Three by Noyes II

Sonnets by Alfred Noyes.

Immortal Sails

Now, in a breath, we'll burst those gates of gold,
   And ransack heaven before our moment fails.
Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old,
   We'll mount and sing and spread immortal sails.

It is not time that makes eternity.
   Love and an hour may quite out-span the years,
And give us more to hear and more to see
   Than life can wash away with all its tears.

Dear, when we part, at last, that sunset sky
   Shall not be touched with deeper hues than this:
But we shall ride the lightning ere we die
   And seize our brief infinitude of bliss,

With time to spare for all that heaven can tell,
While eyes meet eyes, and look their last farewell.

The Double Fortress

Time, wouldst thou hurt us? Never shall we grow old.
   Break, as thou wilt these bodies of blind clay,
Thou canst not touch us here, in our stronghold,
   Where two, made one, laugh all thy powers away.

Though ramparts crumble and rusty gates grow thin,
   And our brave fortress dwine to a hollow shell,
Thou shalt hear heavenly laughter, far within,
   Where, young as Love, two hidden lovers dwell.

We shall go clambering up our twisted stairs
   To watch the moon through rifts in our grey towers.
Thou shalt hear whispers, kisses, and sweet prayers
   Creeping through all our creviced walls like flowers.

Wouldst wreck us, Time? When thy dull leaguer brings
The last wall down, look heavenward. We have wings.

The Anvil

Stand like a beaten anvil, when thy dream
   Is laid upon thee, golden from the fire.
Flinch not, though heavily through that furnace-gleam
   The black forge-hammers fall on thy desire.

Demoniac giants round thee seem to loom.
   'Tis but the world-smiths heaving to and fro.
Stand like a beaten anvil. Take the doom
   Their ponderous weapons deal thee, blow on blow.

Needful to truth as dew-fall to the flower
   Is this wild wrath and this implacable scorn.
For every pang, new beauty, and new power,
   Burning blood-red shall on thy heart be born.

Stand like a beaten anvil. Let earth's wrong
Beat on that iron and ring back in song.

Collected Poems (1950), pp. 355, 375, 376.

See also Three by Noyes: Poems by Alfred Noyes.

Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Sun. 10/19/03 12:12:30 PM
Categorized as Literary & Sunday Poetry Series.