Flowing with tides of the mind

“Happiness is not a matter of events; it depends upon the tides of the mind.” – Alice Meynell

Born in London on this date in 1847, Meynell was a writer, editor, critic, and suffragist, but primarily a poet.   Her more than two-dozen published collections of poems began with 1875’s Preludes, illustrated by her elder sister Elizabeth.  She was among the nation’s leading editors and wrote regularly for many journals and newspapers, including The World, The Spectator, the Scots Observer (which became the National Observer), and The Saturday Review.   For Saturday’s Poem, here are Meynell’s,

                                    At Night

Home, home from the horizon far and clear,
Hither the soft wings sweep;
Flocks of the memories of the day draw near
The dovecote doors of sleep.

Oh which are they that come through sweetest light
Of all these homing birds?
Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight?
Your words to me, your words!

                  My Heart Shall Be Thy Garden

My heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own,
Into thy garden; thine be happy hours
Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers,
From root to crowning petal, thine alone.
Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown
Up to the sky inclosed, with all its showers.
But ah, the birds, the birds! Who shall build bowers
To keep these thine? O friend, the birds have flown.

For as these come and go, and quit our pine
To follow the sweet season, or, new-corners,
Sing one song only from our alder-trees,
My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine.
Flit to the silent world and other summers,
With wings that dip beyond the silver seas.

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