Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, KING'S BRIDGE, by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

KING'S BRIDGE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: The dew falls fast and the night is dark
Last Line: And so doth death!
Subject(s): Bridges; Death; Dead, The


THE dew falls fast, and the night is dark,
And the trees stand silent in the park;
And winter passeth from bough to bough,
With stealthy foot that none may know;
But little the old man thinks he weaves
His frosty kiss on the ivy leaves.
From bridge to bridge with tremulous fall
The river droppeth down,
And it washeth the base of a pleasant hall
On the skirts of Cambridge town.
Old trees by night are like men in thought,
By poetry to silence wrought;
They stand so still and they look so wise,
With folded arms and half-shut eyes,
More shadowy than the shade they cast
When the wan moonlight on the river past.
The river is green, and runneth slow --
We cannot tell what it saith;
It keepeth its secrets down below,
And so doth Death!

Oh! the night is dark; but not so dark
As my poor soul in this lonely park:
There are festal lights by the stream, that fall,
Like stars, from the casements of yonder hall
But harshly the sounds of joyaunce grate
On one that is crush'd and desolate.
From bridge to bridge with tremulous fall
The river droppeth down,
As it washeth the base of a pleasant hall
On the skirts of Cambridge town.
O Mary! Mary! could I but hear
What this river saith in night's still ear,
And catch the faint whispering voice it brings
From its lowlands green and its reedy springs:
It might tell of the spot where the graybeard's spade
Turn'd the cold wet earth in the lime-tree shade.
The river is green, and runneth slow --
We cannot tell what it saith:
It keepeth its secrets down below,
And so doth Death!

For death was born in thy blood with life --
Too holy a fount for such sad strife:
Like a secret curse from hour to hour
The canker grew with the growing flower;
And little we deem'd that rosy streak
Was the tyrant's seal on thy virgin cheek.
From bridge to bridge with tremulous fan
The river droppeth down,
As it washeth the base of a pleasant hall
On the skirts of Cambridge town.
But fainter and fainter thy bright eyes grew,
And redder and redder that rosy hue;
And the half-shed tears that never fell,
And the pain within thou wouldst not tell,
And the wild, wan smile, -- all spoke of death,
That had wither'd my chosen with his breath.
The river is green, and runneth slow --
We cannot tell what it saith:
It keepeth its secrets down below,
And so doth Death!

'Twas o'er thy harp, one day in June,
I marvell'd the strings were out of tune;
But lighter and quicker the music grew,
And deadly white was thy rosy hue;
One moment -- and back the colour came,
Thou calledst me by my Christian name.
From bridge to bridge with tremulous fall
The river droppeth down,
As it washeth the base of a pleasant hall
On the skirts of Cambridge town.
Thou badest me be silent and bold,
But my brain was hot, and my heart was cold.
I never wept, and I never spake,
But stood like a rock where the salt seas break,
And to this day I have shed no tear
O'er my blighted love and my chosen's bier.
The river is green, and runneth slow --
We cannot tell what it saith:
It keepeth its secrets down below,
And so doth Death!

I stood in the church with burning brow,
The lips of the priest moved solemn and slow
I noted each pause, and counted each swell,
As a sentry numbers a minute-bell;
For unto the mourner's heart they call
From the deeps of that wondrous ritual.
From bridge to bridge with tremulous fall
The river droppeth down,
As it washeth the base of a pleasant hall
On the skirts of Cambridge town.
My spirit was lost in a mystic scene,
Where the sun and moon in silvery sheen
Were belted with stars on emerald wings,
And fishes and beasts, and all fleshly things,
And the spheres did whirl with laughter and mirth
Round the grave forefather of the earth.
The river is green, and runneth slow --
We cannot tell what it saith:
It keepeth its secrets down below,
And so doth Death!

The dew falls fast, and the night is dark;
The trees stand silent in the park.
The festal lights have all died out,
And naught is heard but a lone owl's shout.
The mists keep gathering more and more;
But the stream is silent as before.
From bridge to bridge with tremulous fall
The river droppeth down,
As it washeth the base of a pleasant hall
On the skirts of Cambridge town.
Why should I think of my boyhood's bride
As I walk by this low-voiced river's side?
And why should its heartless waters seem
Like a horrid thought in a feverish dream?
But it will not speak; and it keeps in its bed
The words that are sent us from the dead.
The river is green, and runneth slow --
We cannot tell what it saith;
It keepeth its secrets down below,
And so doth Death!





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