Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LYNTON, by FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LYNTON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Why does it seem familiar ground
Last Line: We never can forget.
Subject(s): Absence; Separation; Isolation


WHY does it seem familiar ground?
I was never here before;
I never saw this fairy dream
Of wood and wave, of rock and stream,
Nor watched the snowy foam-line gleam
On Devon's bay-loved shore.

It feels as weird and strange as though
My spirit had been here;
And in the mists of long ago
An outline wavers to and fro,
Now colorless, now all aglow,
Now faint, now wondrous clear.

I know it now—the tender spell
On all this pleasant scene;
For memory's first pale flickering light
Falls on a long-forgotten night,
Though conscious life-time, dark and bright,
Lies all outstretched between.

The dearest name I ever spoke
Was on my lips that eve;
We gave her 'welcome home' once more,
Unknown, the last short absence o'er;
And now she is but 'gone before,'
The palm branch to receive.

I know it now,—she told me all;
I sat upon her knee,
And heard about the cliff so tall,
The craggy path, the rocky wall,
The ever-chanting waterfall,
The silver autumn sea:

The steep and dangerous way above,
The winding dell beneath;
The rushing Lyn, the shadowy trees,
The hills that breast the Channel-breeze,
The white ships bound for western seas;
One shining marvel-wreath!

A little picture she had brought
Of Lynton's lovely vale:
I fastened it upon my wall,
Half deeming I had seen it all;
While colors came at fancy's call
To deck those outlines pale.

Hers then the charm, so strangely sweet,
Which made me sit and gaze;
'Tis like a breeze from far-off hills,
Or midnight anthem of wild rills,
That cools the fever-fire which fills
Our hot and hurried days.

It may be that the parting time
Has more than half gone by,
That ere another twenty years
Have mingled all their smiles and tears,
We may have passed all griefs and fears,
And her dear welcome greet our ears
To her blest home on high.

Oh, might it be! That far-off land
Is all unseen as yet:
But when we pass its portals fair,
It may be that some glory there
Sweetly familiar shall appear,
Because we heard it whispered here
By that soft voice, whose accents dear
We never can forget.





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