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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The New Morning, by Alfred Noyes
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The New Morning
+       Poems
+
+
+Author: Alfred Noyes
+
+
+
+Release Date: April 11, 2007  [eBook #21029]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW MORNING***
+
+
+E-text prepared by K. Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+ALFRED NOYES
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+WORKS OF ALFRED NOYES
+
+COLLECTED POEMS--_2 Vols._
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE
+THE WINE-PRESS
+WALKING SHADOWS--_Prose_
+TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN
+SHERWOOD
+THE ENCHANTED ISLAND AND OTHER POEMS
+DRAKE: AN ENGLISH EPIC
+POEMS
+THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN
+THE GOLDEN HYNDE
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+Poems
+
+by
+
+ALFRED NOYES
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration (publisher's logo)]
+
+
+New York
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+Publishers
+
+Copyright, 1918, by
+Alfred Noyes
+Copyright, 1919, by
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+All rights reserved, including that of translation
+into foreign languages
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+TO THE MEMORY OF SIR CECIL
+SPRING-RICE
+
+
+I.
+
+Steadfast as any soldier of the line
+  He served his England, with the imminent death
+Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine
+  The constant peril of each burdened breath.
+
+England, and the honour of England, he still served
+  Walking the strict path, with the old high pride
+Of those invincible knights who never swerved
+  One hair's breadth from the way until they died.
+
+Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty
+  Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light
+Shines like a lantern on that road of duty,
+  Discerned by few in this chaotic night.
+
+And his own pen, foretelling his release,
+Told us that he foreknew "the end was peace."
+
+
+II.
+
+Soldier of England, he shall live unsleeping
+  Among his friends, with the old proud flag above;
+For even today her honour is in his keeping.
+  He has joined the hosts that guard her with their love.
+
+They shine like stars, unnumbered happy legions,
+  In that high realm where all our darkness dies.
+He moves, with honour, in those loftier regions,
+  Above this "world of passion and of lies":
+
+For so he called it, keeping his own pure passion
+  A silent flame before the true and good;
+Not fawning on the throng in this world's fashion
+  To come and see what all might see who would.
+
+Soldier of England, brave and gentle knight,
+The soul of Sidney welcomes you tonight.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                               PAGE
+
+DEDICATION: TO THE MEMORY OF SIR CECIL
+SPRING-RICE                                       v
+
+  "THE AVENUE OF THE ALLIES"                      3
+
+  ON THE WESTERN FRONT                            8
+
+  VICTORY                                        10
+
+
+
+
+AMERICAN POEMS, 1912-1917
+
+  REPUBLIC AND MOTHERLAND                        19
+
+  THE UNION                                      22
+
+  GHOSTS OF THE NEW WORLD                        24
+
+  THE OLD MEETING HOUSE                          27
+
+  PRINCETON                                      30
+
+  BEETHOVEN IN CENTRAL PARK                      34
+
+
+
+
+SONGS OF THE TRAWLERS AND SEA POEMS
+
+  THE PEOPLE'S FLEET                             37
+
+  KILMENY                                        38
+
+  CAP'N STORM-ALONG                              40
+
+  THE BIG BLACK TRAWLER                          42
+
+  NAMESAKES                                      44
+
+  WIRELESS                                       46
+
+  FISHERS OF MEN                                 48
+
+  AN OPEN BOAT                                   50
+
+  PEACE IN A PALACE                              52
+
+  THE VINDICTIVE                                 55
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
+
+  THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS OF CHELTENHAM               61
+
+  TO A SUCCESSFUL MAN                            66
+
+  THE OLD GENTLEMAN WITH THE AMBER SNUFFBOX      68
+
+  WHAT GRANDFATHER SAID                          71
+
+  MEMORIES OF THE PACIFIC COAST                  75
+
+  NIPPON                                         77
+
+  THE HUMMING BIRDS                              79
+
+  LINES FOR A SUN-DIAL                           81
+
+  THE REALMS OF GOLD                             82
+
+  COMPENSATIONS                                  85
+
+  DEAD MAN'S MORRICE                             87
+
+  THE OLD FOOL IN THE WOOD                       90
+
+  A NEW MADRIGAL TO AN OLD MELODY                91
+
+  THE LOST BATTLE                                94
+
+  RIDDLES OF MERLIN                              96
+
+  THE SYMPHONY                                   98
+
+  PEACE                                          99
+
+  THE OPEN DOOR                                 100
+
+  IMMORTAL SAILS                                102
+
+  THE MATIN-SONG OF FRIAR TUCK                  103
+
+  FIVE CRITICISMS                               105
+
+  THE COMPANIONS                                114
+
+  THE LITTLE ROADS                              116
+
+  SUNLIGHT AND SEA                              118
+
+  THE ROAD THROUGH CHAOS                        121
+
+  THE NIGHT OF THE LION                         123
+
+  THE WAR WIDOW                                 126
+
+  THE BELL                                      128
+
+  SLAVE AND EMPEROR                             132
+
+  ON A MOUNTAIN-TOP                             134
+
+
+
+
+EARLY POEMS
+
+  THE PHANTOM FLEET                             139
+
+  MICHAEL OAKTREE                               147
+
+
+
+
+TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS
+
+  TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS                           159
+
+    I THE NEW DUCKLING                          160
+
+   II THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE USE A CHAIR    161
+
+  III COTTON-WOOL                               164
+
+   IV FASHIONS                                  166
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+  THE REWARD OF SONG                            171
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+
+"THE AVENUE OF THE ALLIES"
+
+
+This is the song of the wind as it came
+Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:
+
+    _I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.
+I am His Liberty. That is my name._
+
+So it descended, at night, on the city.
+So it went lavishing beauty and pity,
+Lighting the lordliest street of the world
+With half of the banners that earth has unfurled;
+Over the lamps that are brighter than stars.
+Laughing aloud on its way to the wars,
+Proud as America, sweeping along
+Death and destruction like notes in a song,
+Leaping to battle as man to his mate,
+Joyous as God when he moved to create,--
+    Never was voice of a nation so glorious,
+Glad of its cause and afire with its fate!
+Never did eagle on mightier pinion
+Tower to the height of a brighter dominion,
+Kindling the hope of the prophets to flame,
+Calling aloud on the deep as it came,
+
+    _Cleave me a way for an army with banners.
+I am His Liberty. That is my name._
+
+Know you the meaning of all they are doing?
+Know you the light that their soul is pursuing?
+Know you the might of the world they are making,
+This nation of nations whose heart is awaking?
+What is this mingling of peoples and races?
+Look at the wonder and joy in their faces!
+Look how the folds of the union are spreading!
+Look, for the nations are come to their wedding.
+How shall the folk of our tongue be afraid of it?
+England was born of it. England was made of it,
+Made of this welding of tribes into one,
+This marriage of pilgrims that followed the sun!
+Briton and Roman and Saxon were drawn
+By winds of this Pentecost, out of the dawn,
+Westward, to make her one people of many;
+But here is a union more mighty than any.
+Know you the soul of this deep exultation?
+Know you the word that goes forth to this nation?
+
+    _I am the breath of God. I am His Liberty.
+Let there be light over all His creation._
+
+Over this Continent, wholly united,
+They that were foemen in Europe are plighted.
+Here, in a league that our blindness and pride
+Doubted and flouted and mocked and denied,
+Dawns the Republic, the laughing, gigantic
+Europe, united, beyond the Atlantic.
+That is America, speaking one tongue,
+Acting her epics before they are sung,
+Driving her rails from the palms to the snow,
+Through States that are greater than Emperors know,
+Forty-eight States that are empires in might,
+But ruled by the will of one people tonight,
+Nerved as one body, with net-works of steel,
+Merging their strength in the one Commonweal,
+Brooking no poverty, mocking at Mars,
+Building their cities to talk with the stars.
+Thriving, increasing by myriads again
+Till even in numbers old Europe may wane.
+How shall a son of the England they fought
+Fail to declare the full pride of his thought,
+Stand with the scoffers who, year after year,
+Bring the Republic their half-hidden sneer?
+Now, as in beauty she stands at our side,
+Who shall withhold the full gift of his pride?
+Not the great England who knows that her son,
+Washington, fought her, and Liberty won.
+England, whose names like the stars in their station,
+Stand at the foot of that world's Declaration,--
+Washington, Livingston, Langdon, she claims them,
+It is her right to be proud when she names them,
+Proud of that voice in the night as it came,
+Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:
+
+    _I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.
+I am His Liberty. That is my name._
+
+Flags, in themselves, are but rags that are dyed.
+Flags, in that wind, are like nations enskied.
+See, how they grapple the night as it rolls
+And trample it under like triumphing souls.
+Over the city that never knew sleep,
+Look at the riotous folds as they leap.
+Thousands of tri-colors, laughing for France,
+Ripple and whisper and thunder and dance;
+Thousands of flags for Great Britain aflame
+Answer their sisters in Liberty's name.
+Belgium is burning in pride overhead.
+Poland is near, and her sunrise is red.
+Under and over, and fluttering between,
+Italy burgeons in red, white, and green.
+See, how they climb like adventurous flowers,
+Over the tops of the terrible towers....
+_There, in the darkness, the glories are mated.
+There, in the darkness, a world is created.
+There, in this Pentecost, streaming on high.
+There, with a glory of stars in the sky.
+There the broad flag of our union and liberty
+Rides the proud night-wind and tyrannies die._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE WESTERN FRONT
+(_1916_)
+
+
+I.
+
+I found a dreadful acre of the dead,
+  Marked with the only sign on earth that saves.
+The wings of death were hurrying overhead,
+  The loose earth shook on those unquiet graves;
+
+For the deep gun-pits, with quick stabs of flame,
+  Made their own thunders of the sunlit air;
+Yet, as I read the crosses, name by name,
+  _Mort pour la France_, it seemed that peace was there;
+Sunlight and peace, a peace too deep for thought,
+  The peace of tides that underlie our strife,
+The peace with which the moving heavens are fraught,
+  The peace that is our everlasting life.
+
+The loose earth shook. The very hills were stirred.
+The silence of the dead was all I heard.
+
+
+II.
+
+We, who lie here, have nothing more to pray.
+  To all your praises we are deaf and blind.
+We may not even know if you betray
+  Our hope, to make earth better for mankind.
+
+Only our silence, in the night, shall grow
+  More silent, as the stars grow in the sky;
+And, while you deck our graves, you shall not know
+  How many scornful legions pass you by.
+
+For we have heard you say (when we were living)
+  That some small dream of good would "cost too much."
+But when the foe struck, we have watched you giving,
+  And seen you move the mountains with one touch.
+
+What can be done, we know. But, have no fear!
+If you fail now, we shall not see or hear.
+
+
+
+
+VICTORY
+
+(Written after the British Service at Trinity Church, New York)
+
+
+I.
+
+Before those golden altar-lights we stood,
+  Each one of us remembering his own dead.
+A more than earthly beauty seemed to brood
+  On that hushed throng, and bless each bending head.
+
+Beautiful on that gold, the deep-sea blue
+  Of those young seamen, ranked on either side,
+Blent with the khaki, while the silence grew
+  Deep, as for wings--Oh, deep as England's pride.
+
+Beautiful on that gold, two banners rose--
+  Two flags that told how Freedom's realm was made,
+One fair with stars of hope, and one that shows
+  The glorious cross of England's long crusade;
+
+Two flags, now joined, till that high will be done
+Which sent them forth to make the whole world one.
+
+
+II.
+
+There were no signs of joy that eyes could see.
+  Our hearts were all three thousand miles away.
+There were no trumpets blown for victory.
+  A million dead were calling us that day.
+
+And eyes grew blind, at times; but grief was deep,
+  Deeper than any foes or friends have known;
+For Oh, my country's lips are locked to keep
+  Her bitterest loss her own, and all her own.
+
+Only the music told what else was dumb,
+  The funeral march to which our pulses beat;
+For all our dead went by, to a muffled drum
+  We heard the tread of all those phantom feet.
+
+Yes. There was victory! Deep in every soul.
+We heard them marching to their unseen goal.
+
+
+III.
+
+There, once again, we saw the Cross go by,
+  The Cross that fell with all those glorious towers,
+Burnt black in France or mocked on Calvary,
+  Till--in one night--the crosses rose like flowers,
+Legions of small white crosses, mile on mile,
+  Pencilled with names that had outfought all pain,
+Where every shell-torn acre seems to smile--
+  _Who shall destroy the cross that rose again?_
+
+Out of the world's Walpurgis, where hope perished,
+  Where all the forms of faith in ruin fell,
+Where every sign of heaven that earth had cherished
+  Shrivelled among the lava-floods of hell,
+
+The eternal Cross that conquers might with right
+Rose like a star to lead us through the night.
+
+
+IV.
+
+How shall the world remember? Men forget:
+  Our dead are all too many even for Fame!
+Man's justice kneels to kings, and pays no debt
+  To those who never courted her acclaim.
+
+Cheat not your heart with promises to pay
+  For gifts beyond all price so freely given.
+Where is the heart so rich that it can say
+  To those who mourn, "I will restore your heaven"?
+
+But these, with their own hands, laid up their treasure
+  Where never an emperor can break in and steal,
+Treasure for those that loved them past all measure
+  In those high griefs that earth can never heal,
+
+Proud griefs, that walk on earth, yet gaze above,
+Knowing that sorrow is but remembered love.
+
+
+V.
+
+Love that still holds us with immortal power,
+  Yet cannot lift us to His realm of light;
+Love that still shows us heaven for one brief hour
+  Only to daunt the heart with that sheer height;
+
+Love that is made of loveliness entire
+  In form and thought and act; and still must shame us
+Because we ever acknowledge and aspire,
+  And yet let slip the shining hands that claim us.
+
+O, if this Love might cloak with rags His glory,
+  Laugh, eat and drink, and dwell with suffering men,
+Sit with us at our hearth, and hear our story,
+  This world--we thought--might be transfigured then.
+
+"But Oh," Love answered, with swift human tears,
+"All these things have I done, these many years."
+
+
+VI.
+
+"This day," Love said, "if ye will hear my voice;
+  I mount and sing with birds in all your skies.
+I am the soul that calls you to rejoice.
+  And every wayside flower is my disguise.
+
+"Look closely. Are the wings too wide for pity?
+  Look closely. Do these tender hues betray?
+How often have I sought my Holy City?
+  How often have ye turned your hearts away?
+
+"Is there not healing in the beauty I bring you?
+  Am I not whispering in green leaves and rain,
+Singing in all that woods and seas can sing you?
+  Look, once, on Love, and earth is heaven again.
+
+"O, did your Spring but once a century waken,
+The heaven of heavens for this would be forsaken."
+
+
+VII.
+
+There's but one gift that all our dead desire,
+  One gift that men can give, and that's a dream,
+Unless we, too, can burn with that same fire
+  Of sacrifice; die to the things that seem;
+
+Die to the little hatreds; die to greed;
+  Die to the old ignoble selves we knew;
+Die to the base contempts of sect and creed,
+  And rise again, like these, with souls as true.
+
+Nay (since these died before their task was finished)
+  Attempt new heights, bring even their dreams to birth:--
+Build us that better world, Oh, not diminished
+  By one true splendor that they planned on earth.
+
+And that's not done by sword, or tongue, or pen,
+There's but one way. God make us better men.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AMERICAN POEMS 1912-1917
+
+
+
+
+REPUBLIC AND MOTHERLAND
+(_1912_)
+
+(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)
+
+
+Up the vast harbor with the morning sun
+  The ship swept in from sea;
+Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,
+  And--there stood Liberty.
+
+Silent, the great torch lifted in one hand,
+  The dawn in her proud eyes,
+Silent, for all the shouts that vex her land,
+  Silent, hailing the skies;
+
+Hailing that mightier Kingdom of the Blest
+  Our seamen sought of old,
+The dream that lured the nations through the West,
+  The city of sunset gold.
+
+Saxon and Norman in one wedded soul
+  Shook out one flag like fire;
+But westward, westward, moved the gleaming goal,
+  Westward, the vast desire.
+
+Westward and ever westward ran the call,
+  They followed the pilgrim sun,
+Seeking that land which should enfold them all,
+  And weld all hearts in one.
+
+Here on this mightier continent apart,
+  Here on these rolling plains,
+Swells the first throb of that immortal heart,
+  The pulse of those huge veins.
+
+Still, at these towers, our Old-World cities jest,
+  And neither hear nor see
+The brood of gods at that gigantic breast,
+  The conquering race to be.
+
+Chosen from many--for no sluggard soul
+  Confronts that night of stars--
+The trumpets of the last Republic roll
+  Far off, an end to wars;
+
+An end, an end to that wild blood-red age,
+  That made and keeps us blind;
+A mightier realm shall be her heritage,
+  The kingdom of mankind.
+
+Chosen from many nations, and made one;
+  But first, O Mother, from thee,
+When, following, following on that Pilgrim sun,
+  Thy Mayflower crossed the sea.
+
+
+
+
+THE UNION
+(_1917_)
+
+
+You that have gathered together the sons of all races,
+  And welded them into one,
+Lifting the torch of your Freedom on hungering faces
+  That sailed to the setting sun;
+
+You that have made of mankind in your own proud regions
+  The music of man to be,
+How should the old earth sing of you, now, as your legions
+  Rise to set all men free?
+
+How should the singer that knew the proud vision and loved it,
+  In the days when not all men knew,
+Gaze through his tears, on the light, now the world has approved it;
+  Or dream, when the dream comes true?
+
+How should he sing when the Spirit of Freedom in thunder
+  Speaks, and the wine-press is red;
+And the sea-winds are loud with the chains that are broken asunder
+  And nations that rise from the dead?
+
+Flag of the sky, proud flag of that wide communion,
+  Too mighty for thought to scan;
+Flag of the many in one, and that last world-union
+  That kingdom of God in man;
+
+Ours was a dream, in the night, of that last federation,
+  But yours is the glory unfurled--
+The marshalled nations and stars that shall make one nation
+  One singing star of the world.
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS OF THE NEW WORLD
+
+"_There are no ghosts in America._"
+
+
+There are no ghosts, you say,
+  To haunt her blaze of light;
+No shadows in her day,
+  No phantoms in her night.
+Columbus' tattered sail
+Has passed beyond our hail.
+
+What? On that magic coast,
+  Where Raleigh fought with fate,
+Or where that Devon ghost
+  Unbarred the Golden Gate,
+No dark, strange, ear-ringed men
+Beat in from sea again?
+
+No ghosts in Salem town
+  With silver buckled shoon?
+No lovely witch to drown
+  Or burn beneath the moon?
+Not even a whiff of tea,
+On Boston's glimmering quay.
+
+O, ghostly Spanish walls,
+  Where brown Franciscans glide,
+Is there no voice that calls
+  Across the Great Divide,
+To pilgrims on their way
+Along the Santa Fe?
+
+Then let your Pullman cars
+  Go roaring to the West,
+Till, watched by lonelier stars,
+  The cactus lifts its crest.
+There, on that painted plain,
+One ghost will rise again.
+
+Majestic and forlorn,
+  Wreck of a dying race,
+The Red Man, half in scorn,
+  Shall raise his haughty face,
+Inscrutable as the sky,
+To watch our ghosts go by.
+
+What? Is earth dreaming still?
+  Shall not the night disgorge
+The ghosts of Bunker Hill
+  The ghosts of Valley Forge,
+Or, England's mightiest son,
+The ghost of Washington?
+
+No ghosts where Lincoln fell?
+  No ghosts for seeing eyes?
+I know an old cracked bell
+  Shall make ten million rise
+When one immortal ghost
+Calls to the slumbering host.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MEETING HOUSE
+
+(_New Jersey, 1918_)
+
+
+Its quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn.
+  Those wise old elms could hear no cry
+  Of all that distant agony--
+Only the red-winged blackbird, and the rustle of thick ripe corn.
+
+The blue jay, perched upon that bronze, with bright unweeting eyes,
+  Could never read the names that signed
+  The noblest charter of mankind;
+But all of them were names we knew beneath our English skies.
+
+And on the low gray headstones, with their crumbling weather-stains,
+  --Though cardinal birds, like drops of blood,
+  Flickered across the haunted wood,--
+The names you'd see were names that woke like flowers in English lanes.
+
+John Applegate was fast asleep; and Temperance Olden, too.
+  And David Worth had quite forgot
+  If Hannah's lips were red or not;
+And Prudence veiled her eyes at last, as Prudence ought to do.
+
+And when, across that patch of heaven, that small blue leaf-edged space
+  At times, a droning airplane went,
+  No flicker of astonishment
+Could lift the heavy eyelids on one gossip's up-turned face.
+
+For William Speakman could not tell--so thick the grasses grow--
+  If that strange humming in the sky
+  Meant that the Judgment Day were nigh,
+Or if 'twas but the summer bees that blundered to and fro.
+
+And then, across the breathless wood, a Bell began to sound,
+  The only Bell that wakes the dead,
+  And Stockton Signer raised his head,
+And called to all the deacons in the ancient burial-ground.
+
+"The Bell, the Bell is ringing! Give me back my rusty sword.
+  Though I thought the wars were done,
+  Though I thought our peace was won,
+Yet I signed the Declaration, and the dead must keep their word.
+
+"There's only one great ghost I know could make that 'larum ring.
+  It's the captain that we knew
+  In the ancient buff and blue,
+It's our Englishman, George Washington, who fought the German king!"
+
+So the sunset saw them mustering beneath their brooding boughs,
+  Ancient shadows of our sires,
+  Kindling with the ancient fires,
+While the old cracked Bell to southward shook the ancient meeting house.
+
+
+
+
+PRINCETON
+(_1917_)
+
+The first four lines of this poem were written for inscription on the
+first joint memorial to the American and British soldiers who fell in
+the Revolutionary War. This memorial was recently dedicated at
+Princeton.
+
+
+I.
+
+_Here Freedom stood, by slaughtered friend and foe,
+  And ere the wrath paled or that sunset died,
+Looked through the ages: then, with eyes aglow,
+  Laid them, to wait that future, side by side._
+
+
+II.
+
+Now lamp-lit gardens in the blue dusk shine
+  Through dog-wood red and white,
+And round the gray quadrangles, line by line,
+  The windows fill with light,
+Where Princeton calls to Magdalen, tower to tower,
+  Twin lanthorns of the law,
+And those cream-white magnolia boughs embower
+  The halls of old Nassau.
+
+
+III.
+
+The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side
+  Where red-coats used to pass,
+And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died
+  And violets dusk the grass,
+By Stony Brook that ran so red of old,
+  But sings of friendship now,
+To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold
+  The green earth takes the plough.
+
+
+IV.
+
+Through this May night if one great ghost should stray
+  With deep remembering eyes,
+Where that old meadow of battle smiles away
+  Its blood-stained memories,
+If Washington should walk, where friend and foe
+  Sleep and forget the past,
+Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know
+  Their hosts are joined at last.
+
+
+V.
+
+Be sure he walks, in shadowy buff and blue,
+  Where those dim lilacs wave,
+He bends his head to bless, as dreams come true,
+  The promise of that grave,
+Then with a vaster hope than thought can scan,
+  Touching his ancient sword,
+Prays for that mightier realm of God in man,
+  "Hasten Thy Kingdom, Lord."
+
+
+VI.
+
+"Land of new hope, land of the singing stars,
+  Type of the world to be,
+The vision of a world set free from wars
+  Takes life, takes form, from thee,
+Where all the jarring nations of this earth,
+  Beneath the all-blessing sun,
+Bring the new music of mankind to birth,
+  And make the whole world one."
+
+
+VII.
+
+And those old comrades rise around him there,
+  Old foemen, side by side,
+With eyes like stars upon the brave night-air,
+  And young as when they died,
+To hear your bells, O beautiful Princeton towers,
+  Ring for the world's release.
+They see you, piercing like gray swords through flowers,
+  And smile from hearts at peace.
+
+
+
+
+BEETHOVEN IN CENTRAL PARK
+
+(After a glimpse of a certain monument in New York, during the
+Victory Celebration)
+
+
+The thousand-windowed towers were all alight.
+  Throngs of all nations filled that glittering way;
+And, rich with dreams of the approaching day,
+Flags of all nations trampled down the night.
+No clouds, at sunset, die in airs as bright.
+  No clouds, at dawn, awake in winds as gay;
+  For Freedom rose in that august array,
+Crowned with the stars and weaponed for the right.
+
+Then, in a place of whispering leaves and gloom,
+  I saw, too dark, too dumb for bronze or stone,
+  One tragic head that bowed against the sky;
+O, in a hush too deep for any tomb
+  I saw Beethoven, dreadfully alone
+    With his own grief, and his own majesty.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SONGS OF THE TRAWLERS AND SEA POEMS
+
+
+THE PEOPLE'S FLEET
+
+
+Out of her darkened fishing-ports they go,
+  A fleet of little ships, whose every name--
+_Daffodil_, _Sea-lark_, _Rose_ and _Surf_ and _Snow_,
+  Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;
+
+Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,
+  The people's fleet that never knew its worth,
+And every name is a broken phrase of song
+  To some remembered loveliness on earth.
+
+There's _Barbara Cowie_, _Comely Bank_ and _May_,
+  Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:
+There's _Ruth_ and _Kindly Light_ and _Robin Gray_
+  With _Mizpah_. (May that simple prayer come true!)
+
+Out of old England's inmost heart they sail,
+  A fleet of memories that can never fail.
+
+
+
+
+KILMENY
+
+
+Dark, dark lay the drifters against the red West,
+  As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;
+And the oily green waters were rocking to rest
+  When Kilmeny went out, at the turn of the tide;
+And nobody knew where that lassie would roam,
+  For the magic that called her was tapping unseen.
+It was well-nigh a week ere Kilmeny came home,
+  And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+She'd a gun at her bow that was Newcastle's best,
+  And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde,
+And a secret her skipper had never confessed,
+  Not even at dawn, to his newly-wed bride;
+And a wireless that whispered above, like a gnome,
+  The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin....
+O, it may have been mermaids that lured her from home;
+  But nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+It was dark when Kilmeny came home from her quest
+  With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died;
+But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast,
+  And _Well done Kilmeny!_ the Admiral cried.
+
+Now, at sixty-four fathom a conger may come
+  And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine;
+But--late in the evening Kilmeny came home,
+  And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+There's a wandering shadow that stares at the foam,
+  Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen.
+Late, late in the evening, Kilmeny came home;
+  And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+
+
+
+CAP'N STORM-ALONG
+
+
+They are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,
+  _Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!_
+_Sea-lark_ singing to _Golden Feather_,
+  And burly blue waters all swelling aroun'.
+There's _Thunderstone_ butting ahead as they wallow,
+  With death in the mesh of their deep-sea trawl;
+There's _Night-Hawk_ swooping by wild _Sea-swallow_;
+  And old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.
+
+  _Bashing the seas to a welter of white,
+  Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight.
+  O, they're dancing like witches to open the ball;
+  And old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all._
+
+Now, where have you seen such a bully old sailor?
+  His eyes are as blue as the scarf at his throat;
+And he rolls on the bridge of his broad-beamed whaler,
+  In yellow sou'wester and oil-skin coat.
+In trawler and drifter, in dinghy and dory,
+  Wherever he signals, they leap to his call;
+They batter the seas to a lather of glory,
+  With old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.
+
+  _You'll find he's from Devon, the sailor I mean,
+  Look at his whaler now, shipping it green.
+  O, Fritz and his "U" boat must crab it and crawl
+  When old Cap'n Storm-along sails to the ball._
+
+Ay, there is the skipper that knows how to scare 'em.
+  _Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!_
+Look at the sea-wives he keeps in his harem,
+  Wicked young merry-maids, buxom and brown:
+There's _Rosalind_, the sea-witch, and _Gipsy_ so lissom,
+  All dancing like ducks in the teeth of the squall,
+With a bright eye for Huns, and a Hotchkiss to kiss 'em;
+  For old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all.
+
+  _Look at him, battering darkness to light!
+  Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight!
+  O, hearts that are mighty, in ships that are small,
+  Your old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of us all._
+
+
+
+
+THE BIG BLACK TRAWLER
+
+
+The very best ship that ever I knew,
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew--
+  _Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+There was one old devil with a broken nose
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+He was four score years, as I suppose--
+  _But, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm--
+  _Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+Roars, "Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast"--
+  _So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+"For I soaked my sea-boots and my dungarees
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+In the good salt water that the Lord don't freeze"--
+  _Oh, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+
+
+
+NAMESAKES
+
+
+But where's the brown drifter that went out alone?
+  --_Roll and go, and fare you well_--
+Was her name Peggy Nutten? That name is my own.
+  _Fare you well, my sailor._
+They sang in the dark, "Let her go! Let her go!"
+And she sailed to the West, where the broad waters flow;
+And the others come back, but ... the bitter winds blow.
+  _Ah, fare you well, my sailor._
+
+The women, at evening, they wave and they cheer.
+  --_Roll and go, and fare you well_--
+They're waiting to welcome their lads at the pier.
+  _Fare you well, my sailor._
+They're all coming home in the twilight below;
+But there's one little boat.... Let her go! Let her go!
+She carried my heart, and a heart for the foe.
+  _Ah, fare you well, my sailor._
+
+The _Nell_ and the _Maggie_, the _Ruth_ and the _Joan_,
+  --_Roll and go, and fare you well_--
+They come to their namesakes, and leave me alone.
+  _Fare you well, my sailor._
+And names are kep' dark, for the spies mustn't know;
+But they'll look in my face, an' I think it will show;
+Peggy Nutten's my name. Let her go! let her go!
+  _Ah, fare you well, my sailor._
+
+
+
+
+WIRELESS
+
+
+Now to those who search the deep,
+  _Gleam of Hope_ and _Kindly Light_,
+Once, before you turn to sleep,
+  Breathe a message through the night.
+Never doubt that they'll receive it.
+Send it, once, and you'll believe it.
+
+Wrecks that burn against the stars,
+  Decks where death is wallowing green,
+Snare the breath among their spars,
+  Hear the flickering threads between,
+Quick, through all the storms that blind them,
+Quick with words that rush to find them.
+
+Think you these aërial wires
+  Whisper more than spirits may?
+Think you that our strong desires
+  Touch no distance when we pray?
+Think you that no wings are flying
+'Twixt the living and the dying?
+
+Inland, here, upon your knees,
+  You shall breathe from urgent lips,
+Round the ships that guard your seas,
+  Fleet on fleet of angel ships;
+Yea, the guarded may so bless them
+That no terrors can distress them.
+
+You shall guide the darkling prow,
+  Kneeling thus--and far inland--
+You shall touch the storm-beat brow
+  Gently as a spirit-hand.
+Even a blindfold prayer may speed them,
+And a little child may lead them.
+
+
+
+
+FISHERS OF MEN
+
+
+Long, long ago He said,
+He who could wake the dead,
+  And walk upon the sea--
+  "_Come, follow Me._
+
+"Leave your brown nets and bring
+Only your hearts to sing,
+  Only your souls to pray,
+  Rise, come away.
+
+"Shake out your spirit-sails,
+And brave those wilder gales,
+  And I will make you then
+  Fishers of men."
+
+Was this, then, what He meant?
+Was this His high intent,
+  After two thousand years
+  Of blood and tears?
+
+God help us, if we fight
+For right, and not for might.
+  God help us if we seek
+  To shield the weak.
+
+Then, though His heaven be far
+From this blind welter of war,
+  He'll bless us, on the sea
+  From Calvary.
+
+
+
+
+AN OPEN BOAT
+
+
+O what is that whimpering there in the darkness?
+  _"Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.
+Look. I'll wrap all my hair round his neck."--"The sea's rising,
+  The boat must be lightened. He's dead. He must go."_
+
+See--quick--by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,
+  The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,
+And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover
+  And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.
+
+_"Come, lady, he's dead." "No, I feel his heart beating.
+  He's living, I know. But he's numbed with the cold.
+See, I'm wrapping my hair all around him to warm him"----
+  --"No. We can't keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold._
+
+_"Come. Loosen your fingers."--"O God, let me keep him!"_
+  O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!
+For there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,
+  To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.
+
+
+
+
+PEACE IN A PALACE
+
+
+"You were weeping in the night," said the Emperor,
+  "Weeping in your sleep, I am told."
+"It was nothing but a dream," said the Empress;
+  But her face grew gray and old.
+"You thought you saw our German God defeated?"
+  "Oh, no!" she said. "I saw no lightnings fall.
+I dreamed of a whirlpool of green water,
+  Where something had gone down. That was all.
+
+_"All but the whimper of the sea gulls flying,
+  Endlessly round and round,
+Waiting for the faces, the faces from the darkness,
+  The dreadful rising faces of the drowned._
+
+"It was nothing but a dream," said the Empress.
+  "I thought I was walking on the sea;
+And the foam rushed up in a wild smother,
+  And a crowd of little faces looked at me.
+
+They were drowning! They were drowning," said the Empress,
+  "And they stretched their feeble arms to the sky;
+But the worst was--they mistook me for their mother,
+  And cried as my children used to cry.
+
+_"Nothing but a whimper of the sea-gulls flying,
+  Endlessly round and round,
+With the cruel yellow beaks that were waiting for the faces,
+  The little floating faces of the drowned."_
+
+"It was nothing but a dream," said the Emperor,
+  "So why should you weep, dear, eh?"--
+"Oh, I saw the red letters on a life belt
+  That the green sea washed my way!"--
+"What were they?" said the Emperor. "What were they?"--
+  "Some of them were hidden," said the Empress,
+  "But I plainly saw the L and the U!"
+"In God's name, stop!" said the Emperor.
+  "You told me that it was not true!
+
+_"Told me that you dreamed of the sea gulls flying,
+  Endlessly round and round,
+Waiting for the faces, and the eyes in the faces,
+  The eyes of the children that we drowned._
+
+"Kiss me and forget it," said the Emperor,
+  "Dry your tears on the tassel of my sword.
+I am going to offer peace to my people,
+  And abdicate, perhaps, as overlord.
+I shall now take up My Cross as Count of Prussia--
+  Which is not a heavy burden, you'll agree.
+Why, before the twenty million dead are rotten
+  There'll be yachting days again for you and me.
+    Cheer up!
+It would mean a rope for anyone but Me."
+
+_"Oh, take care!" said the Empress. "They are flying,
+  Endlessly round and round.
+They have finished with the faces, the dreadful little faces,
+  The little eyeless faces of the drowned."_
+
+
+
+
+THE VINDICTIVE
+
+
+How should we praise those lads of the old _Vindictive_
+  Who looked Death straight in the eyes,
+    Till his gaze fell,
+    In those red gates of hell?
+
+England, in her proud history, proudly enrolls them,
+  And the deep night in her remembering skies
+    With purer glory
+    Shall blazon their grim story.
+
+There were no throngs to applaud that hushed adventure.
+  They were one to a thousand on that fierce emprise.
+    The shores they sought
+    Were armoured, past all thought.
+
+O, they knew fear, be assured, as the brave must know it,
+  With youth and its happiness bidding their last good-byes;
+    Till thoughts, more dear
+    Than life, cast out all fear.
+
+  For if, as we think, they remembered the brown-roofed homesteads,
+And the scent of the hawthorn hedges when daylight dies,
+    Old happy places,
+    Young eyes and fading faces;
+
+One dream was dearer that night than the best of their boyhood,
+  One hope more radiant than any their hearts could prize.
+    The touch of your hand,
+    The light of your face, England!
+
+So, age to age shall tell how they sailed through the darkness
+  Where, under those high, austere, implacable stars,
+    Not one in ten
+    Might look for a dawn again.
+
+They saw the ferry-boats, _Iris_ and _Daffodil_, creeping
+  Darkly as clouds to the shimmering mine-strewn bars,
+    Flash into light!
+    Then thunder reddened the night.
+
+The wild white swords of the search-lights blinded and stabbed them,
+  The sharp black shadows fought in fantastic wars.
+    Black waves leapt whitening,
+    Red decks were washed with lightning.
+
+But, under the twelve-inch guns of the black land-batteries
+  The hacked bright hulk, in a glory of crackling spars,
+    Moved to her goal
+    Like an immortal soul;
+
+That, while the raw rent flesh in a furnace is tortured,
+  Reigns by a law no agony ever can shake,
+    And shines in power
+    Above all shocks of the hour.
+
+O, there, while the decks ran blood, and the star-shells lightened
+  The old broken ship that the enemy never could break,
+    Swept through the fire
+    And grappled her heart's desire.
+
+There, on a wreck that blazed with the soul of England,
+  The lads that died in the dark for England's sake
+    Knew, as they died,
+    Nelson was at their side;
+
+Nelson, and all the ghostly fleets of his island,
+  Fighting beside them there, and the soul of Drake!--
+    Dreams, as we knew,
+    Till these lads made them true.
+
+_How should we praise you, lads of the old Vindictive,
+  Who looked death straight in the eyes,
+    Till his gaze fell
+    In those red gates of hell?_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
+
+
+THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS OF CHELTENHAM
+
+
+When hawthorn buds are creaming white,
+  And the red foolscap all stuck with may,
+Then lasses walk with eyes alight,
+  And it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.
+
+For the chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham town,
+  Sooty of face as a swallow of wing,
+Come whistling, singing, dancing down
+  With white teeth flashing as they sing.
+
+And Jack-in-the green, by a clown in blue,
+  Walks like a two-legged bush of may,
+With the little wee lads that wriggled up the flue
+  Ere Cheltenham town cried "dancing day."
+
+For brooms were short and the chimneys tall,
+  And the gipsies caught 'em these blackbirds cheap,
+So Cheltenham bought them, spry and small,
+  And shoved them up in the dark to sweep.
+
+For Cheltenham town was cruel of old,
+  But she has been gathering garlands gay,
+And the little wee lads are in green and gold,
+  For it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.
+
+And red as a rose, and blue as the sky,
+  With teeth as white as their faces are black,
+The master-sweeps go dancing by,
+  With a gridiron painted on every back.
+
+But when they are ranged in the market-place,
+  The clown's wife comes with an iron spoon,
+And cozens a penny for her sweet face
+  To keep their golden throats in tune.
+
+Then, hushing the riot of that mad throng,
+  And sweet as the voice of a long-dead May,
+A wandering pedlar lifts 'em a song,
+  Of chimney-sweepers' dancing day;
+
+And the sooty faces, they try to recall....
+  As they gather around in their spell-struck rings....
+But nobody knows that singer at all
+  Or the curious old-time air he sings:--
+
+Why are you dancing, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,
+  And where did you win you these may-coats so fine;
+For some are red as roses, and some are gold as daffodils,
+  But who, ah, who remembers, now, a little lad of mine?
+
+Lady, we are dancing, as we danced in old England
+  When the may was more than may, very long ago:
+As for our may-coats, it was your white hands, lady,
+  Filled our sooty hearts and minds with blossom, white as snow.
+
+It was a beautiful face we saw, wandering through Cheltenham.
+  It was a beautiful song we heard, very far away,
+Weeping for a little lad stolen by the gipsies,
+  Broke our hearts and filled 'em with the glory of the may.
+
+Many a little lad had we, chirruping in the chimney-tops,
+  Twirling out a sooty broom, a blot against the blue.
+Ah, but when we called to him, and when he saw and ran to her,
+  All our winter ended, and our world was made anew.
+
+Then she gave us may-coats of gold and green and crimson,
+  Then, with a long garland, she led our hearts away,
+Whispering, "Remember, though the boughs forget the hawthorn,
+  Yet shall I return to you, that was your lady May."--
+
+But why are you dancing now, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,
+  And why are you singing of a May that is fled?--
+O, there's music to be born, though we pluck the old fiddle-strings,
+  And a world's May awaking where the fields lay dead.
+
+And we dance, dance, dreaming of a lady most beautiful
+  That shall walk the green valleys of this dark earth one day,
+And call to us gently, "O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,
+  I am looking for my children. Awake, and come away."
+
+
+
+
+TO A SUCCESSFUL MAN
+
+(_What the Ghosts Said_)
+
+
+And after all the labour and the pains,
+  After the heaping up of gold on gold,
+After success that locked your feet in chains,
+  And left you with a heart so tired and old,
+
+Strange--is it not?--to find your chief desire
+  Is what you might have had for nothing then--
+The face of love beside a cottage fire
+  And friendly laughter with your fellow-men?
+
+You were so rich when fools esteemed you poor.
+  You ruled a field that kings could never buy;
+The glory of the sea was at your door;
+  And all those quiet stars were in your sky.
+
+The nook of ferns below the breathless wood
+  Where one poor book could unlock Paradise ...
+What will you give us now for that lost good?
+  Better forget. You cannot pay the price.
+
+You left them for the fame in which you trust.
+  But youth, and hope--did you forsake them, too?
+Courage! When dust at length returns to dust,
+  In your last dreams they may come back to you.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD GENTLEMAN WITH THE AMBER SNUFF-BOX
+
+
+_The old gentleman, tapping his amber snuff-box
+(A heart-shaped snuff-box with a golden clasp)
+Stared at the dying fire. "I'd like them all
+To understand, when I am gone," he muttered.
+"But how to do it delicately! I can't
+Apologize. I'll hint at it ... in verse;
+And, to be sure that Rosalind reads it through,
+I'll make it an appendix to my will!"
+--Still cynical, you see. He couldn't help it.
+He had seen much, felt much. He snapped the snuff box,
+Shook his white periwig, trimmed a long quill pen,
+And then began to write, most carefully,
+These couplets, in the old heroic style:--_
+
+O, had I known in boyhood, only known
+The few sad truths that time has made my own,
+I had not lost the best that youth can give,
+Nay, life itself, in learning how to live.
+This laboring heart would not be tired so soon,
+This jaded blood would jog to a livelier tune:
+And some few friends, could I begin again,
+Should know more happiness, and much less pain.
+I should not wound in ignorance, nor turn
+In foolish pride from those for whom I yearn.
+I should have kept nigh half the friends I've lost,
+And held for dearest those I wronged the most.
+
+Yet, when I see more cunning men evade
+With colder tact, the blunders that I made;
+Sometimes I wonder if the better part
+Is not still mine, who lacked their subtle art.
+For I have conned my book in harsher schools,
+And learned from struggling what they worked by rules;
+Learned--with some pain--more quickly to forgive
+My fellow-blunderers, while they learn to live;
+Learned--with some tears--to keep a steadfast mind,
+And think more kindly of my own poor kind.
+
+_He read the verses through, shaking his wig.
+"Perhaps ... perhaps"--he whispered to himself,
+"I'd better leave it to the will of God.
+They might upset my own. I do not think
+They'd understand. Jocelyn might, perhaps;
+And Dick, if only they were left alone.
+But Rosalind never; nor that nephew of mine,
+The witty politician. No. No. No.
+They'd say my mind was wandering, I'm afraid."
+So, with a frozen face, reluctantly,
+He tossed his verses into the dying fire,
+And watched the sparks fly upward.
+                            There, at dawn,
+They found him, cold and stiff by the cold hearth,
+His amber snuff-box in his ivory hand.
+"You see," they said, "he never needed friends.
+He had that curious antique frozen way.
+He had no heart--only an amber snuff-box.
+He died quite happily, taking a pinch of snuff."
+
+His nephew, that engaging politician,
+Inherited the snuff-box, and remarked
+His epitaph should be "Snuffed Out." The clubs
+Laughed, and the statesman's reputation grew._
+
+
+
+
+WHAT GRANDFATHER SAID
+
+(_An epistle from a narrow-minded old gentleman to a young artist of
+superior intellect and intense realism._)
+
+
+Your thoughts are for the poor and weak?
+  Ah, no, the picturesque's your passion!
+Your tongue is always in your cheek
+  At poverty that's not in fashion.
+
+You like a ploughman's rugged face,
+  Or painted eyes in Piccadilly;
+But bowler hats are commonplace,
+  And thread-bare tradesmen simply silly.
+
+The clerk that sings "God save the King,"
+  And still believes his Tory paper,--
+You hate the anæmic fool? I thought
+  You loved the weak! Was that all vapour?
+
+Ah, when you sneer, dear democrat,
+  At such a shiny-trousered Tory
+Because he doffs his poor old hat
+  To what he thinks his country's glory,
+
+To you it's just a coloured rag.
+  You hate the "patriots" that bawl so.
+Well, my Ulysses, there's a flag
+  That lifts men in Republics also.
+
+No doubt his thoughts are cruder far;
+  And, where those linen folds are shaking,
+Perhaps he sees a kind of star
+  Because his eyes are tired and aching.
+
+Banal enough! Banal as truth!
+  But I'm not thinking of his banners.
+I'm thinking of his pinched white youth
+  And your disgusting "new art" manners.
+
+His meek submission stirs your hate?
+  Better, my lad, if you're so fervent,
+Turn your cold steel against the State
+  Instead of sneering at the servant.
+
+He does his job. He draws his pay.
+  You sneer, and dine with those that pay him;
+And then you write a snobbish play
+  For democrats, in which you play him.
+
+Ah, yes, you like simplicity
+  That sucks its cheeks to make the dimple.
+But this domestic bourgeoisie
+  You hate,--because it's all too simple.
+
+You hate the hearth, the wife, the child,
+  You hate the heavens that bend above them.
+Your simple folk must all run wild
+  Like jungle-beasts before you love them.
+
+You own a house in Cheyne Walk,
+  (You say it costs three thousand fully)
+Where subtle snobs can talk and talk
+  And play the intellectual bully.
+
+Yes. I say "snobs." Are names alone
+  Free from all change? Your word "Victorian"
+Could bite and sting in ninety one
+  But now--it's deader than the saurian.
+
+You think I live in yesterday,
+  Because I think your way the wrong one;
+But I have hewed and ploughed my way,
+  And--unlike yours--it's been a long one.
