Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, LOVE'S ADVENT, by NEWMAN HOWARD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

LOVE'S ADVENT, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Passing the world's loud workshop, lo, within
Last Line: "the world from woe!"" -- alas, how vain the dream!"
Subject(s): Death; Dreams; Love; Time; Dead, The; Nightmares


PASSING the world's loud workshop, lo, within
I saw vile weapons forged of Death and Woe;
The fires belched blood with labouring breath and slow,
And hideous births, begott'n of Greed and Sin
On ravished Want, respired amid the din.
The anvils rang, a curse in every blow;
The great wheels groaned, the cranks throbbed to and fro,
And Love's brave handiwork was crushed therein.
To fields I fled where lavrocks dwelt alone,
Frenzied with joy to find the world so fair;
There rivers crooned their songs through meadows sown
With pleasures no man plucked, and buxom air
Sighed fragrance; yet man breathed the blast of care
With avarice foul, or mirk with anguished moan.

Returned, I said, "Hath you Cyclopean curse
No single eye wherewith to see the stars?
Bears earth's fair face no blush amid her scars,
No verdant spot where noise and smoke disperse?"
Yet still the more I searched the gloom grew worse;
Till, passing through a gate with brazen bars,
Behold, a green abode which no moan mars!
Wherein I heard a virgin voice rehearse
Sweet things of love, with ever one refrain:
"Ah, Love, why dost thou tarry? Stay not long,
Lest Time should turn the flowing tide of song,
And all my hope grow fear, my rapture pain,
And men make mock, and say I sing in vain:
Ah, wherefore dost thou tarry, Love, so long?"

The anvils rang, the sweet notes welled and wept,
Like nightingales beside a thundering shore;
Entranced I heard, and, as the long day wore,
Upon a poisoned runnel bank I slept;
And dreamed a flood through vernal valleys crept,
And on its breast a shining pinnace bore;
And through those brazen barriers evermore
From each loud anvil's throat reverberant leapt
The great word "Love"; for Love himself was come.
Nor were those voluble orbs and shaftings dumb,
But sang of love like circling spheres in choir;
And ruddy tongues cried "Love!" from out each fire;
And throngs swarmed forth like bees with eager hum;
For man and maid and child cried "Love is come!"

But when Love's argent barque ashore they bind,
And Love leaps forth, the crowd awestruck recoils.
"Nay, come, beloved!" he cries, "Behold my spoils!
Pelf buys not these, but he who seeks shall find."
The workmen shout; the pelfmen shrink behind, --
Whose luxuries bow their backs in tumid coils.
But when Love sighed "For such the weary toils,"
They sloughed them, nor when once erect repined.
Then on that place of travail Love's white wand
Smote, and the fabric sank beneath the stream;
And labour laughed for joy of Love's sole bond:
And homes waxed fair; and man, to man grown fond,
Sang "Hail, king Love! thou dost alone redeem
The world from woe!" -- Alas, how vain the dream!





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