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diff --git a/21649.txt b/21649.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..74052f4 --- /dev/null +++ b/21649.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3597 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Cluster of Grapes, by Various + +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: A Cluster of Grapes + A Book of Twentieth Century Poetry + +Author: Various + +Release Date: May 31, 2007 [EBook #21649] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CLUSTER OF GRAPES *** + + + + +Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +A CLUSTER OF GRAPES + + +A BOOK OF TWENTIETH CENTURY POETRY + + + +By + +GALLOWAY KYLE + + + + _"Hee doth not onely shew the way, as will entice anie man to + enter into it: nay he doth as if your journey should lye through a + faire vineyard, at the verie first, give you a cluster of grapes, + that full of that taste, you may long to passe further."_ + + + +LONDON: ERSKINE MACDONALD +1914 + +_The contents of this volume are copyright and may not be reproduced +without the permission of the respective authors and publishers._ + + + + +_PREFACE_ + + +_If the existence and contents of this book require any explanation, +the compiler may adopt the words of a famous defender of poetry:_ + + _"Hee doth not onely shew the way but giveth so sweet a prospect + into the way as will entice anie man into it._ + + _"Nay, hee doth as if your journey should lye through a faire + Vineyard, at the verie first give you a cluster of Grapes that + full of that taste you may long to passe further. He beginneth + not with obscure definitions, which must blurre the margent with + interpretations and loade the memorie with doubtfulnesse, but hee + cometh to you with words set in delightful proportion, either + accompanied with or prepared for the well-enchanting skill of + musicke, and with a tale forsoothe he cometh unto you, with a + tale which holdeth children from play and olde men from the + chimney-corner, and pretending no more, doth intend the winning + of the minde from wickedness to vertue."_ + +_These excellent words of Sir Philip Sidney give the reason and scope of +this collection of examples of the poetry of the present century. No +attempt at arbitrary classification or labelling has been made; it is +not intended to show that any poet, deliberately or otherwise, is a +Neo-Symbolist or Paroxyst or is afflicted with any other 'ist or 'ism; +it is not compiled to assert that any one group of poets is superior to +any other group of poets or to poets who had the misfortune to have +their corporeal existence cut short before the dawn of the twentieth +century; it is not even intended to prove that good poetry is written in +our time. All such purposes and particularly the latter are superfluous +and may be left to dogmatic disputants who have little care for the +grace and harmony of poetry._ + +_The scheme of the Anthology is simple and without guile. It does not +presuppose an abrupt period, but for the sake of convenience and in +justification of its existence includes only the work of living writers +produced during the present century and therefore most likely to be +representative of the poetry of to-day. No editorial credit can be +claimed for the selections; they are not the reflex of one individual's +taste and preferences, but have been made by the writers themselves, to +whom--and their respective publishers--for their cordial co-operation +the collator of this distinctive volume is exceedingly grateful, not on +his own account only but also on behalf of those readers to whom this +volume will open out so fair a prospect that they will long to pass +further, this "cluster of grapes" being one of the "lures immortal" for +the rapidly increasing number of discriminating lovers of the high +poetry that is the touchstone of beauty. The finest lyric work of our +day needs no further introduction; the poet is his own best interpreter; +but it may be added, in anticipation of adventitious criticism of the +limitations of these examples, that the capacity of the present volume +and the absence abroad of some potential contributors account for the +non-inclusion of certain writers who otherwise would have been +represented here._ + +_GALLOWAY KYLE._ + +_May_, 1914. + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY AND CONTENTS + + + Page + +A.E.: + Collected Poems (Macmillan), 1913. + + Reconciliation 1 + The Man to the Angel 2 + Babylon 3 + + +ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON: + Le Cahier Jaune (privately printed), 1892. Poems, 1893; Lyrics, + 1895; Lord Vyet, and other Poems, 1897; The Professor and other + Poems, 1900; Peace and other Poems, 1905; Collected Poems (John + Lane, The Bodley Head), 1909. + + Making Haste 5 + At Eventide 6 + In a College Garden 7 + + +ANNA BUNSTON (Mrs de Bary): + Leaves from a Woman's Manuscript, 1904 (out of print); Mingled Wine + (Longmans), 1909; The Porch of Paradise (Herbert & Daniel), 1911; + Songs of God and Man (Herbert & Daniel), 1912; Letters of a + Schoolma'am (Dent), 1913; Jephthah's Daughter (Erskine MacDonald), + 1914; Mingled Wine (Cheaper re-issue, Erskine MacDonald), 1914. + + A Mortgaged Inheritance 8 + The Wilderness 9 + Under a Wiltshire Apple Tree 11 + + +G. K. CHESTERTON: + (b. 1873). Poems in Novels and the _Commonwealth_, the _New + Witness_, etc.; The Wild Knight and other Poems (Richards), 1900; + Browning, in "English Men of Letters" (Macmillan), 1903; Ballad of + the White Horse (Methuen), 1911. + + Sonnet with the Compliments of the Season 13 + When I came back to Fleet Street 14 + The Truce of Christmas 17 + + +FRANCES CORNFORD: + Poems (Bowes & Bowes, Cambridge), 1910. Death and the Princess, a + Morality (Bowes & Bowes), 1913. + + The Princess and the Gypsies 19 + The Dandelion 22 + Social Intercourse 23 + + +WALTER DE LA MARE: + (b. 1873). Songs of Childhood (Longmans), 1902; Henry Brocken + (Murray), 1904; Poems, 1906: The Three Mulla Malgars (Duckworth); + The Return (Arnold), 1910; The Listeners and other Poems + (Constable), 1911; Peacock Pie (Constable), 1913. + + An Epitaph 24 + Arabia 25 + Nod 26 + + +JOHN GALSWORTHY: + (b. 1867). Novels, Studies, and Verse; Villa Rubein, 1901; The + Island Pharisees, 1904; The Man of Property, 1906; The Country + House, 1907; A Commentary, 1908; Fraternity, 1909; A Motley, 1910; + The Patrician, 1911; The Inn of Tranquillity; and Moods, Songs and + Doggerels, 1913; The Dark Flower (Heinemann), 1913; Plays: Vol. I, + The Silver Box; Joy; Strife, 1909. Vol. II, Justice; The Little + Dream; The Eldest Son, 1912. Vol. III, The Fugitive; The Pigeon; + The Mob, 1914. + + The Downs 27 + The Prayer 27 + Devon to Me 28 + + +EVA GORE-BOOTH: + Poems (Longmans, Green & Co.), 1898; Unseen Kings (Longmans), 1904; + The One and the Many (Longmans), 1904; The Three Resurrections and + the Triumph of Maeve (Longmans), 1905; The Sorrowful Princess + (Longmans), 1907; The Egyptian Pillar (Maunsel & Co., Dublin), 1907; + The Agate Lamp (Longmans), 1912. + + Maeve of the Battles 29 + Re-Incarnation 31 + Leonardo Da Vinci 34 + + +JOHN GURDON: + Erinna, a Tragedy (Edward Arnold), 1913; Dramatic Lyrics (Elkin + Matthews), 1906; Enchantments (Erskine Macdonald), 1912. + + Surrender 36 + Before the Fates 38 + + +THOMAS HARDY: + (b. 1840). Wessex Poems, 1898; Poems of the Past and Present, 1901; + The Dynasts; An Epic Drama, Part I, 1903-4; Part II, 1906; Part III, + 1908; Time's Laughing Stocks and other Verses (Macmillan), 1910. + + A Trampwoman's Tragedy 42 + Chorus from "The Dynasts" (Part III) 47 + The Ballad Singer 49 + + +RALPH HODGSON: + Contributions to the _Saturday Review_; Flying Fame Chap Books. + + The Moor 50 + Time, You Old Gipsy Man 51 + Ghoul Care 53 + + +W. G. HOLE: + Procris and other Poems (Paul); Amoris Imago (Paul); Poems, Lyrical + and Dramatic (Matthews), 1902; Queen Elizabeth, An Historical Drama + (Geo. Bell & Sons), 1904; New Poems (Geo. Bell & Sons), 1907; The + Chained Titan (Geo. Bell & Sons,) 1910; The Master: A Poetical Play + in Two Acts (Erskine Macdonald), 1913. + + Roosevelt-Village Street 54 + The Haunted Fields 58 + Captive in London Town 60 + + +LAURENCE HOUSMAN: + (b. 1867). Mendicant Rimes; Selected Poems (Sidgwick & Jackson). + + The Fellow-Travellers 61 + The Settlers 62 + Song 63 + + +EMILIA S. LORIMER: + Songs of Alban (Constable), 1912. + + Love Songs 64 + Storm 65 + + +JAMES A. MACKERETH: + In Grasmere Vale and other Poems, 1907; The Cry on the Mountain, + 1908; When We Dreamers Wake, a Drama for To-day (Nutt), 1909; A + Son of Cain and other Poems (Longmans), 1910; In the Wake of the + Phoenix (Longmans), 1911; On the Face of a Star (Longmans), 1913. + + To a Blackbird on New Year's Day 66 + La Danseuse 68 + God Returns 70 + + +ALICE MEYNELL: + Poems (Collected Edition), 1913. Essays (selected from The Rhythm of + Life, etc.) (Burns & Oates), 1914. + + To the Body 72 + Christ in the Universe 73 + Maternity 74 + + +WILL H. OGILVIE: + The Overlander; The Land we Love; Whaup o' the Rede (Thomas Fraser, + Dalbeattie); Rainbows and Witches (Elkin Matthews); Fair Girls and + Grey Horses; Hearts of Gold (Angus & Robertson, Australia). + + There's a Clean Wind Blowing 75 + The Garden of the Night 76 + The Crossing Swords 79 + + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS: + Eremus (Paul), 1894; Christ in Hades (Matthews), 1896; Poems, 1897; + Paolo and Francesca, 1899; Marpessa, 1900; Herod, 1900; Ulysses, + 1902; Nero, 1906; The New Inferno, 1910; New Poems, Lyrics and + Dramas (John Lane), 1913. + + Lures Immortal 80 + Beautiful lie the Dead 82 + Lyric from "The Sin of David" 83 + + +EDEN PHILLPOTTS: + Many novels: Dance of the Months; Sketches of Dartmoor and Poems + (Gowans & Gray), 1911; The Iscariot, a Poem (Murray), 1912; Up-Along + and Down-Along (Methuen), 1905; Wild Fruit (John Lane), 1911. + + A Devon Courting 84 + A Litany to Pan 85 + Swinburne 87 + + +DORA SIGERSON SHORTER: + Verses, 1894; The Fairy Changeling, and other Poems, 1897; My Lady's + Slipper and other Poems, 1898; Ballads and Poems, 1899; The Father + Confessor, 1900; The Woman who went to Hell, 1902; As the Sparks fly + Upward, 1904; The Story and Song of Earl Roderick, 1906; Collected + Poems, 1909; The Troubadour, 1910; New Poems, 1912; Madge Linsey and + other Poems (Maunsel, Dublin), 1913. + + The Watcher in the Wood 88 + The Nameless One 89 + When I shall Rise 91 + + +ARTHUR SYMONS: + Images of Good and Evil, 1900; Poems, 1901; The Fool of the World + and other Poems, 1906; The Knave of Hearts (Heinemann), 1913; Cities + of Italy, 1908; The Romantic Movement in English Poetry, 1909. + + Tanagra 92 + Giovanni Malatesta at Rimini 93 + La Melinite: Moulin Rouge 95 + + +EVELYN UNDERHILL: + Immanence, A Book of Verses (J. M. Dent & Sons), 1912; Mysticism; + The Mystic Way. + + Immanence 97 + Introversion 99 + Ichthus 100 + + +MARGARET L. WOODS: + Poems, Collected Edition (John Lane), 1913. + + Songs 102 + The Changeling 103 + + + + +AE + + +RECONCILIATION + +I begin through the grass once again to be bound to the Lord; + I can see, through a face that has faded, the face full of rest +Of the earth, of the mother, my heart with her heart in accord, + As I lie mid the cool green tresses that mantle her