Stately stand the sunflowers, glowing down the
garden-side,
Ranged in royal rank arow along the warm
grey wall, Whence their deep disks burn at rich midnoon
afire with pride,
Even as though their beams indeed were
sunbeams, and the tall
Sceptral stems bore stars whose reign
endures, not flowers that fall.
Lowlier laughs and basks the kindlier flower
of homelier fame,
Held by love the sweeter that it blooms in
Shakespeare’s name,
Fragrant yet
as though his hand had touched and made it
thrill,
Like the whole world’s heart, with warm new
life and gladdening flame.
Fair befall the fair green close that lies
below the mill!
Softlier here the flower-soft feet of
refluent seasons glide,
Lightlier breathes the long low note of
change’s gentler call.
Wind and storm and landslip feed the lone
sea’s gulf outside,
Half a seamew’s first flight hence; but
scarce may these appal
Peace, whose perfect seal is set for signet
here on all.
Steep and deep and sterile, under fields no
plough can tame,
Dip the cliffs full-fledged with poppies red
as love or shame,
Wide wan
daisies bleak and bold, or herbage harsh and
chill;
Here the full clove pinks and wallflowers
crown the love they claim.
Fair befall the fair green close that lies
below the mill!
All the place breathes low, but not for fear
lest ill betide,
Soft as roses answering roses, or a dove’s
recall.
Little heeds it how the seaward banks may
stoop and slide,
How the winds and years may hold all outer
things in thrall,
How their wrath may work on hoar church
tower and boundary wall.
Far and wide the waste and ravin of their
rule proclaim
Change alone the changeless lord of things,
alone the same:
Here a
flower is stronger than the winds that work
their will,
Or the years that wing their way through
darkness toward their aim.
Fair befall the fair green close that lies
below the mill!
Friend, the home that smiled us welcome
hither when we came,
When we pass again with summer, surely
should reclaim
Somewhat given of heart’s thanksgiving more
than words fulfil—
More than song, were song more sweet than
all but love, might frame.
Fair befall the fair green close that lies
below the mill! |