***
Charles William Dalmon (1862-1938) var en brittisk poet, och filmmakare.
Han var en av textförfattarna i The Yellow Book (en litterär journal), och han publicerades i The Living Age, i mitten av 1890-talet. Hans dikter förekom i åtskilliga antologier, men hans rykte blev aldrig lysande. Det finns obekräftade uppgifter om att han ingick i fascistiska kretsar under mitten av 1930-talet. Källa: Wikipedia
Nu följer de tre dikterna, och jag börjar med titeldikten.
Song Favours, by Charles Dalmon
(from Song Favours. London : J. Lane, the Bodley Head ; Chicago : Way & Williams, 1895. [Andesite Press, 2015])
Bits of ribbon and bits of flower
The Muse lets fall by her bay tree bower
When she hangs her lute on the lily-stalks,
And dances out in the garden walks,
Chasing the winds on her wingëd feet,
And kissing each songbird she chances to meet.
Bits of ribbon and bits of flower
The Muse lets fall by her bay tree bower
As she takes her lute from the lily-stalks,
And stands and weeps in the garden walks
When none will love her, or understand,
And the footsteps of Winter are heard in the land.
***
Cuckoo Day (two stanzas), by Charles Dalmon
(from Song Favours. London : J. Lane, the Bodley Head ; Chicago : Way & Williams, 1895. [Andesite Press, 2015])
The daybreak glimmers
And shivers and shimmers,
Shivers and shimmers in purple and gold
Where the sun-horses chafe in the sun-god's hold
Just over the Eastern downs ;
Till the flash of their bits and their harness-chains
And the lightnings tied into their tails and manes
Shoots over the Wealden towns,
Shoots on to the Cowfold monast'ry spire,
Shoots out to the sweeps of Chiltington mill,
To Tennyson's windows on Blackdown hill,
And the sky of the neighbouring shire.
Then Aurora, the sun's
Rosy handmaiden, runs
With a basket of fruit blossoms poised on her head,
Green ones and pink ones and white ones and red,
And, with both hands uplifted, out-scatters them wide
Through gardens and orchards on every side,
Such abundance,
Redundance,
On every side,
Of blossoms for apples and damsons and cherries,
For currants and quinces, pears, plums and strawberries,
That the labourers call to each other to see
What a wonderful fruit year 'tis likely to be.
...
***
Revenge on Cupid, by Charles Dalmon
(from Song Favours. London : J. Lane, the Bodley Head ; Chicago : Way & Williams, 1895. [Andesite Press, 2015])
Once, as I sniffed a bed of pinks,
Sly Cupid shot a dart,
A tiny thing, with golden barbs,
Which pierced me to the heart.
I vowed revenge, and chased him through
The gate and up the street,
Forgetting he was bless'd with wings
While I had only feet.
I sought him all the day, nor found
Him till the moon arose -
There he was sleeping on the musk
In Mary's garden-close!
I blushed to see the rascal look
So innocent, and weak,
With both his cruel, chubby hands
Beneath his dimpled cheek.
But, straightway, with convolvulus,
Sweet pea, and pilgrims' joy,
I fashioned mighty loops and thongs
And bound the baby boy.
And, knowing what destruction in
His little quiver lay,
I emptied all the arrows out
And threw them all away.
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