+
+I let Victoria toll her bell,
+  And went with Strindberg for a ride, sir.
+I've fought through your own day as well,
+  And come out on the other side, sir,--
+
+The further side, the morning side,
+  I read free verse (the Psalms) on Sunday.
+But I've decided (you'll decide)
+  That there is room for song on Monday.
+
+I've seen the new snob on his way,
+  The intellectual snob I mean, sir,
+The artist snob, in book and play,
+  Kicking his mother round the scene, sir.
+
+I've heard the Tories talk like fools;
+  And the rich fool that apes the Tory.
+I've seen the shopmen break your rules
+  And die like Christ, in Christ's own glory.
+
+But, as for you, that liberal sneer
+  Reminds me of the poor old Kaiser.
+He was a "socialist," my dear.
+  Well, I'm your grandson. You'll grow wiser.
+
+
+
+
+MEMORIES OF THE PACIFIC COAST
+
+
+I know a land, I, too,
+  Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,
+And all the winter long the skies are blue,
+  And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.
+
+Deserts of all delight,
+  Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,
+Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,
+  And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.
+
+O, to be wandering there,
+  Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,
+Where the waves break in song, and the bright air
+  Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.
+
+There Beauty dwells,
+  Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;
+And Youth returns with all its magic spells,
+  And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,--
+
+Home--home! Where is that land?
+  For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry
+Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,
+  And sets my sail to seek another sky.
+
+
+
+
+NIPPON
+
+
+Last night, I dreamed of Nippon....
+  I saw a cloud of white
+Drifting before the sunset
+  On seas of opal light.
+
+Beyond the wide Pacific
+  I saw its mounded snow
+Miraculously changing
+  In that deep evening glow,
+
+To rosy rifts and hillocks,
+  To orchards that I knew,
+To snows of peach and cherry,
+  And feathers of bamboo.
+
+I saw, on twisted bridges,
+  In blue and crimson gleams,
+The lanterns of the fishers,
+  Along the brook of dreams.
+
+I saw the wreaths of incense
+  Like little ghosts arise,
+From temples under Fuji,
+  From Fuji to the skies.
+
+I saw that fairy mountain....
+  I watched it form and fade.
+No doubt the gods were singing,
+  When Nippon isle was made.
+
+
+
+
+THE HUMMING BIRDS
+
+
+Green wing and ruby throat,
+  What shining spell, what exquisite sorcery,
+Lured you to float
+  And fight with bees round this one flowering tree?
+
+Petulant imps of light,
+  What whisper or gleam or elfin-wild perfumes
+Thrilled through the night
+  And drew you to this hive of rosy bloom?
+
+One tree, and one alone,
+  Of all that load this magic air with spice,
+Claims for its own
+  Your brave migration out of Paradise;
+
+Claims you, and guides you, too,
+  Three thousand miles across the summer's waste
+Of blooms ye knew
+  Less finely fit for your ethereal taste.
+
+To poets' youthful hearts,
+  Even so the quivering April thoughts will fly,--
+Those irised darts,
+  Those winged and tiny denizens of the sky.
+
+Through beaks as needle-fine,
+  They suck a redder honey than bees know.
+Unearthly wine
+  Sleeps in this bloom; and, when it falls, they go.
+
+
+
+
+LINES FOR A SUN-DIAL
+
+
+With shadowy pen I write,
+      Till time be done,
+    Good news of some strange light,
+Some far off sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE REALMS OF GOLD
+
+(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing stranger
+under the palms of Southern California.)
+
+
+Under the palms of San Diego
+  Where gold-skinned Mexicans loll at ease,
+And the red half-moons of their black-pipped melons
+  Drop from their hands in the sunset seas,
+And an incense, out of the old brown missions,
+  Blows through the orange trees;
+
+I wished that a poet who died in Europe
+  Had found his way to this rose-red West;
+That Keats had walked by the wide Pacific
+  And cradled his head on its healing breast,
+And made new songs of the sun-burned sea-folk,
+  New poems, perhaps his best.
+
+I thought of him, under the ripe pomegranates
+  At the desert's edge, where the grape-vines grow,
+In a sun-kissed ranch between grey-green sage-brush
+  And amethyst mountains, peaked with snow,
+Or watching the lights of the City of Angels
+  Glitter like stars below.
+
+He should walk, at dawn, by the lemon orchards,
+  And breathe at ease in that dry bright air;
+And the Spanish bells in their crumbling cloisters
+  Of brown adobe would sing to him there;
+And the old Franciscans would bring him their baskets
+  Of apple and olive and pear.
+
+And the mandolins, in the deep blue twilight,
+  Under that palm with the lion's mane,
+Would pluck, once more, at his golden heart-strings,
+  And tell him the old sea-tales of Spain;
+And there should the daughters of Hesperus teach him
+  Their mystical songs again.
+
+Then, the dusk blew sweet over seas of peach-bloom;
+  The moon sailed white in the cloudless blue;
+The tree-toads purred, and the crickets chirruped;
+  And better than anything dreamed came true;
+For, under the murmuring palms, a shadow
+  Passed, with the eyes I knew;
+
+A shadow, perhaps, of the tall green fountains
+  That rustled their fronds on that glittering sky,
+A hungering shadow, a lean dark shadow,
+  A dreaming shadow that drifted by;
+But I heard him whisper the strange dark music
+  That found it so "rich to die."
+
+And the murmuring palms of San Diego
+  Shook with stars as he passed beneath.
+The Paradise palms, and the wild white orchards,
+  The night, and its roses, were all one breath,
+Bearing the song of a nightingale seaward,
+  A song that had out-soared death.
+
+
+
+
+COMPENSATIONS
+
+
+Not with a flash that rends the blue
+  Shall fall the avenging sword.
+Gently as the evening dew
+  Descends the mighty Lord.
+
+His dreadful balances are made
+  To move with moon and tide;
+Yet shall not mercy be afraid
+  Nor justice be denied.
+
+The dreams that seemed to waste away,
+  The kindliness forgot,
+Were singing in your heart today
+  Although you knew them not.
+
+The sun shall not forget his road,
+  Nor the high stars their rhyme,
+The traveller with the heavier load
+  Has one less hill to climb.
+
+And, though a darker shadow fall
+  On every struggling age,
+How shall it be if, after all,
+  He share our pilgrimage?
+
+The end we mourn is not the end.
+  The dust has nimble wings.
+But truth and beauty have a friend
+  At the deep heart of things.
+
+He will not speak? What friend belies
+  His love with idle breath?
+We read it in each others' eyes,
+  And ask no more in death.
+
+
+
+
+DEAD MAN'S MORRICE
+
+
+There came a crowder to the Mermaid Inn,
+  One dark May night,
+Fiddling a tune that quelled our motley din,
+  With quaint delight,
+It haunts me yet, as old lost airs will do,
+  A phantom strain:
+_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+In that old wood, where ghosts of lovers walk,
+  At fall of day,
+Gleaning such fragments of their ancient talk
+  As poor ghosts may,
+From leaves that brushed their faces, wet with dew,
+  Or tears, or rain,...
+_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+Have we not seen them--pale forgotten shades
+  That do return,
+Groping for those dim paths, those fragrant glades,
+  Those nooks of fern,
+Only to find that, of the may they knew,
+  No wraiths remain;
+_Yet they still look, as I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+They see those happier ghosts that waned away--
+  Whither, who knows?--
+Ghosts that come back with music and the may,
+  And Spring's first rose,
+Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,
+  Stave and refrain:
+_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+So, after death, if in that starless deep,
+  I lose your eyes,
+I'll haunt familiar places. I'll not keep
+  Tryst in the skies.
+I'll haunt the whispering elms that found us true,
+  The old grass-grown lane.
+_Look for me there, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+There, as of old, under the dreaming moon,
+  A phantom throng
+Floats through the fern, to a ghostly morrice tune,
+  A thin sweet song,
+Hands link with hands, eyes drown in eyes anew,
+  Lips meet again....
+_Look for me, once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD FOOL IN THE WOOD
+
+
+"If I could whisper you all I know,"
+  Said the Old Fool in the Wood,
+"You'd never say that green leaves grow.
+  You'd say, 'Ah, what a happy mood
+The Master must be in today,
+  To think such thoughts,'
+That's what you'd say."
+
+"If I could whisper you all I've heard,"
+  Said the Old Fool in the fern,
+"You'd never say the song of a bird.
+  You'd say, 'I'll listen, and p'raps I'll learn
+One word of His joy as He passed this way,
+  One syllable more,'
+That's what you'd say."
+
+"If I could tell you all the rest,"
+  Said the Old Fool under the skies,
+"You'd hug your griefs against your breast
+  And whisper with love-lit eyes,
+'I am one with the sorrow that made the may,
+  And the pulse of His heart,'
+That's what you'd say."
+
+
+
+
+A NEW MADRIGAL TO AN OLD MELODY
+
+(It is supposed that Shadow-of-a-Leaf uses the word "clear" in a
+more ancient sense of "beautiful.")
+
+
+As along a dark pine-bough, in slender white mystery
+  The moon lay to listen, above the thick fern,
+In a deep dreaming wood that is older than history
+  I heard a lad sing, and I stilled me to learn;
+So rarely he lilted his long-forgot litany,--
+  _Fall, April; fall, April, in dew on our dearth!
+Bring balm, and bring poppy, bring deep sleepy dittany
+  For Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth._
+
+Then I drew back the branches. I saw him that chanted it.
+  I saw his fool's bauble. I knew his old grief.
+I knew that old greenwood and the shadow that haunted it,--
+  My fool, my lost jester, my _Shadow-of-a-Leaf_!
+And "why," I said, "why, all this while, have you left me so
+  Luckless in melody, lonely in mirth?"
+"Oh, why," he sang, "why has this world then bereft me so
+  Soon of my Marian, so long laid in earth?
+
+"In the years that are gone," he said, "love was more fortunate.
+  Grief was our minstrel of things that endure.
+Now, ashes and dust and this world grow importunate.
+  Time has no sorrow that time cannot cure.
+Once, we could lose, and the loss was worth cherishing.
+  Now, we may win, but, O, where is the worth?
+Memory and true love," he whispered, "are perishing,
+  With Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth."
+
+"Ah, no!" I said, "no! Since we grieve for our grief again,
+  Touch the old strings! Let us try the old stave!
+And memory may wake, like my _Shadow-of-a-Leaf_ again,
+  Singing of hope, in the dark, by a grave."
+So we sang it together--that long-forgot litany:--
+  _Fall, April; fall, April; bring new grief to birth.
+Bring wild herb of grace, and bring deep healing dittany,
+  For Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth._
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST BATTLE
+
+
+It is not over yet-the fight
+  Where those immortal dreamers failed.
+They stormed the citadels of night
+  And the night praised them--and prevailed.
+So long ago the cause was lost
+  We scarce distinguish friend from foe;
+But--if the dead can help it most--
+  The armies of the dead will grow.
+
+The world has all our banners now,
+  And filched our watchwords for its own.
+The world has crowned the "rebel's" brow
+  And millions crowd his lordly throne.
+The masks have altered. Names are names;
+  They praise the "truth" that is not true.
+The "rebel" that the world acclaims
+  Is not the rebel Shelley knew.
+
+We may not build that Commonweal.
+  We may not reach the goal we set.
+But there's a flag they dare not steal.
+  Forward! It is not over yet.
+We shall be dust and under dust
+  Before we end that ancient wrong;
+But here's a sword that cannot rust,
+  And where's the death can touch a song?
+
+So, when our bodies rot in earth
+  The singing souls that once were ours,
+Weaponed with light and helmed with mirth,
+  Shall front the kingdoms and the powers.
+The ancient lie is on its throne,
+  And half the living still forget;
+But, since the dead are all our own,
+  Courage, it is not over yet.
+
+
+
+
+RIDDLES OF MERLIN
+
+
+As I was walking
+  Alone by the sea,
+"_What is that whisper?_"
+  Said Merlin to me.
+"Only," I answered,
+  "The sigh of the wave"--
+"_Oh, no_," replied Merlin,
+  "_'Tis the grass on your grave_."
+
+As I lay dreaming
+  In churchyard ground
+"_Listen_," said Merlin,
+  "_What is that sound_?"
+"The green grass is growing,"
+  I answered; but he
+Chuckled, "_Oh, no!
+  'Tis the sound of the sea_."
+
+As I went homeward
+  At dusk by the shore,
+"_What is that crimson?_"
+  Said Merlin once more.
+"Only the sun," I said.
+"Sinking to rest"--
+"_Sunset for East_," he said,
+  "_Sunrise for West_."
+
+
+
+
+THE SYMPHONY
+
+
+Wonder in happy eyes
+  Fades, fades away:
+And the angel-coloured skies
+  Whisper farewell.
+
+Loveliness over the strings of the heart may stray
+  In fugitive melodies;
+But Oh, the hand of the Master must not stay,
+  Even for a breath;
+
+For to prolong one joy, or even to dwell
+  On one rich chord of pain,
+Beyond the pulse of the song, would untune heaven
+  And drown the stars in death.
+
+So youth with its love-note dies;
+  And beauty fades in the air,
+To make the master-symphony immortal,
+  And find new life and deeper wonder there.
+
+
+
+
+PEACE
+
+
+Give me the pulse of the tide again
+  And the slow lapse of the leaves,
+The rustling gold of a field of grain
+  And a bird in the nested eaves;
+
+And a fishing-smack in the old harbour
+  Where all was happy and young;
+And an echo or two of the songs I knew
+  When songs could still be sung.
+
+For I would empty my heart of all
+  This world's implacable roar,
+And I would turn to my home, and fall
+  Asleep in my home once more;
+
+And I would forget what the cities say,
+  And the folly of all the wise,
+And turn to my own true folk this day,
+  And the love in their constant eyes.
+
+There is peace, peace, where the sea-birds wheel,
+  And peace in the breaking wave;
+And I have a broken heart to heal,
+  And a broken soul to save.
+
+
+
+
+THE OPEN DOOR
+
+
+O Mystery of life,
+That, after all our strife,
+  Defeats, mistakes,
+Just as, at last, we see
+The road to victory,
+  The tired heart breaks.
+
+Just as the long years give
+Knowledge of how to live,
+  Life's end draws near;
+As if, that gift being ours,
+God needed our new powers
+  In worlds elsewhere.
+
+There, if the soul whose wings
+Were won in suffering, springs
+  To life anew,
+Justice would have some room
+For hope beyond the tomb,
+  And mercy, too.
+
+And since, without this dream
+No light, no faintest gleam
+  Answers our "why";
+But earth and all its race
+Must pass and leave no trace
+  On that blind sky;
+
+Shall reason close that door
+On all we struggled for,
+  Seal the soul's doom;
+Make of this universe
+One wild answering curse,
+  One lampless tomb?
+
+Mine be the dream, the creed
+That leaves for God, indeed,
+  For God, and man,
+One open door whereby
+To prove His world no lie
+  And crown His plan.
+
+
+
+
+IMMORTAL SAILS
+
+
+Now, in a breath, we'll burst those gates of gold,
+  And ransack heaven before our moment fails.
+Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old,
+  We'll mount and sing and spread immortal sails.
+
+It is not time that makes eternity.
+  Love and an hour may quite out-run the years,
+And give us more to hear and more to see
+  Than life can wash away with all its tears.
+
+Dear, when we part, at last, that sunset sky
+  Shall not be touched with deeper hues than this;
+But we shall ride the lightning ere we die
+  And seize our brief infinitude of bliss,
+
+With time to spare for all that heaven can tell,
+While eyes meet eyes, and look their last farewell.
+
+
+
+
+THE MATIN-SONG OF FRIAR TUCK
+
+
+I.
+
+If souls could sing to heaven's high King
+  As blackbirds pipe on earth,
+How those delicious courts would ring
+  With gusts of lovely mirth!
+What white-robed throng could lift a song
+  So mellow with righteous glee
+As this brown bird that all day long
+  Delights my hawthorn tree.
+    Hark! That's the thrush
+      With speckled breast
+    From yon white bush
+      Chaunting his best,
+  _Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!_
+
+
+II.
+
+If earthly dreams be touched with gleams
+  Of Paradisal air,
+Some wings, perchance, of earth may glance
+  Around our slumbers there;
+Some breaths of may might drift our way
+  With scents of leaf and loam,
+Some whistling bird at dawn be heard
+  From those old woods of home.
+    Hark! That's the thrush
+      With speckled breast
+    From yon white bush
+      Chaunting his best,
+  _Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!_
+
+
+III.
+
+No King or priest shall mar my feast
+  Where'er my soul may range.
+I have no fear of heaven's good cheer
+  Unless our Master change.
+But when death's night is dying away,
+  If I might choose my bliss,
+My love should say, at break of day,
+  With her first waking kiss:-
+    Hark! That's the thrush
+      With speckled breast,
+    From yon white bush
+      Chaunting his best,
+  _Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!_
+
+
+
+
+FIVE CRITICISMS
+
+
+I.
+
+(_On many recent novels by the conventional unconventionalists_.)
+
+Old Pantaloon, lean-witted, dour and rich,
+  After grim years of soul-destroying greed,
+Weds Columbine, that April-blooded witch
+  "Too young" to know that gold was not her need.
+
+Then enters Pierrot, young, rebellious, warm,
+  With well-lined purse, to teach the fine-souled wife
+That the old fool's gold should aid a world-reform
+  (Confused with sex). This wrecks the old fool's life.
+
+O, there's no doubt that Pierrot was clever,
+  Quick to break hearts and quench the dying flame;
+But why, for his own pride, does Pierrot never
+  Choose his own mate, work for his own high aim,
+
+Stand on his feet, and pay for his own tune?
+Why scold, cheat, rob and kill poor Pantaloon?
+
+
+II.
+
+(_On a certain goddess, acclaimed as "new" but known in Babylon._)
+
+I saw the assembled artists of our day
+  Waiting for light, for music and for song.
+A woman stood before them, fresh as May
+  And beautiful; but, in that modish throng,
+
+None heeded her. They said, "In our first youth
+  Surely, long since, your hair was touched with grey."
+"I do not change," she answered. "I am Truth."
+  "Old and banal," they sneered, and turned away.
+
+Then came a formless thing, with breasts dyed scarlet.
+  The roses in her hair were green and blue.
+    "I am new," she said. "I change, and
+      Death knows why."
+
+Then with the eyes and gesture of a harlot
+  She led them all forth, whinneying, "New, how new!
+    Tell us your name!" She answered, "The
+      New Lie."
+
+
+III.
+
+(_On Certain of the Bolsheviki "Idealists."_)
+
+With half the force and thought you waste in rage
+  Over your neighbor's house, or heart of stone,
+You might have built your own new heritage,
+  O fools, have you no hands, then, of your own?
+
+Where is your pride? Is this your answer still,
+  This the red flag that burns above our strife,
+This the new cry that rings from Pisgah hill,
+  "_Our neighbor's money, or our neighbor's life_"?
+
+Be prouder. Let us build that nobler state
+  With our own hands, with our own muscle and brain!
+Your very victories die in hymns of hate;
+  And your own envies are your heaviest chain.
+
+Is there no rebel proud enough to say
+  "We'll stand on our own feet, and win the day"?
+
+
+IV.
+
+(_On Certain Realists._)
+
+You with the quick sardonic eye
+For all the mockeries of life,
+Beware, in this dark masque of things that seem,
+Lest even that tragic irony,
+Which you discern in this our mortal strife,
+Trick you and trap you, also, with a dream.
+
+Last night I saw a dead man borne along
+The city streets, passing a boisterous throng
+That never ceased to laugh and shout and dance:
+And yet, and yet,
+For all the poison bitter minds might brew
+From themes like this, I knew
+That the stern Truth would not permit her glance
+Thus to be foiled by flying straws of chance,
+For her keen eyes on deeper skies are set,
+And laws that tragic ironists forget.
+
+She saw the dead man's life, from birth to death,--
+All that he knew of love and sin and pain,
+Success and failure (not as this world sees),
+His doubts, his passions, inner loss and gain,
+And borne on darker tides of constant law
+Beyond the margin of this life she saw
+All that had left his body with the breath.
+These things, to her, were still realities.
+
+If any mourned for him unseen,
+She saw them, too.
+If none, she'd not pretend
+His clay were colder, or his God less true,
+Or that his grave, at length, would be less green.
+She'd not deny
+The boundless depths of her eternal sky
+Brooding above a boundless universe,
+Because he seemed to man's unseeing eye
+Going a little further to fare worse;
+Nor would she assume he lacked that unseen friend
+Whom even the tragic ironists declare
+Were better than the seen, in his last end.
+
+Oh, then, beware, beware,
+Lest in the strong name of "reality"
+You mock yourselves anew with shapes of air,
+Lest it be you, agnostics, who re-write
+The fettering creeds of night,
+Affirm you know your own Unknowable,
+And lock the wingéd soul in a new hell;
+Lest it be you, lip-worshippers of Truth,
+Who break the heart of youth;
+Lest it be you, the realists, who fight
+With shadows, and forget your own pure light;
+Lest it be you who, with a little shroud
+Snatched from the sightless faces of the dead,
+Hoodwink the world, and keep the mourner bowed
+In dust, real dust, with stones, real stones, for bread;
+Lest, as you look one eighth of an inch beneath
+The yellow skin of death,
+You dream yourselves discoverers of the skull
+That old _memento mori_ of our faith;
+Lest it be you who hunt a flying wraith
+Through this dissolving stuff of hill and cloud;
+Lest it be you, who, at the last, annul
+Your covenant with your kind;
+Lest it be you who darken heart and mind,
+Sell the strong soul in bondage to a dream,
+And fetter us once more to things that seem.
+
+
+V
+
+(_An Answer_)
+
+[After reading an article in a leading London journal by an
+"intellectual" who attacked one of the noblest poets and greatest
+artists of a former century (or any century) on the ground that his
+high ethical standards were incompatible with the new lawlessness.
+This vicious lawlessness the writer described definitely, and he paid
+his tribute to dishonour as openly and brutally as any of the Bolsheviki
+could have done. I had always known that this was the real
+ground of the latter-day onslaught on some of the noblest literature
+of the past; but I had never seen it openly confessed before. The
+time has now surely come when, if our civilization is to make any
+fight at all against the new "red ruin and breaking up of laws," we
+must cease to belaud our slack-minded, latter-day "literature of
+rebellion" for its cleverness in making scraps of paper out of the
+plain laws of right and wrong. It has been doing this for more than
+twenty-five years, and the same has become fashionable among
+those who are too busy to read carefully or understand fully what
+pitfalls are being prepared for their own feet and the feet of their
+children.]
+
+
+I
+
+If this were true, England indeed were dead.
+  If the wild fashion of that poisonous hour
+  Wherein the new Salome, clothed with power,
+Wriggled and hissed, with hands and feet so red,
+Should even now demand that glorious head,
+  Whose every word was like an English flower,
+  Whose every song an English April shower,
+Whose every thought immortal wine and bread;
+If this were true, if England should prefer
+  Darkness, corruption, and the adulterous crew,
+Shakespeare and Browning would cry shame on her,
+  And Milton would deny the land he knew;
+And those who died in Flanders yesterday
+Would thank their God they sleep in cleaner clay.
+
+
+II
+
+It is not true. Only these "rebel" wings,
+  These glittering clouds of "intellectual" flies
+  Out of the stagnant pools of midnight rise
+From the old dead creeds, with carrion-poisoned stings
+  They strike at noble and ignoble things,
+  Immortal Love with the old world's out-worn lies,
+  But even now, a wind from clearer skies
+Dissolves in smoke their coteries and wings.
+
+See, their divorced idealist re-divorces
+  The wife he stole from his own stealing friend!
+And _these_ would pluck the high stars from their courses,
+  And mock the fools that praise them, till the end!
+Well, let the whole world praise them. Truth can wait
+Till our new England shall unlock the gate.
+
+
+III
+
+Yes. Let the fools go paint themselves with woad,
+  For we've a jest between us, Truth and I.
+  We know that those who live by fashion die
+Also by fashion, and that mode kills mode.
+We know the great new age is on the road,
+  And death is at the heart of every lie.
+  But we've a jest between us, Truth and I.
+And we have locked the doors to our abode.
+
+Yet if some great new "rebel" in his pride
+  Should pass that way and hear us laughing low
+Like lovers, in the darkness, side by side,
+  He might catch this:--"The dullards do not know
+That names are names. New 'rebel' is old 'thrall.'"
+And we're the lonely dreamers after all.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPANIONS
+
+
+How few are they that voyage through the night
+  On that eternal quest,
+For that strange light beyond our light,
+  That rest beyond our rest.
+
+And they who, seeking beauty, once descry
+  Her face, to most unknown;
+Thenceforth like changelings from the sky
+  Must walk their road alone.
+
+So once I dreamed. So idle was my mood;
+  But now, before these eyes,
+From those foul trenches, black with blood,
+  What radiant legions rise!
+
+And loveliness over the wounded earth awakes
+  Like wild-flowers in the Spring.
+Out of the mortal chrysalis breaks
+  Immortal wing on wing.
+
+They rise like flowers, they wander on wings of light,
+  Through realms beyond our ken.
+The loneliest soul is companied tonight
+  By hosts of unknown men.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE ROADS
+
+
+The great roads are all grown over
+  That seemed so firm and white.
+The deep black forests have covered them.
+  How should I walk aright?
+How should I thread these tangled mazes,
+  Or grope to that far off light?
+I stumble round the thickets, and they turn me
+  Back to the thickets and the night.
+
+Yet, sometimes, at a word, an elfin pass-word,
+  (O, thin, deep, sweet with beaded rain!)
+There shines, through a mist of ragged-robins,
+  The old lost April-coloured lane,
+That leads me from myself; for, at a whisper,
+  Where the strong limbs thrust in vain,
+At a breath, if my heart help another heart,
+  The path shines out for me again.
+
+A thin thread, a rambling lane for lovers
+  To the light of the world's one May,
+Where the white dropping flakes may wet our faces
+  As we lift them to the bloom-bowed spray:
+O Master, shall we ask Thee, then, for high-roads,
+  Or down upon our knees and pray
+That Thou wilt ever lose us in Thy little lanes,
+  And lead us by a wandering way.
+
+
+
+
+SUNLIGHT AND SEA
+
+
+Give me the sunlight and the sea
+And who shall take my heaven from me?
+
+Light of the Sun, Life of the Sun,
+O happy, bold companion,
+Whose golden laughters round me run,
+Making wine of the blue air
+With wild-rose kisses everywhere,
+Browning the limb, flushing the cheek,
+Apple-fragrant, leopard-sleek,
+Dancing from thy red-curtained East
+Like a Nautch-girl to my feast,
+Proud because her lord, the Spring,
+Praised the way those anklets ring;
+Or wandering like a white Greek maid
+Leaf-dappled through the dancing shade,
+Where many a green-veined leaf imprints
+Breast and limb with emerald tints,
+That softly net her silken shape
+But let the splendour still escape,
+While rosy ghosts of roses flow
+Over the supple rose and snow.
+
+But sweetest, fairest is thy face,
+When we meet, when we embrace,
+Where the white sand sleeps at noon
+Round that lonely blue lagoon,
+Fringed with one white reef of coral
+Where the sea-birds faintly quarrel
+And the breakers on the reef
+Fade into a dream of grief,
+And the palm-trees overhead
+Whisper that all grief is dead.
+
+Sister Sunlight, lead me then
+Into thy healing seas again....
+For when we swim out, side by side,
+Like a lover with his bride,
+When thy lips are salt with brine,
+And thy wild eyes flash in mine,
+The music of a mightier sea
+Beats with my blood in harmony.
+I breast the primal flood of being,
+Too clear for speech, too near for seeing;
+And to his heart, new reconciled,
+The Eternal takes his earth-bound child.
+
+Who the essential secret spells
+In those gigantic syllables,--
+Flowing, ebbing, ebbing, flowing,--
+Gathers wisdom past all knowing.
+Song of the Sea, I hear, I hear,
+That deeper music of the sphere,
+Catch the rhythm of sun and star,
+And know what light and darkness are;
+Ay, faint beginnings of a rhyme
+That swells beyond the tides of time;
+Beat with thy rhythm in blood and breath,
+And make one song of life and death.
+I hear, I hear, and rest content,
+Merged in the primal element,
+The old element whence life arose,
+The fount of youth, to which it goes.
+
+Give me the sunlight and the sea
+And who shall take my heaven from me?
+
+
+
+
+THE ROAD THROUGH CHAOS
+
+
+I.
+
+There is one road, one only, to the Light:
+  A narrow way, but Freedom walks therein;
+A straight, firm road through Chaos and old Night,
+  And all these wandering Jack-o-Lents of Sin.
+
+It is the road of Law, where Pilate stays
+  To hear, at last, the answer to his cry;
+And mighty sages, groping through their maze
+  Of eager questions, hear a child reply.
+
+_Truth? What is Truth?_ Come, look upon my tables.
+  Begin at your beginnings once again.
+_Twice one is two!_ Though all the rest be fables,
+  Here's one poor glimpse of Truth to keep you sane.
+
+For Truth, at first, is clean accord with fact,
+Whether in line or thought, or word, or act.
+
+
+II.
+
+Then, by those first, those clean, precise, accords,
+  Build to the Lord your temples and your song;
+The curves of beauty, music's wedded chords
+  Resolving into heaven all hate and wrong.
+
+Let harmonies of colour marry and follow
+  And breaking waves in a rhythmic dance ensue;
+And all your thought fly free as the wings of the swallow,
+  Whose arrowy curves obey their measure, too.
+
+Then shall the marching stars and tides befriend you,
+  And your own heart, and the world's heart, pulse in rhyme;
+Then shall the mob of the passions that would rend you
+  Crown you their Captain and march on in time.
+
+So shall you repossess your struggling soul,
+Conquer your world, and find the eternal goal.
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT OF THE LION
+
+"_And that a reply be received before midnight._"
+_British Ultimatum_.
+
+
+Their Day was at twelve of the night,
+  When the graves give up their dead.
+And still, from the City, no light
+  Yellows the clouds overhead.
+Where the Admiral stands there's a star,
+  But his column is lost in the gloom;
+For the brazen doors are ajar,
+  And the Lion awakes, and the doom.
+
+_He is not of a chosen race.
+  His strength is the strength of the skies,
+In whose glory all nations have place,
+  In whose downfall Liberty dies.
+He is mighty, but he is just.
+  He shall live to the end of years.
+He shall bring the proud to the dust.
+  He shall raise the weak to the spheres._
+
+It is night on the world's great mart,
+  But the brooding hush is awake
+With the march of a steady heart
+  That calls like the drum of Drake,
+_Come!_ And a muttering deep
+  As the pulse of the distant guns,
+Or the thunder before the leap
+  Thro' the rolling thoroughfare runs.
+
+And the wounded men go by
+  Like thoughts in the Lion's brain.
+And the clouds lift on high
+  Like the slow waves of his mane
+And the narrowing lids conceal
+  The furnaces of his eyes.
+Their gold is gone out. They reveal
+Only two search-lights of steel
+  Steadily sweeping the skies.
+
+And we hoped he had peace in his lair
+  Where the bones of old tyrannies lay,
+And the skulls that his cubs have stripped bare,
+  The old skulls they still toss in their play.
+But the tyrants are risen again,
+  And the last light dies from their path;
+For the midnight of his mane
+  Lifts to the stars with his wrath.
+
+From the East to the West he is crouching.
+  He snuffs at the North-East wind.
+His breast upon Britain is couching.
+  His haunches quiver on Ind.
+It is night, black night, where he lies;
+  But a kingdom and a fleet
+Shall burn in his terrible eyes
+When he leaps, and the darkness dies
+  With the War-gods under his feet.
+
+_Till the day when a little child,
+  Shall lay but a hand on his mane,
+And his eyes grow golden and mild
+  And he stands in the heavens again;
+Till the day of the seventh seal,
+  Which the Lion alone shall rend,
+When the stars from their courses reel,
+  His Freedom shall not end._
+
+
+
+
+THE WAR WIDOW
+
+
+I.
+
+Black-veiled, black-gowned, she rides in bus and train,
+  With eyes that fill too listlessly for tears.
+Her waxen hands clasp and unclasp again.
+  _Good News_, they cry. She neither sees nor hears.
+
+Good News, perhaps, may crown some far-off king.
+  Good News may peal the glory of the state--
+Good News may cause the courts of heaven to ring.
+  She sees a hand waved at a garden gate.
+
+For her dull ears are tuned to other themes;
+  And her dim eyes can never see aright.
+She glides--a ghost--through all her April dreams,
+  To meet his eyes at dawn, his lips at night.
+
+Wraiths of a truth that others never knew;
+And yet--for her--the only truth that's true.
+
+
+II.
+
+_Good News! Good News!_ There is no way but this.
+  Out of the night a star begins to rise.
+I know not where my soul's deep Master is;
+  Nor can I hear those angels in the skies;
+
+Nor follow him, as childhood used of old,
+  By radiant seas, in those time-hallowed tales.
+Only, at times, implacable and cold,
+  From this blind gloom, stand out the iron nails.
+
+Yet, at this world's heart stands the Eternal Cross,
+  The ultimate frame of moon and star and sun,
+Where Love with out-stretched arms, in utter loss,
+  Points East and West and makes the whole world one.
+
+_Good News! Good News!_ There is no hope, no way,
+No truth, no life, but leads through Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+THE BELL
+
+
+The Temple Bell was out of tune,
+That once out-melodied sun and moon.
+
+Instead of calling folk to prayer
+It spread an evil in the air.
+
+Instead of a song, from north to south,
+It put a lie in the wind's mouth.
+
+The very palms beneath it died,
+So harsh it jarred, so loud it lied.
+
+Then the gods told the blue-robed bonze:
+"_Your Bell is only wrought of bronze._
+
+_Lower it down, cast it again,
+Or you shall shake the heavens in vain._"
+
+Then, as the mighty cauldron hissed,
+Men brought the wealth that no man missed.
+
+Yea, they brought silver, they brought gold,
+And melted them into the seething mould.
+
+The miser brought his greening hoard,
+And the king cast in his sword.
+
+Yet, when the Bell in the Temple swung,
+It jarred the stars with its harsh tongue.
+
+"_Is this your best?_" the oracle said,
+"_Then were you better drunk or dead._"
+
+Once again they melted it down,
+And the king cast in his crown.
+
+Then they poured wine, and bullock's blood,
+Into the hot, grey, seething flood.
+
+They gave it mellowing fruits to eat,
+And honey-combs to make it sweet.
+
+Yet, when they hauled it to the sky,
+The Bell was one star-shattering lie.
+
+So, for the third time and the last,
+They lowered it down to be re-cast.
+
+The white-hot metal seethed anew,
+And the crowd shrank as the heat grew;
+
+But a white-robed woman, queenly and tall,
+Pressed to the brink before them all,
+
+One breast, like a golden fruit lay bare;
+She held her small son feeding there.
+
+She plucked him off, she lifted him high,
+Like rose-red fruit on the blue sky.
+
+She pressed her lips to the budded feet,
+And murmured softly, "_Oh, sweet, my sweet._"
+
+She whispered, "_Gods, that my land may live,
+I give the best that I have to give!_"
+
+Then, then, before the throng awoke,
+Before one cry from their white lips broke,
+
+She tossed him into the fiery flood,
+Her child, her baby, her flesh and blood.
+
+And the crisp hissing waves closed round
+And melted him through without a sound.
+
+"_Too quick for pain_," they heard her say,
+And she sobbed, once, and she turned away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Temple Bell, in peace and war,
+Keeps the measure of sun and star.
+
+But sometimes, in the night it cries
+Faintly, and a voice replies:
+
+_Mother, Oh, mother, the Bell rings true!--
+  You were all that I had!--Oh, mother, my mother!--
+With the land and the Bell it is well. Is it well,
+  Is it well with the heart that had you and none other?_
+
+
+
+
+SLAVE AND EMPEROR
+
+"Our cavalry have rescued Nazareth from the enemy whose supermen
+described Christianity as a creed for slaves."
+
+
+The Emperor mocked at Nazareth
+  In his almighty hour.
+The Slave that bowed himself to death
+And walked with slaves in Nazareth,
+What were his words but wasted breath
+  Before that "will to power"?
+
+Yet, in the darkest hour of all,
+  When black defeat began,
+The Emperor heard the mountains quake,
+He felt the graves beneath him shake,
+He watched his legions rally and break,
+  And he whimpered as they ran.
+
+"I hear a shout that moves the earth,
+  A cry that wakes the dead!
+Will no one tell me whence they come,
+For all my messengers are dumb?
+What power is this that comes to birth
+  And breaks my power?" he said.
+
+Then, all around his foundering guns,
+  Though dawn was now not far,
+The darkness filled with a living fear
+That whispered at the Emperor's ear,
+"_The armies of the dead draw near
+  Beneath an eastern star._"
+
+_The trumpet blows in Nazareth.
+  The Slave is risen again.
+Across the bitter wastes of death
+The horsemen ride from Nazareth,
+And the Power we mocked as wasted breath
+  Returns, in power, to reign;
+Rides on, in white, through Nazareth,
+  To save His world again._
+
+
+
+
+ON A MOUNTAIN TOP
+
+
+On this high altar, fringed with ferns
+  That darken against the sky,
+The dawn in lonely beauty burns
+  And all our evils die.
+
+The struggling sea that roared below
+  Is quieter than the dew,
+Quieter than the clouds that flow
+  Across the stainless blue.
+
+On this bare crest, the angels kneel
+  And breathe the sweets that rise
+From flowers too little to reveal
+  Their beauty to our eyes.
+
+I have seen Edens on the earth
+  With queenly blooms arrayed;
+But here the fairest come to birth,
+  The smallest flowers He made.
+
+O, high above the sounding pine,
+  And richer, sweeter far,
+The wild thyme wakes. The celandine
+  Looks at the morning star.
+
+They may not see the heavens unfold.
+  They breathe no out-worn prayer;
+But, on a mountain, as of old,
+  His glory fills the air.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EARLY POEMS
+
+(_Not Published Hitherto in America_)
+
+
+
+
+THE PHANTOM FLEET
+(1904)
+
+
+The sunset lingered in the pale green West:
+  In rosy wastes the low soft evening star
+Woke; while the last white sea-mew sought for rest;
+  And tawny sails came stealing o'er the bar.
+
+But, in the hillside cottage, through the panes
+  The light streamed like a thin far trumpet-call,
+And quickened, as with quivering battle-stains,
+  The printed ships that decked the parlour wall.
+
+From oaken frames old admirals looked down:
+  They saw the lonely slumberer at their feet:
+They saw the paper, headed _Talk from Town;
+  Our rusting trident, and our phantom fleet_:
+
+And from a neighbouring tavern surged a song
+  Of England laughing in the face of war,
+With eyes unconquerably proud and strong,
+  And lips triumphant from her Trafalgar.
+
+But he, the slumberer in that glimmering room,
+  Saw distant waters glide and heave and gleam;
+Around him in the softly coloured gloom
+  The pictures clustered slowly to a dream.
+
+He saw how England, resting on her past,
+  Among the faded garlands of her dead,
+Woke; for a whisper reached her heart at last,
+  And once again she raised her steel-clad head.
+
+Her eyes were filled with sudden strange alarms;
+  She heard the westering waters change and chime;
+She heard the distant tumult of her arms
+  Defeated, not by courage, but by Time.
+
+Knowledge had made a deadlier pact with death,
+  Nor strength nor steel availed against that bond:
+Slowly approached--and Britain held her breath--
+  The battle booming from the deeps beyond.
+
+O, then what darkness rolled upon the wind,
+  Threatening the torch that Britain held on high?
+Where all her navies, baffled, broken, blind,
+  Slunk backward, snarling in their agony!
+  _Who guards the gates of Freedom now?_ The cry
+Stabbed heaven! _England, the shattered ramparts fall!_
+  Then, like a trumpet shivering through the sky
+O, like white lightning rending the black pall
+Of heaven, an answer pealed: _Her dead shall hear that call._
+
+Then came a distant light of great waves breaking
+  That brought the sunset on each crumbling crest,
+A rumour as of buried ages waking,
+  And mighty spirits rising from their rest;
+  Then ghostly clouds arose, with billowing breast,
+White clouds that turned to sails upon their way,
+  Red clouds that burned like flags against the West,
+Till even the conquering fleet in silence lay
+Dazed with that strange old light, and night grew bright as day.
+
+_We come to fight for Freedom!_ The great East
+  Heard, and was rent asunder like a veil.
+Host upon host out of the night increased
+  Its towering clouds and crowded zones of sail:
+  _England, our England, canst thou faint or fail?
+We come to fight for Freedom yet once more!_
+  This, this is ours at least! Count the great tale
+Of all these dead that rise to guard thy shore
+By right of the red life they never feared to pour.
+
+_We come to fight for Freedom!_ On they came,
+  One cloud of beauty sweeping the wild sea;
+And there, through all their thousands, flashed like flame
+  That star-born signal of the Victory:
+  _Duty_, that deathless lantern of the free;
+_Duty_, that makes a god of every man.
+  And there was Nelson, watching silently
+As through the phantom fleet the message ran;
+And his tall frigate rushed before the stormy van.
+
+Nelson, our Nelson, frail and maimed and blind,
+  Stretched out his dead cold face against the foe:
+And England's Raleigh followed hard behind,
+  With all his eager fighting heart aglow;
+  Glad, glad for England's sake once more to know
+The old joy of battle and contempt of pain;
+  Glad, glad to die, if England willed it so,
+The traitor's and the coward's death again;
+But hurl the world back now as once he hurled back Spain.
+
+And there were all those others, Drake and Blake,
+  Rodney and Howard, Byron, Collingwood;
+With deathless eyes aflame for England's sake,
+  As on their ancient decks they proudly stood,--
+  Decks washed of old with England's purplest blood;
+And there, once more, each rushing oaken side
+  Bared its dark-throated, thirsty, gleaming brood
+Of cannon, watched by laughing lads who died
+Long, long ago for England and her ancient pride.
+
+_We come to fight for England!_ The great sea
+  In a wild light of song began to break
+Round that tall phantom of the Victory
+  And all the foam was music in her wake:
+  Ship after phantom ship, with guns a-rake
+And shot-rent flags a-stream from every mast
+  Moved in a deepening splendour, not to make
+A shield for England of her own dead past;
+But, with a living dream to arm her soul at last.
+
+_We come to die for England_: through the hush
+  Of gathered nations rose that regal cry,
+From naked oaken walls one word could crush
+  If those vast armoured throats dared to reply:
+  But there the most implacable enemy
+Felt his eyes fill with gladder, prouder tears,
+  As Nelson's calm eternal face went by,
+Gazing beyond all perishable fears
+To some diviner goal above the waste of years.
+
+Through the hushed fleets the vision streamed away,
+  Then slowly turned once more to that deep West,
+While voices cried, O, England, the new day
+  Is dawning, but thy soul can take no rest.
+
+Thy freedom and thy peace are only thine
+  By right of toil on every land and sea
+And by that crimson sacrificial wine
+  Of thine own heart and thine own agony.
+
+Peace is not slumber. Peace, in every hour,
+  Throbs like the heart of music. This alone
+Can save thy heritage and confirm that power
+  Whereof the past is but the cushioned throne.
+
+Look to the fleet! Again and yet again,
+  Hear us who storm thy heart with this one cry.
+Hear us, who cannot help, though fair and fain,
+  To hold thy seas before thee, and to die.
+
+Look to the fleet! Thy fleet, the first, last line:
+  The sword of Liberty, her strength, her shield,
+Her food, her life-blood! Britain, it is thine,
+  Here, now, to hold that birth-right, or to yield.
+
+So, through the dark, those phantom ships of old
+  Faded, it seemed, through mists of blood and tears.
+Sails turned to clouds, and slowly westward rolled
+  The sad returning pageant of the years.
+On tides of light, where all our tumults cease,
+  Through that rich West, the Victory returned;
+And all the waves around her whispered "peace,"
+  And from her mast no battle-message burned.
+
+Like clouds, like fragments of those fading skies,
+  The pageant passed, with all its misty spars,
+While the hushed nations raised their dreaming eyes
+  To that great light which brings the end of wars.
+
+Ship after ship, in some strange glory drowned,
+  Cloud after cloud, was lost in that deep light
+Each with a sovran stillness haloed round.
+  Then--that high fleet of stars led on the night.
+
+
+
+
+MICHAEL OAKTREE
+
+
+Under an arch of glorious leaves I passed
+Out of the wood and saw the sickle moon
+Floating in daylight o'er the pale green sea.
+
+It was the quiet hour before the sun
+Gathers the clouds to prayer and silently
+Utters his benediction on the waves
+That whisper round the death-bed of the day.
+The labourers were returning from the farms
+And children danced to meet them. From the doors
+Of cottages there came a pleasant clink
+Where busy hands laid out the evening meal.
+From smouldering elms around the village spire
+There soared and sank the caw of gathering rooks.
+The faint-flushed clouds were listening to the tale
+The sea tells to the sunset with one sigh.
+The last white wistful sea-bird sought for peace,
+And the last fishing-boat stole o'er the bar,
+And fragrant grasses, murmuring a prayer,
+Bowed all together to the holy west,
+Bowed all together thro' the golden hush,
+The breathing hush, the solemn scented hush,
+The holy, holy hush of eventide.
+
+And, in among the ferns that crowned the hill
+With waving green and whispers of the wind,
+A boy and girl, carelessly linking hands,
+Into their golden dream drifted away.
