Themes and Variations/In a Garden—Victoria
IN A GARDEN—VICTORIA.
I.
The Elm has caught the torch of Spring
And passed it to the lime,
The hedgerow waits, a thorny ring,
Brawn as in winter time.
And bare, beside the almond tree,
My vine-wrought citadel,
Where Summer globes, for you and me,
Her amber muscatel.
Each flask an essence of the sun
Sealed in a secret grot—
And here she reddens, one by one,
The tan-checked apricot.
And passed it to the lime,
The hedgerow waits, a thorny ring,
Brawn as in winter time.
And bare, beside the almond tree,
My vine-wrought citadel,
Where Summer globes, for you and me,
Her amber muscatel.
Each flask an essence of the sun
Sealed in a secret grot—
And here she reddens, one by one,
The tan-checked apricot.
II.
Hark! from yon wattle’s golden-fretted shade
Come clear familiar notes of music ringing,
Some old bird-ballad of an English glade,
That Time himself can scarce remember bringing.
And now in liquid syllables above,
The mocking songster of our wood replies,
Then listens; while the pine trees softly move,
Breathing a low accompaniment of sighs.
Hid in this leafy cloister let us wait,
And hear what news the travelling winds relate.
Come clear familiar notes of music ringing,
Some old bird-ballad of an English glade,
That Time himself can scarce remember bringing.
And now in liquid syllables above,
The mocking songster of our wood replies,
Then listens; while the pine trees softly move,
Breathing a low accompaniment of sighs.
Hid in this leafy cloister let us wait,
And hear what news the travelling winds relate.
III.
Sweet missel thrush, what loving exile’s hand
Hath brought thee over half a sphere of seas
To wake the memories of a greener land
With that brave morning-voice among the trees?
Slipped from the cage, a truant frank and bold,
Thou seekest a home in leafage never bare,
Our Danäe tree that blooms in rain of gold,
And feeds with honeyed perfume all the air—
Here mayest thou find a mate, and rest and build,
Grand master of thy wild and warbling guild.
Hath brought thee over half a sphere of seas
To wake the memories of a greener land
With that brave morning-voice among the trees?
Slipped from the cage, a truant frank and bold,
Thou seekest a home in leafage never bare,
Our Danäe tree that blooms in rain of gold,
And feeds with honeyed perfume all the air—
Here mayest thou find a mate, and rest and build,
Grand master of thy wild and warbling guild.
IV.
But yet I love our pied musician best.
Such tunes, perhaps, were heard when Morning drew
His bow, and struck on Memnon’s stony breast,
Under old Egypt’s rain-forsaken blue.
Hear him at dawn; he tells his thoughts aloud:
Or in our silent evenings, dry and cool,
When rosy footprints of the flying cloud
Still sparkle from the shallow forest-pool.
And where the sunset leaves of light were shed,
One planet hangs its golden seed instead.
Such tunes, perhaps, were heard when Morning drew
His bow, and struck on Memnon’s stony breast,
Under old Egypt’s rain-forsaken blue.
Hear him at dawn; he tells his thoughts aloud:
Or in our silent evenings, dry and cool,
When rosy footprints of the flying cloud
Still sparkle from the shallow forest-pool.
And where the sunset leaves of light were shed,
One planet hangs its golden seed instead.