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Ivor Gurney, longing, in English Clear filters

ContemplativeIvor Gurney

Firelight

Silent, bathed in firelight, in dusky light and gloom The boys squeeze together in the smoky dirty room, Crowded round the fireplace, a thing of bricks and tin, They watch the shifting embers till the good dreams enter in, That fill the low hovel with blossoms fresh with dew, And blue sky and white clouds that sail the clear air through. They talk of daffodillies and the bluebells’ skiey bed, Till silence thrills and murmurs at the things they have said. And yet, they have no skill of words, whose eyes glow so deep, They wait for night and silence and the strange power of sleep, To lift them and drift them like sea-birds over the sea Where some day I shall walk again, and they walk with me.
RomanticIvor Gurney

Girl’s Song

The tossing poplar in the wind Shows underleaf of silver-white; The roughness of the wind unkind Torments her out of all delight. But O that he were here Whose blows and whose caresses alike were dear! The great oak to the tearing blast Stands steady with strong arms held wide, So over him my anger passed, When his rough usage hurt my pride. But O that once again I might arouse that passion, endure that pain!
SadIvor Gurney

The Signaller's Vision

One rainy winter dusk Mending a parted cable, Sudden I saw so clear Home and the tea-table. So clear it was, so sweet, I did not start, but drew The breath of deep content Some minutes ere I knew My Mother’s face that’s soother Than autumn half-lights kind, My softly smiling sisters Who keep me still in mind, Were but a dream, a vision-- That faded. And I knew The smell of trench, trench-feeling-- And turned to work anew.
DreamyIvor Gurney

Communion

Beauty lies so deep On all the fields, Nothing for the eyes But blessing yields. Tall elms, greedy of light, Stand tip-toe. See The last light linger in Their tracery. The guns are dumb, are still All evil noises. The singing heart in peace Softly rejoices, Only unsatisfied With Beauty’s hunger And sacramental thirst-- Nothing of anger.
DreamyIvor Gurney

Song

Only the wanderer Knows England’s graces, Or can anew see clear Familiar faces. And who loves joy as he That dwells in shadows? Do not forget me quite, O Severn meadows.
DreamyIvor Gurney

West Country

Spring comes soon to Maisemore And spring comes sweet, With bird-songs and blue skies, On gay dancing feet; But she is such a shy lady I fear we’ll never meet. Yet some day round a corner Where the hedge foams white, I’ll find Spring sleeping In the young-crescent night, And seize her and make her Yield all her delight. But yon’s a glad story That’s yet to be told. Here’s grey winter’s bareness And no-shadowed cold.

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