+On that rich afternoon of scent and song
+Old Michael Oaktree died. It was not much
+He wished for; but indeed I think he longed
+To see the light of summer once again
+Blossoming o'er the far blue hills. I know
+He used to like his rough-hewn wooden bench
+Placed in the sun outside the cottage door
+Where in the listening stillness he could hear,
+Across the waving gilly-flowers that crowned
+His crumbling garden wall, the long low sigh
+Of supreme peace that whispers to the hills
+The sacred consolation of the sea.
+He did not hope for much: he longed to live
+Until the winter came again, he said;
+But on the last sweet eve of May he died.
+
+I wandered sadly through the dreaming lanes
+Down to the cottage on that afternoon;
+For I had known old Michael Oaktree now
+So many years, so many happy years.
+When I was little he had carried me
+High on his back to see the harvest home,
+And given me many a ride upon his wagon
+Among the dusty scents of sun and hay.
+He showed me how to snare the bulky trout
+That lurked under the bank of yonder brook.
+Indeed, he taught me many a country craft,
+For I was apt to learn, and, as I learnt,
+I loved the teacher of that homely lore.
+Deep in my boyish heart he shared the glad
+Influence of the suns and winds and waves,
+Giving my childhood what it hungered for--
+The rude earth-wisdom of the primal man.
+
+He had retained his childhood: Death for him
+Had no more terror than his bed. He walked
+With wind and sunlight like a brother, glad
+Of their companionship and mutual aid.
+We, toilers after truth, are weaned too soon
+From earth's dark arms and naked barbarous breast.
+Too soon, too soon, we leave the golden feast,
+Fetter the dancing limbs and pluck the crown
+Of roses from the dreaming brow. We pass
+Our lives in most laborious idleness.
+For we have lost the meaning of the world;
+We have gone out into the night too soon;
+We have mistaken all the means of grace
+And over-rated our small power to learn.
+And the years move so swiftly over us:
+We have so little time to live in worlds
+Unrealised and unknown realms of joy,
+We are so old before we learn how vain
+Our effort was, how fruitlessly we cast
+Our Bread upon the waters, and how weak
+Our hearts were, but our chance desires how strong!
+Then, in the dark, our sense of light decays;
+We cannot cry to God as once we cried!
+Lost in the gloom, our faith, perhaps our love,
+Lies dead with years that never can return.
+
+But Michael Oaktree was a man whose love
+Had never waned through all his eighty years.
+His faith was hardly faith. He seemed a part
+Of all that he believed in. He had lived
+In constant conversation with the sun,
+The wind, the silence and the heart of peace;
+In absolute communion with the Power
+That rules all action and all tides of thought,
+And all the secret courses of the stars;
+The Power that still establishes on earth
+Desire and worship, through the radiant laws
+Of Duty, Love and Beauty; for through these
+As through three portals of the self-same gate
+The soul of man attains infinity,
+And enters into Godhead. So he gained
+On earth a fore-taste of Nirvana, not
+The void of eastern dream, but the desire
+And goal of all of us, whether thro' lives
+Innumerable, by slow degrees, we near
+The death divine, or from this breaking body
+Of earthly death we flash at once to God.
+Through simple love and simple faith, this man
+Attained a height above the hope of kings.
+
+Yet, as I softly shut the little gate
+And walked across the garden, all the scents
+Of mingling blossom ached like inmost pain
+Deep in my heart, I know not why. They seemed
+Distinct, distinct as distant evening bells
+Tolling, over the sea, a secret chime
+That breaks and breaks and breaks upon the heart
+In sorrow rather than in sound, a chime
+Strange as a streak of sunset to the moon,
+Strange as a rose upon a starlit grave,
+Strange as a smile upon a dead man's lips;
+A chime of melancholy, mute as death
+But strong as love, uttered in plangent tones
+Of honeysuckle, jasmine, gilly-flowers,
+Jonquils and aromatic musky leaves,
+Lilac and lilies to the rose-wreathed porch.
+
+At last I tapped and entered and was drawn
+Into the bedroom of the dying man,
+Who lay, propped up with pillows, quietly
+Gazing; for through his open casement far
+Beyond the whispers of the gilly-flowers
+He saw the mellow light of eventide
+Hallow the west once more; and, as he gazed,
+I think I never saw so great a peace
+On any human face. There was no sound
+Except the slumbrous pulsing of a clock,
+The whisper of the garden and, far off,
+The sacred consolation of the sea.
+
+His wife sat at his bed-side: she had passed
+Her eightieth year; her only child was dead.
+She had been wedded more than sixty years,
+And she sat gazing with the man she loved
+Quietly, out into that unknown Deep.
+
+A butterfly floated into the room
+And back again, pausing awhile to bask
+And wink its painted fans on the warm sill;
+A bird piped in the roses and there came
+Into the childless mother's ears a sound
+Of happy laughing children, far away.
+
+Then Michael Oaktree took his wife's thin hand
+Between his big rough hands. His eyes grew dark,
+And, as he turned to her and died, he spoke
+Two words of perfect faith and love--_Come soon_!
+
+O then in all the world there was no sound
+Except the slumbrous pulsing of a clock,
+The whisper of the leaves and far away,
+The infinite compassion of the sea.
+But, as I softly passed out of the porch
+And walked across the garden, all the scents
+Of mingling blossoms ached like inmost joy,
+Distinct no more, but like one heavenly choir
+Pealing one mystic music, still and strange
+As voices of the holy Seraphim,
+One voice of adoration, mute as love,
+Stronger than death, and pure with wedded tones
+Of honeysuckle, jasmine, gilly-flowers,
+Jonquils and aromatic musky leaves,
+Lilac and lilies to the garden gate.
+
+O then indeed I knew how closely knit
+To stars and flowers we are, how many means
+Of grace there are for those that never lose
+Their sense of membership in this divine
+Body of God; for those that all their days
+Have walked in quiet communion with the Life
+That keeps the common secret of the sun,
+The wind, the silence and the heart of man.
+There is one God, one Love, one everlasting
+Mystery of Incarnation, one creative
+Passion behind the many-coloured veil.
+
+We have obscured God's face with partial truths,
+The cause of all our sorrow and sin, our wars
+Of force and thought, in this unheavened world.
+Yet, by the battle of our partial truths,
+The past against the present and the swift
+Moment of passing joy against the deep
+Eternal love, ever the weaker truth
+Falls to the stronger, till once more we near
+The enfolding splendour of the whole. Our God
+Has been too long a partial God. We are all
+Made in His image, men and birds and beasts,
+Mountains and clouds and cataracts and suns,
+With those great Beings above our little world,
+A height beyond for every depth below,
+Those long-forgotten Princedoms, Virtues, Powers,
+Existences that live and move in realms
+As far beyond our thought as Europe lies
+With all its little arts and sciences
+Beyond the comprehension of the worm.
+We are all partial images, we need
+What lies beyond us to complete our souls;
+Therefore our souls are filled with a desire
+And love which lead us towards the Infinity
+Of Godhead that awaits us each and all.
+
+Peacefully through the dreaming lanes I went.
+The sun sank, and the birds were hushed. The stars
+Trembled like blossoms in the purple trees.
+But, as I paused upon the whispering hill
+The mellow light still lingered in the west,
+And dark and soft against that rosy depth
+A boy and girl stood knee-deep in the ferns.
+Dreams of the dead man's youth were in my heart,
+Yet I was very glad; and as the moon
+Brightened, they kissed; and, linking hand in hand,
+Down to their lamp-lit home drifted away.
+
+Under an arch of leaves, into the gloom
+I went along the little woodland road,
+And through the breathless hedge of hawthorn heard
+Out of the deepening night, the long low sigh
+Of supreme peace that whispers to the hills
+The sacrament and sabbath of the sea.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS
+
+
+Last night I rode with Touchstone on a bus
+From Ludgate Hill to World's End. It was he!
+Despite the broadcloth and the bowler hat,
+I knew him, Touchstone, the wild flower of folly,
+The whetstone of his age, the scourge of kings,
+The madcap morning star of elfin-land,
+Who used to wrap his legs around his neck
+For warmth on winter nights. He had slipped back,
+To see what men were doing in a world
+That should be wiser. He had watched a play,
+Read several books, heard men discourse of art
+And life; and he sat bubbling like a spring
+In Arden. Never did blackbird, drenched with may,
+Chuckle as Touchstone chuckled on that ride.
+_Lord, what a world! Lord, what a mad, mad world!_
+Then, to the jolt and jingle of the engine,
+He burst into this bunch of madcap rhymes:--
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW DUCKLING
+
+
+I
+
+THE NEW DUCKLING
+
+"I want to be new," said the duckling.
+  "O, ho!" said the wise old owl,
+While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling
+  To tell all the rest of the fowl.
+
+"I should like a more elegant figure,"
+  That child of a duck went on.
+"I should like to grow bigger and bigger,
+  Until I could swallow a swan.
+
+"I _won't_ be the bond slave of habit,
+  I _won't_ have these webs on my toes.
+I want to run round like a rabbit,
+  A rabbit as red as a rose.
+
+"I _don't_ want to waddle like mother,
+  Or quack like my silly old dad.
+I want to be utterly other,
+  And _frightfully_ modern and mad."
+
+"Do you know," said the turkey, "you're quacking!
+  There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;
+And, if you're not utterly lacking,
+  You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!"
+
+"I won't," said the duckling. "I'll lift him
+  A beautiful song, like a sheep;
+And when I have--as it were--biffed him,
+  I'll give him my feathers to keep."
+
+Now the curious end of this fable,
+  So far as the rest ascertained,
+Though they searched from the barn to the stable,
+  Was that _only his feathers remained_.
+
+So he _wasn't_ the bond slave of habit,
+  And he _didn't_ have webs on his toes;
+And _perhaps_ he runs round like a rabbit,
+  A rabbit as red as a rose.
+
+
+II
+
+THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE USE OF A CHAIR
+
+The man who discovered the use of a chair,
+  _Odds--bobs--
+    What a wonderful man!_
+He used to sit down on it, tearing his hair,
+  Till he thought of a highly original plan.
+For years he had sat on his chair, like you,
+  _Quite--still!
+    But his looks were grim_
+For he wished to be famous (as great men do)
+  And nobody ever would listen to him.
+
+Now he went one night to a dinner of state
+  _Hear! hear!
+    In the proud Guildhall!_
+And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;
+  But nobody heard his opinions at all;
+
+There were ten fat aldermen down for a speech
+  (_Grouse! Grouse!
+    What a dreary bird!_)
+With five fair minutes allotted to each,
+  But never a moment for him to be heard.
+
+But, each being ready to talk, I suppose,
+  _Order! Order!_
+    They cried, _for the Chair!_
+And, much to their wonder, our friend arose
+  And fastened his eye on the eye of the Mayor.
+
+"We have come," he said, "to the fourteenth course!
+  "_High--time,
+    for the Chair_," he said.
+Then, with both of his hands, and with all of his force,
+  He hurled his chair at the Lord Mayor's head.
+
+It missed that head by the width of a hair.
+  _Gee--whizz!
+    What a horrible squeak!_
+But it crashed through the big bay-window there
+  And smashed a bus into Wednesday week.
+
+And the very next day, in the decorous Times
+  (_Great--Guns--
+    How the headlines ran!_)
+In spite of the kings and the wars and the crimes,
+  There were five full columns about that man.
+
+
+ENVOI
+
+Oh, if you get dizzy when authors write
+  (_My stars!
+    And you very well may!_)
+That white is black and that black is white,
+  You should sit, quite still, in your chair and say:
+
+It is easy enough to be famous now,
+  (_Puff--Puff!
+    How the trumpets blare!_)
+Provided, of course, that you don't care how,
+  Like the man who discovered the use of a chair.
+
+
+III
+
+COTTON-WOOL
+
+Shun the brush and shun the pen,
+Shun the ways of clever men,
+When they prove that black is white,
+Whey they swear that wrong is right,
+When they roast the singing stars
+Like chestnuts, in between the bars,
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+When you see a clever man
+Run as quickly as you can.
+You must never, never, never
+Think that Socrates was clever.
+The cleverest thing I ever knew
+Now cracks walnuts at the Zoo.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+Homer could not scintillate.
+Milton, too, was merely great.
+That's a very different matter
+From talking like a frantic hatter.
+Keats and Shelley had no tricks.
+Wordsworth never climbed up sticks.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+Lincoln would create a gloom
+In many a London drawing-room;
+He'd be silent at their wit,
+He would never laugh at it.
+When they kissed Salome's toes,
+I think he'd snort and blow his nose.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+They'd curse him for a silly clown,
+They'd drum him out of London town.
+Professor Flunkey, the historian,
+Would say he was a dull Victorian.
+Matthew, Mark, and Luke and John,
+Bless the bed I rest upon.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+      Amen.
+
+
+IV
+
+FASHIONS
+
+Fashion on fashion on fashion,
+  (With only the truth growing old!)
+And here's the new purple of passion,
+  (And love waiting out in the cold)
+      Who'll buy?
+
+They are crying new lamps for Aladdin,
+  New worlds for the old and the true;
+And no one remembers the story
+  _The magic was not in the new._
+
+They are crying a new rose for Eden,
+  A rose of green glass. I suppose
+The only thing wrong with their rose is
+  The fact that it isn't a rose.
+      Who'll buy?
+
+And here is a song without metre;
+  And, here again, nothing is wrong;
+(For nothing on earth could be neater)
+  Except that--it isn't a song.
+
+Well. Walk on your hands. It's the latest!
+  And feet are Victorian now;
+And even our best and our greatest
+  Before that dread epithet bow.
+      Who'll buy?
+
+The furniture goes for a song, now.
+  The sixties had horrible taste.
+But the trouble is this--they've included
+  Some better things, too, in their haste.
+
+Were they wrapped in the antimacassars,
+  Or sunk in a sofa of plush?
+Did an Angelican bishop forget them,
+  And leave them behind in the crush?
+      Who'll buy?
+
+Here's a turnex. It's going quite cheaply.
+  (It lived with stuffed birds in the hall!
+And, of course, to a mind that thinks deeply
+  That settles it, once and for all.)
+
+Here's _item_, a ring (very plain, sirs!),
+  And _item_, a God (but He's dead!);
+They say we shall need Him again, sirs,
+  So--_item_, a cross for His head.
+      Who'll buy?
+
+Yes, you'll need it again, though He's dead, sirs.
+  It is only the fashions that fly.
+So here are the thorns for His head, sirs.
+  They'll keep till you need 'em. Who'll buy?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+THE REWARD OF SONG
+
+
+_Why do we make our music?_
+  Oh, blind dark strings reply:
+Because we dwell in a strange land
+  And remember a lost sky.
+We ask no leaf of the laurel,
+  We know what fame is worth;
+But our songs break out of our winter
+  As the flowers break out on the earth.
+
+And we dream of the unknown comrade,
+  In the days when we lie dead,
+Who shall open our book in the sunlight,
+  And read, as ourselves have read,
+On a lonely hill, by a firwood,
+  With whispering seas below,
+And murmur a song we made him
+  Ages and ages ago.
+
+If making his may-time sweeter
+  With dews of our own dead may,
+One pulse of our own dead heart-strings
+  Awake in his heart that day,
+We would pray for no richer guerdon,
+  No praise from the careless throng;
+For song is the cry of a lover
+  In quest of an answering song.
+
+As a child might run to his elders
+  With news of an opening flower
+We should walk with our young companion
+  And talk to his heart for an hour,
+As once by my own green firwood,
+  And once by a Western sea,
+Thank God, my own good comrades
+  Have walked and talked with me.
+
+Too mighty to make men sorrow,
+  Too weak to heal their pain
+(Though they that remember the hawthorn
+  May find their heaven again),
+We are moved by a deeper hunger;
+  We are bound by a stronger cord;
+For love is the heart of our music,
+  And love is its one reward.
+
+
+
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+<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The New Morning, by Alfred Noyes</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The New Morning</p>
+<p>       Poems</p>
+<p>Author: Alfred Noyes</p>
+<p>Release Date: April 11, 2007  [eBook #21029]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW MORNING***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by K. Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div id="auto">
+
+<h1 class="nob">THE NEW MORNING</h1>
+
+<hr style="margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em; width: 45%;"  />
+
+<h2>ALFRED NOYES</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class="bbox">
+<h4 class="nob"><i>WORKS OF ALFRED NOYES</i></h4>
+
+<hr style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; width: 25%;"  />
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Collected Poems</span>&mdash;<i>2 Vols</i>.</p>
+<p><span class="smcap">The Lord of Misrule</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">A Belgian Christmas Eve</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">The Wine-press</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">Walking Shadows</span>&mdash;<i>Prose</i></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">Tales of the Mermaid Tavern</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">Sherwood</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">The Enchanted Island and Other Poems</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">Drake: an English Epic</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">Poems&nbsp;</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">The Flower of Old Japan</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">The Golden Hynde</span></p>
+<p><span class="smcap">The New Morning</span></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<h1>THE<br />
+NEW MORNING</h1>
+
+<h3><i>POEMS</i></h3>
+
+<h4>BY</h4>
+<h2>ALFRED NOYES</h2>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;">
+<img src="images/logo.png" width="200" height="245" alt="logo" title="logo" />
+</div>
+
+
+<h5 class="nob">NEW YORK</h5>
+<h4 class="nob not">FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY</h4>
+<h5 class="not" style="margin-bottom: 100px;">PUBLISHERS</h5>
+
+
+<h6><i>Copyright, 1918, by</i><br />
+<span class="smcap">Alfred Noyes</span></h6>
+<hr style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; width: 25%;"  />
+<h6>Copyright, 1919, by<br />
+<span class="smcap">Frederick A. Stokes Company</span></h6>
+<hr style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; width: 25%;"  />
+<h6><i>All rights reserved, including that of translation<br />
+into foreign languages</i></h6>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1 style="margin-top: 300px;"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span>DEDICATION</h1>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span><br /></p>
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span><a href="#contents">TO THE MEMORY OF<br />
+SIR CECIL SPRING-RICE</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<p><span class="cap">S</span>TEADFAST as any soldier of the line</p>
+<p class="large">He served his England, with the imminent death</p>
+<p>Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine</p>
+<p class="large b">The constant peril of each burdened breath.</p>
+
+<p>England, and the honour of England, he still served</p>
+<p class="large">Walking the strict path, with the old high pride</p>
+<p>Of those invincible knights who never swerved</p>
+<p class="large b">One hair's breadth from the way until they died.</p>
+
+<p>Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty</p>
+<p class="large">Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light</p>
+<p>Shines like a lantern on that road of duty,</p>
+<p class="large b">Discerned by few in this chaotic night.</p>
+
+<p>And his own pen, foretelling his release,</p>
+<p class="b">Told us that he foreknew "the end was peace."</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>II.</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Soldier of England, he shall live unsleeping</p>
+<p class="large">Among his friends, with the old proud flag above;</p>
+<p>For even today her honour is in his keeping.</p>
+<p class="large b">He has joined the hosts that guard her with their love.</p>
+
+<p>They shine like stars, unnumbered happy legions,</p>
+<p class="large">In that high realm where all our darkness dies.</p>
+<p>He moves, with honour, in those loftier regions,</p>
+<p class="b">Above this "world of passion and of lies":</p>
+
+<p>For so he called it, keeping his own pure passion</p>
+<p class="large">A silent flame before the true and good;</p>
+<p>Not fawning on the throng in this world's fashion</p>
+<p class="b">come and see what all might see who would.</p>
+
+<p>Soldier of England, brave and gentle knight,</p>
+<p class="b">The soul of Sidney welcomes you tonight.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span><a name="contents" id="contents">CONTENTS</a></h2>
+
+<table summary="table of contents" style="width: 500px;">
+<colgroup span="4">
+<col width="20px"></col>
+<col width="10px"></col>
+<col width="420px"></col>
+<col width="50px"></col>
+</colgroup>
+<tr>
+<th class="tdc" colspan="4" style="padding-bottom: 5px;"><span style="font-size: small;">Page</span></th>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="3">DEDICATION: <span class="smcap">To the Memory of Sir Cecil Spring-Rice</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_v">v</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2">"<span class="smcap">The Avenue of the Allies</span>"</td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">On the Western Front</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Victory</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="4">AMERICAN POEMS, <span  class="smcap">1912&ndash;1917</span></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Republic and Motherland</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Union</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Ghosts of the New World</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Old Meeting House</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Princeton</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Beethoven in Central Park</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="4">SONGS OF THE TRAWLERS AND SEA POEMS</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The People's Fleet</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Kilmeny</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Cap'n Storm-along</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Big Black Trawler</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Namesakes</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_44">44</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Wireless</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_46">46</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Fishers of Men</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">An Open Boat</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span><span class="smcap">Peace in a Palace</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Vindictive</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="4">MISCELLANEOUS POEMS</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">To a Successful Man</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Old Gentleman With the Amber Snuffbox</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">What Grandfather Said</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Memories of the Pacific Coast</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Nippon</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Humming Birds</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Lines for a Sun-dial</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Realms of Gold</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Compensations</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Dead Man's Morrice</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Old Fool in the Wood</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">A New Madrigal To an Old Melody</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_91"> 91</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Lost Battle</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Riddles of Merlin</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Symphony</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_98"> 98</a></td>
+</tr><tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Peace</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_99"> 99</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Open Door</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Immortal Sails</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Matin-song of Friar Tuck</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Five Criticisms</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Companions</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Little Roads</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Sunlight and Sea</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Road Through Chaos</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Night of the Lion</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The War Widow</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Bell</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Slave and Emperor</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">On a Mountain-top</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="4">EARLY POEMS</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Phantom Fleet</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Michael Oaktree</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="4">TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Touchstone on a Bus</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tda">I</td>
+<td class="tdb"><span class="smcap">The New Duckling</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tda">II</td>
+<td class="tdb"><span class="smcap">The Man Who Discovered the Use a Chair</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tda">III</td>
+<td class="tdb"><span class="smcap">Cotton-wool</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tda">IV</td>
+<td class="tdb"><span class="smcap">Fashions</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="4">EPILOGUE</td>
+</tr>
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td>
+<td class="tdb" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">The Reward of Song</span></td>
+<td class="tdc"><a href="#Page_171">171</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+</table>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h1>THE NEW MORNING</h1>
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span><a href="#contents">"THE AVENUE OF THE ALLIES"</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HIS is the song of the wind as it came</p>
+<p class="b">Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:</p>
+
+<p class="large"><i>I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>I am His Liberty. That is my name.</i></p>
+
+<p>So it descended, at night, on the city.</p>
+<p>So it went lavishing beauty and pity,</p>
+<p>Lighting the lordliest street of the world</p>
+<p>With half of the banners that earth has unfurled;</p>
+<p>Over the lamps that are brighter than stars.</p>
+<p>Laughing aloud on its way to the wars,</p>
+<p>Proud as America, sweeping along</p>
+<p>Death and destruction like notes in a song,</p>
+<p>Leaping to battle as man to his mate,</p>
+<p>Joyous as God when he moved to create,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">Never was voice of a nation so glorious,</p>
+<p>Glad of its cause and afire with its fate!</p>
+<p>Never did eagle on mightier pinion</p>
+<p>Tower to the height of a brighter dominion,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+<p>Kindling the hope of the prophets to flame,</p>
+<p class="b">Calling aloud on the deep as it came,</p>
+
+<p class="large"><i>Cleave me a way for an army with banners.</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>I am His Liberty. That is my name.</i></p>
+
+<p>Know you the meaning of all they are doing?</p>
+<p>Know you the light that their soul is pursuing?</p>
+<p>Know you the might of the world they are making,</p>
+<p>This nation of nations whose heart is awaking?</p>
+<p>What is this mingling of peoples and races?</p>
+<p>Look at the wonder and joy in their faces!</p>
+<p>Look how the folds of the union are spreading!</p>
+<p>Look, for the nations are come to their wedding.</p>
+<p>How shall the folk of our tongue be afraid of it?</p>
+<p>England was born of it. England was made of it,</p>
+<p>Made of this welding of tribes into one,</p>
+<p>This marriage of pilgrims that followed the sun!</p>
+<p>Briton and Roman and Saxon were drawn</p>
+<p>By winds of this Pentecost, out of the dawn,</p>
+<p>Westward, to make her one people of many;</p>
+<p>But here is a union more mighty than any.</p>
+<p>Know you the soul of this deep exultation?</p>
+<p class="b">Know you the word that goes forth to this nation?</p>
+
+<p class="large"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span><i>I am the breath of God. I am His Liberty.</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>Let there be light over all His creation.</i></p>
+
+<p>Over this Continent, wholly united,</p>
+<p>They that were foemen in Europe are plighted.</p>
+<p>Here, in a league that our blindness and pride</p>
+<p>Doubted and flouted and mocked and denied,</p>
+<p>Dawns the Republic, the laughing, gigantic</p>
+<p>Europe, united, beyond the Atlantic.</p>
+<p>That is America, speaking one tongue,</p>
+<p>Acting her epics before they are sung,</p>
+<p>Driving her rails from the palms to the snow,</p>
+<p>Through States that are greater than Emperors know,</p>
+<p>Forty-eight States that are empires in might,</p>
+<p>But ruled by the will of one people tonight,</p>
+<p>Nerved as one body, with net-works of steel,</p>
+<p>Merging their strength in the one Commonweal,</p>
+<p>Brooking no poverty, mocking at Mars,</p>
+<p>Building their cities to talk with the stars.</p>
+<p>Thriving, increasing by myriads again</p>
+<p>Till even in numbers old Europe may wane.</p>
+<p>How shall a son of the England they fought</p>
+<p>Fail to declare the full pride of his thought,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>Stand with the scoffers who, year after year,</p>
+<p>Bring the Republic their half-hidden sneer?</p>
+<p>Now, as in beauty she stands at our side,</p>
+<p>Who shall withhold the full gift of his pride?</p>
+<p>Not the great England who knows that her son,</p>
+<p>Washington, fought her, and Liberty won.</p>
+<p>England, whose names like the stars in their station,</p>
+<p>Stand at the foot of that world's Declaration,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Washington, Livingston, Langdon, she claims them,</p>
+<p>It is her right to be proud when she names them,</p>
+<p>Proud of that voice in the night as it came,</p>
+<p class="b">Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:</p>
+
+<p class="large"><i>I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>I am His Liberty. That is my name.</i></p>
+
+<p>Flags, in themselves, are but rags that are dyed.</p>
+<p>Flags, in that wind, are like nations enskied.</p>
+<p>See, how they grapple the night as it rolls</p>
+<p>And trample it under like triumphing souls.</p>
+<p>Over the city that never knew sleep,</p>
+<p>Look at the riotous folds as they leap.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>Thousands of tri-colors, laughing for France,</p>
+<p>Ripple and whisper and thunder and dance;</p>
+<p>Thousands of flags for Great Britain aflame</p>
+<p>Answer their sisters in Liberty's name.</p>
+<p>Belgium is burning in pride overhead.</p>
+<p>Poland is near, and her sunrise is red.</p>
+<p>Under and over, and fluttering between,</p>
+<p>Italy burgeons in red, white, and green.</p>
+<p>See, how they climb like adventurous flowers,</p>
+<p>Over the tops of the terrible towers....</p>
+<p><i>There, in the darkness, the glories are mated.</i></p>
+<p><i>There, in the darkness, a world is created.</i></p>
+<p><i>There, in this Pentecost, streaming on high.</i></p>
+<p><i>There, with a glory of stars in the sky.</i></p>
+<p><i>There the broad flag of our union and liberty</i></p>
+<p><i>Rides the proud night-wind and tyrannies die.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><a href="#contents">ON THE WESTERN FRONT</a></h2>
+
+<h4>(<i>1916</i>)</h4>
+
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span> FOUND a dreadful acre of the dead,</p>
+<p class="large">Marked with the only sign on earth that saves.</p>
+<p>The wings of death were hurrying overhead,</p>
+<p class="large b">The loose earth shook on those unquiet graves;</p>
+
+<p>For the deep gun-pits, with quick stabs of flame,</p>
+<p class="large">Made their own thunders of the sunlit air;</p>
+<p>Yet, as I read the crosses, name by name,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Mort pour la France</i>, it seemed that peace was there;</p>
+<p>Sunlight and peace, a peace too deep for thought,</p>
+<p class="large">The peace of tides that underlie our strife,</p>
+<p>The peace with which the moving heavens are fraught,</p>
+<p class="large b">The peace that is our everlasting life.</p>
+
+<p>The loose earth shook. The very hills were stirred.</p>
+<p class="b">The silence of the dead was all I heard.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>II.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">W</span>E, who lie here, have nothing more to pray.</p>
+<p class="large">To all your praises we are deaf and blind.</p>
+<p>We may not even know if you betray</p>
+<p class="large b">Our hope, to make earth better for mankind.</p>
+
+<p>Only our silence, in the night, shall grow</p>
+<p class="large">More silent, as the stars grow in the sky;</p>
+<p>And, while you deck our graves, you shall not know</p>
+<p class="large b">How many scornful legions pass you by.</p>
+
+<p>For we have heard you say (when we were living)</p>
+<p class="large">That some small dream of good would "cost too much."</p>
+<p>But when the foe struck, we have watched you giving,</p>
+<p class="large b">And seen you move the mountains with one touch.</p>
+
+<p>What can be done, we know. But, have no fear!</p>
+<p class="b">If you fail now, we shall not see or hear.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span><a href="#contents">VICTORY</a></h2>
+
+<h5>(Written after the British Service at Trinity Church, New York)</h5>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">B</span>EFORE those golden altar-lights we stood,</p>
+<p class="large">Each one of us remembering his own dead.</p>
+<p>A more than earthly beauty seemed to brood</p>
+<p class="large b">On that hushed throng, and bless each bending head.</p>
+
+<p>Beautiful on that gold, the deep-sea blue</p>
+<p class="large">Of those young seamen, ranked on either side,</p>
+<p>Blent with the khaki, while the silence grew</p>
+<p class="large b">Deep, as for wings&mdash;Oh, deep as England's pride.</p>
+
+<p>Beautiful on that gold, two banners rose&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">Two flags that told how Freedom's realm was made,</p>
+<p>One fair with stars of hope, and one that shows</p>
+<p class="large b">The glorious cross of England's long crusade;</p>
+
+<p>Two flags, now joined, till that high will be done</p>
+<p class="b">Which sent them forth to make the whole world one.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>II.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>There were no signs of joy that eyes could see.</p>
+<p class="large">Our hearts were all three thousand miles away.</p>
+<p>There were no trumpets blown for victory.</p>
+<p class="large b">A million dead were calling us that day.</p>
+
+<p>And eyes grew blind, at times; but grief was deep,</p>
+<p class="large">Deeper than any foes or friends have known;</p>
+<p>For Oh, my country's lips are locked to keep</p>
+<p class="large b">Her bitterest loss her own, and all her own.</p>
+
+<p>Only the music told what else was dumb,</p>
+<p class="large">The funeral march to which our pulses beat;</p>
+<p>For all our dead went by, to a muffled drum</p>
+<p class="large b">We heard the tread of all those phantom feet.</p>
+
+<p>Yes. There was victory! Deep in every soul.</p>
+<p class="b">We heard them marching to their unseen goal.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>There, once again, we saw the Cross go by,</p>
+<p class="large">The Cross that fell with all those glorious towers,</p>
+<p>Burnt black in France or mocked on Calvary,</p>
+<p class="large">Till&mdash;in one night&mdash;the crosses rose like flowers,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>Legions of small white crosses, mile on mile,</p>
+<p class="large">Pencilled with names that had outfought all pain,</p>
+<p>Where every shell-torn acre seems to smile&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Who shall destroy the cross that rose again?</i></p>
+
+<p>Out of the world's Walpurgis, where hope perished,</p>
+<p class="large">Where all the forms of faith in ruin fell,</p>
+<p>Where every sign of heaven that earth had cherished</p>
+<p class="large b">Shrivelled among the lava-floods of hell,</p>
+
+<p>The eternal Cross that conquers might with right</p>
+<p class="b">Rose like a star to lead us through the night.</p>
+</div>
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>How shall the world remember? Men forget:</p>
+<p class="large">Our dead are all too many even for Fame!</p>
+<p>Man's justice kneels to kings, and pays no debt</p>
+<p class="large b">To those who never courted her acclaim.</p>
+
+<p>Cheat not your heart with promises to pay</p>
+<p class="large">For gifts beyond all price so freely given.</p>
+<p>Where is the heart so rich that it can say</p>
+<p class="large b">To those who mourn, "I will restore your heaven"?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>But these, with their own hands, laid up their treasure</p>
+<p class="large">Where never an emperor can break in and steal,</p>
+<p>Treasure for those that loved them past all measure</p>
+<p class="large b">In those high griefs that earth can never heal,</p>
+
+<p>Proud griefs, that walk on earth, yet gaze above,</p>
+<p class="b">Knowing that sorrow is but remembered love.</p>
+</div>
+<h3>V.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Love that still holds us with immortal power,</p>
+<p class="large">Yet cannot lift us to His realm of light;</p>
+<p>Love that still shows us heaven for one brief hour</p>
+<p class="large b">Only to daunt the heart with that sheer height;</p>
+
+<p>Love that is made of loveliness entire</p>
+<p class="large">In form and thought and act; and still must shame us</p>
+<p>Because we ever acknowledge and aspire,</p>
+<p class="large b">And yet let slip the shining hands that claim us.</p>
+
+<p>O, if this Love might cloak with rags His glory,</p>
+<p>Laugh, eat and drink, and dwell with suffering men,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>Sit with us at our hearth, and hear our story,</p>
+<p class="large b">This world&mdash;we thought&mdash;might be transfigured then.</p>
+
+<p>"But Oh," Love answered, with swift human tears,</p>
+<p class="b">"All these things have I done, these many years."</p>
+</div>
+<h3>VI.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>"This day," Love said, "if ye will hear my voice;</p>
+<p class="large">I mount and sing with birds in all your skies.</p>
+<p>I am the soul that calls you to rejoice.</p>
+<p class="large b">And every wayside flower is my disguise.</p>
+
+<p>"Look closely. Are the wings too wide for pity?</p>
+<p class="large">Look closely. Do these tender hues betray?</p>
+<p>How often have I sought my Holy City?</p>
+<p class="large b">How often have ye turned your hearts away?</p>
+
+<p>"Is there not healing in the beauty I bring you?</p>
+<p class="large">Am I not whispering in green leaves and rain,</p>
+<p>Singing in all that woods and seas can sing you?</p>
+<p class="large b">Look, once, on Love, and earth is heaven again.</p>
+
+<p>"O, did your Spring but once a century waken,</p>
+<p class="b">The heaven of heavens for this would be forsaken."</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>VII.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>There's but one gift that all our dead desire,</p>
+<p class="large">One gift that men can give, and that's a dream,</p>
+<p>Unless we, too, can burn with that same fire</p>
+<p class="large b">Of sacrifice; die to the things that seem;</p>
+
+<p>Die to the little hatreds; die to greed;</p>
+<p class="large">Die to the old ignoble selves we knew;</p>
+<p>Die to the base contempts of sect and creed,</p>
+<p class="large b">And rise again, like these, with souls as true.</p>
+
+<p>Nay (since these died before their task was finished)</p>
+<p class="large">Attempt new heights, bring even their dreams to birth:&mdash;</p>
+<p>Build us that better world, Oh, not diminished</p>
+<p class="large b">By one true splendor that they planned on earth.</p>
+
+<p>And that's not done by sword, or tongue, or pen,</p>
+<p>There's but one way. God make us better men.</p>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h1><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>AMERICAN POEMS 1912&ndash;1917</h1>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span><br /></p>
+
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span><a href="#contents">REPUBLIC AND MOTHERLAND</a></h2>
+
+<h4 class="nob">(<i>1912</i>)</h4>
+
+<h5>(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)</h5>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">U</span>P the vast harbor with the morning sun</p>
+<p class="large">The ship swept in from sea;</p>
+<p>Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,</p>
+<p class="large b">And&mdash;there stood Liberty.</p>
+
+<p>Silent, the great torch lifted in one hand,</p>
+<p class="large">The dawn in her proud eyes,</p>
+<p>Silent, for all the shouts that vex her land,</p>
+<p class="large b">Silent, hailing the skies;</p>
+
+<p>Hailing that mightier Kingdom of the Blest</p>
+<p class="large">Our seamen sought of old,</p>
+<p>The dream that lured the nations through the West,</p>
+<p class="large b">The city of sunset gold.</p>
+
+<p>Saxon and Norman in one wedded soul</p>
+<p class="large">Shook out one flag like fire;</p>
+<p>But westward, westward, moved the gleaming goal,</p>
+<p class="large b">Westward, the vast desire.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>Westward and ever westward ran the call,</p>
+<p class="large">They followed the pilgrim sun,</p>
+<p>Seeking that land which should enfold them all,</p>
+<p class="large b">And weld all hearts in one.</p>
+
+<p>Here on this mightier continent apart,</p>
+<p class="large">Here on these rolling plains,</p>
+<p>Swells the first throb of that immortal heart,</p>
+<p class="large b">The pulse of those huge veins.</p>
+
+<p>Still, at these towers, our Old-World cities jest,</p>
+<p class="large">And neither hear nor see</p>
+<p>The brood of gods at that gigantic breast,</p>
+<p class="large b">The conquering race to be.</p>
+
+<p>Chosen from many&mdash;for no sluggard soul</p>
+<p class="large">Confronts that night of stars&mdash;</p>
+<p>The trumpets of the last Republic roll</p>
+<p class="large b">Far off, an end to wars;</p>
+
+<p>An end, an end to that wild blood-red age,</p>
+<p class="large">That made and keeps us blind;</p>
+<p>A mightier realm shall be her heritage,</p>
+<p class="large b">The kingdom of mankind.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>Chosen from many nations, and made one;</p>
+<p class="large">But first, O Mother, from thee,</p>
+<p>When, following, following on that Pilgrim sun,</p>
+<p class="large">Thy Mayflower crossed the sea.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE UNION</a></h2>
+
+<h4>(<i>1917</i>)</h4>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">Y</span>OU that have gathered together the sons of all races,</p>
+<p class="large">And welded them into one,</p>
+<p>Lifting the torch of your Freedom on hungering faces</p>
+<p class="large b">That sailed to the setting sun;</p>
+
+<p>You that have made of mankind in your own proud regions</p>
+<p class="large">The music of man to be,</p>
+<p>How should the old earth sing of you, now, as your legions</p>
+<p class="large b">Rise to set all men free?</p>
+
+<p>How should the singer that knew the proud vision and loved it,</p>
+<p class="large">In the days when not all men knew,</p>
+<p>Gaze through his tears, on the light, now the world has approved it;</p>
+<p class="large b">Or dream, when the dream comes true?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>How should he sing when the Spirit of Freedom in thunder</p>
+<p class="large">Speaks, and the wine-press is red;</p>
+<p>And the sea-winds are loud with the chains that are broken asunder</p>
+<p class="large b">And nations that rise from the dead?</p>
+
+<p>Flag of the sky, proud flag of that wide communion,</p>
+<p class="large">Too mighty for thought to scan;</p>
+<p>Flag of the many in one, and that last world-union</p>
+<p class="large b">That kingdom of God in man;</p>
+
+<p>Ours was a dream, in the night, of that last federation,</p>
+<p class="large">But yours is the glory unfurled&mdash;</p>
+<p>The marshalled nations and stars that shall make one nation</p>
+<p class="large">One singing star of the world.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><a href="#contents">GHOSTS OF THE NEW WORLD</a></h2>
+
+<h4>"<i>There are no ghosts in America.</i>"</h4>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HERE are no ghosts, you say,</p>
+<p class="large">To haunt her blaze of light;</p>
+<p>No shadows in her day,</p>
+<p class="large">No phantoms in her night.</p>
+<p>Columbus' tattered sail</p>
+<p class="b">Has passed beyond our hail.</p>
+
+<p>What? On that magic coast,</p>
+<p class="large">Where Raleigh fought with fate,</p>
+<p>Or where that Devon ghost</p>
+<p class="large">Unbarred the Golden Gate,</p>
+<p>No dark, strange, ear-ringed men</p>
+<p class="b">Beat in from sea again?</p>
+
+<p>No ghosts in Salem town</p>
+<p class="large">With silver buckled shoon?</p>
+<p>No lovely witch to drown</p>
+<p class="large">Or burn beneath the moon?</p>
+<p>Not even a whiff of tea,</p>
+<p class="b">On Boston's glimmering quay.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>O, ghostly Spanish walls,</p>
+<p class="large">Where brown Franciscans glide,</p>
+<p>Is there no voice that calls</p>
+<p class="large">Across the Great Divide,</p>
+<p>To pilgrims on their way</p>
+<p class="b">Along the Santa Fe?</p>
+
+<p>Then let your Pullman cars</p>
+<p class="large">Go roaring to the West,</p>
+<p>Till, watched by lonelier stars,</p>
+<p class="large">The cactus lifts its crest.</p>
+<p>There, on that painted plain,</p>
+<p class="b">One ghost will rise again.</p>
+
+<p>Majestic and forlorn,</p>
+<p class="large">Wreck of a dying race,</p>
+<p>The Red Man, half in scorn,</p>
+<p class="large">Shall raise his haughty face,</p>
+<p>Inscrutable as the sky,</p>
+<p class="b">To watch our ghosts go by.</p>
+
+<p>What? Is earth dreaming still?</p>
+<p class="large">Shall not the night disgorge</p>
+<p>The ghosts of Bunker Hill</p>
+<p class="large">The ghosts of Valley Forge,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>Or, England's mightiest son,</p>
+<p class="b">The ghost of Washington?</p>
+
+<p>No ghosts where Lincoln fell?</p>
+<p class="large">No ghosts for seeing eyes?</p>
+<p>I know an old cracked bell</p>
+<p class="large">Shall make ten million rise</p>
+<p>When one immortal ghost</p>
+<p class="b">Calls to the slumbering host.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE OLD MEETING HOUSE</a></h2>
+
+<h4>(<i>New Jersey, 1918</i>)</h4>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span>TS quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn.</p>
+<p class="large">Those wise old elms could hear no cry</p>
+<p class="large">Of all that distant agony&mdash;</p>
+<p class="b">Only the red-winged blackbird, and the rustle of thick ripe corn.</p>
+
+<p>The blue jay, perched upon that bronze, with bright unweeting eyes,</p>
+<p class="large">Could never read the names that signed</p>
+<p class="large">The noblest charter of mankind;</p>
+<p class="b">But all of them were names we knew beneath our English skies.</p>
+
+<p>And on the low gray headstones, with their crumbling weather-stains,</p>
+<p class="large">&mdash;Though cardinal birds, like drops of blood,</p>
+<p class="large">Flickered across the haunted wood,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="b">The names you'd see were names that woke like flowers in English lanes.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>John Applegate was fast asleep; and Temperance Olden, too.</p>
+<p class="large">And David Worth had quite forgot</p>
+<p class="large">If Hannah's lips were red or not;</p>
+<p class="b">And Prudence veiled her eyes at last, as Prudence ought to do.</p>
+
+<p>And when, across that patch of heaven, that small blue leaf-edged space</p>
+<p class="large">At times, a droning airplane went,</p>
+<p class="large">No flicker of astonishment</p>
+<p class="b">Could lift the heavy eyelids on one gossip's up-turned face.</p>
+
+<p>For William Speakman could not tell&mdash;so thick the grasses grow&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">If that strange humming in the sky</p>
+<p class="large">Meant that the Judgment Day were nigh,</p>
+<p class="b">Or if 'twas but the summer bees that blundered to and fro.</p>
+
+<p>And then, across the breathless wood, a Bell began to sound,</p>
+<p class="large">The only Bell that wakes the dead,</p>
