Formal Poem - Tumblr Posts
Desdichado
by Dorothy L. Sayers
Christ walks the world again, His lute upon His back,
His red robe rent to tatters, His riches gone to rack,
The wind that wakes the morning blows His hair about His face,
His hands and feet are ragged with the ragged briar’s embrace,
For the hunt is up behind Him and His sword is at His side…
Christ the bonny outlaw walks the whole world wide,
-
Singing: “Lady, lady, will you come away with Me,
Lie among the bracken and break the barley bread?
We will see new suns arise in golden, far-off skies,
For the Son of God and Woman hath not where to lay His head.”
-
Christ walks the world again, a prince of fairy-tale,
He roams, a rascal fiddler, over mountain and down dale,
Cast forth to seek His fortune in a bitter world and grim,
For the stepsons of His Father’s house would steal His bride from Him;
They have weirded Him to wander till He bring within His hands
The water of eternal youth from black-enchanted lands,
-
Singing: “Lady, lady, will you come away with Me,
Or sleep on silken cushions in the bower of wicked men?
For if we walk together through the wet and windy weather,
When I ride back home triumphant, you will ride beside Me then.”
-
Christ walks the world again, new-bound on high emprise,
With music in His golden mouth and laughter in His eyes;
The primrose springs before Him as He treads the dusty way,
His singer’s crown of thorns has burst in blossom like the may,
He heedeth not the morrow and He never looks behind,
Singing: “Glory to the open skies and peace to all mankind.”
-
Singing: “Lady, lady, will you come away with Me?
Was never man lived longer for the hoarding of his breath;
Here be dragons to be slain, here be rich rewards to gain…
If we perish in the seeking… why, how small a thing is death!”
Just finished Friday poetry class with my two eldest. One of the best things about being a home educator is getting to pass on one's enthusiasms to one's children. We finished Crossing The Bar today and moved to an obscure but lovely poem by John Farrar called:
SONG FOR A FORGOTTEN SHRINE TO PAN COME to me, Pan, with your wind-wild laughter, Where have you hidden your golden reed? Pipe me a torrent of tune-caught madness, Come to me, Pan, in my lonely need. Where are the white-footed youths and the maidens, Garlanded, rosy-lipped, lyric with spring? They tossed me poppies, tall lilies and roses And now but the winds their soft blown petals bring. Where are the fauns and the nymphs and the satyrs? Where are the voices that sang in the trees? Beauty has fled like a wind-startled nestling, Beauty, O Pan, and your sweet melodies. Come to me! Come to me! God of mad music, Come to me, child of the whispering night. Bring to all silences, torrents of music, People all shadows with garlands of light.
Instead of 'child' I'd have put 'lord' in the last stanza. I would leave out 'blown' in the second stanza because 'winds' is a long syllable and 'blown' is also.