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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95f6ac7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #51575 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51575) diff --git a/old/51575-0.txt b/old/51575-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a1e90d9..0000000 --- a/old/51575-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5974 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, 1908-1919, by John Drinkwater - -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/license - - -Title: Poems, 1908-1919 - -Author: John Drinkwater - -Release Date: March 27, 2016 [EBook #51575] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, 1908-1919 *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - - - - POEMS - 1908-1919 - - [Illustration: _John Drinkwater_ - - _From a drawing by William Rothenstein_ - - _1917_ - - _Emery Walker ph. sc._] - - - - - POEMS - 1908-1919 - - BY - JOHN DRINKWATER - - [Illustration: colophon] - - BOSTON AND NEW YORK - HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY - The Riverside Press Cambridge - - COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY JOHN DRINKWATER - - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - - TO - MY WIFE - - - - -CONTENTS - - -RECIPROCITY 1 - -THE HOURS 2 - -A TOWN WINDOW 4 - -MYSTERY 5 - -THE COMMON LOT 7 - -PASSAGE 8 - -THE WOOD 9 - -HISTORY 10 - -THE FUGITIVE 12 - -CONSTANCY 13 - -SOUTHAMPTON BELLS 15 - -THE NEW MIRACLE 17 - -REVERIE 18 - -PENANCES 26 - -LAST CONFESSIONAL 27 - -BIRTHRIGHT 29 - -ANTAGONISTS 30 - -HOLINESS 31 - -THE CITY 32 - -TO THE DEFILERS 33 - -A CHRISTMAS NIGHT 34 - -INVOCATION 35 - -IMMORTALITY 36 - -THE CRAFTSMEN 38 - -SYMBOLS 39 - -SEALED 40 - -A PRAYER 43 - -THE BUILDING 45 - -THE SOLDIER 48 - -THE FIRES OF GOD 49 - -CHALLENGE 60 - -TRAVEL TALK 61 - -THE VAGABOND 66 - -OLD WOMAN IN MAY 67 - -THE FECKENHAM MEN 68 - -THE TRAVELLER 70 - -IN LADY STREET 71 - -ANTHONY CRUNDLE 75 - -MAD TOM TATTERMAN 76 - -FOR CORIN TO-DAY 78 - -THE CARVER IN STONE 79 - -ELIZABETH ANN 91 - -THE COTSWOLD FARMERS 92 - -A MAN’S DAUGHTER 93 - -THE LIFE OF JOHN HERITAGE 95 - -THOMAS YARNTON OF TARLTON 98 - -MRS. WILLOW 99 - -ROUNDELS OF THE YEAR 101 - -LIEGEWOMAN 105 - -LOVERS TO LOVERS 106 - -LOVE’S PERSONALITY 107 - -PIERROT 108 - -RECKONING 110 - -DERELICT 112 - -WED 113 - -FORSAKEN 115 - -DEFIANCE 116 - -LOVE IN OCTOBER 117 - -TO THE LOVERS THAT COME AFTER US 118 - -DERBYSHIRE SONG 119 - -LOVE’S HOUSE 120 - -COTSWOLD LOVE 124 - -WITH DAFFODILS 125 - -FOUNDATIONS 126 - -DEAR AND INCOMPARABLE 127 - -A SABBATH DAY 128 - -A DEDICATION 134 - -RUPERT BROOKE 136 - -ON READING FRANCIS LEDWIDGE’S LAST SONGS 137 - -IN THE WOODS 138 - -LATE SUMMER 139 - -JANUARY DUSK 140 - -AT GRAFTON 141 - -DOMINION 142 - -THE MIRACLE 144 - -MILLERS DALE 145 - -WRITTEN AT LUDLOW CASTLE 146 - -WORDSWORTH AT GRASMERE 147 - -SUNRISE ON RYDAL WATER 148 - -SEPTEMBER 150 - -OLTON POOLS 151 - -OF GREATHAM 152 - -MAMBLE 154 - -OUT OF THE MOON 155 - -MOONLIT APPLES 156 - -COTTAGE SONG 157 - -THE MIDLANDS 158 - -OLD CROW 160 - -VENUS IN ARDEN 162 - -ON A LAKE 163 - -HARVEST MOON 164 - -AT AN EARTHWORKS 165 - -INSTRUCTION 166 - -HABITATION 167 - -WRITTEN IN WINTERBORNE CAME CHURCH 169 - -BUDS 171 - -BLACKBIRD 172 - -MAY GARDEN 173 - -AT AN INN 174 - -PERSPECTIVE 176 - -CROCUSES 177 - -RIDDLES R.F.C. 179 - -THE SHIPS OF GRIEF 180 - -NOCTURNE 181 - -THE PATRIOT 182 - -EPILOGUE FOR A MASQUE 184 - -THE GUEST 185 - -TREASON 186 - -POLITICS 187 - -FOR A GUEST ROOM 189 - -DAY 190 - -DREAMS 191 - -RESPONSIBILITY 192 - -PROVOCATIONS 193 - -TRIAL 194 - -CHARGE TO THE PLAYERS 195 - -CHARACTER 196 - -REALITY 197 - -EPILOGUE 198 - -MOONRISE 200 - -DEER 201 - -TO ONE I LOVE 202 - -TO ALICE MEYNELL 205 - -PETITION 206 - -HARVESTING 208 - - - - - POEMS - - 1908-1919 - - - - -RECIPROCITY - - - I do not think that skies and meadows are - Moral, or that the fixture of a star - Comes of a quiet spirit, or that trees - Have wisdom in their windless silences. - Yet these are things invested in my mood - With constancy, and peace, and fortitude, - That in my troubled season I can cry - Upon the wide composure of the sky, - And envy fields, and wish that I might be - As little daunted as a star or tree. - - - - -THE HOURS - - - Those hours are best when suddenly - The voices of the world are still, - And in that quiet place is heard - The voice of one small singing bird, - Alone within his quiet tree; - - When to one field that crowns a hill, - With but the sky for neighbourhood, - The crowding counties of my brain - Give all their riches, lake and plain, - Cornland and fell and pillared wood; - When in a hill-top acre, bare - For the seed’s use, I am aware - Of all the beauty that an age - Of earth has taught my eyes to see; - - When Pride and Generosity - The Constant Heart and Evil Rage, - Affection and Desire, and all - The passions of experience - Are no more tabled in my mind, - Learning’s idolatry, but find - Particularity of sense - In daily fortitudes that fall - From this or that companion, - Or in an angry gossip’s word; - When one man speaks for Every One, - When Music lives in one small bird, - When in a furrowed hill we see - All beauty in epitome-- - Those hours are best; for those belong - To the lucidity of song. - - - - -A TOWN WINDOW - - - Beyond my window in the night - Is but a drab inglorious street, - Yet there the frost and clean starlight - As over Warwick woods are sweet. - - Under the grey drift of the town - The crocus works among the mould - As eagerly as those that crown - The Warwick spring in flame and gold. - - And when the tramway down the hill - Across the cobbles moans and rings, - There is about my window-sill - The tumult of a thousand wings. - - - - -MYSTERY - - - Think not that mystery has place - In the obscure and veilèd face, - Or when the midnight watches are - Uncompanied of moon or star, - Or where the fields and forests lie - Enfolded from the loving eye - By fogs rebellious to the sun, - Or when the poet’s rhymes are spun - From dreams that even in his own - Imagining are half-unknown. - - These are not mystery, but mere - Conditions that deny the clear - Reality that lies behind - The weak, unspeculative mind, - Behind contagions of the air - And screens of beauty everywhere, - The brooding and tormented sky, - The hesitation of an eye. - - Look rather when the landscapes glow - Through crystal distances as though - The forty shires of England spread - Into one vision harvested, - Or when the moonlit waters lie - In silver cold lucidity; - Those countenances search that bear - Witness to very character, - And listen to the song that weighs - A life’s adventure in a phrase-- - These are the founts of wonder, these - The plainer miracles to please - The brain that reads the world aright; - Here is the mystery of light. - - - - -THE COMMON LOT - - - When youth and summer-time are gone, - And age puts quiet garlands on, - And in the speculative eye - The fires of emulation die, - But as to-day our time shall be - Trembling upon eternity, - While, still inconstant in debate, - We shall on revelation wait, - And age as youth will daily plan - The sailing of the caravan. - - - - -PASSAGE - - - When you deliberate the page - Of Alexander’s pilgrimage, - Or say--“It is three years, or ten, - Since Easter slew Connolly’s men,” - Or prudently to judgment come - Of Antony or Absalom, - And think how duly are designed - Case and instruction for the mind, - Remember then that also we, - In a moon’s course, are history. - - - - -THE WOOD - - - I walked a nut-wood’s gloom. And overhead - A pigeon’s wing beat on the hidden boughs, - And shrews upon shy tunnelling woke thin - Late winter leaves with trickling sound. Across - My narrow path I saw the carrier ants - Burdened with little pieces of bright straw. - These things I heard and saw, with senses fine - For all the little traffic of the wood, - While everywhere, above me, underfoot, - And haunting every avenue of leaves, - Was mystery, unresting, taciturn. - - * * * * * - - And haunting the lucidities of life - That are my daily beauty, moves a theme, - Beating along my undiscovered mind. - - - - -HISTORY - - - Sometimes, when walls and occupation seem - A prison merely, a dark barrier - Between me everywhere - And life, or the larger province of the mind, - As dreams confined, - As the trouble of a dream, - I seek to make again a life long gone, - To be - My mind’s approach and consolation, - To give it form’s lucidity, - Resilient form, as porcelain pieces thrown - In buried China by a wrist unknown, - Or mirrored brigs upon Fowey sea. - - Then to my memory comes nothing great - Of purpose, or debate, - Or perfect end, - Pomp, nor love’s rapture, nor heroic hours to spend-- - But most, and strangely, for long and so much have I seen, - Comes back an afternoon - Of a June - Sunday at Elsfield, that is up on a green - Hill, and there, - Through a little farm parlour door, - A floor - Of red tiles and blue, - And the air - Sweet with the hot June sun cascading through - The vine-leaves under the glass, and a scarlet fume - Of geranium flower, and soft and yellow bloom - Of musk, and stains of scarlet and yellow glass. - - Such are the things remain - Quietly, and for ever, in the brain, - And the things that they choose for history-making pass. - - - - -THE FUGITIVE - - - Beauty has come to make no longer stay - Than the bright buds of May - In May-time do. - - Beauty is with us for one hour, one hour, - Life is so brief a flower; - Thoughts are so few. - - Thoughts are so few with mastery to give - Shape to these fugitive - Dear brevities, - - That even in its hour beauty is blind, - Because the shallow mind - Not sees, not sees. - - And in the mind of man only can be - Alert prosperity - For beauty brief. - - So, what can be but little comes to less - Upon the wilderness - Of unbelief. - - And beauty that has but an hour to spend - With you for friend, - Goes outcast by. - - But know, but know--for all she is outcast-- - It is not she at last, - But you that die. - - - - -CONSTANCY - - - The shadows that companion me - From chronicles and poetry - More constant and substantial are - Than these my men familiar, - Who draw with me uncertain breath - A little while this side of death; - For you, my friend, may fail to keep - To-morrow’s tryst, so darkly deep - The motions mutable that give - To flesh its brief prerogative, - And in the pleasant hours we make - Together for devotion’s sake, - Always the testament I see - That is our twin mortality. - But those from the recorded page - Keep an eternal pilgrimage. - They stedfastly inhabit here - With no mortality to fear, - And my communion with them - Ails not in the mind’s stratagem - Against the sudden blow, the date - That once must fall unfortunate. - They fret not nor persuade, and when - These graduates I entertain, - I grieve not that I too must fall - As you, my friend, to funeral, - But rather find example there - That, when my boughs of time are bare, - And nothing more the body’s chance - Governs my careful circumstance, - I shall, upon that later birth, - Walk in immortal fields of earth. - - - - -SOUTHAMPTON BELLS - - -I - - Long ago some builder thrust - Heavenward in Southampton town - His spire and beamed his bells, - Largely conceiving from the dust - That pinnacle for ringing down - Orisons and Noëls. - - In his imagination rang, - Through generations challenging - His peal on simple men, - Who, as the heart within him sang, - In daily townfaring should sing - By year and year again. - - -II - - Now often to their ringing go - The bellmen with lean Time at heel, - Intent on daily cares; - The bells ring high, the bells ring low, - The ringers ring the builder’s peal - Of tidings unawares. - - And all the bells’ might well be dumb - For any quickening in the street - Of customary ears; - And so at last proud builders come - With dreams and virtues to defeat - Among the clouding years. - - -III - - Now, waiting on Southampton sea - For exile, through the silver night - I hear Noël! Noël! - Through generations down to me - Your challenge, builder, comes aright, - Bell by obedient bell. - - You wake an hour with me; then wide - Though be the lapses of your sleep - You yet shall wake again; - And thus, old builder, on the tide - Of immortality you keep - Your way from brain to brain. - - - - -THE NEW MIRACLE - - - Of old men wrought strange gods for mystery, - Implored miraculous tokens in the skies, - And lips that most were strange in prophecy - Were most accounted wise. - - The hearthstone’s commerce between mate and mate, - Barren of wonder, prospered in content, - And still the hunger of their thought was great - For sweet astonishment. - - And so they built them altars of retreat - Where life’s familiar use was overthrown, - And left the shining world about their feet, - To travel worlds unknown. - - * * * * * - - We hunger still. But wonder has come down - From alien skies upon the midst of us; - The sparkling hedgerow and the clamorous town - Have grown miraculous. - - And man from his far travelling returns - To find yet stranger wisdom than he sought, - Where in the habit of his threshold burns - Unfathomable thought. - - - - -REVERIE - - - Here in the unfrequented noon, - In the green hermitage of June, - While overhead a rustling wing - Minds me of birds that do not sing - Until the cooler eve rewakes - The service of melodious brakes, - And thoughts are lonely rangers, here, - In shelter of the primrose year, - I curiously meditate - Our brief and variable state. - - I think how many are alive - Who better in the grave would thrive, - If some so long a sleep might give - Better instruction how to live; - I think what splendours had been said - By darlings now untimely dead - Had death been wise in choice of these, - And made exchange of obsequies. - - I think what loss to government - It is that good men are content-- - Well knowing that an evil will - Is folly-stricken too, and still - Itself considers only wise - For all rebukes and surgeries-- - That evil men should raise their pride - To place and fortune undefied. - I think how daily we beguile - Our brains, that yet a little while - And all our congregated schemes - And our perplexity of dreams, - Shall come to whole and perfect state. - I think, however long the date - Of life may be, at last the sun - Shall pass upon campaigns undone. - - I look upon the world and see - A world colonial to me, - Whereof I am the architect, - And principal and intellect, - A world whose shape and savour spring - Out of my lone imagining, - A world whose nature is subdued - For ever to my instant mood, - And only beautiful can be - Because of beauty is in me. - And then I know that every mind - Among the millions of my kind - Makes earth his own particular - And privately created star, - That earth has thus no single state, - Being every man articulate. - Till thought has no horizon then - I try to think how many men - There are to make an earth apart - In symbol of the urgent heart, - For there are forty in my street, - And seven hundred more in Greet, - And families at Luton Hoo, - And there are men in China, too. - - And what immensity is this - That is but a parenthesis - Set in a little human thought, - Before the body comes to naught. - There at the bottom of the copse - I see a field of turnip tops, - I see the cropping cattle pass - There in another field, of grass. - And fields and fields, with seven towns, - A river, and a flight of downs, - Steeples for all religious men, - Ten thousand trees, and orchards ten, - A mighty span that curves away - Into blue beauty, and I lay - All this as quartered on a sphere - Hung huge in space, a thing of fear - Vast as the circle of the sky - Completed to the astonished eye; - And then I think that all I see, - Whereof I frame immensity - Globed for amazement, is no more - Than a shire’s corner, and that four - Great shires being ten times multiplied - Are small on the Atlantic tide - As an emerald on a silver bowl ... - And the Atlantic to the whole - Sweep of this tributary star - That is our earth is but ... and far - Through dreadful space the outmeasured mind - Seeks to conceive the unconfined. - - I think of Time. How, when his wing - Composes all our quarrelling - In some green corner where May leaves - Are loud with blackbirds on all eves, - And all the dust that was our bones - Is underneath memorial stones, - Then shall old jealousies, while we - Lie side by side most quietly, - Be but oblivion’s fools, and still - When curious pilgrims ask--“What skill - Had these that from oblivion saves?”-- - My song shall sing above our graves. - - I think how men of gentle mind, - And friendly will, and honest kind, - Deny their nature and appear - Fellows of jealousy and fear; - Having single faith, and natural wit - To measure truth and cherish it, - Yet, strangely, when they build in thought, - Twisting the honesty that wrought - In the straight motion of the heart, - Into its feigning counterpart - That is the brain’s betrayal of - The simple purposes of love; - And what yet sorrier decline - Is theirs when, eager to confine - No more within the silent brain - Its habit, thought seeks birth again - In speech, as honesty has done - In thought; then even what had won - From heart to brain fades and is lost - In this pretended pentecost, - This their forlorn captivity - To speech, who have not learnt to be - Lords of the word, nor kept among - The sterner climates of the tongue ... - So truth is in their hearts, and then - Falls to confusion in the brain, - And, fading through this mid-eclipse, - It perishes upon the lips. - - I think how year by year I still - Find working in my dauntless will - Sudden timidities that are - Merely the echo of some far - Forgotten tyrannies that came - To youth’s bewilderment and shame; - That yet a magisterial gown, - Being worn by one of no renown - And half a generation less - In years than I, can dispossess - Something my circumspecter mood - Of excellence and quietude, - And if a Bishop speaks to me - I tremble with propriety. - - I think how strange it is that he - Who goes most comradely with me - In beauty’s worship, takes delight - In shows that to my eager sight - Are shadows and unmanifest, - While beauty’s favour and behest - To me in motion are revealed - That is against his vision sealed; - Yet is our hearts’ necessity - Not twofold, but a common plea - That chaos come to continence, - Whereto the arch-intelligence - Richly in divers voices makes - Its answer for our several sakes. - - I see the disinherited - And long procession of the dead, - Who have in generations gone - Held fugitive dominion - Of this same primrose pasturage - That is my momentary wage. - I see two lovers move along - These shadowed silences of song, - With spring in blossom at their feet - More incommunicably sweet - To their hearts’ more magnificence, - Than to the common courts of sense, - Till joy his tardy closure tells - With coming of the curfew bells. - I see the knights of spur and sword - Crossing the little woodland ford, - Riding in ghostly cavalcade - On some unchronicled crusade. - I see the silent hunter go - In cloth of yeoman green, with bow - Strung, and a quiver of grey wings. - I see the little herd who brings - His cattle homeward, while his sire - Makes bivouac in Warwickshire - This night, the liege and loyal man - Of Cavalier or Puritan. - And as they pass, the nameless dead, - Unsung, uncelebrate, and sped - Upon an unremembered hour - As any twelvemonth fallen flower, - I think how strangely yet they live - For all their days were fugitive. - - I think how soon we too shall be - A story with our ancestry. - - I think what miracle has been - That you whose love among this green - Delightful solitude is still - The stay and substance of my will, - The dear custodian of my song, - My thrifty counsellor and strong, - Should take the time of all time’s tide - That was my season, to abide - On earth also; that we should be - Charted across eternity - To one elect and happy day - Of yellow primroses in May. - - The clock is calling five o’clock, - And Nonesopretty brings her flock - To fold, and Tom comes back from town - With hose and ribbons worth a crown, - And duly at The Old King’s Head - They gather now to daily bread, - And I no more may meditate - Our brief and variable state. - - - - -PENANCES - - - These are my happy penances. To make - Beauty without a covenant; to take - Measure of time only because I know - That in death’s market-place I still shall owe - Service to beauty that shall not be done; - To know that beauty’s doctrine is begun - And makes a close in sacrifice; to find - In beauty’s courts the unappeasable mind. - - - - -LAST CONFESSIONAL - - - For all ill words that I have spoken, - For all clear moods that I have broken, - For all despite and hasty breath, - Forgive me, Love, forgive me, Death. - - Death, master of the great assize, - Love, falling now to memories, - You two alone I need to prove, - Forgive me, Death, forgive me, Love. - - For every tenderness undone, - For pride when holiness was none - But only easy charity, - O Death, be pardoner to me. - - For stubborn thought that would not make - Measure of love’s thought for love’s sake, - But kept a sullen difference, - Take, Love, this laggard penitence. - - For cloudy words too vainly spent - To prosper but in argument, - When truth stood lonely at the gate, - On your compassion, Death, I wait. - - For all the beauty that escaped - This foolish brain, unsung, unshaped, - For wonder that was slow to move, - Forgive me, Death, forgive me, Love. - - For love that kept a secret cruse, - For life defeated of its dues, - This latest word of all my breath-- - Forgive me, Love, forgive me, Death. - - - - -BIRTHRIGHT - - - Lord Rameses of Egypt sighed - Because a summer evening passed; - And little Ariadne cried - That summer fancy fell at last - To dust; and young Verona died - When beauty’s hour was overcast. - - Theirs was the bitterness we know - Because the clouds of hawthorn keep - So short a state, and kisses go - To tombs unfathomably deep, - While Rameses and Romeo - And little Ariadne sleep. - - - - -ANTAGONISTS - - - Green shoots, we break the morning earth - And flourish in the morning’s breath; - We leave the agony of birth - And soon are all midway to death. - - While yet the summer of her year - Brings life her marvels, she can see - Far off the rising dust, and hear - The footfall of her enemy. - - - - -HOLINESS - - - If all the carts were painted gay, - And all the streets swept clean, - And all the children came to play - By hollyhocks, with green - Grasses to grow between, - - If all the houses looked as though - Some heart were in their stones, - If all the people that we know - Were dressed in scarlet gowns, - With feathers in their crowns, - - I think this gaiety would make - A spiritual land. - I think that holiness would take - This laughter by the hand, - Till both should understand. - - - - -THE CITY - - - A shining city, one - Happy in snow and sun, - And singing in the rain - A paradisal strain.... - Here is a dream to keep, - O Builders, from your sleep. - - O foolish Builders, wake, - Take your trowels, take - The poet’s dream, and build - The city song has willed, - That every stone may sing - And all your roads may ring - With happy wayfaring. - - - - -TO THE DEFILERS - - - Go, thieves, and take your riches, creep - To corners out of honest sight; - We shall not be so poor to keep - One thought of envy or despite. - - But know that in sad surety when - Your sullen will betrays this earth - To sorrows of contagion, then - Beelzebub renews his birth. - - When you defile the pleasant streams - And the wild bird’s abiding-place, - You massacre a million dreams - And cast your spittle in God’s face. - - - - -A CHRISTMAS NIGHT - - - Christ for a dream was given from the dead - To walk one Christmas night on earth again, - Among the snow, among the Christmas bells. - He heard the hymns that are his praise: _Noël_, - And _Christ is Born_, and _Babe of Bethlehem_. - He saw the travelling crowds happy for home, - The gathering and the welcome, and the set - Feast and the gifts, because he once was born, - Because he once was steward of a word. - And so he thought, “The spirit has been kind; - So well the peoples might have fallen from me, - My way of life being difficult and spare. - It is beautiful that a dream in Galilee - Should prosper so. They crucified me once, - And now my name is spoken through the world, - And bells are rung for me and candles burnt. - They might have crucified my dream who used - My body ill; they might have spat on me - Always as in one hour on Golgotha.” ... - And the snow fell, and the last bell was still, - And the poor Christ again was with the dead. - - - - -INVOCATION - - - As pools beneath stone arches take - Darkly within their deeps again - Shapes of the flowing stone, and make - Stories anew of passing men, - - So let the living thoughts that keep, - Morning and evening, in their kind, - Eternal change in height and deep, - Be mirrored in my happy mind. - - Beat, world, upon this heart, be loud - Your marvel chanted in my blood, - Come forth, O sun, through cloud on cloud - To shine upon my stubborn mood. - - Great hills that fold above the sea, - Ecstatic airs and sparkling skies, - Sing out your words to master me, - Make me immoderately wise. - - - - -IMMORTALITY - - -I - - When other beauty governs other lips, - And snowdrops come to strange and happy springs, - When seas renewed bear yet unbuilded ships, - And alien hearts know all familiar things, - When frosty nights bring comrades to enjoy - Sweet hours at hearths where we no longer sit, - When Liverpool is one with dusty Troy, - And London famed as Attica for wit ... - How shall it be with you, and you, and you, - How with us all who have gone greatly here - In friendship, making some delight, some true - Song in the dark, some story against fear? - Shall song still walk with love, and life be brave, - And we, who were all these, be but the grave? - - -II - - No; lovers yet shall tell the nightingale - Sometimes a song that we of old time made, - And gossips gathered at the twilight ale - Shall say, “Those two were friends,” or, “Unafraid - Of bitter thought were those because they loved - Better than most.” And sometimes shall be told - How one, who died in his young beauty, moved, - As Astrophel, those English hearts of old. - And the new seas shall take the new ships home - Telling how yet the Dymock orchards stand, - And you shall walk with Julius at Rome, - And Paul shall be my fellow in the Strand; - There in the midst of all those words shall be - Our names, our ghosts, our immortality. - - - - -THE CRAFTSMEN - - - Confederate hand and eye - Work to the chisel’s blade, - Setting the grain aglow - Of porch and sturdy beam-- - So the strange gods may ply - Strict arms till we are made - Quick as the gods who know - What builds behind this dream. - - - - -SYMBOLS - - - I saw history in a poet’s song, - In a river-reach and a gallows-hill, - In a bridal bed, and a secret wrong, - In a crown of thorns: in a daffodil. - - I imagined measureless time in a day, - And starry space in a waggon-road, - And the treasure of all good harvests lay - In the single seed that the sower sowed. - - My garden-wind had driven and havened again - All ships that ever had gone to sea, - And I saw the glory of all dead men - In the shadow that went by the side of me. - - - - -SEALED - - - The doves call down the long arcades of pine, - The screaming swifts are tiring towards their eaves, - And you are very quiet, O lover of mine. - - No foot is on your ploughlands now, the song - Fails and is no more heard among your leaves - That wearied not in praise the whole day long. - - I have watched with you till this twilight-fall, - The proud companion of your loveliness; - Have you no word for me, no word at all? - - The passion of my thought I have given you, - Striving towards your passion, nevertheless, - The clover leaves are deepening to the dew, - - And I am still unsatisfied, untaught. - You lie guarded in mystery, you go - Into your night, and leave your lover naught. - - Would I were Titan with immeasurable thews - To hold you trembling, lover of mine, and know - To the full the secret savour that you use - - Now to my tormenting. I would drain - Your beauty to the last sharp glory of it; - You should work mightily through me, blood and brain. - - Your heart in my heart’s mastery should burn, - And you before my swift and arrogant wit - Should be no longer proudly taciturn. - - You should bend back astonished at my kiss, - Your wisdom should be armourer to my pride, - And you, subdued, should yet be glad of this. - - The joys of great heroic lovers dead - Should seem but market-gossiping beside - The annunciation of our bridal bed. - - And now, my lover earth, I am a leaf, - A wave of light, a bird’s note, a blade sprung - Towards the oblivion of the sickled sheaf; - - A mere mote driven against your royal ease, - A tattered eager traveller among - The myriads beating on your sanctuaries. - - I have no strength to crush you to my will, - Your beauty is invulnerably zoned, - Yet I, your undefeated lover still, - - Exulting in your sap am clear of shame, - And biding with you patiently am throned - Above the flight of desolation’s aim. - - You may be mute, bestow no recompense - On all the thriftless leaguers of my soul-- - I am at your gates, O lover of mine, and thence - - Will I not turn for any scorn you send, - Rebuked, bemused, yet is my purpose whole, - I shall be striving towards you till the end. - - - - -A PRAYER - - - Lord, not for light in darkness do we pray, - Not that the veil be lifted from our eyes, - Nor that