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Read Ebook: The Ballad of the Quest by Sheard Virna
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Ebook has 285 lines and 12838 words, and 6 pages
So I caught her gown in fear she would pass, Like a lovely shadow, across the grass.
"Who are you?" I cried, "who have found me here Where I have lain, this year upon year?"
"No! No! but one night, beloved,"--she said, "While I searched for you all among the dead.
"But you were so strong you could not die, Though Azrael touched you as he passed by."
And then by a flame that lit up the skies, I looked once again in Delilah's eyes.
They had out-lived fear, and were sweet, and deep As the eyes of an Angel, who bringeth sleep.
"O brave one!" she said, "You soon shall see From your thirst and your pain I can set you free!
"Here! The water flask!--I will lift your head,-- Drink if you will, and spare not," she said.
"Be patient, and wait! See here in your arm, The poppies of God shall work their charm."
So she spoke, while her voice seemed faint and far As though it drifted down from a star.
"I have come," she faltered, "belov?d at last"-- "Even so"--I said, "from the long-gone past.
"I would know," I cried, "how you came to me Through this hell where no woman should ever be?"
"I heard you call," she answered, "and then I followed the road of the out-bound men.
"I followed the bearers, for far--and far,-- They travel wherever the wounded are.
"Picket and sentry, and the men who fly, Made the holy sign as I hurried by."
"Here and there where the grass was red, I stopped for a moment beside the dead.
"I pressed my lips to their tunic's hem,-- And often I folded the hands of them.
"But I could not stay,--and when dawn was near, You called again--and I found you here."
"O Sweet--no more!" I said. "Tell me no more! For Peace has come in through the morning's door.
"There is only this at the end of my quest-- Only you--and Love--and a spirit at rest."
Then came the bearers to lift me away-- But beside me her shadow moved--tender and grey.
A SONG OF POPPIES
I love red poppies! Imperial red poppies! Sun-worshippers are they; Gladly as trees live through a hundred summers They live one little day.
I love red poppies! Impassioned scarlet poppies! Even their strange perfume Seems like an essence brewed by fairy people, From an immortal bloom.
I love red poppies! Red, silken, swaying poppies! Deep in their hearts they keep A magic cure for woe,--a draught of Lethe,-- A lotus-gift of sleep.
I love red poppies! Soft silver-stemmed, red poppies, That from the rain and sun, Gather a balm to heal some earth-born sorrow, When their glad day is done.
THE SHEPHERD WIND
When hills and plains are powdered white, And bitter cold the north wind blows, Upon my window in the night A fairy-garden grows.
Here lilies that no hand hath sown Bloom white as foam upon the sea, And elfin bells to earth unknown, Hold frost-bound melody.
And here are blossoms like to stars Tangled in nets of silver lace,-- My very breath their beauty mars, Or stirs them from their place.
Perchance the echoes of old songs, Found here a resting place at last, With drifting perfume, that belongs To roses of the past,--
Or all the moonbeams that were lost On summer nights the world forgets, May here be prisoned by the frost, With souls of violets.
The wind doth shepherd many things,-- And when the nights are long and cold, Who knows how strange a flock he brings All safely to the fold.
IN SOLITUDE
He is not all alone whose ship is sailing Over the mystery of an unknown sea, For some great Love with faithfulness unfailing Will light the stars to bear him company.
Out in the silence of the mountain passes, The heart makes peace and liberty its own,-- The wind that blows across the scented grasses Bringing the balm of sleep,--comes not alone.
Beneath the vast illimitable spaces, Where God has set His jewels in array, A man may pitch his tent in desert places, Yet know that heaven is not so far away.
But in the city--in the lighted city-- Where gilded spires point toward the sky, And fluttering rags and hunger ask for pity, Grey Loneliness in cloth-of-gold, goes by.
THE SLUMBER ANGEL
When day is ended, and grey twilight flies On silent wings across the tired land, The Slumber-Angel cometh from the skies,-- The Slumber-Angel of the peaceful eyes, And with the scarlet poppies in his hand.
His robes are dappled like the moonlit seas, His hair in waves of silver floats afar; He weareth lotus-bloom, and sweet heartsease, With tassels of the rustling, green fir trees, As down the dusk he steps from star to star.
Above the world he swings his curfew bell, And sleep falls soft on golden heads and white; The daisies curl their leaves beneath his spell,-- The prisoner who wearies in his cell Forgets awhile, and dreams throughout the night.
Even so, in peace, comes that great Lord of rest Who crowneth men with amaranthine flowers; Who telleth them the truths they have but guessed, Who giveth them the things they love the best, Beyond this restless, rocking world of ours.
AT MIDNIGHT
Turn Thou the key upon our thoughts, dear Lord, And let us sleep; Give us our portion of forgetfulness, Silent and deep.
Lay Thou Thy quiet hand upon our eyes, To close their sight; Shut out the shining of the moon, and stars, And candle-light.
Keep back the phantoms and the visions sad,-- The shades of grey,-- The fancies that so haunt the little hours Before the day.
Quiet the time-worn questions that are all Unanswered yet; Take from the spent and troubled souls of us Their vain regret;
And lead us far into Thy silent land, That we may go, Like children out across the field o' dreams, Where poppies blow.
So all Thy saints--and all Thy sinners, too-- Wilt Thou not keep, Since not alone unto Thy well-beloved Thou givest sleep?
DREAMS
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