+<p class="large">And Stockton Signer raised his head,</p>
+<p class="b">And called to all the deacons in the ancient burial-ground.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>"The Bell, the Bell is ringing! Give me back my rusty sword.</p>
+<p class="large">Though I thought the wars were done,</p>
+<p class="large">Though I thought our peace was won,</p>
+<p class="b">Yet I signed the Declaration, and the dead must keep their word.</p>
+
+<p>"There's only one great ghost I know could make that 'larum ring.</p>
+<p class="large">It's the captain that we knew</p>
+<p class="large">In the ancient buff and blue,</p>
+<p class="b">It's our Englishman, George Washington, who fought the German king!"</p>
+
+<p>So the sunset saw them mustering beneath their brooding boughs,</p>
+<p class="large">Ancient shadows of our sires,</p>
+<p class="large">Kindling with the ancient fires,</p>
+<p class="b">While the old cracked Bell to southward shook the ancient meeting house.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span><a href="#contents">PRINCETON</a></h2>
+
+<h4>(<i>1917</i>)</h4>
+
+
+<p class="none" style="font-size: 95%; text-align: left; text-indent: 2em; text-align: justify;">The first four lines of this poem were written for inscription on the
+first joint memorial to the American and British soldiers who fell in
+the Revolutionary War. This memorial was recently dedicated at
+Princeton.</p>
+
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><i><span class="cap">H</span>ERE Freedom stood, by slaughtered friend and foe,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>And ere the wrath paled or that sunset died,</i></p>
+<p><i>Looked through the ages: then, with eyes aglow,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Laid them, to wait that future, side by side.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Now lamp-lit gardens in the blue dusk shine</p>
+<p class="large">Through dog-wood red and white,</p>
+<p>And round the gray quadrangles, line by line,</p>
+<p class="large">The windows fill with light,</p>
+<p>Where Princeton calls to Magdalen, tower to tower,</p>
+<p class="large">Twin lanthorns of the law,</p>
+<p>And those cream-white magnolia boughs embower</p>
+<p class="large b">The halls of old Nassau.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>III.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side</p>
+<p class="large">Where red-coats used to pass,</p>
+<p>And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died</p>
+<p class="large">And violets dusk the grass,</p>
+<p>By Stony Brook that ran so red of old,</p>
+<p class="large">But sings of friendship now,</p>
+<p>To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold</p>
+<p class="large b">The green earth takes the plough.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>IV.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Through this May night if one great ghost should stray</p>
+<p class="large">With deep remembering eyes,</p>
+<p>Where that old meadow of battle smiles away</p>
+<p class="large">Its blood-stained memories,</p>
+<p>If Washington should walk, where friend and foe</p>
+<p class="large">Sleep and forget the past,</p>
+<p>Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know</p>
+<p class="large b">Their hosts are joined at last.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>V.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Be sure he walks, in shadowy buff and blue,</p>
+<p class="large">Where those dim lilacs wave,</p>
+<p>He bends his head to bless, as dreams come true,</p>
+<p class="large">The promise of that grave,</p>
+<p>Then with a vaster hope than thought can scan,</p>
+<p class="large">Touching his ancient sword,</p>
+<p>Prays for that mightier realm of God in man,</p>
+<p class="large b">"Hasten Thy Kingdom, Lord."</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>VI.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>"Land of new hope, land of the singing stars,</p>
+<p class="large">Type of the world to be,</p>
+<p>The vision of a world set free from wars</p>
+<p class="large">Takes life, takes form, from thee,</p>
+<p>Where all the jarring nations of this earth,</p>
+<p class="large">Beneath the all-blessing sun,</p>
+<p>Bring the new music of mankind to birth,</p>
+<p class="large b">And make the whole world one."</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>VII.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>And those old comrades rise around him there,</p>
+<p class="large">Old foemen, side by side,</p>
+<p>With eyes like stars upon the brave night-air,</p>
+<p class="large">And young as when they died,</p>
+<p>To hear your bells, O beautiful Princeton towers,</p>
+<p class="large">Ring for the world's release.</p>
+<p>They see you, piercing like gray swords through flowers,</p>
+<p class="large">And smile from hearts at peace.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 style="margin-bottom: 0em;"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span><a href="#contents">BEETHOVEN IN CENTRAL PARK</a></h2>
+
+<h5>(After a glimpse of a certain monument in New York, during the Victory Celebration)</h5>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE thousand-windowed towers were all alight.</p>
+<p class="large">Throngs of all nations filled that glittering way;</p>
+<p>And, rich with dreams of the approaching day,</p>
+<p>Flags of all nations trampled down the night.</p>
+<p>No clouds, at sunset, die in airs as bright.</p>
+<p class="large">No clouds, at dawn, awake in winds as gay;</p>
+<p class="large">For Freedom rose in that august array,</p>
+<p class="b">Crowned with the stars and weaponed for the right.</p>
+
+<p>Then, in a place of whispering leaves and gloom,</p>
+<p class="large">I saw, too dark, too dumb for bronze or stone,</p>
+<p class="large">One tragic head that bowed against the sky;</p>
+<p>O, in a hush too deep for any tomb</p>
+<p class="large">I saw Beethoven, dreadfully alone</p>
+<p class="indent2">With his own grief, and his own majesty.</p>
+</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h1><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>SONGS OF THE TRAWLERS AND SEA POEMS</h1>
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE PEOPLE'S FLEET</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">O</span>UT of her darkened fishing-ports they go,</p>
+<p class="large">A fleet of little ships, whose every name&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>Daffodil</i>, <i>Sea-lark</i>, <i>Rose</i> and <i>Surf</i> and <i>Snow</i>,</p>
+<p class="large b">Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;</p>
+
+<p>Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,</p>
+<p class="large">The people's fleet that never knew its worth,</p>
+<p>And every name is a broken phrase of song</p>
+<p class="large b">To some remembered loveliness on earth.</p>
+
+<p>There's <i>Barbara Cowie</i>, <i>Comely Bank</i> and <i>May</i>,</p>
+<p class="large">Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:</p>
+<p>There's <i>Ruth</i> and <i>Kindly Light</i> and <i>Robin Gray</i></p>
+<p class="large b">With <i>Mizpah</i>. (May that simple prayer come true!)</p>
+
+<p>Out of old England's inmost heart they sail,</p>
+<p class="large">A fleet of memories that can never fail.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span><a href="#contents">KILMENY</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">D</span>ARK, dark lay the drifters against the red West,</p>
+<p class="large">As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;</p>
+<p>And the oily green waters were rocking to rest</p>
+<p class="large">When Kilmeny went out, at the turn of the tide;</p>
+<p>And nobody knew where that lassie would roam,</p>
+<p class="large">For the magic that called her was tapping unseen.</p>
+<p>It was well-nigh a week ere Kilmeny came home,</p>
+<p class="large b">And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.</p>
+
+<p>She'd a gun at her bow that was Newcastle's best,</p>
+<p class="large">And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde,</p>
+<p>And a secret her skipper had never confessed,</p>
+<p class="large">Not even at dawn, to his newly-wed bride;</p>
+<p>And a wireless that whispered above, like a gnome,</p>
+<p class="large">The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin....</p>
+<p>O, it may have been mermaids that lured her from home;</p>
+<p class="b">But nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>It was dark when Kilmeny came home from her quest</p>
+<p class="large">With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died;</p>
+<p>But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast,</p>
+<p class="large b">And <i>Well done Kilmeny!</i> the Admiral cried.</p>
+
+<p>Now, at sixty-four fathom a conger may come</p>
+<p class="large">And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine;</p>
+<p>But&mdash;late in the evening Kilmeny came home,</p>
+<p class="large b">And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.</p>
+
+<p>There's a wandering shadow that stares at the foam,</p>
+<p class="large">Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen.</p>
+<p>Late, late in the evening, Kilmeny came home;</p>
+<p class="large">And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span><a href="#contents">CAP'N STORM-ALONG</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HEY are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!</i></p>
+<p><i>Sea-lark</i> singing to <i>Golden Feather</i>,</p>
+<p class="large">And burly blue waters all swelling aroun'.</p>
+<p>There's <i>Thunderstone</i> butting ahead as they wallow,</p>
+<p class="large">With death in the mesh of their deep-sea trawl;</p>
+<p>There's <i>Night-Hawk</i> swooping by wild <i>Sea-swallow</i>;</p>
+<p class="large b">And old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.</p>
+
+<p class="large"><i>Bashing the seas to a welter of white,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight.</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>O, they're dancing like witches to open the ball;</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>And old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all.</i></p>
+
+<p>Now, where have you seen such a bully old sailor?</p>
+<p class="large">His eyes are as blue as the scarf at his throat;</p>
+<p>And he rolls on the bridge of his broad-beamed whaler,</p>
+<p class="large">In yellow sou'wester and oil-skin coat.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>In trawler and drifter, in dinghy and dory,</p>
+<p class="large">Wherever he signals, they leap to his call;</p>
+<p>They batter the seas to a lather of glory,</p>
+<p class="large b">With old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.</p>
+
+<p class="large"><i>You'll find he's from Devon, the sailor I mean,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Look at his whaler now, shipping it green.</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>O, Fritz and his "U" boat must crab it and crawl</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>When old Cap'n Storm-along sails to the ball.</i></p>
+
+<p>Ay, there is the skipper that knows how to scare 'em.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!</i></p>
+<p>Look at the sea-wives he keeps in his harem,</p>
+<p class="large">Wicked young merry-maids, buxom and brown:</p>
+<p>There's <i>Rosalind</i>, the sea-witch, and <i>Gipsy</i> so lissom,</p>
+<p class="large">All dancing like ducks in the teeth of the squall,</p>
+<p>With a bright eye for Huns, and a Hotchkiss to kiss 'em;</p>
+<p class="large b">For old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all.</p>
+
+<p class="large"><i>Look at him, battering darkness to light!</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight!</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>O, hearts that are mighty, in ships that are small,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Your old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of us all.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE BIG BLACK TRAWLER</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE very best ship that ever I knew,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Ah-way O, to me O&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.</i></p>
+
+<p>There was one old devil with a broken nose</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Ah-way O, to me O&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>He was four score years, as I suppose&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>But, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.</i></p>
+
+<p>We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Ah-way O, to me O&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.</i></p>
+
+<p>And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Ah-way O, to me O&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>Roars, "Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast"&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>"For I soaked my sea-boots and my dungarees</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Ah-way O, to me O&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>In the good salt water that the Lord don't freeze"&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Oh, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span><a href="#contents">NAMESAKES</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">B</span>UT where's the brown drifter that went out alone?</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Roll and go, and fare you well&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>Was her name Peggy Nutten? That name is my own.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Fare you well, my sailor.</i></p>
+<p>They sang in the dark, "Let her go! Let her go!"</p>
+<p>And she sailed to the West, where the broad waters flow;</p>
+<p>And the others come back, but ... the bitter winds blow.</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Ah, fare you well, my sailor.</i></p>
+
+<p>The women, at evening, they wave and they cheer.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Roll and go, and fare you well&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>They're waiting to welcome their lads at the pier.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Fare you well, my sailor.</i></p>
+<p>They're all coming home in the twilight below;</p>
+<p>But there's one little boat.... Let her go! Let her go!</p>
+<p>She carried my heart, and a heart for the foe.</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Ah, fare you well, my sailor.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>The <i>Nell</i> and the <i>Maggie</i>, the <i>Ruth</i> and the <i>Joan</i>,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>&mdash;Roll and go, and fare you well&mdash;</i></p>
+<p>They come to their namesakes, and leave me alone.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Fare you well, my sailor.</i></p>
+<p>And names are kep' dark, for the spies mustn't know;</p>
+<p>But they'll look in my face, an' I think it will show;</p>
+<p>Peggy Nutten's my name. Let her go! let her go!</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Ah, fare you well, my sailor.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><a href="#contents">WIRELESS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">N</span>OW to those who search the deep,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Gleam of Hope</i> and <i>Kindly Light</i>,</p>
+<p>Once, before you turn to sleep,</p>
+<p class="large">Breathe a message through the night.</p>
+<p>Never doubt that they'll receive it.</p>
+<p class="b">Send it, once, and you'll believe it.</p>
+
+<p>Wrecks that burn against the stars,</p>
+<p class="large">Decks where death is wallowing green,</p>
+<p>Snare the breath among their spars,</p>
+<p class="large">Hear the flickering threads between,</p>
+<p>Quick, through all the storms that blind them,</p>
+<p class="b">Quick with words that rush to find them.</p>
+
+<p>Think you these a&euml;rial wires</p>
+<p class="large">Whisper more than spirits may?</p>
+<p>Think you that our strong desires</p>
+<p class="large">Touch no distance when we pray?</p>
+<p>Think you that no wings are flying</p>
+<p class="b">'Twixt the living and the dying?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>Inland, here, upon your knees,</p>
+<p class="large">You shall breathe from urgent lips,</p>
+<p>Round the ships that guard your seas,</p>
+<p class="large">Fleet on fleet of angel ships;</p>
+<p>Yea, the guarded may so bless them</p>
+<p class="b">That no terrors can distress them.</p>
+
+<p>You shall guide the darkling prow,</p>
+<p class="large">Kneeling thus&mdash;and far inland&mdash;</p>
+<p>You shall touch the storm-beat brow</p>
+<p class="large">Gently as a spirit-hand.</p>
+<p>Even a blindfold prayer may speed them,</p>
+<p>And a little child may lead them.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span><a href="#contents">FISHERS OF MEN</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">L</span>ONG, long ago He said,</p>
+<p>He who could wake the dead,</p>
+<p class="large">And walk upon the sea&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>"Come, follow Me.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Leave your brown nets and bring</p>
+<p>Only your hearts to sing,</p>
+<p class="large">Only your souls to pray,</p>
+<p class="large b">Rise, come away.</p>
+
+<p>"Shake out your spirit-sails,</p>
+<p>And brave those wilder gales,</p>
+<p class="large">And I will make you then</p>
+<p class="large b">Fishers of men."</p>
+
+<p>Was this, then, what He meant?</p>
+<p>Was this His high intent,</p>
+<p class="large">After two thousand years</p>
+<p class="large b">Of blood and tears?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>God help us, if we fight</p>
+<p>For right, and not for might.</p>
+<p class="large">God help us if we seek</p>
+<p class="large b">To shield the weak.</p>
+
+<p>Then, though His heaven be far</p>
+<p>From this blind welter of war,</p>
+<p class="large">He'll bless us, on the sea</p>
+<p class="large b">From Calvary.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span><a href="#contents">AN OPEN BOAT</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">O</span> WHAT is that whimpering there in the darkness?</p>
+<p class="large"><i>"Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.</i></p>
+<p><i>Look. I'll wrap all my hair round his neck."&mdash;"The sea's rising,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>The boat must be lightened. He's dead. He must go."</i></p>
+
+<p>See&mdash;quick&mdash;by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,</p>
+<p class="large">The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,</p>
+<p>And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover</p>
+<p class="large b">And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.</p>
+
+<p><i>"Come, lady, he's dead." "No, I feel his heart beating.</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>He's living, I know. But he's numbed with the cold.</i></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span><i>See, I'm wrapping my hair all around him to warm him"&mdash;&mdash;</i></p>
+<p class="large b">&mdash;<i>"No. We can't keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>"Come. Loosen your fingers."&mdash;"O God, let me keep him!"</i></p>
+<p class="large">O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!</p>
+<p>For there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,</p>
+<p class="large">To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span><a href="#contents">PEACE IN A PALACE</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">Y</span>OU were weeping in the night," said the Emperor,</p>
+<p class="large">"Weeping in your sleep, I am told."</p>
+<p>"It was nothing but a dream," said the Empress;</p>
+<p class="large">But her face grew gray and old.</p>
+<p>"You thought you saw our German God defeated?"</p>
+<p class="large">"Oh, no!" she said. "I saw no lightnings fall.</p>
+<p>I dreamed of a whirlpool of green water,</p>
+<p class="large b">Where something had gone down. That was all.</p>
+
+<p><i>"All but the whimper of the sea gulls flying,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Endlessly round and round,</i></p>
+<p><i>Waiting for the faces, the faces from the darkness,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>The dreadful rising faces of the drowned.</i></p>
+
+<p>"It was nothing but a dream," said the Empress.</p>
+<p class="large">"I thought I was walking on the sea;</p>
+<p>And the foam rushed up in a wild smother,</p>
+<p class="large b">And a crowd of little faces looked at me.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>They were drowning! They were drowning," said the Empress,</p>
+<p class="large">"And they stretched their feeble arms to the sky;</p>
+<p>But the worst was&mdash;they mistook me for their mother,</p>
+<p class="large b">And cried as my children used to cry.</p>
+
+<p><i>"Nothing but a whimper of the sea-gulls flying,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Endlessly round and round,</i></p>
+<p><i>With the cruel yellow beaks that were waiting for the faces,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>The little floating faces of the drowned."</i></p>
+
+<p>"It was nothing but a dream," said the Emperor,</p>
+<p class="large">"So why should you weep, dear, eh?"&mdash;</p>
+<p>"Oh, I saw the red letters on a life belt</p>
+<p class="large">That the green sea washed my way!"&mdash;</p>
+<p>"What were they?" said the Emperor. "What were they?"&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">"Some of them were hidden," said the Empress,</p>
+<p class="large">"But I plainly saw the L and the U!"</p>
+<p>"In God's name, stop!" said the Emperor.</p>
+<p class="large b">"You told me that it was not true!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span><i>"Told me that you dreamed of the sea gulls flying,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Endlessly round and round,</i></p>
+<p><i>Waiting for the faces, and the eyes in the faces,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>The eyes of the children that we drowned.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Kiss me and forget it," said the Emperor,</p>
+<p class="large">"Dry your tears on the tassel of my sword.</p>
+<p>I am going to offer peace to my people,</p>
+<p class="large">And abdicate, perhaps, as overlord.</p>
+<p>I shall now take up My Cross as Count of Prussia&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">Which is not a heavy burden, you'll agree.</p>
+<p>Why, before the twenty million dead are rotten</p>
+<p class="large">There'll be yachting days again for you and me.</p>
+<p class="large">Cheer up!</p>
+<p class="b">It would mean a rope for anyone but Me."</p>
+
+<p><i>"Oh, take care!" said the Empress. "They are flying,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Endlessly round and round.</i></p>
+<p><i>They have finished with the faces, the dreadful little faces,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>The little eyeless faces of the drowned."</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE VINDICTIVE</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">H</span>OW should we praise those lads of the old <i>Vindictive</i></p>
+<p class="large">Who looked Death straight in the eyes,</p>
+<p class="indent">Till his gaze fell,</p>
+<p class="indent b">In those red gates of hell?</p>
+
+<p>England, in her proud history, proudly enrolls them,</p>
+<p class="large">And the deep night in her remembering skies</p>
+<p class="indent">With purer glory</p>
+<p class="indent b">Shall blazon their grim story.</p>
+
+<p>There were no throngs to applaud that hushed adventure.</p>
+<p class="large">They were one to a thousand on that fierce emprise.</p>
+<p class="indent">The shores they sought</p>
+<p class="indent b">Were armoured, past all thought.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>O, they knew fear, be assured, as the brave must know it,</p>
+<p class="large">With youth and its happiness bidding their last good-byes;</p>
+<p class="indent">Till thoughts, more dear</p>
+<p class="indent b">Than life, cast out all fear.</p>
+
+<p class="large">For if, as we think, they remembered the brown-roofed homesteads,</p>
+<p>And the scent of the hawthorn hedges when daylight dies,</p>
+<p class="indent">Old happy places,</p>
+<p class="indent b">Young eyes and fading faces;</p>
+
+<p>One dream was dearer that night than the best of their boyhood,</p>
+<p class="large">One hope more radiant than any their hearts could prize.</p>
+<p class="indent">The touch of your hand,</p>
+<p class="indent b">The light of your face, England!</p>
+
+<p>So, age to age shall tell how they sailed through the darkness</p>
+<p class="large">Where, under those high, austere, implacable stars,</p>
+<p class="indent">Not one in ten</p>
+<p class="indent b">Might look for a dawn again.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>They saw the ferry-boats, <i>Iris</i> and <i>Daffodil</i>, creeping</p>
+<p class="large">Darkly as clouds to the shimmering mine-strewn bars,</p>
+<p class="indent">Flash into light!</p>
+<p class="indent b">Then thunder reddened the night.</p>
+
+<p>The wild white swords of the search-lights blinded and stabbed them,</p>
+<p class="large">The sharp black shadows fought in fantastic wars.</p>
+<p class="indent">Black waves leapt whitening,</p>
+<p class="indent b">Red decks were washed with lightning.</p>
+
+<p>But, under the twelve-inch guns of the black land-batteries</p>
+<p class="large">The hacked bright hulk, in a glory of crackling spars,</p>
+<p class="indent">Moved to her goal</p>
+<p class="indent b">Like an immortal soul;</p>
+
+<p>That, while the raw rent flesh in a furnace is tortured,</p>
+<p class="large">Reigns by a law no agony ever can shake,</p>
+<p class="indent">And shines in power</p>
+<p class="indent b">Above all shocks of the hour.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>O, there, while the decks ran blood, and the star-shells lightened</p>
+<p class="large">The old broken ship that the enemy never could break,</p>
+<p class="indent">Swept through the fire</p>
+<p class="indent b">And grappled her heart's desire.</p>
+
+<p>There, on a wreck that blazed with the soul of England,</p>
+<p class="large">The lads that died in the dark for England's sake</p>
+<p class="indent">Knew, as they died,</p>
+<p class="indent b">Nelson was at their side;</p>
+
+<p>Nelson, and all the ghostly fleets of his island,</p>
+<p class="large">Fighting beside them there, and the soul of Drake!&mdash;</p>
+<p class="indent">Dreams, as we knew,</p>
+<p class="indent b">Till these lads made them true.</p>
+
+<p><i>How should we praise you, lads of the old Vindictive,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Who looked death straight in the eyes,</i></p>
+<p class="indent"><i>Till his gaze fell</i></p>
+<p class="indent"><i>In those red gates of hell?</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h1><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span>MISCELLANEOUS POEMS</h1>
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS OF CHELTENHAM</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">W</span>HEN hawthorn buds are creaming white,</p>
+<p class="large">And the red foolscap all stuck with may,</p>
+<p>Then lasses walk with eyes alight,</p>
+<p class="large b">And it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.</p>
+
+<p>For the chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham town,</p>
+<p class="large">Sooty of face as a swallow of wing,</p>
+<p>Come whistling, singing, dancing down</p>
+<p class="large b">With white teeth flashing as they sing.</p>
+
+<p>And Jack-in-the green, by a clown in blue,</p>
+<p class="large">Walks like a two-legged bush of may,</p>
+<p>With the little wee lads that wriggled up the flue</p>
+<p class="large b">Ere Cheltenham town cried "dancing day."</p>
+
+<p>For brooms were short and the chimneys tall,</p>
+<p class="large">And the gipsies caught 'em these blackbirds cheap,</p>
+<p>So Cheltenham bought them, spry and small,</p>
+<p class="large b">And shoved them up in the dark to sweep.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span>For Cheltenham town was cruel of old,</p>
+<p class="large">But she has been gathering garlands gay,</p>
+<p>And the little wee lads are in green and gold,</p>
+<p class="large b">For it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.</p>
+
+<p>And red as a rose, and blue as the sky,</p>
+<p class="large">With teeth as white as their faces are black,</p>
+<p>The master-sweeps go dancing by,</p>
+<p class="large b">With a gridiron painted on every back.</p>
+
+<p>But when they are ranged in the market-place,</p>
+<p class="large">The clown's wife comes with an iron spoon,</p>
+<p>And cozens a penny for her sweet face</p>
+<p class="large b">To keep their golden throats in tune.</p>
+
+<p>Then, hushing the riot of that mad throng,</p>
+<p class="large">And sweet as the voice of a long-dead May,</p>
+<p>A wandering pedlar lifts 'em a song,</p>
+<p class="large b">Of chimney-sweepers' dancing day;</p>
+
+<p>And the sooty faces, they try to recall....</p>
+<p class="large">As they gather around in their spell-struck rings....</p>
+<p>But nobody knows that singer at all</p>
+<p class="large b">Or the curious old-time air he sings:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>Why are you dancing, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,</p>
+<p class="large">And where did you win you these may-coats so fine;</p>
+<p>For some are red as roses, and some are gold as daffodils,</p>
+<p class="large b">But who, ah, who remembers, now, a little lad of mine?</p>
+
+<p>Lady, we are dancing, as we danced in old England</p>
+<p class="large">When the may was more than may, very long ago:</p>
+<p>As for our may-coats, it was your white hands, lady,</p>
+<p class="large b">Filled our sooty hearts and minds with blossom, white as snow.</p>
+
+<p>It was a beautiful face we saw, wandering through Cheltenham.</p>
+<p class="large">It was a beautiful song we heard, very far away,</p>
+<p>Weeping for a little lad stolen by the gipsies,</p>
+<p class="large b">Broke our hearts and filled 'em with the glory of the may.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>Many a little lad had we, chirruping in the chimney-tops,</p>
+<p class="large">Twirling out a sooty broom, a blot against the blue.</p>
+<p>Ah, but when we called to him, and when he saw and ran to her,</p>
+<p class="large b">All our winter ended, and our world was made anew.</p>
+
+<p>Then she gave us may-coats of gold and green and crimson,</p>
+<p class="large">Then, with a long garland, she led our hearts away,</p>
+<p>Whispering, "Remember, though the boughs forget the hawthorn,</p>
+<p class="large b">Yet shall I return to you, that was your lady May."&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>But why are you dancing now, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,</p>
+<p class="large">And why are you singing of a May that is fled?&mdash;</p>
+<p>O, there's music to be born, though we pluck the old fiddle-strings,</p>
+<p class="large b">And a world's May awaking where the fields lay dead.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>And we dance, dance, dreaming of a lady most beautiful</p>
+<p class="large">That shall walk the green valleys of this dark earth one day,</p>
+<p>And call to us gently, "O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,</p>
+<p class="large">I am looking for my children. Awake, and come away."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span><a href="#contents">TO A SUCCESSFUL MAN</a></h2>
+
+<h4>(<i>What the Ghosts Said</i>)</h4>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">A</span>ND after all the labour and the pains,</p>
+<p class="large">After the heaping up of gold on gold,</p>
+<p>After success that locked your feet in chains,</p>
+<p class="large b">And left you with a heart so tired and old,</p>
+
+<p>Strange&mdash;is it not?&mdash;to find your chief desire</p>
+<p class="large">Is what you might have had for nothing then&mdash;</p>
+<p>The face of love beside a cottage fire</p>
+<p class="large b">And friendly laughter with your fellow-men?</p>
+
+<p>You were so rich when fools esteemed you poor.</p>
+<p class="large">You ruled a field that kings could never buy;</p>
+<p>The glory of the sea was at your door;</p>
+<p class="large b">And all those quiet stars were in your sky.</p>
+
+<p>The nook of ferns below the breathless wood</p>
+<p class="large">Where one poor book could unlock Paradise ...</p>
+<p>What will you give us now for that lost good?</p>
+<p class="large b">Better forget. You cannot pay the price.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>You left them for the fame in which you trust.</p>
+<p class="large">But youth, and hope&mdash;did you forsake them, too?</p>
+<p>Courage! When dust at length returns to dust,</p>
+<p class="larage">In your last dreams they may come back to you.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE OLD GENTLEMAN WITH THE AMBER SNUFF-BOX</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><i><span class="cap">T</span>HE old gentleman, tapping his amber snuff-box</i></p>
+<p><i>(A heart-shaped snuff-box with a golden clasp)</i></p>
+<p><i>Stared at the dying fire. "I'd like them all</i></p>
+<p><i>To understand, when I am gone," he muttered.</i></p>
+<p><i>"But how to do it delicately! I can't</i></p>
+<p><i>Apologize. I'll hint at it ... in verse;</i></p>
+<p><i>And, to be sure that Rosalind reads it through,</i></p>
+<p><i>I'll make it an appendix to my will!"</i></p>
+<p><i>&mdash;Still cynical, you see. He couldn't help it.</i></p>
+<p><i>He had seen much, felt much. He snapped the snuff box,</i></p>
+<p><i>Shook his white periwig, trimmed a long quill pen,</i></p>
+<p><i>And then began to write, most carefully,</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>These couplets, in the old heroic style:&mdash;</i></p>
+
+<p>O, had I known in boyhood, only known</p>
+<p>The few sad truths that time has made my own,</p>
+<p>I had not lost the best that youth can give,</p>
+<p>Nay, life itself, in learning how to live.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>This laboring heart would not be tired so soon,</p>
+<p>This jaded blood would jog to a livelier tune:</p>
+<p>And some few friends, could I begin again,</p>
+<p>Should know more happiness, and much less pain.</p>
+<p>I should not wound in ignorance, nor turn</p>
+<p>In foolish pride from those for whom I yearn.</p>
+<p>I should have kept nigh half the friends I've lost,</p>
+<p class="b">And held for dearest those I wronged the most.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, when I see more cunning men evade</p>
+<p>With colder tact, the blunders that I made;</p>
+<p>Sometimes I wonder if the better part</p>
+<p>Is not still mine, who lacked their subtle art.</p>
+<p>For I have conned my book in harsher schools,</p>
+<p>And learned from struggling what they worked by rules;</p>
+<p>Learned&mdash;with some pain&mdash;more quickly to forgive</p>
+<p>My fellow-blunderers, while they learn to live;</p>
+<p>Learned&mdash;with some tears&mdash;to keep a steadfast mind,</p>
+<p class="b">And think more kindly of my own poor kind.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span><i>He read the verses through, shaking his wig.</i></p>
+<p><i>"Perhaps ... perhaps"&mdash;he whispered to himself,</i></p>
+<p><i>"I'd better leave it to the will of God.</i></p>
+<p><i>They might upset my own. I do not think</i></p>
+<p><i>They'd understand. Jocelyn might, perhaps;</i></p>
+<p><i>And Dick, if only they were left alone.</i></p>
+<p><i>But Rosalind never; nor that nephew of mine,</i></p>
+<p><i>The witty politician. No. No. No.</i></p>
+<p><i>They'd say my mind was wandering, I'm afraid."</i></p>
+<p><i>So, with a frozen face, reluctantly,</i></p>
+<p><i>He tossed his verses into the dying fire,</i></p>
+<p><i>And watched the sparks fly upward.</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>There, at dawn,</i></p>
+<p><i>They found him, cold and stiff by the cold hearth,</i></p>
+<p><i>His amber snuff-box in his ivory hand.</i></p>
+<p><i>"You see," they said, "he never needed friends.</i></p>
+<p><i>He had that curious antique frozen way.</i></p>
+<p><i>He had no heart&mdash;only an amber snuff-box.</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>He died quite happily, taking a pinch of snuff."</i></p>
+
+<p><i>His nephew, that engaging politician,</i></p>
+<p><i>Inherited the snuff-box, and remarked</i></p>
+<p><i>His epitaph should be "Snuffed Out." The clubs</i></p>
+<p><i>Laughed, and the statesman's reputation grew.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span><a href="#contents">WHAT GRANDFATHER SAID</a></h2>
+
+<h5>(<i>An epistle from a narrow-minded old gentleman to a young artist of
+superior intellect and intense realism.</i>)</h5>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">Y</span>OUR thoughts are for the poor and weak?</p>
+<p class="large">Ah, no, the picturesque's your passion!</p>
+<p>Your tongue is always in your cheek</p>
+<p class="large b">At poverty that's not in fashion.</p>
+
+<p>You like a ploughman's rugged face,</p>
+<p class="large">Or painted eyes in Piccadilly;</p>
+<p>But bowler hats are commonplace,</p>
+<p class="large b">And thread-bare tradesmen simply silly.</p>
+
+<p>The clerk that sings "God save the King,"</p>
+<p class="large">And still believes his Tory paper,&mdash;</p>
+<p>You hate the an&aelig;mic fool? I thought</p>
+<p class="large b">You loved the weak! Was that all vapour?</p>
+
+<p>Ah, when you sneer, dear democrat,</p>
+<p class="large">At such a shiny-trousered Tory</p>
+<p>Because he doffs his poor old hat</p>
+<p class="large b">To what he thinks his country's glory,</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>To you it's just a coloured rag.</p>
+<p class="large">You hate the "patriots" that bawl so.</p>
+<p>Well, my Ulysses, there's a flag</p>
+<p class="large b">That lifts men in Republics also.</p>
+
+<p>No doubt his thoughts are cruder far;</p>
+<p class="large">And, where those linen folds are shaking,</p>
+<p>Perhaps he sees a kind of star</p>
+<p class="large b">Because his eyes are tired and aching.</p>
+
+<p>Banal enough! Banal as truth!</p>
+<p class="large">But I'm not thinking of his banners.</p>
+<p>I'm thinking of his pinched white youth</p>
+<p class="large b">And your disgusting "new art" manners.</p>
+
+<p>His meek submission stirs your hate?</p>
+<p class="large">Better, my lad, if you're so fervent,</p>
+<p>Turn your cold steel against the State</p>
+<p class="large b">Instead of sneering at the servant.</p>
+
+<p>He does his job. He draws his pay.</p>
+<p class="large">You sneer, and dine with those that pay him;</p>
+<p>And then you write a snobbish play</p>
+<p class="large b">For democrats, in which you play him.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>Ah, yes, you like simplicity</p>
+<p class="large">That sucks its cheeks to make the dimple.</p>
+<p>But this domestic bourgeoisie</p>
+<p class="large b">You hate,&mdash;because it's all too simple.</p>
+
+<p>You hate the hearth, the wife, the child,</p>
+<p class="large">You hate the heavens that bend above them.</p>
+<p>Your simple folk must all run wild</p>
+<p class="large b">Like jungle-beasts before you love them.</p>
+
+<p>You own a house in Cheyne Walk,</p>
+<p class="large">(You say it costs three thousand fully)</p>
+<p>Where subtle snobs can talk and talk</p>
+<p class="large b">And play the intellectual bully.</p>
+
+<p>Yes. I say "snobs." Are names alone</p>
+<p class="large">Free from all change? Your word "Victorian"</p>
+<p>Could bite and sting in ninety one</p>
+<p class="large b">But now&mdash;it's deader than the saurian.</p>
+
+<p>You think I live in yesterday,</p>
+<p class="large">Because I think your way the wrong one;</p>
+<p>But I have hewed and ploughed my way,</p>
+<p class="large b">And&mdash;unlike yours&mdash;it's been a long one.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>I let Victoria toll her bell,</p>
+<p class="large">And went with Strindberg for a ride, sir.</p>
+<p>I've fought through your own day as well,</p>
+<p class="large b">And come out on the other side, sir,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>The further side, the morning side,</p>
+<p class="large">I read free verse (the Psalms) on Sunday.</p>
+<p>But I've decided (you'll decide)</p>
+<p class="large b">That there is room for song on Monday.</p>
+
+<p>I've seen the new snob on his way,</p>
+<p class="large">The intellectual snob I mean, sir,</p>
+<p>The artist snob, in book and play,</p>
+<p class="large b">Kicking his mother round the scene, sir.</p>
+
+<p>I've heard the Tories talk like fools;</p>
+<p class="large">And the rich fool that apes the Tory.</p>
+<p>I've seen the shopmen break your rules</p>
+<p class="large b">And die like Christ, in Christ's own glory.</p>
+
+<p>But, as for you, that liberal sneer</p>
+<p class="large">Reminds me of the poor old Kaiser.</p>
+<p>He was a "socialist," my dear.</p>
+<p class="large">Well, I'm your grandson. You'll grow wiser.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span><a href="#contents">MEMORIES OF THE PACIFIC COAST</a></h2>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span> KNOW a land, I, too,</p>
+<p class="large">Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,</p>
+<p>And all the winter long the skies are blue,</p>
+<p class="large b">And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.</p>
+
+<p>Deserts of all delight,</p>
+<p class="large">Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,</p>
+<p>Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,</p>
+<p class="large b">And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.</p>
+
+<p>O, to be wandering there,</p>
+<p class="large">Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,</p>
+<p>Where the waves break in song, and the bright air</p>
+<p class="large b">Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.</p>
+
+<p>There Beauty dwells,</p>
+<p class="large">Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;</p>
+<p>And Youth returns with all its magic spells,</p>
+<p class="large b">And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>Home&mdash;home! Where is that land?</p>
+<p class="large">For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry</p>
+<p>Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,</p>
+<p class="large">And sets my sail to seek another sky.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span><a href="#contents">NIPPON</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">L</span>AST night, I dreamed of Nippon....</p>
+<p class="large">I saw a cloud of white</p>
+<p>Drifting before the sunset</p>
+<p class="large b">On seas of opal light.</p>
+
+<p>Beyond the wide Pacific</p>
+<p class="large">I saw its mounded snow</p>
+<p>Miraculously changing</p>
+<p class="large b">In that deep evening glow,</p>
+
+<p>To rosy rifts and hillocks,</p>
+<p class="large">To orchards that I knew,</p>
+<p>To snows of peach and cherry,</p>
+<p class="large b">And feathers of bamboo.</p>
+
+<p>I saw, on twisted bridges,</p>
+<p class="large">In blue and crimson gleams,</p>
+<p>The lanterns of the fishers,</p>
+<p class="large b">Along the brook of dreams.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>I saw the wreaths of incense</p>
+<p class="large">Like little ghosts arise,</p>
+<p>From temples under Fuji,</p>
+<p class="large b">From Fuji to the skies.</p>
+
+<p>I saw that fairy mountain....</p>
+<p class="large">I watched it form and fade.</p>
+<p>No doubt the gods were singing,</p>
+<p class="large">When Nippon isle was made.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE HUMMING BIRDS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">G</span>REEN wing and ruby throat,</p>
+<p class="large">What shining spell, what exquisite sorcery,</p>
+<p>Lured you to float</p>
+<p class="large b">And fight with bees round this one flowering tree?</p>
+
+<p>Petulant imps of light,</p>
+<p class="large">What whisper or gleam or elfin-wild perfumes</p>
+<p>Thrilled through the night</p>
+<p class="large b">And drew you to this hive of rosy bloom?</p>
+
+<p>One tree, and one alone,</p>
+<p class="large">Of all that load this magic air with spice,</p>
+<p>Claims for its own</p>
+<p class="large b">Your brave migration out of Paradise;</p>
+
+<p>Claims you, and guides you, too,</p>
+<p class="large">Three thousand miles across the summer's waste</p>
+<p>Of blooms ye knew</p>
+<p class="large b">Less finely fit for your ethereal taste.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>To poets' youthful hearts,</p>
+<p class="large">Even so the quivering April thoughts will fly,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Those irised darts,</p>
+<p class="large b">Those winged and tiny denizens of the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Through beaks as needle-fine,</p>
+<p class="large">They suck a redder honey than bees know.</p>
+<p>Unearthly wine</p>
+<p class="large">Sleeps in this bloom; and, when it falls, they go.</p>
+</div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span><a href="#contents">LINES FOR A SUN-DIAL</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">W</span>ITH shadowy pen I write,</p>
+<p class="indent">Till time be done,</p>
+<p class="large">Good news of some strange light,</p>
+<p>Some far off sun.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE REALMS OF GOLD</a></h2>
+
+<h5>(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing stranger under the palms of Southern California.)</h5>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">U</span>NDER the palms of San Diego</p>
+<p class="large">Where gold-skinned Mexicans loll at ease,</p>
+<p>And the red half-moons of their black-pipped melons</p>
+<p class="large">Drop from their hands in the sunset seas,</p>
+<p>And an incense, out of the old brown missions,</p>
+<p class="large b">Blows through the orange trees;</p>
+
+<p>I wished that a poet who died in Europe</p>
+<p class="large">Had found his way to this rose-red West;</p>
+<p>That Keats had walked by the wide Pacific</p>
+<p class="large">And cradled his head on its healing breast,</p>
+<p>And made new songs of the sun-burned sea-folk,</p>
+<p class="large b">New poems, perhaps his best.</p>
+
+<p>I thought of him, under the ripe pomegranates</p>
+<p class="large">At the desert's edge, where the grape-vines grow,</p>
+<p>In a sun-kissed ranch between grey-green sage-brush</p>
+<p class="large">And amethyst mountains, peaked with snow,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>Or watching the lights of the City of Angels</p>
+<p class="large b">Glitter like stars below.</p>
+
+<p>He should walk, at dawn, by the lemon orchards,</p>
+<p class="large">And breathe at ease in that dry bright air;</p>
+<p>And the Spanish bells in their crumbling cloisters</p>
+<p class="large">Of brown adobe would sing to him there;</p>
+<p>And the old Franciscans would bring him their baskets</p>
+<p class="large b">Of apple and olive and pear.</p>
+
+<p>And the mandolins, in the deep blue twilight,</p>
+<p class="large">Under that palm with the lion's mane,</p>
+<p>Would pluck, once more, at his golden heart-strings,</p>
+<p class="large">And tell him the old sea-tales of Spain;</p>
+<p>And there should the daughters of Hesperus teach him</p>
+<p class="large b">Their mystical songs again.</p>
+
+<p>Then, the dusk blew sweet over seas of peach-bloom;</p>
+<p class="large">The moon sailed white in the cloudless blue;</p>
+<p>The tree-toads purred, and the crickets chirruped;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>And better than anything dreamed came true;</p>
+<p>For, under the murmuring palms, a shadow</p>
+<p class="large b">Passed, with the eyes I knew;</p>
+
+<p>A shadow, perhaps, of the tall green fountains</p>
+<p class="large">That rustled their fronds on that glittering sky,</p>
+<p>A hungering shadow, a lean dark shadow,</p>
+<p class="large">A dreaming shadow that drifted by;</p>
+<p>But I heard him whisper the strange dark music</p>
+<p class="large b">That found it so "rich to die."</p>
+
+<p>And the murmuring palms of San Diego</p>
+<p class="large">Shook with stars as he passed beneath.</p>
+<p>The Paradise palms, and the wild white orchards,</p>
+<p class="large">The night, and its roses, were all one breath,</p>
+<p>Bearing the song of a nightingale seaward,</p>
+<p class="large">A song that had out-soared death.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span><a href="#contents">COMPENSATIONS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">N</span>OT with a flash that rends the blue</p>
+<p class="large">Shall fall the avenging sword.</p>
+<p>Gently as the evening dew</p>
+<p class="large b">Descends the mighty Lord.</p>
+
+<p>His dreadful balances are made</p>
+<p class="large">To move with moon and tide;</p>
+<p>Yet shall not mercy be afraid</p>
+<p class="large b">Nor justice be denied.</p>
+
+<p>The dreams that seemed to waste away,</p>
+<p class="large">The kindliness forgot,</p>
+<p>Were singing in your heart today</p>
+<p class="large b">Although you knew them not.</p>
+
+<p>The sun shall not forget his road,</p>
+<p class="large">Nor the high stars their rhyme,</p>
+<p>The traveller with the heavier load</p>
+<p class="large b">Has one less hill to climb.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>And, though a darker shadow fall</p>
+<p class="large">On every struggling age,</p>
+<p>How shall it be if, after all,</p>
+<p class="large b">He share our pilgrimage?</p>
+
+<p>The end we mourn is not the end.</p>
+<p class="large">The dust has nimble wings.</p>
+<p>But truth and beauty have a friend</p>
+<p class="large b">At the deep heart of things.</p>
+
+<p>He will not speak? What friend belies</p>
+<p class="large">His love with idle breath?</p>
+<p>We read it in each others' eyes,</p>
+<p class="large">And ask no more in death.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span><a href="#contents">DEAD MAN'S MORRICE</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HERE came a crowder to the Mermaid Inn,</p>
+<p class="large">One dark May night,</p>
+<p>Fiddling a tune that quelled our motley din,</p>
+<p class="large">With quaint delight,</p>
+<p>It haunts me yet, as old lost airs will do,</p>
+<p class="large">A phantom strain:</p>
+<p><i>Look for me once, lest I should look for you,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>And look in vain.</i></p>
