Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ODE TO A CHILD, by MATHILDE BLIND Poet's Biography First Line: Bright as a morn of spring Last Line: Nature's undying, spirit-stirring strain. Alternate Author Name(s): Lake, Claude Subject(s): Children; Childhood | ||||||||
BRIGHT as a morn of spring, That jubilates along the earth, With clouds, and winds, and flowers rejoicing, And all the creatures that on wing Scarce dip the ground in their ethereal mirth. Whilst the dew'd sunlight and the gold-flushed rain Wed midway in the air; And from the twain Is ever born that fairy gossamer, The iridescent bridge that spans the skies. Yea, e'en in such wild glory dost thou glow Soul-fresh exuberant child! And drops of heavenly freshness gleam On red, red lips, in dark-orbed eyes, Like morning dews that glimmering show On winter moss and heath'ry wild, And soft-cropped grasses undefiled, In all the shifting splendour of a dream. Oh, thou, that in thy glee Know'st of no ending yet, and no beginning, Making the hours melodious with thy play, Like grasshoppers, that through the livelong day Hopping on the new-mown hay, Sun-struck trill their roundelay; Or the cricket, chirping cheerly Late at night, at morning early, With a little baby-singing Like an echo faintly ringing From the distant summer leas; And with tremulous murmurs clinging Round the hearth, like clustering bees Humming round the linden trees. And yet athwart thy soul, At times, perchance, I seem to see The hid existence of far off events, Trailing their slumb'rous shadows silently. For in the dusky deeps Of thy large eyes Sometime the veiled outline of a still And mute-born vision sleeps As in the hollows of a hill, With dim and darksome rents The dreamful shadow of the morning lies, And softly, slowly, ever down doth roll, Till lost in mystic deeps it flees our watchful eyes. Yet from that silent trance Quick leap'st thou back into thy playfulness, As waters darkened by the drifting cloud Into the swift sweet sunlight crowd, Where dashed with dewy gold they dance In unbedimmed sprightliness; Till with their blithesome strain They make the brooding mountains loud And fling their merriment across the voiceless plain. And buzzing lightly, here and there, Thou, like a little curious fly That fusses through the air, Dost pry and spy With thy keen inquisitive eye; Poking fatly-dimpled fingers Into corner, box, and closet, Where, perchance, there hidden lingers Some deposit, To be carried off triumphantly. And with many questions, ever Rippling like a restless river, Puzzling many an older brain, Dost thou hour by hour increase thy store Of marvellous lore. Thus a squirrel darting deftly Up and down autumnal trees, Sees its hoard of chesnuts growing swiftly In a heap upon the leaf-strewn leas. Yea, open art thou to each influence That strikes on thy soft spirit from without Thy spirit not yet frozen, nor shut out From nature's kindling breath By selfish aims, nor dulled the sense By hot desires; alas, too oft the death Of man's spiritual vision. No, thy soul Is yet all clear and bright And lieth naked 'neath the eye of heaven As a small mountain pool -- A pure and azure pool, To whom its food is given By dews, and rains, and snows all lily-white, That softly fall Through many a summer's day and winter's night; And whose unspotted breast Glasses each pageant of the outer world, The cloud with pinions to the blast unfurled, The mountains' haughty crest, The slanting beam of twilight skies That like a golden ladder lies Stretching across perchance for angel hosts To slide Down to the earth with heavenly boon; And glasses too the hurrying mists that glide Like gliding ghosts, And stars, and all the mildness of the moon. As yet 'tis early January with thee! Warm-cradled doth the summer leaf Lie folded in the winter leaf On the blank tree. And folded in the earth the seed The future mother of some glorious weed, Or flower blowing gorgeously, Or cedar branching wondrously, Lies slumbering; its whole destiny Of great or lowly, foul or fair, In this minutest space surely foreshadowed there. But let the west wind, ocean-born, Floating towards the meads of morn, But once spread out his wild and vasty wing Setting the sap a-cantring; till new life Works wonders: then thy being Will strangely stir, as at the sound Of sounding drum and fife The war-horse paws the ground. And through thy sweet pure veins Life like a waterfall will grandly bound. But now the Psyche of thy being Still shyly doth essay her delicate wing, Like to that airy nurseling of the sun When first it breaketh through its dun And horned shell, and tries To move its