Classic Poem

I.

Not of thee, Melancholy,
But rather of joy's ceaseless summer sky
And all the rapture holy
That on the snow-white breast of love doth sigh
I'd sing, — and not of heaven
With endless golden harp and golden crown
But of the stars of even
And all the autumnal waving corn gold-brown
And all the woodlands' glory
When wild October gilds them with bright hand
And the long sea-waves hoary
Which fleck with rainbow foam the glittering sand: —
Not of the angelic glances
But of our women's eyes of sober grey
Through which the sweet love dances
And of their feet that linger in the way
And of their heaven of passion
Wherein the souls that worship them may dwell
I sing, — in the old Greek fashion,
For flowerless loveless heaven to me is hell.

II.

I sing of hedgerow roses
And quiet violets nestling in the green
And vales where love reposes
And meads where in the grass his hand is seen
Flowerlike amid the flowers,
White 'mid the lilies, scented 'mid the may:
I sing of the soft bowers
Where love was radiant in the world's young day
Before the need of higher
And holier loftier rapture — so they said —
Thwarted love's living lyre
And marred the sunshine on his golden head.

III.

I sing of woman diviner
Than loveless shapeless women of our day:
I crown her, and assign her
The chiefest holiest place within my lay.
Before she sought for other
Than the sweet love of earth, lo! it was well;
Beauty was perfect mother
To passion: she was godlike ere she fell.
But now strange thoughts possess her
And dreams of far-off stars and alien skies
And the cold winds caress her
And the sweet laugh hath vanished from her eyes
And the old-world rapture ceases
And woman bends beneath another yoke
Than man's, — and care increases
And what her hand first fashioned, then it broke.

IV.

But for us life suffices
And all its tender joys and dreamful ways:
It lures us and entices
With all its suns and winds and moony rays
And magic months of summer
When the soft air breathes infinite sweet calm
And each rose, glad new-comer,
Folds secrets infinite in pink-white palm.
And when these fail, and, weary,
We face the wintry gloom and death draws nigh
With garb and brow most dreary
And secrets of the tomb in sunless eye
And laughter indecorous,
It shall be sweet and of avail to know
That loves in passionate chorus
Sang round us, rose-wreathed, long strange years ago
And that we sang, soft-timing
Our song to all the waters' gracious tune
With winds for ever chiming
And following the chaste guidance of the moon: —
That once for us the splendour
Of the undying summer's bosom beamed,
Ripe, copious, bounteous, tender,
And once for us the summer's dark eyes gleamed
Responsive and alluring
Till our young hearts sprang forth upon the road,
Fierce, eager, long-enduring,
While round us all the rident morning glowed;
And though the night hath found us
And we too fade and fall and pass away
Once sacred morning crowned us
And love our call would answer and obey
And we were full of daring
And swift hearts failed not at love's voice to leap
Though night is now preparing
Gloom for us, and the inevitable sleep.