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A Year's Carols

JANUARY

HAIL, January, that bearest here

On snowbright breasts the babe-faced year

That weeps and trembles to be born.

Hail, maid and mother, strong and bright,

Hooded and cloaked and shod with white,

Whose eyes are stars that match the morn.

Thy forehead braves the storm's bent bow,

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Death And Birth

Death and birth should dwell not near together:

Wealth keeps house not, even for shame, with dearth:

Fate doth ill to link in one brief tether

Death and birth.

Harsh the yoke that binds them, strange the girth

Seems that girds them each with each: yet whether

Death be best, who knows, or life on earth?

Ill the rose-red and the sable feather

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Babyhood

A baby shines as bright

If winter or if May be

On eyes that keep in sight

A baby.

Though dark the skies or grey be,

It fills our eyes with light,

If midnight or midday be.

Love hails it, day and night,

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Wasted Love

What shall be done for sorrow

With love whose race is run?

Where help is none to borrow,

What shall be done?

In vain his hands have spun

The web, or drawn the furrow:

No rest their toil hath won.

His task is all gone thorough,

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Laus Veneris

Asleep or waking is it? for her neck,

Kissed over close, wears yet a purple speck

Wherein the pained blood falters and goes out;

Soft, and stung softly — fairer for a fleck.

But though my lips shut sucking on the place,

There is no vein at work upon her face;

Her eyelids are so peaceable, no doubt

Deep sleep has warmed her blood through all its ways.

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Autumn And Winter

Three months bade wane and wax the wintering moon

Between two dates of death, while men were fain

Yet of the living light that all too soon

Three months bade wane.

Cold autumn, wan with wrath of wind and rain,

Saw pass a soul sweet as the sovereign tune

That death smote silent when he smote again.

First went my friend, in life's mid light of noon,

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Time And Life

Time, thy name is sorrow, says the stricken

Heart of life, laid waste with wasting flame

Ere the change of things and thoughts requicken,

Time, thy name.

Girt about with shadow, blind and lame,

Ghosts of things that smite and thoughts that sicken

Hunt and hound thee down to death and shame.

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

The Oblation

Ask nothing more of me, sweet;

All I can give you I give.

Heart of my heart, were it more,

More would be laid at your feet:

Love that should help you to live,

Song that should spur you to soar.

All things were nothing to give

Once to have sense of you more,

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Epilogue: Songs Before Sunrise

Between the wave-ridge and the strand

I let you forth in sight of land,

Songs that with storm-crossed wings and eyes

Strain eastward till the darkness dies;

Let signs and beacons fall or stand,

And stars and balefires set and rise;

Ye, till some lordlier lyric hand

Weave the beloved brows their crown,

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Dolores (Notre-Dame des Sept Douleurs)

Cold eyelids that hide like a jewel

Hard eyes that grow soft for an hour;

The heavy white limbs, and the cruel

Red mouth like a venomous flower;

When these are gone by with their glories,

What shall rest of thee then, what remain,

O mystic and sombre Dolores,

Our Lady of Pain?

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Love Lies Bleeding

Love lies bleeding in the bed whereover

Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading:

Earth lies laughing where the sun's dart clove her:

Love lies bleeding.

Stately shine his purple plumes, exceeding

Pride of princes: nor shall maid or lover

Find on earth a fairer sign worth heeding.

Yet may love, sore wounded scarce recover

by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Dead Love

Dead love, by treason slain, lies stark,

White as a dead stark-stricken dove:

None that pass by him pause to mark

Dead love.

His heart, that strained and yearned and strove

As toward the sundawn strives the lark,

Is cold as all the old joy thereof.

Dead men, re-risen from dust, may hark

by Algernon Charles Swinburne