Three by Meynell IV

Three poems by Alice Meynell.

Winter Trees on the Horizon

O delicate! Even in wooded lands
   They show the margin of my world,
My own horizon; little bands
   Of twigs unveil that edge impearled.

And what is more mine own than this,
   My limit, level with mine eyes?
For me precisely do they kiss—
   The rounded earth, the rounding skies.

It has my stature, that keen line,
   (Let mathematics vouch for it).
The lark's horizon is not mine,
   No, nor his nestlings' where they sit;

No, nor the child's. And, when I gain
   The hills, I lift it as I rise
Erect; anon, back to the plain
   I soothe it with mine equal eyes.

(from "Last Poems")

The Roaring Frost

A flock of winds came winging from the North,
Strong birds with fighting pinions driving forth
      With a resounding call:—

Where will they close their wings and cease their cries—
Between what warming seas and conquering skies—
      And fold, and fall?

(from "Later Poems")

West Wind in Winter

Another day awakes. And who—
   Changing the world—is this?
He comes at whiles, the winter through,
   West Wind! I would not miss
His sudden tryst: the long, the new
   Surprises of his kiss.

Vigilant, I make haste to close
   With him who comes my way.
I go to meet him as he goes;
   I know his note, his lay,
His colour and his morning-rose,
   And I confess his day.

My window waits; at dawn I hark
   His call; at morn I meet
His haste around the tossing park
   And down the softened street;
The gentler light is his: the dark,
   The grey—he turns it sweet.

So too, so too, do I confess
   My poet when he sings.
He rushes on my mortal guess
   With his immortal things.
I feel, I know, him. On I press—
   He finds me 'twixt his wings.

(from "Later Poems")

The Poems of Alice Meynell: Complete Edition (1923), pp. 120, 59, 60. The book is on line here.

See also Three by Meynell III: Three poems by Alice Meynell.

Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Sun. 02/06/05 07:57:10 AM
Categorized as Literary & Sunday Poetry Series.