Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

DREAM OF YOUTH by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON

Poem Explanation Poet Analysis

First Line: WITH FACES BRIGHT, AS RUDDY CORN




With faces bright, as ruddy corn,
With faces bright, as ruddy corn,
Touched by the sunlight of the morn;
Touched by the sunlight of the morn;
With rippling hair; and gleaming eyes,
With rippling hair; and gleaming eyes,
Wherein a sea of passion lies;
Wherein a sea of passion lies;
Hair waving back, and eyes that gleam
Hair waving back, and eyes that gleam
With deep delight of dream on dream;
With deep delight of dream on previous hit dream;
With full lips, curving into song;
With full lips, curving into song;
With shapely limbs, upright and strong:
With shapely limbs, upright and strong:
The youths on holy service throng.
The youths on holy service throng.
Vested in white, upon their brows

Are wreaths fresh twined from dewy boughs

And flowers they strow along the way,
Vested in white, upon their brows
Still dewy from the birth of day.
Are wreaths fresh twined from dewy boughs:
So, to each reverend altar come,
And flowers they strow along the way,
They stand in adoration: some
Still dewy from the birth of day.
Swing up gold censers; till the air
So, to each reverend altar come,
Is blue and sweet, with smoke of rare
They stand in adoration: some
Spices, that fetched from Egypt were.
Swing up gold censers; till the air
In voices of calm, choral tone,
Is blue and sweet, with smoke of rare
Praise they each God, with praise his own:
Spices, that fetched from Egypt were.
As children of the Gods, is seen

Their glad solemnity of mien:

So fair a spirit of the skies
In voices of calm, choral tone,
Is in their going: and their eyes
Praise they each God, with praise his own:
Look out upon the peopled earth,
As children of the Gods, is seen
As theirs were some diviner birth:
Their glad solemnity of mien:
And clear and courtly is their mirth.
So fair a spirit of the skies
Lights of the labouring world, they seem:
Is in their going: and their eyes
Or, to the tired, like some fresh stream.
Look out upon the peopled earth,
Their dignity of perfect youth
As theirs were some diviner birth:
Compels devotion, as doth truth:
And clear and courtly is their mirth.
So right seems all, they do, they are.

Old age looks wistful, from afar,

To watch their beauty, as they go,
Lights of the labouring world, they seem:
Radiant and free, in ordered row;
Or, to the tired, like some fresh stream.
And fairer, in the watching, grow.
Their dignity of perfect youth
Fair though it be, to watch unclose
Compels devotion, as doth truth:
The nestling glories of a rose,
So right seems all, they do, they are.
Depth on rich depth, soft fold on fold:
Old age looks wistful, from afar,
Though fairer be it, to behold
To watch their beauty, as they go,
Stately and sceptral lilies break
Radiant and free, in ordered row;
To beauty, and to sweetness wake:
And fairer, in the watching, grow.
Yet fairer still, to see and sing,

One fair thing is, one matchless thing:

Youth, in its perfect blossoming.
Fair though it be, to watch unclose
The magic of a golden grace
The nestling glories of a rose,
Brings fire and sweetness on each face:
Depth on rich depth, soft fold on fold:
Till, from their passage, every heart
Though fairer be it, to behold
Takes fire, and sweetness in the smart:
Stately and sceptral lilies break
Till virtue lives, for all who own
To beauty, and to sweetness wake:
Their majesty, in them alone:
Yet fairer still, to see and sing,
Till careless hearts, and idle, take
One fair thing is, one matchless thing:
Delight in living, for their sake;
Youth, in its perfect blossoming.
Worship their footsteps, and awake.

Beside the tremulous, blue sea,

Clear at sunset, they love to be:
The magic of a golden grace
And they are rarely sad, but then.
Brings fire and sweetness on each face:
For sorrow touches them, as men,
Till, from their passage, every heart
Looking upon the calm of things,
Takes fire, and sweetness in the smart:
That pass, and wake rememberings
Till virtue lives, for all who own
Of holy and of ancient awe;
Their majesty, in them alone:
The charm of immemorial Law:
Till careless hearts, and idle, take
What we see now, the great dead saw!
Delight in living, for their sake;
Upon a morn of storm, a swan,
Worship their footsteps, and awake.
Breasting the cold stream, cold and wan,

Throws back his neck in snowy length

Between his snowy wings of strength:
Beside the tremulous, blue sea,
Against him the swift river flows,
Clear at sunset, they love to be:
The proudlier he against it goes,
And they are rarely sad, but then.
King of the waters! For his pride
For sorrow touches them, as men,
Bears him upon a mightier tide:
Looking upon the calm of things,
May death not be by youth defied?
That pass, and wake rememberings
But the red sun is gone: and gleams
Of holy and of ancient awe;
Of delicate moonlight waken dreams,
The charm of immemorial Law:
Dreams, and the mysteries of peace:
What we see now, the great dead saw!
Shall this fair darkness ever cease?

