" Drip,
Creeping over the hard ground
Water-drop, lonely,
Meeting, kissing, running on in a hurry —
One, two, three,
With a little rush tumbling
Edgeover hundreds — O so many!
Through the gorge grumbling,
Sweeping out free,
Overspreading the wide, low, reach placidly;
Heaven in the eye
Lapping the green —
Emerald, Emerald, ice-enthralled.
O, dead summer in a frozen sea! "
Water song.
" Upon a day,
When life and death meet,
Meet and mingle, and hurry the earth along. "
Song of the spring.
" Upon a day
When death and life hold tryste,
When long suns wane,
When cold shoots down to the flower roots,
And pain bears sway again. "
Song of the mist.
Hush, for the tweat, tweat, of young birds in the hollybush,
For the rush of dry leaves in the strong eddies' gush!
O song, O song, little sudden, sweet song,
Fade and flush —
For what call, what replying,
Here joying, here sighing,
Pulsing over here, dying.
Thus, through twilight to midnight,
From sick day to night's prime —
When through the midnight steal
Bells, bells, bells.
" Work time,
Rest time,
Silver chime,
Morning music, evening rhyme;
Morning rime, evening dew,
Labours many, favours few;
Climb, climb
Up the jagged slope wearily,
Glittering, slim tree,
Shower moonlight on the grey,
As we pass through the broken way,
Beryl, opal, chrysopras.
Golden queen of the hard night,
Kiss the face of chrysolite.
Heavy heart in life apart,
Jacinth, sapphire, jasper,
Every heart a heavy heart.
What demons clasp her, sorrows hold her!
Work a day, each axe on shoulder;
Eyes in the heavens a thousand bold,
All snowed over is our threshold. "
So stumbling up to the door
That was just a thought open, or a little more;
One after another
Each dwarf brother,
Clustering together,
With a lamp acock in each cap's brim;
All their lights mustering
In a dim, round patch
On the door's latch,
Fumbling to find it; chattering whether
A noise of singing had mixed with the din
Of their chimes, at last tumbling in
To the long, low room, fire-lit
All in amaze
At the red fire's blaze,
At the room pleasant and orderly,
Musical silence instead of elf-din.
Supper ready,
Beds waiting restful to be slept in;
But most of all things seen
At Snowbell, fair lily queen,
Who, timidly looking from one to another,
Wistfully scanning the face of each brother,
Sees each face clad
In thoughts sad-coloured as the clothes they wear,
And " Work-a-day clothes, work-a-day faces,
All come up to me out of sad, dark, deep places, "
Says she in her heart silently,
A little afraid.
But, see presently, at fairy
Feast, all growing cheery
Round the little sister eerie,
Seven brothers from the work day weary.
Furze soup, pine wine,
Bread made of the barks of trees,
Spread with crushed hawberries,
Mistletoes stewed,
Hart's tongue and chestnut gravies
Daintily.
A broad fungus platter
Growing from the table
In front of each brother;
The first dwarf's a wee fatter
Than the next other,
And so on, all serviceable.
Their cups each a waterbud
With a stud in each centre, one,
Chrysopras, gold green stone,
Two, all
Colours asleep in the soft opal,
Crimson orange jacinth
Blood of hyacinth,
Yellow moonlight,
Cold, gold chrysolite,
Beryl, sea-drop in a cup,
Sapphire, flashing up blue fire,
Jasper, green as mosses rare.
In the great chair, Snowbell,
At the table's head,
With a pearl shell
The fungus instead,
And white lady-flower from some watered dell
For a goblet, edge-curled
Like a fairy flag three-quarters unfurled
In a wind-swell
So the time slips by
Till the clock strikes one,
Supper done,
And each dwarf on his little bed lies down.
When lo! a nest of green ferns grown
From nothing beside Snowbell's nook
Opens wide in her sight,
With a pillow snow-white in the plunge of it,
Stems closing round in a row;
For her fairest, her best
Snowbell, falling fain
On its rest.
Grate empty, lamps all dark,
Dwarfs in bed,
And a sort of bound
Through the elf things all round,
Now and then.
Moonlight streaming
Into the dreaming room —
Snowbell quietly laid, not sleeping,
Hushed, puzzled watch a-keeping
Through the streaked gloom
Over the goblin men.
So, night after night,
In the quaint home
Starlight of Ruggeddom,
Day after day all alone,
Dew-drop of elf-home,
Half a tear, half a sun,
Snowbell, unheeding
How the uncertain spirit time is speeding!
Summer mist,
Autumn rain,
Winter frost,
Weep, weep, weep!
For asleep in the arms of the doom-sleep,
Snowbell lies asleep
Fay sister, fay sister,
Alas! summer's lost daughter,
Has the mist caught her and kissed her?
Weep, weep, weep!
