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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lord of Misrule, by Alfred Noyes,
+Illustrated by Spencer Baird Nichols
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lord of Misrule
+       And Other Poems
+
+
+Author: Alfred Noyes
+
+
+
+Release Date: December 16, 2009  [eBook #30687]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LORD OF MISRULE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 30687-h.htm or 30687-h.zip:
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30687/30687-h/30687-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30687/30687-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+
+And Other Poems
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+BY THE SAME AUTHOR
+
+  DRAKE: AN ENGLISH EPIC
+  THE ENCHANTED ISLAND AND OTHER POEMS
+  SHERWOOD
+  TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN
+  THE WINE-PRESS
+  COLLECTED POEMS. 2 VOLS.
+  A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE (RADA)
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration:
+
+  Come up, come in with streamers!
+  Come in with boughs of May!
+                     _Page 1._]
+
+
+
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+
+And Other Poems
+
+by
+
+ALFRED NOYES
+
+With Frontispiece in Colours by Spencer Baird Nichols
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+New York
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+Publishers
+
+Copyright, 1915, by
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+
+All rights reserved, including that of translation
+into foreign languages
+
+October, 1915
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                           PAGE
+
+    THE LORD OF MISRULE                       1
+
+    THE REPEAL                                7
+
+    THE SEARCH-LIGHTS                         9
+
+    FORWARD                                  11
+
+    A SPELL                                  13
+
+    CRIMSON SAILS                            18
+
+    BLIND MOONE OF LONDON                    22
+
+    OLD GREY SQUIRREL                        28
+
+    THE GREAT NORTH ROAD                     31
+
+    THE RIVER OF STARS                       34
+
+    A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN                    43
+
+    BEYOND DEATH                             44
+
+    THE STRANGE GUEST                        46
+
+    GHOSTS                                   49
+
+    THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE                   51
+
+    ON THE EMBANKMENT                        53
+
+    THE IRON CROWN                           58
+
+    THE OLD DEBATE                           59
+
+    A SONG OF HOPE                           60
+
+    THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS                     62
+
+    THE MAY-TREE                             63
+
+    OLD LETTERS                              64
+
+    LAMPS                                    66
+
+    AT EDEN GATES                            68
+
+    THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY                    70
+
+    PARACLETE                                73
+
+    AFTER RAIN                               75
+
+    THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN                 76
+
+    THE ROMAN WAY                            78
+
+    THE INNER PASSION                        80
+
+    A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN                 82
+
+    TO THE DESTROYERS                        84
+
+    THE TRUMPET-CALL                         85
+
+    THE HEART OF CANADA                      89
+
+    THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN              91
+
+    A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET                  93
+
+    IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR          103
+
+    THE WAGGON                              105
+
+    THE SACRED OAK                          107
+
+    THE WORLD'S WEDDING                     120
+
+    IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR    123
+
+    INSCRIPTION                             126
+
+    VALUES                                  127
+
+    THE HEROIC DEAD                         128
+
+    THE CRY IN THE NIGHT                    130
+
+    ASTRID                                  133
+
+    THE INIMITABLE LOVERS                   136
+
+    THE CRAGS                               143
+
+    THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE, 1914          147
+
+    THE WHITE CLIFFS                        152
+
+    ON THE SOUTH COAST                      154
+
+    OLDER THAN THE HILLS                    156
+
+    THE TORCH                               158
+
+    THE OUTLAW                              161
+
+    THE YOUNG FRIAR                         163
+
+    A FOREST SONG                           167
+
+    THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW                  169
+
+    THRICE-ARMED                            180
+
+    THE SONG-TREE                           182
+
+
+
+
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+
+"On May days the wild heads of the parish would choose a Lord of Misrule,
+whom they would follow even into the church, though the minister were at
+prayer or preaching, dancing and swinging their may-boughs about like
+devils incarnate."--_Old Puritan Writer._
+
+
+  All on a fresh May morning, I took my love to church,
+  To see if Parson Primrose were safely on his perch.
+  He scarce had got to _Thirdly_, or squire begun to snore,
+      When, like a sun-lit sea-wave,
+        A green and crimson sea-wave,
+  A frolic of madcap May-folk came whooping through the door:--
+
+      Come up, come in with streamers!
+        Come in, with boughs of may!
+      Come up and thump the sexton,
+        And carry the clerk away.
+
+      Now skip like rams, ye mountains,
+        Ye little hills, like sheep!
+      Come up and wake the people
+        That parson puts to sleep.
+
+  They tickled their nut-brown tabors. Their garlands flew in showers,
+  And lasses and lads came after them, with feet like dancing flowers.
+  Their queen had torn her green gown, and bared a shoulder as white,
+      O, white as the may that crowned her,
+        While all the minstrels round her
+  Tilted back their crimson hats and sang for sheer delight:
+
+      Come up, come in with streamers!
+        Come in, with boughs of may!
+      Now by the gold upon your toe
+        You walked the primrose way.
+      Come up, with white and crimson!
+        O, shake your bells and sing;
+      Let the porch bend, the pillars bow,
+        Before our Lord, the Spring!
+
+  The dusty velvet hassocks were dabbled with fragrant dew.
+  The font grew white with hawthorn. It frothed in every pew.
+  Three petals clung to the sexton's beard as he mopped and mowed at the
+           clerk,
+      And "Take that sexton away," they cried;
+        "Did Nebuchadnezzar eat may?" they cried.
+  "Nay, that was a prize from Betty," they cried, "for kissing her in the
+           dark."
+
+      Come up, come in with streamers!
+        Come in, with boughs of may!
+      Who knows but old Methuselah
+         May hobble the green-wood way?
+      If Betty could kiss the sexton,
+        If Kitty could kiss the clerk,
+      Who knows how Parson Primrose
+        Might blossom in the dark?
+
+  The congregation spluttered. The squire grew purple and all,
+  And every little chorister bestrode his carven stall.
+  The parson flapped like a magpie, but none could hear his prayers;
+      For Tom Fool flourished his tabor,
+        Flourished his nut-brown tabor,
+  Bashed the head of the sexton, and stormed the pulpit stairs.
+
+        High in the old oak pulpit
+          This Lord of all misrule--
+        I think it was Will Summers
+          That once was Shakespeare's fool--
+        Held up his hand for silence,
+          And all the church grew still:
+        "And are you snoring yet," he said,
+          "Or have you slept your fill?
+
+  "Your God still walks in Eden, between the ancient trees,
+  Where Youth and Love go wading through pools of primroses.
+  And this is the sign we bring you, before the darkness fall,
+      That Spring is risen, is risen again,
+        That Life is risen, is risen again,
+  That Love is risen, is risen again, and Love is Lord of all.
+
+        "At Paske began our morrice
+          And, ere Pentecost, our May;
+        Because, albeit your words be true,
+          You know not what you say.
+        You chatter in church like jackdaws,
+          Words that would wake the dead,
+        Were there one breath of life in you,
+          One drop of blood," he said.
+
+  "_He died and He went down to hell!_ You know not what you mean.
+  Our rafters were of green fir. Also our beds were green.
+  But out of the mouth of a fool, a fool, before the darkness fall,
+      We tell you He is risen again,
+        The Lord of Life is risen again,
+  The boughs put forth their tender buds, and Love is Lord of all!"
+
+        He bowed his head. He stood so still,
+          They bowed their heads as well.
+        And softly from the organ-loft
+          The song began to swell.
+        _Come up with blood-red streamers_,
+          The reeds began the strain.
+        The _vox humana_ pealed on high,
+          _The Spring is risen again!_
+
+  The _vox angelica_ replied--_The shadows flee away!
+  Our house-beams were of cedar. Come in, with boughs of may!_
+  The _diapason_ deepened it--_Before the darkness fall_,
+        _We tell you He is risen again!
+          Our God hath burst His prison again!
+  Christ is risen, is risen again; and Love is Lord of all._
+
+
+
+
+THE REPEAL
+
+
+  I dreamed the Eternal had repealed
+    His cosmic code of law last night.
+  Our prayers had made the Unchanging yield.
+    Caprice was king from depth to height.
+
+  On Beachy Head a shouting throng
+    Had fired a beacon to proclaim
+  Their licence. With unmeasured song
+    They proved it, dancing in the flame.
+
+  They quarrelled. One desired the sun,
+    And one desired the stars to shine.
+  They closed and wrestled and burned as one,
+    And the white chalk grew red as wine.
+
+  The furnace licked and purred and rolled,
+    A laughing child held up its hands
+  Like dreadful torches, dropping gold;
+    For pain was dead at their commands.
+
+  Painless and wild as clouds they burned,
+    Till the restricted Rose of Day
+  With all its glorious laws returned,
+    And the wind blew their ashes away.
+
+
+
+
+THE SEARCH-LIGHTS
+
+"Political morality differs from individual morality because there is no
+power above the state."
+
+
+  Shadow by shadow, stripped for fight,
+    The lean black cruisers search the sea.
+  Night-long their level shafts of light
+    Revolve, and find no enemy.
+  Only they know each leaping wave
+  May hide the lightning, and their grave.
+
+  And in the land they guard so well
+    Is there no silent watch to keep?
+  An age is dying, and the bell
+    Rings midnight on a vaster deep.
+  But over all its waves, once more,
+  The search-lights move, from shore to shore.
+
+  And captains that we thought were dead,
+    And dreamers that we thought were dumb,
+  And voices that we thought were fled,
+    Arise, and call us, and we come;
+  And "search in thine own soul," they cry;
+  "For there, too, lurks thine enemy."
+
+  Search for the foe in thine own soul,
+    The sloth, the intellectual pride;
+  The trivial jest that veils the goal
+    For which our fathers lived and died;
+  The lawless dreams, the cynic Art,
+  That rend thy nobler self apart.
+
+  Not far, not far into the night,
+    These level swords of light can pierce;
+  Yet for her faith does England fight,
+    Her faith in this our universe;
+  Believing Truth and Justice draw
+  From founts of everlasting law;
+
+  Therefore a Power above the State,
+    The unconquerable Power returns.
+  The fire, the fire that made her great
+    Once more upon her altar burns.
+  Once more, redeemed and healed and whole,
+  She moves to the Eternal Goal.
+
+
+
+
+FORWARD
+
+
+  _A thousand creeds and battle-cries,
+    A thousand warring social schemes,
+  A thousand new moralities,
+    And twenty thousand thousand dreams!_
+
+  _Each on his own anarchic way,
+    From the old order breaking free,--
+  Our ruined world desires_, you say,
+    _Licence, once more, not Liberty._
+
+  But ah, beneath the struggling foam,
+    When storm and change are on the deep,
+  How quietly the tides come home,
+    And how the depths of sea-shine sleep;
+
+  And we who march towards a goal,
+    Destroying only to fulfil
+  The law, the law of that great soul
+    Which moves beneath your alien will;
+
+  We, that like foemen meet the past
+    Because we bring the future, know
+  We only fight to achieve at last
+    A great re-union with our foe;
+
+  Re-union in the truths that stand
+    When all our wars are rolled away;
+  Re-union of the heart and hand
+    And of the prayers wherewith we pray;
+
+  Re-union in the common needs,
+    The common strivings of mankind;
+  Re-union of our warring creeds
+    In the one God that dwells behind.
+
+  Then--in that day--we shall not meet
+    Wrong with new wrong, but right with right;
+  Our faith shall make your faith complete
+    When our battalions re-unite.
+
+  Forward!--what use in idle words?--
+    Forward, O warriors of the soul!
+  There will be breaking up of swords
+    When that new morning makes us whole.
+
+
+
+
+A SPELL
+
+(_An Excellent Way to get a Fairy_)
+
+
+  Gather, first, in your left hand
+    (This must be at fall of day)
+  Forty grains of wild sea-sand
+    Where you think a mermaid lay.
+  I have heard that it is best
+    If you gather it, warm and sweet,
+  Out of the dint of her left breast
+    Where you see her heart has beat.
+
+      _Out of the dint in that sweet sand
+        Gather forty grains, I say;
+      Yet--if it fail you--understand,
+        There remains a better way._
+
+  Out of this you melt your glass
+    While the veils of night are drawn,
+  Whispering, till the shadows pass,
+    "_Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!_"
+  Then you blow your magic vial,
+    Shape it like a crescent moon,
+  Set it up and make your trial,
+    Singing, "_Elaby, ah, come soon!_"
+
+      _Round the cloudy crescent go,
+        On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+      Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+        "Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
+      Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"_
+
+  Bring the blood of a white hen
+    Slaughtered at the break of day,
+  While the cock, in the fairy glen,
+    Thrusts his gold neck every way,
+  Over the brambles, peering, calling,
+    Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
+  Far and wide--as the dews are falling--
+    Clamouring, calling, everywhere.
+
+      _Round the crimson vial go,
+        On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+      Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+        "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+      If this fail, at break of day,
+      I can show you a better way._
+
+  Bring the buds of the hazel-copse,
+    Where two lovers kissed at noon;
+  Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops
+    Where they murmured under the moon.
+  Bring the four-leaved clover also,
+    One of the white, and one of the red,
+  Bring the flakes of the may that fall so
+    Lightly over their bridal bed.
+
+      _Drop them into the vial--so--
+        On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+      Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+        "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+      And, if once will not suffice,
+        Do it thrice!
+      If this fail, at break of day,
+        There remains a better way._
+
+  Bring an old and crippled child
+    --_Ah, tread softly, on tip-toe!_--
+  Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild,
+    From that under-world below,
+  Bring a wizened child of seven
+    Reeking from the City slime,
+  Out of hell into your heaven,
+    Set her knee-deep in the thyme.
+
+      _Feed her--clothe her--even so!
+        Set her on a fairy-throne.
+      When her eyes begin to glow
+        Leave her for an hour--alone._
+
+  You shall need no spells or charms,
+    On that hill-top, in that dawn.
+  When she lifts her wasted arms,
+    You shall see a veil withdrawn.
+  There shall be no veil between them,
+    Though her head be old and wise!
+  You shall know that she has seen them
+    By the glory in her eyes.
+
+      _Round her irons on that hill
+        Earth has tossed a fairy fire:
+      Watch, and listen, and be still,
+        Lest you baulk your own desire._
+
+  When she sees four azure wings
+    Light upon her claw-like hand;
+  When she lifts her head and sings,
+    You shall hear and understand:
+  You shall hear a bugle calling
+    Wildly over the dew-dashed down;
+  And a sound as of the falling
+    Ramparts of a conquered town.
+
+      _You shall hear a sound like thunder;
+        And a veil shall be withdrawn,
+      When her eyes grow wide with wonder
+        On that hill-top, in that dawn._
+
+
+
+
+CRIMSON SAILS
+
+
+  _When Salomon sailed from Ophir_ ...
+    The clouds of Sussex thyme
+  That crown the cliffs in mid-July
+  Were all we needed--you and I--
+  _But Salomon sailed from Ophir_,
+    And broken bits of rhyme
+  Blew to us on the white chalk coast
+    From O, what elfin clime?
+
+  A peacock butterfly flaunted
+    Its four great crimson wings,
+  As over the edge of the chalk it flew
+  Black as a ship on the Channel blue ...
+  _When Salomon sailed from Ophir_,--
+    He brought, as the high sun brings,
+  Honey and spice to the Queen of the South,
+  Sussex or Saba, a song for her mouth,
+  Sweet as the dawn-wind over the downs
+  And the tall white cliffs that the wild thyme crowns
+    A song that the whole sky sings:--
+
+  When Salomon sailed from Ophir,
+    With Olliphants and gold,
+  The kings went up, the kings went down,
+  Trying to match King Salomon's crown,
+  But Salomon sacked the sunset,
+    Wherever his black ships rolled.
+  He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,
+    And crammed it into his hold.
+
+  _Chorus_: Salomon sacked the sunset!
+            Salomon sacked the sunset!
+          He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,
+            And crammed it into his hold.
+
+  His masts were Lebanon cedars,
+    His sheets were singing blue,
+  But that was never the reason why
+  He stuffed his hold with the sunset sky!
+  The kings could cut their cedars,
+    And sail from Ophir, too;
+  But Salomon packed his heart with dreams
+    And all the dreams were true.
+
+  _Chorus_: The kings could cut their cedars,
+            Cut their Lebanon cedars;
+          But Salomon packed his heart with dreams,
+            And all the dreams were true.
+
+  When Salomon sailed from Ophir,
+    He sailed not as a king.
+  The kings--they weltered to and fro,
+  Tossed wherever the winds could blow;
+  But Salomon's tawny seamen
+    Could lift their heads and sing,
+  Till all their crowded clouds of sail
+    Grew sweeter than the Spring.
+
+  _Chorus_: Their singing sheets grew sweeter,
+            Their crowded clouds grew sweeter,
+          For Salomon's tawny seamen, sirs,
+            Could lift their heads and sing:
+
+  When Salomon sailed from Ophir
+    With crimson sails so tall,
+  The kings went up, the kings went down,
+  Trying to match King Salomon's crown;
+  But Salomon brought the sunset
+    To hang on his Temple wall;
+  He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,
+    So his was better than all.
+
+  _Chorus_: Salomon gat the sunset,
+            Salomon gat the sunset;
+          He carried it like a crimson cloth
+            To hang on his Temple wall.
+
+
+
+
+BLIND MOONE OF LONDON
+
+
+         Blind Moone of London
+           He fiddled up and down,
+         Thrice for an angel,
+           And twice for a crown.
+         He fiddled at the _Green Man_,
+           He fiddled at the _Rose_;
+         And where they have buried him
+           Not a soul knows.
+
+  All his tunes are dead and gone, dead as yesterday.
+         And his lanthorn flits no more
+         Round the _Devil Tavern_ door,
+  Waiting till the gallants come, singing from the play;
+         Waiting in the wet and cold!
+         All his Whitsun tales are told.
+  He is dead and gone, sirs, very far away.
+
+         He would not give a silver groat
+           For good or evil weather.
+         He carried in his white cap
+           A long red feather.
+         He wore a long coat
+           Of the Reading-tawny kind,
+         And darned white hosen
+           With a blue patch behind.
+
+  So--one night--he shuffled past, in his buckled shoon.
+         We shall never see his face,
+         Twisted to that queer grimace,
+  Waiting in the wind and rain, till we called his tune;
+         Very whimsical and white,
+         Waiting on a blue Twelfth Night!
+  He is grown too proud at last--old blind Moone.
+
+         Yet, when May was at the door,
+           And Moone was wont to sing,
+         Many a maid and bachelor
+           Whirled into the ring:
+         Standing on a tilted wain
+           He played so sweet and loud
+         The Mayor forgot his golden chain
+           And jigged it with the crowd.
+
+  Old blind Moone, his fiddle scattered flowers along the street;
+         Into the dust of Brookfield Fair
+         Carried a shining primrose air,
+  Crooning like a poor mad maid, O, very low and sweet,
+         Drew us close, and held us bound,
+         Then--to the tune of _Pedlar's Pound_,
+  Caught us up, and whirled us round, a thousand frolic feet.
+
+         Master Shakespeare was his host.
+           The tribe of Benjamin
+         Used to call him Merlin's Ghost
+           At the _Mermaid Inn_.
+         He was only a crowder,
+           Fiddling at the door.
+         Death has made him prouder.
+           We shall not see him more.
+
+  Only--if you listen, please--through the master's themes,
+         You shall hear a wizard strain,
+         Blind and bright as wind and rain
+  Shaken out of willow-trees, and shot with elfin gleams.
+         _How should I your true love know?_
+         Scraps and snatches--even so!
+  That is old blind Moone again, fiddling in your dreams.
+
+         Once, when Will had called for sack
+           And bidden him up and play,
+         Old blind Moone, he turned his back,
+           Growled, and walked away,
+         Sailed into a thunder-cloud,
+           Snapped his fiddle-string,
+         And hobbled from _The Mermaid_
+           Sulky as a king.
+
+  Only from the darkness now, steals the strain we knew:
+         No one even knows his grave!
+         Only here and there a stave,
+  Out of all his hedge-row flock, be-drips the may with dew.
+         And I know not what wild bird
+         Carried us his parting word:--
+  _Master Shakespeare needn't take the crowder's fiddle, too._
+
+         Will has wealth and wealth to spare.
+           Give him back his own.
+         _At his head a grass-green turf,
+           At his heels a stone._
+         See his little lanthorn-spark.
+           Hear his ghostly tune,
+         Glimmering past you, in the dark,
+           Old blind Moone!
+
+  All the little crazy brooks, where love and sorrow run
+         Crowned with sedge and singing wild,
+         Like a sky-lark--or a child!--
+  Old blind Moone, he knew their springs, and played 'em every one;
+         Stood there, in the darkness, blind,
+         And sang them into Shakespeare's mind....
+  Old blind Moone of London, O now his songs are done,
+  The light upon his lost white face, they say it was the sun!
+
+  The light upon his poor old face, they say it was the sun!
+
+
+
+
+OLD GREY SQUIRREL
+
+
+  A great while ago, there was a school-boy.
+    He lived in a cottage by the sea.
+  And the very first thing he could remember
+    Was the rigging of the schooners by the quay.
+
+  He could watch them, when he woke, from his window,
+    With the tall cranes hoisting out the freight.
+  And he used to think of shipping as a sea-cook,
+    And sailing to the Golden Gate.
+
+  For he used to buy the yellow penny dreadfuls,
+    And read them where he fished for conger eels,
+  And listened to the lapping of the water,
+    The green and oily water round the keels.
+
+  There were trawlers with their shark-mouthed flat-fish,
+    And red nets hanging out to dry,
+  And the skate the skipper kept because he liked 'em,
+    And landsmen never knew the fish to fry.
+
+  There were brigantines with timber out of Norroway,
+    Oozing with the syrups of the pine.
+  There were rusty dusty schooners out of Sunderland,
+    And ships of the Blue Cross line.
+
+  And to tumble down a hatch into the cabin
+    Was better than the best of broken rules;
+  For the smell of 'em was like a Christmas dinner,
+    And the feel of 'em was like a box of tools.
+
+  And, before he went to sleep in the evening,
+    The very last thing that he could see
+  Was the sailor-men a-dancing in the moonlight
+    By the capstan that stood upon the quay.
+
+  _He is perched upon a high stool in London.
+    The Golden Gate is very far away.
+  They caught him, and they caged him, like a squirrel.
+    He is totting up accounts, and going grey._
+
+  _He will never, never, never sail to 'Frisco.
+    But the very last thing that he will see
+  Will be sailor-men a-dancing in the sunrise
+    By the capstan that stands upon the quay...._
+
+  _To the tune of an old concertina,
+    By the capstan that stands upon the quay._
+
+
+
+
+THE GREAT NORTH ROAD
+
+
+  Just as the moon was rising, I met a ghostly pedlar
+    Singing for company beneath his ghostly load,--
+  Once, there were velvet lads with vizards on their faces,
+    Riding up to rob me on the great North Road.
+
+  Now, my pack is heavy, and my pocket full of guineas
+    Chimes like a wedding-peal, but little I enjoy
+  Roads that never echo to the chirrup of their canter,--
+    The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.
+
+  Rogues were they all, but their raid was from Elf-land!
+    Shod with elfin silver were the steeds they bestrode.
+  Merlin buckled on the spurs that wheeled thro' the wet fern
+    Bright as Jack-o'-Lanthorns off the great North Road.
+
+  Tales were told in country inns when Turpin rode to Rippleside!
+    Puck tuned the fiddle-strings, and country maids grew coy,
+  Tavern doors grew magical when Colonel Jack might tap at them,
+    The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.
+
+  What are you seeking then? I asked this honest pedlar.
+    --O, Mulled Sack or Natty Hawes might ease me of my load!--
+  Where are they flown then?--Flown where I follow;
+    They are all gone for ever up the great North Road.
+
+  Rogues were they all; but the white dust assoils 'em!
+    Paradise without a spice of deviltry would cloy.
+  Heavy is my pack till I meet with Jerry Abershaw,
+    The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.
+
+
+
+
+THE RIVER OF STARS
+
+(_A tale of Niagara_)
+
+
+  _The lights of a hundred cities are fed by its midnight power.
+  Their wheels are moved by its thunder. But they, too, have their hour.
+  The tale of the Indian lovers, a cry from the years that are flown,
+       While the river of stars is rolling,
+         Rolling away to the darkness,
+  Abides with the power in the midnight, where love may find its own._
+
+  She watched from the Huron tents, till the first star shook in the air.
+  The sweet pine scented her fawn-skins, and breathed from her braided
+           hair.
+  Her crown was of milk-white blood-root, because of the tryst she would
+           keep,
+       Beyond the river of beauty
+         That drifted away in the darkness
+  Drawing the sunset thro' lilies, with eyes like stars, to the deep.
+
+  He watched, like a tall young wood-god, from the red pine that she
+           named;
+  But not for the peril behind him, where the eyes of the Mohawks flamed.
+  Eagle-plumed he stood. But his heart was hunting afar,
+       Where the river of longing whispered ...
+         And one swift shaft from the darkness
+  Felled him, her name in his death-cry, his eyes on the sunset star.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  She stole from the river and listened. The moon on her wet skin shone.
+  As a silver birch in a pine-wood, her beauty flashed and was gone.
+  There was no wave in the forest. The dark arms closed her round.
+       But the river of life went flowing,
+         Flowing away to the darkness,
+  For her breast grew red with his heart's blood, in a night where the
+           stars are drowned.
+
+  _Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day,
+  Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way,
+  To the land of the happy shadows, the land where you are flown._
+       --And the river of death went weeping,
+          Weeping away to the darkness.--
+  _Is the hunting good, my lover, so good that you hunt alone?_
+
+  She rose to her feet like a shadow. She sent a cry thro' the night,
+  _Sa-sa-kuon_, the death-whoop, that tells of triumph in fight.
+  It broke from the bell of her mouth like the cry of a wounded bird,
+       But the river of agony swelled it
+         And swept it along to the darkness,
+  And the Mohawks, couched in the darkness, leapt to their feet as they
+           heard.
+
+  Close as the ring of the clouds that menace the moon with death,
+  At once they circled her round. Her bright breast panted for breath.
+  With only her own wild glory keeping the wolves at bay,
+       While the river of parting whispered,
+         Whispered away to the darkness,
+  She looked in their eyes for a moment, and strove for a word to say.
+
+  _Teach me, O my lover!_--She set her foot on the dead.
+  She laughed on the painted faces with their rings of yellow and red,--
+  _I thank you, wolves of the Mohawk, for a woman's hands might fail._--
+       --And the river of vengeance chuckled,
+          Chuckled away to the darkness,--
+  _But ye have killed where I hunted. I have come to the end of my trail._
+
+  _I thank you, braves of the Mohawk, who laid this thief at my feet.
+  He tore my heart out living, and tossed it his dogs to eat.
+  Ye have taught him of death in a moment, as he taught me of love in a
+           day._
+       --And the river of passion deepened,
+          Deepened and rushed to the darkness.--
+  _And yet may a woman requite you, and set your feet on the way._
+
+  _For the woman that spits in my face, and the shaven heads that gibe,
+  This night shall a woman show you the tents of the Huron tribe.
+  They are lodged in a deep valley. With all things good it abounds.
+       Where the red-eyed, green-mooned river
+         Glides like a snake to the darkness,
+  I will show you a valley, Mohawks, like the Happy Hunting Grounds._
+
+  _Follow!_ They chuckled, and followed like wolves to the glittering
+           stream.
+  Shadows obeying a shadow, they launched their canoes in a dream.
+  Alone, in the first, with the blood on her breast, and her milk-white
+           crown,
+       She stood. She smiled at them, _Follow_,
+         Then urged her canoe to the darkness,
+  And, silently flashing their paddles, the Mohawks followed her down.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  And now--as they slid thro' the pine-woods with their peaks of midnight
+           blue,
+  She heard, in the broadening distance, the deep sound that she knew,
+  A mutter of steady thunder that grew as they glanced along;
+       But ever she glanced before them
+         And glanced away to the darkness,
+  And or ever they heard it rightly, she raised her voice in a song:--
+
+  _The wind from the Isles of the Blesséd, it blows across the foam.
+  It sings in the flowing maples of the land that was my home.
+  Where the moose is a morning's hunt, and the buffalo feeds from the
+           hand._--
+       And the river of mockery broadened,
+         Broadened and rolled to the darkness--
+  _And the green maize lifts its feathers, and laughs the snow from the
+           land._
+
+  The river broadened and quickened. There was nought but river and sky.
+  The shores were lost in the darkness. She laughed and lifted a cry:
+  _Follow me! Sa-sa-kuon!_ Swifter and swifter they swirled--
+       And the flood of their doom went flying,
+         Flying away to the darkness,
+  _Follow me, follow me, Mohawks, ye are shooting the edge of the world._
+
+  They struggled like snakes to return. Like straws they were whirled on
+           her track.
+  For the whole flood swooped to that edge where the unplumbed night dropt
+           black,
+  The whole flood dropt to a thunder in an unplumbed hell beneath,
+       And over the gulf of the thunder
+         A mountain of spray from the darkness
+  Rose and stood in the heavens, like a shrouded image of death.
+
+  She rushed like a star before them. The moon on her glorying shone.
+  _Teach me, O my lover_,--her cry flashed out and was gone.
+  A moment they battled behind her. They lashed with their paddles and
+           lunged;
+       Then the Mohawks, turning their faces
+         Like a blood-stained cloud to the darkness,
+  Over the edge of Niagara swept together and plunged.
+
+  _And the lights of a hundred cities are fed by the ancient power;
+  But a cry returns with the midnight; for they, too, have their hour.
+  Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day,
+       --While the river of stars is rolling,
+          Rolling away to the darkness,--
+  Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way!_
+
+
+
+
+A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN
+
+
+  Make me a stave of song, the Master said,
+  On yonder cherry-bough, whose white and red
+    Hangs in the sunset over those green seas.
+  The young knight looked upon his untried blade,
+  Then shrugged his wings of gold and blue brocade:
+    _How should a warrior play with thoughts like these?_
+
+  Fresh from the battle, in that self-same hour,
+  A mail-clad warrior watched each delicate flower
+    Close in that cloud of beauty against the West.
+  Drinking the last deep light, he watched it long.
+  He raised his face as if to pray. _The strong_,
+    The Master whispered, _are the tenderest_.
+
+
+
+
+BEYOND DEATH
+
+
+    I
+
+    In lonely bays
+  Where Love runs wild,
+    All among the flowering grasses,
+  Where light, light, light, as a sea-bird's wing
+    The chuckle of the child-god passes,
+  O, to awake, to shake away the night
+    And find you dreaming there,
+  On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,
+    And the scent of the thyme in your hair.
+
+
+    II
+
+    Tho' beauty perish,
+  Perish like a flower,
+    And song be an idle breath,
+  Tho' heaven be a dream, and youth for but an hour,
+    And life much less than death,
+  And the Maker less than that He made,
+    And hope less than despair,
+  If Death have shores where Love runs wild
+    I think you might be there.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Re-born, re-born
+  From the splendid sea,
+    There should you awake and sing,
+  With every supple sweet from the head to the feet
+    Modelled like a wood-dove's wing,--
+  O, to awake, to shake away the night,
+    And find you happy there,
+  On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,
+    And the scent of the thyme in your hair.
+
+
+
+
+THE STRANGE GUEST
+
+
+  You cannot leave a new house
+    With any open door,
+  But a strange guest will enter it
+    And never leave it more.
+
+  Build it on a waste land,
+    Dreary as a sin.
+  Leave her but a broken gate,
+    And Beauty will come in.
+
+  Build it all of scarlet brick.
+    Work your wicked will.
+  Dump it on an ash-heap
+    Then--O then, be still.
+
+  Sit and watch your new house.
+    Leave an open door.
+  A strange guest will enter it
+    And never leave it more.
+
+  She will make your raw wood
+    Mellower than gold.
+  She will take your new lamps
+    And sell them for old.
+
+  She will crumble all your pride,
+    Break your folly down.
+  Much that you rejected
+    She will bless and crown.
+
+  She will rust your naked roof,
+    Split your pavement through,
+  Dip her brush in sun and moon
+    And colour it anew.
+
+  Leave her but a window
+    Wide to wind and rain,
+  You shall find her footsteps
+    When you come again.
+
+  Though she keep you waiting
+    Many months or years,
+  She shall stain and make it
+    Beautiful with tears.
+
+  She shall hurt and heal it,
+    Soften it and save,
+  Blessing it, until it stand
+    Stronger than the grave.
+
+  _You cannot leave a new house
+    With any open door,
+  But a strange guest will enter it
+    And never leave it more._
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+
+
+  O to creep in by candle-light,
+    When all the world is fast asleep,
+  Out of the cold winds, out of the night,
+    Where the nettles wave and the rains weep!
+  O, to creep in, lifting the latch
+    So quietly that no soul could hear,
+  And, at those embers in the gloom,
+    Quietly light one careful match--
+  You should not hear it, have no fear--
+    And light the candle and look round
+  The old familiar room;
+    To see the old books upon the wall
+  And lovingly take one down again,
+    And hear--O, strange to those that lay
+  So patiently underground--
+    The ticking of the clock, the sound
+  Of clicking embers ...
+                        watch the play
+  Of shadows ...
+                            till the implacable call
+  Of morning turn our faces grey;
+    And, or ever we go, we lift and kiss
+  Some idle thing that your hands may touch,
+    Some paper or book that your hands let fall,
+  And we never--when living--had cared so much
+    As to glance upon twice ...
+                              But now, O bliss
+  To kiss and to cherish it, moaning our pain,
+    Ere we creep to the silence again.
+
+
+
+
+THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE
+
+
+  Dazzle of the sea, azure of the sky, glitter of the dew on the grass,
+      Pass to Oblivion
+        In the darkness
+    With all that ever is or ever was.
+
+  Yet, O flocks of cloud with your violet shadows, O white may crowding
+           o'er the lane,
+        The Shepherd that drives you
+          To the darkness
+    Shall lead you thro' the crimson dawn again.
+
+  Bear your load of beauty to the sunset, and the golden gates of death.
+        The Eternal shall remember
+          In the darkness
+    And recall you at a word, at a breath.
+
+  Even as the mind of a man may remember his lost and linkless hours,
+      This world that is scattered
+        To the darkness
+    Dismembered and dis-petalled, clouds and flowers,
+
+  Cities, suns, and systems, as He said of old, they sleep! Not a bird,
+           not a leaf shall pass by,
+      But on the day of remembrance
+        In the darkness,
+    In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
+
+  They shall flash to their places in the music of the whole, even as our
+           fathers said!
+      For a Power shall remember
+        In the darkness,
+    And the universal sea give up her dead.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE EMBANKMENT
+
+
+  Within, it was colour and laughter, warmth and wine.
+    Without, it was darkness, hunger and bitter cold,
+  Where those white globes on the wet Embankment shine,
+    Greasing the Thames with gold.
+
+  And was it a bundle of fog in the dark drew nigh?
+    A bundle of rags and bones it crept to the light,--
+  A monstrous thing that coughed as it shuffled by,
+    A shape of the shapeless night,
+
+  Spawned as brown things that mimic their mothering earth,
+    Green creeping things that the grass lifts to the sun,
+  Out of its wrongs the City had brought to the birth
+    The shape of those wrongs, in one.
+
+  A woman, a woman whose lips had once been kissed,
+    (It was Christmas Eve, and the bells began their chime!)
+  She sank to a seat like a coughing bundle of mist
+    Exhaled from the river-slime.
+
+  _Bells for the birth of Christ!_ She heard, and she thought--
+    Vacantly--of her man, that was long since dead,
+  The smell of the Christmas food, and the drink they had bought
+    Together, the year they were wed.
+
+  She thought of their one-room home, and the night-long sigh
+    Recalled, as he slept, of his breath in her loosened hair.
+  _He slept._ She opened her haggard eyes with a cry.
+    But only the night was there.
+
+  Nay, out of the formless night, at her furtive glance,
+    Crouched at the end of her cold wet bench, there grew
+  A bundle of fog, a bundle of rags that, perchance,
+    Once was a woman, too.
+
+  A huddled shape, a fungus of foul grey mist
+    Spawned of the river, in peace and much good-will,
+  And even the woman whose lips had once been kissed
+    Wondered, it crouched so still.
+
+  No breath, no shadow of breath in the lamp-light smoked,
+    It crouched so still--that bunch at the bench's end.
+  She stretched her neck like a crow, then leaned and croaked,
+    "_A Merry Christmas, friend!_"
+
+  She rose, and peered, peered at its vacant eyes.
+    Touched its cold claws. Its arms of knotted bone
+  Were wands of ice; like iron rods the thighs;
+    The left breast--like a stone.
+
+  _Far, far along the rows of warmth and light
+    The Christmas waits, with cornet and bassoon,
+  Carolled "While shepherds watched their flocks by night."
+    The bells pealed to the moon._
+
+  A bundle of rags and bones, a bundle of mist,
+    And never a hell or heaven to hear or see,
+  The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed,
+    Knelt down feverishly.
+
+  She plucked the shawl out of that frozen clutch.
+   The dead are dead. Why should the living freeze?
+  She touched the cold flesh that she feared to touch
+   Kneeling upon her knees.
+
+  Her palsied hands unlaced the shoes--good shoes!--
+    She tore them quick from the crooked yellow feet.
+  If Death be generous, why should Life refuse
+    To take, and pawn, and eat?
+
+  A heavy step drew nearer thro' the mist.
+    She bundled them into the shawl. Her eyes were bright.
+  The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed,
+    Slunk, chuckling, thro' the night.
+
+
+
+
+THE IRON CROWN
+
+
+  Not memory of a vanished bliss,
+    But suddenly to know,
+  I had forgotten! This, O this
+    With iron crowned my woe:
+
+  To know that on some midnight sea
+    Whence none could lift the pall
+  A drowning hand was waved to me,
+    Then--swept beyond recall.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD DEBATE
+
+
+  His angels fell, and myriads grope
+    In doubt, for this dark cause alone,--
+  That God hath given them room for hope,
+    And made their struggling wills their own.
+
+  In the same breath, they plead for chains
+    And freedom; pray for ordered spheres,
+  Then murmur that the sun retains
+    Its course, unchecked by smiles or tears.
+
+  "The Omnipotent would grant us this,
+    Or else He is not good," they say;
+  But O, the Power withholds their bliss
+    Till they agree what prayer to pray.
+
+
+
+
+A SONG OF HOPE
+
+
+  Not in those eyes, too kind for truth,
+    Which dare not note how beauties wane;
+  Nor in that crueller joy of youth
+    Which turns from sorrow with disdain;
+            No--no--not there,
+    Abides the hope that answers our despair.
+
+  Lie where they hid thy dead away.
+    Knock on that unrelenting door;
+  Then break, O desolate heart, and say
+    Farewell, farewell, for evermore ...
+            There, only there,
+    Abides the hope that conquers all despair.
+
+  The silence that refused to bless
+    Till grief had turned the heart to stone ...
+  What soul compact of nothingness
+    Could hear so fierce a trumpet blown?
+            Then hear, O hear,
+    The dreadful hope that equals all despair.
+
+  There, till the deep atoning Might
+    Shall answer all that each can pray,
+  The very boundlessness of night
+    Proclaims--and waits--an equal day.
+            There, only there,
+  --_But O, sing low, sweet strings, lest hope take wing!_--
+    Abides the hope that answers all despair.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS
+
+
+  How passionately it opens after rain,
+            And O, how like a prayer
+  To those great shining skies! Do they disdain
+            A bride so small and fair?
+  See the imploring petals, how they part
+            And utterly lay bare
+  The perishing treasures of that piteous heart
+            In wild surrender there.
+  What? Would'st _thou_, too, drink up the Eternal bliss,
+            Ecstatically dare,
+  O, little bride of God, to invoke _His_ kiss?--
+            But O, how like a prayer!
+
+
+
+
+THE MAY-TREE
+
+
+  The May-tree on the hill
+    Stands in the night
+  So fragrant and so still,
+    So dusky white.
+
+  That, stealing from the wood
+    In that sweet air,
+  You'd think Diana stood
+    Before you there.
+
+  If it be so, her bloom
+    Trembles with bliss.
+  She waits across the gloom
+    Her shepherd's kiss.
+
+  Touch her. A bird will start
+    From those pure snows,--
+  The dark and fluttering heart
+    Endymion knows.
+
+
+
+
+OLD LETTERS
+
+
+  Read them? Strangle that sick cry?
+      Christ God, no!
+  Shut the box. Lock the lid.
+      You'll be safer--so.
+  Could you read one crookéd word
+      Scrawled so long ago,
+  Love would rise before your face
+      And blind you, like a blow.
+
+  _Close it! Quickly! For I caught,
+      In a childish hand,
+  Something that she never thought
+      I should understand._
+
+  So I crouch. And shall our God
+      Prove Him baser yet,
+  He who filled her eyes with light
+      Quite renounce His debt,
+
+  Give her worlds to love, and then--
+      Ere the sun be set,
+  Strike her down and coffin all?
+      Christ, shall _He_ forget?
+
+  _Close it! Quickly! For I caught,
+      In a childish hand,
+  Something that she never thought
+      I should understand._
+
+
+
+
+LAMPS
+
+
+  Immense and silent night,
+    Over the lonely downs I go;
+  And the deep gloom is pricked with points of light
+    Above me and below.
+
+  I cannot break the bars
+    Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky,
+  There comes to me, questioning those cold stars,
+    No signal, no reply.
+
+  Yet are they less than these--
+    These village-lights, which I do scan
+  Below me, or far out on darkling seas
+    Those messages from man?
+
+  Round me the darkness rolls.
+    Out of the depth, each lance of light
+  Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls,
+    And shall I doubt the height?
+
+  No signal? No reply?
+    As through the deepening night I roam,
+  Hope opens all her casements in the sky
+    And lights the lamps of home.
+
+
+
+
+AT EDEN GATES
+
+
+  _To Eden Garden_--so the sign-post said;
+    I could not see the road;
+  But, where the Sussex clover blossomed red
+    Its runaway blisses flowed.
+
+  I traced them back for many a night and day,
+    --The way she, too, had gone!--
+  Till lo, the terrible Angel in the way
+    Inexorably shone.
+
+  Up to the Gates, a fearless fool I came;
+    Between the lily and rose
+  Fluttering these evil rags of sordid shame,
+    A thing to scare the crows.
+
+  "And hath the Master given thee, then, no word?"
+    The scornful Angel smiled:
+  Only two souls may pass my Flaming Sword,--
+    The Lover and the Child.
+
+  I raised my head,--"Now let all hell make mirth,
+    Where Love went, I go, too!"
+  His eyes met mine. The sword sank to the earth,
+    And let her lover through.
+
+
+
+
+THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY
+
+
+  As constant lovers may rejoice
+    With seas between, with worlds between,
+  Because a fragrance and a voice
+    Are round them everywhere:
+  So let me travel to the grave,
+    Believing still--for I have seen--
+  That Love's triumphant banners wave
+    Beyond my own despair.
+
+  I have no trust in my own worth;
+    Yet have I faith, O love, for you,
+  That every beauty in bloom or leaf,
+    That even age and wrong
+  May touch, may hurt you, on this earth,
+    But only, only as kisses do;
+  Or as the fretted string of grief
+    Completes the bliss of song;
+
+  That you shall see, on any grave
+    The snow fall, like that unseen hand
+  Which O, so often, pressed your hair
+    To cherish and console:
+  That seas may roar and winds rave
+    But you shall feel and understand
+  What vast caresses everywhere
+    Convey you to the goal.
+
+  So was it always in the years
+    When Love began, when Love began
+  With eyes that were not touched of tears
+    And lips that still could sing--
+  And all around us, in the may,
+    The child-god with his laughter ran,
+  And every bloom, on every spray,
+    Betrayed his fluttering wing.
+
+  So hold it, keep it, count it, sweet,
+    Until the end, until the end.
+  It is not cruelty, but bliss
+    That pains and is so fond:
+  Crush life like thyme beneath your feet,
+    And O, my love, when that strange friend,
+  The Shadow of Wings, which men call Death
+    Shall close your eyes, with that last kiss,
+  Ask not His name. A rosier breath
+    Shall waken you--beyond.
+
+
+
+
+PARACLETE
+
+
+  Tongue hath not told it,
+    Heart hath not known;
+  Yet shall the bough swing
+    When it hath flown.
+
+  Dreams have denied it,
+    Fools forsworn:
+  Yet it hath comforted
+    Each man born.
+
+  Once and again it is
+    Blown to me,
+  Sweet from the wild thyme,
+    Salt from the sea;
+
+  Blown thro' the ferns
+    Faint from the sky;
+  Shadowed in water,
+    Yet clear as a cry.
+
+  Light on a face,
+    Or touch of a hand,
+  Making my still heart
+    Understand.
+
+  Earth hath not seen it.
+    Nor heaven above,
+  Yet shall the wild bough
+    Bend with the Dove.
+
+  Yea, tho' the bloom fall
+    Under Thy feet,
+  _Veni, Creator,
+    Paraclete!_
+
+
+
+
+AFTER RAIN
+
+
+  Listen! On sweetening air
+    The blackbird growing bold
+  Flings out, where green boughs glisten,
+    Three splashes of wild gold.
+
+  Daughter of April, hear;
+    And hear, O barefoot boy!
+  That carol of wild sweet water
+    Has washed the world with joy.
+
+  Glisten, O fragrant earth
+    Assoiled by heaven anew,
+  And O, ye lovers, listen,
+    With eyes that glisten, too.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN
+
+
+  No--not that he is dead. The pang's not there,
+    Nor in the City's many-coloured bloom
+  Of swift black-lettered posters, which the throng
+    Passes with bovine stare,
+  To say _He is dead_ and _Is it going to rain?_
+    Or hum stray snatches of a rag-time song.
+  Nor is it in that falsest shibboleth
+  (Which orators toss to the dumb scorn of death)
+    That all the world stands weeping at his tomb.
+  London is dining, dancing, through it all.
+    And, in the unchecked smiles along the street
+  Where men, that slightly knew him, lightly meet,
+    With all the old indifferent grimaces,
+  There is no jot of grief, no tittle of pain.
+    No. No. For nearer things do most tears fall.
+  Grief is for near and little things. But pride,
+    O, pride was to be found by two or three,
+  And glory in his great battling memory,
+    Prouder and purer than the loud world knows,
+  In one more dreadful sign, the day he died--
+    The dreadful light upon a thousand faces,
+  The peace upon the faces of his foes.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROMAN WAY
+
+
+  He that has loyally served the State
+    Whereof he found himself a part,
+  Or spent his life-blood to create
+    A kingdom's treasure in his art;
+
+  Who sees the enemies of his land
+    Applauded, by her sects and schools;
+  And the high thought they scarce had scanned
+    Derided and befogged by fools;
+
+  --Better to know it soon than late!--
+    Struggling, he wins a meed of praise;
+  Achieving, he is dogged by hate
+    And furtive malice all his days.
