Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, FOOTSTEPS OF PROSERPINE: 1. CYCLAMEN, by NEWMAN HOWARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

FOOTSTEPS OF PROSERPINE: 1. CYCLAMEN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O the tresses, blown
Last Line: A picture -- a flower!
Subject(s): Goddesses & Gods; Life; Mythology; Persephone; Women; Proserpine; Proserpina


O THE tresses, blown
On the April breeze,
Of the maiden lone
By the trembling seas!
O the vision bright
Of the crimson gown
Where the sunbeams light
On the beech-leaves brown!

Apollo hath builded
A wall of blue;
Its gates all gilded
He rideth through.
On the emerald plain
His minions glance,
Of the Nereids fain
And the Tritons' dance.

As a coral shell
In the cool green sea, --
As a rose by a well, --
So fair is she!
By the shore she waits,
In the grove by the shore,
And looks to the gates
O'er the emerald floor.

O the silvery flakes,
And the mad sweet trill
That the skylark shakes
From his mellow bill!
O the dip of the wings,
And the flash of the spray
That the sea-swallow flings
As he darts away!

By the shore she lingers,
Adown the glade,
And bendeth white fingers
Her brow to shade;
For her dark eyes follow
Yon white-winged barque,
And she heeds not the swallow
And hears not the lark.

O the vision bright
Where the leaves lie brown,
O the bosom white,
And the breezy gown!
O the crimson flush,
And the parting lips,
And the mounting blush,
And the eyes' eclipse!

Now she heareth the hiss
Of the keel on the shore,
And, alert for her bliss
As the lav'rock to soar,
She runneth and winneth
His bosom to hers,
And the sweet hour beginneth,
The crown of the years!

Ah, well for the maiden
Who loveth a god,
Whose heart is love-laden,
Whose feet are love-shod!
For, through sun-gilded portals,
He bears her away
To the home of immortals,
The fountain of day.

But alas for the meadows
Bereft of the maid,
The light amid shadows,
The glint of the glade!
In sorrow undying,
In uttermost grief,
The zephyrs go sighing
From leaf to leaf.

Yet now, where blown tresses
Shone gay in the glooms
Of the woodland recesses,
Sweet Cyclamen blooms:
For the gods, when they blight us
By stealing our best,
Oft toss to requite us
Some trifle in jest:

For a hero, a peace;
Wise laws for a seer;
For the thyrsus of Greece
The pilum and spear;
A life's recollection
For joy of an hour;
For woman's perfection --
A picture -- a flower!





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