Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems

Therefore do thou at least arise and warn,
Not folded in thy mantle, a blind seer,
But naked in thy anger, and new--born,
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Gods, what a moral! Yet in vain I jest.
The France which has been, and shall be again,
Is the most serious, and perhaps the best,
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Nature that day a woman was in weakness,
A woman in her impotent high wrath.
At the dawn we watched it, a low cloud half seen
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Oh for a day of Spring,
A day of flowers and folly,
Of birds that pipe and sing
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Lavender, sea lavender!
Pale sweet flower how full of her!
Flower discreet, with your priest's eyes
Trained in all time's mysteries,
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She saw me in an instant, and stopped short
With a sudden change of look from fierce to gay.
Her black eyes gleamed with triumph as they caught,
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You have let the beauty of the day go over,
You have let the glory of the noon go by.
Clouds from the West have gathered close and cover
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It might not be. Some things are possible,
And some impossible for even God.
And Esther had no soul which Heaven or Hell
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Wilt thou take me for thy slave,
With my folly and my love?
Wilt thou take me for the bondsman of thy pride?
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What is my quarrel with thee, beautiful sea,
That thus I cannot love thy waves or thee,
Or hear thy voice but it tormenteth me?
...