The rich mould of dead men's graves. Whole ages have fled and their works decayed, But the stout old Ivy shall never fade, The brave old plant in its lonely days, For the stateliest building man can raise, Creeping on, where time has been, 712 THOMAS EDWARD BROWN [1830-1897] MY GARDEN A GARDEN is a lovesome thing, God wot! Rose plot, Fringed pool, The veriest school Of peace; and yet the fool Contends that God is not Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? Nay, but I have a sign; 'Tis very sure God walks in mine. JAMES THOMSON (B. V.) 713 GIFTS GIVE a man a horse he can ride, Give a man a boat he can sail; And his rank and wealth, his strength and health, Give a man a pipe he can smoke, Give a man a book he can read: Give a man a girl he can love, As I, O my love, love thee; And his heart is great with the pulse of Fate, 714 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI [1828-1882] THE BLESSED DAMOZEL THE blessed Damozel lean'd out From the gold bar of Heaven: She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem, Herseem'd she scarce had been a day The wonder was not yet quite gone (To one it is ten years of years: Surely she lean'd o'er me,-her hair It was the terrace of God's house So high, that looking downward thence, It lies from Heaven across the flood Beneath, the tides of day and night But in those tracts, with her, it was And silence. For no breeze may stir Of seraphim; no echo there, Beyond all depth or height. Heard hardly, some of her new friends, Spake, gentle-mouth'd, among themselves, And still she bow'd herself, and stoop'd Into the vast waste calm; Till her bosom's pressure must have made The bar she lean'd on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. From the fixt lull of Heaven, she saw Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove, The swarm; and then she spoke, as when ‘I wish that he were come to me, For he will come,' she said. "Have I not pray'd in solemn Heaven? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? 'When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, I'll take his hand, and go with him To the deep wells of light, And we will step down as to a stream 'We two will stand beside that shrine, Whose lamps tremble continually And where each need, reveal'd, expects Its patient period. 'We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove While every leaf that His plumes touch 'And I myself will teach to him,— The songs I sing here; which his mouth Finding some knowledge at each pause, And some new thing to know.' (Alas! to her wise simple mind These things were all but known Alas, and though the end were reach'd? . Or borne in trust? And for her sake May the close lips that knew not prayer 'We two,' she said, 'will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies: Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys. Circle-wise sit they, with bound locks Into the fine cloth, white like flame, To fashion the birth-robes for them 'He shall fear, haply, and be dumb. To his, and tell about our love, 'Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, And Angels, meeting us, shall sing To their citherns and citoles. |