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    The Poetry of John Payne - Volume V: Thorgerda & The Fountain of Youth
    The Poetry of John Payne - Volume V: Thorgerda & The Fountain of Youth
    The Poetry of John Payne - Volume V: Thorgerda & The Fountain of Youth
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    The Poetry of John Payne - Volume V: Thorgerda & The Fountain of Youth

    By John Payne

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    About this ebook

    John Payne was born on 23rd August 1842 in Bloomsbury, London.

    He began his career in the legal profession but thus was soon put to one side as he began his renowned translations of Boccaccio's Decameron, The Arabian Nights, and then the poets Omar Khayyam, François Villon and Diwan Hafez. Of the latter, who he ranked in the same bracket as Dante and Shakepeare, he said; he takes the "whole sweep of human experience and irradiates all things with his sun-gold and his wisdom".

    Later Payne became involved with limited edition publishing, and the Villon Society, which was dedicated to the poems of François Villon who was Frances’ best known poet of the middle Ages and unfortunately also a thief and a murderer.

    John Payne died on 11th February, 1916 at the age of 73 in South Kensington, London.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPortable Poetry
    Release dateNov 27, 2018
    ISBN9781787802506
    The Poetry of John Payne - Volume V: Thorgerda & The Fountain of Youth
    Author

    John Payne

    John is a 28-year veteran, serving the Victorian community within Corrections, Government Investigations and as a Volunteer firefighter and lives in the northern suburbs of Melbourne, Austraslia. During his career, he was involved in many incidents including the Black Saturday bushfire in which he was honoured with the Emergency Service Medal. As a direct result of his service, he was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) a condition in which he has lived with for the past 9 years. John is passionate about addressing the stigma associated with mental illness and advocating awareness to the greater community, particularly to first responders. One of his key messages is, ‘Reach out early – you will be supported and don’t suffer in silence.’ Encouraging early help-seeking is a crucial priority in any effective mental health strategy.

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      Book preview

      The Poetry of John Payne - Volume V - John Payne

      The Poetry of John Payne

      Volume V – Thorgerda & The Fountain of Youth

      John Payne was born on 23rd August 1842 in Bloomsbury, London.

      He began his career in the legal profession but thus was soon put to one side as he began his renowned translations of Boccaccio's Decameron, The Arabian Nights, and then the poets Omar Khayyam, François Villon and Diwan Hafez.  Of the latter, who he ranked in the same bracket as Dante and Shakepeare, he said; he takes the whole sweep of human experience and irradiates all things with his sun-gold and his wisdom

      Later Payne became involved with limited edition publishing, and the Villon Society, which was dedicated to the poems of François Villon who was Frances’ best known poet of the middle Ages and unfortunately also a thief and a murderer.

       John Payne died on 11th February, 1916 at the age of 73 in South Kensington, London.

      Index of Contents

      THORGERDA

      THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

      JOHN PAYNE – A CONCISE BIBLIOGRAPHY

      THORGERDA

      Voices in the Air

      The night is riven from earth and heaven;

      The day is blue in the sweet sky-dome;

      The glad sea glimmers with soft sun-shimmers;

      The white sea-fairies float on the foam.

      The storm has faded from day new-braided

      With webs of azure above the seas:

      Shore-spirits, come, whilst the blast is dumb

      And the seaflowers sway in the fragrant breeze.

      I hear a ringing of sea-nymphs' singing,

      Far out to sea in the golden haze:

      Haste, sisters, haste, ere the noon have chased

      The cool-haired dawn from the sweet sea-ways.

      The air is golden; the storm is holden

      In sapphire chains of the sleepless stars:

      I see the flashing of mermaidens plashing

      And merrows glinting in sea-shell cars.

      Come swift, sweet sisters! Our witch-wife trysters

      Will soon in the distance fade and flee:

      Wide-winged we travel through the thin foam-ravel,

      To ride on the weed-weft mane of the sea.

      The Witch

      Lo! what a golden day it is!

      The glad sun rives the sapphire deeps

      Down to the dim pearl-floored abyss

      Where, cold in death, my lover sleeps;

      Crowns with soft fire his sea-drenched hair,

      Kisses with gold his lips death-pale,

      Lets down from heaven a golden stair,

      Whose steps methinks his soul doth scale.

      This is my treasure. White and sweet.

      He lies beneath my ardent eyne.

      With heart that never more shall beat.

      Nor lips press softly against mine.

      How like a dream it seems to me.

      The time when hand-in-hand we went

      By hill and valley, I and he.

      Lost in a trance of ravishment!

      I and my lover here that lies

      And sleeps the everlasting sleep.

      We walked whilere in Paradise;

      (Can it be true?) Our souls drank deep

      Together of Love's wonder-wine:

      We saw the golden days go by,

      Unheeding, for we were divine;

      Love had advanced us to the sky.

      And of that time no traces bin.

      Save the still shape that once did hold

      My lover's soul, that shone therein,

      As wine laughs in a vase of gold.

      Cold, cold he lies and answers not

      Unto my speech; his mouth is cold

      Whose kiss to mine was sweet and hot

      As sunshine to a marigold.

      And yet his pallid lips I press;

      I fold his neck in my embrace;

      I rain down kisses none the less

      Upon his unresponsive face:

      I call on him with all the fair

      Flower-names that blossom out of love;

      I knit sea-jewels in his hair;

      I weave fair coronals above

      The cold sweet silver of his brow;

      For this is all of him I have;

      Nor any future more than now

      Shall give me back what Love once gave.

      For from Death's gate our lives divide;

      His was the Galilean's faith:

      With those that serve the Crucified,

      He shared the chance of Life and Death.

      And so mine eyes shall never light

      Upon his star-soft eyes again;

      Nor ever in the day or night,

      By hill or valley, wood or plain.

      Our hands shall meet afresh. His voice

      Shall never with its silver tone

      The sadness of my soul rejoice.

      Nor his heart throb against mine own.

      His sight shall never unto me

      Return whilst heaven and earth remain:

      Though Time blend with Eternity,

      Our lives shall never meet again.

      Never by grey or purple sea,

      Never again in heavens of blue.

      Never in this old earth—ah me.

      Never, ah never! in the new.

      For he, he treads the windless ways

      Among the thick star-diamonds.

      Where in the middle æether blaze

      The golden City's pearl gate-fronds;

      Sitteth, palm-crowned and silver-shod,

      Where, in strange dwellings of the skies,

      The Christians to their Woman-God

      Cease nevermore from psalmodies.

      And I, I wait, with haggard eyes

      And face grown awful for desire,

      The coming of that fierce day's rise

      When from the cities of the fire

      The wolf shall come with blazing crest.

      And many a giant armed for war;

      When from the sanguine-streaming West,

      Hell-flaming, speedeth Naglfar.

      I was a daughter of the race

      Of those old gods the Christians hurled

      From their high heaven-hilled dwelling-place,

      Gladsheimr, poised above the world.

      My mother was the fairest child

      The Norse-land knew, so strangely fair.

      The very gods looked

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