+
+<p>In that old wood, where ghosts of lovers walk,</p>
+<p class="large">At fall of day,</p>
+<p>Gleaning such fragments of their ancient talk</p>
+<p class="large">As poor ghosts may,</p>
+<p>From leaves that brushed their faces, wet with dew,</p>
+<p class="large">Or tears, or rain,...</p>
+<p><i>Look for me once, lest I should look for you,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>And look in vain.</i></p>
+
+<p>Have we not seen them&mdash;pale forgotten shades</p>
+<p class="large">That do return,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>Groping for those dim paths, those fragrant glades,</p>
+<p class="large">Those nooks of fern,</p>
+<p>Only to find that, of the may they knew,</p>
+<p class="large">No wraiths remain;</p>
+<p><i>Yet they still look, as I should look for you,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>And look in vain.</i></p>
+
+<p>They see those happier ghosts that waned away&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">Whither, who knows?&mdash;</p>
+<p>Ghosts that come back with music and the may,</p>
+<p class="large">And Spring's first rose,</p>
+<p>Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,</p>
+<p class="large">Stave and refrain:</p>
+<p><i>Look for me once, lest I should look for you,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>And look in vain.</i></p>
+
+<p>So, after death, if in that starless deep,</p>
+<p class="large">I lose your eyes,</p>
+<p>I'll haunt familiar places. I'll not keep</p>
+<p class="large">Tryst in the skies.</p>
+<p>I'll haunt the whispering elms that found us true,</p>
+<p class="large">The old grass-grown lane.</p>
+<p><i>Look for me there, lest I should look for you,</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>And look in vain.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>There, as of old, under the dreaming moon,</p>
+<p class="large">A phantom throng</p>
+<p>Floats through the fern, to a ghostly morrice tune,</p>
+<p class="large">A thin sweet song,</p>
+<p>Hands link with hands, eyes drown in eyes anew,</p>
+<p class="large">Lips meet again....</p>
+<p><i>Look for me, once, lest I should look for you,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>And look in vain.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE OLD FOOL IN THE WOOD</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">"I</span>F I could whisper you all I know,"</p>
+<p class="large">Said the Old Fool in the Wood,</p>
+<p>"You'd never say that green leaves grow.</p>
+<p class="large">You'd say, 'Ah, what a happy mood</p>
+<p>The Master must be in today,</p>
+<p class="large">To think such thoughts,'</p>
+<p class="b">That's what you'd say."</p>
+
+<p>"If I could whisper you all I've heard,"</p>
+<p class="large">Said the Old Fool in the fern,</p>
+<p>"You'd never say the song of a bird.</p>
+<p class="large">You'd say, 'I'll listen, and p'raps I'll learn</p>
+<p>One word of His joy as He passed this way,</p>
+<p class="large">One syllable more,'</p>
+<p class="b">That's what you'd say."</p>
+
+<p>"If I could tell you all the rest,"</p>
+<p class="large">Said the Old Fool under the skies,</p>
+<p>"You'd hug your griefs against your breast</p>
+<p class="large">And whisper with love-lit eyes,</p>
+<p>'I am one with the sorrow that made the may,</p>
+<p class="large">And the pulse of His heart,'</p>
+<p class="b">That's what you'd say."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span><a href="#contents">A NEW MADRIGAL TO AN OLD MELODY</a></h2>
+
+<h5>(It is supposed that Shadow-of-a-Leaf uses the word "clear" in a more ancient sense of "beautiful.")</h5>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">A</span>S along a dark pine-bough, in slender white mystery</p>
+<p class="large">The moon lay to listen, above the thick fern,</p>
+<p>In a deep dreaming wood that is older than history</p>
+<p class="large">I heard a lad sing, and I stilled me to learn;</p>
+<p>So rarely he lilted his long-forgot litany,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Fall, April; fall, April, in dew on our dearth!</i></p>
+<p><i>Bring balm, and bring poppy, bring deep sleepy dittany</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>For Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth.</i></p>
+
+<p>Then I drew back the branches. I saw him that chanted it.</p>
+<p class="large">I saw his fool's bauble. I knew his old grief.</p>
+<p>I knew that old greenwood and the shadow that haunted it,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">My fool, my lost jester, my <i>Shadow-of-a-Leaf</i>!</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span>And "why," I said, "why, all this while, have you left me so</p>
+<p class="large">Luckless in melody, lonely in mirth?"</p>
+<p>"Oh, why," he sang, "why has this world then bereft me so</p>
+<p class="large b">Soon of my Marian, so long laid in earth?</p>
+
+<p>"In the years that are gone," he said, "love was more fortunate.</p>
+<p class="large">Grief was our minstrel of things that endure.</p>
+<p>Now, ashes and dust and this world grow importunate.</p>
+<p class="large">Time has no sorrow that time cannot cure.</p>
+<p>Once, we could lose, and the loss was worth cherishing.</p>
+<p class="large">Now, we may win, but, O, where is the worth?</p>
+<p>Memory and true love," he whispered, "are perishing,</p>
+<p class="large b">With Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth."</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, no!" I said, "no! Since we grieve for our grief again,</p>
+<p class="large">Touch the old strings! Let us try the old stave!</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>And memory may wake, like my <i>Shadow-of-a-Leaf</i> again,</p>
+<p class="large">Singing of hope, in the dark, by a grave."</p>
+<p>So we sang it together&mdash;that long-forgot litany:&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Fall, April; fall, April; bring new grief to birth.</i></p>
+<p><i>Bring wild herb of grace, and bring deep healing dittany,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>For Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE LOST BATTLE</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span>T is not over yet&mdash;the fight</p>
+<p class="large">Where those immortal dreamers failed.</p>
+<p>They stormed the citadels of night</p>
+<p class="large">And the night praised them&mdash;and prevailed.</p>
+<p>So long ago the cause was lost</p>
+<p class="large">We scarce distinguish friend from foe;</p>
+<p>But&mdash;if the dead can help it most&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b">The armies of the dead will grow.</p>
+
+<p>The world has all our banners now,</p>
+<p class="large">And filched our watchwords for its own.</p>
+<p>The world has crowned the "rebel's" brow</p>
+<p class="large">And millions crowd his lordly throne.</p>
+<p>The masks have altered. Names are names;</p>
+<p class="large">They praise the "truth" that is not true.</p>
+<p>The "rebel" that the world acclaims</p>
+<p class="large b">Is not the rebel Shelley knew.</p>
+
+<p>We may not build that Commonweal.</p>
+<p class="large">We may not reach the goal we set.</p>
+<p>But there's a flag they dare not steal.</p>
+<p class="large">Forward! It is not over yet.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>We shall be dust and under dust</p>
+<p class="large">Before we end that ancient wrong;</p>
+<p>But here's a sword that cannot rust,</p>
+<p class="large b">And where's the death can touch a song?</p>
+
+<p>So, when our bodies rot in earth</p>
+<p class="large">The singing souls that once were ours,</p>
+<p>Weaponed with light and helmed with mirth,</p>
+<p class="large">Shall front the kingdoms and the powers.</p>
+<p>The ancient lie is on its throne,</p>
+<p class="large">And half the living still forget;</p>
+<p>But, since the dead are all our own,</p>
+<p class="large">Courage, it is not over yet.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span><a href ="#contents">RIDDLES OF MERLIN</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">A</span>S I was walking</p>
+<p class="large">Alone by the sea,</p>
+<p>"<i>What is that whisper?</i>"</p>
+<p class="large">Said Merlin to me.</p>
+<p>"Only," I answered,</p>
+<p class="large">"The sigh of the wave"&mdash;</p>
+<p>"<i>Oh, no</i>," replied Merlin,</p>
+<p class="large b">"<i>'Tis the grass on your grave</i>."</p>
+
+<p>As I lay dreaming</p>
+<p class="large">In churchyard ground</p>
+<p>"<i>Listen</i>," said Merlin,</p>
+<p class="large">"<i>What is that sound</i>?"</p>
+<p>"The green grass is growing,"</p>
+<p class="large">I answered; but he</p>
+<p>Chuckled, "<i>Oh, no!</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>'Tis the sound of the sea</i>."</p>
+
+<p>As I went homeward</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>At dusk by the shore,</p>
+<p>"<i>What is that crimson?</i>"</p>
+<p class="large">Said Merlin once more.</p>
+<p>"Only the sun," I said.</p>
+<p>"Sinking to rest"&mdash;</p>
+<p>"<i>Sunset for East</i>," he said,</p>
+<p class="large">"<i>Sunrise for West</i>."</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span><a name="THE_SYMPHONY" id="THE_SYMPHONY"></a><a href="#contents">THE SYMPHONY</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">W</span>ONDER in happy eyes</p>
+<p class="large">Fades, fades away:</p>
+<p>And the angel-coloured skies</p>
+<p class="large b">Whisper farewell.</p>
+
+<p>Loveliness over the strings of the heart may stray</p>
+<p class="large">In fugitive melodies;</p>
+<p>But Oh, the hand of the Master must not stay,</p>
+<p class="large b">Even for a breath;</p>
+
+<p>For to prolong one joy, or even to dwell</p>
+<p class="large">On one rich chord of pain,</p>
+<p>Beyond the pulse of the song, would untune heaven</p>
+<p class="large b">And drown the stars in death.</p>
+
+<p>So youth with its love-note dies;</p>
+<p class="large">And beauty fades in the air,</p>
+<p>To make the master-symphony immortal,</p>
+<p class="large">And find new life and deeper wonder there.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span><a href="#contents">PEACE</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">G</span>IVE me the pulse of the tide again</p>
+<p class="large">And the slow lapse of the leaves,</p>
+<p>The rustling gold of a field of grain</p>
+<p class="large b">And a bird in the nested eaves;</p>
+
+<p>And a fishing-smack in the old harbour</p>
+<p class="large">Where all was happy and young;</p>
+<p>And an echo or two of the songs I knew</p>
+<p class="large b">When songs could still be sung.</p>
+
+<p>For I would empty my heart of all</p>
+<p class="large">This world's implacable roar,</p>
+<p>And I would turn to my home, and fall</p>
+<p class="large b">Asleep in my home once more;</p>
+
+<p>And I would forget what the cities say,</p>
+<p class="large">And the folly of all the wise,</p>
+<p>And turn to my own true folk this day,</p>
+<p class="large b">And the love in their constant eyes.</p>
+
+<p>There is peace, peace, where the sea-birds wheel,</p>
+<p class="large">And peace in the breaking wave;</p>
+<p>And I have a broken heart to heal,</p>
+<p class="large">And a broken soul to save.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE OPEN DOOR</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">O</span> MYSTERY of life,</p>
+<p>That, after all our strife,</p>
+<p class="large">Defeats, mistakes,</p>
+<p>Just as, at last, we see</p>
+<p>The road to victory,</p>
+<p class="large b">The tired heart breaks.</p>
+
+<p>Just as the long years give</p>
+<p>Knowledge of how to live,</p>
+<p class="large">Life's end draws near;</p>
+<p>As if, that gift being ours,</p>
+<p>God needed our new powers</p>
+<p class="large b">In worlds elsewhere.</p>
+
+<p>There, if the soul whose wings</p>
+<p>Were won in suffering, springs</p>
+<p class="large">To life anew,</p>
+<p>Justice would have some room</p>
+<p>For hope beyond the tomb,</p>
+<p class="large b">And mercy, too.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>And since, without this dream</p>
+<p>No light, no faintest gleam</p>
+<p class="large">Answers our "why";</p>
+<p>But earth and all its race</p>
+<p>Must pass and leave no trace</p>
+<p class="large b">On that blind sky;</p>
+
+<p>Shall reason close that door</p>
+<p>On all we struggled for,</p>
+<p class="large">Seal the soul's doom;</p>
+<p>Make of this universe</p>
+<p>One wild answering curse,</p>
+<p class="large b">One lampless tomb?</p>
+
+<p>Mine be the dream, the creed</p>
+<p>That leaves for God, indeed,</p>
+<p class="large">For God, and man,</p>
+<p>One open door whereby</p>
+<p>To prove His world no lie</p>
+<p class="large">And crown His plan.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span><a href="#contents">IMMORTAL SAILS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">N</span>OW, in a breath, we'll burst those gates of gold,</p>
+<p class="large">And ransack heaven before our moment fails.</p>
+<p>Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old,</p>
+<p class="large b">We'll mount and sing and spread immortal sails.</p>
+
+<p>It is not time that makes eternity.</p>
+<p class="large">Love and an hour may quite out-run the years,</p>
+<p>And give us more to hear and more to see</p>
+<p class="large b">Than life can wash away with all its tears.</p>
+
+<p>Dear, when we part, at last, that sunset sky</p>
+<p class="large">Shall not be touched with deeper hues than this;</p>
+<p>But we shall ride the lightning ere we die</p>
+<p class="large b">And seize our brief infinitude of bliss,</p>
+
+<p>With time to spare for all that heaven can tell,</p>
+<p>While eyes meet eyes, and look their last farewell.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE MATIN-SONG OF FRIAR TUCK</a></h2>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span>F souls could sing to heaven's high King</p>
+<p class="large">As blackbirds pipe on earth,</p>
+<p>How those delicious courts would ring</p>
+<p class="large">With gusts of lovely mirth!</p>
+<p>What white-robed throng could lift a song</p>
+<p class="large">So mellow with righteous glee</p>
+<p>As this brown bird that all day long</p>
+<p class="large">Delights my hawthorn tree.</p>
+<p class="indent2">Hark! That's the thrush</p>
+<p class="indent3">With speckled breast</p>
+<p class="indent2">From yon white bush</p>
+<p class="indent3">Chaunting his best,</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>II.</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p>If earthly dreams be touched with gleams</p>
+<p class="large">Of Paradisal air,</p>
+<p>Some wings, perchance, of earth may glance</p>
+<p class="large">Around our slumbers there;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>Some breaths of may might drift our way</p>
+<p class="large">With scents of leaf and loam,</p>
+<p>Some whistling bird at dawn be heard</p>
+<p class="large">From those old woods of home.</p>
+<p class="indent2">Hark! That's the thrush</p>
+<p class="indent3">With speckled breast</p>
+<p class="indent2">From yon white bush</p>
+<p class="indent3">Chaunting his best,</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>III.</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p>No King or priest shall mar my feast</p>
+<p class="large">Where'er my soul may range.</p>
+<p>I have no fear of heaven's good cheer</p>
+<p class="large">Unless our Master change.</p>
+<p>But when death's night is dying away,</p>
+<p class="large">If I might choose my bliss,</p>
+<p>My love should say, at break of day,</p>
+<p class="large">With her first waking kiss:-</p>
+<p class="indent2">Hark! That's the thrush</p>
+<p class="indent3">With speckled breast,</p>
+<p class="indent2">From yon white bush</p>
+<p class="indent3">Chaunting his best,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span><a href="#contents">FIVE CRITICISMS</a></h2>
+
+<h3 class="nob">I.</h3>
+
+<h4>(<i>On many recent novels by the conventional unconventionalists</i>.)</h4>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">O</span>LD PANTALOON, lean-witted, dour and rich,</p>
+<p class="large">After grim years of soul-destroying greed,</p>
+<p>Weds Columbine, that April-blooded witch</p>
+<p class="large b">"Too young" to know that gold was not her need.</p>
+
+<p>Then enters Pierrot, young, rebellious, warm,</p>
+<p class="large">With well-lined purse, to teach the fine-souled wife</p>
+<p>That the old fool's gold should aid a world-reform</p>
+<p class="large b">(Confused with sex). This wrecks the old fool's life.</p>
+
+<p>O, there's no doubt that Pierrot was clever,</p>
+<p class="large">Quick to break hearts and quench the dying flame;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>But why, for his own pride, does Pierrot never</p>
+<p class="large b">Choose his own mate, work for his own high aim,</p>
+
+<p>Stand on his feet, and pay for his own tune?</p>
+<p class="b">Why scold, cheat, rob and kill poor Pantaloon?</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nob">II.</h3>
+
+<h4>(<i>On a certain goddess, acclaimed as "new" but known in Babylon.</i>)</h4>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span> SAW the assembled artists of our day</p>
+<p class="large">Waiting for light, for music and for song.</p>
+<p>A woman stood before them, fresh as May</p>
+<p class="large b">And beautiful; but, in that modish throng,</p>
+
+<p>None heeded her. They said, "In our first youth</p>
+<p class="large">Surely, long since, your hair was touched with grey."</p>
+<p>"I do not change," she answered. "I am Truth."</p>
+<p class="large b">"Old and banal," they sneered, and turned away.</p>
+
+<p>Then came a formless thing, with breasts dyed scarlet.</p>
+<p class="large">The roses in her hair were green and blue.</p>
+<p class="large">"I am new," she said. "I change, and</p>
+<p class="indent3 b">Death knows why."</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>Then with the eyes and gesture of a harlot</p>
+<p class="large">She led them all forth, whinneying, "New, how new!</p>
+<p class="indent b">Tell us your name!" She answered, "The New Lie."</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nob">III.</h3>
+<h4>(<i>On Certain of the Bolsheviki "Idealists."</i>)</h4>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">W</span>ITH half the force and thought you waste in rage</p>
+<p class="large">Over your neighbor's house, or heart of stone,</p>
+<p>You might have built your own new heritage,</p>
+<p class="large b">O fools, have you no hands, then, of your own?</p>
+
+<p>Where is your pride? Is this your answer still,</p>
+<p class="large">This the red flag that burns above our strife,</p>
+<p>This the new cry that rings from Pisgah hill,</p>
+<p class="large b">"<i>Our neighbor's money, or our neighbor's life</i>"?</p>
+
+<p>Be prouder. Let us build that nobler state</p>
+<p class="large">With our own hands, with our own muscle and brain!</p>
+<p>Your very victories die in hymns of hate;</p>
+<p class="large b">And your own envies are your heaviest chain.</p>
+
+<p>Is there no rebel proud enough to say</p>
+<p class="larage b">"We'll stand on our own feet, and win the day"?</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>IV.</h3>
+
+<h4>(<i>On Certain Realists.</i>)</h4>
+
+<div class="ml">
+
+<p><span class="cap">Y</span>OU with the quick sardonic eye</p>
+<p>For all the mockeries of life,</p>
+<p>Beware, in this dark masque of things that seem,</p>
+<p>Lest even that tragic irony,</p>
+<p>Which you discern in this our mortal strife,</p>
+<p class="b">Trick you and trap you, also, with a dream.</p>
+
+<p>Last night I saw a dead man borne along</p>
+<p>The city streets, passing a boisterous throng</p>
+<p>That never ceased to laugh and shout and dance:</p>
+<p>And yet, and yet,</p>
+<p>For all the poison bitter minds might brew</p>
+<p>From themes like this, I knew</p>
+<p>That the stern Truth would not permit her glance</p>
+<p>Thus to be foiled by flying straws of chance,</p>
+<p>For her keen eyes on deeper skies are set,</p>
+<p class="b">And laws that tragic ironists forget.</p>
+
+<p>She saw the dead man's life, from birth to death,&mdash;</p>
+<p>All that he knew of love and sin and pain,</p>
+<p>Success and failure (not as this world sees),</p>
+<p>His doubts, his passions, inner loss and gain,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>And borne on darker tides of constant law</p>
+<p>Beyond the margin of this life she saw</p>
+<p>All that had left his body with the breath.</p>
+<p class="b">These things, to her, were still realities.</p>
+
+<p>If any mourned for him unseen,</p>
+<p>She saw them, too.</p>
+<p>If none, she'd not pretend</p>
+<p>His clay were colder, or his God less true,</p>
+<p>Or that his grave, at length, would be less green.</p>
+<p>She'd not deny</p>
+<p>The boundless depths of her eternal sky</p>
+<p>Brooding above a boundless universe,</p>
+<p>Because he seemed to man's unseeing eye</p>
+<p>Going a little further to fare worse;</p>
+<p>Nor would she assume he lacked that unseen friend</p>
+<p>Whom even the tragic ironists declare</p>
+<p class="b">Were better than the seen, in his last end.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, then, beware, beware,</p>
+<p>Lest in the strong name of "reality"</p>
+<p>You mock yourselves anew with shapes of air,</p>
+<p>Lest it be you, agnostics, who re-write</p>
+<p>The fettering creeds of night,</p>
+<p>Affirm you know your own Unknowable,</p>
+<p>And lock the wing&eacute;d soul in a new hell;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>Lest it be you, lip-worshippers of Truth,</p>
+<p>Who break the heart of youth;</p>
+<p>Lest it be you, the realists, who fight</p>
+<p>With shadows, and forget your own pure light;</p>
+<p>Lest it be you who, with a little shroud</p>
+<p>Snatched from the sightless faces of the dead,</p>
+<p>Hoodwink the world, and keep the mourner bowed</p>
+<p>In dust, real dust, with stones, real stones, for bread;</p>
+<p>Lest, as you look one eighth of an inch beneath</p>
+<p>The yellow skin of death,</p>
+<p>You dream yourselves discoverers of the skull</p>
+<p>That old <i>memento mori</i> of our faith;</p>
+<p>Lest it be you who hunt a flying wraith</p>
+<p>Through this dissolving stuff of hill and cloud;</p>
+<p>Lest it be you, who, at the last, annul</p>
+<p>Your covenant with your kind;</p>
+<p>Lest it be you who darken heart and mind,</p>
+<p>Sell the strong soul in bondage to a dream,</p>
+<p class="b">And fetter us once more to things that seem.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>V</h3>
+<h4>(<i>An Answer</i>)</h4>
+
+
+<p class="none b" style="font-size: 95%; text-align: left; text-indent: 2em; text-align: justify;">[After reading an article in a leading London journal by an
+"intellectual" who attacked one of the noblest poets and greatest
+artists of a former century (or any century) on the ground that his
+high ethical standards were incompatible with the new lawlessness.
+This vicious lawlessness the writer described definitely, and he paid
+his tribute to dishonour as openly and brutally as any of the Bolsheviki
+could have done. I had always known that this was the real
+ground of the latter-day onslaught on some of the noblest literature
+of the past; but I had never seen it openly confessed before. The
+time has now surely come when, if our civilization is to make any
+fight at all against the new "red ruin and breaking up of laws," we
+must cease to belaud our slack-minded, latter-day "literature of
+rebellion" for its cleverness in making scraps of paper out of the
+plain laws of right and wrong. It has been doing this for more than
+twenty-five years, and the same has become fashionable among
+those who are too busy to read carefully or understand fully what
+pitfalls are being prepared for their own feet and the feet of their children.]</p>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">I</span>F this were true, England indeed were dead.</p>
+<p class="large">If the wild fashion of that poisonous hour</p>
+<p class="large">Wherein the new Salome, clothed with power,</p>
+<p>Wriggled and hissed, with hands and feet so red,</p>
+<p>Should even now demand that glorious head,</p>
+<p class="large">Whose every word was like an English flower,</p>
+<p class="large">Whose every song an English April shower,</p>
+<p>Whose every thought immortal wine and bread;</p>
+<p>If this were true, if England should prefer</p>
+<p class="large">Darkness, corruption, and the adulterous crew,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>Shakespeare and Browning would cry shame on her,</p>
+<p class="large">And Milton would deny the land he knew;</p>
+<p>And those who died in Flanders yesterday</p>
+<p class="b">Would thank their God they sleep in cleaner clay.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>It is not true. Only these "rebel" wings,</p>
+<p class="large">These glittering clouds of "intellectual" flies</p>
+<p class="large">Out of the stagnant pools of midnight rise</p>
+<p>From the old dead creeds, with carrion-poisoned stings</p>
+<p class="large">They strike at noble and ignoble things,</p>
+<p class="large">Immortal Love with the old world's out-worn lies,</p>
+<p class="large">But even now, a wind from clearer skies</p>
+<p class="b">Dissolves in smoke their coteries and wings.</p>
+
+<p>See, their divorced idealist re-divorces</p>
+<p class="large">The wife he stole from his own stealing friend!</p>
+<p>And <i>these</i> would pluck the high stars from their courses,</p>
+<p class="large">And mock the fools that praise them, till the end!</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>Well, let the whole world praise them. Truth can wait</p>
+<p class="b">Till our new England shall unlock the gate.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Yes. Let the fools go paint themselves with woad,</p>
+<p class="large">For we've a jest between us, Truth and I.</p>
+<p class="large">We know that those who live by fashion die</p>
+<p>Also by fashion, and that mode kills mode.</p>
+<p>We know the great new age is on the road,</p>
+<p class="large">And death is at the heart of every lie.</p>
+<p class="large">But we've a jest between us, Truth and I.</p>
+<p class="b">And we have locked the doors to our abode.</p>
+
+<p>Yet if some great new "rebel" in his pride</p>
+<p class="large">Should pass that way and hear us laughing low</p>
+<p>Like lovers, in the darkness, side by side,</p>
+<p class="large">He might catch this:&mdash;"The dullards do not know</p>
+<p>That names are names. New 'rebel' is old 'thrall.'"</p>
+<p>And we're the lonely dreamers after all.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE COMPANIONS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">H</span>OW few are they that voyage through the night</p>
+<p class="large">On that eternal quest,</p>
+<p>For that strange light beyond our light,</p>
+<p class="large b">That rest beyond our rest.</p>
+
+<p>And they who, seeking beauty, once descry</p>
+<p class="large">Her face, to most unknown;</p>
+<p>Thenceforth like changelings from the sky</p>
+<p class="large b">Must walk their road alone.</p>
+
+<p>So once I dreamed. So idle was my mood;</p>
+<p class="large">But now, before these eyes,</p>
+<p>From those foul trenches, black with blood,</p>
+<p class="large b">What radiant legions rise!</p>
+
+<p>And loveliness over the wounded earth awakes</p>
+<p class="large">Like wild-flowers in the Spring.</p>
+<p>Out of the mortal chrysalis breaks</p>
+<p class="large b">Immortal wing on wing.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span>They rise like flowers, they wander on wings of light,</p>
+<p class="large">Through realms beyond our ken.</p>
+<p>The loneliest soul is companied tonight</p>
+<p class="large">By hosts of unknown men.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE LITTLE ROADS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE great roads are all grown over</p>
+<p class="large">That seemed so firm and white.</p>
+<p>The deep black forests have covered them.</p>
+<p class="large">How should I walk aright?</p>
+<p>How should I thread these tangled mazes,</p>
+<p class="large">Or grope to that far off light?</p>
+<p>I stumble round the thickets, and they turn me</p>
+<p class="large b">Back to the thickets and the night.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, sometimes, at a word, an elfin pass-word,</p>
+<p class="large">(O, thin, deep, sweet with beaded rain!)</p>
+<p>There shines, through a mist of ragged-robins,</p>
+<p class="large">The old lost April-coloured lane,</p>
+<p>That leads me from myself; for, at a whisper,</p>
+<p class="large">Where the strong limbs thrust in vain,</p>
+<p>At a breath, if my heart help another heart,</p>
+<p class="large b">The path shines out for me again.</p>
+
+<p>A thin thread, a rambling lane for lovers</p>
+<p class="large">To the light of the world's one May,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>Where the white dropping flakes may wet our faces</p>
+<p class="large">As we lift them to the bloom-bowed spray:</p>
+<p>O Master, shall we ask Thee, then, for high-roads,</p>
+<p class="large">Or down upon our knees and pray</p>
+<p>That Thou wilt ever lose us in Thy little lanes,</p>
+<p class="large">And lead us by a wandering way.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span><a href="#contents">SUNLIGHT AND SEA</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">G</span>IVE me the sunlight and the sea</p>
+<p class="b">And who shall take my heaven from me?</p>
+
+<p>Light of the Sun, Life of the Sun,</p>
+<p>O happy, bold companion,</p>
+<p>Whose golden laughters round me run,</p>
+<p>Making wine of the blue air</p>
+<p>With wild-rose kisses everywhere,</p>
+<p>Browning the limb, flushing the cheek,</p>
+<p>Apple-fragrant, leopard-sleek,</p>
+<p>Dancing from thy red-curtained East</p>
+<p>Like a Nautch-girl to my feast,</p>
+<p>Proud because her lord, the Spring,</p>
+<p>Praised the way those anklets ring;</p>
+<p>Or wandering like a white Greek maid</p>
+<p>Leaf-dappled through the dancing shade,</p>
+<p>Where many a green-veined leaf imprints</p>
+<p>Breast and limb with emerald tints,</p>
+<p>That softly net her silken shape</p>
+<p>But let the splendour still escape,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>While rosy ghosts of roses flow</p>
+<p class="b">Over the supple rose and snow.</p>
+
+<p>But sweetest, fairest is thy face,</p>
+<p>When we meet, when we embrace,</p>
+<p>Where the white sand sleeps at noon</p>
+<p>Round that lonely blue lagoon,</p>
+<p>Fringed with one white reef of coral</p>
+<p>Where the sea-birds faintly quarrel</p>
+<p>And the breakers on the reef</p>
+<p>Fade into a dream of grief,</p>
+<p>And the palm-trees overhead</p>
+<p class="b">Whisper that all grief is dead.</p>
+
+<p>Sister Sunlight, lead me then</p>
+<p>Into thy healing seas again....</p>
+<p>For when we swim out, side by side,</p>
+<p>Like a lover with his bride,</p>
+<p>When thy lips are salt with brine,</p>
+<p>And thy wild eyes flash in mine,</p>
+<p>The music of a mightier sea</p>
+<p>Beats with my blood in harmony.</p>
+<p>I breast the primal flood of being,</p>
+<p>Too clear for speech, too near for seeing;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>And to his heart, new reconciled,</p>
+<p class="b">The Eternal takes his earth-bound child.</p>
+
+<p>Who the essential secret spells</p>
+<p>In those gigantic syllables,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Flowing, ebbing, ebbing, flowing,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Gathers wisdom past all knowing.</p>
+<p>Song of the Sea, I hear, I hear,</p>
+<p>That deeper music of the sphere,</p>
+<p>Catch the rhythm of sun and star,</p>
+<p>And know what light and darkness are;</p>
+<p>Ay, faint beginnings of a rhyme</p>
+<p>That swells beyond the tides of time;</p>
+<p>Beat with thy rhythm in blood and breath,</p>
+<p>And make one song of life and death.</p>
+<p>I hear, I hear, and rest content,</p>
+<p>Merged in the primal element,</p>
+<p>The old element whence life arose,</p>
+<p class="b">The fount of youth, to which it goes.</p>
+
+<p>Give me the sunlight and the sea</p>
+<p>And who shall take my heaven from me?</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE ROAD THROUGH CHAOS</a></h2>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>here is one road, one only, to the Light:</p>
+<p class="large">A narrow way, but Freedom walks therein;</p>
+<p>A straight, firm road through Chaos and old Night,</p>
+<p class="large b">And all these wandering Jack-o-Lents of Sin.</p>
+
+<p>It is the road of Law, where Pilate stays</p>
+<p class="large">To hear, at last, the answer to his cry;</p>
+<p>And mighty sages, groping through their maze</p>
+<p class="large b">Of eager questions, hear a child reply.</p>
+
+<p><i>Truth? What is Truth?</i> Come, look upon my tables.</p>
+<p class="large">Begin at your beginnings once again.</p>
+<p><i>Twice one is two!</i> Though all the rest be fables,</p>
+<p class="large b">Here's one poor glimpse of Truth to keep you sane.</p>
+
+<p>For Truth, at first, is clean accord with fact,</p>
+<p class="b">Whether in line or thought, or word, or act.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>II.</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Then, by those first, those clean, precise, accords,</p>
+<p class="large">Build to the Lord your temples and your song;</p>
+<p>The curves of beauty, music's wedded chords</p>
+<p class="large b">Resolving into heaven all hate and wrong.</p>
+
+<p>Let harmonies of colour marry and follow</p>
+<p class="large">And breaking waves in a rhythmic dance ensue;</p>
+<p>And all your thought fly free as the wings of the swallow,</p>
+<p class="large b">Whose arrowy curves obey their measure, too.</p>
+
+<p>Then shall the marching stars and tides befriend you,</p>
+<p class="large">And your own heart, and the world's heart, pulse in rhyme;</p>
+<p>Then shall the mob of the passions that would rend you</p>
+<p class="large b">Crown you their Captain and march on in time.</p>
+
+<p>So shall you repossess your struggling soul,</p>
+<p class="b">Conquer your world, and find the eternal goal.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE NIGHT OF THE LION</a></h2>
+
+
+<h4 class="nob">"<i>And that a reply be received before midnight.</i>"</h4>
+<h4 class="not" style="padding-left: 13em;"><i>British Ultimatum</i>.</h4>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HEIR Day was at twelve of the night,</p>
+<p class="large">When the graves give up their dead.</p>
+<p>And still, from the City, no light</p>
+<p class="large">Yellows the clouds overhead.</p>
+<p>Where the Admiral stands there's a star,</p>
+<p class="large">But his column is lost in the gloom;</p>
+<p>For the brazen doors are ajar,</p>
+<p class="large b">And the Lion awakes, and the doom.</p>
+
+<p><i>He is not of a chosen race.</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>His strength is the strength of the skies,</i></p>
+<p><i>In whose glory all nations have place,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>In whose downfall Liberty dies.</i></p>
+<p><i>He is mighty, but he is just.</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>He shall live to the end of years.</i></p>
+<p><i>He shall bring the proud to the dust.</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>He shall raise the weak to the spheres.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>It is night on the world's great mart,</p>
+<p class="large">But the brooding hush is awake</p>
+<p>With the march of a steady heart</p>
+<p class="large">That calls like the drum of Drake,</p>
+<p><i>Come!</i> And a muttering deep</p>
+<p class="large">As the pulse of the distant guns,</p>
+<p>Or the thunder before the leap</p>
+<p class="large b">Thro' the rolling thoroughfare runs.</p>
+
+<p>And the wounded men go by</p>
+<p class="large">Like thoughts in the Lion's brain.</p>
+<p>And the clouds lift on high</p>
+<p class="large">Like the slow waves of his mane</p>
+<p>And the narrowing lids conceal</p>
+<p class="large">The furnaces of his eyes.</p>
+<p>Their gold is gone out. They reveal</p>
+<p>Only two search-lights of steel</p>
+<p class="large b">Steadily sweeping the skies.</p>
+
+<p>And we hoped he had peace in his lair</p>
+<p class="large">Where the bones of old tyrannies lay,</p>
+<p>And the skulls that his cubs have stripped bare,</p>
+<p class="large">The old skulls they still toss in their play.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>But the tyrants are risen again,</p>
+<p class="large">And the last light dies from their path;</p>
+<p>For the midnight of his mane</p>
+<p class="large b">Lifts to the stars with his wrath.</p>
+
+<p>From the East to the West he is crouching.</p>
+<p class="large">He snuffs at the North-East wind.</p>
+<p>His breast upon Britain is couching.</p>
+<p class="large">His haunches quiver on Ind.</p>
+<p>It is night, black night, where he lies;</p>
+<p class="large">But a kingdom and a fleet</p>
+<p>Shall burn in his terrible eyes</p>
+<p>When he leaps, and the darkness dies</p>
+<p class="large b">With the War-gods under his feet.</p>
+
+<p><i>Till the day when a little child,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Shall lay but a hand on his mane,</i></p>
+<p><i>And his eyes grow golden and mild</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>And he stands in the heavens again;</i></p>
+<p><i>Till the day of the seventh seal,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Which the Lion alone shall rend,</i></p>
+<p><i>When the stars from their courses reel,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>His Freedom shall not end.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE WAR WIDOW</a></h2>
+
+<h3>I.</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">B</span>LACK-VEILED, black-gowned, she rides in bus and train,</p>
+<p class="large">With eyes that fill too listlessly for tears.</p>
+<p>Her waxen hands clasp and unclasp again.</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Good News</i>, they cry. She neither sees nor hears.</p>
+
+<p>Good News, perhaps, may crown some far-off king.</p>
+<p class="large">Good News may peal the glory of the state&mdash;</p>
+<p>Good News may cause the courts of heaven to ring.</p>
+<p class="large b">She sees a hand waved at a garden gate.</p>
+
+<p>For her dull ears are tuned to other themes;</p>
+<p class="large">And her dim eyes can never see aright.</p>
+<p>She glides&mdash;a ghost&mdash;through all her April dreams,</p>
+<p class="large b">To meet his eyes at dawn, his lips at night.</p>
+
+<p>Wraiths of a truth that others never knew;</p>
+<p class="b">And yet&mdash;for her&mdash;the only truth that's true.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>II.</h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><i>Good News! Good News!</i> There is no way but this.</p>
+<p class="large">Out of the night a star begins to rise.</p>
+<p>I know not where my soul's deep Master is;</p>
+<p class="large b">Nor can I hear those angels in the skies;</p>
+
+<p>Nor follow him, as childhood used of old,</p>
+<p class="large">By radiant seas, in those time-hallowed tales.</p>
+<p>Only, at times, implacable and cold,</p>
+<p class="large b">From this blind gloom, stand out the iron nails.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, at this world's heart stands the Eternal Cross,</p>
+<p class="large">The ultimate frame of moon and star and sun,</p>
+<p>Where Love with out-stretched arms, in utter loss,</p>
+<p class="large b">Points East and West and makes the whole world one.</p>
+
+<p><i>Good News! Good News!</i> There is no hope, no way,</p>
+<p>No truth, no life, but leads through Christmas Day.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE BELL</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE Temple Bell was out of tune,</p>
+<p class="b">That once out-melodied sun and moon.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of calling folk to prayer</p>
+<p class="b">It spread an evil in the air.</p>
+
+<p>Instead of a song, from north to south,</p>
+<p class="b">It put a lie in the wind's mouth.</p>
+
+<p>The very palms beneath it died,</p>
+<p class="b">So harsh it jarred, so loud it lied.</p>
+
+<p>Then the gods told the blue-robed bonze:</p>
+<p class="b">"<i>Your Bell is only wrought of bronze.</i></p>
+
+<p><i>Lower it down, cast it again,</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>Or you shall shake the heavens in vain.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Then, as the mighty cauldron hissed,</p>
+<p class="b">Men brought the wealth that no man missed.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>Yea, they brought silver, they brought gold,</p>
+<p class="b">And melted them into the seething mould.</p>
+
+<p>The miser brought his greening hoard,</p>
+<p class="b">And the king cast in his sword.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, when the Bell in the Temple swung,</p>
+<p class="b">It jarred the stars with its harsh tongue.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Is this your best?</i>" the oracle said,</p>
+<p class="b">"<i>Then were you better drunk or dead.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Once again they melted it down,</p>
+<p class="b">And the king cast in his crown.</p>
+
+<p>Then they poured wine, and bullock's blood,</p>
+<p class="b">Into the hot, grey, seething flood.</p>
+
+<p>They gave it mellowing fruits to eat,</p>
+<p class="b">And honey-combs to make it sweet.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, when they hauled it to the sky,</p>
+<p class="b">The Bell was one star-shattering lie.</p>
+
+<p>So, for the third time and the last,</p>
+<p class="b">They lowered it down to be re-cast.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>The white-hot metal seethed anew,</p>
+<p class="b">And the crowd shrank as the heat grew;</p>
+
+<p>But a white-robed woman, queenly and tall,</p>
+<p class="b">Pressed to the brink before them all,</p>
+
+<p>One breast, like a golden fruit lay bare;</p>
+<p class="b">She held her small son feeding there.</p>
+
+<p>She plucked him off, she lifted him high,</p>
+<p class="b">Like rose-red fruit on the blue sky.</p>
+
+<p>She pressed her lips to the budded feet,</p>
+<p class="b">And murmured softly, "<i>Oh, sweet, my sweet.</i>"</p>
+
+<p>She whispered, "<i>Gods, that my land may live,</i></p>
+<p class="b"><i>I give the best that I have to give!</i>"</p>
+
+<p>Then, then, before the throng awoke,</p>
+<p class="b">Before one cry from their white lips broke,</p>
+
+<p>She tossed him into the fiery flood,</p>
+<p class="b">Her child, her baby, her flesh and blood.</p>
+
+<p>And the crisp hissing waves closed round</p>
+<p class="b">And melted him through without a sound.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>"<i>Too quick for pain</i>," they heard her say,</p>
+<p class="b">And she sobbed, once, and she turned away.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr class="not" style="width: 25%;" />
+<div class="ml">
+<p>The Temple Bell, in peace and war,</p>
+<p class="b">Keeps the measure of sun and star.</p>
+
+<p>But sometimes, in the night it cries</p>
+<p class="b">Faintly, and a voice replies:</p>
+
+<p><i>Mother, Oh, mother, the Bell rings true!&mdash;</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>You were all that I had!&mdash;Oh, mother, my mother!&mdash;</i></p>
+<p><i>With the land and the Bell it is well. Is it well,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Is it well with the heart that had you and none other?</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span><a href="#contents">SLAVE AND EMPEROR</a></h2>
+
+<h5>"Our cavalry have rescued Nazareth from the enemy whose supermen described Christianity as a creed for slaves."</h5>
+
+<div class="ml">
+
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE Emperor mocked at Nazareth</p>
+<p class="large">In his almighty hour.</p>
+<p>The Slave that bowed himself to death</p>
+<p>And walked with slaves in Nazareth,</p>
+<p>What were his words but wasted breath</p>
+<p class="large b">Before that "will to power"?</p>
+
+<p>Yet, in the darkest hour of all,</p>
+<p class="large">When black defeat began,</p>
+<p>The Emperor heard the mountains quake,</p>
+<p>He felt the graves beneath him shake,</p>
+<p>He watched his legions rally and break,</p>
+<p class="large b">And he whimpered as they ran.</p>
+
+<p>"I hear a shout that moves the earth,</p>
+<p class="large">A cry that wakes the dead!</p>
+<p>Will no one tell me whence they come,</p>
+<p>For all my messengers are dumb?</p>
+<p>What power is this that comes to birth</p>
+<p class="large b">And breaks my power?" he said.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>Then, all around his foundering guns,</p>
+<p class="large">Though dawn was now not far,</p>
+<p>The darkness filled with a living fear</p>
+<p>That whispered at the Emperor's ear,</p>
+<p>"<i>The armies of the dead draw near</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Beneath an eastern star.</i>"</p>
+
+<p><i>The trumpet blows in Nazareth.</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>The Slave is risen again.</i></p>
+<p><i>Across the bitter wastes of death</i></p>
+<p><i>The horsemen ride from Nazareth,</i></p>
+<p><i>And the Power we mocked as wasted breath</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Returns, in power, to reign;</i></p>
+<p><i>Rides on, in white, through Nazareth,</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>To save His world again.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span><a href="#contents">ON A MOUNTAIN TOP</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">O</span>N this high altar, fringed with ferns</p>
+<p class="large">That darken against the sky,</p>
+<p>The dawn in lonely beauty burns</p>
+<p class="large b">And all our evils die.</p>
+
+<p>The struggling sea that roared below</p>
+<p class="large">Is quieter than the dew,</p>
+<p>Quieter than the clouds that flow</p>
+<p class="large b">Across the stainless blue.</p>
+
+<p>On this bare crest, the angels kneel</p>
+<p class="large">And breathe the sweets that rise</p>
+<p>From flowers too little to reveal</p>
+<p class="large b">Their beauty to our eyes.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen Edens on the earth</p>
+<p class="large">With queenly blooms arrayed;</p>
+<p>But here the fairest come to birth,</p>
+<p class="large b">The smallest flowers He made.</p>
+
+<p>O, high above the sounding pine,</p>
+<p class="large">And richer, sweeter far,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>The wild thyme wakes. The celandine</p>
+<p class="large b">Looks at the morning star.</p>
+
+<p>They may not see the heavens unfold.</p>
+<p class="large">They breathe no out-worn prayer;</p>
+<p>But, on a mountain, as of old,</p>
+<p class="large">His glory fills the air.</p>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>EARLY POEMS</h2>
+
+<h4>(<i>Not Published Hitherto in America</i>)</h4>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2 class="nob"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE PHANTOM FLEET</a></h2>
+
+<h4>(1904)</h4>
+
+<div class="ml">
+
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE sunset lingered in the pale green West:</p>
+<p class="large">In rosy wastes the low soft evening star</p>
+<p>Woke; while the last white sea-mew sought for rest;</p>
+<p class="large b">And tawny sails came stealing o'er the bar.</p>
+
+<p>But, in the hillside cottage, through the panes</p>
+<p class="large">The light streamed like a thin far trumpet-call,</p>
+<p>And quickened, as with quivering battle-stains,</p>
+<p class="large b">The printed ships that decked the parlour wall.</p>
+
+<p>From oaken frames old admirals looked down:</p>
+<p class="large">They saw the lonely slumberer at their feet:</p>
+<p>They saw the paper, headed <i>Talk from Town;</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Our rusting trident, and our phantom fleet</i>:</p>
+
+<p>And from a neighbouring tavern surged a song</p>
+<p class="large">Of England laughing in the face of war,</p>
+<p>With eyes unconquerably proud and strong,</p>
+<p class="large b">And lips triumphant from her Trafalgar.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>But he, the slumberer in that glimmering room,</p>
+<p class="large">Saw distant waters glide and heave and gleam;</p>
+<p>Around him in the softly coloured gloom</p>
+<p class="large b">The pictures clustered slowly to a dream.</p>
+
+<p>He saw how England, resting on her past,</p>
+<p class="large">Among the faded garlands of her dead,</p>
+<p>Woke; for a whisper reached her heart at last,</p>
+<p class="large b">And once again she raised her steel-clad head.</p>
+
+<p>Her eyes were filled with sudden strange alarms;</p>
+<p class="large">She heard the westering waters change and chime;</p>
+<p>She heard the distant tumult of her arms</p>
+<p class="large b">Defeated, not by courage, but by Time.</p>
+
+<p>Knowledge had made a deadlier pact with death,</p>
+<p class="large">Nor strength nor steel availed against that bond:</p>
+<p>Slowly approached&mdash;and Britain held her breath&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large b">The battle booming from the deeps beyond.</p>
+
+<p>O, then what darkness rolled upon the wind,</p>
+<p class="large">Threatening the torch that Britain held on high?</p>
+<p>Where all her navies, baffled, broken, blind,</p>
+<p class="large">Slunk backward, snarling in their agony!</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Who guards the gates of Freedom now?</i> The cry</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>Stabbed heaven! <i>England, the shattered ramparts fall!</i></p>
+<p class="large">Then, like a trumpet shivering through the sky</p>
+<p>O, like white lightning rending the black pall</p>
+<p class="b">Of heaven, an answer pealed: <i>Her dead shall hear that call.</i></p>
+
+<p>Then came a distant light of great waves breaking</p>
+<p class="large">That brought the sunset on each crumbling crest,</p>
+<p>A rumour as of buried ages waking,</p>
+<p class="large">And mighty spirits rising from their rest;</p>
+<p class="large">Then ghostly clouds arose, with billowing breast,</p>
+<p>White clouds that turned to sails upon their way,</p>
+<p class="large">Red clouds that burned like flags against the West,</p>
+<p>Till even the conquering fleet in silence lay</p>
+<p class="b">Dazed with that strange old light, and night grew bright as day.</p>
+
+<p><i>We come to fight for Freedom!</i> The great East</p>
+<p class="large">Heard, and was rent asunder like a veil.</p>
+<p>Host upon host out of the night increased</p>
+<p class="large">Its towering clouds and crowded zones of sail:</p>
