Poems   By: Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell (1847-1922)

Contents:

SONNET MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN SONNET THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION TO A POET SONG OF THE SPRING TO THE SUMMER TO THE BELOVED MEDITATION TO THE BELOVED DEAD A LAMENT SONNET IN AUTUMN A LETTER FROM A GIRL TO HER OWN OLD AGE SONG BUILDERS OF RUINS SONNET SONG OF THE DAY TO THE NIGHT 'SOEUR MONIQUE' IN EARLY SPRING PARTED REGRETS SONG SONNET IN FEBRUARY SAN LORENZO GIUSTINIANI'S MOTHER SONNET THE LOVE OF NARCISSUS TO A LOST MELODY SONNET THE POET TO NATURE THE POET TO HIS CHILDHOOD SONNET AN UNMARKED FESTIVAL SONNET THE NEOPHYTE SONNET SPRING ON THE ALBAN HILLS SONG OF THE NIGHT AT DAYBREAK SONNET TO A DAISY SONNET TO ONE POEM IN A SILENT TIME FUTURE POETRY THE POET SINGS TO HER POET A POET'S SONNET THE MODERN POET AFTER A PARTING RENOUNCEMENT VENI CREATOR

DEDICATION

TO W. M.

Most of these verses were written in the author's early youth, and were published in a volume called 'Preludes,' now out of print. Other poems, representing the same transitory and early thoughts, which appeared in that volume, are now omitted as cruder than the rest; and their place is taken by the few verses written in maturer years .

SONNET MY HEART SHALL BE THY GARDEN

My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal, thine alone.

Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers. But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.

For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new comers, Sing one song only from our alder trees.

My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine, Flit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.

SONNET THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION

We never meet; yet we meet day by day Upon those hills of life, dim and immense: The good we love, and sleep our innocence. O hills of life, high hills! And higher than they,

Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play. Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense, Above the summits of our souls, far hence, An angel meets an angel on the way.

Beyond all good I ever believed of thee Or thou of me, these always love and live. And though I fail of thy ideal of me,

My angel falls not short. They greet each other. Who knows, they may exchange the kiss we give, Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother.

TO A POET

Thou who singest through the earth, All the earth's wild creatures fly thee, Everywhere thou marrest mirth. Dumbly they defy thee. There is something they deny thee.

Pines thy fallen nature ever For the unfallen Nature sweet. But she shuns thy long endeavour, Though her flowers and wheat Throng and press thy pausing feet.

Though thou tame a bird to love thee, Press thy face to grass and flowers, All these things reserve above thee Secrets in the bowers, Secrets in the sun and showers.

Sing thy sorrow, sing thy gladness. In thy songs must wind and tree Bear the fictions of thy sadness, Thy humanity. For their truth is not for thee.

Wait, and many a secret nest, Many a hoarded winter store Will be hidden on thy breast. Things thou longest for Will not fear or shun thee more.

Thou shalt intimately lie In the roots of flowers that thrust Upwards from thee to the sky, With no more distrust, When they blossom from thy dust.

Silent labours of the rain Shall be near thee, reconciled; Little lives of leaves and grain, All things shy and wild Tell thee secrets, quiet child.

Earth, set free from thy fair fancies And the art thou shalt resign, Will bring forth her rue and pansies Unto more divine Thoughts than any thoughts of thine.