Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A WINTER SONG; TO ALICE MEYNELL, by HERBERT TRENCH


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A WINTER SONG; TO ALICE MEYNELL, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Lady, through grasses stiff with rime
Last Line: Of rapture!
Subject(s): Meynell, Alice (1847-1922); Winter


LADY, through grasses stiff with rime
And wraith-hung trees I wander
Where the red sun at pitch of prime
Half of his might must squander.
Narrow the track
As I look back
On traces green behind me, --
I go alone
To think upon
A face, where none
Shall find me.

Birds peal; but each grim grove its shroud
Retains, as to betoken
Though the young lawn should wave off cloud
These would have Night unbroken, --
Desire no plash
Of the Lake awash --
No gold but gold that's glinted
In still device
From the breast of ice
Whose summer cries
Have stinted.

But in a great and glittering space
The black Elm doth restore me
To you. Empower'd with patient grace
Musing she stands before me;
Her webs divine
Ghosted with fine
Remembrance few can capture;
Her very shade
On greenness laid
Is white, -- is made
Of rapture!







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