A Century of Roundels [6]
eyes.
BABYHOOD
I.
A baby shines as bright
If winter or if May be
On eyes that keep in sight
A baby.
Though dark the skies or grey be,
It fills our eyes with light,
If midnight or midday be.
Love hails it, day and night,
The sweetest thing that may be
Yet cannot praise aright
A baby.
II.
All heaven, in every baby born,
All absolute of earthly leaven,
Reveals itself, though man may scorn
All heaven.
Yet man might feel all sin forgiven,
All grief appeased, all pain outworn,
By this one revelation given.
Soul, now forget thy burdens borne:
Heart, be thy joys now seven times seven:
Love shows in light more bright than morn
All heaven.
III.
What likeness may define, and stray not
From truth's exactest way,
A baby's beauty? Love can say not
What likeness may.
The Mayflower loveliest held in May
Of all that shine and stay not
Laughs not in rosier disarray.
Sleek satin, swansdown, buds that play not
As yet with winds that play,
Would fain be matched with this, and may not:
What likeness may?
IV.
Rose, round whose bed
Dawn's cloudlets close,
Earth's brightest-bred
Rose!
No song, love knows,
May praise the head
Your curtain shows.
Ere sleep has fled,
The whole child glows
One sweet live red
Rose.
FIRST FOOTSTEPS
A little way, more soft and sweet
Than fields aflower with May,
A babe's feet, venturing, scarce complete
A little way.
Eyes full of dawning day
Look up for mother's eyes to meet,
Too blithe for song to say.
Glad as the golden spring to greet
Its first live leaflet's play,
Love, laughing, leads the little feet
A little way.
A NINTH BIRTHDAY
FEBRUARY 4, 1883
I.
Three times thrice hath winter's rough white wing
Crossed and curdled wells and streams with ice
Since his birth whose praises love would sing
Three times thrice.
Earth nor sea bears flower nor pearl of price
Fit to crown the forehead of my king,
Honey meet to please him, balm, nor spice.
Love can think of nought but love to bring
Fit to serve or do him sacrifice
Ere his eyes have looked upon the spring
Three times thrice.
II.
Three times thrice the world has fallen on slumber,
Shone and waned and withered in a trice,
Frost has fettered Thames and Tyne and Humber
Three times thrice,
Fogs have swoln too thick for steel to slice,
Cloud and mud have soiled with grime and umber
Earth and heaven, defaced as souls with vice,
Winds have risen to wreck, snows fallen to cumber,
Ships and chariots, trapped like rats or mice,
Since my king first smiled, whose years now number
Three times thrice.
III.
Three times thrice, in wine of song full-flowing,
Pledge, my heart, the child whose eyes suffice,
Once beheld, to set thy joy-bells going
Three times thrice.
Not the lands of palm and date and rice
Glow more bright when summer leaves them glowing,
Laugh more light when suns and winds entice.
Noon and eve and midnight and cock-crowing,
Child whose love makes life as paradise,
Love should sound your praise with clarions blowing
Three times thrice.
NOT A CHILD
I.
'Not a child: I call myself a boy,'
Says my king, with accent stern yet mild,
Now nine years have brought him change of joy;
'Not a child.'
How could reason be so far beguiled,
Err so far from sense's safe employ,
Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?
Seeing his face bent over book or toy,
Child I called him, smiling: but he smiled
Back, as one too high for vain annoy -
Not a child.
II.
Not a child? alack the year!
What should ail an undefiled
Heart, that he would fain appear
Not a child?
Men, with years and memories piled
Each on other, far and near,
Fain again would so be styled:
Fain would cast off hope and fear,
Rest, forget, be reconciled:
Why would you so fain be, dear,
Not a child?
III.
Child or boy, my darling, which you will,
Still your praise finds heart and song employ,
Heart and song
BABYHOOD
I.
A baby shines as bright
If winter or if May be
On eyes that keep in sight
A baby.
Though dark the skies or grey be,
It fills our eyes with light,
If midnight or midday be.
Love hails it, day and night,
The sweetest thing that may be
Yet cannot praise aright
A baby.
II.
All heaven, in every baby born,
All absolute of earthly leaven,
Reveals itself, though man may scorn
All heaven.
Yet man might feel all sin forgiven,
All grief appeased, all pain outworn,
By this one revelation given.
Soul, now forget thy burdens borne:
Heart, be thy joys now seven times seven:
Love shows in light more bright than morn
All heaven.
III.
What likeness may define, and stray not
From truth's exactest way,
A baby's beauty? Love can say not
What likeness may.
The Mayflower loveliest held in May
Of all that shine and stay not
Laughs not in rosier disarray.
Sleek satin, swansdown, buds that play not
As yet with winds that play,
Would fain be matched with this, and may not:
What likeness may?
IV.
Rose, round whose bed
Dawn's cloudlets close,
Earth's brightest-bred
Rose!
No song, love knows,
May praise the head
Your curtain shows.
Ere sleep has fled,
The whole child glows
One sweet live red
Rose.
FIRST FOOTSTEPS
A little way, more soft and sweet
Than fields aflower with May,
A babe's feet, venturing, scarce complete
A little way.
Eyes full of dawning day
Look up for mother's eyes to meet,
Too blithe for song to say.
Glad as the golden spring to greet
Its first live leaflet's play,
Love, laughing, leads the little feet
A little way.
A NINTH BIRTHDAY
FEBRUARY 4, 1883
I.
Three times thrice hath winter's rough white wing
Crossed and curdled wells and streams with ice
Since his birth whose praises love would sing
Three times thrice.
Earth nor sea bears flower nor pearl of price
Fit to crown the forehead of my king,
Honey meet to please him, balm, nor spice.
Love can think of nought but love to bring
Fit to serve or do him sacrifice
Ere his eyes have looked upon the spring
Three times thrice.
II.
Three times thrice the world has fallen on slumber,
Shone and waned and withered in a trice,
Frost has fettered Thames and Tyne and Humber
Three times thrice,
Fogs have swoln too thick for steel to slice,
Cloud and mud have soiled with grime and umber
Earth and heaven, defaced as souls with vice,
Winds have risen to wreck, snows fallen to cumber,
Ships and chariots, trapped like rats or mice,
Since my king first smiled, whose years now number
Three times thrice.
III.
Three times thrice, in wine of song full-flowing,
Pledge, my heart, the child whose eyes suffice,
Once beheld, to set thy joy-bells going
Three times thrice.
Not the lands of palm and date and rice
Glow more bright when summer leaves them glowing,
Laugh more light when suns and winds entice.
Noon and eve and midnight and cock-crowing,
Child whose love makes life as paradise,
Love should sound your praise with clarions blowing
Three times thrice.
NOT A CHILD
I.
'Not a child: I call myself a boy,'
Says my king, with accent stern yet mild,
Now nine years have brought him change of joy;
'Not a child.'
How could reason be so far beguiled,
Err so far from sense's safe employ,
Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?
Seeing his face bent over book or toy,
Child I called him, smiling: but he smiled
Back, as one too high for vain annoy -
Not a child.
II.
Not a child? alack the year!
What should ail an undefiled
Heart, that he would fain appear
Not a child?
Men, with years and memories piled
Each on other, far and near,
Fain again would so be styled:
Fain would cast off hope and fear,
Rest, forget, be reconciled:
Why would you so fain be, dear,
Not a child?
III.
Child or boy, my darling, which you will,
Still your praise finds heart and song employ,
Heart and song