breast +I begin with the grass once again to be bound to the Lord. + +By the hand of a child I am led to the throne of the King + For a touch that now fevers me not is forgotten and far, +And His infinite sceptred hands that sway us can bring + Me in dreams from the laugh of a child to the song of a star. +On the laugh of a child I am borne to the joy of the King. + + + +THE MAN TO THE ANGEL + +I have wept a million tears: + Pure and proud one, where are thine, +What the gain though all thy years + In unbroken beauty shine? + +All your beauty cannot win + Truth we learn in pain and sighs: +You can never enter in + To the circle of the wise. + +They are but the slaves of light + Who have never known the gloom, +And between the dark and bright + Willed in freedom their own doom. + +Think not in your pureness there, + That our pain but follows sin: +There are fires for those who dare + Seek the throne of might to win. + +Pure one, from your pride refrain: + Dark and lost amid the strife +I am myriad years of pain + Nearer to the fount of life. + +When defiance fierce is thrown + At the god to whom you bow, +Rest the lips of the Unknown + Tenderest upon my brow. + + + +BABYLON + +The blue dusk ran between the streets: my love was winged within my mind, +It left to-day and yesterday and thrice a thousand years behind. +To-day was past and dead for me, for from to-day my feet had run +Through thrice a thousand years to walk the ways of ancient Babylon. +On temple top and palace roof the burnished gold flung back the rays +Of a red sunset that was dead and lost beyond a million days. +The tower of heaven turns darker blue, a starry sparkle now begins; +The mystery and magnificence, the myriad beauty and the sins +Come back to me. I walk beneath the shadowy multitude of towers; +Within the gloom the fountain jets its pallid mist in lily flowers. +The waters lull me and the scent of many gardens, and I hear +Familiar voices, and the voice I love is whispering in my ear. +Oh real as in dream all this; and then a hand on mine is laid: +The wave of phantom time withdraws; and that young Babylonian maid, +One drop of beauty left behind from all the flowing of that tide, +Is looking with the self-same eyes, and here in Ireland by my side. +Oh light our life in Babylon, but Babylon has taken wings, +While we are in the calm and proud procession of eternal things. + + + + +ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON + + +MAKING HASTE + +"Soon!" says the Snowdrop, and smiles at the motherly earth, + "Soon!--for the Spring with her languors comes stealthily on +Snow was my cradle, and chill winds sang at my birth; + Winter is over--and I must make haste to be gone!" + +"Soon," says the Swallow, and dips to the wind-ruffled stream, + "Grain is all garnered--the Summer is over and done; +Bleak to the eastward the icy battalions gleam, + Summer is over--and I must make haste to be gone!" + +"Soon--ah, too soon!" says the Soul, with a pitiful gaze, + "Soon!--for I rose like a star, and for aye would have shone! +See the pale shuddering dawn, that must wither my rays, + Leaps from the mountains--and I must make haste to be gone!" + + + +AT EVENTIDE + +At morn I saw the level plain + So rich and small beneath my feet, +A sapphire sea without a stain, + And fields of golden-waving wheat; +Lingering I said, "At noon I'll be + At peace by that sweet-scented tide. +How far, how fair my course shall be, + Before I come to the Eventide!" + +Where is it fled, that radiant plain? + I stumble now in miry ways; +Dark clouds drift landward, big with rain, + And lonely moors their summits raise. +On, on with hurrying feet I range, + And left and right in the dumb hillside +Grey gorges open, drear and strange, + And so I come to the Eventide! + + + +IN A COLLEGE GARDEN + +Birds, that cry so loud in the old, green bowery garden, +Your song is of _Love! Love! Love!_ + Will ye weary not nor cease? +For the loveless soul grows sick, the heart that the grey days harden; + I know too well that ye love! I would ye should hold your peace. + +I too have seen Love rise, like a star; I have marked his setting; + I dreamed in my folly and pride that Life without Love were peace. +But if Love should await me yet, in the land of sleep and forgetting-- + Ah, bird, could you sing me this, I would not your song should cease! + + + + +ANNA BUNSTON (Mrs de BARY) + + +A MORTGAGED INHERITANCE + +I knew a land whose streams did wind +More winningly than these, +Where finer shadows played behind +The clean-stemmed beechen trees. +The maidens there were deeper eyed, +The lads more swift and fair, +And angels walked at each one's side-- +Would God that I were there! + +Here daffodils are dressed in gold, +But there they wore the sun, +And here the blooms are bought and sold, +But there God gave each one. +There all roads led to fairyland +That here do lead to care, +And stars were lamps on Heaven's strand-- +Would God, that I were there! + +Here worship crawls upon her course +That there with larks would cope, +And here her voice with doubt is hoarse +That there was sweet with hope. +O land of Peace! my spirit dies +For thy once tasted air, +O earliest loss! O latest prize! +Would God that I were there! + + + +THE WILDERNESS + +From Life's enchantments, +Desire of place, +From lust of getting +Turn thou away, and set thy face +Toward the wilderness. + +The tents of Jacob +As valleys spread, +As goodly cedars, +Or fair lign aloes, white and red, +Shall share thy wilderness. + +With awful judgments, +The law, the rod, +With soft allurements +And comfortable words, will God +Pass o'er the wilderness. + +The bitter waters +Are healed and sweet, +The ample heavens +Pour angel's bread about thy feet +Throughout the wilderness. + +And Carmel's glory +Thou thoughtest gone, +And Sharon's roses, +The excellency of Lebanon +Delight thy wilderness. + +Who passeth Jordan +Perfumed with myrrh, +With myrrh and incense? +Lo! on his arm Love leadeth her +Who trod the wilderness. + + + +UNDER A WILTSHIRE APPLE TREE + +Some folks as can afford, +So I've heard say, +Sets up a sort of cross +Right in the garden way +To mind 'em of the Lord. + +But I, when I do see +Thic apple tree +An' stoopin' limb +All spread wi' moss, +I think of Him +And how he talks wi' me. + +I think of God +And how he trod +That garden long ago: +He walked, I reckon, to and fro +And then sat down +Upon the groun' +Or some low limb +What suited Him +Same as you see +On many a tree, +And on this very one +Where I at set o' sun +Do sit and talk wi' He. + +An' mornings, too, I rise an' come +An' sit down where the branch be low; +A bird do sing, a bee do hum, +The flowers in the border blow, +An' all my heart's so glad an' clear +As pools be when the sun do peer: +As pools a laughin' in the light +When mornin' air is swep' an' bright, +As pools what got all Heaven in sight +So's my heart's cheer +When He be near. + +He never pushed the garden door, +He left no footmark on the floor; +I never heard 'Un stir nor tread +An' yet His Hand do bless my head, +And when 'tis time for work to start +I takes Him with me in my heart. + +And when I die, pray God I see +At very last thic apple tree +An' stoopin' limb, +An' think o' Him +And all He been to me. + + + + +G. K. CHESTERTON + + +SONNET WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON + +(To a popular leader, to be congratulated on the avoidance of a strike +at Christmas.) + +I know you. You will hail the huge release, + Saying the sheathing of a thousand swords, + In silence and injustice, well accords +With Christmas bells. And you will gild with grease +The papers, the employers, the police, + And vomit up the void your windy words + To your new Christ; who bears no whip of cords +For them that traffic in the doves of peace. + +The feast of friends, the candle-fruited tree, + I have not failed to honour. And I say +It would be better for such men as we + And we be nearer Bethlehem, if we lay +Shot dead on snows scarlet for Liberty, + Dead in the daylight; upon Christmas Day. + + + +WHEN I CAME BACK TO FLEET STREET + +When I came back to Fleet Street, + Through a sunset-nook at night, +And saw the old Green Dragon + With the windows all alight, +And hailed the old Green Dragon + And the Cock I used to know, +Where all the good fellows were my friends + A little while ago. + +I had been long in meadows, + And the trees took hold of me, +And the still towns in the beech-woods, + Where men were meant to be; +But old things held; the laughter, + The long unnatural night, +And all the truth the talk in hell, + And all the lies they write. + +For I came back to Fleet Street, + And not in peace I came; +A cloven pride was in my heart, + And half my love was shame. +I came to fight in fairy tale, + Whose end shall no man know-- +To fight the old Green Dragon + Until the Cock shall crow! + +Under the broad bright windows + Of men I serve no more, +The groaning of the old great wheels + Thickened to a throttled roar; +All buried things broke upwards; + And peered from its retreat, +Ugly and silent, like an elf, + The secret of the street. + +They did not break the padlocks, + Or clear the wall away. +The men in debt that drank of old + Still drink in debt to-day; +Chained to the rich by ruin, + Cheerful in chains, as then +When old unbroken Pickwick walked + Among the broken men. + +Still he that dreams and rambles + Through his own elfin air, +Knows that the street's a prison, + Knows that the gates are there: +Still he that scorns or struggles, + Sees frightful and afar +All that they leave of rebels + Rot high on Temple Bar. + +All that I loved and hated, + All that I shunned and knew, +Clears in broad battle lightening; + Where they, and I, and you, +Run high the barricade that breaks + The barriers of the Street, +And shout to them that shrink within, + The Prisoners of the Fleet! + + + +THE TRUCE OF CHRISTMAS + +Passionate peace is in the sky +And on the snow in silver sealed +The beasts are perfect in the field +And men seem men so suddenly + But take ten swords, and ten times ten, + And blow the bugle in praising men + For we are for all men under the sun + And they are against us every one + And misers haggle, and mad men clutch + And there is peril in praising much + And we have the terrible tongues un-curled + That praise the world to the sons of the world. + +The idle humble hill and wood +Are bowed about the sacred Birth +And for one little while the earth +Is lazy with the love of good + But ready are you and ready am I + If the battle blow and the guns go by + For we are for all men under the sun + And they are against us every one + For the men that hate herd altogether + To pride and gold and the great white feather + And the thing is graven in star and stone + That the men that love are all alone. + +Hunger is hard and time is tough +But bless the beggars and kiss the kings +For hope has broken the heart of things +And nothing was ever praised enough + But hold the shield for a sudden swing + And point the sword in praising a thing + For we are for all men under the sun + And they are against us every one + And mime and merchant, thane and thrall, + Hate us because we love them all + Only till Christmas time goes by + Passionate peace is in the sky. + + + + +FRANCES CORNFORD + + +THE