Prefatory Sonnets
I
I purposed once to take my pen and write,Not songs, like some, tormented and awryWith passion, but a cunning harmonyOf words and music caught from glen and height,And lucid colours born of woodland lightAnd shining places where the sea-streams lie.But this was when the heat of youth glowed white,And since I’ve put the faded purpose by.I have no faultless fruits to offer youWho read this book; but certain syllablesHerein are borrowed from unfooted dellsAnd secret hollows dear to noontide dew;And these at least, though far between and few,May catch the sense like subtle forest spells.
II
So take these kindly, even though there beSome notes that unto other lyres belong,Stray echoes from the elder sons of song;And think how from its neighbouring native seaThe pensive shell doth borrow melody.I would not do the lordly masters wrongBy filching fair words from the shining throngWhose music haunts me as the wind a tree.Lo, when a stranger in soft Syrian gloomsShot through with sunset, treads the cedar dells,And hears the breezy ring of elfin bellsFar down be where the white-haired cataract booms,He, faint with sweetness caught from forest smells,Bears thence, unwitting, plunder of perfumes.