Friday, September 21, 2007

Poetry Friday 66

My poetry choice this week is by Alfred, Lord Tennyson:

Come Into the Garden, Maud

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 roses 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 stirr'd
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 lordlover, 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 clash'd 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 jewelprint 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 sigh'd 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.

This week's Poetry Friday round-up is hosted by Sara Lewis Holmes at Read Write Believe.


Sara said...

"The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine." I wish I had occasion to drop those words into conversation, but people would just stare, wouldn't they? I think I was born in the wrong century.

tanita✿davis said...

In college I had to write a massive paper on one of Tennyson's poems -- (of course, it wasn't this one -- this one is lovely and not volumes long!) I love the imagery he always brings to a piece - when I stopped fighting it, I actually enjoyed it. Thanks for a good memory of undergrad days.

Michele said...

Clearly you're not as daft as I am - I'd happily utter words like that in a casual conversation and not give a fig for the stares I'd earn !!

Michele said...

TadMack, you're very welcome ! I deliberately tried to pick a shorter Tennyson poem this time around !

Karen Edmisten said...

What Sara said. :-) And, with a wish to be daft enough to go ahead and say it ....

Michele said...

Heh ! Being daft is not all it's cracked up to be !

Anonymous said...

Lovely. I've only recently learned that Maud is a nickname for Matilda. I don't know why I found that odd, but I did -- and it would definitely have skewed his metre, no?

Michele said...

Just a little, methinks !!