I've heard of forests that are dim at noon,
Where snakes and creepers wrestle all day long;
Where vivid beasts grow pale with the full moon,
Gibber and cry, and wail a mad old song;
Because at the full moon the hippogriff
With ivory-pointed snout and agate feet,
With his green eye will glare them cold and stiff
For the coward wyvern to come down and eat.
Vodka and kvas, and bitter mountain wines
We have not drunk, nor snatched at bursting grapes
To pelt slim girls among Sicilian vines
Who'd flicker through the leaves, elusive shapes.
Yes, there are many things we have not done,
But it's a sweat to knock them into rhyme.
Let's have a drink, and give the cards a run
And leave dull verse to the dull peaceful time.
EDGELL RICKWORD
Night Rapture
For Florence Lamont
How beautiful it is to wake at night
When over all there reigns the ultimate spell
Of complete silence, darkness absolute,
To feel the world, tilted on axle-tree,
In slow gyration, with no sensible sound,
Unless to ears of unimagined beings,
Resident incorporeal or stretched
In vigilance of ecstasy among
Ethereal paths and the celestial maze,
The rumour of our onward course now brings
A steady rustle as of some strange ship,
Darkling with soundless sail all set and amply filled
By volume of an ever-constant air,
At fullest night, through seas for ever calm,
Swept lovely and unknown for ever on!
How beautiful it is to wake at night,
Embalmed in darkness, watchful, sweet, and still
As is the brain's mood flattered by the swim
Of currents circumvolent in the void,
To lie quite still and to become aware
Of the dim light cast by nocturnal skies
On a dim earth beyond the window-ledge,
So, isolate from the friendly company
Of the huge universe which turns without,
To brood apart in calm and joy awhile
Until the spirit sinks and scarcely knows
Whether self is or if self only is
For ever....