ON THE MEDWAY.
I.
In summer evening, love,
We glide by grassy meadows,
Red sun is shining,
Day is declining,
Peace is around, above.
The poplar folds on high
Dark wings against the sky;
Through dreaming shadows
On we move,
Silently, you and I.
And seaward still we row,
By sedge and bulrush sliding,
Breezes are sending
Ripples unending
Above the poplar tree
The moon sails white and free,
The boat goes gliding
Swift or slow,
But ever towards the sea.
II.
Dip, drip, in and out
The rhythmic oars move slowly,
Mist-kissed, round about
The pale sky reddens wholly;
Chill, still, through waxing light
Mystical and tender,
Morn, born of starlit night,
Clothes herself with splendour.
Rose-glows in eastern sky,
In the north faint flushes;
Boat, float idly by
Past the sedge and rushes!
Here, near the willow screen
River-gods bathe gaily;
White, bright against the green,
Poets see them daily.
See, we, we alone
Greet this fresh sun-waking,
Too few, who hail day done,
See it in the making!
Sad, glad, we two see
Dawn the earth adorning,
Sigh: "Why can no noon be
Worth so gold a morning?"
III.
It was beside a wide, white weir,
Where the foam dances in the sun,
The butterflies are fair this year,
And o'er the weir there hovered one—
A far-off cottage curled its smoke
Against a blue and perfect sky;
There love triumphant laughed and woke,
And we were silent—you and I.
Love stirred in sleep, reached out his hands,
And sighed, and smiled, and stood upright,
Then fell the careful cobweb bands
With which our will had bound his might;
His royal presence made us still,
Our will was water, matched with his;
Like water-spray he broke our will
And joined our lips in our first kiss.
IV.
Look out! The stars are shining,
The dew makes gray the meadow!
The jasmine stars are twining
About your window bright;
The glow-worms green are creeping
On lawns all dressed in shadow,
The roses all are sleeping—
Good-night, my heart, good-night!
The nightingale is singing
Her song of ceaseless sorrow,
The night's slow feet pass, bringing
The day when I rejoice;
Belovèd beyond measure,
Our bridal is to-morrow—
Oh, thrill the night with pleasure!
Oh, let me hear thy voice!
From cloudy confines sliding,
The moon sails white and splendid;
No roses now are hiding
The glory of their grace;
So, if my song thou hearest—
For thee begun and ended—
Light up the night, my dearest,
And let me see thy face!
V.
O gleaming, gliding river,
Where ash and alder lean,
Where sighing sedges shiver
By willows gray and green;
Upon thy shifting shadows
The yellow lily lies,
And all along thy meadows
Grow flowers of Paradise.
The red-roofed village sleeping,
Soft sounds of farm and fold,
The dappled shadows creeping,
Twilight of mist and glamour,
Noontide of sunlit ease,
How, 'mid life's sordid clamour,
Our hearts will long for these!
Yet, since at heart we treasure
These weirs and woods and fields,
This crown of lovely leisure
Which Kentish country yields—
These, these are ours for ever,
Though dream-sweet days be done;
Through all our dreams our river
Will evermore flow on.
VI.
When all is over, lay me down
Far from this dull and jaded town,
Not in a churchyard's ordered bound,
But in some wide green meadow-ground.
No stone upon me! Above all
Let no cold railing's shadows fall
Across my rest. Dead, let me be
What no one may be living—free.
Let no one mourning garments wear,
And if you love me, shed no tear;
Don't weight me with a clay-built heap,
But plant the daisies where I sleep.
There is a certain field I know,
I met my dear there, years ago;
Perhaps, if you should speak them fair,
They'd let you lay her lover there.
Laid there, perhaps my ears would hear
The ceaseless singing of the weir,
The soft wind sighing thro' the grass,
And hear the little children pass.
Or, if my ears were stopped with clay
From all sweet sounds of night and day,
I should at least (so lay me there)
Sleep better there than anywhere!