PREFATORY SONNETS by Henry Kendall

      I


I purposed once to take my pen and write, 
   Not songs, like some, tormented and awry 
   With passion, but a cunning harmony 
Of words and music caught from glen and height, 
And lucid colours born of woodland light 
   And shining places where the sea-streams lie. 
But this was when the heat of youth glowed white, 
   And since I've put the faded purpose by. 
I have no faultless fruits to offer you 
   Who read this book; but certain syllables 
   Herein are borrowed from unfooted dells 
And secret hollows dear to noontide dew; 
And these at least, though far between and few, 
   May catch the sense like subtle forest spells. 


      II


So take these kindly, even though there be 
   Some notes that unto other lyres belong, 
   Stray echoes from the elder sons of song; 
And think how from its neighbouring native sea 
The pensive shell doth borrow melody. 
   I would not do the lordly masters wrong 
   By filching fair words from the shining throng 
Whose music haunts me as the wind a tree. 
   Lo, when a stranger in soft Syrian glooms 
Shot through with sunset, treads the cedar dells, 
And hears the breezy ring of elfin bells 
   Far down be where the white-haired cataract booms, 
He, faint with sweetness caught from forest smells, 
   Bears thence, unwitting, plunder of perfumes.