Wessex Twilight (November, 1923)
And to the Boy with keen intent
Their message whispered—Thou art sent
To be our Trumpet Major.
Their message whispered—Thou art sent
To be our Trumpet Major.
Their plaint was ever-that of them
No hand with Artist's brush, or Pen,
Had truly told of rural ways,
Sweet Spring delights or glorious days
Neath Greenwood Tree in Summer.
No hand with Artist's brush, or Pen,
Had truly told of rural ways,
Sweet Spring delights or glorious days
Neath Greenwood Tree in Summer.
Neither of Woods whose colours bold
In Autumn tints—or Winter's cold,
Which only they could understand,
Was but Dame Nature's curbing hand
Not futile, Desperate Remedy.
In Autumn tints—or Winter's cold,
Which only they could understand,
Was but Dame Nature's curbing hand
Not futile, Desperate Remedy.
He passed from Youth to Man's estate,
When Childhood dreams at last took shape,
And from the storeroom of his mind
Came forth those tales of Wessex king,
Which make him Well beloved.
When Childhood dreams at last took shape,
And from the storeroom of his mind
Came forth those tales of Wessex king,
Which make him Well beloved.
His Wondrous views of Nature's maze—
Inspired words—make beauteous Lays,
And all who scan his pages through
Can visualise the Scenes he drew,
Of Brackened Heath and Vale.
Inspired words—make beauteous Lays,
And all who scan his pages through
Can visualise the Scenes he drew,
Of Brackened Heath and Vale.
Proud Dynasts striving Power to hold,
Or Woodlanders of Simpler mould,
Created he on Nature's plan,
And gave to them for Fiction's span,
Moods—varied as the Seasons.
Or Woodlanders of Simpler mould,
Created he on Nature's plan,
And gave to them for Fiction's span,
Moods—varied as the Seasons.
A troubled way of Storm and Stress,
Eustacia's life and that of Tess,
Eustacia's life and that of Tess,
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