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Come Into The Garden, Maud
Friday, June 10, 2011
| Come into the garden, Maud, |
| For the black bat, night, has flown, |
| Come into the garden, Maud, |
| I am here at the gate alone ; |
| And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, |
| And the musk of the rose is blown. |
| For a breeze of morning moves, |
| And the planet of Love is on high, |
| Beginning to faint in the light that she loves |
| On a bed of daffodil sky, |
| To faint in the light of the sun she loves, |
| To faint in his light, and to die. |
| All night have the roses heard |
| The flute, violin, bassoon ; |
| All night has the casement jessamine stirred |
| To the dancers dancing in tune ; |
| Till a silence fell with the waking bird, |
| And a hush with the setting moon. |
| I said to the lily, ‘There is but one |
| With whom she has heart to be gay. |
| When will the dancers leave her alone ? |
| She is weary of dance and play.’ |
| Now half to the setting moon are gone, |
| And half to the rising day ; |
| Low on the sand and loud on the stone |
| The last wheel echoes away. |
| I said to the rose, ‘The brief night goes |
| In babble and revel and wine. |
| O young lord-lover, what sighs are those, |
| For one that will never be thine ? |
| But mine, but mine,’ so I sware to the rose, |
| ‘For ever and ever, mine.’ |
| And the soul of the rose went into my blood, |
| As the music clashed in the hall ; |
| And long by the garden lake I stood, |
| For I heard your rivulet fall |
| From the lake to the meadow and on to the wood, |
| Our wood, that is dearer than all ; |
| From the meadow your walks have left so sweet |
| That whenever a March-wind sighs |
| He sets the jewel-print of your feet |
| In violets blue as your eyes, |
| To the woody hollows in which we meet |
| And the valleys of Paradise. |
| The slender acacia would not shake |
| One long milk-bloom on the tree ; |
| The white lake-blossom fell into the lake |
| As the pimpernel dozed on the lea ; |
| But the rose was awake all night for your sake, |
| Knowing your promise to me ; |
| The lilies and roses were all awake, |
| They sighed for the dawn and thee. |
| Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls, |
| Come hither, the dances are done, |
| In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls, |
| Queen lily and rose in one ; |
| Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls, |
| To the flowers, and be their sun. |
| There has fallen a splendid tear |
| From the passion-flower at the gate. |
| She is coming, my dove, my dear ; |
| She is coming, my life, my fate ; |
| The red rose cries, ‘She is near, she is near ;’ |
| And the white rose weeps, ‘She is late ;’ |
| The larkspur listens, ‘I hear, I hear ;’ |
| And the lily whispers, ‘I wait.’ |
| She is coming, my own, my sweet, |
| Were it ever so airy a tread, |
| My heart would hear her and beat, |
| Were it earth in an earthy bed ; |
| My dust would hear her and beat, |
| Had I lain for a century dead ; |
| Would start and tremble under her feet, |
| And blossom in purple and red. |
