Variations
I
“Alons au bois le may cueillir.”
—Charles D’Orléans.
We’ll to the woods and gather may
Fresh from the footprints of the rain;
We’ll to the woods, at every vein
To drink the spirit of the day.
The winds of spring are out at play,
The needs of spring in heart and brain.
We’ll to the woods and gather may
Fresh from the footprints of the rain.
The world’s too near her end, you say?—
Hark to the blackbird’s mad refrain!
It waits for her, the vast Inane?—
Then, girls, to help her on the way
We’ll to the woods and gather may.
W. E. Henley.
II
“Ainsi qu’ aux fleurs la vieillesse,
Fera ternir votre beauté.”
—Ronsard.
And lightly, like the flowers,
Your beauties Age will dim,
Who makes the song a hymn,
And turns the sweets to sours!
Alas! the chubby Hours
Grow lank and grey and grim,
And lightly, like the flowers,
Your beauties Age will dim.
Still rosy are the bowers,
The walks yet green and trim.
Among them let your whim
Pass sweetly, like the showers,
And lightly, like the flowers.
W. E. Henley.
III
“Hic habitat Felicitas.”
“Felicity. Enquire within.
The genial goddess is at home!”
So read and thought the rakes of Rome,
Some frail one’s lintel fain to win.
And now it blares thro’ bronze and tin,
Thro’ clarion, organ, catcall, comb:—
“Felicity. Enquire within.
The genial goddess is at home!”
For, tent or studio, bank or bin,
Platonic porch, Petræan dome,
Where’er our hobbies champ and foam,
Thero’er the brave old sign we pin—
“Felicity. Enquire within.”
W. E. Henley.
IV
“And sweet girl graduates in their golden hair.”—Tennyson.
Sweet girl graduates, golden-haired,
You for whom has been prepared
Love’s fair university,
Dons and double-firsts to be-
Why are you so quickly scared?
When the prudes their worst have glared,
When the dowagers have stared,
What has passed they might not see,
Sweet girl-graduates, golden-haired,
You for whom has been prepared
Love’s fair university?
Most is won when most is dared.
Let your dainty lore be aired.
Love and thought and fun are free.
All must flirt in their degree.
Books alone have never reared
Sweet girl-graduates, golden-haired.
W. E. Henley.