John Banister Tabb
First Lines
A dew-drop of the darkness born,
A flash of harmless lightning,
A Little Boy of heavenly birth,
Alike from depths of joy and sorrow start
All that springeth from the sod
And dost thou lead him hence with thee,
Apart forever dwelt the twain,
Are ye the ghosts of fallen leaves,
Art thou the selfsame wind that blew
Aye, have we not felt it and known,
Blind art thou as thy mother Night,
Come quickly in and close the door,
Come to me, Robin! The daylight is dying!
Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern,
Death in the house, and the golden-rod
Discerning Star from Sister Star,
Do they that sleep, O Blossoms, yearn,
Dull sky above, dead leaves below;
Ere Time's horizon-line was set,
First the grain, and then the blade --
For this the fruit, for this the seed,
For years, an ever-shifting shade
He entered; but the mask he wore
He rose, and singing passed from sight: --
Hold the trinket near thine eye,
How many an acorn falls to die
I bring thee balm, and, lo, Thou art not here!
I knew the flowers had dreamed of you,
I see thee, -- heaven's unclouded face
Killdee! Killdee! far o'er the lea
Knew not the Sun, sweet Violet,
Leafless, stemless, floating flower,
Like a meteor, large and bright,
Lo, where the blooming woodland wakes
Methinks, when first the nightingale
My life is but a leaf upon the tree --
My sister Sunshine smiled on me,
My thoughts fly to thee, as the bees
Night dreams of day, and winter seems
O Comrade Sun, that day by day
O heart that cannot sleep for song!
Old Sorrow I shall meet again,
One bird, that ever with the wakening spring
Orbs of Autumnal beauty, breathed to light
Poor jester! still upon the stage,
Said the budding Rose, "All night
Save through the flesh Thou wouldst not come to me --
She brake the box, and all the house was filled
Since that the dewdrop holds the star
So small that lesser lowliness
There Youth and Laughter lingered long
Thou hast not toiled, sweet Rose,
Thou hast on earth a Trinity, --
Though long in wintry sleep ye lay,
Time shut the door, and turned the key;
Tis Christmas night! the snow,
Tis said, in death, upon the face
Tis thine the earliest song to sing
To the cradle-bough of a naked tree,
Were all the heavens an overladen bough
What pleading passion of the dark
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