John William Inchbold
John William Inchbold Poems
|44.||The Eastern Love Song||10/13/2010|
|46.||The Lonely Life||10/13/2010|
|54.||With Love Dead||10/13/2010|
Mysterious force, as beautiful as strange,
And pure with beauty and with mystery,
Queen of the world in wide extent of range,
Through every motion of the sky and sea,
And the sweet mother of all joy, our Earth
Whether in moment of her snowy rest,
Or autumn eve, or summer noon, or birth
Of spring time o'er an Alpine mountain's crest,
To touch thy robe is life, but to receive
Thy touch of fiery lip, then pierce with eye
Made clear and strong, and afterwards to weave
With all our heart, fair forms that cannot die:—
This bliss supreme being ours, thine own free ...
O power of beauty on a woman's brow!
What strength is like to thine for good or ill?
Who dares attempt thine awful throne to fill
When Death's wind scatters all thy blossom'd bough
And strength and sweetness both have passed away?
O what a power has hell with such fair face
When foul ambition goads thee in the race
That drives from God's calm voice and guiding ray!
Do men now give thee hate, or still does love