+
+  O, Emperor of the Stoic clan,
+    Enfold him, then, with nobler pride.
+  Teach him that nought can hurt a man
+    Who will not turn or stoop to chide.
+
+  Can falsehood kindle or bedim
+    One bay-leaf in his quiet crown?
+  Ten thousand Lies may pluck at him,
+    But only Truth can tear him down.
+
+  Why should he heed the thing they say?
+    They never asked if it were true.
+  Why brush one scribbler's tale away
+    For others to invent a new?
+
+  No, let him search his heart, secure
+    --If Truth be there--from tongue or pen;
+  And teach us, Emperor, to endure,
+    To think like Romans and like men.
+
+
+
+
+THE INNER PASSION
+
+
+  There is a Master in my heart
+    To whom, though oft against my will,
+  I bring the songs I sing apart
+    And strive to think that they fulfil
+  His silent law, within my heart.
+
+  But He is blind to my desires,
+    And deaf to all that I would plead:
+  He tests my truth at purer fires
+    And shames my purple with His need.
+  He claims my deeds, not my desires.
+
+  And often when my comrades praise,
+    I sadden, for He turns from me!
+  But, sometimes, when they blame, I raise
+    Mine eyes to His, and in them see
+  A tenderness too deep for praise.
+
+  He is not to be bought with gold,
+    Or lured by thornless crowns of fame;
+  But when some rebel thought hath sold
+    Him to dishonour and to shame,
+  And my heart's Pilate cries, "Behold,"
+
+  "Behold the Man," I know Him then;
+    And all those wild thronged clamours die
+  In my heart's judgment hall again,
+    Or if it ring with "Crucify!"
+  Some few are faithful even then.
+
+  Some few sad thoughts,--one bears His cross;
+    To that dark Calvary of my pride;
+  One stands far off and mourns His loss,
+    And one poor thief on either side
+  Hangs on his own unworthy cross.
+
+  And one--O, truth in ancient guise!--
+    Rails, and one bids him cease alway,
+  And the God turns His hungering eyes
+    On that poor thought with, "Thou, this day,
+  Shalt sing, shalt sing, in Paradise."
+
+
+
+
+A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN
+
+
+  The exceeding weight of glory bowed
+    My head, in that pure clime:
+  I found a road that ran through cloud
+    Along the coasts of Time....
+
+  Out of that mist of years there came
+    A cross-barred gate of wood.
+  I clutched, I kissed the unheavenly frame
+    So hard, it trickled blood.
+
+  My head upon the iron lay.
+    I slobbered blood and foam.
+  Yea, like a dog, I knew the way,
+    A hundred yards from home.
+
+  _Iron and blood and wood! They knew
+    The secret of that cry
+  When the Eternal Passion drew
+    Their Maker through--to die._
+
+  I knew each little hawthorn-cloud
+    Along my misty lane,
+  Then my heart burst. She sobbed aloud,
+    Between my arms again.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE DESTROYERS
+
+
+  Yes. You have shattered many an ancient wrong,
+    And we were with you, heart and mind and soul,
+    But there are fools who cast away control
+  In life and thought and art; because the Strong--
+  We dare to say it--have now destroyed so long,
+    That careless minds forget the unchanging goal--
+    The nobler Order which shall make us whole,
+  The Service which is freedom, beauty, song.
+
+  We shall be stoned as traitors to your cause
+    While the real traitors that you did not know,
+      Chaos and Vice, trumpet themselves as free.
+  Pray God that, loyal to the Eternal laws,
+    A little remnant, mauled by friend and foe,
+      Save you through Truth, and bring you Liberty.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUMPET-CALL
+
+
+    I
+
+    Trumpeter, sound the great recall!
+  Swift, O swift, for the squadrons break,
+    The long lines waver, mazed in the gloom!
+      Hither and thither the blind host blunders.
+  Stand thou firm for a dead Man's sake,
+    Firm where the ranks reel down to their doom,
+      Stand thou firm in the midst of the thunders,
+    Stand where the steeds and the riders fall,
+      Set the bronze to thy lips and sound
+      A rally to ring the whole world round.
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us!
+            Sound the great recall.
+
+
+    II
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the ancient heights!
+  Clouds of the earth-born battle cloak
+    The heaven that our fathers held from of old;
+      And we--shall we prate to their sons of the gain
+  In gold or bread? Through yonder smoke
+    The heights that never were won with gold
+      Wait, still bright with their old red stain,
+      For the thousand chariots of God again,
+    And the steel that swept thro' a hundred fights
+      With the Ironsides, equal to life and death,
+      The steel, the steel of their ancient faith.
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us!
+            Sound for the sun-lit heights.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the faith again!
+  Blind and deaf with the dust and the blood,
+    Clashing together we know not whither
+      The tides of the battle would have us advance.
+  Stand thou firm in the crimson flood,
+    Send the lightning of thy great cry
+      Through the thunders, athwart the storm,
+    Sound till the trumpets of God reply
+    From the heights we have lost in the steadfast sky,
+    From the Strength we despised and rejected. Then,
+      Locking the ranks as they form and form,
+        Lift us forward, banner and lance,
+    Mailed in the faith of Cromwell's men,
+        When from their burning hearts they hurled
+        The gage of heaven against the world!
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us,
+            Up to the heights again.
+
+
+    IV
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade!
+  Sound for the fire of the red-cross kings,
+    Sound for the passion, the splendour, the pity
+      That swept the world for a dead Man's sake,
+  Sound, till the answering trumpet rings
+    Clear from the heights of the holy City,
+      Sound till the lions of England awake,
+    Sound for the tomb that our lives have betrayed;
+      O'er broken shrine and abandoned wall,
+      Trumpeter, sound the great recall,
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us;
+             Sound for the last Crusade!
+
+
+    V
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the splendour of God!
+  Sound the music whose name is law,
+    Whose service is perfect freedom still,
+      The order august that rules the stars.
+  Bid the anarchs of night withdraw,
+    Too long the destroyers have worked their will,
+      Sound for the last, the last of the wars.
+  Sound for the heights that our fathers trod,
+      When truth was truth and love was love,
+      With a hell beneath, but a heaven above,
+    Trumpeter, rally us, up to the heights of it!
+            Sound for the City of God.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEART OF CANADA
+
+_July 1912_
+
+
+  Because her heart is all too proud
+    --_Canada! Canada! fair young Canada_--
+  To breathe the might of her love aloud,
+    Be quick, O Motherland!
+  Because her soul is wholly free
+    --_Canada kneels, thy daughter, Canada_--
+  England, look in her eyes and see,
+    Honour and understand.
+
+  Because her pride at thy masthead shines,
+    --_Canada! Canada!_--queenly Canada
+  Bows with all her breathing pines,
+    All her fragrant firs.
+  Because our isle is little and old
+    --_Canada! Canada!_--young-eyed Canada
+  Gives thee, Mother, her hands to hold,
+    And makes thy glory hers.
+
+  Because thy Fleet is hers for aye,
+    --_Canada! Canada!_--clear-souled Canada,
+  Ere the war-cloud roll this way,
+    Bids the world beware.
+  Her heart, her soul, her sword are thine
+    --_Thine the guns, the guns of Canada!_--
+  The ships are foaming into line,
+    And Canada will be there.
+
+
+
+
+THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN
+
+
+  All along the white chalk coast
+    The mist lifts clear.
+  Wight is glimmering like a ghost.
+    The ship draws near.
+  Little inch-wide meadows
+    Lost so many a day,
+  The first time I knew you
+    Was when I turned away.
+
+  Island--little island--
+    Lost so many a year,
+  Mother of all I leave behind
+    --_Draw me near!_--
+  Mother of half the rolling world,
+    And O, so little and gray,
+  The first time I found you
+    Was when I turned away.
+
+  _Over yon green water
+    Sussex lies.
+  But the slow mists gather
+    In our eyes.
+  England, little island
+    --God, how dear!--
+  Fold me in your mighty arms,
+    Draw me near._
+
+  Little tawny roofs of home,
+    Nestling in the gray,
+  Where the smell of Sussex loam
+    Blows across the bay ...
+  Fold me, teach me, draw me close,
+    Lest in death I say
+  The first time I loved you
+    Was when I turned away.
+
+
+
+
+A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET
+
+
+    I
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Royal Sovereign_
+
+  Ocean-mother of England, thine is the crowning acclaim.
+    Here, in the morning of battle, from over the world and beyond,
+      Here, by our fleets of steel, silently foam into line
+  Fleets of our glorious dead, thy shadowy oak-walled ships.
+  Mother, for O, thy soul must speak thro' our iron lips!
+      How should we speak to the ages, unless with a word of thine?
+    Utter it, Victory! Let thy great signal flash thro' the flame!
+      Answer, _Bellerophon_, _Marlborough_, _Thunderer_, _Condor_,
+           respond!
+
+
+    II
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Majestic_
+
+  Out of the ages we speak unto you, O ye ages to be.
+    Rocks of Sevastopol, echo our thunder-word, bruit it afar.
+      Roll it, O Mediterranean, round by Gibraltar again.
+  Buffet it, Porto Bello, back to the Nile once more.
+  Answer it, great St. Vincent! Answer it, Elsinore,
+      Buffet it back from your crags and roll it over the main!
+    Heights of Quebec, O hear and re-echo it back to the Baltic Sea!
+      Answer it, _Camperdown_! Answer it, answer it, _Trafalgar_!
+
+
+    III
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Rainbow_
+
+  How should we speak to the ages, if not with a word of thine,
+    Maker of cloud and harvest, foam and the sea-bird's wing,
+      Ocean-Mother of England and all things living and free?
+  Deep that wast moved by the Spirit to bloom with the first white morn,
+  Mother of Light and Freedom, mother of hopes unborn,
+      Speak, O world-wide welder of nations, O Soul of the sea!
+    Thine was the watchword that called us of old o'er the gray sky-line:
+      Lift thy stormy salute. It is freedom and peace that we bring.
+
+
+    IV
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Victory_
+
+  Therefore on thee we call, O Mother, for we are thy sons.
+    Speak, with thy world-wide voice, O wake us anew from our sleep!
+      Speak, for the Light of the world still lives and grows on thy face.
+  Give us the ancient Word once more, the unchangeable Word,--
+  This that Nelson knew, this that Effingham heard,
+      This that resounds for ever in all the hearts of our race,
+    This that lives for a moment on the iron lips of our guns,
+      This--that echoes for ever and ever--the Word of the Deep.
+
+
+    V
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Dreadnought_
+
+  How shall a king be saved by the multitude of an host?
+    Was not the answer thine, when fleet upon fleet swept, hurled
+      Blind thro' the dark North Sea, with all their invincible ships?
+  Thine was the answer, O mother of all men born to be free!
+  Witness again, Cape Wrath!--O thine, everlastingly,
+      Thine as Freedom arose and rolled thy song from her lips,
+    Thine when she 'stablished her throne in thy sight, on our rough
+           rock-coast,
+      Thine with thy lustral glory and thunder, washing the world.
+
+
+    VI
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Temeraire_
+
+  O for that ancient cry of the watch at the midnight bell,
+    Under the unknown stars, from the decks that Frobisher trod.
+      Hark, _Before the world?_--he questions a fleet in the dark!
+  Answer it, friend or foe! And, ringing from mast to mast,
+  Mother, hast thou forgotten what cry in the dark went past,
+      Answering still as he questioned? _Before the world?_ O, hark,
+    Ringing anear, _Before the world?_ ... _was God_ ... All's well!
+      Dying afar ... _Before the world?_ ... All's well ... _was God!_
+
+
+    VII
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Revenge_
+
+  Raleigh and Grenville heard it, Knights of the Ocean-sea.
+    Have we forgotten it only, we with our leagues of steel?
+      Give us our watchword again, O mother, in this great hour!
+  Here, in the morning of battle, here as we gather our might,
+  Here, as the nations of earth in the light of thy freedom unite,
+      Shake our hearts with thy Word, O 'stablish our peace on thy power!
+    'Stablish our power on thy peace, thy glory, thy liberty,
+      'Stablish on thy deep Word the throne of our Commonweal.
+
+
+    VIII
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Leviathan_
+
+  They that go down to the sea in ships--they heard it of old--
+    They shall behold His wonders, alone on the Deep, the Deep!
+      Have _we_ forgotten, we only? O, rend the heavens again,
+  Voice of the Everlasting, shake the great hills with thy breath!
+  Roll the Voice of our God thro' the valleys of doubt and death!
+      Waken the fog-bound cities with the shout of the wind-swept main,
+    Inland over the smouldering plains, till the mists unfold,
+      Darkness die, and England, England arise from sleep.
+
+
+  IX
+
+  _The Guns of H.M.S. Triumph_
+
+  Queen of the North and the South, Queen of our ocean-renown,
+    England, England, England, O lift thine eyes to the sun!
+      Wake, for the hope of the whole world yearns to thee, watches and
+           waits!
+  Now on the full flood-tide of the ages, the supreme hour
+  Beacons thee onward in might to the purpose and crown of thy power.
+      Hark, for the whole Atlantic thunders against thy gates,
+    Take the Crown of all Time, all might, earth's crowning Crown,
+      Throne thy children in peace and in freedom together, O weld them
+           in one.
+
+
+    X
+
+    _The Guns of the Fleet_
+
+  _Throne them in triumph together. Thine is the crowning cry!
+    Thine the glory for ever in the nation born of thy womb!
+      Thine the Sword and the Shield, and the shout that Salamis heard,
+  Surging in Æschylean splendour, earth-shaking acclaim!
+  Ocean-mother of England, thine is the throne of her fame.
+      Breaker of many fleets, O thine the victorious word,
+    Thine the Sun and the Freedom, the God and the wind-swept sky,
+      Thine the thunder and thine the lightning, thine the doom._
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR
+
+
+  On those young brows that knew no fear
+    We lay the Roman athlete's crown,
+  The laurel of the charioteer,
+    The imperial garland of renown,
+  While those young eyes, beyond the sun,
+  See Drake, see Raleigh, smile "Well done."
+
+  Their desert seas that knew no shore
+    To-night with fleets like cities flare;
+  But, frailer even than theirs of yore,
+    His keel a new-found deep would dare:
+  They watch, with thrice-experienced eyes
+  What fleets shall follow through the skies.
+
+  They would not scoff, though man should set
+    To feebler wings a mightier task.
+  They know what wonders wait us yet.
+    Not all things in an hour they ask;
+  But in each noble failure see
+  The inevitable victory.
+
+  A thousand years have borne us far
+    From that dark isle the Saxon swayed,
+  And star whispers to trembling star
+    While Space and Time shrink back afraid,--
+  "Ten thousand thousand years remain
+  For man to dare our deep again."
+
+  Thou, too, shalt hear across that deep
+    Our thundering fleets of thought draw nigh,
+  Round which the suns and systems sweep
+    Like cloven foam from sky to sky,
+  Till Death himself at last restore
+  His captives to our eyes once more.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Feeble the wings, dauntless the soul!
+    Take thou the conqueror's laurel crown;
+  Take--for thy chariot grazed the goal--
+    The imperial garland of renown;
+  While those young eyes, beyond the sun,
+  See Drake, see Raleigh, smile "Well done."
+
+
+
+
+THE WAGGON
+
+
+  Crimson and black on the sky, a waggon of clover
+    Slowly goes rumbling, over the white chalk road;
+  And I lie in the golden grass there, wondering why
+          So little a thing
+      As the jingle and ring of the harness,
+          The hot creak of leather,
+          The peace of the plodding,
+      Should suddenly, stabbingly, make it
+          Strange that men die.
+
+  Only, perhaps, in the same blue summer weather,
+    Hundreds of years ago, in this field where I lie,
+  Cædmon, the Saxon, was caught by the self-same thing:
+    The serf lying, black with the sun, on his beautiful wain-load,
+          The jingle and clink of the harness,
+          The hot creak of leather,
+          The peace of the plodding;
+    And wondered, O terribly wondered,
+          That men must die.
+
+
+
+
+THE SACRED OAK
+
+(_A Song of Britain_)
+
+
+    I
+
+  Voice of the summer stars that, long ago,
+    Sang thro' the old oak-forests of our isle,
+  Enchanted voice, pure as her falling snow,
+    Dark as her storms, bright as her sunniest smile,
+  Taliessin, voice of Britain, the fierce flow
+    Of fourteen hundred years has whelmed not thee!
+      Still art thou singing, lavrock of her morn,
+  Singing to heaven in that first golden glow,
+    Singing above her mountains and her sea!
+              Not older yet are grown
+              Thy four winds in their moan
+      For Urien. Still thy charlock blooms in the billowing corn.
+
+
+    II
+
+  Thy dew is bright upon this beechen spray!
+    Spring wakes thy harp! I hear--I see--again,
+  Thy wild steeds foaming thro' the crimson fray,
+    The raven on the white breast of thy slain,
+  The tumult of thy chariots, far away,
+    The weeping in the glens, the lustrous hair
+      Dishevelled over the stricken eagle's fall,
+  And in thy Druid groves, at fall of day
+    One gift that Britain gave her valorous there,
+              One gift of lordlier pride
+              Than aught--save to have died--
+      One spray of the sacred oak, they coveted most of all.
+
+
+    III
+
+  I watch thy nested brambles growing green:
+    O strange, across that misty waste of years,
+  To glimpse the shadowy thrush that thou hast seen,
+    To touch, across the ages, touch with tears
+  The ferns that hide thee with their fairy screen,
+    Or only hear them rustling in the dawn;
+      And--as a dreamer waking--in thy words,
+  For all the golden clouds that drowse between,
+    To feel the veil of centuries withdrawn,
+              To feel thy sun re-risen
+              Unbuild our shadowy prison
+      And hear on thy fresh boughs the carol of waking birds.
+
+
+    IV
+
+  O, happy voice, born in that far, clear time,
+    Over thy single harp thy simple strain
+  Attuned all life for Britain to the chime
+    Of viking oars and the sea's dark refrain,
+  And thine own beating heart, and the sublime
+    Measure to which the moons and stars revolve
+      Untroubled by the storms that, year by year,
+  In ever-swelling symphonies still climb
+    To embrace our growing world and to resolve
+              Discords unknown to thee,
+              In the infinite harmony
+      Which still transcends our strife and leaves us darkling here.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+    V
+
+  For, now, one sings of heaven and one of hell,
+    One soars with hope, one plunges to despair!
+  This, trembling, doubts if aught be ill or well;
+    And that cries, "Fair is foul and foul is fair;"
+  And this cries, "Forward, though I cannot tell
+    Whither, and all too surely all things die;"
+      And that sighs, "Rest, then, sleep and take thine ease."
+  One sings his country and one rings its knell,
+    One hymns mankind, one dwarfs them with the sky.
+              O, Britain, let thy soul
+              Once more command the whole,
+      Once more command the strings of the world-wide harmony.
+
+
+    VI
+
+  For hark! One sings, _The gods, the gods are dead!_
+    _Man triumphs!_ And hark--_Blind Space his funeral urn._
+  And hark, one whispers with reverted head
+    To the old dead gods--_Bring back our heaven, return!_
+  And hark, one moans--_The ancient order is fled,
+    We are children of blind chance and vacant dreams.
+      Heed not mine utterance--that was chance-born, too._
+  And hark, the answer of Science--_All they said,
+    Your fathers, in that old time, lit by gleams
+              Of what their hearts could feel,
+              The rolling years reveal
+      As fragments of one law, one covenant, simply true._
+
+
+    VII
+
+  _I find_, she cries, _in all this march of time
+    And space, no gulf, no break, nothing that mars
+  Its unity. I watch the primal slime
+    Lift Athens like a flower to greet the stars!
+  I flash my messages from clime to clime,
+    I link the increasing world from depth to height!
+      Not yet ye see the wonder that draws nigh,
+  When at some sudden contact, some sublime
+  Touch, as of memory, all this boundless night
+                Wherein ye grope entombed
+                Shall, by that touch illumed,
+      Like one electric City shine from sky to sky._
+
+
+    VIII
+
+  _No longer then the memories that ye hold
+    Dark in your brain shall slumber. Ye shall see
+  That City whose gates are more than pearl or gold
+    And all its towers firm as Eternity.
+  The stones of the earth have cried to it from of old!
+    Why will ye turn from Him who reigns above
+      Because your highest words fall short?
+          Kneel--call
+  On Him whose Name--I AM--doth still enfold
+    Past, present, future, memory, hope and love.
+                No seed falls fruitless there._
+                Beyond your Father's care--
+      _The old covenant still holds fast_--no bird, no leaf can fall.
+
+
+    IX
+
+  O Time, thou mask of the ever-living Soul,
+    Thou veil to shield us from that blinding Face,
+  Thou art wearing thin! We are nearer to the goal
+    When man no more shall need thy saving grace,
+  But all the folded years like one great scroll
+    Shall be unrolled in the omnipresent Now,
+      And He that saith _I am_ unseal the tomb:
+  Nearer His thunders and His trumpets roll,
+    I catch the gleam that lit thy lifted brow,
+                O singer whose wild eyes
+                Possess these April skies,
+      I touch--I clasp thy hands thro' all the clouds of doom.
+
+
+    X
+
+  Teach thou our living choirs amid the sound
+    Of their tempestuous chords once more to hear
+  That harmony wherewith the whole is crowned,
+    The singing heavens that sphere by choral sphere
+  Break open, height o'er height, to the utmost bound
+    Of passionate thought! O, as this glorious land,
+      This sacred country shining on the sea,
+  Grows mightier, let not her clear voice be drowned
+    In the fierce waves of faction. Let her stand
+                A beacon to the blind,
+                A signal to mankind,
+      A witness to the heavens' profoundest unity.
+
+
+    XI
+
+  Her altars are forgotten and her creeds
+    Dust, and her soul foregoes the lesser Cross.
+  O, point her to the greater! Her heart bleeds
+    Still, where men simply feel some vague deep loss.
+  Their hands grope earthward, knowing not what she needs.
+    We would not call her back in this great hour!
+      Nay, upward, onward, to the heights untrod
+  Signal us, living voices, by those deeds
+    Of all her deathless heroes, by the Power
+                That still, still walks her waves,
+                Still chastens her, still saves,
+      Signal us, not to the dead, but to the living God.
+
+
+    XII
+
+  Signal us with that watchword of the deep,
+    The watchword that her boldest seamen gave
+  The winds of the unknown ocean-sea to keep,
+    When round their oaken walls the midnight wave
+  Heaved and subsided in gigantic sleep,
+    And they plunged Westward with her flag unfurled.
+      Hark, o'er their cloudy sails and glimmering spars,
+  The watch cries, as they proudly onward sweep,--
+    _Before the world ... All's well!... Before the world_ ...
+                From mast to calling mast
+                The counter-cry goes past--
+      _Before the world was God!_--it rings against the stars.
+
+
+    XIII
+
+  Signal us o'er the little heavens of gold
+    With that heroic signal Nelson knew
+  When, thro' the thunder and flame that round him rolled,
+    He pointed to the dream that still held true.
+  Cry o'er the warring nations, cry as of old
+    _A little child shall lead them! they shall be
+      One people under the shadow of God's wing!
+  There shall be no more weeping!_ Let it be told
+    That Britain set one foot upon the sea,
+                One foot on the earth. Her eyes
+                Burned thro' the conquered skies,
+      And, as the angel of God, she bade the whole world sing.
+
+
+    XIV
+
+  A dream? Nay, have ye heard or have ye known
+    That the everlasting God who made the ends
+  Of all creation wearieth? His worlds groan
+    Together in travail still. Still He descends
+  From heaven. The increasing worlds are still His throne
+    And His creative Calvary and His tomb
+      Through which He sinks, dies, triumphs with each and all,
+  And ascends, multitudinous and at one
+    With all the hosts of His evolving doom,
+                His vast redeeming strife,
+                His everlasting life,
+      His love, beyond which not one bird, one leaf can fall.
+
+
+    XV
+
+  And hark, His whispers thro' creation flow,
+    _Lovest thou me?_ His nations answer "yea!"
+  And--_Feed My lambs_, His voice as long ago
+    Steals from that highest heaven, how far away!
+  And yet again saith--_Lovest thou Me?_ and "O,
+    Thou knowest we love Thee," passionately we cry:
+    But, heeding not our tumult, out of the deep
+  The great grave whisper, pitiful and low,
+    Breathes--_Feed My sheep_; and yet once more the sky
+                Thrills with that deep strange plea,
+                _Lovest thou, lovest thou Me?_
+    And our lips answer "yea"; but our God--_Feed My sheep._
+
+
+    XVI
+
+  O sink not yet beneath the exceeding weight
+    Of splendour, thou still single-hearted voice
+  Of Britain. Droop not earthward now to freight
+    Thy soul with fragments of the song, rejoice
+  In no faint flights of music that create
+    Low heavens o'er-arched by skies without a star,
+      Nor sink in the easier gulfs of shallower pain!
+  Sing thou in the whole majesty of thy fate,
+    Teach us thro' joy, thro' grief, thro' peace, thro' war,
+                With single heart and soul
+                Still, still to seek the goal,
+    And thro' our perishing heavens, point us to Heaven again.
+
+
+    XVII
+
+  Voice of the summer stars that long ago
+    Sang thro' the old oak-forests of our isle,
+  An ocean-music that thou ne'er couldst know
+    Storms Heaven--O, keep us steadfast all the while;
+  Not idly swayed by tides that ebb and flow,
+    But strong to embrace the whole vast symphony
+      Wherein no note (no bird, no leaf) can fall
+  Beyond His care, to enfold it all as though
+    Thy single harp were ours, its unity
+                In battle like one sword,
+                And O, its one reward
+    One spray of the sacred oak, still coveted most of all.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD'S WEDDING
+
+"Et quid curae nobis de generibus et speciebus? Ex uno Verbo omnia, et
+unum loquuntur omnia. Cui omnia unum sunt, quique ad unum omnia trahit
+et omnia in uno videt, potest stabilis corde esse."--THOMAS À KEMPIS.
+
+
+    I
+
+      When poppies fired the nut-brown wheat,
+      My love went by with sun-stained feet:
+  I followed her laughter, followed her, followed her, all a summer's
+           morn!
+      But O, from an elfin palace of air,
+      A wild bird sang a song so rare,
+      I stayed to listen and--lost my Fair,
+        And walked the world forlorn.
+
+
+    II
+
+      When chalk shone white between the sheaves,
+      My love went by as one that grieves;
+  I followed her weeping, followed her, followed her, all an autumn noon!
+      The sunset flamed so fierce a red
+      From North to South--I turned my head
+      To wonder--and my Fair was fled
+        Beyond the dawning moon.
+
+
+    III
+
+      When bare black boughs were choked with snow,
+      My love went by, as long ago;
+  I followed her dreaming, followed her, followed her, all a winter's
+           night!
+      But O, along that snow-white track
+      With thorny shadows printed black,
+      I saw three kings come riding back,
+        And--lost my life's delight.
+
+
+    IV
+
+      They are so many, and she but One;
+      And I and she, like moon and sun
+  So separate ever! Ah yet, I follow her, follow her, faint and far;
+      For what if all this diverse bliss
+      Should run together in one kiss!
+      Swift, Spring, with the sweet clue I miss
+      Between these several instances,--
+        The kings, that inn, that star.
+
+
+    V
+
+      Between the hawk's and the wood-dove's wing,
+      My love, my love flashed by like Spring!
+      The year had finished its golden ring!
+      Earth, the Gipsy, and Heaven, the King,
+      Were married like notes in the song I sing,
+  And O, I followed her, followed her, followed her over the hills of
+           Time,
+      Never to lose her now I know,
+      For whom the sun was clasped in snow,
+      The heights linked to the depths below,
+      The rose's flush to the planet's glow,
+      Death the friend to life the foe,
+      The Winter's joy to the Spring's woe,
+        And the world made one in a rhyme.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR
+
+
+  _Farewell!_ The soft mists of the sunset-sky
+    Slowly enfold his fading birch-canoe!
+  _Farewell!_ His dark, his desolate forests cry,
+    Moved to their vast, their sorrowful depths anew.
+
+  Fading! Nay, lifted thro' a heaven of light,
+    His proud sails brightening thro' that crimson flame,
+  Leaving us lonely on the shores of night,
+    Home to Ponemah take his deathless fame.
+
+  Generous as a child, so wholly free
+    From all base pride that fools forgot his crown,
+  He adored Beauty, in pure ecstasy,
+    And waived the mere rewards of his renown.
+
+  The spark that falls from heaven not oft on earth
+    To human hearts this vital splendour gives;
+  His was the simple, true, immortal birth.
+    Scholars compose; but--_this man's music lives_!
+
+  Greater than England or than Earth discerned,
+    He never paltered with his art for gain:
+  When many a vaunted crown to dust is turned,
+    This uncrowned king shall take his throne and reign.
+
+  Nations unborn shall hear his forests moan;
+    Ages unscanned shall hear his winds lament,
+  Hear the strange grief that deepened through his own
+    The vast cry of a buried continent.
+
+  Through him, his race a moment lifted up
+    Forests of hands to Beauty as in prayer;
+  Touched through his lips the sacramental Cup,
+    And then sank back--benumbed in our bleak air.
+
+  Through him, through him, a lost world hailed the light!
+    The tragedy of that triumph none can tell,--
+  So great, so brief, so quickly snatched from sight;
+    And yet--O hail, great comrade, not farewell!
+
+
+
+
+INSCRIPTION
+
+(_For the Grave of Coleridge-Taylor_)
+
+
+  Sleep, crowned with fame; fearless of change or time.
+    Sleep, like remembered music in the soul,
+  Silent, immortal; while our discords climb
+    To that great chord which shall resolve the whole.
+
+  Silent with Mozart on that solemn shore;
+    Secure where neither waves nor hearts can break;
+  Sleep--till the Master of the World, once more,
+    Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake....
+
+  Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake.
+
+
+
+
+VALUES
+
+
+  The moon that sways the rhythmic seas,
+    The wheeling earth, the marching sky,--
+      I ask not whence the order came
+        That moves them all as one.
+
+  These are your chariots. Nor shall these
+    Appal me with immensity;
+      I know they carry one heart of flame
+        More precious than the sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEROIC DEAD
+
+(_On the loss of the Titanic_)
+
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, in the night
+    They never swerved. Death had no power to appal.
+  There was one Way, one Truth, one Life, one Light,
+    One Love that shone triumphant over all.
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, at the last
+    There was no Way to part, no Way but One
+  That rolled the waves of Nature back and cast
+    In ancient days a shadow across the sun.
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, their last breath
+    Saluted once again the eternal goal,
+  Chanted a love-song in the face of Death
+    And rent the veil of darkness from the soul.
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, in the night
+    They waved the shadowy world of strife aside,
+  Flooded high heaven with an immortal light,
+    And taught the deep how its Creator died.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRY IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+  It tears at the heart in the night, that moan of the wind,
+         That desolate moan.
+  It is worse than the cry of a child. I can hardly bear
+         To hear it, alone.
+
+  It is worse than the sobbing of love, when love is estranged:
+         For this is a cry
+  Out of the desolate ages. It never has changed.
+         It never can die.
+
+  A cry over numberless graves, dark, helpless and blind,
+         From the measureless past,
+  To the measureless future, a sobbing before the first laughter,
+         And after the last!
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  From the height of creation, in passion eternal, the Word
+         Rushes forth, the loud cry,
+  _Forsaken! Forsaken!_ It cuts through the night like a sword!
+         Shall it win no reply?
+
+  Not of earth is that height of all sorrow, past time, out of space,
+         Therefore here, here and now,
+  Universal, a Calvary, crowned with Thy passionate face,
+         Thy thorn-wounded brow.
+
+  Ah, could I shrink if Thy heart for each heart upon earth
+         Must break like a sea?
+  Could I hear, could I bear it at all, if I were not a part
+         Of this labour in Thee?
+
+  Shall I accuse Thee, then? God, I account it my own
+         All the grief I can bear,
+  On Thy Cross of Creation, to balance earth's bliss and atone,
+         Atone for life there.
+
+  If this be the One Way for ever, which not Thine all-might
+         Could change, if it would,
+  Till the truth be untrue, till the dark be the same as the light,
+         And till evil be good,
+
+  Shall I who took part in Thine April, shrink now from my part
+         In Thine anguish to be?
+  If Thy goal be the One goal of all, shall not even man's heart
+         Endure this, with Thee;
+
+  Die with Thee, balancing life, or help Thee to pay
+         For our hope with our pain?...
+  _O, the voice of the wind in the night! Is it day, then, broad day,
+         On the blind earth again?_
+
+
+
+
+ASTRID
+
+(_An Experiment in Initial Rhymes_)
+
+
+  White-armed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!--
+  Nightly wandered weeping thro' the ferns in the moon,
+  Slowly, weaving her strange garland in the forest,
+  Crowned with white violets,
+  Gowned in green.
+  Holy was that glen where she glided,
+  Making her wild garland as Merlin had bidden her,
+  Breaking off the milk-white horns of the honey-suckle,
+  Sweetly dripped the dew upon her small white
+  Feet.
+
+  White-throated Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!--
+  Nightly sought the answer to that riddle in the moon.
+  She must weave her garland, ere she save her soul.
+  Three long years she has wandered there in vain.
+  Always, always, the blossom that would finish it
+  Falls to her feet, and the garland breaks and vanishes,
+  Breaks like a dream in the dawn when the dreamer
+  Wakes.
+
+  White-bosomed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!--
+  Nightly tastes the sorrow of the world in the moon.
+  Will it be this little white miracle, she wonders.
+  How shall she know it, the star that will save her?
+  Still, ah still, in the moonlight she crouches
+  Bowing her head, for the garland has crumbled!
+  All the wild petals for the thousand and second time
+  Fall.
+
+  White-footed Astrid,--ah, but she is beautiful!--
+  Nightly seeks the secret of the world in the moon.
+  She will find the secret. She will find the golden
+  Key to the riddle, on the night when she has numbered them,
+  Marshalled all her wild flowers, ordered them as music,
+  Star by star, note by note, changing them and ranging them,
+  Suddenly, as at a kiss, all will flash together,
+  Flooding like the dawn thro' the arches of the woodland,
+  Fern and thyme and violet, maiden-hair and primrose
+  Turn to the Rose of the World, and He shall fold her,
+  Kiss her on the mouth, saying, all the world is one now,
+  This is the secret of the music that the soul hears,--
+  This.
+
+
+
+
+THE INIMITABLE LOVERS
+
+
+  They tell this proud tale of the Queen--Cleopatra,
+    Subtlest of women that the world has ever seen,
+  How that, on the night when she parted with her lover
+    Anthony, tearless, dry-throated, and sick-hearted,
+  A strange thing befell them in the darkness where they stood.
+
+    Bitter as blood was that darkness.
+  And they stood in a deep window, looking to the west.
+    Her white breast was brighter than the moon upon the sea,
+  And it moved in her agony (because it was the end!)
+    Like a deep sea, where many had been drowned.
+  Proud ships that were crowned with an Emperor's eagles
+    Were sunken there forgotten, with their emeralds and gold.
+  They had drunken of that glory, and their tale was told, utterly,
+    Told.
+
+  There, as they parted, heart from heart, mouth from mouth,
+    They stared upon each other. They listened.
+      For the South-wind
+  Brought them a rumour from afar; and she said,
+    Lifting her head, too beautiful for anguish,
+            Too proud for pity,--
+  _It is the gods that leave the City! O, Anthony,
+    Anthony, the gods have forsaken us;
+  Because it is the end! They leave us to our doom.
+    Hear it!_ And unshaken in the darkness,
+  Dull as dropping earth upon a tomb in the distance,
+    They heard, as when across a wood a low wind comes,
+  A muttering of drums, drawing nearer,
+    Then louder and clearer, as when a trumpet sings
+  To battle, it came rushing on the wings of the wind,
+    A sound of sacked cities, a sound of lamentation,
+  A cry of desolation, as when a conquered nation
+    Is weeping in the darkness, because its tale is told;
+  And then--a sound of chariots that rolled thro' that sorrow
+    Trampled like a storm of wild stallions, tossing nearer,
+  Trampled louder, clearer, triumphantly as music,
+    Till lo! in that great darkness, along that vacant street,
+  A red light beat like a furnace on the walls,
+    Then--like the blast when the North-wind calls to battle,
+  Blaring thro' the blood-red tumult and the flame,
+    Shaking the proud City as they came, an hundred elephants,
+  Cream-white and bronze, and splashed with bitter crimson,
+    Trumpeting for battle as they trod, an hundred elephants,
+  Bronze and cream-white, and trapped with gold and purple,
+    Towered like tuskéd castles, every thunder-laden footfall
+  Dreadful as the shattering of a City. Yet they trod,
+    Rocking like an earthquake, to a great triumphant music,
+  And, swinging like the stars, black planets, white moons,
+    Thro' the stream of the torches, they brought the red chariot,
+  The chariot of the battle-god--Mars.
+    While the tall spears of Sparta tossed clashing in his train,
+  And a host of ghostly warriors cried aloud
+    _All hail!_ to those twain, and went rushing to the darkness
+  Like a pageantry of cloud, for their tale was told--utterly--
+    Told.
+
+  And following, in the fury of the vine, rushing down
+    Like a many-visaged torrent, with ivy-rod and thyrse,
+  And many a wild and foaming crown of roses,
+    Crowded the Bacchanals, the brown-limbed shepherds,
+  The red-tongued leopards, and the glory of the god!
+    _Iacchus! Iacchus!_ without dance, without song,
+  They cried and swept along to the darkness.
+    Only for a breath when the tumult of their torches
+  Crimsoned the deep window where that dark warrior stood
+    With the blood upon his mail, and the Queen--Cleopatra,
+  Frozen to white marble--the Mænads raised their timbrels,
+    Tossed their white arms, with a clash--_All hail!_
+  Like wild swimmers, pale, in a sea of blood and wine,
+    _All hail! All hail!_ Then they swept into the darkness
+  And the darkness buried them. Their tale was told--utterly--
+    Told.
+
+  And following them, O softer than the moon upon the sea,
+    Aphrodite, implacably, shone.
+  Like a furnace of white roses, Aphrodite and her train
+    Lifted their white arms to those twain in the silence
+  Once, and were gone into the darkness;
+    Once, and away into the darkness they were swept
+  Like a pageantry of cloud, without praise, without pity.
+    Then the dark City slept. And the Queen--Cleopatra--
+  Subtlest of women that this earth has ever seen,
+    Turning to her lover in the darkness where he stood,
+  With the blood upon his mail,
+    Bowing her head upon that iron in the darkness,
+    Wept.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRAGS
+
+(_In memory of Thomas Bailey Aldrich_)
+
+
+  Falernian, first! What other wine
+  Should brim the cup or tint the line
+    That would recall my days
+    Among your creeks and bays;
+
+  Where, founded on a rock, your house
+  Between the pines' unfading boughs
+    Watches through sun and rain
+    That lonelier coast of Maine;
+
+  And the Atlantic's mounded blue
+  Breaks on your crags the summer through,
+    A long pine's length below,
+    In rainbow-tossing snow.
+
+  While on your railed verandah there
+  As on a deck you sail through air,
+    And sea and cloud and sky
+    Go softly streaming by.
+
+  Like delicate oils at set of sun
+  Smoothing the waves the colours run--
+    Around the enchanted hull,
+    Anchored and beautiful,--
+
+  Restoring to that sun-dried star
+  You brought from coral isles afar--
+    With shells that mock the moon--
+    The tints of their lagoon;
+
+  Till, from within, your lamps declare
+  Your harbours by the colours there,
+    An Indian god, a fan
+    Painted in Old Japan.
+
+  But, best of all, I think at night,
+  The moon that makes a road of light
+    Across the whispering sea,
+    A road--for memory.
+
+  When the blue dusk has filled the pane,
+  And the great pine-logs burn again,
+    And books are good to read.
+    --For his were books indeed.--
+
+  Their silken shadows, rustling, dim,
+  May sing no more of Spain for him;
+    No shadows of old France
+    Renew their courtly dance.
+
+  He walks no more where shadows are
+  But left their ivory gates ajar,
+    That shadows might prolong
+    The dance, the tale, the song.
+
+  His was no narrow test or rule.
+  He chose the best of every school,--
+    Stendhal and Keats and Donne,
+    Balzac and Stevenson;
+
+  Wordsworth and Flaubert filled their place.
+  Dumas met Hawthorne face to face.
+    There were both new and old
+    In his good realm of gold.
+
+  The title-pages bore his name;
+  And, nightly, by the dancing flame,
+    Following him, I found
+    That all was haunted ground;
+
+  Until a friendlier shadow fell
+  Upon the leaves he loved so well,
+    And I no longer read,
+    But talked with him instead.
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE
+
+1914
+
+
+  Crimson was the twilight, under that crab-tree,
+  Where--old tales tell us--all a midsummer's night,
+  A mad young poacher, drunk with mead of elfin-land,
+  Lodged with the fern-owl, and looked at the stars.
+
+  There, from the dusk where the dream of Piers Plowman
+  Darkens on the sunset, to this dusk of our own,
+  I read, in a history, the record of our world.
+
+  The hawk-moth, the currant-moth, the red-striped tiger-moth
+  Shimmered all around me, so white shone those pages;
+  And, in among the blue boughs, the bats flew low.
+
+  I slumbered, the history slipped from my hand.
+  Then I saw a dead man, dreadful in the moon-dawn,
+  The ghost of the master, bowed upon that book.
+  He muttered as he searched it,--_what vast convulsion
+  Mocks my sexton's curse now, shakes our English clay?_
+  Whereupon I told him, and asked him in turn
+  Whether he espied any light in those pages
+  Which painted an epoch later than his own.
+  _I am a shadow_, he said, _and I see none_....
+
+  _I am a shadow_, he said, _and I see none_.
+
+  Then, O then he murmured to himself (while the moon hung
+  Crimson as a lanthorn of Cathay in that crab-tree),
+  Laughing at his work and the world, as I thought,
+  Yet with some bitterness, yet with some beauty,
+  Mocking his own music, these wraiths of his rhymes:
+
+
+    I
+
+  God, when I turn the leaves of that dark book
+    Wherein our wisest teach us to recall
+  Those glorious flags which in old tempests shook
+    And those proud thrones which held my youth in thrall;
+
+  When I see clear what seemed to childish eyes
+    The gorgeous colouring of each pictured age;
+  And for their dominant tints now recognise
+    Those prints of innocent blood on every page;
+
+  O, then I know this world is fast asleep,
+    Bound in Time's womb, till some far morning break;
+  And, though light grows upon the dreadful deep,
+    We are dungeoned in thick night. We are not awake.
+
+  The world's unborn, for all our hopes and schemes;
+  And all its myriads only move in dreams.
+
+
+    II
+
+  Read what our wisest chroniclers record:--
+    A king betrayed both foes and friends to death,
+  Delivered his own country to the sword,
+    And lied, and lied, and lied to his last breath.
+
+  He died, the martyred anarch of his time.
+    What balm is this that consecrates his dust?
+  The self-same history shudders at the "crime"
+    Which shed a blood so fragrant, so "august."
+
+  Yes. Let our sons by thousands, millions, die;
+    And when the crowned assassin of to-day
+  Stands in the Judgment Hall of Liberty
+    What shall your desolate nations rise and say?
+
+  Honour the dog. He's vanquished! He's a king!
+  So--for our dead--he's too "august" a thing.
+
+
+    III
+
+    _It was a crimson twilight, under that crab-tree.
+    Moths beat about me, and bats flew low.
+    I read, in a history, the record of our world.
+    If there be light, said the Master,
+    I am a shadow, and I see none....
+    I am a shadow, and I see none._
+
+
+
+
+THE WHITE CLIFFS
+
+
+  Woden made the red cliffs, the red walls of England.
+    Round the South of Devonshire, they burn against the blue.
+  Green is the water there; and, clear as liquid sunlight,
+    Blue-green as mackerel, the bays that Raleigh knew.
+
+  Thor made the black cliffs, the battlements of England,
+    Climbing to Tintagel where the white gulls wheel.
+  Cold are the caverns there, and sullen as a cannon-mouth,
+    Booming back the grey swell that gleams like steel.
+
+  Balder made the white cliffs, the white shield of England
+    (Crowned with thyme and violet where Sussex wheatears fly),
+  White as the White Ensign are the bouldered heights of Dover,
+    Beautiful the scutcheon that they bare against the sky.
+
+  _So the world shall sing of them--the white cliffs of England,
+    White, the glory of her sails, the banner of her pride.
+  One and all,--their seamen met and broke the dread Armada.
+    Only white may show the world the shield for which they died._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE SOUTH COAST
+
+
+  Come away into the sun and see
+  All the heavens that used to be,
+  Daily, hourly, brought to birth
+  Out of the deep remembering earth.
+
+  _This is England, this is the land
+  That holds my heart in her sweet hand.
+  This is she whose turf, I pray,
+  Will hide me, on her breast, one day._
+
+  Cast you down on the close-cropped turf,
+  See how the white cliff spreads the surf,
+  On green-eyed seas that glitter and trail
+  Into the south like a peacock's tail.
+
+  Then, come away over the hills of thyme,
+  Where folds like elfin belfries chime
+  Till Eve, in a cloud of her dusky hair,
+  Makes it Elf-land everywhere.
+
+  You shall pity the king on his throne.
+  You shall know what never was known.
+  All the glory of all the skies
+  Utterly yours in your true love's eyes;
+
+  All the bloom to the world's end
+  And all the heavens that over it bend,
+  Compacted in one garden white,
+  The garden of your love's delight.
+
+  _This is England, this is the land
+  That holds my soul in her sweet hand.
+  This is she whose turf, I pray,
+  Will hide me on her heart one day._
+
+
+
+
+OLDER THAN THE HILLS
+
+
+  Older than the hills, older than the sea,
+    Older than the heart of the Spring,
+  O, what is this that breaks
+  From the blind shell, wakes,
+    Wakes, and is gone like a wing?
+
+  Older than the sea, older than the moon,
+    Older than the heart of the May,
+  What is this blind refrain
+  Of a song that shall remain
+    When the singer is long gone away?
+
+  Older than the moon, older than the stars,
+    Older than the wind in the night,--
+  Though the young dews are sweet
+  On the heather at our feet
+    And the blue hills laughing back the light,--
+
+  Till the stars grow young, till the hills grow young,
+    O, Love, we shall walk through Time,
+  Till we round the world at last,
+  And the future be the past,
+    And the winds of Eden greet us from the prime.
+
+
+
+
+THE TORCH
+
+(_Sussex Landscape_)
+
+
+  Is it your watch-fire, elves, where the down with its darkening shoulder
+    Lifts on the death of the sun, out of the valley of thyme?
