to caress A laughing thought, a golden gleam, A hint of hidden loveliness.

1876

XXVIII To S. C.

BLITHE dreams arise to greet us, And life feels clean and new, For the old love comes to meet us In the dawning and the dew. O’erblown with sunny shadows, O’ersped with winds at play, The woodlands and the meadows Are keeping holiday. Wild foals are scampering, neighing, Brave merles their hautboys blow: Come! let us go a-maying As in the Long-Ago.

Here we but peak and dwindle: The clank of chain and crane, The whir of crank and spindle Bewilder heart and brain; The ends of our endeavour Are merely wealth and fame, Yet in the still Forever We’re one and all the same; Delaying, still delaying, We watch the fading west: Come! let us go a-maying, Nor fear to take the best.

Yet beautiful and spacious The wise, old world appears. Yet frank and fair and gracious Outlaugh the jocund years. Our arguments disputing, The universal Pan Still wanders fluting—fluting— Fluting to maid and man. Our weary well-a-waying His music cannot still: Come! let us go a-maying, And pipe with him our fill.

When wanton winds are flowing Among the gladdening glass; Where hawthorn brakes are blowing, And meadow perfumes pass; Where morning’s grace is greenest, And fullest noon’s of pride; Where sunset spreads serenest, And sacred night’s most wide; Where nests are swaying, swaying, And spring’s fresh voices call, Come! let us go a-maying, And bless the God of all!

1878

XXIX To R. L. S.

A CHILD, Curious and innocent, Slips from his Nurse, and rejoicing Loses himself in the Fair.

Thro’ the jostle and din Wandering, he revels, Dreaming, desiring, possessing; Till, of a sudden Tired and afraid, he beholds The sordid assemblage Just as it is; and he runs With a sob to his Nurse (Lighting at last on him), And in her motherly bosom Cries him to sleep.