Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
William Johnson Cory (18231892)Extracts from Ionica: A Study of Boyhood
S
No sign of youth upon that stooping head,
Save weak half-curls, like beechen boughs that spread
With up-turned edge to catch the hurrying rain;
About a mother’s finger long ago,
When he was blither, not more dear, for woe
Was then far off, and other sons stood round.
Watching together, where the ocean gave
To her child’s counted breathings wave for wave,
Whilst the heart fluttered, and the eye grew dim.
She kept with him the vigil of despair;
Knit hands for comfort, blended sounds of prayer,
Saw him at dawn face death, and take farewell;
The early grief that lined his withering brow,
As one by one her stars were quenched. And now
He that so mourned can play, though life is brief;
And freely kindling under beauty’s ray,
He dares to speak of what he loves: to-day
He talked of art, and led me on to teach,
Full of bright Florence and warm Umbrian skies;
Not slighting modern greatness, for the wise
Can sort the treasures of the circling ages;
Which boys repeat, who hear a father’s guest
Prate of the London show-rooms; what is best
He firmly lights upon, as birds on sprays;
No room for flattery, no smiles that ask
For tender pleasantries, no looks that mask
The genial impulses of love and hate.
Ye bid me go to nature to be healed!
And lo! a purer fount is here revealed:
My lady-nature dwells in heart of men.