A CHILD'S VOICE 'Twas in a far back swallow-time When the air was filled with chime Of Sunday bells that danced in tune With Eastern phantasies, A child within a garden's boon Oft sighed with saddened eyes. A swallow screamed and wheeled at him Beside the greenhouse door; It knew that there he strove to limn The need in his soul's core: And he is lonely and sad who tells His need to Sunday bells. Of playfellows there was not one To whom at wake of sun The child might turn to speak a dream Of lazy summer seas O'er which a ship rode fair of beam Bringing his soul's keys; And how a wondrous alien boy Trod proud that ship of Fate. There mid the bells of Sunday joy He whispered, "Come not late Within my longing, for my play Won't keep for any day."
"The greenhouse tank is stagnant now Under the cherry bough; And there a ship is by the quay, The joy of my Baghdad. Oh come, oh come and play with me That I should not be sad." The jewelled shade of evening's hood Held many Eastern tales; And cinnamon and sandalwood Lurked in his camels' bales. But then a swallow harshly screamed And tumbled what he dreamed. And that was back in swallow-time With life a child's rhyme. And some came true of what he dreamed, And some has been forgot. But life with sadness still is seamed, And thorns take long to rot.
RIVER SONG One day I would be glad And with all quiet be Except your cadenced murmur Beside the willow-tree. One day I would be glad With fields of king-cup gold: One day of dancing water Below the cuckoo-fold. One day I would be glad With crowned vermilion kings Whose scarves are lilies blowing Where youth for ever sings. One day I would be glad With Oxford's poplared grace: One day with love between us And then—to lose your face.
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