Hymn To Light

First-born of Chaos, who so fair didst come

From the old Negro’s darksome womb!

Which, when it saw the lovely child,

The melancholy mass put on kind looks and smiled,

Thou tide of glory which no rest dost know,

But ever ebb and ever flow!

Thou golden shower of a true Jove,

Who does in thee descend, and heaven to earth make love!

Hail, active nature’s watchful life and health,

Her joy, her ornament and wealth!

Hail to thy husband Heat, and thee!

Thou the world’s beauteous bride, the lusty bridegroom he!

Say, from what golden quivers of the sky

Do all thy winged arrows fly?

Swiftness and power by birth are thine:

From thy great Sire they came, thy Sire the Word divine.

‘Tis, I believe, this archery to show,

That so much cost in colors thou,

And skill in painting, dost bestow

Upon thy ancient arms, the gaudy heavenly bow.

Swift as light thoughts their empty career run,

Thy race is finished when begun;

Let a post-angel start with thee,

And thou the goal of earth shalt teach as soon as he.

Thou in the moon’s bright chariot, proud and gay,

Dost thy bright wood of stars survey,

And all the year dost with thee bring,

Of thousand flowery lights, thine own nocturnal spring.

Thou Scythian-like dost round thy lands, above

The sun’s gilt tent, forever move,

And still, as thou in pomp dost go,

The shining pageants of the world attend thy show.

Nor amidst all these triumphs dost thou scorn

The humble glowworms to adorn,

And with those living spangles gild –

O greatness without pride! – the bushes of the field.

Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright,

And sleep, the lazy owl of night;

Ashamed and fearful to appear,

They screen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.

With ’em there hastes, and wildly takes the alarm,

Of painted dreams, a busy swarm;

At the first openings of thine eye,

The various clusters break, the antic atoms fly.

The guilty serpents and obscener beasts

Creep conscious to their secret rests;

Nature to thee does reverence pay;

Ill omens and ill sights removes out of thy way.

At thy appearance, Grief itself is said

To shake his wings and rouse his head.

And cloudy Care has often took

A gentle beamy smile reflected from thy look.

At thy appearance, Fear itself grows bold;

Thy sunshine melts away his cold.

Encouraged at the sight of thee,

To the cheek color comes, and firmness to the knee.

Even Lust, the master of a hardened face,

Blushes if thou beest in the place,

To darkness’ curtains he retires;

In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires.

When, goddess, thou list’st up thy wakened head

Out of the morning’s purple bed,

Thy quire of birds about thee play,

And all the joyful world salutes the rising day.

The ghosts and monster spirits that did presume

A body’s privilege to assume

Vanish again invisibly,

And bodies gain again their visibility.

All the world’s bravery that delights our eyes

Is but thy several liveries;

Thou the rich dye on them bestow’st;

Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou go’st.

A crimson garment in the rose thou wear’st;

A crown of studded gold thou bear’st;

The virgin blies in their white

Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.

The violet, spring’s little infant, stands

Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands;

On the fair tulip thou dost dote;

Thou cloth’st it in a gay and parti-colored coat.

With flame condensed thou dost the jewels fix,

And solid colors in it mix;

Flora herself envies to see

Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.

Ah, goddess! would thou couldst thy hand withhold

And be less liberal to gold;

Didst thou less value to it give,

Of how much care, alas! mightst thou poor man relieve!

To me the sun is more delightful far,

And all fair days much fairer are,

But few, ah wondrous few, there be

Who do not gold prefer, O goddess, even to thee.

Through the soft ways of heaven, and air, and sea,

Which open all their pores to thee,

Like a clear river thou dost glide,

And with thy living stream through the close channels slide.

But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,

Gently thy source the land o’erflows,

Takes there possession, and does make

Of colors mingled, light, a thick and standing lake.

But the vast ocean of unbounded day

In the empyrean heaven does stay.

Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below

From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow.

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Poems in English 

• The Licorice Fields at Pontefract poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• The Last Laugh poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• The Irish Unionist’s farewell to Greta Hellastrom in 1922 poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• The Hon. Sec. poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• The Cottage Hospital poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Sun and Fun poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• South London Sketch poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Slough poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Senex poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Seaside Golf poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• On a Portrait of a Deaf Man poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Myfanwy poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Mortality poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Middlesex poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Meditation on the A30 poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Loneliness poem – John Betjeman poems by John Betjeman
• Ireland With Emily poem – John Betjeman poems | Poems and Poetry by John Betjeman
• Inexpensive Progress poem – John Betjeman poems | Poems and Poetry by John Betjeman
• In Westminster Abbey poem – John Betjeman poems | Poems and Poetry by John Betjeman
• How To Get On In Society poem – John Betjeman poems | Poems and Poetry by John Betjeman

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