+  Dropt on the broad chalk path and, cresting the ridge of it, smoulder
+    Crimson as blood on the white, halting my feet as they climb,
+
+  Clusters of clover-bloom, spilled from what negligent arms in the tender
+    Dusk of the great grey world, last of the tints of the day;
+  Beautiful, sorrowful, strange last stain of that perishing splendour.
+    Elves, from what torn white feet trickled that red on the way?
+
+  No--from the sun-burnt hands of what lovers that fade in the distance?
+    Here, was it here that they paused, here that the legend was told?
+  Even a kiss would be heard in this hush; but, with mocking insistence,
+    Now thro' the valley resound--only the bells of the fold.
+
+  Dropt--from the hands of what beautiful throng? Did they cry "_follow
+           after_"?
+    Dancing into the west, leaving this token for me,
+  _Memory dead on the path, and the sunset to bury their laughter?_
+    Youth--is it youth that has flown? Darkness covers the sea.
+
+  Darkness covers the earth; but the path is here! I assay it.
+    Let the bloom fall like a flake--dropt from the torch of a friend!
+  Beautiful revellers, happy companions, I see and obey it;
+    Follow your torch in the night, follow your path to the end.
+
+
+
+
+THE OUTLAW
+
+
+  Deep in the greenwood of my heart
+    My wild hounds race.
+  I cloak my soul at feast and mart,
+    I mask my face;
+
+  Outlawed, but not alone, for Truth
+    Is outlawed, too.
+  Proud world, you cannot banish us.
+    _We_ banish _you_.
+
+  Go by, go by, with all your din,
+    Your dust, your greed, your guile,
+  Your gold, your thrones can never win--
+    From Her--one smile.
+
+  She sings to me in a lonely place,
+    She takes my hand.
+  I look into her lovely face
+    And understand....
+
+  Outlawed, but not alone, for Love
+    Is outlawed, too.
+  You cannot banish us, proud world.
+    _We_ banish _you_.
+
+  Now which is outlawed, which alone?
+    Around us fall and rise
+  Murmurs of leaf and fern, the moan
+    Of Paradise.
+
+  Outlawed? Then hills and woods and streams
+    Are outlawed, too!
+  Proud world, from our immortal dreams,
+    We banish you.
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNG FRIAR
+
+
+  When leaves broke out on the wild briar,
+    And bells for matins rung,
+  Sorrow came to the old friar
+    --Hundreds of years ago it was!--
+  And May came to the young.
+
+  The old was ripening for the sky,
+    The young was twenty-four.
+  The Franklin's daughter passed him by,
+    Reading a painted missal-book,
+  Beside the chapel door.
+
+  With brown cassock and sandalled feet,
+    And red Spring wine for blood;
+  The very next noon he chanced to meet
+    The Franklin's daughter, in a green May twilight,
+  Walking through the wood.
+
+  _Pax vobiscum_--to a maid
+    The crosiered ferns among!
+  But hers was only the Saxon,
+    And his the Norman tongue;
+  And the Latin taught by the old friar
+    Made music for the young.
+
+  And never a better deed was done
+    By Mother Church below
+  Than when she made old England one,
+    --Hundreds of years ago it was!--
+  Hundreds of years ago.
+
+  Rich was the painted page they read
+    Before that sunset died;
+  Nut-brown hood by golden head,
+    Murmuring _Rosa Mystica_,
+  While nesting thrushes cried.
+
+  A Saxon maid with flaxen hair,
+    And eyes of Sussex grey;
+  A young monk out of Normandy:--
+    "May is our Lady's month," he said,
+  "And O, my love, my May!"
+
+  Then over the fallen missal-book
+    The missel-thrushes sung
+  Till--_Domus Aurea_--rose the moon
+    And bells for vespers rung.
+  It was gold and blue for the old friar,
+    But hawthorn for the young.
+
+  For gown of green and brown hood,
+    Before that curfew tolled,
+  Had flown for ever through the wood
+    --Hundreds of years ago it was!--
+  But twenty summers old.
+
+  And empty stood his chapel stall,
+    Empty his thin grey cell,
+  Empty her seat in the Franklin's hall;
+    And there were swords that searched for them
+  Before the matin bell.
+
+  And, crowders tell, a sword that night
+    Wrought them an evil turn,
+  And that the may was not more white
+    Than those white bones the robin found
+  Among the roots of fern.
+
+  But others tell of stranger things
+    Half-heard on Whitsun eves,
+  Of sweet and ghostly whisperings--
+    Though hundreds of years ago it was--
+  Among the ghostly leaves:--
+
+      _Sero te amavi_--
+        Grey eyes of sun-lit dew!--
+      _Tam antiqua, Tam nova_--
+        Augustine heard it, too.
+      Late have I loved that May, Lady,
+        So ancient, and so new!
+
+  And no man knows where they were flown,
+    For the wind takes the may:
+  But white and fresh the may was blown
+    --Though hundreds of years ago it was--
+  As this that blooms to-day.
+
+  And the leaves break out on the wild briar,
+    And bells must still be rung;
+  But sorrow comes to the old friar,
+    For he remembers a May, a May,
+  When his old heart was young.
+
+
+
+
+A FOREST SONG
+
+
+  Who would be a king
+  That can sit in the sun and sing?
+  Nay, I have a kingdom of mine own.
+  A fallen oak-tree is my throne.
+      _Then, pluck the strings, and tell me true
+      If Cæsar in his glory knew
+      The worlds he lost in sun and dew._
+
+  Who would be a queen
+  That sees what my love hath seen?--
+  The blood of little children shed
+  To make one royal ruby red!
+      _Then, tell me, music, why the great
+      For quarrelling trumpets abdicate
+      This quick, this absolute estate._
+
+  Nay, who would sing in heaven,
+  Among the choral Seven
+  That hears--as Love and I have heard,
+  The whole sky listening to one bird?
+      _And where's the ruby, tell me where,
+      Whose crimsons for one breath compare
+      With this wild rose that all may share?_
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW
+
+(_Phi Beta Kappa Poem, Harvard, 1915_)
+
+
+  Music is dead. An age, an age is dying.
+  Shreds of Uranian song, wild symphonies
+  Tortured with moans of butchered innocents,
+  Blow past us on the wind. Chaos resumes
+  His kingdom. All the visions of the world,
+  The visions that were music, being shaped
+  By law, moving in measure, treading the road
+  That suns and systems tread, O who can hear
+  Their music now? Urania bows her head.
+  Only the feet that move in order dance.
+  Only the mind attuned to that dread pulse
+  Of law throughout the universe can sing.
+  Only the soul that plays its rhythmic part
+  In that great measure of the tides and suns
+  Terrestrial and celestial, till it soar
+  Into the supreme melodies of heaven,
+  Only that soul, climbing the splendid road
+  Of law from height to height, may walk with God,
+  Shape its own sphere from chaos, conquer death,
+  Lay hold on life and liberty, and sing.
+
+  Yet, since, at least, the fleshly heart must beat
+  In measure, and no new rebellion breaks
+  That old restriction, murmurs reach it still,
+  Rumours of that vast music which resolves
+  Our discords, and to this, to this attuned,
+  Though blindly, it responds, in notes like these:
+
+    There was a song in heaven of old,
+      A song the choral seven began,
+    When God with all his chariots rolled
+      The tides of chaos back for man;
+    When suns revolved and planets wheeled,
+      And the great oceans ebbed and flowed,
+    There is one way of life, it pealed,
+      The road of law, the unchanging road.
+
+    The trumpet of the law resounds,
+      And we behold, from depth to height,
+    What glittering sentries walk their rounds,
+      What ordered hosts patrol the night,
+    While wheeling worlds proclaim to us,
+      Captained by Thee thro' nights unknown,--
+    _Glory that would be glorious
+      Must keep Thy law to find its own._
+
+    Beyond rebellion, past caprice,
+      From heavens that comprehend all change,
+    All space, all time, till time shall cease,
+      The trumpet rings to souls that range,
+    To souls that in wild dreams annul
+      Thy word, confessed by wood and stone,--
+    _Beauty that would be beautiful
+      Must keep Thy law to find its own._
+
+    He that can shake it, will he thrust
+      His careless hands into the fire?
+    He that would break it, shall we trust
+      The sun to rise at his desire?
+    Constant above our discontent,
+      The trumpet peals in sterner tone,--
+    _Might that would be omnipotent
+      Must keep Thy law to find its own._
+
+    Ah, though beneath unpitying spheres
+      Unreckoned seems our human cry,
+    In Thy deep law, beyond the years,
+      Abides the Eternal memory.
+    Thy law is light, to eyes grown dull
+      Dreaming of worlds like bubbles blown;
+    _And Mercy that is merciful
+      Shall keep Thy law and find its own._
+
+    Unchanging God, by that one Light
+      Through which we grope to Truth and Thee,
+    Confound not yet our day with night,
+      Break not the measures of Thy sea.
+    Hear not, though grief for chaos cry
+      Or rail at Thine unanswering throne.
+    _Thy law, Thy law, is liberty,
+      And in Thy law we find our own._
+
+  So, to Uranian music, rose our world.
+  The boughs put forth, the young leaves groped for light.
+  The wild flower spread its petals as in prayer.
+  Then, for terrestrial ears, vast discords rose,
+  The struggle in the jungle, clashing themes
+  That strove for mastery; but above them all,
+  Ever the mightier measure of the suns
+  Resolved them into broader harmonies,
+  That fought again for mastery. The night
+  Buried the mastodon. The warring tribes
+  Of men were merged in nations. Wider laws
+  Embraced them. Man no longer fought with man,
+  Though nation warred with nation. Hatred fell
+  Before the gaze of love. For in an hour
+  When, by the law of might, mankind could rise
+  No higher, into the deepening music stole
+  A loftier theme, a law that gathered all
+  The laws of earth into its broadening breast
+  And moved like one full river to the sea,
+  The law of Love.
+  The sun stood dark at noon;
+  Dark as the moon before this mightier Power,
+  And a Voice rang across the blood-stained earth:
+  _I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light._
+  We heard it, and we did not hear. In dreams
+  We caught a thousand fragments of the strain,
+  But never wholly heard it. We moved on
+  Obeying it a little, till our world
+  Became so vast, that we could only hear
+  Stray notes, a golden phrase, a sorrowful cry,
+  Never the rounded glory of the whole.
+  So one would sing of death, one of despair,
+  And some, knowing that God was more than man,
+  Knowing that the Eternal Power behind
+  Our universe was more than man, would shrink
+  From crowning Him with human attributes,
+  Though these remained the highest that we knew;
+  And therefore, falling back on lower signs,
+  Bereft of love, thought, personality,
+  They made Him less than man; made Him a blind
+  Unweeting force, less than the best in man,
+  Less than the best that He Himself had made.
+
+  Yet, though from earth we could no longer hear
+  As from a central throne, the harmonies
+  Of the revolving whole; yet though from earth,
+  And from earth's Calvary, the central scene
+  Withdrew to dreadful depths beyond our ken;
+  Withdrew to some deep Calvary at the heart
+  Of all creation; yet, O yet, we heard,
+  Echoes that murmured from Eternity,
+  _I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light._
+  And still the eternal passion undiscerned
+  Moved like a purple shadow through our world,
+  While we, in intellectual chaos, raised
+  The ancient cry, _Not this man, but Barabbas._
+  Then Might grew Right once more, for who could hold
+  The Right, when the rebellious hearts of men
+  Finding the Law too hard in life, thought, art,
+  Proclaimed that Right itself was born of chance,
+  Born out of nothingness and doomed, at last,
+  To nothingness; while all that men have held
+  Better than dust--love, honour, justice, truth--
+  Was less than dust, for the blind dust endures?
+  But love, they said, and the proud soul of man,
+  Die with the breath, before the flesh decays.
+  And still, amidst the chaos, Love was born,
+  Suffered and died; and in a myriad forms
+  A myriad parables of the Eternal Christ
+  Unfolded their deep message to mankind.
+  So, on this last wild winter of his birth,
+  Though cannon rocked his cradle, heaven might hear,
+  Once more, the Mother and her infant Child.
+
+    _Will the Five Clock-Towers chime tonight?_
+      --Child, the red earth would shake with scorn.--
+    _But will the Emperors laugh outright
+      If Roland rings that Christ is born?_
+
+    No belfries pealed for that pure birth.
+      There were no high-stalled choirs to sing.
+    The blood of children smoked on earth;
+      For Herod, in those days, was king.--
+
+    _O, then the Mother and her Son
+      Were refugees that Christmas, too?_--
+    Through all the ages, little one,
+      That strange old story still comes true.--
+
+    _Was there no peace in Bethlehem?_--
+      Yes. There was Love in one poor Inn;
+    And, while His wings were over them,
+      They heard those deeper songs begin.--
+
+    _What songs were they? What songs were they?
+      Did stars of shrapnel shed their light?_--
+    O, little child, I have lost the way.
+      I cannot find that Inn tonight.--
+
+    _Is there no peace, then, anywhere?_--
+      Perhaps, where some poor soldier lies
+    With all his wounds in front, out there.--
+      _You weep?_--He had your innocent eyes.--
+
+    _Then is it true that Christ's a slave,
+      Whom all these wrongs can never rouse?_--
+    They said it. But His anger drave
+      The money-changers from His House.--
+
+    _Yet He forgave and turned away._--
+      Yes, unto seventy times and seven.
+    But they forget. He comes one day
+      In power, among the clouds of heaven.--
+
+    _Then Roland rings?_--Yes, little son!
+      With iron hammers they dare not scorn,
+    Roland is breaking them, gun by gun,
+      Roland is ringing. Christ is born.
+
+  Born and re-born; for though the Christ we knew
+  On earth be dead for ever, who shall kill
+  The Eternal Christ whose law is in our hearts,
+  Christ, who in this dark hour descends to hell,
+  And ascends into heaven, and sits beside
+  The right hand of the Father. If for men
+  This law be dead, it lives for children still.
+  Children that men have butchered see His face,
+  Rest in His arms, and strike our mockery dumb.
+  So shall the trumpet of the law resound
+  Through all the ages, telling of that child
+  Whose outstretched arms in Belgium speak for God.
+
+    They crucified a Man of old,
+      The thorns are shrivelled on His brow.
+    Prophet or fool or God, behold,
+      They crucify Thy children now.
+    They doubted evil, doubted good,
+      And the eternal heavens as well,
+    Behold, the iron and the blood,
+      The visible handiwork of Hell.
+
+    Fast to the cross they found it there,
+      They found it in the village street,
+    A naked child, with sunkissed hair.
+      The nails were through its hands and feet.
+    For Christ was dead, yes, Christ was dead!
+      O Lamb of God, O little one,
+    I kneel before your cross instead
+      And the same shadow veils the sun....
+
+      And the same shadow veils the sun....
+
+  But you, O land, O beautiful land of Freedom,
+  Hold fast the faith which made and keeps you great.
+  With you, with you abide the faith and hope,
+  In this dark hour, of agonised mankind.
+  Hold to that law whereby the warring tribes
+  Were merged in nations, hold to that wide law
+  Which bids you merge the nations, here and now,
+  Into one people. Hold to that deep law
+  Whereby we reach the peace which is not death
+  But the triumphant harmony of Life,
+  Eternal Life, immortal Love, the Peace
+  Of worlds that sing around the throne of God.
+
+
+
+
+THRICE-ARMED
+
+
+  Thus only should it come, if come it must--
+    Not with a riot of flags and a mob-born cry,
+    But with a noble faith, a conscience high
+  That, if we fail, we failed not in our trust.
+  We fought for peace. We dared the bitter thrust
+    Of calumny for peace, and watched her die,
+    Her scutcheons rent from sky to outraged sky
+  By felon hands and trampled into the dust.
+
+  We proffered justice, and we saw the law
+    Cancelled by stroke on stroke of those deft hands
+      Which still retain the imperial forger's pen.
+  They must have blood--Then, at this last, we draw
+    The sword, not with a riot of flags and bands,
+      But silence, and a mustering of men.
+
+  They challenge Truth. A people makes reply,
+    East, West, North, South, one honour and one might,
+    From sea to sea, from height to war-worn height,
+  The old word rings out--to conquer or to die.
+  And we shall conquer! Though their eagles fly
+    Through heaven, around this ancient isle unite
+    Powers that were never vanquished in the fight,
+  The unconquerable Powers that cannot lie.
+
+  Though fire destroy her flesh, and many a year
+    This land forgot the faith that made her great,
+      Now, as her fleets cast off the North Sea foam,
+  Casting aside all faction and all fear,
+    Thrice-armed in all the majesty of her fate,
+      Britain remembers, and her sword strikes home.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG-TREE
+
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree,
+    As thou hast ever grown,
+  Since first, a wondering child,
+    Long since, I cherished thee.
+  It was at break of day,
+    Well I remember it,--
+  The first note that I heard,
+    A magical undertone,
+  Sweeter than any bird
+    --Or so it seemed to me--
+  And my tears ran wild.
+    This tale, this tale is true.
+  The light was growing gray;
+    And the rhymes ran so sweet
+  (For I was only a child)
+    That I knelt down to pray.
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree.
+    Since then I have forgot
+    A thousand friends, but not
+  The song that set me free,
+    So that to thee I gave
+  My hopes and my despairs,
+    My boyhood's ecstasy,
+  My manhood's prayers.
+    In dreams I have watched thee grow,
+  A ladder of sweet boughs,
+    Where angels come and go,
+  And birds keep house.
+    In dreams, I have seen thee wave
+  Over a distant land,
+    And watched thy roots expand,
+  And given my life to thee,
+    As I would give my grave.
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree,
+    And when I am grown old,
+  Let me die under thee,
+    Die to enrich thy mould;
+  Die at thy roots, and so
+    Help thee to grow.
+  Make of this body and blood
+    Thy sempiternal food.
+  Then let some little child,
+    Some friend I shall not see,
+  When the great dawn is gray,
+    Some lover I have not known,
+  In summers far away,
+    Sit listening under thee.
+  And in thy rustling hear
+    That mystical undertone,
+  Which made my tears run wild,
+    And made thee, O, how dear.
+
+  In the great years to be?
+    I am proud then? Ah, not so.
+  I have lived and died for thee.
+    Be patient Grow.
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree.
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LORD OF MISRULE***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 30687-8.txt or 30687-8.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/0/6/8/30687
+
+
+
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Lord of Misrule, by Alfred Noyes</title>
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+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lord of Misrule, by Alfred Noyes,
+Illustrated by Spencer Baird Nichols</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The Lord of Misrule</p>
+<p>       And Other Poems</p>
+<p>Author: Alfred Noyes</p>
+<p>Release Date: December 16, 2009  [eBook #30687]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LORD OF MISRULE***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="pg" />
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img style="border:0; width:454px; height:700px"
+     src="images/img4.jpg"
+     alt="Cover." />
+</div>
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<hr class="full" />
+<h3>THE LORD OF MISRULE</h3>
+
+<h5>AND OTHER POEMS</h5>
+<hr class="full" />
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<table class="reg" style="border: 1px solid black;" cellspacing="10" summary="data"><tr><td>
+
+<div class="f80">
+<p class="center">BY THE SAME AUTHOR</p>
+<hr style="width: 20%;" />
+<p class="sc">Drake: An English Epic</p>
+
+<p class="sc pd05">The Enchanted Island and Other Poems</p>
+
+<p class="sc pd05">Sherwood</p>
+
+<p class="sc pd05">Tales of the Mermaid Tavern</p>
+
+<p class="sc pd05">The Wine-Press</p>
+
+<p class="sc pd05">Collected Poems. 2 Vols.</p>
+
+<p class="sc pd05">A Belgian Christmas Eve (Rada)</p>
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img style="border:0; width:461px; height:700px"
+     src="images/img1.jpg"
+     alt="Front page." />
+<p>Come up, come in with streamers!<br />
+Come in with boughs of May!</p>
+<p style="padding-left: 12em;"><i>Page 1.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+<h2>THE LORD OF<br />
+MISRULE</h2>
+
+<h5>AND OTHER POEMS</h5>
+
+<h6>BY</h6>
+<h3>ALFRED NOYES</h3>
+
+<h6><i>WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOURS BY<br />
+SPENCER BAIRD NICHOLS</i></h6>
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<div class="figcenter">
+<img style="border:0; width:120px; height:153px"
+     src="images/img2.jpg"
+     alt="logo" />
+</div>
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<h6>NEW YORK</h6>
+<h5>FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY</h5>
+<h6>PUBLISHERS</h6>
+
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<div class="center f80">
+<p><i>Copyright, 1915, by</i><br />
+<span class="sc">Frederick A. Stokes Company</span></p>
+
+<hr style="width: 20%;" />
+<p><i>All rights reserved, including that of translation<br />
+into foreign languages</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<div class="pd3">&nbsp;</div>
+
+<div style="float: left; width: auto; clear: both;">
+<img style="border:0; width:150px; height:42px"
+     src="images/img3.jpg"
+     alt="logo" />
+</div>
+
+<div class="pd5">&nbsp;</div>
+<hr class="art" />
+<h3>CONTENTS</h3>
+
+<table class="nobctr" width="70%" summary="Contents">
+
+<tr style="font-size: 70%; "> <td>&nbsp;</td>
+    <td class="tc3 sc">PAGE</td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Lord of Misrule</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page1">1</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Repeal</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page7">7</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Search-lights</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page9">9</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Forward</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page11">11</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">A Spell</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page13">13</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Crimson Sails</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page18">18</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Blind Moone of London</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page22">22</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Old Grey Squirrel</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page28">28</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Great North Road</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page31">31</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The River of Stars</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page34">34</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">A Knight of Old Japan</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page43">43</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Beyond Death</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page44">44</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Strange Guest</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page46">46</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Ghosts</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page49">49</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Day of Remembrance</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page51">51</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">On the Embankment</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page53">53</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Iron Crown</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page58">58</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Old Debate</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page59">59</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">A Song of Hope</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page60">60</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Hedge-rose Opens</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page62">62</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The May-tree</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page63">63</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Old Letters</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page64">64</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Lamps</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page66">66</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">At Eden Gates</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page68">68</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Psyche of Our Day</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page70">70</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Paraclete</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page73">73</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">After Rain</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page75">75</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Death of a Great Man</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page76">76</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Roman Way</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page78">78</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Inner Passion</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page80">80</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">A Country Lane in Heaven</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page82">82</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">To the Destroyers</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page84">84</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Trumpet-call</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page85">85</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Heart of Canada</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page89">89</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Return of the Home-born</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page91">91</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">A Salute from the Fleet</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page93">93</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">In Memory of a British Aviator</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page103">103</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Waggon</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page105">105</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Sacred Oak</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page107">107</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The World&rsquo;s Wedding</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page120">120</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">In Memoriam: Samuel Coleridge-Taylor</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page123">123</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Inscription</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page126">126</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Values</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page127">127</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Heroic Dead</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page128">128</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Cry in the Night</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page130">130</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Astrid</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page133">133</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Inimitable Lovers</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page136">136</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Crags</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page143">143</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Ghost of Shakespeare, 1914</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page147">147</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The White Cliffs</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page152">152</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">On the South Coast</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page154">154</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Older than the Hills</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page156">156</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Torch</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page158">158</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Outlaw</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page161">161</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Young Friar</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page163">163</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">A Forest Song</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page167">167</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Trumpet of the Law</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page169">169</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">Thrice-armed</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page180">180</a></td> </tr>
+
+<tr> <td class="tc2 sc">The Song-tree</td>
+     <td class="tc3"><a href="#page182">182</a></td> </tr>
+</table>
+
+<hr class="art" />
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page1"></a>1</span></p>
+<h3>THE LORD OF MISRULE</h3>
+
+<div class="quote">
+<p >&ldquo;On May days the wild heads of the parish would choose a
+Lord of Misrule, whom they would follow even into the church,
+though the minister were at prayer or preaching, dancing and
+swinging their may-boughs about like devils incarnate.&rdquo;&mdash;<i>Old
+Puritan Writer.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">A&nbsp;LL on a fresh May morning, I took my love to church,</p>
+<p>To see if Parson Primrose were safely on his perch.</p>
+<p>He scarce had got to <i>Thirdly</i>, or squire begun to snore,</p>
+    <p class="i2">When, like a sun-lit sea-wave,</p>
+      <p class="i3">A green and crimson sea-wave,</p>
+<p>A frolic of madcap May-folk came whooping through the door:&mdash;</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">Come up, come in with streamers!</p>
+      <p class="i3">Come in, with boughs of may!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Come up and thump the sexton,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And carry the clerk away.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page2"></a>2</span></p>
+    <p class="i2 s">Now skip like rams, ye mountains,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Ye little hills, like sheep!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Come up and wake the people</p>
+      <p class="i3">That parson puts to sleep.</p>
+
+<p class="s">They tickled their nut-brown tabors. Their garlands flew in showers,</p>
+<p>And lasses and lads came after them, with feet like dancing flowers.</p>
+<p>Their queen had torn her green gown, and bared a shoulder as white,</p>
+    <p class="i2">O, white as the may that crowned her,</p>
+      <p class="i3">While all the minstrels round her</p>
+<p>Tilted back their crimson hats and sang for sheer delight:</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">Come up, come in with streamers!</p>
+      <p class="i3">Come in, with boughs of may!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Now by the gold upon your toe</p>
+      <p class="i3">You walked the primrose way.</p>
+    <p class="i2">Come up, with white and crimson!</p>
+      <p class="i3">O, shake your bells and sing;</p>
+    <p class="i2">Let the porch bend, the pillars bow,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Before our Lord, the Spring!</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page3"></a>3</span></p>
+<p class="s">The dusty velvet hassocks were dabbled with fragrant dew.</p>
+<p>The font grew white with hawthorn. It frothed in every pew.</p>
+<p>Three petals clung to the sexton&rsquo;s beard as he mopped and mowed at the clerk,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And &ldquo;Take that sexton away,&rdquo; they cried;</p>
+      <p class="i3">&ldquo;Did Nebuchadnezzar eat may?&rdquo; they cried.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, that was a prize from Betty,&rdquo; they cried, &ldquo;for kissing her in the dark.&rdquo;</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">Come up, come in with streamers!</p>
+      <p class="i3">Come in, with boughs of may!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Who knows but old Methuselah</p>
+      <p class="i3">May hobble the green-wood way?</p>
+    <p class="i2">If Betty could kiss the sexton,</p>
+      <p class="i3">If Kitty could kiss the clerk,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Who knows how Parson Primrose</p>
+      <p class="i3">Might blossom in the dark?</p>
+
+<p class="s">The congregation spluttered. The squire grew purple and all,</p>
+<p>And every little chorister bestrode his carven stall.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page4"></a>4</span></p>
+<p>The parson flapped like a magpie, but none could hear his prayers;</p>
+    <p class="i2">For Tom Fool flourished his tabor,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Flourished his nut-brown tabor,</p>
+<p>Bashed the head of the sexton, and stormed the pulpit stairs.</p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">High in the old oak pulpit</p>
+        <p class="i4">This Lord of all misrule&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i3">I think it was Will Summers</p>
+        <p class="i4">That once was Shakespeare&rsquo;s fool&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Held up his hand for silence,</p>
+        <p class="i4">And all the church grew still:</p>
+      <p class="i3">&ldquo;And are you snoring yet,&rdquo; he said,</p>
+        <p class="i4">&ldquo;Or have you slept your fill?</p>
+
+<p class="s">&ldquo;Your God still walks in Eden, between the ancient trees,</p>
+<p>Where Youth and Love go wading through pools of primroses.</p>
+<p>And this is the sign we bring you, before the darkness fall,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page5"></a>5</span></p>
+    <p class="i2">That Spring is risen, is risen again,</p>
+      <p class="i3">That Life is risen, is risen again,</p>
+<p>That Love is risen, is risen again, and Love is Lord of all.</p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">&ldquo;At Paske began our morrice</p>
+        <p class="i4">And, ere Pentecost, our May;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Because, albeit your words be true,</p>
+        <p class="i4">You know not what you say.</p>
+      <p class="i3">You chatter in church like jackdaws,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Words that would wake the dead,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Were there one breath of life in you,</p>
+        <p class="i4">One drop of blood,&rdquo; he said.</p>
+
+<p class="s">&ldquo;<i>He died and He went down to hell!</i> You know not what you mean.</p>
+<p>Our rafters were of green fir. Also our beds were green.</p>
+<p>But out of the mouth of a fool, a fool, before the darkness fall,</p>
+    <p class="i2">We tell you He is risen again,</p>
+      <p class="i3">The Lord of Life is risen again,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page6"></a>6</span></p>
+<p>The boughs put forth their tender buds, and Love is Lord of all!&rdquo;</p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">He bowed his head. He stood so still,</p>
+        <p class="i4">They bowed their heads as well.</p>
+      <p class="i3">And softly from the organ-loft</p>
+        <p class="i4">The song began to swell.</p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Come up with blood-red streamers</i>,</p>
+        <p class="i4">The reeds began the strain.</p>
+      <p class="i3">The <i>vox humana</i> pealed on high,</p>
+        <p class="i4"><i>The Spring is risen again!</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">The <i>vox angelica</i> replied&mdash;<i>The shadows flee away!</i></p>
+<p><i>Our house-beams were of cedar. Come in, with boughs of may!</i></p>
+<p>The <i>diapason</i> deepened it&mdash;<i>Before the darkness fall</i>,</p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>We tell you He is risen again!</i></p>
+        <p class="i4"><i>Our God hath burst His prison again!</i></p>
+<p><i>Christ is risen, is risen again; and Love is Lord of all.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page7"></a>7</span></p>
+<h3>THE REPEAL</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">I DREAMED the Eternal had repealed</p>
+  <p class="i1">His cosmic code of law last night.</p>
+<p>Our prayers had made the Unchanging yield.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Caprice was king from depth to height.</p>
+
+<p class="s">On Beachy Head a shouting throng</p>
+  <p class="i1">Had fired a beacon to proclaim</p>
+<p>Their licence. With unmeasured song</p>
+  <p class="i1">They proved it, dancing in the flame.</p>
+
+<p class="s">They quarrelled. One desired the sun,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And one desired the stars to shine.</p>
+<p>They closed and wrestled and burned as one,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the white chalk grew red as wine.</p>
+
+<p class="s">The furnace licked and purred and rolled,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A laughing child held up its hands</p>
+<p>Like dreadful torches, dropping gold;</p>
+  <p class="i1">For pain was dead at their commands.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page8"></a>8</span></p>
+<p class="s">Painless and wild as clouds they burned,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Till the restricted Rose of Day</p>
+<p>With all its glorious laws returned,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the wind blew their ashes away.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page9"></a>9</span></p>
+<h3>THE SEARCH-LIGHTS</h3>
+
+<div class="quote">
+<p>&ldquo;Political morality differs from individual morality because
+there is no power above the state.&rdquo;</p>
+</div>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">SHADOW by shadow, stripped for fight,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The lean black cruisers search the sea.</p>
+<p>Night-long their level shafts of light</p>
+  <p class="i1">Revolve, and find no enemy.</p>
+<p>Only they know each leaping wave</p>
+<p>May hide the lightning, and their grave.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And in the land they guard so well</p>
+  <p class="i1">Is there no silent watch to keep?</p>
+<p>An age is dying, and the bell</p>
+  <p class="i1">Rings midnight on a vaster deep.</p>
+<p>But over all its waves, once more,</p>
+<p>The search-lights move, from shore to shore.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And captains that we thought were dead,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And dreamers that we thought were dumb,</p>
+<p>And voices that we thought were fled,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page10"></a>10</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">Arise, and call us, and we come;</p>
+<p>And &ldquo;search in thine own soul,&rdquo; they cry;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For there, too, lurks thine enemy.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Search for the foe in thine own soul,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The sloth, the intellectual pride;</p>
+<p>The trivial jest that veils the goal</p>
+  <p class="i1">For which our fathers lived and died;</p>
+<p>The lawless dreams, the cynic Art,</p>
+<p>That rend thy nobler self apart.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Not far, not far into the night,</p>
+  <p class="i1">These level swords of light can pierce;</p>
+<p>Yet for her faith does England fight,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Her faith in this our universe;</p>
+<p>Believing Truth and Justice draw</p>
+<p>From founts of everlasting law;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Therefore a Power above the State,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The unconquerable Power returns.</p>
+<p>The fire, the fire that made her great</p>
+  <p class="i1">Once more upon her altar burns.</p>
+<p>Once more, redeemed and healed and whole,</p>
+<p>She moves to the Eternal Goal.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page11"></a>11</span></p>
+<h3>FORWARD</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">A <i>THOUSAND creeds and battle-cries,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>A thousand warring social schemes,</i></p>
+<p><i>A thousand new moralities,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>And twenty thousand thousand dreams!</i></p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Each on his own anarchic way,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>From the old order breaking free,&mdash;</i></p>
+<p><i>Our ruined world desires</i>, you say,</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Licence, once more, not Liberty.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">But ah, beneath the struggling foam,</p>
+  <p class="i1">When storm and change are on the deep,</p>
+<p>How quietly the tides come home,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And how the depths of sea-shine sleep;</p>
+
+<p class="s">And we who march towards a goal,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Destroying only to fulfil</p>
+<p>The law, the law of that great soul</p>
+  <p class="i1">Which moves beneath your alien will;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page12"></a>12</span></p>
+<p class="s">We, that like foemen meet the past</p>
+  <p class="i1">Because we bring the future, know</p>
+<p>We only fight to achieve at last</p>
+  <p class="i1">A great re-union with our foe;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Re-union in the truths that stand</p>
+  <p class="i1">When all our wars are rolled away;</p>
+<p>Re-union of the heart and hand</p>
+  <p class="i1">And of the prayers wherewith we pray;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Re-union in the common needs,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The common strivings of mankind;</p>
+<p>Re-union of our warring creeds</p>
+  <p class="i1">In the one God that dwells behind.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Then&mdash;in that day&mdash;we shall not meet</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wrong with new wrong, but right with right;</p>
+<p>Our faith shall make your faith complete</p>
+  <p class="i1">When our battalions re-unite.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Forward!&mdash;what use in idle words?&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Forward, O warriors of the soul!</p>
+<p>There will be breaking up of swords</p>
+  <p class="i1">When that new morning makes us whole.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page13"></a>13</span></p>
+<h3>A SPELL</h3>
+
+<p class="center">(<i>An Excellent Way to get a Fairy</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">GATHER, first, in your left hand</p>
+  <p class="i1">(This must be at fall of day)</p>
+<p>Forty grains of wild sea-sand</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where you think a mermaid lay.</p>
+<p>I have heard that it is best</p>
+  <p class="i1">If you gather it, warm and sweet,</p>
+<p>Out of the dint of her left breast</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where you see her heart has beat.</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>Out of the dint in that sweet sand</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Gather forty grains, I say;</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Yet&mdash;if it fail you&mdash;understand,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>There remains a better way.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Out of this you melt your glass</p>
+  <p class="i1">While the veils of night are drawn,</p>
+<p>Whispering, till the shadows pass,</p>
+  <p class="i1">&ldquo;<i>Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then you blow your magic vial,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page14"></a>14</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">Shape it like a crescent moon,</p>
+<p>Set it up and make your trial,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Singing, &ldquo;<i>Elaby, ah, come soon!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>Round the cloudy crescent go,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>On the hill-top, in the dawn,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Singing softly, on tip-toe,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>&ldquo;Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun!&rdquo;</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Bring the blood of a white hen</p>
+  <p class="i1">Slaughtered at the break of day,</p>
+<p>While the cock, in the fairy glen,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thrusts his gold neck every way,</p>
+<p>Over the brambles, peering, calling,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,</p>
+<p>Far and wide&mdash;as the dews are falling&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Clamouring, calling, everywhere.</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>Round the crimson vial go,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>On the hill-top, in the dawn,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Singing softly, on tip-toe,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>&ldquo;Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun!&rdquo;</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>If this fail, at break of day,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>I can show you a better way.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page15"></a>15</span></p>
+<p class="s">Bring the buds of the hazel-copse,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where two lovers kissed at noon;</p>
+<p>Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where they murmured under the moon.</p>
+<p>Bring the four-leaved clover also,</p>
+  <p class="i1">One of the white, and one of the red,</p>
+<p>Bring the flakes of the may that fall so</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lightly over their bridal bed.</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>Drop them into the vial&mdash;so&mdash;</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>On the hill-top, in the dawn,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Singing softly, on tip-toe,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>&ldquo;Nixie&mdash;pixie&mdash;leprechaun!&rdquo;</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>And, if once will not suffice,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Do it thrice!</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>If this fail, at break of day,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>There remains a better way.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Bring an old and crippled child</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Ah, tread softly, on tip-toe!</i>&mdash;</p>
+<p>Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild,</p>
+  <p class="i1">From that under-world below,</p>
+<p>Bring a wizened child of seven</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page16"></a>16</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">Reeking from the City slime,</p>
+<p>Out of hell into your heaven,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Set her knee-deep in the thyme.</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>Feed her&mdash;clothe her&mdash;even so!</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Set her on a fairy-throne.</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>When her eyes begin to glow</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Leave her for an hour&mdash;alone.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">You shall need no spells or charms,</p>
+  <p class="i1">On that hill-top, in that dawn.</p>
+<p>When she lifts her wasted arms,</p>
+  <p class="i1">You shall see a veil withdrawn.</p>
+<p>There shall be no veil between them,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Though her head be old and wise!</p>
+<p>You shall know that she has seen them</p>
+  <p class="i1">By the glory in her eyes.</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>Round her irons on that hill</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Earth has tossed a fairy fire:</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Watch, and listen, and be still,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Lest you baulk your own desire.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">When she sees four azure wings</p>
+  <p class="i1">Light upon her claw-like hand;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page17"></a>17</span></p>
+<p>When she lifts her head and sings,</p>
+  <p class="i1">You shall hear and understand:</p>
+<p>You shall hear a bugle calling</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wildly over the dew-dashed down;</p>
+<p>And a sound as of the falling</p>
+  <p class="i1">Ramparts of a conquered town.</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s"><i>You shall hear a sound like thunder;</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>And a veil shall be withdrawn,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>When her eyes grow wide with wonder</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>On that hill-top, in that dawn.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page18"></a>18</span></p>
+<h3>CRIMSON SAILS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">W<i>HEN Salomon sailed from Ophir</i> ...</p>
+  <p class="i1">The clouds of Sussex thyme</p>
+<p>That crown the cliffs in mid-July</p>
+<p>Were all we needed&mdash;you and I&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>But Salomon sailed from Ophir</i>,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And broken bits of rhyme</p>
+<p>Blew to us on the white chalk coast</p>
+  <p class="i1">From O, what elfin clime?</p>
+
+<p class="s">A peacock butterfly flaunted</p>
+  <p class="i1">Its four great crimson wings,</p>
+<p>As over the edge of the chalk it flew</p>
+<p>Black as a ship on the Channel blue ...</p>
+<p><i>When Salomon sailed from Ophir</i>,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">He brought, as the high sun brings,</p>
+<p>Honey and spice to the Queen of the South,</p>
+<p>Sussex or Saba, a song for her mouth,</p>
+<p>Sweet as the dawn-wind over the downs</p>
+<p>And the tall white cliffs that the wild thyme crowns</p>
+  <p class="i1">A song that the whole sky sings:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page19"></a>19</span></p>
+<p class="s">When Salomon sailed from Ophir,</p>
+  <p class="i1">With Olliphants and gold,</p>
+<p>The kings went up, the kings went down,</p>
+<p>Trying to match King Salomon&rsquo;s crown,</p>
+<p>But Salomon sacked the sunset,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wherever his black ships rolled.</p>
+<p>He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And crammed it into his hold.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Chorus</i>: Salomon sacked the sunset!</p>
+        <p class="i4">Salomon sacked the sunset!</p>
+      <p class="i3">He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,</p>
+        <p class="i4">And crammed it into his hold.</p>
+
+<p class="s">His masts were Lebanon cedars,</p>
+  <p class="i1">His sheets were singing blue,</p>
+<p>But that was never the reason why</p>
+<p>He stuffed his hold with the sunset sky!</p>
+<p>The kings could cut their cedars,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And sail from Ophir, too;</p>
+<p>But Salomon packed his heart with dreams</p>
+  <p class="i1">And all the dreams were true.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Chorus</i>: The kings could cut their cedars,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Cut their Lebanon cedars;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page20"></a>20</span></p>
+     <p class="i3">But Salomon packed his heart with dreams,</p>
+        <p class="i4">And all the dreams were true.</p>
+
+<p class="s">When Salomon sailed from Ophir,</p>
+  <p class="i1">He sailed not as a king.</p>
+<p>The kings&mdash;they weltered to and fro,</p>
+<p>Tossed wherever the winds could blow;</p>
+<p>But Salomon&rsquo;s tawny seamen</p>
+  <p class="i1">Could lift their heads and sing,</p>
+<p>Till all their crowded clouds of sail</p>
+  <p class="i1">Grew sweeter than the Spring.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Chorus</i>: Their singing sheets grew sweeter,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Their crowded clouds grew sweeter,</p>
+      <p class="i3">For Salomon&rsquo;s tawny seamen, sirs,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Could lift their heads and sing:</p>
+
+<p class="s">When Salomon sailed from Ophir</p>
+  <p class="i1">With crimson sails so tall,</p>
+<p>The kings went up, the kings went down,</p>
+<p>Trying to match King Salomon&rsquo;s crown;</p>
+<p>But Salomon brought the sunset</p>
+  <p class="i1">To hang on his Temple wall;</p>
+<p>He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">So his was better than all.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page21"></a>21</span></p>
+<p class="s"><i>Chorus</i>: Salomon gat the sunset,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Salomon gat the sunset;</p>
+      <p class="i3">He carried it like a crimson cloth</p>
+        <p class="i4">To hang on his Temple wall.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page22"></a>22</span></p>
+<h3>BLIND MOONE OF LONDON</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">BLIND Moone of London</p>
+  <p class="i1">He fiddled up and down,</p>
+<p>Thrice for an angel,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And twice for a crown.</p>
+<p>He fiddled at the <i>Green Man</i>,</p>
+  <p class="i1">He fiddled at the <i>Rose</i>;</p>
+<p>And where they have buried him</p>
+  <p class="i1">Not a soul knows.</p>
+
+<p class="s">All his tunes are dead and gone, dead as yesterday.</p>
+      <p class="i3">And his lanthorn flits no more</p>
+      <p class="i3">Round the <i>Devil Tavern</i> door,</p>
+<p>Waiting till the gallants come, singing from the play;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Waiting in the wet and cold!</p>
+      <p class="i3">All his Whitsun tales are told.</p>
+<p>He is dead and gone, sirs, very far away.</p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">He would not give a silver groat</p>
+        <p class="i4">For good or evil weather.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page23"></a>23</span></p>
+      <p class="i3">He carried in his white cap</p>
+        <p class="i4">A long red feather.</p>
+      <p class="i3">He wore a long coat</p>
+        <p class="i4">Of the Reading-tawny kind,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And darned white hosen</p>
+        <p class="i4">With a blue patch behind.</p>
+
+<p class="s">So&mdash;one night&mdash;he shuffled past, in his buckled shoon.</p>
+      <p class="i3">We shall never see his face,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Twisted to that queer grimace,</p>
+<p>Waiting in the wind and rain, till we called his tune;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Very whimsical and white,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Waiting on a blue Twelfth Night!</p>
+<p>He is grown too proud at last&mdash;old blind Moone.</p>
+
+      <p class="i3">Yet, when May was at the door,</p>
+        <p class="i4">And Moone was wont to sing,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Many a maid and bachelor</p>
+        <p class="i4">Whirled into the ring:</p>
+      <p class="i3">Standing on a tilted wain</p>
+        <p class="i4">He played so sweet and loud</p>
+      <p class="i3">The Mayor forgot his golden chain</p>
+        <p class="i4">And jigged it with the crowd.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page24"></a>24</span></p>
+<p class="s">Old blind Moone, his fiddle scattered flowers along the street;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Into the dust of Brookfield Fair</p>
+      <p class="i3">Carried a shining primrose air,</p>
+<p>Crooning like a poor mad maid, O, very low and sweet,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Drew us close, and held us bound,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Then&mdash;to the tune of <i>Pedlar&rsquo;s Pound</i>,</p>
+<p>Caught us up, and whirled us round, a thousand frolic feet.</p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">Master Shakespeare was his host.</p>
+        <p class="i4">The tribe of Benjamin</p>
+      <p class="i3">Used to call him Merlin&rsquo;s Ghost</p>
+        <p class="i4">At the <i>Mermaid Inn</i>.</p>
+      <p class="i3">He was only a crowder,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Fiddling at the door.</p>
+      <p class="i3">Death has made him prouder.</p>
+        <p class="i4">We shall not see him more.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Only&mdash;if you listen, please&mdash;through the master&rsquo;s themes,</p>
+      <p class="i3">You shall hear a wizard strain,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Blind and bright as wind and rain</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page25"></a>25</span></p>
+<p>Shaken out of willow-trees, and shot with elfin gleams.</p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>How should I your true love know?</i></p>
+      <p class="i3">Scraps and snatches&mdash;even so!</p>
+<p>That is old blind Moone again, fiddling in your dreams.</p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">Once, when Will had called for sack</p>
+        <p class="i4">And bidden him up and play,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Old blind Moone, he turned his back,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Growled, and walked away,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Sailed into a thunder-cloud,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Snapped his fiddle-string,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And hobbled from <i>The Mermaid</i></p>
+        <p class="i4">Sulky as a king.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Only from the darkness now, steals the strain we knew:</p>
+      <p class="i3">No one even knows his grave!</p>
+      <p class="i3">Only here and there a stave,</p>
+<p>Out of all his hedge-row flock, be-drips the may with dew.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page26"></a>26</span></p>
