Read Ebook: A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass by Lowell Amy

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Ebook has 269 lines and 33907 words, and 6 pages

A Little Song

When you, my Dear, are away, away, How wearily goes the creeping day. A year drags after morning, and night Starts another year of candle light. O Pausing Sun and Lingering Moon! Grant me, I beg of you, this boon.

Whirl round the earth as never sun Has his diurnal journey run. And, Moon, slip past the ladders of air In a single flash, while your streaming hair Catches the stars and pulls them down To shine on some slumbering Chinese town. O Kindly Sun! Understanding Moon! Bring evening to crowd the footsteps of noon.

But when that long awaited day Hangs ripe in the heavens, your voyaging stay. Be morning, O Sun! with the lark in song, Be afternoon for ages long. And, Moon, let you and your lesser lights Watch over a century of nights.

Behind a Wall

I own a solace shut within my heart, A garden full of many a quaint delight And warm with drowsy, poppied sunshine; bright, Flaming with lilies out of whose cups dart Shining things With powdered wings.

Here terrace sinks to terrace, arbors close The ends of dreaming paths; a wanton wind Jostles the half-ripe pears, and then, unkind, Tumbles a-slumber in a pillar rose, With content Grown indolent.

So far and still it is that, listening, I hear the flowers talking in the dawn; And where a sunken basin cuts the lawn, Cinctured with iris, pale and glistening, The sudden swish Of a waking fish.

A Winter Ride

Who shall declare the joy of the running! Who shall tell of the pleasures of flight! Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather, Sweeping, wide-winged, through the blue dome of light. Everything mortal has moments immortal, Swift and God-gifted, immeasurably bright.

So with the stretch of the white road before me, Shining snowcrystals rainbowed by the sun, Fields that are white, stained with long, cool, blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run. Joy in the touch of the wind and the sunlight! Joy! With the vigorous earth I am one.

A Coloured Print by Shokei

It winds along the face of a cliff This path which I long to explore, And over it dashes a waterfall, And the air is full of the roar And the thunderous voice of waters which sweep In a silver torrent over some steep.

It clears the path with a mighty bound And tumbles below and away, And the trees and the bushes which grow in the rocks Are wet with its jewelled spray; The air is misty and heavy with sound, And small, wet wildflowers star the ground.

Oh! The dampness is very good to smell, And the path is soft to tread, And beyond the fall it winds up and on, While little streamlets thread Their own meandering way down the hill Each singing its own little song, until

I forget that 't is only a pictured path, And I hear the water and wind, And look through the mist, and strain my eyes To see what there is behind; For it must lead to a happy land, This little path by a waterfall spanned.

Song

Oh! To be a flower Nodding in the sun, Bending, then upspringing As the breezes run; Holding up A scent-brimmed cup, Full of summer's fragrance to the summer sun.

Oh! To be a butterfly Still, upon a flower, Winking with its painted wings, Happy in the hour. Blossoms hold Mines of gold Deep within the farthest heart of each chaliced flower.

Oh! To be a cloud Blowing through the blue, Shadowing the mountains, Rushing loudly through Valleys deep Where torrents keep Always their plunging thunder and their misty arch of blue.

Oh! To be a wave Splintering on the sand, Drawing back, but leaving Lingeringly the land. Rainbow light Flashes bright Telling tales of coral caves half hid in yellow sand.

Soon they die, the flowers; Insects live a day; Clouds dissolve in showers; Only waves at play Last forever. Shall endeavor Make a sea of purpose mightier than we dream to-day?

The Fool Errant

The Fool Errant sat by the highway of life And his gaze wandered up and his gaze wandered down, A vigorous youth, but with no wish to walk, Yet his longing was great for the distant town.

He whistled a little frivolous tune Which he felt to be pulsing with ecstasy, For he thought that success always followed desire, Such a very superlative fool was he.

A maiden came by on an ambling mule, Her gown was rose-red and her kerchief blue, On her lap she carried a basket of eggs. Thought the fool, "There is certainly room for two."

