Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
William Watson. b. 1858853. Ode in May
LET me go forth, and share | |
The overflowing Sun | |
With one wise friend, or one | |
Better than wise, being fair, | |
Where the pewit wheels and dips | 5 |
On heights of bracken and ling, | |
And Earth, unto her leaflet tips, | |
Tingles with the Spring. | |
What is so sweet and dear | |
As a prosperous morn in May, | 10 |
The confident prime of the day, | |
And the dauntless youth of the year, | |
When nothing that asks for bliss, | |
Asking aright, is denied, | |
And half of the world a bridegroom is, | 15 |
And half of the world a bride? | |
The Song of Mingling flows, | |
Grave, ceremonial, pure, | |
As once, from lips that endure, | |
The cosmic descant rose, | 20 |
When the temporal lord of life, | |
Going his golden way, | |
Had taken a wondrous maid to wife | |
That long had said him nay. | |
For of old the Sun, our sire, | 25 |
Came wooing the mother of men, | |
Earth, that was virginal then, | |
Vestal fire to his fire. | |
Silent her bosom and coy, | |
But the strong god sued and press’d; | 30 |
And born of their starry nuptial joy | |
Are all that drink of her breast. | |
And the triumph of him that begot, | |
And the travail of her that bore, | |
Behold they are evermore | 35 |
As warp and weft in our lot. | |
We are children of splendour and flame, | |
Of shuddering, also, and tears. | |
Magnificent out of the dust we came, | |
And abject from the Spheres. | 40 |
O bright irresistible lord! | |
We are fruit of Earth’s womb, each one, | |
And fruit of thy loins, O Sun, | |
Whence first was the seed outpour’d. | |
To thee as our Father we bow, | 45 |
Forbidden thy Father to see, | |
Who is older and greater than thou, as thou | |
Art greater and older than we. | |
Thou art but as a word of his speech; | |
Thou art but as a wave of his hand; | 50 |
Thou art brief as a glitter of sand | |
‘Twixt tide and tide on his beach; | |
Thou art less than a spark of his fire, | |
Or a moment’s mood of his soul: | |
Thou art lost in the notes on the lips of his choir | 55 |
That chant the chant of the Whole. |