PRINCESS AND THE GIPSIES + +As I looked out one May morning, + I saw the tree-tops green; +I said: "My crown I will lay down + And live no more a queen." + +Then I tripped down my golden steps + All in my silken gown, +And when I stood in the open wood, + I met some gipsies brown. + +"O gentle, gentle gipsies, + That roam the wide world through, +Because I hate my crown and state + O let me come with you. + +"My councillors are old and grey, + And sit in narrow chairs; +But you can hear the birds sing clear, + And your hearts are as light as theirs." + +"If you would come along with us, + Then you must count the cost; +For though in Spring the sweet birds sing, + In Winter comes the frost. + +"Your ladies serve you all the day + With courtesy and care; +Your fine-shod feet they tread so neat, + But a gipsy's feet go bare. + +"You wash in water running warm + Through basins all of gold; +The streams where we roam have silvery foam, + But the streams, the streams are cold. + +"And barley-bread is bitter to taste, + While sugary cakes they please-- +Which will you choose, O which will you choose, + Which will you choose of these? + +"For if you choose the mountain streams + And barley-bread to eat, +Your heart will be free as the birds in the tree, + But the stones will cut your feet. + +"The mud will spoil your silken gown, + And stain your insteps high; +The dogs in the farm will wish you harm + And bark as you go by. + +"And though your heart grow deep and gay, + And your heart grow wise and rich, +The cold will make your bones to ache + And you will die in a ditch." + +"O gentle, gentle gipsies, + That roam the wide world through, +Although I praise your wandering ways, + I dare not come with you." + +I hung about their fingers brown + My ruby rings and chain, +And with my head as heavy as lead, + I turned me back again. + +As I went up the palace steps, + I heard the gipsies laugh; +The birds of Spring so sweet did sing; + My heart it broke in half. + + + +THE DANDELION + +The dandelion is brave and gay, +And loves to grow beside the way; +A braver thing was never seen +To praise the grass for growing green; + You never saw a gayer thing, + To sit and smile and praise the Spring. + +The children with their simple hearts, +The lazy men that come in carts, +The little dogs that lollop by, +They all have seen its shining eye: + And every one of them would say, + They never saw a thing so gay. + + + +SOCIAL INTERCOURSE + +Like to islands in the seas, +Stand our personalities-- +Islands where we always face +One another's watering-place. +When we promenade our sands +We can hear each other's bands, +We can see on festal nights +Red and green and purple lights, +Gilt pavilions in a row, +Stucco houses built for show. + +But our eyes can never reach +Further than the tawdry beach, +Never can they hope to win +To the wonders far within: +Jagged rocks against the sky +Where the eagles haunt and cry, +Forests full of running rills, +Darkest forests, sunny hills, +Hollows where a dragon lowers, +Sweet and unimagined flowers. + + + + +WALTER DE LA MARE + + +AN EPITAPH + +Here lies a most beautiful lady, + Light of step and heart was she: +I think she was the most beautiful lady + That ever was in the West Country. +But beauty vanishes; beauty passes; + However rare--rare it be; +And when I crumble who will remember + This lady of the West Country? + + + +ARABIA + +Far are the shades of Arabia, +Where the princes ride at noon, +'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets +Under the ghost of the moon; +And so dark is that vaulted purple, +Flowers in the forest rise +And toss into blossom 'gainst the phantom stars, +Pale in the noonday skies. + +Sweet is the music of Arabia +In my heart, when out of dreams +I still in the thin clear mirk of dawn +Descry her gliding streams; +Hear her strange lutes on the green banks +Ring loud with the grief and delight +Of the dim-silked, dark-haired musicians, +In the brooding silence of night. + +They haunt me--her lutes and her forests; +No beauty on earth I see +But shadowed with that dream recalls +Her loveliness to me: +Still eyes look coldly upon me, +Cold voices whisper and say-- +"He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia, +They have stolen his wits away." + + + +NOD + +Softly along the road of evening, +In a twilight dim with rose, +Wrinkled with age and drenched with dew, +Old Nod, the shepherd, goes. + +His drowsy flock streams on before him, +Their fleeces charged with gold, +To where the sun's last beam leans low +On Nod the shepherd's fold. + +The hedge is quick and green with briar, +From their sand the conies creep; +And all the birds that fly in heaven +Flock singing home to sleep. + +His lambs outnumber a noon's roses +Yet, when night's shadows fall, +His blind old sheep dog, Slumber-soon, +Misses not one of all. + +His are the quiet steeps of dreamland, +The waters of no more pain, +His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars, +"Rest, rest, and rest again." + + + + +JOHN GALSWORTHY + + +THE DOWNS. + +Oh! the downs high to the cool sky; + And the feel of the sun-warmed moss; +And each cardoon, like a full moon, + Fairy-spun of the thistle floss; +And the beech grove, and a wood dove, + And the trail where the shepherds pass; +And the lark's song, and the wind-song, + And the scent of the parching grass! + + + +THE PRAYER. + +If on a Spring night I went by +And God were standing there, +What is the prayer that I would cry + To Him? This is the prayer: + O Lord of Courage grave, + O Master of this night of Spring! + Make firm in me a heart too brave + To ask Thee anything! + + + +DEVON TO ME. + +Where my fathers stood, watching the sea, +Gale-spent herring boats hugging the lea; +There my Mother lives, moorland and tree. +Sight o' the blossoms! Devon to me! + +Where my fathers walked, driving the plough; +Whistled their hearts out--who whistles now?-- +There my Mother burns fire faggots free. +Scent o' the wood-smoke! Devon to me! + +Where my fathers sat, passing their bowls; +--They've no cider now, God rest their souls! +There my Mother feeds red cattle three. +Sup o' the cream-pan! Devon to me! + +Where my fathers sleep, turning to dust, +This old body throw when die I must! +There my Mother calls, wakeful is she! +Sound o' the West-wind! Devon to me! + +Where my fathers lie, when I am gone, +Who need pity me, dead? Never one! +There my Mother clasps me. Let me be! +Feel o' the red earth! Devon to me! + + + + +EVA GORE-BOOTH + + +MAEVE OF THE BATTLES + +I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill, + And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed, +And my soul is blown about by the wild wind of her will, + For always the living must follow whither the dead would lead-- +I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill. + +I would dream a dream at twilight of ease and beauty and peace-- + A dream of light on the mountains, and calm on the restless sea; +A dream of the gentle days of the world when battle shall cease + And the things that are in hatred and wrath no longer shall be. +I would dream a dream at twilight of ease and beauty and peace. + +The foamless waves are falling soft on the sands of Lissadil + And the world is wrapped in quiet and a floating dream of grey; +But the wild winds of the twilight blow straight from the haunted hill + And the stars come out of the darkness and shine over Knocknarea-- +I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill. + +There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve; + No rest for the heart once caught in the net of her yellow hair-- +No quiet for the fallen wind, no peace for the broken wave; + Rising and falling, falling and rising with soft sounds everywhere, +There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve. + +I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill + And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed; +And my soul is blown about by the wild winds of her will, + For always the living must follow whither the dead would lead-- +I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill. + + + +RE-INCARNATION + +The darkness draws me, kindly angels weep + Forlorn beyond receding rings of light, +The torrents of the earth's desires sweep + My soul through twilight downward into night. + +Once more the light grows dim, the vision fades, + Myself seems to myself a distant goal, +I grope among the bodies' drowsy shades, + Once more the Old Illusion rocks my soul. + +Once more the Manifold in shadowy streams + Of falling waters murmurs in my ears, +The One Voice drowns amid the roar of dreams + That crowd the narrow pathway of the years. + +I go to seek the starshine on the waves, + To count the dewdrops on the grassy hill, +I go to gather flowers that grow on graves, + The worlds' wall closes round my prisoned will. + +Yea, for the sake of the wild western wind + The sphered spirit scorns her flame-built throne, +Because of primroses, time out of mind, + The Lonely turns away from the Alone. + +Who once has loved the cornfield's rustling sheaves, + Who once has heard the gentle Irish rain +Murmur low music in the growing leaves, + Though he were god, comes back to earth again. + +Oh Earth! green wind-swept Eirinn, I would break + The tower of my soul's initiate pride +For a grey field and a star-haunted lake, + And those wet winds that roam the country side. + +I who have seen am glad to close my eyes, + I who have soared am weary of my wings, +I seek no more the secret of the wise, + Safe among shadowy, unreal human things. + +Blind to the gleam of those wild violet rays + That burn beyond the rainbow's circle dim, +Bound by dark nights and driven by pale days, + The sightless slave of Time's imperious whim; + +Deaf to the flowing tide of dreams divine + That surge outside the closed gates of birth, +The rhythms of eternity, too fine + To touch with music the dull ears of earth-- + +I go to seek with humble care and toil + The dreams I left undreamed, the deeds undone, +To sow the seed and break the stubborn soil, + Knowing no brightness whiter than the sun. + +Content in winter if the fire burns clear + And cottage walls keep out the creeping damp, +Hugging the Old Illusion warm and dear, + The Silence and the Wise Book and the Lamp. + + + +LEONARDO DA VINCI + +He in his deepest mind +That inner harmony divined +That lit the soul of John +And in the glad eyes shone +Of Dionysos, and dwelt +Where Angel Gabriel knelt +Under the dark cypress spires; +And thrilled with flameless fires +Of Secret Wisdom's rays +The Giaconda's smiling gaze; +Curving with delicate care +The pearls in Beatrice d'Este's hair; +Hiding behind the veil +Of eyelids long and pale, +In the strange gentle vision dim +Of the unknown Christ who smiled on him. +His was no vain dream +Of the things that seem, +Of date and name. +He overcame +The Outer False with the Inner True, +And overthrew +The empty show and thin deceits of sex, +Pale nightmares of this barren world that vex +The soul of man, shaken by every breeze +Too faint to stir the silver olive trees +Or lift the Dryad's smallest straying tress +Frozen in her clear marble loveliness. + +He, in curved lips and smiling eyes, +Hid the last secret's faint surprise +Of one who dies in fear and pain +And