Poems (Hardy)/An invitation
For works with similar titles, see An invitation.
AN INVITATION
THE MARRIED LOVERS TO A FRIEND
COME, O friend of Both, and see our home!
A cottage neighbored by a friendly brook
That sings, or sings not, as we choose to hear,
But winds its own sweet way among our trees,
And, meditating, musical, wanders joyously
Below into the open wood beyond,
Alert and singing on through unknown ways
To seek—but not to find!—another home
As dear.
We two,—O summer sweet and long!—
We two dwell there, whom oft the early stars
Find walking through the flowery garden ways,
Silent with joy, or gay with tranquil speech;
Or yet they find us on the vine-woven porch
Listening to the streamlet drop into the wood
To wake the troops of echoes there asleep
And chase their music to our ears.
We two
Beside the friendly stream live such a life
And know what silent thoughts move each to joy
When wakening orchards blossom up the hills,
And sweeten all the May-time morning airs;
When warmer glows of summer paint the skies;
When apples drop, red-ripe, among the grass
Through all the silence of the autumn nights;
When, all leaf-strewn, our wood is gray and still,
And faded is the grass beneath the snow;
Thus our two lives together run love's perfect way.
A cottage neighbored by a friendly brook
That sings, or sings not, as we choose to hear,
But winds its own sweet way among our trees,
And, meditating, musical, wanders joyously
Below into the open wood beyond,
Alert and singing on through unknown ways
To seek—but not to find!—another home
As dear.
We two,—O summer sweet and long!—
We two dwell there, whom oft the early stars
Find walking through the flowery garden ways,
Silent with joy, or gay with tranquil speech;
Or yet they find us on the vine-woven porch
Listening to the streamlet drop into the wood
To wake the troops of echoes there asleep
And chase their music to our ears.
We two
Beside the friendly stream live such a life
And know what silent thoughts move each to joy
When wakening orchards blossom up the hills,
And sweeten all the May-time morning airs;
When warmer glows of summer paint the skies;
When apples drop, red-ripe, among the grass
Through all the silence of the autumn nights;
When, all leaf-strewn, our wood is gray and still,
And faded is the grass beneath the snow;
Thus our two lives together run love's perfect way.
Enter our little home, O Friend of Both,
Its dearness let us share to-day with you;
An Invitation And take into your thought of us its peace,
Its humble harmony and beauty take,
Its books, and flowers, and pictures, dear and few.
Its dearness let us share to-day with you;
An Invitation And take into your thought of us its peace,
Its humble harmony and beauty take,
Its books, and flowers, and pictures, dear and few.
Come touch this thing of music till it sings
Of light that never fades away, and joy
That grows far down among the roots of life.
Or by this window sit and see how near
We hearken Nature, who can come up close
To overlook what life we live, day in,
Day out, and praise, or chide, or smile.
These grapes,
Pale red, and lucent green, and purple-black,
The hand of Rosamund hath intertwined
With leaves for you; this perfect peach of gold
Among the topmost boughs I sought for you;
This branch of amber plums, the bloom on yet,
All these are morning thoughts of you; her thoughts
And mine, for you, O first of friends to us,
Whose hand laid on our growing souls and hearts
A shaping love and steadying sympathy;
With infinite expenditure of faith
That draws its hope from memories unnamed,
Whose source lies deep among the years long gone,
We know it now! you gave us this great gift—
(Ofttimes misread, or half-conceived, half-heeded,)—
Your inner life, the closed-up volume of your heart.
Of light that never fades away, and joy
That grows far down among the roots of life.
Or by this window sit and see how near
We hearken Nature, who can come up close
To overlook what life we live, day in,
Day out, and praise, or chide, or smile.
These grapes,
Pale red, and lucent green, and purple-black,
The hand of Rosamund hath intertwined
With leaves for you; this perfect peach of gold
Among the topmost boughs I sought for you;
This branch of amber plums, the bloom on yet,
All these are morning thoughts of you; her thoughts
And mine, for you, O first of friends to us,
Whose hand laid on our growing souls and hearts
A shaping love and steadying sympathy;
With infinite expenditure of faith
That draws its hope from memories unnamed,
Whose source lies deep among the years long gone,
We know it now! you gave us this great gift—
(Ofttimes misread, or half-conceived, half-heeded,)—
Your inner life, the closed-up volume of your heart.
Nay, we have seen and known, when we half talked
Within the soul's most inner shrine, how you
Secretly did lift us toward a star
Long risen to your horizon, but yet, not yet
To ours; and, thinly veiled, your life's ideal
Still walks beside you guiding us;—and ours
That shall be, so are yours, and blessed forevermore.
Within the soul's most inner shrine, how you
Secretly did lift us toward a star
Long risen to your horizon, but yet, not yet
To ours; and, thinly veiled, your life's ideal
Still walks beside you guiding us;—and ours
That shall be, so are yours, and blessed forevermore.