Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE TAPESTRY, by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: These tapestries have hung fading around my hall Last Line: Whether for good or illit was them or nothing. Alternate Author Name(s): Bridges, Robert+(2) Subject(s): Tapestries | ||||||||
'THESE tapestries have hung fading around my hall centuries long; their old fashion'd mythology infects the fresh and young with blighting influence like Abram there with knife and faggot standing stark to slay his son. I'm vow'd I'll have no more of them. Turn me them outside-in, their faces to the wall, so shall we have more colour and less solemnity.' Thus the young heir and lord enjoin'd his wondering steward who obey'd, and many a guest was bidden, and at the feast the wine flow'd free with fine hubbub and merriment. My tale is but a fable of God's fair tapestry the decorated room wherein my spirit hath dwelt from infancy a nursling of great Nature's beauty which keepeth fresh my wonder as when I was a child. Such is the joy of the eye, that dark conduit whereby the swift creative ray, offspring of heavenly fire, steals to the mind, wakening in her secret chamber vast potencies of thought which there lie slumbering in the image of God. Ah! had I not heard and seen today, when at my window a meryl sat fluting his happy canticle to hail the sun's uprise? Then looked I forth and lo! The Elysian fields of Dawn! and there in naked peace my dumb expectancy mirror'd above the hills, a pageant like music heard in imagination or the silence of dreams. What if I had not seen the cloths of Night take hue soft-tinged as of brown bear-skin on green opal spredd which still persisting through shift imperceptible grew to an incandescent copper on a pale light-blue! Then one flame-yellow streak pierced thru' the molten bronze with lilac freak'd above, where fiëry in red mist the orb with slow surprise surged, till his whole blank blaze dispell'd from out his path all colourand Day began. Thus ever at every season in every hour and place visions await the soul on wide ocean or shore mountain forest or garden in wind and floating cloud in busy murmur of bees or blithe carol of birds: nor is it memoried thought only nor pleasured sense that holds us, nor whate'er Reason sits puzzling out of light or atom, as ifsay, the Rainbow's beauty lay in our skill to fray the Sun's white-tissued ray to unravel and measure-off the gaudy threads thereof: It is a deeper thrill, the joy that lovers learn taking divine instruction from each other's eyes, the Truth that all men feel gazing upon the skies in constellated NightO God the father of heaven! 'When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for Thee.' Reckon the backward stretch of Mankind's pedigree, should it be fifteen thousand generations told were that so long to climb from dim selfconsciousness up to the eagle aëry of high philosophy? to escape from his wild-beast cave in the wilderness to till'd plains and safe homes, farms and mansion'd gardens, populous wall'd cities, temples and pillar'd schools, to dwell in grace, gravity, amity and good manners? Was then the first dawning of his savage wonder a vain terror to scare him from his aim astray? all his prophetic seers, poets, enthusiasts, dreamers, artists, adorners, whose meditation won to purity of soul in the visions of God, have guided him on securely and taught him wisely; their soul's desire came with man's Reason from Nature, transfiguring his sorrows in heroic grace; their temples even in ruin reproach his follies his science is consecrated by their beauty. I prop so far my slight fable with argument to lay malison and ban on the upstart leprous clan who wrong Nature's beauty turning her face about: for, certes, hath the goddess also her hinder parts which men of all ages have kindly thought to hide: But as a man, owning a fine cloth of Arras, in reverence for his heirloom will examine it all inside and out, and learn whether of white wool or silk the high-warp, what of silver and gold, how fine the thread, what number of graded tints in hatching of the woof; so we study Nature, wrong side as well as right and in the eternal mystery of God's working find full many unsightly a token of beauty's trouble; and gain knowledge of Nature and much wisdom thereby: but these making no part of beauty's welcome face, these we turn to the wall, hiding away the mean ugly brutish obscene clumsy irrelevances which Honesty will own to with baffling humour and in heightening the paradox can find pleasure; since without such full knowledge can no man have faith nor will his thought or picture of life be worth a bean. Now, bean, button, or boterfly, pray accept of me for my parrot verses this after apology: making experiments in versification I wrote them as they came in the mood of the day whether for good or illit was them or nothing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHARITY OVERCOMING ENVY by MARIANNE MOORE THE CHINESE NIGHTINGALE; A SONG IN CHINESE TAPESTRIES by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY POMONA by WILLIAM MORRIS (1834-1896) AUNT JENNIFER'S TIGERS by ADRIENNE CECILE RICH ON A PIECE OF TAPESTRY by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE TAPESTRY WEAVERS by ANSON G. CHESTER DAYS THAT ARE TAPESTRIES by ELEANOR G. R. YOUNG BEYOND THE TAPESTRIES by NORMA FARBER A PASSER-BY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES |
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