Classic and Contemporary Poetry
RENUNCIATION, by MATHILDE BLIND Poet's Biography First Line: The air is full of the peal of bells Last Line: Of the lord's bow now breaks into flower. Alternate Author Name(s): Lake, Claude Subject(s): Marriage; Courtship; Flowers; Loss; Weddings; Husbands; Wives | ||||||||
(When ich Dich liebe was geht es Dich an?) I. THE air is full of the peal of bells, The rhythmical pealing of marriage bells; But athwart and above their ringing -- Throbbing clear like the light of a star Lost in the sunrise -- I hear afar The skylark's jubilant singing. II. The clouds all woollen and white on high, Like flocks of heavenly sheep go by, Go through heaven's sapphire meadows; While here on the earth's green meadows, deep In sapphire flowers, our earthly sheep Loll in their loitering shadows. III. Come, we will sit by the wayside here, They must cross this field to the chapel, dear, The loved by the side for her lover. Grey, through the glimmer of vernal green, Its time-worn tower may just be seen Through the yews which curtain it over. IV. Nay, little brother, why should I pine? Dare a violet ask that the sun should shine, The shining sun shine for it solely? Lowly it lifteth its meek blue eye, And yields up its soul to the sun on high, Nor asks for love, loving so wholly. V. He passed by the garden where, snow-white and red, I tended the flowers which give us our bread, And watered my lilies and roses; He passed and repassed both early and late, And lingering, often would lean on the gate While I tied for him one of my posies. VI. Day after day would he pass this way, And his smiling was sweet as the flowers of May, Or the scent of the bee-haunted clover; And a softer flame seemed to light up his eye Than the lily-white moon's in the rose-hued sky, Ere the blush of the May-day is over. VII. Aye, day after day he would stop on his way, While the trees were in leaf and the meadows were gay, And the curled little lambs were grazing; As he went, or returned in the waning light From the smoke-capped city whose lamps by night Turn the black clouds red with their blazing. VIII. It's a year to-day when the young sun sets Since I gave him that first bunch of violets From the root on the grave of our mother. Though thou seest them not with the bodily eye, The language of flowers much better than I I know that thou knowest, my brother. IX. Violets -- then golden daffodils Which the light of the sun like a wine-cup fills -- Tall tulips like flames upspringing -- Golden-brown wallflowers bright as his locks -- Marigolds -- balsams -- and perfumed stocks Whose scent's like a blackbird's singing. X. You see, my darling, I never forget! Aye, those were your own very words -- ere yet Our father lost his all in yon city, Where the people, they say, in their struggle for gold, Become like wild beasts, and the feeble and old Are trampled upon without pity. XI. Poor father was better to-day: for the smile Of the sun seemed to gladden him too for awhile As he sat by the bright little casement, With buttercups heaped on his knees without stint, Which, deeming them childishly fresh from the mint, He counted in chuckling amazement. XII. The air is full of the peal of bells -- The rhythmical pealing of marriage bells! And there floats o'er the fields, o'er the fallows, Borne on the wind with the wind-blown chimes, From the old house hidden in older limes, A chatter of maidens and swallows. XIII. Ah, give me the flowers! -- the last year was all In tune with the flowers from the spring to the fall, And with singing of birds in the bowers; And once -- ah, look not so angry, dear! -- He whispered so softly I scarce could hear, "You yourself are the flower of all flowers!" XIV. But oh, when the wind was loud in the trees, When the fluttering petals snowed down on the leas, And the dim sun went out like an ember, He stood by the gate all drenched with the mist, And I gave him my last Christmas rose, which he kissed For the last time that last of November. XV. Say, could he help if a hope as sweet As the wild thyme had sprouted under his feet? If his face in my heart is enfolden, As the sun-smit globes of the summer rain Reflect and hold and refract again The sun, the eternally golden. XVI. He cometh, he cometh, oh brother, there! Ah would that you saw the glint of his hair, For he looks like that saint in the story Whom you loved so to hear of in days of old, Till he lit up your dreams with his curls of gold, Exhaling a mystical glory. XVII. The unseen wings of the morning air Fan his brow and ruffle his hair As he steps with a stately measure; White daisies under his feet are spread, White butterflies hover above his head, White clouds high up in the azure: XVIII. Pelt him with sunlit April rain, Rain which ripens the earth-hid grain, Which brings up the grass and the heather! Hark at the peal of the bridal bells, How their musical chiming swells and swells As they enter the church door together. XIX. Let us go hence now -- 'tis over -- the twain One will they be when they pass here again: All my flowers in their pathway I scatter; Though he forget me as yesterday's rose, My heart with a sweet tender feeling o'erflows: If I love him, to whom can it matter? XX. Yea, let us go now; the stile, love, is here: Henceforth I live but for thee. What! a tear Splashed on thy hand? Nay, a drop from the shower That has passed over, for yon, on that dark Ominous cloud, dearest brother, the arc Of the Lord's bow now breaks into flower. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BLESSING FOR A WEDDING by JANE HIRSHFIELD A SUITE FOR MARRIAGE by DAVID IGNATOW ADVICE TO HER SON ON MARRIAGE by MARY BARBER THE RABBI'S SON-IN-LAW by SABINE BARING-GOULD KISSING AGAIN by DORIANNE LAUX A TIME PAST by DENISE LEVERTOV |
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