Oh, what's the way to Arcady? Oh, I am bound for Arcady, And where away lies Arcady, And how long yet may the journey be? 20 Ah, woe is me, through all my days Wisdom and wealth I both have got, And fame and name, and great men's praise; But Love, ah Love! I have it not. There was a time, when life was new-60 But far away, and half forgot I only know her eyes were blue; But Love-I fear I knew it not. We did not wed, for lack of gold, And she is dead, and I am old. All things have come since then to me, Save Love, ah Love! and Arcady. Ah, then I fear we part (quoth he),— My way's for Love and Arcady. But you, you fare alone, like me; The gray is likewise in your hair, What love have you to lead you there, To Arcady, to Arcady? Ah, no, not lonely do I fare; 70 My true companion's Memory. With love he fills the Spring-time air; With Love he clothes the Winter tree. Oh, past this poor horizon's bound My song goes straight to one who stands, Her face all gladdening at the sound,— 80 The songs within my breast that stir My maid is dead long years (quoth he),— Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, To Arcady, to Arcady; Oh, yon's the way to Arcady, Where all the leaves are merry. (1884) 90 BALLADE OF JUNE WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY [For the form of this poem, see the note on page 350.] Lilacs glow, and jasmines climb, June takes up the sceptre of May, Lights and shadows in the lime With Sir Love among the roses. 10 MARCH ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE [The whole poem contains seven stanzas, of which these are the first, fourth, and last.] Ere frost-flower and snow-blossom faded and fell, and the splendor of winter had passed out of sight, The ways of the woodlands were fairer and stranger than dreams that fulfil us in sleep with delight; The breath of the mouths of the winds had hardened on tree-tops and branches that glittered and swayed Such wonders and glories of blossom-like snow, or of frost that outlightens all flowers till it fade, That the sea was not lovelier than here was the land, nor the night than the day, nor the day than the night, Nor the winter sublimer with storm than the spring; such mirth had the madness and might in thee made, March, master of winds, bright minstrel and marshal of storms that enkindle the season they smite. As the sunshine quenches the snowshine; as April subdues thee, and yields up his kingdom to May, So time overcomes the regret that is born of delight as it passes in passion away, And leaves but a dream for desire to rejoice in or mourn for with tears and thanksgivings; but thou, ΤΟ Bright god that art gone from us, maddest and gladdest of months, to what goal hast thou gone from us now? For somewhere surely the storm of thy laughter that lightens, the beat of thy wings that play, Must flame as a fire through the world, and the heavens that we know not rejoice in thee: surely thy brow Hath lost not its radiance of empire, thy spirit the joy that impelled it on quest as for prey. Thy spirit is quenched not, albeit we behold not thy face in the crown of the steep sky's arch, And the bold first buds of the whin wax golden, and witness arise of the thorn and the larch: Wild April, enkindled to laughter and storm by the kiss of the wildest of winds that blow, Calls loud on his brother for witness; his hands that were laden with blossom are sprinkled with snow, And his lips breathe winter, and laugh, and relent; and the live woods feel not the frost's flame parch; For the flame of the spring that consumes not but quickens is felt at the heart of the forest aglow, 20 And the sparks that enkindled and fed it were strewn from the hands of the gods of the winds of March. (1887) |