Library / Literature & Fiction

New Poems

by Francis Thompson

Pages
about 88
Category
Literature & Fiction
Language
English
Reading time
1.6 h at 250 wpm
Start readingThe whole book, as cards or one word at a time. 54 min at 450 wpm in Read mode.

From the opening

LO, my book thinks to look Time’s leaguer down, Under the banner of your spread renown! Or if these levies of impuissant rhyme Fall to the overthrow of assaulting Time, Yet this one page shall fend oblivious shame, Armed with your crested and prevailing Name.

Note.—This dedication was written while the dear friend and great Poet to whom it was addressed yet lived. It is left as he saw it—the last verses of mine that were ever to pass under his eyes.

‘Wisdom is easily seen by them that love her, and is found by them that seek her. To think therefore upon her is perfect understanding.’

SECRET was the garden; Set i’ the pathless awe Where no star its breath can draw. Life, that is its warden, Sits behind the fosse of death. Mine eyes saw not, and I saw.

It was a mazeful wonder; Thrice three times it was enwalled With an emerald— Sealèd so asunder. All its birds in middle air hung a-dream, their music thralled.

The Lady of fair weeping, At the garden’s core, Sang a song of sweet and sore And the after-sleeping; In the land of Luthany, and the tracts of Elenore.

With sweet-panged singing, Sang she through a dream-night’s day; That the bowers might stay, Birds bate their winging, Nor the wall of emerald float in wreathèd haze away.

The lily kept its gleaming, In her tears (divine conservers!) Washèd with sad art; And the flowers of dreaming Palèd not their fervours, For her blood flowed through their nervures; And the roses were most red, for she dipt them in her heart.

There was never moon, Save the white sufficing woman: Light most heavenly-human— Like the unseen form of sound, Sensed invisibly in tune,— With a sun-derivèd stole Did inaureole All her lovely body round; Lovelily her lucid body with that light was interstrewn.

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