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All Flesh

I do not need the skies'

Pomp, when I would be wise;

For pleasaunce nor to use

Heaven's champaign when I muse.

One grass-blade in its veins

Wisdom's whole flood contains;

Thereon my foundering mind

Odyssean fate can find.

by Francis Thompson

New Year's Chimes

What is the song the stars sing?

(And a million songs are as song of one)

This is the song the stars sing:

(Sweeter song's none)

One to set, and many to sing,

(And a million songs are as song of one)

One to stand, and many to cling,

The many things, and the one Thing,

by Francis Thompson

"Manus Animam Pinxit"

Lady who hold'st on me dominion!

Within your spirit's arms I stay me fast

Against the fell

Immitigate ravening of the gates of hell;

And claim my right in you, most hardly won,

Of chaste fidelity upon the chaste:

Hold me and hold by me, lest both should fall

(O in high escalade high companion!)

by Francis Thompson

A Dead Astronomer

(Father Perry, S.J.)

Starry amorist, starward gone,

Thou art--what thou didst gaze upon!

Passed through thy golden garden's bars,

Thou seest the Gardener of the Stars.

She, about whose moon-ed brows

Seven stars make seven glows,

Seven lights for seven woes;

by Francis Thompson

Beginning Of End

She was aweary of the hovering

Of Love's incessant tumultuous wing;

Her lover's tokens she would answer not--

'Twere well she should be strange with him somewhat:

A pretty babe, this Love,--but fie on it,

That would not suffer her lay it down a whit!

Appointed tryst defiantly she balked,

And with her lightest comrade lightly walked,

by Francis Thompson

A Corymbus For Autumn

Hearken my chant, 'tis

As a Bacchante's,

A grape-spurt, a vine-splash, a tossed tress, flown vaunt 'tis!

Suffer my singing,

Gipsy of Seasons, ere thou go winging;

Ere Winter throws

His slaking snows

In thy feasting-flagon's impurpurate glows!

by Francis Thompson

An Anthem Of Earth

Proemion.

Immeasurable Earth!

Through the loud vast and populacy of Heaven,

Tempested with gold schools of ponderous orbs,

That cleav'st with deep-revolting harmonies

Passage perpetual, and behind thee draw'st

A furrow sweet, a cometary wake

Of trailing music! What large effluence,

by Francis Thompson

Contemplation

This morning saw I, fled the shower,

The earth reclining in a lull of power:

The heavens, pursuing not their path,

Lay stretched out naked after bath,

Or so it seemed; field, water, tree, were still,

Nor was there any purpose on the calm-browed hill.

The hill, which sometimes visibly is

Wrought with unresting energies,

by Francis Thompson

A Question

O bird with heart of wassail,

That toss the Bacchic branch,

And slip your shaken music,

An elfin avalanche;

Come tell me, O tell me,

My poet of the blue!

What's YOUR thought of me, Sweet?--

Here's MY thought of you.

by Francis Thompson

'Where Art Thou Come?'

'Friend, whereto art thou come?' Thus Verity;

Of each that to the world's sad Olivet

Comes with no multitude, but alone by night,

Lit with the one torch of his lifted soul,

Seeking her that he may lay hands on her;

Thus: and waits answer from the mouth of deed.

Truth is a maid, whom men woo diversely;

This, as a spouse; that, as a light-o'-love,

by Francis Thompson

A Holocaust

'No man ever attained supreme knowledge, unless his heart had been

torn up by the roots.'

When I presage the time shall come--yea, now

Perchance is come, when you shall fail from me,

Because the mighty spirit, to whom you vow

Faith of kin genius unrebukably,

Scourges my sloth, and from your side dismissed

Henceforth this sad and most, most lonely soul

by Francis Thompson

The Poppy

'To Monica'

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

by Francis Thompson