+      <p class="i3">And I know not what wild bird</p>
+      <p class="i3">Carried us his parting word:&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>Master Shakespeare needn&rsquo;t take the crowder&rsquo;s fiddle, too.</i></p>
+
+      <p class="i3 s">Will has wealth and wealth to spare.</p>
+        <p class="i4">Give him back his own.</p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>At his head a grass-green turf,</i></p>
+        <p class="i4"><i>At his heels a stone.</i></p>
+      <p class="i3">See his little lanthorn-spark.</p>
+        <p class="i4">Hear his ghostly tune,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Glimmering past you, in the dark,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Old blind Moone!</p>
+
+<p class="s">All the little crazy brooks, where love and sorrow run</p>
+      <p class="i3">Crowned with sedge and singing wild,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Like a sky-lark&mdash;or a child!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Old blind Moone, he knew their springs, and played &rsquo;em every one;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Stood there, in the darkness, blind,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And sang them into Shakespeare&rsquo;s mind....</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page27"></a>27</span></p>
+<p>Old blind Moone of London, O now his songs are done,</p>
+<p>The light upon his lost white face, they say it was the sun!</p>
+
+<p class="s">The light upon his poor old face, they say it was the sun!</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page28"></a>28</span></p>
+<h3>OLD GREY SQUIRREL</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">A GREAT while ago, there was a school-boy.</p>
+  <p class="i1">He lived in a cottage by the sea.</p>
+<p>And the very first thing he could remember</p>
+  <p class="i1">Was the rigging of the schooners by the quay.</p>
+
+<p class="s">He could watch them, when he woke, from his window,</p>
+  <p class="i1">With the tall cranes hoisting out the freight.</p>
+<p>And he used to think of shipping as a sea-cook,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And sailing to the Golden Gate.</p>
+
+
+<p class="s">For he used to buy the yellow penny dreadfuls,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And read them where he fished for conger eels,</p>
+<p>And listened to the lapping of the water,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The green and oily water round the keels.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page29"></a>29</span></p>
+<p class="s">There were trawlers with their shark-mouthed flat-fish,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And red nets hanging out to dry,</p>
+<p>And the skate the skipper kept because he liked &rsquo;em,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And landsmen never knew the fish to fry.</p>
+
+<p class="s">There were brigantines with timber out of Norroway,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Oozing with the syrups of the pine.</p>
+<p>There were rusty dusty schooners out of Sunderland,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And ships of the Blue Cross line.</p>
+
+
+<p class="s">And to tumble down a hatch into the cabin</p>
+  <p class="i1">Was better than the best of broken rules;</p>
+<p>For the smell of &rsquo;em was like a Christmas dinner,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the feel of &rsquo;em was like a box of tools.</p>
+
+
+<p class="s">And, before he went to sleep in the evening,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The very last thing that he could see</p>
+<p>Was the sailor-men a-dancing in the moonlight</p>
+  <p class="i1">By the capstan that stood upon the quay.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page30"></a>30</span></p>
+<p class="s"><i>He is perched upon a high stool in London.</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>The Golden Gate is very far away.</i></p>
+<p><i>They caught him, and they caged him, like a squirrel.</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>He is totting up accounts, and going grey.</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="s"><i>He will never, never, never sail to &rsquo;Frisco.</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>But the very last thing that he will see</i></p>
+<p><i>Will be sailor-men a-dancing in the sunrise</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>By the capstan that stands upon the quay....</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="s"><i>To the tune of an old concertina,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>By the capstan that stands upon the quay.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page31"></a>31</span></p>
+<h3>THE GREAT NORTH ROAD</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">JUST as the moon was rising, I met a ghostly pedlar</p>
+  <p class="i1">Singing for company beneath his ghostly load,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Once, there were velvet lads with vizards on their faces,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Riding up to rob me on the great North Road.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Now, my pack is heavy, and my pocket full of guineas</p>
+  <p class="i1">Chimes like a wedding-peal, but little I enjoy</p>
+<p>Roads that never echo to the chirrup of their canter,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Rogues were they all, but their raid was from Elf-land!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shod with elfin silver were the steeds they bestrode.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page32"></a>32</span></p>
+<p>Merlin buckled on the spurs that wheeled thro&rsquo; the wet fern</p>
+  <p class="i1">Bright as Jack-o&rsquo;-Lanthorns off the great North Road.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Tales were told in country inns when Turpin rode to Rippleside!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Puck tuned the fiddle-strings, and country maids grew coy,</p>
+<p>Tavern doors grew magical when Colonel Jack might tap at them,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.</p>
+
+<p class="s">What are you seeking then? I asked this honest pedlar.</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;O, Mulled Sack or Natty Hawes might ease me of my load!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Where are they flown then?&mdash;Flown where I follow;</p>
+  <p class="i1">They are all gone for ever up the great North Road.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page33"></a>33</span></p>
+<p class="s">Rogues were they all; but the white dust assoils &rsquo;em!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Paradise without a spice of deviltry would cloy.</p>
+<p>Heavy is my pack till I meet with Jerry Abershaw,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page34"></a>34</span></p>
+<h3>THE RIVER OF STARS</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>A tale of Niagara</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">T<i>HE lights of a hundred cities are fed by its midnight power.</i></p>
+<p><i>Their wheels are moved by its thunder. But they, too, have their hour.</i></p>
+<p><i>The tale of the Indian lovers, a cry from the years that are flown,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>While the river of stars is rolling,</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Rolling away to the darkness,</i></p>
+<p><i>Abides with the power in the midnight, where love may find its own.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">She watched from the Huron tents, till the first star shook in the air.</p>
+<p>The sweet pine scented her fawn-skins, and breathed from her braided hair.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page35"></a>35</span></p>
+<p>Her crown was of milk-white blood-root, because of the tryst she would keep,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Beyond the river of beauty</p>
+      <p class="i3">That drifted away in the darkness</p>
+<p>Drawing the sunset thro&rsquo; lilies, with eyes like stars, to the deep.</p>
+
+<p class="s">He watched, like a tall young wood-god, from the red pine that she named;</p>
+<p>But not for the peril behind him, where the eyes of the Mohawks flamed.</p>
+<p>Eagle-plumed he stood. But his heart was hunting afar,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Where the river of longing whispered ...</p>
+      <p class="i3">And one swift shaft from the darkness</p>
+<p>Felled him, her name in his death-cry, his eyes on the sunset star.</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="letter-spacing: 1.7em; font-size: 150%;">&nbsp;.......</p>
+
+<p class="s">She stole from the river and listened. The moon on her wet skin shone.</p>
+<p>As a silver birch in a pine-wood, her beauty flashed and was gone.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page36"></a>36</span></p>
+<p>There was no wave in the forest. The dark arms closed her round.</p>
+    <p class="i2">But the river of life went flowing,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Flowing away to the darkness,</p>
+<p>For her breast grew red with his heart&rsquo;s blood, in a night where the stars are drowned.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day,</i></p>
+<p><i>Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way,</i></p>
+<p><i>To the land of the happy shadows, the land where you are flown.</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">&mdash;And the river of death went weeping,</p>
+       <p class="i3">Weeping away to the darkness.&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>Is the hunting good, my lover, so good that you hunt alone?</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">She rose to her feet like a shadow. She sent a cry thro&rsquo; the night,</p>
+<p><i>Sa-sa-kuon</i>, the death-whoop, that tells of triumph in fight.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page37"></a>37</span></p>
+<p>It broke from the bell of her mouth like the cry of a wounded bird,</p>
+    <p class="i2">But the river of agony swelled it</p>
+      <p class="i3">And swept it along to the darkness,</p>
+<p>And the Mohawks, couched in the darkness, leapt to their feet as they heard.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Close as the ring of the clouds that menace the moon with death,</p>
+<p>At once they circled her round. Her bright breast panted for breath.</p>
+<p>With only her own wild glory keeping the wolves at bay,</p>
+    <p class="i2">While the river of parting whispered,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Whispered away to the darkness,</p>
+<p>She looked in their eyes for a moment, and strove for a word to say.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Teach me, O my lover!</i>&mdash;She set her foot on the dead.</p>
+<p>She laughed on the painted faces with their rings of yellow and red,&mdash;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page38"></a>38</span></p>
+<p><i>I thank you, wolves of the Mohawk, for a woman&rsquo;s hands might fail.</i>&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2">&mdash;And the river of vengeance chuckled,</p>
+        <p class="i3">Chuckled away to the darkness,&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>But ye have killed where I hunted. I have come to the end of my trail.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>I thank you, braves of the Mohawk, who laid this thief at my feet.</i></p>
+<p><i>He tore my heart out living, and tossed it his dogs to eat.</i></p>
+<p><i>Ye have taught him of death in a moment, as he taught me of love in a day.</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">&mdash;And the river of passion deepened,</p>
+        <p class="i3">Deepened and rushed to the darkness.&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>And yet may a woman requite you, and set your feet on the way.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>For the woman that spits in my face, and the shaven heads that gibe,</i></p>
+<p><i>This night shall a woman show you the tents of the Huron tribe.</i></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page39"></a>39</span></p>
+<p><i>They are lodged in a deep valley. With all things good it abounds.</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Where the red-eyed, green-mooned river</i></p>
+      <p class="i3"><i>Glides like a snake to the darkness,</i></p>
+<p><i>I will show you a valley, Mohawks, like the Happy Hunting Grounds.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Follow!</i> They chuckled, and followed like wolves to the glittering stream.</p>
+<p>Shadows obeying a shadow, they launched their canoes in a dream.</p>
+<p>Alone, in the first, with the blood on her breast, and her milk-white crown,</p>
+    <p class="i2">She stood. She smiled at them, <i>Follow</i>,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Then urged her canoe to the darkness,</p>
+<p>And, silently flashing their paddles, the Mohawks followed her down.</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="letter-spacing: 1.7em; font-size: 150%;">&nbsp;.......</p>
+
+<p class="s">And now&mdash;-as they slid thro&rsquo; the pine-woods with their peaks of midnight blue,</p>
+<p>She heard, in the broadening distance, the deep sound that she knew,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page40"></a>40</span></p>
+<p>A mutter of steady thunder that grew as they glanced along;</p>
+    <p class="i2">But ever she glanced before them</p>
+      <p class="i3">And glanced away to the darkness,</p>
+<p>And or ever they heard it rightly, she raised her voice in a song:&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>The wind from the Isles of the Blesséd, it blows across the foam.</i></p>
+<p><i>It sings in the flowing maples of the land that was my home.</i></p>
+<p><i>Where the moose is a morning&rsquo;s hunt, and the buffalo feeds from the hand.</i>&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2">And the river of mockery broadened,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Broadened and rolled to the darkness&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>And the green maize lifts its feathers, and laughs the snow from the land.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">The river broadened and quickened. There was nought but river and sky.</p>
+<p>The shores were lost in the darkness. She laughed and lifted a cry:</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page41"></a>41</span></p>
+<p><i>Follow me! Sa-sa-kuon!</i> Swifter and swifter they swirled&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2">And the flood of their doom went flying,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Flying away to the darkness,</p>
+<p><i>Follow me, follow me, Mohawks, ye are shooting the edge of the world.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">They struggled like snakes to return. Like straws they were whirled on her track.</p>
+<p>For the whole flood swooped to that edge where the unplumbed night dropt black,</p>
+<p>The whole flood dropt to a thunder in an unplumbed hell beneath,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And over the gulf of the thunder</p>
+      <p class="i3">A mountain of spray from the darkness</p>
+<p>Rose and stood in the heavens, like a shrouded image of death.</p>
+
+<p class="s">She rushed like a star before them. The moon on her glorying shone.</p>
+<p><i>Teach me, O my lover</i>,&mdash;her cry flashed out and was gone.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page42"></a>42</span></p>
+<p>A moment they battled behind her. They lashed with their paddles and lunged;</p>
+    <p class="i2">Then the Mohawks, turning their faces</p>
+      <p class="i3">Like a blood-stained cloud to the darkness,</p>
+<p>Over the edge of Niagara swept together and plunged.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>And the lights of a hundred cities are fed by the ancient power;</i></p>
+<p><i>But a cry returns with the midnight; for they, too, have their hour.</i></p>
+<p><i>Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>&mdash;While the river of stars is rolling,</i></p>
+       <p class="i3"><i>Rolling away to the darkness,&mdash;</i></p>
+<p><i>Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way!</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page43"></a>43</span></p>
+<h3>A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">MAKE me a stave of song, the Master said,</p>
+<p>On yonder cherry-bough, whose white and red</p>
+  <p class="i1">Hangs in the sunset over those green seas.</p>
+<p>The young knight looked upon his untried blade,</p>
+<p>Then shrugged his wings of gold and blue brocade:</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>How should a warrior play with thoughts like these?</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Fresh from the battle, in that self-same hour,</p>
+<p>A mail-clad warrior watched each delicate flower</p>
+  <p class="i1">Close in that cloud of beauty against the West.</p>
+<p>Drinking the last deep light, he watched it long.</p>
+<p>He raised his face as if to pray. <i>The strong</i>,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The Master whispered, <i>are the tenderest</i>.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page44"></a>44</span></p>
+<h3>BEYOND DEATH</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<p class="dropcap">IN lonely bays</p>
+<p>Where Love runs wild,</p>
+  <p class="i1">All among the flowering grasses,</p>
+<p>Where light, light, light, as a sea-bird&rsquo;s wing</p>
+  <p class="i1">The chuckle of the child-god passes,</p>
+<p>O, to awake, to shake away the night</p>
+  <p class="i1">And find you dreaming there,</p>
+<p>On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the scent of the thyme in your hair.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Tho&rsquo; beauty perish,</p>
+<p>Perish like a flower,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And song be an idle breath,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page45"></a>45</span></p>
+<p>Tho&rsquo; heaven be a dream, and youth for but an hour,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And life much less than death,</p>
+<p>And the Maker less than that He made,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And hope less than despair,</p>
+<p>If Death have shores where Love runs wild</p>
+  <p class="i1">I think you might be there.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Re-born, re-born</p>
+<p>From the splendid sea,</p>
+  <p class="i1">There should you awake and sing,</p>
+<p>With every supple sweet from the head to the feet</p>
+  <p class="i1">Modelled like a wood-dove&rsquo;s wing,&mdash;</p>
+<p>O, to awake, to shake away the night,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And find you happy there,</p>
+<p>On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the scent of the thyme in your hair.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page46"></a>46</span></p>
+<h3>THE STRANGE GUEST</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">YOU cannot leave a new house</p>
+  <p class="i1">With any open door,</p>
+<p>But a strange guest will enter it</p>
+  <p class="i1">And never leave it more.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Build it on a waste land,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Dreary as a sin.</p>
+<p>Leave her but a broken gate,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And Beauty will come in.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Build it all of scarlet brick.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Work your wicked will.</p>
+<p>Dump it on an ash-heap</p>
+  <p class="i1">Then&mdash;O then, be still.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Sit and watch your new house.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Leave an open door.</p>
+<p>A strange guest will enter it</p>
+  <p class="i1">And never leave it more.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page47"></a>47</span></p>
+<p class="s">She will make your raw wood</p>
+  <p class="i1">Mellower than gold.</p>
+<p>She will take your new lamps</p>
+  <p class="i1">And sell them for old.</p>
+
+<p class="s">She will crumble all your pride,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Break your folly down.</p>
+<p>Much that you rejected</p>
+  <p class="i1">She will bless and crown.</p>
+
+<p class="s">She will rust your naked roof,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Split your pavement through,</p>
+<p>Dip her brush in sun and moon</p>
+  <p class="i1">And colour it anew.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Leave her but a window</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wide to wind and rain,</p>
+<p>You shall find her footsteps</p>
+  <p class="i1">When you come again.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Though she keep you waiting</p>
+  <p class="i1">Many months or years,</p>
+<p>She shall stain and make it</p>
+  <p class="i1">Beautiful with tears.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page48"></a>48</span></p>
+<p class="s">She shall hurt and heal it,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Soften it and save,</p>
+<p>Blessing it, until it stand</p>
+  <p class="i1">Stronger than the grave.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>You cannot leave a new house</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>With any open door,</i></p>
+<p><i>But a strange guest will enter it</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>And never leave it more.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page49"></a>49</span></p>
+<h3>GHOSTS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">O TO creep in by candle-light,</p>
+  <p class="i1">When all the world is fast asleep,</p>
+<p>Out of the cold winds, out of the night,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where the nettles wave and the rains weep!</p>
+<p>O, to creep in, lifting the latch</p>
+  <p class="i1">So quietly that no soul could hear,</p>
+<p>And, at those embers in the gloom,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Quietly light one careful match&mdash;</p>
+<p>You should not hear it, have no fear&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And light the candle and look round</p>
+<p>The old familiar room;</p>
+  <p class="i1">To see the old books upon the wall</p>
+<p>And lovingly take one down again,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And hear&mdash;O, strange to those that lay</p>
+<p>So patiently underground&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The ticking of the clock, the sound</p>
+<p>Of clicking embers ...</p>
+                      <p class="i10">watch the play</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page50"></a>50</span></p>
+<p>Of shadows ...</p>
+                          <p class="i12">till the implacable call</p>
+<p>Of morning turn our faces grey;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And, or ever we go, we lift and kiss</p>
+<p>Some idle thing that your hands may touch,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Some paper or book that your hands let fall,</p>
+<p>And we never&mdash;when living&mdash;had cared so much</p>
+  <p class="i1">As to glance upon twice ...</p>
+                            <p class="i12">But now, O bliss</p>
+<p>To kiss and to cherish it, moaning our pain,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Ere we creep to the silence again.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page51"></a>51</span></p>
+<h3>THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">DAZZLE of the sea, azure of the sky, glitter of the dew on the grass,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Pass to Oblivion</p>
+      <p class="i3">In the darkness</p>
+  <p class="i1">With all that ever is or ever was.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Yet, O flocks of cloud with your violet shadows,</p>
+          <p class="i4">O white may crowding o&rsquo;er the lane,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The Shepherd that drives you</p>
+      <p class="i3">To the darkness</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shall lead you thro&rsquo; the crimson dawn again.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Bear your load of beauty to the sunset, and the golden gates of death.</p>
+    <p class="i2">The Eternal shall remember</p>
+      <p class="i3">In the darkness</p>
+  <p class="i1">And recall you at a word, at a breath.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page52"></a>52</span></p>
+<p class="s">Even as the mind of a man may remember his lost and linkless hours,</p>
+    <p class="i2">This world that is scattered</p>
+      <p class="i3">To the darkness</p>
+  <p class="i1">Dismembered and dis-petalled, clouds and flowers,</p>
+
+<p class="s">Cities, suns, and systems, as He said of old, they sleep! Not a bird, not a leaf shall pass by,</p>
+    <p class="i2">But on the day of remembrance</p>
+      <p class="i3">In the darkness,</p>
+  <p class="i1">In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,</p>
+
+<p class="s">They shall flash to their places in the music of the whole, even as our fathers said!</p>
+    <p class="i2">For a Power shall remember</p>
+      <p class="i3">In the darkness,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the universal sea give up her dead.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page53"></a>53</span></p>
+<h3>ON THE EMBANKMENT</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">WITHIN, it was colour and laughter, warmth and wine.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Without, it was darkness, hunger and bitter cold,</p>
+<p>Where those white globes on the wet Embankment shine,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Greasing the Thames with gold.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And was it a bundle of fog in the dark drew nigh?</p>
+  <p class="i1">A bundle of rags and bones it crept to the light,&mdash;</p>
+<p>A monstrous thing that coughed as it shuffled by,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A shape of the shapeless night,</p>
+
+<p class="s">Spawned as brown things that mimic their mothering earth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Green creeping things that the grass lifts to the sun,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page54"></a>54</span></p>
+<p>Out of its wrongs the City had brought to the birth</p>
+  <p class="i1">The shape of those wrongs, in one.</p>
+
+<p class="s">A woman, a woman whose lips had once been kissed,</p>
+  <p class="i1">(It was Christmas Eve, and the bells began their chime!)</p>
+<p>She sank to a seat like a coughing bundle of mist</p>
+  <p class="i1">Exhaled from the river-slime.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Bells for the birth of Christ!</i> She heard, and she thought&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Vacantly&mdash;of her man, that was long since dead,</p>
+<p>The smell of the Christmas food, and the drink they had bought</p>
+  <p class="i1">Together, the year they were wed.</p>
+
+<p class="s">She thought of their one-room home, and the night-long sigh</p>
+  <p class="i1">Recalled, as he slept, of his breath in her loosened hair.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page55"></a>55</span></p>
+<p><i>He slept.</i> She opened her haggard eyes with a cry.</p>
+  <p class="i1">But only the night was there.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Nay, out of the formless night, at her furtive glance,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Crouched at the end of her cold wet bench, there grew</p>
+<p>A bundle of fog, a bundle of rags that, perchance,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Once was a woman, too.</p>
+
+<p class="s">A huddled shape, a fungus of foul grey mist</p>
+  <p class="i1">Spawned of the river, in peace and much good-will,</p>
+<p>And even the woman whose lips had once been kissed</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wondered, it crouched so still.</p>
+
+<p class="s">No breath, no shadow of breath in the lamp-light smoked,</p>
+  <p class="i1">It crouched so still&mdash;that bunch at the bench&rsquo;s end.</p>
+<p>She stretched her neck like a crow, then leaned and croaked,</p>
+  <p class="i1">&ldquo;<i>A Merry Christmas, friend!</i>&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page56"></a>56</span></p>
+<p class="s">She rose, and peered, peered at its vacant eyes.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Touched its cold claws. Its arms of knotted bone</p>
+<p>Were wands of ice; like iron rods the thighs;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The left breast&mdash;like a stone.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Far, far along the rows of warmth and light</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>The Christmas waits, with cornet and bassoon,</i></p>
+<p><i>Carolled &ldquo;While shepherds watched their flocks by night.&rdquo;</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>The bells pealed to the moon.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">A bundle of rags and bones, a bundle of mist,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And never a hell or heaven to hear or see,</p>
+<p>The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Knelt down feverishly.</p>
+
+<p class="s">She plucked the shawl out of that frozen clutch.</p>
+ <p class="i1">The dead are dead. Why should the living freeze?</p>
+<p>She touched the cold flesh that she feared to touch</p>
+ <p class="i1">Kneeling upon her knees.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page57"></a>57</span></p>
+<p class="s">Her palsied hands unlaced the shoes&mdash;good shoes!&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">She tore them quick from the crooked yellow feet.</p>
+<p>If Death be generous, why should Life refuse</p>
+  <p class="i1">To take, and pawn, and eat?</p>
+
+<p class="s">A heavy step drew nearer thro&rsquo; the mist.</p>
+  <p class="i1">She bundled them into the shawl. Her eyes were bright.</p>
+<p>The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Slunk, chuckling, thro&rsquo; the night.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page58"></a>58</span></p>
+<h3>THE IRON CROWN</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">NOT memory of a vanished bliss,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But suddenly to know,</p>
+<p>I had forgotten! This, O this</p>
+  <p class="i1">With iron crowned my woe:</p>
+
+<p class="s">To know that on some midnight sea</p>
+  <p class="i1">Whence none could lift the pall</p>
+<p>A drowning hand was waved to me,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Then&mdash;swept beyond recall.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page59"></a>59</span></p>
+<h3>THE OLD DEBATE</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">HIS angels fell, and myriads grope</p>
+  <p class="i1">In doubt, for this dark cause alone,&mdash;</p>
+<p>That God hath given them room for hope,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And made their struggling wills their own.</p>
+
+<p class="s">In the same breath, they plead for chains</p>
+  <p class="i1">And freedom; pray for ordered spheres,</p>
+<p>Then murmur that the sun retains</p>
+  <p class="i1">Its course, unchecked by smiles or tears.</p>
+
+<p class="s">&ldquo;The Omnipotent would grant us this,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Or else He is not good,&rdquo; they say;</p>
+<p>But O, the Power withholds their bliss</p>
+  <p class="i1">Till they agree what prayer to pray.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page60"></a>60</span></p>
+<h3>A SONG OF HOPE</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">NOT in those eyes, too kind for truth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Which dare not note how beauties wane;</p>
+<p>Nor in that crueller joy of youth</p>
+  <p class="i1">Which turns from sorrow with disdain;</p>
+          <p class="i5">No&mdash;no&mdash;not there,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Abides the hope that answers our despair.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Lie where they hid thy dead away.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Knock on that unrelenting door;</p>
+<p>Then break, O desolate heart, and say</p>
+  <p class="i1">Farewell, farewell, for evermore ...</p>
+          <p class="i5">There, only there,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Abides the hope that conquers all despair.</p>
+
+<p class="s">The silence that refused to bless</p>
+  <p class="i1">Till grief had turned the heart to stone ...</p>
+<p>What soul compact of nothingness</p>
+  <p class="i1">Could hear so fierce a trumpet blown?</p>
+          <p class="i5">Then hear, O hear,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The dreadful hope that equals all despair.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page61"></a>61</span></p>
+<p class="s">There, till the deep atoning Might</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shall answer all that each can pray,</p>
+<p>The very boundlessness of night</p>
+  <p class="i1">Proclaims&mdash;and waits&mdash;an equal day.</p>
+          <p class="i5">There, only there,</p>
+<p>&mdash;<i>But O, sing low, sweet strings, lest hope take wing!</i>&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Abides the hope that answers all despair.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page62"></a>62</span></p>
+<h3>THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">HOW passionately it opens after rain,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And O, how like a prayer</p>
+<p>To those great shining skies! Do they disdain</p>
+          <p class="i5">A bride so small and fair?</p>
+<p>See the imploring petals, how they part</p>
+          <p class="i5">And utterly lay bare</p>
+<p>The perishing treasures of that piteous heart</p>
+          <p class="i5">In wild surrender there.</p>
+<p>What? Would&rsquo;st <i>thou</i>, too, drink up the Eternal bliss,</p>
+          <p class="i5">Ecstatically dare,</p>
+<p>O, little bride of God, to invoke <i>His</i> kiss?&mdash;</p>
+          <p class="i5">But O, how like a prayer!</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page63"></a>63</span></p>
+<h3>THE MAY-TREE</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">THE May-tree on the hill</p>
+  <p class="i1">Stands in the night</p>
+<p>So fragrant and so still,</p>
+  <p class="i1">So dusky white.</p>
+
+<p class="s">That, stealing from the wood</p>
+  <p class="i1">In that sweet air,</p>
+<p>You&rsquo;d think Diana stood</p>
+  <p class="i1">Before you there.</p>
+
+<p class="s">If it be so, her bloom</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trembles with bliss.</p>
+<p>She waits across the gloom</p>
+  <p class="i1">Her shepherd&rsquo;s kiss.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Touch her. A bird will start</p>
+  <p class="i1">From those pure snows,&mdash;</p>
+<p>The dark and fluttering heart</p>
+  <p class="i1">Endymion knows.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page64"></a>64</span></p>
+<h3>OLD LETTERS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">READ them? Strangle that sick cry?</p>
+    <p class="i2">Christ God, no!</p>
+<p>Shut the box. Lock the lid.</p>
+    <p class="i2">You&rsquo;ll be safer&mdash;so.</p>
+<p>Could you read one crookéd word</p>
+    <p class="i2">Scrawled so long ago,</p>
+<p>Love would rise before your face</p>
+    <p class="i2">And blind you, like a blow.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Close it! Quickly! For I caught,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>In a childish hand,</i></p>
+<p><i>Something that she never thought</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>I should understand.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">So I crouch. And shall our God</p>
+    <p class="i2">Prove Him baser yet,</p>
+<p>He who filled her eyes with light</p>
+    <p class="i2">Quite renounce His debt,</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page65"></a>65</span></p>
+<p class="s">Give her worlds to love, and then&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2">Ere the sun be set,</p>
+<p>Strike her down and coffin all?</p>
+    <p class="i2">Christ, shall <i>He</i> forget?</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Close it! Quickly! For I caught,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>In a childish hand,</i></p>
+<p><i>Something that she never thought</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>I should understand.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page66"></a>66</span></p>
+<h3>LAMPS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">IMMENSE and silent night,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Over the lonely downs I go;</p>
+<p>And the deep gloom is pricked with points of light</p>
+  <p class="i1">Above me and below.</p>
+
+<p class="s">I cannot break the bars</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky,</p>
+<p>There comes to me, questioning those cold stars,</p>
+  <p class="i1">No signal, no reply.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Yet are they less than these&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">These village-lights, which I do scan</p>
+<p>Below me, or far out on darkling seas</p>
+  <p class="i1">Those messages from man?</p>
+
+<p class="s">Round me the darkness rolls.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Out of the depth, each lance of light</p>
+<p>Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And shall I doubt the height?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page67"></a>67</span></p>
+<p class="s">No signal? No reply?</p>
+  <p class="i1">As through the deepening night I roam,</p>
+<p>Hope opens all her casements in the sky</p>
+  <p class="i1">And lights the lamps of home.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page68"></a>68</span></p>
+<h3>AT EDEN GATES</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">T<i>O Eden Garden</i>&mdash;so the sign-post said;</p>
+  <p class="i1">I could not see the road;</p>
+<p>But, where the Sussex clover blossomed red</p>
+  <p class="i1">Its runaway blisses flowed.</p>
+
+<p class="s">I traced them back for many a night and day,</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;The way she, too, had gone!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Till lo, the terrible Angel in the way</p>
+  <p class="i1">Inexorably shone.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Up to the Gates, a fearless fool I came;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Between the lily and rose</p>
+<p>Fluttering these evil rags of sordid shame,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A thing to scare the crows.</p>
+
+<p class="s">&ldquo;And hath the Master given thee, then, no word?&rdquo;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The scornful Angel smiled:</p>
+<p>Only two souls may pass my Flaming Sword,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The Lover and the Child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page69"></a>69</span></p>
+<p class="s">I raised my head,&mdash;&ldquo;Now let all hell make mirth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where Love went, I go, too!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>His eyes met mine. The sword sank to the earth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And let her lover through.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page70"></a>70</span></p>
+<h3>THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">AS constant lovers may rejoice</p>
+  <p class="i1">With seas between, with worlds between,</p>
+<p>Because a fragrance and a voice</p>
+  <p class="i1">Are round them everywhere:</p>
+<p>So let me travel to the grave,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Believing still&mdash;for I have seen&mdash;</p>
+<p>That Love&rsquo;s triumphant banners wave</p>
+  <p class="i1">Beyond my own despair.</p>
+
+<p class="s">I have no trust in my own worth;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Yet have I faith, O love, for you,</p>
+<p>That every beauty in bloom or leaf,</p>
+  <p class="i1">That even age and wrong</p>
+<p>May touch, may hurt you, on this earth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But only, only as kisses do;</p>
+<p>Or as the fretted string of grief</p>
+  <p class="i1">Completes the bliss of song;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page71"></a>71</span></p>
+<p class="s">That you shall see, on any grave</p>
+  <p class="i1">The snow fall, like that unseen hand</p>
+<p>Which O, so often, pressed your hair</p>
+  <p class="i1">To cherish and console:</p>
+<p>That seas may roar and winds rave</p>
+  <p class="i1">But you shall feel and understand</p>
+<p>What vast caresses everywhere</p>
+  <p class="i1">Convey you to the goal.</p>
+
+<p class="s">So was it always in the years</p>
+  <p class="i1">When Love began, when Love began</p>
+<p>With eyes that were not touched of tears</p>
+  <p class="i1">And lips that still could sing&mdash;</p>
+<p>And all around us, in the may,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The child-god with his laughter ran,</p>
+<p>And every bloom, on every spray,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Betrayed his fluttering wing.</p>
+
+<p class="s">So hold it, keep it, count it, sweet,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Until the end, until the end.</p>
+<p>It is not cruelty, but bliss</p>
+  <p class="i1">That pains and is so fond:</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page72"></a>72</span></p>
+<p>Crush life like thyme beneath your feet,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And O, my love, when that strange friend,</p>
+<p>The Shadow of Wings, which men call Death</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shall close your eyes, with that last kiss,</p>
+<p>Ask not His name. A rosier breath</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shall waken you&mdash;beyond.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page73"></a>73</span></p>
+<h3>PARACLETE</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">TONGUE hath not told it,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Heart hath not known;</p>
+<p>Yet shall the bough swing</p>
+  <p class="i1">When it hath flown.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Dreams have denied it,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Fools forsworn:</p>
+<p>Yet it hath comforted</p>
+  <p class="i1">Each man born.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Once and again it is</p>
+  <p class="i1">Blown to me,</p>
+<p>Sweet from the wild thyme,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Salt from the sea;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Blown thro&rsquo; the ferns</p>
+  <p class="i1">Faint from the sky;</p>
+<p>Shadowed in water,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Yet clear as a cry.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page74"></a>74</span></p>
+<p class="s">Light on a face,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Or touch of a hand,</p>
+<p>Making my still heart</p>
+  <p class="i1">Understand.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Earth hath not seen it.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Nor heaven above,</p>
+<p>Yet shall the wild bough</p>
+  <p class="i1">Bend with the Dove.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Yea, tho&rsquo; the bloom fall</p>
+  <p class="i1">Under Thy feet,</p>
+<p><i>Veni, Creator,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Paraclete!</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page75"></a>75</span></p>
+<h3>AFTER RAIN</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">LISTEN! On sweetening air</p>
+  <p class="i1">The blackbird growing bold</p>
+<p>Flings out, where green boughs glisten,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Three splashes of wild gold.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Daughter of April, hear;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And hear, O barefoot boy!</p>
+<p>That carol of wild sweet water</p>
+  <p class="i1">Has washed the world with joy.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Glisten, O fragrant earth</p>
+  <p class="i1">Assoiled by heaven anew,</p>
+<p>And O, ye lovers, listen,</p>
+  <p class="i1">With eyes that glisten, too.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page76"></a>76</span></p>
+<h3>THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">NO&mdash;not that he is dead. The pang&rsquo;s not there,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Nor in the City&rsquo;s many-coloured bloom</p>
+<p>Of swift black-lettered posters, which the throng</p>
+  <p class="i1">Passes with bovine stare,</p>
+<p>To say <i>He is dead</i> and <i>Is it going to rain?</i></p>
+  <p class="i1">Or hum stray snatches of a rag-time song.</p>
+<p>Nor is it in that falsest shibboleth</p>
+<p>(Which orators toss to the dumb scorn of death)</p>
+  <p class="i1">That all the world stands weeping at his tomb.</p>
+<p>London is dining, dancing, through it all.</p>
+  <p class="i1">And, in the unchecked smiles along the street</p>
+<p>Where men, that slightly knew him, lightly meet,</p>
+  <p class="i1">With all the old indifferent grimaces,</p>
+<p>There is no jot of grief, no tittle of pain.</p>
+  <p class="i1">No. No. For nearer things do most tears fall.</p>
+<p>Grief is for near and little things. But pride,</p>
+  <p class="i1">O, pride was to be found by two or three,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page77"></a>77</span></p>
+<p>And glory in his great battling memory,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Prouder and purer than the loud world knows,</p>
+<p>In one more dreadful sign, the day he died&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The dreadful light upon a thousand faces,</p>
+<p>The peace upon the faces of his foes.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page78"></a>78</span></p>
+<h3>THE ROMAN WAY</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">HE that has loyally served the State</p>
+  <p class="i1">Whereof he found himself a part,</p>
+<p>Or spent his life-blood to create</p>
+  <p class="i1">A kingdom&rsquo;s treasure in his art;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Who sees the enemies of his land</p>
+  <p class="i1">Applauded, by her sects and schools;</p>
+<p>And the high thought they scarce had scanned</p>
+  <p class="i1">Derided and befogged by fools;</p>
+
+<p class="s">&mdash;Better to know it soon than late!&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Struggling, he wins a meed of praise;</p>
+<p>Achieving, he is dogged by hate</p>
+  <p class="i1">And furtive malice all his days.</p>
+
+<p class="s">O, Emperor of the Stoic clan,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Enfold him, then, with nobler pride.</p>
+<p>Teach him that nought can hurt a man</p>
+  <p class="i1">Who will not turn or stoop to chide.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page79"></a>79</span></p>
+<p class="s">Can falsehood kindle or bedim</p>
+  <p class="i1">One bay-leaf in his quiet crown?</p>
+<p>Ten thousand Lies may pluck at him,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But only Truth can tear him down.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Why should he heed the thing they say?</p>
+  <p class="i1">They never asked if it were true.</p>
+<p>Why brush one scribbler&rsquo;s tale away</p>
+  <p class="i1">For others to invent a new?</p>
+
+<p class="s">No, let him search his heart, secure</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;If Truth be there&mdash;from tongue or pen;</p>
+<p>And teach us, Emperor, to endure,</p>
+  <p class="i1">To think like Romans and like men.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page80"></a>80</span></p>
+<h3>THE INNER PASSION</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">THERE is a Master in my heart</p>
+  <p class="i1">To whom, though oft against my will,</p>
+<p>I bring the songs I sing apart</p>
+  <p class="i1">And strive to think that they fulfil</p>
+<p>His silent law, within my heart.</p>
+
+<p class="s">But He is blind to my desires,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And deaf to all that I would plead:</p>
+<p>He tests my truth at purer fires</p>
+  <p class="i1">And shames my purple with His need.</p>
+<p>He claims my deeds, not my desires.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And often when my comrades praise,</p>
+  <p class="i1">I sadden, for He turns from me!</p>
+<p>But, sometimes, when they blame, I raise</p>
+  <p class="i1">Mine eyes to His, and in them see</p>
+<p>A tenderness too deep for praise.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page81"></a>81</span></p>
+<p class="s">He is not to be bought with gold,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Or lured by thornless crowns of fame;</p>
+<p>But when some rebel thought hath sold</p>
+  <p class="i1">Him to dishonour and to shame,</p>
+<p>And my heart&rsquo;s Pilate cries, &ldquo;Behold,&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="s">&ldquo;Behold the Man,&rdquo; I know Him then;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And all those wild thronged clamours die</p>
+<p>In my heart&rsquo;s judgment hall again,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Or if it ring with &ldquo;Crucify!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Some few are faithful even then.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Some few sad thoughts,&mdash;one bears His cross;</p>
+  <p class="i1">To that dark Calvary of my pride;</p>
+<p>One stands far off and mourns His loss,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And one poor thief on either side</p>
+<p>Hangs on his own unworthy cross.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And one&mdash;O, truth in ancient guise!&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Rails, and one bids him cease alway,</p>
+<p>And the God turns His hungering eyes</p>
+  <p class="i1">On that poor thought with, &ldquo;Thou, this day,</p>
+<p>Shalt sing, shalt sing, in Paradise.&rdquo;</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page82"></a>82</span></p>
+<h3>A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">THE exceeding weight of glory bowed</p>
+  <p class="i1">My head, in that pure clime:</p>
+<p>I found a road that ran through cloud</p>
+  <p class="i1">Along the coasts of Time....</p>
+
+<p class="s">Out of that mist of years there came</p>
+  <p class="i1">A cross-barred gate of wood.</p>
+<p>I clutched, I kissed the unheavenly frame</p>
+  <p class="i1">So hard, it trickled blood.</p>
+
+<p class="s">My head upon the iron lay.</p>
+  <p class="i1">I slobbered blood and foam.</p>
+<p>Yea, like a dog, I knew the way,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A hundred yards from home.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Iron and blood and wood! They knew</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>The secret of that cry</i></p>
+<p><i>When the Eternal Passion drew</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Their Maker through&mdash;to die.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page83"></a>83</span></p>
+<p class="s">I knew each little hawthorn-cloud</p>
+  <p class="i1">Along my misty lane,</p>
+<p>Then my heart burst. She sobbed aloud,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Between my arms again.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page84"></a>84</span></p>
+<h3>TO THE DESTROYERS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">YES. You have shattered many an ancient wrong,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And we were with you, heart and mind and soul,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But there are fools who cast away control</p>
+<p>In life and thought and art; because the Strong&mdash;</p>
+<p>We dare to say it&mdash;have now destroyed so long,</p>
+  <p class="i1">That careless minds forget the unchanging goal&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The nobler Order which shall make us whole,</p>
+<p>The Service which is freedom, beauty, song.</p>
+
+<p class="s">We shall be stoned as traitors to your cause</p>
+  <p class="i1">While the real traitors that you did not know,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Chaos and Vice, trumpet themselves as free.</p>
+<p>Pray God that, loyal to the Eternal laws,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A little remnant, mauled by friend and foe,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Save you through Truth, and bring you Liberty.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page85"></a>85</span></p>
+<h3>THE TRUMPET-CALL</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<p class="dropcap">TRUMPETER, sound the great recall!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Swift, O swift, for the squadrons break,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The long lines waver, mazed in the gloom!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Hither and thither the blind host blunders.</p>
+<p>Stand thou firm for a dead Man&rsquo;s sake,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Firm where the ranks reel down to their doom,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Stand thou firm in the midst of the thunders,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Stand where the steeds and the riders fall,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Set the bronze to thy lips and sound</p>
+    <p class="i2">A rally to ring the whole world round.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us!</p>
+          <p class="i5">Sound the great recall.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page86"></a>86</span></p>
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Trumpeter, sound for the ancient heights!</p>
+<p>Clouds of the earth-born battle cloak</p>
+  <p class="i1">The heaven that our fathers held from of old;</p>
+    <p class="i2">And we&mdash;shall we prate to their sons of the gain</p>
+<p>In gold or bread? Through yonder smoke</p>
+  <p class="i1">The heights that never were won with gold</p>
+    <p class="i2">Wait, still bright with their old red stain,</p>
+    <p class="i2">For the thousand chariots of God again,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the steel that swept thro&rsquo; a hundred fights</p>
+    <p class="i2">With the Ironsides, equal to life and death,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The steel, the steel of their ancient faith.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us!</p>
+          <p class="i5">Sound for the sun-lit heights.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Trumpeter, sound for the faith again!</p>
+<p>Blind and deaf with the dust and the blood,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Clashing together we know not whither</p>
+    <p class="i2">The tides of the battle would have us advance.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page87"></a>87</span></p>
+<p>Stand thou firm in the crimson flood,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Send the lightning of thy great cry</p>
+    <p class="i2">Through the thunders, athwart the storm,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sound till the trumpets of God reply</p>
+  <p class="i1">From the heights we have lost in the steadfast sky,</p>
+  <p class="i1">From the Strength we despised and rejected. Then,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Locking the ranks as they form and form,</p>
+      <p class="i3">Lift us forward, banner and lance,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Mailed in the faith of Cromwell&rsquo;s men,</p>
+      <p class="i3">When from their burning hearts they hurled</p>
+      <p class="i3">The gage of heaven against the world!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us,</p>
+          <p class="i5">Up to the heights again.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>IV</h5>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade!</p>
+<p>Sound for the fire of the red-cross kings,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sound for the passion, the splendour, the pity</p>
+    <p class="i2">That swept the world for a dead Man&rsquo;s sake,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page88"></a>88</span></p>
+<p>Sound, till the answering trumpet rings</p>
+  <p class="i1">Clear from the heights of the holy City,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Sound till the lions of England awake,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sound for the tomb that our lives have betrayed;</p>
+    <p class="i2">O&rsquo;er broken shrine and abandoned wall,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Trumpeter, sound the great recall,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us;</p>
+           <p class="i5">Sound for the last Crusade!</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>V</h5>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Trumpeter, sound for the splendour of God!</p>
+<p>Sound the music whose name is law,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Whose service is perfect freedom still,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The order august that rules the stars.</p>
+<p>Bid the anarchs of night withdraw,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Too long the destroyers have worked their will,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Sound for the last, the last of the wars.</p>
+<p>Sound for the heights that our fathers trod,</p>
+    <p class="i2">When truth was truth and love was love,</p>
+    <p class="i2">With a hell beneath, but a heaven above,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trumpeter, rally us, up to the heights of it!</p>
+          <p class="i5">Sound for the City of God.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page89"></a>89</span></p>
+<h3>THE HEART OF CANADA</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind"><i>July 1912</i></p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">BECAUSE her heart is all too proud</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Canada! Canada! fair young Canada</i>&mdash;</p>
+<p>To breathe the might of her love aloud,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Be quick, O Motherland!</p>
+<p>Because her soul is wholly free</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Canada kneels, thy daughter, Canada</i>&mdash;</p>
+<p>England, look in her eyes and see,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Honour and understand.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Because her pride at thy masthead shines,</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Canada! Canada!</i>&mdash;queenly Canada</p>
+<p>Bows with all her breathing pines,</p>
+  <p class="i1">All her fragrant firs.</p>
+<p>Because our isle is little and old</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Canada! Canada!</i>&mdash;young-eyed Canada</p>
+<p>Gives thee, Mother, her hands to hold,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And makes thy glory hers.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page90"></a>90</span></p>
+<p class="s">Because thy Fleet is hers for aye,</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Canada! Canada!</i>&mdash;clear-souled Canada,</p>
+<p>Ere the war-cloud roll this way,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Bids the world beware.</p>
