Читать книгу My Commonplace Book онлайн

45 страница из 124

Our beautiful Bird of light hath fled;

Awhile she sat with folded wings—

Sang round us a few hoverings—

Then straightway into glory sped.

And white-wing’d Angels nurture her;

With heaven’s white radiance robed and crown’d,

And all Love’s purple glory round,

She summers on the Hills of Myrrh.

Thro’ Childhood’s morning-land, serene

She walked betwixt us twain, like Love;

While, in a robe of light above,

Her better Angel walked unseen,—

Till Life’s highway broke bleak and wild;

Then, lest her starry garments trail

In mire, heart bleed, and courage fail,

The Angel’s arms caught up the child.

Her wave of life hath backward roll’d

To the great ocean; on whose shore

We wander up and down, to store

Some treasures of the times of old:

And aye we seek and hunger on

For precious pearls and relics rare,

Strewn on the sands for us to wear

At heart, for love of her that’s gone.

Gerald Massey (The Ballad of Babe Christabel).

These exquisite verses appear to be forgotten.

If you loved only what were worth your love,