+<p class="large"><i>England, our England, canst thou faint or fail?</i></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span><i>We come to fight for Freedom yet once more!</i></p>
+<p class="large">This, this is ours at least! Count the great tale</p>
+<p>Of all these dead that rise to guard thy shore</p>
+<p class="b">By right of the red life they never feared to pour.</p>
+
+<p><i>We come to fight for Freedom!</i> On they came,</p>
+<p class="large">One cloud of beauty sweeping the wild sea;</p>
+<p>And there, through all their thousands, flashed like flame</p>
+<p class="large">That star-born signal of the Victory:</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Duty</i>, that deathless lantern of the free;</p>
+<p><i>Duty</i>, that makes a god of every man.</p>
+<p class="large">And there was Nelson, watching silently</p>
+<p>As through the phantom fleet the message ran;</p>
+<p class="b">And his tall frigate rushed before the stormy van.</p>
+
+<p>Nelson, our Nelson, frail and maimed and blind,</p>
+<p class="large">Stretched out his dead cold face against the foe:</p>
+<p>And England's Raleigh followed hard behind,</p>
+<p class="large">With all his eager fighting heart aglow;</p>
+<p class="large">Glad, glad for England's sake once more to know</p>
+<p>The old joy of battle and contempt of pain;</p>
+<p>Glad, glad to die, if England willed it so,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>The traitor's and the coward's death again;</p>
+<p class="b">But hurl the world back now as once he hurled back Spain.</p>
+
+<p>And there were all those others, Drake and Blake,</p>
+<p class="large">Rodney and Howard, Byron, Collingwood;</p>
+<p>With deathless eyes aflame for England's sake,</p>
+<p class="large">As on their ancient decks they proudly stood,&mdash;</p>
+<p class="large">Decks washed of old with England's purplest blood;</p>
+<p>And there, once more, each rushing oaken side</p>
+<p class="large">Bared its dark-throated, thirsty, gleaming brood</p>
+<p>Of cannon, watched by laughing lads who died</p>
+<p class="b">Long, long ago for England and her ancient pride.</p>
+
+<p><i>We come to fight for England!</i> The great sea</p>
+<p class="large">In a wild light of song began to break</p>
+<p>Round that tall phantom of the Victory</p>
+<p class="large">And all the foam was music in her wake:</p>
+<p class="large">Ship after phantom ship, with guns a-rake</p>
+<p>And shot-rent flags a-stream from every mast</p>
+<p class="large">Moved in a deepening splendour, not to make</p>
+<p>A shield for England of her own dead past;</p>
+<p class="b">But, with a living dream to arm her soul at last.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span><i>We come to die for England</i>: through the hush</p>
+<p class="large">Of gathered nations rose that regal cry,</p>
+<p>From naked oaken walls one word could crush</p>
+<p class="large">If those vast armoured throats dared to reply:</p>
+<p class="large">But there the most implacable enemy</p>
+<p>Felt his eyes fill with gladder, prouder tears,</p>
+<p class="large">As Nelson's calm eternal face went by,</p>
+<p>Gazing beyond all perishable fears</p>
+<p class="b">To some diviner goal above the waste of years.</p>
+
+<p>Through the hushed fleets the vision streamed away,</p>
+<p class="large">Then slowly turned once more to that deep West,</p>
+<p>While voices cried, O, England, the new day</p>
+<p class="large b">Is dawning, but thy soul can take no rest.</p>
+
+<p>Thy freedom and thy peace are only thine</p>
+<p class="large">By right of toil on every land and sea</p>
+<p>And by that crimson sacrificial wine</p>
+<p class="large b">Of thine own heart and thine own agony.</p>
+
+<p>Peace is not slumber. Peace, in every hour,</p>
+<p class="large">Throbs like the heart of music. This alone</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>Can save thy heritage and confirm that power</p>
+<p class="large b">Whereof the past is but the cushioned throne.</p>
+
+<p>Look to the fleet! Again and yet again,</p>
+<p class="large">Hear us who storm thy heart with this one cry.</p>
+<p>Hear us, who cannot help, though fair and fain,</p>
+<p class="large b">To hold thy seas before thee, and to die.</p>
+
+<p>Look to the fleet! Thy fleet, the first, last line:</p>
+<p class="large">The sword of Liberty, her strength, her shield,</p>
+<p>Her food, her life-blood! Britain, it is thine,</p>
+<p class="large b">Here, now, to hold that birth-right, or to yield.</p>
+
+<p>So, through the dark, those phantom ships of old</p>
+<p class="large">Faded, it seemed, through mists of blood and tears.</p>
+<p>Sails turned to clouds, and slowly westward rolled</p>
+<p class="large">The sad returning pageant of the years.</p>
+<p>On tides of light, where all our tumults cease,</p>
+<p class="large">Through that rich West, the Victory returned;</p>
+<p>And all the waves around her whispered "peace,"</p>
+<p class="large b">And from her mast no battle-message burned.</p>
+
+<p>Like clouds, like fragments of those fading skies,</p>
+<p class="large">The pageant passed, with all its misty spars,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>While the hushed nations raised their dreaming eyes</p>
+<p class="large b">To that great light which brings the end of wars.</p>
+
+<p>Ship after ship, in some strange glory drowned,</p>
+<p class="large">Cloud after cloud, was lost in that deep light</p>
+<p>Each with a sovran stillness haloed round.</p>
+<p class="large">Then&mdash;that high fleet of stars led on the night.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span><a href="#contents">MICHAEL OAKTREE</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">U</span>NDER an arch of glorious leaves I passed</p>
+<p>Out of the wood and saw the sickle moon</p>
+<p class="b">Floating in daylight o'er the pale green sea.</p>
+
+<p>It was the quiet hour before the sun</p>
+<p>Gathers the clouds to prayer and silently</p>
+<p>Utters his benediction on the waves</p>
+<p>That whisper round the death-bed of the day.</p>
+<p>The labourers were returning from the farms</p>
+<p>And children danced to meet them. From the doors</p>
+<p>Of cottages there came a pleasant clink</p>
+<p>Where busy hands laid out the evening meal.</p>
+<p>From smouldering elms around the village spire</p>
+<p>There soared and sank the caw of gathering rooks.</p>
+<p>The faint-flushed clouds were listening to the tale</p>
+<p>The sea tells to the sunset with one sigh.</p>
+<p>The last white wistful sea-bird sought for peace,</p>
+<p>And the last fishing-boat stole o'er the bar,</p>
+<p>And fragrant grasses, murmuring a prayer,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>Bowed all together to the holy west,</p>
+<p>Bowed all together thro' the golden hush,</p>
+<p>The breathing hush, the solemn scented hush,</p>
+<p class="b">The holy, holy hush of eventide.</p>
+
+<p>And, in among the ferns that crowned the hill</p>
+<p>With waving green and whispers of the wind,</p>
+<p>A boy and girl, carelessly linking hands,</p>
+<p>Into their golden dream drifted away.</p>
+<p>On that rich afternoon of scent and song</p>
+<p>Old Michael Oaktree died. It was not much</p>
+<p>He wished for; but indeed I think he longed</p>
+<p>To see the light of summer once again</p>
+<p>Blossoming o'er the far blue hills. I know</p>
+<p>He used to like his rough-hewn wooden bench</p>
+<p>Placed in the sun outside the cottage door</p>
+<p>Where in the listening stillness he could hear,</p>
+<p>Across the waving gilly-flowers that crowned</p>
+<p>His crumbling garden wall, the long low sigh</p>
+<p>Of supreme peace that whispers to the hills</p>
+<p>The sacred consolation of the sea.</p>
+<p>He did not hope for much: he longed to live</p>
+<p>Until the winter came again, he said;</p>
+<p class="b">But on the last sweet eve of May he died.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>I wandered sadly through the dreaming lanes</p>
+<p>Down to the cottage on that afternoon;</p>
+<p>For I had known old Michael Oaktree now</p>
+<p>So many years, so many happy years.</p>
+<p>When I was little he had carried me</p>
+<p>High on his back to see the harvest home,</p>
+<p>And given me many a ride upon his wagon</p>
+<p>Among the dusty scents of sun and hay.</p>
+<p>He showed me how to snare the bulky trout</p>
+<p>That lurked under the bank of yonder brook.</p>
+<p>Indeed, he taught me many a country craft,</p>
+<p>For I was apt to learn, and, as I learnt,</p>
+<p>I loved the teacher of that homely lore.</p>
+<p>Deep in my boyish heart he shared the glad</p>
+<p>Influence of the suns and winds and waves,</p>
+<p>Giving my childhood what it hungered for&mdash;</p>
+<p class="b">The rude earth-wisdom of the primal man.</p>
+
+<p>He had retained his childhood: Death for him</p>
+<p>Had no more terror than his bed. He walked</p>
+<p>With wind and sunlight like a brother, glad</p>
+<p>Of their companionship and mutual aid.</p>
+<p>We, toilers after truth, are weaned too soon</p>
+<p>From earth's dark arms and naked barbarous breast.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>Too soon, too soon, we leave the golden feast,</p>
+<p>Fetter the dancing limbs and pluck the crown</p>
+<p>Of roses from the dreaming brow. We pass</p>
+<p>Our lives in most laborious idleness.</p>
+<p>For we have lost the meaning of the world;</p>
+<p>We have gone out into the night too soon;</p>
+<p>We have mistaken all the means of grace</p>
+<p>And over-rated our small power to learn.</p>
+<p>And the years move so swiftly over us:</p>
+<p>We have so little time to live in worlds</p>
+<p>Unrealised and unknown realms of joy,</p>
+<p>We are so old before we learn how vain</p>
+<p>Our effort was, how fruitlessly we cast</p>
+<p>Our Bread upon the waters, and how weak</p>
+<p>Our hearts were, but our chance desires how strong!</p>
+<p>Then, in the dark, our sense of light decays;</p>
+<p>We cannot cry to God as once we cried!</p>
+<p>Lost in the gloom, our faith, perhaps our love,</p>
+<p class="b">Lies dead with years that never can return.</p>
+
+<p>But Michael Oaktree was a man whose love</p>
+<p>Had never waned through all his eighty years.</p>
+<p>His faith was hardly faith. He seemed a part</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>Of all that he believed in. He had lived</p>
+<p>In constant conversation with the sun,</p>
+<p>The wind, the silence and the heart of peace;</p>
+<p>In absolute communion with the Power</p>
+<p>That rules all action and all tides of thought,</p>
+<p>And all the secret courses of the stars;</p>
+<p>The Power that still establishes on earth</p>
+<p>Desire and worship, through the radiant laws</p>
+<p>Of Duty, Love and Beauty; for through these</p>
+<p>As through three portals of the self-same gate</p>
+<p>The soul of man attains infinity,</p>
+<p>And enters into Godhead. So he gained</p>
+<p>On earth a fore-taste of Nirvana, not</p>
+<p>The void of eastern dream, but the desire</p>
+<p>And goal of all of us, whether thro' lives</p>
+<p>Innumerable, by slow degrees, we near</p>
+<p>The death divine, or from this breaking body</p>
+<p>Of earthly death we flash at once to God.</p>
+<p>Through simple love and simple faith, this man</p>
+<p class="b">Attained a height above the hope of kings.</p>
+
+<p>Yet, as I softly shut the little gate</p>
+<p>And walked across the garden, all the scents</p>
+<p>Of mingling blossom ached like inmost pain</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>Deep in my heart, I know not why. They seemed</p>
+<p>Distinct, distinct as distant evening bells</p>
+<p>Tolling, over the sea, a secret chime</p>
+<p>That breaks and breaks and breaks upon the heart</p>
+<p>In sorrow rather than in sound, a chime</p>
+<p>Strange as a streak of sunset to the moon,</p>
+<p>Strange as a rose upon a starlit grave,</p>
+<p>Strange as a smile upon a dead man's lips;</p>
+<p>A chime of melancholy, mute as death</p>
+<p>But strong as love, uttered in plangent tones</p>
+<p>Of honeysuckle, jasmine, gilly-flowers,</p>
+<p>Jonquils and aromatic musky leaves,</p>
+<p class="b">Lilac and lilies to the rose-wreathed porch.</p>
+
+<p>At last I tapped and entered and was drawn</p>
+<p>Into the bedroom of the dying man,</p>
+<p>Who lay, propped up with pillows, quietly</p>
+<p>Gazing; for through his open casement far</p>
+<p>Beyond the whispers of the gilly-flowers</p>
+<p>He saw the mellow light of eventide</p>
+<p>Hallow the west once more; and, as he gazed,</p>
+<p>I think I never saw so great a peace</p>
+<p>On any human face. There was no sound</p>
+<p>Except the slumbrous pulsing of a clock,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>The whisper of the garden and, far off,</p>
+<p class="b">The sacred consolation of the sea.</p>
+
+<p>His wife sat at his bed-side: she had passed</p>
+<p>Her eightieth year; her only child was dead.</p>
+<p>She had been wedded more than sixty years,</p>
+<p>And she sat gazing with the man she loved</p>
+<p class="b">Quietly, out into that unknown Deep.</p>
+
+<p>A butterfly floated into the room</p>
+<p>And back again, pausing awhile to bask</p>
+<p>And wink its painted fans on the warm sill;</p>
+<p>A bird piped in the roses and there came</p>
+<p>Into the childless mother's ears a sound</p>
+<p class="b">Of happy laughing children, far away.</p>
+
+<p>Then Michael Oaktree took his wife's thin hand</p>
+<p>Between his big rough hands. His eyes grew dark,</p>
+<p>And, as he turned to her and died, he spoke</p>
+<p class="b">Two words of perfect faith and love&mdash;<i>Come soon</i>!</p>
+
+<p>O then in all the world there was no sound</p>
+<p>Except the slumbrous pulsing of a clock,</p>
+<p>The whisper of the leaves and far away,</p>
+<p>The infinite compassion of the sea.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>But, as I softly passed out of the porch</p>
+<p>And walked across the garden, all the scents</p>
+<p>Of mingling blossoms ached like inmost joy,</p>
+<p>Distinct no more, but like one heavenly choir</p>
+<p>Pealing one mystic music, still and strange</p>
+<p>As voices of the holy Seraphim,</p>
+<p>One voice of adoration, mute as love,</p>
+<p>Stronger than death, and pure with wedded tones</p>
+<p>Of honeysuckle, jasmine, gilly-flowers,</p>
+<p>Jonquils and aromatic musky leaves,</p>
+<p class="b">Lilac and lilies to the garden gate.</p>
+
+<p>O then indeed I knew how closely knit</p>
+<p>To stars and flowers we are, how many means</p>
+<p>Of grace there are for those that never lose</p>
+<p>Their sense of membership in this divine</p>
+<p>Body of God; for those that all their days</p>
+<p>Have walked in quiet communion with the Life</p>
+<p>That keeps the common secret of the sun,</p>
+<p>The wind, the silence and the heart of man.</p>
+<p>There is one God, one Love, one everlasting</p>
+<p>Mystery of Incarnation, one creative</p>
+<p class="b">Passion behind the many-coloured veil.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>We have obscured God's face with partial truths,</p>
+<p>The cause of all our sorrow and sin, our wars</p>
+<p>Of force and thought, in this unheavened world.</p>
+<p>Yet, by the battle of our partial truths,</p>
+<p>The past against the present and the swift</p>
+<p>Moment of passing joy against the deep</p>
+<p>Eternal love, ever the weaker truth</p>
+<p>Falls to the stronger, till once more we near</p>
+<p>The enfolding splendour of the whole. Our God</p>
+<p>Has been too long a partial God. We are all</p>
+<p>Made in His image, men and birds and beasts,</p>
+<p>Mountains and clouds and cataracts and suns,</p>
+<p>With those great Beings above our little world,</p>
+<p>A height beyond for every depth below,</p>
+<p>Those long-forgotten Princedoms, Virtues, Powers,</p>
+<p>Existences that live and move in realms</p>
+<p>As far beyond our thought as Europe lies</p>
+<p>With all its little arts and sciences</p>
+<p>Beyond the comprehension of the worm.</p>
+<p>We are all partial images, we need</p>
+<p>What lies beyond us to complete our souls;</p>
+<p>Therefore our souls are filled with a desire</p>
+<p>And love which lead us towards the Infinity</p>
+<p class="b">Of Godhead that awaits us each and all.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>Peacefully through the dreaming lanes I went.</p>
+<p>The sun sank, and the birds were hushed. The stars</p>
+<p>Trembled like blossoms in the purple trees.</p>
+<p>But, as I paused upon the whispering hill</p>
+<p>The mellow light still lingered in the west,</p>
+<p>And dark and soft against that rosy depth</p>
+<p>A boy and girl stood knee-deep in the ferns.</p>
+<p>Dreams of the dead man's youth were in my heart,</p>
+<p>Yet I was very glad; and as the moon</p>
+<p>Brightened, they kissed; and, linking hand in hand,</p>
+<p class="b">Down to their lamp-lit home drifted away.</p>
+
+<p>Under an arch of leaves, into the gloom</p>
+<p>I went along the little woodland road,</p>
+<p>And through the breathless hedge of hawthorn heard</p>
+<p>Out of the deepening night, the long low sigh</p>
+<p>Of supreme peace that whispers to the hills</p>
+<p>The sacrament and sabbath of the sea.</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span><br /></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span><br /></p>
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span><a href="#contents">TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">L</span>AST night I rode with Touchstone on a bus</p>
+<p>From Ludgate Hill to World's End. It was he!</p>
+<p>Despite the broadcloth and the bowler hat,</p>
+<p>I knew him, Touchstone, the wild flower of folly,</p>
+<p>The whetstone of his age, the scourge of kings,</p>
+<p>The madcap morning star of elfin-land,</p>
+<p>Who used to wrap his legs around his neck</p>
+<p>For warmth on winter nights. He had slipped back,</p>
+<p>To see what men were doing in a world</p>
+<p>That should be wiser. He had watched a play,</p>
+<p>Read several books, heard men discourse of art</p>
+<p>And life; and he sat bubbling like a spring</p>
+<p>In Arden. Never did blackbird, drenched with may,</p>
+<p>Chuckle as Touchstone chuckled on that ride.</p>
+<p><i>Lord, what a world! Lord, what a mad, mad world!</i></p>
+<p>Then, to the jolt and jingle of the engine,</p>
+<p>He burst into this bunch of madcap rhymes:&mdash;</p>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
+THE NEW DUCKLING</h2>
+
+<h3>I</h3>
+
+<h3><a href="#contents">THE NEW DUCKLING</a></h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">"I</span> WANT to be new," said the duckling.</p>
+<p class="large">"O, ho!" said the wise old owl,</p>
+<p>While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling</p>
+<p class="large b">To tell all the rest of the fowl.</p>
+
+<p>"I should like a more elegant figure,"</p>
+<p class="large">That child of a duck went on.</p>
+<p>"I should like to grow bigger and bigger,</p>
+<p class="large b">Until I could swallow a swan.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>won't</i> be the bond slave of habit,</p>
+<p class="large">I <i>won't</i> have these webs on my toes.</p>
+<p>I want to run round like a rabbit,</p>
+<p class="large b">A rabbit as red as a rose.</p>
+
+<p>"I <i>don't</i> want to waddle like mother,</p>
+<p class="large">Or quack like my silly old dad.</p>
+<p>I want to be utterly other,</p>
+<p class="large b">And <i>frightfully</i> modern and mad."</p>
+
+<p>"Do you know," said the turkey, "you're quacking!</p>
+<p class="larage">There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>And, if you're not utterly lacking,</p>
+<p class="large b">You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!"</p>
+
+<p>"I won't," said the duckling. "I'll lift him</p>
+<p class="large">A beautiful song, like a sheep;</p>
+<p>And when I have&mdash;as it were&mdash;biffed him,</p>
+<p class="large b">I'll give him my feathers to keep."</p>
+
+<p>Now the curious end of this fable,</p>
+<p class="large">So far as the rest ascertained,</p>
+<p>Though they searched from the barn to the stable,</p>
+<p class="large b">Was that <i>only his feathers remained</i>.</p>
+
+<p>So he <i>wasn't</i> the bond slave of habit,</p>
+<p class="large">And he <i>didn't</i> have webs on his toes;</p>
+<p>And <i>perhaps</i> he runs round like a rabbit,</p>
+<p class="large b">A rabbit as red as a rose.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<h3><a href="#contents">THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE USE OF A CHAIR</a></h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">T</span>HE man who discovered the use of a chair,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Odds</i>&mdash;<i>bobs</i>&mdash;</p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>What a wonderful man!</i></p>
+<p>He used to sit down on it, tearing his hair,</p>
+<p class="large">Till he thought of a highly original plan.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>For years he had sat on his chair, like you,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Quite</i>&mdash;<i>still!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>But his looks were grim</i></p>
+<p>For he wished to be famous (as great men do)</p>
+<p class="large b">And nobody ever would listen to him.</p>
+
+<p>Now he went one night to a dinner of state</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Hear! hear!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>In the proud Guildhall!</i></p>
+<p>And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;</p>
+<p class="large b">But nobody heard his opinions at all;</p>
+
+<p>There were ten fat aldermen down for a speech</p>
+<p class="large">(<i>Grouse! Grouse!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>What a dreary bird!</i>)</p>
+<p>With five fair minutes allotted to each,</p>
+<p class="large b">But never a moment for <i>him</i> to be heard.</p>
+
+<p>But, each being ready to talk, I suppose,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Order! Order!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3">They cried, <i>for the Chair</i>!</p>
+<p>And, much to their wonder, our friend arose</p>
+<p class="large b">And fastened his eye on the eye of the Mayor.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>"We have come," he said, "to the fourteenth course!</p>
+<p class="large">"<i>High&mdash;time,</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>for the Chair</i>," he said.</p>
+<p>Then, with both of his hands, and with all of his force,</p>
+<p class="large b">He hurled his chair at the Lord Mayor's head.</p>
+
+<p>It missed that head by the width of a hair.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Gee&mdash;whizz!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>What a horrible squeak!</i></p>
+<p>But it crashed through the big bay-window there</p>
+<p class="large b">And smashed a bus into Wednesday week.</p>
+
+<p>And the very next day, in the decorous Times</p>
+<p class="large">(<i>Great&mdash;Guns&mdash;</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>How the headlines ran!</i>)</p>
+<p>In spite of the kings and the wars and the crimes,</p>
+<p class="large b">There were five full columns about that man.</p>
+</div>
+
+<h3>ENVOI</h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p>Oh, if you get dizzy when authors write</p>
+<p class="large">(<i>My stars!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>And you very well may!</i>)</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>That white is black and that black is white,</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>You should sit, quite still, in your chair and say:</i></p>
+
+<p>It is easy enough to be famous now,</p>
+<p class="large">(<i>Puff&mdash;Puff!</i></p>
+<p class="indent3"><i>How the trumpets blare!</i>)</p>
+<p>Provided, of course, that you don't care how,</p>
+<p class="large b">Like the man who discovered the use of a chair.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<h3><a href="#contents">COTTON-WOOL</a></h3>
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">S</span>HUN the brush and shun the pen,</p>
+<p>Shun the ways of clever men,</p>
+<p>When they prove that black is white,</p>
+<p>Whey they swear that wrong is right,</p>
+<p>When they roast the singing stars</p>
+<p>Like chestnuts, in between the bars,</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Children, let a wandering fool</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Stuff your ears with cotton-wool.</i></p>
+
+<p>When you see a clever man</p>
+<p>Run as quickly as you can.</p>
+<p>You must never, never, never</p>
+<p>Think that Socrates was clever.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>The cleverest thing I ever knew</p>
+<p>Now cracks walnuts at the Zoo.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Children, let a wandering fool</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Stuff your ears with cotton-wool.</i></p>
+
+<p>Homer could not scintillate.</p>
+<p>Milton, too, was merely great.</p>
+<p>That's a very different matter</p>
+<p>From talking like a frantic hatter.</p>
+<p>Keats and Shelley had no tricks.</p>
+<p>Wordsworth never climbed up sticks.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Children, let a wandering fool</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Stuff your ears with cotton-wool.</i></p>
+
+<p>Lincoln would create a gloom</p>
+<p>In many a London drawing-room;</p>
+<p>He'd be silent at their wit,</p>
+<p>He would never laugh at it.</p>
+<p>When they kissed Salome's toes,</p>
+<p>I think he'd snort and blow his nose.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Children, let a wandering fool</i></p>
+<p class="large b"><i>Stuff your ears with cotton-wool.</i></p>
+
+<p>They'd curse him for a silly clown,</p>
+<p>They'd drum him out of London town.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>Professor Flunkey, the historian,</p>
+<p>Would say he was a dull Victorian.</p>
+<p>Matthew, Mark, and Luke and John,</p>
+<p>Bless the bed I rest upon.</p>
+<p class="large"><i>Children, let a wandering fool</i></p>
+<p class="large"><i>Stuff your ears with cotton-wool.</i></p>
+<p class="indent7 b">Amen.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<h3 class="nob">IV</h3>
+
+<h3><a href="#contents">FASHIONS</a></h3>
+
+<div class="ml">
+<p><span class="cap">F</span>ASHION on fashion on fashion,</p>
+<p class="large">(With only the truth growing old!)</p>
+<p>And here's the new purple of passion,</p>
+<p class="large">(And love waiting out in the cold)</p>
+<p class="indent2 b">Who'll buy?</p>
+
+<p>They are crying new lamps for Aladdin,</p>
+<p class="large">New worlds for the old and the true;</p>
+<p>And no one remembers the story</p>
+<p class="large b"><i>The magic was not in the new.</i></p>
+
+<p>They are crying a new rose for Eden,</p>
+<p class="large">A rose of green glass. I suppose</p>
+<p>The only thing wrong with their rose is</p>
+<p class="large">The fact that it isn't a rose.</p>
+<p class="indent2 b">Who'll buy?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>And here is a song without metre;</p>
+<p class="large">And, here again, nothing is wrong;</p>
+<p>(For nothing on earth could be neater)</p>
+<p class="large b">Except that&mdash;it isn't a song.</p>
+
+<p>Well. Walk on your hands. It's the latest!</p>
+<p class="large">And feet are Victorian now;</p>
+<p>And even our best and our greatest</p>
+<p class="large">Before that dread epithet bow.</p>
+<p class="indent2 b">Who'll buy?</p>
+
+<p>The furniture goes for a song, now.</p>
+<p class="large">The sixties had horrible taste.</p>
+<p>But the trouble is this&mdash;they've included</p>
+<p class="large b">Some better things, too, in their haste.</p>
+
+<p>Were they wrapped in the antimacassars,</p>
+<p class="large">Or sunk in a sofa of plush?</p>
+<p>Did an Angelican bishop forget them,</p>
+<p class="large">And leave them behind in the crush?</p>
+<p class="indent2 b">Who'll buy?</p>
+
+<p>Here's a turnex. It's going quite cheaply.</p>
+<p class="large">(It lived with stuffed birds in the hall!</p>
+<p>And, of course, to a mind that thinks deeply</p>
+<p class="large b">That settles it, once and for all.)</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>Here's <i>item</i>, a ring (very plain, sirs!),</p>
+<p class="large">And <i>item</i>, a God (but He's dead!);</p>
+<p>They say we shall need Him again, sirs,</p>
+<p class="large">So&mdash;<i>item</i>, a cross for His head.</p>
+<p class="indent2 b">Who'll buy?</p>
+
+<p>Yes, you'll need it again, though He's dead, sirs.</p>
+<p class="large">It is only the fashions that fly.</p>
+<p>So here are the thorns for His head, sirs.</p>
+<p class="large">They'll keep till you need 'em. Who'll buy?</p>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span><a href="#contents">EPILOGUE</a></h2>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+
+<h2><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span><a href="#contents">THE REWARD OF SONG</a></h2>
+
+<div class="ml" style="margin-bottom: 3em;">
+<p><i><span class="cap">W</span>HY do we make our music?</i></p>
+<p class="large">Oh, blind dark strings reply:</p>
+<p>Because we dwell in a strange land</p>
+<p class="large">And remember a lost sky.</p>
+<p>We ask no leaf of the laurel,</p>
+<p class="large">We know what fame is worth;</p>
+<p>But our songs break out of our winter</p>
+<p class="large b">As the flowers break out on the earth.</p>
+
+<p>And we dream of the unknown comrade,</p>
+<p class="large">In the days when we lie dead,</p>
+<p>Who shall open our book in the sunlight,</p>
+<p class="large">And read, as ourselves have read,</p>
+<p>On a lonely hill, by a firwood,</p>
+<p class="large">With whispering seas below,</p>
+<p>And murmur a song we made him</p>
+<p class="large b">Ages and ages ago.</p>
+
+<p>If making his may-time sweeter</p>
+<p class="large">With dews of our own dead may,</p>
+<p>One pulse of our own dead heart-strings</p>
+<p class="large">Awake in his heart that day,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>We would pray for no richer guerdon,</p>
+<p class="large">No praise from the careless throng;</p>
+<p>For song is the cry of a lover</p>
+<p class="large b">In quest of an answering song.</p>
+
+<p>As a child might run to his elders</p>
+<p class="large">With news of an opening flower</p>
+<p>We should walk with our young companion</p>
+<p class="large">And talk to his heart for an hour,</p>
+<p>As once by my own green firwood,</p>
+<p class="large">And once by a Western sea,</p>
+<p>Thank God, my own good comrades</p>
+<p class="large b">Have walked and talked with me.</p>
+
+<p>Too mighty to make men sorrow,</p>
+<p class="large">Too weak to heal their pain</p>
+<p>(Though they that remember the hawthorn</p>
+<p class="large">May find their heaven again),</p>
+<p>We are moved by a deeper hunger;</p>
+<p class="large">We are bound by a stronger cord;</p>
+<p>For love is the heart of our music,</p>
+<p class="large">And love is its one reward.</p>
+</div>
+
+
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The New Morning, by Alfred Noyes
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The New Morning
+       Poems
+
+
+Author: Alfred Noyes
+
+
+
+Release Date: April 11, 2007  [eBook #21029]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW MORNING***
+
+
+E-text prepared by K. Nordquist, Jacqueline Jeremy, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+ALFRED NOYES
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+WORKS OF ALFRED NOYES
+
+COLLECTED POEMS--_2 Vols._
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE
+THE WINE-PRESS
+WALKING SHADOWS--_Prose_
+TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN
+SHERWOOD
+THE ENCHANTED ISLAND AND OTHER POEMS
+DRAKE: AN ENGLISH EPIC
+POEMS
+THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN
+THE GOLDEN HYNDE
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+Poems
+
+by
+
+ALFRED NOYES
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration (publisher's logo)]
+
+
+New York
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+Publishers
+
+Copyright, 1918, by
+Alfred Noyes
+Copyright, 1919, by
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+All rights reserved, including that of translation
+into foreign languages
+
+
+
+
+DEDICATION
+
+TO THE MEMORY OF SIR CECIL
+SPRING-RICE
+
+
+I.
+
+Steadfast as any soldier of the line
+  He served his England, with the imminent death
+Poised at his heart. Nor could the world divine
+  The constant peril of each burdened breath.
+
+England, and the honour of England, he still served
+  Walking the strict path, with the old high pride
+Of those invincible knights who never swerved
+  One hair's breadth from the way until they died.
+
+Quietness he loved, and books, and the grave beauty
+  Of England's Helicon, whose eternal light
+Shines like a lantern on that road of duty,
+  Discerned by few in this chaotic night.
+
+And his own pen, foretelling his release,
+Told us that he foreknew "the end was peace."
+
+
+II.
+
+Soldier of England, he shall live unsleeping
+  Among his friends, with the old proud flag above;
+For even today her honour is in his keeping.
+  He has joined the hosts that guard her with their love.
+
+They shine like stars, unnumbered happy legions,
+  In that high realm where all our darkness dies.
+He moves, with honour, in those loftier regions,
+  Above this "world of passion and of lies":
+
+For so he called it, keeping his own pure passion
+  A silent flame before the true and good;
+Not fawning on the throng in this world's fashion
+  To come and see what all might see who would.
+
+Soldier of England, brave and gentle knight,
+The soul of Sidney welcomes you tonight.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                               PAGE
+
+DEDICATION: TO THE MEMORY OF SIR CECIL
+SPRING-RICE                                       v
+
+  "THE AVENUE OF THE ALLIES"                      3
+
+  ON THE WESTERN FRONT                            8
+
+  VICTORY                                        10
+
+
+
+
+AMERICAN POEMS, 1912-1917
+
+  REPUBLIC AND MOTHERLAND                        19
+
+  THE UNION                                      22
+
+  GHOSTS OF THE NEW WORLD                        24
+
+  THE OLD MEETING HOUSE                          27
+
+  PRINCETON                                      30
+
+  BEETHOVEN IN CENTRAL PARK                      34
+
+
+
+
+SONGS OF THE TRAWLERS AND SEA POEMS
+
+  THE PEOPLE'S FLEET                             37
+
+  KILMENY                                        38
+
+  CAP'N STORM-ALONG                              40
+
+  THE BIG BLACK TRAWLER                          42
+
+  NAMESAKES                                      44
+
+  WIRELESS                                       46
+
+  FISHERS OF MEN                                 48
+
+  AN OPEN BOAT                                   50
+
+  PEACE IN A PALACE                              52
+
+  THE VINDICTIVE                                 55
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
+
+  THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS OF CHELTENHAM               61
+
+  TO A SUCCESSFUL MAN                            66
+
+  THE OLD GENTLEMAN WITH THE AMBER SNUFFBOX      68
+
+  WHAT GRANDFATHER SAID                          71
+
+  MEMORIES OF THE PACIFIC COAST                  75
+
+  NIPPON                                         77
+
+  THE HUMMING BIRDS                              79
+
+  LINES FOR A SUN-DIAL                           81
+
+  THE REALMS OF GOLD                             82
+
+  COMPENSATIONS                                  85
+
+  DEAD MAN'S MORRICE                             87
+
+  THE OLD FOOL IN THE WOOD                       90
+
+  A NEW MADRIGAL TO AN OLD MELODY                91
+
+  THE LOST BATTLE                                94
+
+  RIDDLES OF MERLIN                              96
+
+  THE SYMPHONY                                   98
+
+  PEACE                                          99
+
+  THE OPEN DOOR                                 100
+
+  IMMORTAL SAILS                                102
+
+  THE MATIN-SONG OF FRIAR TUCK                  103
+
+  FIVE CRITICISMS                               105
+
+  THE COMPANIONS                                114
+
+  THE LITTLE ROADS                              116
+
+  SUNLIGHT AND SEA                              118
+
+  THE ROAD THROUGH CHAOS                        121
+
+  THE NIGHT OF THE LION                         123
+
+  THE WAR WIDOW                                 126
+
+  THE BELL                                      128
+
+  SLAVE AND EMPEROR                             132
+
+  ON A MOUNTAIN-TOP                             134
+
+
+
+
+EARLY POEMS
+
+  THE PHANTOM FLEET                             139
+
+  MICHAEL OAKTREE                               147
+
+
+
+
+TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS
+
+  TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS                           159
+
+    I THE NEW DUCKLING                          160
+
+   II THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE USE A CHAIR    161
+
+  III COTTON-WOOL                               164
+
+   IV FASHIONS                                  166
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+  THE REWARD OF SONG                            171
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW MORNING
+
+
+"THE AVENUE OF THE ALLIES"
+
+
+This is the song of the wind as it came
+Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:
+
+    _I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.
+I am His Liberty. That is my name._
+
+So it descended, at night, on the city.
+So it went lavishing beauty and pity,
+Lighting the lordliest street of the world
+With half of the banners that earth has unfurled;
+Over the lamps that are brighter than stars.
+Laughing aloud on its way to the wars,
+Proud as America, sweeping along
+Death and destruction like notes in a song,
+Leaping to battle as man to his mate,
+Joyous as God when he moved to create,--
+    Never was voice of a nation so glorious,
+Glad of its cause and afire with its fate!
+Never did eagle on mightier pinion
+Tower to the height of a brighter dominion,
+Kindling the hope of the prophets to flame,
+Calling aloud on the deep as it came,
+
+    _Cleave me a way for an army with banners.
+I am His Liberty. That is my name._
+
+Know you the meaning of all they are doing?
+Know you the light that their soul is pursuing?
+Know you the might of the world they are making,
+This nation of nations whose heart is awaking?
+What is this mingling of peoples and races?
+Look at the wonder and joy in their faces!
+Look how the folds of the union are spreading!
+Look, for the nations are come to their wedding.
+How shall the folk of our tongue be afraid of it?
+England was born of it. England was made of it,
+Made of this welding of tribes into one,
+This marriage of pilgrims that followed the sun!
+Briton and Roman and Saxon were drawn
+By winds of this Pentecost, out of the dawn,
+Westward, to make her one people of many;
+But here is a union more mighty than any.
+Know you the soul of this deep exultation?
+Know you the word that goes forth to this nation?
+
+    _I am the breath of God. I am His Liberty.
+Let there be light over all His creation._
+
+Over this Continent, wholly united,
+They that were foemen in Europe are plighted.
+Here, in a league that our blindness and pride
+Doubted and flouted and mocked and denied,
+Dawns the Republic, the laughing, gigantic
+Europe, united, beyond the Atlantic.
+That is America, speaking one tongue,
+Acting her epics before they are sung,
+Driving her rails from the palms to the snow,
+Through States that are greater than Emperors know,
+Forty-eight States that are empires in might,
+But ruled by the will of one people tonight,
+Nerved as one body, with net-works of steel,
+Merging their strength in the one Commonweal,
+Brooking no poverty, mocking at Mars,
+Building their cities to talk with the stars.
+Thriving, increasing by myriads again
+Till even in numbers old Europe may wane.
+How shall a son of the England they fought
+Fail to declare the full pride of his thought,
+Stand with the scoffers who, year after year,
+Bring the Republic their half-hidden sneer?
+Now, as in beauty she stands at our side,
+Who shall withhold the full gift of his pride?
+Not the great England who knows that her son,
+Washington, fought her, and Liberty won.
+England, whose names like the stars in their station,
+Stand at the foot of that world's Declaration,--
+Washington, Livingston, Langdon, she claims them,
+It is her right to be proud when she names them,
+Proud of that voice in the night as it came,
+Tossing the flags of the nations to flame:
+
+    _I am the breath of God. I am His laughter.
+I am His Liberty. That is my name._
+
+Flags, in themselves, are but rags that are dyed.
+Flags, in that wind, are like nations enskied.
+See, how they grapple the night as it rolls
+And trample it under like triumphing souls.
+Over the city that never knew sleep,
+Look at the riotous folds as they leap.
+Thousands of tri-colors, laughing for France,
+Ripple and whisper and thunder and dance;
+Thousands of flags for Great Britain aflame
+Answer their sisters in Liberty's name.
+Belgium is burning in pride overhead.
+Poland is near, and her sunrise is red.
+Under and over, and fluttering between,
+Italy burgeons in red, white, and green.
+See, how they climb like adventurous flowers,
+Over the tops of the terrible towers....
+_There, in the darkness, the glories are mated.
+There, in the darkness, a world is created.
+There, in this Pentecost, streaming on high.
+There, with a glory of stars in the sky.
+There the broad flag of our union and liberty
+Rides the proud night-wind and tyrannies die._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE WESTERN FRONT
+(_1916_)
+
+
+I.
+
+I found a dreadful acre of the dead,
+  Marked with the only sign on earth that saves.
+The wings of death were hurrying overhead,
+  The loose earth shook on those unquiet graves;
+
+For the deep gun-pits, with quick stabs of flame,
+  Made their own thunders of the sunlit air;
+Yet, as I read the crosses, name by name,
+  _Mort pour la France_, it seemed that peace was there;
+Sunlight and peace, a peace too deep for thought,
+  The peace of tides that underlie our strife,
+The peace with which the moving heavens are fraught,
+  The peace that is our everlasting life.
+
+The loose earth shook. The very hills were stirred.
+The silence of the dead was all I heard.
+
+
+II.
+
+We, who lie here, have nothing more to pray.
+  To all your praises we are deaf and blind.
+We may not even know if you betray
+  Our hope, to make earth better for mankind.
+
+Only our silence, in the night, shall grow
+  More silent, as the stars grow in the sky;
+And, while you deck our graves, you shall not know
+  How many scornful legions pass you by.
+
+For we have heard you say (when we were living)
+  That some small dream of good would "cost too much."
+But when the foe struck, we have watched you giving,
+  And seen you move the mountains with one touch.
+
+What can be done, we know. But, have no fear!
+If you fail now, we shall not see or hear.
+
+
+
+
+VICTORY
+
+(Written after the British Service at Trinity Church, New York)
+
+
+I.
+
+Before those golden altar-lights we stood,
+  Each one of us remembering his own dead.
+A more than earthly beauty seemed to brood
+  On that hushed throng, and bless each bending head.
+
+Beautiful on that gold, the deep-sea blue
+  Of those young seamen, ranked on either side,
+Blent with the khaki, while the silence grew
+  Deep, as for wings--Oh, deep as England's pride.
+
+Beautiful on that gold, two banners rose--
+  Two flags that told how Freedom's realm was made,
+One fair with stars of hope, and one that shows
+  The glorious cross of England's long crusade;
+
+Two flags, now joined, till that high will be done
+Which sent them forth to make the whole world one.
+
+
+II.
+
+There were no signs of joy that eyes could see.
+  Our hearts were all three thousand miles away.
+There were no trumpets blown for victory.
+  A million dead were calling us that day.
+
+And eyes grew blind, at times; but grief was deep,
+  Deeper than any foes or friends have known;
+For Oh, my country's lips are locked to keep
+  Her bitterest loss her own, and all her own.
+
+Only the music told what else was dumb,
+  The funeral march to which our pulses beat;
+For all our dead went by, to a muffled drum
+  We heard the tread of all those phantom feet.
+
+Yes. There was victory! Deep in every soul.
+We heard them marching to their unseen goal.
+
+
+III.
+
+There, once again, we saw the Cross go by,
+  The Cross that fell with all those glorious towers,
+Burnt black in France or mocked on Calvary,
+  Till--in one night--the crosses rose like flowers,
+Legions of small white crosses, mile on mile,
+  Pencilled with names that had outfought all pain,
+Where every shell-torn acre seems to smile--
+  _Who shall destroy the cross that rose again?_
+
+Out of the world's Walpurgis, where hope perished,
+  Where all the forms of faith in ruin fell,
+Where every sign of heaven that earth had cherished
+  Shrivelled among the lava-floods of hell,
+
+The eternal Cross that conquers might with right
+Rose like a star to lead us through the night.
+
+
+IV.
+
+How shall the world remember? Men forget:
+  Our dead are all too many even for Fame!
+Man's justice kneels to kings, and pays no debt
+  To those who never courted her acclaim.
+
+Cheat not your heart with promises to pay
+  For gifts beyond all price so freely given.
+Where is the heart so rich that it can say
+  To those who mourn, "I will restore your heaven"?
+
+But these, with their own hands, laid up their treasure
+  Where never an emperor can break in and steal,
+Treasure for those that loved them past all measure
+  In those high griefs that earth can never heal,
+
+Proud griefs, that walk on earth, yet gaze above,
+Knowing that sorrow is but remembered love.
+
+
+V.
+
+Love that still holds us with immortal power,
+  Yet cannot lift us to His realm of light;
+Love that still shows us heaven for one brief hour
+  Only to daunt the heart with that sheer height;
+
+Love that is made of loveliness entire
+  In form and thought and act; and still must shame us
+Because we ever acknowledge and aspire,
+  And yet let slip the shining hands that claim us.
+
+O, if this Love might cloak with rags His glory,
+  Laugh, eat and drink, and dwell with suffering men,
+Sit with us at our hearth, and hear our story,
+  This world--we thought--might be transfigured then.
+
+"But Oh," Love answered, with swift human tears,
+"All these things have I done, these many years."
+
+
+VI.
+
+"This day," Love said, "if ye will hear my voice;
+  I mount and sing with birds in all your skies.
+I am the soul that calls you to rejoice.
+  And every wayside flower is my disguise.
+
+"Look closely. Are the wings too wide for pity?
+  Look closely. Do these tender hues betray?
+How often have I sought my Holy City?
+  How often have ye turned your hearts away?
+
+"Is there not healing in the beauty I bring you?
+  Am I not whispering in green leaves and rain,
+Singing in all that woods and seas can sing you?
+  Look, once, on Love, and earth is heaven again.
+
+"O, did your Spring but once a century waken,
+The heaven of heavens for this would be forsaken."
+
+
+VII.
+
+There's but one gift that all our dead desire,
+  One gift that men can give, and that's a dream,
+Unless we, too, can burn with that same fire
+  Of sacrifice; die to the things that seem;
+
+Die to the little hatreds; die to greed;
+  Die to the old ignoble selves we knew;
+Die to the base contempts of sect and creed,
+  And rise again, like these, with souls as true.
+
+Nay (since these died before their task was finished)
+  Attempt new heights, bring even their dreams to birth:--
+Build us that better world, Oh, not diminished
+  By one true splendor that they planned on earth.
+
+And that's not done by sword, or tongue, or pen,
+There's but one way. God make us better men.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+AMERICAN POEMS 1912-1917
+
+
+
+
+REPUBLIC AND MOTHERLAND
+(_1912_)
+
+(Written after entering New York Harbor at Daybreak)
+
+
+Up the vast harbor with the morning sun
+  The ship swept in from sea;
+Gigantic towers arose, the night was done,
+  And--there stood Liberty.
+
+Silent, the great torch lifted in one hand,
+  The dawn in her proud eyes,
+Silent, for all the shouts that vex her land,
+  Silent, hailing the skies;
+
+Hailing that mightier Kingdom of the Blest
+  Our seamen sought of old,
+The dream that lured the nations through the West,
+  The city of sunset gold.
+
+Saxon and Norman in one wedded soul
+  Shook out one flag like fire;
+But westward, westward, moved the gleaming goal,
+  Westward, the vast desire.
+
+Westward and ever westward ran the call,
+  They followed the pilgrim sun,
+Seeking that land which should enfold them all,
+  And weld all hearts in one.
+
+Here on this mightier continent apart,
+  Here on these rolling plains,
+Swells the first throb of that immortal heart,
+  The pulse of those huge veins.
+
+Still, at these towers, our Old-World cities jest,
+  And neither hear nor see
+The brood of gods at that gigantic breast,
+  The conquering race to be.
+
+Chosen from many--for no sluggard soul
+  Confronts that night of stars--
+The trumpets of the last Republic roll
+  Far off, an end to wars;
+
+An end, an end to that wild blood-red age,
+  That made and keeps us blind;
+A mightier realm shall be her heritage,
+  The kingdom of mankind.
+
+Chosen from many nations, and made one;
+  But first, O Mother, from thee,
+When, following, following on that Pilgrim sun,
+  Thy Mayflower crossed the sea.
+
+
+
+
+THE UNION
+(_1917_)
+
+
+You that have gathered together the sons of all races,
+  And welded them into one,
+Lifting the torch of your Freedom on hungering faces
+  That sailed to the setting sun;
+
+You that have made of mankind in your own proud regions
+  The music of man to be,
+How should the old earth sing of you, now, as your legions
+  Rise to set all men free?
+
+How should the singer that knew the proud vision and loved it,
+  In the days when not all men knew,
+Gaze through his tears, on the light, now the world has approved it;
+  Or dream, when the dream comes true?
+
+How should he sing when the Spirit of Freedom in thunder
+  Speaks, and the wine-press is red;
+And the sea-winds are loud with the chains that are broken asunder
+  And nations that rise from the dead?
+
+Flag of the sky, proud flag of that wide communion,
+  Too mighty for thought to scan;
+Flag of the many in one, and that last world-union
+  That kingdom of God in man;
+
+Ours was a dream, in the night, of that last federation,
+  But yours is the glory unfurled--
+The marshalled nations and stars that shall make one nation
+  One singing star of the world.