the slow ascension of our day - Be otherwise. - - Not for a clearer vision of the things - Whereof the fashioning shall make us great, - Not for remission of the peril and stings - Of time and fate. - - Not for a fuller knowledge of the end - Whereto we travel, bruised yet unafraid, - Nor that the little healing that we lend - Shall be repaid. - - Not these, O Lord. We would not break the bars - Thy wisdom sets about us; we shall climb - Unfettered to the secrets of the stars - In Thy good time. - - We do not crave the high perception swift - When to refrain were well, and when fulfil, - Nor yet the understanding strong to sift - The good from ill. - - Not these, O Lord. For these Thou hast revealed, - We know the golden season when to reap - The heavy-fruited treasure of the field, - The hour to sleep. - - Not these. We know the hemlock from the rose, - The pure from stained, the noble from the base - The tranquil holy light of truth that glows - On Pity’s face. - - We know the paths wherein our feet should press, - Across our hearts are written Thy decrees, - Yet now, O Lord, be merciful to bless - With more than these. - - Grant us the will to fashion as we feel, - Grant us the strength to labour as we know, - Grant us the purpose, ribbed and edged with steel, - To strike the blow. - - Knowledge we ask not--knowledge Thou hast lent, - But, Lord, the will--there lies our bitter need, - Give us to build above the deep intent - The deed, the deed. - - - - -THE BUILDING - - - Whence these hods, and bricks of bright red clay, - And swart men climbing ladders in the night? - - Stilled are the clamorous energies of day, - The streets are dumb, and, prodigal of light, - The lamps but shine upon a city of sleep. - A step goes out into the silence; far - Across the quiet roofs the hour is tolled - From ghostly towers; the indifferent earth may keep - That ragged flotsam shielded from the cold - In earth’s good time: not, moving among men, - Shall he compel so fortunate a star. - Pavements I know, forsaken now, are strange, - Alien walks not beautiful, that then, - In the familiar day, are part of all - My breathless pilgrimage, not beautiful, but dear; - The monotony of sound has suffered change, - The eddies of wanton sound are spent, and clear - To bleak monotonies of silence fall. - - And, while the city sleeps, in the central poise - Of quiet, lamps are flaming in the night, - Blown to long tongues by winds that moan between - The growing walls, and throwing misty light - On swart men bearing bricks of bright red clay - In laden hods; and ever the thin noise - Of trowels deftly fashioning the clean - Long lines that are the shaping of proud thought. - Ghost-like they move between the day and day, - These men whose labour strictly shall be wrought - Into the captive image of a dream. - Their sinews weary not, the plummet falls - To measured use from steadfast hands apace, - And momently the moist and levelled seam - Knits brick to brick and momently the walls - Bestow the wonder of form on formless space. - - And whence all these? The hod and plummet-line, - The trowels tapping, and the lamps that shine - In long, dust-heavy beams from wall to wall, - The mortar and the bricks of bright red clay, - Ladder and corded scaffolding, and all - The gear of common traffic--whence are they? - And whence the men who use them? - When he came, - God upon chaos, crying in the name - Of all adventurous vision that the void - Should yield up man, and man, created, rose - Out of the deep, the marvel of all things made, - Then in immortal wonder was destroyed - All worth of trivial knowledge, and the close - Of man’s most urgent meditation stayed - Even as his first thought--“Whence am I sprung?” - What proud ecstatic mystery was pent - In that first act for man’s astonishment, - From age to unconfessing age, among - His manifold travel. And in all I see - Of common daily usage is renewed - This primal and ecstatic mystery - Of chaos bidden into many-hued - Wonders of form, life in the void create, - And monstrous silence made articulate. - - Not the first word of God upon the deep - Nor the first pulse of life along the day - More marvellous than these new walls that sweep - Starward, these lines that discipline the clay, - These lamps swung in the wind that send their light - On swart men climbing ladders in the night. - No trowel-tap but sings anew for men - The rapture of quickening water and continent, - No mortared line but witnesses again - Chaos transfigured into lineament. - - - - -THE SOLDIER - - - The large report of fame I lack, - And shining clasps and crimson scars, - For I have held my bivouac - Alone amid the untroubled stars. - - My battle-field has known no dawn - Beclouded by a thousand spears; - I’ve been no mounting tyrant’s pawn - To buy his glory with my tears. - - It never seemed a noble thing - Some little leagues of land to gain - From broken men, nor yet to fling - Abroad the thunderbolts of pain. - - Yet I have felt the quickening breath - As peril heavy peril kissed-- - My weapon was a little faith, - And fear was my antagonist. - - Not a brief hour of cannonade, - But many days of bitter strife, - Till God of His great pity laid - Across my brow the leaves of life. - - - - -THE FIRES OF GOD - - -I - - Time gathers to my name; - Along the ways wheredown my feet have passed - I see the years with little triumph crowned, - Exulting not for perils dared, downcast - And weary-eyed and desolate for shame - Of having been unstirred of all the sound - Of the deep music of the men that move - Through the world’s days in suffering and love. - - Poor barren years that brooded over-much - On your own burden, pale and stricken years-- - Go down to your oblivion, we part - With no reproach or ceremonial tears. - Henceforth my hands are lifted to the touch - Of hands that labour with me, and my heart - Hereafter to the world’s heart shall be set - And its own pain forget. - Time gathers to my name-- - Days dead are dark; the days to be, a flame - Of wonder and of promise, and great cries - Of travelling people reach me--I must rise. - - -II - - Was I not man? Could I not rise alone - Above the shifting of the things that be, - Rise to the crest of all the stars and see - The ways of all the world as from a throne? - Was I not man, with proud imperial will - To cancel all the secrets of high heaven? - Should not my sole unbridled purpose fill - All hidden paths with light when once was riven - God’s veil by my indomitable will? - - So dreamt I, little man of little vision, - Great only in unconsecrated pride; - Man’s pity grew from pity to derision, - And still I thought, “Albeit they deride, - Yet is it mine uncharted ways to dare - Unknown to these, - And they shall stumble darkly, unaware - Of solemn mysteries - Whereof the key is mine alone to bear.” - - So I forgot my God, and I forgot - The holy sweet communion of men, - And moved in desolate places, where are not - Meek hands held out with patient healing when - The hours are heavy with uncharitable pain; - No company but vain - And arrogant thoughts were with me at my side. - And ever to myself I lied. - Saying “Apart from all men thus I go - To know the things that they may never know.” - - -III - - Then a great change befell; - Long time I stood - In witless hardihood - With eyes on one sole changeless vision set-- - The deep disturbèd fret - Of men who made brief tarrying in hell - On their earth travelling. - It was as though the lives of men should be - See circle-wise, whereof one little span - Through which all passed was blackened with the wing - Of perilous evil, bateless misery. - But all beyond, making the whole complete - O’er which the travelling feet - Of every man - Made way or ever he might come to death, - Was odorous with the breath - Of honey-laden flowers, and alive - With sacrificial ministrations sweet - Of man to man, and swift and holy loves, - And large heroic hopes, whereby should thrive - Man’s spirit as he moves - From dawn of life to the great dawn of death. - - It was as though mine eyes were set alone - Upon that woeful passage of despair, - Until I held that life had never known - Dominion but in this most troubled place - Where many a ruined grace - And many a friendless care - Ran to and fro in sorrowful unrest. - Still in my hand I pressed - Hope’s fragile chalice, whence I drew deep draughts - That heartened me that even yet should grow - Out of this dread confusion, as of broken crafts - Driven along ungovernable seas, - Prosperous order, and that I should know - After long vigil all the mysteries - Of human wonder and of human fate. - - O fool, O only great - In pride unhallowed, O most blind of heart! - Confusion but more dark confusion bred, - Grief nurtured grief, I cried aloud and said, - “Through trackless ways the soul of man is hurled, - No sign upon the forehead of the skies, - No beacon, and no chart - Are given to him, and the inscrutable world - But mocks his scars and fills his mouth with dust.” - - _And lies bore lies_ - _And lust bore lust,_ - _And the world was heavy with flowerless rods,_ - _And pride outran_ - _The strength of a man_ - _Who had set himself in the place of gods._ - - -IV - - Soon was I then to gather bitter shame - Of spirit; I had been most wildly proud-- - Yet in my pride had been - Some little courage, formless as a cloud, - Unpiloted save by a vagrant wind, - But still an earnest of the bonds that tame - The legionary hates, of sacred loves that lean - From the high soul of man towards his kind. - And all my grief - Had been for those I watched go to and fro - In uncompassioned woe - Along that little span my unbelief - Had fashioned in my vision as all life. - Now even this so little virtue waned, - For I became caught up into the strife - That I had pitied, and my soul was stained - At last by that most venomous despair, - Self-pity. - I no longer was aware - Of any will to heal the world’s unrest, - I suffered as it suffered, and I grew - Troubled in all my daily trafficking, - Not with the large heroic trouble known - By proud adventurous men who would atone - With their own passionate pity for the sting - And anguish of a world of peril and snares, - It was the trouble of a soul in thrall - To mean despairs, - Driven about a waste where neither fall - Of words from lips of love, nor consolation - Of grave eyes comforting, nor ministration - Of hand or heart could pierce the deadly wall - Of self--of self,--I was a living shame-- - A broken purpose. I had stood apart - With pride rebellious and defiant heart, - And now my pride had perished in the flame. - I cried for succour as a little child - Might supplicate whose days are undefiled,-- - For tutored pride and innocence are one. - - _To the gloom has won_ - _A gleam of the sun_ - _And into the barren desolate ways_ - _A scent is blown_ - _As of meadows mown_ - _By cooling rivers in clover days._ - - -V - - I turned me from that place in humble wise, - And fingers soft were laid upon mine eyes, - And I beheld the fruitful earth, with store - Of odorous treasure, full and golden grain, - Ripe orchard bounty, slender stalks that bore - Their flowered beauty with a meek content, - The prosperous leaves that loved the sun and rain, - Shy creatures unreproved that came and went - In garrulous joy among the fostering green. - And, over all, the changes of the day - And ordered year their mutable glory laid-- - Expectant winter soberly arrayed, - The prudent diligent spring whose eyes have seen - The beauty of the roses uncreate, - Imperial June, magnificent, elate - Beholding all the ripening loves that stray - Among her blossoms, and the golden time - Of the full ear and bounty of the boughs,-- - And the great hills and solemn chanting seas - And prodigal meadows, answering to the chime - Of God’s good year, and bearing on their brows - The glory of processional mysteries - From dawn to dawn, the woven leaves and light - Of the high noon, the twilight secrecies, - And the inscrutable wonder of the stars - Flung out along the reaches of the night. - - _And the ancient might_ - _Of the binding bars_ - _Waned as I woke to a new desire_ - _For the choric song_ - _Of exultant, strong_ - _Earth-passionate men with souls of fire._ - - -VI - - ’T was given me to hear. As I beheld-- - With a new wisdom, tranquil, asking not - For mystic revelation--this glory long forgot, - This re-discovered triumph of the earth - In high creative will and beauty’s pride - Establishèd beyond the assaulting years, - It came to me, a music that compelled - Surrender of all tributary fears, - Full-throated, fierce, and rhythmic with the wide - Beat of the pilgrim winds and labouring seas, - Sent up from all the harbouring ways of earth - Wherein the travelling feet of men have trod, - Mounting the firmamental silences - And challenging the golden gates of God. - - _We bear the burden of the years_ - _Clean limbed, clear-hearted, open-browed,_ - _Albeit sacramental tears_ - _Have dimmed our eyes, we know the proud_ - _Content of men who sweep unbowed_ - _Before the legionary fears;_ - _In sorrow we have grown to be_ - _The masters of adversity._ - - _Wise of the storied ages we,_ - _Of perils dared and crosses borne,_ - _Of heroes bound by no decree_ - _Of laws defiled or faiths outworn,_ - _Of poets who have held in scorn_ - _All mean and tyrannous things that be;_ - _We prophesy with lips that sped_ - _The songs of the prophetic dead._ - - _Wise of the brief belovèd span_ - _Of this our glad earth-travelling,_ - _Of beauty’s bloom and ordered plan,_ - _Of love and loves compassioning,_ - _Of all the dear delights that spring_ - _From man’s communion with man;_ - _We cherish every hour that strays_ - _Adown the cataract of the days._ - - _We see the clear untroubled skies,_ - _We see the summer of the rose_ - _And laugh, nor grieve that clouds will rise_ - _And wax with every wind that blows,_ - _Nor that the blossoming time will close,_ - _For beauty seen of humble eyes_ - _Immortal habitation has_ - _Though beauty’s form may pale and pass._ - - _Wise of the great unshapen age,_ - _To which we move with measured tread_ - _All girt with passionate truth to wage_ - _High battle for the word unsaid,_ - _The song unsung, the cause unled,_ - _The freedom that no hope can gauge;_ - _Strong-armed, sure-footed, iron-willed_ - _We sift and weave, we break and build._ - - _Into one hour we gather all_ - _The years gone down, the years unwrought_ - _Upon our ears brave measures fall_ - _Across uncharted spaces brought,_ - _Upon our lips the words are caught_ - _Wherewith the dead the unborn call;_ - _From love to love, from height to height_ - _We press and none may curb our might._ - - -VII - - O blessed voices, O compassionate hands, - Calling and healing, O great-hearted brothers! - I come to you. Ring out across the lands - Your benediction, and I too will sing - With you, and haply kindle in another’s - Dark desolate hour the flame you stirred in me. - O bountiful earth, in adoration meet - I bow to you; O glory of years to be, - I too will labour to your fashioning. - Go down, go down, unweariable feet, - Together we will march towards the ways - Wherein the marshalled hosts of morning wait - In sleepless watch, with banners wide unfurled - Across the skies in ceremonial state, - To greet the men who lived triumphant days, - And stormed the secret beauty of the world. - - - - -CHALLENGE - - - You fools behind the panes who peer - At the strong black anger of the sky, - Come out and feel the storm swing by, - Aye, take its blow on your lips, and hear - The wind in the branches cry. - - No. Leave us to the day’s device, - Draw to your blinds and take your ease, - Grow peak’d in the face and crook’d in the knees; - Your sinews could not pay the price - When the storm goes through the trees. - - - - -TRAVEL TALK - -LADYWOOD, 1912. (TO E. DE S.) - - - To the high hills you took me, where desire, - Daughter of difficult life, forgets her lures, - And hope’s eternal tasks no longer tire, - And only peace endures. - Where anxious prayer becomes a worthless thing - Subdued by muted praise, - And asking nought of God and life we bring - The conflict of long days - Into a moment of immortal poise - Among the scars and proud unbuilded spires, - Where, seeking not the triumphs and the joys - So treasured in the world, we kindle fires - That shall not burn to ash, and are content - To read anew the eternal argument. - - Nothing of man’s intolerance we know - Here, far from man, among the fortressed hills, - Nor of his querulous hopes. - To what may we attain? What matter, so - We feel the unwearied virtue that fulfils - These cloudy crests and rifts and heathered slopes - With life that is and seeks not to attain, - For ever spends nor ever asks again? - - To the high hills you took me. And we saw - The everlasting ritual of sky - And earth and the waste places of the air, - And momently the change of changeless law - Was beautiful before us, and the cry - Of the great winds was as a distant prayer - From a massed people, and the choric sound - Of many waters moaning down the long - Veins of the hills was as an undersong; - And in that hour we moved on holy ground. - - To the high hills you took me. Far below - Lay pool and tarn locked up in shadowy sleep; - Above we watched the clouds unhasting go - From hidden crest to crest; the neighbour sheep - Cropped at our side, and swift on darkling wings - The hawks went sailing down the valley wind, - The rock-bird chattered shrilly to its kind; - And all these common things were holy things. - - From ghostly Skiddaw came the wind in flight. - By Langdale Pikes to Coniston’s broad brow, - From Coniston to proud Helvellyn’s height, - The eloquent wind, the wind that even now - Whispers again its story gathered in - For seasons of much traffic in the ways - Where men so straitly spin - The garment of unfathomable days. - - To the high hills you took me. And we turned - Our feet again towards the friendly vale, - And passed the banks whereon the bracken burned - And the last foxglove bells were spent and pale, - Down to a hallowed spot of English land - Where Rotha dreams its way from mere to mere, - Where one with undistracted vision scanned - Life’s far horizons, he who sifted clear - Dust from the grain of being, making song - Memorial of simple men and minds - Not bowed to cunning by deliberate wrong, - And conversed with the spirit of the winds, - And knew the guarded secrets that were sealed - In pool and pine, petal and vagrant wing, - Throning the shepherd folding from the field, - Robing anew the daffodils of spring. - - We crossed the threshold of his home and stood - Beside his cottage hearth where once was told - The day’s adventure drawn from fell and wood, - And wisdom’s words and love’s were manifold, - Where, in the twilight, gossip poets met - To read again their peers of older time, - And quiet eyes of gracious women set - A bounty to the glamour of the rhyme. - - There is a wonder in a simple word - That reinhabits fond and ghostly ways, - And when within the poet’s walls we heard - One white with ninety years recall the days - When he upon his mountain paths was seen, - We answered her strange bidding and were made - One with the reverend presence who had been - Steward of kingly charges unbetrayed. - - And to the little garden-close we went, - Where he at eventide was wont to pass - To watch the willing day’s last sacrament, - And the cool shadows thrown along the grass, - To read again the legends of the flowers, - Lighten with song th’ obscure heroic plan, - To contemplate the process of the hours, - And think on that old story which is man. - The lichened apple-boughs that once had spent - Their blossoms at his feet, in twisted age - Yet knew the wind, and the familiar scent - Of heath and fern made sweet his hermitage. - And, moving so beneath his cottage-eaves, - His song upon our lips, his life a star, - A sign, a storied peace among the leaves, - Was he not with us then? He was not far. - - To the high hills you took me. We had seen - Much marvellous traffic in the cloudy ways, - Had laughed with the white waters and the green, - Had praised and heard the choric chant of praise, - Communed anew with the undying dead, - Resung old songs, retold old fabulous things, - And, stripped of pride, had lost the world and led - A world refashioned as unconquered kings. - - And the good day was done, and there again - Where in your home of quietness we stood, - Far from the sight and sound of travelling men, - And watched the twilight climb from Lady-wood - Above the pines, above the visible streams, - Beyond the hidden sources of the rills, - Bearing the season of uncharted dreams - Into the silent fastness of the hills. - - Peace on the hills, and in the valleys peace; - And Rotha’s moaning music sounding clear; - The passing-song of wearied winds that cease, - Moving among the reeds of Rydal Mere; - The distant gloom of boughs that still unscarred - Beside their poet’s grave due vigil keep-- - With us were these, till night was throned and starred - And bade us to the benison of sleep. - - - - -THE VAGABOND - - - I know the pools where the grayling rise, - I know the trees where the filberts fall, - I know the woods where the red fox lies, - The twisted elms where the brown owls call. - And I’ve seldom a shilling to call my own, - And there’s never a girl I’d marry, - I thank the Lord I’m a rolling stone - With never a care to carry. - - I talk to the stars as they come and go - On every night from July to June, - I’m free of the speech of the winds that blow, - And I know what weather will sing what tune. - I sow no seed and I pay no rent, - And I thank no man for his bounties, - But I’ve a treasure that’s never spent, - I’m lord of a dozen counties. - - - - -OLD WOMAN IN MAY - - - “Old woman by the hedgerow - In gown of withered black, - With beads and pins and buttons - And ribbons in your pack-- - How many miles do you go? - To Dumbleton and back?” - - “To Dumbleton and back, sir, - And round by Cotsall Hill, - I count the miles at morning, - At night I count them still, - A Jill without a Jack, sir, - I travel with a will.” - - “It’s little men are paying - For such as you can do, - You with the grey dust in your hair - And sharp nails in your shoe, - The young folks go a-Maying, - But what is May to you?” - - “I care not what they pay me - While I can hear the call - Of cattle on the hillside, - And watch the blossoms fall - In a churchyard where maybe - There’s company for all.” - - - - -THE FECKENHAM MEN - - - The jolly men at Feckenham - Don’t count their goods as common men, - Their heads are full of silly dreams - From half-past ten to half-past ten, - They’ll tell you why the stars are bright, - And some sheep black and some sheep white. - - The jolly men at Feckenham - Draw wages of the sun and rain, - And count as good as golden coin - The blossoms on the window-pane, - And Lord! they love a sinewy tale - Told over pots of foaming ale. - - Now here’s a tale of Feckenham - Told to me by a Feckenham man, - Who, being only eighty years, - Ran always when the red fox ran, - And looked upon the earth with eyes - As quiet as unclouded skies. - - These jolly men of Feckenham - One day when summer strode in power - Went down, it seems, among their lands - And saw their bean fields all in flower-- - “Wheat-ricks,” they said, “be good to see; - What would a rick of blossoms be?” - - So straight they brought the sickles out - And worked all day till day was done, - And builded them a good square rick - Of scented bloom beneath the sun. - And was not this I tell to you - A fiery-hearted thing to do? - - - - -THE TRAVELLER - - - When March was master of furrow and fold, - And the skies kept cloudy festival - And the daffodil pods were tipped with gold - And a passion was in the plover’s call, - A spare old man went hobbling by - With a broken pipe and a tapping stick, - And he mumbled--“Blossom before I die, - Be quick, you little brown buds, be quick. - - “I ’ve weathered the world for a count of years-- - Good old years of shining fire-- - And death and the devil bring no fears, - And I ’ve fed the flame of my last desire; - I ’m ready to go, but I ’d pass the gate - On the edge of the world with an old heart sick - If I missed the blossoms. I may not wait-- - The gate is open--be quick, be quick.” - - - - -IN LADY STREET - - - All day long the traffic goes - In Lady Street by dingy rows - Of sloven houses, tattered shops-- - Fried fish, old clothes and fortune-tellers-- - Tall trams on silver-shining rails, - With grinding wheels and swaying tops, - And lorries with their corded bales, - And screeching cars. “Buy, buy!” the sellers - Of rags and bones and sickening meat - Cry all day long in Lady Street. - - And when the sunshine has its way - In Lady Street, then all the grey - Dull desolation grows in state - More dull and grey and desolate, - And the sun is a shamefast thing, - A lord not comely-housed, a god - Seeing what gods must blush to see, - A song where it is ill to sing, - And each gold ray despiteously - Lies like a gold ironic rod. - - Yet one grey man in Lady Street - Looks for the sun. He never bent - Life to his will, his travelling feet - Have scaled no cloudy continent, - Nor has the sickle-hand been strong. - He lives in Lady Street; a bed, - Four cobwebbed walls. - - But all day long - A time is singing in his head - Of youth in Gloucester lanes. He hears - The wind among the barley-blades, - The tapping of the woodpeckers - On the smooth beeches, thistle-spades - Slicing the sinewy roots; he sees - The hooded filberts in the copse - Beyond the loaded orchard trees, - The netted avenues of hops; - He smells the honeysuckle thrown - Along the hedge. He lives alone, - Alone--yet not alone, for sweet - Are Gloucester lanes in Lady Street. - - Aye, Gloucester lanes. For down below - The cobwebbed room this grey man plies - A trade, a coloured trade. A show - Of many-coloured merchandise - Is in his shop. Brown filberts there, - And apples red with Gloucester air, - And cauliflowers he keeps, and round - Smooth marrows grown on Gloucester ground, - Fat cabbages and yellow plums, - And gaudy brave chrysanthemums. - And times a glossy pheasant lies - Among his store, not Tyrian dyes - More rich than are the neck-feathers; - And times a prize of violets, - Or dewy mushrooms satin-skinned - And times an unfamiliar wind - Robbed of its woodland favour stirs - Gay daffodils this grey man sets - Among his treasure. - - All day long - In Lady Street the traffic goes - By dingy houses, desolate rows - Of shops that stare like hopeless eyes. - Day long the sellers cry their cries, - The fortune-tellers tell no wrong - Of lives that know not any right, - And drift, that has not even the will - To drift, toils through the day until - The wage of sleep is won at night. - But this grey man heeds not at all - The hell of Lady Street. His stall - Of many-coloured merchandise - He makes a shining paradise, - As all day long chrysanthemums - He sells, and red and yellow plums - And cauliflowers. In that one spot - Of Lady Street the sun is not - Ashamed to shine and send a rare - Shower of colour through the air; - The grey man says the sun is sweet - On Gloucester lanes in Lady Street. - - - - -ANTHONY CRUNDLE - - - CENTER - _Here lies the body of - ANTHONY CRUNDLE, - Farmer, of this parish, - Who died in 1849 at the age of 82. - “He delighted in music.” - R. I. P. - And of - SUSAN, - For fifty-three years his wife, - Who died in 1860, aged 86._ - - ANTHONY CRUNDLE of Dorrington Wood - Played on a piccolo. Lord was he, - For seventy years, of sheaves that stood - Under the perry and cider tree; - _Anthony Crundle, R.I.P._ - - And because he prospered with sickle and scythe, - With cattle afield and labouring ewe, - Anthony was uncommonly blithe, - And played of a night to himself and Sue; - _Anthony Crundle, eighty-two_. - - The earth to till, and a tune to play, - And Susan for fifty years and three, - And Dorrington Wood at the end of day ... - May providence do no worse by me; - _Anthony Crundle, R.I.P._ - - - - -MAD TOM TATTERMAN - - - “Old man, grey man, good man scavenger, - Bearing is it eighty years upon your crumpled back? - What is it you gather in the frosty weather, - Is there any treasure here to carry in your sack?” - - * * * * * - - “I’ve a million acres and a thousand head of cattle, - And a foaming river where the silver salmon leap; - But I’ve left fat valleys to dig in sullen alleys - Just because a twisted star rode by me in my sleep. - - “I’ve a brain is dancing to an old forgotten music - Heard when all the world was just a crazy flight of dreams, - And don’t you know I scatter in the dirt along the gutter - Seeds that little ladies nursed by Babylonian streams? - - “Mad Tom Tatterman, that is how they call me. - Oh, they know so much, so much, all so neatly dressed; - I’ve a tale to tell you--come and listen, will you?