Radclyffe Hall: Verses about Weather

Oh ! the wind among the trees,
How it stirs their wood to song !
Little whispered melodies.
All the winding road along.

Was there ever such a sound,
Breaking through a noontide still,
As this tune the trees have found.
When the wind comes up the hill !

Give me your hands to hold,
For the night and the wind are cold,
And the year 's growing sad and old,
So give me your hands to hold.

Give me your lips to press,
For the light of the moon grows less,
And the sky 's full of dreariness,
So give me your lips to press.

Dear hands, dear lips, all mine !
Let the moon and her beams decline,
Let the night and the storm combine,
If your hands and your lips are mine.

Can nothing last?
No deep, intense emotion?
Have all things passed,
Can nothing last?
'Yes,' sighs the wind,
' My passion for the Ocean
Must always last.'

Is nothing True?
No words of protestation?
Love cries anew
' Is nothing True?'
'Yes,' sobs the sea,
' My endless adoration
For yonder rock is true !

'Will nothing stand
Against the stress of weather?
Storms sweep the land,
Will nothing stand ?
'Yes,' says the rock,
' For God and I together,
We two will stand.'

The wind has shaken the lilac trees,
And scattered their purple bloom,
The wind has harassed the honey bees,
And robbed the flowers of their melodies,
The wind has gathered a host of clouds,
And smitten the earth with gloom.

The wind has blown out the golden lights
That hang from laburnum boughs,
Till nude and stripped of their past delights
The branches sigh through the stormy nights,
Like nuns who weep for their buried youth,
And murmur their mournful vows.

The wind has covered the hills with mist,
And hidden my favourite view,
The wind has torn at my garden beds
Where sad young roses have hung their heads,
And ah! the pity, that one slim stem
Is withered, and snapped right through.

The wind has driven the birds afar,
The starling who reared her young
Above the door in the empty cot
Has flown away, and to-day there 's not
A single twitter from hungry throats,
One minstrel, of all who sung.

The wind has stolen the warmth of June,
So how shall I pass my time?
I'll go indoors with my pen and book,
Beside the fire seek a cosy nook,
Then when I'm sure that he can't get in,
I'll write of his sins in rhyme!

Schwartz Wald


I sought at dawn for the sweet white heather,
In hiding among the blue,
The earth was warm with the summer weather,
The flowers still damp with dew.

I moved a stone with my foot in walking,
A lizard ran out in fear,
Two tiny streams to each other talking
Complained that I came so near.

And all alone on the side of the mountain
I spoke to the new-born Day,
Oh ! help me to gather some rare white heather
Sweet Morning, show me the way !

A big stag beetle crawled close in wonder,
A grasshopper chirped of rain,
A bee just pushing some flowers asunder
Buzzed loud in his vast disdain.

The pines swayed gently, as though with laughter,
They knew what I came to seek !
A thistledown that the breeze ran after
Brushed lightly against my cheek.

And all alone on the side of the mountain
I spoke to the new born Day,
Oh ! help me to gather some rare white heather,
Sweet Morning, show me the way!

A trout jumped high with a rainbow shudder,
To see how the mortals look,
Then swayed his tail like a silver rudder,
And swam away in the brook.

I think I heard all the Pixies saying
' No heather that 's white you'll find !
'I know I saw little Gnome-folk playing
Where shadowy boughs reclined—

And all alone on the side of the mountain
I spoke to the new born Day,
O help me to gather some rare white heather,
Sweet Morning, show me the way!

Alas ! alas ! for the fairy flower,
My feet grew weary in vain,
I sought for luck thro' each sunlit bower,
To find it truant again.

Then while I paused on the side of the mountain
The stillness was cleft apart,
And Morning cried ' He who seeks white heather
Must find it deep in his heart !'