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Read Ebook: The Rose-Jar by Jones Thomas S Thomas Samuel
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Ebook has 166 lines and 9718 words, and 4 pages
As in a Rose-Jar The Island You and I A Ballade of Old Romance A Voice from the Far Away April A Yesterday Violets A Song of Life As a Still Brook At the Window A Sea Spell The Silent Country The Sport of a God Remembrance In Days of Old We Once Built a House o' Dreams A Song of the Way In Trinity Church-Yard at Sunset Where Cross-Roads Part Saida In Arcady The Summer Rain Impression Derelicts The End of the Day Tristesse Interlude To You, Dear Heart Twilight The Poet The Hunchback The Little Ghosts I Know a Quiet Vale Song Immutability In the Fall o' Year Love's Song The Golden Hour The Dream-Way The Spirit of Autumn On the Long Road A Postlude An Old Song Old Roses
As in a Rose-Jar
So, deep within the vase of memory, I keep my dust of roses fresh and dear As in the days before I knew the smart Of time and death. Nor aught can take from me The haunting fragrance that still lingers here-- As in a rose-jar, so within my heart!
The Island
There is an island in the silent sea, Whose marge the wistful waves lap listlessly-- An isle of rest for those who used to be.
For ne'er an echo wakes that towering wall, Whose blackened crags answer none other call Save the lone ocean's rhythmic rise and fall.
Only the song the sea sings as she laves That sleep-bound shore with sad caressing waves, The while the dead sleep sweeter in their graves.
'Tis oh! so still they sleep within each tomb, Cool in long shadows of the cypress gloom, Breathing in death the moon-flower's rank perfume.
They know not when slow barges on the mere Enter the portals of that place austere-- Enter and so forever disappear!
And in this island of a silent sea, Whose marge e'er wistful waves lap listlessly, Is rest,--is peace for all eternity.
You and I
Over the hills where the pine-trees grow, With a laugh to answer the wind at play. Why do I laugh? I do not know, But you and I once passed this way.
Down in the hollow now white with snow My heart is singing a song today. Why do I sing? I do not know, But you and I were here in May.
A Ballade of Old Romance
When April spreads her mantle green Across the pasture-lands of snow, And Spring's first scarlet breasts are seen Where treetops rustle to and fro; Then come fair fragrant dreams as though Our lightest fancy to entrance And paint us what we fain would know Adown the lanes of Old Romance.
Anon, we see the golden sheen Of burnished mail the sunbeams throw, Flashing the poplars tall between, As knights ride by to meet the foe; Or, mayhap, shepherd lads who blow On slender pipes, a pastoral dance-- Ah, strong were they in weal and woe Adown the lanes of Old Romance!
But now the vast years intervene, The fountain long has ceased its flow, And silence rules the lone demesne That once held such a goodly show; Yet time, at least, does this bestow Nor leave the best to fleeting chance-- They live again in fancy's glow Adown the lanes of Old Romance.
ENVOY
Sweet, still for us some blossoms grow From out that dim and dear expanse-- Come, take my hand and we shall go Adown the lanes of Old Romance!
A Voice From the Far Away
I heard a voice from the far away Softly say this to me-- "You will find the heart of the world some day And the why of the things that be; You will see the grief of the yea and nay And the price of frailty.
"And upon your lute you will weave a theme Which the world will harken and know; For every note of the song will teem With a great soul's overflow-- You will speak the meaning within a dream And the pain in the afterglow.
"But for all of this there's a price-- 'Tis the price of minstrelsy-- You will never have of the things you play, Sad singer of poetry, And throughout your life you will go for aye, Heart-hungry and silently!" I heard a voice from the far away Softly say this to me.
April
Throughout the vale again Narcissus cries And Echo answers from her dark retreat, While Zephyr heavy-laden with the sweet, Fresh scent of blooms across the pasture hies; Above, the blueness of the April skies, Matched by the lure unto the wandering feet That e'er must go ere Spring could be complete To the green wood where laughing Eros lies.
O April lover, hear the pipes that call, The pipes of Pan a-blowing lustily, They call to you and me, and he who hears Must ever after be Young April's thrall-- So, faring thus together, we shall see The Islands of the Blest between the Spheres!
A Yesterday
I held you in my arms--so happy I, Who quite forgot the while that moments fly; Nor ever dreamed that they could pass away, Till it was yesterday.
Yet, just because that hour was long ago And seems to me so near--well, this I know That sometime I shall clasp your hand and say: Was there a yesterday?
Violets
'Twas just at sundown, when the leaves were wet With evening dew, Far in the fields where sky and violet Blend rifts of blue--
But for a moment, deep among the flowers And rain-sweet grass, I saw her--loved her--and as April showers Beheld her pass.
O, the lone vastness of the afterglow, Unknown before; Shall e'er I see that face where violets grow, Perchance, once more!
Yet no one comes save night, with wild regrets And silent pain-- Only sometimes the scent of violets On wind-blown rain.
A Song of Life
Did we not meet with the blood's best play The lash of the winds and the rain that stung, And the tang of the salty spray?
Did we not drink the last drop that clung To the golden bowl with its glowing fire, Yet so cool to our burning tongue?
Did we not love with a love entire That made up for all and a world of clay In a moment of wild desire?
As a Still Brook
As a still brook within the woodland's green Sings softly to itself the live-long day, Unconscious of its gentle roundelay, Its open purity and silver sheen-- Knowing not how in all that wild demesne, Its music is a strain the angels play And its fair face a jewel amid the gray, Beshadowed places that it flows between;
So your dear love, a simple forest stream, Bearing the wealth of all that life can hold,-- Nor ever dreaming of the worth that lies Deep in your heart--why, you have made it seem That every empty hour is wrought of gold And this tear-sodden world, a Paradise!
At the Window
I looked out of my window tall And laughed to see the May, For everything both great and small Was on a holiday.
Then Love came by and laughed at me, And I forgot the Spring-- Only I knew the ecstasy Of madly listening.
And now the branches all again Are red with vernal May, But tears have dimmed the window-pane-- And no one comes my way.
A Sea Spell
The sunset sea--a goblet thick inlaid With jewels wrought in golden filigree, An opal from some elfin treasury Burning with fire and flashing every shade; While round the dim horizon, wide displayed The clouds pile up their largess tenderly As if to clothe the beauty of the sea In filmy gossamer and soft brocade.
And far away I think I almost hear A horn's faint echo through the dusk-hour's veil As in the happy, golden days of yore-- Mayhap, e'en now upon this magic mere Frail shallops will flit by and mermaids pale Will lure us back to fairy-land once more!
The Silent Country
Wave, wave sweet blooms of May and on your wings Bear me away with drowsy winnowings To some far twilight land where steals a stream From out the cool and soundless groves of Dream.
For in the Spring is such a bitter smart Even the thought of it will break my heart, So take me softly to a leafy bed Where I shall dream and dream you are not dead!
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