+<p>Her heart, her soul, her sword are thine</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Thine the guns, the guns of Canada!</i>&mdash;</p>
+<p>The ships are foaming into line,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And Canada will be there.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page91"></a>91</span></p>
+<h3>THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">ALL along the white chalk coast</p>
+  <p class="i1">The mist lifts clear.</p>
+<p>Wight is glimmering like a ghost.</p>
+  <p class="i1">The ship draws near.</p>
+<p>Little inch-wide meadows</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lost so many a day,</p>
+<p>The first time I knew you</p>
+  <p class="i1">Was when I turned away.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Island&mdash;little island&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lost so many a year,</p>
+<p>Mother of all I leave behind</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;<i>Draw me near!</i>&mdash;</p>
+<p>Mother of half the rolling world,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And O, so little and gray,</p>
+<p>The first time I found you</p>
+  <p class="i1">Was when I turned away.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page92"></a>92</span></p>
+<p class="s"><i>Over yon green water</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Sussex lies.</i></p>
+<p><i>But the slow mists gather</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>In our eyes.</i></p>
+<p><i>England, little island</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>&mdash;God, how dear!&mdash;</i></p>
+<p><i>Fold me in your mighty arms,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Draw me near.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Little tawny roofs of home,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Nestling in the gray,</p>
+<p>Where the smell of Sussex loam</p>
+  <p class="i1">Blows across the bay ...</p>
+<p>Fold me, teach me, draw me close,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lest in death I say</p>
+<p>The first time I loved you</p>
+  <p class="i1">Was when I turned away.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page93"></a>93</span></p>
+<h3>A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Royal Sovereign</i></p>
+
+<p class="dropcap s">OCEAN-MOTHER of England, thine is the crowning acclaim.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Here, in the morning of battle, from over the world and beyond,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Here, by our fleets of steel, silently foam into line</p>
+<p>Fleets of our glorious dead, thy shadowy oak-walled ships.</p>
+<p>Mother, for O, thy soul must speak thro&rsquo; our iron lips!</p>
+    <p class="i2">How should we speak to the ages, unless with a word of thine?</p>
+  <p class="i1">Utter it, Victory! Let thy great signal flash thro&rsquo; the flame!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Answer, <i>Bellerophon</i>, <i>Marlborough</i>, <i>Thunderer</i>, <i>Condor</i>, respond!</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page94"></a>94</span></p>
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Majestic</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Out of the ages we speak unto you, O ye ages to be.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Rocks of Sevastopol, echo our thunder-word, bruit it afar.</p>
+    <p class="i2">Roll it, O Mediterranean, round by Gibraltar again.</p>
+<p>Buffet it, Porto Bello, back to the Nile once more.</p>
+<p>Answer it, great St. Vincent! Answer it, Elsinore,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Buffet it back from your crags and roll it over the main!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Heights of Quebec, O hear and re-echo it back to the Baltic Sea!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Answer it, <i>Camperdown</i>! Answer it, answer it, <i>Trafalgar</i>!</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page95"></a>95</span></p>
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Rainbow</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">How should we speak to the ages, if not with a word of thine,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Maker of cloud and harvest, foam and the sea-bird&rsquo;s wing,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Ocean-Mother of England and all things living and free?</p>
+<p>Deep that wast moved by the Spirit to bloom with the first white morn,</p>
+<p>Mother of Light and Freedom, mother of hopes unborn,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Speak, O world-wide welder of nations, O Soul of the sea!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thine was the watchword that called us of old o&rsquo;er the gray sky-line:</p>
+    <p class="i2">Lift thy stormy salute. It is freedom and peace that we bring.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page96"></a>96</span></p>
+<h5>IV</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Victory</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Therefore on thee we call, O Mother, for we are thy sons.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Speak, with thy world-wide voice, O wake us anew from our sleep!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Speak, for the Light of the world still lives and grows on thy face.</p>
+<p>Give us the ancient Word once more, the unchangeable Word,&mdash;</p>
+<p>This that Nelson knew, this that Effingham heard,</p>
+    <p class="i2">This that resounds for ever in all the hearts of our race,</p>
+  <p class="i1">This that lives for a moment on the iron lips of our guns,</p>
+    <p class="i2">This&mdash;that echoes for ever and ever&mdash;the Word of the Deep.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page97"></a>97</span></p>
+<h5>V</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Dreadnought</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">How shall a king be saved by the multitude of an host?</p>
+  <p class="i1">Was not the answer thine, when fleet upon fleet swept, hurled</p>
+    <p class="i2">Blind thro&rsquo; the dark North Sea, with all their invincible ships?</p>
+<p>Thine was the answer, O mother of all men born to be free!</p>
+<p>Witness again, Cape Wrath!&mdash;O thine, everlastingly,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Thine as Freedom arose and rolled thy song from her lips,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thine when she &rsquo;stablished her throne in thy sight, on our rough rock-coast,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Thine with thy lustral glory and thunder, washing the world.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page98"></a>98</span></p>
+<h5>VI</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Temeraire</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">O for that ancient cry of the watch at the midnight bell,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Under the unknown stars, from the decks that Frobisher trod.</p>
+    <p class="i2">Hark, <i>Before the world?</i>&mdash;he questions a fleet in the dark!</p>
+<p>Answer it, friend or foe! And, ringing from mast to mast,</p>
+<p>Mother, hast thou forgotten what cry in the dark went past,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Answering still as he questioned? <i>Before the world?</i> O, hark,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Ringing anear, <i>Before the world?</i> ... <i>was God</i> ... All&rsquo;s well!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Dying afar ... <i>Before the world?</i> ... All&rsquo;s well ... <i>was God</i>!</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page99"></a>99</span></p>
+<h5>VII</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Revenge</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Raleigh and Grenville heard it, Knights of the Ocean-sea.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Have we forgotten it only, we with our leagues of steel?</p>
+    <p class="i2">Give us our watchword again, O mother, in this great hour!</p>
+<p>Here, in the morning of battle, here as we gather our might,</p>
+<p>Here, as the nations of earth in the light of thy freedom unite,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Shake our hearts with thy Word, O &rsquo;stablish our peace on thy power!</p>
+  <p class="i1">&rsquo;Stablish our power on thy peace, thy glory, thy liberty,</p>
+    <p class="i2">&rsquo;Stablish on thy deep Word the throne of our Commonweal.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page100"></a>100</span></p>
+<h5>VIII</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Leviathan</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">They that go down to the sea in ships&mdash;they heard it of old&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">They shall behold His wonders, alone on the Deep, the Deep!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Have <i>we</i> forgotten, we only? O, rend the heavens again,</p>
+<p>Voice of the Everlasting, shake the great hills with thy breath!</p>
+<p>Roll the Voice of our God thro&rsquo; the valleys of doubt and death!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Waken the fog-bound cities with the shout of the wind-swept main,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Inland over the smouldering plains, till the mists unfold,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Darkness die, and England, England arise from sleep.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page101"></a>101</span></p>
+<h5>IX</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of H.M.S. Triumph</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Queen of the North and the South, Queen of our ocean-renown,</p>
+  <p class="i1">England, England, England, O lift thine eyes to the sun!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Wake, for the hope of the whole world yearns to thee, watches and waits!</p>
+<p>Now on the full flood-tide of the ages, the supreme hour</p>
+<p>Beacons thee onward in might to the purpose and crown of thy power.</p>
+    <p class="i2">Hark, for the whole Atlantic thunders against thy gates,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Take the Crown of all Time, all might, earth&rsquo;s crowning Crown,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Throne thy children in peace and in freedom together, O weld them in one.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page102"></a>102</span></p>
+<h5>X</h5>
+
+<p class="center"><i>The Guns of the Fleet</i></p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>Throne them in triumph together. Thine is the crowning cry!</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Thine the glory for ever in the nation born of thy womb!</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Thine the Sword and the Shield, and the shout that Salamis heard,</i></p>
+<p><i>Surging in Æschylean splendour, earth-shaking acclaim!</i></p>
+<p><i>Ocean-mother of England, thine is the throne of her fame.</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Breaker of many fleets, O thine the victorious word,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Thine the Sun and the Freedom, the God and the wind-swept sky,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Thine the thunder and thine the lightning, thine the doom.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page103"></a>103</span></p>
+<h3>IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">ON those young brows that knew no fear</p>
+  <p class="i1">We lay the Roman athlete&rsquo;s crown,</p>
+<p>The laurel of the charioteer,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The imperial garland of renown,</p>
+<p>While those young eyes, beyond the sun,</p>
+<p>See Drake, see Raleigh, smile &ldquo;Well done.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Their desert seas that knew no shore</p>
+  <p class="i1">To-night with fleets like cities flare;</p>
+<p>But, frailer even than theirs of yore,</p>
+  <p class="i1">His keel a new-found deep would dare:</p>
+<p>They watch, with thrice-experienced eyes</p>
+<p>What fleets shall follow through the skies.</p>
+
+<p class="s">They would not scoff, though man should set</p>
+  <p class="i1">To feebler wings a mightier task.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page104"></a>104</span></p>
+<p>They know what wonders wait us yet.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Not all things in an hour they ask;</p>
+<p>But in each noble failure see</p>
+<p>The inevitable victory.</p>
+
+<p class="s">A thousand years have borne us far</p>
+  <p class="i1">From that dark isle the Saxon swayed,</p>
+<p>And star whispers to trembling star</p>
+  <p class="i1">While Space and Time shrink back afraid,&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ten thousand thousand years remain</p>
+<p>For man to dare our deep again.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Thou, too, shalt hear across that deep</p>
+  <p class="i1">Our thundering fleets of thought draw nigh,</p>
+<p>Round which the suns and systems sweep</p>
+  <p class="i1">Like cloven foam from sky to sky,</p>
+<p>Till Death himself at last restore</p>
+<p>His captives to our eyes once more.</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="letter-spacing: 1.7em; font-size: 150%;">&nbsp;.......</p>
+
+<p class="s">Feeble the wings, dauntless the soul!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Take thou the conqueror&rsquo;s laurel crown;</p>
+<p>Take&mdash;for thy chariot grazed the goal&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The imperial garland of renown;</p>
+<p>While those young eyes, beyond the sun,</p>
+<p>See Drake, see Raleigh, smile &ldquo;Well done.&rdquo;</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page105"></a>105</span></p>
+<h3>THE WAGGON</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">CRIMSON and black on the sky, a waggon of clover</p>
+  <p class="i1">Slowly goes rumbling, over the white chalk road;</p>
+<p>And I lie in the golden grass there, wondering why</p>
+        <p class="i4">So little a thing</p>
+    <p class="i2">As the jingle and ring of the harness,</p>
+        <p class="i4">The hot creak of leather,</p>
+        <p class="i4">The peace of the plodding,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Should suddenly, stabbingly, make it</p>
+        <p class="i4">Strange that men die.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Only, perhaps, in the same blue summer weather,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Hundreds of years ago, in this field where I lie,</p>
+<p>Cædmon, the Saxon, was caught by the self-same thing:</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page106"></a>106</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">The serf lying, black with the sun, on his beautiful wain-load,</p>
+        <p class="i4">The jingle and clink of the harness,</p>
+        <p class="i4">The hot creak of leather,</p>
+        <p class="i4">The peace of the plodding;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And wondered, O terribly wondered,</p>
+        <p class="i4">That men must die.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page107"></a>107</span></p>
+<h3>THE SACRED OAK</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>A Song of Britain</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<p class="dropcap">VOICE of the summer stars that, long ago,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sang thro&rsquo; the old oak-forests of our isle,</p>
+<p>Enchanted voice, pure as her falling snow,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Dark as her storms, bright as her sunniest smile,</p>
+<p>Taliessin, voice of Britain, the fierce flow</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of fourteen hundred years has whelmed not thee!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Still art thou singing, lavrock of her morn,</p>
+<p>Singing to heaven in that first golden glow,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Singing above her mountains and her sea!</p>
+            <p class="i5">Not older yet are grown</p>
+            <p class="i5">Thy four winds in their moan</p>
+    <p class="i2">For Urien. Still thy charlock blooms in the billowing corn.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page108"></a>108</span></p>
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Thy dew is bright upon this beechen spray!</p>
+  <p class="i1">Spring wakes thy harp! I hear&mdash;I see&mdash;again,</p>
+<p>Thy wild steeds foaming thro&rsquo; the crimson fray,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The raven on the white breast of thy slain,</p>
+<p>The tumult of thy chariots, far away,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The weeping in the glens, the lustrous hair</p>
+    <p class="i2">Dishevelled over the stricken eagle&rsquo;s fall,</p>
+<p>And in thy Druid groves, at fall of day</p>
+  <p class="i1">One gift that Britain gave her valorous there,</p>
+            <p class="i5">One gift of lordlier pride</p>
+            <p class="i5">Than aught&mdash;save to have died&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2">One spray of the sacred oak, they coveted most of all.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+<p class="s">I watch thy nested brambles growing green:</p>
+  <p class="i1">O strange, across that misty waste of years,</p>
+<p>To glimpse the shadowy thrush that thou hast seen,</p>
+  <p class="i1">To touch, across the ages, touch with tears</p>
+<p>The ferns that hide thee with their fairy screen,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Or only hear them rustling in the dawn;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page109"></a>109</span></p>
+    <p class="i2">And&mdash;as a dreamer waking&mdash;in thy words,</p>
+<p>For all the golden clouds that drowse between,</p>
+  <p class="i1">To feel the veil of centuries withdrawn,</p>
+            <p class="i5">To feel thy sun re-risen</p>
+            <p class="i5">Unbuild our shadowy prison</p>
+    <p class="i2">And hear on thy fresh boughs the carol of waking birds.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>IV</h5>
+
+<p class="s">O, happy voice, born in that far, clear time,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Over thy single harp thy simple strain</p>
+<p>Attuned all life for Britain to the chime</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of viking oars and the sea&rsquo;s dark refrain,</p>
+<p>And thine own beating heart, and the sublime</p>
+  <p class="i1">Measure to which the moons and stars revolve</p>
+    <p class="i2">Untroubled by the storms that, year by year,</p>
+<p>In ever-swelling symphonies still climb</p>
+  <p class="i1">To embrace our growing world and to resolve</p>
+            <p class="i5">Discords unknown to thee,</p>
+            <p class="i5">In the infinite harmony</p>
+    <p class="i2">Which still transcends our strife and leaves us darkling here.</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="letter-spacing: 1.7em; font-size: 150%;">&nbsp;.......</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page110"></a>110</span></p>
+<h5>V</h5>
+
+<p class="s">For, now, one sings of heaven and one of hell,</p>
+  <p class="i1">One soars with hope, one plunges to despair!</p>
+<p>This, trembling, doubts if aught be ill or well;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And that cries, &ldquo;Fair is foul and foul is fair;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And this cries, &ldquo;Forward, though I cannot tell</p>
+  <p class="i1">Whither, and all too surely all things die;&rdquo;</p>
+    <p class="i2">And that sighs, &ldquo;Rest, then, sleep and take thine ease.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>One sings his country and one rings its knell,</p>
+  <p class="i1">One hymns mankind, one dwarfs them with the sky.</p>
+            <p class="i5">O, Britain, let thy soul</p>
+            <p class="i5">Once more command the whole,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Once more command the strings of the world-wide harmony.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>VI</h5>
+
+<p class="s">For hark! One sings, <i>The gods, the gods are dead!</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Man triumphs!</i> And hark&mdash;<i>Blind Space his funeral urn.</i></p>
+<p>And hark, one whispers with reverted head</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page111"></a>111</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">To the old dead gods&mdash;<i>Bring back our heaven, return!</i></p>
+<p>And hark, one moans&mdash;<i>The ancient order is fled,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>We are children of blind chance and vacant dreams.</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Heed not mine utterance&mdash;that was chance-born, too.</i></p>
+<p>And hark, the answer of Science&mdash;<i>All they said,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Your fathers, in that old time, lit by gleams</i></p>
+            <p class="i5"><i>Of what their hearts could feel,</i></p>
+            <p class="i5"><i>The rolling years reveal</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>As fragments of one law, one covenant, simply true.</i></p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>VII</h5>
+
+<p class="s"><i>I find,</i> she cries, <i>in all this march of time</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>And space, no gulf, no break, nothing that mars</i></p>
+<p><i>Its unity. I watch the primal slime</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Lift Athens like a flower to greet the stars!</i></p>
+<p><i>I flash my messages from clime to clime,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>I link the increasing world from depth to height!</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Not yet ye see the wonder that draws nigh,</i></p>
+<p><i>When at some sudden contact, some sublime</i></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page112"></a>112</span></p>
+<p><i>Touch, as of memory, all this boundless night</i></p>
+              <p class="i5"><i>Wherein ye grope entombed</i></p>
+              <p class="i5"><i>Shall, by that touch illumed,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Like one electric City shine from sky to sky.</i></p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>VIII</h5>
+
+<p class="s"><i>No longer then the memories that ye hold</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Dark in your brain shall slumber. Ye shall see</i></p>
+<p><i>That City whose gates are more than pearl or gold</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>And all its towers firm as Eternity.</i></p>
+<p><i>The stones of the earth have cried to it from of old!</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Why will ye turn from Him who reigns above</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Because your highest words fall short?</i></p>
+        <p class="i4"><i>Kneel&mdash;call</i></p>
+<p><i>On Him whose Name&mdash;I AM&mdash;doth still enfold</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Past, present, future, memory, hope and love.</i></p>
+              <p class="i5"><i>No seed falls fruitless there.</i></p>
+              <p class="i5">Beyond your Father&rsquo;s care&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>The old covenant still holds fast</i>&mdash;no bird, no leaf can fall.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page113"></a>113</span></p>
+<h5>IX</h5>
+
+<p class="s">O Time, thou mask of the ever-living Soul,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thou veil to shield us from that blinding Face,</p>
+<p>Thou art wearing thin! We are nearer to the goal</p>
+  <p class="i1">When man no more shall need thy saving grace,</p>
+<p>But all the folded years like one great scroll</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shall be unrolled in the omnipresent Now,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And He that saith <i>I am</i> unseal the tomb:</p>
+<p>Nearer His thunders and His trumpets roll,</p>
+  <p class="i1">I catch the gleam that lit thy lifted brow,</p>
+              <p class="i5">O singer whose wild eyes</p>
+              <p class="i5">Possess these April skies,</p>
+    <p class="i2">I touch&mdash;I clasp thy hands thro&rsquo; all the clouds of doom.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>X</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Teach thou our living choirs amid the sound</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of their tempestuous chords once more to hear</p>
+<p>That harmony wherewith the whole is crowned,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The singing heavens that sphere by choral sphere</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page114"></a>114</span></p>
+<p>Break open, height o&rsquo;er height, to the utmost bound</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of passionate thought! O, as this glorious land,</p>
+    <p class="i2">This sacred country shining on the sea,</p>
+<p>Grows mightier, let not her clear voice be drowned</p>
+  <p class="i1">In the fierce waves of faction. Let her stand</p>
+              <p class="i5">A beacon to the blind,</p>
+              <p class="i5">A signal to mankind,</p>
+    <p class="i2">A witness to the heavens&rsquo; profoundest unity.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>XI</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Her altars are forgotten and her creeds</p>
+  <p class="i1">Dust, and her soul foregoes the lesser Cross.</p>
+<p>O, point her to the greater! Her heart bleeds</p>
+ <p class="i1"> Still, where men simply feel some vague deep loss.</p>
+<p>Their hands grope earthward, knowing not what she needs.</p>
+  <p class="i1">We would not call her back in this great hour!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Nay, upward, onward, to the heights untrod</p>
+<p>Signal us, living voices, by those deeds</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page115"></a>115</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">Of all her deathless heroes, by the Power</p>
+              <p class="i5">That still, still walks her waves,</p>
+              <p class="i5">Still chastens her, still saves,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Signal us, not to the dead, but to the living God.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>XII</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Signal us with that watchword of the deep,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The watchword that her boldest seamen gave</p>
+<p>The winds of the unknown ocean-sea to keep,</p>
+  <p class="i1">When round their oaken walls the midnight wave</p>
+<p>Heaved and subsided in gigantic sleep,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And they plunged Westward with her flag unfurled.</p>
+    <p class="i2">Hark, o&rsquo;er their cloudy sails and glimmering spars,</p>
+<p>The watch cries, as they proudly onward sweep,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Before the world ... All&rsquo;s well!... Before the world</i> ...</p>
+              <p class="i5">From mast to calling mast</p>
+              <p class="i5">The counter-cry goes past&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Before the world was God!</i>&mdash;it rings against the stars.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page116"></a>116</span></p>
+<h5>XIII</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Signal us o&rsquo;er the little heavens of gold</p>
+  <p class="i1">With that heroic signal Nelson knew</p>
+<p>When, thro&rsquo; the thunder and flame that round him rolled,</p>
+  <p class="i1">He pointed to the dream that still held true.</p>
+<p>Cry o&rsquo;er the warring nations, cry as of old</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>A little child shall lead them! they shall be</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>One people under the shadow of God&rsquo;s wing!</i></p>
+<p><i>There shall be no more weeping!</i> Let it be told</p>
+  <p class="i1">That Britain set one foot upon the sea,</p>
+              <p class="i5">One foot on the earth. Her eyes</p>
+              <p class="i5">Burned thro&rsquo; the conquered skies,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And, as the angel of God, she bade the whole world sing.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>XIV</h5>
+
+<p class="s">A dream? Nay, have ye heard or have ye known</p>
+  <p class="i1">That the everlasting God who made the ends</p>
+<p>Of all creation wearieth? His worlds groan</p>
+  <p class="i1">Together in travail still. Still He descends</p>
+<p>From heaven. The increasing worlds are still His throne</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page117"></a>117</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">And His creative Calvary and His tomb</p>
+    <p class="i2">Through which He sinks, dies, triumphs with each and all,</p>
+<p>And ascends, multitudinous and at one</p>
+  <p class="i1">With all the hosts of His evolving doom,</p>
+              <p class="i5">His vast redeeming strife,</p>
+              <p class="i5">His everlasting life,</p>
+    <p class="i2">His love, beyond which not one bird, one leaf can fall.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>XV</h5>
+
+<p class="s">And hark, His whispers thro&rsquo; creation flow,</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Lovest thou me?</i> His nations answer &ldquo;yea!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And&mdash;<i>Feed My lambs</i>, His voice as long ago</p>
+  <p class="i1">Steals from that highest heaven, how far away!</p>
+<p>And yet again saith&mdash;<i>Lovest thou Me?</i> and &ldquo;O,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thou knowest we love Thee,&rdquo; passionately we cry:</p>
+  <p class="i1">But, heeding not our tumult, out of the deep</p>
+<p>The great grave whisper, pitiful and low,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Breathes&mdash;<i>Feed My sheep</i>; and yet once more the sky</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page118"></a>118</span></p>
+              <p class="i5">Thrills with that deep strange plea,</p>
+              <p class="i5"><i>Lovest thou, lovest thou Me?</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">And our lips answer &ldquo;yea&rdquo;; but our God&mdash;<i>Feed My sheep.</i></p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>XVI</h5>
+
+<p class="s">O sink not yet beneath the exceeding weight</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of splendour, thou still single-hearted voice</p>
+<p>Of Britain. Droop not earthward now to freight</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thy soul with fragments of the song, rejoice</p>
+<p>In no faint flights of music that create</p>
+  <p class="i1">Low heavens o&rsquo;er-arched by skies without a star,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Nor sink in the easier gulfs of shallower pain!</p>
+<p>Sing thou in the whole majesty of thy fate,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Teach us thro&rsquo; joy, thro&rsquo; grief, thro&rsquo; peace, thro&rsquo; war,</p>
+              <p class="i5">With single heart and soul</p>
+              <p class="i5">Still, still to seek the goal,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And thro&rsquo; our perishing heavens, point us to Heaven again.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>XVII</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Voice of the summer stars that long ago</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sang thro&rsquo; the old oak-forests of our isle,</p>
+<p>An ocean-music that thou ne&rsquo;er couldst know</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page119"></a>119</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">Storms Heaven&mdash;O, keep us steadfast all the while;</p>
+<p>Not idly swayed by tides that ebb and flow,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But strong to embrace the whole vast symphony</p>
+    <p class="i2">Wherein no note (no bird, no leaf) can fall</p>
+<p>Beyond His care, to enfold it all as though</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thy single harp were ours, its unity</p>
+              <p class="i5">In battle like one sword,</p>
+              <p class="i5">And O, its one reward</p>
+    <p class="i2">One spray of the sacred oak, still coveted most of all.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page120"></a>120</span></p>
+<h3>THE WORLD&rsquo;S WEDDING</h3>
+
+<div class="quote">
+<p>&ldquo;Et quid curae nobis de generibus et speciebus? Ex uno
+Verbo omnia, et unum loquuntur omnia. Cui omnia unum
+sunt, quique ad unum omnia trahit et omnia in uno videt,
+potest stabilis corde esse.&rdquo;&mdash;<span class="sc">Thomas à Kempis.</span></p>
+</div>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+    <p class="i2 dropcap">WHEN poppies fired the nut-brown wheat,</p>
+    <p class="i2">My love went by with sun-stained feet:</p>
+<p>I followed her laughter, followed her, followed her, all a summer&rsquo;s morn!</p>
+    <p class="i2">But O, from an elfin palace of air,</p>
+    <p class="i2">A wild bird sang a song so rare,</p>
+    <p class="i2">I stayed to listen and&mdash;lost my Fair,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And walked the world forlorn.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">When chalk shone white between the sheaves,</p>
+    <p class="i2">My love went by as one that grieves;</p>
+<p>I followed her weeping, followed her, followed her, all an autumn noon!</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page121"></a>121</span></p>
+    <p class="i2">The sunset flamed so fierce a red</p>
+    <p class="i2">From North to South&mdash;I turned my head</p>
+    <p class="i2">To wonder&mdash;and my Fair was fled</p>
+      <p class="i3">Beyond the dawning moon.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">When bare black boughs were choked with snow,</p>
+    <p class="i2">My love went by, as long ago;</p>
+<p>I followed her dreaming, followed her, followed her, all a winter&rsquo;s night!</p>
+    <p class="i2">But O, along that snow-white track</p>
+    <p class="i2">With thorny shadows printed black,</p>
+    <p class="i2">I saw three kings come riding back,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And&mdash;lost my life&rsquo;s delight.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>IV</h5>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">They are so many, and she but One;</p>
+    <p class="i2">And I and she, like moon and sun</p>
+<p>So separate ever! Ah yet, I follow her, follow her, faint and far;</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page122"></a>122</span></p>
+    <p class="i2">For what if all this diverse bliss</p>
+    <p class="i2">Should run together in one kiss!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Swift, Spring, with the sweet clue I miss</p>
+    <p class="i2">Between these several instances,&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i3">The kings, that inn, that star.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>V</h5>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">Between the hawk&rsquo;s and the wood-dove&rsquo;s wing,</p>
+    <p class="i2">My love, my love flashed by like Spring!</p>
+    <p class="i2">The year had finished its golden ring!</p>
+    <p class="i2">Earth, the Gipsy, and Heaven, the King,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Were married like notes in the song I sing,</p>
+<p>And O, I followed her, followed her, followed her over the hills of Time,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Never to lose her now I know,</p>
+    <p class="i2">For whom the sun was clasped in snow,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The heights linked to the depths below,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The rose&rsquo;s flush to the planet&rsquo;s glow,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Death the friend to life the foe,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The Winter&rsquo;s joy to the Spring&rsquo;s woe,</p>
+      <p class="i3">And the world made one in a rhyme.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page123"></a>123</span></p>
+<h3>IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">F<i>AREWELL!</i> The soft mists of the sunset-sky</p>
+  <p class="i1">Slowly enfold his fading birch-canoe!</p>
+<p><i>Farewell!</i> His dark, his desolate forests cry,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Moved to their vast, their sorrowful depths anew.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Fading! Nay, lifted thro&rsquo; a heaven of light,</p>
+  <p class="i1">His proud sails brightening thro&rsquo; that crimson flame,</p>
+<p>Leaving us lonely on the shores of night,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Home to Ponemah take his deathless fame.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Generous as a child, so wholly free</p>
+  <p class="i1">From all base pride that fools forgot his crown,</p>
+<p>He adored Beauty, in pure ecstasy,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And waived the mere rewards of his renown.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page124"></a>124</span></p>
+<p class="s">The spark that falls from heaven not oft on earth</p>
+  <p class="i1">To human hearts this vital splendour gives;</p>
+<p>His was the simple, true, immortal birth.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Scholars compose; but&mdash;<i>this man&rsquo;s music lives</i>!</p>
+
+<p class="s">Greater than England or than Earth discerned,</p>
+  <p class="i1">He never paltered with his art for gain:</p>
+<p>When many a vaunted crown to dust is turned,</p>
+  <p class="i1">This uncrowned king shall take his throne and reign.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Nations unborn shall hear his forests moan;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Ages unscanned shall hear his winds lament,</p>
+<p>Hear the strange grief that deepened through his own</p>
+  <p class="i1">The vast cry of a buried continent.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Through him, his race a moment lifted up</p>
+  <p class="i1">Forests of hands to Beauty as in prayer;</p>
+<p>Touched through his lips the sacramental Cup,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And then sank back&mdash;benumbed in our bleak air.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page125"></a>125</span></p>
+<p class="s">Through him, through him, a lost world hailed the light!</p>
+  <p class="i1">The tragedy of that triumph none can tell,&mdash;</p>
+<p>So great, so brief, so quickly snatched from sight;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And yet&mdash;O hail, great comrade, not farewell!</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page126"></a>126</span></p>
+<h3>INSCRIPTION</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>For the Grave of Coleridge-Taylor</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">SLEEP, crowned with fame; fearless of change or time.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sleep, like remembered music in the soul,</p>
+<p>Silent, immortal; while our discords climb</p>
+  <p class="i1">To that great chord which shall resolve the whole.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Silent with Mozart on that solemn shore;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Secure where neither waves nor hearts can break;</p>
+<p>Sleep&mdash;till the Master of the World, once more,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake....</p>
+
+<p class="s">Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page127"></a>127</span></p>
+<h3>VALUES</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">THE moon that sways the rhythmic seas,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The wheeling earth, the marching sky,&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2">I ask not whence the order came</p>
+      <p class="i3">That moves them all as one.</p>
+
+<p class="s">These are your chariots. Nor shall these</p>
+  <p class="i1">Appal me with immensity;</p>
+    <p class="i2">I know they carry one heart of flame</p>
+      <p class="i3">More precious than the sun.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page128"></a>128</span></p>
+<h3>THE HEROIC DEAD</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>On the loss of the Titanic</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">IF in the noon they doubted, in the night</p>
+  <p class="i1">They never swerved. Death had no power to appal.</p>
+<p>There was one Way, one Truth, one Life, one Light,</p>
+  <p class="i1">One Love that shone triumphant over all.</p>
+
+<p class="s">If in the noon they doubted, at the last</p>
+  <p class="i1">There was no Way to part, no Way but One</p>
+<p>That rolled the waves of Nature back and cast</p>
+  <p class="i1">In ancient days a shadow across the sun.</p>
+
+<p class="s">If in the noon they doubted, their last breath</p>
+  <p class="i1">Saluted once again the eternal goal,</p>
+<p>Chanted a love-song in the face of Death</p>
+  <p class="i1">And rent the veil of darkness from the soul.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page129"></a>129</span></p>
+<p class="s">If in the noon they doubted, in the night</p>
+  <p class="i1">They waved the shadowy world of strife aside,</p>
+<p>Flooded high heaven with an immortal light,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And taught the deep how its Creator died.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page130"></a>130</span></p>
+<h3>THE CRY IN THE NIGHT</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">IT tears at the heart in the night, that moan of the wind,</p>
+        <p class="i4">That desolate moan.</p>
+<p>It is worse than the cry of a child. I can hardly bear</p>
+        <p class="i4">To hear it, alone.</p>
+
+<p class="s">It is worse than the sobbing of love, when love is estranged:</p>
+        <p class="i4">For this is a cry</p>
+<p>Out of the desolate ages. It never has changed.</p>
+        <p class="i4">It never can die.</p>
+
+<p class="s">A cry over numberless graves, dark, helpless and blind,</p>
+        <p class="i4">From the measureless past,</p>
+<p>To the measureless future, a sobbing before the first laughter,</p>
+        <p class="i4">And after the last!</p>
+
+<p class="center" style="letter-spacing: 1.7em; font-size: 150%;">&nbsp;.......</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page131"></a>131</span></p>
+<p class="s">From the height of creation, in passion eternal, the Word</p>
+        <p class="i4">Rushes forth, the loud cry,</p>
+<p><i>Forsaken! Forsaken!</i> It cuts through the night like a sword!</p>
+        <p class="i4">Shall it win no reply?</p>
+
+<p class="s">Not of earth is that height of all sorrow, past time, out of space,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Therefore here, here and now,</p>
+<p>Universal, a Calvary, crowned with Thy passionate face,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Thy thorn-wounded brow.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Ah, could I shrink if Thy heart for each heart upon earth</p>
+        <p class="i4">Must break like a sea?</p>
+<p>Could I hear, could I bear it at all, if I were not a part</p>
+        <p class="i4">Of this labour in Thee?</p>
+
+<p class="s">Shall I accuse Thee, then? God, I account it my own</p>
+        <p class="i4">All the grief I can bear,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page132"></a>132</span></p>
+<p>On Thy Cross of Creation, to balance earth&rsquo;s bliss and atone,</p>
+        <p class="i4">Atone for life there.</p>
+
+<p class="s">If this be the One Way for ever, which not Thine all-might</p>
+        <p class="i4">Could change, if it would,</p>
+<p>Till the truth be untrue, till the dark be the same as the light,</p>
+        <p class="i4">And till evil be good,</p>
+
+<p class="s">Shall I who took part in Thine April, shrink now from my part</p>
+        <p class="i4">In Thine anguish to be?</p>
+<p>If Thy goal be the One goal of all, shall not even man&rsquo;s heart</p>
+        <p class="i4">Endure this, with Thee;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Die with Thee, balancing life, or help Thee to pay</p>
+        <p class="i4">For our hope with our pain?...</p>
+<p><i>O, the voice of the wind in the night! Is it day, then, broad day,</i></p>
+        <p class="i4"><i>On the blind earth again?</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page133"></a>133</span></p>
+<h3>ASTRID</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>An Experiment in Initial Rhymes</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">WHITE-armed Astrid,&mdash;ah, but she was beautiful!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Nightly wandered weeping thro&rsquo; the ferns in the moon,</p>
+<p>Slowly, weaving her strange garland in the forest,</p>
+<p>Crowned with white violets,</p>
+<p>Gowned in green.</p>
+<p>Holy was that glen where she glided,</p>
+<p>Making her wild garland as Merlin had bidden her,</p>
+<p>Breaking off the milk-white horns of the honey-suckle,</p>
+<p>Sweetly dripped the dew upon her small white</p>
+<p>Feet.</p>
+
+<p class="s">White-throated Astrid,&mdash;ah, but she was beautiful!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Nightly sought the answer to that riddle in the moon.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page134"></a>134</span></p>
+<p>She must weave her garland, ere she save her soul.</p>
+<p>Three long years she has wandered there in vain.</p>
+<p>Always, always, the blossom that would finish it</p>
+<p>Falls to her feet, and the garland breaks and vanishes,</p>
+<p>Breaks like a dream in the dawn when the dreamer</p>
+<p>Wakes.</p>
+
+<p class="s">White-bosomed Astrid,&mdash;ah, but she was beautiful!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Nightly tastes the sorrow of the world in the moon.</p>
+<p>Will it be this little white miracle, she wonders.</p>
+<p>How shall she know it, the star that will save her?</p>
+<p>Still, ah still, in the moonlight she crouches</p>
+<p>Bowing her head, for the garland has crumbled!</p>
+<p>All the wild petals for the thousand and second time</p>
+<p>Fall.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page135"></a>135</span></p>
+<p class="s">White-footed Astrid,&mdash;ah, but she is beautiful!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Nightly seeks the secret of the world in the moon.</p>
+<p>She will find the secret. She will find the golden</p>
+<p>Key to the riddle, on the night when she has numbered them,</p>
+<p>Marshalled all her wild flowers, ordered them as music,</p>
+<p>Star by star, note by note, changing them and ranging them,</p>
+<p>Suddenly, as at a kiss, all will flash together,</p>
+<p>Flooding like the dawn thro&rsquo; the arches of the woodland,</p>
+<p>Fern and thyme and violet, maiden-hair and primrose</p>
+<p>Turn to the Rose of the World, and He shall fold her,</p>
+<p>Kiss her on the mouth, saying, all the world is one now,</p>
+<p>This is the secret of the music that the soul hears,&mdash;</p>
+<p>This.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page136"></a>136</span></p>
+<h3>THE INIMITABLE LOVERS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">THEY tell this proud tale of the Queen&mdash;Cleopatra,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Subtlest of women that the world has ever seen,</p>
+<p>How that, on the night when she parted with her lover</p>
+  <p class="i1">Anthony, tearless, dry-throated, and sick-hearted,</p>
+<p>A strange thing befell them in the darkness where they stood.</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Bitter as blood was that darkness.</p>
+<p>And they stood in a deep window, looking to the west.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Her white breast was brighter than the moon upon the sea,</p>
+<p>And it moved in her agony (because it was the end!)</p>
+  <p class="i1">Like a deep sea, where many had been drowned.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page137"></a>137</span></p>
+<p>Proud ships that were crowned with an Emperor&rsquo;s eagles</p>
+  <p class="i1">Were sunken there forgotten, with their emeralds and gold.</p>
+<p>They had drunken of that glory, and their tale was told, utterly,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Told.</p>
+
+<p class="s">There, as they parted, heart from heart, mouth from mouth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">They stared upon each other. They listened.</p>
+    <p class="i2">For the South-wind</p>
+<p>Brought them a rumour from afar; and she said,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lifting her head, too beautiful for anguish,</p>
+          <p class="i5">Too proud for pity,&mdash;</p>
+<p><i>It is the gods that leave the City! O, Anthony,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Anthony, the gods have forsaken us;</i></p>
+<p><i>Because it is the end! They leave us to our doom.</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Hear it!</i> And unshaken in the darkness,</p>
+<p>Dull as dropping earth upon a tomb in the distance,</p>
+  <p class="i1">They heard, as when across a wood a low wind comes,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page138"></a>138</span></p>
+<p>A muttering of drums, drawing nearer,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Then louder and clearer, as when a trumpet sings</p>
+<p>To battle, it came rushing on the wings of the wind,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A sound of sacked cities, a sound of lamentation,</p>
+<p>A cry of desolation, as when a conquered nation</p>
+  <p class="i1">Is weeping in the darkness, because its tale is told;</p>
+<p>And then&mdash;a sound of chariots that rolled thro&rsquo; that sorrow</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trampled like a storm of wild stallions, tossing nearer,</p>
+<p>Trampled louder, clearer, triumphantly as music,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Till lo! in that great darkness, along that vacant street,</p>
+<p>A red light beat like a furnace on the walls,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Then&mdash;like the blast when the North-wind calls to battle,</p>
+<p>Blaring thro&rsquo; the blood-red tumult and the flame,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Shaking the proud City as they came, an hundred elephants,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page139"></a>139</span></p>
+<p>Cream-white and bronze, and splashed with bitter crimson,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Trumpeting for battle as they trod, an hundred elephants,</p>
+<p>Bronze and cream-white, and trapped with gold and purple,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Towered like tuskéd castles, every thunder-laden footfall</p>
+<p>Dreadful as the shattering of a City. Yet they trod,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Rocking like an earthquake, to a great triumphant music,</p>
+<p>And, swinging like the stars, black planets, white moons,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thro&rsquo; the stream of the torches, they brought the red chariot,</p>
+<p>The chariot of the battle-god&mdash;Mars.</p>
+  <p class="i1">While the tall spears of Sparta tossed clashing in his train,</p>
+<p>And a host of ghostly warriors cried aloud</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>All hail!</i> to those twain, and went rushing to the darkness</p>
+<p>Like a pageantry of cloud, for their tale was told&mdash;utterly&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Told.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page140"></a>140</span></p>
+<p class="s">And following, in the fury of the vine, rushing down</p>
+  <p class="i1">Like a many-visaged torrent, with ivy-rod and thyrse,</p>
+<p>And many a wild and foaming crown of roses,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Crowded the Bacchanals, the brown-limbed shepherds,</p>
+<p>The red-tongued leopards, and the glory of the god!</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Iacchus! Iacchus!</i> without dance, without song,</p>
+<p>They cried and swept along to the darkness.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Only for a breath when the tumult of their torches</p>
+<p>Crimsoned the deep window where that dark warrior stood</p>
+  <p class="i1">With the blood upon his mail, and the Queen&mdash;Cleopatra,</p>
+<p>Frozen to white marble&mdash;the Mænads raised their timbrels,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Tossed their white arms, with a clash&mdash;<i>All hail!</i></p>
+<p>Like wild swimmers, pale, in a sea of blood and wine,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page141"></a>141</span></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>All hail! All hail!</i> Then they swept into the darkness</p>
+<p>And the darkness buried them. Their tale was told&mdash;utterly&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Told.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And following them, O softer than the moon upon the sea,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Aphrodite, implacably, shone.</p>
+<p>Like a furnace of white roses, Aphrodite and her train</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lifted their white arms to those twain in the silence</p>
+<p>Once, and were gone into the darkness;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Once, and away into the darkness they were swept</p>
+<p>Like a pageantry of cloud, without praise, without pity.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Then the dark City slept. And the Queen&mdash;Cleopatra&mdash;</p>
+<p>Subtlest of women that this earth has ever seen,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Turning to her lover in the darkness where he stood,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page142"></a>142</span></p>
+<p>With the blood upon his mail,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Bowing her head upon that iron in the darkness,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wept.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page143"></a>143</span></p>
+<h3>THE CRAGS</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>In memory of Thomas Bailey Aldrich</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">FALERNIAN, first! What other wine</p>
+<p>Should brim the cup or tint the line</p>
+  <p class="i1">That would recall my days</p>
+  <p class="i1">Among your creeks and bays;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Where, founded on a rock, your house</p>
+<p>Between the pines&rsquo; unfading boughs</p>
+  <p class="i1">Watches through sun and rain</p>
+  <p class="i1">That lonelier coast of Maine;</p>
+
+<p class="s">And the Atlantic&rsquo;s mounded blue</p>
+<p>Breaks on your crags the summer through,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A long pine&rsquo;s length below,</p>
+  <p class="i1">In rainbow-tossing snow.</p>
+
+<p class="s">While on your railed verandah there</p>
+<p>As on a deck you sail through air,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And sea and cloud and sky</p>
+  <p class="i1">Go softly streaming by.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page144"></a>144</span></p>
+<p class="s">Like delicate oils at set of sun</p>
+<p>Smoothing the waves the colours run&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Around the enchanted hull,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Anchored and beautiful,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Restoring to that sun-dried star</p>
+<p>You brought from coral isles afar&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">With shells that mock the moon&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">The tints of their lagoon;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Till, from within, your lamps declare</p>
+<p>Your harbours by the colours there,</p>
+  <p class="i1">An Indian god, a fan</p>
+  <p class="i1">Painted in Old Japan.</p>
+
+<p class="s">But, best of all, I think at night,</p>
+<p>The moon that makes a road of light</p>
+  <p class="i1">Across the whispering sea,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A road&mdash;for memory.</p>
+
+<p class="s">When the blue dusk has filled the pane,</p>
+<p>And the great pine-logs burn again,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And books are good to read.</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;For his were books indeed.&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page145"></a>145</span></p>
+<p class="s">Their silken shadows, rustling, dim,</p>
+<p>May sing no more of Spain for him;</p>
+  <p class="i1">No shadows of old France</p>
+  <p class="i1">Renew their courtly dance.</p>
+
+<p class="s">He walks no more where shadows are</p>
+<p>But left their ivory gates ajar,</p>
+  <p class="i1">That shadows might prolong</p>
+  <p class="i1">The dance, the tale, the song.</p>
+
+<p class="s">His was no narrow test or rule.</p>
+<p>He chose the best of every school,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Stendhal and Keats and Donne,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Balzac and Stevenson;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Wordsworth and Flaubert filled their place.</p>
+<p>Dumas met Hawthorne face to face.</p>
+  <p class="i1">There were both new and old</p>
+  <p class="i1">In his good realm of gold.</p>
+
+<p class="s">The title-pages bore his name;</p>
+<p>And, nightly, by the dancing flame,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Following him, I found</p>
+  <p class="i1">That all was haunted ground;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page146"></a>146</span></p>
+<p class="s">Until a friendlier shadow fell</p>
+<p>Upon the leaves he loved so well,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And I no longer read,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But talked with him instead.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page147"></a>147</span></p>
+<h3>THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">1914</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">CRIMSON was the twilight, under that crab-tree,</p>
+<p>Where&mdash;old tales tell us&mdash;all a midsummer&rsquo;s night,</p>
+<p>A mad young poacher, drunk with mead of elfin-land,</p>
+<p>Lodged with the fern-owl, and looked at the stars.</p>
+
+<p class="s">There, from the dusk where the dream of Piers Plowman</p>
+<p>Darkens on the sunset, to this dusk of our own,</p>
+<p>I read, in a history, the record of our world.</p>
+
+<p class="s">The hawk-moth, the currant-moth, the red-striped tiger-moth</p>
+<p>Shimmered all around me, so white shone those pages;</p>
+<p>And, in among the blue boughs, the bats flew low.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page148"></a>148</span></p>
+<p class="s">I slumbered, the history slipped from my hand.</p>
+<p>Then I saw a dead man, dreadful in the moon-dawn,</p>
+<p>The ghost of the master, bowed upon that book.</p>
+<p>He muttered as he searched it,&mdash;<i>what vast convulsion</i></p>
+<p><i>Mocks my sexton&rsquo;s curse now, shakes our English clay?</i></p>
+<p>Whereupon I told him, and asked him in turn</p>
+<p>Whether he espied any light in those pages</p>
+<p>Which painted an epoch later than his own.</p>
+<p><i>I am a shadow</i>, he said, <i>and I see none</i>....</p>
+
+<p><i>I am a shadow</i>, he said, <i>and I see none</i>.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Then, O then he murmured to himself (while the moon hung</p>
