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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/21662-h.zip b/21662-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..925d738 --- /dev/null +++ b/21662-h.zip diff --git a/21662-h/21662-h.htm b/21662-h/21662-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..22a031c --- /dev/null +++ b/21662-h/21662-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2254 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Hawthorn and Lavender</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + TD { vertical-align: top; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + color: gray;} + + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Hawthorn and Lavender, by William Ernest Henley</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Hawthorn and Lavender, by William Ernest +Henley + + +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: Hawthorn and Lavender + with Other Verses + + +Author: William Ernest Henley + + + +Release Date: June 1, 2007 [eBook #21662] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>Transcribed from the 1901 David Nutt edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>HAWTHORN<br /> +AND LAVENDER</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><i>With Other Verses</i>, +<i>by</i><br /> +WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY</p> +<blockquote><p><i>O</i>, <i>how shall summer’s honey breath +hold out</i><br /> +<i>Against the wrackful siege of battering days</i>?</p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span +class="smcap">shakespeare</span></p> +</blockquote> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +<i>Published by DAVID NUTT</i><br /> +at the Sign of the Phœnix<br /> +<span class="smcap">in Long Acre</span><br /> +1901</p> +<p><!-- page iv--><a name="pageiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +iv</span><i>First Edition printed October</i> 1901<br /> +<i>Second Edition printed November</i> 1901</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Edinburgh: T. and A. <span +class="smcap">Constable</span>, (late) Printers to Her +Majesty</p> +<h2><!-- page v--><a name="pagev"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +v</span>Dedication</h2> +<p><i>Ask me not how they came</i>,<br /> +<i>These songs of love and death</i>,<br /> +<i>These dreams of a futile stage</i>,<br /> +<i>These thumb-nails seen in the street</i>:<br /> +<i>Ask me not how nor why</i>,<br /> +<i>But take them for your own</i>,<br /> +<i>Dear Wife of twenty years</i>,<br /> +<i>Knowing</i>—<i>O</i>, <i>who so well</i>?—<br /> +<i>You it was made the man</i><br /> +<i>That made these songs of love</i>,<br /> +<i>Death</i>, <i>and the trivial rest</i>:<br /> +<i>So that</i>, <i>your love elsewhere</i>,<br /> +<i>These songs</i>, <i>or bad or good</i>—<br /> +<i>How should they ever have been</i>?</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Worthing</span>, <i>July</i> 31, 1901.</p> +<h2><!-- page 1--><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>PROLOGUE</h2> +<p>These to the glory and praise of the green land<br /> +That bred my women, and that holds my dead,<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, and with her the +strong broods that stand<br /> +Wherever her fighting lines are thrust or spread!<br /> +They call us proud?—Look at our English Rose!<br /> +Shedders of blood?—Where hath our own been spared?<br /> +Shopkeepers?—Our accompt the high <span +class="smcap"><i>God</i></span> knows.<br /> +Close?—In our bounty half the world hath shared.<br /> +They hate us, and they envy? Envy and hate<br /> +Should drive them to the <span +class="smcap"><i>Pit’s</i></span> edge?—Be it so!<br +/> +That race is damned which misesteems its fate;<br /> +And this, in <span class="smcap"><i>God’s</i></span> good +time, they all shall know,<br /> + And know you too, you good green <span +class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, then—<br /> + Mother of mothering girls and governing men!</p> +<h2><!-- page 5--><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>1. HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER</h2> +<h3>ENVOY</h3> +<p><i>My songs were once of the sunrise</i>:<br /> + <i>They shouted it over the bar</i>;<br /> +<i>First-footing the dawns</i>, <i>they flourished</i>,<br /> + <i>And flamed with the morning star</i>.</p> +<p><i>My songs are now of the sunset</i>:<br /> + <i>Their brows are touched with light</i>,<br /> +<i>But their feet are lost in the shadows</i><br /> + <i>And wet with the dews of night</i>.</p> +<p><i>Yet for the joy in their making</i><br /> + <i>Take them</i>, <i>O fond and true</i>,<br /> +<i>And for his sake who made them</i><br /> + <i>Let them be dear to You</i>.</p> +<h3><!-- page 6--><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +6</span>PRÆLUDIUM</h3> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Largo espressivo</i></p> +<p>In sumptuous chords, and strange,<br /> +Through rich yet poignant harmonies:<br /> +Subtle and strong browns, reds<br /> +Magnificent with death and the pride of death,<br /> +Thin, clamant greens<br /> +And delicate yellows that exhaust<br /> +The exquisite chromatics of decay:<br /> +From ruining gardens, from reluctant woods—<br /> +Dear, multitudinously reluctant woods!—<br /> +And sering margents, forced<br /> +To be lean and bare and perished grace by grace,<br /> +And flower by flower discharmed,<br /> +Comes, to a purpose none,<br /> +Not even the Scorner, which is the Fool, can blink,<br /> +The dead-march of the year.</p> +<p>Dead things and dying! Now the long-laboured soul<br /> +Listens, and pines. But never a note of hope<br /> +<!-- page 7--><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>Sounds: whether in those high,<br /> +Transcending unisons of resignation<br /> +That speed the sovran sun,<br /> +As he goes southing, weakening, minishing,<br /> +Almighty in obedience; or in those<br /> +Small, sorrowful colloquies<br /> +Of bronze and russet and gold,<br /> +Colour with colour, dying things with dead,<br /> +That break along this visual orchestra:<br /> +As in that other one, the audible,<br /> +Horn answers horn, hautboy and violin<br /> +Talk, and the ’cello calls the clarionet<br /> +And flute, and the poor heart is glad.<br /> +There is no hope in these—only despair.</p> +<p>Then, destiny in act, ensues<br /> +That most tremendous passage in the score:<br /> +When hangman rains and winds have wrought<br /> +Their worst, and, the brave lights gone down,<br /> +The low strings, the brute brass, the sullen drums<br /> +Sob, grovel, and curse themselves<br /> +Silent. . . .<br /> + But on the spirit of Man<br /> +And on the heart of the World there falls<br /> +<!-- page 8--><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>A strange, half-desperate peace:<br /> +A war-worn, militant, gray jubilance<br /> +In the unkind, implacable tyranny<br /> +Of Winter, the obscene,<br /> +Old, crapulous Regent, who in his loins—<br /> +O, who but feels he carries in his loins<br /> +The wild, sweet-blooded, wonderful harlot, Spring?</p> +<h3><!-- page 9--><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>I.</h3> +<p>Low—low<br /> +Over a perishing after-glow,<br /> +A thin, red shred of moon<br /> +Trailed. In the windless air<br /> +The poplars all ranked lean and chill.<br /> +The smell of winter loitered there,<br /> +And the Year’s heart felt still.<br /> +Yet not so far away<br /> +Seemed the mad Spring,<br /> +But that, as lovers will,<br /> +I let my laughing heart go play,<br /> +As it had been a fond maid’s frolicking;<br /> +And, turning thrice the gold I’d got,<br /> +In the good gloom<br /> +Solemnly wished me—what?<br /> +What, and with whom?</p> +<h3><!-- page 10--><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>II</h3> +<p>Moon of half-candied meres<br /> +And flurrying, fading snows;<br /> +Moon of unkindly rains,<br /> +Wild skies, and troubled vanes;<br /> +When the Norther snarls and bites,<br /> +And the lone moon walks a-cold,<br /> +And the lawns grizzle o’ nights,<br /> +And wet fogs search the fold:<br /> +Here in this heart of mine<br /> +A dream that warms like wine,<br /> +A dream one other knows,<br /> +Moon of the roaring weirs<br /> +And the sip-sopping close,<br /> + February Fill-Dyke,<br /> +Shapes like a royal rose—<br /> + A red, red rose!</p> +<p>O, but the distance clears!<br /> +O, but the daylight grows!<br /> +<!-- page 11--><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +11</span>Soon shall the pied wind-flowers<br /> +Babble of greening hours,<br /> +Primrose and daffodil<br /> +Yearn to a fathering sun,<br /> +The lark have all his will,<br /> +The thrush be never done,<br /> +And April, May, and June<br /> +Go to the same blythe tune<br /> +As this blythe dream of mine!<br /> +Moon when the crocus peers,<br /> +Moon when the violet blows,<br /> + February Fair-Maid,<br /> +Haste, and let come the rose—<br /> + Let come the rose!</p> +<h3><!-- page 12--><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>III</h3> +<p>The night dislimns, and breaks<br /> + Like snows slow thawn;<br /> +An evil wind awakes<br /> + On lea and lawn;<br /> +The low East quakes; and hark!<br /> +Out of the kindless dark,<br /> +A fierce, protesting lark,<br /> + High in the horror of dawn!</p> +<p>A shivering streak of light,<br /> + A scurry of rain:<br /> +Bleak day from bleaker night<br /> + Creeps pinched and fain;<br /> +The old gloom thins and dies,<br /> +And in the wretched skies<br /> +A new gloom, sick to rise,<br /> + Sprawls, like a thing in pain.</p> +<p><!-- page 13--><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +13</span>And yet, what matter—say!—<br /> + The shuddering trees,<br /> +The Easter-stricken day,<br /> + The sodden leas?<br /> +The good bird, wing and wing<br /> +With Time, finds heart to sing,<br /> +As he were hastening<br /> + The swallow o’er the seas.</p> +<h3><!-- page 14--><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +14</span>IV</h3> +<p>It came with the year’s first crocus<br /> + In a world of winds and snows—<br /> +Because it would, because it must,<br /> +Because of life and time and lust;<br /> +And a year’s first crocus served my turn<br /> + As well as the year’s first rose.</p> +<p>The March rack hurries and hectors,<br /> + The March dust heaps and blows;<br /> +But the primrose flouts the daffodil,<br /> +And here’s the patient violet still;<br /> +And the year’s first crocus brought me luck,<br /> + So hey for the year’s first rose!</p> +<h3><!-- page 15--><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +15</span>V</h3> +<p>The good South-West on sea-worn wings<br /> + Comes shepherding the good rain;<br /> +The brave Sea breaks, and glooms, and swings,<br /> + A weltering, glittering plain.</p> +<p>Sound, Sea of England, sound and shine,<br /> + Blow, English Wind, amain,<br /> +Till in this old, gray heart of mine<br /> + The Spring need wake again!</p> +<h3><!-- page 16--><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +16</span>VI</h3> +<p>In the red April dawn,<br /> + In the wild April weather,<br /> +From brake and thicket and lawn<br /> + The birds sing all together.</p> +<p>The look of the hoyden Spring<br /> + Is pinched and shrewish and cold;<br /> +But all together they sing<br /> + Of a world that can never be old:</p> +<p>Of a world still young—still young!—<br /> + Whose last word won’t be said,<br /> +Nor her last song dreamed and sung,<br /> + Till her last true lover’s dead!</p> +<h3><!-- page 17--><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>VII</h3> +<p>The April sky sags low and drear,<br /> + The April winds blow cold,<br /> +The April rains fall gray and sheer,<br /> + And yeanlings keep the fold.</p> +<p>But the rook has built, and the song-birds quire,<br /> + And over the faded lea<br /> +The lark soars glorying, gyre on gyre,<br /> + And he is the bird for me!</p> +<p>For he sings as if from his watchman’s height<br /> + He saw, this blighting day,<br /> +The far vales break into colour and light<br /> + From the banners and arms of May.</p> +<h3><!-- page 18--><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>VIII</h3> +<p>Shadow and gleam on the Downland<br /> + Under the low Spring sky,<br /> +Shadow and gleam in my spirit—<br /> + Why?</p> +<p>A bird, in his nest rejoicing,<br /> + Cheers and flatters and woos:<br /> +A fresh voice flutters my fancy—<br /> + Whose?</p> +<p>And the humour of April frolics<br /> + And bickers in blade and bough—<br /> +O, to meet for the primal kindness<br /> + Now!</p> +<h3><!-- page 19--><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>IX</h3> +<p>The wind on the wold,<br /> + With sea-scents and sea-dreams attended,<br /> + Is wine!<br /> +The air is as gold<br /> + In elixir—it takes so the splendid<br /> + Sunshine!</p> +<p>O, the larks in the blue!<br /> + How the song of them glitters, and glances,<br /> + And gleams!<br /> +The old music sounds new—<br /> + And it’s O, the wild Spring, and his +chances<br /> + And dreams!</p> +<p>There’s a lift in the blood—<br /> + O, this gracious, and thirsting, and aching<br /> + Unrest!<br /> +All life’s at the bud,<br /> + And my heart, full of April, is breaking<br /> + My breast.</p> +<h3><!-- page 20--><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +20</span>X</h3> +<p>Deep in my gathering garden<br /> + A gallant thrush has built;<br /> +And his quaverings on the stillness<br /> + Like light made song are spilt.</p> +<p>They gleam, they glint, they sparkle,<br /> + They glitter along the air,<br /> +Like the song of a sunbeam netted<br /> + In a tangle of red-gold hair.</p> +<p>And I long, as I laugh and listen,<br /> + For the angel-hour that shall bring<br /> +My part, pre-ordained and appointed,<br /> + In the miracle of Spring.</p> +<h3><!-- page 21--><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +21</span>XI</h3> +<p>What doth the blackbird in the boughs<br /> +Sing all day to his nested spouse?<br /> +What but the song of his old Mother-Earth,<br /> +In her mighty humour of lust and mirth?<br /> +‘Love and God’s will go wing and wing,<br /> +And as for death, is there any such thing?’—<br /> +In the shadow of death,<br /> +So, at the beck of the wizard Spring<br /> +The dear bird saith—<br /> + So the bird saith!</p> +<p>Caught with us all in the nets of fate,<br /> +So the sweet wretch sings early and late;<br /> +And, O my fairest, after all,<br /> +The heart of the World’s in his innocent call.<br /> +The will of the World’s with him wing and wing:—<br +/> +‘Life—life—life! ’Tis the sole +great thing<br /> +This side of death,<br /> +Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!’<br /> +So the bird saith—<br /> + The wise bird saith!</p> +<h3><!-- page 22--><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>XII</h3> +<p> This world, all hoary<br /> + With song and story,<br /> + Rolls in a glory<br /> + Of youth and mirth;<br /> + Above and under<br /> + Clothed on with wonder.<br /> + Sunrise and thunder,<br /> + And death and birth.<br /> + His broods befriending<br /> + With grace unending<br /> + And gifts transcending<br /> + A god’s at play,<br /> + Yet do his meetness<br /> + And sovran sweetness<br /> +Hold in the jocund purpose of May.</p> +<p> So take your pleasure,<br /> + And in full measure<br /> + Use of your treasure,<br /> + When birds sing best!<br /> + <!-- page 23--><a name="page23"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 23</span>For when heaven’s bluest,<br /> + And earth feels newest,<br /> + And love longs truest,<br /> + And takes not rest:<br /> + When winds blow cleanest,<br /> + And seas roll sheenest,<br /> + And lawns lie greenest:<br /> + Then, night and day,<br /> + Dear life counts dearest,<br /> + And God walks nearest<br /> +To them that praise Him, praising His May.</p> +<h3><!-- page 24--><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +24</span>XIII</h3> +<p><i>I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost</i><br /> +<i>Of a gray ancestor</i>, <span class="smcap"><i>Tom +Heywood</i></span><i> hight</i>;<br /> +<i>And</i>, ‘<i>Here’s</i>,’ <i>says he</i>, +<i>his old heart liquor-lifted</i>—<br /> +‘<i>Here’s how we did when </i><span +class="smcap"><i>Gloriana</i></span><i> shone</i>:’</p> +<p>All in a garden green<br /> + Thrushes were singing;<br /> +Red rose and white between,<br /> + Lilies were springing;<br /> +It was the merry May;<br /> + Yet sang my Lady:—<br /> +‘Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!<br /> + I am not ready.’</p> +<p>Then to a pleasant shade<br /> + I did invite her:<br /> +All things a concert made,<br /> + For to delight her;<br /> +<!-- page 25--><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>Under, the grass was gay;<br /> + Yet sang my Lady:—<br /> +‘Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay!<br /> + I am not ready.’</p> +<h3><!-- page 26--><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +26</span>XIV</h3> +<p>Why do you linger and loiter, O most sweet?<br /> +Why do you falter and delay,<br /> +Now that the insolent, high-blooded May<br /> +Comes greeting and to greet?