Sylvia Lynd

Sylvia Lynd Poems

Sylvia Lynd Biography

Sylvia Lynd (1888 – 21 February 1952 ) was a poet, essayist, short story writer and novelist. She was born in London, her father A. R. Dryhurst being a Dubliner. She was educated at the Slade School of Art, and the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art. She married in 1909 the journalist and man of letters Robert Lynd. They lived in Hampstead, London for many years.)

The Best Poem Of Sylvia Lynd

The Return Of The Goldfinches

WE are much honoured by your choice,
O golden birds of silver voice,
That in our garden you should find
A pleasaunce to your mind-

The painted pear of all our trees,
The south slope towards the gooseberries
Where all day long the sun is warm-
Combining use with charm.

Did the pink tulips take your eye?
Or Breach's barn secure and high
To guard you from some chance mishap
Of gales through Shoreham gap?

First you were spied a flighting pair
Flashing and fluting here and there,
Until in stealth the nest was made
And graciously you stayed.

Now when I pause beneath your tree
An anxious head peeps down at me,
A crimson jewel in its crown,
I looking up, you down:-

I wonder if my stripey shawl
Seems pleasant in your eyes at all,
I can assure you that your wings
Are most delightful things.

Sweet birds, I pray, be not severe,
Do not deplore our presence here,
We cannot all be goldfinches
In such a world as this.

The shaded lawn, the bordered flowers,
We'll call them yours instead of ours,
The pinks and the acacia tree
Shall own your sovereignty.

And, if you let us, we will prove
Our lowly and obsequious love,
And when your little grey-pates hatch
We'll help you to keep watch.

No prowling stranger cats shall come
About your high celestial home,
With dangerous sounds we'll chase them hence
And ask no recompense.

And he, the Ethiope of our house,
Slayer of beetle and of mouse,
Huge, lazy, fond, whom we love well-
Peter shall wear a bell.

Believe me, birds, you need not fear,
No cages or limed twigs are here,
We only ask to live with you
In this green garden, too.

And when in other shining summers
Our place is taken by new-comers,
We'll leave them with the house and hill
The goldfinches' good will.

Your dainty flights, your painted coats,
The silver mist that is your notes,
And all your sweet caressing ways
Shall decorate their days.

And never will the thought of spring
Visit our minds, but a gold wing
Will flash among the green and blue,
And we'll remember you.

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