William Watson Poems

I saunter all about the pleasant place
You made thrice pleasant, O my friends, to me;
But you are gone where laughs in radiant grace
...

Often ornateness
Goes with greatness;
Oftener felicity
Comes of simplicity.
...

I

Wave and wind and willow-tree
Speak a speech that no man knoweth;
...

So, into Cornwall you go down,
And leave me loitering here in town.
For me, the ebb of London's wave,
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Seabird, elemental sprite,
Moulded of the sun and spray-
Raven, dreary flake of night
Drifting in the eye of day-
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Who draws to-day the unrighteous sword?
Behold him stand, the Man Forsworn,
The warrior of the faithless word,
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Yes! urban is your Muse, and owns
An empire based on London stones;
Yet flow'rs, as mountain violets sweet,
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Thine were the weak, slight hands
That might have taken this strong soul, and bent
Its stubborn substance to thy soft intent,
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Nay, bid me not my cares to leave,
Who cannot from their shadow flee.
I do but win a short reprieve,
'Scaping to pleasure and to thee.
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Under the dark and piny steep
We watched the storm crash by:
We saw the bright brand leap and leap
Out of the shattered sky.
...