So he jauntily swaggered towards the maid And put out his hand to the bridle-rein. "My pretty girl," quoth the fool, "take me up, For to ride with you to the town I am fain."

But the maiden struck at his upraised arm And pelted him hotly with eggs, a score. The mule, lashed into a fury, ran; The fool went back to his stone and swore.

Then out of the cloud of settling dust The burly form of an abbot appeared, Reading his office he rode to the town. And the fool got up, for his heart was cheered.

He stood in the midst of the long, white road And swept off his cap till it touched the ground. "Ah, Reverent Sir, well met," said the fool, "A worthier transport never was found.

"I pray you allow me to mount with you, Your palfrey seems both sturdy and young." The abbot looked up from the holy book And cried out in anger, "Hold your tongue!

"How dare you obstruct the King's highroad, You saucy varlet, get out of my way." Then he gave the fool a cut with his whip And leaving him smarting, he rode away.

The fool was angry, the fool was sore, And he cursed the folly of monks and maids. "If I could but meet with a man," sighed the fool, "For a woman fears, and a friar upbraids."

Then he saw a flashing of distant steel And the clanking of harness greeted his ears, And up the road journeyed knights-at-arms, With waving plumes and glittering spears.

The fool took notice and slowly arose, Not quite so sure was his foolish heart. If priests and women would none of him Was it likely a knight would take his part?

They sang as they rode, these lusty boys, When one chanced to turn toward the highway's side, "There's a sorry figure of fun," jested he, "Well, Sirrah! move back, there is scarce room to ride."

"Good Sirs, Kind Sirs," begged the crestfallen fool, "I pray of your courtesy speech with you, I'm for yonder town, and have no horse to ride, Have you never a charger will carry two?"

Then the company halted and laughed out loud. "Was such a request ever made to a knight?" "And where are your legs," asked one, "if you start, You may be inside the town gates to-night."

"'T is a lazy fellow, let him alone, They've no room in the town for such idlers as he." But one bent from his saddle and said, "My man, Art thou not ashamed to beg charity!

"Thou art well set up, and thy legs are strong, But it much misgives me lest thou'rt a fool; For beggars get only a beggar's crust, Wise men are reared in a different school."

Then they clattered away in the dust and the wind, And the fool slunk back to his lonely stone; He began to see that the man who asks Must likewise give and not ask alone.

Purple tree-shadows crept over the road, The level sun flung an orange light, And the fool laid his head on the hard, gray stone And wept as he realized advancing night.

A great, round moon rose over a hill And the steady wind blew yet more cool; And crouched on a stone a wayfarer sobbed, For at last he knew he was only a fool.

The Green Bowl

This little bowl is like a mossy pool In a Spring wood, where dogtooth violets grow Nodding in chequered sunshine of the trees; A quiet place, still, with the sound of birds, Where, though unseen, is heard the endless song And murmur of the never resting sea. 'T was winter, Roger, when you made this cup, But coming Spring guided your eager hand And round the edge you fashioned young green leaves, A proper chalice made to hold the shy And little flowers of the woods. And here They will forget their sad uprooting, lost In pleasure that this circle of bright leaves Should be their setting; once more they will dream They hear winds wandering through lofty trees And see the sun smiling between the leaves.

Hora Stellatrix

The stars hang thick in the apple tree, The south wind smells of the pungent sea, Gold tulip cups are heavy with dew. The night's for you, Sweetheart, for you! Starfire rains from the vaulted blue.

Listen! The dancing of unseen leaves. A drowsy swallow stirs in the eaves. Only a maiden is sorrowing. 'T is night and spring, Sweetheart, and spring! Starfire lights your heart's blossoming.

In the intimate dark there's never an ear, Though the tulips stand on tiptoe to hear, So give; ripe fruit must shrivel or fall. As you are mine, Sweetheart, give all! Starfire sparkles, your coronal.

Fragment

Loon Point

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