+<p>Crimson as a lanthorn of Cathay in that crab-tree),</p>
+<p>Laughing at his work and the world, as I thought,</p>
+<p>Yet with some bitterness, yet with some beauty,</p>
+<p>Mocking his own music, these wraiths of his rhymes:</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page149"></a>149</span></p>
+<h5>I</h5>
+
+<p class="s">God, when I turn the leaves of that dark book</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wherein our wisest teach us to recall</p>
+<p>Those glorious flags which in old tempests shook</p>
+  <p class="i1">And those proud thrones which held my youth in thrall;</p>
+
+<p class="s">When I see clear what seemed to childish eyes</p>
+  <p class="i1">The gorgeous colouring of each pictured age;</p>
+<p>And for their dominant tints now recognise</p>
+  <p class="i1">Those prints of innocent blood on every page;</p>
+
+<p class="s">O, then I know this world is fast asleep,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Bound in Time&rsquo;s womb, till some far morning break;</p>
+<p>And, though light grows upon the dreadful deep,</p>
+  <p class="i1">We are dungeoned in thick night. We are not awake.</p>
+
+<p class="s">The world&rsquo;s unborn, for all our hopes and schemes;</p>
+<p>And all its myriads only move in dreams.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page150"></a>150</span></p>
+<h5>II</h5>
+
+<p class="s">Read what our wisest chroniclers record:&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">A king betrayed both foes and friends to death,</p>
+<p>Delivered his own country to the sword,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And lied, and lied, and lied to his last breath.</p>
+
+<p class="s">He died, the martyred anarch of his time.</p>
+  <p class="i1">What balm is this that consecrates his dust?</p>
+<p>The self-same history shudders at the &ldquo;crime&rdquo;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Which shed a blood so fragrant, so &ldquo;august.&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Yes. Let our sons by thousands, millions, die;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And when the crowned assassin of to-day</p>
+<p>Stands in the Judgment Hall of Liberty</p>
+  <p class="i1">What shall your desolate nations rise and say?</p>
+
+<p class="s">Honour the dog. He&rsquo;s vanquished! He&rsquo;s a king!</p>
+<p>So&mdash;for our dead&mdash;he&rsquo;s too &ldquo;august&rdquo; a thing.</p>
+
+<div class="pd05">&nbsp;</div>
+<h5>III</h5>
+
+<p class="s"><i>It was a crimson twilight, under that crab-tree.</i></p>
+<p><i>Moths beat about me, and bats flew low.</i></p>
+<p><i>I read, in a history, the record of our world.</i></p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page151"></a>151</span></p>
+<p><i>If there be light, said the Master,</i></p>
+<p><i>I am a shadow, and I see none ...</i></p>
+<p><i>I am a shadow, and I see none.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page152"></a>152</span></p>
+<h3>THE WHITE CLIFFS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">WODEN made the red cliffs, the red walls of England.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Round the South of Devonshire, they burn against the blue.</p>
+<p>Green is the water there; and, clear as liquid sunlight,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Blue-green as mackerel, the bays that Raleigh knew.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Thor made the black cliffs, the battlements of England,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Climbing to Tintagel where the white gulls wheel.</p>
+<p>Cold are the caverns there, and sullen as a cannon-mouth,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Booming back the grey swell that gleams like steel.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page153"></a>153</span></p>
+<p class="s">Balder made the white cliffs, the white shield of England</p>
+  <p class="i1">(Crowned with thyme and violet where Sussex wheatears fly),</p>
+<p>White as the White Ensign are the bouldered heights of Dover,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Beautiful the scutcheon that they bare against the sky.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>So the world shall sing of them&mdash;the white cliffs of England,</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>White, the glory of her sails, the banner of her pride.</i></p>
+<p><i>One and all,&mdash;their seamen met and broke the dread Armada.</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Only white may show the world the shield for which they died.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page154"></a>154</span></p>
+<h3>ON THE SOUTH COAST</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">COME away into the sun and see</p>
+<p>All the heavens that used to be,</p>
+<p>Daily, hourly, brought to birth</p>
+<p>Out of the deep remembering earth.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>This is England, this is the land</i></p>
+<p><i>That holds my heart in her sweet hand.</i></p>
+<p><i>This is she whose turf, I pray,</i></p>
+<p><i>Will hide me, on her breast, one day.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Cast you down on the close-cropped turf,</p>
+<p>See how the white cliff spreads the surf,</p>
+<p>On green-eyed seas that glitter and trail</p>
+<p>Into the south like a peacock&rsquo;s tail.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Then, come away over the hills of thyme,</p>
+<p>Where folds like elfin belfries chime</p>
+<p>Till Eve, in a cloud of her dusky hair,</p>
+<p>Makes it Elf-land everywhere.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page155"></a>155</span></p>
+<p class="s">You shall pity the king on his throne.</p>
+<p>You shall know what never was known.</p>
+<p>All the glory of all the skies</p>
+<p>Utterly yours in your true love&rsquo;s eyes;</p>
+
+<p class="s">All the bloom to the world&rsquo;s end</p>
+<p>And all the heavens that over it bend,</p>
+<p>Compacted in one garden white,</p>
+<p>The garden of your love&rsquo;s delight.</p>
+
+<p class="s"><i>This is England, this is the land</i></p>
+<p><i>That holds my soul in her sweet hand.</i></p>
+<p><i>This is she whose turf, I pray,</i></p>
+<p><i>Will hide me on her heart one day.</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page156"></a>156</span></p>
+<h3>OLDER THAN THE HILLS</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">OLDER than the hills, older than the sea,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Older than the heart of the Spring,</p>
+<p>O, what is this that breaks</p>
+<p>From the blind shell, wakes,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wakes, and is gone like a wing?</p>
+
+<p class="s">Older than the sea, older than the moon,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Older than the heart of the May,</p>
+<p>What is this blind refrain</p>
+<p>Of a song that shall remain</p>
+  <p class="i1">When the singer is long gone away?</p>
+
+<p class="s">Older than the moon, older than the stars,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Older than the wind in the night,&mdash;</p>
+<p>Though the young dews are sweet</p>
+<p>On the heather at our feet</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the blue hills laughing back the light,&mdash;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page157"></a>157</span></p>
+<p class="s">Till the stars grow young, till the hills grow young,</p>
+  <p class="i1">O, Love, we shall walk through Time,</p>
+<p>Till we round the world at last,</p>
+<p>And the future be the past,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the winds of Eden greet us from the prime.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page158"></a>158</span></p>
+<h3>THE TORCH</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>Sussex Landscape</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">IS it your watch-fire, elves, where the down with its darkening shoulder</p>
+  <p class="i1">Lifts on the death of the sun, out of the valley of thyme?</p>
+<p>Dropt on the broad chalk path and, cresting the ridge of it, smoulder</p>
+  <p class="i1">Crimson as blood on the white, halting my feet as they climb,</p>
+
+<p class="s">Clusters of clover-bloom, spilled from what negligent arms in the tender</p>
+  <p class="i1">Dusk of the great grey world, last of the tints of the day;</p>
+<p>Beautiful, sorrowful, strange last stain of that perishing splendour.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Elves, from what torn white feet trickled that red on the way?</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page159"></a>159</span></p>
+<p class="s">No&mdash;from the sun-burnt hands of what lovers that fade in the distance?</p>
+  <p class="i1">Here, was it here that they paused, here that the legend was told?</p>
+<p>Even a kiss would be heard in this hush; but, with mocking insistence,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Now thro&rsquo; the valley resound&mdash;only the bells of the fold.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Dropt&mdash;from the hands of what beautiful throng? Did they cry &ldquo;<i>follow after</i>&rdquo;?</p>
+  <p class="i1">Dancing into the west, leaving this token for me,</p>
+<p><i>Memory dead on the path, and the sunset to bury their laughter?</i></p>
+  <p class="i1">Youth&mdash;is it youth that has flown? Darkness covers the sea.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page160"></a>160</span></p>
+<p class="s">Darkness covers the earth; but the path is here! I assay it.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Let the bloom fall like a flake&mdash;dropt from the torch of a friend!</p>
+<p>Beautiful revellers, happy companions, I see and obey it;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Follow your torch in the night, follow your path to the end.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page161"></a>161</span></p>
+<h3>THE OUTLAW</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">DEEP in the greenwood of my heart</p>
+  <p class="i1">My wild hounds race.</p>
+<p>I cloak my soul at feast and mart,</p>
+  <p class="i1">I mask my face;</p>
+
+<p class="s">Outlawed, but not alone, for Truth</p>
+  <p class="i1">Is outlawed, too.</p>
+<p>Proud world, you cannot banish us.</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>We</i> banish <i>you</i>.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Go by, go by, with all your din,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Your dust, your greed, your guile,</p>
+<p>Your gold, your thrones can never win&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">From Her&mdash;one smile.</p>
+
+<p class="s">She sings to me in a lonely place,</p>
+  <p class="i1">She takes my hand.</p>
+<p>I look into her lovely face</p>
+  <p class="i1">And understand....</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page162"></a>162</span></p>
+<p class="s">Outlawed, but not alone, for Love</p>
+  <p class="i1">Is outlawed, too.</p>
+<p>You cannot banish us, proud world.</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>We</i> banish <i>you</i>.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Now which is outlawed, which alone?</p>
+  <p class="i1">Around us fall and rise</p>
+<p>Murmurs of leaf and fern, the moan</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of Paradise.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Outlawed? Then hills and woods and streams</p>
+  <p class="i1">Are outlawed, too!</p>
+<p>Proud world, from our immortal dreams,</p>
+  <p class="i1">We banish you.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page163"></a>163</span></p>
+<h3>THE YOUNG FRIAR</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">WHEN leaves broke out on the wild briar,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And bells for matins rung,</p>
+<p>Sorrow came to the old friar</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;Hundreds of years ago it was!&mdash;</p>
+<p>And May came to the young.</p>
+
+<p class="s">The old was ripening for the sky,</p>
+  <p class="i1">The young was twenty-four.</p>
+<p>The Franklin&rsquo;s daughter passed him by,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Reading a painted missal-book,</p>
+<p>Beside the chapel door.</p>
+
+<p class="s">With brown cassock and sandalled feet,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And red Spring wine for blood;</p>
+<p>The very next noon he chanced to meet</p>
+  <p class="i1">The Franklin&rsquo;s daughter, in a green May twilight,</p>
+<p>Walking through the wood.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page164"></a>164</span></p>
+<p class="s"><i>Pax vobiscum</i>&mdash;to a maid</p>
+  <p class="i1">The crosiered ferns among!</p>
+<p>But hers was only the Saxon,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And his the Norman tongue;</p>
+<p>And the Latin taught by the old friar</p>
+  <p class="i1">Made music for the young.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And never a better deed was done</p>
+  <p class="i1">By Mother Church below</p>
+<p>Than when she made old England one,</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;Hundreds of years ago it was!&mdash;</p>
+<p>Hundreds of years ago.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Rich was the painted page they read</p>
+  <p class="i1">Before that sunset died;</p>
+<p>Nut-brown hood by golden head,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Murmuring <i>Rosa Mystica</i>,</p>
+<p>While nesting thrushes cried.</p>
+
+<p class="s">A Saxon maid with flaxen hair,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And eyes of Sussex grey;</p>
+<p>A young monk out of Normandy:&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">&ldquo;May is our Lady&rsquo;s month,&rdquo; he said,</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And O, my love, my May!&rdquo;</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page165"></a>165</span></p>
+<p class="s">Then over the fallen missal-book</p>
+  <p class="i1">The missel-thrushes sung</p>
+<p>Till&mdash;<i>Domus Aurea</i>&mdash;rose the moon</p>
+  <p class="i1">And bells for vespers rung.</p>
+<p>It was gold and blue for the old friar,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But hawthorn for the young.</p>
+
+<p class="s">For gown of green and brown hood,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Before that curfew tolled,</p>
+<p>Had flown for ever through the wood</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;Hundreds of years ago it was!&mdash;</p>
+<p>But twenty summers old.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And empty stood his chapel stall,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Empty his thin grey cell,</p>
+<p>Empty her seat in the Franklin&rsquo;s hall;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And there were swords that searched for them</p>
+<p>Before the matin bell.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And, crowders tell, a sword that night</p>
+  <p class="i1">Wrought them an evil turn,</p>
+<p>And that the may was not more white</p>
+  <p class="i1">Than those white bones the robin found</p>
+<p>Among the roots of fern.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page166"></a>166</span></p>
+<p class="s">But others tell of stranger things</p>
+  <p class="i1">Half-heard on Whitsun eves,</p>
+<p>Of sweet and ghostly whisperings&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Though hundreds of years ago it was&mdash;</p>
+<p>Among the ghostly leaves:&mdash;</p>
+
+    <p class="i2"><i>Sero te amavi</i>&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Grey eyes of sun-lit dew!&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Tam antiqua, Tam nova</i>&mdash;</p>
+      <p class="i3">Augustine heard it, too.</p>
+    <p class="i2">Late have I loved that May, Lady,</p>
+      <p class="i3">So ancient, and so new!</p>
+
+<p class="s">And no man knows where they were flown,</p>
+  <p class="i1">For the wind takes the may:</p>
+<p>But white and fresh the may was blown</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;Though hundreds of years ago it was&mdash;</p>
+<p>As this that blooms to-day.</p>
+
+<p class="s">And the leaves break out on the wild briar,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And bells must still be rung;</p>
+<p>But sorrow comes to the old friar,</p>
+  <p class="i1">For he remembers a May, a May,</p>
+<p>When his old heart was young.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page167"></a>167</span></p>
+<h3>A FOREST SONG</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">WHO would be a king</p>
+<p>That can sit in the sun and sing?</p>
+<p>Nay, I have a kingdom of mine own.</p>
+<p>A fallen oak-tree is my throne.</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Then, pluck the strings, and tell me true</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>If Cæsar in his glory knew</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>The worlds he lost in sun and dew.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">Who would be a queen</p>
+<p>That sees what my love hath seen?&mdash;</p>
+<p>The blood of little children shed</p>
+<p>To make one royal ruby red!</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Then, tell me, music, why the great</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>For quarrelling trumpets abdicate</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>This quick, this absolute estate.</i></p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page168"></a>168</span></p>
+<p class="s">Nay, who would sing in heaven,</p>
+<p>Among the choral Seven</p>
+<p>That hears&mdash;as Love and I have heard,</p>
+<p>The whole sky listening to one bird?</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>And where&rsquo;s the ruby, tell me where,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Whose crimsons for one breath compare</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>With this wild rose that all may share?</i></p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page169"></a>169</span></p>
+<h3>THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW</h3>
+
+<p class="center noind">(<i>Phi Beta Kappa Poem, Harvard, 1915</i>)</p>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">MUSIC is dead. An age, an age is dying.</p>
+<p>Shreds of Uranian song, wild symphonies</p>
+<p>Tortured with moans of butchered innocents,</p>
+<p>Blow past us on the wind. Chaos resumes</p>
+<p>His kingdom. All the visions of the world,</p>
+<p>The visions that were music, being shaped</p>
+<p>By law, moving in measure, treading the road</p>
+<p>That suns and systems tread, O who can hear</p>
+<p>Their music now? Urania bows her head.</p>
+<p>Only the feet that move in order dance.</p>
+<p>Only the mind attuned to that dread pulse</p>
+<p>Of law throughout the universe can sing.</p>
+<p>Only the soul that plays its rhythmic part</p>
+<p>In that great measure of the tides and suns</p>
+<p>Terrestrial and celestial, till it soar</p>
+<p>Into the supreme melodies of heaven,</p>
+<p>Only that soul, climbing the splendid road</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page170"></a>170</span></p>
+<p>Of law from height to height, may walk with God,</p>
+<p>Shape its own sphere from chaos, conquer death,</p>
+<p>Lay hold on life and liberty, and sing.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Yet, since, at least, the fleshly heart must beat</p>
+<p>In measure, and no new rebellion breaks</p>
+<p>That old restriction, murmurs reach it still,</p>
+<p>Rumours of that vast music which resolves</p>
+<p>Our discords, and to this, to this attuned,</p>
+<p>Though blindly, it responds, in notes like these:</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">There was a song in heaven of old,</p>
+    <p class="i2">A song the choral seven began,</p>
+  <p class="i1">When God with all his chariots rolled</p>
+    <p class="i2">The tides of chaos back for man;</p>
+  <p class="i1">When suns revolved and planets wheeled,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And the great oceans ebbed and flowed,</p>
+  <p class="i1">There is one way of life, it pealed,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The road of law, the unchanging road.</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">The trumpet of the law resounds,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And we behold, from depth to height,</p>
+  <p class="i1">What glittering sentries walk their rounds,</p>
+    <p class="i2">What ordered hosts patrol the night,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page171"></a>171</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">While wheeling worlds proclaim to us,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Captained by Thee thro&rsquo; nights unknown,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Glory that would be glorious</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Must keep Thy law to find its own.</i></p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Beyond rebellion, past caprice,</p>
+    <p class="i2">From heavens that comprehend all change,</p>
+  <p class="i1">All space, all time, till time shall cease,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The trumpet rings to souls that range,</p>
+  <p class="i1">To souls that in wild dreams annul</p>
+    <p class="i2">Thy word, confessed by wood and stone,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Beauty that would be beautiful</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Must keep Thy law to find its own.</i></p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">He that can shake it, will he thrust</p>
+    <p class="i2">His careless hands into the fire?</p>
+  <p class="i1">He that would break it, shall we trust</p>
+    <p class="i2">The sun to rise at his desire?</p>
+  <p class="i1">Constant above our discontent,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The trumpet peals in sterner tone,&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Might that would be omnipotent</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Must keep Thy law to find its own.</i></p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Ah, though beneath unpitying spheres</p>
+    <p class="i2">Unreckoned seems our human cry,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page172"></a>172</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">In Thy deep law, beyond the years,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Abides the Eternal memory.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thy law is light, to eyes grown dull</p>
+    <p class="i2">Dreaming of worlds like bubbles blown;</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>And Mercy that is merciful</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Shall keep Thy law and find its own.</i></p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Unchanging God, by that one Light</p>
+    <p class="i2">Through which we grope to Truth and Thee,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Confound not yet our day with night,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Break not the measures of Thy sea.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Hear not, though grief for chaos cry</p>
+    <p class="i2">Or rail at Thine unanswering throne.</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>Thy law, Thy law, is liberty,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>And in Thy law we find our own.</i></p>
+
+<p class="s">So, to Uranian music, rose our world.</p>
+<p>The boughs put forth, the young leaves groped for light.</p>
+<p>The wild flower spread its petals as in prayer.</p>
+<p>Then, for terrestrial ears, vast discords rose,</p>
+<p>The struggle in the jungle, clashing themes</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page173"></a>173</span></p>
+<p>That strove for mastery; but above them all,</p>
+<p>Ever the mightier measure of the suns</p>
+<p>Resolved them into broader harmonies,</p>
+<p>That fought again for mastery. The night</p>
+<p>Buried the mastodon. The warring tribes</p>
+<p>Of men were merged in nations. Wider laws</p>
+<p>Embraced them. Man no longer fought with man,</p>
+<p>Though nation warred with nation. Hatred fell</p>
+<p>Before the gaze of love. For in an hour</p>
+<p>When, by the law of might, mankind could rise</p>
+<p>No higher, into the deepening music stole</p>
+<p>A loftier theme, a law that gathered all</p>
+<p>The laws of earth into its broadening breast</p>
+<p>And moved like one full river to the sea,</p>
+<p>The law of Love.</p>
+<p>The sun stood dark at noon;</p>
+<p>Dark as the moon before this mightier Power,</p>
+<p>And a Voice rang across the blood-stained earth:</p>
+<p><i>I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light.</i></p>
+<p>We heard it, and we did not hear. In dreams</p>
+<p>We caught a thousand fragments of the strain,</p>
+<p>But never wholly heard it. We moved on</p>
+<p>Obeying it a little, till our world</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page174"></a>174</span></p>
+<p>Became so vast, that we could only hear</p>
+<p>Stray notes, a golden phrase, a sorrowful cry,</p>
+<p>Never the rounded glory of the whole.</p>
+<p>So one would sing of death, one of despair,</p>
+<p>And some, knowing that God was more than man,</p>
+<p>Knowing that the Eternal Power behind</p>
+<p>Our universe was more than man, would shrink</p>
+<p>From crowning Him with human attributes,</p>
+<p>Though these remained the highest that we knew;</p>
+<p>And therefore, falling back on lower signs,</p>
+<p>Bereft of love, thought, personality,</p>
+<p>They made Him less than man; made Him a blind</p>
+<p>Unweeting force, less than the best in man,</p>
+<p>Less than the best that He Himself had made.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Yet, though from earth we could no longer hear</p>
+<p>As from a central throne, the harmonies</p>
+<p>Of the revolving whole; yet though from earth,</p>
+<p>And from earth&rsquo;s Calvary, the central scene</p>
+<p>Withdrew to dreadful depths beyond our ken;</p>
+<p>Withdrew to some deep Calvary at the heart</p>
+<p>Of all creation; yet, O yet, we heard,</p>
+<p>Echoes that murmured from Eternity,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page175"></a>175</span></p>
+<p><i>I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light.</i></p>
+<p>And still the eternal passion undiscerned</p>
+<p>Moved like a purple shadow through our world,</p>
+<p>While we, in intellectual chaos, raised</p>
+<p>The ancient cry, <i>Not this man, but Barabbas.</i></p>
+<p>Then Might grew Right once more, for who could hold</p>
+<p>The Right, when the rebellious hearts of men</p>
+<p>Finding the Law too hard in life, thought, art,</p>
+<p>Proclaimed that Right itself was born of chance,</p>
+<p>Born out of nothingness and doomed, at last,</p>
+<p>To nothingness; while all that men have held</p>
+<p>Better than dust&mdash;love, honour, justice, truth&mdash;</p>
+<p>Was less than dust, for the blind dust endures?</p>
+<p>But love, they said, and the proud soul of man,</p>
+<p>Die with the breath, before the flesh decays.</p>
+<p>And still, amidst the chaos, Love was born,</p>
+<p>Suffered and died; and in a myriad forms</p>
+<p>A myriad parables of the Eternal Christ</p>
+<p>Unfolded their deep message to mankind.</p>
+<p>So, on this last wild winter of his birth,</p>
+<p>Though cannon rocked his cradle, heaven might hear,</p>
+<p>Once more, the Mother and her infant Child.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page176"></a>176</span></p>
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>Will the Five Clock-Towers chime tonight?</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">&mdash;Child, the red earth would shake with scorn.&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1"><i>But will the Emperors laugh outright</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>If Roland rings that Christ is born?</i></p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">No belfries pealed for that pure birth.</p>
+    <p class="i2">There were no high-stalled choirs to sing.</p>
+  <p class="i1">The blood of children smoked on earth;</p>
+    <p class="i2">For Herod, in those days, was king.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>O, then the Mother and her Son</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Were refugees that Christmas, too?&mdash;</i></p>
+  <p class="i1">Through all the ages, little one,</p>
+    <p class="i2">That strange old story still comes true.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>Was there no peace in Bethlehem?&mdash;</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">Yes. There was Love in one poor Inn;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And, while His wings were over them,</p>
+    <p class="i2">They heard those deeper songs begin.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>What songs were they? What songs were they?</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Did stars of shrapnel shed their light?&mdash;</i></p>
+  <p class="i1"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page177"></a>177</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">O, little child, I have lost the way.</p>
+    <p class="i2">I cannot find that Inn tonight.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>Is there no peace, then, anywhere?&mdash;</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">Perhaps, where some poor soldier lies</p>
+  <p class="i1">With all his wounds in front, out there.&mdash;</p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>You weep?</i>&mdash;He had your innocent eyes.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>Then is it true that Christ&rsquo;s a slave,</i></p>
+    <p class="i2"><i>Whom all these wrongs can never rouse?&mdash;</i></p>
+  <p class="i1">They said it. But His anger drave</p>
+    <p class="i2">The money-changers from His House.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>Yet He forgave and turned away.&mdash;</i></p>
+    <p class="i2">Yes, unto seventy times and seven.</p>
+  <p class="i1">But they forget. He comes one day</p>
+    <p class="i2">In power, among the clouds of heaven.&mdash;</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s"><i>Then Roland rings?</i>&mdash;Yes, little son!</p>
+    <p class="i2">With iron hammers they dare not scorn,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Roland is breaking them, gun by gun,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Roland is ringing. Christ is born.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Born and re-born; for though the Christ we knew</p>
+<p>On earth be dead for ever, who shall kill</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page178"></a>178</span></p>
+<p>The Eternal Christ whose law is in our hearts,</p>
+<p>Christ, who in this dark hour descends to hell,</p>
+<p>And ascends into heaven, and sits beside</p>
+<p>The right hand of the Father. If for men</p>
+<p>This law be dead, it lives for children still.</p>
+<p>Children that men have butchered see His face,</p>
+<p>Rest in His arms, and strike our mockery dumb.</p>
+<p>So shall the trumpet of the law resound</p>
+<p>Through all the ages, telling of that child</p>
+<p>Whose outstretched arms in Belgium speak for God.</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">They crucified a Man of old,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The thorns are shrivelled on His brow.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Prophet or fool or God, behold,</p>
+    <p class="i2">They crucify Thy children now.</p>
+  <p class="i1">They doubted evil, doubted good,</p>
+    <p class="i2">And the eternal heavens as well,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Behold, the iron and the blood,</p>
+    <p class="i2">The visible handiwork of Hell.</p>
+
+  <p class="i1 s">Fast to the cross they found it there,</p>
+    <p class="i2">They found it in the village street,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A naked child, with sunkissed hair.</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page179"></a>179</span></p>
+    <p class="i2">The nails were through its hands and feet.</p>
+  <p class="i1">For Christ was dead, yes, Christ was dead!</p>
+    <p class="i2">O Lamb of God, O little one,</p>
+  <p class="i1">I kneel before your cross instead</p>
+    <p class="i2">And the same shadow veils the sun....</p>
+
+    <p class="i2 s">And the same shadow veils the sun....</p>
+
+<p class="s">But you, O land, O beautiful land of Freedom,</p>
+<p>Hold fast the faith which made and keeps you great.</p>
+<p>With you, with you abide the faith and hope,</p>
+<p>In this dark hour, of agonised mankind.</p>
+<p>Hold to that law whereby the warring tribes</p>
+<p>Were merged in nations, hold to that wide law</p>
+<p>Which bids you merge the nations, here and now,</p>
+<p>Into one people. Hold to that deep law</p>
+<p>Whereby we reach the peace which is not death</p>
+<p>But the triumphant harmony of Life,</p>
+<p>Eternal Life, immortal Love, the Peace</p>
+<p>Of worlds that sing around the throne of God.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page180"></a>180</span></p>
+<h3>THRICE-ARMED</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">THUS only should it come, if come it must&mdash;</p>
+  <p class="i1">Not with a riot of flags and a mob-born cry,</p>
+  <p class="i1">But with a noble faith, a conscience high</p>
+<p>That, if we fail, we failed not in our trust.</p>
+<p>We fought for peace. We dared the bitter thrust</p>
+  <p class="i1">Of calumny for peace, and watched her die,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Her scutcheons rent from sky to outraged sky</p>
+<p>By felon hands and trampled into the dust.</p>
+
+<p class="s">We proffered justice, and we saw the law</p>
+  <p class="i1">Cancelled by stroke on stroke of those deft hands</p>
+    <p class="i2">Which still retain the imperial forger&rsquo;s pen.</p>
+<p>They must have blood&mdash;Then, at this last, we draw</p>
+  <p class="i1">The sword, not with a riot of flags and bands,</p>
+    <p class="i2">But silence, and a mustering of men.</p>
+
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181"></a>181</span></p>
+<p class="s">They challenge Truth. A people makes reply,</p>
+  <p class="i1">East, West, North, South, one honour and one might,</p>
+  <p class="i1">From sea to sea, from height to war-worn height,</p>
+<p>The old word rings out&mdash;to conquer or to die.</p>
+<p>And we shall conquer! Though their eagles fly</p>
+  <p class="i1">Through heaven, around this ancient isle unite</p>
+  <p class="i1">Powers that were never vanquished in the fight,</p>
+<p>The unconquerable Powers that cannot lie.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Though fire destroy her flesh, and many a year</p>
+  <p class="i1">This land forgot the faith that made her great,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Now, as her fleets cast off the North Sea foam,</p>
+<p>Casting aside all faction and all fear,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thrice-armed in all the majesty of her fate,</p>
+    <p class="i2">Britain remembers, and her sword strikes home.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+
+<div class="pd2">&nbsp;</div>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page182"></a>182</span></p>
+<h3>THE SONG-TREE</h3>
+
+<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td>
+<div class="poemr">
+
+<p class="dropcap">GROW, my song, like a tree,</p>
+  <p class="i1">As thou hast ever grown,</p>
+<p>Since first, a wondering child,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Long since, I cherished thee.</p>
+<p>It was at break of day,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Well I remember it,&mdash;</p>
+<p>The first note that I heard,</p>
+  <p class="i1">A magical undertone,</p>
+<p>Sweeter than any bird</p>
+  <p class="i1">&mdash;Or so it seemed to me&mdash;</p>
+<p>And my tears ran wild.</p>
+  <p class="i1">This tale, this tale is true.</p>
+<p>The light was growing gray;</p>
+  <p class="i1">And the rhymes ran so sweet</p>
+<p>(For I was only a child)</p>
+  <p class="i1">That I knelt down to pray.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Grow, my song, like a tree.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Since then I have forgot</p>
+  <p class="i1">A thousand friends, but not</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page183"></a>183</span></p>
+<p>The song that set me free,</p>
+  <p class="i1">So that to thee I gave</p>
+<p>My hopes and my despairs,</p>
+  <p class="i1">My boyhood&rsquo;s ecstasy,</p>
+<p>My manhood&rsquo;s prayers.</p>
+  <p class="i1">In dreams I have watched thee grow,</p>
+<p>A ladder of sweet boughs,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Where angels come and go,</p>
+<p>And birds keep house.</p>
+  <p class="i1">In dreams, I have seen thee wave</p>
+<p>Over a distant land,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And watched thy roots expand,</p>
+<p>And given my life to thee,</p>
+  <p class="i1">As I would give my grave.</p>
+
+<p class="s">Grow, my song, like a tree,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And when I am grown old,</p>
+<p>Let me die under thee,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Die to enrich thy mould;</p>
+<p>Die at thy roots, and so</p>
+  <p class="i1">Help thee to grow.</p>
+<p>Make of this body and blood</p>
+  <p class="i1">Thy sempiternal food.</p>
+<p>Then let some little child,</p>
+<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page184"></a>184</span></p>
+  <p class="i1">Some friend I shall not see,</p>
+<p>When the great dawn is gray,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Some lover I have not known,</p>
+<p>In summers far away,</p>
+  <p class="i1">Sit listening under thee.</p>
+<p>And in thy rustling hear</p>
+  <p class="i1">That mystical undertone,</p>
+<p>Which made my tears run wild,</p>
+  <p class="i1">And made thee, O, how dear.</p>
+
+<p class="s">In the great years to be?</p>
+  <p class="i1">I am proud then? Ah, not so.</p>
+<p>I have lived and died for thee.</p>
+  <p class="i1">Be patient Grow.</p>
+
+<p>Grow, my song, like a tree.</p>
+
+</div>
+</td></tr></table>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="pg" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LORD OF MISRULE***</p>
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@@ -0,0 +1,4061 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lord of Misrule, by Alfred Noyes,
+Illustrated by Spencer Baird Nichols
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lord of Misrule
+       And Other Poems
+
+
+Author: Alfred Noyes
+
+
+
+Release Date: December 16, 2009  [eBook #30687]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LORD OF MISRULE***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project
+Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 30687-h.htm or 30687-h.zip:
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30687/30687-h/30687-h.htm)
+      or
+      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30687/30687-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+
+And Other Poems
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+BY THE SAME AUTHOR
+
+  DRAKE: AN ENGLISH EPIC
+  THE ENCHANTED ISLAND AND OTHER POEMS
+  SHERWOOD
+  TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN
+  THE WINE-PRESS
+  COLLECTED POEMS. 2 VOLS.
+  A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE (RADA)
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  [Illustration:
+
+  Come up, come in with streamers!
+  Come in with boughs of May!
+                     _Page 1._]
+
+
+
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+
+And Other Poems
+
+by
+
+ALFRED NOYES
+
+With Frontispiece in Colours by Spencer Baird Nichols
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+New York
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+Publishers
+
+Copyright, 1915, by
+Frederick A. Stokes Company
+
+All rights reserved, including that of translation
+into foreign languages
+
+October, 1915
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                           PAGE
+
+    THE LORD OF MISRULE                       1
+
+    THE REPEAL                                7
+
+    THE SEARCH-LIGHTS                         9
+
+    FORWARD                                  11
+
+    A SPELL                                  13
+
+    CRIMSON SAILS                            18
+
+    BLIND MOONE OF LONDON                    22
+
+    OLD GREY SQUIRREL                        28
+
+    THE GREAT NORTH ROAD                     31
+
+    THE RIVER OF STARS                       34
+
+    A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN                    43
+
+    BEYOND DEATH                             44
+
+    THE STRANGE GUEST                        46
+
+    GHOSTS                                   49
+
+    THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE                   51
+
+    ON THE EMBANKMENT                        53
+
+    THE IRON CROWN                           58
+
+    THE OLD DEBATE                           59
+
+    A SONG OF HOPE                           60
+
+    THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS                     62
+
+    THE MAY-TREE                             63
+
+    OLD LETTERS                              64
+
+    LAMPS                                    66
+
+    AT EDEN GATES                            68
+
+    THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY                    70
+
+    PARACLETE                                73
+
+    AFTER RAIN                               75
+
+    THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN                 76
+
+    THE ROMAN WAY                            78
+
+    THE INNER PASSION                        80
+
+    A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN                 82
+
+    TO THE DESTROYERS                        84
+
+    THE TRUMPET-CALL                         85
+
+    THE HEART OF CANADA                      89
+
+    THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN              91
+
+    A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET                  93
+
+    IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR          103
+
+    THE WAGGON                              105
+
+    THE SACRED OAK                          107
+
+    THE WORLD'S WEDDING                     120
+
+    IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR    123
+
+    INSCRIPTION                             126
+
+    VALUES                                  127
+
+    THE HEROIC DEAD                         128
+
+    THE CRY IN THE NIGHT                    130
+
+    ASTRID                                  133
+
+    THE INIMITABLE LOVERS                   136
+
+    THE CRAGS                               143
+
+    THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE, 1914          147
+
+    THE WHITE CLIFFS                        152
+
+    ON THE SOUTH COAST                      154
+
+    OLDER THAN THE HILLS                    156
+
+    THE TORCH                               158
+
+    THE OUTLAW                              161
+
+    THE YOUNG FRIAR                         163
+
+    A FOREST SONG                           167
+
+    THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW                  169
+
+    THRICE-ARMED                            180
+
+    THE SONG-TREE                           182
+
+
+
+
+THE LORD OF MISRULE
+
+"On May days the wild heads of the parish would choose a Lord of Misrule,
+whom they would follow even into the church, though the minister were at
+prayer or preaching, dancing and swinging their may-boughs about like
+devils incarnate."--_Old Puritan Writer._
+
+
+  All on a fresh May morning, I took my love to church,
+  To see if Parson Primrose were safely on his perch.
+  He scarce had got to _Thirdly_, or squire begun to snore,
+      When, like a sun-lit sea-wave,
+        A green and crimson sea-wave,
+  A frolic of madcap May-folk came whooping through the door:--
+
+      Come up, come in with streamers!
+        Come in, with boughs of may!
+      Come up and thump the sexton,
+        And carry the clerk away.
+
+      Now skip like rams, ye mountains,
+        Ye little hills, like sheep!
+      Come up and wake the people
+        That parson puts to sleep.
+
+  They tickled their nut-brown tabors. Their garlands flew in showers,
+  And lasses and lads came after them, with feet like dancing flowers.
+  Their queen had torn her green gown, and bared a shoulder as white,
+      O, white as the may that crowned her,
+        While all the minstrels round her
+  Tilted back their crimson hats and sang for sheer delight:
+
+      Come up, come in with streamers!
+        Come in, with boughs of may!
+      Now by the gold upon your toe
+        You walked the primrose way.
+      Come up, with white and crimson!
+        O, shake your bells and sing;
+      Let the porch bend, the pillars bow,
+        Before our Lord, the Spring!
+
+  The dusty velvet hassocks were dabbled with fragrant dew.
+  The font grew white with hawthorn. It frothed in every pew.
+  Three petals clung to the sexton's beard as he mopped and mowed at the
+           clerk,
+      And "Take that sexton away," they cried;
+        "Did Nebuchadnezzar eat may?" they cried.
+  "Nay, that was a prize from Betty," they cried, "for kissing her in the
+           dark."
+
+      Come up, come in with streamers!
+        Come in, with boughs of may!
+      Who knows but old Methuselah
+         May hobble the green-wood way?
+      If Betty could kiss the sexton,
+        If Kitty could kiss the clerk,
+      Who knows how Parson Primrose
+        Might blossom in the dark?
+
+  The congregation spluttered. The squire grew purple and all,
+  And every little chorister bestrode his carven stall.
+  The parson flapped like a magpie, but none could hear his prayers;
+      For Tom Fool flourished his tabor,
+        Flourished his nut-brown tabor,
+  Bashed the head of the sexton, and stormed the pulpit stairs.
+
+        High in the old oak pulpit
+          This Lord of all misrule--
+        I think it was Will Summers
+          That once was Shakespeare's fool--
+        Held up his hand for silence,
+          And all the church grew still:
+        "And are you snoring yet," he said,
+          "Or have you slept your fill?
+
+  "Your God still walks in Eden, between the ancient trees,
+  Where Youth and Love go wading through pools of primroses.
+  And this is the sign we bring you, before the darkness fall,
+      That Spring is risen, is risen again,
+        That Life is risen, is risen again,
+  That Love is risen, is risen again, and Love is Lord of all.
+
+        "At Paske began our morrice
+          And, ere Pentecost, our May;
+        Because, albeit your words be true,
+          You know not what you say.
+        You chatter in church like jackdaws,
+          Words that would wake the dead,
+        Were there one breath of life in you,
+          One drop of blood," he said.
+
+  "_He died and He went down to hell!_ You know not what you mean.
+  Our rafters were of green fir. Also our beds were green.
+  But out of the mouth of a fool, a fool, before the darkness fall,
+      We tell you He is risen again,
+        The Lord of Life is risen again,
+  The boughs put forth their tender buds, and Love is Lord of all!"
+
+        He bowed his head. He stood so still,
+          They bowed their heads as well.
+        And softly from the organ-loft
+          The song began to swell.
+        _Come up with blood-red streamers_,
+          The reeds began the strain.
+        The _vox humana_ pealed on high,
+          _The Spring is risen again!_
+
+  The _vox angelica_ replied--_The shadows flee away!
+  Our house-beams were of cedar. Come in, with boughs of may!_
+  The _diapason_ deepened it--_Before the darkness fall_,
+        _We tell you He is risen again!
+          Our God hath burst His prison again!
+  Christ is risen, is risen again; and Love is Lord of all._
+
+
+
+
+THE REPEAL
+
+
+  I dreamed the Eternal had repealed
+    His cosmic code of law last night.
+  Our prayers had made the Unchanging yield.
+    Caprice was king from depth to height.
+
+  On Beachy Head a shouting throng
+    Had fired a beacon to proclaim
+  Their licence. With unmeasured song
+    They proved it, dancing in the flame.
+
+  They quarrelled. One desired the sun,
+    And one desired the stars to shine.
+  They closed and wrestled and burned as one,
+    And the white chalk grew red as wine.
+
+  The furnace licked and purred and rolled,
+    A laughing child held up its hands
+  Like dreadful torches, dropping gold;
+    For pain was dead at their commands.
+
+  Painless and wild as clouds they burned,
+    Till the restricted Rose of Day
+  With all its glorious laws returned,
+    And the wind blew their ashes away.
+
+
+
+
+THE SEARCH-LIGHTS
+
+"Political morality differs from individual morality because there is no
+power above the state."
+
+
+  Shadow by shadow, stripped for fight,
+    The lean black cruisers search the sea.
+  Night-long their level shafts of light
+    Revolve, and find no enemy.
+  Only they know each leaping wave
+  May hide the lightning, and their grave.
+
+  And in the land they guard so well
+    Is there no silent watch to keep?
+  An age is dying, and the bell
+    Rings midnight on a vaster deep.
+  But over all its waves, once more,
+  The search-lights move, from shore to shore.
+
+  And captains that we thought were dead,
+    And dreamers that we thought were dumb,
+  And voices that we thought were fled,
+    Arise, and call us, and we come;
+  And "search in thine own soul," they cry;
+  "For there, too, lurks thine enemy."
+
+  Search for the foe in thine own soul,
+    The sloth, the intellectual pride;
+  The trivial jest that veils the goal
+    For which our fathers lived and died;
+  The lawless dreams, the cynic Art,
+  That rend thy nobler self apart.
+
+  Not far, not far into the night,
+    These level swords of light can pierce;
+  Yet for her faith does England fight,
+    Her faith in this our universe;
+  Believing Truth and Justice draw
+  From founts of everlasting law;
+
+  Therefore a Power above the State,
+    The unconquerable Power returns.
+  The fire, the fire that made her great
+    Once more upon her altar burns.
+  Once more, redeemed and healed and whole,
+  She moves to the Eternal Goal.
+
+
+
+
+FORWARD
+
+
+  _A thousand creeds and battle-cries,
+    A thousand warring social schemes,
+  A thousand new moralities,
+    And twenty thousand thousand dreams!_
+
+  _Each on his own anarchic way,
+    From the old order breaking free,--
+  Our ruined world desires_, you say,
+    _Licence, once more, not Liberty._
+
+  But ah, beneath the struggling foam,
+    When storm and change are on the deep,
+  How quietly the tides come home,
+    And how the depths of sea-shine sleep;
+
+  And we who march towards a goal,
+    Destroying only to fulfil
+  The law, the law of that great soul
+    Which moves beneath your alien will;
+
+  We, that like foemen meet the past
+    Because we bring the future, know
+  We only fight to achieve at last
+    A great re-union with our foe;
+
+  Re-union in the truths that stand
+    When all our wars are rolled away;
+  Re-union of the heart and hand
+    And of the prayers wherewith we pray;
+
+  Re-union in the common needs,
+    The common strivings of mankind;
+  Re-union of our warring creeds
+    In the one God that dwells behind.
+
+  Then--in that day--we shall not meet
+    Wrong with new wrong, but right with right;
+  Our faith shall make your faith complete
+    When our battalions re-unite.
+
+  Forward!--what use in idle words?--
+    Forward, O warriors of the soul!
+  There will be breaking up of swords
+    When that new morning makes us whole.
+
+
+
+
+A SPELL
+
+(_An Excellent Way to get a Fairy_)
+
+
+  Gather, first, in your left hand
+    (This must be at fall of day)
+  Forty grains of wild sea-sand
+    Where you think a mermaid lay.
+  I have heard that it is best
+    If you gather it, warm and sweet,
+  Out of the dint of her left breast
+    Where you see her heart has beat.
+
+      _Out of the dint in that sweet sand
+        Gather forty grains, I say;
+      Yet--if it fail you--understand,
+        There remains a better way._
+
+  Out of this you melt your glass
+    While the veils of night are drawn,
+  Whispering, till the shadows pass,
+    "_Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!_"
+  Then you blow your magic vial,
+    Shape it like a crescent moon,
+  Set it up and make your trial,
+    Singing, "_Elaby, ah, come soon!_"
+
+      _Round the cloudy crescent go,
+        On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+      Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+        "Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon!
+      Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"_
+
+  Bring the blood of a white hen
+    Slaughtered at the break of day,
+  While the cock, in the fairy glen,
+    Thrusts his gold neck every way,
+  Over the brambles, peering, calling,
+    Under the ferns, with a sudden fear,
+  Far and wide--as the dews are falling--
+    Clamouring, calling, everywhere.
+
+      _Round the crimson vial go,
+        On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+      Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+        "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+      If this fail, at break of day,
+      I can show you a better way._
+
+  Bring the buds of the hazel-copse,
+    Where two lovers kissed at noon;
+  Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops
+    Where they murmured under the moon.
+  Bring the four-leaved clover also,
+    One of the white, and one of the red,
+  Bring the flakes of the may that fall so
+    Lightly over their bridal bed.
+
+      _Drop them into the vial--so--
+        On the hill-top, in the dawn,
+      Singing softly, on tip-toe,
+        "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"
+      And, if once will not suffice,
+        Do it thrice!
+      If this fail, at break of day,
+        There remains a better way._
+
+  Bring an old and crippled child
+    --_Ah, tread softly, on tip-toe!_--
+  Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild,
+    From that under-world below,
+  Bring a wizened child of seven
+    Reeking from the City slime,
+  Out of hell into your heaven,
+    Set her knee-deep in the thyme.
+
+      _Feed her--clothe her--even so!
+        Set her on a fairy-throne.
+      When her eyes begin to glow
+        Leave her for an hour--alone._
+
+  You shall need no spells or charms,
+    On that hill-top, in that dawn.
+  When she lifts her wasted arms,
+    You shall see a veil withdrawn.
+  There shall be no veil between them,
+    Though her head be old and wise!
+  You shall know that she has seen them
+    By the glory in her eyes.
+
+      _Round her irons on that hill
+        Earth has tossed a fairy fire:
+      Watch, and listen, and be still,
+        Lest you baulk your own desire._
+
+  When she sees four azure wings
+    Light upon her claw-like hand;
+  When she lifts her head and sings,
+    You shall hear and understand:
+  You shall hear a bugle calling
+    Wildly over the dew-dashed down;
+  And a sound as of the falling
+    Ramparts of a conquered town.
+
+      _You shall hear a sound like thunder;
+        And a veil shall be withdrawn,
+      When her eyes grow wide with wonder
+        On that hill-top, in that dawn._
+
+
+
+
+CRIMSON SAILS
+
+
+  _When Salomon sailed from Ophir_ ...
+    The clouds of Sussex thyme
+  That crown the cliffs in mid-July
+  Were all we needed--you and I--
+  _But Salomon sailed from Ophir_,
+    And broken bits of rhyme
+  Blew to us on the white chalk coast
+    From O, what elfin clime?
+
+  A peacock butterfly flaunted
+    Its four great crimson wings,
+  As over the edge of the chalk it flew
+  Black as a ship on the Channel blue ...
+  _When Salomon sailed from Ophir_,--
+    He brought, as the high sun brings,
+  Honey and spice to the Queen of the South,
+  Sussex or Saba, a song for her mouth,
+  Sweet as the dawn-wind over the downs
+  And the tall white cliffs that the wild thyme crowns
+    A song that the whole sky sings:--
+
+  When Salomon sailed from Ophir,
+    With Olliphants and gold,
+  The kings went up, the kings went down,
+  Trying to match King Salomon's crown,
+  But Salomon sacked the sunset,
+    Wherever his black ships rolled.
+  He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,
+    And crammed it into his hold.
+
+  _Chorus_: Salomon sacked the sunset!
+            Salomon sacked the sunset!
+          He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,
+            And crammed it into his hold.
+
+  His masts were Lebanon cedars,
+    His sheets were singing blue,
+  But that was never the reason why
+  He stuffed his hold with the sunset sky!
+  The kings could cut their cedars,
+    And sail from Ophir, too;
+  But Salomon packed his heart with dreams
+    And all the dreams were true.
+
+  _Chorus_: The kings could cut their cedars,
+            Cut their Lebanon cedars;
+          But Salomon packed his heart with dreams,
+            And all the dreams were true.
+
+  When Salomon sailed from Ophir,
+    He sailed not as a king.
+  The kings--they weltered to and fro,
+  Tossed wherever the winds could blow;
+  But Salomon's tawny seamen
+    Could lift their heads and sing,
+  Till all their crowded clouds of sail
+    Grew sweeter than the Spring.
+
+  _Chorus_: Their singing sheets grew sweeter,
+            Their crowded clouds grew sweeter,
+          For Salomon's tawny seamen, sirs,
+            Could lift their heads and sing:
+
+  When Salomon sailed from Ophir
+    With crimson sails so tall,
+  The kings went up, the kings went down,
+  Trying to match King Salomon's crown;
+  But Salomon brought the sunset
+    To hang on his Temple wall;
+  He rolled it up like a crimson cloth,
+    So his was better than all.
+
+  _Chorus_: Salomon gat the sunset,
+            Salomon gat the sunset;
+          He carried it like a crimson cloth
+            To hang on his Temple wall.
+
+
+
+
+BLIND MOONE OF LONDON
+
+
+         Blind Moone of London
+           He fiddled up and down,
+         Thrice for an angel,
+           And twice for a crown.
+         He fiddled at the _Green Man_,
+           He fiddled at the _Rose_;
+         And where they have buried him
+           Not a soul knows.
+
+  All his tunes are dead and gone, dead as yesterday.
+         And his lanthorn flits no more
+         Round the _Devil Tavern_ door,
+  Waiting till the gallants come, singing from the play;
+         Waiting in the wet and cold!
+         All his Whitsun tales are told.
+  He is dead and gone, sirs, very far away.
+
+         He would not give a silver groat
+           For good or evil weather.
+         He carried in his white cap
+           A long red feather.
+         He wore a long coat
+           Of the Reading-tawny kind,
+         And darned white hosen
+           With a blue patch behind.
+
+  So--one night--he shuffled past, in his buckled shoon.
+         We shall never see his face,
+         Twisted to that queer grimace,
+  Waiting in the wind and rain, till we called his tune;
+         Very whimsical and white,
+         Waiting on a blue Twelfth Night!
+  He is grown too proud at last--old blind Moone.
+
+         Yet, when May was at the door,
+           And Moone was wont to sing,
+         Many a maid and bachelor
+           Whirled into the ring:
+         Standing on a tilted wain
+           He played so sweet and loud
+         The Mayor forgot his golden chain
+           And jigged it with the crowd.
