How many hymns have I chaunted, Lady, in laud of thee, <br />Each with a sigh for its burthen, tear for its antiphon? <br />Love--songs are sweet in the morning. All things in praise of thee <br />Evening and morning rejoice, intoning in unison. <br /> <br />Noontide and night have I heard them, birds in the bulrushes, <br />Ewes with their lambs in the pastures, winds in the wilderness, <br />Doves as they light in the palm--tops, moans of the waterwheel, <br />Eagles and ravens exulting, all speak the name of thee. <br /> <br />Fair is thy face, as the first star seen in the western sky <br />Robed in the rose of the sunset, pure in its loneliness. <br />Angels look down from its windows, smile on the world of men, <br />Near yet afar from their grieving. Thou too hast smiled on me. <br /> <br />Crown me with bays, nay, with roses. What should I do with bays, <br />Emblems of earthly ambition, I who but live for love? <br />Earn me reward of the red rose, thine and love's laureate, <br />Thus with the flower of thy kindness crowning my constancy. <br /> <br />Deign to accept an allegiance due to thy royalty. <br />Empires are thine. Be my kingdom here at thy kness to kneel. <br />Not till thou speak will I raise me, turn to life's emptiness, <br />Ashes and dust for my portion, O thou most pitiful! <br /> <br />Verily grief is love's sister. Therefore I weave for thee <br />Anthems of grief and of true love born of thy loveliness. <br />Read and forget, and to--morrow, lo, where my path hath been, <br />Eagles and ravens exulting scream from the wilderness.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-chaunt-in-praise/