Here is no drear, no fearful Power,

But life grows fuller with each hour,
Upon a morn of storm, a swan,
Full of the silence, that is best:
Breasting the cold stream, cold and wan,
Earth lies, with soothed and quiet breast,
Throws back his neck in snowy length
Beneath the guardian stars, at rest.
Between his snowy wings of strength:
At night, behold them! Where lights burn
Against him the swift river flows,
By moonlit olives, see them turn
The proudlier he against it goes,
Full faces toward the sailing moon,
King of the waters! For his pride
Nigh lovelier than beneath high noon!
Bears him upon a mightier tide:
Throw back their comely moulded throats,
May death not be by previous hit youth defied?
Whence music on the night wind floats!

And through the fragrant hush of night

Their lustrous eyes make darkness bright:
But the red sun is gone: and gleams
Their laugh loads darkness with delight.
Of delicate moonlight waken dreams next hit ,
Almost the murmuring sea is still:
Dreams, and the mysteries of peace:
Almost the world obeys their will.
Shall this fair darkness ever cease?
Such youth moves pity in stern Fates,
Here is no drear, no fearful Power,
And sure death wellnigh dominates:
But life grows fuller with each hour,
Their passion kindles such fair flame,
Full of the silence, that is best:
As from divine Achilles came:
Earth lies, with soothed and quiet breast,
A vehement ardour thrills their breasts,
Beneath the guardian stars, at rest.
And beauty's benediction rests

On earth, and on earth's goodliest guests.

The music of their sighing parts
At night, behold them! Where lights burn
A silence: and their beating hearts
By moonlit olives, see them turn
Beat to a measure of despair:
Full faces toward the sailing moon,
Ah! how the fire of youth is fair?
Nigh lovelier than beneath high noon!
Yet may not be for ever young!
Throw back their comely moulded throats,
But night hath yielded; there hath sprung
Whence music on the night wind floats!
Morning upon the throne of night:
And through the fragrant hush of night
Day comes, with solemnizing light:
Their lustrous eyes make darkness bright:
Consuming sorrows take to flight.
Their laugh loads darkness with delight.
Magnificent in early bloom,

Like Gods, they triumph over gloom:

All things desirable are theirs,
Almost the murmuring sea is still:
Of beauty and of wonder, heirs:
Almost the world obeys their will.
Their cities, vassals are, which give
Such youth moves pity in stern Fates,
Them thanks and praise, because they live:
And sure death wellnigh dominates:
Strong, they are victors of dismay;
Their passion kindles such fair flame,
Fair, they serve beauty every day;
As from divine Achilles came:
Young, the sun loves to light their way.
A vehement ardour thrills their breasts,
Where now is death? Where that gray land?
And beauty's benediction rests
Those fearless eyes, those white brows grand,
On earth, and on earth's goodliest guests.
That take full sunlight and sweet air

With rapture true and debonair,

These have not known the touch of death!
The music of their sighing parts
The world hath winds: these forms have breath,
A silence: and their beating hearts
But, should death come, should dear life set,
Beat to a measure of despair:
Calm would each go: Farewell! forget
Ah! how the fire of youth is fair,
Me dead: live you serenely yet.
Yet may not be for ever young!
See them! The springing of the palm
But night hath yielded; there hath sprung
Is nought, beside their gracious calm:
Morning upon the throne of night:
The rippling of cool waters dies
Day comes, with solemnizing light:
To nought, before their clear replies:
Consuming sorrows take to flight.
The smile, that heralds their bright thought,

Brings down the splendid sun to nought.

See them! They walk the earth in state:
Magnificent in early bloom,
In right of perfect youth, held great:
Like Gods, they triumph over gloom:
On whom the powers of nature wait.
All things desirable are theirs,
No sceptre theirs, but they are kings:
Of beauty and of wonder, heirs:
Their forms and words are royal things.
Their cities, vassals are, which give
Their simple friendship is a court,
Them thanks and praise, because they live
Whither the wise and great resort.
Strong, they are victors of dismay;
No homage of the world, they claim:
Fair, they serve beauty every day;
But in all places lives their fame.
Young, the sun loves to light their way.
Sun, moon, and stars; the earth, the sea;

Yea! all things, that of beauty be,

Honour their true divinity.
Where now is death? Where that gray land?
Those fearless eyes, those white brows grand,
That take full sunlight and sweet air
With rapture true and debonair,
These have not known the touch of death!
The world hath winds: these forms have breath.
But, should death come, should dear life set,
Calm would each go: Farewell! forget
Me dead: live you serenely yet.


See them! The springing of the palm
Is nought, beside their gracious calm:
The rippling of cool waters dies
To nought, before their clear replies:
The smile, that heralds their bright thought
Brings down the splendid sun to nought.
See them! They walk the earth in state:
In right of perfect youth, held great:
On whom the powers of nature wait.


No sceptre theirs, but they are kings:
Their forms and words are royal things.
Their simple friendship is a court,
Whither the wise and great resort.
No homage of the world, they claim:
But in all places lives their fame.
Sun, moon, and stars; the earth, the sea;
Yea! all things, that of beauty be,
Honour their true divinity.




Home: PoetryExplorer.net