CHILDHOOD

A stranger come I to the festival
Thou holdest in the regions of romance,
Where dragons lurk and elfin spirits dance,
And pearls lie hid within each rose petal. 
What magic changes in life’s crystal ball
Shall thus transform earth’s dullness at thy glance! 
Ride then the wind, a feather for thy lance,
A pool thy sea, thy heaven a waterfall. 
So shall thy soul to fairy worlds belong,
Where dust is gold and dew-drops turn to wine;
Remember still the visions that are thine
When sorrow shall disperse that phantom throng;
And dream once more that thou hast found divine
Love in a flower, and kingdoms in a song.

LOVE IN IDLENESS

To look at thee, and see the sunlight move
The shadow of the leaves upon thy face,
Lighting the glory of thy youth and grace
With golden rays wind-stirred from trees above;
To listen to the rustling of the grove,
The warblers in the reeds which interlace
The waters of the pool, and dream a space,
Forgetful of the hours ... this then is love! 
Thy passion and thy strength, thy gentleness,
All these are mine.  Who then shall dispossess
My soul of paradise?  In truth I learn
More than the world can teach.  Oblivion waits,
And distance parts, and Death annihilates: 
But now thy love is all my love’s concern.

LOVE’S COUNTERFEIT

By what false spell of what enchanter’s wand
Should thy gross fibre be with love allied? 
Unhappy youth, thou callest to thy side
An unknown shade from some far spirit land;
Thou canst not guess, nor shalt thou understand,
The waters that thy soul from his divide. 
In place of Love, what alien spirits glide
About thy sleep to answer thy command? 
What blasphemy is this?  Thou hast no spell
To call that heaven-born spirit from the deep,
Or move the stars.  What cometh in his place? 
This monstrous fraud which thou hast raised from hell,
Whose arms about thee in the darkness creep? 
Light not thy torch, lest thou shouldst see
his face.

* * * * *

OLIVIA MEYNELL

A GRIEF WITHOUT CHRIST

I sought Him in the trees, and Him I found
In every colour, and in every sound.

I sought Him in the sky, and He was there,
A living God, breathing the living air.

I sought Him in my soul—­oh, passionate loss! 
All that I found was a forsaken Cross.

THE CROWNING

Whenas we wandered in the summer hours,
My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.

Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;
Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were—­

Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;
And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.

Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,
Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.