<br /> +Comes with her instant summonings to stray<br /> +Down the green, antient way—<br /> +The leafy, still, rose-haunted, eye-proof street!—<br /> +Where true lovers each other may entreat,<br /> +Ere the gold hair turn gray?<br /> +Entreat, and fleet<br /> +Life gaudily, and so play out their play,<br /> +Even with the triumphing May—<br /> +The young-eyed, smiling, irresistible May!</p> +<p>Why do you loiter and linger, O most dear?<br /> +Why do you dream and palter and stay,<br /> +When every dawn, that rushes up the bay,<br /> +Brings nearer, and more near,<br /> +The Terror, the Discomforter, whose prey,<br /> +<!-- page 27--><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>Belovèd, we must be? Nor prayer, nor +tear,<br /> +Lets his arraignment; but we disappear,<br /> +What time the gold turns gray,<br /> +Into the sheer,<br /> +Blind gulfs unglutted of mere Yesterday,<br /> +With the unlingering May—<br /> +The good, fulfilling, irresponsible May!</p> +<h3><!-- page 28--><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +28</span>XV</h3> +<p><i>Come where my Lady lies</i>,<br /> +<i>Sleeping down the golden hours</i>!<br /> +<i>Cover her with flowers</i>.</p> +<p>Bluebells from the clearings,<br /> + Flag-flowers from the rills,<br /> +Wildings from the lush hedgerows,<br /> + Delicate daffodils,<br /> +Sweetlings from the formal plots,<br /> + Bloomkins from the bowers—<br /> +Heap them round her where she sleeps,<br /> + <i>Cover her with flowers</i>!</p> +<p>Sweet-pea and pansy,<br /> + Red hawthorn and white;<br /> +Gilliflowers—like praising souls;<br /> + Lilies—lamps of light:<br /> +<!-- page 29--><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>Nurselings of what happy winds,<br /> + Suns, and stars, and showers!<br /> +Joylets good to see and smell—<br /> + <i>Cover her with flowers</i>!</p> +<p>Like to sky-born shadows<br /> + Mirrored on a stream,<br /> +Let their odours meet and mix<br /> + And waver through her dream!<br /> +Last, the crowded sweetness<br /> + Slumber overpowers,<br /> +And she feels the lips she loves<br /> + <i>Craving through the flowers</i>!</p> +<h3><!-- page 30--><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>XVI</h3> +<p>The west a glory of green and red and gold,<br /> +The magical drifts to north and eastward rolled,<br /> +The shining sands, the still, transfigured sea,<br /> +The wind so light it scarce begins to be,<br /> +As these long days unfold a flower, unfold<br /> + Life’s rose in me.</p> +<p>Life’s rose—life’s rose! Red at my +heart it glows—<br /> +Glows and is glad, as in some quiet close<br /> +The sun’s spoiled darlings their gay life renew!<br /> +Only, the clement rain, the mothering dew,<br /> +Daytide and night, all things that make the rose,<br /> + Are you, dear—you!</p> +<h3><!-- page 31--><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +31</span>XVII</h3> +<p>Look down, dear eyes, look down,<br /> + Lest you betray her gladness.<br /> +Dear brows, do naught but frown,<br /> + Lest men miscall my madness.</p> +<p>Come not, dear hands, so near,<br /> + Lest all besides come nearer.<br /> +Dear heart, hold me less dear,<br /> + Lest time hold nothing dearer.</p> +<p>Keep me, dear lips, O, keep<br /> + The great last word unspoken,<br /> +Lest other eyes go weep,<br /> + And other lives lie broken!</p> +<h3><!-- page 32--><a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +32</span>XVIII</h3> +<p>Poplar and lime and chestnut<br /> + Meet in a living screen;<br /> +And there the winds and the sunbeams keep<br /> + A revel of gold and green.</p> +<p>O, the green dreams and the golden,<br /> + The golden thoughts and green,<br /> +This green and golden end of May<br /> + My lover and me between!</p> +<h3><!-- page 33--><a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +33</span>XIX</h3> +<p>Hither, this solemn eventide,<br /> +All flushed and mystical and blue,<br /> +When the late bird sings<br /> +And sweet-breathed garden-ghosts walk sudden and wide,<br /> +Hesper, that bringeth all good things,<br /> +Brings me a dream of you.<br /> +And in my heart, dear heart, it comes and goes,<br /> +Even as the south wind lingers and falls and blows,<br /> +Even as the south wind sighs and tarries and streams,<br /> +Among the living leaves about and round;<br /> +With a still, soothing sound,<br /> +As of a multitude of dreams<br /> +Of love, and the longing of love, and love’s delight,<br /> +Thronging, ten thousand deep,<br /> +Into the uncreating Night,<br /> +With semblances and shadows to fulfil,<br /> +Amaze, and thrill<br /> +The strange, dispeopled silences of Sleep.</p> +<h3><!-- page 34--><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +34</span>XX</h3> +<p>After the grim daylight,<br /> +Night—<br /> +Night and the stars and the sea!<br /> +Only the sea, and the stars<br /> +And the star-shown sails and spars—<br /> +Naught else in the night for me!</p> +<p>Over the northern height,<br /> +Light—<br /> +Light and the dawn of a day<br /> +With nothing for me but a breast<br /> +Laboured with love’s unrest,<br /> +And the irk of an idle May!</p> +<h3><!-- page 35--><a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +35</span>XXI</h3> +<p>Love, which is lust, is the Lamp in the Tomb.<br /> +Love, which is lust, is the Call from the Gloom.</p> +<p>Love, which is lust, is the Main of Desire.<br /> +Love, which is lust, is the Centric Fire.</p> +<p>So man and woman will keep their trust,<br /> +Till the very Springs of the Sea run dust.</p> +<p>Yea, each with the other will lose and win,<br /> +Till the very Sides of the Grave fall in.</p> +<p>For the strife of Love’s the abysmal strife,<br /> +And the word of Love is the Word of Life.</p> +<p>And they that go with the Word unsaid,<br /> +Though they seem of the living, are damned and dead.</p> +<h3><!-- page 36--><a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +36</span>XXII</h3> +<p>Between the dusk of a summer night<br /> + And the dawn of a summer day,<br /> +We caught at a mood as it passed in flight,<br /> + And we bade it stoop and stay.<br /> +And what with the dawn of night began<br /> + With the dusk of day was done;<br /> +For that is the way of woman and man,<br /> + When a hazard has made them one.</p> +<p>Arc upon arc, from shade to shine,<br /> + The World went thundering free;<br /> +And what was his errand but hers and mine—<br /> + The lords of him, I and she?<br /> +O, it’s die we must, but it’s live we can,<br /> + And the marvel of earth and sun<br /> +Is all for the joy of woman and man<br /> + And the longing that makes them one.</p> +<h3><!-- page 37--><a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +37</span>XXIII</h3> +<p>I took a hansom on to-day<br /> + For a round I used to know—<br /> +That I used to take for a woman’s sake<br /> + In a fever of to-and-fro.</p> +<p>There were the landmarks one and all—<br /> + What did they stand to show?<br /> +Street and square and river were there—<br /> + Where was the antient woe?</p> +<p>Never a hint of a challenging hope<br /> + Nor a hope laid sick and low,<br /> +But a longing dead as its kindred sped<br /> + A thousand years ago!</p> +<h3><!-- page 38--><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>XXIV</h3> +<p>Only a freakish wisp of hair?—<br /> +Nay, but its wildest, its most frolic whorl<br /> +Stands for a slim, enamoured, sweet-fleshed girl!<br /> +And so, a tangle of dream and charm and fun,<br /> +Its every crook a promise and a snare,<br /> +Its every dowle, or genially gadding<br /> +Or crisply curled,<br /> +Heartening and madding,<br /> +Empales a novel and peculiar world<br /> +Of right, essential fantasies,<br /> +And shining acts as yet undone,<br /> +But in these wonder-working days<br /> +Soon, soon to ask our sovran Lord, the Sun,<br /> +For countenance and praise,<br /> +As of the best his storying eye hath seen,<br /> +And his vast memory can parallel,<br /> +Among the darling victories—<br /> +Beneficent, beautiful, inexpressible—<br /> +Of life on time!—<br /> + Yet have they flashed and been<br /> +<!-- page 39--><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +39</span>In millions, since ’twas his to bring<br /> +The heaven-creating Spring,<br /> +An angel of adventure and delight,<br /> +In all her beauty and all her strength and worth,<br /> +With her great guerdons of romance and spright,<br /> +And those high needs that fill the flesh with might,<br /> +Home to the citizens of this good, green earth.</p> +<p>Poor souls—they have but time and place<br /> +To play their transient little play<br /> +And sing their singular little song,<br /> +Ere they are rushed away<br /> +Into the antient, undisclosing Night;<br /> +And none is left to tell of the clear eyes<br /> +That filled them with God’s grace,<br /> +And turned the iron skies to skies of gold!<br /> +None; but the sweetest She herself grows old—<br /> +Grows old, and dies;<br /> +And, but for such a lovely snatch of hair<br /> +As this, none—none could guess, or know<br /> +That She was kind and fair,<br /> +And he had nights and days beyond compare—<br /> +How many dusty and silent years ago!</p> +<h3><!-- page 40--><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>XXV</h3> +<p>This is the moon of roses,<br /> + The lovely and flowerful time;<br /> +And, as white roses climb the wall,<br /> + Your dreams about me climb.</p> +<p>This is the moon of roses,<br /> + Glad and golden and blue;<br /> +And, as red roses drink of the sun,<br /> + My dreams they drink of you.</p> +<p>This is the moon of roses!<br /> + The cherishing South-West blows,<br /> +And life, dear heart, for me and you,<br /> + O, life’s a rejoicing rose.</p> +<h3><!-- page 41--><a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +41</span>XXVI</h3> +<p>June, and a warm, sweet rain;<br /> + June, and the call of a bird:<br /> +To a lover in pain<br /> + What lovelier word?</p> +<p>Two of each other fain<br /> + Happily heart on heart:<br /> +So in the wind and rain<br /> + Spring bears his part!</p> +<p>O, to be heart on heart<br /> + One with the warm June rain,<br /> +God with us from the start,<br /> + And no more pain!</p> +<h3><!-- page 42--><a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +42</span>XXVII</h3> +<p>It was a bowl of roses:<br /> + There in the light they lay,<br /> +Languishing, glorying, glowing<br /> + Their life away.</p> +<p>And the soul of them rose like a presence,<br /> + Into me crept and grew,<br /> +And filled me with something—some one—<br /> + O, was it you?</p> +<h3><!-- page 43--><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>XXVIII</h3> +<p>Your feet as glad<br /> +And light as a dove’s homing wings, you came—<br /> +Came with your sweets to fill my hands,<br /> +My sense with your perfume.</p> +<p>We closed with lips<br /> +Grown weary and fain with longing from afar,<br /> +The while your grave, enamoured eyes<br /> +Drank down the dream in mine.</p> +<p>Till the great need<br /> +So lovely and so instant grew, it seemed<br /> +The embodied Spirit of the Spring<br /> +Hung at me, heart on heart.</p> +<h3><!-- page 44--><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +44</span>XXIX</h3> +<p>A world of leafage murmurous and a-twinkle;<br /> +The green, delicious plenitude of June;<br /> +Love and laughter and song<br /> +The blue day long<br /> +Going to the same glad, golden tune—<br /> +The same glad tune!</p> +<p>Clouds on the dim, delighting skies a-sprinkle;<br /> +Poplars black in the wake of a setting moon;<br /> +Love and languor and sleep<br /> +And the star-sown deep<br /> +Going to the same good, golden tune—<br /> +The same good tune!</p> +<h3><!-- page 45--><a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +45</span>XXX</h3> +<p>I send you roses—red, like love,<br /> + And white, like death, sweet friend:<br /> +Born in your bosom to rejoice,<br /> + Languish, and droop, and end.</p> +<p>If the white roses tell of death,<br /> + Let the red roses mend<br /> +The talk with true stories of love<br /> + Unchanging till the end.</p> +<p>Red and white roses, love and death—<br /> + What else is left to send?<br /> +For what is life but love, the means,<br /> + And death, true Wife, the end?</p> +<h3><!-- page 46--><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>XXXI</h3> +<p>These glad, these great, these goodly days<br /> +Bewildering hope, outrunning praise,<br /> + The Earth, renewed by the great Sun’s +longing,<br /> +Utters her joy in a million ways!</p> +<p>What is there left, sweet Soul and true—<br /> +What, for us and our dream to do?<br /> + What but to take this mighty Summer<br /> +As it were made for me and you?</p> +<p>Take it and live it beam by beam,<br /> +Motes of light on a gleaming stream,<br /> + Glare by glare and glory on glory<br /> +Through to the ash of this flaming dream!</p> +<h3><!-- page 47--><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +47</span>XXXII</h3> +<p>The downs, like uplands in Eden,<br /> + Gleam in an afterglow<br /> +Like a rose-world ruining earthwards—<br /> + Mystical, wistful, slow!</p> +<p>Near and afar in the leafage,<br /> + That last glad call to the nest!<br /> +And the thought of you hangs and triumphs<br /> + With Hesper low in the west!</p> +<p>Till the song and the light and the colour,<br /> + The passion of earth and sky,<br /> +Are blent in a rapture of boding<br /> + Of the death we should one day die.</p> +<h3><!-- page 48--><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +48</span>XXXIII</h3> +<p>The time of the silence<br /> +Of birds is upon us:<br /> +Rust in the chestnut leaf,<br /> +Dust in the stubble:<br /> +The turn of the Year<br /> +And the call to decay.</p> +<p>Stately and splendid,<br /> +The Summer passes:<br /> +Sad with satiety,<br /> +Sick with fulfilment;<br /> +Spent and consumed,<br /> +But august till the end.</p> +<p>By wilting hedgerows<br /> +And white-hot highways,<br /> +Bearing its memories<br /> +Even as a burden,<br /> +The tired heart plods<br /> +For a place of rest.</p> +<h3><!-- page 49--><a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +49</span>XXXIV</h3> +<p>There was no kiss that day?<br /> +No intimate Yea-and-Nay,<br /> +No sweets in hand, no tender, lingering touch?<br /> +None of those desperate, exquisite caresses,<br /> +So instant—O, so brief!—and yet so much,<br /> +The thought of the swiftest lifts and blesses?<br /> +Nor any one of those great royal words,<br /> +Those sovran privacies of speech,<br /> +Frank as the call of April birds,<br /> +That, whispered, live a life of gold<br /> +Among the heart’s still sainted memories,<br /> +And irk, and thrill, and ravish, and beseech,<br /> +Even when the dream of dreams in death’s a-cold?<br /> +No, there was none of these,<br /> +Dear one, and yet—<br /> +O, eyes on eyes! O, voices breaking still,<br /> +For all the watchful will,<br /> +Into a kinder kindness than seemed due<br /> +From you to me, and me to you!<br /> +<!-- page 50--><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>And that hot-eyed, close-throated, blind regret<br /> +Of woman and man baulked and debarred the blue!—<br /> +No kiss—no kiss that day?<br /> +Nay, rather, though we seemed to wear the rue,<br /> +Sweet friend, how many, and how goodly—say!</p> +<h3><!-- page 51--><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>XXXV</h3> +<p>Sing to me, sing, and sing again,<br /> + My glad, great-throated nightingale:<br /> +Sing, as the good sun through the rain—<br /> + Sing, as the home-wind in the sail!</p> +<p>Sing to me life, and toil, and time,<br /> + O bugle of dawn, O flute of rest!<br /> +Sing, and once more, as in the prime,<br /> + There shall be naught but seems the best.</p> +<p>And sing me at the last of love:<br /> + Sing that old magic of the May,<br /> +That makes the great world laugh and move<br /> + As lightly as our dream to-day!</p> +<h3><!-- page 52--><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>XXXVI</h3> +<p><i>We sat late</i>, <i>late</i>—<i>talking of many +things</i>.<br /> +<i>He told me of his grief</i>, <i>and</i>, <i>in the +telling</i>,<br /> +<i>The gist of his tale showed to me</i>, <i>rhymed</i>, <i>like +this</i>.</p> +<p>It came, the news, like a fire in the night,<br /> + That life and its best were done;<br /> +And there was never so dazed a wretch<br /> + In the beat of the living sun.</p> +<p>I read the news, and the terms of the news<br /> + Reeled random round my brain<br /> +Like the senseless, tedious buzzle and boom<br /> + Of a bluefly in the pane.</p> +<p>So I went for the news to the house of the news,<br /> + But the words were left unsaid,<br /> +For the face of the house was blank with blinds,<br /> + And I knew that she was dead.</p> +<h3><!-- page 53--><a name="page53"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +53</span>XXXVII</h3> +<p>’Twas in a world of living leaves<br /> +That we two reaped and bound our sheaves:<br /> +They were of white roses and red,<br /> +And in the scything they were dead.</p> +<p>Now the high Autumn flames afield,<br /> +And what is all his golden yield<br /> +To that we took, and sheaved, and bound<br /> +In the green dusk that gladdened round?</p> +<p>Yet must the memory grieve and ache<br /> +Of that we did for dear love’s sake,<br /> +But may no more under the sun,<br /> +Being, like our summer, spent and done.