-- - One as ragged as the twigs that make a magpie’s nest. - - “Ragged, oh, but very wise. You and this and that man, - All of you are making things that none of you would lack, - And so your eyes grow dusty, and so your limbs grow rusty-- - But mad Tom Tatterman puts nothing in his sack. - - “Nothing in my sack, sirs, but the Sea of Galilee - Was walked for mad Tom Tatterman, and when I go to sleep - They’ll know that I have driven through the acres of broad heaven - Flocks are whiter than the flocks that all your shepherds keep.” - - - - -FOR CORIN TO-DAY - - - Old shepherd in your wattle cote, - I think a thousand years are done - Since first you took your pipe of oat - And piped against the risen sun, - Until his burning lips of gold - Sucked up the drifting scarves of dew - And bade you count your flocks from fold - And set your hurdle stakes anew. - - And then as now at noon you ’ld take - The shadow of delightful trees, - And with good hands of labour break - Your barley bread with dairy cheese, - And with some lusty shepherd mate - Would wind a simple argument, - And bear at night beyond your gate - A loaded wallet of content. - - O Corin of the grizzled eye, - A thousand years upon your down - You’ve seen the ploughing teams go by - Above the bells of Avon’s town; - And while there’s any wind to blow - Through frozen February nights, - About your lambing pens will go - The glimmer of your lanthorn lights. - - - - -THE CARVER IN STONE - - - He was a man with wide and patient eyes, - Grey, like the drift of twitch-fires blown in June - That, without fearing, searched if any wrong - Might threaten from your heart. Grey eyes he had - Under a brow was drawn because he knew - So many seasons to so many pass - Of upright service, loyal, unabased - Before the world seducing, and so, barren - Of good words praising and thought that mated his. - He carved in stone. Out of his quiet life - He watched as any faithful seaman charged - With tidings of the myriad faring sea, - And thoughts and premonitions through his mind - Sailing as ships from strange and storied lands - His hungry spirit held, till all they were - Found living witness in the chiselled stone. - Slowly out of the dark confusion, spread - By life’s innumerable venturings - Over his brain, he would triumph into the light - Of one clear mood, unblemished of the blind - Legions of errant thought that cried about - His rapt seclusion: as a pearl unsoiled, - Nay, rather washed to lonelier chastity, - In gritty mud. And then would come a bird, - A flower, or the wind moving upon a flower, - A beast at pasture, or a clustered fruit, - A peasant face as were the saints of old, - The leer of custom, or the bow of the moon - Swung in miraculous poise--some stray from the world - Of things created by the eternal mind - In joy articulate. And his perfect mood - Would dwell about the token of God’s mood, - Until in bird or flower or moving wind - Or flock or shepherd or the troops of heaven - It sprang in one fierce moment of desire - To visible form. - Then would his chisel work among the stone, - Persuading it of petal or of limb - Or starry curve, till risen anew there sang - Shape out of chaos, and again the vision - Of one mind single from the world was pressed - Upon the daily custom of the sky - Or field or the body of man. - - His people - Had many gods for worship. The tiger-god, - The owl, the dewlapped bull, the running pard, - The camel and the lizard of the slime, - The ram with quivering fleece and fluted horn, - The crested eagle and the doming bat - Were sacred. And the king and his high priests - Decreed a temple, wide on columns huge, - Should top the cornlands to the sky’s far line. - They bade the carvers carve along the walls - Images of their gods, each one to carve - As he desired, his choice to name his god.... - And many came; and he among them, glad - Of three leagues’ travel through the singing air - Of dawn among the boughs yet bare of green, - The eager flight of the spring leading his blood - Into swift lofty channels of the air, - Proud as an eagle riding to the sun.... - An eagle, clean of pinion--there’s his choice. - - Daylong they worked under the growing roof, - One at his leopard, one the staring ram, - And he winning his eagle from the stone, - Until each man had carved one image out, - Arow beyond the portal of the house. - They stood arow, the company of gods, - Camel and bat, lizard and bull and ram, - The pard and owl, dead figures on the wall, - Figures of habit driven on the stone - By chisels governed by no heat of the brain - But drudges of hands that moved by easy rule. - Proudly recorded mood was none, no thought - Plucked from the dark battalions of the mind - And throned in everlasting sight. But one - God of them all was witness of belief - And large adventure dared. His eagle spread - Wide pinions on a cloudless ground of heaven, - Glad with the heart’s high courage of that dawn - Moving upon the ploughlands newly sown, - Dead stone the rest. He looked, and knew it so. - - Then came the king with priests and counsellors - And many chosen of the people, wise - With words weary of custom, and eyes askew - That watched their neighbour face for any news - Of the best way of judgment, till, each sure - None would determine with authority, - All spoke in prudent praise. One liked the owl - Because an owl blinked on the beam of his barn. - One, hoarse with crying gospels in the street, - Praised most the ram, because the common folk - Wore breeches made of ram’s wool. One declared - The tiger pleased him best,--the man who carved - The tiger-god was halt out of the womb-- - A man to praise, being so pitiful. - And one, whose eyes dwelt in a distant void, - With spell and omen pat upon his lips, - And a purse for any crystal prophet ripe, - A zealot of the mist, gazed at the bull-- - A lean ill-shapen bull of meagre lines - That scarce the steel had graved upon the stone-- - Saying that here was very mystery - And truth, did men but know. And one there was - Who praised his eagle, but remembering - The lither pinion of the swift, the curve - That liked him better of the mirrored swan. - And they who carved the tiger-god and ram, - The camel and the pard, the owl and bull, - And lizard, listened greedily, and made - Humble denial of their worthiness, - And when the king his royal judgment gave - That all had fashioned well, and bade that each - Re-shape his chosen god along the walls - Till all the temple boasted of their skill, - They bowed themselves in token that as this - Never had carvers been so fortunate. - - Only the man with wide and patient eyes - Made no denial, neither bowed his head. - Already while they spoke his thought had gone - Far from his eagle, leaving it for a sign - Loyally wrought of one deep breath of life, - And played about the image of a toad - That crawled among his ivy leaves. A queer - Puff-bellied toad, with eyes that always stared - Sidelong at heaven and saw no heaven there, - Weak-hammed, and with a throttle somehow twisted - Beyond full wholesome draughts of air, and skin - Of wrinkled lips, the only zest or will - The little flashing tongue searching the leaves. - And king and priest, chosen and counsellor, - Babbling out of their thin and jealous brains, - Seemed strangely one; a queer enormous toad - Panting under giant leaves of dark, - Sunk in the loins, peering into the day. - Their judgment wry he counted not for wrong - More than the fabled poison of the toad - Striking at simple wits; how should their thought - Or word in praise or blame come near the peace - That shone in seasonable hours above - The patience of his spirit’s husbandry? - They foolish and not seeing, how should he - Spend anger there or fear--great ceremonies - Equal for none save great antagonists? - The grave indifference of his heart before them - Was moved by laughter innocent of hate, - Chastising clean of spite, that moulded them - Into the antic likeness of his toad - Bidding for laughter underneath the leaves. - - He bowed not, nor disputed, but he saw - Those ill-created joyless gods, and loathed, - And saw them creeping, creeping round the walls, - Death breeding death, wile witnessing to wile, - And sickened at the dull iniquity - Should be rewarded, and for ever breathe - Contagion on the folk gathered in prayer. - His truth should not be doomed to march among - This falsehood to the ages. He was called, - And he must labour there; if so the king - Would grant it, where the pillars bore the roof - A galleried way of meditation nursed - Secluded time, with wall of ready stone - In panels for the carver set between - The windows--there his chisel should be set,-- - It was his plea. And the king spoke of him, - Scorning, as one lack-fettle, among all these - Eager to take the riches of renown; - One fearful of the light or knowing nothing - Of light’s dimension, a witling who would throw - Honour aside and praise spoken aloud - All men of heart should covet. Let him go - Grubbing out of the sight of these who knew - The worth of substance; there was his proper trade. - - A squat and curious toad indeed.... The eyes, - Patient and grey, were dumb as were the lips, - That, fixed and governed, hoarded from them all - The larger laughter lifting in his heart. - Straightway about his gallery he moved, - Measured the windows and the virgin stone, - Till all was weighed and patterned in his brain. - Then first where most the shadow struck the wall, - Under the sills, and centre of the base, - From floor to sill out of the stone was wooed - Memorial folly, as from the chisel leapt - His chastening laughter searching priest and king-- - A huge and wrinkled toad, with legs asplay, - And belly loaded, leering with great eyes - Busily fixed upon the void. - All days - His chisel was the first to ring across - The temple’s quiet; and at fall of dusk - Passing among the carvers homeward, they - Would speak of him as mad, or weak against - The challenge of the world, and let him go - Lonely, as was his will, under the night - Of stars or cloud or summer’s folded sun, - Through crop and wood and pastureland to sleep. - None took the narrow stair as wondering - How did his chisel prosper in the stone, - Unvisited his labour and forgot. - And times when he would lean out of his height - And watch the gods growing along the walls, - The row of carvers in their linen coats - Took in his vision a virtue that alone - Carving they had not nor the thing they carved. - Knowing the health that flowed about his close - Imagining, the daily quiet won - From process of his clean and supple craft, - Those carvers there, far on the floor below, - Would haply be transfigured in his thought - Into a gallant company of men - Glad of the strict and loyal reckoning - That proved in the just presence of the brain - Each chisel-stroke. How surely would he prosper - In pleasant talk at easy hours with men - So fashioned if it might be--and his eyes - Would pass again to those dead gods that grew - In spreading evil round the temple walls; - And, one dead pressure made, the carvers moved - Along the wall to mould and mould again - The self-same god, their chisels on the stone - Tapping in dull precision as before, - And he would turn, back to his lonely truth. - - He carved apace. And first his people’s gods, - About the toad, out of their sterile time, - Under his hand thrilled and were recreate. - The bull, the pard, the camel and the ram, - Tiger and owl and bat--all were the signs - Visibly made body on the stone - Of sightless thought adventuring the host - That is mere spirit; these the bloom achieved - By secret labour in the flowing wood - Of rain and air and wind and continent sun.... - His tiger, lithe, immobile in the stone, - A swift destruction for a moment leashed, - Sprang crying from the jealous stealth of men - Opposed in cunning watch, with engines hid - Of torment and calamitous desire. - His leopard, swift on lean and paltry limbs, - Was fear in flight before accusing faith. - His bull, with eyes that often in the dusk - Would lift from the sweet meadow grass to watch - Him homeward passing, bore on massy beam - The burden of the patient of the earth. - His camel bore the burden of the damned, - Being gaunt, with eyes aslant along the nose. - He had a friend, who hammered bronze and iron - And cupped the moonstone on a silver ring, - One constant like himself, would come at night - Or bid him as a guest, when they would make - Their poets touch a starrier height, or search - Together with unparsimonious mind - The crowded harbours of mortality. - And there were jests, wholesome as harvest ale - Of homely habit, bred of hearts that dared - Judgment of laughter under the eternal eye: - This frolic wisdom was his carven owl. - His ram was lordship on the lonely hills, - Alert and fleet, content only to know - The wind mightily pouring on his fleece, - With yesterday and all unrisen suns - Poorer than disinherited ghosts. His bat - Was ancient envy made a mockery, - Cowering below the newer eagle carved - Above the arches with wide pinion spread, - His faith’s dominion of that happy dawn. - - And so he wrought the gods upon the wall, - Living and crying out of his desire, - Out of his patient incorruptible thought, - Wrought them in joy was wages to his faith. - And other than the gods he made. The stalks - Of bluebells heavy with the news of spring, - The vine loaded with plenty of the year, - And swallows, merely tenderness of thought - Bidding the stone to small and fragile flight; - Leaves, the thin relics of autumnal boughs, - Or massed in June.... - All from their native pressure bloomed and sprang - Under his shaping hand into a proud - And governed image of the central man,-- - Their moulding, charts of all his travelling. - And all were deftly ordered, duly set - Between the windows, underneath the sills, - And roofward, as a motion rightly planned, - Till on the wall, out of the sullen stone, - A glory blazed, his vision manifest, - His wonder captive. And he was content. - - And when the builders and the carvers knew - Their labour done, and high the temple stood - Over the cornlands, king and counsellor - And priest and chosen of the people came - Among a ceremonial multitude - To dedication. And, below the thrones - Where king and archpriest ruled above the throng, - Highest among the ranked artificers - The carvers stood. And when, the temple vowed - To holy use, tribute and choral praise - Given as was ordained, the king looked down - Upon the gathered folk, and bade them see - The comely gods fashioned about the walls, - And keep in honour men whose precious skill - Could so adorn the sessions of their worship, - Gravely the carvers bowed them to the ground. - Only the man with wide and patient eyes - Stood not among them; nor did any come - To count his labour, where he watched alone - Above the coloured throng. He heard, and looked - Again upon his work, and knew it good, - Smiled on his toad, passed down the stair unseen - And sang across the teeming meadows home. - - - - -ELIZABETH ANN - - - This is the tale of Elizabeth Ann, - Who went away with her fancy man. - - Ann was a girl who hadn’t a gown - As fine as the ladies who walk the town. - - All day long from seven to six - Ann was polishing candlesticks, - - For Bishops and crapulous Millionaires - To buy for their altars or bed-chambers. - - And youth in a year and a year will pass, - But there’s never an end of polishing brass. - - All day long from seven to six-- - Seventy thousand candlesticks. - - So frail and lewd Elizabeth Ann - Went away with her fancy man. - - You Bishops and crapulous Millionaires, - Give her your charity, give her your prayers. - - - - -THE COTSWOLD FARMERS - - - Sometimes the ghosts forgotten go - Along the hill-top way, - And with long scythes of silver mow - Meadows of moonlit hay, - Until the cocks of Cotswold crow - The coming of the day. - - There’s Tony Turkletob who died - When he could drink no more, - And Uncle Heritage, the pride - Of eighteen-twenty-four, - And Ebenezer Barleytide, - And others half a score. - - They fold in phantom pens, and plough - Furrows without a share, - And one will milk a faery cow, - And one will stare and stare, - And whistle ghostly tunes that now - Are not sung anywhere. - - The moon goes down on Oakridge lea, - The other world’s astir, - The Cotswold farmers silently - Go back to sepulchre, - The sleeping watchdogs wake, and see - No ghostly harvester. - - - - -A MAN’S DAUGHTER - - - There is an old woman who looks each night - Out of the wood. - She has one tooth, that isn’t too white. - She isn’t too good. - - She came from the north looking for me, - About my jewel. - Her son, she says, is tall as can be; - But, men say, cruel. - - My girl went northward, holiday making, - And a queer man spoke - At the woodside once when night was breaking, - And her heart broke. - - For ever since she has pined and pined, - A sorry maid; - Her fingers are slack as the wool they wind, - Or her girdle-braid. - - So now shall I send her north to wed, - Who here may know - Only the little house of the dead - To ease her woe? - - Or keep her for fear of that old woman, - As a bird quick-eyed, - And her tall son who is hardly human, - At the woodside? - - She is my babe and my daughter dear, - How well, how well. - Her grief to me is a fourfold fear, - Tongue cannot tell. - - And yet I know that far in that wood - Are crumbling bones, - And a mumble mumble of nothing that’s good, - In heathen tones. - - And I know that frail ghosts flutter and sigh - In brambles there, - And never a bird or beast to cry-- - Beware, beware,-- - - While threading the silent thickets go - Mother and son, - Where scrupulous berries never grow, - And airs are none. - - And her deep eyes peer at eventide - Out of the wood, - And her tall son waits by the dark woodside - For maidenhood. - - And the little eyes peer, and peer, and peer; - And a word is said. - And some house knows, for many a year, - But years of dread. - - - - -THE LIFE OF JOHN HERITAGE - - - Born in the Cotswolds in eighteen-forty or so, - Bred on a hill-top that seemed the most of the world - Until he travelled the valleys, and found what a wonder - Of leagues from Gloucester lay to Stroud or Ciceter, - John Heritage was a tiler. He split the stone, - After the frosts, and learnt the laying of tiles, - And was famous about the shire. And he was friendly - With Cotswold nature, hearing the hidden rooks - In Golden Vale, and the thin bleat of goats, - And the rattling harness of Trilly’s teams at plough, - And Richard Parker’s scythe for many years, - As he went upon his tiling; and the great landmarks, - As loops of the Severn seen from Bisley Hill, - Were his familiars, something of his religion. - - And he prospered, as men do. His little wage - Yet left a little over his wedded needs, - And here a cottage he bought, and there another, - About the Cotswolds, built of the royallest stone - That’s quarried in England, until he could think of age - With an easy mind; and an acre of land was his - Where at hay-harvest he worked a little from tiling, - Making his rick maturely or damning the wind - That scattered the swathes beyond his fork’s controlling. - And he trotted ajog to the town on market Thursdays, - Driving a stout succession of good black geldings, - That cropped his acre some twenty years apiece. - And he was an honest neighbour; and so he grew old, - And five strong sons, grizzled and middle-aged, - Carried him down the hill, and on a stone - The mason cut--“John Heritage, who died, - Fearing the Lord, at the age of seventy-six.” - - And I know that some of us shatter our hearts on earth, - With mightier aims than ever John Heritage knew, - And think such things as never the tiler thought, - Because of our pride and our eagerness of mind ... - But a life complete is a great nobility, - And there’s a wisdom biding in Cotswold stone, - While we in our furious intellectual travel - Fall in with strange foot-fellows on the road. - - - - -THOMAS YARNTON OF TARLTON - - - One of those old men fearing no man, - Two hundred broods his eaves have known - Since they cut on a Sapperton churchyard stone-- - “Thomas Yarnton of Tarlton, Yeoman.” - - At dusk you can hear the yeomen calling - The cattle still to Sapperton stalls, - And still the stroke of the woodman falls - As Thomas of Tarlton heard it falling. - - I walked these meadows in seventeen-hundred, - Seed of his loins, a dream that stirred - Beyond the shape of a yeoman’s word, - So faint that but unawares he wondered. - - And now, from the weeds of his tomb uncomely, - I travel again the tracks he made, - And walks at my side the yeoman shade - Of Thomas Yarnton of Tarlton dumbly. - - - - -MRS. WILLOW - - - Mrs. Thomas Willow seems very glum. - Her life, perhaps, is very lonely and hum-drum, - Digging up potatoes, cleaning out the weeds, - Doing the little for a lone woman’s needs. - Who was her husband? How long ago? - What does she wonder? What does she know? - Why does she listen over the wall, - Morning and noon-time and twilight and all, - As though unforgotten were some footfall? - - “Good morning, Mrs. Willow.” “Good morning, sir,” - Is all the conversation I can get from her. - And her path-stones are white as lilies of the wood, - And she washes this and that till she must be very good. - She sends no letters, and no one calls, - And she doesn’t go whispering beyond her walls; - Nothing in her garden is secret, I think-- - That’s all sun-bright with foxglove and pink, - And she doesn’t hover around old cupboards and shelves - As old people do who have buried themselves; - She has no late lamps, and she digs all day - And polishes and plants in a common way, - But glum she is, and she listens now and then - For a footfall, a footfall, a footfall again, - And whether it’s hope, or whether it’s dread, - Or a poor old fancy in her head, - I shall never be told; it will never be said. - - - - -ROUNDELS OF THE YEAR - - - _I caught the changes of the year_ - _In soft and fragile nets of song,_ - _For you to whom my days belong._ - - _For you to whom each day is dear_ - _Of all the high processional throng,_ - _I caught the changes of the year_ - _In soft and fragile nets of song._ - - _And here some sound of beauty, here_ - _Some note of ancient, ageless wrong_ - _Reshaping as my lips were strong,_ - _I caught the changes of the year_ - _In soft and fragile nets of song,_ - _For you to whom my days belong._ - - -I - - The spring is passing through the land - In web of ghostly green arrayed, - And blood is warm in man and maid. - - The arches of desire have spanned - The barren ways, the debt is paid, - The spring is passing through the land - In web of ghostly green arrayed. - - Sweet scents along the winds are fanned - From shadowy wood and secret glade - Where beauty blossoms unafraid, - The spring is passing through the land - In web of ghostly green arrayed - And blood is warm in man and maid. - - -II - - Proud insolent June with burning lips - Holds riot now from sea to sea, - And shod in sovran gold is she. - - To the full flood of reaping slips - The seeding-tide by God’s decree, - Proud insolent June with burning lips - Holds riot now from sea to sea. - - And all the goodly fellowships - Of bird and bloom and beast and tree - Are gallant of her company-- - Proud insolent June with burning lips - Holds riot now from sea to sea, - And shod in sovran gold is she. - - -III - - The loaded sheaves are harvested, - The sheep are in the stubbled fold, - The tale of labour crowned is told. - - The wizard of the year has spread - A glory over wood and wold, - The loaded sheaves are harvested, - The sheep are in the stubbled fold. - - The yellow apples and the red - Bear down the boughs, the hazels hold - No more their fruit in cups of gold. - The loaded sheaves are harvested, - The sheep are in the stubbled fold, - The tale of labour crowned is told. - - -IV - - The year is lapsing into time - Along a deep and songless gloom, - Unchapleted of leaf or bloom. - - And mute between the dusk and prime - The diligent earth resets her loom,-- - The year is lapsing into time - Along a deep and songless gloom. - - While o’er the snows the seasons chime - Their golden hopes to reillume - The brief eclipse about the tomb, - The year is lapsing into time - Along a deep and songless gloom - Unchapleted of leaf or bloom. - - -V - - _Not wise as cunning scholars are,_ - _With curious words upon your tongue,_ - _Are you for whom my song is sung._ - - _But you are wise of cloud and star,_ - _And winds and boughs all blossom-hung,_ - _Not wise as cunning scholars are,_ - _With curious words upon your tongue._ - - _Surely, clear child of earth, some far_ - _Dim Dryad-haunted groves among,_ - _Your lips to lips of knowledge clung--_ - _Not wise as cunning scholars are,_ - _With curious words upon your tongue,_ - _Are you for whom my song is sung._ - - - - -LIEGEWOMAN - - - You may not wear immortal leaves - Nor yet go laurelled in your days, - But he believes - Who loves you with most intimate praise - That none on earth has ever gone, - In whom a cleanlier spirit shone. - - You may be unremembered when - Our chronicles are piled in dust: - No matter than-- - None ever bore a lordlier lust - To know the savour sweet or sour - Down to the dregs of every hour. - - And this your epitaph shall be-- - “Within life’s house her eager words - Continually - Lightened as wings of arrowy birds: - She was life’s house-fellow, she knew - The passion of him, soul and thew.” - - - - -LOVERS TO LOVERS - - - Our love forsworn - Was very love upon a day, - Bitterness now, forlorn, - This tattered love once went as proud a way - As any born. - - You well have kept - Your love from all corrupting things, - Your house of love is swept - And bright for use; whatso each season brings - You may accept - - In pride. But we? - Our date of love is dead. Our blind - Brief moment was to be - The sum, yet was it signed as yours, and signed - Indelibly. - - - - -LOVE’S PERSONALITY - - - If I had never seen - Thy sweet grave face, - If I had never known - Thy pride as of a queen, - Yet would another’s grace - Have led me to her throne. - - I should have loved as well - Not loving thee, - My faith had been as strong - Wrought by another spell; - Her love had grown to be - As thine for fire and song. - - Yet is our love a thing - Alone, austere, - A new and sacred birth - That we alone could bring - Through flames of faith and fear - To pass upon the earth. - - As one who makes a rhyme - Of his fierce thought, - With momentary art - May challenge change and time, - So is the love we wrought - Not greatest, but apart. - - - - -PIERROT - - - _Pierrot alone,_ - _And then Pierrette,_ - _And then a story to forget._ - - _Pierrot alone._ - Pierrette among the apple boughs - Come down and take a Pierrot’s kiss, - The moon is white upon your brows, - Pierrette among the apple boughs, - Your lips are cold, and I would set - A rose upon your lips, Pierrette, - A rosy kiss, - Pierrette, Pierrette. - - _And then Pierrette._ - I’ve left my apple boughs, Pierrot, - A shadow now is on my face, - But still my lips are cold, and O - No rose is on my lips, Pierrot, - You laugh, and then you pass away - Among the scented leaves of May, - And on my face - The shadows stay. - - _And then a story to forget._ - The petals fall upon the grass, - And I am crying in the dark, - The clouds above the white moon pass-- - My tears are falling on the grass; - Pierrot, Pierrot, I heard your vows - And left my blossomed apple boughs, - And sorrows dark - Are on my brows. - - - - -RECKONING - - - I heard my love go laughing - Beyond the bolted door, - I saw my love go riding - Across the windy moor, - And I would give my love no word - Because of evil tales I heard. - - Let fancy men go laughing, - Let light men ride away, - Bruised corn is not for my mill, - What’s paid I will not pay,-- - And so I thought because of this - Gossip that poisoned clasp and kiss. - - Four hundred men went riding, - And he the best of all, - A jolly man for labour, - A sinewy man and tall; - I watched him go beyond the hill, - And shaped my anger with my will. - - At night my love came riding - Across the dusky moor, - And other two rode with him - Who knocked my bolted door, - And called me out and bade me see - How quiet a man a man could be. - - And now the tales that stung me - And gave my pride its rule, - Are worth a beggar’s broken shoe - Or the sermon of a fool, - And all I know and all I can - Is, false or true, he was my man. - - - - -DERELICT - - - The cloudy peril of the seas, - The menace of mid-winter days, - May break the scented boughs of ease - And lock the lips of praise, - But every sea its harbour knows, - And every winter wakes to spring, - And every broken song the rose - Shall yet resing. - - But comfortable love once spent - May not re-shape its broken trust, - Or find anew the old content, - Dishonoured in the dust; - No port awaits those tattered sails, - No sun rides high above that gloom, - Unchronicled those half-told tales - Shall time entomb. - - - - -WED - - - I married him on Christmas morn,-- - Ah woe betide, ah woe betide, - Folk said I was a comely bride,-- - Ah me forlorn. - - All braided was my golden hair, - And heavy then, and shining then, - My limbs were sweet to madden men,-- - O cunning snare. - - My beauty was a thing they say - Of large renown,--O dread renown,-- - Its rumour travelled through the town, - Alas the day. - - His kisses burn my mouth and brows,-- - O burning kiss, O barren kiss,-- - My body for his worship is, - And so he vows. - - But daily many men draw near - With courtly speech and subtle speech; - I gather from the lips of each - A deadly fear. - - As he grows sullen I grow cold, - And whose the blame? Not mine the blame; - Their passions round me as a flame - All fiercely fold. - - And oh, to think that he might be - So proudly set, above them set, - If he might but awaken yet - The soul of me. - - Will no man seek and seeking find - The soul of me, the soul of me? - Nay, even as they are, so is he, - And all are blind. - - On Christmas morning we were wed, - Ah me the morn, the luckless morn; - Now poppies burn along the corn, - Would I were dead. - - - - -FORSAKEN - - - The word is said, and I no more shall know - Aught of the changing story of her days, - Nor any treasure that her lips bestow. - - And I, who loving her was wont to praise - All things in love, now reft of music go - With silent step down unfrequented ways. - - My soul is like a lonely market-place, - Where late were laughing folk and shining steeds - And many things of comeliness and