Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MIDSUMMER DAY, by JOHN DAVIDSON Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: I cannot write, I cannot think Last Line: Such dewy memories as these. Subject(s): Nature; Rites & Ceremonies; Summer | ||||||||
BASIL SANDY HERBERT Sandy : I cannot write, I cannot think; 'Tis half delight and half distress: My memory stumbles on the brink Of some unfathomed happiness Of some old happiness divine. What haunting scent, what haunting note, What word, or what melodious line, Sends my heart throbbing to my throat? Basil : What? thrilled with happiness to-day, The longest day in all the year, Which we must spend in making hay By threshing straw in Fleet Street here! What scent? what sound? The odour stale Of watered streets; the rumour loud Of hoof and wheel on road and rail, The rush and trample of the crowd! Herbert : Humming the song of many a lark, Out of the sea, across the shires, The west wind blows about the park, And faintly stirs the Fleet Street wires. Perhaps it sows the happy seed That blossoms in your memory; Certain of many a western mead, And hill and stream it speaks to me. Basil : Go on: of rustic visions tell Till I forget the wilderness Of sooty brick, the dusty smell, The jangle of the printing-press. Herbert : I hear the woodman's measured stroke; I see the amber streamlet glide Above, the green gold of the oak Fledges the gorge on either side. A thatched roof shines athwart the gloom Of the high moorland's darksome ground; Far off the surging rollers boom, And fill the shadowy wood with sound. Basil : You have pronounced the magic sign! The city with its thousand years, Like some embodied mood of mine Uncouth, prodigious, disappears. I stand upon a lowly bridge, Moss-grown beside the old Essex home; Over the distant purple ridge The clouds arise in sultry foam; In many a cluster, wreath and chain A silvery vapour hangs on high, And snowy scarfs of silken grain Bedeck the blue slopes of the sky; The wandering water sighs and calls, And breaks into a chant that rings Beneath the vaulted bridge, then falls And under heaven softly sings; A light wind lingers here and there, And whispers in an unknown tongue The passionate secrets of the air, That never may by man be sung: Low, low, it whispers; stays, and goes; It comes again; again takes flight; And like a subtle presence grows And almost gathers into sight. Sandy : The wind that stirs the Fleet Street wires, And roams and quests about the Park, That wanders all across the shires, Humming the song of many a lark The windit is the wind, whose breath, Perfumed with roses, wakes in me From shrouded slumbers deep as death A yet unfaded memory. Basil : About Midsummer, every hour Ten thousand rosebuds opening blush, The land is all one rosy bower, And rosy odours haunt and flush The winds of heaven up and down: On the top-gallant of the air The lark, the pressman in the town Breathe only rosy incense rare. Sandy : And I, enchanted by the rose, Remember when I first began To know what in its bosom glows Exhaling scent ambrosian. A child, at home in streets and quays, The city tumult in my brain, I only knew of tarnished trees, And skies corroding vapours stain. One summerTime upon my head Had showered the curls of years eleven Me, for a month, good fortune led Where trees are green and hills kiss heaven. By glen and mountain, moor and lawn, Burn-side and sheep-path, day and night, I wandered, a belated faun, All sense, all wonder, all delight. And once at eve I climbed a hill, Burning to see the sun appear, And watched the jewelled darkness fill With lamps and clustered tapers clear. At last the strongest stars were spent; A glimmering shadow overcame The swarthy-purple firmament, And throbbed and kindled into flame; The pallid day, the trembling day Put on her saffron wedding-dress, And watched her bridegroom far away Soar through the starry wilderness. I clasped my hands and closed my eyes, And tears relieved my ecstasy: I dared not watch the sun arise; Nor knew what magic daunted me: And yet the roses seemed to tell More than the morn, had I but known The meaning of the fragrant smell That bound me with a subtle zone. But in the gloaming when we played At hide-and-seek, and I with her Behind a rose-bush hid, afraid To meet her gaze, to breathe, or stir, The dungeon of my sense was riven, The beauty of the world laid bare, A great wind caught me up to heaven Upon a cloud of golden hair; And mouth touched mouth; and love was born; And when our wondering vision blent, We found the meaning of the morn, The meaning of the rose's scent. Ah me! ah me! since then! since then! Herbert : Nay, nay; let self-reproaches be! Now that this thought is throned again, Be zealous for its sovereignty. Basil : And brave, great Nature must be thanked, And we must worship on our knees, And hold for ever sacro-sanct Such dewy memories as these. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ADVANCE OF SUMMER by MARY KINZIE THE SUMMER IMAGE by LEONIE ADAMS CANOEBIAL BLISS by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY THE END OF SUMMER by HENRY MEADE BLAND THE FARMER'S BOY: SUMMER by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD SONNET: 14. APPROACH OF SUMMER by WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES JULY IN WASHINGTON by ROBERT LOWELL ODE TO THE END OF SUMMER by PHYLLIS MCGINLEY A BALLAD OF HELL by JOHN DAVIDSON |
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