lives and knows herself again. +He, in his dreaming under the sun, +Saw change and the unchanging One, +And built in grottoes blue a shrine +To hold Reality Divine. + + + + +JOHN GURDON + + +SURRENDER + +Like the diamond spark of the morning star + When night grows pale +Love gleams in the depths of thine eyes afar + Through the rifted veil + Of thy cloudy dreams. + +I saw in the glint of thy wavy hair + His splendour shine +A moment, and now thy cheeks declare + The fire divine + In their rosy streams. + +It leaps from thy face to mine, and flushes + From brow to chin. +The hot blood sings in my ears and gushes + With surge and spin + Through my tingling veins. + +I lift up my heart for thy fervent lips + To kiss, my sweet. +I would lift up my soul, but she swooning slips + Down at thy feet, + And the rainbow stains. + +Brighten and cloud on her wings that close + And open slow, +As a butterfly's move, on the breast of a rose + Rocked to and fro + By a crooning wind. + +O star! O blossom! I faint for bliss. + I faint for thee; +For the kiss on my closed eyes, thy kiss + In ecstasy + That leaves me blind. + +Me has love molten for thee to mould. + Ah, shape me fair +As the crown of thy life, as a crown of gold + In thy flame-like hair + Worn for a sign! + +Nay, rather my life be a wind-flower + Slow kissed to death, +Petal by petal, on lips that stir + With love's own breath. + Dear life, take mine! + + + +BEFORE THE FATES + +I cannot sing, + So weary of life my heart is and so sore +Afraid. What harp-playing + Back from the land whose name is Never More +My lost desire will bring? + + * * * * * + +These words she said + Before the Pheidian Fates. "There comes an end +Of love, and mine is fled: + But, if you let me, I will be your friend, +A better friend, instead." + +Was it her own, + The voice I heard, marmoreal, strange, remote, +As though from yonder throne + Clotho had spoken, and the headless throat +Had uttered words of stone? + +I sought her face; + It was a mask inscrutable, a screen +Baffling all hope to trace + The woman whose passionate loveliness had been +Mine for a little space. + +Thereat I rose, + Smiling, and said--"The dream is past and gone. +Surely Love comes and goes + Even as he will. And who shall thwart him? None. +Only, while water flows + +And night and day + Chase one another round the rolling sphere, +Henceforth our destined way + Divides. Fare onward, then, and leave me, dear. +There is no more to say." + + * * * * * + +Harsh songs and sweet + Come to me still, but as a tale twice told. +The throb, the quivering beat + Harry my blood no longer as of old, +Nor stir my wayworn feet. + +Yet for a threne + Once more I wear the purple robe and make +Sad music and serene + For pity's sake, ah me, and the old time's sake, +And all that might have been. + +For Love lies dead. + Love, the immortal, the victorious, +Is fallen and vanquished. + What charm can raise, what incantation rouse +That lowly, piteous head? + +Why should I weep + My triumph? 'Twas my life or his. Behold +The wound, how wide and deep + Which in my side the arrow tipped with gold +Smote as I lay asleep! + +Across thy way + I came not, Love, nor ever sought thy face; +But me, who dreaming lay + Peaceful within my quiet lurking-place, +Thy shaft was sped to slay. + +When hadst thou ruth, + That I should sorrow o'er thee and forgive? +Why should I grieve, forsooth? + Art thou not dead for ever, and I live? +And yet--and yet, in truth + +Almost I would + That I had perished, and beside my bier +Thou and thy mother stood, + And from relenting eyes let fall a tear +Upon me, and my blood + +Changed to a flower + Imperishable, a hyacinthine bloom, +In memory of an hour + Splendidly lived between Delight and Doom +Once when I wandered from my ivory tower. + + + + +THOMAS HARDY + + +A TRAMPWOMAN'S TRAGEDY (182-) + +I + +From Wynyard's Gap the livelong day, + The livelong day, +We beat afoot the northward way + We had travelled times before. +The sun-blaze burning on our backs, +Our shoulders sticking to our packs, +By fosseway, fields, and turnpike tracks + We skirted sad Sedge Moor. + +II + +Full twenty miles we jaunted on, + We jaunted on-- +My fancy-man, and jeering John, + And Mother Lee, and I. +And, as the sun drew down to west, +We climbed the toilsome Poldon crest, +And saw, of landskip sights the best, + The inn that beamed thereby. + +III + +For months we had padded side by side, + Ay, side by side +Through the Great Forest, Blackmoor wide, + And where the Parret ran. +We'd faced the gusts on Mendip ridge, +Had crossed the Yeo unhelped by bridge, +Been stung by every Marshwood midge, + I and my fancy man. + +IV + +Lone inns we loved, my man and I, + My man and I; +"King's Stag," "Windwhistle" high and dry, + "The Horse" on Hintock Green, +The cosy house at Wynyard's Gap, +"The Hut" renowned on Bredy Knap, +And many another wayside tap + Where folk might sit unseen. + +V + +Now as we trudged--O deadly day, + O deadly day!-- +I teased my fancy-man in play + And wanton idleness. +I walked alongside jeering John, +I laid his hand my waist upon; +I would not bend my glances on + My lover's dark distress. + +VI + +Thus Poldon top at last we won, + At last we won, +And gained the inn at sink of sun + Far famed as "Marshall's Elm." +Beneath us figured tor and lea, +From Mendip to the western sea-- +I doubt if finer sight there be + Within this royal realm. + +VII + +Inside the settle all a-row-- + All four a-row +We sat, I next to John, to show + That he had wooed and won. +And then he took me on his knee, +And swore it was his turn to be +My favoured mate, and Mother Lee + Passed to my former one. + +VIII + +Then in a voice I had never heard, + I had never heard, +My only Love to me: "One word, + My lady, if you please! +Whose is the child you are like to bear?-- +_His?_ After all my months of care?" +God knows 'twas not! But, O despair! + I nodded--still to tease. + +IX + +Then up he sprung, and with his knife-- + And with his knife +He let out jeering Johnny's life, + Yes; there, at set of sun. +The slant ray through the window nigh +Gilded John's blood and glazing eye, +Ere scarcely Mother Lee and I + Knew that the deed was done. + +X + +The taverns tell the gloomy tale, + The gloomy tale, +How that at Ivel-chester jail + My Love, my sweetheart swung; +Though stained till now by no misdeed +Save one horse ta'en in time o' need; +(Blue Jimmy stole right many a steed + Ere his last fling he flung.) + +XI + +Thereaft I walked the world alone, + Alone, alone! +On his death-day I gave my groan + And dropped his dead-born child. +'Twas nigh the jail, beneath a tree, +None tending me; for Mother Lee +Had died at Glaston, leaving me + Unfriended on the wild. + +XII + +And in the night as I lay weak, + As I lay weak, +The leaves a-falling on my cheek, + The red moon low declined-- +The ghost of him I'd die to kiss +Rose up and said: "Ah, tell me this! +Was the child mine, or was it his? + Speak, that I rest may find!" + +XIII + +O doubt not but I told him then, + I told him then, +That I had kept me from all men + Since we joined lips and swore. +Whereat he smiled, and thinned away +As the wind stirred to call up day ... +--'Tis past! And here alone I stray + Haunting the Western Moor. + +1902. + + + +CHORUS FROM "THE DYNASTS" + +(Part III). + + Last as first the question rings + Of the Will's long travailings; + Why the All-mover, + Why the All-prover +Ever urges on and measures out the droning tune of Things. + + Heaving dumbly + As we deem, + Moulding numbly + As in dream, +Apprehending not how fare the sentient subjects of Its scheme. + + Nay;--shall not Its blindness break? + Yea, must not Its heart awake, + Promptly tending + To Its mending +In a genial germing purpose, and for loving-kindness' sake? + + Should It never + Curb or cure + Aught whatever + Those endure +Whom It quickens, let them darkle to extinction swift and sure. + + But a stirring thrills the air, + Like to sounds of joyance there + That the rages + Of the ages +Shall be cancelled, and deliverance offered from the darts that were, +Consciousness the Will informing, till It fashion all things fair! + +1907. + + + +THE BALLAD SINGER + +Sing, Ballad-singer, raise a hearty tune; + Make me forget that there was ever a one +I walked with in the meek light of the moon + When the day's work was done. + +Rhyme, Ballad-rhymer, start a country song; + Make me forget that she whom I loved well +Swore she would love me dearly, love me long, + Then--what I cannot tell! + +Sing, Ballad-singer, from your little book; + Make me forget those heart-breaks, achings, fears; +Make me forget her name, her sweet sweet look-- + Make me forget her tears. + + + + +RALPH HODGSON + + +THE MOOR + +The world's gone forward to its latest fair +And dropt an old man done with by the way, +To sit alone among the bats and stare +At miles and miles and miles of moorland bare +Lit only with last shreds of dying day. + +Not all the world, not all the world's gone by; +Old man, you're like to meet one traveller still, +A journeyman well kenned for courtesy +To all that walk at odds with life and limb; +If this be he now riding up the hill +Maybe he'll stop and take you up with him.... + +"But thou art Death?" "Of Heavenly Seraphim +None else to seek thee out and bid thee come." +"I only care that thou art come from Him, +Unbody me--I'm tired--and get me home." + + + +TIME, YOU OLD GIPSY MAN + +Time, you old gipsy man, + Will you not stay, +Put up your caravan + Just for one day? + +All things I'll give you +Will you be my guest, +Bells for your jennet +Of silver the best, +Goldsmiths shall beat you +A great golden ring, +Peacocks shall bow to you, +Little boys sing, +Oh, and sweet girls will +Festoon you with may, +Time, you old gipsy, +Why hasten away? + +Last week in Babylon, +Last night in Rome, +Morning, and in the crush +Under Paul's dome; +Under Paul's dial +You tighten your rein, +Only a moment +And off once again; +Off to some city +Now blind in the womb, +Off to another +Ere that's in the tomb. + +Time, you old gipsy man, + Will you not stay, +Put up your caravan + Just for one day? + + + +GHOUL CARE + +Sour fiend, go home and tell the Pit: +For once you met your master, +A man who carried in his soul +Three charms against disaster, +The Devil and disaster. + +Away, away, and tell the tale +And start your whelps a-whining, +Say "In the greenwood of his soul +A lizard's eye was shining, +A little eye kept shining." + +Away, away, and salve your sores, +And set your hags a-groaning, +Say "In the greenwood of his soul +A drowsy bee was droning, +A dreamy bee was droning." + +Prodigious Bat! Go start the walls +Of Hell with horror ringing, +Say "In the greenwood of his soul +There was a goldfinch singing, +A pretty goldfinch singing." + +And then come back, come, if you please, +A fiercer ghoul and ghaster, +With all the glooms and smuts of Hell +Behind you, I'm your master! +You know I'm still your master. + + + + +W. G. HOLE + + +ROOSEVELT-VILLAGE STREET + +Nought is there here the eye to strike-- + Uncurved canals where barges ply; +A hundred hamlets all alike; + + Flat fields that cut an arc of sky +With men and women o'er them bent + Who needs must labour lest they die. + +Would any say that lives so spent + Might