Henry Alford Poems
Comments about Henry Alford
Sonnet Xvi. Recollection Of Wordsworth’s
Here are the brows of Quantock, purple--clad
With lavish heath--bloom: there, the banks of Tone.
Where is that woman, love--forlorn and sad,
Piping her flute of hemlock all alone?
I hear the Quantock woodman whistling home,--
The sunset flush is over Dunkery:--
I fear me much that she hath ceased to roam
Up the steep path, and lie beneath the tree.
I always fancied I should hear in sooth
That music,--but it sounds not!--wayward tears
Are filling in mine eyes for thee, poor Ruth;--
I had forgotten all the lapse of years
Since thy deep griefs were hallowed by ...
'RISE,' said the Master, 'come unto the feast.'
She heard the call and rose with willing feet;
But thinking it not otherwise than meet
For such a bidding to put on her best,
She is gone from us for a few short hours
Into her bridal closet, there to wait
For the unfolding of the palace gate
That gives her entrance to the blissful bowers.
We have not seen her yet, though we have been