John Banister Tabb



First Lines of John Banister Tabb

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 startAll that springeth from the sodAnd 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 blewAs Israel, in days of old,As on some solitary heightAt twilight, on the open sea,Aye, have we not felt it and known,Blind art thou as thy mother Night,Breathe above me or below;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-rodDiscerning Star from Sister Star,Do they that sleep, O Blossoms, yearn,Dull sky above, dead leaves below;Ere Time's horizon-line was set,Far on the brink of dayFiat!" -- The flaming wordFirst the grain, and then the blade --For this the fruit, for this the seed,For years, an ever-shifting shadeFriend forever in the lightHe entered; but the mask he woreHe rose, and singing passed from sight: --Hold the trinket near thine eye,How many an acorn falls to dieI am a lonely woodland lake:I bring thee balm, and, lo, Thou art not here!I knew she lay above me,I knew the flowers had dreamed of you,I see thee, -- heaven's unclouded faceIn this narrow cloister boundIt is the mountain to the seaKilldee! Killdee! far o'er the leaKnew not the Sun, sweet Violet,Leafless, stemless, floating flower,Like a meteor, large and bright,Lo! all thy glory gone!Lo, where the blooming woodland wakesMethinks, when first the nightingaleMy life is but a leaf upon the tree --My sister Sunshine smiled on me,My thoughts fly to thee, as the beesNew grief, new tears; --New-born, how long to stay?Night dreams of day, and winter seemsNor Bethlehem nor NazarethO Comrade Sun, that day by dayO heart that cannot sleep for song!O tender shade!Old Sorrow I shall meet again,One bird, that ever with the wakening springOrbs of Autumnal beauty, breathed to lightOut of the dusk a shadow,Over the sea, over the sea,Poor jester! still upon the stage,Said the budding Rose, "All nightSave through the flesh Thou wouldst not come to me --Says the Land, "O sister Sea,She brake the box, and all the house was filledShe hath done what she could.Since that the dewdrop holds the starSkim o'er the tide,So small that lesser lowlinessSweet violet, who knowsTell me whither, maiden June,That hand with spear of lightThe god enamoured never knewThe Spring in festival array,There Youth and Laughter lingered longThink not yon star,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 faceTis thine the earliest song to singTo the cradle-bough of a naked tree,Were all the heavens an overladen boughWhat pleading passion of the darkWhence, O fragrant form of light,Where of old, responsiveWith locks of gold to-day,Within the compass of mine eyes
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