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ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

Behold, As Goblins Dark Of Mien

Behold, as goblins dark of mien And portly tyrants dyed with crime Change, in the transformation scene, At Christmas, in the pantomime, Instanter, at the prompter's cough, The fairy bonnets them, and they Throw their abhorred carbuncles off And blossom like the flowers in May. — So mankind, to angelic eyes, So, through the scenes of life below, In life's ironical disguise, A travesty of man, ye go: But fear not: ere the curtain fall, Death in the transformation scene Steps forward from her pedestal, Apparent, as the fairy Queen;
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

To My Mother

You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

In The Green And Gallant Spring

IN the green and gallant Spring, Love and the lyre I thought to sing, And kisses sweet to give and take By the flowery hawthorn brake. Now is russet Autumn here, Death and the grave and winter drear, And I must ponder here aloof While the rain is on the roof.
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

Music At The Villa Marina

FOR some abiding central source of power, Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below, The vain tumultuous passions of the hour Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast O'er all the shattered ruins of my past A strong contentment as of battles won. And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear The long drawn pageant of your passage roll Magnificently forth into the night. To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight, O even wings of music, bear my soul! Ye have the power, if but ye had the will, Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand,
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

Death, To The Dead For Evermore

DEATH, to the dead for evermore A King, a God, the last, the best of friends - Whene'er this mortal journey ends Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn Disturbs the eternal sleep, But in the stillness far withdrawn Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep. For as from open windows forth we peep Upon the night-time star beset And with dews for ever wet; So from this garish life the spirit peers; And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread, Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo! After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

The Summer Sun Shone Round Me

THE summer sun shone round me, The folded valley lay In a stream of sun and odour, That sultry summer day. The tall trees stood in the sunlight As still as still could be, But the deep grass sighed and rustled And bowed and beckoned me. The deep grass moved and whispered And bowed and brushed my face. It whispered in the sunshine: "The winter comes apace."
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

When The Sun Come After Rain

WHEN the sun comes after rain And the bird is in the blue, The girls go down the lane Two by two. When the sun comes after shadow And the singing of the showers, The girls go up the meadow, Fair as flowers. When the eve comes dusky red And the moon succeeds the sun, The girls go home to bed One by one. And when life draws to its even And the day of man is past, They shall all go home to heaven, Home at last.
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

Bed in Summer

In winter I get up at night And dress by yellow candle-light. In summer quite the other way, I have to go to bed by day. I have to go to bed and see The birds still hopping on the tree, Or hear the grown-up people's feet Still going past me in the street. And does it not seem hard to you, When all the sky is clear and blue, And I should like so much to play, To have to go to bed by day?
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

To Friends At Home

TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost The gracious old, the lovely young, to May The fair, December the beloved, These from my blue horizon and green isles, These from this pinnacle of distances I, The unforgetful, dedicate.
ContemplativeRobert Louis Stevenson

Sonnet I

NOR judge me light, tho' light at times I seem, And lightly in the stress of fortune bear The innumerable flaws of changeful care - Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem (Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme And separate the prerogative of God!) That seaman idle who is borne abroad To the far haven by the favouring stream. Not he alone that to contrarious seas Opposes, all night long, the unwearied oar, Not he alone, by high success endeared, Shall reach the Port; but, winged, with some light breeze Shall they, with upright keels, pass in before Whom easy Taste, the golden pilot, steered.

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