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Read Ebook: The Inn of Dreams by Custance Olive
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Ebook has 133 lines and 8730 words, and 3 pages
Dedication . . . v The Inn of Dreams . . . 3 The Kingdom of Heaven . . . 5 A Dream . . . 6 The Autumn Day . . . 8 Angels . . . 10 The Changeling . . . 11 A Song Against Care . . . 14 "Quelque part une Enfance tr?s douce et mourir" . . . 16 Candle-Light . . . 18 In the South . . . 20 Spring in the South . . . 22 "I am Weary, let me Sleep" . . . 24 Grief . . . 26 Daffodil Dawn . . . 28 Beauty . . . 29 The Vision . . . 31 The Dance . . . 33 The Prisoner of God . . . 36 The Storm . . . 38 St. Anthony . . . 41 Black Butterflies . . . 43 In Praise of Youth . . . 45 Opal Song . . . 47 Gifts . . . 48 Primrose Hill . . . 50 A Morning Song . . . 52 The Wings of Fortune . . . 53 Shadow-Nets . . . 55 Peacocks. A Mood . . . 56 Hyacinthus . . . 58 Hylas . . . 61 Blue Flowers . . . 63 Madrigal . . . 64 Endymion . . . 65 Dance Song . . . 66 A Memory . . . 67 The Photograph . . . 69 St. Sebastian . . . 71 The Magic Mirrors . . . 73
The Inn of Dreams
Sweet Laughter! Sweet Delight! My heart is like a lighted Inn that waits Your swift approach . . . and at the open gates White Beauty stands and listens like a flower. She has been dreaming of you in the night, O fairy Princes; and her eyes are bright. Spur your fleet horses, this is Beauty's hour! Even as when a golden flame up-curled Quivers and flickers out in a dark place, So is it with the flame of Beauty's face-- That torch! that rose! that wonder of the world! And Love shall weep to see--when he rides by Years hence -- A lonely Inn beneath a winter sky. Come now, sweet friends! before the summer die. Sweet Laughter! Sweet Delight!
The Kingdom of Heaven
Yet in the heart of every child, God and the world are reconciled! . . .
A Dream
I dreamed we walked together, you and I, Along a white and lonely road, that went I know not where . . . and we were well content. Our laughter was untroubled as the sky, And all our talk was delicate and shy, Though in that cage of words wild thoughts were pent Like prisoned birds that some sweet accident Might yet release to sing again, and fly. We passed between long lines of poplar trees . . . Where, summer comrades gay and debonair, The south wind and the sunlight danced . . . you smiled, With great glad eyes, as bright as summer seas, To feel their twinkling fingers in your hair . . And then you kissed me, quickly, like a child!
The Autumn Day
How delicately steps the autumn day In azure cloak and gown of ashen grey Over the level country that I love!
With glittering veils of light about her head And skirts of wide horizons round her spread White as the white wing-feathers of a dove.
Her feet, a flash of silver on the sea, Chase silver sails that fly untiringly Towards the enchanted Islands of the West.
Beautiful Islands, gardens of delight! That flower at dawn with roses red and white . . . And flame at sunset gold and amethyst . . .
How delicately steps the autumn day In azure cloak and gown of ashen grey Over the level country that I love . . .
And how my heart that all sweet things beguile Goes laughing with her for a little while . . . And then turns homeward like a weary dove.
Angels
When life is difficult, I dream Of how the angels dance in heaven! Of how the angels dance and sing In gardens of eternal spring, Because their sins have been forgiven . . . And never more for them shall be The terrors of mortality! When life is difficult, I dream Of how the angels dance in heaven . . .
The Changeling
My father was a golden king, My mother was a shining queen; I heard the magic blue-bird sing . . . They wrapped me in a mantle green.
They led their winged white horses out, We rode and rode till dawn was grey; We rode with many a song and shout, "Over the hills and far away."
They stole the crying human child, And left me laughing by the fire; And that is why my heart is wild, And all my life a long desire . . .
The old enchantments hold me still . . . And sometimes in a waking trance I seek again the Fairy Hill, The midnight feast, the glittering dance!
The wizard harpers play for me, I wear a crown upon my head, A princess in eternity, I dance and revel with the dead . . .
"Vain lies!" I hear the people cry, I listen to their weary truth; Then turn again to fantasy, And the untroubled Land of Youth.
I hear the laughter of the kings, I see their jewelled flagons gleam . . . O wine of Life! . . . immortal things Move in the splendour of my dream . . .
My spirit is a homing dove . . . I drain a crystal cup, and fall Softly into the arms of Love . . . And then the darkness covers all.