+
+  Old blind Moone, his fiddle scattered flowers along the street;
+         Into the dust of Brookfield Fair
+         Carried a shining primrose air,
+  Crooning like a poor mad maid, O, very low and sweet,
+         Drew us close, and held us bound,
+         Then--to the tune of _Pedlar's Pound_,
+  Caught us up, and whirled us round, a thousand frolic feet.
+
+         Master Shakespeare was his host.
+           The tribe of Benjamin
+         Used to call him Merlin's Ghost
+           At the _Mermaid Inn_.
+         He was only a crowder,
+           Fiddling at the door.
+         Death has made him prouder.
+           We shall not see him more.
+
+  Only--if you listen, please--through the master's themes,
+         You shall hear a wizard strain,
+         Blind and bright as wind and rain
+  Shaken out of willow-trees, and shot with elfin gleams.
+         _How should I your true love know?_
+         Scraps and snatches--even so!
+  That is old blind Moone again, fiddling in your dreams.
+
+         Once, when Will had called for sack
+           And bidden him up and play,
+         Old blind Moone, he turned his back,
+           Growled, and walked away,
+         Sailed into a thunder-cloud,
+           Snapped his fiddle-string,
+         And hobbled from _The Mermaid_
+           Sulky as a king.
+
+  Only from the darkness now, steals the strain we knew:
+         No one even knows his grave!
+         Only here and there a stave,
+  Out of all his hedge-row flock, be-drips the may with dew.
+         And I know not what wild bird
+         Carried us his parting word:--
+  _Master Shakespeare needn't take the crowder's fiddle, too._
+
+         Will has wealth and wealth to spare.
+           Give him back his own.
+         _At his head a grass-green turf,
+           At his heels a stone._
+         See his little lanthorn-spark.
+           Hear his ghostly tune,
+         Glimmering past you, in the dark,
+           Old blind Moone!
+
+  All the little crazy brooks, where love and sorrow run
+         Crowned with sedge and singing wild,
+         Like a sky-lark--or a child!--
+  Old blind Moone, he knew their springs, and played 'em every one;
+         Stood there, in the darkness, blind,
+         And sang them into Shakespeare's mind....
+  Old blind Moone of London, O now his songs are done,
+  The light upon his lost white face, they say it was the sun!
+
+  The light upon his poor old face, they say it was the sun!
+
+
+
+
+OLD GREY SQUIRREL
+
+
+  A great while ago, there was a school-boy.
+    He lived in a cottage by the sea.
+  And the very first thing he could remember
+    Was the rigging of the schooners by the quay.
+
+  He could watch them, when he woke, from his window,
+    With the tall cranes hoisting out the freight.
+  And he used to think of shipping as a sea-cook,
+    And sailing to the Golden Gate.
+
+  For he used to buy the yellow penny dreadfuls,
+    And read them where he fished for conger eels,
+  And listened to the lapping of the water,
+    The green and oily water round the keels.
+
+  There were trawlers with their shark-mouthed flat-fish,
+    And red nets hanging out to dry,
+  And the skate the skipper kept because he liked 'em,
+    And landsmen never knew the fish to fry.
+
+  There were brigantines with timber out of Norroway,
+    Oozing with the syrups of the pine.
+  There were rusty dusty schooners out of Sunderland,
+    And ships of the Blue Cross line.
+
+  And to tumble down a hatch into the cabin
+    Was better than the best of broken rules;
+  For the smell of 'em was like a Christmas dinner,
+    And the feel of 'em was like a box of tools.
+
+  And, before he went to sleep in the evening,
+    The very last thing that he could see
+  Was the sailor-men a-dancing in the moonlight
+    By the capstan that stood upon the quay.
+
+  _He is perched upon a high stool in London.
+    The Golden Gate is very far away.
+  They caught him, and they caged him, like a squirrel.
+    He is totting up accounts, and going grey._
+
+  _He will never, never, never sail to 'Frisco.
+    But the very last thing that he will see
+  Will be sailor-men a-dancing in the sunrise
+    By the capstan that stands upon the quay...._
+
+  _To the tune of an old concertina,
+    By the capstan that stands upon the quay._
+
+
+
+
+THE GREAT NORTH ROAD
+
+
+  Just as the moon was rising, I met a ghostly pedlar
+    Singing for company beneath his ghostly load,--
+  Once, there were velvet lads with vizards on their faces,
+    Riding up to rob me on the great North Road.
+
+  Now, my pack is heavy, and my pocket full of guineas
+    Chimes like a wedding-peal, but little I enjoy
+  Roads that never echo to the chirrup of their canter,--
+    The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.
+
+  Rogues were they all, but their raid was from Elf-land!
+    Shod with elfin silver were the steeds they bestrode.
+  Merlin buckled on the spurs that wheeled thro' the wet fern
+    Bright as Jack-o'-Lanthorns off the great North Road.
+
+  Tales were told in country inns when Turpin rode to Rippleside!
+    Puck tuned the fiddle-strings, and country maids grew coy,
+  Tavern doors grew magical when Colonel Jack might tap at them,
+    The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.
+
+  What are you seeking then? I asked this honest pedlar.
+    --O, Mulled Sack or Natty Hawes might ease me of my load!--
+  Where are they flown then?--Flown where I follow;
+    They are all gone for ever up the great North Road.
+
+  Rogues were they all; but the white dust assoils 'em!
+    Paradise without a spice of deviltry would cloy.
+  Heavy is my pack till I meet with Jerry Abershaw,
+    The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy.
+
+
+
+
+THE RIVER OF STARS
+
+(_A tale of Niagara_)
+
+
+  _The lights of a hundred cities are fed by its midnight power.
+  Their wheels are moved by its thunder. But they, too, have their hour.
+  The tale of the Indian lovers, a cry from the years that are flown,
+       While the river of stars is rolling,
+         Rolling away to the darkness,
+  Abides with the power in the midnight, where love may find its own._
+
+  She watched from the Huron tents, till the first star shook in the air.
+  The sweet pine scented her fawn-skins, and breathed from her braided
+           hair.
+  Her crown was of milk-white blood-root, because of the tryst she would
+           keep,
+       Beyond the river of beauty
+         That drifted away in the darkness
+  Drawing the sunset thro' lilies, with eyes like stars, to the deep.
+
+  He watched, like a tall young wood-god, from the red pine that she
+           named;
+  But not for the peril behind him, where the eyes of the Mohawks flamed.
+  Eagle-plumed he stood. But his heart was hunting afar,
+       Where the river of longing whispered ...
+         And one swift shaft from the darkness
+  Felled him, her name in his death-cry, his eyes on the sunset star.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  She stole from the river and listened. The moon on her wet skin shone.
+  As a silver birch in a pine-wood, her beauty flashed and was gone.
+  There was no wave in the forest. The dark arms closed her round.
+       But the river of life went flowing,
+         Flowing away to the darkness,
+  For her breast grew red with his heart's blood, in a night where the
+           stars are drowned.
+
+  _Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day,
+  Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way,
+  To the land of the happy shadows, the land where you are flown._
+       --And the river of death went weeping,
+          Weeping away to the darkness.--
+  _Is the hunting good, my lover, so good that you hunt alone?_
+
+  She rose to her feet like a shadow. She sent a cry thro' the night,
+  _Sa-sa-kuon_, the death-whoop, that tells of triumph in fight.
+  It broke from the bell of her mouth like the cry of a wounded bird,
+       But the river of agony swelled it
+         And swept it along to the darkness,
+  And the Mohawks, couched in the darkness, leapt to their feet as they
+           heard.
+
+  Close as the ring of the clouds that menace the moon with death,
+  At once they circled her round. Her bright breast panted for breath.
+  With only her own wild glory keeping the wolves at bay,
+       While the river of parting whispered,
+         Whispered away to the darkness,
+  She looked in their eyes for a moment, and strove for a word to say.
+
+  _Teach me, O my lover!_--She set her foot on the dead.
+  She laughed on the painted faces with their rings of yellow and red,--
+  _I thank you, wolves of the Mohawk, for a woman's hands might fail._--
+       --And the river of vengeance chuckled,
+          Chuckled away to the darkness,--
+  _But ye have killed where I hunted. I have come to the end of my trail._
+
+  _I thank you, braves of the Mohawk, who laid this thief at my feet.
+  He tore my heart out living, and tossed it his dogs to eat.
+  Ye have taught him of death in a moment, as he taught me of love in a
+           day._
+       --And the river of passion deepened,
+          Deepened and rushed to the darkness.--
+  _And yet may a woman requite you, and set your feet on the way._
+
+  _For the woman that spits in my face, and the shaven heads that gibe,
+  This night shall a woman show you the tents of the Huron tribe.
+  They are lodged in a deep valley. With all things good it abounds.
+       Where the red-eyed, green-mooned river
+         Glides like a snake to the darkness,
+  I will show you a valley, Mohawks, like the Happy Hunting Grounds._
+
+  _Follow!_ They chuckled, and followed like wolves to the glittering
+           stream.
+  Shadows obeying a shadow, they launched their canoes in a dream.
+  Alone, in the first, with the blood on her breast, and her milk-white
+           crown,
+       She stood. She smiled at them, _Follow_,
+         Then urged her canoe to the darkness,
+  And, silently flashing their paddles, the Mohawks followed her down.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  And now--as they slid thro' the pine-woods with their peaks of midnight
+           blue,
+  She heard, in the broadening distance, the deep sound that she knew,
+  A mutter of steady thunder that grew as they glanced along;
+       But ever she glanced before them
+         And glanced away to the darkness,
+  And or ever they heard it rightly, she raised her voice in a song:--
+
+  _The wind from the Isles of the Blessed, it blows across the foam.
+  It sings in the flowing maples of the land that was my home.
+  Where the moose is a morning's hunt, and the buffalo feeds from the
+           hand._--
+       And the river of mockery broadened,
+         Broadened and rolled to the darkness--
+  _And the green maize lifts its feathers, and laughs the snow from the
+           land._
+
+  The river broadened and quickened. There was nought but river and sky.
+  The shores were lost in the darkness. She laughed and lifted a cry:
+  _Follow me! Sa-sa-kuon!_ Swifter and swifter they swirled--
+       And the flood of their doom went flying,
+         Flying away to the darkness,
+  _Follow me, follow me, Mohawks, ye are shooting the edge of the world._
+
+  They struggled like snakes to return. Like straws they were whirled on
+           her track.
+  For the whole flood swooped to that edge where the unplumbed night dropt
+           black,
+  The whole flood dropt to a thunder in an unplumbed hell beneath,
+       And over the gulf of the thunder
+         A mountain of spray from the darkness
+  Rose and stood in the heavens, like a shrouded image of death.
+
+  She rushed like a star before them. The moon on her glorying shone.
+  _Teach me, O my lover_,--her cry flashed out and was gone.
+  A moment they battled behind her. They lashed with their paddles and
+           lunged;
+       Then the Mohawks, turning their faces
+         Like a blood-stained cloud to the darkness,
+  Over the edge of Niagara swept together and plunged.
+
+  _And the lights of a hundred cities are fed by the ancient power;
+  But a cry returns with the midnight; for they, too, have their hour.
+  Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day,
+       --While the river of stars is rolling,
+          Rolling away to the darkness,--
+  Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way!_
+
+
+
+
+A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN
+
+
+  Make me a stave of song, the Master said,
+  On yonder cherry-bough, whose white and red
+    Hangs in the sunset over those green seas.
+  The young knight looked upon his untried blade,
+  Then shrugged his wings of gold and blue brocade:
+    _How should a warrior play with thoughts like these?_
+
+  Fresh from the battle, in that self-same hour,
+  A mail-clad warrior watched each delicate flower
+    Close in that cloud of beauty against the West.
+  Drinking the last deep light, he watched it long.
+  He raised his face as if to pray. _The strong_,
+    The Master whispered, _are the tenderest_.
+
+
+
+
+BEYOND DEATH
+
+
+    I
+
+    In lonely bays
+  Where Love runs wild,
+    All among the flowering grasses,
+  Where light, light, light, as a sea-bird's wing
+    The chuckle of the child-god passes,
+  O, to awake, to shake away the night
+    And find you dreaming there,
+  On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,
+    And the scent of the thyme in your hair.
+
+
+    II
+
+    Tho' beauty perish,
+  Perish like a flower,
+    And song be an idle breath,
+  Tho' heaven be a dream, and youth for but an hour,
+    And life much less than death,
+  And the Maker less than that He made,
+    And hope less than despair,
+  If Death have shores where Love runs wild
+    I think you might be there.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Re-born, re-born
+  From the splendid sea,
+    There should you awake and sing,
+  With every supple sweet from the head to the feet
+    Modelled like a wood-dove's wing,--
+  O, to awake, to shake away the night,
+    And find you happy there,
+  On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,
+    And the scent of the thyme in your hair.
+
+
+
+
+THE STRANGE GUEST
+
+
+  You cannot leave a new house
+    With any open door,
+  But a strange guest will enter it
+    And never leave it more.
+
+  Build it on a waste land,
+    Dreary as a sin.
+  Leave her but a broken gate,
+    And Beauty will come in.
+
+  Build it all of scarlet brick.
+    Work your wicked will.
+  Dump it on an ash-heap
+    Then--O then, be still.
+
+  Sit and watch your new house.
+    Leave an open door.
+  A strange guest will enter it
+    And never leave it more.
+
+  She will make your raw wood
+    Mellower than gold.
+  She will take your new lamps
+    And sell them for old.
+
+  She will crumble all your pride,
+    Break your folly down.
+  Much that you rejected
+    She will bless and crown.
+
+  She will rust your naked roof,
+    Split your pavement through,
+  Dip her brush in sun and moon
+    And colour it anew.
+
+  Leave her but a window
+    Wide to wind and rain,
+  You shall find her footsteps
+    When you come again.
+
+  Though she keep you waiting
+    Many months or years,
+  She shall stain and make it
+    Beautiful with tears.
+
+  She shall hurt and heal it,
+    Soften it and save,
+  Blessing it, until it stand
+    Stronger than the grave.
+
+  _You cannot leave a new house
+    With any open door,
+  But a strange guest will enter it
+    And never leave it more._
+
+
+
+
+GHOSTS
+
+
+  O to creep in by candle-light,
+    When all the world is fast asleep,
+  Out of the cold winds, out of the night,
+    Where the nettles wave and the rains weep!
+  O, to creep in, lifting the latch
+    So quietly that no soul could hear,
+  And, at those embers in the gloom,
+    Quietly light one careful match--
+  You should not hear it, have no fear--
+    And light the candle and look round
+  The old familiar room;
+    To see the old books upon the wall
+  And lovingly take one down again,
+    And hear--O, strange to those that lay
+  So patiently underground--
+    The ticking of the clock, the sound
+  Of clicking embers ...
+                        watch the play
+  Of shadows ...
+                            till the implacable call
+  Of morning turn our faces grey;
+    And, or ever we go, we lift and kiss
+  Some idle thing that your hands may touch,
+    Some paper or book that your hands let fall,
+  And we never--when living--had cared so much
+    As to glance upon twice ...
+                              But now, O bliss
+  To kiss and to cherish it, moaning our pain,
+    Ere we creep to the silence again.
+
+
+
+
+THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE
+
+
+  Dazzle of the sea, azure of the sky, glitter of the dew on the grass,
+      Pass to Oblivion
+        In the darkness
+    With all that ever is or ever was.
+
+  Yet, O flocks of cloud with your violet shadows, O white may crowding
+           o'er the lane,
+        The Shepherd that drives you
+          To the darkness
+    Shall lead you thro' the crimson dawn again.
+
+  Bear your load of beauty to the sunset, and the golden gates of death.
+        The Eternal shall remember
+          In the darkness
+    And recall you at a word, at a breath.
+
+  Even as the mind of a man may remember his lost and linkless hours,
+      This world that is scattered
+        To the darkness
+    Dismembered and dis-petalled, clouds and flowers,
+
+  Cities, suns, and systems, as He said of old, they sleep! Not a bird,
+           not a leaf shall pass by,
+      But on the day of remembrance
+        In the darkness,
+    In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye,
+
+  They shall flash to their places in the music of the whole, even as our
+           fathers said!
+      For a Power shall remember
+        In the darkness,
+    And the universal sea give up her dead.
+
+
+
+
+ON THE EMBANKMENT
+
+
+  Within, it was colour and laughter, warmth and wine.
+    Without, it was darkness, hunger and bitter cold,
+  Where those white globes on the wet Embankment shine,
+    Greasing the Thames with gold.
+
+  And was it a bundle of fog in the dark drew nigh?
+    A bundle of rags and bones it crept to the light,--
+  A monstrous thing that coughed as it shuffled by,
+    A shape of the shapeless night,
+
+  Spawned as brown things that mimic their mothering earth,
+    Green creeping things that the grass lifts to the sun,
+  Out of its wrongs the City had brought to the birth
+    The shape of those wrongs, in one.
+
+  A woman, a woman whose lips had once been kissed,
+    (It was Christmas Eve, and the bells began their chime!)
+  She sank to a seat like a coughing bundle of mist
+    Exhaled from the river-slime.
+
+  _Bells for the birth of Christ!_ She heard, and she thought--
+    Vacantly--of her man, that was long since dead,
+  The smell of the Christmas food, and the drink they had bought
+    Together, the year they were wed.
+
+  She thought of their one-room home, and the night-long sigh
+    Recalled, as he slept, of his breath in her loosened hair.
+  _He slept._ She opened her haggard eyes with a cry.
+    But only the night was there.
+
+  Nay, out of the formless night, at her furtive glance,
+    Crouched at the end of her cold wet bench, there grew
+  A bundle of fog, a bundle of rags that, perchance,
+    Once was a woman, too.
+
+  A huddled shape, a fungus of foul grey mist
+    Spawned of the river, in peace and much good-will,
+  And even the woman whose lips had once been kissed
+    Wondered, it crouched so still.
+
+  No breath, no shadow of breath in the lamp-light smoked,
+    It crouched so still--that bunch at the bench's end.
+  She stretched her neck like a crow, then leaned and croaked,
+    "_A Merry Christmas, friend!_"
+
+  She rose, and peered, peered at its vacant eyes.
+    Touched its cold claws. Its arms of knotted bone
+  Were wands of ice; like iron rods the thighs;
+    The left breast--like a stone.
+
+  _Far, far along the rows of warmth and light
+    The Christmas waits, with cornet and bassoon,
+  Carolled "While shepherds watched their flocks by night."
+    The bells pealed to the moon._
+
+  A bundle of rags and bones, a bundle of mist,
+    And never a hell or heaven to hear or see,
+  The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed,
+    Knelt down feverishly.
+
+  She plucked the shawl out of that frozen clutch.
+   The dead are dead. Why should the living freeze?
+  She touched the cold flesh that she feared to touch
+   Kneeling upon her knees.
+
+  Her palsied hands unlaced the shoes--good shoes!--
+    She tore them quick from the crooked yellow feet.
+  If Death be generous, why should Life refuse
+    To take, and pawn, and eat?
+
+  A heavy step drew nearer thro' the mist.
+    She bundled them into the shawl. Her eyes were bright.
+  The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed,
+    Slunk, chuckling, thro' the night.
+
+
+
+
+THE IRON CROWN
+
+
+  Not memory of a vanished bliss,
+    But suddenly to know,
+  I had forgotten! This, O this
+    With iron crowned my woe:
+
+  To know that on some midnight sea
+    Whence none could lift the pall
+  A drowning hand was waved to me,
+    Then--swept beyond recall.
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD DEBATE
+
+
+  His angels fell, and myriads grope
+    In doubt, for this dark cause alone,--
+  That God hath given them room for hope,
+    And made their struggling wills their own.
+
+  In the same breath, they plead for chains
+    And freedom; pray for ordered spheres,
+  Then murmur that the sun retains
+    Its course, unchecked by smiles or tears.
+
+  "The Omnipotent would grant us this,
+    Or else He is not good," they say;
+  But O, the Power withholds their bliss
+    Till they agree what prayer to pray.
+
+
+
+
+A SONG OF HOPE
+
+
+  Not in those eyes, too kind for truth,
+    Which dare not note how beauties wane;
+  Nor in that crueller joy of youth
+    Which turns from sorrow with disdain;
+            No--no--not there,
+    Abides the hope that answers our despair.
+
+  Lie where they hid thy dead away.
+    Knock on that unrelenting door;
+  Then break, O desolate heart, and say
+    Farewell, farewell, for evermore ...
+            There, only there,
+    Abides the hope that conquers all despair.
+
+  The silence that refused to bless
+    Till grief had turned the heart to stone ...
+  What soul compact of nothingness
+    Could hear so fierce a trumpet blown?
+            Then hear, O hear,
+    The dreadful hope that equals all despair.
+
+  There, till the deep atoning Might
+    Shall answer all that each can pray,
+  The very boundlessness of night
+    Proclaims--and waits--an equal day.
+            There, only there,
+  --_But O, sing low, sweet strings, lest hope take wing!_--
+    Abides the hope that answers all despair.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS
+
+
+  How passionately it opens after rain,
+            And O, how like a prayer
+  To those great shining skies! Do they disdain
+            A bride so small and fair?
+  See the imploring petals, how they part
+            And utterly lay bare
+  The perishing treasures of that piteous heart
+            In wild surrender there.
+  What? Would'st _thou_, too, drink up the Eternal bliss,
+            Ecstatically dare,
+  O, little bride of God, to invoke _His_ kiss?--
+            But O, how like a prayer!
+
+
+
+
+THE MAY-TREE
+
+
+  The May-tree on the hill
+    Stands in the night
+  So fragrant and so still,
+    So dusky white.
+
+  That, stealing from the wood
+    In that sweet air,
+  You'd think Diana stood
+    Before you there.
+
+  If it be so, her bloom
+    Trembles with bliss.
+  She waits across the gloom
+    Her shepherd's kiss.
+
+  Touch her. A bird will start
+    From those pure snows,--
+  The dark and fluttering heart
+    Endymion knows.
+
+
+
+
+OLD LETTERS
+
+
+  Read them? Strangle that sick cry?
+      Christ God, no!
+  Shut the box. Lock the lid.
+      You'll be safer--so.
+  Could you read one crooked word
+      Scrawled so long ago,
+  Love would rise before your face
+      And blind you, like a blow.
+
+  _Close it! Quickly! For I caught,
+      In a childish hand,
+  Something that she never thought
+      I should understand._
+
+  So I crouch. And shall our God
+      Prove Him baser yet,
+  He who filled her eyes with light
+      Quite renounce His debt,
+
+  Give her worlds to love, and then--
+      Ere the sun be set,
+  Strike her down and coffin all?
+      Christ, shall _He_ forget?
+
+  _Close it! Quickly! For I caught,
+      In a childish hand,
+  Something that she never thought
+      I should understand._
+
+
+
+
+LAMPS
+
+
+  Immense and silent night,
+    Over the lonely downs I go;
+  And the deep gloom is pricked with points of light
+    Above me and below.
+
+  I cannot break the bars
+    Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky,
+  There comes to me, questioning those cold stars,
+    No signal, no reply.
+
+  Yet are they less than these--
+    These village-lights, which I do scan
+  Below me, or far out on darkling seas
+    Those messages from man?
+
+  Round me the darkness rolls.
+    Out of the depth, each lance of light
+  Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls,
+    And shall I doubt the height?
+
+  No signal? No reply?
+    As through the deepening night I roam,
+  Hope opens all her casements in the sky
+    And lights the lamps of home.
+
+
+
+
+AT EDEN GATES
+
+
+  _To Eden Garden_--so the sign-post said;
+    I could not see the road;
+  But, where the Sussex clover blossomed red
+    Its runaway blisses flowed.
+
+  I traced them back for many a night and day,
+    --The way she, too, had gone!--
+  Till lo, the terrible Angel in the way
+    Inexorably shone.
+
+  Up to the Gates, a fearless fool I came;
+    Between the lily and rose
+  Fluttering these evil rags of sordid shame,
+    A thing to scare the crows.
+
+  "And hath the Master given thee, then, no word?"
+    The scornful Angel smiled:
+  Only two souls may pass my Flaming Sword,--
+    The Lover and the Child.
+
+  I raised my head,--"Now let all hell make mirth,
+    Where Love went, I go, too!"
+  His eyes met mine. The sword sank to the earth,
+    And let her lover through.
+
+
+
+
+THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY
+
+
+  As constant lovers may rejoice
+    With seas between, with worlds between,
+  Because a fragrance and a voice
+    Are round them everywhere:
+  So let me travel to the grave,
+    Believing still--for I have seen--
+  That Love's triumphant banners wave
+    Beyond my own despair.
+
+  I have no trust in my own worth;
+    Yet have I faith, O love, for you,
+  That every beauty in bloom or leaf,
+    That even age and wrong
+  May touch, may hurt you, on this earth,
+    But only, only as kisses do;
+  Or as the fretted string of grief
+    Completes the bliss of song;
+
+  That you shall see, on any grave
+    The snow fall, like that unseen hand
+  Which O, so often, pressed your hair
+    To cherish and console:
+  That seas may roar and winds rave
+    But you shall feel and understand
+  What vast caresses everywhere
+    Convey you to the goal.
+
+  So was it always in the years
+    When Love began, when Love began
+  With eyes that were not touched of tears
+    And lips that still could sing--
+  And all around us, in the may,
+    The child-god with his laughter ran,
+  And every bloom, on every spray,
+    Betrayed his fluttering wing.
+
+  So hold it, keep it, count it, sweet,
+    Until the end, until the end.
+  It is not cruelty, but bliss
+    That pains and is so fond:
+  Crush life like thyme beneath your feet,
+    And O, my love, when that strange friend,
+  The Shadow of Wings, which men call Death
+    Shall close your eyes, with that last kiss,
+  Ask not His name. A rosier breath
+    Shall waken you--beyond.
+
+
+
+
+PARACLETE
+
+
+  Tongue hath not told it,
+    Heart hath not known;
+  Yet shall the bough swing
+    When it hath flown.
+
+  Dreams have denied it,
+    Fools forsworn:
+  Yet it hath comforted
+    Each man born.
+
+  Once and again it is
+    Blown to me,
+  Sweet from the wild thyme,
+    Salt from the sea;
+
+  Blown thro' the ferns
+    Faint from the sky;
+  Shadowed in water,
+    Yet clear as a cry.
+
+  Light on a face,
+    Or touch of a hand,
+  Making my still heart
+    Understand.
+
+  Earth hath not seen it.
+    Nor heaven above,
+  Yet shall the wild bough
+    Bend with the Dove.
+
+  Yea, tho' the bloom fall
+    Under Thy feet,
+  _Veni, Creator,
+    Paraclete!_
+
+
+
+
+AFTER RAIN
+
+
+  Listen! On sweetening air
+    The blackbird growing bold
+  Flings out, where green boughs glisten,
+    Three splashes of wild gold.
+
+  Daughter of April, hear;
+    And hear, O barefoot boy!
+  That carol of wild sweet water
+    Has washed the world with joy.
+
+  Glisten, O fragrant earth
+    Assoiled by heaven anew,
+  And O, ye lovers, listen,
+    With eyes that glisten, too.
+
+
+
+
+THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN
+
+
+  No--not that he is dead. The pang's not there,
+    Nor in the City's many-coloured bloom
+  Of swift black-lettered posters, which the throng
+    Passes with bovine stare,
+  To say _He is dead_ and _Is it going to rain?_
+    Or hum stray snatches of a rag-time song.
+  Nor is it in that falsest shibboleth
+  (Which orators toss to the dumb scorn of death)
+    That all the world stands weeping at his tomb.
+  London is dining, dancing, through it all.
+    And, in the unchecked smiles along the street
+  Where men, that slightly knew him, lightly meet,
+    With all the old indifferent grimaces,
+  There is no jot of grief, no tittle of pain.
+    No. No. For nearer things do most tears fall.
+  Grief is for near and little things. But pride,
+    O, pride was to be found by two or three,
+  And glory in his great battling memory,
+    Prouder and purer than the loud world knows,
+  In one more dreadful sign, the day he died--
+    The dreadful light upon a thousand faces,
+  The peace upon the faces of his foes.
+
+
+
+
+THE ROMAN WAY
+
+
+  He that has loyally served the State
+    Whereof he found himself a part,
+  Or spent his life-blood to create
+    A kingdom's treasure in his art;
+
+  Who sees the enemies of his land
+    Applauded, by her sects and schools;
+  And the high thought they scarce had scanned
+    Derided and befogged by fools;
+
+  --Better to know it soon than late!--
+    Struggling, he wins a meed of praise;
+  Achieving, he is dogged by hate
+    And furtive malice all his days.
+
+  O, Emperor of the Stoic clan,
+    Enfold him, then, with nobler pride.
+  Teach him that nought can hurt a man
+    Who will not turn or stoop to chide.
+
+  Can falsehood kindle or bedim
+    One bay-leaf in his quiet crown?
+  Ten thousand Lies may pluck at him,
+    But only Truth can tear him down.
+
+  Why should he heed the thing they say?
+    They never asked if it were true.
+  Why brush one scribbler's tale away
+    For others to invent a new?
+
+  No, let him search his heart, secure
+    --If Truth be there--from tongue or pen;
+  And teach us, Emperor, to endure,
+    To think like Romans and like men.
+
+
+
+
+THE INNER PASSION
+
+
+  There is a Master in my heart
+    To whom, though oft against my will,
+  I bring the songs I sing apart
+    And strive to think that they fulfil
+  His silent law, within my heart.
+
+  But He is blind to my desires,
+    And deaf to all that I would plead:
+  He tests my truth at purer fires
+    And shames my purple with His need.
+  He claims my deeds, not my desires.
+
+  And often when my comrades praise,
+    I sadden, for He turns from me!
+  But, sometimes, when they blame, I raise
+    Mine eyes to His, and in them see
+  A tenderness too deep for praise.
+
+  He is not to be bought with gold,
+    Or lured by thornless crowns of fame;
+  But when some rebel thought hath sold
+    Him to dishonour and to shame,
+  And my heart's Pilate cries, "Behold,"
+
+  "Behold the Man," I know Him then;
+    And all those wild thronged clamours die
+  In my heart's judgment hall again,
+    Or if it ring with "Crucify!"
+  Some few are faithful even then.
+
+  Some few sad thoughts,--one bears His cross;
+    To that dark Calvary of my pride;
+  One stands far off and mourns His loss,
+    And one poor thief on either side
+  Hangs on his own unworthy cross.
+
+  And one--O, truth in ancient guise!--
+    Rails, and one bids him cease alway,
+  And the God turns His hungering eyes
+    On that poor thought with, "Thou, this day,
+  Shalt sing, shalt sing, in Paradise."
+
+
+
+
+A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN
+
+
+  The exceeding weight of glory bowed
+    My head, in that pure clime:
+  I found a road that ran through cloud
+    Along the coasts of Time....
+
+  Out of that mist of years there came
+    A cross-barred gate of wood.
+  I clutched, I kissed the unheavenly frame
+    So hard, it trickled blood.
+
+  My head upon the iron lay.
+    I slobbered blood and foam.
+  Yea, like a dog, I knew the way,
+    A hundred yards from home.
+
+  _Iron and blood and wood! They knew
+    The secret of that cry
+  When the Eternal Passion drew
+    Their Maker through--to die._
+
+  I knew each little hawthorn-cloud
+    Along my misty lane,
+  Then my heart burst. She sobbed aloud,
+    Between my arms again.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE DESTROYERS
+
+
+  Yes. You have shattered many an ancient wrong,
+    And we were with you, heart and mind and soul,
+    But there are fools who cast away control
+  In life and thought and art; because the Strong--
+  We dare to say it--have now destroyed so long,
+    That careless minds forget the unchanging goal--
+    The nobler Order which shall make us whole,
+  The Service which is freedom, beauty, song.
+
+  We shall be stoned as traitors to your cause
+    While the real traitors that you did not know,
+      Chaos and Vice, trumpet themselves as free.
+  Pray God that, loyal to the Eternal laws,
+    A little remnant, mauled by friend and foe,
+      Save you through Truth, and bring you Liberty.
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUMPET-CALL
+
+
+    I
+
+    Trumpeter, sound the great recall!
+  Swift, O swift, for the squadrons break,
+    The long lines waver, mazed in the gloom!
+      Hither and thither the blind host blunders.
+  Stand thou firm for a dead Man's sake,
+    Firm where the ranks reel down to their doom,
+      Stand thou firm in the midst of the thunders,
+    Stand where the steeds and the riders fall,
+      Set the bronze to thy lips and sound
+      A rally to ring the whole world round.
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us!
+            Sound the great recall.
+
+
+    II
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the ancient heights!
+  Clouds of the earth-born battle cloak
+    The heaven that our fathers held from of old;
+      And we--shall we prate to their sons of the gain
+  In gold or bread? Through yonder smoke
+    The heights that never were won with gold
+      Wait, still bright with their old red stain,
+      For the thousand chariots of God again,
+    And the steel that swept thro' a hundred fights
+      With the Ironsides, equal to life and death,
+      The steel, the steel of their ancient faith.
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us!
+            Sound for the sun-lit heights.
+
+
+    III
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the faith again!
+  Blind and deaf with the dust and the blood,
+    Clashing together we know not whither
+      The tides of the battle would have us advance.
+  Stand thou firm in the crimson flood,
+    Send the lightning of thy great cry
+      Through the thunders, athwart the storm,
+    Sound till the trumpets of God reply
+    From the heights we have lost in the steadfast sky,
+    From the Strength we despised and rejected. Then,
+      Locking the ranks as they form and form,
+        Lift us forward, banner and lance,
+    Mailed in the faith of Cromwell's men,
+        When from their burning hearts they hurled
+        The gage of heaven against the world!
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us,
+            Up to the heights again.
+
+
+    IV
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade!
+  Sound for the fire of the red-cross kings,
+    Sound for the passion, the splendour, the pity
+      That swept the world for a dead Man's sake,
+  Sound, till the answering trumpet rings
+    Clear from the heights of the holy City,
+      Sound till the lions of England awake,
+    Sound for the tomb that our lives have betrayed;
+      O'er broken shrine and abandoned wall,
+      Trumpeter, sound the great recall,
+    Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us;
+             Sound for the last Crusade!
+
+
+    V
+
+    Trumpeter, sound for the splendour of God!
+  Sound the music whose name is law,
+    Whose service is perfect freedom still,
+      The order august that rules the stars.
+  Bid the anarchs of night withdraw,
+    Too long the destroyers have worked their will,
+      Sound for the last, the last of the wars.
+  Sound for the heights that our fathers trod,
+      When truth was truth and love was love,
+      With a hell beneath, but a heaven above,
+    Trumpeter, rally us, up to the heights of it!
+            Sound for the City of God.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEART OF CANADA
+
+_July 1912_
+
+
+  Because her heart is all too proud
+    --_Canada! Canada! fair young Canada_--
+  To breathe the might of her love aloud,
+    Be quick, O Motherland!
+  Because her soul is wholly free
+    --_Canada kneels, thy daughter, Canada_--
+  England, look in her eyes and see,
+    Honour and understand.
+
+  Because her pride at thy masthead shines,
+    --_Canada! Canada!_--queenly Canada
+  Bows with all her breathing pines,
+    All her fragrant firs.
+  Because our isle is little and old
+    --_Canada! Canada!_--young-eyed Canada
+  Gives thee, Mother, her hands to hold,
+    And makes thy glory hers.
+
+  Because thy Fleet is hers for aye,
+    --_Canada! Canada!_--clear-souled Canada,
+  Ere the war-cloud roll this way,
+    Bids the world beware.
+  Her heart, her soul, her sword are thine
+    --_Thine the guns, the guns of Canada!_--
+  The ships are foaming into line,
+    And Canada will be there.
+
+
+
+
+THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN
+
+
+  All along the white chalk coast
+    The mist lifts clear.
+  Wight is glimmering like a ghost.
+    The ship draws near.
+  Little inch-wide meadows
+    Lost so many a day,
+  The first time I knew you
+    Was when I turned away.
+
+  Island--little island--
+    Lost so many a year,
+  Mother of all I leave behind
+    --_Draw me near!_--
+  Mother of half the rolling world,
+    And O, so little and gray,
+  The first time I found you
+    Was when I turned away.
+
+  _Over yon green water
+    Sussex lies.
+  But the slow mists gather
+    In our eyes.
+  England, little island
+    --God, how dear!--
+  Fold me in your mighty arms,
+    Draw me near._
+
+  Little tawny roofs of home,
+    Nestling in the gray,
+  Where the smell of Sussex loam
+    Blows across the bay ...
+  Fold me, teach me, draw me close,
+    Lest in death I say
+  The first time I loved you
+    Was when I turned away.
+
+
+
+
+A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET
+
+
+    I
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Royal Sovereign_
+
+  Ocean-mother of England, thine is the crowning acclaim.
+    Here, in the morning of battle, from over the world and beyond,
+      Here, by our fleets of steel, silently foam into line
+  Fleets of our glorious dead, thy shadowy oak-walled ships.
+  Mother, for O, thy soul must speak thro' our iron lips!
+      How should we speak to the ages, unless with a word of thine?
+    Utter it, Victory! Let thy great signal flash thro' the flame!
+      Answer, _Bellerophon_, _Marlborough_, _Thunderer_, _Condor_,
+           respond!
+
+
+    II
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Majestic_
+
+  Out of the ages we speak unto you, O ye ages to be.
+    Rocks of Sevastopol, echo our thunder-word, bruit it afar.
+      Roll it, O Mediterranean, round by Gibraltar again.
+  Buffet it, Porto Bello, back to the Nile once more.
+  Answer it, great St. Vincent! Answer it, Elsinore,
+      Buffet it back from your crags and roll it over the main!
+    Heights of Quebec, O hear and re-echo it back to the Baltic Sea!
+      Answer it, _Camperdown_! Answer it, answer it, _Trafalgar_!
+
+
+    III
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Rainbow_
+
+  How should we speak to the ages, if not with a word of thine,
+    Maker of cloud and harvest, foam and the sea-bird's wing,
+      Ocean-Mother of England and all things living and free?
+  Deep that wast moved by the Spirit to bloom with the first white morn,
+  Mother of Light and Freedom, mother of hopes unborn,
+      Speak, O world-wide welder of nations, O Soul of the sea!
+    Thine was the watchword that called us of old o'er the gray sky-line:
+      Lift thy stormy salute. It is freedom and peace that we bring.
+
+
+    IV
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Victory_
+
+  Therefore on thee we call, O Mother, for we are thy sons.
+    Speak, with thy world-wide voice, O wake us anew from our sleep!
+      Speak, for the Light of the world still lives and grows on thy face.
+  Give us the ancient Word once more, the unchangeable Word,--
+  This that Nelson knew, this that Effingham heard,
+      This that resounds for ever in all the hearts of our race,
+    This that lives for a moment on the iron lips of our guns,
+      This--that echoes for ever and ever--the Word of the Deep.
+
+
+    V
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Dreadnought_
+
+  How shall a king be saved by the multitude of an host?
+    Was not the answer thine, when fleet upon fleet swept, hurled
+      Blind thro' the dark North Sea, with all their invincible ships?
+  Thine was the answer, O mother of all men born to be free!
+  Witness again, Cape Wrath!--O thine, everlastingly,
+      Thine as Freedom arose and rolled thy song from her lips,
+    Thine when she 'stablished her throne in thy sight, on our rough
+           rock-coast,
+      Thine with thy lustral glory and thunder, washing the world.
+
+
+    VI
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Temeraire_
+
+  O for that ancient cry of the watch at the midnight bell,
+    Under the unknown stars, from the decks that Frobisher trod.
+      Hark, _Before the world?_--he questions a fleet in the dark!
+  Answer it, friend or foe! And, ringing from mast to mast,
+  Mother, hast thou forgotten what cry in the dark went past,
+      Answering still as he questioned? _Before the world?_ O, hark,
+    Ringing anear, _Before the world?_ ... _was God_ ... All's well!
+      Dying afar ... _Before the world?_ ... All's well ... _was God!_
+
+
+    VII
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Revenge_
+
+  Raleigh and Grenville heard it, Knights of the Ocean-sea.
+    Have we forgotten it only, we with our leagues of steel?
+      Give us our watchword again, O mother, in this great hour!
+  Here, in the morning of battle, here as we gather our might,
+  Here, as the nations of earth in the light of thy freedom unite,
+      Shake our hearts with thy Word, O 'stablish our peace on thy power!
+    'Stablish our power on thy peace, thy glory, thy liberty,
+      'Stablish on thy deep Word the throne of our Commonweal.
+
+
+    VIII
+
+    _The Guns of H.M.S. Leviathan_
+
+  They that go down to the sea in ships--they heard it of old--
+    They shall behold His wonders, alone on the Deep, the Deep!
+      Have _we_ forgotten, we only? O, rend the heavens again,
+  Voice of the Everlasting, shake the great hills with thy breath!
+  Roll the Voice of our God thro' the valleys of doubt and death!
+      Waken the fog-bound cities with the shout of the wind-swept main,
+    Inland over the smouldering plains, till the mists unfold,
+      Darkness die, and England, England arise from sleep.
+
+
+  IX
+
+  _The Guns of H.M.S. Triumph_
+
+  Queen of the North and the South, Queen of our ocean-renown,
+    England, England, England, O lift thine eyes to the sun!
+      Wake, for the hope of the whole world yearns to thee, watches and
+           waits!
+  Now on the full flood-tide of the ages, the supreme hour
+  Beacons thee onward in might to the purpose and crown of thy power.
+      Hark, for the whole Atlantic thunders against thy gates,
+    Take the Crown of all Time, all might, earth's crowning Crown,
+      Throne thy children in peace and in freedom together, O weld them
+           in one.
+
+
+    X
+
+    _The Guns of the Fleet_
+
+  _Throne them in triumph together. Thine is the crowning cry!
+    Thine the glory for ever in the nation born of thy womb!
+      Thine the Sword and the Shield, and the shout that Salamis heard,
+  Surging in Aeschylean splendour, earth-shaking acclaim!
+  Ocean-mother of England, thine is the throne of her fame.
+      Breaker of many fleets, O thine the victorious word,
+    Thine the Sun and the Freedom, the God and the wind-swept sky,
+      Thine the thunder and thine the lightning, thine the doom._
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR
+
+
+  On those young brows that knew no fear
+    We lay the Roman athlete's crown,
+  The laurel of the charioteer,
+    The imperial garland of renown,
+  While those young eyes, beyond the sun,
+  See Drake, see Raleigh, smile "Well done."
+
+  Their desert seas that knew no shore
+    To-night with fleets like cities flare;
+  But, frailer even than theirs of yore,
+    His keel a new-found deep would dare:
+  They watch, with thrice-experienced eyes
+  What fleets shall follow through the skies.
+
+  They would not scoff, though man should set
+    To feebler wings a mightier task.
+  They know what wonders wait us yet.
+    Not all things in an hour they ask;
+  But in each noble failure see
+  The inevitable victory.
+
+  A thousand years have borne us far
+    From that dark isle the Saxon swayed,
+  And star whispers to trembling star
+    While Space and Time shrink back afraid,--
+  "Ten thousand thousand years remain
+  For man to dare our deep again."
+
+  Thou, too, shalt hear across that deep
+    Our thundering fleets of thought draw nigh,
+  Round which the suns and systems sweep
+    Like cloven foam from sky to sky,
+  Till Death himself at last restore
+  His captives to our eyes once more.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  Feeble the wings, dauntless the soul!
+    Take thou the conqueror's laurel crown;
+  Take--for thy chariot grazed the goal--
+    The imperial garland of renown;
+  While those young eyes, beyond the sun,
+  See Drake, see Raleigh, smile "Well done."
+
+
+
+
+THE WAGGON
+
+
+  Crimson and black on the sky, a waggon of clover
+    Slowly goes rumbling, over the white chalk road;
+  And I lie in the golden grass there, wondering why
+          So little a thing
+      As the jingle and ring of the harness,
+          The hot creak of leather,
+          The peace of the plodding,
+      Should suddenly, stabbingly, make it
+          Strange that men die.
+
+  Only, perhaps, in the same blue summer weather,
+    Hundreds of years ago, in this field where I lie,
+  Caedmon, the Saxon, was caught by the self-same thing:
+    The serf lying, black with the sun, on his beautiful wain-load,
+          The jingle and clink of the harness,
+          The hot creak of leather,
+          The peace of the plodding;
+    And wondered, O terribly wondered,
+          That men must die.
+
+
+
+
+THE SACRED OAK
+
+(_A Song of Britain_)
+
+
+    I
+
+  Voice of the summer stars that, long ago,
+    Sang thro' the old oak-forests of our isle,
+  Enchanted voice, pure as her falling snow,
+    Dark as her storms, bright as her sunniest smile,
+  Taliessin, voice of Britain, the fierce flow
+    Of fourteen hundred years has whelmed not thee!
+      Still art thou singing, lavrock of her morn,
+  Singing to heaven in that first golden glow,
+    Singing above her mountains and her sea!
+              Not older yet are grown
+              Thy four winds in their moan
+      For Urien. Still thy charlock blooms in the billowing corn.
+
+
+    II
+
+  Thy dew is bright upon this beechen spray!
+    Spring wakes thy harp! I hear--I see--again,
+  Thy wild steeds foaming thro' the crimson fray,
+    The raven on the white breast of thy slain,
+  The tumult of thy chariots, far away,
+    The weeping in the glens, the lustrous hair
+      Dishevelled over the stricken eagle's fall,
+  And in thy Druid groves, at fall of day
+    One gift that Britain gave her valorous there,
+              One gift of lordlier pride
+              Than aught--save to have died--
+      One spray of the sacred oak, they coveted most of all.
+
+
+    III
+
+  I watch thy nested brambles growing green:
+    O strange, across that misty waste of years,
+  To glimpse the shadowy thrush that thou hast seen,
+    To touch, across the ages, touch with tears
+  The ferns that hide thee with their fairy screen,
+    Or only hear them rustling in the dawn;
+      And--as a dreamer waking--in thy words,
+  For all the golden clouds that drowse between,
+    To feel the veil of centuries withdrawn,
+              To feel thy sun re-risen
+              Unbuild our shadowy prison
+      And hear on thy fresh boughs the carol of waking birds.
+
+
+    IV
+
+  O, happy voice, born in that far, clear time,
+    Over thy single harp thy simple strain
+  Attuned all life for Britain to the chime
+    Of viking oars and the sea's dark refrain,
+  And thine own beating heart, and the sublime
+    Measure to which the moons and stars revolve
+      Untroubled by the storms that, year by year,
+  In ever-swelling symphonies still climb
+    To embrace our growing world and to resolve
+              Discords unknown to thee,
+              In the infinite harmony
+      Which still transcends our strife and leaves us darkling here.
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+    V
+
+  For, now, one sings of heaven and one of hell,
+    One soars with hope, one plunges to despair!
