Christmas Roses
White-faced Winter Roses,
O'er the grave I plant you
Where the dead reposes,
That a soul may haunt you,
And your ghostly whiteness
In the Winter gloom,
Seem some spirit-brightness
Shining from the tomb!
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Night
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies,
When love is done.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Night Has A Thousand Eyes
The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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A Spring Evening
Across the Glory of the glowing skies,
A veil is drawn of shadowed mists that rise
From lavishness from God's late gift. the rain.
So, after farewell said, fond memories
Of words and looks, now over, come again
Across the glowing heart, a veil of pain.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Heart Cry
She turned the page of wounds and death
With trembling fingers. In a breath
The gladness of her life became
Naught but a memory and a name.
Farewell! Farewell! I might not share
The perils it was yours to dare.
Dauntless you fronted death: for me
Rests to face life as fearlessly.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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A Violinist
THE LARK above our heads doth know
A heaven we see not here below;
She sees it, and for joy she sings;
Then falls with ineffectual wings.
Ah, soaring soul! faint not nor tire!
Each heaven attained reveals a higher.
Thy thought is of thy failure; we
List raptured, and thank God for thee.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Regions of Love
Who knows the deeps, where the water sleeps
Leagues from the light away?
Who knows the heights, where myriad lights
Fill heaven with endless day?
The earth goes on—seeks and loses the sun,
And men in the changes delight;
Love whirls us away into changeless day,
Or whelms us in changeless night.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Only to Live
Only to live! There nothing is more sweet.
Only to live! There nothing is more bitter.
Only to live, when flowers are at the feet
And overhead the happy swallows twitter.
Only to live! There nothing is more sweet.
Only to live, when flies the angry sleet,
And the head bows above a dead love’s litter.
Only to live! There nothing is more bitter.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Here and There
'HERE'
Soft benediction of September sun;
Voices of children, laughing as they run;
Green English lawns, bright flowers and butterflies;
And over all the blue embracing skies.
'THERE'
Tumult and roaring of the incessant gun;
Dead men and dying, trenches lost and won;
Blood, mud, and havoc, bugles, shoutings, cries;
And over all the blue embracing skies.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Debt Unpayable
What have I given,
Bold sailor on the sea?
In earth or heaven,
That you should die for me?
What can I give,
O soldier, leal and brave,
Long as I live,
To pay the life you gave?
What tithe or part
Can I return to thee,
O stricken heart,
That thou shouldst break for me?
The wind of Death
For you has slain life's flowers,
It withereth
(God grant) all weeds in ours.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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