Francis Thompson

I was heavy with the even,
When she lit her glimmering tapers
Round the day's dead sanctities.
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I was heavy with the even,
When she lit her glimmering tapers
Round the day's dead sanctities.
I laughed in the morning's eyes.

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain read more

Nothing begins, and nothing ends, That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain And perish in our own.

But lilies, stolen from grassy mold,
No more curled state unfold,
Translated to a vase of gold;
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But lilies, stolen from grassy mold,
No more curled state unfold,
Translated to a vase of gold;
In burning throne though they keep still
Serenities unthawed and chill.

So for thy spirit did devise
Its Maker seemly garniture,
Of its own essence parcel pure.--
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So for thy spirit did devise
Its Maker seemly garniture,
Of its own essence parcel pure.--
From grave simplicities a dress,
And reticent demureness,
And love encinctured with reserve;
Which the woven vesture would subserve.
For outward robes in their ostents
Should show the soul's habiliments.
Therefore I say,--Thou'rt fair even so,
But better Fair I use to know.

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,
And left the flushed print in a poppy there:
Like read more

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,
And left the flushed print in a poppy there:
Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came,
And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.
With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank
The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank,
And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine
When the eastern conduits ran with wine.