Francis William Bourdillon

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
...

The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
...

LONG ago, on a bright spring day,
I passed a little child at play;
And as I passed, in childish glee
She called to me, “Come and play with me!”
...

Light falls the rain
On link and laine,
After the burning day;
And the bright scene,
...

Across the Glory of the glowing skies,
A veil is drawn of shadowed mists that rise
From lavishness from God's late gift. the rain.
...

THE LARK above our heads doth know
A heaven we see not here below;
She sees it, and for joy she sings;
Then falls with ineffectual wings.
...

Soft benediction of September sun;
Voices of children, laughing as they run;
Green English lawns, bright flowers and butterflies;
...

An acorn swung
On an oak-tree bough;
So long it had hung,
...

What have I given,
Bold sailor on the sea?
In earth or heaven,
That you should die for me?
...

Not here in the populous town,
In the playhouse or mart,
Not here in the ways gray and brown,
Bnt afar on the green-swelling down,
...

She turned the page of wounds and death
With trembling fingers. In a breath
The gladness of her life became
Naught but a memory and a name.
...

Watchman, watchman, what of the night,
What of the night to tell?
The heavens are dark, and never a light
But the far-off flicker of Hell.
...

HE came to call me back from death
To the bright world above.
I hear him yet with trembling breath
Low calling, “O sweet love!
...

Hark! 'tis the rush of the horses,
The crash of the galloping gun!
The stars are out of their courses;
...

For rain, for rain the parched lands cry,
Reproachful to the cloudless sky.
The hot white fields in light are blinking,
...

Who knows the deeps, where the water sleeps
Leagues from the light away?
Who knows the heights, where myriad lights
Fill heaven with endless day?
...

Oft had I felt, like pure Endymion,
Such love for the sweet moon, that I had well
Believed her able on earth to love and dwell
...

White-faced Winter Roses,
O'er the grave I plant you
Where the dead reposes,
That a soul may haunt you,
...

As strong, as deep, as wide as is the sea,
Though by the wind made restless as the wind,
By billows fretted and by rocks confined,
...

O CHANTRY of the Cherubim,
Down-looking on the stream!
Beneath thy boughs the day grows dim;
...