“It is a proud thing to be a man and to feel the stir of beauty: but it is more wonderful to be a woman, and to have or to be the touch calling beauty in life.”
— John Masefield.
Sonnets in Memory of My Mother
[unnumbered page]
[unnumbered page, includes illustration]
Arthur S. Bourinot
[unnumbered page]
Copyright Canada 1931
By Arthur S. Bourinot
Limited Edition of Fifty Copies
[unnumbered page]
LONG had my muse been silent, like a stream Frozen and bound by fetters of the frost, So was pent up the wonder and the dream When all the loveliness of you was lost. But Spring must come; the freshet of my grief Released in song emotions tempest tossed, And whirling doubts, holding a lawyer’s brief For death, went to defeat; the chasmic void was crossed. And so I weave these sonnets in the trust Perchance the faltering numbers may ring true And bring to mind the one her friends well knew Until the day God raises from the dust; I sing as one who sings because he must, These sonnets are my monument to you. [page 1] YOU fell asleep just as the day was breaking And little drowsy birds began to sing; You fell asleep when all the world was waking Triumphant rode the red sun, morning’s king, The dear familiar sounds of that dread morning Are voluble forever in my ears, The day was beautiful, O past adorning, But Beauty visioned through a mist of tears. You fell asleep when the great sun was lifting His heavy head long pillowed on the hills, You fell asleep with beauty slowly drifting Across the world’s innumerable window sills. When the great sun was rousing every land, O Beauty came and took you by the hand. [page 2] YOU said to me “how beautiful is night,” Lying in pain and gazing at the stars, And in your eyes I saw that inner light That this our flesh from mortals ever bars. You lay there patient as the stars above, Calmly fulfilling their eternal task, You lay there trusting in God’s unfailing love And never deemed to question or to ask. And now for me the sorcery of night These stars that wheel relentlessly along Take on a deeper beauty in my sight And lend a deeper loveliness to song. “How beautiful is night,” to me you said; I only know your spirit is not dead. [page 3] HOW sweet to you the roses that I brought One morning from the garden wet with dew, Their beauty with life’s joyousness was fraught And lovely as the loveliness of you. And yet their beauty was deep touched with sorrow, As every joy has counter-part of grief, For with them lived the thought, perchance the morrow Will see you sleep as sleeps the autumn leaf. And now no more you’ll watch the garden roses, I’ll bring them to you wet with dew no more, An unknown world your spirit soft encloses Envelopes all the graciousness you wore. And life at every turn to me discloses The love I lost when Death had closed the door. [page 4] [handwritten: Kingsman, P.Q.]
HERE to the hills you loved I came once more, Those old blue hills, ageless, serene from strife, And years long past returned, as though a door Had opened on the corridors of life. A great hearth glowed with an autumn heat, Casting its shimmerings in the quiet room, A little lad sat nestled at your feet Comforted by your presence in the gloom. And then you turned to him with laughing eyes And witchery of firelight on your hair Telling him tales of Fairyland which lies Beyond the turning of life’s farthest stair. And sleep with shuttering silence, love that stills Unlocked the age old secret of the hills. [page 5] HERE on the hill still stands the little home Unchanging as the hill that hem it round, Where bird song was the first awakening sound And notes of thrushes through the gloam. Beside the house the apple trees still grow, [handwritten: Raising gnarled arms in supplication, prayer,] Asking of life that they may ever share Beauty of burgeoning blossom, scarf of snow. Still sleeps below the house the little lake You loved to watch at twilight and at dawn, And seeing it I know you are not gone, Your living presence every object fills, Your spirit lives eternal, sleeps to wake, Immortal as the wisdom of the hills. [page 6] THE grim old mountain looms above the mere, Bearing on his brow a cold white galaxy Not for him awaits death’s dread mystery, Inscrutable he stands, untouched by mortal fear. Just so he stood when in those past years With you I watched the sunset’s panoply, Just so he’ll stand when death inexorably Harvests my life and earthly vision clears. The moon’s orb halos the old mountain’s brow, Loitering in the heavens, loath to join the night, So, oft we saw her slipping into sight, Sailing, a galleon, silvered at the prow, Can I doubt somewhere you are watching now Or the night’s beauty captures your delight? [page 7] THE Pine Grove stands a temple on the hill Where we were wont to go mute worshippers, Threading the aisled gloom so cool and still Where no sound comes and only the wind stirs. The temple sleeps in beauty while the moon Gazes down for a moment, then is gone, And the great shadow pillars lift and loom Tall as the pillars of the Parthenon. All is unchanged despite the passing years, O beauty such as this must stir the soul, Beauty who raised this temple will enroll Your name amongst her banners and her spears. All is unchanged I said; Ah no, my ears Will never hear you footfall on the knoll. [page 8] WELL I recall how much you loved the earth, Admiring every little thing that grows, And how you loved great books, the quiet mirth Of friends, soft firelight at the long days close. The Trilliums dancing in the leaf strewn wood Nodding their pale white faces as you passed, And the strange, pale Indian-Pipes that stood Like sentinels, were loved until the last. The loveliness of earth was dear to you; The beauty of good pictures, music’s voice And the myriad