Robert Bridges

Poems

Published by Good Press, 2022

goodpress@okpublishing.info

EAN 4064066199449

Table of Contents

ELEGY

A PASSER BY

LATE SPRING EVENING

WOOING

SPRING INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY

SPRING REPLY

ELEGY

Table of Contents

Clear and gentle stream,

Known and loved so long,

That hast heard the song

And the idle dream

Of my boyish day;

While I once again

Down thy margin stray,

In the selfsame strain

Still my voice is spent,

With my old lament,

And my idle dream,

Clear and gentle stream!

Where my old seat was

Here again I sit,

Where the long boughs knit

Over stream and graís

Thick translucent eaves:

Where back eddies play

Shipwreck with the leaves,

And the proud swans stray,

Sailing one by one

Out of stream and sun,

And the fish lie cool

In their chosen pool.

Many an afternoon

Of the summer day

Dreaming here I lay;

And I know how soon

Idly at its hour

First the deep bell hums

From the minster tower,

And then evening comes,

Creeping up the glade,

With her lengthening shade,

And the tardy boon

Of her brightening moon.

Clear and gentle stream,

Ere again I go

Where thou dost not flow,

Well does it beseem

Thee to hear again

Once my youthful song,

That familiar strain

Silent now so long:

Be as I content

With my old lament,

And my idle dream,

Clear and gentle stream!

Dear lady, when thou frownest,

And my true love despisest,

And all thy vows disownest

That sealed my venture wisest;

I think thy pride’s displeasure

Neglects a matchless treasure

Exceeding price and measure.

But when again thou smilest,

And love for love returnest,

And fear with joy beguilest,

And takest truth in earnest;

Then, though I most adore thee,

The sum of my love for thee

Seems poor, scant and unworthy.

Poor withered rose and dry,

Skeleton of a rose,

Risen to testify

To love’s sad close:

Treasured for love’s sweet sake,

That of joy past

Thou might’st again awake

Memory at last:

Yet is thy perfume sweet,

Thy petals red

Yet tell of summer heat,

And the gay bed:

Yet yet recall the glow

Of the gazing sun,

When at thy bush we two

Joined hands in one.

But, rose, thou hast not seen,

Thou hast not wept

The change that passed between

Whilst thou hast slept.

To me thou seemest yet

The dead dream’s thrall:

While I live and forget

Dream, truth and all.

Thou art more fresh than I,

Rose, sweet and red:

Salt on my pale cheeks lie

The tears I shed.

I found to-day out walking

The flower my love loves best.

What, when I stooped to pluck it,

Could dare my hand arrest?

Was it a snake lay curling

About the root’s thick crown?

Or did some hidden bramble

Tear my hand reaching down?

There was no snake uncurling,

And no thorn wounded me;

’Twas my heart checked me, sighing

She is beyond the sea.