Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Henry Clarence Kendall. 18411882827. Mooni
HE that is by Mooni now | |
Sees the water-sapphires gleaming | |
Where the River Spirit, dreaming, | |
Sleeps by fall and fountain streaming | |
Under lute of leaf and bough!— | 5 |
Hears what stamp of Storm with stress is, | |
Psalms from unseen wildernesses | |
Deep amongst far hill-recesses— | |
He that is by Mooni now. | |
Yea, for him by Mooni’s marge | 10 |
Sings the yellow-hair’d September, | |
With the face the gods remember, | |
When the ridge is burnt to ember, | |
And the dumb sea chains the barge! | |
Where the mount like molten brass is, | 15 |
Down beneath fern-feather’d passes | |
Noonday dew in cool green grasses | |
Gleams on him by Mooni’s marge. | |
Who that dwells by Mooni yet, | |
Feels in flowerful forest arches | 20 |
Smiting wings and breath that parches | |
Where strong Summer’s path of march is, | |
And the suns in thunder set! | |
Housed beneath the gracious kirtle | |
Of the shadowy water-myrtle— | 25 |
Winds may kiss with heat and hurtle, | |
He is safe by Mooni yet! | |
Days there were when he who sings | |
(Dumb so long through passion’s losses) | |
Stood where Mooni’s water crosses | 30 |
Shining tracks of green-hair’d mosses, | |
Like a soul with radiant wings: | |
Then the psalm the wind rehearses— | |
Then the song the stream disperses— | |
Lent a beauty to his verses, | 35 |
Who to-night of Mooni sings. | |
Ah, the theme—the sad, gray theme! | |
Certain days are not above me, | |
Certain hearts have ceased to love me, | |
Certain fancies fail to move me, | 40 |
Like the effluent morning dream. | |
Head whereon the white is stealing, | |
Heart whose hurts are past all healing, | |
Where is now the first, pure feeling? | |
Ah, the theme—the sad, gray theme! | 45 |
Still to be by Mooni cool— | |
Where the water-blossoms glister, | |
And by gleaming vale and vista | |
Sits the English April’s sister, | |
Soft and sweet and wonderful! | 50 |
Just to rest beneath the burning | |
Outer world—its sneers and spurning— | |
Ah, my heart—my heart is yearning | |
Still to be by Mooni cool! |