</p> +<h3><!-- page 54--><a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +54</span>XXXVIII</h3> +<p>Since those we love and those we hate,<br /> +With all things mean and all things great,<br /> +Pass in a desperate disarray<br /> +<i>Over the hills and far away</i>:</p> +<p>It must be, Dear, that, late or soon,<br /> +Out of the ken of the watching moon,<br /> +We shall abscond with Yesterday<br /> +<i>Over the hills and far away</i>.</p> +<p>What does it matter? As I deem,<br /> +We shall but follow as brave a dream<br /> +As ever smiled a wanton May<br /> +<i>Over the hills and far away</i>.</p> +<p>We shall remember, and, in pride,<br /> +Fare forth, fulfilled and satisfied,<br /> +Into the land of Ever-and-Aye,<br /> +<i>Over the hills and far away</i>.</p> +<h3><!-- page 55--><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>XXXIX</h3> +<p>These were the woods of wonder<br /> + We found so close and boon,<br /> +When the bride-month in her beauty<br /> + Lay mouth to mouth with June.</p> +<p>November, the old, lean widow,<br /> + Sniffs, and snivels, and shrills,<br /> +And the bowers are all dismantled,<br /> + And the long grass wets and chills;</p> +<p>And I hate these dismal dawnings,<br /> + These miserable even-ends,<br /> +These orts, and rags, and heeltaps—<br /> + This dream of being merely friends.</p> +<h3><!-- page 56--><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>XL</h3> +<p>‘Dearest, when I am dead,<br /> + Make one last song for me:<br /> +Sing what I would have said—<br /> + Righting life’s wrong for me.</p> +<p>‘Tell them how, early and late,<br /> + Glad ran the days with me,<br /> +Seeing how goodly and great,<br /> + Love, were your ways with me.’</p> +<h3><!-- page 57--><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +57</span>XLI</h3> +<p>Dear hands, so many times so much<br /> + When the spent year was green and prime,<br /> +Come, take your fill, and touch<br /> + This one poor time.</p> +<p>Dear lips, that could not leave unsaid<br /> + One sweet-souled syllable of delight,<br /> +Once more—and be as dead<br /> + In the dead night.</p> +<p>Dear eyes, so fond to read in mine<br /> + The message of our counted years,<br /> +Look your proud last, nor shine<br /> + Through tears—through tears.</p> +<h3><!-- page 58--><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>XLII</h3> +<p>When, in what other life,<br /> +Where in what old, spent star,<br /> +Systems ago, dead vastitudes afar,<br /> +Were we two bird and bough, or man and wife?<br /> +Or wave and spar?<br /> +Or I the beating sea, and you the bar<br /> +On which it breaks? I know not, I!<br /> +But this, O this, my Very Dear, I know:<br /> +Your voice awakes old echoes in my heart;<br /> +And things I say to you now are said once more;<br /> +And, Sweet, when we two part,<br /> +I feel I have seen you falter and linger so,<br /> +So hesitate, and turn, and cling—yet go,<br /> +As once in some immemorable Before,<br /> +Once on some fortunate yet thrice-blasted shore.<br /> +Was it for good?<br /> +O, these poor eyes are wet;<br /> +And yet, O, yet,<br /> +Now that we know, I would not, if I could,<br /> +Forget.</p> +<h3><!-- page 59--><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>XLIII</h3> +<p>The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain—<br /> + They are with us like a disease:<br /> +They worry the heart, they work the brain,<br /> +As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane,<br /> + And savage the helpless trees.</p> +<p>What does it profit a man to know<br /> + These tattered and tumbling skies<br /> +A million stately stars will show,<br /> +And the ruining grace of the after-glow<br /> + And the rush of the wild sunrise?</p> +<p>Ever the rain—the rain and the wind!<br /> + Come, hunch with me over the fire,<br /> +Dream of the dreams that leered and grinned,<br /> +Ere the blood of the Year got chilled and thinned,<br /> + And the death came on desire!</p> +<h3><!-- page 60--><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>XLIV</h3> +<p><i>He made this gracious Earth a hell</i><br /> +<i>With Love and Drink</i>. <i>I cannot tell</i><br /> +<i>Of which he died</i>. <i>But Death was well</i>.</p> +<p>Will I die of drink?<br /> + Why not?<br /> +Won’t I pause and think?<br /> + —What?<br /> +Why in seeming wise<br /> + Waste your breath?<br /> +Everybody dies—<br /> + And of death!</p> +<p>Youth—if you find it’s youth<br /> + Too late?<br /> +Truth—and the back of truth?<br /> + Straight,<br /> +Be it love or liquor,<br /> + What’s the odds,<br /> +So it slide you quicker<br /> + To the gods?</p> +<h3><!-- page 61--><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>XLV</h3> +<p>O, these long nights of days!<br /> +All the year’s baseness in the ways,<br /> +All the year’s wretchedness in the skies;<br /> +While on the blind, disheartened sea<br /> +A tramp-wind plies<br /> +Cringingly and dejectedly!<br /> +And rain and darkness, mist and mud,<br /> +They cling, they close, they sneak into the blood,<br /> +They crawl and crowd upon the brain:<br /> +Till in a dull, dense monotone of pain<br /> +The past is found a kind of maze,<br /> +At whose every coign and crook,<br /> +Broad angle and privy nook,<br /> +There waits a hooded Memory,<br /> +Sad, yet with strange, bright, unreproaching eyes.</p> +<h3><!-- page 62--><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>XLVI</h3> +<p>In Shoreham River, hurrying down<br /> +To the live sea,<br /> +By working, marrying, breeding Shoreham Town,<br /> +Breaking the sunset’s wistful and solemn dream,<br /> +An old, black rotter of a boat<br /> +Past service to the labouring, tumbling flote,<br /> +Lay stranded in mid-stream:<br /> +With a horrid list, a frightening lapse from the line,<br /> +That made me think of legs and a broken spine:<br /> +Soon, all-too soon,<br /> +Ungainly and forlorn to lie<br /> +Full in the eye<br /> +Of the cynical, discomfortable moon<br /> +That, as I looked, stared from the fading sky,<br /> +A clown’s face flour’d for work. And by and +by<br /> +The wide-winged sunset wanned and waned;<br /> +The lean night-wind crept westward, chilling and sighing;<br /> +The poor old hulk remained,<br /> +<!-- page 63--><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>Stuck helpless in mid-ebb. And I knew +why—<br /> +Why, as I looked, my heart felt crying. <a +name="citation63"></a><a href="#footnote63" +class="citation">[63]</a><br /> +For, as I looked, the good green earth seemed dying—<br /> +Dying or dead;<br /> +And, as I looked on the old boat, I said:—<br /> +‘<i>Dear God</i>, <i>it’s I</i>!’</p> +<h3><!-- page 64--><a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +64</span>XLVII</h3> +<p>Come by my bed,<br /> +What time the gray ghost shrieks and flies;<br /> +Take in your hands my head,<br /> +And look, O look, into my failing eyes;<br /> +And, by God’s grace,<br /> +Even as He sunders body and breath,<br /> +The shadow of your face<br /> +Shall pass with me into the run<br /> +Of the Beyond, and I shall keep and save<br /> +Your beauty, as it used to be,<br /> +An absolute part of me,<br /> +Lying there, dead and done,<br /> +Far from the sovran bounty of the sun,<br /> +Down in the grisly colonies of the Grave.</p> +<h3><!-- page 65--><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +65</span>XLVIII</h3> +<p>Gray hills, gray skies, gray lights,<br /> +And still, gray sea—<br /> +O fond, O fair,<br /> +The Mays that were,<br /> +When the wild days and wilder nights<br /> +Made it like heaven to be!</p> +<p>Gray head, gray heart, gray dreams—<br /> +O, breath by breath,<br /> +Night-tide and day<br /> +Lapse gentle and gray,<br /> +As to a murmur of tired streams,<br /> +Into the haze of death.</p> +<h3><!-- page 66--><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +66</span>XLIX</h3> +<p>Silence, loneliness, darkness—<br /> + These, and of these my fill,<br /> +While God in the rush of the Maytide<br /> + Without is working His will.</p> +<p>Without are the wind and the wall-flowers,<br /> + The leaves and the nests and the rain,<br /> +And in all of them God is making<br /> + His beautiful purpose plain.</p> +<p>But I wait in a horror of strangeness—<br /> + A tool on His workshop floor,<br /> +Worn to the butt, and banished<br /> + His hand for evermore.</p> +<h3><!-- page 67--><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>L</h3> +<p>So let me hence as one<br /> +Whose part in the world has been dreamed out and done:<br /> +One that hath fairly earned and spent<br /> +In pride of heart and jubilance of blood<br /> +Such wages, be they counted bad or good,<br /> +As Time, the old taskmaster, was moved to pay;<br /> +And, having warred and suffered, and passed on<br /> +Those gifts the Arbiters preferred and gave,<br /> +Fare, grateful and content,<br /> +Down the dim way<br /> +Whereby races innumerable have gone,<br /> +Into the silent universe of the grave.</p> +<p>Grateful for what hath been—<br /> +For what my hand hath done, mine eyes have seen,<br /> +My heart been privileged to know;<br /> +<!-- page 68--><a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +68</span>With all my lips in love have brought<br /> +To lips that yearned in love to them, and wrought<br /> +In the way of wrath, and pity, and sport, and song:<br /> +Content, this miracle of being alive<br /> +Dwindling, that I, thrice weary of worst and best,<br /> +May shed my duds, and go<br /> +From right and wrong,<br /> +And, ceasing to regret, and long, and strive,<br /> +Accept the past, and be for ever at rest.</p> +<h3><!-- page 69--><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>FINALE</h3> +<p style="text-align: right"><i>Schizzando ma con +sentimento</i></p> +<p>A sigh sent wrong,<br /> +A kiss that goes astray,<br /> +A sorrow the years endlong—<br /> +So they say.</p> +<p>So let it be—<br /> +Come the sorrow, the kiss, the sigh!<br /> +They are life, dear life, all three,<br /> +And we die.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Worthing</span>, 1899-1901.</p> +<h2><!-- page 73--><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>LONDON TYPES</h2> +<p>(<i>To</i> S. S. P.)</p> +<h3>I. BUS-DRIVER</h3> +<p>He’s called <i>The General</i> from the brazen craft<br +/> +And dash with which he <i>sneaks a bit of road</i><br /> +And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed,<br /> +<i>Back-answers</i> of the newest he’ll explode;<br /> +He reins his horses with an air; he treats<br /> +With scoffing calm whatever powers there be;<br /> +He <i>gets it straight</i>, puts <i>a bit on</i>, and meets<br /> +His losses with both <i>lip</i> and <i>£ s. d.</i>;<br /> +He arrogates a special taste in <i>short</i>;<br /> +Is loftily grateful for a flagrant <i>smoke</i>;<br /> +At all the smarter housemaids winks his court,<br /> +And taps them for half-crowns; being <i>stoney-broke</i>,<br /> + Lives lustily; is ever <i>on the make</i>;<br /> + And hath, I fear, none other gods but +<i>Fake</i>.</p> +<h3><!-- page 74--><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>II. LIFE-GUARDSMAN</h3> +<p>Joy of the Milliner, Envy of the Line,<br /> +Star of the Parks, jack-booted, sworded, helmed,<br /> +He sits between his holsters, solid of spine;<br /> +Nor, as it seems, though <span +class="smcap"><i>Westminster</i></span> were whelmed,<br /> +With the great globe, in earthquake and eclipse,<br /> +Would he and his charger cease from mounting guard,<br /> +This Private in the Blues, nor would his lips<br /> +Move, though his gorge with throttled oaths were charred!<br /> +He wears his inches weightily, as he wears<br /> +His old-world armours; and with his port and pride,<br /> +His sturdy graces and enormous airs,<br /> +He towers, in speech his Colonel countrified,<br /> + A triumph, waxing statelier year by year,<br /> + Of British blood, and bone, and beef, and beer.</p> +<h3><!-- page 75--><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>III. HAWKER</h3> +<p>Far out of bounds he’s figured—in a race<br /> +Of West-End traffic pitching to his loss.<br /> +But if you’d see him in his proper place,<br /> +Making the <i>browns</i> for <i>bub</i> and <i>grub</i> and +<i>doss</i>,<br /> +Go East among the merchants and their men,<br /> +And where the press is noisiest, and the tides<br /> +Of trade run highest and widest, there and then<br /> +You shall behold him, edging with equal strides<br /> +Along the kerb; hawking in either hand<br /> +Some artful nothing made of twine and tin,<br /> +Cardboard and foil and bits of rubber band:<br /> +Some penn’orth of wit-in-fact that, with a grin,<br /> + The careful City marvels at, and buys<br /> + For nurselings in the Suburbs to despise!</p> +<h3><!-- page 76--><a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>IV. BEEF-EATER</h3> +<p>His beat lies knee-high through a dust of story—<br /> +A dust of terror and torture, grief and crime;<br /> +Ghosts that are <span class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> +wonder, and shame, and glory<br /> +Throng where he walks, an antic of old time;<br /> +A sense of long immedicable tears<br /> +Were ever with him, could his ears but heed;<br /> +The stern <i>Hic Jacets</i> of our bloodiest years<br /> +Are for his reading, had he eyes to read,<br /> +But here, where <span class="smcap"><i>Crookback</i></span> +raged, and <span class="smcap"><i>Cranmer</i></span> trimmed,<br +/> +And <span class="smcap"><i>More</i></span> and <span +class="smcap"><i>Strafford</i></span> faced the axe’s +proving,<br /> +He shows that Crown the desperate Colonel nimmed,<br /> +Or simply keeps the Country Cousin moving,<br /> + Or stays such Cockney pencillers as would shame<br +/> + The wall where some dead Queen hath traced her +name.</p> +<h3><!-- page 77--><a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +77</span>V. SANDWICH-MAN</h3> +<p>An ill March noon; the flagstones gray with dust;<br /> +An all-round east wind volleying straws and grit;<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>St. Martin’s Steps</i></span>, where +every venomous gust<br /> +Lingers to buffet, or sneap, the passing cit;<br /> +And in the gutter, squelching a rotten boot,<br /> +Draped in a wrap that, modish ten-year syne,<br /> +Partners, obscene with sweat and grease and soot,<br /> +A horrible hat, that once was just as fine;<br /> +The drunkard’s mouth a-wash for something drinkable,<br /> +The drunkard’s eye alert for casual <i>toppers</i>,<br /> +The drunkard’s neck stooped to a lot scarce thinkable,<br +/> +A living, crawling blazoning of Hot-Coppers,<br /> + He trails his mildews towards a Kingdom-Come<br /> + Compact of <i>sausage-and-mash</i> and +<i>two-o’-rum</i>!</p> +<h3><!-- page 78--><a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +78</span>VI. ’LIZA</h3> +<p><span class="smcap"><i>’Liza’s</i></span><i> old +man</i>’s perhaps a little <i>shady</i>,<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>’Liza’s</i></span><i> old +woman</i>’s prone to <i>booze</i> and cringe;<br /> +But <span class="smcap"><i>’Liza</i></span> deems herself +<i>a perfect lady</i>,<br /> +And proves it in her feathers and her fringe.<br /> +For <span class="smcap"><i>’Liza</i></span> has a +<i>bloke</i> her heart to cheer,<br /> +With <i>pearlies</i> and a <i>barrer</i> and a <i>jack</i>,<br /> +So all the vegetables of the year<br /> +Are duly represented on her back.<br /> +Her boots are sacrifices to her hats,<br /> +Which knock you speechless—<i>like a load of bricks</i>!<br +/> +Her summer velvets dazzle <span class="smcap"><i>Wanstead +Flats</i></span>,<br /> +And cost, at times, a good eighteen-and-six.<br /> + Withal, outside the gay and giddy whirl,<br /> + <span +class="smcap"><i>’Liza’s</i></span> a stupid, +straight, hard-working girl.</p> +<h3><!-- page 79--><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>VII. ‘LADY’</h3> +<p>Time, the old humourist, has a trick to-day<br /> +Of moving landmarks and of levelling down,<br /> +Till into Town the Suburbs edge their way,<br /> +And in the Suburbs you may scent the Town.<br /> +With <span class="smcap"><i>Mount St.</i></span> thus approaching +<span class="smcap"><i>Muswell Hill</i></span>,<br /> +And <span class="smcap"><i>Clapham Common</i></span> marching +with the <span class="smcap"><i>Mile</i></span>,<br /> +You get a <span class="smcap"><i>Hammersmith</i></span> that +<i>fills the bill</i>,<br /> +A <span class="smcap"><i>Hampstead</i></span> with a serious +sense of style.<br /> +So this fair creature, pictured in <span class="smcap"><i>The +Row</i></span>,<br /> +As one of that ‘gay adulterous world,’ <a +name="citation79"></a><a href="#footnote79" +class="citation">[79]</a> whose round<br /> +Is by the <span class="smcap"><i>Serpentine</i></span>, as well +would show,<br /> +And might, I deem, as readily be found<br /> + On <span class="smcap"><i>Streatham’s +Hill</i></span>, or <span +class="smcap"><i>Wimbledon’s</i></span>, or where<br /> + Brixtonian kitchens lard the late-dining air.</p> +<h3><!