Forth from the earth to their nest,
Brothers seven
To their little love come
Up to heaven;
Find all their joy flown,
Their sweet rest gone;
Only a sorrow left to keep
For each one, and for every to-morrow.
Cold on the cold floor, Snowbell,
Like a chill gleam, alas!
White garmented, ornamented
With pale moon-jewels on her head,
Like diamonds liquid
In the arms of the wild will, still.
Will it pass,
Death dream?
Ring the bells wearily:
" Midnight hours come and go,
Still as death, white as snow,
Yellow moonlight on the floor,
Paling chrysolite,
Tarnished gleams from summer store,
Yellow streams of grass,
April gold-green chrysopras,
Jacinth, opal, jasper.
What wild wills clasp her?
Emerald, emerald,
Ice-enthralled,
Flaming glory fleeing away,
Pearly twilight, deepening grey
From depth of day,
Sapphire, beryl, gloom of the deep:
Is it death or is it sleep?
Weary night hours wear and pass
Into wearier dawn, alas!
Then down to the heart of Ruggeddom
To work, and work, and work we
Till light dips low,
And home we shall go;
Grope through the night
With a new dead delight,
Oh! heavy to carry and hard to bury,
Ring our bells wearily. "
Hush! — the dark going, away there, away,
And a little gurgle of light flowing in, and the grey,
And the large low sun showing through, and the day.
Break, break;
Great Eye shining about the golden head,
Ruddy gold on the snow,
Cold moonlight instead;
Gold, gold on the floor,
Fire through the door-chinks, awake,
Snowbell, Snowbell,
In every pulse-shake of the morning, ring.
" Ring, for another love is born
Over the green and golden earth.
Hush! for a little whisper runs
Along the new shoots of the corn
With a little rush, a murmur of her.
Ring our bells in the wide air,
Tears of the day at its birth,
Baby tears hold suns.
There is a promise, a promise, a promise;
Ring our bells a merry jangle,
Through tangle of sighs.
Merrily see where the demon is lain.
Ho! a lusty hope at the throat of pain;
Over the hills, over the plain,
Though ever a sigh, ever there be,
Trailing the ground, touching the sky.
Ring our bells merrily. "
Up, hence, away, each brother —
And little gusts of air,
Soft, curious, gather
About the day-bells, mutter
Their fair sweet clash all together,
Close and smother it under a plash;
Open, fling it high,
Spread it out smooth to the dim. Ring
Merrily, crash,
Ho! wild, wine-sweet, rapturous.
Creeping over the hard ground
Water-drop, lonely,
Meeting, kissing, running on in a hurry —
One, two, three,
With a little rush tumbling
Edgeover hundreds — O so many!
Through the gorge grumbling,
Sweeping out free,
Overspreading the wide, low, reach placidly;
Heaven in the eye
Lapping the green —
Emerald, Emerald, ice-enthralled.
O, dead summer in a frozen sea! "
Water song.
" Upon a day,
When life and death meet,
Meet and mingle, and hurry the earth along. "
Song of the spring.
" Upon a day
When death and life hold tryste,
When long suns wane,
When cold shoots down to the flower roots,
And pain bears sway again. "
Song of the mist.
Hush, for the tweat, tweat, of young birds in the hollybush,
For the rush of dry leaves in the strong eddies' gush!
O song, O song, little sudden, sweet song,
Fade and flush —
For what call, what replying,
Here joying, here sighing,
Pulsing over here, dying.
Thus, through twilight to midnight,
From sick day to night's prime —
When through the midnight steal
Bells, bells, bells.
" Work time,
Rest time,
Silver chime,
Morning music, evening rhyme;
Morning rime, evening dew,
Labours many, favours few;
Climb, climb
Up the jagged slope wearily,
Glittering, slim tree,
Shower moonlight on the grey,
As we pass through the broken way,
Beryl, opal, chrysopras.
Golden queen of the hard night,
Kiss the face of chrysolite.
Heavy heart in life apart,
Jacinth, sapphire, jasper,
Every heart a heavy heart.
What demons clasp her, sorrows hold her!
Work a day, each axe on shoulder;
Eyes in the heavens a thousand bold,
All snowed over is our threshold. "
So stumbling up to the door
That was just a thought open, or a little more;
One after another
Each dwarf brother,
Clustering together,
With a lamp acock in each cap's brim;
All their lights mustering
In a dim, round patch
On the door's latch,
Fumbling to find it; chattering whether
A noise of singing had mixed with the din
Of their chimes, at last tumbling in
To the long, low room, fire-lit
All in amaze
At the red fire's blaze,
At the room pleasant and orderly,
Musical silence instead of elf-din.
Supper ready,
Beds waiting restful to be slept in;
But most of all things seen
At Snowbell, fair lily queen,
Who, timidly looking from one to another,
Wistfully scanning the face of each brother,
Sees each face clad
In thoughts sad-coloured as the clothes they wear,
And " Work-a-day clothes, work-a-day faces,
All come up to me out of sad, dark, deep places, "
Says she in her heart silently,
A little afraid.
