Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE MAKING OF VIOLA, by FRANCIS THOMPSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE MAKING OF VIOLA, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Spin, daughter mary, spin
Last Line: Gift of tears, my viola!
Subject(s): Children; Childhood


I

The Father of Heaven.

SPIN, daughter Mary, spin,
Twirl your wheel with silver din;
Spin, daughter Mary, spin,
Spin a tress for Viola.

Angels.

Spin, Queen Mary, a
Brown tress for Viola!

II

The Father of Heaven.

Weave, hands angelical,
Weave a woof of flesh to pall --
Weave, hands angelical --
Flesh to pall our Viola.

Angels.

Weave, singing brothers, a
Velvet flesh for Viola!

III

The Father of Heaven.

Scoop, young Jesus, for her eyes,
Wood-browned pools of Paradise --
Young Jesus, for the eyes,
For the eyes of Viola.

Angels.

Tint, Prince Jesus, a
Dusked eye for Viola!

IV

The Father of Heaven.

Cast a star therein to drown,
Like a torch in cavern brown,
Sink a burning star to drown
Whelmed in eyes of Viola.

Angels.

Lave, Prince Jesus, a
Star in eyes of Viola!

V

The Father of Heaven.

Breathe, Lord Paraclete,
To a bubbled crystal meet --
Breathe, Lord Paraclete --
Crystal soul for Viola!

Angels.

Breathe, Regal Spirit, a
Flashing soul for Viola!

VI

The Father of Heaven.

Child-angels, from your wings
Fall the roseal hoverings,
Child-angels, from your wings,
On the cheeks of Viola.

Angels.

Linger, rosy reflex, a
Quenchless stain, on Viola!

VII

All things being accomplished, saith the Father of Heaven:
Bear her down, and bearing, sing,
Bear her down on spyless wing,
Bear her down, and bearing, sing,
With a sound of viola.

Angels.

Music as her name is, a
Sweet sound of Viola!

VIII

Wheeling angels, past espial,
Danced her down with sound of viol;
Wheeling angels, past espial,
Descanting on 'Viola'.

Angels.

Sing, in our footing, a
Lovely lilt of 'Viola!'

IX

Baby smiled, mother wailed,
Earthward while the sweetling sailed;
Mother smiled, baby wailed,
When to earth came Viola.

And her elders shall say:

So soon have we taught you a
Way to weep, poor Viola!

X

Smile, sweet baby, smile,
For you will have weeping-while;
Native in your Heaven is smile, --
But your weeping, Viola?
Whence your smiles we know, but ah!
Whence your weeping, Viola? --
Our first gift to you is a
Gift of tears, my Viola!





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