-- page 80--><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +80</span>VIII. BLUECOAT BOY</h3> +<p>So went our boys when <span class="smcap"><i>Edward +Sixth</i></span>, the King,<br /> +Chartered <span class="smcap"><i>Christ’s +Hospital</i></span>, and died. And so<br /> +Full fifteen generations in a string<br /> +Of heirs to his bequest have had to go.<br /> +Thus <span class="smcap"><i>Camden</i></span> showed, and <span +class="smcap"><i>Barnes</i></span>, and <span +class="smcap"><i>Stilling-Fleet</i></span>,<br /> +And <span class="smcap"><i>Richardson</i></span>, that bade our +<span class="smcap"><i>Lovelace</i></span> be;<br /> +The little <span class="smcap"><i>Elia</i></span> thus in <span +class="smcap"><i>Newgate Street</i></span>;<br /> +Thus to his <span class="smcap"><i>Genevieve</i></span> young +<i>S. T. C.</i><br /> +With thousands else that, wandering up and down,<br /> +Quaint, privileged, liked and reputed well,<br /> +Made the great School a part of <span class="smcap"><i>London +Town</i></span><br /> +Patent as <span class="smcap"><i>Paul’s</i></span> and +vital as <span class="smcap"><i>Bow Bell</i></span>:<br /> + The old School nearing exile, day by day,<br /> + To certain clay-lands somewhere <span +class="smcap"><i>Horsham</i></span> way.</p> +<h3><!-- page 81--><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +81</span>IX. MOUNTED POLICE</h3> +<p>Army Reserve; a worshipper of <span +class="smcap"><i>Bobs</i></span>,<br /> +With whom he stripped the smock from <span +class="smcap"><i>Candahar</i></span>;<br /> +Neat as his mount, that neatest among cobs;<br /> +Whenever pageants pass, or meetings are,<br /> +He moves conspicuous, vigilant, severe,<br /> +With his Light Cavalry hand and seat and look,<br /> +A living type of Order, in whose sphere<br /> +Is room for neither <i>Hooligan</i> nor <i>Hook</i>.<br /> +For in his shadow, wheresoe’er he ride,<br /> +Paces, all eye and hardihood and grip,<br /> +The dreaded <i>Crusher</i>, might in his every stride<br /> +And right materialized girt at his hip;<br /> + And they, that shake to see these twain go by,<br /> + Feel that the <i>Tec</i>, that plain-clothes Terror, +is nigh.</p> +<h3><!-- page 82--><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +82</span>X. NEWS-BOY</h3> +<p>Take any station, pavement, circus, corner,<br /> +Where men their styles of print may call or choose,<br /> +And there—ten times more <i>on it</i> than <span +class="smcap"><i>Jack Horner</i></span>—<br /> +There shall you find him swathed in sheets of news.<br /> +Nothing can stay the placing of his wares—<br /> +Not bus, nor cab, nor dray! The very <i>Slop</i>,<br /> +That imp of power, is powerless! Ever he dares,<br /> +And, daring, lands his public neck and crop.<br /> +Even the many-tortured London ear,<br /> +The much-enduring, loathes his <i>Speeshul</i> yell,<br /> +His shriek of <i>Winnur</i>! But his dart and leer<br /> +And poise are irresistible. <span class="smcap"><i>Pall +Mall</i></span><br /> + Joys in him, and <span class="smcap"><i>Mile +End</i></span>; for his vocation<br /> + Is to purvey the stuff of conversation.</p> +<h3><!-- page 83--><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +83</span>XI. DRUM-MAJOR</h3> +<p>Who says <i>Drum-Major</i> says a man of mould,<br /> +Shaking the meek earth with tremendous tread,<br /> +And pacing still, a triumph to behold,<br /> +Of his own spine at least two yards ahead!<br /> +Attorney, grocer, surgeon, broker, duke—<br /> +His calling may be anything, who comes<br /> +Into a room, his presence a rebuke<br /> +To the dejected, as the pipes and drums<br /> +Inspired his port!—who mounts his office stairs<br /> +As though he led great armies to the fight!<br /> +His bulk itself’s pure genius, and he wears<br /> +His avoirdupois with so much fire and spright<br /> + That, though the creature stands but five feet +five,<br /> + You take him for the tallest He alive.</p> +<h3><!-- page 84--><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>XII. FLOWER-GIRL</h3> +<p>There’s never a delicate nurseling of the year<br /> +But our huge <span class="smcap"><i>London</i></span> hails it, +and delights<br /> +To wear it on her breast or at her ear,<br /> +Her days to colour and make sweet her nights.<br /> +Crocus and daffodil and violet,<br /> +Pink, primrose, valley-lily, clove-carnation,<br /> +Red rose and white rose, wall-flower, mignonette,<br /> +The daisies all—these be her recreation,<br /> +Her gaudies these! And forth from <span +class="smcap"><i>Drury Lane</i></span>,<br /> +Trapesing in any of her whirl of weathers,<br /> +Her flower-girls foot it, honest and hoarse and vain,<br /> +All boot and little shawl and wilted feathers:<br /> + Of populous corners right advantage taking,<br /> + And, where they squat, endlessly posy-making.</p> +<h3><!-- page 85--><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>XIII. BARMAID</h3> +<p>Though, if you ask her name, she says <span +class="smcap"><i>Elise</i></span>,<br /> +Being plain <span class="smcap"><i>Elizabeth</i></span>, +e’en let it pass,<br /> +And own that, if her aspirates take their ease,<br /> +She ever makes a point, in washing glass,<br /> +Handling the engine, turning taps for <i>tots</i>,<br /> +And countering change, and scorning what men say,<br /> +Of posing as a dove among the pots,<br /> +Nor often gives her dignity away.<br /> +Her head’s a work of art, and, if her eyes<br /> +Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist;<br /> +Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries<br /> +From penny novels to amend her taste;<br /> + And, having mopped the zinc for certain years,<br /> + And faced the gas, she fades and disappears.<br /> +<!-- page 86--><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span><i>The Artist muses at his ease</i>,<br /> +<i>Contented that his work is done</i>,<br /> +<i>And smiling</i>—<i>smiling</i>!—<i>as he +sees</i><br /> +<i>His crowd collecting</i>, <i>one by one</i>.<br /> +<i>Alas</i>! <i>his travail’s but begun</i>!<br /> +<i>None</i>, <i>none can keep the years in line</i>,<br /> +<i>And what to Ninety-Eight is fun</i><br /> +<i>May raise the gorge of Ninety-Nine</i>!</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Muswell Hill</span>, 1898.</p> +<h2><!-- page 89--><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +89</span>III. THREE PROLOGUES</h2> +<h3>I. BEAU AUSTIN</h3> +<p><i>By W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson</i>,<br /> +<i>Haymarket Theatre</i>, <i>November</i> 3, 1890.</p> +<p>Spoken by Mr. <span class="smcap">Tree</span> in the character +of Beau Austin.</p> +<p>‘To all and singular,’ as <span +class="smcap"><i>Dryden</i></span> says,<br /> +We bring a fancy of those Georgian days,<br /> +Whose style still breathed a faint and fine perfume<br /> +Of old-world courtliness and old-world bloom:<br /> +When speech was elegant and talk was fit,<br /> +For slang had not been canonised as wit;<br /> +When manners reigned, when breeding had the wall,<br /> +And Women—yes!—were ladies first of all;<br /> +When Grace was conscious of its gracefulness,<br /> +And man—though Man!—was not ashamed to dress.<br /> +A brave formality, a measured ease<br /> +Were his—and hers—whose effort was to please.<br /> +And to excel in pleasing was to reign,<br /> +And, if you sighed, never to sigh in vain.</p> +<p> <!-- page 90--><a name="page90"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 90</span>But then, as now—it may be, +something more—<br /> +Woman and man were human to the core.<br /> +The hearts that throbbed behind that brave attire<br /> +Burned with a plenitude of essential fire.<br /> +They too could risk, they also could rebel:<br /> +They could love wisely—they could love too well.<br /> +In that great duel of Sex, that ancient strife<br /> +Which is the very central fact of life,<br /> +They could—and did—engage it breath for breath,<br /> +They could—and did—get wounded unto death.<br /> +As at all times since time for us began<br /> +Woman was truly woman, man was man,<br /> +And joy and sorrow were as much at home<br /> +In trifling <span class="smcap"><i>Tunbridge</i></span> as in +mighty <span class="smcap"><i>Rome</i></span>.</p> +<p> Dead—dead and done with! Swift +from shine to shade<br /> +The roaring generations flit and fade.<br /> +To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest,<br /> +We come to proffer—be it worst or best—<br /> +A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time;<br /> +A hint of what it might have held sublime;<br /> +A dream, an idyll, call it what you will,<br /> +Of man still Man, and woman—Woman still!</p> +<h3><!-- page 91--><a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +91</span>II. RICHARD SAVAGE</h3> +<p><i>By J. M. Barrie and H. B. Marriott Watson</i>, <i>Criterion +Theatre</i>, <i>April</i> 16, 1891.</p> +<p>To other boards for pun and song and dance!<br /> +Our purpose is an essay in romance:<br /> +An old-world story where such old-world facts<br /> +As hate and love and death, through four swift acts—<br /> +Not without gleams and glances, hints and cues,<br /> +From the dear bright eyes of the Comic Muse!—<br /> +So shine and sound that, as we fondly deem,<br /> +They may persuade you to accept our dream:<br /> +Our own invention, mainly—though we take,<br /> +Somewhat for art but most for interest’s sake<br /> +One for our hero who goes wandering still<br /> +In the long shadow of <span class="smcap"><i>Parnassus +Hill</i></span>;<br /> +Scarce within eyeshot; but his tragic shade<br /> +Compels that recognition due be made,<br /> +When he comes knocking at the student’s door,<br /> +Something as poet, if as blackguard more.</p> +<p> <!-- page 92--><a name="page92"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 92</span>Poet and blackguard. Of the +first—how much?<br /> +As to the second, in quite perfect touch<br /> +With folly and sorrow, even shame and crime,<br /> +He lived the grief and wonder of his time!<br /> +Marked for reproaches from his life’s beginning;<br /> +Extremely sinned against as well as sinning;<br /> +Hack, spendthrift, starveling, duellist in turn;<br /> +Too cross to cherish yet too fierce to spurn;<br /> +Begrimed with ink or brave with wine and blood;<br /> +Spirit of fire and manikin of mud;<br /> +Now shining clear, now fain to starve and skulk;<br /> +Star of the cellar, pensioner of the bulk;<br /> +At once the child of passion and the slave;<br /> +Brawling his way to an unhonoured grave—<br /> +That was <span class="smcap"><i>Dick Savage</i></span>! +Yet, ere his ghost we raise<br /> +For these more decent and less desperate days,<br /> +It may be well and seemly to reflect<br /> +That, howbeit of so prodigal a sect,<br /> +Since it was his to call until the end<br /> +Our greatest, wisest Englishman his friend,<br /> +’Twere all-too fatuous if we cursed and scorned<br /> +The strange, wild creature <span +class="smcap"><i>Johnson</i></span> loved and mourned.</p> +<p> <!-- page 93--><a name="page93"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 93</span>Nature is but the +oyster—Art’s the pearl:<br /> +Our <span class="smcap"><i>Dick</i></span> is neither sycophant +nor churl.<br /> +Not as he was but as he might have been<br /> +Had the Unkind Gods been poets of the scene,<br /> +Fired with our fancy, shaped and tricked anew<br /> +To touch your hearts with love, your eyes with rue,<br /> +He stands or falls, ere he these boards depart,<br /> +Not as dead Nature but as living Art.</p> +<h3><!-- page 94--><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +94</span>III. ADMIRAL GUINEA</h3> +<p><i>By W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson</i>,<br /> +<i>Avenue Theatre</i>, <i>Monday</i>, <i>November</i> 29, +1897.</p> +<p>Spoken by Miss <span class="smcap">Elizabeth +Robins</span>.</p> +<p>Once was an Age, an Age of blood and gold,<br /> +An Age of shipmen scoundrelly and bold—<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>Blackbeard</i></span> and <span +class="smcap"><i>Avory</i></span>, <span +class="smcap"><i>Singleton</i></span>, <span +class="smcap"><i>Roberts</i></span>, <span +class="smcap"><i>Kidd</i></span>:<br /> +An Age which seemed, the while it rolled its quid,<br /> +Brave with adventure and doubloons and crime,<br /> +Rum and the Ebony Trade: when, time on time,<br /> +Real Pirates, right Sea-Highwaymen, could mock<br /> +The carrion strung at <span class="smcap"><i>Execution +Dock</i></span>;<br /> +And the trim Slaver, with her raking rig,<br /> +Her cloud of sails, her spars superb and trig,<br /> +Held, in a villainous ecstasy of gain,<br /> +Her musky course from <span class="smcap"><i>Benin</i></span> to +the <span class="smcap"><i>Main</i></span>,<br /> +And back again for niggers:<br /> + When, in fine,<br /> +Some thought that <span class="smcap"><i>Eden</i></span> bloomed +across the Line,<br /> +And some, like <span class="smcap"><i>Cowper’s +Newton</i></span>, lived to tell<br /> +That through those parallels ran the road to Hell.</p> +<p><!-- page 95--><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span> Once was a pair of Friends, who loved to +chance<br /> +Their feet in any by-way of Romance:<br /> +They, like two vagabond schoolboys, unafraid<br /> +Of stark impossibilities, essayed<br /> +To make these Penitent and Impenitent Thieves,<br /> +These <span class="smcap"><i>Pews</i></span> and <span +class="smcap"><i>Gaunts</i></span>, each man of them with his +sheaves<br /> +Of humour, passion, cruelty, tyranny, life,<br /> +Fit shadows for the boards; till in the strife<br /> +Of dream with dream, their Slaver-Saint came true,<br /> +And their Blind Pirate, their resurgent <span +class="smcap"><i>Pew</i></span><br /> +(A figure of deadly farce in his new birth),<br /> +Tap-tapped his way from <span class="smcap"><i>Orcus</i></span> +back to earth;<br /> +And so, their Lover and his Lass made one,<br /> +In their best prose this <i>Admiral</i> here was done.</p> +<p> One of this Pair sleeps till the crack of +doom<br /> +Where the great ocean-rollers plunge and boom:<br /> +The other waits and wonders what his Friend,<br /> +Dead now, and deaf, and silent, were the end<br /> +Revealed to his rare spirit, would find to say<br /> +If you, his lovers, loved him for this Play.</p> +<h2><!-- page 99--><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>IV. EPICEDIA</h2> +<h3>TWO DAYS<br /> +(<i>February</i> 15—<i>September</i> 28, 1894)</h3> +<p><i>To</i> V. G.</p> +<p>That day we brought our Beautiful One to lie<br /> +In the green peace within your gates, he came<br /> +To give us greeting, boyish and kind and shy,<br /> +And, stricken as we were, we blessed his name:<br /> +Yet, like the Creature of Light that had been ours,<br /> +Soon of the sweet Earth disinherited,<br /> +He too must join, even with the Year’s old flowers,<br /> +The unanswering generations of the Dead.<br /> +So stand we friends for you, who stood our friend<br /> +Through him that day; for now through him you know<br /> +That though where love was, love is till the end,<br /> +Love, turned of death to longing, like a foe,<br /> + Strikes: when the ruined heart goes forth to +crave<br /> + Mercy of the high, austere, unpitying Grave.</p> +<h3><!-- page 100--><a name="page100"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 100</span>IN MEMORIAM<br /> +THOMAS EDWARD BROWN</h3> +<p>(<i>Ob. October</i> 30, 1897)</p> +<p>He looked half-parson and half-skipper: a quaint,<br /> +Beautiful blend, with blue eyes good to see,<br /> +And old-world whiskers. You found him cynic, saint,<br /> +Salt, humourist, Christian, poet; with a free,<br /> +Far-glancing, luminous utterance; and a heart<br /> +Large as <span class="smcap"><i>St. Francis’s</i></span>: +withal a brain<br /> +Stored with experience, letters, fancy, art,<br /> +And scored with runes of human joy and pain.<br /> +Till six-and-sixty years he used his gift,<br /> +His gift unparalleled, of laughter and tears,<br /> +And left the world a high-piled, golden drift<br /> +Of verse: to grow more golden with the years,<br /> + Till the Great Silence fallen upon his ways<br /> + Break into song, and he that had Love have +Praise.</p> +<h3><!-- page 101--><a name="page101"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 101</span>IN MEMORIAM<br /> +GEORGE WARRINGTON STEEVENS</h3> +<p><i>London</i>, <i>December</i> 10, 1869.<br /> +<i>Ladysmith</i>, <i>January</i> 15, 1900.</p> +<p>We cheered you forth—brilliant and kind and brave.<br /> + Under your country’s triumphing flag you +fell.<br /> +It floats, true Heart, over no dearer grave—<br /> + Brave and brilliant and kind, hail and farewell!</p> +<h3><!-- page 102--><a name="page102"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 102</span>LAST POST</h3> +<p>The day’s high work is over and done,<br /> +And these no more will need the sun:<br /> +Blow, you bugles of <span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, +blow!<br /> +These are gone whither all must go,<br /> +Mightily gone from the field they won.<br /> +So in the workaday wear of battle,<br /> +Touched to glory with <span +class="smcap"><i>God’s</i></span> own red,<br /> +Bear we our chosen to their bed.