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Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.: From Swinburne's Poems Volume V. — John Shaqi

Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.: From Swinburne's Poems Volume V.Swinburne, Algernon Charles

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Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.: From Swinburne's Poems Volume V.

Name: Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.: From Swinburne's Poems Volume V.
Author: Swinburne, Algernon Charles

Swinburne, Algernon Charles

English poetry

Golden bells of welcome rolled
     Never forth such notes, nor told
     Hours so blithe in tones so bold,
     As the radiant mouth of gold
       Here that rings forth heaven.
     If the golden-crested wren
     Were a nightingale--why, then,
     Something seen and heard of men
     Might be half as sweet as when
       Laughs a child of seven.




     A CHILD'S THANKS


     How low soe'er men rank us,
       How high soe'er we win,
     The children far above us
     Dwell, and they deign to love us,
     With lovelier love than ours,
     And smiles more sweet than flowers;
     As though the sun should thank us
       For letting light come in.

     With too divine complaisance,
       Whose grace misleads them thus,
     Being gods, in heavenly blindness
     They call our worship kindness,
     Our pebble-gift a gem:
     They think us good to them,
     Whose glance, whose breath, whose presence,
       Are gifts too good for us.

     The poet high and hoary
       Of meres that mountains bind
     Felt his great heart more often
     Yearn, and its proud strength soften
     From stern to tenderer mood,
     At thought of gratitude
     Shown than of song or story
       He heard of hearts unkind.

     But with what words for token
       And what adoring tears
     Of reverence risen to passion,
     In what glad prostrate fashion
     Of spirit and soul subdued,
     May man show gratitude
     For thanks of children spoken
       That hover in his ears?

     The angels laugh, your brothers,
       Child, hearing you thank me,
     With eyes whence night grows sunny,
     And touch of lips like honey,
     And words like honey-dew:
     But how shall I thank you?
     For gifts above all others
       What guerdon-gift may be?

     What wealth of words caressing,
       What choice of songs found best,
     Would seem not as derision,
     Found vain beside the vision
     And glory from above
     Shown in a child's heart's love?
     His part in life is blessing;
       Ours, only to be blest.




     A CHILD'S BATTLES

     +pyx aretan heuron+.--PINDAR.


     Praise of the knights of old
     May sleep: their tale is told,
         And no man cares:
     The praise which fires our lips is
     A knight's whose fame eclipses
           All of theirs.

     The ruddiest light in heaven
     Blazed as his birth-star seven
         Long years ago:
     All glory crown that old year
     Which brought our stout small soldier
           With the snow!

     Each baby born has one
     Star, for his friends a sun,
         The first of stars:
     And we, the more we scan it,
     The more grow sure your planet,
           Child, was Mars.

     For each one flower, perchance,
     Blooms as his cognizance:
         The snowdrop chill,
     The violet unbeholden,
     For some: for you the golden
           Daffodil.

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

Studies in Song, A Century of Roundels, Sonnets on English Dramatic Poets, The Heptalogia, Etc.: From Swinburne's Poems Volume V.

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