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I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I loiter round my cresses;
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
As thro' the land at eve we went,
And pluck'd the ripen'd ears,
And kiss'd again with tears.
And blessings on the falling out
That all the more endears,
And kiss again with tears !
For when we came where lies the child
We lost in other years,
The splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
O hark, o hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going !
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing !
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
And grow for ever and for ever.
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
Dear as remember'd kisses after death,
O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, That bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North.
O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.
O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.
Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love,
O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown:
O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace. Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.
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,
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
To the dancers dancing in tune;
And a hush with the setting moon.
I said to the lily, 'There is but one
With whom she has heart to be gay.
She is weary of dance and play.'
And half to the rising day;
The last wheel echoes away.
I said to the rose, ‘The brief night goes
In babble and revel and wine.
For one that will never be thine?
'For ever and ever, mine.'
And the soul of the rose went into my blood,
As the music clash'd in the hall; And along 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 ;