grace; - - And now between the stones are twisting weeds, - No sound there is, nor any friendly face, - Save for a bedesman telling o’er his beads. - - - - -DEFIANCE - - - O wide the way your beauty goes, - For all its feigned indifference, - And every folly’s path it knows, - And every humour of pretence. - - But I can be as false as are - The rainbow loves which are your days, - And I will gladly go and far, - Content with your immediate praise. - - Your lips, the shyer lover’s bane, - I take with disputation none, - And am your kinsman in disdain - When all is excellently done. - - - - -LOVE IN OCTOBER - - - The fields, the clouds, the farms and farming gear, - The drifting kine, the scarlet apple trees ... - Not of the sun but separate are these, - And individual joys, and very dear; - Yet when the sun is folded, they are here - No more, the drifting skies: the argosies - Of wagoned apples: still societies - Of elms: red cattle on the stubbled year. - - So are you not love’s whole estate. I owe - In many hearts more dues than I shall pay; - Yet is your heart the spring of all love’s light, - And should your love weary of me and go - With all its thriving beams out of my day, - These many loves would founder in that night. - - - - -TO THE LOVERS THAT COME AFTER US - - - Lovers, a little of this your happy time - Give to the thought of us who were as you, - That we, whose dearest passion in your prime - Is but a winter garment, may renew - Our love in yours, our flesh in your desire, - Our tenderness in your discovering kiss, - For we are half the fuel of your fire, - As ours was fed by Marc and Beatrice. - Remember us, and, when you too are dead, - Our prayer with yours shall fall upon love’s spring - That all our ghostly loves be comforted - In those yet later lover’s love-making; - So shall oblivion bring his dust to spill - On brain and limbs, and we be lovers still. - - - - -DERBYSHIRE SONG - - - Come loving me to Darley Dale - In spring time or sickle time, - And we will make as proud a tale - As lovers in the antique prime - Of Harry or Elizabeth. - - With kirtle green and nodding flowers - To deck my hair and little waist, - I ’ll be worth a lover’s hours.... - Come, fellow, thrive, there is no haste - But soon is worn away in death. - - Soon shall the blood be tame, and soon - Our bodies lie in Darley Dale, - Unreckoning of jolly June, - With tongues past telling any tale; - My man, come loving me to-day. - - I have a wrist is smooth and brown, - I have a shoulder smooth and white, - I have my grace in any gown - By sun or moon or candle-light.... - Come Darley way, come Darley way. - - - - -LOVE’S HOUSE - - -I - - I know not how these men or those may take - Their first glad measure of love’s character, - Or whether one should let the summer make - Love’s festival, and one the falling year. - - I only know that in my prime of days - When my young branches came to blossoming, - You were the sign that loosed my lips in praise, - You were the zeal that governed all my spring. - - -II - - In prudent counsel many gathered near, - Forewarning us of deft and secret snares - That are love’s use. We heard them as we hear - The ticking of a clock upon the stairs. - - The troops of reason, careful to persuade, - Blackened love’s name, but love was more than these, - For we had wills to venture unafraid - The trouble of unnavigable seas. - - -III - - Their word was but a barren seed that lies - Undrawn of the sun’s health and undesired, - Because the habit of their hearts was wise, - Because the wisdom of their tongues was tired. - - For in the smother of contentious pride, - And in the fear of each tumultuous mood, - Our love has kept serenely fortified - And unusurped one stedfast solitude. - - -IV - - Dark words, and hasty humours of the blood - Have come to us and made no longer stay - Than footprints of a bird upon the mud - That in an hour the tide will take away. - - But not March weather over ploughlands blown, - Nor cresses green upon their gravel bed, - Are beautiful with the clean rigour grown - Of quiet thought our love has piloted. - - -V - - I sit before the hearths of many men, - When speech goes gladly, eager to withhold - No word at all, yet when I pass again - The last of words is captive and untold. - - We talk together in love’s house, and there - No thought but seeks what counsel you may give, - And every secret trouble from its lair - Comes to your hand, no longer fugitive. - - -VI - - I woo the world, with burning will to be - Delighted in all fortune it may find, - And still the strident dogs of jealousy - Go mocking down the tunnels of my mind. - - Only for you my contemplation goes - Clean as a god’s, undarkened of pretence, - Most happy when your garner overflows, - Achieving in your prosperous diligence. - - -VII - - When from the dusty corners of my brain - Comes limping some ungainly word or deed, - I know not if my dearest friend’s disdain - Be durable or brief, spent husk or seed. - - But your rebuke and that poor fault of mine - Go straitly outcast, and we close the door, - And I, no promise asking and no sign, - Stand blameless in love’s presence as before. - - -VIII - - A beggar in the ditch, I stand and call - My questions out upon the queer parade - Of folk that hurry by, and one and all - Go down the road with never answer made. - - I do not question love. I am a lord - High at love’s table, and the vigilant king, - Unquestioned, from the hubbub at the board - Leans down to me and tells me everything. - - - - -COTSWOLD LOVE - - - Blue skies are over Cotswold - And April snows go by, - The lasses turn their ribbons - For April’s in the sky, - And April is the season - When Sabbath girls are dressed, - From Rodboro’ to Campden, - In all their silken best. - - An ankle is a marvel - When first the buds are brown, - And not a lass but knows it - From Stow to Gloucester town. - And not a girl goes walking - Along the Cotswold lanes - But knows men’s eyes in April - Are quicker than their brains. - - It’s little that it matters, - So long as you’re alive, - If you’re eighteen in April, - Or rising sixty-five, - When April comes to Amberley - With skies of April blue, - And Cotswold girls are briding - With slyly tilted shoe. - - - - -WITH DAFFODILS - - - I send you daffodils, my dear, - For these are emperors of spring, - And in my heart you keep so clear - So delicate an empery, - That none but emperors could be - Ambassadors endowed to bring - My messages of honesty. - - My mind makes faring to and fro, - Deft or bewildered, dark or kind, - That not the eye of God may know - Which motion is of true estate - And which a twisted runagate - Of all the farings of my mind, - And which has honesty for mate. - - Only my love for you is clean - Of scandal’s use, and though, may be, - Far rangers have my passions been,-- - Since thus the word of Eden went,-- - Yet of the springs of my content, - My very wells of honesty - Are you the only firmament. - - - - -FOUNDATIONS - - - Those lovers old had rare conceits - To make persuasion beautiful, - Or rail upon the pretty fool - Who would not share those wanton sweets - That, guarded, soon are bitterness. - - But we, my love, can look on these - Old tournaments of wit, and say - What novices of love were they, - Who loved by seasons and degrees, - And in the rate of more and less. - - We will not make of love a stale - For deft and nimble argument, - Nor shall denial and consent - Be processes whereof shall fail - One surety that we possess. - - - - -DEAR AND INCOMPARABLE - - - Dear and incomparable - Is that love to me - Flowing out of the woodlands, - Out of the sea; - Out of the firmament breathing - Between pasture and sky, - For no reward is cherished here - To reckon by. - - It is not of my earning, - Nor forfeit I can - This love that flows upon - The poverty of man, - Though faithless and unkind - I sleep and forget - This love that asks no wage of me - Waits my waking yet. - - Of such is the love, dear, - That you fold me in, - It knows no governance - Of virtue or sin; - From nothing of my achieving - Shall it enrichment take, - And the glooms of my unworthiness - It will not forsake. - - - - -A SABBATH DAY - -IN FIVE WATCHES - - -I. MORNING - -(TO M. C.) - - You were three men and women two, - And well I loved you, all of you, - And well we kept the Sabbath day. - The bells called out of Malvern town, - But never bell could call us down - As we went up the hill away. - - Was it a thousand years ago - Or yesterday that men were so - Zealous of creed and argument? - Here wind is brother to the rain, - And the hills laugh upon the plain, - And the old brain-gotten feuds are spent. - - Bring lusty laughter, lusty jest, - Bring each the song he names the best, - Bring eager thought and speech that’s keen, - Tell each his tale and tell it out, - The only shame be prudent doubt, - Bring bodies where the lust is clean. - - -II. FULL DAY - -(TO K. D.) - - We moved along the gravelled way - Between the laurels and the yews, - Some touch of old enchantment lay - About us, some remembered news - Of men who rode among the trees - With burning dreams of Camelot, - Whose names are beauty’s litanies, - As Galahad and Launcelot. - - We looked along the vaulted gloom - Of boughs unstripped of winter’s bane, - As for some pride of scarf and plume - And painted shield and broidered rein, - And through the cloven laurel walls - We searched the darkling pines and pale - Beech-boles and woodbine coronals, - As for the passing of the Grail. - - But Launcelot no travel keeps, - For brother Launcelot is dead, - And brother Galahad he sleeps - This long while in his quiet bed, - And we are all the knights that pass - Among the yews and laurels now. - They are but fruit among the grass, - And we but fruit upon the bough. - - No coloured blazon meets us here - Of all that courtly company; - Elaine is not, nor Guenevere, - The dream is but of dreams that die. - - But yet the purple violet lies - Beside the golden daffodil, - And women strong of limb and wise - And fierce of blood are with us still. - - And never through the woodland goes - The Grail of that forgotten quest, - But still about the woodland flows - The sap of God made manifest - In boughs that labour to their time, - And birds that gossip secret things, - And eager lips that seek to rhyme - The latest of a thousand springs. - - -III. DUSK - -(TO E. S. V.) - - We come from the laurels and daffodils - Down to the homestead under the fell, - We’ve gathered our hunger upon the hills, - And that is well. - - Howbeit to-morrow gives or takes, - And leads to barren or flowering ways, - We’ve a linen cloth and wheaten cakes, - For which be praise. - - Here in the valley at lambing-time - The shepherd folk of their watching tell - While the shadows up to the beacon climb, - And that is well. - Let be what may when we make an end - Of the laughter and labour of all our days - We’ve men to friend and women to friend, - For whom be praise. - - -IV. EVENSONG - -(TO B. M.) - - Come, let us tell it over, - Each to each by the fireside, - How that earth has been a swift adventure for us, - And the watches of the day as a gay song and a right song, - And now the traveller wind has found a bed, - And the sheep crowd under the thorn. - - Good was the day and our travelling, - And now there is evensong to sing. - - Night, and along the valleys - Watch the eyes of the homesteads. - The dark hills are very still and still are the stars. - Patiently under the ploughlands the wheat moves and the barley. - The secret hour of love is upon the sky, - And our thought in praise is aflame. - - Sing evensong as well we may - For our travel upon this Sabbath day. - - Earth, we have known you truly, - Heard your mutable music, - Have been your lovers and felt the savour of you, - And you have quickened in us the blood’s fire and the heart’s fire. - We have wooed and striven with you and made you ours - By the strength sprung out of your loins. - - Lift the latch on its twisted thong, - And an end be made of our evensong. - - -V. NIGHT - -(TO H. S. S.) - - The barriers of sleep are crossed - And I alone am yet awake, - Keeping another Pentecost - For that new visitation’s sake - Of life descending on the hills - In blackthorn bloom and daffodils. - - At peace upon my pillow lain - I celebrate the spirit come - In spring’s immutable youth again - Across the lands of Christendom; - I hear in all the choral host - The coming of the Holy Ghost. - - The sacrament of bough and blade, - Of populous folds and building birds - I take, till now an end is made - Of praise and ceremonial words, - And I too turn myself to keep - The quiet festival of sleep. - -_March 1913._ - - - - -A DEDICATION - -(TO E. G.) - - -I - - Sometimes youth comes to age and asks a blessing, - Or counsel, or a tale of old estate, - Yet youth will still be curiously guessing - The old man’s thought when death is at his gate; - For all their courteous words they are not one, - This youth and age, but civil strangers still, - Age with the best of all his seasons done, - Youth with his face towards the upland hill. - Age looks for rest while youth runs far and wide, - Age talks with death, which is youth’s very fear, - Age knows so many comrades who have died, - Youth burns that one companion is so dear. - So, with good will, and in one house, may dwell - These two, and talk, and all be yet to tell. - - -II - - But there are men who, in the time of age, - Sometimes remember all that age forgets: - The early hope, the hardly compassed wage, - The change of corn, and snow, and violets; - They are glad of praise; they know this morning brings - As true a song as any yesterday; - Their labour still is set to many things, - They cry their questions out along the way. - They give as who may gladly take again - Some gift at need; they move with gallant ease - Among all eager companies of men; - And never signed of age are such as these. - They speak with youth, and never speak amiss; - Of such are you; and what is youth but this? - - - - -RUPERT BROOKE - -(DIED APRIL 23, 1915) - - - To-day I have talked with old Euripides; - Shakespeare this morning sang for my content - Of chimney-sweepers; through the Carian trees - Comes beating still the nightingales’ lament; - The Tabard ales to-day are freshly brewed; - Wordsworth is with me, mounting Loughrigg Fell; - All timeless deaths in Lycid are renewed, - And basils blossom yet for Isabel. - - Quick thoughts are these; they do not pass; they gave - Only to death such little, casual things - As are the noteless levies of the grave,-- - Sad flesh, weak verse, and idle marketings. - So my mortality for yours complains, - While our immortal fellowship remains. - - - - -ON READING FRANCIS LEDWIDGE’S LAST SONGS - - - At April’s end, when blossoms break - To birth upon my apple-tree, - I know the certain year will take - Full harvest of this infancy. - - At April’s end, when comes the dear - Occasion of your valley tune, - I know your beauty’s arc is here, - A little ghostly morning moon. - - Yet are these fosterlings of rhyme - As fortunately born to spend - Happy conspiracies with time - As apple flowers at April’s end. - - - - -IN THE WOODS - - - I was in the woods to-day, - And the leaves were spinning there, - Rich apparelled in decay,-- - In decay more wholly fair - Than in life they ever were. - - Gold and rich barbaric red - Freakt with pale and sapless vein, - Spinning, spinning, spun and sped - With a little sob of pain - Back to harbouring earth again. - - Long in homely green they shone - Through the summer rains and sun, - Now their humbleness is gone, - Now their little season run, - Pomp and pageantry begun. - - Sweet was life, and buoyant breath, - Lovely too; but for a day - Issues from the house of death - Yet more beautiful array: - Hark, a whisper--“Come away.” - - One by one they spin and fall, - But they fall in regal pride: - Dying, do they hear a call - Rising from an ebbless tide, - And, hearing, are beatified? - - - - -LATE SUMMER - - - Though summer long delayeth - Her blue and golden boon, - Yet now at length she stayeth - Her wings above the noon; - She sets the waters dreaming - To murmurous leafy tones, - The weeded waters gleaming - Above the stepping-stones. - - Where fern and ivied willow - Lean o’er the seaward brook, - I read a volume mellow-- - A poet’s fairy-book; - The seaward brook is narrow, - The hazel spans its pride, - And like a painted arrow - The king-bird keeps the tide. - - - - -JANUARY DUSK - - - Austere and clad in sombre robes of grey, - With hands upfolded and with silent wings, - In unimpassioned mystery the day - Passes; a lonely thrush its requiem sings. - - The dust of night is tangled in the boughs - Of leafless lime and lilac, and the pine - Grows blacker, and the star upon the brows - Of sleep is set in heaven for a sign. - - Earth’s little weary peoples fall on peace - And dream of breaking buds and blossoming, - Of primrose airs, of days of large increase, - And all the coloured retinue of spring. - - - - -AT GRAFTON - - - God laughed when he made Grafton - That’s under Bredon Hill, - A jewel in a jewelled plain. - The seasons work their will - On golden thatch and crumbling stone, - And every soft-lipped breeze - Makes music for the Grafton men - In comfortable trees. - - God’s beauty over Grafton - Stole into roof and wall, - And hallowed every pavèd path - And every lowly stall, - And to a woven wonder - Conspired with one accord - The labour of the servant, - The labour of the Lord. - - And momently to Grafton - Comes in from vale and wold - The sound of sheep unshepherded, - The sound of sheep in fold, - And, blown along the bases - Of lands that set their wide - Frank brows to God, comes chanting - The breath of Bristol tide. - - - - -DOMINION - - - I went beneath the sunny sky - When all things bowed to June’s desire,-- - The pansy with its steadfast eye, - The blue shells on the lupin spire, - - The swelling fruit along the boughs, - The grass grown heady in the rain, - Dark roses fitted for the brows - Of queens great kings have sung in vain; - - My little cat with tiger bars, - Bright claws all hidden in content; - Swift birds that flashed like darkling stars - Across the cloudy continent; - - The wiry-coated fellow curled - Stump-tailed upon the sunny flags; - The bees that sacked a coloured world - Of treasure for their honey-bags. - - And all these things seemed very glad, - The sun, the flowers, the birds on wing, - The jolly beasts, the furry-clad - Fat bees, the fruit, and everything. - - But gladder than them all was I, - Who, being man, might gather up - The joy of all beneath the sky, - And add their treasure to my cup, - - And travel every shining way, - And laugh with God in God’s delight, - Create a world for every day, - And store a dream for every night. - - - - -THE MIRACLE - - - Come, sweetheart, listen, for I have a thing - Most wonderful to tell you--news of spring. - - Albeit winter still is in the air, - And the earth troubled, and the branches bare, - - Yet down the fields to-day I saw her pass-- - The spring--her feet went shining through the grass. - - She touched the ragged hedgerows--I have seen - Her finger-prints, most delicately green; - - And she has whispered to the crocus leaves, - And to the garrulous sparrows in the eaves. - - Swiftly she passed and shyly, and her fair - Young face was hidden in her cloudy hair. - - She would not stay, her season is not yet, - But she has reawakened, and has set - - The sap of all the world astir, and rent - Once more the shadows of our discontent. - - Triumphant news--a miracle I sing-- - The everlasting miracle of spring. - - - - -MILLERS DALE - - - Barefoot we went by Millers Dale - When meadowsweet was golden gloom - And happy love was in the vale - Singing upon the summer bloom - Of gipsy crop and branches laid - Of willows over chanting pools, - Barefoot by Millers Dale we made - Our summer festival of fools. - - Folly bright-eyed, and quick, and young - Was there with all his silly plots, - And trotty wagtail stepped among - The delicate forget-me-nots, - And laughter played with us above - The rocky shelves and weeded holes - And we had fellowship to love - The pigeons and the water-voles. - - Time soon shall be when we are all - Stiller than ever runs the Wye, - And every bitterness shall fall - To-morrow in obscurity, - And wars be done, and treasons fail, - Yet shall new friends go down to greet - The singing rocks of Millers Dale, - And willow pools and meadowsweet. - - - - -WRITTEN AT LUDLOW CASTLE - -(IN THE HALL WHERE COMUS WAS FIRST PERFORMED) - - - Where wall and sill and broken window-frame - Are bright with flowers unroofed against the skies, - And nothing but the nesting jackdaws’ cries - Breaks the hushed even, once imperial came - The muse that moved transfiguring the name - Of Puritan, and beautiful and wise - The verses fell, forespeaking Paradise, - And poetry set all this hall aflame. - - Now silence has come down upon the place - Where life and song so wonderfully went, - And the mole’s afoot now where that passion rang, - Yet Comus now first moves his laurelled pace, - For song and life for ever are unspent, - And they are more than ghosts who lived and sang. - - - - -WORDSWORTH AT GRASMERE - - - These hills and waters fostered you - Abiding in your argument - Until all comely wisdom drew - About you, and the years were spent. - - Now over hill and water stays - A world more intimately wise, - Built of your dedicated days, - And seen in your beholding eyes. - - So, marvellous and far, the mind, - That slept among them when began - Waters and hills, leaps up to find - Its kingdom in the thought of man. - - - - -SUNRISE ON RYDAL WATER - -(TO E. DE S.) - - - Come down at dawn from windless hills - Into the valley of the lake, - Where yet a larger quiet fills - The hour, and mist and water make - With rocks and reeds and island boughs - One silence and one element, - Where wonder goes surely as once - It went - By Galilean prows. - - Moveless the water and the mist, - Moveless the secret air above, - Hushed, as upon some happy tryst - The poised expectancy of love; - What spirit is it that adores - What mighty presence yet unseen? - What consummation works apace - Between - These rapt enchanted shores? - - Never did virgin beauty wake - Devouter to the bridal feast - Than moves this hour upon the lake - In adoration to the east; - Here is the bride a god may know, - The primal will, the young consent, - Till surely upon the appointed mood - Intent - The god shall leap--and, lo, - - Over the lake’s end strikes the sun, - White, flameless fire; some purity - Thrilling the mist, a splendour won - Out of the world’s heart. Let there be - Thoughts, and atonements, and desires, - Proud limbs, and undeliberate tongue, - Where now we move with mortal oars - Among - Immortal dews and fires. - - So the old mating goes apace, - Wind with the sea, and blood with thought, - Lover with lover; and the grace - Of understanding comes unsought - When stars into the twilight steer, - Or thrushes build among the may, - Or wonder moves between the hills, - And day - Comes up on Rydal mere. - - - - -SEPTEMBER - - - Wind and the robin’s note to-day - Have heard of autumn and betray - The green long reign of summer. - The rust is falling in the leaves, - September stands beside the sheaves, - The new, the happy comer. - - Not sad my season of the red - And russet orchards gaily spread - From Cholesbury to Cooming, - Nor sad when twilit valley trees - Are ships becalmed on misty seas, - And beetles go abooming. - - Now soon shall come the morning crowds - Of starlings, soon the coloured clouds - From oak and ash and willow, - And soon the thorn and briar shall be - Rich in their crimson livery, - In scarlet and in yellow. - - Spring laughed and thrilled a million veins, - And summer shone above her rains - To fill September’s faring; - September talks as kings who know - The world’s way and superbly go - In robes of wisdom’s wearing. - - - - -OLTON POOLS - -(TO G. C. G.) - - - Now June walks on the waters, - And the cuckoo’s last enchantment - Passes from Olton pools. - - Now dawn comes to my window - Breathing midsummer roses, - And scythes are wet with dew. - - Is it not strange for ever - That, bowered in this wonder, - Man keeps a jealous heart?... - - That June and the June waters, - And birds and dawn-lit roses, - Are gospels in the wind, - - Fading upon the deserts, - Poor pilgrim revelations?... - Hist ... over Olton pools! - - - - -OF GREATHAM - -(TO THOSE WHO LIVE THERE) - - - For peace, than knowledge more desirable - Into your Sussex quietness I came, - When summer’s green and gold and azure fell - Over the world in flame. - - And peace upon your pasture-lands I found, - Where grazing flocks drift on continually, - As little clouds that travel with no sound - Across a windless sky. - - Out of your oaks the birds call to their mates - That brood among the pines, where hidden deep - From curious eyes a world’s adventure waits - In columned choirs of sleep. - - Under the calm ascension of the night - We heard the mellow lapsing and return - Of night-owls purring in their groundling flight - Through lanes of darkling fern. - - Unbroken peace when all the stars were drawn - Back to their lairs of light, and ranked along - From shire to shire the downs out of the dawn - Were risen in golden song. - - * * * * * - - I sing of peace who have known the large unrest - Of men bewildered in their travelling, - And I have known the bridal earth unblest - By the brigades of spring. - - I have known that loss. And now the broken thought - Of nations marketing in death I know, - The very winds to threnodies are wrought - That on your downlands blow. - - I sing of peace. Was it but yesterday - I came among your roses and your corn? - Then momently amid this wrath I pray - For yesterday reborn. - - - - -MAMBLE - - - I never went to Mamble - That lies above the Teme, - So I wonder who’s in Mamble, - And whether people seem - Who breed and brew along there - As lazy as the name, - And whether any song there - Sets alehouse wits aflame. - - The finger-post says Mamble, - And that is all I know - Of the narrow road to Mamble, - And should I turn and go - To that place of lazy token - That lies above the Teme, - There might be a Mamble broken - That was lissom in a dream. - - So leave the road to Mamble - And take another road - To as good a place as Mamble - Be it lazy as a toad; - Who travels Worcester county - Takes any place that comes - When April tosses bounty - To the cherries and the plums. - - - - -OUT OF THE MOON - - - Merely the moonlight - Piercing the boughs of my may-tree, - Falling upon my ferns; - Only the night - Touching my ferns with silver bloom - Of sea-flowers here in the sleeping city-- - And suddenly the imagination burns - With knowledge of many a dark significant doom - Out of antiquity, - Sung to hushed halls by troubadours - Who knew the ways of the heart because they had seen - The moonlight washing the garden’s deeper green - To silver flowers, - Falling with tidings out of the moon, as now - It falls on the ferns under my may-tree bough. - - - - -MOONLIT APPLES - - - At the top of the house the apples are laid in rows, - And the skylight lets the moonlight in, and those - Apples are deep-sea apples of green. There goes - A cloud on the moon in the autumn night. - - A mouse in the wainscot scratches, and scratches, and then - There is no sound at the top of the house of men - Or mice; and the cloud is blown, and the moon again - Dapples the apples with deep-sea light. - - They are lying in rows there, under the gloomy beams; - On the sagging floor; they gather the silver streams - Out of the moon, those moonlit apples of dreams, - And quiet is the steep stair under. - - In the corridors under there is nothing but sleep. - And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep - Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep - On moon-washed apples of wonder. - - - - -COTTAGE SONG - - - Morning and night I bring - Clear water from the spring, - And through the lyric noon - I hear the larks in tune, - And when the shadows fall - There’s providence for all. - - My garden is alight - With currants red and white; - And my blue curtains peep - On starry courses deep, - When down her silver tides - The moon on Cotswold rides. - - My path of paven grey - Is thoroughfare all day - For fellowship, till time - Bids us with candles climb - The little whitewashed stair - Above my lavender. - - - - -THE MIDLANDS - - - Black in the summer night my Cotswold hill - Aslant my window sleeps, beneath a sky - Deep as the bedded violets that fill - March woods with dusky passion. As I lie - Abed between cool walls I watch the host - Of the slow stars lit over Gloucester plain, - And drowsily the habit of these most - Beloved of English lands moves in my brain, - While silence holds dominion of the dark, - Save when the foxes from the spinneys bark. - - I see the valleys in their morning mist - Wreathed under limpid hills in moving light, - Happy with many a yeoman melodist: - I see the little roads of twinkling white - Busy with fieldward teams and market gear - Of rosy men, cloth-gaitered, who can tell - The many-minded changes of the year, - Who know why crops and kine fare ill or well; - I see the sun persuade the mist away, - Till town and stead are shining to the day. - - I see the wagons move along the rows - Of ripe and summer-breathing clover-flower, - I see the lissom husbandman who knows - Deep in his heart the beauty of his power, - As, lithely pitched, the full-heaped fork bids on - The harvest home. I hear the rickyard fill - With gossip as in generations gone, - While wagon follows wagon from the hill. - I think how, when our seasons all are sealed, - Shall come the unchanging harvest from the field. - - I see the barns and comely manors planned - By men who somehow moved in comely thought, - Who, with a simple shippon to their hand, - As men upon some godlike business wrought; - I see the little cottages that keep - Their beauty still where since Plantagenet - Have come the shepherds happily to sleep, - Finding the loaves and cups of cider set; - I see the twisted shepherds, brown and old, - Driving at dusk their glimmering sheep to fold. - - And now the valleys that upon the sun - Broke from their opal veils, are veiled again, - And the last light upon the wolds is done, - And silence falls on flocks and fields and men; - And black upon the night I watch my hill, - And the stars shine, and there an owly wing - Brushes the night, and all again is still, - And, from this land of worship that I sing, - I turn to sleep, content that from my sires - I draw the blood of England’s midmost shires. - - - - -OLD CROW - - - The bird in the corn - Is a marvellous crow. - He was laid and was born - In the season of snow; - And he chants his old catches - Like a ghost under hatches. - - He comes from the shades - Of his wood very early, - And works in the blades - Of the wheat and the barley, - And he’s happy, although - He’s a grumbleton crow. - - The larks have devices - For sunny delight, - And the sheep in their fleeces - Are woolly and white; - But these things are the scorn - Of the bird in the corn. - - And morning goes by, - And still he is there, - Till a rose in the sky - Calls him back to his lair - In the boughs where the gloom - Is a part of his plume. - - But the boy in the lane - With his gun, by and by, - To the heart of the grain - Will narrowly spy, - And the twilight will come, - And no crow will fly home. - - - - -VENUS IN ARDEN - - - Now Love, her mantle thrown, - Goes naked by, - Threading the woods alone, - Her royal eye - Happy because the primroses again - Break on the winter continence of men. - - I saw her pass to-day - In Warwickshire, - With the old imperial way, - The old desire, - Fresh as among those other flowers they went - More beautiful for Adon’s discontent. - - Those other years she made - Her festival - When the blue eggs were laid - And lambs were tall, - By the Athenian rivers while the reeds - Made love melodious for the Ganymedes. - - And now through Cantlow brakes, - By Wilmcote hill, - To Avon-side, she makes - Her garlands still, - And I who watch her flashing limbs am one - With youth whose days three thousand years are done. - - - - -ON A LAKE - - - Sweet in the rushes - The reed-singers make - A music that hushes - The life of the lake; - The leaves are dumb, - And the tides are still, - And no calls come - From the flocks on the hill. - - Forgotten now - Are nightingales, - And on his bough - The linnet fails,-- - Midway the mere - My mirrored boat - Shall rest and hear - A slenderer note. - - Though, heart, you measure - But one proud rhyme, - You build a treasure - Confounding time-- - Sweet in the rushes - The reed-singers make - A music that hushes - The life of the lake. - - - - -HARVEST MOON - - - “Hush!” was my whisper - At the stair-top - When the waggoners were down below - Home from the barley-crop. - Through the high window - Looked the harvest moon, - While the waggoners sang - A harvest tune,-- - “Hush!” was my whisper when - Marjory stept - Down from her attic-room, - A true-love-adept. - - “Fill a can, fill a can,” - Waggoners of heart were they, - “Harvest-home, harvest-home, - Barleycorn is home to-day.” ... - “Marjory, hush now-- - Harvest--you hear?”