Improvisation On An Old Song

(The refrain is quoted by Edward Fitzgerald in one of his letters)


I

Growing, growing, all the glory going;
Flashing out of fire and light, burning to a husk,
All the world's a-dying and failing in the dusk -
Growing, growing, all the glory going.

Rust is on the door-latch, ashes at the root,
Dry rot in the ridge-pole, canker in the fruit;
Growing, growing, all the glory going.

Plot, ye subtle statesmen, - a trace of melted wax;
Bind, ye haughty prelates, - a thread of ravelled flax;
Growing, growing, all the glory going.

March, ye mighty captains, - an eddy in the dust;
Rave, ye furious lovers, - a stain of crimson rust;
Growing, growing, all the glory going.

Pictures, poems, music - their essential soul,
Idle as dry roses in a silver bowl;
Growing, growing, all the glory going.

London is a hearsay, Paris but a myth,
Rome a wand of sweet-flag withered to the pith;
Growing, growing, all the glory going.

Palsy shakes the planets, frost has chilled the sun,
In a crushing silence the All is dead and done.
Growing, growing, all the glory going.


II

Going, going, all the glory growing,
See it stir and flutter; that is singing, hark!
Singing in the caverns of the primal dark.
Going, going, all the glory growing.

What is in the making, what immortal plan
Draws to its unfolding? 'Tis the Soul of man.
Going, going, all the glory growing.

See it mount and hover, singing as it goes,
Battling with the darkness, nourished by its woes;
Going, going, all the glory growing.

The bale-fires of midnight glaring in its eyes,
Past the phantom shadows see it rush and rise;
Going, going, all the glory growing.

The supernal morning on its dewy wings,
Soaring and scorning the lust of earthy things;
Going, going, all the glory growing.

The beatific noontide on its eager breast
Springing and singing to its halcyon rest;
Going, going, all the glory growing.

In its starry vesture not a vestige of the sod,
Winging still and singing to the heart of God.
Going, going, all the glory growing.

Duncan Campbell Scott

Duncan Campbell Scott was a Canadian poet, writer, and civil servant. He was born on August 2, 1862, in Ottawa, Ontario, and died on December 19, 1947. Scott is often associated with the Confederation Poets and is known for his contributions to Canadian literature. His poetic work often reflects themes of nature and the Canadian landscape, but he is also a controversial figure due to his role in the Canadian government's assimilation policies towards Indigenous peoples. Despite this, his literary works remain influential.

Duncan Campbell Scott

The Wood-Spring To The Poet

Duncan Campbell Scott, Simple Poetry

To The Heroic Soul

Duncan Campbell Scott, Simple Poetry

Feuilles D'Automne

Duncan Campbell Scott, Simple Poetry

The Ghost's Story

Duncan Campbell Scott, Simple Poetry

English

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Dear Morris - here is your letter -
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Here is the height of land:
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Here in the pungent gloom
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A Mystery Play

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The Father. The Child. Death. Angels.
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In the cold sky the last gold burns,
Across the colour snow flakes creep.
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The Wood-Spring To The Poet

Dawn-cool, dew-cool
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Bird haunted, fern enchanted,
Where but tempered spirits rule;
Stars do not trace their mystic lines
In my confines;
I take a double night within my breast
A night of darkened heavens, a night of leaves,
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