Collected Works (Vol. I)

IN A CORNFIELD 103 IN A CORNFIELD. O voice of sightless magic Clear through day’s crystal sky, Blithe, contemplative, tragic, As men may laugh or sigh ; As men may love or sorrow, Their moods thy music borrow To bid them live or die. So sweet, so sad, so lonely, In silent noontide only Thy song-wings float and lie On cloud-foam scarred and riven, By God’s red lightnings shriven, And quiet hours are given To him that lingers nigh. Fain would I linger near thee Amid the poppies red, Forget this world, and hear thee As one among the dead ; Amid the daffadillies, Red tulips and white lilies, Where daisies’ tears are shed ; Where larkspur and cornflower Are blue with sunlight’s hour, And all the earth is spread As in a dream before me; While steals divinely o’er me Love’s scented spring to draw me From moods of dreamy dread. O wingéd passion ! traveller Too near to God to see! O lyrical unraveller Of knotted life to me! O song! O shining river Of thought and sound! O giver Of goodly words of glee! Like to a star that singeth, A flower that incense bringeth, A love-song of the free ! Oh! let me sing thy glories While spring winds whisper stories Of winter past, whose shore is Beyond a shoreless sea. Sing on, thou lyric lover ! Sing on, and thrill me Jong With such delights as cover The days and deeds of wrong! Live lyre of songs immortal That pierce Heaven’s fiery portal With shafts of splendour strong, Winged with thought’s sharpest fires, Arrowed with soul’s desires And sped from thunder’s thong ; Heaven’s gates rock, rage, and quiver, Farth’s walls gape wide and shiver, While Freedom doth deliver Men’s spirits with thy song. Ah, chainless, distant, fleeting, To lands that, know no sea, Where ocean’s stormy greeting Fills no man’s heart with glee ; Where lovers die or sever, . And death destroys for ever, And God bears slavery :— Fly thither, so thou leave us That no man’s hand may reave us Of this—that we are free. Free all men that may heed thee, On freemen’s praises feed thee, Who chorus full, ‘*‘ God speed thee, Live lyre of Liberty !” DREAMS. War words are these that shudder through my sleep, Changing from silver into crimson flakes, And moltén into gold Like the pale opal through whose gray may sweep A scarlet flame, like eyes of crested snakes, Keen, furious, and too cold. What words are these? The pall of slumber lifts ; The veil of finiteness withdraws. The night Is heavier, life burns low: