Let the star-clusters grow, And cross quickly to me. "You night moths that hover where honey brims over You glowworms shine out, and the pathway discover For the time runs to waste, "Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, Than e'er wife loved before, Be the days dark or bright. SEVEN TIMES FOUR. MATERNITY. Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, Heigh ho daisies and buttercups! Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge sparrow, That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain: Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but nar Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, Sweet wagging cowslips they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and O sweet little daughters, Heigh ho! daisies and buttercups, Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, God that is over us all! I sleep and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake; "Let me bleed! O let me alone, Since I must not break!" For children wake, though fathers sleep I lift mine eyes, and what to see I have not wished it to mourn with me- O what anear but golden brooms, And a waste of reedy rills! I shall not die, but live forlore – O to meet thee, my love, once more! No more to hear, no more to see! And waft one note of thy psalm to me I should know it how faint soe'er, O once to feel thy spirit anear; Or once between the gates of gold, thee sitting to behold On the hills of God! SEVEN TIMES SIX. GIVING IN MARRIAGE. To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose: To watch, and then to lose : To hear, to heed, to wed, And with thy lord depart In tears that he, as soon as shed, Will let no longer smart. To hear, to heed, to wed, This while thou didst I smiled, For now it was not God who said "Mother, give ME thy child." O fond, O fool, and blind! To God I gave with tears; But when a man like grace would find, O fond, O fool, and blind! God guards in happier spheres; That man will guard where he did bind To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose, Thy mother's tenderest words are aid, Thy mother's lot, my dear, She doth in nought accuse; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear, To love and then to lose. SEVEN TIMES SEVEN. LONGING FOR HOME. I. A song of a boat: There was once a boat on a billow: Lightly she rocked to her port remote, And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, And bent like a wand of willow. II. I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat I marked her course till a dancing mote And I stayed behind in the dear loved home; III. I pray you hear my song of a boat, For it is but short: My boat you shall find none fairer afloat, Long I looked out for the lad she bore, And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, There was once a nest in a hollow: Soft and warm, and full to the brim V. I pray you hear my song of a nest, You shall never light, in a summer quest, Shall never light on a prouder sitter, A fairer nestful, nor ever know VI. I had a nestful once of my own, Ah, happy, happy I! Right dearly I loved them: but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly O, one after one they flew away I pray you what is the nest to me, And what is the shore where I stood to see Can I call that home where I anchor yet, Nay, but the port where my sailor went, And the land where my nestlings be: The only home for me Ah me! THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE. (1571.) THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower; The ringers ran by two, by three: "Pull, if ye never pulled before; Good ringers pull your best," quoth he. Men say it was a stolen tyde The Lord that sent it, he knows all; The message that the bells let fall: By millions crouched on the old sea-wall. I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; Lay sinking in the barren skies; My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. |