Christopher John Brennan

Here you will find the Poem Four springtimes lost: and in the fifth we stand of poet Christopher John Brennan

Four springtimes lost: and in the fifth we stand

Four springtimes lost: and in the fifth we stand, 
here in this quiet hour of glory, still, 
while o'er the bridal land 
the westering sun dwells in untroubled gold, 
a bridegroom proud of his permitted will, 
whom grateful rapture suffers not be bold, 
but tender now and bland 
his amber locks and bended gaze are shed, 
brimming, above the couch'd and happy clime: 
all is content and ripe delight, full-fed. 
And as your fingers brush my hand 
so too the winning time 
would charm me from regretful reverie 
that keeps me somewhat sad, remembering ? 
not the old woodland days, for thou art near 
and hold'st them safely hid 
to rise and shine again, when waning skies shall bid ? 
but later dawns o' the year, away from thee 
liv'd thro', even here, 
and golden embraces of the light-hearted time 
when I was sad at heart, remembering 
the clear enchantments of our single year, 
our woodland prime of love, its violet-budded vow, 
receding ever now 
farther and farther down the past, a gleam 
that turns to softest pearl the luminous haze 
drifting between in from the golden days 
when I was sad at inmost heart, remembering 
thee and the woodland season of bright laughter: ? 
so in my perverse and most loitering dream 
(O fading, fading days!) 
each season claims the homage due, long after 
its glory has faded to an outcast thing.