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HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL

1841-1882

831                                                   Mooni

  HE that is by Mooni now
Sees the water-sapphires gleaming
Where the River Spirit, dreaming,
Sleeps by fall and fountain streaming
  Under lute of leaf and bough!
Hears what stamp of Storm with stress is,
Psalms from unseen wildernesses
Deep amongst far hill-recesses
  He that is by Mooni now.
  Yea, for him by Moonis marge
Sings the yellow-haird September,
With the face the gods remember,
When the ridge is burnt to ember,
  And the dumb sea chains the barge!
Where the mount like molten brass is,
Down beneath fern-featherd passes
Noonday dew in cool green grasses
  Gleams on him by Moonis marge.
  Who that dwells by Mooni yet,
Feels in flowerful forest arches
Smiting wings and breath that parches
Where strong Summers path of march is,
  And the suns in thunder set!
Housed beneath the gracious kirtle
Of the shadowy water-myrtle
Winds may kiss with heat and hurtle,
  He is safe by Mooni yet!
  Days there were when he who sings
(Dumb so long through passions losses)
Stood where Moonis water crosses
Shining tracks of green-haird mosses,
  Like a soul with radiant wings:
Then the psalm the wind rehearses
Then the song the stream disperses
Lent a beauty to his verses,
  Who to-night of Mooni sings.
  Ah, the themethe sad, gray theme!
Certain days are not above me,
Certain hearts have ceased to love me,
Certain fancies fail to move me,
  Like the effluent morning dream.
Head whereon the white is stealing,
Heart whose hurts are past all healing,
Where is now the first, pure feeling?
  Ah, the themethe sad, gray theme!

  Still to be by Mooni cool
Where the water-blossoms glister,
And by gleaming vale and vista
Sits the English Aprils sister,
  Soft and sweet and wonderful!
Just to rest beneath the burning
Outer worldits sneers and spurning
Ah, my heartmy heart is yearning
  Still to be by Mooni cool!

 

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