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The Triumph of Music, and Other Lyrics
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1
Big-stomached, like friars
Who ogle a nun,
Quaff deep to their bellies' desires
From the old abbey's tun,
Grapes fatten with fires
Warm-filtered from moon and from sun.
2
As a novice who muses, —
Lips a rosary tell,
While her thoughts are – a love she refuses?
– Nay! mourns as not well:
The ripe apple looses
Its holding to rot where it fell.
THE DRYAD
I have seen her limpid eyes
Large with gradual laughter rise
Through wild-roses' nettles,
Like twin blossoms grow and stare,
Then a hating, envious air
Whisked them into petals.
I have seen her hardy cheek
Like a molten coral leak
Through the leafage shaded
Of thick Chickasaws, and then,
When I made more sure, again
To a red plum faded.
I have found her racy lips,
And her graceful finger-tips,
But a haw and berry;
Glimmers of her there and here,
Just, forsooth, enough to cheer
And to make me merry.
Often on the ferny rocks
Dazzling rimples of loose locks
At me she hath shaken,
And I've followed – 'twas in vain —
They had trickled into rain
Sun-lit on the braken.
Once her full limbs flashed on me,
Naked where some royal tree
Powdered all the spaces
With wan sunlight and quaint shade,
Such a haunt romance hath made
For haunched satyr-races.
There, I wot, hid amorous Pan,
For a sudden pleading ran
Through the maze of myrtle,
Whiles a rapid violence tossed
All its flowerage, – 'twas the lost
Cooings of a turtle.
"THE SWEET O' THE YEAR."
I
How can I help from laughing while
The daffodilies at me smile;
The tickled dew winks tipsily
In clusters of the lilac-tree;
The crocuses and hyacinths
Storm through the grassy labyrinths
A mirth of gold and violet;
And roses, bud by bud,
Flash from each dainty-lacing net
Red lips of maidenhood?
II
How can I help from singing when
The swallow and the hawk again
Are noisy in the hyaline
Of happy heavens clear as wine;
The robin lustily and shrill
Pipes on the timber-bosomed hill;
And o'er the fallow skim the bold,
Mad orioles that glow
Like shining shafts of ingot gold
Shot from the morning's bow?
III
How can I help from loving, dear,
Since love is of the sweetened year?
The very vermin feel her power,
And chip and chirrup hour by hour:
It is the grasshopper at noon,
The cricket's at it in the moon,
Whiles lizzards glitter in the dew,
And bats be on the wing;
Big-stomached, like friars
Who ogle a nun,
Quaff deep to their bellies' desires
From the old abbey's tun,
Grapes fatten with fires
Warm-filtered from moon and from sun.
2
As a novice who muses, —
Lips a rosary tell,
While her thoughts are – a love she refuses?
– Nay! mourns as not well:
The ripe apple looses
Its holding to rot where it fell.
THE DRYAD
I have seen her limpid eyes
Large with gradual laughter rise
Through wild-roses' nettles,
Like twin blossoms grow and stare,
Then a hating, envious air
Whisked them into petals.
I have seen her hardy cheek
Like a molten coral leak
Through the leafage shaded
Of thick Chickasaws, and then,
When I made more sure, again
To a red plum faded.
I have found her racy lips,
And her graceful finger-tips,
But a haw and berry;
Glimmers of her there and here,
Just, forsooth, enough to cheer
And to make me merry.
Often on the ferny rocks
Dazzling rimples of loose locks
At me she hath shaken,
And I've followed – 'twas in vain —
They had trickled into rain
Sun-lit on the braken.
Once her full limbs flashed on me,
Naked where some royal tree
Powdered all the spaces
With wan sunlight and quaint shade,
Such a haunt romance hath made
For haunched satyr-races.
There, I wot, hid amorous Pan,
For a sudden pleading ran
Through the maze of myrtle,
Whiles a rapid violence tossed
All its flowerage, – 'twas the lost
Cooings of a turtle.
"THE SWEET O' THE YEAR."
I
How can I help from laughing while
The daffodilies at me smile;
The tickled dew winks tipsily
In clusters of the lilac-tree;
The crocuses and hyacinths
Storm through the grassy labyrinths
A mirth of gold and violet;
And roses, bud by bud,
Flash from each dainty-lacing net
Red lips of maidenhood?
II
How can I help from singing when
The swallow and the hawk again
Are noisy in the hyaline
Of happy heavens clear as wine;
The robin lustily and shrill
Pipes on the timber-bosomed hill;
And o'er the fallow skim the bold,
Mad orioles that glow
Like shining shafts of ingot gold
Shot from the morning's bow?
III
How can I help from loving, dear,
Since love is of the sweetened year?
The very vermin feel her power,
And chip and chirrup hour by hour:
It is the grasshopper at noon,
The cricket's at it in the moon,
Whiles lizzards glitter in the dew,
And bats be on the wing;
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