A Song Against Care
O Care! Thou art a cloak too heavy to be borne, Glittering with tears, and gay with painted lies ; thou art fair To look at, O thou garment of our pride! A net of colours, thou dost catch the wise; He lays aside his wisdom for thy sake . . . And Beauty hides her loveliness in thee . . . And after . . . when men know the agony Of thy great weight of splendour, and would shake Thee swiftly from their shoulders, cast aside The burden of thy jewelled bands that break Their very hearts . . . often it is too late. They fear the world will mock them and deride When they are stripped of all their golden state. But some are brave . . . but some among us dare Cry out against thy torment and be free! And I would rather a gay beggar be, And go in rags for all eternity, Than that thy clanking pomp should cover me, O Care! . . .
"Quelque part une Enfance tr?s douce doit mourir" Albert Samian
Alas! I do not know on what sad day My childhood went away . . . It may have left me softly in the night When I was sleeping--dreaming--who can tell? Perhaps it whispered "wings were made for flight!" I only know it never said "farewell" . . .
And so I cannot tell when youth will go Although I love it so . . . But like a little amorous girl that clings To some fair boy, my spirit all afraid, While yet she holds youth back by the bright wings, Knows he must leave her for some other maid!
Candle-Light
Frail golden flowers that perish at a breath, Flickering points of honey-coloured flame, From sunset gardens of the moon you came, Pale flowers of passion . . . delicate flowers of death . . .
Blossoms of opal fire that raised on high Upon a hundred silver stems are seen Above the brilliant dance, or set between The brimming wine-cups . . . flowers of revelry!
Roses with amber petals that arise Out of the purple darkness of the night To deck the darkened house of Love, to light The laughing lips, the beautiful glad eyes.
Lilies with violet-coloured hearts that break In shining clusters round the silent dead, A diadem of stars at feet and head, The glory dazzles . . . but they do not wake . . .
O golden flowers the moon goes gathering In magic gardens of her fairy-land, While splendid angels of the sunset stand Watching in flaming circles wing to wing . . .
Frail golden flowers that perish at a breath, That wither in the hands of light, and die When bright dawn wakens in a silver sky. Pale flowers of passion . . . delicate flowers of death.
In the South
I was pale and sad in the South like the olive-trees That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads, And are grave and cold and grey in spite of the sun . . . In the veils of rose and blue that the bright dawn spun Day wrapped me round in vain! I longed for the lovers and friends I had left behind, I longed for the North again.
I was deaf to song, and even to beauty blind, Blind to the magic woof that summer weaves, While roses beat their pearl and ruby leaves Against my window pane . . . And orange flowers so passionately white, So richly perfumed, pined for my delight: Only my faint heart sighed, In pity when the glory waned and died, For all that lovely life unsatisfied!
I was pale and sad in the South like the olive-trees That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads . . .
Spring in the South
Beautiful as some rich embroidery The valley lies in verdant amplitude, Great mountains--like old merchants--o'er it brood-- And as a lovely woman languidly Trailing her long blue robes, so comes the sea To touch it softly in a wistful mood . . . The sky forgets her starry multitude, Seeing how fair mere earthly flowers can be!
Glad country where the wayward feet of Spring, Moving in mystic dances, bring desire, New miracles of beauty every day . . . Where Love and sweet Delight fly wing to wing Forgetful as in dreams, that bright as fire So burn the hours of joy as swift away!
"I am Weary, let me Sleep"
I am weary, let me sleep In some great embroidered bed, With soft pillows for my head. I am weary, let me sleep . . . Petals of sweet roses shed All around a perfumed heap White as pearls, and ruby red; Curtains closely drawn to keep Wings of darkness o'er me spread . . . I am weary, let me sleep In some great embroidered bed. Let me dream that I am dead, Nevermore to wake and weep In the future that I dread . . . For the ways of life are steep . . . I am weary, let me sleep . . .
Grief
I, that was once so eager for the light, The vehement pomp and passion of the day, Am tired at last, and glad to steal away Across the dusky borders of the night. The purple darkness now is my delight, And with great stars my lonely sorrows play, As still, some proud and tragic princess may With diamonds make her desolation bright.
Night has become a temple for my tears . . . The moon a silver shroud for my despair, And all the golden forests of the spheres Have showered their splendours on me leaf by leaf Till men that meet me in the sunlight, stare To see the shining garment of my grief!
Daffodil Dawn
While I slept, and dreamed of you, Morning, like a princess, came, All in robe of palest blue: Stooped and gathered in that hour From the east a golden flower, Great and shining flower of flame . . . Then she hastened on her way Singing over plain and hill-- While I slept and dreamed of you Dreams that never can come true . . Morning at the gates of Day, Gathered Dawn, the daffodil!
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