But, see presently, at fairy
Feast, all growing cheery
Round the little sister eerie,
Seven brothers from the work day weary.
Furze soup, pine wine,
Bread made of the barks of trees,
Spread with crushed hawberries,
Mistletoes stewed,
Hart's tongue and chestnut gravies
Daintily.
A broad fungus platter
Growing from the table
In front of each brother;
The first dwarf's a wee fatter
Than the next other,
And so on, all serviceable.
Their cups each a waterbud
With a stud in each centre, one,
Chrysopras, gold green stone,
Two, all
Colours asleep in the soft opal,
Crimson orange jacinth
Blood of hyacinth,
Yellow moonlight,
Cold, gold chrysolite,
Beryl, sea-drop in a cup,
Sapphire, flashing up blue fire,
Jasper, green as mosses rare.
In the great chair, Snowbell,
At the table's head,
With a pearl shell
The fungus instead,
And white lady-flower from some watered dell
For a goblet, edge-curled
Like a fairy flag three-quarters unfurled
In a wind-swell
So the time slips by
Till the clock strikes one,
Supper done,
And each dwarf on his little bed lies down.
When lo! a nest of green ferns grown
From nothing beside Snowbell's nook
Opens wide in her sight,
With a pillow snow-white in the plunge of it,
Stems closing round in a row;
For her fairest, her best
Snowbell, falling fain
On its rest.
Grate empty, lamps all dark,
Dwarfs in bed,
And a sort of bound
Through the elf things all round,
Now and then.
Moonlight streaming
Into the dreaming room —
Snowbell quietly laid, not sleeping,
Hushed, puzzled watch a-keeping
Through the streaked gloom
Over the goblin men.
So, night after night,
In the quaint home
Starlight of Ruggeddom,
Day after day all alone,
Dew-drop of elf-home,
Half a tear, half a sun,
Snowbell, unheeding
How the uncertain spirit time is speeding!
Summer mist,
Autumn rain,
Winter frost,
Weep, weep, weep!
For asleep in the arms of the doom-sleep,
Snowbell lies asleep
Fay sister, fay sister,
Alas! summer's lost daughter,
Has the mist caught her and kissed her?
Weep, weep, weep!
Forth from the earth to their nest,
Brothers seven
To their little love come
Up to heaven;
Find all their joy flown,
Their sweet rest gone;
Only a sorrow left to keep
For each one, and for every to-morrow.
Cold on the cold floor, Snowbell,
Like a chill gleam, alas!
White garmented, ornamented
With pale moon-jewels on her head,
Like diamonds liquid
In the arms of the wild will, still.
Will it pass,
Death dream?
Ring the bells wearily:
" Midnight hours come and go,
Still as death, white as snow,
Yellow moonlight on the floor,
Paling chrysolite,
Tarnished gleams from summer store,
Yellow streams of grass,
April gold-green chrysopras,
Jacinth, opal, jasper.
What wild wills clasp her?
Emerald, emerald,
Ice-enthralled,
Flaming glory fleeing away,
Pearly twilight, deepening grey
From depth of day,
Sapphire, beryl, gloom of the deep:
Is it death or is it sleep?
Weary night hours wear and pass
Into wearier dawn, alas!
Then down to the heart of Ruggeddom
To work, and work, and work we
Till light dips low,
And home we shall go;
Grope through the night
With a new dead delight,
Oh! heavy to carry and hard to bury,
Ring our bells wearily. "
Hush! — the dark going, away there, away,
And a little gurgle of light flowing in, and the grey,
And the large low sun showing through, and the day.
Break, break;
Great Eye shining about the golden head,
Ruddy gold on the snow,
Cold moonlight instead;
Gold, gold on the floor,
Fire through the door-chinks, awake,
Snowbell, Snowbell,
In every pulse-shake of the morning, ring.
" Ring, for another love is born
Over the green and golden earth.
Hush! for a little whisper runs
Along the new shoots of the corn
With a little rush, a murmur of her.
Ring our bells in the wide air,
Tears of the day at its birth,
Baby tears hold suns.
There is a promise, a promise, a promise;
Ring our bells a merry jangle,
Through tangle of sighs.
Merrily see where the demon is lain.
Ho! a lusty hope at the throat of pain;
Over the hills, over the plain,
Though ever a sigh, ever there be,
Trailing the ground, touching the sky.
Ring our bells merrily. "
Up, hence, away, each brother —
And little gusts of air,
Soft, curious, gather
About the day-bells, mutter
Their fair sweet clash all together,
Close and smother it under a plash;
Open, fling it high,
Spread it out smooth to the dim. Ring
Merrily, crash,
Ho! wild, wine-sweet, rapturous.