Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II.Ingelow, Jean
General
Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume II.
Ingelow, Jean
English poetry
Soft falls the dew, stars tremble through,
Where lone he sits apart,
Would I might steal his grief away
To hide in mine own heart.
Would, would 'twere shut in yon blossom fair,
The sorrow that bows thy head,
Then--I would gather it, to thee unaware,
And break my heart in thy stead.
That charmèd flower, far from thy bower,
I'd bear the long hours through,
Thou should'st forget, and my sad breast
The sorrows twain should rue.
O sad flower, O sad, sad ring to me.
The ring was a world too fine;
And would it had sunk in a forty-fathom sea,
Ere the morn that made it mine.
THE BRIDEGROOM TO HIS BRIDE.
Fairest fair, best of good,
Too high for hope that stood;
White star of womanhood shining apart
O my liege lady,
And O my one lady,
And O my loved lady, come down to my heart.
Reach me life's wine and gold,
What is man's best all told,
If thou thyself withhold, sweet, from thy throne?
O my liege lady,
And O my loved lady,
And O my heart's lady, come, reign there alone.
THE FAIRY WOMAN'S SONG.
The fairy woman maketh moan,
"Well-a-day, and well-a-day,
Forsooth I brought thee one rose, one,
And thou didst cast my rose away."
Hark! Oh hark, she mourneth yet,
"One good ship--the good ship sailed,
One bright star, at last it set,
One, one chance, forsooth it failed."
Clear thy dusk hair from thy veiled eyes,
Show thy face as thee beseems,
For yet is starlight in the skies,
Weird woman piteous through my dreams.
"Nay," she mourns, "forsooth not now,
Veiled I sit for evermore,
Rose is shed, and charmèd prow
Shall not touch the charmèd shore."
There thy sons that were to be,
Thy small gamesome children play;
There all loves that men foresee
Straight as wands enrich the way.
Dove-eyed, fair, with me they worm
Where enthroned I reign a queen,
In the lovely realms foregone,
In the lives that might have been.
ABOVE THE CLOUDS.[1]
And can this be my own world?
'Tis all gold and snow,
Save where scarlet waves are hurled
Down yon gulf below.
'Tis thy world, 'tis my world,
City, mead, and shore,
For he that hath his own world
Hath many worlds more.
[Footnote 1: "Above the Clouds," and thirteen poems following, are from
"Mopsa the Fairy."]
SLEEP AND TIME.
"Wake, baillie, wake! the crafts are out;
Wake!" said the knight, "be quick!
For high street, bye street, over the town
They fight with poker and stick."
Said the squire, "A fight so fell was ne'er
In all my bailliewick."
What said the old clock in the tower?
"Tick, tick, tick!"
"Wake, daughter, wake! the hour draws on;
Wake!" quoth the dame, "be quick!
The meats are set, the guests are coming,
The fiddler waxing his stick."
She said, "The bridegroom waiting and waiting
To see thy face is sick."
What said the new clock in her bower?
"Tick, tick, tick!"
BEES AND OTHER FELLOW-CREATURES.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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