IN THE ORCHARD
by: Algernon Charles Swinburne
(1837-1909)
- EAVE go
my hands, let me catch breath and see;
- Let the dew-fall drench either side of me;
- Clear apple-leaves are soft upon that moon
- Seen sidelong like a blossom in the tree;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- The grass is thick and cool, it lets us lie.
- Kissed upon either cheek and either eye,
- I turn to thee as some green afternoon
- Turns toward sunset, and is loth to die;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Lie closer, lean your face upon my side,
- Feel where the dew fell that has hardly dried,
- Hear how the blood beats that went nigh to swoon;
- The pleasure lives there when the sense has died,
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- O my fair lord, I charge you leave me this:
- Is it not sweeter than a foolish kiss?
- Nay take it then, my flower, my first in June,
- My rose, so like a tender mouth it is:
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Love, till dawn sunder night from day with fire,
- Dividing my delight and my desire,
- The crescent life and love the plenilune,
- Love me through dusk begin and dark retire;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Ah, my heart fails, my blood draws back; I know,
- When life runs over, life is near to go;
- And with the slain of love love's ways are strewn,
- And with their blood, if love will have it so;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Ah, do thy will now; slay me if thou wilt;
- There is no building now the walls are built,
- No quarrying now the corner-stone is hewn,
- No drinking now the vine's whole blood is spilt;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Nay, slay me now; nay, for I will be slain;
- Pluck thy red pleasure from the teeth of pain,
- Breaks down thy vine ere yet grape-gatherers prune,
- Slay me ere day can slay desire again;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Yea, with thy sweet lips, with thy sweet sword; yea
- Take life and all, for I will die, I say;
- Love, I gave love, is life a better boon?
- For sweet night's sake I will not live till day;
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
-
- Nay, I will sleep then only; nay, but go.
- Ah sweet, too sweet to me, my sweet, I know
- Love, sleep, and death go to the sweet same tune;
- Hold my hair fast, and kiss me through it soon.
- Ah God, ah God, that day should be so soon.
"In the Orchard" is reprinted
from Poetica Erotica. Ed. T.R. Smith. New York: Crown
Publishers, 1921. |
MORE POEMS BY ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE |
|