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS OF THE NEW WORLD
+
+"_There are no ghosts in America._"
+
+
+There are no ghosts, you say,
+  To haunt her blaze of light;
+No shadows in her day,
+  No phantoms in her night.
+Columbus' tattered sail
+Has passed beyond our hail.
+
+What? On that magic coast,
+  Where Raleigh fought with fate,
+Or where that Devon ghost
+  Unbarred the Golden Gate,
+No dark, strange, ear-ringed men
+Beat in from sea again?
+
+No ghosts in Salem town
+  With silver buckled shoon?
+No lovely witch to drown
+  Or burn beneath the moon?
+Not even a whiff of tea,
+On Boston's glimmering quay.
+
+O, ghostly Spanish walls,
+  Where brown Franciscans glide,
+Is there no voice that calls
+  Across the Great Divide,
+To pilgrims on their way
+Along the Santa Fe?
+
+Then let your Pullman cars
+  Go roaring to the West,
+Till, watched by lonelier stars,
+  The cactus lifts its crest.
+There, on that painted plain,
+One ghost will rise again.
+
+Majestic and forlorn,
+  Wreck of a dying race,
+The Red Man, half in scorn,
+  Shall raise his haughty face,
+Inscrutable as the sky,
+To watch our ghosts go by.
+
+What? Is earth dreaming still?
+  Shall not the night disgorge
+The ghosts of Bunker Hill
+  The ghosts of Valley Forge,
+Or, England's mightiest son,
+The ghost of Washington?
+
+No ghosts where Lincoln fell?
+  No ghosts for seeing eyes?
+I know an old cracked bell
+  Shall make ten million rise
+When one immortal ghost
+Calls to the slumbering host.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD MEETING HOUSE
+
+(_New Jersey, 1918_)
+
+
+Its quiet graves were made for peace till Gabriel blows his horn.
+  Those wise old elms could hear no cry
+  Of all that distant agony--
+Only the red-winged blackbird, and the rustle of thick ripe corn.
+
+The blue jay, perched upon that bronze, with bright unweeting eyes,
+  Could never read the names that signed
+  The noblest charter of mankind;
+But all of them were names we knew beneath our English skies.
+
+And on the low gray headstones, with their crumbling weather-stains,
+  --Though cardinal birds, like drops of blood,
+  Flickered across the haunted wood,--
+The names you'd see were names that woke like flowers in English lanes.
+
+John Applegate was fast asleep; and Temperance Olden, too.
+  And David Worth had quite forgot
+  If Hannah's lips were red or not;
+And Prudence veiled her eyes at last, as Prudence ought to do.
+
+And when, across that patch of heaven, that small blue leaf-edged space
+  At times, a droning airplane went,
+  No flicker of astonishment
+Could lift the heavy eyelids on one gossip's up-turned face.
+
+For William Speakman could not tell--so thick the grasses grow--
+  If that strange humming in the sky
+  Meant that the Judgment Day were nigh,
+Or if 'twas but the summer bees that blundered to and fro.
+
+And then, across the breathless wood, a Bell began to sound,
+  The only Bell that wakes the dead,
+  And Stockton Signer raised his head,
+And called to all the deacons in the ancient burial-ground.
+
+"The Bell, the Bell is ringing! Give me back my rusty sword.
+  Though I thought the wars were done,
+  Though I thought our peace was won,
+Yet I signed the Declaration, and the dead must keep their word.
+
+"There's only one great ghost I know could make that 'larum ring.
+  It's the captain that we knew
+  In the ancient buff and blue,
+It's our Englishman, George Washington, who fought the German king!"
+
+So the sunset saw them mustering beneath their brooding boughs,
+  Ancient shadows of our sires,
+  Kindling with the ancient fires,
+While the old cracked Bell to southward shook the ancient meeting house.
+
+
+
+
+PRINCETON
+(_1917_)
+
+The first four lines of this poem were written for inscription on the
+first joint memorial to the American and British soldiers who fell in
+the Revolutionary War. This memorial was recently dedicated at
+Princeton.
+
+
+I.
+
+_Here Freedom stood, by slaughtered friend and foe,
+  And ere the wrath paled or that sunset died,
+Looked through the ages: then, with eyes aglow,
+  Laid them, to wait that future, side by side._
+
+
+II.
+
+Now lamp-lit gardens in the blue dusk shine
+  Through dog-wood red and white,
+And round the gray quadrangles, line by line,
+  The windows fill with light,
+Where Princeton calls to Magdalen, tower to tower,
+  Twin lanthorns of the law,
+And those cream-white magnolia boughs embower
+  The halls of old Nassau.
+
+
+III.
+
+The dark bronze tigers crouch on either side
+  Where red-coats used to pass,
+And round the bird-loved house where Mercer died
+  And violets dusk the grass,
+By Stony Brook that ran so red of old,
+  But sings of friendship now,
+To feed the old enemy's harvest fifty-fold
+  The green earth takes the plough.
+
+
+IV.
+
+Through this May night if one great ghost should stray
+  With deep remembering eyes,
+Where that old meadow of battle smiles away
+  Its blood-stained memories,
+If Washington should walk, where friend and foe
+  Sleep and forget the past,
+Be sure his unquenched heart would leap to know
+  Their hosts are joined at last.
+
+
+V.
+
+Be sure he walks, in shadowy buff and blue,
+  Where those dim lilacs wave,
+He bends his head to bless, as dreams come true,
+  The promise of that grave,
+Then with a vaster hope than thought can scan,
+  Touching his ancient sword,
+Prays for that mightier realm of God in man,
+  "Hasten Thy Kingdom, Lord."
+
+
+VI.
+
+"Land of new hope, land of the singing stars,
+  Type of the world to be,
+The vision of a world set free from wars
+  Takes life, takes form, from thee,
+Where all the jarring nations of this earth,
+  Beneath the all-blessing sun,
+Bring the new music of mankind to birth,
+  And make the whole world one."
+
+
+VII.
+
+And those old comrades rise around him there,
+  Old foemen, side by side,
+With eyes like stars upon the brave night-air,
+  And young as when they died,
+To hear your bells, O beautiful Princeton towers,
+  Ring for the world's release.
+They see you, piercing like gray swords through flowers,
+  And smile from hearts at peace.
+
+
+
+
+BEETHOVEN IN CENTRAL PARK
+
+(After a glimpse of a certain monument in New York, during the
+Victory Celebration)
+
+
+The thousand-windowed towers were all alight.
+  Throngs of all nations filled that glittering way;
+And, rich with dreams of the approaching day,
+Flags of all nations trampled down the night.
+No clouds, at sunset, die in airs as bright.
+  No clouds, at dawn, awake in winds as gay;
+  For Freedom rose in that august array,
+Crowned with the stars and weaponed for the right.
+
+Then, in a place of whispering leaves and gloom,
+  I saw, too dark, too dumb for bronze or stone,
+  One tragic head that bowed against the sky;
+O, in a hush too deep for any tomb
+  I saw Beethoven, dreadfully alone
+    With his own grief, and his own majesty.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SONGS OF THE TRAWLERS AND SEA POEMS
+
+
+THE PEOPLE'S FLEET
+
+
+Out of her darkened fishing-ports they go,
+  A fleet of little ships, whose every name--
+_Daffodil_, _Sea-lark_, _Rose_ and _Surf_ and _Snow_,
+  Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;
+
+Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,
+  The people's fleet that never knew its worth,
+And every name is a broken phrase of song
+  To some remembered loveliness on earth.
+
+There's _Barbara Cowie_, _Comely Bank_ and _May_,
+  Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:
+There's _Ruth_ and _Kindly Light_ and _Robin Gray_
+  With _Mizpah_. (May that simple prayer come true!)
+
+Out of old England's inmost heart they sail,
+  A fleet of memories that can never fail.
+
+
+
+
+KILMENY
+
+
+Dark, dark lay the drifters against the red West,
+  As they shot their long meshes of steel overside;
+And the oily green waters were rocking to rest
+  When Kilmeny went out, at the turn of the tide;
+And nobody knew where that lassie would roam,
+  For the magic that called her was tapping unseen.
+It was well-nigh a week ere Kilmeny came home,
+  And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+She'd a gun at her bow that was Newcastle's best,
+  And a gun at her stern that was fresh from the Clyde,
+And a secret her skipper had never confessed,
+  Not even at dawn, to his newly-wed bride;
+And a wireless that whispered above, like a gnome,
+  The laughter of London, the boasts of Berlin....
+O, it may have been mermaids that lured her from home;
+  But nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+It was dark when Kilmeny came home from her quest
+  With her bridge dabbled red where her skipper had died;
+But she moved like a bride with a rose at her breast,
+  And _Well done Kilmeny!_ the Admiral cried.
+
+Now, at sixty-four fathom a conger may come
+  And nose at the bones of a drowned submarine;
+But--late in the evening Kilmeny came home,
+  And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+There's a wandering shadow that stares at the foam,
+  Though they sing all the night to old England, their queen.
+Late, late in the evening, Kilmeny came home;
+  And nobody knew where Kilmeny had been.
+
+
+
+
+CAP'N STORM-ALONG
+
+
+They are buffeting out in the bitter grey weather,
+  _Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!_
+_Sea-lark_ singing to _Golden Feather_,
+  And burly blue waters all swelling aroun'.
+There's _Thunderstone_ butting ahead as they wallow,
+  With death in the mesh of their deep-sea trawl;
+There's _Night-Hawk_ swooping by wild _Sea-swallow_;
+  And old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.
+
+  _Bashing the seas to a welter of white,
+  Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight.
+  O, they're dancing like witches to open the ball;
+  And old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all._
+
+Now, where have you seen such a bully old sailor?
+  His eyes are as blue as the scarf at his throat;
+And he rolls on the bridge of his broad-beamed whaler,
+  In yellow sou'wester and oil-skin coat.
+In trawler and drifter, in dinghy and dory,
+  Wherever he signals, they leap to his call;
+They batter the seas to a lather of glory,
+  With old Cap'n Storm-along leading 'em all.
+
+  _You'll find he's from Devon, the sailor I mean,
+  Look at his whaler now, shipping it green.
+  O, Fritz and his "U" boat must crab it and crawl
+  When old Cap'n Storm-along sails to the ball._
+
+Ay, there is the skipper that knows how to scare 'em.
+  _Blow the man down, bullies, blow the man down!_
+Look at the sea-wives he keeps in his harem,
+  Wicked young merry-maids, buxom and brown:
+There's _Rosalind_, the sea-witch, and _Gipsy_ so lissom,
+  All dancing like ducks in the teeth of the squall,
+With a bright eye for Huns, and a Hotchkiss to kiss 'em;
+  For old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of 'em all.
+
+  _Look at him, battering darkness to light!
+  Look at the fleet that he leads to the fight!
+  O, hearts that are mighty, in ships that are small,
+  Your old Cap'n Storm-along's lord of us all._
+
+
+
+
+THE BIG BLACK TRAWLER
+
+
+The very best ship that ever I knew,
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+Was a big black trawler with a deep-sea crew--
+  _Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+There was one old devil with a broken nose
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+He was four score years, as I suppose--
+  _But, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+We was wrecked last March, in a Polar storm
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+And we asked the old cripple if his feet was warm--
+  _Sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+And the old, old devil (he was ninety at the most)
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+Roars, "Ay, warm as a lickle piece of toast"--
+  _So sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+"For I soaked my sea-boots and my dungarees
+  --_Ah-way O, to me O_--
+In the good salt water that the Lord don't freeze"--
+  _Oh, sing, my bullies, let the bullgine run._
+
+
+
+
+NAMESAKES
+
+
+But where's the brown drifter that went out alone?
+  --_Roll and go, and fare you well_--
+Was her name Peggy Nutten? That name is my own.
+  _Fare you well, my sailor._
+They sang in the dark, "Let her go! Let her go!"
+And she sailed to the West, where the broad waters flow;
+And the others come back, but ... the bitter winds blow.
+  _Ah, fare you well, my sailor._
+
+The women, at evening, they wave and they cheer.
+  --_Roll and go, and fare you well_--
+They're waiting to welcome their lads at the pier.
+  _Fare you well, my sailor._
+They're all coming home in the twilight below;
+But there's one little boat.... Let her go! Let her go!
+She carried my heart, and a heart for the foe.
+  _Ah, fare you well, my sailor._
+
+The _Nell_ and the _Maggie_, the _Ruth_ and the _Joan_,
+  --_Roll and go, and fare you well_--
+They come to their namesakes, and leave me alone.
+  _Fare you well, my sailor._
+And names are kep' dark, for the spies mustn't know;
+But they'll look in my face, an' I think it will show;
+Peggy Nutten's my name. Let her go! let her go!
+  _Ah, fare you well, my sailor._
+
+
+
+
+WIRELESS
+
+
+Now to those who search the deep,
+  _Gleam of Hope_ and _Kindly Light_,
+Once, before you turn to sleep,
+  Breathe a message through the night.
+Never doubt that they'll receive it.
+Send it, once, and you'll believe it.
+
+Wrecks that burn against the stars,
+  Decks where death is wallowing green,
+Snare the breath among their spars,
+  Hear the flickering threads between,
+Quick, through all the storms that blind them,
+Quick with words that rush to find them.
+
+Think you these aerial wires
+  Whisper more than spirits may?
+Think you that our strong desires
+  Touch no distance when we pray?
+Think you that no wings are flying
+'Twixt the living and the dying?
+
+Inland, here, upon your knees,
+  You shall breathe from urgent lips,
+Round the ships that guard your seas,
+  Fleet on fleet of angel ships;
+Yea, the guarded may so bless them
+That no terrors can distress them.
+
+You shall guide the darkling prow,
+  Kneeling thus--and far inland--
+You shall touch the storm-beat brow
+  Gently as a spirit-hand.
+Even a blindfold prayer may speed them,
+And a little child may lead them.
+
+
+
+
+FISHERS OF MEN
+
+
+Long, long ago He said,
+He who could wake the dead,
+  And walk upon the sea--
+  "_Come, follow Me._
+
+"Leave your brown nets and bring
+Only your hearts to sing,
+  Only your souls to pray,
+  Rise, come away.
+
+"Shake out your spirit-sails,
+And brave those wilder gales,
+  And I will make you then
+  Fishers of men."
+
+Was this, then, what He meant?
+Was this His high intent,
+  After two thousand years
+  Of blood and tears?
+
+God help us, if we fight
+For right, and not for might.
+  God help us if we seek
+  To shield the weak.
+
+Then, though His heaven be far
+From this blind welter of war,
+  He'll bless us, on the sea
+  From Calvary.
+
+
+
+
+AN OPEN BOAT
+
+
+O what is that whimpering there in the darkness?
+  _"Let him lie in my arms. He is breathing, I know.
+Look. I'll wrap all my hair round his neck."--"The sea's rising,
+  The boat must be lightened. He's dead. He must go."_
+
+See--quick--by that flash, where the bitter foam tosses,
+  The cloud of white faces, in the black open boat,
+And the wild pleading woman that clasps her dead lover
+  And wraps her loose hair round his breast and his throat.
+
+_"Come, lady, he's dead." "No, I feel his heart beating.
+  He's living, I know. But he's numbed with the cold.
+See, I'm wrapping my hair all around him to warm him"----
+  --"No. We can't keep the dead, dear. Come, loosen your hold._
+
+_"Come. Loosen your fingers."--"O God, let me keep him!"_
+  O, hide it, black night! Let the winds have their way!
+For there are no voices or ghosts from that darkness,
+  To fret the bare seas at the breaking of day.
+
+
+
+
+PEACE IN A PALACE
+
+
+"You were weeping in the night," said the Emperor,
+  "Weeping in your sleep, I am told."
+"It was nothing but a dream," said the Empress;
+  But her face grew gray and old.
+"You thought you saw our German God defeated?"
+  "Oh, no!" she said. "I saw no lightnings fall.
+I dreamed of a whirlpool of green water,
+  Where something had gone down. That was all.
+
+_"All but the whimper of the sea gulls flying,
+  Endlessly round and round,
+Waiting for the faces, the faces from the darkness,
+  The dreadful rising faces of the drowned._
+
+"It was nothing but a dream," said the Empress.
+  "I thought I was walking on the sea;
+And the foam rushed up in a wild smother,
+  And a crowd of little faces looked at me.
+
+They were drowning! They were drowning," said the Empress,
+  "And they stretched their feeble arms to the sky;
+But the worst was--they mistook me for their mother,
+  And cried as my children used to cry.
+
+_"Nothing but a whimper of the sea-gulls flying,
+  Endlessly round and round,
+With the cruel yellow beaks that were waiting for the faces,
+  The little floating faces of the drowned."_
+
+"It was nothing but a dream," said the Emperor,
+  "So why should you weep, dear, eh?"--
+"Oh, I saw the red letters on a life belt
+  That the green sea washed my way!"--
+"What were they?" said the Emperor. "What were they?"--
+  "Some of them were hidden," said the Empress,
+  "But I plainly saw the L and the U!"
+"In God's name, stop!" said the Emperor.
+  "You told me that it was not true!
+
+_"Told me that you dreamed of the sea gulls flying,
+  Endlessly round and round,
+Waiting for the faces, and the eyes in the faces,
+  The eyes of the children that we drowned._
+
+"Kiss me and forget it," said the Emperor,
+  "Dry your tears on the tassel of my sword.
+I am going to offer peace to my people,
+  And abdicate, perhaps, as overlord.
+I shall now take up My Cross as Count of Prussia--
+  Which is not a heavy burden, you'll agree.
+Why, before the twenty million dead are rotten
+  There'll be yachting days again for you and me.
+    Cheer up!
+It would mean a rope for anyone but Me."
+
+_"Oh, take care!" said the Empress. "They are flying,
+  Endlessly round and round.
+They have finished with the faces, the dreadful little faces,
+  The little eyeless faces of the drowned."_
+
+
+
+
+THE VINDICTIVE
+
+
+How should we praise those lads of the old _Vindictive_
+  Who looked Death straight in the eyes,
+    Till his gaze fell,
+    In those red gates of hell?
+
+England, in her proud history, proudly enrolls them,
+  And the deep night in her remembering skies
+    With purer glory
+    Shall blazon their grim story.
+
+There were no throngs to applaud that hushed adventure.
+  They were one to a thousand on that fierce emprise.
+    The shores they sought
+    Were armoured, past all thought.
+
+O, they knew fear, be assured, as the brave must know it,
+  With youth and its happiness bidding their last good-byes;
+    Till thoughts, more dear
+    Than life, cast out all fear.
+
+  For if, as we think, they remembered the brown-roofed homesteads,
+And the scent of the hawthorn hedges when daylight dies,
+    Old happy places,
+    Young eyes and fading faces;
+
+One dream was dearer that night than the best of their boyhood,
+  One hope more radiant than any their hearts could prize.
+    The touch of your hand,
+    The light of your face, England!
+
+So, age to age shall tell how they sailed through the darkness
+  Where, under those high, austere, implacable stars,
+    Not one in ten
+    Might look for a dawn again.
+
+They saw the ferry-boats, _Iris_ and _Daffodil_, creeping
+  Darkly as clouds to the shimmering mine-strewn bars,
+    Flash into light!
+    Then thunder reddened the night.
+
+The wild white swords of the search-lights blinded and stabbed them,
+  The sharp black shadows fought in fantastic wars.
+    Black waves leapt whitening,
+    Red decks were washed with lightning.
+
+But, under the twelve-inch guns of the black land-batteries
+  The hacked bright hulk, in a glory of crackling spars,
+    Moved to her goal
+    Like an immortal soul;
+
+That, while the raw rent flesh in a furnace is tortured,
+  Reigns by a law no agony ever can shake,
+    And shines in power
+    Above all shocks of the hour.
+
+O, there, while the decks ran blood, and the star-shells lightened
+  The old broken ship that the enemy never could break,
+    Swept through the fire
+    And grappled her heart's desire.
+
+There, on a wreck that blazed with the soul of England,
+  The lads that died in the dark for England's sake
+    Knew, as they died,
+    Nelson was at their side;
+
+Nelson, and all the ghostly fleets of his island,
+  Fighting beside them there, and the soul of Drake!--
+    Dreams, as we knew,
+    Till these lads made them true.
+
+_How should we praise you, lads of the old Vindictive,
+  Who looked death straight in the eyes,
+    Till his gaze fell
+    In those red gates of hell?_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MISCELLANEOUS POEMS
+
+
+THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPS OF CHELTENHAM
+
+
+When hawthorn buds are creaming white,
+  And the red foolscap all stuck with may,
+Then lasses walk with eyes alight,
+  And it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.
+
+For the chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham town,
+  Sooty of face as a swallow of wing,
+Come whistling, singing, dancing down
+  With white teeth flashing as they sing.
+
+And Jack-in-the green, by a clown in blue,
+  Walks like a two-legged bush of may,
+With the little wee lads that wriggled up the flue
+  Ere Cheltenham town cried "dancing day."
+
+For brooms were short and the chimneys tall,
+  And the gipsies caught 'em these blackbirds cheap,
+So Cheltenham bought them, spry and small,
+  And shoved them up in the dark to sweep.
+
+For Cheltenham town was cruel of old,
+  But she has been gathering garlands gay,
+And the little wee lads are in green and gold,
+  For it's chimney-sweepers' dancing day.
+
+And red as a rose, and blue as the sky,
+  With teeth as white as their faces are black,
+The master-sweeps go dancing by,
+  With a gridiron painted on every back.
+
+But when they are ranged in the market-place,
+  The clown's wife comes with an iron spoon,
+And cozens a penny for her sweet face
+  To keep their golden throats in tune.
+
+Then, hushing the riot of that mad throng,
+  And sweet as the voice of a long-dead May,
+A wandering pedlar lifts 'em a song,
+  Of chimney-sweepers' dancing day;
+
+And the sooty faces, they try to recall....
+  As they gather around in their spell-struck rings....
+But nobody knows that singer at all
+  Or the curious old-time air he sings:--
+
+Why are you dancing, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,
+  And where did you win you these may-coats so fine;
+For some are red as roses, and some are gold as daffodils,
+  But who, ah, who remembers, now, a little lad of mine?
+
+Lady, we are dancing, as we danced in old England
+  When the may was more than may, very long ago:
+As for our may-coats, it was your white hands, lady,
+  Filled our sooty hearts and minds with blossom, white as snow.
+
+It was a beautiful face we saw, wandering through Cheltenham.
+  It was a beautiful song we heard, very far away,
+Weeping for a little lad stolen by the gipsies,
+  Broke our hearts and filled 'em with the glory of the may.
+
+Many a little lad had we, chirruping in the chimney-tops,
+  Twirling out a sooty broom, a blot against the blue.
+Ah, but when we called to him, and when he saw and ran to her,
+  All our winter ended, and our world was made anew.
+
+Then she gave us may-coats of gold and green and crimson,
+  Then, with a long garland, she led our hearts away,
+Whispering, "Remember, though the boughs forget the hawthorn,
+  Yet shall I return to you, that was your lady May."--
+
+But why are you dancing now, O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,
+  And why are you singing of a May that is fled?--
+O, there's music to be born, though we pluck the old fiddle-strings,
+  And a world's May awaking where the fields lay dead.
+
+And we dance, dance, dreaming of a lady most beautiful
+  That shall walk the green valleys of this dark earth one day,
+And call to us gently, "O chimney-sweeps of Cheltenham,
+  I am looking for my children. Awake, and come away."
+
+
+
+
+TO A SUCCESSFUL MAN
+
+(_What the Ghosts Said_)
+
+
+And after all the labour and the pains,
+  After the heaping up of gold on gold,
+After success that locked your feet in chains,
+  And left you with a heart so tired and old,
+
+Strange--is it not?--to find your chief desire
+  Is what you might have had for nothing then--
+The face of love beside a cottage fire
+  And friendly laughter with your fellow-men?
+
+You were so rich when fools esteemed you poor.
+  You ruled a field that kings could never buy;
+The glory of the sea was at your door;
+  And all those quiet stars were in your sky.
+
+The nook of ferns below the breathless wood
+  Where one poor book could unlock Paradise ...
+What will you give us now for that lost good?
+  Better forget. You cannot pay the price.
+
+You left them for the fame in which you trust.
+  But youth, and hope--did you forsake them, too?
+Courage! When dust at length returns to dust,
+  In your last dreams they may come back to you.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD GENTLEMAN WITH THE AMBER SNUFF-BOX
+
+
+_The old gentleman, tapping his amber snuff-box
+(A heart-shaped snuff-box with a golden clasp)
+Stared at the dying fire. "I'd like them all
+To understand, when I am gone," he muttered.
+"But how to do it delicately! I can't
+Apologize. I'll hint at it ... in verse;
+And, to be sure that Rosalind reads it through,
+I'll make it an appendix to my will!"
+--Still cynical, you see. He couldn't help it.
+He had seen much, felt much. He snapped the snuff box,
+Shook his white periwig, trimmed a long quill pen,
+And then began to write, most carefully,
+These couplets, in the old heroic style:--_
+
+O, had I known in boyhood, only known
+The few sad truths that time has made my own,
+I had not lost the best that youth can give,
+Nay, life itself, in learning how to live.
+This laboring heart would not be tired so soon,
+This jaded blood would jog to a livelier tune:
+And some few friends, could I begin again,
+Should know more happiness, and much less pain.
+I should not wound in ignorance, nor turn
+In foolish pride from those for whom I yearn.
+I should have kept nigh half the friends I've lost,
+And held for dearest those I wronged the most.
+
+Yet, when I see more cunning men evade
+With colder tact, the blunders that I made;
+Sometimes I wonder if the better part
+Is not still mine, who lacked their subtle art.
+For I have conned my book in harsher schools,
+And learned from struggling what they worked by rules;
+Learned--with some pain--more quickly to forgive
+My fellow-blunderers, while they learn to live;
+Learned--with some tears--to keep a steadfast mind,
+And think more kindly of my own poor kind.
+
+_He read the verses through, shaking his wig.
+"Perhaps ... perhaps"--he whispered to himself,
+"I'd better leave it to the will of God.
+They might upset my own. I do not think
+They'd understand. Jocelyn might, perhaps;
+And Dick, if only they were left alone.
+But Rosalind never; nor that nephew of mine,
+The witty politician. No. No. No.
+They'd say my mind was wandering, I'm afraid."
+So, with a frozen face, reluctantly,
+He tossed his verses into the dying fire,
+And watched the sparks fly upward.
+                            There, at dawn,
+They found him, cold and stiff by the cold hearth,
+His amber snuff-box in his ivory hand.
+"You see," they said, "he never needed friends.
+He had that curious antique frozen way.
+He had no heart--only an amber snuff-box.
+He died quite happily, taking a pinch of snuff."
+
+His nephew, that engaging politician,
+Inherited the snuff-box, and remarked
+His epitaph should be "Snuffed Out." The clubs
+Laughed, and the statesman's reputation grew._
+
+
+
+
+WHAT GRANDFATHER SAID
+
+(_An epistle from a narrow-minded old gentleman to a young artist of
+superior intellect and intense realism._)
+
+
+Your thoughts are for the poor and weak?
+  Ah, no, the picturesque's your passion!
+Your tongue is always in your cheek
+  At poverty that's not in fashion.
+
+You like a ploughman's rugged face,
+  Or painted eyes in Piccadilly;
+But bowler hats are commonplace,
+  And thread-bare tradesmen simply silly.
+
+The clerk that sings "God save the King,"
+  And still believes his Tory paper,--
+You hate the anaemic fool? I thought
+  You loved the weak! Was that all vapour?
+
+Ah, when you sneer, dear democrat,
+  At such a shiny-trousered Tory
+Because he doffs his poor old hat
+  To what he thinks his country's glory,
+
+To you it's just a coloured rag.
+  You hate the "patriots" that bawl so.
+Well, my Ulysses, there's a flag
+  That lifts men in Republics also.
+
+No doubt his thoughts are cruder far;
+  And, where those linen folds are shaking,
+Perhaps he sees a kind of star
+  Because his eyes are tired and aching.
+
+Banal enough! Banal as truth!
+  But I'm not thinking of his banners.
+I'm thinking of his pinched white youth
+  And your disgusting "new art" manners.
+
+His meek submission stirs your hate?
+  Better, my lad, if you're so fervent,
+Turn your cold steel against the State
+  Instead of sneering at the servant.
+
+He does his job. He draws his pay.
+  You sneer, and dine with those that pay him;
+And then you write a snobbish play
+  For democrats, in which you play him.
+
+Ah, yes, you like simplicity
+  That sucks its cheeks to make the dimple.
+But this domestic bourgeoisie
+  You hate,--because it's all too simple.
+
+You hate the hearth, the wife, the child,
+  You hate the heavens that bend above them.
+Your simple folk must all run wild
+  Like jungle-beasts before you love them.
+
+You own a house in Cheyne Walk,
+  (You say it costs three thousand fully)
+Where subtle snobs can talk and talk
+  And play the intellectual bully.
+
+Yes. I say "snobs." Are names alone
+  Free from all change? Your word "Victorian"
+Could bite and sting in ninety one
+  But now--it's deader than the saurian.
+
+You think I live in yesterday,
+  Because I think your way the wrong one;
+But I have hewed and ploughed my way,
+  And--unlike yours--it's been a long one.
+
+I let Victoria toll her bell,
+  And went with Strindberg for a ride, sir.
+I've fought through your own day as well,
+  And come out on the other side, sir,--
+
+The further side, the morning side,
+  I read free verse (the Psalms) on Sunday.
+But I've decided (you'll decide)
+  That there is room for song on Monday.
+
+I've seen the new snob on his way,
+  The intellectual snob I mean, sir,
+The artist snob, in book and play,
+  Kicking his mother round the scene, sir.
+
+I've heard the Tories talk like fools;
+  And the rich fool that apes the Tory.
+I've seen the shopmen break your rules
+  And die like Christ, in Christ's own glory.
+
+But, as for you, that liberal sneer
+  Reminds me of the poor old Kaiser.
+He was a "socialist," my dear.
+  Well, I'm your grandson. You'll grow wiser.
+
+
+
+
+MEMORIES OF THE PACIFIC COAST
+
+
+I know a land, I, too,
+  Where warm keen incense on the sea-wind blows,
+And all the winter long the skies are blue,
+  And the brown deserts blossom with the rose.
+
+Deserts of all delight,
+  Cactus and palm and earth of thirsty gold,
+Dark purple blooms round eaves of sun-washed white,
+  And that Hesperian fruit men sought of old.
+
+O, to be wandering there,
+  Under the palm-trees, on that sunset shore,
+Where the waves break in song, and the bright air
+  Is crystal clean; and peace is ours, once more.
+
+There Beauty dwells,
+  Beauty, re-born in whiteness from the foam;
+And Youth returns with all its magic spells,
+  And the heart finds its long-forgotten home,--
+
+Home--home! Where is that land?
+  For, when I dream it found, the old hungering cry
+Aches in the soul, drives me from all I planned,
+  And sets my sail to seek another sky.
+
+
+
+
+NIPPON
+
+
+Last night, I dreamed of Nippon....
+  I saw a cloud of white
+Drifting before the sunset
+  On seas of opal light.
+
+Beyond the wide Pacific
+  I saw its mounded snow
+Miraculously changing
+  In that deep evening glow,
+
+To rosy rifts and hillocks,
+  To orchards that I knew,
+To snows of peach and cherry,
+  And feathers of bamboo.
+
+I saw, on twisted bridges,
+  In blue and crimson gleams,
+The lanterns of the fishers,
+  Along the brook of dreams.
+
+I saw the wreaths of incense
+  Like little ghosts arise,
+From temples under Fuji,
+  From Fuji to the skies.
+
+I saw that fairy mountain....
+  I watched it form and fade.
+No doubt the gods were singing,
+  When Nippon isle was made.
+
+
+
+
+THE HUMMING BIRDS
+
+
+Green wing and ruby throat,
+  What shining spell, what exquisite sorcery,
+Lured you to float
+  And fight with bees round this one flowering tree?
+
+Petulant imps of light,
+  What whisper or gleam or elfin-wild perfumes
+Thrilled through the night
+  And drew you to this hive of rosy bloom?
+
+One tree, and one alone,
+  Of all that load this magic air with spice,
+Claims for its own
+  Your brave migration out of Paradise;
+
+Claims you, and guides you, too,
+  Three thousand miles across the summer's waste
+Of blooms ye knew
+  Less finely fit for your ethereal taste.
+
+To poets' youthful hearts,
+  Even so the quivering April thoughts will fly,--
+Those irised darts,
+  Those winged and tiny denizens of the sky.
+
+Through beaks as needle-fine,
+  They suck a redder honey than bees know.
+Unearthly wine
+  Sleeps in this bloom; and, when it falls, they go.
+
+
+
+
+LINES FOR A SUN-DIAL
+
+
+With shadowy pen I write,
+      Till time be done,
+    Good news of some strange light,
+Some far off sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE REALMS OF GOLD
+
+(Written after hearing a line of Keats repeated by a passing stranger
+under the palms of Southern California.)
+
+
+Under the palms of San Diego
+  Where gold-skinned Mexicans loll at ease,
+And the red half-moons of their black-pipped melons
+  Drop from their hands in the sunset seas,
+And an incense, out of the old brown missions,
+  Blows through the orange trees;
+
+I wished that a poet who died in Europe
+  Had found his way to this rose-red West;
+That Keats had walked by the wide Pacific
+  And cradled his head on its healing breast,
+And made new songs of the sun-burned sea-folk,
+  New poems, perhaps his best.
+
+I thought of him, under the ripe pomegranates
+  At the desert's edge, where the grape-vines grow,
+In a sun-kissed ranch between grey-green sage-brush
+  And amethyst mountains, peaked with snow,
+Or watching the lights of the City of Angels
+  Glitter like stars below.
+
+He should walk, at dawn, by the lemon orchards,
+  And breathe at ease in that dry bright air;
+And the Spanish bells in their crumbling cloisters
+  Of brown adobe would sing to him there;
+And the old Franciscans would bring him their baskets
+  Of apple and olive and pear.
+
+And the mandolins, in the deep blue twilight,
+  Under that palm with the lion's mane,
+Would pluck, once more, at his golden heart-strings,
+  And tell him the old sea-tales of Spain;
+And there should the daughters of Hesperus teach him
+  Their mystical songs again.
+
+Then, the dusk blew sweet over seas of peach-bloom;
+  The moon sailed white in the cloudless blue;
+The tree-toads purred, and the crickets chirruped;
+  And better than anything dreamed came true;
+For, under the murmuring palms, a shadow
+  Passed, with the eyes I knew;
+
+A shadow, perhaps, of the tall green fountains
+  That rustled their fronds on that glittering sky,
+A hungering shadow, a lean dark shadow,
+  A dreaming shadow that drifted by;
+But I heard him whisper the strange dark music
+  That found it so "rich to die."
+
+And the murmuring palms of San Diego
+  Shook with stars as he passed beneath.
+The Paradise palms, and the wild white orchards,
+  The night, and its roses, were all one breath,
+Bearing the song of a nightingale seaward,
+  A song that had out-soared death.
+
+
+
+
+COMPENSATIONS
+
+
+Not with a flash that rends the blue
+  Shall fall the avenging sword.
+Gently as the evening dew
+  Descends the mighty Lord.
+
+His dreadful balances are made
+  To move with moon and tide;
+Yet shall not mercy be afraid
+  Nor justice be denied.
+
+The dreams that seemed to waste away,
+  The kindliness forgot,
+Were singing in your heart today
+  Although you knew them not.
+
+The sun shall not forget his road,
+  Nor the high stars their rhyme,
+The traveller with the heavier load
+  Has one less hill to climb.
+
+And, though a darker shadow fall
+  On every struggling age,
+How shall it be if, after all,
+  He share our pilgrimage?
+
+The end we mourn is not the end.
+  The dust has nimble wings.
+But truth and beauty have a friend
+  At the deep heart of things.
+
+He will not speak? What friend belies
+  His love with idle breath?
+We read it in each others' eyes,
+  And ask no more in death.
+
+
+
+
+DEAD MAN'S MORRICE
+
+
+There came a crowder to the Mermaid Inn,
+  One dark May night,
+Fiddling a tune that quelled our motley din,
+  With quaint delight,
+It haunts me yet, as old lost airs will do,
+  A phantom strain:
+_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+In that old wood, where ghosts of lovers walk,
+  At fall of day,
+Gleaning such fragments of their ancient talk
+  As poor ghosts may,
+From leaves that brushed their faces, wet with dew,
+  Or tears, or rain,...
+_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+Have we not seen them--pale forgotten shades
+  That do return,
+Groping for those dim paths, those fragrant glades,
+  Those nooks of fern,
+Only to find that, of the may they knew,
+  No wraiths remain;
+_Yet they still look, as I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+They see those happier ghosts that waned away--
+  Whither, who knows?--
+Ghosts that come back with music and the may,
+  And Spring's first rose,
+Lover and lass, to sing the old burden through,
+  Stave and refrain:
+_Look for me once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+So, after death, if in that starless deep,
+  I lose your eyes,
+I'll haunt familiar places. I'll not keep
+  Tryst in the skies.
+I'll haunt the whispering elms that found us true,
+  The old grass-grown lane.
+_Look for me there, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+There, as of old, under the dreaming moon,
+  A phantom throng
+Floats through the fern, to a ghostly morrice tune,
+  A thin sweet song,
+Hands link with hands, eyes drown in eyes anew,
+  Lips meet again....
+_Look for me, once, lest I should look for you,
+  And look in vain._
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD FOOL IN THE WOOD
+
+
+"If I could whisper you all I know,"
+  Said the Old Fool in the Wood,
+"You'd never say that green leaves grow.
+  You'd say, 'Ah, what a happy mood
+The Master must be in today,
+  To think such thoughts,'
+That's what you'd say."
+
+"If I could whisper you all I've heard,"
+  Said the Old Fool in the fern,
+"You'd never say the song of a bird.
+  You'd say, 'I'll listen, and p'raps I'll learn
+One word of His joy as He passed this way,
+  One syllable more,'
+That's what you'd say."
+
+"If I could tell you all the rest,"
+  Said the Old Fool under the skies,
+"You'd hug your griefs against your breast
+  And whisper with love-lit eyes,
+'I am one with the sorrow that made the may,
+  And the pulse of His heart,'
+That's what you'd say."
+
+
+
+
+A NEW MADRIGAL TO AN OLD MELODY
+
+(It is supposed that Shadow-of-a-Leaf uses the word "clear" in a
+more ancient sense of "beautiful.")
+
+
+As along a dark pine-bough, in slender white mystery
+  The moon lay to listen, above the thick fern,
+In a deep dreaming wood that is older than history
+  I heard a lad sing, and I stilled me to learn;
+So rarely he lilted his long-forgot litany,--
+  _Fall, April; fall, April, in dew on our dearth!
+Bring balm, and bring poppy, bring deep sleepy dittany
+  For Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth._
+
+Then I drew back the branches. I saw him that chanted it.
+  I saw his fool's bauble. I knew his old grief.
+I knew that old greenwood and the shadow that haunted it,--
+  My fool, my lost jester, my _Shadow-of-a-Leaf_!
+And "why," I said, "why, all this while, have you left me so
+  Luckless in melody, lonely in mirth?"
+"Oh, why," he sang, "why has this world then bereft me so
+  Soon of my Marian, so long laid in earth?
+
+"In the years that are gone," he said, "love was more fortunate.
+  Grief was our minstrel of things that endure.
+Now, ashes and dust and this world grow importunate.
+  Time has no sorrow that time cannot cure.
+Once, we could lose, and the loss was worth cherishing.
+  Now, we may win, but, O, where is the worth?
+Memory and true love," he whispered, "are perishing,
+  With Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth."
+
+"Ah, no!" I said, "no! Since we grieve for our grief again,
+  Touch the old strings! Let us try the old stave!
+And memory may wake, like my _Shadow-of-a-Leaf_ again,
+  Singing of hope, in the dark, by a grave."
+So we sang it together--that long-forgot litany:--
+  _Fall, April; fall, April; bring new grief to birth.
+Bring wild herb of grace, and bring deep healing dittany,
+  For Marian, our clear May, so long laid in earth._
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST BATTLE
+
+
+It is not over yet-the fight
+  Where those immortal dreamers failed.
+They stormed the citadels of night
+  And the night praised them--and prevailed.
+So long ago the cause was lost
+  We scarce distinguish friend from foe;
+But--if the dead can help it most--
+  The armies of the dead will grow.
+
+The world has all our banners now,
+  And filched our watchwords for its own.
+The world has crowned the "rebel's" brow
+  And millions crowd his lordly throne.
+The masks have altered. Names are names;
+  They praise the "truth" that is not true.
+The "rebel" that the world acclaims
+  Is not the rebel Shelley knew.
+
+We may not build that Commonweal.
+  We may not reach the goal we set.
+But there's a flag they dare not steal.
+  Forward! It is not over yet.
+We shall be dust and under dust
+  Before we end that ancient wrong;
+But here's a sword that cannot rust,
+  And where's the death can touch a song?
+
+So, when our bodies rot in earth
+  The singing souls that once were ours,
+Weaponed with light and helmed with mirth,
+  Shall front the kingdoms and the powers.
+The ancient lie is on its throne,
+  And half the living still forget;
+But, since the dead are all our own,
+  Courage, it is not over yet.
+
+
+
+
+RIDDLES OF MERLIN
+
+
+As I was walking
+  Alone by the sea,
+"_What is that whisper?_"
+  Said Merlin to me.
+"Only," I answered,
+  "The sigh of the wave"--
+"_Oh, no_," replied Merlin,
+  "_'Tis the grass on your grave_."
+
+As I lay dreaming
+  In churchyard ground
+"_Listen_," said Merlin,
+  "_What is that sound_?"
+"The green grass is growing,"
+  I answered; but he
+Chuckled, "_Oh, no!
+  'Tis the sound of the sea_."
+
+As I went homeward
+  At dusk by the shore,
+"_What is that crimson?_"
+  Said Merlin once more.
+"Only the sun," I said.
+"Sinking to rest"--
+"_Sunset for East_," he said,
+  "_Sunrise for West_."
+
+
+
+
+THE SYMPHONY
+
+
+Wonder in happy eyes
+  Fades, fades away:
+And the angel-coloured skies
+  Whisper farewell.
+
+Loveliness over the strings of the heart may stray
+  In fugitive melodies;
+But Oh, the hand of the Master must not stay,
+  Even for a breath;
+
+For to prolong one joy, or even to dwell
+  On one rich chord of pain,
+Beyond the pulse of the song, would untune heaven
+  And drown the stars in death.
+
+So youth with its love-note dies;
+  And beauty fades in the air,
+To make the master-symphony immortal,
+  And find new life and deeper wonder there.
+
+
+
+
+PEACE
+
+
+Give me the pulse of the tide again
+  And the slow lapse of the leaves,
+The rustling gold of a field of grain
+  And a bird in the nested eaves;
+
+And a fishing-smack in the old harbour
+  Where all was happy and young;
+And an echo or two of the songs I knew
+  When songs could still be sung.
+
+For I would empty my heart of all
+  This world's implacable roar,
+And I would turn to my home, and fall
+  Asleep in my home once more;
+
+And I would forget what the cities say,
+  And the folly of all the wise,
+And turn to my own true folk this day,
+  And the love in their constant eyes.
+
+There is peace, peace, where the sea-birds wheel,
+  And peace in the breaking wave;
+And I have a broken heart to heal,
+  And a broken soul to save.
+
+
+
+
+THE OPEN DOOR
+
+
+O Mystery of life,
+That, after all our strife,
+  Defeats, mistakes,
+Just as, at last, we see
+The road to victory,
+  The tired heart breaks.
+
+Just as the long years give
+Knowledge of how to live,
+  Life's end draws near;
+As if, that gift being ours,
+God needed our new powers
+  In worlds elsewhere.
+
+There, if the soul whose wings
+Were won in suffering, springs
+  To life anew,
+Justice would have some room
+For hope beyond the tomb,
+  And mercy, too.
+
+And since, without this dream
+No light, no faintest gleam
+  Answers our "why";
+But earth and all its race
+Must pass and leave no trace
+  On that blind sky;
+
+Shall reason close that door
+On all we struggled for,
+  Seal the soul's doom;
+Make of this universe
+One wild answering curse,
+  One lampless tomb?
+
+Mine be the dream, the creed
+That leaves for God, indeed,
+  For God, and man,
+One open door whereby
+To prove His world no lie
+  And crown His plan.
+
+
+
+
+IMMORTAL SAILS
+
+
+Now, in a breath, we'll burst those gates of gold,
+  And ransack heaven before our moment fails.
+Now, in a breath, before we, too, grow old,
+  We'll mount and sing and spread immortal sails.
+
+It is not time that makes eternity.
+  Love and an hour may quite out-run the years,
+And give us more to hear and more to see
+  Than life can wash away with all its tears.
+
+Dear, when we part, at last, that sunset sky
+  Shall not be touched with deeper hues than this;
+But we shall ride the lightning ere we die
+  And seize our brief infinitude of bliss,
+
+With time to spare for all that heaven can tell,
+While eyes meet eyes, and look their last farewell.
+
+
+
+
+THE MATIN-SONG OF FRIAR TUCK
+
+
+I.
+
+If souls could sing to heaven's high King
+  As blackbirds pipe on earth,
+How those delicious courts would ring
+  With gusts of lovely mirth!
+What white-robed throng could lift a song
+  So mellow with righteous glee
+As this brown bird that all day long
+  Delights my hawthorn tree.
+    Hark! That's the thrush
+      With speckled breast
+    From yon white bush
+      Chaunting his best,
+  _Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!_
+
+
+II.
