Old and ever new !

And Anne Bronte(sister of Charlotte Bronte) of the olden years.(mid 19th C E). but the lines feel fresh as hidden leaves in the rain --

'I'll rest me in this sheltered bower,
And look upon the clear blue sky
That smiles upon me through the trees,
Which stand so thickly clustering by;

And view their green and glossy leaves,
All glistening in the sunshine fair ;
And list the rustling of their boughs,
So softly whispering through the air.

And while my ear drinks in the sound,
My winged soul shall fly away;
Reviewing long departed years
As one mild, beaming, autumn day' 

*
Francis Thompson is as usual rocking! He has always an unexpected twist and tinge of mystic note.

This is unusual about poets -

'Thou canst foreshape thy word;
The poet is not lord
Of the next syllable may come
With the returning pendulum;
And what he plans to-day in song,
To-morrow sings it in another tongue.
Where the last leaf fell from his bough,
He knows not if a leaf shall grow;
Where he sows he doth not reap,
He reapeth where he did not sow;
He sleeps, and dreams forsake his sleep
To meet him on his waking way.'

How different in tone and timbre this one ! --

'I sprinkled a few drops of verse,
And said to Ruin: 'Quit thy hearse;'
To my Loved: Pale not, come with me;
I will escort thee down the years.
With me thou walk'st immortally.'

And in the Echo of Victor Hugo these beautiful lines --

'Life's a veil the real has:
All the shadows of our scene
Are but shows of things that pass
On the other side the screen.

Time his glass sits nodding by;
'Twixt its turn and turn a spawn
Of universes buzz and die
Like the ephemeris of the dawn.'

*
And how oft we have run after strange ideals and stranger visions! All in the passionate longing that we must reach those one day. We profess in our progressive youth many plans for our future. And all at last how oft many have returned back to their childhood faith! However simple and however unpretentious the childhood idol beckons and quite unsung and feeling no need of noise we lay our heads on its laps. Our fevers assuaged, our world reassured.. our childhood thickly remembered.

Thomas O'Hagan has something to say on this -

'Hearts oft bow before strange idols,
Strength of power and breath of fame,
And forgetful of life's morning
Dream of noontide's gilded name;
But the idol that I cherish
Knows no glory e'en in part—
'Tis the simple faith of childhood
Long grown strong within my heart.

In the darkest hour of trial,
When each star has veiled its face,
Turn I fondly to my idol,
Full of heavenly light and grace;—
Then my step grows firm and steady
Down the mystic path of night.
For the simple faith of childhood
Guides me, leads me ever right.'

Perhaps the adage is true - 'Child is the father of man.'

***