break, spurred on by love and pride, +Their bars of animal content? + + Nay, here live men unvexed, untried-- +I mused. Yet pacing Roosevelt street + In idle humour I espied + +A village man and woman meet, + And pass with never word or sign-- +So strange in neighbour-folk whose feet + + Haunt the same fields in rain and shine +That, curious eyed, in either face, + In curve of lip, or graven line, + +I sought for hints of pain or trace + Of harsh resolve, and so grew ware +That hers was as a hiding place + + Where lurked the kinship of despair; +While his bore record deeply wrought + That life for him had but one care, + +And that--to mesh re-iterant thought + In labour, till at last his soul +Should find the anodyne it sought. + + Hence now with dreary face he stole +Through Roosevelt Street, nor stretched his hand + To beg from life its smallest dole. + +And yet these two had loved and planned + To happiest end, but for the flood +That wrecks, upreared on rock or sand, + + The house of hopes. Thus--cold of mood, +He, loving wholly, could but choose + To deem her heart as his subdued; + +While she, as maidens oft-times use, + Denied sweet proofs of love, was fain +To gain them by the world-old ruse; + + And failing, vexed to find that vain +Was all her pretty reticence, + She happed upon a worthless swain + +On whom, reserved the gold, the pence + Of liberal smiles she flung away, +Till, snared by her own innocence, + + She fell--Ah, God! how far that day +She fell--from hope and promise plumb, + To deeps where lips forget to pray. + +But he, apart, with sorrow dumb, + Beheld, scarce conscious of the strife, +Himself in her by fate o'ercome; + + And as she passed to her new life, +Righted by still more wrong, divined + Her hate for him who called her wife, + +And on the hoarded knowledge pined + And starved, till he, as she, was dead, +And nought remained but to unwind + + His coil of days. So with slow tread +He goes his way through Roosevelt Street + At night and morn, nor turns his head + +When past him comes the sound of feet-- + Of ghostly feet that long ago +In life had made his pulses beat. + + For, mark you, both are dead, and so +Small wonder is it nought should pass + Betwixt them in the street, I trow. + +Yet still they move with that huge mass + Of life unpurposeful that reaps +The corn in season, mows the grass, + + And then by right of labour sleeps +With privilege of dreams that ape + Fulfilment, whereby each may creep + +From pain through doors of dear escape; + Save such, unhappy, as would win +Some respite for themselves, and shape + + Those passionate, deep appeals that din +The Powers, ere season due, to stay + The long slow tragedies of sin. + + + +THE HAUNTED FIELDS + +I know of fields by voices haunted still + That years ago grew hushed; + Whose buttercups are brushed +By feet that long have ceased to climb the hill. + +On whose green slopes the happy children play + As on a mother's lap, + Then steal through gate and gap, +And by strange hedge-rows make their wondering way. + +Sometimes great seas of ripening corn they spy + Across whose rippling face + The shadowy billows race +And round the gate, forlornly whispering, die; + +Or in dark rutted lanes by weeds o'ergrown, + Round-eyed they watch a thrush + That breaks the noonday hush +Dashing with zest a snail against a stone; + +At others, on an impulse waxing brave, + They climb the churchyard wall + And, marvelling at it all, +See strange black people gathered round a grave. + +Then, without question, hurrying up the lane, + They seek once more their own-- + That world in which is known +No fear of death, nor thought of change or pain. + +Where still they call and answer, still they play, + And summer is ever there; + But I--I never dare +Pass through those fields, retrace the well-known way, + +Lest I might meet a lad whom once I knew, + Whose eyes accusingly + Should make demand of me: +"Where are those dreams I left in charge with you?" + + + +CAPTIVE IN LONDON TOWN + +There comes a ghostly space + 'Twixt midnight and the dawn, +When from the heart of London Town + The tides of life are drawn. + +What time, when Spring is due, + The captives dungeoned deep +Beneath the stones of London Town + Grow troubled in their sleep, + +And wake--mint, mallow, dock, + Brambles in bondage sore, +And grasses shut in London Town + A thousand years and more. + +Yet though beneath the stones + They starve, and overhead +The countless feet pace London Town + Of men who hold them dead, + +Like Samson, blind and scorned, + In pain their time they bide +To seize the roots of London Town + And tumble down its pride. + +Now well by proof and sign, + By men unheard, unseen, +They know that far from London Town + The woods once more are green. + +But theirs is still to wait, + Deaf to the myriad hum, +Beneath the stones of London Town + A Spring that needs must come. + + + + +LAURENCE HOUSMAN + + +THE FELLOW-TRAVELLERS + +Fellow-travellers here with me, + Loose for good each other's loads! + Here we come to the cross-roads: +Here must parting be. + +Where will you five be to-night? + Where shall I? we little know: + Loosed from you, I let you go +Utterly from sight. + +Far away go taste and touch, + Far go sight, and sound, and smell. + Fellow-Travellers, fare you well,-- +You I loved so much. + + + +THE SETTLERS + +How green the earth, how blue the sky, + How pleasant all the days that pass, +Here where the British settlers lie + Beneath their cloaks of grass! + +Here ancient peace resumes her round, + And rich from toil stand hill and plain; +Men reap and store; but they sleep sound, + The men who sowed the grain. + +Hard to the plough their hands they put, + And wheresoe'er the soil had need +The furrow drave, and underfoot + They sowed themselves for seed. + +Ah! not like him whose hand made yield + The brazen kine with fiery breath, +And over all the Colchian field + Strewed far the seeds of death; + +Till, as day sank, awoke to war + The seedlings of the dragon's teeth, +And death ran multiplied once more + Across the hideous heath. + +But rich in flocks be all these farms, + And fruitful be the fields which hide +Brave eyes that loved the light, and arms + That never clasped a bride! + +O willing hearts turned quick to clay, + Glad lovers holding death in scorn, +Out of the lives ye cast away + The coming race is born. + + + +SONG + +Sleep lies in every cup + Of land or flower: +Look how the earth drains up + Her evening hour! + +Each face that once so laughed, + Now fain would lift +Lips to Life's sleeping-draught, + The goodlier gift. + +Oh, whence this overflow, + This flood of rest? +What vale of healing so + Unlocks her breast? + +What land, to give us right + Of refuge, yields +To the sharp scythes of light + Her poppied fields? + +Nay, wait! our turn to make + Amends grows due! +Another day will break, + We must give too! + + + + +EMILIA STUART LORIMER + + +LOVE SONGS + +I + +White-dreaming face of my dear, +Waken; the dawn is here. + +Ope, oh so misty eyes; +Keep ope, and recognize! + +Mouth, o'er the far sleep-sea +Spread now thy smile-wings for me. + +II + +Take from me the little flowers +And the bright-eyed beasts and the birds; +And the babies, oh God, take away; +Hearken my praying-words; +Empty my road of them, +Empty my house and my arm, +For black is my heart with hate, +And I would not these come to harm. + + + +STORM + +Twigs of despair on the high trees uplifted, + Torn cloud flying behind; +Whistling wind through the dead leaves drifted; + Oho! my mind +With you is racked and ruined and rifted. + +Waves of the angry firth high-flying, + Rainstorm striping the sea, +Sleet-mist shrouding the hills; day dying; + Now around me +Closes the darkness of night in, wild crying. + +God of the storm, in thy storm's heart unmeted + My shallop-soul rideth where roars +The swirling water-spout--rides undefeated; + No rudder, no oars; +Only within, thy small image seated. + + + + +JAMES A. MACKERETH + + +TO A BLACKBIRD ON NEW YEAR'S DAY + +Hail, truant with song-troubled breast-- +Thou welcome and bewildering guest! +Blithe troubadour, whose laughing note +Brings Spring into a poet's throat,-- +Flute, feathered joy! thy painted bill + Foretells the daffodil. + +Enchanter, 'gainst the evening star +Singing to worlds where dreamers are, +That makes upon the leafless bough +A solitary vernal vow-- +Sing, lyric soul! within thy song +The love that lures the rose along! + +The snowdrop, hearing, in the dell +Doth tremble for its virgin bell; +The crocus feels within its frame +The magic of its folded flame; +And many a listening patience lies +And pushes toward its paradise. + +Young love again on golden gales +Scents hawthorn blown down happy dales; +The phantom cuckoo calls forlorn +From limits of the haunted morn;-- +Sing, elfin heart! thy notes to me +Are bells that ring in Faery! + +Again the world is young, is young, +And silence takes a silver tongue; +The echoes catch the lyric mood +Of laughing children in the wood: +Blithe April trips in winter's way +And nature, wondering, dreams of May. + +Sing on, thou dusky fount of life! +God love thee for a merry sprite! +Sing on! for though the sun be coy +I sense with thee a budding joy, +And all my heart with ranging rhyme + Is poet for the prime! + + + +LA DANSEUSE + +She moved like silence swathed in light, + Like mists at morning clear; +A music that enamoured sight + Yet did elude the ear. + +A rapture and a spirit clad + In motion soft as sleep; +The epitome of all things glad, + The sum of all that weep; + +Her form was like a poet's mind-- + By all sensations sought; +She seemed the substance of the wind, + The shape of lyric thought,-- + +A being 'mid terrestrial things + Transcendently forlorn, +From time bound far on filmy wings + For some diviner bourne. + +The rhythms of the raptured heart + Swayed to her sweet control; +Life in her keeping all was art, + And all of body soul. + +Lone-shimmering in the roseate air + She seemed to ebb and flow, +A memory, perilously fair, + And pale from long ago. + +She stooped to time's remembered tears, + Yearned to undawned delight. +Ah beauty, passionate from the years! + Oh body wise and white! + +She vanished like an evening cloud, + A sunset's radiant gleam. +She vanished ... Life awhile endowed + The darkness with a dream. + + + +GOD RETURNS + +Dear God, before Thee many weep + And bow the solemn knee; +But I who have thy joy to keep + Will sing and dance for Thee. + +Come, lilt ye, lilt ye, lightsome birds, + For ye are glad as I; +Come frisk, ye sunlit flocks and herds + And cherubs of the sky; + +Sweet elfin mischief of the hill, + We'll share a laugh together-- +Oh half the world is hoyden still, + And waits for whistling weather! + +The God of age is staid and old, + And asks a sober tongue; +But till the heart of youth is cold + The God of youth is young! + +Then kiss, blithe lass and happy lad! + The rainbow passes over, +And love and life, the leal and glad, + Must step with time the rover. + +Trip buds and bells in spangled ways! + Leap, leaves in every tree! +Ye winds and waters, nights and days, + Dance, dance for Deity. + +On every hand is elfin land, + And faery gifts are falling; +Across the world, a twinkling band, + The elves are calling--calling. + +In welcome smile