-- - Red was the moon’s rose - On the full year, - The cobwebs shook, so well - Did the waggoners sing-- - “Hush!”--there was beauty at - That harvesting. - - - - -AT AN EARTHWORKS - - - Ringed high with turf the arena lies, - The neighbouring world unseen, unheard, - Here are but unhorizoned skies, - And on the skies a passing bird, - - The conies and a wandering sheep, - The castings of the chambered mole,-- - These, and the haunted years that keep - Lost agonies of blood and soul. - - They say that in the midnight moon - The ghostly legions gather yet, - And hear a ghostly timbrel-tune, - And see a ghostly combat met. - - These are but yeoman’s tales. And here - No marvel on the midnight falls, - But starlight marvellously clear, - Being girdled in these shadowy walls. - - Yet now strange glooms of ancestry - Creep on me through this morning light, - Some spectral self is seeking me ... - I will not parley with the night. - - - - -INSTRUCTION - - - I have a place in a little garden, - That laurel-leaf and fern - Keep a cool place though fires of summer - All the green grasses burn. - Little cool winds creep there about - When winds all else are dead, - And tired limbs there find gentle keeping, - And humours of sloth are shed. - - So do your songs come always to me, - Poets of age and age, - Clear and cool as rivers of wind - Threading my hermitage, - Stilling my mind from tribulation - Of life half-seen, half-heard, - With images made in the brain’s quietness, - And the leaping of a word. - - - - -HABITATION - - - High up in the sky there, now, you know, - In this May twilight, our cottage is asleep, - Tenantless, and no creature there to go - Near it but Mrs. Fry’s fat cows, and sheep - Dove-coloured, as is Cotswold. No one hears - Under that cherry-tree the night-jars yet, - The windows are uncurtained; on the stairs - Silence is but by tip-toe silence met. - All doors are fast there. It is a dwelling put by - From use for a little, or long, up there in the sky. - - Empty; a walled-in silence, in this twilight of May-- - A home for lovers, and friendly withdrawing, and sleep, - With none to love there, nor laugh, nor climb from the day - To the candles and linen.... Yet in the silence creep, - This minute, I know, little ghosts, little virtuous lives, - Breathing upon that still, insensible place, - Touching the latches, sorting the napkins and knives, - And such for the comfort of being, and bowls for the grace, - That roses will brim; they are creeping from that room to this, - One room, and two, till the four are visited ... they, - Little ghosts, little lives, are our thoughts in this twilight of May, - Signs that even the curious man would miss, - Of travelling lovers to Cotswold, signs of an hour, - Very soon, when up from the valley in June will ride - Lovers by Lynch to Oakridge up in the wide - Bow of the hill, to a garden of lavender flower.... - - The doors are locked; no foot falls; the hearths are dumb-- - But we are there--we are waiting ourselves who come. - - - - -WRITTEN IN WINTERBORNE CAME CHURCH - -(William Barnes, 1801-1886) - -_To Mrs. Thomas Hardy_ - - - I do not use to listen well - At sermon time, - I ’ld rather hear the plainest rhyme - Than tales the parsons tell; - - The homespun of experience - They will not wear, - But walk a transcendental air - In dusty rags of sense. - - But humbly in your little church - Alone I watch; - Old rector, lift again the latch, - Here is a heart to search. - - Come, with a simple word and wise - Quicken my brain, - And while upon the painted pane - The painted butterflies - - Beat in the early April beams, - You shall instruct - My spirit in the knowledge plucked - From your still Dorset dreams. - - Your word shall strive with no obscure - Debated text, - Your vision being unperplexed, - Your loving purpose pure. - - I know you’ll speak of April flowers, - Or lambs in pen, - Or happy-hearted maids and men - Weaving their April hours. - - Or rising to your thought will come, - For lessoning, - Those lovers of an older spring, - That now in tombs are dumb. - - And brooding in your theme shall be, - Half said, half heard, - The presage of a poet’s word - To mock mortality. - - * * * * * - - The years are on your grave the while, - And yet, almost, - I think to see your surpliced ghost - Stand hesitant in the aisle, - - Find me sole congregation there, - Assess my mood, - Know mine a kindred solitude, - And climb the pulpit-stair. - - - - -BUDS - - - The raining hour is done, - And, threaded on the bough, - The May-buds in the sun - Are shining emeralds now. - - As transitory these - As things of April will, - Yet, trembling in the trees, - Is briefer beauty still. - - For, flowering from the sky - Upon an April day, - Are silver buds that lie - Amid the buds of May. - - The April emeralds now, - While thrushes fill the lane, - Are linked along the bough - With silver buds of rain. - - And, straightly though to earth - The buds of silver slip, - The green buds keep the mirth - Of that companionship. - - - - -BLACKBIRD - - - He comes on chosen evenings, - My blackbird bountiful, and sings - Over the gardens of the town - Just at the hour the sun goes down. - His flight across the chimneys thick, - By some divine arithmetic, - Comes to his customary stack, - And couches there his plumage black, - And there he lifts his yellow bill, - Kindled against the sunset, till - These suburbs are like Dymock woods - Where music has her solitudes, - And while he mocks the winter’s wrong - Rapt on his pinnacle of song, - Figured above our garden plots - Those are celestial chimney-pots. - - - - -MAY GARDEN - - - A shower of green gems on my apple-tree - This first morning of May - Has fallen out of the night, to be - Herald of holiday-- - Bright gems of green that, fallen there, - Seem fixed and glowing on the air. - - Until a flutter of blackbird wings - Shakes and makes the boughs alive, - And the gems are now no frozen things, - But apple-green buds to thrive - On sap of my May garden, how well - The green September globes will tell. - - Also my pear-tree has its buds, - But they are silver yellow, - Like autumn meadows when the floods - Are silver under willow, - And here shall long and shapely pears - Be gathered while the autumn wears. - - And there are sixty daffodils - Beneath my wall.... - And jealousy it is that kills - This world when all - The spring’s behaviour here is spent - To make the world magnificent. - - - - -AT AN INN - - - We are talkative proud, and assured, and self-sufficient, - The quick of the earth this day; - This inn is ours, and its courtyard, and English history, - And the Post Office up the way. - - The stars in their changes, and heavenly speculation, - The habits of birds and flowers, - And character bred of poverty and riches, - All these are ours. - - The world is ours, and these its themes and its substance, - And of these we are free men and wise; - Among them all we move in possession and judgment, - For a day, till it dies. - - But in eighteen-hundred-and-fifty, who were the tenants, - Sure and deliberate as we? - They knew us not in the time of their ascension, - Their self-sufficiency. - - And in nineteen-hundred-and-fifty this inn shall flourish, - And history still be told, - And the heat of blood shall thrive, and speculation, - When we are cold. - - - - -PERSPECTIVE - - - In the Wheatsheaf parlour I sat to see - The story of Chippington street go by, - The squire, and dames of little degree, - And drovers with cattle and flocks to cry. - - And these were all as my creatures there, - Twinkling to and fro in the sun, - And placidly I had joy, had care, - Of all their labours and dealings done. - - Into the parlour strode me then - Two fellows fiercely set at odds, - To whom the difference of men - Gave the sufficiency of God. - - They saw me, and they stept beyond - To a chamber within earshot still, - And each on each of broken bond, - And honour, and inflexible will, - - Railed. And loud the little inn grew, - But nothing I cared their quarrel to learn, - Though the issue tossing between the two - They deemed the bait of the world’s concern. - - Only I thought how most are men - Fantastic when they most are proud, - And out of my laughter I looked again - On the flowing figures of Chippington crowd. - - - - -CROCUSES - -TO E. H. C. - - - Desires, - Little determined desires, - Gripped by the mould, - Moving so hardly among - The earth, of whose heart they were bred, - That is old; it is old, - Not gracious to little desires such as these, - But apter for work on the bases of trees, - Whose branches are hung - Overhead, - Very mightily, there overhead. - - Through the summer they stirred, - They strove to the bulbs after May, - Until harvest and song of the bird - Went together away; - And ever till coming of snows - They worked in the mould, for undaunted were those - Swift little determined desires, in the earth - Without sign, any day, - Ever shaping to marvels of birth, - Far away. - - And we went - Without heed - On our way, - Never knowing what virtue was spent, - Day by day, - By those little desires that were gallant to breed - Such beauty as fortitude may. - Not once in our mind - Was that corner of earth under trees, - Very mighty and tall, - As we travelled the roads and the seas, - And gathered the wage of our kind, - And were laggard or trim to the call - Of the duties that lengthen the hours - Into seasons that flourish and fall. - - And blind, - In the womb of the flowers, - Unresting they wrought, - In the bulbs, in the depth of the year, - Buried far from our thought; - Till one day, when the thrushes were clear - In their note it was spring--and they know-- - Unheeding we came into sight - Of that corner forgotten, and lo, - They had won through the meshes of mould, - And treasuries lay in the light, - Of ivory, purple, and gold. - - - - -RIDDLES, R.F.C.[1] - -(1916) - - - He was a boy of April beauty; one - Who had not tried the world; who, while the sun - Flamed yet upon the eastern sky, was done. - - Time would have brought him in her patient ways-- - So his young beauty spoke--to prosperous days, - To fulness of authority and praise. - - He would not wait so long. A boy, he spent - His boy’s dear life for England. Be content: - No honour of age had been more excellent. - - [1] Lieutenant Stewart G. Ridley, Royal Flying Corps, sacrificed his - life in the Egyptian desert in an attempt to save a comrade. He was - twenty years of age. - - - - -THE SHIPS OF GRIEF - - - On seas where every pilot fails - A thousand thousand ships to-day - Ride with a moaning in their sails, - Through winds grey and waters grey. - - They are the ships of grief. They go - As fleets are derelict and driven, - Estranged from every port they know, - Scarce asking fortitude of heaven. - - No, do not hail them. Let them ride - Lonely as they would lonely be ... - There is an hour will prove the tide, - There is a sun will strike the sea. - - - - -NOCTURNE - - - O royal night, under your stars that keep - Their golden troops in charted motion set, - The living legions are renewed in sleep - For bloodier battle yet. - - O royal death, under your boundless sky - Where unrecorded constellations throng, - Dispassionate those other legions lie, - Invulnerably strong. - - - - -THE PATRIOT - - - Scarce is my life more dear to me, - Brief tutor of oblivion, - Than fields below the rookery - That comfortably looks upon - The little street of Piddington. - - I never think of Avon’s meadows, - Ryton woods or Rydal mere, - Or moon-tide moulding Cotswold shadows, - But I know that half the fear - Of death’s indifference is here. - - I love my land. No heart can know - The patriot’s mystery, until - It aches as mine for woods ablow - In Gloucestershire with daffodil, - Or Bicester brakes that violets fill. - - No man can tell what passion surges - For the house of his nativity - In the patriot’s blood, until he purges - His grosser mood of jealousy, - And comes to meditate with me - - Of gifts of earth that stamp his brain - As mine the pools of Ludlow mill, - The hazels fencing Trilly’s Lane, - And Forty Acres under Brill, - The ferry under Elsfield hill. - - These are what England is to me, - Not empire, nor the name of her - Ranging from pole to tropic sea. - These are the soil in which I bear - All that I have of character. - - That men my fellows near and far - May live in like communion, - Is all I pray; all pastures are - The best beloved beneath the sun; - I have my own; I envy none. - - - - -EPILOGUE FOR A MASQUE - - - A little time they lived again, and lo! - Back to the quiet night the shadows go, - And the great folds of silence once again - Are over fools and kings and fighting-men. - - A little while they went with stumbling feet, - With spears of hate, and love all flowery sweet, - With wondering hearts and bright adventurous wills, - And now their dust is on a thousand hills. - - We dream of them, as men unborn shall dream - Of us, who strive a little with the stream - Before we too go out beyond the day, - And are as much a memory as they. - - And Death, so coming, shall not seem a thing - Of any fear, nor terrible his wing. - We too shall be a tale on earth, and time - Shall shape our pilgrimage into a rhyme. - - - - -THE GUEST - - - Sometimes I feel that death is very near, - And, with half-lifted hand, - Looks in my eyes, and tells me not to fear, - But walk his friendly land, - Comrade with him, and wise - As peace is wise. - - Then, greatly though my heart with pity moves - For dear imperilled loves, - I somehow know - That death is friendly so, - A comfortable spirit; one who takes - Long thought for all our sakes. - - I wonder; will he come that friendly way, - That guest, or roughly in the appointed day? - And will, when the last drops of life are spilt, - My soul be torn from me, - Or, like a ship truly and trimly built, - Slip quietly to sea? - - - - -TREASON - - - What time I write my roundelays, - I am as proud as princes gone, - Who built their empires in old days, - As Tamburlaine or Solomon; - And wisely though companions then - Say well it is and well I sing, - Assured above the praise of men - I am a solitary king. - - But when I leave that straiter mood, - That lonely hour, and put aside - The continence of solitude, - I fall in treason to my pride, - And if a witling’s word be spent - Upon my song in jealousy, - In anger and in argument - I am as derelict as he. - - - - -POLITICS - - - You say a thousand things, - Persuasively, - And with strange passion hotly I agree, - And praise your zest, - And then - A blackbird sings - On April lilac, or fieldfaring men, - Ghostlike, with loaded wain, - Come down the twilit lane - To rest, - And what is all your argument to me? - - Oh, yes--I know, I know, - It must be so-- - You must devise - Your myriad policies, - For we are little wise, - And must be led and marshalled, lest we keep - Too fast a sleep - Far from the central world’s realities. - Yes, we must heed-- - For surely you reveal - Life’s very heart; surely with flaming zeal - You search our folly and our secret need; - And surely it is wrong - To count my blackbird’s song, - My cones of lilac, and my wagon team, - More than a world of dream. - - But still - A voice calls from the hill-- - I must away-- - I cannot hear your argument to-day. - - - - -FOR A GUEST ROOM - - - All words are said, - And may it fall - That, crowning these, - You here shall find - A friendly bed, - A sheltering wall, - Your body’s ease, - A quiet mind. - - May you forget - In happy sleep - The world that still - You hold as friend, - And may it yet - Be ours to keep - Your friendly will - To the world’s end. - - For he is blest - Who, fixed to shun - All evil, when - The worst is known, - Counts, east and west, - When life is done, - His debts to men - In love alone. - - - - -DAY - - - Dawn is up at my window, and in the May-tree - The finches gossip, and tits, and beautiful sparrows - With feathers bright and brown as September hazels. - - The sunlight is here, filtered through rosy curtains, - Docile and disembodied, a ghost of sunlight, - A gentle light to greet the dreamer returning. - - Part the curtains. I give you salutation - Day, clear day; let us be friendly fellows. - Come.... I hear the Liars about the city. - - - - -DREAMS - - - We have our dreams; not happiness. - Great cities are upon the hill - To lighten all our dream, and still - We have no cities to possess - But cities built of bitterness. - - We see gay fellows top to toe, - And girls in rainbow beauty bright-- - ’Tis but of silly dreams I write, - For up and down the streets we know, - The scavengers and harlots go. - - Give me a dozen men whose theme - Is honesty, and we will set - On high the banner of dreams ... and yet - Thousands will pass us in a stream, - Nor care a penny what we dream. - - - - -RESPONSIBILITY - - - You ploughmen at the gate, - All that you are for me - Is of my mind create, - And in my brain to be - A figure newly won - From the world’s confusion. - - And if you are of grace, - That’s honesty for me, - And if of evil face, - Recorded then shall be - Dishonour that I saw - Not beauty, but the flaw. - - - - -PROVOCATIONS - - - I am no merry monger when - I see the slatterns of the town: - I hate to think of docile men - Whose angers all are driven down; - For sluts make joy a thing obscene, - And in contempt is nothing clean. - - I like to see the ladies walk - With heels to set their chins atilt: - I like to hear the clergy talk - Of other clergy’s people’s guilt; - For happy is the amorous eye, - And indignation clears the sky. - - - - -TRIAL - - - Beauty of old and beauty yet to be, - Stripped of occasion, have security; - This hour it is searches the judgment through, - When masks of beauty walk with beauty too. - - - - -CHARGE TO THE PLAYERS - -THE TROJAN WOMEN, BIRMINGHAM REPERTORY THEATRE, APRIL 1918 - - - Shades, that our town-fellows have come - To hear rewake for Christendom - This cleansing of a Pagan wrong - In flowing tides of tragic song,-- - You shadows that the living call - To walk again the Trojan wall,-- - You lips and countenance renewed - Of an immortal fortitude,-- - Know that, among the silent rows - Of these our daily town-fellows, - Watching the shades with these who bring - But mortal ears to this you sing, - There somewhere sits the Greek who made - This gift of song, himself a shade. - - - - -CHARACTER - - - If one should tell you that in such a spring - The hawthorn boughs into the blackbird’s nest - Poured poison, or that once at harvesting - The ears were stony, from so manifest - Slander of proven faith in tree and corn - You would turn unheeding, knowing him forsworn. - - Yet now, when one whose life has never known - Corruption, as you know: whose days have been - As daily tidings in your heart of lone - And gentle courage, suffers the word unclean - Of envious tongues, doubting you dare not cry-- - “I have been this man’s familiar, and you lie.” - - - - -REALITY - - - It is strange how we travel the wide world over, - And see great churches and foreign streets, - And armies afoot and kings of wonder, - And deeds a-doing to fill the sheets - That grave historians will pen - To ferment the brains of simple men. - - And all the time the heart remembers - The quiet habit of one far place, - The drawings and books, the turn of a passage, - The glance of a dear familiar face, - And there is the true cosmopolis, - While the thronging world a phantom is. - - - - -EPILOGUE - - - Come tell us, you that travel far - With brave or shabby merchandise, - Have you saluted any star - That goes uncourtiered in the skies? - - Do you remember leaf or wing - Or brook the willows leant along, - Or any small familiar thing - That passed you as you went along? - - Or does the trade that is your lust - Drive you as yoke-beasts driven apace, - Making the world a road of dust - From market-place to market-place? - - Your traffic in the grain, the wine, - In purple and in cloth of gold, - In treasure of the field and mine, - In fables of the poets told,-- - - But have you laughed the wine-cups dry - And on the loaves of plenty fed, - And walked, with all your banners high, - In gold and purple garmented? - - And do you know the songs you sell - And cry them out along the way? - And is the profit that you tell - After your travel day by day - - Sinew and sap of life, or husk-- - Dead coffer-ware or kindled brain? - And do you gather in the dusk - To make your heroes live again? - - If the grey dust is over all, - And stars and leaves and wings forgot, - And your blood holds no festival-- - Go out from us; we need you not. - - But if you are immoderate men, - Zealots of joy, the salt and sting - And savour of life upon you--then - We call you to our counselling. - - And we will hew the holy boughs - To make us level rows of oars, - And we will set our shining prows - For strange and unadventured shores. - - Where the great tideways swiftliest run - We will be stronger than the strong - And sack the cities of the sun - And spend our booty in a song. - - - - -MOONRISE - - - Where are you going, you pretty riders?-- - To the moon’s rising, the rising of death’s moon, - Where the waters move not, and birds are still and songless, - Soon, very soon. - - Where are you faring to, you proud Hectors? - Through battle, out of battle, under the grass, - Dust behind your hoof-beats rises, and into dust, - Clouded, you pass. - - I’m a pretty rider, I’m a proud Hector, - I as you a little am pretty and proud; - I with you am riding, riding to the moonrise, - So sing we loud-- - - “Out beyond the dust lies mystery of moonrise, - We go to chiller learning than is bred in the sun, - Hectors, and riders, and a simple singer, - Riding as one.” - - - - -DEER - - - Shy in their herding dwell the fallow deer. - They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near - Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live, - Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive, - Treading as in jungles free leopards do, - Printless as evelight, instant as dew. - The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheep - Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep - Delicate and far their counsels wild, - Never to be folded reconciled - To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are: - Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar, - These you may not hinder, unconfined - Beautiful flocks of the mind. - - - - -TO ONE I LOVE - - - As I walked along the passage, in the night, beyond the stairs, - In the dark, - I was afraid, - Suddenly, - As will happen you know, my dear, it will often happen. - I knew the walls at my side, - Knew the drawings hanging there, the order of their placing, - And the door where my bed lay beyond, - And the window on the landing-- - There was even a little ray of moonlight through it-- - All was known, familiar, my comfortable home; - And yet I was afraid, - Suddenly, - In the dark, like a child, of nothing, - Of vastness, of eternity, of the queer pains of thought, - Such as used to trouble me when I heard, - When I was little, the people talk - On Sundays of “As it was in the Beginning, - Is Now, and Ever Shall Be....” - I am thirty-six years old, - And folk are friendly to me, - And there are no ghosts that should have reason to haunt me, - And I have tempted no magical happenings - By forsaking the clear noons of thought - For the wizardries that the credulous take - To be golden roads to revelation. - I knew all was simplicity there, - Without conspiracy, without antagonism, - And yet I was afraid, - Suddenly, - A child, in the dark, forlorn.... - And then, as suddenly, - I was aware of a profound, a miraculous understanding, - Knowledge that comes to a man - But once or twice, as a bird’s note - In the still depth of the night - Striking upon the silence ... - I stood at the door, and there - Was mellow candle-light, - And companionship, and comfort, - And I knew - That it was even so, - That it must be even so - With death. - I knew - That no harm could have touched me out of my fear, - Because I had no grudge against anything, - Because I had desired - In the darkness, when fear came, - Love only, and pity, and fellowship, - And it would have been a thing monstrous, - Something defying nature - And all the simple universal fitness - For any force there to have come evilly - Upon me, who had no evil in my heart, - But only trust, and tenderness - For every presence about me in the air, - For the very shadow about me, - Being a little child for no one’s envy. - And I knew that God - Must understand that we go - To death as little children, - Desiring love so simply, and love’s defence, - And that he would be a barren God, without humour, - To cheat so little, so wistful, a desire, - That he created - In us, in our childishness ... - And I may never again be sure of this, - But there, for a moment, - In the candle-light, - Standing at the door, - I knew. - - - - -TO ALICE MEYNELL - - - I too have known my mutinies, - Played with improvident desires, - Gone indolently vain as these - Whose lips from undistinguished choirs - Mock at the music of our sires. - - I too have erred in thought. In hours - When needy life forbade me bring - To song the brain’s unravished powers, - Then had it been a temperate thing - Loosely to pluck an easy string. - - Yet thought has been, poor profligate, - Sin’s period. Through dear and long - Obedience I learn to hate - Unhappy lethargies that wrong - The larger loyalties of song. - - And you upon your slender reed, - Most exquisitely tuned, have made - For every singing heart a creed. - And I have heard; and I have played - My lonely music unafraid, - - Knowing that still a friendly few, - Turning aside from turbulence, - Cherish the difficult phrase, the due - Bridals of disembodied sense - With the new word’s magnificence. - - - - -PETITION - - - O Lord, I pray: that for each happiness - My housemate brings I may give back no less - Than all my fertile will; - - That I may take from friends but as the stream - Creates again the hawthorn bloom adream - Above the river sill; - - That I may see the spurge upon the wall - And hear the nesting birds give call to call, - Keeping my wonder new; - - That I may have a body fit to mate - With the green fields, and stars, and streams in spate, - And clean as clover-dew; - - That I may have the courage to confute - All fools with silence when they will dispute, - All fools who will deride; - - That I may know all strict and sinewy art - As that in man which is the counterpart, - Lord, of Thy fiercest pride; - - That somehow this beloved earth may wear - A later grace for all the love I bear, - For some song that I sing; - That, when I die, this word may stand for me-- - He had a heart to praise, an eye to see, - And beauty was his king. - - - - -HARVESTING - - - Pale sheaves of oats, pocked by untimely rain, - Under October skies, - Teased and forlorn, - Ungathered lie where still the tardy wain - Comes not to seal - The seasons of the corn, - From prime to June, with running barns of grain. - - Now time with me is at the middle year, - The register of youth - Is now to sing ... - My thoughts are ripe, my moods are in full ear; - That they should fail - Of harvesting, - Uncarried on cold fields, is all my fear. - - * * * * * - - The Riverside Press - CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS - U. S. A. