Words glimmering like candles in the dusk
You tell your golden tale of Italy,—
Ravello and its starlit, tranquil sea
Among massed trees sleep-hung with jewelled fruit;
Antiquity against a shadowed sky,
And everywhere old gardens where men loved
So long ago, and the moon rose on vows
And thirsty human lips aching to meet;
And the moon set on darkling ivory-petalled rows
Of lilies and on hands dim with loneliness:—
Below, Amalfi’s campanile plays
Its even-song, full chant and antiphon,
A wish, a hope, a call from star to star.
O, Compassionate One, night-long with you I hark
The travelling of that music lost in space,
The echoing of those faithful feet of men,
And touch the blurred chalcedony of tears,
And breathe those candle-lighted thoughts, faint musk
Of old days vanished in silence now!
Night-long I dream your face pressed close to mine
Is lily of Ravello in its sleep,
Touched with some ancient sorrow gardens keep,—
An ivory-petalled dream whose ghostly passions shine
Like fingers in the dark struggling with fears:—
O, set your love for me, my Own, my Sweet,
The whiteness of your breast and brow aglow
With God, like candleshine before my feet!
CHESTER-ON-THE DEE
Sleep, little town, your moonlit walls
Are hushed with long-ago!
Night, like your river, brings to you
Forgetfulness of woe.
Peace, little town! Grave sleep is this
That aches in love and tears,
With singing stream, with shining dream,
With sense of other years.
THE RIVER SEIONT
At Carnarvon in North Wales
Where the salt sea winds her sleeping path
Up the River Seiont in summer time,
And daisies flush the aftermath
Of stubble corn; and heavy cows
Wait by the water’s edge,
While cloud-capped Snowdon hills grow dim,
And fading Anglesey a crystal rim,—
Then
Your spirit comes,
A tidal sea,
Winding,
Up the River Seiont,
Past the purple hill;
Winding,
Past the Castle wall,
Winding;—
Then
Your spirit comes,
Winding,
Up the River Seiont
To me.