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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE AGNOSTIC, by MATHILDE BLIND Poet's Biography First Line: Not in the hour of peril, thronged with foes Last Line: As a lamp to lead love on the bridal night. Alternate Author Name(s): Lake, Claude Subject(s): God | |||
NOT in the hour of peril, thronged with foes, Panting to set their heel upon my head, -- Or when alone from many wounds I bled Unflinching beneath Fortune's random blows; Not when my shuddering hands were doomed to close The unshrinking eyelids of the stony dead; -- Not then I missed my God, not then -- but said: "Let me not burden God with all man's woes!" But when resurgent from the womb of night Spring's Oriflamme of flowers waves from the Sod; When peak on flashing Alpine peak is trod By sunbeams on their missionary flight; When heaven-kissed Earth laughs, garmented in light; -- That is the hour in which I miss my God. HOW the lilacs, the lilacs are glowing and blowing! And white through the delicate verdure of May The blossoming boughs of the hawthorn are showing, Like beautiful brides in their bridal array; With cobwebs for laces, and dewdrops for pearls, Fine as a queen's dowry for workaday girls. In an aisle of Acacias enlaced and enlacing, Where the silvery sunlight tunnels the shade, Where snowflakes of butterflies airily chasing Each other in trios flash down the arcade: Arrayed in white muslin the wedded bride Looks fresh as a daisy, the groom by her side. The guests flitted round her with light-hearted laughter; They hunted the slipper, they kissed the ring; Of days gone before and of days coming after They thought of no more than the bird on the wing. Were the loves and the laughter and lilacs of May, With the sunshine above, not enough for the day? And the lilacs, the lilacs are blowing and glowing! They pluck them by handfuls and pile them in a mass; And the sap of the Springtide is rising and flowing Through the veins of the greenwood, the blades of the grass; Up, up to the last leaf a dance on the tree, It leaps like a fountain abundant and free. The blackbirds are building their nests in the bushes, And whistle at work, as the workpeople do; The trees swing their censers, the wind comes in gushes Of delicate scent mixed of honey and dew. Now loud and now loud through the garrulous trees A burst of gay music is blown with the breeze. And the girls and the boys from the faubourgs of Paris, The premature gamins as wise as fourscore; The vain little Margots and the wide-awake Harrys, Surprised into childhood, grew simple once more, And vied with the cuckoo as, shouting at play, They dashed through the thickets and darted away. Ah, fair is the forest's green glimmering splendour, The leaves of the lime tree a network of light; And fringing long aisles of acacia, a tender And delicate veiling of virginal white, Where, framed in the gladdening flowers of May, The bride and her bridesmaids beam gladder than they. They have crowned her brown tresses with hawthorn in blossom, They have made her a necklace of daisies for pearls; They have set the white lily against her white bosom, Enthroned on the grass mid a garland of girls; With the earth for a footstool, the sky-roof above, She is queen of the Springtide and Lady of Love. Oh, the lilacs, the lilacs are glowing and blowing! They pluck them by bushels as blithely they go Through the green, scented dusk where the hawthorn is showing A luminous whiteness of blossoming snow. And the Sun ere he goes gives the Moon half his light, As a lamp to lead Love on the bridal night. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MOUNTAIN IS STRIPPED by DAVID IGNATOW AS CLOSE AS BREATHING by MARK JARMAN UNHOLY SONNET 1 by MARK JARMAN UNHOLY SONNET 13 by MARK JARMAN BIRTH-DUES by ROBINSON JEFFERS THE SILENT SHEPHERDS by ROBINSON JEFFERS GOING TO THE HORSE FLATS by ROBINSON JEFFERS |
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