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, 1908-1919, by John Drinkwater - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, 1908-1919 *** - -***** This file should be named 51575-0.txt or 51575-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/5/7/51575/ - -Produced by MWS, Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Poems, 1908-1919 - -Author: John Drinkwater - -Release Date: March 27, 2016 [EBook #51575] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, 1908-1919 *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<p class="cb">POEMS<br /> -1908-1919</p> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="338" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="282" height="500" -alt="[Image not available: John Drinkwater portrait - -From a drawing by William Rothenstein - -1917 - -Emery Walker ph. sc.]" title="" /><br /> -<img src="images/caption.png" -width="350" -height="" -alt="" -/> -</div> - -<h1>P O E M S<br /> -<small>1908-1919</small></h1> - -<p class="cb"><span class="smcap">By</span><br /> -JOHN DRINKWATER<br /> -<br /><br /> -<img src="images/colophon.png" -width="75" -height="140" -alt="colophon not visible" -/><br /> -<br /><br /> -BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> -HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> -<span class="eng">The Riverside Press Cambridge</span><br /> -<br /><br /> -<small>COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY JOHN DRINKWATER<br /> -<br /> -ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</small><br /><br /><br /> - -<b>TO<br /> -MY WIFE</b><br /> -</p> - -<h2 class="ctre"><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#RECIPROCITY">Reciprocity</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_HOURS">The Hours</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_2">2</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_TOWN_WINDOW">A Town Window</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_4">4</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MYSTERY">Mystery</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_5">5</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_COMMON_LOT">The Common Lot</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_7">7</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#PASSAGE">Passage</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_8">8</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_WOOD">The Wood</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_9">9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#HISTORY">History</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_10">10</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FUGITIVE">The Fugitive</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_12">12</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CONSTANCY">Constancy</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_13">13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#SOUTHAMPTON_BELLS">Southampton Bells</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_NEW_MIRACLE">The New Miracle</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_17">17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#REVERIE">Reverie</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_18">18</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#PENANCES">Penances</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LAST_CONFESSIONAL">Last Confessional</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#BIRTHRIGHT">Birthright</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#ANTAGONISTS">Antagonists</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#HOLINESS">Holiness</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_CITY">The City</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_32">32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TO_THE_DEFILERS">To the Defilers</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_CHRISTMAS_NIGHT">A Christmas Night</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_34">34</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#INVOCATION">Invocation</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_35">35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#IMMORTALITY">Immortality</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_36">36</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_CRAFTSMEN">The Craftsmen</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_38">38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#SYMBOLS">Symbols</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#SEALED">Sealed</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_40">40</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_PRAYER">A Prayer</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_43">43</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_BUILDING">The Building</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45">45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_SOLDIER">The Soldier</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FIRES_OF_GOD">The Fires of God</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_49">49</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHALLENGE">Challenge</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_60">60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TRAVEL_TALK">Travel Talk</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_61">61</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_VAGABOND">The Vagabond</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_66">66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#OLD_WOMAN_IN_MAY">Old Woman in May</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_67">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_FECKENHAM_MEN">The Feckenham Men</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_68">68</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_TRAVELLER">The Traveller</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_70">70</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#IN_LADY_STREET">In Lady Street</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_71">71</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#ANTHONY_CRUNDLE">Anthony Crundle</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_75">75</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MAD_TOM_TATTERMAN">Mad Tom Tatterman</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_76">76</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#FOR_CORIN_TO-DAY">For Corin To-Day</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_78">78</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_CARVER_IN_STONE">The Carver in Stone</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_79">79</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#ELIZABETH_ANN">Elizabeth Ann</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_91">91</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_COTSWOLD_FARMERS">The Cotswold Farmers</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_92">92</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_MANS_DAUGHTER">A Man’s Daughter</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_93">93</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_LIFE_OF_JOHN_HERITAGE">The Life of John Heritage</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_95">95</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THOMAS_YARNTON_OF_TARLTON">Thomas Yarnton of Tarlton</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_98">98</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MRS_WILLOW">Mrs. Willow</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_99">99</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#ROUNDELS_OF_THE_YEAR">Roundels of the Year</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_101">101</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LIEGEWOMAN">Liegewoman</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_105">105</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOVERS_TO_LOVERS">Lovers to Lovers</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_106">106</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOVES_PERSONALITY">Love’s Personality</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_107">107</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#PIERROT">Pierrot</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_108">108</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#RECKONING">Reckoning</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_110">110</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DERELICT">Derelict</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_112">112</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#WED">Wed</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_113">113</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#FORSAKEN">Forsaken</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_115">115</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DEFIANCE">Defiance</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_116">116</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOVE_IN_OCTOBER">Love in October</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_117">117</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TO_THE_LOVERS_THAT_COME_AFTER_US">To the Lovers that come after us</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_118">118</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DERBYSHIRE_SONG">Derbyshire Song</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_119">119</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LOVES_HOUSE">Love’s House</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_120">120</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#COTSWOLD_LOVE">Cotswold Love</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_124">124</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#WITH_DAFFODILS">With Daffodils</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_125">125</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#FOUNDATIONS">Foundations</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_126">126</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DEAR_AND_INCOMPARABLE">Dear and Incomparable</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_127">127</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_SABBATH_DAY">A Sabbath Day</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_128">128</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#A_DEDICATION">A Dedication</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_134">134</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#RUPERT_BROOKE">Rupert Brooke</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_136">136</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#ON_READING_FRANCIS_LEDWIDGES_LAST_SONGS">On Reading Francis Ledwidge’s Last Songs</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_137">137</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#IN_THE_WOODS">In the Woods</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_138">138</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#LATE_SUMMER">Late Summer</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_139">139</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#JANUARY_DUSK">January Dusk</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_140">140</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#AT_GRAFTON">At Grafton</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_141">141</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DOMINION">Dominion</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_142">142</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_MIRACLE">The Miracle</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_144">144</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MILLERS_DALE">Millers Dale</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_145">145</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#WRITTEN_AT_LUDLOW_CASTLE">Written at Ludlow Castle</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_146">146</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#WORDSWORTH_AT_GRASMERE">Wordsworth at Grasmere</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_147">147</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#SUNRISE_ON_RYDAL_WATER">Sunrise on Rydal Water</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_148">148</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#SEPTEMBER">September</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_150">150</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#OLTON_POOLS">Olton Pools</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_151">151</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#OF_GREATHAM">Of Greatham</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_152">152</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MAMBLE">Mamble</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_154">154</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#OUT_OF_THE_MOON">Out of the Moon</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_155">155</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MOONLIT_APPLES">Moonlit Apples</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_156">156</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#COTTAGE_SONG">Cottage Song</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_157">157</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_MIDLANDS">The Midlands</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_158">158</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#OLD_CROW">Old Crow</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_160">160</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#VENUS_IN_ARDEN">Venus in Arden</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_162">162</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#ON_A_LAKE">On a Lake</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_163">163</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#HARVEST_MOON">Harvest Moon</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_164">164</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#AT_AN_EARTHWORKS">At an Earthworks</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_165">165</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#INSTRUCTION">Instruction</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_166">166</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#HABITATION">Habitation</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_167">167</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#WRITTEN_IN_WINTERBORNE_CAME_CHURCH">Written in Winterborne Came Church</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_169">169</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#BUDS">Buds</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_171">171</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#BLACKBIRD">Blackbird</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_172">172</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MAY_GARDEN">May Garden</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_173">173</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#AT_AN_INN">At an Inn</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_174">174</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#PERSPECTIVE">Perspective</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_176">176</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CROCUSES">Crocuses</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_177">177</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#RIDDLES_RFC1">Riddles R.F.C.</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_179">179</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_SHIPS_OF_GRIEF">The Ships of Grief</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_180">180</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#NOCTURNE">Nocturne</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_181">181</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_PATRIOT">The Patriot</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_182">182</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#EPILOGUE_FOR_A_MASQUE">Epilogue for a Masque</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_184">184</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#THE_GUEST">The Guest</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_185">185</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TREASON">Treason</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_186">186</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#POLITICS">Politics</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_187">187</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#FOR_A_GUEST_ROOM">For a Guest Room</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_189">189</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DAY">Day</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_190">190</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DREAMS">Dreams</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_191">191</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#RESPONSIBILITY">Responsibility</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_192">192</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#PROVOCATIONS">Provocations</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_193">193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TRIAL">Trial</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_194">194</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHARGE_TO_THE_PLAYERS">Charge to the Players</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_195">195</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHARACTER">Character</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_196">196</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#REALITY">Reality</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_197">197</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#EPILOGUE">Epilogue</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_198">198</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#MOONRISE">Moonrise</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_200">200</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#DEER">Deer</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_201">201</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TO_ONE_I_LOVE">To one I love</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_202">202</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#TO_ALICE_MEYNELL">To Alice Meynell</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_205">205</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#PETITION">Petition</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_206">206</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><span class="smcap"><a href="#HARVESTING">Harvesting</a></span></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_208">208</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<h1><a name="POEMS" id="POEMS"></a>POEMS<br /> -<small>1908-1919</small></h1> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1"></a>{1}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RECIPROCITY" id="RECIPROCITY"></a>RECIPROCITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I do</span> not think that skies and meadows are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moral, or that the fixture of a star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes of a quiet spirit, or that trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have wisdom in their windless silences.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet these are things invested in my mood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With constancy, and peace, and fortitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in my troubled season I can cry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the wide composure of the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And envy fields, and wish that I might be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As little daunted as a star or tree.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2"></a>{2}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_HOURS" id="THE_HOURS"></a>THE HOURS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Those</span> hours are best when suddenly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voices of the world are still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in that quiet place is heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voice of one small singing bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone within his quiet tree;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When to one field that crowns a hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With but the sky for neighbourhood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crowding counties of my brain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give all their riches, lake and plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cornland and fell and pillared wood;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When in a hill-top acre, bare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the seed’s use, I am aware<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all the beauty that an age<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of earth has taught my eyes to see;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When Pride and Generosity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Constant Heart and Evil Rage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Affection and Desire, and all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The passions of experience<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are no more tabled in my mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Learning’s idolatry, but find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Particularity of sense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In daily fortitudes that fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From this or that companion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or in an angry gossip’s word;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3"></a>{3}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When one man speaks for Every One,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Music lives in one small bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When in a furrowed hill we see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All beauty in epitome—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those hours are best; for those belong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the lucidity of song.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4"></a>{4}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_TOWN_WINDOW" id="A_TOWN_WINDOW"></a>A TOWN WINDOW</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beyond</span> my window in the night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is but a drab inglorious street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet there the frost and clean starlight<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As over Warwick woods are sweet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the grey drift of the town<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The crocus works among the mould<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As eagerly as those that crown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Warwick spring in flame and gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the tramway down the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the cobbles moans and rings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is about my window-sill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tumult of a thousand wings.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5"></a>{5}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MYSTERY" id="MYSTERY"></a>MYSTERY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Think</span> not that mystery has place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the obscure and veilèd face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or when the midnight watches are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uncompanied of moon or star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or where the fields and forests lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enfolded from the loving eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By fogs rebellious to the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or when the poet’s rhymes are spun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dreams that even in his own<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imagining are half-unknown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These are not mystery, but mere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conditions that deny the clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reality that lies behind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The weak, unspeculative mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behind contagions of the air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And screens of beauty everywhere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brooding and tormented sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hesitation of an eye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Look rather when the landscapes glow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through crystal distances as though<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The forty shires of England spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into one vision harvested,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or when the moonlit waters lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In silver cold lucidity;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those countenances search that bear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6"></a>{6}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Witness to very character,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And listen to the song that weighs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A life’s adventure in a phrase—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These are the founts of wonder, these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The plainer miracles to please<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brain that reads the world aright;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here is the mystery of light.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7"></a>{7}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_COMMON_LOT" id="THE_COMMON_LOT"></a>THE COMMON LOT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> youth and summer-time are gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And age puts quiet garlands on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the speculative eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fires of emulation die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But as to-day our time shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trembling upon eternity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, still inconstant in debate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall on revelation wait,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And age as youth will daily plan<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sailing of the caravan.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8"></a>{8}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PASSAGE" id="PASSAGE"></a>PASSAGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> you deliberate the page<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Alexander’s pilgrimage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or say—“It is three years, or ten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since Easter slew Connolly’s men,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or prudently to judgment come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Antony or Absalom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And think how duly are designed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Case and instruction for the mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remember then that also we,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a moon’s course, are history.