Poems (Radford)/At Duclair
At Duclair
The song of songs my heart would make Is full as the great river is, Of summer's noon-day mysteries;Of imaged orchards that do slakeA thirst within its flood to take Their rapture of cool dreams.
The sun's immortal nets that strive To catch the ripples as they move, The pools whose deepest waters proveA haven all the heavens contrive,Where summer clouds may come to drive Their cars and fleecy teams,—
The starry flowers that mark the way By grassy margins to the wood, The shining flowers whose quiet moodIs as of starlight to the day,All these are in my song to stay The floods of my desire.
The wandering shadows from the west That every summer twilight brings, To hold the stream with spreading wings,And every fallen star whose questIs hidden in the river's breast, Burn in my song like fire,—
With all the passionate tides that bear The travail of the shrouded nights, When hanging from their gleaming lights,Shining like jewels set in air,Great boats, that through the darkness fare Sweep upwards from the sea.
So heavy in my song they lie, These summer mysteries that break My heart for love, that, for your sake,If you should breathe one tiniest sighFor love of me, the song would die, Its burden would be free.