the witching skies, + And with a jocund train, +With dancing joy-light in His eyes, + God, God comes home again! + + + + +ALICE MEYNELL + + +TO THE BODY + + Thou inmost, ultimate +Council of judgment, palace of decrees, +Where the high senses hold their spiritual state, + Sued by earth's embassies, +And sign, approve, accept, conceive, create; + + Create--thy senses close +With the world's pleas. The random odours reach +Their sweetness in the place of thy repose, + Upon thy tongue the peach, +And in thy nostrils breathes the breathing rose. + + To thee, secluded one, +The dark vibrations of the sightless skies, +The lovely inexplicit colours run; + The light gropes for those eyes. +O thou august! thou dost command the sun. + + Music, all dumb, hath trod +Into thine ear her one effectual way; +And fire and cold approach to gain thy nod, + Where thou call'st up the day, +Where thou await'st the appeal of God. + + + +CHRIST IN THE UNIVERSE + + With this ambiguous earth +His dealings have been told us. These abide: +The signal to a maid, the human birth, + The lesson, and the young Man crucified. + + But not a star of all +The innumerable host of stars has heard + How He administered this terrestrial ball. +Our race have kept their Lord's entrusted Word. + + Of His earth-visiting feet +None knows the secret, cherished, perilous, + The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet, +Heart-shattering secret of His way with us. + + No planet knows that this +Our wayside planet, carrying land and wave, + Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss, +Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave. + + Nor, in our little day, +May His devices with the heavens be guessed, + His pilgrimage to thread the Milky Way +Or His bestowals there be manifest. + + But in the eternities, +Doubtless we shall compare together, hear + A million alien Gospels, in what guise +He trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear. + + O, be prepared, my soul! +To read the inconceivable, to scan + The million forms of God those stars unroll +When, in our turn, we show to them a Man. + + + +MATERNITY + +One wept whose only child was dead, + New-born, ten years ago. +"Weep not; he is in bliss," they said. + She answered, "Even so. + +"Ten years ago was born in pain + A child, not now forlorn. +But oh, ten years ago, in vain, + A mother, a mother was born." + + + + +WILL H. OGILVIE + + +THERE'S A CLEAN WIND BLOWING + +There's a clean wind blowing + Over hill-flower and peat, +Where the bell heather's growing, + And the brown burn flowing, +And the ghost-shadows going + Down the glen on stealthy feet. +There's a clean wind blowing, + And the breath of it is sweet. + +There's a clean wind blowing, + And the world holds but three: +The purple peak against the sky, + The master wind, and me. +The moor birds are tossing + Like ships upon the sea; +There's a clean wind blowing + Free. + +There's a clean wind blowing, + Untainted of the town, +A fair-hitting foeman + With his glove flung down. +Will ye take his lordly challenge + And the gauntlet that he throws, +And come forth among the heather + Where the clean wind blows! + + + +THE GARDEN OF THE NIGHT + +The Night is a far-spreading garden, and all through the hours +Glisten and glitter and sparkle her wonderful flowers. +First the great moon-rose full blooming; the great bed of stars +Touching with restful gold petals the woodland's dark bars; +Then arc-lights like asters that blossom in street and in square, +And lamps like primroses beyond them in planted parterre; +Great tulips of crimson that rise from the factory towers; +White lilies that drop from deep windows: all flowers, the Night's flowers! + +Blooms on the highway that twinkle and fade like the stars, +Golden and red on the vans and the carts and the cars; +Clusters of bloom in the village; lone homesteads a-light, +Decking the lawns of the darkness, the plots of the Night. +Then the bright blossoms of platform and signal that shine +By the iron-paved path of the garden--the lights of the Line; +The gold flowers of comfort and caution; the buds of dull red, +Sombre with warning; the green leaves that say "Right ahead!" + +Then the flowers in the harbour that low to the tide of it lean; +The lights on the port and the starboard, the red and the green, +Mixing and mingling with mast lights that move in the air, +And deck lights and wharf lights and lights upon pier-head and stair; +An edging of gold where a liner steals by like a thief; +The giant grey gleam of a searchlight that swings like a leaf; +And far out to seaward faint petals that flutter and fall +Against the white flower of the Lighthouse that gathers them all. + +Then flower lights all golden with welcome--the lights of the inn; +And poisonous hell-flowers, lit doorways that beckon to sin; +Soft vesper flowers of the Churches with dark stems above; +Gold flowers of court and of cottage made one flower by love; +Beacons of windows on hillside and cliff to recall +Some wanderer lost for a season--Night's flowers one and all! +In the street, in the lane, on the Line, on the ships and the towers, +In the windows of cottage and palace--all flowers, the Night's flowers! + + + +THE CROSSING SWORDS + +As I lay dreaming in the grass +I saw a Knight of Tourney pass-- +All conquering Summer. Twilit hours +Made soft light round him, rainbow flowers + Hung on his harness. + + Down the dells +The fairy heralds rang blue-bells, +And even as they rocked and rang +Into the lists, full-armed, there sprang +Autumn, his helm the harvest moon, +His sword a sickle, the gleaner's tune + His hymn of battle. + + Each bowed full low, +Knight to knight as to worthy foe, +Then Autumn tossed as his gauntlet down-- +A leaf of the lime tree, golden brown-- +And Summer bound it above the green +Of his shining breast-plate's verdant sheen. + +--They closed. Above them the driving mists +Stooped and feathered--and hid the lists. +Later the cloud mist rolled away +But dead in his harness the Green Knight lay. + + + + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS + + +LURES IMMORTAL + +Sadly, apparently frustrate, life hangs above us, + Cruel, dark unexplained; +Yet still the immortal through mortal incessantly pierces + With calls, with appeals, and with lures. +Lure of the sinking sun, into undreamed islands, + Fortunate, far in the West; +Lure of the star, with speechless news o'er brimming, + With language of darted light; +Of the sea-glory of opening lids of Aurora, + Ushering eyes of the dawn; +Of the callow bird in the matin darkness calling, + Chorus of drowsy charm; +Of the wind, south-west, with whispering leaves illumined, + Solemn gold of the woods; +Of the intimate breeze of noon, deep-charged with a message, + How near, at times, unto speech! +Of the sea, that soul of a poet a-yearn for expression, + For ever yearning in vain! +Hoarse o'er the shingle with loud, unuttered meanings, + Hurling on caverns his heart. +Of the summer night, what to communicate, eager? + Perchance the secret of peace. +The lure of the silver to gold, of the pale unto colour, + Of the seen to the real unseen; +Of voices away to the voiceless, of sound unto silence, + Of words to a wordless calm; +Of music doomed unto wandering, still returning, + Ever to heaven and home. +The lure of the beautiful woman through flesh unto spirit, + Through a smile unto endless light; +Of the flight of a bird thro' evening over the marsh-land, + Lingering in Heaven alone; +Of the vessel disappearing over the sea-marge, + With him or with her that we love; +Of the sudden touch in the hand of a friend or a maiden, + Thrilling up to the stars. +The appealing death of a soldier, the moon just rising, + Kindling the battle-field; +Of the cup of water, refused by the thirsting Sidney, + Parched with the final pang: +Of the crucified Christ, yet lo, those arms extended, + Wide, as a world to embrace; +And last, and grandest, the lure, the invitation, + And sacred wooing of death; +Unto what regions, or heavens, or solemn spaces, + Who, but by dying, can tell? + + + +BEAUTIFUL LIE THE DEAD + +Beautiful lie the dead; + Clear comes each feature; +Satisfied not to be, + Strangely contented. + +Like ships, the anchor dropped, + Furled every sail is +Mirrored with all their masts + In a deep water. + + + +A LYRIC FROM "THE SIN OF DAVID" + +I + +Red skies above a level land + And thoughts of thee; +Sinking Sun on reedy strand, + And alder tree. + +II + +Only the heron sailing home + With heavy flight! +Ocean afar in silent foam, + And coming night! + +III + +Dwindling day and drowsing birds, + O my child! +Dimness and returning herds, + Memory wild. + + + + +EDEN PHILLPOTTS + + +A DEVON COURTING + +Birds gived over singin' +Flitter-mice was wingin' +Mist lay on the meadows-- +A purty sight to see. +Downling in the dimpsy, the dimpsy, the dimpsy-- +Downling in the dimpsy +Theer went a maid wi' me. + +Two gude mile o' walkin' +Not wan word o' talkin', +Then I axed a question +An' put the same to she. +Uplong in the owl-light, the owl-light, the owl-light-- +Uplong in the owl-light +Theer come my maid wi' me. + + + +A LITANY TO PAN + +By the abortions of the teeming Spring, +By Summer's starved and withered offering, +By Autumn's stricken hope and Winter's sting, +Oh, hear! + +By the ichneumon on the writhing worm, +By the swift, far-flung poison of the germ, +By soft and foul brought out of hard and firm, +Oh, hear! + +By the fierce battle under every blade, +By the etiolation of the shade, +By drouth and thirst and things undone half made, +Oh, hear! + +By all the horrors of re-quickened dust, +By the eternal waste of baffled lust, +By mildews and by cankers and by rust, +Oh, hear! + +By the fierce scythe of Spring upon the wold, +By the dead eaning mother in the fold, +By stillborn, stricken young and tortured old, +Oh, hear! + +By fading eyes pecked from a dying head, +By the hot mouthful of a thing not dead, +By all thy bleeding, struggling, shrieking red, +Oh, hear! + +By madness caged and madness running free, +Through this our conscious race that heeds not thee, +In its concept insane of Liberty, +Oh, hear! + +By all the agonies of all the past, +By earth's cold dust and ashes at the last, +By her return to the unconscious vast, +Oh, hear! + + + +SWINBURNE + +Children and lovers and the cloud-robed sea +Shall mourn him first; and then the mother land +Weeping in silence by his empty hand +And fallen sword that flashed for Liberty. +Song-bringer of a glad new minstrelsy, +He came and found joy sleeping and swift fanned +Old pagan fires, then snatched an altar brand +And wrote, "The fearless only shall be free!" + Oh, by the flame that made thine heart a home, + By the wild surges of thy silver song, + Seer before the sunrise, may there come + Spirits of dawn to light this aching wrong + Called Earth! Thou saw'st them in the foreglow roam; + But we still wait and watch, still thirst and long. + + + + +DORA SIGERSON SHORTER + + +THE WATCHER IN THE WOOD + +Deep in the wood's recesses cool + I see the fairy dancers glide, +In cloth of gold, in gown of green, + My lord and lady side by side. + +But who has hung from leaf to leaf, + From flower to flower, a silken twine-- +A cloud of grey that holds the dew + In globes of clear enchanted