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9"></a>{9}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_WOOD" id="THE_WOOD"></a>THE WOOD</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I walked</span> a nut-wood’s gloom. And overhead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A pigeon’s wing beat on the hidden boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shrews upon shy tunnelling woke thin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Late winter leaves with trickling sound. Across<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My narrow path I saw the carrier ants<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burdened with little pieces of bright straw.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These things I heard and saw, with senses fine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all the little traffic of the wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While everywhere, above me, underfoot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And haunting every avenue of leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was mystery, unresting, taciturn.<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i0">And haunting the lucidities of life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That are my daily beauty, moves a theme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beating along my undiscovered mind.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10"></a>{10}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="HISTORY" id="HISTORY"></a>HISTORY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span>, when walls and occupation seem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A prison merely, a dark barrier<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between me everywhere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life, or the larger province of the mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As dreams confined,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the trouble of a dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I seek to make again a life long gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My mind’s approach and consolation,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To give it form’s lucidity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Resilient form, as porcelain pieces thrown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In buried China by a wrist unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or mirrored brigs upon Fowey sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then to my memory comes nothing great<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of purpose, or debate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or perfect end,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pomp, nor love’s rapture, nor heroic hours to spend—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But most, and strangely, for long and so much have I seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes back an afternoon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of a June<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunday at Elsfield, that is up on a green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hill, and there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through a little farm parlour door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A floor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11"></a>{11}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of red tiles and blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet with the hot June sun cascading through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vine-leaves under the glass, and a scarlet fume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of geranium flower, and soft and yellow bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of musk, and stains of scarlet and yellow glass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such are the things remain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quietly, and for ever, in the brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the things that they choose for history-making pass.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12"></a>{12}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FUGITIVE" id="THE_FUGITIVE"></a>THE FUGITIVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beauty</span> has come to make no longer stay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than the bright buds of May<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In May-time do.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beauty is with us for one hour, one hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life is so brief a flower;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thoughts are so few.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thoughts are so few with mastery to give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shape to these fugitive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dear brevities,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That even in its hour beauty is blind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because the shallow mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not sees, not sees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the mind of man only can be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alert prosperity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For beauty brief.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, what can be but little comes to less<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the wilderness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of unbelief.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And beauty that has but an hour to spend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With you for friend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Goes outcast by.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But know, but know—for all she is outcast—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is not she at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But you that die.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13"></a>{13}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONSTANCY" id="CONSTANCY"></a>CONSTANCY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> shadows that companion me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From chronicles and poetry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More constant and substantial are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than these my men familiar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who draw with me uncertain breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A little while this side of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For you, my friend, may fail to keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-morrow’s tryst, so darkly deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The motions mutable that give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To flesh its brief prerogative,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the pleasant hours we make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Together for devotion’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Always the testament I see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is our twin mortality.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But those from the recorded page<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keep an eternal pilgrimage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They stedfastly inhabit here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With no mortality to fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my communion with them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ails not in the mind’s stratagem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the sudden blow, the date<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That once must fall unfortunate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fret not nor persuade, and when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These graduates I entertain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I grieve not that I too must fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As you, my friend, to funeral,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But rather find example there<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14"></a>{14}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, when my boughs of time are bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And nothing more the body’s chance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Governs my careful circumstance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall, upon that later birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Walk in immortal fields of earth.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15"></a>{15}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SOUTHAMPTON_BELLS" id="SOUTHAMPTON_BELLS"></a>SOUTHAMPTON BELLS</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long ago some builder thrust<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heavenward in Southampton town<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His spire and beamed his bells,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Largely conceiving from the dust<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That pinnacle for ringing down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Orisons and Noëls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In his imagination rang,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through generations challenging<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His peal on simple men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, as the heart within him sang,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In daily townfaring should sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By year and year again.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now often to their ringing go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bellmen with lean Time at heel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Intent on daily cares;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bells ring high, the bells ring low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ringers ring the builder’s peal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of tidings unawares.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And all the bells’ might well be dumb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For any quickening in the street<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of customary ears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so at last proud builders come<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16"></a>{16}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With dreams and virtues to defeat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the clouding years.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now, waiting on Southampton sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For exile, through the silver night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear Noël! Noël!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through generations down to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your challenge, builder, comes aright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bell by obedient bell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You wake an hour with me; then wide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though be the lapses of your sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You yet shall wake again;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus, old builder, on the tide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of immortality you keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your way from brain to brain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17"></a>{17}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_NEW_MIRACLE" id="THE_NEW_MIRACLE"></a>THE NEW MIRACLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Of</span> old men wrought strange gods for mystery,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Implored miraculous tokens in the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lips that most were strange in prophecy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were most accounted wise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hearthstone’s commerce between mate and mate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Barren of wonder, prospered in content,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still the hunger of their thought was great<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For sweet astonishment.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so they built them altars of retreat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where life’s familiar use was overthrown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And left the shining world about their feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To travel worlds unknown.<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i0">We hunger still. But wonder has come down<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From alien skies upon the midst of us;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sparkling hedgerow and the clamorous town<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have grown miraculous.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And man from his far travelling returns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To find yet stranger wisdom than he sought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where in the habit of his threshold burns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unfathomable thought.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18"></a>{18}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="REVERIE" id="REVERIE"></a>REVERIE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Here</span> in the unfrequented noon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the green hermitage of June,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While overhead a rustling wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Minds me of birds that do not sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until the cooler eve rewakes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The service of melodious brakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thoughts are lonely rangers, here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In shelter of the primrose year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I curiously meditate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our brief and variable state.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think how many are alive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who better in the grave would thrive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If some so long a sleep might give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Better instruction how to live;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think what splendours had been said<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By darlings now untimely dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had death been wise in choice of these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And made exchange of obsequies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think what loss to government<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is that good men are content—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Well knowing that an evil will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is folly-stricken too, and still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Itself considers only wise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all rebukes and surgeries—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That evil men should raise their pride<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19"></a>{19}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To place and fortune undefied.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think how daily we beguile<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our brains, that yet a little while<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all our congregated schemes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And our perplexity of dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall come to whole and perfect state.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think, however long the date<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of life may be, at last the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall pass upon campaigns undone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I look upon the world and see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A world colonial to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereof I am the architect,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And principal and intellect,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A world whose shape and savour spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of my lone imagining,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A world whose nature is subdued<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ever to my instant mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And only beautiful can be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because of beauty is in me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then I know that every mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the millions of my kind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes earth his own particular<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And privately created star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That earth has thus no single state,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being every man articulate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till thought has no horizon then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I try to think how many men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There are to make an earth apart<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20"></a>{20}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In symbol of the urgent heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For there are forty in my street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seven hundred more in Greet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And families at Luton Hoo,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there are men in China, too.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And what immensity is this<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is but a parenthesis<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set in a little human thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the body comes to naught.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There at the bottom of the copse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see a field of turnip tops,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the cropping cattle pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There in another field, of grass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fields and fields, with seven towns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A river, and a flight of downs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steeples for all religious men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ten thousand trees, and orchards ten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mighty span that curves away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into blue beauty, and I lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All this as quartered on a sphere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hung huge in space, a thing of fear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vast as the circle of the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Completed to the astonished eye;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then I think that all I see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereof I frame immensity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Globed for amazement, is no more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than a shire’s corner, and that four<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great shires being ten times multiplied<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21"></a>{21}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are small on the Atlantic tide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As an emerald on a silver bowl ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the Atlantic to the whole<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweep of this tributary star<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is our earth is but ... and far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through dreadful space the outmeasured mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seeks to conceive the unconfined.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think of Time. How, when his wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Composes all our quarrelling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In some green corner where May leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are loud with blackbirds on all eves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the dust that was our bones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is underneath memorial stones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then shall old jealousies, while we<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lie side by side most quietly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be but oblivion’s fools, and still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When curious pilgrims ask—“What skill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had these that from oblivion saves?”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My song shall sing above our graves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think how men of gentle mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And friendly will, and honest kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deny their nature and appear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fellows of jealousy and fear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Having single faith, and natural wit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To measure truth and cherish it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, strangely, when they build in thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Twisting the honesty that wrought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22"></a>{22}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the straight motion of the heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into its feigning counterpart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is the brain’s betrayal of<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The simple purposes of love;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And what yet sorrier decline<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is theirs when, eager to confine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more within the silent brain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its habit, thought seeks birth again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In speech, as honesty has done<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In thought; then even what had won<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From heart to brain fades and is lost<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In this pretended pentecost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This their forlorn captivity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To speech, who have not learnt to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lords of the word, nor kept among<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sterner climates of the tongue ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So truth is in their hearts, and then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falls to confusion in the brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, fading through this mid-eclipse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It perishes upon the lips.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think how year by year I still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Find working in my dauntless will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sudden timidities that are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Merely the echo of some far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forgotten tyrannies that came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To youth’s bewilderment and shame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That yet a magisterial gown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being worn by one of no renown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23"></a>{23}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And half a generation less<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In years than I, can dispossess<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Something my circumspecter mood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of excellence and quietude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if a Bishop speaks to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I tremble with propriety.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think how strange it is that he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who goes most comradely with me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In beauty’s worship, takes delight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In shows that to my eager sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are shadows and unmanifest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While beauty’s favour and behest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To me in motion are revealed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is against his vision sealed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet is our hearts’ necessity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not twofold, but a common plea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That chaos come to continence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereto the arch-intelligence<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Richly in divers voices makes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its answer for our several sakes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see the disinherited<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And long procession of the dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who have in generations gone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Held fugitive dominion<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of this same primrose pasturage<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is my momentary wage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see two lovers move along<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24"></a>{24}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">These shadowed silences of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With spring in blossom at their feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More incommunicably sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To their hearts’ more magnificence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than to the common courts of sense,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till joy his tardy closure tells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With coming of the curfew bells.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the knights of spur and sword<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crossing the little woodland ford,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Riding in ghostly cavalcade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On some unchronicled crusade.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the silent hunter go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In cloth of yeoman green, with bow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strung, and a quiver of grey wings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the little herd who brings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His cattle homeward, while his sire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes bivouac in Warwickshire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This night, the liege and loyal man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Cavalier or Puritan.