<br /> +Settle them lovingly where they fell,<br /> +In that good lap they loved so well;<br /> +And, their deliveries to the dear <span +class="smcap"><i>Lord</i></span> said,<br /> +And the last desperate volleys ranged and sped,<br /> +Blow, you bugles of <span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, +blow<br /> +Over the camps of her beaten foe—<br /> +Blow glory and pity to the victor Mother,<br /> +Sad, O, sad in her sacrificial dead!</p> +<p>Labour, and love, and strife, and mirth,<br /> +They gave their part in this goodly Earth—<br /> +<!-- page 103--><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>Blow, you bugles of <span +class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, blow!—<br /> +That her Name as a sun among stars might glow,<br /> +Till the dusk of Time, with honour and worth:<br /> +That, stung by the lust and the pain of battle,<br /> +The One Race ever might starkly spread,<br /> +And the One Flag eagle it overhead!<br /> +In a rapture of wrath and faith and pride,<br /> +Thus they felt it, and thus they died;<br /> +So to the Maker of homes, to the Giver of bread,<br /> +For whose dear sake their triumphing souls they shed,<br /> +Blow, you bugles of <span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, +blow,<br /> +Though you break the heart of her beaten foe,<br /> +Glory and praise to the everlasting Mother,<br /> +Glory and peace to her lovely and faithful dead!</p> +<h3><!-- page 104--><a name="page104"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 104</span>IN MEMORIAM<br /> +REGINAE DILECTISSIMAE VICTORIAE</h3> +<p>(<i>May</i> 24, 1819—<i>January</i> 22, 1901)</p> +<p><i>Sceptre and orb and crown</i>,<br /> +<i>High ensigns of a sovranty containing</i><br /> +<i>The beauty and strength and state of half a World</i>,<br /> +<i>Pass from her</i>, <i>and she fades</i><br /> +<i>Into the old</i>, <i>inviolable peace</i>.</p> +<p>I</p> +<p>She had been ours so long<br /> +She seemed a piece of <span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>: +spirit and blood<br /> +And message <span class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> +self,<br /> +Home-coloured, <span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span> in look +and deed and dream;<br /> +Like the rich meadows and woods, the serene rivers,<br /> +And sea-charmed cliffs and beaches, that still bring<br /> +<!-- page 105--><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +105</span>A rush of tender pride to the heart<br /> +That beats in <span class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> +airs to <span class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> +ends:<br /> +August, familiar, irremovable,<br /> +Like the good stars that shine<br /> +In the good skies that only <span +class="smcap"><i>England</i></span> knows:<br /> +So that we held it sure<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>God’s</i></span> aim, <span +class="smcap"><i>God’s</i></span> will, <span +class="smcap"><i>God’s</i></span> way,<br /> +When Empire from her footstool, realm on realm,<br /> +Spread, even as from her notable womb<br /> +Sprang line on line of Kings;<br /> +For she was <span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>—<span +class="smcap"><i>England</i></span> and our Queen.</p> +<p>II</p> +<p>O, she was ours! And she had aimed<br /> +And known and done the best<br /> +And highest in time: greatly rejoiced,<br /> +Ruled greatly, greatly endured. Love had been hers,<br /> +And widowhood, glory and grief, increase<br /> +In wisdom and power and pride,<br /> +Dominion, honour, children, reverence:<br /> +So that, in peace and war<br /> +<!-- page 106--><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>Innumerably victorious, she lay down<br /> +To die in a world renewed,<br /> +Cleared, in her luminous umbrage beautified<br /> +For Man, and changing fast<br /> +Into so gracious an inheritance<br /> +As Man had never dared<br /> +Imagine. Think, when she passed,<br /> +Think what a pageant of immortal acts,<br /> +Done in the unapproachable face<br /> +Of Time by the high, transcending human mind,<br /> +Shone and acclaimed<br /> +And triumphed in her advent! Think of the ghosts,<br /> +Think of the mighty ghosts: soldiers and priests,<br /> +Artists and captains of discovery,<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>God’s</i></span> chosen, His +adventurers up the heights<br /> +Of thought and deed—how many of them that led<br /> +The forlorn hopes of the World!—<br /> +Her peers and servants, made the air<br /> +Of her death-chamber glorious! Think how they thronged<br +/> +About her bed, and with what pride<br /> +They took this sister-ghost<br /> +Tenderly into the night! O, think—<br /> +<!-- page 107--><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +107</span>And, thinking, bow the head<br /> +In sorrow, but in the reverence that makes<br /> +The strong man stronger—this true maid,<br /> +True wife, true mother, tried and found<br /> +An hundred times true steel,<br /> +This unforgettable woman was your Queen!</p> +<p>III</p> +<p>Tears for her—tears! Tears and the mighty rites<br +/> +Of an everlasting and immense farewell,<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, green heart of the +world, and you,<br /> +Dear demi-<span class="smcap"><i>Englands</i></span>, far-away +isles of home,<br /> +Where the old speech is native, and the old flag<br /> +Floats, and the old irresistible call,<br /> +The watch-word of so many ages of years,<br /> +Makes men in love<br /> +With toil for the race, and pain, and peril, and death!<br /> +Tears, and the dread, tremendous dirge<br /> +Of her brooding battleships, and hosts<br /> +Processional, with trailing arms; the plaint—<br /> +Measured, enormous, terrible—of her guns;<br /> +The slow, heart-breaking throb<br /> +<!-- page 108--><a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +108</span>Of bells; the trouble of drums; the blare<br /> +Of mourning trumpets; the discomforting pomp<br /> +Of silent crowds, black streets, and banners-royal<br /> +Obsequious! Then, these high things done,<br /> +Rise, heartened of your passion! Rise to the height<br /> +Of her so lofty life! Kneel, if you must;<br /> +But, kneeling, win to those great altitudes<br /> +On which she sought and did<br /> +Her clear, supernal errand unperturbed!<br /> +Let the new memory<br /> +Be as the old, long love! So, when the hour<br /> +Strikes, as it must, for valour of heart,<br /> +Virtue, and patience, and unblenching hope,<br /> +And the inflexible resolve<br /> +That, come the World in arms,<br /> +This breeder of nations, <span +class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, keeping the seas<br /> +Hers as from <span class="smcap"><i>God</i></span>, shall in the +sight of <span class="smcap"><i>God</i></span><br /> +Stand justified of herself<br /> +Wherever her unretreating bugles blow!<br /> +Remember that she lived<br /> +That this magnificent Power might still perdure—<br /> +Your friend, your passionate servant, counsellor, Queen.</p> +<p><!-- page 109--><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>IV</p> +<p>Be that your chief of mourning—that!—<br /> +<span class="smcap"><i>England</i></span>, O Mother, and you,<br +/> +The daughter Kingdoms born and reared<br /> +Of <span class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> travail and +sweet blood;<br /> +And never will you lands,<br /> +The live Earth over and round,<br /> +Wherethrough for sixty royal and radiant years<br /> +Her drum-tap made the dawns<br /> +English—Never will you<br /> +So fittingly and well have paid your debt<br /> +Of grief and gratitude to the souls<br /> +That sink in <span class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> +harness into the dream:<br /> +‘I die for <span +class="smcap"><i>England’s</i></span> sake, and it is +well’:<br /> +As now to this valiant, wonderful piece of earth,<br /> +To which the assembling nations bare the head,<br /> +And bend the knee,<br /> +In absolute veneration—once your Queen.</p> +<p><i>Sceptre and orb and crown</i>,<br /> +<i>High ensigns of a sovranty empaling</i><br /> +<i>The glory and love and praise of a whole half-world</i>,<br /> +<i>Fall from her</i>, <i>and</i>, <i>preceding</i>, <i>she +departs</i><br /> +<i>Into the old</i>, <i>indissoluble Peace</i>.</p> +<p><!-- page 110--><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +110</span>EPILOGUE</p> +<p>Into a land<br /> +Storm-wrought, a place of quakes, all thunder-scarred,<br /> +Helpless, degraded, desolate,<br /> +Peace, the White Angel, comes.<br /> +Her eyes are as a mother’s. Her good hands<br /> +Are comforting, and helping; and her voice<br /> +Falls on the heart, as, after Winter, Spring<br /> +Falls on the World, and there is no more pain.<br /> +And, in her influence, hope returns, and life,<br /> +And the passion of endeavour: so that, soon,<br /> +The idle ports are insolent with keels;<br /> +The stithies roar, and the mills thrum<br /> +With energy and achievement; weald and wold<br /> +Exult; the cottage-garden teems<br /> +With innocent hues and odours; boy and girl<br /> +Mate prosperously; there are sweet women to kiss;<br /> +There are good women to breed. In a golden fog,<br /> +<!-- page 111--><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +111</span>A large, full-stomached faith in kindliness<br /> +All over the world, the nation, in a dream<br /> +Of money and love and sport, hangs at the paps<br /> +Of well-being, and so<br /> +Goes fattening, mellowing, dozing, rotting down<br /> +Into a rich deliquium of decay.</p> +<p>Then, if the Gods be good,<br /> +Then, if the Gods be other than mischievous,<br /> +Down from their footstools, down<br /> +With a million-throated shouting, swoops and storms<br /> +War, the Red Angel, the Awakener,<br /> +The Shaker of Souls and Thrones; and at her heel<br /> +Trail grief, and ruin, and shame!<br /> +The woman weeps her man, the mother her son,<br /> +The tenderling its father. In wild hours,<br /> +A people, haggard with defeat,<br /> +Asks if there be a God; yet sets its teeth,<br /> +Faces calamity, and goes into the fire<br /> +Another than it was. And in wild hours<br /> +A people, roaring ripe<br /> +With victory, rises, menaces, stands renewed,<br /> +Sheds its old piddling aims,<br /> +<!-- page 112--><a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +112</span>Approves its virtue, puts behind itself<br /> +The comfortable dream, and goes,<br /> +Armoured and militant,<br /> +New-pithed, new-souled, new-visioned, up the steeps<br /> +To those great altitudes, whereat the weak<br /> +Live not. But only the strong<br /> +Have leave to strive, and suffer, and achieve.</p> +<p><span class="smcap">Worthing</span>, 1901.</p> +<p style="text-align: center">Printed by T. and A. <span +class="smcap">Constable</span>, (late) Printers to Her Majesty at +the Edinburgh University Press</p> +<h2>Footnotes:</h2> +<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63" +class="footnote">[63]</a> <i>At two years old</i>, <i>my +child</i>, <i>being chidden</i>, <i>found this striking +phrase</i>.—<i>W. E. H.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote79"></a><a href="#citation79" +class="footnote">[79]</a> Wilfrid Blunt.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 21662-h.htm or 21662-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/6/6/21662 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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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: Hawthorn and Lavender + with Other Verses + + +Author: William Ernest Henley + + + +Release Date: June 1, 2007 [eBook #21662] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER*** + + + +Transcribed from the 1901 David Nutt edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +HAWTHORN +AND LAVENDER + + +_With Other Verses_, _by_ +WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY + + _O_, _how shall summer's honey breath hold out_ + _Against the wrackful siege of battering days_? + + SHAKESPEARE + +LONDON +_Published by DAVID NUTT_ +at the Sign of the Phoenix +IN LONG ACRE +1901 + +_First Edition printed October_ 1901 +_Second Edition printed November_ 1901 + +Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty + + + + +Dedication + + +_Ask me not how they came_, +_These songs of love and death_, +_These dreams of a futile stage_, +_These thumb-nails seen in the street_: +_Ask me not how nor why_, +_But take them for your own_, +_Dear Wife of twenty years_, +_Knowing_--_O_, _who so well_?-- +_You it was made the man_ +_That made these songs of love_, +_Death_, _and the trivial rest_: +_So that_, _your love elsewhere_, +_These songs_, _or bad or good_-- +_How should they ever have been_? + +WORTHING, _July_ 31, 1901. + + + + +PROLOGUE + + +These to the glory and praise of the green land +That bred my women, and that holds my dead, +_ENGLAND_, and with her the strong broods that stand +Wherever her fighting lines are thrust or spread! +They call us proud?--Look at our English Rose! +Shedders of blood?--Where hath our own been spared? +Shopkeepers?--Our accompt the high _GOD_ knows. +Close?--In our bounty half the world hath shared. +They hate us, and they envy? Envy and hate +Should drive them to the _PIT'S_ edge?--Be it so! +That race is damned which misesteems its fate; +And this, in _GOD'S_ good time, they all shall know, + And know you too, you good green _ENGLAND_, then-- + Mother of mothering girls and governing men! + + + + +1. HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER + + +ENVOY + + +_My songs were once of the sunrise_: + _They shouted it over the bar_; +_First-footing the dawns_, _they flourished_, + _And flamed with the morning star_. + +_My songs are now of the sunset_: + _Their brows are touched with light_, +_But their feet are lost in the shadows_ + _And wet with the dews of night_. + +_Yet for the joy in their making_ + _Take them_, _O fond and true_, +_And for his sake who made them_ + _Let them be dear to You_. + + + +PRAELUDIUM + + +_Largo espressivo_ + +In sumptuous chords, and strange, +Through rich yet poignant harmonies: +Subtle and strong browns, reds +Magnificent with death and the pride of death, +Thin, clamant greens +And delicate yellows that exhaust +The exquisite chromatics of decay: +From ruining gardens, from reluctant woods-- +Dear, multitudinously reluctant woods!-- +And sering margents, forced +To be lean and bare and perished grace by grace, +And flower by flower discharmed, +Comes, to a purpose none, +Not even the Scorner, which is the Fool, can blink, +The dead-march of the year. + +Dead things and dying! Now the long-laboured soul +Listens, and pines. But never a note of hope +Sounds: whether in those high, +Transcending unisons of resignation +That speed the sovran sun, +As he goes southing, weakening, minishing, +Almighty in obedience; or in those +Small, sorrowful colloquies +Of bronze and russet and gold, +Colour with colour, dying things with dead, +That break along this visual orchestra: +As in that other one, the audible, +Horn answers horn, hautboy and violin +Talk, and the 'cello calls the clarionet +And flute, and the poor heart is glad. +There is no hope in these--only despair. + +Then, destiny in act, ensues +That most tremendous passage in the score: +When hangman rains and winds have wrought +Their worst, and, the brave lights gone down, +The low strings, the brute brass, the sullen drums +Sob, grovel, and curse themselves +Silent. . . . + But on the spirit of Man +And on the heart of the World there falls +A strange, half-desperate peace: +A war-worn, militant, gray jubilance +In the unkind, implacable tyranny +Of Winter, the obscene, +Old, crapulous Regent, who in his loins-- +O, who but feels he carries in his loins +The wild, sweet-blooded, wonderful harlot, Spring? + + + +I. + + +Low--low +Over a perishing after-glow, +A thin, red shred of moon +Trailed. In the windless air +The poplars all ranked lean and chill. +The smell of winter loitered there, +And the Year's heart felt still. +Yet not so far away +Seemed the mad Spring, +But that, as lovers will, +I let my laughing heart go play, +As it had been a fond maid's frolicking; +And, turning thrice the gold I'd got, +In the good gloom +Solemnly wished me--what? +What, and with whom? + + + +II + + +Moon of half-candied meres +And flurrying, fading snows; +Moon of unkindly rains, +Wild skies, and troubled vanes; +When the Norther snarls and bites, +And the lone moon walks a-cold, +And the lawns grizzle o' nights, +And wet fogs search the fold: +Here in this heart of mine +A dream that warms like wine, +A dream one other knows, +Moon of the roaring weirs +And the sip-sopping close, + February Fill-Dyke, +Shapes like a royal rose-- + A red, red rose! + +O, but the distance clears! +O, but the daylight grows! +Soon shall the pied wind-flowers +Babble of greening hours, +Primrose and daffodil +Yearn to a fathering sun, +The lark have all his will, +The thrush be never done, +And April, May, and June +Go to the same blythe tune +As this blythe dream of mine! +Moon when the crocus peers, +Moon when the violet blows, + February Fair-Maid, +Haste, and let come the rose-- + Let come the rose! + + + +III + + +The night dislimns, and breaks + Like snows slow thawn; +An evil wind awakes + On lea and lawn; +The low East quakes; and hark! +Out of the kindless dark, +A fierce, protesting lark, + High in the horror of dawn! + +A shivering streak of light, + A scurry of rain: +Bleak day from bleaker night + Creeps pinched and fain; +The old gloom thins and dies, +And in the wretched skies +A new gloom, sick to rise, + Sprawls, like a thing in pain. + +And yet, what matter--say!