wine. + +Or stretches far from branch to branch, + From thorn to thorn, in diamond rain, +Who caught the cup of crystal pine + And hung so fair the shining chain? + +'Tis Death, the spider, in his net + Who lures the dancers as they glide +In cloth of gold, in gown of green, + My lord and lady side by side. + + + +THE NAMELESS ONE + +Last night a hand pushed on the door +And tirled at the pin. +I turned my face unto the wall, +And could not cry, "Come in!" +I dared not cry "Come in!" + +Last night a voice wailed round the house +And called my name upon, +And bitter, bitter did it mourn: +"Where is my mother gone? +Where is my mother gone?" + +From saintly arms I slipped and flew +Adown the moon-lit skies, +I weary of the paths of Heav'n +And flowers of Paradise-- +Sweet scents of Paradise! + +"For little children prattle there, +And whisper all the day +Of lovely mothers on the earth, +Where once they used to play, +Who used with them to play. + +"They linger laughing by the door, +And wait the threshold on; +I have no memory so fair, +Where is my mother gone? +Where is my mother gone?" + +Thrice pushed the hand upon the door +And tirled at the pin. +I turned my face unto the wall, +And could not cry, "Come in!" +I dared not cry, "Come in!" + + + +WHEN I SHALL RISE + +When I shall rise, and full of many fears, + Set forth upon my last long journey lone, +And leave behind the circling earth to go + Amongst the countless stars to seek God's throne. + +When in the vapourish blue, I wander, lost, + Let some fair paradise reward my eyes-- +Hill after hill, and green and sunny vale, + As I have known beneath the Irish skies. + +So on the far horizon I shall see + No alien land but this I hold so dear-- +Killiney's silver sands, and Wicklow hills, + Dawn on my frightened eyes as I draw near. + +And if it be no evil prayer to breathe, + Oh, let no stranger saint or seraphim +Wait there to lead up to the judgment seat, + My timid soul with weeping eyes and dim. + +But let them come, those dear and lovely ghosts, + In all their human guise and lustihood, +To stand upon that shore and call me home, + Waving their joyful hands as once they stood-- + As once they stood! + + + + +ARTHUR SYMONS + + +TANAGRA + +To Cavalieri dancing + +Tell me, Tanagra, who made +Out of clay so sweet a thing? +Are you the immortal shade +Of a man's imagining? +In your incarnation meet +All things fair and all things fleet. + +Arrow from Diana's bow, +Atalanta's feet of fire, +Some one made you long ago, +Made you out of his desire. +Waken from the sleep of clay +And rise and dance the world away. + + + +GIOVANNI MALATESTA AT RIMINI + +Giovanni Malatesta, the lame old man, +Walking one night, as he was used, being old, +Upon the grey seashore at Rimini, +And thinking dimly of those two whom love +Led to one death, and his less happy soul +For which Cain waited, heard a seagull scream, +Twice, like Francesca; for he struck but twice. +At that, rage thrust down pity; for it seemed +As if those windy bodies with the sea's +Unfriended heart within them for a voice +Had turned to mock him, and he called them friends, +And he had found a wild peace hearing them +Cry senseless cries, halloing to the wind. +He turned his back upon the sea; he saw +The ragged teeth of the sharp Apennines +Shut on the sea; his shadow in the moon +Ploughed up a furrow with an iron staff +In the hard sand, and thrust a long lean chin +Outward and downward, and thrust out a foot, +And leaned to follow after. As he saw +His crooked knee go forward under him +And after it the long straight iron staff, +"The staff," he thought, "is Paolo: like that staff +And like that knee we walked between the sun, +And her unmerciful eyes"; and the old man, +Thinking of God, and how God ruled the world, +And gave to one man beauty for a snare +And a warped body to another man, +Not less than he in soul, not less than he +In hunger and capacity for joy, +Forgot Francesca's evil and his wrong, +His anger, his revenge, that memory, +Wondering at man's forgiveness of the old +Divine injustice, wondering at himself: +Giovanni Malatesta judging God. + + + +LA MELINITE: MOULIN ROUGE + + Olivier Metra's Waltz of Roses +Sheds in a rhythmic shower +The very petals of the flower; + And all is roses, +The rouge of petals in a shower. + + Down the long hall the dance returning +Rounds the full circle, rounds +The perfect rose of lights and sounds, + The rose returning +Into the circle of its rounds. + + Alone, apart, one dancer watches +Her mirrored, morbid grace; +Before the mirror, face to face, + Alone she watches +Her morbid, vague, ambiguous grace. + + Before the mirror's dance of shadows +She dances in a dream, +And she and they together seem + A dance of shadows, +Alike the shadows of a dream. + + The orange-rosy lamps are trembling +Between the robes that turn; +In ruddy flowers of flame that burn + The lights are trembling: +The shadows and the dancers turn. + + And, enigmatically smiling, +In the mysterious night, +She dances for her own delight, + A shadow smiling +Back to a shadow in the night. + + + + +EVELYN UNDERHILL + + +IMMANENCE + +I come in the little things, +Saith the Lord: +Not borne on morning wings +Of majesty, but I have set My Feet +Amidst the delicate and bladed wheat +That springs triumphant in the furrowed sod. +There do I dwell, in weakness and in power; +Not broken or divided, saith our God! +In your strait garden plot I come to flower: +About your porch My Vine +Meek, fruitful, doth entwine; +Waits, at the threshold, Love's appointed hour. + +I come in the little things, +Saith the Lord: +Yea! on the glancing wings +Of eager birds, the softly pattering feet +Of furred and gentle beasts, I come to meet +Your hard and wayward heart. In brown bright eyes +That peep from out the brake, I stand confest. +On every nest +Where feathery Patience is content to brood +And leaves her pleasure for the high emprise +Of motherhood-- +There doth my Godhead rest. + +I come in the little things, +Saith the Lord: +My starry wings +I do forsake, +Love's highway of humility to take; +Meekly I fit my stature to your need. +In beggar's part +About your gates I shall not cease to plead-- +As man, to speak with man-- +Till by such art +I shall achieve My Immemorial Plan, +Pass the low lintel of the human heart. + + + +INTROVERSION + +What do you seek within, O Soul, my Brother? + What do you seek within? +I seek a life that shall never die, + Some haven to win + From mortality. + +What do you find within, O Soul, my Brother? + What do you find within? +I find great quiet where no noises come. + Without, the world's din: + Silence in my home. + +Whom do you find within, O Soul, my Brother? + Whom do you find within? +I find a friend that in secret came: + His scarred hands within + He shields a faint flame. + +What would you do within, O Soul, my Brother? + What would you do within? +Bar door and window that none may see: + That alone we may be + (Alone! face to face, + In that flame-lit place!) + When first we begin + To speak one with another. + + + +ICHTHUS + + Threatening the sky, + Foreign and wild the sea, + Yet all the fleet of fishers are afloat; + They lie + Sails furled + Each frail and tossing boat, +And cast their little nets into an unknown world. +The countless, darting splendours that they miss, +The rare and vital magic of the main, + The which for all their care + They never shall ensnare-- + All this + Perchance in dreams they know; + Yet are content + And count the night well spent + If so + The indrawn net contain +The matter of their daily nourishment. + + The unseizable sea, +The circumambient grace of Deity, + Where live and move +Unnumbered presences of power and love, + Slips through our finest net: + We draw it up all wet, +A-shimmer with the dew-drops of that deep. + And yet +For all their toil the fishers may not keep +The instant living freshness of the wave; + Its passing benediction cannot give + The mystic meat they crave + That they may live. + + But on some stormy night + We, venturing far from home, +And casting our poor trammel to the tide, + Perhaps shall feel it come + Back to the vessel's side, + So easy and so light + A child might lift, +Yet hiding in its mesh the one desired gift; + That living food +Which man for ever seeks to snatch from out the flood. + + + + +MRS MARGARET L. WOODS + + +SONGS + +I've heard, I've heard +The long low note of a bird, +The nightingale fluting her heart's one word. + +I know, I know +Pink carnations heaped with snow. +Summer and winter alike they blow. + +I've lain, I've lain +Under roses' delicate rain, +That fall and whisper and fall again. + +Come woe, come white +Shroud o' the world, black night! +I have had love and the sun's light. + + + +THE CHANGELING + +When did the Changeling enter in? +How did the Devil set him a gin +Where the little soul lay like a rabbit +Faint and still for a fiend to grab it? + I know not. + +Where was the fount of our dishonour? +Was it a father's buried sin? +Brought his mother a curse upon her? + I trow not. + + So pretty +Body and soul, the child began. +He carolled and kissed and laughed and ran, +A glad creature of Earth and Heaven, +And the knowledge of love and the secret of pity, + That need our learning, +God to him at his birth had given. + + One remembers +Trifles indeed--the backward-turning +Way he would smile from the field at play. +Sometimes the Thing that sits by the embers +Smiles at me--devil!--the selfsame way. +If only early enough one had guessed, +Known, suspected, watched him at rest, +Noted the Master's sign and fashion, +And unbefooled by the heart's compassion, +Undeterred by form and feature, + Caught the creature, +Tried by the test of water and fire, +Pierced and pinioned with silver wire, +Circled with signs that could control, +Battered with spells that tame and torture + The demon nature, +Till he writhed in his shape, a fiend confest, + And vanished-- + Then had come back, the poor soul banished, +Then had come back the little soul. +But now there is nothing to do or to say. +Will no one grip him and tear him away, +The Thing of Blood that gnaws at my breast? + +Perhaps he called me and I was dumb. +Unconcerned I sat and heard + Little things, + Ivy tendrils, a bird's wings, + A frightened bird-- +Or faint hands at the window-pane? +And now he will never come again, +The little soul. He is quite lost. + +I have summoned him back with incantations +Of heart-deep sobs and whispering cries, +Of anguished love and travail of prayer, + Nothing has answered my despair + But long sighs +Of pitiful wind in the fir-plantations. +Poor little soul! He cannot come. +Perchance on a night when trees were tost, +The Changeling rode with his cavalcade +Among the clouds, that were tossing too, + And made the little soul afraid. +They hunted him madly, the howling crew, +Into the Limbo of the lost, +Into the Limbo of the others +Who wander crying and calling their mothers. + + Now I know +The creatures that come to harry and raid +How they ride in the airy regions, +Dance their rounds on meadow and moor, +Gallop under the earth in legions, +Hunt and holloa and run their races +Over tombs in burial-places. + +In the common roads where people go, +Masked and mingled with human traces, +I have marked, I who know, +In