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The Rhyme of Joyous Garde

Through the lattice rushes the south wind, dense

With fumes of the flowery frankincense

From hawthorn blossoming thickly;

And gold is shower'd on grass unshorn,

And poppy-fire on shuddering corn,

With May-dew flooded and flush'd with morn,

And scented with sweetness sickly.

The bloom and brilliance of summer days,

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Thick-Headed Thoughts: Part 3

'Tis a wicked world we live in;

Wrong in reason, wrong in rhyme;

But no matter: we'll not give in

While we still can come to time.

Strength's a shadow; Hope is madness;

Love, delusion; Friendship, sham;

Pleasure fades away to sadness,

None of these are worth a d---n.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Romance Of Britomarte ~~~

I'll tell you a story; but pass the "jack",

And let us make merry to-night, my men.

Aye, those were the days when my beard was black —

I like to remember them now and then —

Then Miles was living, and Cuthbert there,

On his lip was never a sign of down;

But I carry about some braided hair,

That has not yet changed from the glossy brown

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Unshriven

Oh! the sun rose on the lea, and the bird sang merrilie,

And the steed stood ready harness'd in the hall,

And he left his lady's bower, and he sought the eastern tower,

And he lifted cloak and weapon from the wall.

"We were wed but yester-noon, must we separate so soon?

Must you travel unassoiled and, aye, unshriven,

With the blood stain on your hand, and the red streak on your brand,

And your guilt all unconfessed and unforgiven?"

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Sunlight On The Sea

[The Philosophy of a Feast]

Make merry, comrades, eat and drink

(The sunlight flickers on the sea),

The garlands gleam, the glasses clink,

The grape juice mantles fair and free,

The lamps are trimm'd, although the light

Of day still lingers on the sky;

Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Swimmer

With short, sharp violent lights made vivid,

To the southward far as the sight can roam,

Only the swirl of the surges livid,

The seas that climb and the surfs that comb,

Only the crag and the cliff to nor'ward,

And rocks receding, and reefs flung forward,

And waifs wreck'd seaward and wasted shoreward

On shallows sheeted with flaming foam.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Race

On the hill they are crowding together,

In the stand they are crushing for room,

Like midge-flies they swarm on the heather,

They gather like bees on the broom;

They flutter like moths round a candle --

Stale similes, granted, what then?

I've got a stale subject to handle,

A very stale stump of a pen.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

The Roll Of The Kettledrum; Or, The Lay Of The Last Charger

"You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet,

Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?

Of two such lessons, why forget

The nobler and the manlier one?" — Byron.

One line of swart profiles and bearded lips dressing,

One ridge of bright helmets, one crest of fair plumes,

One streak of blue sword-blades all bared for the fleshing,

One row of red nostrils that scent battle-fumes.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Thora's Song ('Ashtaroth')

We severed in Autumn early,

Ere the earth was torn by the plough;

The wheat and the oats and the barley

Are ripe for the harvest now.

We sunder'd one misty morning

Ere the hills were dimm'd by the rain;

Through the flowers those hills adorning —

Thou comest not back again.

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Wolf And Hound

You'll take my tale with a little salt;

But it needs none, nevertheless!

I was foiled completely - fair at fault -

Disheartened, too, I confess!

At the splitters' tent I had seen the track

Of horse-hoofs fresh on the sward;

And though Darby Lynch and Donovan Jack

(Who could swear through a ten-inch board)

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Confiteor

The shore-boat lies in the morning light,

By the good ship ready for sailing;

The skies are clear, and the dawn is bright,

Tho' the bar of the bay is fleck'd with white,

And the wind is fitfully wailing;

Near the tiller stands the priest, and the knight

Leans over the quarter-railing.

"There is time while the vessel tarries still,

Adam Lindsay Gordon

Laudamus

The Lord shall slay or the Lord shall save!

He is righteous whether He save or slay —

Brother, give thanks for the gifts He gave,

Though the gifts He gave He hath taken away.

Shall we strive for that which is nothing? Nay.

Shall we hate each other for that which fled?

She is but a marvel of modelled clay,

And the smooth, clear white, and the soft, pure red,

Adam Lindsay Gordon