-- + The shuddering trees, +The Easter-stricken day, + The sodden leas? +The good bird, wing and wing +With Time, finds heart to sing, +As he were hastening + The swallow o'er the seas. + + + +IV + + +It came with the year's first crocus + In a world of winds and snows-- +Because it would, because it must, +Because of life and time and lust; +And a year's first crocus served my turn + As well as the year's first rose. + +The March rack hurries and hectors, + The March dust heaps and blows; +But the primrose flouts the daffodil, +And here's the patient violet still; +And the year's first crocus brought me luck, + So hey for the year's first rose! + + + +V + + +The good South-West on sea-worn wings + Comes shepherding the good rain; +The brave Sea breaks, and glooms, and swings, + A weltering, glittering plain. + +Sound, Sea of England, sound and shine, + Blow, English Wind, amain, +Till in this old, gray heart of mine + The Spring need wake again! + + + +VI + + +In the red April dawn, + In the wild April weather, +From brake and thicket and lawn + The birds sing all together. + +The look of the hoyden Spring + Is pinched and shrewish and cold; +But all together they sing + Of a world that can never be old: + +Of a world still young--still young!-- + Whose last word won't be said, +Nor her last song dreamed and sung, + Till her last true lover's dead! + + + +VII + + +The April sky sags low and drear, + The April winds blow cold, +The April rains fall gray and sheer, + And yeanlings keep the fold. + +But the rook has built, and the song-birds quire, + And over the faded lea +The lark soars glorying, gyre on gyre, + And he is the bird for me! + +For he sings as if from his watchman's height + He saw, this blighting day, +The far vales break into colour and light + From the banners and arms of May. + + + +VIII + + +Shadow and gleam on the Downland + Under the low Spring sky, +Shadow and gleam in my spirit-- + Why? + +A bird, in his nest rejoicing, + Cheers and flatters and woos: +A fresh voice flutters my fancy-- + Whose? + +And the humour of April frolics + And bickers in blade and bough-- +O, to meet for the primal kindness + Now! + + + +IX + + +The wind on the wold, + With sea-scents and sea-dreams attended, + Is wine! +The air is as gold + In elixir--it takes so the splendid + Sunshine! + +O, the larks in the blue! + How the song of them glitters, and glances, + And gleams! +The old music sounds new-- + And it's O, the wild Spring, and his chances + And dreams! + +There's a lift in the blood-- + O, this gracious, and thirsting, and aching + Unrest! +All life's at the bud, + And my heart, full of April, is breaking + My breast. + + + +X + + +Deep in my gathering garden + A gallant thrush has built; +And his quaverings on the stillness + Like light made song are spilt. + +They gleam, they glint, they sparkle, + They glitter along the air, +Like the song of a sunbeam netted + In a tangle of red-gold hair. + +And I long, as I laugh and listen, + For the angel-hour that shall bring +My part, pre-ordained and appointed, + In the miracle of Spring. + + + +XI + + +What doth the blackbird in the boughs +Sing all day to his nested spouse? +What but the song of his old Mother-Earth, +In her mighty humour of lust and mirth? +'Love and God's will go wing and wing, +And as for death, is there any such thing?'-- +In the shadow of death, +So, at the beck of the wizard Spring +The dear bird saith-- + So the bird saith! + +Caught with us all in the nets of fate, +So the sweet wretch sings early and late; +And, O my fairest, after all, +The heart of the World's in his innocent call. +The will of the World's with him wing and wing:-- +'Life--life--life! 'Tis the sole great thing +This side of death, +Heart on heart in the wonder of Spring!' +So the bird saith-- + The wise bird saith! + + + +XII + + + This world, all hoary + With song and story, + Rolls in a glory + Of youth and mirth; + Above and under + Clothed on with wonder. + Sunrise and thunder, + And death and birth. + His broods befriending + With grace unending + And gifts transcending + A god's at play, + Yet do his meetness + And sovran sweetness +Hold in the jocund purpose of May. + + So take your pleasure, + And in full measure + Use of your treasure, + When birds sing best! + For when heaven's bluest, + And earth feels newest, + And love longs truest, + And takes not rest: + When winds blow cleanest, + And seas roll sheenest, + And lawns lie greenest: + Then, night and day, + Dear life counts dearest, + And God walks nearest +To them that praise Him, praising His May. + + + +XIII + + +_I talked one midnight with the jolly ghost_ +_Of a gray ancestor_, _TOM HEYWOOD hight_; +_And_, '_Here's_,' _says he_, _his old heart liquor-lifted_-- +'_Here's how we did when GLORIANA shone_:' + +All in a garden green + Thrushes were singing; +Red rose and white between, + Lilies were springing; +It was the merry May; + Yet sang my Lady:-- +'Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay! + I am not ready.' + +Then to a pleasant shade + I did invite her: +All things a concert made, + For to delight her; +Under, the grass was gay; + Yet sang my Lady:-- +'Nay, Sweet, now nay, now nay! + I am not ready.' + + + +XIV + + +Why do you linger and loiter, O most sweet? +Why do you falter and delay, +Now that the insolent, high-blooded May +Comes greeting and to greet? +Comes with her instant summonings to stray +Down the green, antient way-- +The leafy, still, rose-haunted, eye-proof street!-- +Where true lovers each other may entreat, +Ere the gold hair turn gray? +Entreat, and fleet +Life gaudily, and so play out their play, +Even with the triumphing May-- +The young-eyed, smiling, irresistible May! + +Why do you loiter and linger, O most dear? +Why do you dream and palter and stay, +When every dawn, that rushes up the bay, +Brings nearer, and more near, +The Terror, the Discomforter, whose prey, +Beloved, we must be? Nor prayer, nor tear, +Lets his arraignment; but we disappear, +What time the gold turns gray, +Into the sheer, +Blind gulfs unglutted of mere Yesterday, +With the unlingering May-- +The good, fulfilling, irresponsible May! + + + +XV + + +_Come where my Lady lies_, +_Sleeping down the golden hours_! +_Cover her with flowers_. + +Bluebells from the clearings, + Flag-flowers from the rills, +Wildings from the lush hedgerows, + Delicate daffodils, +Sweetlings from the formal plots, + Bloomkins from the bowers-- +Heap them round her where she sleeps, + _Cover her with flowers_! + +Sweet-pea and pansy, + Red hawthorn and white; +Gilliflowers--like praising souls; + Lilies--lamps of light: +Nurselings of what happy winds, + Suns, and stars, and showers! +Joylets good to see and smell-- + _Cover her with flowers_! + +Like to sky-born shadows + Mirrored on a stream, +Let their odours meet and mix + And waver through her dream! +Last, the crowded sweetness + Slumber overpowers, +And she feels the lips she loves + _Craving through the flowers_! + + + +XVI + + +The west a glory of green and red and gold, +The magical drifts to north and eastward rolled, +The shining sands, the still, transfigured sea, +The wind so light it scarce begins to be, +As these long days unfold a flower, unfold + Life's rose in me. + +Life's rose--life's rose! Red at my heart it glows-- +Glows and is glad, as in some quiet close +The sun's spoiled darlings their gay life renew! +Only, the clement rain, the mothering dew, +Daytide and night, all things that make the rose, + Are you, dear--you! + + + +XVII + + +Look down, dear eyes, look down, + Lest you betray her gladness. +Dear brows, do naught but frown, + Lest men miscall my madness. + +Come not, dear hands, so near, + Lest all besides come nearer. +Dear heart, hold me less dear, + Lest time hold nothing dearer. + +Keep me, dear lips, O, keep + The great last word unspoken, +Lest other eyes go weep, + And other lives lie broken! + + + +XVIII + + +Poplar and lime and chestnut + Meet in a living screen; +And there the winds and the sunbeams keep + A revel of gold and green. + +O, the green dreams and the golden, + The golden thoughts and green, +This green and golden end of May + My lover and me between! + + + +XIX + + +Hither, this solemn eventide, +All flushed and mystical and blue, +When the late bird sings +And sweet-breathed garden-ghosts walk sudden and wide, +Hesper, that bringeth all good things, +Brings me a dream of you. +And in my heart, dear heart, it comes and goes, +Even as the south wind lingers and falls and blows, +Even as the south wind sighs and tarries and streams, +Among the living leaves about and round; +With a still, soothing sound, +As of a multitude of dreams +Of love, and the longing of love, and love's delight, +Thronging, ten thousand deep, +Into the uncreating Night, +With semblances and shadows to fulfil, +Amaze, and thrill +The strange, dispeopled silences of Sleep. + + + +XX + + +After the grim daylight, +Night-- +Night and the stars and the sea! +Only the sea, and the stars +And the star-shown sails and spars-- +Naught else in the night for me! + +Over the northern height, +Light-- +Light and the dawn of a day +With nothing for me but a breast +Laboured with love's unrest, +And the irk of an idle May! + + + +XXI + + +Love, which is lust, is the Lamp in the Tomb. +Love, which is lust, is the Call from the Gloom. + +Love, which is lust, is the Main of Desire. +Love, which is lust, is the Centric Fire. + +So man and woman will keep their trust, +Till the very Springs of the Sea run dust. + +Yea, each with the other will lose and win, +Till the very Sides of the Grave fall in. + +For the strife of Love's the abysmal strife, +And the word of Love is the Word of Life. + +And they that go with the Word unsaid, +Though they seem of the living, are damned and dead. + + + +XXII + + +Between the dusk of a summer night + And the dawn of a summer day, +We caught at a mood as it passed in flight, + And we bade it stoop and stay. +And what with the dawn of night began + With the dusk of day was done; +For that is the way of woman and man, + When a hazard has made them one. + +Arc upon arc, from shade to shine, + The World went thundering free; +And what was his errand but hers and mine-- + The lords of him, I and she? +O, it's die we must, but it's live we can, + And the marvel of earth and sun +Is all for the joy of woman and man + And the longing that makes them one. + + + +XXIII + + +I took a hansom on to-day + For a round I used to know-- +That I used to take for a woman's sake + In a fever of to-and-fro. + +There were the landmarks one and all-- + What did they stand to show? +Street and square and river were there-- + Where was the antient woe? + +Never a hint of a challenging hope + Nor a hope laid sick and low, +But a longing dead as its kindred sped + A thousand years ago! + + + +XXIV + + +Only a freakish wisp of hair?-- +Nay, but its wildest, its most frolic whorl +Stands for a slim, enamoured, sweet-fleshed girl! +And so, a tangle of dream and charm and fun, +Its every crook a promise and a snare, +Its every dowle, or genially gadding +Or crisply curled, +Heartening and madding, +Empales a novel and peculiar world +Of right, essential fantasies, +And shining acts as yet undone, +But in these wonder-working days +Soon, soon to ask our sovran Lord, the Sun, +For countenance and praise, +As of the best his storying eye hath seen, +And his vast memory can parallel, +Among the darling victories-- +Beneficent, beautiful, inexpressible-- +Of life on time!-- + Yet have they flashed and been +In millions, since 'twas his to bring +The heaven-creating Spring, +An angel of adventure and delight, +In all her beauty and all her strength and worth, +With her great guerdons of romance and spright, +And those high needs that fill the flesh with might, +Home to the citizens of this good, green earth. + +Poor souls--they have but time and place +To play their transient little play +And sing their singular little song, +Ere they are rushed away +Into the antient, undisclosing Night; +And none is left to tell of the clear eyes +That filled them with God's grace, +And turned the iron skies to skies of gold! +None; but the sweetest She herself grows old-- +Grows old, and dies; +And, but for such a lovely snatch of hair +As this, none--none could guess, or know +That She was kind and fair, +And he had nights and days beyond compare-- +How many dusty and silent years ago! + + + +XXV + + +This is the moon of roses, + The lovely and flowerful time; +And, as white roses climb the wall, + Your dreams about me climb. + +This is the moon of roses, + Glad and golden and blue; +And, as red roses drink of the sun, + My dreams they drink of you. + +This is the moon of roses! + The cherishing South-West blows, +And life, dear heart, for me and you, + O, life's a rejoicing rose. + + + +XXVI + + +June, and a warm, sweet rain; + June, and the call of a bird: +To a lover in pain + What lovelier word? + +Two of each other fain + Happily heart on heart: +So in the wind and rain + Spring bears his part! + +O, to be heart on heart + One with the warm June rain, +God with us from the start, + And no more pain! + + + +XXVII + + +It was a bowl of roses: + There in the light they lay, +Languishing, glorying, glowing + Their life away. + +And the soul of them rose like a presence, + Into me crept and grew, +And filled me with something--some one-- + O, was it you? + + + +XXVIII + + +Your feet as glad +And light as a dove's homing wings, you came-- +Came with your sweets to fill my hands, +My sense with your perfume. + +We closed with lips +Grown weary and fain with longing from afar, +The while your grave, enamoured eyes +Drank down the dream in mine. + +Till the great need +So lovely and so instant grew, it seemed +The embodied Spirit of the Spring +Hung at me, heart on heart. + + + +XXIX + + +A world of leafage murmurous and a-twinkle; +The green, delicious plenitude of June; +Love and laughter and song +The blue day long +Going to the same glad, golden tune-- +The same glad tune! + +Clouds on the dim, delighting skies a-sprinkle; +Poplars black in the wake of a setting moon; +Love and languor and sleep +And the star-sown deep +Going to the same good, golden tune-- +The same good tune! + + + +XXX + + +I send you roses--red, like love, + And white, like death, sweet friend: +Born in your bosom to rejoice, + Languish, and droop, and end. + +If the white roses tell of death, + Let the red roses mend +The talk with true stories of love + Unchanging till the end. + +Red and white roses, love and death-- + What else is left to send? +For what is life but love, the means, + And death, true Wife, the end? + + + +XXXI + + +These glad, these great, these goodly days +Bewildering hope, outrunning praise, + The Earth, renewed by the great Sun's longing, +Utters her joy in a million ways! + +What is there left, sweet Soul and true-- +What, for us and our dream to do? + What but to take this mighty Summer +As it were made for me and you? + +Take it and live it beam by beam, +Motes of light on a gleaming stream, + Glare by glare and glory on glory +Through to the ash of this flaming dream! + + + +XXXII + + +The downs, like uplands in Eden, + Gleam in an afterglow +Like a rose-world ruining earthwards-- + Mystical, wistful, slow! + +Near and afar in the leafage, + That last glad call to the nest! +And the thought of you hangs and triumphs + With Hesper low in the west! + +Till the song and the light and the colour, + The passion of earth and sky, +Are blent in a rapture of boding + Of the death we should one day die. + + + +XXXIII + + +The time of the silence +Of birds is upon us: +Rust in the chestnut leaf, +Dust in the stubble: +The turn of the Year +And the call to decay. + +Stately and splendid, +The Summer passes: +Sad with satiety, +Sick with fulfilment; +Spent and consumed, +But august till the end. + +By wilting hedgerows +And white-hot highways, +Bearing its memories +Even as a burden, +The tired heart plods +For a place of rest. + + + +XXXIV + + +There was no kiss that day? +No intimate Yea-and-Nay, +No sweets in hand, no tender, lingering touch? +None of those desperate, exquisite caresses, +So instant--O, so brief!--and yet so much, +The thought of the swiftest lifts and blesses? +Nor any one of those great royal words, +Those sovran privacies of speech, +Frank as the call of April birds, +That, whispered, live a life of gold +Among the heart's still sainted memories, +And irk, and thrill, and ravish, and beseech, +Even when the dream of dreams in death's a-cold? +No, there was none of these, +Dear one, and yet-- +O, eyes on eyes! O, voices breaking still, +For all the watchful will, +Into a kinder kindness than seemed due +From you to me, and me to you! +And that hot-eyed, close-throated, blind regret +Of woman and man baulked and debarred the blue!