A vision of life

by Darrell Figgis

TO A “CANTERBURY BELL”!

Rare lovely Bloom! dear sweet simplicity,

Nodding beneath the Heavens thy delicate lure!

Thine exquisite sculpture doth upcall on me

The realms of wonder, visionary and pure!

I gaze on thee, thou waxen delicate,

Until the World and all its strutting pelf

Fade wanly hence, and an ecstatic scene

Of fauns and goblins, decked in legend state,

Steps faintly forth, to bear my dizzy self

Within their tripping circles, nought between.

There, ’mid the hedgerow’s tortuous garlands, fair

And blithe thou droop’st thy lovely brow; and thence

Thy zephyry fragrance, delicate and rare,

Steals with a dewy breath upon my sense.

Eager I seek thee out then, to behold

Thy bell upon the vesper breezes toll

Pomp’s knelling requiem with solemn nod,

Thou purest Joy, ’mid teeming fold on fold

Of prodigal waywardness, is this thy dole,

Simplicity that boasts no touch save God?

The Honeysuckle’s heavily-laden breath

Floats on the balmy winds in languid fumes;

The Nightshade breathes its careless boon of death

To lips that tamper lightly with its blooms;

The Meadow-sweet with carved tiaras deft;

The Poppy-petal’s crumpled charactery;

The tangly ramified Convolvulus;—

All of their several virtues are bereft

At the soft touch of thy Simplicity,

Simplicity of peace voluptuous.

Oh, exquisite marvel, whither shall I turn

To sate the thirstings thou hast spoken up?

My soul with vast inquietude doth burn.

Rare drafts are there within thy luscious cup

That I may put my lips upon its brim,

And, sloughing off Earth’s smutch and soilure, quaff

Deeply the secrets of eternal ease?

Or sway’st thou merely as a transient whim,

Idle, capricious, windward-driven chaff?

Yet surely, surely thou art more than these!

Or very All, or very Nothing: why

Hast thou upspoken thirst for what is not

If thou and I shall clutch the gloom, and die,

Life but a tangled boon, a vicious blot,

Spun by the sightless Powers? Nay, shalt not thou,

Elate, clad in eternal Vestiture,

Greet me upon the eternal Marge? Yea, then,

Shall not I, ageless Wisdom on my brow,

Spell out thy charm occult? Sweet Mystery pure,

So shall I search thy secrets yet again!