the common dust a devil's spoor. + + To somebody's gate +A Thing is footing it, cares not much +Whether he creep through an Emperor's portal +And steal the fate +Of a Prince, or into a poor man's hutch-- +For the grief will be everywhere as great +And he'll everywhere spread the smirch of sin-- +So long as a taste of our blood he may win, +So long as he may become a mortal. + + I beseech you, +Prince and poor man, to watch the gate. +The heart is poisoned where he has fed, +The house is ruined that lets him in. +Yet I know I shall never teach you. +With the voice of the dear and the eyes of the dead +He will come to the door, and you'll let him in. + + If I could forget +Only that ever I had a child, +If only upon some mirk midnight, +When he stands at the door, all wet and wild, +With his owl's feather and dripping hair, + I could lie warm and not care, +I should rid myself of this Changeling yet. + +I carried my woe to the Wise Man yonder, +"You sell forgetfulness, they say. + How much to pay +To forget a son who is my sorrow?" + +The Wise Man began to ponder. +"Charms have I, many a one, +To make a woman forget her lover, +A man his wife or a fortune fled, +To make the day forget the morrow, +The doer forget the deed he has done, +But a mighty spell must I borrow +To make a woman forget her son, +For this I will take a royal fee. + Your house," said he, +"The storied hangings richly cover, +On your banquet table there were six +Golden branched candlesticks, + And of noble dishes you had a score. + The crown you wore +I remember, the sparkling crown. + All of these, +Madam, you shall pay me down. +Also the day I give you ease +Of golden guineas you pay a hundred." + +Laughing I left the Wise Man's door. +Has he found such things where a Changeling sits? +The home is darkened from roof to floor, +The house is naked and ravaged and plundered + Where a Changling sits +On the hearthstone, warming his shivering fits. + +He sits at his ease, for he knows well + He can keep his post. +He has left me nothing to pay the cost +Of snatching my heart from his private Hell. + +Yet when all is done and told +I am glad the Wise Man in the City + Had no pity +For me, and for him I had no gold. + +Because if I did not remember him, +My little child--Ah! What should we have, +He and I? Not even a grave +With a name of his own by the river's brim. +Because if among the poppies gay, +On the hill-side, now my eyes are dim, +I could not fancy a child at play, +And if I should pass by the pool in the quarry +And never see him, a darling ghost, +Sailing a boat there, I should be sorry-- +If in the firelit, lone December +I never heard him come scampering post +Haste down the stair--if the soul that is lost +Came back, and I did not remember. + + + + +THE POETRY SOCIETY + + +The objects of the Society, as stated in the Constitution, are to +promote (in the words of Matthew Arnold, adopted as a motto), "a +clearer, deeper sense of the best in poetry and of the strength and joy +to be drawn from it"; + +To bring together lovers of poetry with a view to extending and +developing the intelligent interest in, and proper appreciation of, +poetry; + +To form Local Centres and Reading Circles and encourage the intelligent +reading of verse with due regard to emphasis and rhythm and the poet's +meaning, and to study and discuss the art and mission of poetry; + +To promote and hold private and public recitals of poetry; + +To form sub-societies for the reading and study of the works of +individual poets, and to encourage the production of poetic drama. + + +The ordinary Membership subscription is 7s. 6d., with an entrance fee +of 2s. 6d. (The journal of the Society--THE POETRY REVIEW--is supplied +to members without further charge.) + +The Society is intended to bind poetry readers and lovers together +throughout the English-speaking world, forming a desirable freemasonry, +with poetry--the first and best of all arts--as the connecting link. + +By means of Local Centres membership is made active and effective, +members meeting together intimately for the reading and study of poetry +and co-operating with Headquarters in the general work of the Society. +A member of the Society is a member of the Centre most convenient for +him to attend, and a member of any Centre is a member of the Society as +a whole and may attend any Centre meetings anywhere on giving notice to +the Secretary. This Centre system carries into effect the idea of a +poetical freemasonry, a South African member visiting or going to +reside in London or South Australia or wherever the Society has a +branch being welcomed by and becoming a member of the local group. + +Centres or individual members not formed into groups maintain regular +communication with the Head Office, from which advice and direction may +be obtained with respect to the formation, conduct and programme of +Centre meetings, propaganda work, etc., and each Centre is expected to +hold at least two public recitals per year, with a view to interesting +the general public and showing what an exquisite pleasure can be +derived from the intelligent reading and speaking of verse. + +The Society deals practically with the art of speaking verse and holds +periodical examinations and "auditions" of readers and teachers with a +view to securing the adoption of better methods and greater attention +being given to the technique of reading and speaking. It has also under +consideration a scheme for developing its work among schools and +colleges. + + +ALL COMMUNICATIONS & INQUIRIES SHOULD BE ADDRESSED TO THE SECRETARY, +THE POETRY SOCIETY, 16 FEATHERSTONE BUILDINGS, HOLBORN, LONDON, W.C. + + + + +Sixth Year of Publication: first issued as _The Poetical Gazette_, +May, 1909. + +THE POETRY REVIEW + +Edited by STEPHEN PHILLIPS + + +Published monthly, 6d. net; annual postal subscription to any part of +the world, 6s. 6d. (free to members of the Poetry Society). + +The leading journal devoted to Poetry and Poets (old and new), and the +cultivation of the Imagination. + +Notable monthly features are the leading articles by the Editor; +brilliant new poetic drama by writers of distinction, and authoritative +surveys of poetical effort in different parts of the world. + +The exceptional contents of the _Poetry Review_ give it the value of a +rare and precious publication. The January, 1913, issue, containing +Lord Dunsany's phantasy, "The Gods of the Mountain," has been advanced +in price to 1s. Subscribe through your bookseller, or send order and +remittance direct to the Publisher + +THE POETRY REVIEW +16 FEATHERSTONE BUILDINGS +HOLBORN, LONDON, W.C. + +Specimen Copy Two Penny Stamps. + + + + +From Mr ERSKINE MACDONALD'S latest list of +_POETRY & DRAMA_ + +Malory House, Featherstone Bldgs, Holborn, London, W.C. + + +JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER +A POETIC DRAMA. +By ANNA BUNSTON +Author of "Mingled Wine," "The Porch of Paradise," etc. +Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. net. + +MASQUES & POEMS +By T. E. CASSON +Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. + +A READING OF LIFE AND OTHER POEMS +By M. REVELL +Crown 8vo., 2s. 6d. net. + +DREAMS & REALITIES +By W. K. FLEMING +Crown 8vo., 3s. 6d. net. + +_IMMORTAL COMMONPLACES_ +By MARGARET LAWRENCE +Decorated Boards, 1s. net. + + +"Grace and delicacy and charming simplicity."--_Dundee Advertiser._ + +"A gem-like preface.... All the poems are suffused by a fine spirit of +tenderness and sympathy, and alike in this and in their grace and +beauty they are uplifting and helpful."--_Aberdeen Free Press._ + + + + +A BOOK TO ENTHUSE OVER + +Cornish Catches and Other Verses + +By BERNARD MOORE + +Decorated Boards, 2s. 6d. net. + + +_THE TIMES_ says: "There are 'other verses' of a pleasing quality in +the latter half of the book; but it is the Cornish Catches occupying +the first thirty pages which we linger over with delight; for Mr Moore +in his well-chiselled little pieces brings out all the winning beauty +of the Western speech. They are all happy...." + +_DAILY TELEGRAPH_: "Here is a true poet and he should have a poet's +welcome.... Mr Bernard Moore strikes the authentic note; he sets the +heart beating and brings the tear to the eye. There is no forced +sentimentality about his work, and no parade of preciosity. He sings a +simple, natural ballad, impeccably sincere. Cornwall has had no such +poet since Hawker of Morwenstow died." + +_THE MORNING POST_ in a column notice says: "Mr Moore's 'Cornish +Catches' are just so good as Cornish cream to a Cornish cat, and even +those who do not know the dialect, with its faint, far-away echoes of +Celtic verse-forms, will delight in his simple 'vitty' songs of the +Delectable Duchy. He is a patriotic Cornish-man sure enough ... as good +as anything of the kind written by the dialect-poets of Lancashire or +Dorset ... it is a thing to rejoice over, this little easy-going, +unostentatious book." + +_T. P.'S WEEKLY_ in a column headed "A Cornish Poet" says: "A new sheaf +of verse of quiet remarkable interest.... They all proclaim Mr Moore to +be a real poet ... his true vocation is to interpret the souls of the +people he obviously knows and loves so well. He knows their humour and +their half articulate pathos so well--and apparently he shares the +secret only with 'Q.'" + +_DAILY CITIZEN_ in half column review says: "The glamour of the land of +fishermen ... runs through Mr Moore's homely verses. They have all the +ruggedness and colour of Cornwall '... will all appeal to a larger +public than Cornishmen alone.'" + +_THE SCOTSMAN_: "... The book will be read with a hearty interest by +anyone who knows Cornwall." + +_MANCHESTER CITY NEWS_ in a column headed "A Cornish Singer" says: "He +is not only a poet of words but ideas. The dialect poems are +particularly characteristic with their alternate sturdiness and +wistfulness. Mr Moore is particularly happy in suggesting either a +story or character sketch." + + + + +A FAMOUS NOVELIST AS POET + +Willow's Forge AND OTHER POEMS + +By SHEILA KAYE SMITH + +Crown 8vo. Cloth. 2s. 6d. net. + + +"Written with the same inspiration and refinement as her previous book. +'To my Body: A Thanksgiving,' is the purest and serenest strain of +mysticism, and improves even upon the beautiful thought of St +Francis."--_Pall Mall Gazette._ + +"... Her poetry is fully equal to her prose. _Willow's Forge_ is a +slender book, but in interest it is large, so large indeed that a first +reading only makes one aware of the presence of riches that require +time to fully appreciate.... _Lovers of real, not to say remarkable, +poetry must haste to secure this small but wonder-working book._ It +contains not one but half a dozen things that have in them the germ of +permanence. It is not too much to say that Mr Masefield (great as his +achievement has been) has produced nothing finer or more +edifying."--_Dundee Advertiser._ + +"Miss Kaye Smith is to be congratulated on her first essay into +poetry."--_Yorkshire Observer._ + + * * * * * + +The Fame Seeker AND OTHER POEMS + +By JANET JEFFREY + +Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. + + +"The author shows herself to be possessed of literary gifts and graces +and some imaginative power.... 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