-- +No kiss--no kiss that day? +Nay, rather, though we seemed to wear the rue, +Sweet friend, how many, and how goodly--say! + + + +XXXV + + +Sing to me, sing, and sing again, + My glad, great-throated nightingale: +Sing, as the good sun through the rain-- + Sing, as the home-wind in the sail! + +Sing to me life, and toil, and time, + O bugle of dawn, O flute of rest! +Sing, and once more, as in the prime, + There shall be naught but seems the best. + +And sing me at the last of love: + Sing that old magic of the May, +That makes the great world laugh and move + As lightly as our dream to-day! + + + +XXXVI + + +_We sat late_, _late_--_talking of many things_. +_He told me of his grief_, _and_, _in the telling_, +_The gist of his tale showed to me_, _rhymed_, _like this_. + +It came, the news, like a fire in the night, + That life and its best were done; +And there was never so dazed a wretch + In the beat of the living sun. + +I read the news, and the terms of the news + Reeled random round my brain +Like the senseless, tedious buzzle and boom + Of a bluefly in the pane. + +So I went for the news to the house of the news, + But the words were left unsaid, +For the face of the house was blank with blinds, + And I knew that she was dead. + + + +XXXVII + + +'Twas in a world of living leaves +That we two reaped and bound our sheaves: +They were of white roses and red, +And in the scything they were dead. + +Now the high Autumn flames afield, +And what is all his golden yield +To that we took, and sheaved, and bound +In the green dusk that gladdened round? + +Yet must the memory grieve and ache +Of that we did for dear love's sake, +But may no more under the sun, +Being, like our summer, spent and done. + + + +XXXVIII + + +Since those we love and those we hate, +With all things mean and all things great, +Pass in a desperate disarray +_Over the hills and far away_: + +It must be, Dear, that, late or soon, +Out of the ken of the watching moon, +We shall abscond with Yesterday +_Over the hills and far away_. + +What does it matter? As I deem, +We shall but follow as brave a dream +As ever smiled a wanton May +_Over the hills and far away_. + +We shall remember, and, in pride, +Fare forth, fulfilled and satisfied, +Into the land of Ever-and-Aye, +_Over the hills and far away_. + + + +XXXIX + + +These were the woods of wonder + We found so close and boon, +When the bride-month in her beauty + Lay mouth to mouth with June. + +November, the old, lean widow, + Sniffs, and snivels, and shrills, +And the bowers are all dismantled, + And the long grass wets and chills; + +And I hate these dismal dawnings, + These miserable even-ends, +These orts, and rags, and heeltaps-- + This dream of being merely friends. + + + +XL + + +'Dearest, when I am dead, + Make one last song for me: +Sing what I would have said-- + Righting life's wrong for me. + +'Tell them how, early and late, + Glad ran the days with me, +Seeing how goodly and great, + Love, were your ways with me.' + + + +XLI + + +Dear hands, so many times so much + When the spent year was green and prime, +Come, take your fill, and touch + This one poor time. + +Dear lips, that could not leave unsaid + One sweet-souled syllable of delight, +Once more--and be as dead + In the dead night. + +Dear eyes, so fond to read in mine + The message of our counted years, +Look your proud last, nor shine + Through tears--through tears. + + + +XLII + + +When, in what other life, +Where in what old, spent star, +Systems ago, dead vastitudes afar, +Were we two bird and bough, or man and wife? +Or wave and spar? +Or I the beating sea, and you the bar +On which it breaks? I know not, I! +But this, O this, my Very Dear, I know: +Your voice awakes old echoes in my heart; +And things I say to you now are said once more; +And, Sweet, when we two part, +I feel I have seen you falter and linger so, +So hesitate, and turn, and cling--yet go, +As once in some immemorable Before, +Once on some fortunate yet thrice-blasted shore. +Was it for good? +O, these poor eyes are wet; +And yet, O, yet, +Now that we know, I would not, if I could, +Forget. + + + +XLIII + + +The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain-- + They are with us like a disease: +They worry the heart, they work the brain, +As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane, + And savage the helpless trees. + +What does it profit a man to know + These tattered and tumbling skies +A million stately stars will show, +And the ruining grace of the after-glow + And the rush of the wild sunrise? + +Ever the rain--the rain and the wind! + Come, hunch with me over the fire, +Dream of the dreams that leered and grinned, +Ere the blood of the Year got chilled and thinned, + And the death came on desire! + + + +XLIV + + +_He made this gracious Earth a hell_ +_With Love and Drink_. _I cannot tell_ +_Of which he died_. _But Death was well_. + +Will I die of drink? + Why not? +Won't I pause and think? + --What? +Why in seeming wise + Waste your breath? +Everybody dies-- + And of death! + +Youth--if you find it's youth + Too late? +Truth--and the back of truth? + Straight, +Be it love or liquor, + What's the odds, +So it slide you quicker + To the gods? + + + +XLV + + +O, these long nights of days! +All the year's baseness in the ways, +All the year's wretchedness in the skies; +While on the blind, disheartened sea +A tramp-wind plies +Cringingly and dejectedly! +And rain and darkness, mist and mud, +They cling, they close, they sneak into the blood, +They crawl and crowd upon the brain: +Till in a dull, dense monotone of pain +The past is found a kind of maze, +At whose every coign and crook, +Broad angle and privy nook, +There waits a hooded Memory, +Sad, yet with strange, bright, unreproaching eyes. + + + +XLVI + + +In Shoreham River, hurrying down +To the live sea, +By working, marrying, breeding Shoreham Town, +Breaking the sunset's wistful and solemn dream, +An old, black rotter of a boat +Past service to the labouring, tumbling flote, +Lay stranded in mid-stream: +With a horrid list, a frightening lapse from the line, +That made me think of legs and a broken spine: +Soon, all-too soon, +Ungainly and forlorn to lie +Full in the eye +Of the cynical, discomfortable moon +That, as I looked, stared from the fading sky, +A clown's face flour'd for work. And by and by +The wide-winged sunset wanned and waned; +The lean night-wind crept westward, chilling and sighing; +The poor old hulk remained, +Stuck helpless in mid-ebb. And I knew why-- +Why, as I looked, my heart felt crying. {63} +For, as I looked, the good green earth seemed dying-- +Dying or dead; +And, as I looked on the old boat, I said:-- +'_Dear God_, _it's I_!' + + + +XLVII + + +Come by my bed, +What time the gray ghost shrieks and flies; +Take in your hands my head, +And look, O look, into my failing eyes; +And, by God's grace, +Even as He sunders body and breath, +The shadow of your face +Shall pass with me into the run +Of the Beyond, and I shall keep and save +Your beauty, as it used to be, +An absolute part of me, +Lying there, dead and done, +Far from the sovran bounty of the sun, +Down in the grisly colonies of the Grave. + + + +XLVIII + + +Gray hills, gray skies, gray lights, +And still, gray sea-- +O fond, O fair, +The Mays that were, +When the wild days and wilder nights +Made it like heaven to be! + +Gray head, gray heart, gray dreams-- +O, breath by breath, +Night-tide and day +Lapse gentle and gray, +As to a murmur of tired streams, +Into the haze of death. + + + +XLIX + + +Silence, loneliness, darkness-- + These, and of these my fill, +While God in the rush of the Maytide + Without is working His will. + +Without are the wind and the wall-flowers, + The leaves and the nests and the rain, +And in all of them God is making + His beautiful purpose plain. + +But I wait in a horror of strangeness-- + A tool on His workshop floor, +Worn to the butt, and banished + His hand for evermore. + + + +L + + +So let me hence as one +Whose part in the world has been dreamed out and done: +One that hath fairly earned and spent +In pride of heart and jubilance of blood +Such wages, be they counted bad or good, +As Time, the old taskmaster, was moved to pay; +And, having warred and suffered, and passed on +Those gifts the Arbiters preferred and gave, +Fare, grateful and content, +Down the dim way +Whereby races innumerable have gone, +Into the silent universe of the grave. + +Grateful for what hath been-- +For what my hand hath done, mine eyes have seen, +My heart been privileged to know; +With all my lips in love have brought +To lips that yearned in love to them, and wrought +In the way of wrath, and pity, and sport, and song: +Content, this miracle of being alive +Dwindling, that I, thrice weary of worst and best, +May shed my duds, and go +From right and wrong, +And, ceasing to regret, and long, and strive, +Accept the past, and be for ever at rest. + + + +FINALE + + +_Schizzando ma con sentimento_ + +A sigh sent wrong, +A kiss that goes astray, +A sorrow the years endlong-- +So they say. + +So let it be-- +Come the sorrow, the kiss, the sigh! +They are life, dear life, all three, +And we die. + +WORTHING, 1899-1901. + + + + +LONDON TYPES + + +(_To_ S. S. P.) + + + +I. BUS-DRIVER + + +He's called _The General_ from the brazen craft +And dash with which he _sneaks a bit of road_ +And all its fares; challenged, or chafed, or chaffed, +_Back-answers_ of the newest he'll explode; +He reins his horses with an air; he treats +With scoffing calm whatever powers there be; +He _gets it straight_, puts _a bit on_, and meets +His losses with both _lip_ and _pounds s. d._; +He arrogates a special taste in _short_; +Is loftily grateful for a flagrant _smoke_; +At all the smarter housemaids winks his court, +And taps them for half-crowns; being _stoney-broke_, + Lives lustily; is ever _on the make_; + And hath, I fear, none other gods but _Fake_. + + + +II. LIFE-GUARDSMAN + + +Joy of the Milliner, Envy of the Line, +Star of the Parks, jack-booted, sworded, helmed, +He sits between his holsters, solid of spine; +Nor, as it seems, though _WESTMINSTER_ were whelmed, +With the great globe, in earthquake and eclipse, +Would he and his charger cease from mounting guard, +This Private in the Blues, nor would his lips +Move, though his gorge with throttled oaths were charred! +He wears his inches weightily, as he wears +His old-world armours; and with his port and pride, +His sturdy graces and enormous airs, +He towers, in speech his Colonel countrified, + A triumph, waxing statelier year by year, + Of British blood, and bone, and beef, and beer. + + + +III. HAWKER + + +Far out of bounds he's figured--in a race +Of West-End traffic pitching to his loss. +But if you'd see him in his proper place, +Making the _browns_ for _bub_ and _grub_ and _doss_, +Go East among the merchants and their men, +And where the press is noisiest, and the tides +Of trade run highest and widest, there and then +You shall behold him, edging with equal strides +Along the kerb; hawking in either hand +Some artful nothing made of twine and tin, +Cardboard and foil and bits of rubber band: +Some penn'orth of wit-in-fact that, with a grin, + The careful City marvels at, and buys + For nurselings in the Suburbs to despise! + + + +IV. BEEF-EATER + + +His beat lies knee-high through a dust of story-- +A dust of terror and torture, grief and crime; +Ghosts that are _ENGLAND'S_ wonder, and shame, and glory +Throng where he walks, an antic of old time; +A sense of long immedicable tears +Were ever with him, could his ears but heed; +The stern _Hic Jacets_ of our bloodiest years +Are for his reading, had he eyes to read, +But here, where _CROOKBACK_ raged, and _CRANMER_ trimmed, +And _MORE_ and _STRAFFORD_ faced the axe's proving, +He shows that Crown the desperate Colonel nimmed, +Or simply keeps the Country Cousin moving, + Or stays such Cockney pencillers as would shame + The wall where some dead Queen hath traced her name. + + + +V. SANDWICH-MAN + + +An ill March noon; the flagstones gray with dust; +An all-round east wind volleying straws and grit; +_ST. MARTIN'S STEPS_, where every venomous gust +Lingers to buffet, or sneap, the passing cit; +And in the gutter, squelching a rotten boot, +Draped in a wrap that, modish ten-year syne, +Partners, obscene with sweat and grease and soot, +A horrible hat, that once was just as fine; +The drunkard's mouth a-wash for something drinkable, +The drunkard's eye alert for casual _toppers_, +The drunkard's neck stooped to a lot scarce thinkable, +A living, crawling blazoning of Hot-Coppers, + He trails his mildews towards a Kingdom-Come + Compact of _sausage-and-mash_ and _two-o'-rum_! + + + +VI. 'LIZA + + +_'LIZA'S old man_'s perhaps a little _shady_, +_'LIZA'S old woman_'s prone to _booze_ and cringe; +But _'LIZA_ deems herself _a perfect lady_, +And proves it in her feathers and her fringe. +For _'LIZA_ has a _bloke_ her heart to cheer, +With _pearlies_ and a _barrer_ and a _jack_, +So all the vegetables of the year +Are duly represented on her back. +Her boots are sacrifices to her hats, +Which knock you speechless--_like a load of bricks_! +Her summer velvets dazzle _WANSTEAD FLATS_, +And cost, at times, a good eighteen-and-six. + Withal, outside the gay and giddy whirl, + _'LIZA'S_ a stupid, straight, hard-working girl. + + + +VII. 'LADY' + + +Time, the old humourist, has a trick to-day +Of moving landmarks and of levelling down, +Till into Town the Suburbs edge their way, +And in the Suburbs you may scent the Town. +With _MOUNT ST._ thus approaching _MUSWELL HILL_, +And _CLAPHAM COMMON_ marching with the _MILE_, +You get a _HAMMERSMITH_ that _fills the bill_, +A _HAMPSTEAD_ with a serious sense of style. +So this fair creature, pictured in _THE ROW_, +As one of that 'gay adulterous world,' {79} whose round +Is by the _SERPENTINE_, as well would show, +And might, I deem, as readily be found + On _STREATHAM'S HILL_, or _WIMBLEDON'S_, or where + Brixtonian kitchens lard the late-dining air. + + + +VIII. BLUECOAT BOY + + +So went our boys when _EDWARD SIXTH_, the King, +Chartered _CHRIST'S HOSPITAL_, and died. And so +Full fifteen generations in a string +Of heirs to his bequest have had to go. +Thus _CAMDEN_ showed, and _BARNES_, and _STILLING-FLEET_, +And _RICHARDSON_, that bade our _LOVELACE_ be; +The little _ELIA_ thus in _NEWGATE STREET_; +Thus to his _GENEVIEVE_ young _S. T. C._ +With thousands else that, wandering up and down, +Quaint, privileged, liked and reputed well, +Made the great School a part of _LONDON TOWN_ +Patent as _PAUL'S_ and vital as _BOW BELL_: + The old School nearing exile, day by day, + To certain clay-lands somewhere _HORSHAM_ way. + + + +IX. MOUNTED POLICE + + +Army Reserve; a worshipper of _BOBS_, +With whom he stripped the smock from _CANDAHAR_; +Neat as his mount, that neatest among cobs; +Whenever pageants pass, or meetings are, +He moves conspicuous, vigilant, severe, +With his Light Cavalry hand and seat and look, +A living type of Order, in whose sphere +Is room for neither _Hooligan_ nor _Hook_. +For in his shadow, wheresoe'er he ride, +Paces, all eye and hardihood and grip, +The dreaded _Crusher_, might in his every stride +And right materialized girt at his hip; + And they, that shake to see these twain go by, + Feel that the _Tec_, that plain-clothes Terror, is nigh. + + + +X. NEWS-BOY + + +Take any station, pavement, circus, corner, +Where men their styles of print may call or choose, +And there--ten times more _on it_ than _JACK HORNER_-- +There shall you find him swathed in sheets of news. +Nothing can stay the placing of his wares-- +Not bus, nor cab, nor dray! The very _Slop_, +That imp of power, is powerless! Ever he dares, +And, daring, lands his public neck and crop. +Even the many-tortured London ear, +The much-enduring, loathes his _Speeshul_ yell, +His shriek of _Winnur_! But his dart and leer +And poise are irresistible. _PALL MALL_ + Joys in him, and _MILE END_; for his vocation + Is to purvey the stuff of conversation. + + + +XI. DRUM-MAJOR + + +Who says _Drum-Major_ says a man of mould, +Shaking the meek earth with tremendous tread, +And pacing still, a triumph to behold, +Of his own spine at least two yards ahead! +Attorney, grocer, surgeon, broker, duke-- +His calling may be anything, who comes +Into a room, his presence a rebuke +To the dejected, as the pipes and drums +Inspired his port!--who mounts his office stairs +As though he led great armies to the fight! +His bulk itself's pure genius, and he wears +His avoirdupois with so much fire and spright + That, though the creature stands but five feet five, + You take him for the tallest He alive. + + + +XII. FLOWER-GIRL + + +There's never a delicate nurseling of the year +But our huge _LONDON_ hails it, and delights +To wear it on her breast or at her ear, +Her days to colour and make sweet her nights. +Crocus and daffodil and violet, +Pink, primrose, valley-lily, clove-carnation, +Red rose and white rose, wall-flower, mignonette, +The daisies all--these be her recreation, +Her gaudies these! And forth from _DRURY LANE_, +Trapesing in any of her whirl of weathers, +Her flower-girls foot it, honest and hoarse and vain, +All boot and little shawl and wilted feathers: + Of populous corners right advantage taking, + And, where they squat, endlessly posy-making. + + + +XIII. BARMAID + + +Though, if you ask her name, she says _ELISE_, +Being plain _ELIZABETH_, e'en let it pass, +And own that, if her aspirates take their ease, +She ever makes a point, in washing glass, +Handling the engine, turning taps for _tots_, +And countering change, and scorning what men say, +Of posing as a dove among the pots, +Nor often gives her dignity away. +Her head's a work of art, and, if her eyes +Be tired and ignorant, she has a waist; +Cheaply the Mode she shadows; and she tries +From penny novels to amend her taste; + And, having mopped the zinc for certain years, + And faced the gas, she fades and disappears. +_The Artist muses at his ease_, +_Contented that his work is done_, +_And smiling_--_smiling_!