At Belvoir

My thoughts go back to last July,     Sweet happy thoughts and tender;     The bridal of the earth and sky,     A day of noble splendour;     A day to make the saddest heart     In joy a true believer;     When two good friends we roamed apart     The shady walks of Belvoir.     A maiden like a budding rose,     Unconscious of the golden     And fragrant bliss of love that glows     Deep in her heart infolden;     A Poet old in years and thought,     Yet not too old for pleasance,     Made young again and fancy-fraught     By such a sweet friend's presence.     The other two beyond our ken     Most shamefully deserted,     And far from all the ways of men     Their stealthy steps averted:     Of course our Jack would go astray,     Erotic and erratic;     But Mary! well, I own the day     Was really too ecstatic.     We roamed with many a merry jest     And many a ringing laughter;     The slow calm hours too rich in zest     To heed before and after:     Yet lingering down the lovely walks     Soft strains anon came stealing,     A finer music through our talks     Of sweeter, deeper feeling:     Yes, now and then a quiet word     Of seriousness dissembling     In smiles would touch some hidden chord     And set it all a-trembling:     I trembled too, and felt it strange;     Could I be in possession     Of music richer in its range     Than yet had found expression?     The cattle standing in the mere,     The swans upon it gliding,     The sunlight on the waters clear,     The radiant clouds dividing;     The solemn sapphire sky above,     The foliage lightly waving,     The soft air's Sabbath peace and love     To satisfy all craving.     We mapped the whole fair region out     As Country of the Tender,     From first pursuit in fear and doubt     To final glad surrender:     Each knoll and arbour got its name,     Each vista, covert, dingle;     No young pair now may track the same     And long continue single!     And in the spot most thrilling-sweet     Of all this Love-Realm rosy     Our truant pair had found retreat,     Unblushing, calm and cosy:     Where seats too wide for one are placed,     And yet for two but narrow,     It's Let my arm steal round your waist,     And be my winsome marrow!     Reclining on a pleasant lea     Such tender scenes rehearsing,     A freakish fit seized him and me     For wildly foolish versing:     We versed of this, we versed of that,     A pair of mocking sinners,     While our lost couple strayed or sat     Oblivious of their dinners.     But what was strange, our maddest rhymes     In all their divagations     Were charged and over-charged at times     With deep vaticinations:     I yearn with wonder at the power     Of Poetry prophetic     Which in my soul made that blithe hour     With this hour sympathetic.     For though we are in winter now,     My heart is full of summer:     Old Year, old Wish, have made their bow;     I welcome each new-comer.     The King is dead, long live the King!     The throne is vacant never!     Is true, I read, of everything,     So of my heart forever!     My thoughts go on to next July,     More happy thoughts, more tender;     The bridal of the earth and sky,     A day of perfect splendour;     A day to make the saddest heart     In bliss a firm believer;     When two True Loves may roam apart     The shadiest walks of Belvoir.     There may be less of merry jest     And less of ringing laughter,     Yet life be much more rich in zest     And richer still thereafter;     The love-scenes of that region fair     Have very real rehearsing,     And tremulous kisses thrill the air     Far sweetlier than sweet versing;     The bud full blown at length reveal     Its deepest golden burning;     The heart inspired with love unseal     Its inmost passionate yearning:     The music of the hidden chord     At length find full expression;     The Seraph of the Flaming Sword     Assume divine possession.