A leave-taking

The pilgrim cranes are moving to their south,
The clouds are herded pale and rolling slow.
One flower is withered in the warm wind's mouth,
Whereby the gentle waters always flow.

The cloud-fire wanes beyond the lighted trees.
The sudden glory leaves the mountain dome.
Sleep into night, old anguish mine, and cease
To listen for a step that will not come.

I question with the amber daffodils,
Sheeting the floors of April, how she fares;
Where king-cup buds gleam out between the rills,
And celandine in wide gold beadlets glares.
By pastured brows and swelling hedge-row bowers,
From crumpled leaves the primrose bunches slip,
My hot face rolled in their faint-scented flowers,
I dream her rich cheek rests against my lip.
All weird sensations of the fervent prime
Are like great harmonies, whose touch can move
The glow of gracious impulse; thought and time
Renew my love with life, my life with love.
When this old world new-born puts glories on,
I cannot think she never will be won.

Gray woods within whose silent shade
The ocean voice is dimly known:
Where undisturbed the violets fade,
And roses perish overblown;
Calm rests the wave against the beach
Calm rocks the wave-bird on its tide,
And calmer in their heaven that each,
The gleaming bands of sunset ride.
Soon will the ripple move again:
Soon will the shore-lark flute its song:
And in sweet emphasis of pain
The rock-dove mourn the cliffs along.
Sweet shall resound the curlew's wail
New sails come sweeping up the sea.
But all the ships that ever sail
Will bring no comfort home to me.

I had a true love, none so dear,
and a friend both leal and tried.
I had a cask of good old beer,
And a gallant horse to ride.

A little while did fortune smile
On him and her and me.
We sang along the road of life
Like birds upon a tree.

My lady fell to shame and hell,
And with her took my friend.
My cask ran sour, my horse went lame,
So alone in the cold I end.

From holy flower to holy flower
thou weavest thine unhallowed bower.
The harmless dewdrops, deaded thin,
Ripple along thy ropes of sin.
Thy house a grave, a gulf thy throne
Affright the fairies every one.
Thy winding sheets are gray and fell,
Imprisoning with nets of hell
The lovely births that winnow by,
Winged sisters of the rainbow sky.
Elf-darlings, fluffy, bee-bright things,
And owl-white moths with mealy wings,
And tiny flies, as gauzy thin
As e'er were shut electrum in.
These are thy death spoils, insect ghoul,
With their dear life your fangs are foul.
Thou felon anchorite of pain
Who sittest in a world of slain.
Hermit, who tunest song unsweet
To heaving wind and writhing feet.
A glutton of creation's sighs,
Miser of many miseries.
Toper, whose lonely feasting chair
Sways in inhospitable air.
The board is bare, the bloated host
Drinks to himself toast after toast.
His lips require no goblet brink
But like a weasel he must drink.
The vintage is as old as time
And bright as sunset, pressed and prime.
Ah, venom mouth and shaggy thighs
And paunch grown sleek with sacrifice,
Thy dolphin back and shoulders round
Coarse-hairy, as some goblin hound
Whom a hag rides to sabbath on,
While shuddering stars in fear grow wan.
Thou palace priest of treachery,
Thou type of selfish lechery,
I break the toils around thy head
And from their gibbets take thy dead.

In ruling well what guerdon? Life runs low,
As yonder lamp upon the hour-glass lies,
Waning and wasted. We are great and wise,
But Love is gone; and Silence seems to grow
Along the misty road where we must go.
From summits near the morning star's uprise,
Death comes, a shadow from the norhtern skies,
As, when all leaves are down, thence comes the snow.

Brother and king, we hold our last carouse.
One loving cup we drain and then farewell.
The night is spent. The crystal morning ray
Calls us, as soldiers laurelled on our brows,
To march undaunted, while the clarions swell,
Heroic hearts, upon our lonely way.

Kneel not and leave me: mirth is in its grave.
True friend, sweet words were ours, sweet words decay;
Believe, the perfume once this violet gave
Lives - lives no more, though mute tears answer nay.
Break off delay!

Dead, Love is dead! Ay, canceled all his due.
We say he mocks repose - we cannot tell -
Close up his eyes and crown his head with rue,
Say in his ear, sweet Love, farewell! farewell!
A last low knell.

Forbear to move him. Peace, why should we stay?
Go back no more to listen for his tread.
Resume our old calm face of every day:
Not all our kneeling turns that sacred head
Long dear, Long Dead!