coloured wings that flew Gladdened your heart, making it swift rejoice. And now the loved earth folds you to her breast And the deep silence of imperishable rest. [page 9] HOW brave the face you turned towards the world, Smiling, laughing, to stem the starting tears, And courage like a banner was unfurled, Triumphantly you bore it all the years. Great sorrow never daunted you, nor pain, The loss of loved ones found you greatly strong, Life struck you but you always rose again And sadness turned to laughter, tears to song. And when Death came for you there was no fear, You welcomed him as you would greet a friend, Or little children when they gathered near To hear the story read at daylight’s end. Facing them both you lived courageously, Life had no triumph, Death no victory. [page 10] UNFORGOTTEN are the countless things You taught me in those days now long, long gone; To see lost beauty in the Blue-Bird’s wing And a miracle in each renascent dawn; The wonder and awakening that swift April brings, The magic of frail cob-webs on the lawn, And the iridescent colour the cloud wrack flings Across the heavens where the red sun shone. To watch for Beauty in all walks of life, Never to lose her in the toil for gain, To seek her ever mid the stress and strife, Never to see her by opponents slain, But with the unwearying patience of the sea Seek to the dim portals of eternity. [page 11] THE leaves are falling in the woods to-day, Falling, falling, like rain drops from the eaves, And the wing, the old earth mother, moans and grieves Through the trees that solemnly toss and sway Their branches where the deft frost quietly weaves A coat of many colours to array The procreant earth for the ultimate day When winter comes and victory achieves. Upon the earth the leaves life soft and deep; Often you watched them whirl in Dervish bands And gathered them and held them in your hands Loving the way their beauty passed Death’s keep. And lest you feel a stranger in strange lands To-day they come to cover you asleep. [page 12] GLORIOUS winter morning when the sun Touches the earth with magic, how my eyes Feast on the beauty universally won From travail and adventurous emprise. How lovely lies the snow upon the hills To which you turned with lifted weary gaze; And now you sleep content, deep silence stills The heart that loved to follow beauty’s ways. The hills you loved will rouse at Spring’s behest Will wake and shrug their shoulders from the snow And life once more will swiftly ebb and flow Upon the earth where you are now at rest. If hills must feel the urge of April’s rain How can I doubt that we shall meet again? [page 13] THEY are not dead our loved ones they but sleep Muted and silent like some instrument Long untouched; let a master’s fingers sweep The strings and melodies in silence pent Break forth anew; the muffled unresponsive thing Thrills and throbs to the touch, revivifies, Until it seems the very wood does sing Praises of him who bade its soul arise. They are not dead our loved ones they but wait, The wakening by the master hand of God, Whose touch will rouse them, at whose nod Love will unbolt death’s impregnable gate And they will no more lie inanimate But singing rise immortal from the soul. [page 14] SOME say the dead are lonely where they lie Deep in the earth far from the wind and rain; Over their heads the friendly feet go by, They do not know that they come again. And lost to them life’s laughter and the pain Which strikes at those they left upon the earth And past for them life’s anguish, falls no dearth, The sorrows and the sadness all are slain. How can the dead be lonely when they rest Amongst the innumerable hosts of earth? The grave’s unutterable silence holds them lest They miss their friends above and friendship’s mirth; How can the dead be lonely when they sleep Lost in a dream beyond a boundless deep? [page 15] HOW like a mighty mother doth the earth Receive into her arms her children who After long years of labour and of mirth Of weariness with having much to do, Return once more to her from whome they drew The breath of life, who gave them suck at birth, Who folds them in her beasts gigantic girth And seals their eyes with darkness and the dew. No favourites hath the earth; the poor and spent, The little child who died upon the breast, And they who strode the world magnificent High blazoned with the pride of princely crest Must lay them down together when they rest And only Love will stand omnipotent. [page 16] BEAUTIFUL ‘neath the bosom of the night Sleeps the phantom city, lost in a dram Of greatness yet to be; the tall sires seem To touch the distant stars; beneath their light Beats the strong, pulsing heart whose growing might Feeds with its current half a continent And the whirling spheres of the firmament Circle above in ecstacy of flight. How often in the evening from your bed You watched the twilight in profusion fling Her colours round the one huge star who led His hosts against the city like a king; To-night they throng to give you welcoming As Lazarus was welcomed from the dead. [page 17] I TURN unto the hills for comforting, That watch the world yet sleep so tranquilly, Dreamers of dreams to whose sanctuary Comes all mankind, the pauper and the king. Through countless aeons man has loved to bring His sorrows to the understanding hills, Whose wisdom rests the weary, silence stills The doubts that ever rise up questioning. Dreamers of dreams that dower the earth with song, Whose arms reach out to clutch the fading light, Wide-eyed do watch the wonders of the night, I know from you Death’s darkness lasts not long, That Love shall never perish, but rise strong Immortal in her glory and her might. [page 18]
[blank page]
Leave a Reply
You must be logged in to post a comment.