Poems (Loveman)/In Pierrot's garden

by Samuel Loveman

IN PIERROT'S GARDEN.

I.

There's a lark that's drunken with the daedal moon, And I sing to the shy-fledged singer;Lonesomest thing in the world but one, He bids me wait and linger.

Hush, little brother your heart is fire, Hush, little one and forget;He will not tarry, but wings him higher, And my eyes are wet, are wet.

II.

This is the way the moon comes upFrom under the glimmering fallow fields;First but the rim of a silver cup,Where the farthest twilight primrose yieldsHer earthly beauty up; And now where the deep light winks abrim,You can see it flutter and fail for breath,And a single star falls rapt and dim—I call it Death.

III.

These are my moths, a brooding slumber Falls from their painted placid wings,The shifting dusk is white with their number, They stir to the song one sings.

Into the heart of a poppy they hover, Out of the purple starlit night;Ah, they are gone now, poppy and lover— I am their short delight.

IV.

Do you hear it?—my bubbling nightingale, With a thousand notes to a single trill;The moon and the stars are passion-pale, Listen they must at will.

Such a world of ache, such an ancient wrong, I have tried to fathom it all forsooth;But the deep night covers the singer and song, And youth, it cries—youth—youth!

V.

I wonder what the night can hold Beyond the sea-blue sloping boughs,The heart of all the west is gold, I wonder why it glows.

My thoughts lie heavy on my eyes, I have so many dreams to dream,So many little fantasies, To solve and scheme.

They creep upon me unawares, They flutter in and out my brain,Each one finds housing in my prayers, I hold them free from stain.