The Little Review (littlereview) wrote,
The Little Review

Poem for Saturday and Friday Night Spikes

By Algernon Charles Swinburne

    From the French of the Vidame de Chartres

When the fields catch flower
    And the underwood is green,
And from bower unto bower
    The songs of the birds begin,
    I sing with sighing between.
When I laugh and sing,
    I am heavy at heart for my sin;
I am sad in the spring
    For my love that I shall not win,
For a foolish thing.

This profit I have of my woe,
    That I know, as I sing,
I know he will needs have it so
    Who is master and king,
    Who is lord of the spirit of spring.
I will serve her and will not spare
    Till her pity awake
Who is good, who is pure, who is fair,
    Even her for whose sake
Love hath ta'en me and slain unaware.

O my lord, O Love,
    I have laid my life at thy feet;
Have thy will thereof,
    Do as it please thee with it,
    For what shall please thee is sweet.
I am come unto thee
    To do thee service, O Love;
Yet cannot I see
    Thou wilt take any pity thereof,
Any mercy on me.

But the grace I have long time sought
    Comes never in sight,
If in her it abideth not,
    Through thy mercy and might,
    Whose heart is the world's delight.
Thou hast sworn without fail I shall die,
    For my heart is set
On what hurts me, I wot not why,
    But cannot forget
What I love, what I sing for and sigh.

She is worthy of praise,
    For this grief of her giving is worth
All the joy of my days
    That lie between death's day and birth,
    All the lordship of things upon earth.
Nay, what have I said?
    I would not be glad if I could;
My dream and my dread
    Are of her, and for her sake I would
That my life were fled.

Lo, sweet, if I durst not pray to you,
    Then were I dead;
If I sang not a little to say to you,
    (Could it be said)
    O my love, how my heart would be fed;
Ah sweet who hast hold of my heart,
    For thy love's sake I live,
Do but tell me, ere either depart,
    What a lover may give
For a woman so fair as thou art.

The lovers that disbelieve,
    False rumours shall grieve
And evil-speaking shall part.


I spent Friday enjoying the weather and writing a review of Deep Space Nine's "Our Man Bashir", an episode I know most people love, which I really disliked when it first aired and haven't quite managed to make myself like despite some decidedly fun aspects (it gets ruined for me the same place many early Bond movies do, rampant sexism, which is still easier to tolerate in 1960s-70s movies than on DS9). Our neighborhood cherry blossoms are already turning to green trees and there are magnolia petals on the ground. Next, tulips and azaleas.

Adam came home very briefly after school, had some food and walked the neighbor's dogs, then went to Friday Night Spikes, where we joined him with my parents after we had dinner with them (Maddy was already there, so we sat with her). I have never actually been to a track and field event at my own high school and was quite entertained to see that the 100M and 200M records set the year I graduated by someone from my neighborhood have never been beaten. These photos were all taken with my phone, sorry about the quality:


  • Poem for Wednesday and Great Falls Cardinals

    The Bird Her Punctual Music Brings By Emily Dickinson The Bird her punctual music brings And lays it in its place— Its place is in the Human…

  • Poem for Tuesday and Carderock

    A wounded Deer – leaps highest – By Emily Dickinson A wounded Deer – leaps highest – I've heard the Hunter tell – 'Tis but the ecstasy of death…

  • Poem for Monday and Great Falls Sunday

    The Daisy Follows Soft The Sun By Emily Dickinson The Daisy follows soft the Sun— And when his golden walk is done— Sits shyly at his feet—…

  • Post a new comment


    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded