Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. V. Browning to Rupert Brooke
Lord de Tabley (John Byrne Leicester Warren) (1835–1895)Autumn Love
T
The birds sing not in spring alone;
For fancy all the year is free
To find a sweetness of its own:
And sallow woods and crystal morn
Were sweeter than the budded thorn.
I kissed her mouth: in morning air
The rosy clover dried to brown
Beneath thro’ all its glowing square.
Around the bramble berries set
Their beaded globes intenser jet.
To mine thy little lips so sweet,
The headland trembles into gold,
The sun goes up on firmer feet,
And drenched in glory one by one
The terrace clouds will melt and run.
And life in strength flows everywhere
In larger pulses through the breast
That breathe with thine a mutual air.
My nature almost shrinks to be
In this great moment’s ecstasy.
With all its phases golden-brown,
Lies calm; as if it understood
That in the flutter of thy gown
Abides a wonder more to me
Than lustrous leagues of forest sea.
And low of pasture-going kine.
Your trembling lips spake not: I found
Their silence utterly divine.
Again the fluttering accents crept
Between them, failed, then how you wept!
Which gave yourself for time and years,
The angel in the maiden heart
Could find no other speech but tears.
And their immortal language told
What Seraph’s words to speak were cold.
And kissed to go, but kissed and stayed.
The dewy meadows where we past
Seemed love-full to each grass’s blade.
And there our thirsty lips retold
That lovers’ story ages old.
And scorn in age our young romance:
Yet shall that morning keep its prime
Thro’ every earthly shock and chance:
And till my brain is dark with death,
No sweetness leaves that morning breath.”