+  This, trembling, doubts if aught be ill or well;
+    And that cries, "Fair is foul and foul is fair;"
+  And this cries, "Forward, though I cannot tell
+    Whither, and all too surely all things die;"
+      And that sighs, "Rest, then, sleep and take thine ease."
+  One sings his country and one rings its knell,
+    One hymns mankind, one dwarfs them with the sky.
+              O, Britain, let thy soul
+              Once more command the whole,
+      Once more command the strings of the world-wide harmony.
+
+
+    VI
+
+  For hark! One sings, _The gods, the gods are dead!_
+    _Man triumphs!_ And hark--_Blind Space his funeral urn._
+  And hark, one whispers with reverted head
+    To the old dead gods--_Bring back our heaven, return!_
+  And hark, one moans--_The ancient order is fled,
+    We are children of blind chance and vacant dreams.
+      Heed not mine utterance--that was chance-born, too._
+  And hark, the answer of Science--_All they said,
+    Your fathers, in that old time, lit by gleams
+              Of what their hearts could feel,
+              The rolling years reveal
+      As fragments of one law, one covenant, simply true._
+
+
+    VII
+
+  _I find_, she cries, _in all this march of time
+    And space, no gulf, no break, nothing that mars
+  Its unity. I watch the primal slime
+    Lift Athens like a flower to greet the stars!
+  I flash my messages from clime to clime,
+    I link the increasing world from depth to height!
+      Not yet ye see the wonder that draws nigh,
+  When at some sudden contact, some sublime
+  Touch, as of memory, all this boundless night
+                Wherein ye grope entombed
+                Shall, by that touch illumed,
+      Like one electric City shine from sky to sky._
+
+
+    VIII
+
+  _No longer then the memories that ye hold
+    Dark in your brain shall slumber. Ye shall see
+  That City whose gates are more than pearl or gold
+    And all its towers firm as Eternity.
+  The stones of the earth have cried to it from of old!
+    Why will ye turn from Him who reigns above
+      Because your highest words fall short?
+          Kneel--call
+  On Him whose Name--I AM--doth still enfold
+    Past, present, future, memory, hope and love.
+                No seed falls fruitless there._
+                Beyond your Father's care--
+      _The old covenant still holds fast_--no bird, no leaf can fall.
+
+
+    IX
+
+  O Time, thou mask of the ever-living Soul,
+    Thou veil to shield us from that blinding Face,
+  Thou art wearing thin! We are nearer to the goal
+    When man no more shall need thy saving grace,
+  But all the folded years like one great scroll
+    Shall be unrolled in the omnipresent Now,
+      And He that saith _I am_ unseal the tomb:
+  Nearer His thunders and His trumpets roll,
+    I catch the gleam that lit thy lifted brow,
+                O singer whose wild eyes
+                Possess these April skies,
+      I touch--I clasp thy hands thro' all the clouds of doom.
+
+
+    X
+
+  Teach thou our living choirs amid the sound
+    Of their tempestuous chords once more to hear
+  That harmony wherewith the whole is crowned,
+    The singing heavens that sphere by choral sphere
+  Break open, height o'er height, to the utmost bound
+    Of passionate thought! O, as this glorious land,
+      This sacred country shining on the sea,
+  Grows mightier, let not her clear voice be drowned
+    In the fierce waves of faction. Let her stand
+                A beacon to the blind,
+                A signal to mankind,
+      A witness to the heavens' profoundest unity.
+
+
+    XI
+
+  Her altars are forgotten and her creeds
+    Dust, and her soul foregoes the lesser Cross.
+  O, point her to the greater! Her heart bleeds
+    Still, where men simply feel some vague deep loss.
+  Their hands grope earthward, knowing not what she needs.
+    We would not call her back in this great hour!
+      Nay, upward, onward, to the heights untrod
+  Signal us, living voices, by those deeds
+    Of all her deathless heroes, by the Power
+                That still, still walks her waves,
+                Still chastens her, still saves,
+      Signal us, not to the dead, but to the living God.
+
+
+    XII
+
+  Signal us with that watchword of the deep,
+    The watchword that her boldest seamen gave
+  The winds of the unknown ocean-sea to keep,
+    When round their oaken walls the midnight wave
+  Heaved and subsided in gigantic sleep,
+    And they plunged Westward with her flag unfurled.
+      Hark, o'er their cloudy sails and glimmering spars,
+  The watch cries, as they proudly onward sweep,--
+    _Before the world ... All's well!... Before the world_ ...
+                From mast to calling mast
+                The counter-cry goes past--
+      _Before the world was God!_--it rings against the stars.
+
+
+    XIII
+
+  Signal us o'er the little heavens of gold
+    With that heroic signal Nelson knew
+  When, thro' the thunder and flame that round him rolled,
+    He pointed to the dream that still held true.
+  Cry o'er the warring nations, cry as of old
+    _A little child shall lead them! they shall be
+      One people under the shadow of God's wing!
+  There shall be no more weeping!_ Let it be told
+    That Britain set one foot upon the sea,
+                One foot on the earth. Her eyes
+                Burned thro' the conquered skies,
+      And, as the angel of God, she bade the whole world sing.
+
+
+    XIV
+
+  A dream? Nay, have ye heard or have ye known
+    That the everlasting God who made the ends
+  Of all creation wearieth? His worlds groan
+    Together in travail still. Still He descends
+  From heaven. The increasing worlds are still His throne
+    And His creative Calvary and His tomb
+      Through which He sinks, dies, triumphs with each and all,
+  And ascends, multitudinous and at one
+    With all the hosts of His evolving doom,
+                His vast redeeming strife,
+                His everlasting life,
+      His love, beyond which not one bird, one leaf can fall.
+
+
+    XV
+
+  And hark, His whispers thro' creation flow,
+    _Lovest thou me?_ His nations answer "yea!"
+  And--_Feed My lambs_, His voice as long ago
+    Steals from that highest heaven, how far away!
+  And yet again saith--_Lovest thou Me?_ and "O,
+    Thou knowest we love Thee," passionately we cry:
+    But, heeding not our tumult, out of the deep
+  The great grave whisper, pitiful and low,
+    Breathes--_Feed My sheep_; and yet once more the sky
+                Thrills with that deep strange plea,
+                _Lovest thou, lovest thou Me?_
+    And our lips answer "yea"; but our God--_Feed My sheep._
+
+
+    XVI
+
+  O sink not yet beneath the exceeding weight
+    Of splendour, thou still single-hearted voice
+  Of Britain. Droop not earthward now to freight
+    Thy soul with fragments of the song, rejoice
+  In no faint flights of music that create
+    Low heavens o'er-arched by skies without a star,
+      Nor sink in the easier gulfs of shallower pain!
+  Sing thou in the whole majesty of thy fate,
+    Teach us thro' joy, thro' grief, thro' peace, thro' war,
+                With single heart and soul
+                Still, still to seek the goal,
+    And thro' our perishing heavens, point us to Heaven again.
+
+
+    XVII
+
+  Voice of the summer stars that long ago
+    Sang thro' the old oak-forests of our isle,
+  An ocean-music that thou ne'er couldst know
+    Storms Heaven--O, keep us steadfast all the while;
+  Not idly swayed by tides that ebb and flow,
+    But strong to embrace the whole vast symphony
+      Wherein no note (no bird, no leaf) can fall
+  Beyond His care, to enfold it all as though
+    Thy single harp were ours, its unity
+                In battle like one sword,
+                And O, its one reward
+    One spray of the sacred oak, still coveted most of all.
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD'S WEDDING
+
+"Et quid curae nobis de generibus et speciebus? Ex uno Verbo omnia, et
+unum loquuntur omnia. Cui omnia unum sunt, quique ad unum omnia trahit
+et omnia in uno videt, potest stabilis corde esse."--THOMAS A KEMPIS.
+
+
+    I
+
+      When poppies fired the nut-brown wheat,
+      My love went by with sun-stained feet:
+  I followed her laughter, followed her, followed her, all a summer's
+           morn!
+      But O, from an elfin palace of air,
+      A wild bird sang a song so rare,
+      I stayed to listen and--lost my Fair,
+        And walked the world forlorn.
+
+
+    II
+
+      When chalk shone white between the sheaves,
+      My love went by as one that grieves;
+  I followed her weeping, followed her, followed her, all an autumn noon!
+      The sunset flamed so fierce a red
+      From North to South--I turned my head
+      To wonder--and my Fair was fled
+        Beyond the dawning moon.
+
+
+    III
+
+      When bare black boughs were choked with snow,
+      My love went by, as long ago;
+  I followed her dreaming, followed her, followed her, all a winter's
+           night!
+      But O, along that snow-white track
+      With thorny shadows printed black,
+      I saw three kings come riding back,
+        And--lost my life's delight.
+
+
+    IV
+
+      They are so many, and she but One;
+      And I and she, like moon and sun
+  So separate ever! Ah yet, I follow her, follow her, faint and far;
+      For what if all this diverse bliss
+      Should run together in one kiss!
+      Swift, Spring, with the sweet clue I miss
+      Between these several instances,--
+        The kings, that inn, that star.
+
+
+    V
+
+      Between the hawk's and the wood-dove's wing,
+      My love, my love flashed by like Spring!
+      The year had finished its golden ring!
+      Earth, the Gipsy, and Heaven, the King,
+      Were married like notes in the song I sing,
+  And O, I followed her, followed her, followed her over the hills of
+           Time,
+      Never to lose her now I know,
+      For whom the sun was clasped in snow,
+      The heights linked to the depths below,
+      The rose's flush to the planet's glow,
+      Death the friend to life the foe,
+      The Winter's joy to the Spring's woe,
+        And the world made one in a rhyme.
+
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR
+
+
+  _Farewell!_ The soft mists of the sunset-sky
+    Slowly enfold his fading birch-canoe!
+  _Farewell!_ His dark, his desolate forests cry,
+    Moved to their vast, their sorrowful depths anew.
+
+  Fading! Nay, lifted thro' a heaven of light,
+    His proud sails brightening thro' that crimson flame,
+  Leaving us lonely on the shores of night,
+    Home to Ponemah take his deathless fame.
+
+  Generous as a child, so wholly free
+    From all base pride that fools forgot his crown,
+  He adored Beauty, in pure ecstasy,
+    And waived the mere rewards of his renown.
+
+  The spark that falls from heaven not oft on earth
+    To human hearts this vital splendour gives;
+  His was the simple, true, immortal birth.
+    Scholars compose; but--_this man's music lives_!
+
+  Greater than England or than Earth discerned,
+    He never paltered with his art for gain:
+  When many a vaunted crown to dust is turned,
+    This uncrowned king shall take his throne and reign.
+
+  Nations unborn shall hear his forests moan;
+    Ages unscanned shall hear his winds lament,
+  Hear the strange grief that deepened through his own
+    The vast cry of a buried continent.
+
+  Through him, his race a moment lifted up
+    Forests of hands to Beauty as in prayer;
+  Touched through his lips the sacramental Cup,
+    And then sank back--benumbed in our bleak air.
+
+  Through him, through him, a lost world hailed the light!
+    The tragedy of that triumph none can tell,--
+  So great, so brief, so quickly snatched from sight;
+    And yet--O hail, great comrade, not farewell!
+
+
+
+
+INSCRIPTION
+
+(_For the Grave of Coleridge-Taylor_)
+
+
+  Sleep, crowned with fame; fearless of change or time.
+    Sleep, like remembered music in the soul,
+  Silent, immortal; while our discords climb
+    To that great chord which shall resolve the whole.
+
+  Silent with Mozart on that solemn shore;
+    Secure where neither waves nor hearts can break;
+  Sleep--till the Master of the World, once more,
+    Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake....
+
+  Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake.
+
+
+
+
+VALUES
+
+
+  The moon that sways the rhythmic seas,
+    The wheeling earth, the marching sky,--
+      I ask not whence the order came
+        That moves them all as one.
+
+  These are your chariots. Nor shall these
+    Appal me with immensity;
+      I know they carry one heart of flame
+        More precious than the sun.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEROIC DEAD
+
+(_On the loss of the Titanic_)
+
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, in the night
+    They never swerved. Death had no power to appal.
+  There was one Way, one Truth, one Life, one Light,
+    One Love that shone triumphant over all.
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, at the last
+    There was no Way to part, no Way but One
+  That rolled the waves of Nature back and cast
+    In ancient days a shadow across the sun.
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, their last breath
+    Saluted once again the eternal goal,
+  Chanted a love-song in the face of Death
+    And rent the veil of darkness from the soul.
+
+  If in the noon they doubted, in the night
+    They waved the shadowy world of strife aside,
+  Flooded high heaven with an immortal light,
+    And taught the deep how its Creator died.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRY IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+  It tears at the heart in the night, that moan of the wind,
+         That desolate moan.
+  It is worse than the cry of a child. I can hardly bear
+         To hear it, alone.
+
+  It is worse than the sobbing of love, when love is estranged:
+         For this is a cry
+  Out of the desolate ages. It never has changed.
+         It never can die.
+
+  A cry over numberless graves, dark, helpless and blind,
+         From the measureless past,
+  To the measureless future, a sobbing before the first laughter,
+         And after the last!
+
+         *       *       *       *       *
+
+  From the height of creation, in passion eternal, the Word
+         Rushes forth, the loud cry,
+  _Forsaken! Forsaken!_ It cuts through the night like a sword!
+         Shall it win no reply?
+
+  Not of earth is that height of all sorrow, past time, out of space,
+         Therefore here, here and now,
+  Universal, a Calvary, crowned with Thy passionate face,
+         Thy thorn-wounded brow.
+
+  Ah, could I shrink if Thy heart for each heart upon earth
+         Must break like a sea?
+  Could I hear, could I bear it at all, if I were not a part
+         Of this labour in Thee?
+
+  Shall I accuse Thee, then? God, I account it my own
+         All the grief I can bear,
+  On Thy Cross of Creation, to balance earth's bliss and atone,
+         Atone for life there.
+
+  If this be the One Way for ever, which not Thine all-might
+         Could change, if it would,
+  Till the truth be untrue, till the dark be the same as the light,
+         And till evil be good,
+
+  Shall I who took part in Thine April, shrink now from my part
+         In Thine anguish to be?
+  If Thy goal be the One goal of all, shall not even man's heart
+         Endure this, with Thee;
+
+  Die with Thee, balancing life, or help Thee to pay
+         For our hope with our pain?...
+  _O, the voice of the wind in the night! Is it day, then, broad day,
+         On the blind earth again?_
+
+
+
+
+ASTRID
+
+(_An Experiment in Initial Rhymes_)
+
+
+  White-armed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!--
+  Nightly wandered weeping thro' the ferns in the moon,
+  Slowly, weaving her strange garland in the forest,
+  Crowned with white violets,
+  Gowned in green.
+  Holy was that glen where she glided,
+  Making her wild garland as Merlin had bidden her,
+  Breaking off the milk-white horns of the honey-suckle,
+  Sweetly dripped the dew upon her small white
+  Feet.
+
+  White-throated Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!--
+  Nightly sought the answer to that riddle in the moon.
+  She must weave her garland, ere she save her soul.
+  Three long years she has wandered there in vain.
+  Always, always, the blossom that would finish it
+  Falls to her feet, and the garland breaks and vanishes,
+  Breaks like a dream in the dawn when the dreamer
+  Wakes.
+
+  White-bosomed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!--
+  Nightly tastes the sorrow of the world in the moon.
+  Will it be this little white miracle, she wonders.
+  How shall she know it, the star that will save her?
+  Still, ah still, in the moonlight she crouches
+  Bowing her head, for the garland has crumbled!
+  All the wild petals for the thousand and second time
+  Fall.
+
+  White-footed Astrid,--ah, but she is beautiful!--
+  Nightly seeks the secret of the world in the moon.
+  She will find the secret. She will find the golden
+  Key to the riddle, on the night when she has numbered them,
+  Marshalled all her wild flowers, ordered them as music,
+  Star by star, note by note, changing them and ranging them,
+  Suddenly, as at a kiss, all will flash together,
+  Flooding like the dawn thro' the arches of the woodland,
+  Fern and thyme and violet, maiden-hair and primrose
+  Turn to the Rose of the World, and He shall fold her,
+  Kiss her on the mouth, saying, all the world is one now,
+  This is the secret of the music that the soul hears,--
+  This.
+
+
+
+
+THE INIMITABLE LOVERS
+
+
+  They tell this proud tale of the Queen--Cleopatra,
+    Subtlest of women that the world has ever seen,
+  How that, on the night when she parted with her lover
+    Anthony, tearless, dry-throated, and sick-hearted,
+  A strange thing befell them in the darkness where they stood.
+
+    Bitter as blood was that darkness.
+  And they stood in a deep window, looking to the west.
+    Her white breast was brighter than the moon upon the sea,
+  And it moved in her agony (because it was the end!)
+    Like a deep sea, where many had been drowned.
+  Proud ships that were crowned with an Emperor's eagles
+    Were sunken there forgotten, with their emeralds and gold.
+  They had drunken of that glory, and their tale was told, utterly,
+    Told.
+
+  There, as they parted, heart from heart, mouth from mouth,
+    They stared upon each other. They listened.
+      For the South-wind
+  Brought them a rumour from afar; and she said,
+    Lifting her head, too beautiful for anguish,
+            Too proud for pity,--
+  _It is the gods that leave the City! O, Anthony,
+    Anthony, the gods have forsaken us;
+  Because it is the end! They leave us to our doom.
+    Hear it!_ And unshaken in the darkness,
+  Dull as dropping earth upon a tomb in the distance,
+    They heard, as when across a wood a low wind comes,
+  A muttering of drums, drawing nearer,
+    Then louder and clearer, as when a trumpet sings
+  To battle, it came rushing on the wings of the wind,
+    A sound of sacked cities, a sound of lamentation,
+  A cry of desolation, as when a conquered nation
+    Is weeping in the darkness, because its tale is told;
+  And then--a sound of chariots that rolled thro' that sorrow
+    Trampled like a storm of wild stallions, tossing nearer,
+  Trampled louder, clearer, triumphantly as music,
+    Till lo! in that great darkness, along that vacant street,
+  A red light beat like a furnace on the walls,
+    Then--like the blast when the North-wind calls to battle,
+  Blaring thro' the blood-red tumult and the flame,
+    Shaking the proud City as they came, an hundred elephants,
+  Cream-white and bronze, and splashed with bitter crimson,
+    Trumpeting for battle as they trod, an hundred elephants,
+  Bronze and cream-white, and trapped with gold and purple,
+    Towered like tusked castles, every thunder-laden footfall
+  Dreadful as the shattering of a City. Yet they trod,
+    Rocking like an earthquake, to a great triumphant music,
+  And, swinging like the stars, black planets, white moons,
+    Thro' the stream of the torches, they brought the red chariot,
+  The chariot of the battle-god--Mars.
+    While the tall spears of Sparta tossed clashing in his train,
+  And a host of ghostly warriors cried aloud
+    _All hail!_ to those twain, and went rushing to the darkness
+  Like a pageantry of cloud, for their tale was told--utterly--
+    Told.
+
+  And following, in the fury of the vine, rushing down
+    Like a many-visaged torrent, with ivy-rod and thyrse,
+  And many a wild and foaming crown of roses,
+    Crowded the Bacchanals, the brown-limbed shepherds,
+  The red-tongued leopards, and the glory of the god!
+    _Iacchus! Iacchus!_ without dance, without song,
+  They cried and swept along to the darkness.
+    Only for a breath when the tumult of their torches
+  Crimsoned the deep window where that dark warrior stood
+    With the blood upon his mail, and the Queen--Cleopatra,
+  Frozen to white marble--the Maenads raised their timbrels,
+    Tossed their white arms, with a clash--_All hail!_
+  Like wild swimmers, pale, in a sea of blood and wine,
+    _All hail! All hail!_ Then they swept into the darkness
+  And the darkness buried them. Their tale was told--utterly--
+    Told.
+
+  And following them, O softer than the moon upon the sea,
+    Aphrodite, implacably, shone.
+  Like a furnace of white roses, Aphrodite and her train
+    Lifted their white arms to those twain in the silence
+  Once, and were gone into the darkness;
+    Once, and away into the darkness they were swept
+  Like a pageantry of cloud, without praise, without pity.
+    Then the dark City slept. And the Queen--Cleopatra--
+  Subtlest of women that this earth has ever seen,
+    Turning to her lover in the darkness where he stood,
+  With the blood upon his mail,
+    Bowing her head upon that iron in the darkness,
+    Wept.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRAGS
+
+(_In memory of Thomas Bailey Aldrich_)
+
+
+  Falernian, first! What other wine
+  Should brim the cup or tint the line
+    That would recall my days
+    Among your creeks and bays;
+
+  Where, founded on a rock, your house
+  Between the pines' unfading boughs
+    Watches through sun and rain
+    That lonelier coast of Maine;
+
+  And the Atlantic's mounded blue
+  Breaks on your crags the summer through,
+    A long pine's length below,
+    In rainbow-tossing snow.
+
+  While on your railed verandah there
+  As on a deck you sail through air,
+    And sea and cloud and sky
+    Go softly streaming by.
+
+  Like delicate oils at set of sun
+  Smoothing the waves the colours run--
+    Around the enchanted hull,
+    Anchored and beautiful,--
+
+  Restoring to that sun-dried star
+  You brought from coral isles afar--
+    With shells that mock the moon--
+    The tints of their lagoon;
+
+  Till, from within, your lamps declare
+  Your harbours by the colours there,
+    An Indian god, a fan
+    Painted in Old Japan.
+
+  But, best of all, I think at night,
+  The moon that makes a road of light
+    Across the whispering sea,
+    A road--for memory.
+
+  When the blue dusk has filled the pane,
+  And the great pine-logs burn again,
+    And books are good to read.
+    --For his were books indeed.--
+
+  Their silken shadows, rustling, dim,
+  May sing no more of Spain for him;
+    No shadows of old France
+    Renew their courtly dance.
+
+  He walks no more where shadows are
+  But left their ivory gates ajar,
+    That shadows might prolong
+    The dance, the tale, the song.
+
+  His was no narrow test or rule.
+  He chose the best of every school,--
+    Stendhal and Keats and Donne,
+    Balzac and Stevenson;
+
+  Wordsworth and Flaubert filled their place.
+  Dumas met Hawthorne face to face.
+    There were both new and old
+    In his good realm of gold.
+
+  The title-pages bore his name;
+  And, nightly, by the dancing flame,
+    Following him, I found
+    That all was haunted ground;
+
+  Until a friendlier shadow fell
+  Upon the leaves he loved so well,
+    And I no longer read,
+    But talked with him instead.
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE
+
+1914
+
+
+  Crimson was the twilight, under that crab-tree,
+  Where--old tales tell us--all a midsummer's night,
+  A mad young poacher, drunk with mead of elfin-land,
+  Lodged with the fern-owl, and looked at the stars.
+
+  There, from the dusk where the dream of Piers Plowman
+  Darkens on the sunset, to this dusk of our own,
+  I read, in a history, the record of our world.
+
+  The hawk-moth, the currant-moth, the red-striped tiger-moth
+  Shimmered all around me, so white shone those pages;
+  And, in among the blue boughs, the bats flew low.
+
+  I slumbered, the history slipped from my hand.
+  Then I saw a dead man, dreadful in the moon-dawn,
+  The ghost of the master, bowed upon that book.
+  He muttered as he searched it,--_what vast convulsion
+  Mocks my sexton's curse now, shakes our English clay?_
+  Whereupon I told him, and asked him in turn
+  Whether he espied any light in those pages
+  Which painted an epoch later than his own.
+  _I am a shadow_, he said, _and I see none_....
+
+  _I am a shadow_, he said, _and I see none_.
+
+  Then, O then he murmured to himself (while the moon hung
+  Crimson as a lanthorn of Cathay in that crab-tree),
+  Laughing at his work and the world, as I thought,
+  Yet with some bitterness, yet with some beauty,
+  Mocking his own music, these wraiths of his rhymes:
+
+
+    I
+
+  God, when I turn the leaves of that dark book
+    Wherein our wisest teach us to recall
+  Those glorious flags which in old tempests shook
+    And those proud thrones which held my youth in thrall;
+
+  When I see clear what seemed to childish eyes
+    The gorgeous colouring of each pictured age;
+  And for their dominant tints now recognise
+    Those prints of innocent blood on every page;
+
+  O, then I know this world is fast asleep,
+    Bound in Time's womb, till some far morning break;
+  And, though light grows upon the dreadful deep,
+    We are dungeoned in thick night. We are not awake.
+
+  The world's unborn, for all our hopes and schemes;
+  And all its myriads only move in dreams.
+
+
+    II
+
+  Read what our wisest chroniclers record:--
+    A king betrayed both foes and friends to death,
+  Delivered his own country to the sword,
+    And lied, and lied, and lied to his last breath.
+
+  He died, the martyred anarch of his time.
+    What balm is this that consecrates his dust?
+  The self-same history shudders at the "crime"
+    Which shed a blood so fragrant, so "august."
+
+  Yes. Let our sons by thousands, millions, die;
+    And when the crowned assassin of to-day
+  Stands in the Judgment Hall of Liberty
+    What shall your desolate nations rise and say?
+
+  Honour the dog. He's vanquished! He's a king!
+  So--for our dead--he's too "august" a thing.
+
+
+    III
+
+    _It was a crimson twilight, under that crab-tree.
+    Moths beat about me, and bats flew low.
+    I read, in a history, the record of our world.
+    If there be light, said the Master,
+    I am a shadow, and I see none....
+    I am a shadow, and I see none._
+
+
+
+
+THE WHITE CLIFFS
+
+
+  Woden made the red cliffs, the red walls of England.
+    Round the South of Devonshire, they burn against the blue.
+  Green is the water there; and, clear as liquid sunlight,
+    Blue-green as mackerel, the bays that Raleigh knew.
+
+  Thor made the black cliffs, the battlements of England,
+    Climbing to Tintagel where the white gulls wheel.
+  Cold are the caverns there, and sullen as a cannon-mouth,
+    Booming back the grey swell that gleams like steel.
+
+  Balder made the white cliffs, the white shield of England
+    (Crowned with thyme and violet where Sussex wheatears fly),
+  White as the White Ensign are the bouldered heights of Dover,
+    Beautiful the scutcheon that they bare against the sky.
+
+  _So the world shall sing of them--the white cliffs of England,
+    White, the glory of her sails, the banner of her pride.
+  One and all,--their seamen met and broke the dread Armada.
+    Only white may show the world the shield for which they died._
+
+
+
+
+ON THE SOUTH COAST
+
+
+  Come away into the sun and see
+  All the heavens that used to be,
+  Daily, hourly, brought to birth
+  Out of the deep remembering earth.
+
+  _This is England, this is the land
+  That holds my heart in her sweet hand.
+  This is she whose turf, I pray,
+  Will hide me, on her breast, one day._
+
+  Cast you down on the close-cropped turf,
+  See how the white cliff spreads the surf,
+  On green-eyed seas that glitter and trail
+  Into the south like a peacock's tail.
+
+  Then, come away over the hills of thyme,
+  Where folds like elfin belfries chime
+  Till Eve, in a cloud of her dusky hair,
+  Makes it Elf-land everywhere.
+
+  You shall pity the king on his throne.
+  You shall know what never was known.
+  All the glory of all the skies
+  Utterly yours in your true love's eyes;
+
+  All the bloom to the world's end
+  And all the heavens that over it bend,
+  Compacted in one garden white,
+  The garden of your love's delight.
+
+  _This is England, this is the land
+  That holds my soul in her sweet hand.
+  This is she whose turf, I pray,
+  Will hide me on her heart one day._
+
+
+
+
+OLDER THAN THE HILLS
+
+
+  Older than the hills, older than the sea,
+    Older than the heart of the Spring,
+  O, what is this that breaks
+  From the blind shell, wakes,
+    Wakes, and is gone like a wing?
+
+  Older than the sea, older than the moon,
+    Older than the heart of the May,
+  What is this blind refrain
+  Of a song that shall remain
+    When the singer is long gone away?
+
+  Older than the moon, older than the stars,
+    Older than the wind in the night,--
+  Though the young dews are sweet
+  On the heather at our feet
+    And the blue hills laughing back the light,--
+
+  Till the stars grow young, till the hills grow young,
+    O, Love, we shall walk through Time,
+  Till we round the world at last,
+  And the future be the past,
+    And the winds of Eden greet us from the prime.
+
+
+
+
+THE TORCH
+
+(_Sussex Landscape_)
+
+
+  Is it your watch-fire, elves, where the down with its darkening shoulder
+    Lifts on the death of the sun, out of the valley of thyme?
+  Dropt on the broad chalk path and, cresting the ridge of it, smoulder
+    Crimson as blood on the white, halting my feet as they climb,
+
+  Clusters of clover-bloom, spilled from what negligent arms in the tender
+    Dusk of the great grey world, last of the tints of the day;
+  Beautiful, sorrowful, strange last stain of that perishing splendour.
+    Elves, from what torn white feet trickled that red on the way?
+
+  No--from the sun-burnt hands of what lovers that fade in the distance?
+    Here, was it here that they paused, here that the legend was told?
+  Even a kiss would be heard in this hush; but, with mocking insistence,
+    Now thro' the valley resound--only the bells of the fold.
+
+  Dropt--from the hands of what beautiful throng? Did they cry "_follow
+           after_"?
+    Dancing into the west, leaving this token for me,
+  _Memory dead on the path, and the sunset to bury their laughter?_
+    Youth--is it youth that has flown? Darkness covers the sea.
+
+  Darkness covers the earth; but the path is here! I assay it.
+    Let the bloom fall like a flake--dropt from the torch of a friend!
+  Beautiful revellers, happy companions, I see and obey it;
+    Follow your torch in the night, follow your path to the end.
+
+
+
+
+THE OUTLAW
+
+
+  Deep in the greenwood of my heart
+    My wild hounds race.
+  I cloak my soul at feast and mart,
+    I mask my face;
+
+  Outlawed, but not alone, for Truth
+    Is outlawed, too.
+  Proud world, you cannot banish us.
+    _We_ banish _you_.
+
+  Go by, go by, with all your din,
+    Your dust, your greed, your guile,
+  Your gold, your thrones can never win--
+    From Her--one smile.
+
+  She sings to me in a lonely place,
+    She takes my hand.
+  I look into her lovely face
+    And understand....
+
+  Outlawed, but not alone, for Love
+    Is outlawed, too.
+  You cannot banish us, proud world.
+    _We_ banish _you_.
+
+  Now which is outlawed, which alone?
+    Around us fall and rise
+  Murmurs of leaf and fern, the moan
+    Of Paradise.
+
+  Outlawed? Then hills and woods and streams
+    Are outlawed, too!
+  Proud world, from our immortal dreams,
+    We banish you.
+
+
+
+
+THE YOUNG FRIAR
+
+
+  When leaves broke out on the wild briar,
+    And bells for matins rung,
+  Sorrow came to the old friar
+    --Hundreds of years ago it was!--
+  And May came to the young.
+
+  The old was ripening for the sky,
+    The young was twenty-four.
+  The Franklin's daughter passed him by,
+    Reading a painted missal-book,
+  Beside the chapel door.
+
+  With brown cassock and sandalled feet,
+    And red Spring wine for blood;
+  The very next noon he chanced to meet
+    The Franklin's daughter, in a green May twilight,
+  Walking through the wood.
+
+  _Pax vobiscum_--to a maid
+    The crosiered ferns among!
+  But hers was only the Saxon,
+    And his the Norman tongue;
+  And the Latin taught by the old friar
+    Made music for the young.
+
+  And never a better deed was done
+    By Mother Church below
+  Than when she made old England one,
+    --Hundreds of years ago it was!--
+  Hundreds of years ago.
+
+  Rich was the painted page they read
+    Before that sunset died;
+  Nut-brown hood by golden head,
+    Murmuring _Rosa Mystica_,
+  While nesting thrushes cried.
+
+  A Saxon maid with flaxen hair,
+    And eyes of Sussex grey;
+  A young monk out of Normandy:--
+    "May is our Lady's month," he said,
+  "And O, my love, my May!"
+
+  Then over the fallen missal-book
+    The missel-thrushes sung
+  Till--_Domus Aurea_--rose the moon
+    And bells for vespers rung.
+  It was gold and blue for the old friar,
+    But hawthorn for the young.
+
+  For gown of green and brown hood,
+    Before that curfew tolled,
+  Had flown for ever through the wood
+    --Hundreds of years ago it was!--
+  But twenty summers old.
+
+  And empty stood his chapel stall,
+    Empty his thin grey cell,
+  Empty her seat in the Franklin's hall;
+    And there were swords that searched for them
+  Before the matin bell.
+
+  And, crowders tell, a sword that night
+    Wrought them an evil turn,
+  And that the may was not more white
+    Than those white bones the robin found
+  Among the roots of fern.
+
+  But others tell of stranger things
+    Half-heard on Whitsun eves,
+  Of sweet and ghostly whisperings--
+    Though hundreds of years ago it was--
+  Among the ghostly leaves:--
+
+      _Sero te amavi_--
+        Grey eyes of sun-lit dew!--
+      _Tam antiqua, Tam nova_--
+        Augustine heard it, too.
+      Late have I loved that May, Lady,
+        So ancient, and so new!
+
+  And no man knows where they were flown,
+    For the wind takes the may:
+  But white and fresh the may was blown
+    --Though hundreds of years ago it was--
+  As this that blooms to-day.
+
+  And the leaves break out on the wild briar,
+    And bells must still be rung;
+  But sorrow comes to the old friar,
+    For he remembers a May, a May,
+  When his old heart was young.
+
+
+
+
+A FOREST SONG
+
+
+  Who would be a king
+  That can sit in the sun and sing?
+  Nay, I have a kingdom of mine own.
+  A fallen oak-tree is my throne.
+      _Then, pluck the strings, and tell me true
+      If Caesar in his glory knew
+      The worlds he lost in sun and dew._
+
+  Who would be a queen
+  That sees what my love hath seen?--
+  The blood of little children shed
+  To make one royal ruby red!
+      _Then, tell me, music, why the great
+      For quarrelling trumpets abdicate
+      This quick, this absolute estate._
+
+  Nay, who would sing in heaven,
+  Among the choral Seven
+  That hears--as Love and I have heard,
+  The whole sky listening to one bird?
+      _And where's the ruby, tell me where,
+      Whose crimsons for one breath compare
+      With this wild rose that all may share?_
+
+
+
+
+THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW
+
+(_Phi Beta Kappa Poem, Harvard, 1915_)
+
+
+  Music is dead. An age, an age is dying.
+  Shreds of Uranian song, wild symphonies
+  Tortured with moans of butchered innocents,
+  Blow past us on the wind. Chaos resumes
+  His kingdom. All the visions of the world,
+  The visions that were music, being shaped
+  By law, moving in measure, treading the road
+  That suns and systems tread, O who can hear
+  Their music now? Urania bows her head.
+  Only the feet that move in order dance.
+  Only the mind attuned to that dread pulse
+  Of law throughout the universe can sing.
+  Only the soul that plays its rhythmic part
+  In that great measure of the tides and suns
+  Terrestrial and celestial, till it soar
+  Into the supreme melodies of heaven,
+  Only that soul, climbing the splendid road
+  Of law from height to height, may walk with God,
+  Shape its own sphere from chaos, conquer death,
+  Lay hold on life and liberty, and sing.
+
+  Yet, since, at least, the fleshly heart must beat
+  In measure, and no new rebellion breaks
+  That old restriction, murmurs reach it still,
+  Rumours of that vast music which resolves
+  Our discords, and to this, to this attuned,
+  Though blindly, it responds, in notes like these:
+
+    There was a song in heaven of old,
+      A song the choral seven began,
+    When God with all his chariots rolled
+      The tides of chaos back for man;
+    When suns revolved and planets wheeled,
+      And the great oceans ebbed and flowed,
+    There is one way of life, it pealed,
+      The road of law, the unchanging road.
+
+    The trumpet of the law resounds,
+      And we behold, from depth to height,
+    What glittering sentries walk their rounds,
+      What ordered hosts patrol the night,
+    While wheeling worlds proclaim to us,
+      Captained by Thee thro' nights unknown,--
+    _Glory that would be glorious
+      Must keep Thy law to find its own._
+
+    Beyond rebellion, past caprice,
+      From heavens that comprehend all change,
+    All space, all time, till time shall cease,
+      The trumpet rings to souls that range,
+    To souls that in wild dreams annul
+      Thy word, confessed by wood and stone,--
+    _Beauty that would be beautiful
+      Must keep Thy law to find its own._
+
+    He that can shake it, will he thrust
+      His careless hands into the fire?
+    He that would break it, shall we trust
+      The sun to rise at his desire?
+    Constant above our discontent,
+      The trumpet peals in sterner tone,--
+    _Might that would be omnipotent
+      Must keep Thy law to find its own._
+
+    Ah, though beneath unpitying spheres
+      Unreckoned seems our human cry,
+    In Thy deep law, beyond the years,
+      Abides the Eternal memory.
+    Thy law is light, to eyes grown dull
+      Dreaming of worlds like bubbles blown;
+    _And Mercy that is merciful
+      Shall keep Thy law and find its own._
+
+    Unchanging God, by that one Light
+      Through which we grope to Truth and Thee,
+    Confound not yet our day with night,
+      Break not the measures of Thy sea.
+    Hear not, though grief for chaos cry
+      Or rail at Thine unanswering throne.
+    _Thy law, Thy law, is liberty,
+      And in Thy law we find our own._
+
+  So, to Uranian music, rose our world.
+  The boughs put forth, the young leaves groped for light.
+  The wild flower spread its petals as in prayer.
+  Then, for terrestrial ears, vast discords rose,
+  The struggle in the jungle, clashing themes
+  That strove for mastery; but above them all,
+  Ever the mightier measure of the suns
+  Resolved them into broader harmonies,
+  That fought again for mastery. The night
+  Buried the mastodon. The warring tribes
+  Of men were merged in nations. Wider laws
+  Embraced them. Man no longer fought with man,
+  Though nation warred with nation. Hatred fell
+  Before the gaze of love. For in an hour
+  When, by the law of might, mankind could rise
+  No higher, into the deepening music stole
+  A loftier theme, a law that gathered all
+  The laws of earth into its broadening breast
+  And moved like one full river to the sea,
+  The law of Love.
+  The sun stood dark at noon;
+  Dark as the moon before this mightier Power,
+  And a Voice rang across the blood-stained earth:
+  _I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light._
+  We heard it, and we did not hear. In dreams
+  We caught a thousand fragments of the strain,
+  But never wholly heard it. We moved on
+  Obeying it a little, till our world
+  Became so vast, that we could only hear
+  Stray notes, a golden phrase, a sorrowful cry,
+  Never the rounded glory of the whole.
+  So one would sing of death, one of despair,
+  And some, knowing that God was more than man,
+  Knowing that the Eternal Power behind
+  Our universe was more than man, would shrink
+  From crowning Him with human attributes,
+  Though these remained the highest that we knew;
+  And therefore, falling back on lower signs,
+  Bereft of love, thought, personality,
+  They made Him less than man; made Him a blind
+  Unweeting force, less than the best in man,
+  Less than the best that He Himself had made.
+
+  Yet, though from earth we could no longer hear
+  As from a central throne, the harmonies
+  Of the revolving whole; yet though from earth,
+  And from earth's Calvary, the central scene
+  Withdrew to dreadful depths beyond our ken;
+  Withdrew to some deep Calvary at the heart
+  Of all creation; yet, O yet, we heard,
+  Echoes that murmured from Eternity,
+  _I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light._
+  And still the eternal passion undiscerned
+  Moved like a purple shadow through our world,
+  While we, in intellectual chaos, raised
+  The ancient cry, _Not this man, but Barabbas._
+  Then Might grew Right once more, for who could hold
+  The Right, when the rebellious hearts of men
+  Finding the Law too hard in life, thought, art,
+  Proclaimed that Right itself was born of chance,
+  Born out of nothingness and doomed, at last,
+  To nothingness; while all that men have held
+  Better than dust--love, honour, justice, truth--
+  Was less than dust, for the blind dust endures?
+  But love, they said, and the proud soul of man,
+  Die with the breath, before the flesh decays.
+  And still, amidst the chaos, Love was born,
+  Suffered and died; and in a myriad forms
+  A myriad parables of the Eternal Christ
+  Unfolded their deep message to mankind.
+  So, on this last wild winter of his birth,
+  Though cannon rocked his cradle, heaven might hear,
+  Once more, the Mother and her infant Child.
+
+    _Will the Five Clock-Towers chime tonight?_
+      --Child, the red earth would shake with scorn.--
+    _But will the Emperors laugh outright
+      If Roland rings that Christ is born?_
+
+    No belfries pealed for that pure birth.
+      There were no high-stalled choirs to sing.
+    The blood of children smoked on earth;
+      For Herod, in those days, was king.--
+
+    _O, then the Mother and her Son
+      Were refugees that Christmas, too?_--
+    Through all the ages, little one,
+      That strange old story still comes true.--
+
+    _Was there no peace in Bethlehem?_--
+      Yes. There was Love in one poor Inn;
+    And, while His wings were over them,
+      They heard those deeper songs begin.--
+
+    _What songs were they? What songs were they?
+      Did stars of shrapnel shed their light?_--
+    O, little child, I have lost the way.
+      I cannot find that Inn tonight.--
+
+    _Is there no peace, then, anywhere?_--
+      Perhaps, where some poor soldier lies
+    With all his wounds in front, out there.--
+      _You weep?_--He had your innocent eyes.--
+
+    _Then is it true that Christ's a slave,
+      Whom all these wrongs can never rouse?_--
+    They said it. But His anger drave
+      The money-changers from His House.--
+
+    _Yet He forgave and turned away._--
+      Yes, unto seventy times and seven.
+    But they forget. He comes one day
+      In power, among the clouds of heaven.--
+
+    _Then Roland rings?_--Yes, little son!
+      With iron hammers they dare not scorn,
+    Roland is breaking them, gun by gun,
+      Roland is ringing. Christ is born.
+
+  Born and re-born; for though the Christ we knew
+  On earth be dead for ever, who shall kill
+  The Eternal Christ whose law is in our hearts,
+  Christ, who in this dark hour descends to hell,
+  And ascends into heaven, and sits beside
+  The right hand of the Father. If for men
+  This law be dead, it lives for children still.
+  Children that men have butchered see His face,
+  Rest in His arms, and strike our mockery dumb.
+  So shall the trumpet of the law resound
+  Through all the ages, telling of that child
+  Whose outstretched arms in Belgium speak for God.
+
+    They crucified a Man of old,
+      The thorns are shrivelled on His brow.
+    Prophet or fool or God, behold,
+      They crucify Thy children now.
+    They doubted evil, doubted good,
+      And the eternal heavens as well,
+    Behold, the iron and the blood,
+      The visible handiwork of Hell.
+
+    Fast to the cross they found it there,
+      They found it in the village street,
+    A naked child, with sunkissed hair.
+      The nails were through its hands and feet.
+    For Christ was dead, yes, Christ was dead!
+      O Lamb of God, O little one,
+    I kneel before your cross instead
+      And the same shadow veils the sun....
+
+      And the same shadow veils the sun....
+
+  But you, O land, O beautiful land of Freedom,
+  Hold fast the faith which made and keeps you great.
+  With you, with you abide the faith and hope,
+  In this dark hour, of agonised mankind.
+  Hold to that law whereby the warring tribes
+  Were merged in nations, hold to that wide law
+  Which bids you merge the nations, here and now,
+  Into one people. Hold to that deep law
+  Whereby we reach the peace which is not death
+  But the triumphant harmony of Life,
+  Eternal Life, immortal Love, the Peace
+  Of worlds that sing around the throne of God.
+
+
+
+
+THRICE-ARMED
+
+
+  Thus only should it come, if come it must--
+    Not with a riot of flags and a mob-born cry,
+    But with a noble faith, a conscience high
+  That, if we fail, we failed not in our trust.
+  We fought for peace. We dared the bitter thrust
+    Of calumny for peace, and watched her die,
+    Her scutcheons rent from sky to outraged sky
+  By felon hands and trampled into the dust.
+
+  We proffered justice, and we saw the law
+    Cancelled by stroke on stroke of those deft hands
+      Which still retain the imperial forger's pen.
+  They must have blood--Then, at this last, we draw
+    The sword, not with a riot of flags and bands,
+      But silence, and a mustering of men.
+
+  They challenge Truth. A people makes reply,
+    East, West, North, South, one honour and one might,
+    From sea to sea, from height to war-worn height,
+  The old word rings out--to conquer or to die.
+  And we shall conquer! Though their eagles fly
+    Through heaven, around this ancient isle unite
+    Powers that were never vanquished in the fight,
+  The unconquerable Powers that cannot lie.
+
+  Though fire destroy her flesh, and many a year
+    This land forgot the faith that made her great,
+      Now, as her fleets cast off the North Sea foam,
+  Casting aside all faction and all fear,
+    Thrice-armed in all the majesty of her fate,
+      Britain remembers, and her sword strikes home.
+
+
+
+
+THE SONG-TREE
+
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree,
+    As thou hast ever grown,
+  Since first, a wondering child,
+    Long since, I cherished thee.
+  It was at break of day,
+    Well I remember it,--
+  The first note that I heard,
+    A magical undertone,
+  Sweeter than any bird
+    --Or so it seemed to me--
+  And my tears ran wild.
+    This tale, this tale is true.
+  The light was growing gray;
+    And the rhymes ran so sweet
+  (For I was only a child)
+    That I knelt down to pray.
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree.
+    Since then I have forgot
+    A thousand friends, but not
+  The song that set me free,
+    So that to thee I gave
+  My hopes and my despairs,
+    My boyhood's ecstasy,
+  My manhood's prayers.
+    In dreams I have watched thee grow,
+  A ladder of sweet boughs,
+    Where angels come and go,
+  And birds keep house.
+    In dreams, I have seen thee wave
+  Over a distant land,
+    And watched thy roots expand,
+  And given my life to thee,
+    As I would give my grave.
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree,
+    And when I am grown old,
+  Let me die under thee,
+    Die to enrich thy mould;
+  Die at thy roots, and so
+    Help thee to grow.
+  Make of this body and blood
+    Thy sempiternal food.
+  Then let some little child,
+    Some friend I shall not see,
+  When the great dawn is gray,
+    Some lover I have not known,
+  In summers far away,
+    Sit listening under thee.
+  And in thy rustling hear
+    That mystical undertone,
+  Which made my tears run wild,
+    And made thee, O, how dear.
+
+  In the great years to be?
+    I am proud then? Ah, not so.
+  I have lived and died for thee.
+    Be patient Grow.
+
+  Grow, my song, like a tree.
+
+
+
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