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Francis William Bourdillon

The Regions of Love

Who knows the deeps, where the water sleeps
Leagues from the light away?
Who knows the heights, where myriad lights
Fill heaven with endless day?

The earth goes on—seeks and loses the sun,
And men in the changes delight;
Love whirls us away into changeless day,
Or whelms us in changeless night.

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Only to Live

Only to live! There nothing is more sweet.
Only to live! There nothing is more bitter.
Only to live, when flowers are at the feet
And overhead the happy swallows twitter.
Only to live! There nothing is more sweet.
Only to live, when flies the angry sleet,
And the head bows above a dead love’s litter.
Only to live! There nothing is more bitter.

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Here and There

'HERE'

Soft benediction of September sun;
Voices of children, laughing as they run;
Green English lawns, bright flowers and butterflies;
And over all the blue embracing skies.

'THERE'

Tumult and roaring of the incessant gun;
Dead men and dying, trenches lost and won;
Blood, mud, and havoc, bugles, shoutings, cries;
And over all the blue embracing skies.

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The Debt Unpayable

What have I given,
Bold sailor on the sea?
In earth or heaven,
That you should die for me?

What can I give,
O soldier, leal and brave,
Long as I live,
To pay the life you gave?

What tithe or part
Can I return to thee,
O stricken heart,
That thou shouldst break for me?

The wind of Death
For you has slain life's flowers,
It withereth
(God grant) all weeds in ours.

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Two Robbers

When Death from some fair face
Is stealing life away,
All weep, save she, the grace
That earth shall lose today.

When Time from some fair face
Steals beauty year by year,
For her slow-fading grace
Who sheds, save she, a tear?

And Death not often dares
To wake the world's distress;
While Time, the cunning, mars
Surely all loveliness.

Yet though by breath and breath
Fades all thy fairest prime,
Men shrink from cruel Death,
But honor crafty Time.

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On the South Downs

Light falls the rain
On link and laine,
After the burning day;
And the bright scene,
Blue, gold, and green,
Is blotted out in gray.

Not so will part
The glowing heart
With sunny hours gone by;
On cliff and hill
There lingers still
A light that cannot die.

Like a gold crown
Gorse decks the Down,
All sapphire lies the sea;
And incense sweet
Springs as our feet
Tread light the thymy lea.

[...] Read more

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Excelsior

If one should strive to reach a star,
He would not build a ladder high,
Seek foot by foot to climb so far,
And step by step ascend the sky;

But he would seek the wild bird’s wings,
The secret of the lightning’s play,
Leap out upon the night’s blue rings,
And hail at dawn his wished-for day.

I will not vainly seek to thee
By ladder-steps of wealth or fame,
Till some few feet below me be
The world, thy distance still the same.

But I will seek that influence
By which all nature’s marvels move,
Till I, by flash or flight from hence,
Win to thee as on wings of Love.

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The Call

Hark! 'tis the rush of the horses,
The crash of the galloping gun!
The stars are out of their courses;
The hour of Doom has begun.
Leap from thy scabbard, O sword!
Leap! 'Tis the Day of the Lord!
Prate not of peace any longer,
Laughter and idlesse and ease!
Up, every man that is stronger!
Leave but the priest on his knees!
Quick, every hand to the hilt!
Who striketh not—his the guilt!
Call not each man on his brother!
Cry not to Heaven to save!
Thou art the man—not another—
Thou, to off glove and out glaive!
Fight, ye who ne'er fought before!
Fight, ye old fighting-men more!

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Sonnet I

Oft had I felt, like pure Endymion,
Such love for the sweet moon, that I had well
Believed her able on earth to love and dwell
With whatso man she set her love upon;
But as I wandered once when day was done
Beside the murmuring, moon-lit ocean-swell,
Sudden thy silent beauty on me shone,
Fair as the moon had give thee all her spell.
Then, as Endymion had found on earth,
In unchanged beauty but in fashion changed,
Her whom I loved so long; so felt I then,
Not that a new love in my heart had birth,
But that the old, that far from reach had ranged,
Was now on earth, and to be loved of men.

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Drought

For rain, for rain the parched lands cry,
Reproachful to the cloudless sky.
The hot white fields in light are blinking,
The rivers in their beds are shrinking.

For rest, for rest the weary cry
That watch from dark to dawn the sky;
A little sleep their limbs are craving,
A little rest from ceaseless raving.

God gives in His good time the rain,
And sends the sick man peace for pain;
But while we wait His gracious sending,
Alas! the sad days seem unending.

Yet, when the evening comes, the dew
Brings to the fields a fragrance new;
And loving smiles at day’s returning
Will soothe awhile the sick man’s yearning.

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