Francis William Bourdillon Poems

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

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.
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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.
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Light falls the rain
On link and laine,
After the burning day;
And the bright scene,
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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!
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What have I given,
Bold sailor on the sea?
In earth or heaven,
That you should die for me?
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Soft benediction of September sun;
Voices of children, laughing as they run;
Green English lawns, bright flowers and butterflies;
...

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.
...