Two Robbers
When Death from some fair face
Is stealing life away,
All weep, save she, the grace
That earth shall lose today.
When Time from some fair face
Steals beauty year by year,
For her slow-fading grace
Who sheds, save she, a tear?
And Death not often dares
To wake the world's distress;
While Time, the cunning, mars
Surely all loveliness.
Yet though by breath and breath
Fades all thy fairest prime,
Men shrink from cruel Death,
But honor crafty Time.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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On the South Downs
Light falls the rain
On link and laine,
After the burning day;
And the bright scene,
Blue, gold, and green,
Is blotted out in gray.
Not so will part
The glowing heart
With sunny hours gone by;
On cliff and hill
There lingers still
A light that cannot die.
Like a gold crown
Gorse decks the Down,
All sapphire lies the sea;
And incense sweet
Springs as our feet
Tread light the thymy lea.
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poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Excelsior
If one should strive to reach a star,
He would not build a ladder high,
Seek foot by foot to climb so far,
And step by step ascend the sky;
But he would seek the wild bird’s wings,
The secret of the lightning’s play,
Leap out upon the night’s blue rings,
And hail at dawn his wished-for day.
I will not vainly seek to thee
By ladder-steps of wealth or fame,
Till some few feet below me be
The world, thy distance still the same.
But I will seek that influence
By which all nature’s marvels move,
Till I, by flash or flight from hence,
Win to thee as on wings of Love.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Call
Hark! 'tis the rush of the horses,
The crash of the galloping gun!
The stars are out of their courses;
The hour of Doom has begun.
Leap from thy scabbard, O sword!
Leap! 'Tis the Day of the Lord!
Prate not of peace any longer,
Laughter and idlesse and ease!
Up, every man that is stronger!
Leave but the priest on his knees!
Quick, every hand to the hilt!
Who striketh not—his the guilt!
Call not each man on his brother!
Cry not to Heaven to save!
Thou art the man—not another—
Thou, to off glove and out glaive!
Fight, ye who ne'er fought before!
Fight, ye old fighting-men more!
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Sonnet I
Oft had I felt, like pure Endymion,
Such love for the sweet moon, that I had well
Believed her able on earth to love and dwell
With whatso man she set her love upon;
But as I wandered once when day was done
Beside the murmuring, moon-lit ocean-swell,
Sudden thy silent beauty on me shone,
Fair as the moon had give thee all her spell.
Then, as Endymion had found on earth,
In unchanged beauty but in fashion changed,
Her whom I loved so long; so felt I then,
Not that a new love in my heart had birth,
But that the old, that far from reach had ranged,
Was now on earth, and to be loved of men.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Drought
For rain, for rain the parched lands cry,
Reproachful to the cloudless sky.
The hot white fields in light are blinking,
The rivers in their beds are shrinking.
For rest, for rest the weary cry
That watch from dark to dawn the sky;
A little sleep their limbs are craving,
A little rest from ceaseless raving.
God gives in His good time the rain,
And sends the sick man peace for pain;
But while we wait His gracious sending,
Alas! the sad days seem unending.
Yet, when the evening comes, the dew
Brings to the fields a fragrance new;
And loving smiles at day’s returning
Will soothe awhile the sick man’s yearning.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Sonnet II
As strong, as deep, as wide as is the sea,
Though by the wind made restless as the wind,
By billows fretted and by rocks confined,
So strong, so deep, so wide my love for thee.
And as the sea; though oft huge waves arise,
So oft that calms can never quite assuage,
So huge that ocean’s whole self seems to rage;
Yet tranquil, deep, beneath the tempest lies:
So my great love for thee lies tranquil, deep,
Forever; though above it passions fierce,
Ambition, hatred, jealousy; like waves
That seem from earth’s core to the sky to leap,
But ocean’s depths can never really pierce;
Hide its great calm, while all the surface raves.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Old And Young
LONG ago, on a bright spring day,
I passed a little child at play;
And as I passed, in childish glee
She called to me, “Come and play with me!”
But my eyes were fixed on a far-off height
I was fain to climb before the night;
So, half-impatient, I answered, “Nay!
I am too old, too old to play.”
Long, long after, in Autumn time—
My limbs were grown too old to climb—
I passed a child on a pleasant lea,
And I called to her, “Come and play with me!”
But her eyes were fixed on a fairy-book;
And scarce she lifted a wondering look,
As with childish scorn she answered, “Nay!
I am too old, too old to play!”
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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The Piper
The dews were on the hedges,
The mist was on the mead,
When down among the sedges
I wrought my pipe of reed.
I blew my pipe with power.
Men only cursed the sound
That woke them when the hour
Brought back their labor’s round.
The scythe was in the barley,
The sickle in the wheat;
The pipe I made so early
Had lost its tones so sweet.
And weary man and maiden,
Upon the glowing soil,
My reed-pipe fell upbraiding
That lightened not their toil.
The men had left their mowing,
The maids to bind the sheaves;
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poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Eurydice
HE came to call me back from death
To the bright world above.
I hear him yet with trembling breath
Low calling, “O sweet love!
Come back! The earth is just as fair;
The flowers, the open skies are there;
Come back to life and love!”
Oh! all my heart went out to him,
And the sweet air above.
With happy tears my eyes were dim;
I called him, “O sweet love!
I come, for thou art all to me.
Go forth, and I will follow thee,
Right back to life and love!”
I followed through the cavern black;
I saw the blue above.
Some terror turned me to look back:
I heard him wail, “O love!
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poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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