--_as he sees_ +_His crowd collecting_, _one by one_. +_Alas_! _his travail's but begun_! +_None_, _none can keep the years in line_, +_And what to Ninety-Eight is fun_ +_May raise the gorge of Ninety-Nine_! + +MUSWELL HILL, 1898. + + + + +III. THREE PROLOGUES + + +I. BEAU AUSTIN + + +_By W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson_, +_Haymarket Theatre_, _November_ 3, 1890. + +Spoken by Mr. TREE in the character of Beau Austin. + +'To all and singular,' as _DRYDEN_ says, +We bring a fancy of those Georgian days, +Whose style still breathed a faint and fine perfume +Of old-world courtliness and old-world bloom: +When speech was elegant and talk was fit, +For slang had not been canonised as wit; +When manners reigned, when breeding had the wall, +And Women--yes!--were ladies first of all; +When Grace was conscious of its gracefulness, +And man--though Man!--was not ashamed to dress. +A brave formality, a measured ease +Were his--and hers--whose effort was to please. +And to excel in pleasing was to reign, +And, if you sighed, never to sigh in vain. + + But then, as now--it may be, something more-- +Woman and man were human to the core. +The hearts that throbbed behind that brave attire +Burned with a plenitude of essential fire. +They too could risk, they also could rebel: +They could love wisely--they could love too well. +In that great duel of Sex, that ancient strife +Which is the very central fact of life, +They could--and did--engage it breath for breath, +They could--and did--get wounded unto death. +As at all times since time for us began +Woman was truly woman, man was man, +And joy and sorrow were as much at home +In trifling _TUNBRIDGE_ as in mighty _ROME_. + + Dead--dead and done with! Swift from shine to shade +The roaring generations flit and fade. +To this one, fading, flitting, like the rest, +We come to proffer--be it worst or best-- +A sketch, a shadow, of one brave old time; +A hint of what it might have held sublime; +A dream, an idyll, call it what you will, +Of man still Man, and woman--Woman still! + + + +II. RICHARD SAVAGE + + +_By J. M. Barrie and H. B. Marriott Watson_, _Criterion Theatre_, _April_ +16, 1891. + +To other boards for pun and song and dance! +Our purpose is an essay in romance: +An old-world story where such old-world facts +As hate and love and death, through four swift acts-- +Not without gleams and glances, hints and cues, +From the dear bright eyes of the Comic Muse!-- +So shine and sound that, as we fondly deem, +They may persuade you to accept our dream: +Our own invention, mainly--though we take, +Somewhat for art but most for interest's sake +One for our hero who goes wandering still +In the long shadow of _PARNASSUS HILL_; +Scarce within eyeshot; but his tragic shade +Compels that recognition due be made, +When he comes knocking at the student's door, +Something as poet, if as blackguard more. + + Poet and blackguard. Of the first--how much? +As to the second, in quite perfect touch +With folly and sorrow, even shame and crime, +He lived the grief and wonder of his time! +Marked for reproaches from his life's beginning; +Extremely sinned against as well as sinning; +Hack, spendthrift, starveling, duellist in turn; +Too cross to cherish yet too fierce to spurn; +Begrimed with ink or brave with wine and blood; +Spirit of fire and manikin of mud; +Now shining clear, now fain to starve and skulk; +Star of the cellar, pensioner of the bulk; +At once the child of passion and the slave; +Brawling his way to an unhonoured grave-- +That was _DICK SAVAGE_! Yet, ere his ghost we raise +For these more decent and less desperate days, +It may be well and seemly to reflect +That, howbeit of so prodigal a sect, +Since it was his to call until the end +Our greatest, wisest Englishman his friend, +'Twere all-too fatuous if we cursed and scorned +The strange, wild creature _JOHNSON_ loved and mourned. + + Nature is but the oyster--Art's the pearl: +Our _DICK_ is neither sycophant nor churl. +Not as he was but as he might have been +Had the Unkind Gods been poets of the scene, +Fired with our fancy, shaped and tricked anew +To touch your hearts with love, your eyes with rue, +He stands or falls, ere he these boards depart, +Not as dead Nature but as living Art. + + + +III. ADMIRAL GUINEA + + +_By W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson_, +_Avenue Theatre_, _Monday_, _November_ 29, 1897. + +Spoken by Miss ELIZABETH ROBINS. + +Once was an Age, an Age of blood and gold, +An Age of shipmen scoundrelly and bold-- +_BLACKBEARD_ and _AVORY_, _SINGLETON_, _ROBERTS_, _KIDD_: +An Age which seemed, the while it rolled its quid, +Brave with adventure and doubloons and crime, +Rum and the Ebony Trade: when, time on time, +Real Pirates, right Sea-Highwaymen, could mock +The carrion strung at _EXECUTION DOCK_; +And the trim Slaver, with her raking rig, +Her cloud of sails, her spars superb and trig, +Held, in a villainous ecstasy of gain, +Her musky course from _BENIN_ to the _MAIN_, +And back again for niggers: + When, in fine, +Some thought that _EDEN_ bloomed across the Line, +And some, like _COWPER'S NEWTON_, lived to tell +That through those parallels ran the road to Hell. + + Once was a pair of Friends, who loved to chance +Their feet in any by-way of Romance: +They, like two vagabond schoolboys, unafraid +Of stark impossibilities, essayed +To make these Penitent and Impenitent Thieves, +These _PEWS_ and _GAUNTS_, each man of them with his sheaves +Of humour, passion, cruelty, tyranny, life, +Fit shadows for the boards; till in the strife +Of dream with dream, their Slaver-Saint came true, +And their Blind Pirate, their resurgent _PEW_ +(A figure of deadly farce in his new birth), +Tap-tapped his way from _ORCUS_ back to earth; +And so, their Lover and his Lass made one, +In their best prose this _Admiral_ here was done. + + One of this Pair sleeps till the crack of doom +Where the great ocean-rollers plunge and boom: +The other waits and wonders what his Friend, +Dead now, and deaf, and silent, were the end +Revealed to his rare spirit, would find to say +If you, his lovers, loved him for this Play. + + + + +IV. EPICEDIA + + +TWO DAYS +(_February_ 15--_September_ 28, 1894) + + +_To_ V. G. + +That day we brought our Beautiful One to lie +In the green peace within your gates, he came +To give us greeting, boyish and kind and shy, +And, stricken as we were, we blessed his name: +Yet, like the Creature of Light that had been ours, +Soon of the sweet Earth disinherited, +He too must join, even with the Year's old flowers, +The unanswering generations of the Dead. +So stand we friends for you, who stood our friend +Through him that day; for now through him you know +That though where love was, love is till the end, +Love, turned of death to longing, like a foe, + Strikes: when the ruined heart goes forth to crave + Mercy of the high, austere, unpitying Grave. + + + +IN MEMORIAM +THOMAS EDWARD BROWN + + +(_Ob. October_ 30, 1897) + +He looked half-parson and half-skipper: a quaint, +Beautiful blend, with blue eyes good to see, +And old-world whiskers. You found him cynic, saint, +Salt, humourist, Christian, poet; with a free, +Far-glancing, luminous utterance; and a heart +Large as _ST. FRANCIS'S_: withal a brain +Stored with experience, letters, fancy, art, +And scored with runes of human joy and pain. +Till six-and-sixty years he used his gift, +His gift unparalleled, of laughter and tears, +And left the world a high-piled, golden drift +Of verse: to grow more golden with the years, + Till the Great Silence fallen upon his ways + Break into song, and he that had Love have Praise. + + + +IN MEMORIAM +GEORGE WARRINGTON STEEVENS + + +_London_, _December_ 10, 1869. +_Ladysmith_, _January_ 15, 1900. + +We cheered you forth--brilliant and kind and brave. + Under your country's triumphing flag you fell. +It floats, true Heart, over no dearer grave-- + Brave and brilliant and kind, hail and farewell! + + + +LAST POST + + +The day's high work is over and done, +And these no more will need the sun: +Blow, you bugles of _ENGLAND_, blow! +These are gone whither all must go, +Mightily gone from the field they won. +So in the workaday wear of battle, +Touched to glory with _GOD'S_ own red, +Bear we our chosen to their bed. +Settle them lovingly where they fell, +In that good lap they loved so well; +And, their deliveries to the dear _LORD_ said, +And the last desperate volleys ranged and sped, +Blow, you bugles of _ENGLAND_, blow +Over the camps of her beaten foe-- +Blow glory and pity to the victor Mother, +Sad, O, sad in her sacrificial dead! + +Labour, and love, and strife, and mirth, +They gave their part in this goodly Earth-- +Blow, you bugles of _ENGLAND_, blow!-- +That her Name as a sun among stars might glow, +Till the dusk of Time, with honour and worth: +That, stung by the lust and the pain of battle, +The One Race ever might starkly spread, +And the One Flag eagle it overhead! +In a rapture of wrath and faith and pride, +Thus they felt it, and thus they died; +So to the Maker of homes, to the Giver of bread, +For whose dear sake their triumphing souls they shed, +Blow, you bugles of _ENGLAND_, blow, +Though you break the heart of her beaten foe, +Glory and praise to the everlasting Mother, +Glory and peace to her lovely and faithful dead! + + + +IN MEMORIAM +REGINAE DILECTISSIMAE VICTORIAE + + +(_May_ 24, 1819--_January_ 22, 1901) + +_Sceptre and orb and crown_, +_High ensigns of a sovranty containing_ +_The beauty and strength and state of half a World_, +_Pass from her_, _and she fades_ +_Into the old_, _inviolable peace_. + +I + +She had been ours so long +She seemed a piece of _ENGLAND_: spirit and blood +And message _ENGLAND'S_ self, +Home-coloured, _ENGLAND_ in look and deed and dream; +Like the rich meadows and woods, the serene rivers, +And sea-charmed cliffs and beaches, that still bring +A rush of tender pride to the heart +That beats in _ENGLAND'S_ airs to _ENGLAND'S_ ends: +August, familiar, irremovable, +Like the good stars that shine +In the good skies that only _ENGLAND_ knows: +So that we held it sure +_GOD'S_ aim, _GOD'S_ will, _GOD'S_ way, +When Empire from her footstool, realm on realm, +Spread, even as from her notable womb +Sprang line on line of Kings; +For she was _ENGLAND_--_ENGLAND_ and our Queen. + +II + +O, she was ours! And she had aimed +And known and done the best +And highest in time: greatly rejoiced, +Ruled greatly, greatly endured. Love had been hers, +And widowhood, glory and grief, increase +In wisdom and power and pride, +Dominion, honour, children, reverence: +So that, in peace and war +Innumerably victorious, she lay down +To die in a world renewed, +Cleared, in her luminous umbrage beautified +For Man, and changing fast +Into so gracious an inheritance +As Man had never dared +Imagine. Think, when she passed, +Think what a pageant of immortal acts, +Done in the unapproachable face +Of Time by the high, transcending human mind, +Shone and acclaimed +And triumphed in her advent! Think of the ghosts, +Think of the mighty ghosts: soldiers and priests, +Artists and captains of discovery, +_GOD'S_ chosen, His adventurers up the heights +Of thought and deed--how many of them that led +The forlorn hopes of the World!-- +Her peers and servants, made the air +Of her death-chamber glorious! Think how they thronged +About her bed, and with what pride +They took this sister-ghost +Tenderly into the night! O, think-- +And, thinking, bow the head +In sorrow, but in the reverence that makes +The strong man stronger--this true maid, +True wife, true mother, tried and found +An hundred times true steel, +This unforgettable woman was your Queen! + +III + +Tears for her--tears! Tears and the mighty rites +Of an everlasting and immense farewell, +_ENGLAND_, green heart of the world, and you, +Dear demi-_ENGLANDS_, far-away isles of home, +Where the old speech is native, and the old flag +Floats, and the old irresistible call, +The watch-word of so many ages of years, +Makes men in love +With toil for the race, and pain, and peril, and death! +Tears, and the dread, tremendous dirge +Of her brooding battleships, and hosts +Processional, with trailing arms; the plaint-- +Measured, enormous, terrible--of her guns; +The slow, heart-breaking throb +Of bells; the trouble of drums; the blare +Of mourning trumpets; the discomforting pomp +Of silent crowds, black streets, and banners-royal +Obsequious! Then, these high things done, +Rise, heartened of your passion! Rise to the height +Of her so lofty life! Kneel, if you must; +But, kneeling, win to those great altitudes +On which she sought and did +Her clear, supernal errand unperturbed! +Let the new memory +Be as the old, long love! So, when the hour +Strikes, as it must, for valour of heart, +Virtue, and patience, and unblenching hope, +And the inflexible resolve +That, come the World in arms, +This breeder of nations, _ENGLAND_, keeping the seas +Hers as from _GOD_, shall in the sight of _GOD_ +Stand justified of herself +Wherever her unretreating bugles blow! +Remember that she lived +That this magnificent Power might still perdure-- +Your friend, your passionate servant, counsellor, Queen. + +IV + +Be that your chief of mourning--that!-- +_ENGLAND_, O Mother, and you, +The daughter Kingdoms born and reared +Of _ENGLAND'S_ travail and sweet blood; +And never will you lands, +The live Earth over and round, +Wherethrough for sixty royal and radiant years +Her drum-tap made the dawns +English--Never will you +So fittingly and well have paid your debt +Of grief and gratitude to the souls +That sink in _ENGLAND'S_ harness into the dream: +'I die for _ENGLAND'S_ sake, and it is well': +As now to this valiant, wonderful piece of earth, +To which the assembling nations bare the head, +And bend the knee, +In absolute veneration--once your Queen. + +_Sceptre and orb and crown_, +_High ensigns of a sovranty empaling_ +_The glory and love and praise of a whole half-world_, +_Fall from her_, _and_, _preceding_, _she departs_ +_Into the old_, _indissoluble Peace_. + +EPILOGUE + +Into a land +Storm-wrought, a place of quakes, all thunder-scarred, +Helpless, degraded, desolate, +Peace, the White Angel, comes. +Her eyes are as a mother's. Her good hands +Are comforting, and helping; and her voice +Falls on the heart, as, after Winter, Spring +Falls on the World, and there is no more pain. +And, in her influence, hope returns, and life, +And the passion of endeavour: so that, soon, +The idle ports are insolent with keels; +The stithies roar, and the mills thrum +With energy and achievement; weald and wold +Exult; the cottage-garden teems +With innocent hues and odours; boy and girl +Mate prosperously; there are sweet women to kiss; +There are good women to breed. In a golden fog, +A large, full-stomached faith in kindliness +All over the world, the nation, in a dream +Of money and love and sport, hangs at the paps +Of well-being, and so +Goes fattening, mellowing, dozing, rotting down +Into a rich deliquium of decay. + +Then, if the Gods be good, +Then, if the Gods be other than mischievous, +Down from their footstools, down +With a million-throated shouting, swoops and storms +War, the Red Angel, the Awakener, +The Shaker of Souls and Thrones; and at her heel +Trail grief, and ruin, and shame! +The woman weeps her man, the mother her son, +The tenderling its father. In wild hours, +A people, haggard with defeat, +Asks if there be a God; yet sets its teeth, +Faces calamity, and goes into the fire +Another than it was. And in wild hours +A people, roaring ripe +With victory, rises, menaces, stands renewed, +Sheds its old piddling aims, +Approves its virtue, puts behind itself +The comfortable dream, and goes, +Armoured and militant, +New-pithed, new-souled, new-visioned, up the steeps +To those great altitudes, whereat the weak +Live not. But only the strong +Have leave to strive, and suffer, and achieve. + +WORTHING, 1901. + +Printed by T. and A. CONSTABLE, (late) Printers to Her Majesty at the +Edinburgh University Press + + + + +Footnotes: + + +{63} _At two years old_, _my child_, _being chidden_, _found this +striking phrase_.--_W. E. H._ + +{79} Wilfrid Blunt. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HAWTHORN AND LAVENDER*** + + +******* This file should be named 21662.txt or 21662.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/1/6/6/21662 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. 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