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diff --git a/21662.txt b/21662.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5930f68 --- /dev/null +++ b/21662.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2489 @@ +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*** + + + +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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