+
+If earthly dreams be touched with gleams
+  Of Paradisal air,
+Some wings, perchance, of earth may glance
+  Around our slumbers there;
+Some breaths of may might drift our way
+  With scents of leaf and loam,
+Some whistling bird at dawn be heard
+  From those old woods of home.
+    Hark! That's the thrush
+      With speckled breast
+    From yon white bush
+      Chaunting his best,
+  _Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!_
+
+
+III.
+
+No King or priest shall mar my feast
+  Where'er my soul may range.
+I have no fear of heaven's good cheer
+  Unless our Master change.
+But when death's night is dying away,
+  If I might choose my bliss,
+My love should say, at break of day,
+  With her first waking kiss:-
+    Hark! That's the thrush
+      With speckled breast,
+    From yon white bush
+      Chaunting his best,
+  _Te Deum! Te Deum laudamus!_
+
+
+
+
+FIVE CRITICISMS
+
+
+I.
+
+(_On many recent novels by the conventional unconventionalists_.)
+
+Old Pantaloon, lean-witted, dour and rich,
+  After grim years of soul-destroying greed,
+Weds Columbine, that April-blooded witch
+  "Too young" to know that gold was not her need.
+
+Then enters Pierrot, young, rebellious, warm,
+  With well-lined purse, to teach the fine-souled wife
+That the old fool's gold should aid a world-reform
+  (Confused with sex). This wrecks the old fool's life.
+
+O, there's no doubt that Pierrot was clever,
+  Quick to break hearts and quench the dying flame;
+But why, for his own pride, does Pierrot never
+  Choose his own mate, work for his own high aim,
+
+Stand on his feet, and pay for his own tune?
+Why scold, cheat, rob and kill poor Pantaloon?
+
+
+II.
+
+(_On a certain goddess, acclaimed as "new" but known in Babylon._)
+
+I saw the assembled artists of our day
+  Waiting for light, for music and for song.
+A woman stood before them, fresh as May
+  And beautiful; but, in that modish throng,
+
+None heeded her. They said, "In our first youth
+  Surely, long since, your hair was touched with grey."
+"I do not change," she answered. "I am Truth."
+  "Old and banal," they sneered, and turned away.
+
+Then came a formless thing, with breasts dyed scarlet.
+  The roses in her hair were green and blue.
+    "I am new," she said. "I change, and
+      Death knows why."
+
+Then with the eyes and gesture of a harlot
+  She led them all forth, whinneying, "New, how new!
+    Tell us your name!" She answered, "The
+      New Lie."
+
+
+III.
+
+(_On Certain of the Bolsheviki "Idealists."_)
+
+With half the force and thought you waste in rage
+  Over your neighbor's house, or heart of stone,
+You might have built your own new heritage,
+  O fools, have you no hands, then, of your own?
+
+Where is your pride? Is this your answer still,
+  This the red flag that burns above our strife,
+This the new cry that rings from Pisgah hill,
+  "_Our neighbor's money, or our neighbor's life_"?
+
+Be prouder. Let us build that nobler state
+  With our own hands, with our own muscle and brain!
+Your very victories die in hymns of hate;
+  And your own envies are your heaviest chain.
+
+Is there no rebel proud enough to say
+  "We'll stand on our own feet, and win the day"?
+
+
+IV.
+
+(_On Certain Realists._)
+
+You with the quick sardonic eye
+For all the mockeries of life,
+Beware, in this dark masque of things that seem,
+Lest even that tragic irony,
+Which you discern in this our mortal strife,
+Trick you and trap you, also, with a dream.
+
+Last night I saw a dead man borne along
+The city streets, passing a boisterous throng
+That never ceased to laugh and shout and dance:
+And yet, and yet,
+For all the poison bitter minds might brew
+From themes like this, I knew
+That the stern Truth would not permit her glance
+Thus to be foiled by flying straws of chance,
+For her keen eyes on deeper skies are set,
+And laws that tragic ironists forget.
+
+She saw the dead man's life, from birth to death,--
+All that he knew of love and sin and pain,
+Success and failure (not as this world sees),
+His doubts, his passions, inner loss and gain,
+And borne on darker tides of constant law
+Beyond the margin of this life she saw
+All that had left his body with the breath.
+These things, to her, were still realities.
+
+If any mourned for him unseen,
+She saw them, too.
+If none, she'd not pretend
+His clay were colder, or his God less true,
+Or that his grave, at length, would be less green.
+She'd not deny
+The boundless depths of her eternal sky
+Brooding above a boundless universe,
+Because he seemed to man's unseeing eye
+Going a little further to fare worse;
+Nor would she assume he lacked that unseen friend
+Whom even the tragic ironists declare
+Were better than the seen, in his last end.
+
+Oh, then, beware, beware,
+Lest in the strong name of "reality"
+You mock yourselves anew with shapes of air,
+Lest it be you, agnostics, who re-write
+The fettering creeds of night,
+Affirm you know your own Unknowable,
+And lock the winged soul in a new hell;
+Lest it be you, lip-worshippers of Truth,
+Who break the heart of youth;
+Lest it be you, the realists, who fight
+With shadows, and forget your own pure light;
+Lest it be you who, with a little shroud
+Snatched from the sightless faces of the dead,
+Hoodwink the world, and keep the mourner bowed
+In dust, real dust, with stones, real stones, for bread;
+Lest, as you look one eighth of an inch beneath
+The yellow skin of death,
+You dream yourselves discoverers of the skull
+That old _memento mori_ of our faith;
+Lest it be you who hunt a flying wraith
+Through this dissolving stuff of hill and cloud;
+Lest it be you, who, at the last, annul
+Your covenant with your kind;
+Lest it be you who darken heart and mind,
+Sell the strong soul in bondage to a dream,
+And fetter us once more to things that seem.
+
+
+V
+
+(_An Answer_)
+
+[After reading an article in a leading London journal by an
+"intellectual" who attacked one of the noblest poets and greatest
+artists of a former century (or any century) on the ground that his
+high ethical standards were incompatible with the new lawlessness.
+This vicious lawlessness the writer described definitely, and he paid
+his tribute to dishonour as openly and brutally as any of the Bolsheviki
+could have done. I had always known that this was the real
+ground of the latter-day onslaught on some of the noblest literature
+of the past; but I had never seen it openly confessed before. The
+time has now surely come when, if our civilization is to make any
+fight at all against the new "red ruin and breaking up of laws," we
+must cease to belaud our slack-minded, latter-day "literature of
+rebellion" for its cleverness in making scraps of paper out of the
+plain laws of right and wrong. It has been doing this for more than
+twenty-five years, and the same has become fashionable among
+those who are too busy to read carefully or understand fully what
+pitfalls are being prepared for their own feet and the feet of their
+children.]
+
+
+I
+
+If this were true, England indeed were dead.
+  If the wild fashion of that poisonous hour
+  Wherein the new Salome, clothed with power,
+Wriggled and hissed, with hands and feet so red,
+Should even now demand that glorious head,
+  Whose every word was like an English flower,
+  Whose every song an English April shower,
+Whose every thought immortal wine and bread;
+If this were true, if England should prefer
+  Darkness, corruption, and the adulterous crew,
+Shakespeare and Browning would cry shame on her,
+  And Milton would deny the land he knew;
+And those who died in Flanders yesterday
+Would thank their God they sleep in cleaner clay.
+
+
+II
+
+It is not true. Only these "rebel" wings,
+  These glittering clouds of "intellectual" flies
+  Out of the stagnant pools of midnight rise
+From the old dead creeds, with carrion-poisoned stings
+  They strike at noble and ignoble things,
+  Immortal Love with the old world's out-worn lies,
+  But even now, a wind from clearer skies
+Dissolves in smoke their coteries and wings.
+
+See, their divorced idealist re-divorces
+  The wife he stole from his own stealing friend!
+And _these_ would pluck the high stars from their courses,
+  And mock the fools that praise them, till the end!
+Well, let the whole world praise them. Truth can wait
+Till our new England shall unlock the gate.
+
+
+III
+
+Yes. Let the fools go paint themselves with woad,
+  For we've a jest between us, Truth and I.
+  We know that those who live by fashion die
+Also by fashion, and that mode kills mode.
+We know the great new age is on the road,
+  And death is at the heart of every lie.
+  But we've a jest between us, Truth and I.
+And we have locked the doors to our abode.
+
+Yet if some great new "rebel" in his pride
+  Should pass that way and hear us laughing low
+Like lovers, in the darkness, side by side,
+  He might catch this:--"The dullards do not know
+That names are names. New 'rebel' is old 'thrall.'"
+And we're the lonely dreamers after all.
+
+
+
+
+THE COMPANIONS
+
+
+How few are they that voyage through the night
+  On that eternal quest,
+For that strange light beyond our light,
+  That rest beyond our rest.
+
+And they who, seeking beauty, once descry
+  Her face, to most unknown;
+Thenceforth like changelings from the sky
+  Must walk their road alone.
+
+So once I dreamed. So idle was my mood;
+  But now, before these eyes,
+From those foul trenches, black with blood,
+  What radiant legions rise!
+
+And loveliness over the wounded earth awakes
+  Like wild-flowers in the Spring.
+Out of the mortal chrysalis breaks
+  Immortal wing on wing.
+
+They rise like flowers, they wander on wings of light,
+  Through realms beyond our ken.
+The loneliest soul is companied tonight
+  By hosts of unknown men.
+
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE ROADS
+
+
+The great roads are all grown over
+  That seemed so firm and white.
+The deep black forests have covered them.
+  How should I walk aright?
+How should I thread these tangled mazes,
+  Or grope to that far off light?
+I stumble round the thickets, and they turn me
+  Back to the thickets and the night.
+
+Yet, sometimes, at a word, an elfin pass-word,
+  (O, thin, deep, sweet with beaded rain!)
+There shines, through a mist of ragged-robins,
+  The old lost April-coloured lane,
+That leads me from myself; for, at a whisper,
+  Where the strong limbs thrust in vain,
+At a breath, if my heart help another heart,
+  The path shines out for me again.
+
+A thin thread, a rambling lane for lovers
+  To the light of the world's one May,
+Where the white dropping flakes may wet our faces
+  As we lift them to the bloom-bowed spray:
+O Master, shall we ask Thee, then, for high-roads,
+  Or down upon our knees and pray
+That Thou wilt ever lose us in Thy little lanes,
+  And lead us by a wandering way.
+
+
+
+
+SUNLIGHT AND SEA
+
+
+Give me the sunlight and the sea
+And who shall take my heaven from me?
+
+Light of the Sun, Life of the Sun,
+O happy, bold companion,
+Whose golden laughters round me run,
+Making wine of the blue air
+With wild-rose kisses everywhere,
+Browning the limb, flushing the cheek,
+Apple-fragrant, leopard-sleek,
+Dancing from thy red-curtained East
+Like a Nautch-girl to my feast,
+Proud because her lord, the Spring,
+Praised the way those anklets ring;
+Or wandering like a white Greek maid
+Leaf-dappled through the dancing shade,
+Where many a green-veined leaf imprints
+Breast and limb with emerald tints,
+That softly net her silken shape
+But let the splendour still escape,
+While rosy ghosts of roses flow
+Over the supple rose and snow.
+
+But sweetest, fairest is thy face,
+When we meet, when we embrace,
+Where the white sand sleeps at noon
+Round that lonely blue lagoon,
+Fringed with one white reef of coral
+Where the sea-birds faintly quarrel
+And the breakers on the reef
+Fade into a dream of grief,
+And the palm-trees overhead
+Whisper that all grief is dead.
+
+Sister Sunlight, lead me then
+Into thy healing seas again....
+For when we swim out, side by side,
+Like a lover with his bride,
+When thy lips are salt with brine,
+And thy wild eyes flash in mine,
+The music of a mightier sea
+Beats with my blood in harmony.
+I breast the primal flood of being,
+Too clear for speech, too near for seeing;
+And to his heart, new reconciled,
+The Eternal takes his earth-bound child.
+
+Who the essential secret spells
+In those gigantic syllables,--
+Flowing, ebbing, ebbing, flowing,--
+Gathers wisdom past all knowing.
+Song of the Sea, I hear, I hear,
+That deeper music of the sphere,
+Catch the rhythm of sun and star,
+And know what light and darkness are;
+Ay, faint beginnings of a rhyme
+That swells beyond the tides of time;
+Beat with thy rhythm in blood and breath,
+And make one song of life and death.
+I hear, I hear, and rest content,
+Merged in the primal element,
+The old element whence life arose,
+The fount of youth, to which it goes.
+
+Give me the sunlight and the sea
+And who shall take my heaven from me?
+
+
+
+
+THE ROAD THROUGH CHAOS
+
+
+I.
+
+There is one road, one only, to the Light:
+  A narrow way, but Freedom walks therein;
+A straight, firm road through Chaos and old Night,
+  And all these wandering Jack-o-Lents of Sin.
+
+It is the road of Law, where Pilate stays
+  To hear, at last, the answer to his cry;
+And mighty sages, groping through their maze
+  Of eager questions, hear a child reply.
+
+_Truth? What is Truth?_ Come, look upon my tables.
+  Begin at your beginnings once again.
+_Twice one is two!_ Though all the rest be fables,
+  Here's one poor glimpse of Truth to keep you sane.
+
+For Truth, at first, is clean accord with fact,
+Whether in line or thought, or word, or act.
+
+
+II.
+
+Then, by those first, those clean, precise, accords,
+  Build to the Lord your temples and your song;
+The curves of beauty, music's wedded chords
+  Resolving into heaven all hate and wrong.
+
+Let harmonies of colour marry and follow
+  And breaking waves in a rhythmic dance ensue;
+And all your thought fly free as the wings of the swallow,
+  Whose arrowy curves obey their measure, too.
+
+Then shall the marching stars and tides befriend you,
+  And your own heart, and the world's heart, pulse in rhyme;
+Then shall the mob of the passions that would rend you
+  Crown you their Captain and march on in time.
+
+So shall you repossess your struggling soul,
+Conquer your world, and find the eternal goal.
+
+
+
+
+THE NIGHT OF THE LION
+
+"_And that a reply be received before midnight._"
+_British Ultimatum_.
+
+
+Their Day was at twelve of the night,
+  When the graves give up their dead.
+And still, from the City, no light
+  Yellows the clouds overhead.
+Where the Admiral stands there's a star,
+  But his column is lost in the gloom;
+For the brazen doors are ajar,
+  And the Lion awakes, and the doom.
+
+_He is not of a chosen race.
+  His strength is the strength of the skies,
+In whose glory all nations have place,
+  In whose downfall Liberty dies.
+He is mighty, but he is just.
+  He shall live to the end of years.
+He shall bring the proud to the dust.
+  He shall raise the weak to the spheres._
+
+It is night on the world's great mart,
+  But the brooding hush is awake
+With the march of a steady heart
+  That calls like the drum of Drake,
+_Come!_ And a muttering deep
+  As the pulse of the distant guns,
+Or the thunder before the leap
+  Thro' the rolling thoroughfare runs.
+
+And the wounded men go by
+  Like thoughts in the Lion's brain.
+And the clouds lift on high
+  Like the slow waves of his mane
+And the narrowing lids conceal
+  The furnaces of his eyes.
+Their gold is gone out. They reveal
+Only two search-lights of steel
+  Steadily sweeping the skies.
+
+And we hoped he had peace in his lair
+  Where the bones of old tyrannies lay,
+And the skulls that his cubs have stripped bare,
+  The old skulls they still toss in their play.
+But the tyrants are risen again,
+  And the last light dies from their path;
+For the midnight of his mane
+  Lifts to the stars with his wrath.
+
+From the East to the West he is crouching.
+  He snuffs at the North-East wind.
+His breast upon Britain is couching.
+  His haunches quiver on Ind.
+It is night, black night, where he lies;
+  But a kingdom and a fleet
+Shall burn in his terrible eyes
+When he leaps, and the darkness dies
+  With the War-gods under his feet.
+
+_Till the day when a little child,
+  Shall lay but a hand on his mane,
+And his eyes grow golden and mild
+  And he stands in the heavens again;
+Till the day of the seventh seal,
+  Which the Lion alone shall rend,
+When the stars from their courses reel,
+  His Freedom shall not end._
+
+
+
+
+THE WAR WIDOW
+
+
+I.
+
+Black-veiled, black-gowned, she rides in bus and train,
+  With eyes that fill too listlessly for tears.
+Her waxen hands clasp and unclasp again.
+  _Good News_, they cry. She neither sees nor hears.
+
+Good News, perhaps, may crown some far-off king.
+  Good News may peal the glory of the state--
+Good News may cause the courts of heaven to ring.
+  She sees a hand waved at a garden gate.
+
+For her dull ears are tuned to other themes;
+  And her dim eyes can never see aright.
+She glides--a ghost--through all her April dreams,
+  To meet his eyes at dawn, his lips at night.
+
+Wraiths of a truth that others never knew;
+And yet--for her--the only truth that's true.
+
+
+II.
+
+_Good News! Good News!_ There is no way but this.
+  Out of the night a star begins to rise.
+I know not where my soul's deep Master is;
+  Nor can I hear those angels in the skies;
+
+Nor follow him, as childhood used of old,
+  By radiant seas, in those time-hallowed tales.
+Only, at times, implacable and cold,
+  From this blind gloom, stand out the iron nails.
+
+Yet, at this world's heart stands the Eternal Cross,
+  The ultimate frame of moon and star and sun,
+Where Love with out-stretched arms, in utter loss,
+  Points East and West and makes the whole world one.
+
+_Good News! Good News!_ There is no hope, no way,
+No truth, no life, but leads through Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+THE BELL
+
+
+The Temple Bell was out of tune,
+That once out-melodied sun and moon.
+
+Instead of calling folk to prayer
+It spread an evil in the air.
+
+Instead of a song, from north to south,
+It put a lie in the wind's mouth.
+
+The very palms beneath it died,
+So harsh it jarred, so loud it lied.
+
+Then the gods told the blue-robed bonze:
+"_Your Bell is only wrought of bronze._
+
+_Lower it down, cast it again,
+Or you shall shake the heavens in vain._"
+
+Then, as the mighty cauldron hissed,
+Men brought the wealth that no man missed.
+
+Yea, they brought silver, they brought gold,
+And melted them into the seething mould.
+
+The miser brought his greening hoard,
+And the king cast in his sword.
+
+Yet, when the Bell in the Temple swung,
+It jarred the stars with its harsh tongue.
+
+"_Is this your best?_" the oracle said,
+"_Then were you better drunk or dead._"
+
+Once again they melted it down,
+And the king cast in his crown.
+
+Then they poured wine, and bullock's blood,
+Into the hot, grey, seething flood.
+
+They gave it mellowing fruits to eat,
+And honey-combs to make it sweet.
+
+Yet, when they hauled it to the sky,
+The Bell was one star-shattering lie.
+
+So, for the third time and the last,
+They lowered it down to be re-cast.
+
+The white-hot metal seethed anew,
+And the crowd shrank as the heat grew;
+
+But a white-robed woman, queenly and tall,
+Pressed to the brink before them all,
+
+One breast, like a golden fruit lay bare;
+She held her small son feeding there.
+
+She plucked him off, she lifted him high,
+Like rose-red fruit on the blue sky.
+
+She pressed her lips to the budded feet,
+And murmured softly, "_Oh, sweet, my sweet._"
+
+She whispered, "_Gods, that my land may live,
+I give the best that I have to give!_"
+
+Then, then, before the throng awoke,
+Before one cry from their white lips broke,
+
+She tossed him into the fiery flood,
+Her child, her baby, her flesh and blood.
+
+And the crisp hissing waves closed round
+And melted him through without a sound.
+
+"_Too quick for pain_," they heard her say,
+And she sobbed, once, and she turned away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The Temple Bell, in peace and war,
+Keeps the measure of sun and star.
+
+But sometimes, in the night it cries
+Faintly, and a voice replies:
+
+_Mother, Oh, mother, the Bell rings true!--
+  You were all that I had!--Oh, mother, my mother!--
+With the land and the Bell it is well. Is it well,
+  Is it well with the heart that had you and none other?_
+
+
+
+
+SLAVE AND EMPEROR
+
+"Our cavalry have rescued Nazareth from the enemy whose supermen
+described Christianity as a creed for slaves."
+
+
+The Emperor mocked at Nazareth
+  In his almighty hour.
+The Slave that bowed himself to death
+And walked with slaves in Nazareth,
+What were his words but wasted breath
+  Before that "will to power"?
+
+Yet, in the darkest hour of all,
+  When black defeat began,
+The Emperor heard the mountains quake,
+He felt the graves beneath him shake,
+He watched his legions rally and break,
+  And he whimpered as they ran.
+
+"I hear a shout that moves the earth,
+  A cry that wakes the dead!
+Will no one tell me whence they come,
+For all my messengers are dumb?
+What power is this that comes to birth
+  And breaks my power?" he said.
+
+Then, all around his foundering guns,
+  Though dawn was now not far,
+The darkness filled with a living fear
+That whispered at the Emperor's ear,
+"_The armies of the dead draw near
+  Beneath an eastern star._"
+
+_The trumpet blows in Nazareth.
+  The Slave is risen again.
+Across the bitter wastes of death
+The horsemen ride from Nazareth,
+And the Power we mocked as wasted breath
+  Returns, in power, to reign;
+Rides on, in white, through Nazareth,
+  To save His world again._
+
+
+
+
+ON A MOUNTAIN TOP
+
+
+On this high altar, fringed with ferns
+  That darken against the sky,
+The dawn in lonely beauty burns
+  And all our evils die.
+
+The struggling sea that roared below
+  Is quieter than the dew,
+Quieter than the clouds that flow
+  Across the stainless blue.
+
+On this bare crest, the angels kneel
+  And breathe the sweets that rise
+From flowers too little to reveal
+  Their beauty to our eyes.
+
+I have seen Edens on the earth
+  With queenly blooms arrayed;
+But here the fairest come to birth,
+  The smallest flowers He made.
+
+O, high above the sounding pine,
+  And richer, sweeter far,
+The wild thyme wakes. The celandine
+  Looks at the morning star.
+
+They may not see the heavens unfold.
+  They breathe no out-worn prayer;
+But, on a mountain, as of old,
+  His glory fills the air.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EARLY POEMS
+
+(_Not Published Hitherto in America_)
+
+
+
+
+THE PHANTOM FLEET
+(1904)
+
+
+The sunset lingered in the pale green West:
+  In rosy wastes the low soft evening star
+Woke; while the last white sea-mew sought for rest;
+  And tawny sails came stealing o'er the bar.
+
+But, in the hillside cottage, through the panes
+  The light streamed like a thin far trumpet-call,
+And quickened, as with quivering battle-stains,
+  The printed ships that decked the parlour wall.
+
+From oaken frames old admirals looked down:
+  They saw the lonely slumberer at their feet:
+They saw the paper, headed _Talk from Town;
+  Our rusting trident, and our phantom fleet_:
+
+And from a neighbouring tavern surged a song
+  Of England laughing in the face of war,
+With eyes unconquerably proud and strong,
+  And lips triumphant from her Trafalgar.
+
+But he, the slumberer in that glimmering room,
+  Saw distant waters glide and heave and gleam;
+Around him in the softly coloured gloom
+  The pictures clustered slowly to a dream.
+
+He saw how England, resting on her past,
+  Among the faded garlands of her dead,
+Woke; for a whisper reached her heart at last,
+  And once again she raised her steel-clad head.
+
+Her eyes were filled with sudden strange alarms;
+  She heard the westering waters change and chime;
+She heard the distant tumult of her arms
+  Defeated, not by courage, but by Time.
+
+Knowledge had made a deadlier pact with death,
+  Nor strength nor steel availed against that bond:
+Slowly approached--and Britain held her breath--
+  The battle booming from the deeps beyond.
+
+O, then what darkness rolled upon the wind,
+  Threatening the torch that Britain held on high?
+Where all her navies, baffled, broken, blind,
+  Slunk backward, snarling in their agony!
+  _Who guards the gates of Freedom now?_ The cry
+Stabbed heaven! _England, the shattered ramparts fall!_
+  Then, like a trumpet shivering through the sky
+O, like white lightning rending the black pall
+Of heaven, an answer pealed: _Her dead shall hear that call._
+
+Then came a distant light of great waves breaking
+  That brought the sunset on each crumbling crest,
+A rumour as of buried ages waking,
+  And mighty spirits rising from their rest;
+  Then ghostly clouds arose, with billowing breast,
+White clouds that turned to sails upon their way,
+  Red clouds that burned like flags against the West,
+Till even the conquering fleet in silence lay
+Dazed with that strange old light, and night grew bright as day.
+
+_We come to fight for Freedom!_ The great East
+  Heard, and was rent asunder like a veil.
+Host upon host out of the night increased
+  Its towering clouds and crowded zones of sail:
+  _England, our England, canst thou faint or fail?
+We come to fight for Freedom yet once more!_
+  This, this is ours at least! Count the great tale
+Of all these dead that rise to guard thy shore
+By right of the red life they never feared to pour.
+
+_We come to fight for Freedom!_ On they came,
+  One cloud of beauty sweeping the wild sea;
+And there, through all their thousands, flashed like flame
+  That star-born signal of the Victory:
+  _Duty_, that deathless lantern of the free;
+_Duty_, that makes a god of every man.
+  And there was Nelson, watching silently
+As through the phantom fleet the message ran;
+And his tall frigate rushed before the stormy van.
+
+Nelson, our Nelson, frail and maimed and blind,
+  Stretched out his dead cold face against the foe:
+And England's Raleigh followed hard behind,
+  With all his eager fighting heart aglow;
+  Glad, glad for England's sake once more to know
+The old joy of battle and contempt of pain;
+  Glad, glad to die, if England willed it so,
+The traitor's and the coward's death again;
+But hurl the world back now as once he hurled back Spain.
+
+And there were all those others, Drake and Blake,
+  Rodney and Howard, Byron, Collingwood;
+With deathless eyes aflame for England's sake,
+  As on their ancient decks they proudly stood,--
+  Decks washed of old with England's purplest blood;
+And there, once more, each rushing oaken side
+  Bared its dark-throated, thirsty, gleaming brood
+Of cannon, watched by laughing lads who died
+Long, long ago for England and her ancient pride.
+
+_We come to fight for England!_ The great sea
+  In a wild light of song began to break
+Round that tall phantom of the Victory
+  And all the foam was music in her wake:
+  Ship after phantom ship, with guns a-rake
+And shot-rent flags a-stream from every mast
+  Moved in a deepening splendour, not to make
+A shield for England of her own dead past;
+But, with a living dream to arm her soul at last.
+
+_We come to die for England_: through the hush
+  Of gathered nations rose that regal cry,
+From naked oaken walls one word could crush
+  If those vast armoured throats dared to reply:
+  But there the most implacable enemy
+Felt his eyes fill with gladder, prouder tears,
+  As Nelson's calm eternal face went by,
+Gazing beyond all perishable fears
+To some diviner goal above the waste of years.
+
+Through the hushed fleets the vision streamed away,
+  Then slowly turned once more to that deep West,
+While voices cried, O, England, the new day
+  Is dawning, but thy soul can take no rest.
+
+Thy freedom and thy peace are only thine
+  By right of toil on every land and sea
+And by that crimson sacrificial wine
+  Of thine own heart and thine own agony.
+
+Peace is not slumber. Peace, in every hour,
+  Throbs like the heart of music. This alone
+Can save thy heritage and confirm that power
+  Whereof the past is but the cushioned throne.
+
+Look to the fleet! Again and yet again,
+  Hear us who storm thy heart with this one cry.
+Hear us, who cannot help, though fair and fain,
+  To hold thy seas before thee, and to die.
+
+Look to the fleet! Thy fleet, the first, last line:
+  The sword of Liberty, her strength, her shield,
+Her food, her life-blood! Britain, it is thine,
+  Here, now, to hold that birth-right, or to yield.
+
+So, through the dark, those phantom ships of old
+  Faded, it seemed, through mists of blood and tears.
+Sails turned to clouds, and slowly westward rolled
+  The sad returning pageant of the years.
+On tides of light, where all our tumults cease,
+  Through that rich West, the Victory returned;
+And all the waves around her whispered "peace,"
+  And from her mast no battle-message burned.
+
+Like clouds, like fragments of those fading skies,
+  The pageant passed, with all its misty spars,
+While the hushed nations raised their dreaming eyes
+  To that great light which brings the end of wars.
+
+Ship after ship, in some strange glory drowned,
+  Cloud after cloud, was lost in that deep light
+Each with a sovran stillness haloed round.
+  Then--that high fleet of stars led on the night.
+
+
+
+
+MICHAEL OAKTREE
+
+
+Under an arch of glorious leaves I passed
+Out of the wood and saw the sickle moon
+Floating in daylight o'er the pale green sea.
+
+It was the quiet hour before the sun
+Gathers the clouds to prayer and silently
+Utters his benediction on the waves
+That whisper round the death-bed of the day.
+The labourers were returning from the farms
+And children danced to meet them. From the doors
+Of cottages there came a pleasant clink
+Where busy hands laid out the evening meal.
+From smouldering elms around the village spire
+There soared and sank the caw of gathering rooks.
+The faint-flushed clouds were listening to the tale
+The sea tells to the sunset with one sigh.
+The last white wistful sea-bird sought for peace,
+And the last fishing-boat stole o'er the bar,
+And fragrant grasses, murmuring a prayer,
+Bowed all together to the holy west,
+Bowed all together thro' the golden hush,
+The breathing hush, the solemn scented hush,
+The holy, holy hush of eventide.
+
+And, in among the ferns that crowned the hill
+With waving green and whispers of the wind,
+A boy and girl, carelessly linking hands,
+Into their golden dream drifted away.
+On that rich afternoon of scent and song
+Old Michael Oaktree died. It was not much
+He wished for; but indeed I think he longed
+To see the light of summer once again
+Blossoming o'er the far blue hills. I know
+He used to like his rough-hewn wooden bench
+Placed in the sun outside the cottage door
+Where in the listening stillness he could hear,
+Across the waving gilly-flowers that crowned
+His crumbling garden wall, the long low sigh
+Of supreme peace that whispers to the hills
+The sacred consolation of the sea.
+He did not hope for much: he longed to live
+Until the winter came again, he said;
+But on the last sweet eve of May he died.
+
+I wandered sadly through the dreaming lanes
+Down to the cottage on that afternoon;
+For I had known old Michael Oaktree now
+So many years, so many happy years.
+When I was little he had carried me
+High on his back to see the harvest home,
+And given me many a ride upon his wagon
+Among the dusty scents of sun and hay.
+He showed me how to snare the bulky trout
+That lurked under the bank of yonder brook.
+Indeed, he taught me many a country craft,
+For I was apt to learn, and, as I learnt,
+I loved the teacher of that homely lore.
+Deep in my boyish heart he shared the glad
+Influence of the suns and winds and waves,
+Giving my childhood what it hungered for--
+The rude earth-wisdom of the primal man.
+
+He had retained his childhood: Death for him
+Had no more terror than his bed. He walked
+With wind and sunlight like a brother, glad
+Of their companionship and mutual aid.
+We, toilers after truth, are weaned too soon
+From earth's dark arms and naked barbarous breast.
+Too soon, too soon, we leave the golden feast,
+Fetter the dancing limbs and pluck the crown
+Of roses from the dreaming brow. We pass
+Our lives in most laborious idleness.
+For we have lost the meaning of the world;
+We have gone out into the night too soon;
+We have mistaken all the means of grace
+And over-rated our small power to learn.
+And the years move so swiftly over us:
+We have so little time to live in worlds
+Unrealised and unknown realms of joy,
+We are so old before we learn how vain
+Our effort was, how fruitlessly we cast
+Our Bread upon the waters, and how weak
+Our hearts were, but our chance desires how strong!
+Then, in the dark, our sense of light decays;
+We cannot cry to God as once we cried!
+Lost in the gloom, our faith, perhaps our love,
+Lies dead with years that never can return.
+
+But Michael Oaktree was a man whose love
+Had never waned through all his eighty years.
+His faith was hardly faith. He seemed a part
+Of all that he believed in. He had lived
+In constant conversation with the sun,
+The wind, the silence and the heart of peace;
+In absolute communion with the Power
+That rules all action and all tides of thought,
+And all the secret courses of the stars;
+The Power that still establishes on earth
+Desire and worship, through the radiant laws
+Of Duty, Love and Beauty; for through these
+As through three portals of the self-same gate
+The soul of man attains infinity,
+And enters into Godhead. So he gained
+On earth a fore-taste of Nirvana, not
+The void of eastern dream, but the desire
+And goal of all of us, whether thro' lives
+Innumerable, by slow degrees, we near
+The death divine, or from this breaking body
+Of earthly death we flash at once to God.
+Through simple love and simple faith, this man
+Attained a height above the hope of kings.
+
+Yet, as I softly shut the little gate
+And walked across the garden, all the scents
+Of mingling blossom ached like inmost pain
+Deep in my heart, I know not why. They seemed
+Distinct, distinct as distant evening bells
+Tolling, over the sea, a secret chime
+That breaks and breaks and breaks upon the heart
+In sorrow rather than in sound, a chime
+Strange as a streak of sunset to the moon,
+Strange as a rose upon a starlit grave,
+Strange as a smile upon a dead man's lips;
+A chime of melancholy, mute as death
+But strong as love, uttered in plangent tones
+Of honeysuckle, jasmine, gilly-flowers,
+Jonquils and aromatic musky leaves,
+Lilac and lilies to the rose-wreathed porch.
+
+At last I tapped and entered and was drawn
+Into the bedroom of the dying man,
+Who lay, propped up with pillows, quietly
+Gazing; for through his open casement far
+Beyond the whispers of the gilly-flowers
+He saw the mellow light of eventide
+Hallow the west once more; and, as he gazed,
+I think I never saw so great a peace
+On any human face. There was no sound
+Except the slumbrous pulsing of a clock,
+The whisper of the garden and, far off,
+The sacred consolation of the sea.
+
+His wife sat at his bed-side: she had passed
+Her eightieth year; her only child was dead.
+She had been wedded more than sixty years,
+And she sat gazing with the man she loved
+Quietly, out into that unknown Deep.
+
+A butterfly floated into the room
+And back again, pausing awhile to bask
+And wink its painted fans on the warm sill;
+A bird piped in the roses and there came
+Into the childless mother's ears a sound
+Of happy laughing children, far away.
+
+Then Michael Oaktree took his wife's thin hand
+Between his big rough hands. His eyes grew dark,
+And, as he turned to her and died, he spoke
+Two words of perfect faith and love--_Come soon_!
+
+O then in all the world there was no sound
+Except the slumbrous pulsing of a clock,
+The whisper of the leaves and far away,
+The infinite compassion of the sea.
+But, as I softly passed out of the porch
+And walked across the garden, all the scents
+Of mingling blossoms ached like inmost joy,
+Distinct no more, but like one heavenly choir
+Pealing one mystic music, still and strange
+As voices of the holy Seraphim,
+One voice of adoration, mute as love,
+Stronger than death, and pure with wedded tones
+Of honeysuckle, jasmine, gilly-flowers,
+Jonquils and aromatic musky leaves,
+Lilac and lilies to the garden gate.
+
+O then indeed I knew how closely knit
+To stars and flowers we are, how many means
+Of grace there are for those that never lose
+Their sense of membership in this divine
+Body of God; for those that all their days
+Have walked in quiet communion with the Life
+That keeps the common secret of the sun,
+The wind, the silence and the heart of man.
+There is one God, one Love, one everlasting
+Mystery of Incarnation, one creative
+Passion behind the many-coloured veil.
+
+We have obscured God's face with partial truths,
+The cause of all our sorrow and sin, our wars
+Of force and thought, in this unheavened world.
+Yet, by the battle of our partial truths,
+The past against the present and the swift
+Moment of passing joy against the deep
+Eternal love, ever the weaker truth
+Falls to the stronger, till once more we near
+The enfolding splendour of the whole. Our God
+Has been too long a partial God. We are all
+Made in His image, men and birds and beasts,
+Mountains and clouds and cataracts and suns,
+With those great Beings above our little world,
+A height beyond for every depth below,
+Those long-forgotten Princedoms, Virtues, Powers,
+Existences that live and move in realms
+As far beyond our thought as Europe lies
+With all its little arts and sciences
+Beyond the comprehension of the worm.
+We are all partial images, we need
+What lies beyond us to complete our souls;
+Therefore our souls are filled with a desire
+And love which lead us towards the Infinity
+Of Godhead that awaits us each and all.
+
+Peacefully through the dreaming lanes I went.
+The sun sank, and the birds were hushed. The stars
+Trembled like blossoms in the purple trees.
+But, as I paused upon the whispering hill
+The mellow light still lingered in the west,
+And dark and soft against that rosy depth
+A boy and girl stood knee-deep in the ferns.
+Dreams of the dead man's youth were in my heart,
+Yet I was very glad; and as the moon
+Brightened, they kissed; and, linking hand in hand,
+Down to their lamp-lit home drifted away.
+
+Under an arch of leaves, into the gloom
+I went along the little woodland road,
+And through the breathless hedge of hawthorn heard
+Out of the deepening night, the long low sigh
+Of supreme peace that whispers to the hills
+The sacrament and sabbath of the sea.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TOUCHSTONE ON A BUS
+
+
+Last night I rode with Touchstone on a bus
+From Ludgate Hill to World's End. It was he!
+Despite the broadcloth and the bowler hat,
+I knew him, Touchstone, the wild flower of folly,
+The whetstone of his age, the scourge of kings,
+The madcap morning star of elfin-land,
+Who used to wrap his legs around his neck
+For warmth on winter nights. He had slipped back,
+To see what men were doing in a world
+That should be wiser. He had watched a play,
+Read several books, heard men discourse of art
+And life; and he sat bubbling like a spring
+In Arden. Never did blackbird, drenched with may,
+Chuckle as Touchstone chuckled on that ride.
+_Lord, what a world! Lord, what a mad, mad world!_
+Then, to the jolt and jingle of the engine,
+He burst into this bunch of madcap rhymes:--
+
+
+
+
+THE NEW DUCKLING
+
+
+I
+
+THE NEW DUCKLING
+
+"I want to be new," said the duckling.
+  "O, ho!" said the wise old owl,
+While the guinea-hen cluttered off chuckling
+  To tell all the rest of the fowl.
+
+"I should like a more elegant figure,"
+  That child of a duck went on.
+"I should like to grow bigger and bigger,
+  Until I could swallow a swan.
+
+"I _won't_ be the bond slave of habit,
+  I _won't_ have these webs on my toes.
+I want to run round like a rabbit,
+  A rabbit as red as a rose.
+
+"I _don't_ want to waddle like mother,
+  Or quack like my silly old dad.
+I want to be utterly other,
+  And _frightfully_ modern and mad."
+
+"Do you know," said the turkey, "you're quacking!
+  There's a fox creeping up thro' the rye;
+And, if you're not utterly lacking,
+  You'll make for that duck-pond. Good-bye!"
+
+"I won't," said the duckling. "I'll lift him
+  A beautiful song, like a sheep;
+And when I have--as it were--biffed him,
+  I'll give him my feathers to keep."
+
+Now the curious end of this fable,
+  So far as the rest ascertained,
+Though they searched from the barn to the stable,
+  Was that _only his feathers remained_.
+
+So he _wasn't_ the bond slave of habit,
+  And he _didn't_ have webs on his toes;
+And _perhaps_ he runs round like a rabbit,
+  A rabbit as red as a rose.
+
+
+II
+
+THE MAN WHO DISCOVERED THE USE OF A CHAIR
+
+The man who discovered the use of a chair,
+  _Odds--bobs--
+    What a wonderful man!_
+He used to sit down on it, tearing his hair,
+  Till he thought of a highly original plan.
+For years he had sat on his chair, like you,
+  _Quite--still!
+    But his looks were grim_
+For he wished to be famous (as great men do)
+  And nobody ever would listen to him.
+
+Now he went one night to a dinner of state
+  _Hear! hear!
+    In the proud Guildhall!_
+And he sat on his chair, and he ate from a plate;
+  But nobody heard his opinions at all;
+
+There were ten fat aldermen down for a speech
+  (_Grouse! Grouse!
+    What a dreary bird!_)
+With five fair minutes allotted to each,
+  But never a moment for him to be heard.
+
+But, each being ready to talk, I suppose,
+  _Order! Order!_
+    They cried, _for the Chair!_
+And, much to their wonder, our friend arose
+  And fastened his eye on the eye of the Mayor.
+
+"We have come," he said, "to the fourteenth course!
+  "_High--time,
+    for the Chair_," he said.
+Then, with both of his hands, and with all of his force,
+  He hurled his chair at the Lord Mayor's head.
+
+It missed that head by the width of a hair.
+  _Gee--whizz!
+    What a horrible squeak!_
+But it crashed through the big bay-window there
+  And smashed a bus into Wednesday week.
+
+And the very next day, in the decorous Times
+  (_Great--Guns--
+    How the headlines ran!_)
+In spite of the kings and the wars and the crimes,
+  There were five full columns about that man.
+
+
+ENVOI
+
+Oh, if you get dizzy when authors write
+  (_My stars!
+    And you very well may!_)
+That white is black and that black is white,
+  You should sit, quite still, in your chair and say:
+
+It is easy enough to be famous now,
+  (_Puff--Puff!
+    How the trumpets blare!_)
+Provided, of course, that you don't care how,
+  Like the man who discovered the use of a chair.
+
+
+III
+
+COTTON-WOOL
+
+Shun the brush and shun the pen,
+Shun the ways of clever men,
+When they prove that black is white,
+Whey they swear that wrong is right,
+When they roast the singing stars
+Like chestnuts, in between the bars,
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+When you see a clever man
+Run as quickly as you can.
+You must never, never, never
+Think that Socrates was clever.
+The cleverest thing I ever knew
+Now cracks walnuts at the Zoo.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+Homer could not scintillate.
+Milton, too, was merely great.
+That's a very different matter
+From talking like a frantic hatter.
+Keats and Shelley had no tricks.
+Wordsworth never climbed up sticks.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+Lincoln would create a gloom
+In many a London drawing-room;
+He'd be silent at their wit,
+He would never laugh at it.
+When they kissed Salome's toes,
+I think he'd snort and blow his nose.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+
+They'd curse him for a silly clown,
+They'd drum him out of London town.
+Professor Flunkey, the historian,
+Would say he was a dull Victorian.
+Matthew, Mark, and Luke and John,
+Bless the bed I rest upon.
+  _Children, let a wandering fool
+  Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
+      Amen.
+
+
+IV
+
+FASHIONS
+
+Fashion on fashion on fashion,
+  (With only the truth growing old!)
+And here's the new purple of passion,
+  (And love waiting out in the cold)
+      Who'll buy?
+
+They are crying new lamps for Aladdin,
+  New worlds for the old and the true;
+And no one remembers the story
+  _The magic was not in the new._
+
+They are crying a new rose for Eden,
+  A rose of green glass. I suppose
+The only thing wrong with their rose is
+  The fact that it isn't a rose.
+      Who'll buy?
+
+And here is a song without metre;
+  And, here again, nothing is wrong;
+(For nothing on earth could be neater)
+  Except that--it isn't a song.
+
+Well. Walk on your hands. It's the latest!
+  And feet are Victorian now;
+And even our best and our greatest
+  Before that dread epithet bow.
+      Who'll buy?
+
+The furniture goes for a song, now.
+  The sixties had horrible taste.
+But the trouble is this--they've included
+  Some better things, too, in their haste.
+
+Were they wrapped in the antimacassars,
+  Or sunk in a sofa of plush?
+Did an Angelican bishop forget them,
+  And leave them behind in the crush?
+      Who'll buy?
+
+Here's a turnex. It's going quite cheaply.
+  (It lived with stuffed birds in the hall!
+And, of course, to a mind that thinks deeply
+  That settles it, once and for all.)
+
+Here's _item_, a ring (very plain, sirs!),
+  And _item_, a God (but He's dead!);
+They say we shall need Him again, sirs,
+  So--_item_, a cross for His head.
+      Who'll buy?
+
+Yes, you'll need it again, though He's dead, sirs.
+  It is only the fashions that fly.
+So here are the thorns for His head, sirs.
+  They'll keep till you need 'em. Who'll buy?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+EPILOGUE
+
+
+THE REWARD OF SONG
+
+
+_Why do we make our music?_
+  Oh, blind dark strings reply:
+Because we dwell in a strange land
+  And remember a lost sky.
+We ask no leaf of the laurel,
+  We know what fame is worth;
+But our songs break out of our winter
+  As the flowers break out on the earth.
+
+And we dream of the unknown comrade,
+  In the days when we lie dead,
+Who shall open our book in the sunlight,
+  And read, as ourselves have read,
+On a lonely hill, by a firwood,
+  With whispering seas below,
+And murmur a song we made him
+  Ages and ages ago.
+
+If making his may-time sweeter
+  With dews of our own dead may,
+One pulse of our own dead heart-strings
+  Awake in his heart that day,
+We would pray for no richer guerdon,
+  No praise from the careless throng;
+For song is the cry of a lover
+  In quest of an answering song.
+
+As a child might run to his elders
+  With news of an opening flower
+We should walk with our young companion
+  And talk to his heart for an hour,
+As once by my own green firwood,
+  And once by a Western sea,
+Thank God, my own good comrades
+  Have walked and talked with me.
+
+Too mighty to make men sorrow,
+  Too weak to heal their pain
+(Though they that remember the hawthorn
+  May find their heaven again),
+We are moved by a deeper hunger;
+  We are bound by a stronger cord;
+For love is the heart of our music,
+  And love is its one reward.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NEW MORNING***
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