pinions, powdered o'er and o'er With rainbow dust of April skies, That have as not yet learnt to soar, And lie soft-folded in sweet mysteries. Oh! looking on thee, I do speculate On thy futurity! What wilt thou be? Some great and glorious lot I dream for thee, Some starry fate! For in thy nature meet Such buoyant strength, and such a sweet Half-veiled heart tenderness, that on thy being doth rest Like soft dark bloom upon a pansy's breast; And pity gushes o'er thee, like warm rain, For everything in pain, Or great or small; and such a shoal Of thick-bred fancies ever swimmeth forth From the deep sea Of changeful fantasy, Like golden fish that glitter in the sun; And quick perception leading on and on, Into a maze of thought, fresh'ning the soul Of him who listens. Aye, what wilt thou be? Perchance, one of that sacred band That ever were the salt of earth, Whom men call dowered with genius! They who stand In grandeur and in glory like the Alps, With silver-shining scalps, Bathed in the ether; feeding all the land With the pure skyey waters that descend For ever from them; men who freed From narrow bonds of hate and greed, Fetters of custom, and blind circumstance, Breathe the soul-quickening air of thought and love. And struggling into freedom, sudden see The solid shroud of sense Consumed by a heavenly flame, As is the vapour dense and dun, Which the earth-spirit fast doth breed By the great sun. And the large mind in native majesty Doth catch that radiance evermore above, Illuminating with sharp sudden blaze Nature's mysterious ways; Until his spirit, feeling itself one With all that is, and was, and is to be, Vibrates into intenser life, Which is creation! Then makes he revelation Of that one truth, that as a supreme ray With new existence heavily fraught, Lightened in awful loveliness And empyrean holiness, Upon his passive thought; Till with long peals of explosive oracular thunder, He bursts and cleaves and splinters asunder The clinging clinking manacles of life, That fall and curl in harsh black masses under His winged feet: and through time's noisy strife His infinite acts do strike like flame Of a volcano seen across a sea, On nights when with earthquake the labouring hills are rife; And labouring, too, like heaving heights, doth he, Girt round with turbulent whirls of praise and blame, Breathe the hot spark of that which he did see, As vital force that pulses strong and warm In the mid-heart of creeds, Or rolls itself along the epic's flood, Or lives through ages in the marbled form, Or leaps to life in the heroic deeds, Watering with the heart's noble blood The seed of future world-reforming good. But stay, my soul; Too far thou fliest, as a falcon flies, Forgetful of the hand Where he must perch, so tranced with the grand And boundless skies. Oh come my song, and roll Thy billows back, where on the swelling bank, Mid flowers, and reeds, and grasses rank, And feathered warblers, warbling wild, Sporteth the unconscious child, Safely roofed o'er by shielding mother's love, Like wee lamb-clouds of morn by tender skies above. Hark! now I hear thy low soft laughter falling Upon my heart, like to the murmurous calling Of brooding stock doves, now it sweet doth sound Like rippling rills of rain, that make the ground Harmonious on hot summer afternoons; And now thy joyous croons Blither and brighter tumble on my ear All clarion clear, Like songs of matin birds that in spring weather, Hid in young woods, do jubilate together. Yea, on the musing mind, That wrapt in meditation's sober dress, Looks inward in a half-forgetfulness Of the world's outer show, Thou breakest in, like a tumultuous wind That teasing tosses The foam of flickering fountain; Or like the flashing flow Of waves of light along the long green grasses; Or waters bickering low Down many a sloping mountain That make themselves a nest mid ferns and shining mosses. Of each free thing that in its joy All chains, and bonds, and obstacles o'erpasses In elemental gladsomenesses And wonderful wild wantonesses -- Fire, water, wand'ring air, Hast a past, exuberant boy, Glorious, glad, and fresh, and fair, And blowing in upon the tired brain Nature's undying, spirit-stirring strain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE THREE CHILDREN by JOSEPHINE JACOBSEN CHILDREN SELECTING BOOKS IN A LIBRARY by RANDALL JARRELL COME TO THE STONE ... by RANDALL JARRELL THE LOST WORLD by RANDALL JARRELL A SICK CHILD by RANDALL JARRELL CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS ON THE DEATH OF FRIENDS IN CHILDHOOD by DONALD JUSTICE THE POET AT SEVEN by DONALD JUSTICE |
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