Aubrey Thomas de Vere Poems

Once more the temple-gates lie open wide:
Onward, once more,
Advance the Faithful, mounting like a tide
That climbs the shore.
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Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
God’s messenger sent down to thee; do thou
With courtesy receive him; rise and bow;
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
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THAT angel whose charge was Eiré sang thus, o’er the dark Isle winging;
By a virgin his song was heard at a tempest’s ruinous close:
“Three golden ages God gave while your tender green blade was springing;
Faith’s earliest harvest is reaped. To-day God sends you three woes.
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O WHO are thou with that queenly brow
And uncrowned head?
And why is the vest that binds thy breast,
O’er the heart, blood-red?
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You take a town you cannot keep;
And, forced in turn to fly,
O'er ruins you have made shall leap
Your deadliest enemy!
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O that the pines which crown yon steep
Their fires might ne'er surrender!
O that yon fervid knoll might keep,
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Sad is our youth, for it is ever going,
Crumbling away beneath our very feet;
Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing,
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Softly, O midnight Hours!
Move softly o’er the bowers
Where lies in happy sleep a girl so fair!
For ye have power, men say,
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