The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I., by Jean Ingelow

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Title: Poems by Jean Ingelow, In Two Volumes, Volume I.

Author: Jean Ingelow

Release Date: August 19, 2004 [EBook #13223]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS BY JEAN INGELOW, I. ***

Produced by Juliet Sutherland and PG Distributed Proofreaders

POEMS

BY

JEAN INGELOW

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. I.

BOSTON

ROBERTS BROTHERS

1896

AUTHOR'S COMPLETE EDITION

DEDICATION

TO

GEORGE KILGOUR INGELOW

YOUR LOVING SISTER

OFFERS YOU THESE POEMS, PARTLY AS

AN EXPRESSION OF HER AFFECTION, PARTLY FOR THE

PLEASURE OF CONNECTING HER EFFORTS

WITH YOUR NAME

KENSINGTON: June, 1863

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

DIVIDED HONORS.—PART I. HONORS.—PART II. REQUIESCAT IN PACE SUPPER AT THE MILL SCHOLAR AND CARPENTER THE STAR'S MONUMENT A DEAD YEAR REFLECTIONS THE LETTER L THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE (1571) AFTERNOON AT A PARSONAGE SONGS OF SEVEN A COTTAGE IN A CHINE PERSEPHONE A SEA SONG BROTHERS, AND A SERMON A WEDDING SONG THE FOUR BRIDGES A MOTHER SHOWING THE PORTRAIT OF HER CHILD STRIFE AND PEACE

THE DREAMS THAT CAME TRUE

SONGS ON THE VOICES OF BIRDS. INTRODUCTION.—CHILD AND BOATMAN THE NIGHTINGALE HEARD BY THE UNSATISFIED HEART SAND MARTINS A POET IN HIS YOUTH AND THE CUCKOO-BIRD A RAVEN IN A WHITE CHINE THE WARBLING OF BLACKBIRDS SEA-MEWS IN WINTER-TIME

LAURANCE

SONGS OF THE NIGHT WATCHES. INTRODUCTORY.—EVENING THE FIRST WATCH.—TIRED THE MIDDLE WATCH THE MORNING WATCH CONCLUDING.—EARLY DAWN

CONTRASTED SONGS. SAILING BEYOND SEAS REMONSTRANCE SONG FOR THE NIGHT OF CHRIST'S RESURRECTION SONG OF MARGARET SONG OF THE GOING AWAY A LILY AND A LUTE

GLADYS AND HER ISLAND

SONGS WITH PRELUDES. WEDLOCK REGRET LAMENTATION DOMINION FRIENDSHIP

WINSTANLEY

DIVIDED.

I.

An empty sky, a world of heather,
  Purple of foxglove, yellow of broom;
We two among them wading together,
  Shaking out honey, treading perfume.

Crowds of bees are giddy with clover,
  Crowds of grasshoppers skip at our feet,
Crowds of larks at their matins hang over,
  Thanking the Lord for a life so sweet.

Flusheth the rise with her purple favor,
  Gloweth the cleft with her golden ring,
'Twixt the two brown butterflies waver,
  Lightly settle, and sleepily swing.

We two walk till the purple dieth
  And short dry grass under foot is brown.
But one little streak at a distance lieth
  Green like a ribbon to prank the down.

II.

Over the grass we stepped unto it,
  And God He knoweth how blithe we were!
Never a voice to bid us eschew it:
  Hey the green ribbon that showed so fair!

Hey the green ribbon! we kneeled beside it,
  We parted the grasses dewy and sheen;
Drop over drop there filtered and slided
  A tiny bright beck that trickled between.

Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sang to us,
  Light was our talk as of faëry bells—
Faëry wedding-bells faintly rung to us
  Down in their fortunate parallels.

Hand in hand, while the sun peered over,
  We lapped the grass on that youngling spring;
Swept back its rushes, smoothed its clover,
  And said, "Let us follow it westering."

III.

A dappled sky, a world of meadows,
  Circling above us the black rooks fly
Forward, backward; lo, their dark shadows
  Flit on the blossoming tapestry—

Flit on the beck, for her long grass parteth
  As hair from a maid's bright eyes blown back;
And, lo, the sun like a lover darteth
  His flattering smile on her wayward track.

Sing on! we sing in the glorious weather
  Till one steps over the tiny strand,
So narrow, in sooth, that still together
  On either brink we go hand in hand.

The beck grows wider, the hands must sever.
  On either margin, our songs all done,
We move apart, while she singeth ever,
  Taking the course of the stooping sun.

He prays, "Come over"—I may not follow;
  I cry, "Return"—but he cannot come:
We speak, we laugh, but with voices hollow;
  Our hands are hanging, our hearts are numb.

IV.

A breathing sigh, a sigh for answer,
  A little talking of outward things
The careless beck is a merry dancer,
  Keeping sweet time to the air she sings.

A little pain when the beck grows wider;
  "Cross to me now—for her wavelets swell."
"I may not cross,"—and the voice beside her
  Faintly reacheth, though heeded well.

No backward path; ah! no returning;
  No second crossing that ripple's flow:
"Come to me now, for the west is burning;
  Come ere it darkens;"—"Ah, no! ah, no!"

Then cries of pain, and arms outreaching—
  The beck grows wider and swift and deep:
Passionate words as of one beseeching—
  The loud beck drowns them; we walk, and weep.

V.

A yellow moon in splendor drooping,
  A tired queen with her state oppressed,
Low by rushes and swordgrass stooping,
  Lies she soft on the waves at rest.

The desert heavens have felt her sadness;
  Her earth will weep her some dewy tears;
The wild beck ends her tune of gladness,
  And goeth stilly as soul that fears.

We two walk on in our grassy places
  On either marge of the moonlit flood,
With the moon's own sadness in our faces,
  Where joy is withered, blossom and bud.

VI.

A shady freshness, chafers whirring,
  A little piping of leaf-hid birds;
A flutter of wings, a fitful stirring,
  A cloud to the eastward snowy as curds.

Bare grassy slopes, where kids are tethered
  Round valleys like nests all ferny-lined;
Round hills, with fluttering tree-tops