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Read Ebook: Pan-Worship and Other Poems by Farjeon Eleanor
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Ebook has 249 lines and 24007 words, and 5 pages
PAGE.
Pan-Worship 9
Vagrant Songs 13
King Laurin's Garden 18
The Mysterious Forest 21
The Old Grey Queen 22
The Quest 24
The Unspoken Word 26
In the Oculist's Anteroom 33
Little Dream-Brother 34
Faust and Margaret 36
Dream-Ships 37
The Moral 38
Colour-Tones 40
From an old Garden 42
A Sheaf of Nature-Songs 59
Apollo in Pherae 72
PAN-WORSHIP
VAGRANT SONGS
But yesterday the winds of March Bent back the barren branches of the larch ... But O! to-day The bareness from the earth is swept away.
Deep through my swelling breast I hear The wild call of the gipsy time o' year-- O, Vagrant Spring, Brother o' mine, I'm for the gipsying!
The greening earth I stand upon Tingles my feet: Brother, we must begone! Younger and younger, All my heart cries aloud with Wander-Hunger
Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many-- I rove beneath the sun Without a single penny.
A king might envy long The fare my board adorning-- Upon a throstle's song I broke my fast this morning;
My lunch, a girl's quick smile, As I'm a living sinner; She walked with me a mile ... I kissed her for my dinner.
Of troubles know I none, Of pleasures know I many-- I fare beneath the sun Without a single penny!
O, how she laughs with me, Eats with me, quaffs with me, Smiles to me, sighs to me, Questions, replies to me, Answers my every mood, Finds good what I find good, Earth, the green Mother! Where shall man live and die Having my treasury Which never gold could buy-- Water and air and sky And Earth's great sympathy-- Save he do live as I? Join with me, Brother!
If you be sickening Here's for your quickening! Here at the heart of it You shall be part of it, And the good smell of rain Shall make you whole again-- Join with me, Brother! Here the life-sap runs green, Here the life-ways are clean, Here just one bird that sings Re-starts your sluggish springs, Here under moon and sun You, I and She are one, Earth, the green Mother!
I lay me on the ground Under the dark, And Heaven's purple arc Drew its deep curtains round My weary head and shut away the sound. The golden star-lights crept Over the hill ... I lay so very still I heard them as they stepped ... "Sleep!" breathed the Earth. Upon her breast I slept.
I'll stay one night beneath your roof, And longer I will stay for no man, And as for love, I'm loving-proof-- Turn by your eyes, White Woman.
The Wander-fever's in my blood, I have no time for simple loving-- The hot Earth is in roving mood, And I too must be roving.
Why will you wring my breast with tears? Tears will not quench the Wander-fever. Why will you fill my soul with fears When I will go for ever?
I went far and cold Over upland wold Where the story of spring's breathing Scarcely yet was told. Shifting monotone Of the pale wind's moan Through my hair at dusk went wreathing, And I walked alone.
Far below and far Where the homesteads are One small ruddy candle twinkled, Warmer than a star. When the day was gone, Softly one by one Homing-lights the valley sprinkled ... And I wandered on.
KING LAURIN'S GARDEN
King Laurin has a garden of roses Where warm sweet odours do idly flow Wave upon wave through the charm?d air ... It is sin to wish for the garden of roses In the heart of wild mountains where no men go.
Laurin is king of a rosy garden. The lure of the roses is rare, O rare! They tremble and brighten and throb and glow ... I may not think of King Laurin's garden. A danger, they tell me, for maids is there.
There are four high gates to the garden of roses, For the treasure of bloom a golden guard, A precious cup for the rose-wine red. O the golden gates of the garden of roses! They are bright and beautiful, tall and barred.
There is no strong wall round the rosy garden; From gate to gate runs a woven thread, Yellow and silken and fine, for ward. Who snaps the ward of the rosy garden With his hand and his foot shall he pay, 'tis said.
Laurin who rules the garden of roses Is an elf-king, therefore he has no soul. Poor soulless elf of the garden of roses! Shall I pray for King Laurin at Vesper-toll?
They say no prayers in the rosy garden Where life is the flash of a fragrant flame Like the heart of a flower on fire: the whole Of forbidden sweet is the rosy garden I may not think of and feel no shame.
For in King Laurin's garden of roses Waking thought shall be stilled asleep, And the still heart dream itself half-awake ... O the soft, soft dreams of the garden of roses! They creep ... ... but they steal and creep.
Laurin the king of the rosy garden Has a magic girdle that none can break. It makes the pulse of his life to leap With twelve men's strength. In the rosy garden He is feared and feared for the girdle's sake.
Laurin the king of the garden of roses Has a magic crown where strange birds so sing That resistance and doubt by their song once kissed Melt into trance. In the garden of roses He is loved and loved for his crowned bird-ring.
Laurin the king of the rosy garden Has a magic cloak the colour of mist, And he goes invisibly wandering Far from the bourne of the rosy garden Like a cloud of pearl and of amethyst.
He seeks a bride for his garden of roses, For the soulless spirit a human girl ... ... He will bear her back to his garden of roses In the mist of his magic grey-and-pearl.
Kunhild was borne to the rosy garden, The sister of Dietrich of Bern, one day. A fair green mead and a cloud's dim swirl, And Kunhild awoke in the rosy garden ... But she stood by a linden-tree first, they say.
THE MYSTERIOUS FOREST
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