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as they pass, the nameless dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unsung, uncelebrate, and sped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon an unremembered hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As any twelvemonth fallen flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think how strangely yet they live<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all their days were fugitive.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think how soon we too shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A story with our ancestry.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25"></a>{25}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think what miracle has been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That you whose love among this green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Delightful solitude is still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stay and substance of my will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dear custodian of my song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My thrifty counsellor and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should take the time of all time’s tide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That was my season, to abide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On earth also; that we should be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charted across eternity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To one elect and happy day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of yellow primroses in May.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The clock is calling five o’clock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Nonesopretty brings her flock<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fold, and Tom comes back from town<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hose and ribbons worth a crown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And duly at The Old King’s Head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They gather now to daily bread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I no more may meditate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our brief and variable state.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26"></a>{26}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PENANCES" id="PENANCES"></a>PENANCES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">These</span> are my happy penances. To make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauty without a covenant; to take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Measure of time only because I know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That in death’s market-place I still shall owe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Service to beauty that shall not be done;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To know that beauty’s doctrine is begun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And makes a close in sacrifice; to find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In beauty’s courts the unappeasable mind.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27"></a>{27}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LAST_CONFESSIONAL" id="LAST_CONFESSIONAL"></a>LAST CONFESSIONAL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">For</span> all ill words that I have spoken,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all clear moods that I have broken,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all despite and hasty breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forgive me, Love, forgive me, Death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Death, master of the great assize,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love, falling now to memories,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You two alone I need to prove,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forgive me, Death, forgive me, Love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For every tenderness undone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For pride when holiness was none<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But only easy charity,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O Death, be pardoner to me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For stubborn thought that would not make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Measure of love’s thought for love’s sake,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But kept a sullen difference,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Take, Love, this laggard penitence.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For cloudy words too vainly spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To prosper but in argument,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When truth stood lonely at the gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On your compassion, Death, I wait.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For all the beauty that escaped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This foolish brain, unsung, unshaped,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28"></a>{28}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">For wonder that was slow to move,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forgive me, Death, forgive me, Love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For love that kept a secret cruse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For life defeated of its dues,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This latest word of all my breath—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forgive me, Love, forgive me, Death.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29"></a>{29}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="BIRTHRIGHT" id="BIRTHRIGHT"></a>BIRTHRIGHT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lord</span> Rameses of Egypt sighed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because a summer evening passed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And little Ariadne cried<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That summer fancy fell at last<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dust; and young Verona died<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When beauty’s hour was overcast.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Theirs was the bitterness we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because the clouds of hawthorn keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So short a state, and kisses go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To tombs unfathomably deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Rameses and Romeo<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And little Ariadne sleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30"></a>{30}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ANTAGONISTS" id="ANTAGONISTS"></a>ANTAGONISTS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Green</span> shoots, we break the morning earth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And flourish in the morning’s breath;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We leave the agony of birth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And soon are all midway to death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While yet the summer of her year<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brings life her marvels, she can see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far off the rising dust, and hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The footfall of her enemy.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31"></a>{31}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="HOLINESS" id="HOLINESS"></a>HOLINESS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> all the carts were painted gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the streets swept clean,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the children came to play<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By hollyhocks, with green<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grasses to grow between,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If all the houses looked as though<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some heart were in their stones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If all the people that we know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were dressed in scarlet gowns,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With feathers in their crowns,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I think this gaiety would make<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A spiritual land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think that holiness would take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This laughter by the hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Till both should understand.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32"></a>{32}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CITY" id="THE_CITY"></a>THE CITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A shining</span> city, one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy in snow and sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And singing in the rain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A paradisal strain....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here is a dream to keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Builders, from your sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O foolish Builders, wake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Take your trowels, take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The poet’s dream, and build<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The city song has willed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That every stone may sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all your roads may ring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With happy wayfaring.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33"></a>{33}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TO_THE_DEFILERS" id="TO_THE_DEFILERS"></a>TO THE DEFILERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Go</span>, thieves, and take your riches, creep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To corners out of honest sight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall not be so poor to keep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One thought of envy or despite.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But know that in sad surety when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your sullen will betrays this earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To sorrows of contagion, then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beelzebub renews his birth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When you defile the pleasant streams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the wild bird’s abiding-place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You massacre a million dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cast your spittle in God’s face.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34"></a>{34}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_CHRISTMAS_NIGHT" id="A_CHRISTMAS_NIGHT"></a>A CHRISTMAS NIGHT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Christ</span> for a dream was given from the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To walk one Christmas night on earth again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the snow, among the Christmas bells.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He heard the hymns that are his praise: <i>Noël</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <i>Christ is Born</i>, and <i>Babe of Bethlehem</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He saw the travelling crowds happy for home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gathering and the welcome, and the set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Feast and the gifts, because he once was born,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because he once was steward of a word.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so he thought, “The spirit has been kind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So well the peoples might have fallen from me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My way of life being difficult and spare.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is beautiful that a dream in Galilee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should prosper so. They crucified me once,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now my name is spoken through the world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bells are rung for me and candles burnt.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They might have crucified my dream who used<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My body ill; they might have spat on me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Always as in one hour on Golgotha.” ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the snow fell, and the last bell was still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the poor Christ again was with the dead.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35"></a>{35}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="INVOCATION" id="INVOCATION"></a>INVOCATION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> pools beneath stone arches take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Darkly within their deeps again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shapes of the flowing stone, and make<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stories anew of passing men,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So let the living thoughts that keep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Morning and evening, in their kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eternal change in height and deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be mirrored in my happy mind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beat, world, upon this heart, be loud<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your marvel chanted in my blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come forth, O sun, through cloud on cloud<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To shine upon my stubborn mood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Great hills that fold above the sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ecstatic airs and sparkling skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sing out your words to master me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Make me immoderately wise.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36"></a>{36}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IMMORTALITY" id="IMMORTALITY"></a>IMMORTALITY</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When other beauty governs other lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And snowdrops come to strange and happy springs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When seas renewed bear yet unbuilded ships,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And alien hearts know all familiar things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When frosty nights bring comrades to enjoy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sweet hours at hearths where we no longer sit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Liverpool is one with dusty Troy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And London famed as Attica for wit ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How shall it be with you, and you, and you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">How with us all who have gone greatly here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In friendship, making some delight, some true<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Song in the dark, some story against fear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall song still walk with love, and life be brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we, who were all these, be but the grave?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No; lovers yet shall tell the nightingale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sometimes a song that we of old time made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gossips gathered at the twilight ale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall say, “Those two were friends,” or, “Unafraid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bitter thought were those because they loved<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Better than most.” And sometimes shall be told<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37"></a>{37}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">How one, who died in his young beauty, moved,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As Astrophel, those English hearts of old.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the new seas shall take the new ships home<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Telling how yet the Dymock orchards stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you shall walk with Julius at Rome,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Paul shall be my fellow in the Strand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There in the midst of all those words shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our names, our ghosts, our immortality.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38"></a>{38}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CRAFTSMEN" id="THE_CRAFTSMEN"></a>THE CRAFTSMEN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Confederate</span> hand and eye<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Work to the chisel’s blade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Setting the grain aglow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of porch and sturdy beam—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So the strange gods may ply<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Strict arms till we are made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quick as the gods who know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What builds behind this dream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39"></a>{39}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SYMBOLS" id="SYMBOLS"></a>SYMBOLS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I saw</span> history in a poet’s song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a river-reach and a gallows-hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a bridal bed, and a secret wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a crown of thorns: in a daffodil.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I imagined measureless time in a day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And starry space in a waggon-road,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the treasure of all good harvests lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the single seed that the sower sowed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My garden-wind had driven and havened again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All ships that ever had gone to sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I saw the glory of all dead men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the shadow that went by the side of me.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40"></a>{40}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SEALED" id="SEALED"></a>SEALED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> doves call down the long arcades of pine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The screaming swifts are tiring towards their eaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you are very quiet, O lover of mine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No foot is on your ploughlands now, the song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fails and is no more heard among your leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That wearied not in praise the whole day long.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have watched with you till this twilight-fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The proud companion of your loveliness;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have you no word for me, no word at all?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The passion of my thought I have given you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Striving towards your passion, nevertheless,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clover leaves are deepening to the dew,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I am still unsatisfied, untaught.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You lie guarded in mystery, you go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into your night, and leave your lover naught.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Would I were Titan with immeasurable thews<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hold you trembling, lover of mine, and know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the full the secret savour that you use<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41"></a>{41}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now to my tormenting. I would drain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your beauty to the last sharp glory of it;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You should work mightily through me, blood and brain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your heart in my heart’s mastery should burn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you before my swift and arrogant wit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should be no longer proudly taciturn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You should bend back astonished at my kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your wisdom should be armourer to my pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you, subdued, should yet be glad of this.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The joys of great heroic lovers dead<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should seem but market-gossiping beside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The annunciation of our bridal bed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now, my lover earth, I am a leaf,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wave of light, a bird’s note, a blade sprung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Towards the oblivion of the sickled sheaf;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A mere mote driven against your royal ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tattered eager traveller among<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The myriads beating on your sanctuaries.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have no strength to crush you to my will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your beauty is invulnerably zoned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I, your undefeated lover still,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42"></a>{42}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Exulting in your sap am clear of shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And biding with you patiently am throned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the flight of desolation’s aim.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You may be mute, bestow no recompense<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On all the thriftless leaguers of my soul—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am at your gates, O lover of mine, and thence<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Will I not turn for any scorn you send,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rebuked, bemused, yet is my purpose whole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall be striving towards you till the end.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43"></a>{43}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_PRAYER" id="A_PRAYER"></a>A PRAYER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lord</span>, not for light in darkness do we pray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not that the veil be lifted from our eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor that the slow ascension of our day<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Be otherwise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not for a clearer vision of the things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereof the fashioning shall make us great,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not for remission of the peril and stings<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Of time and fate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not for a fuller knowledge of the end<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereto we travel, bruised yet unafraid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor that the little healing that we lend<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Shall be repaid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not these, O Lord. We would not break the bars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy wisdom sets about us; we shall climb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unfettered to the secrets of the stars<br /></span> -<span class="i5">In Thy good time.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We do not crave the high perception swift<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When to refrain were well, and when fulfil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor yet the understanding strong to sift<br /></span> -<span class="i5">The good from ill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not these, O Lord. For these Thou hast revealed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We know the golden season when to reap<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44"></a>{44}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heavy-fruited treasure of the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">The hour to sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not these. We know the hemlock from the rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pure from stained, the noble from the base<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tranquil holy light of truth that glows<br /></span> -<span class="i5">On Pity’s face.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We know the paths wherein our feet should press,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across our hearts are written Thy decrees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet now, O Lord, be merciful to bless<br /></span> -<span class="i5">With more than these.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Grant us the will to fashion as we feel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grant us the strength to labour as we know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grant us the purpose, ribbed and edged with steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">To strike the blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Knowledge we ask not—knowledge Thou hast lent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, Lord, the will—there lies our bitter need,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give us to build above the deep intent<br /></span> -<span class="i5">The deed, the deed.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45"></a>{45}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_BUILDING" id="THE_BUILDING"></a>THE BUILDING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Whence</span> these hods, and bricks of bright red clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swart men climbing ladders in the night?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Stilled are the clamorous energies of day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The streets are dumb, and, prodigal of light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lamps but shine upon a city of sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A step goes out into the silence; far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the quiet roofs the hour is tolled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From ghostly towers; the indifferent earth may keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That ragged flotsam shielded from the cold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In earth’s good time: not, moving among men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall he compel so fortunate a star.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pavements I know, forsaken now, are strange,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alien walks not beautiful, that then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the familiar day, are part of all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My breathless pilgrimage, not beautiful, but dear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The monotony of sound has suffered change,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eddies of wanton sound are spent, and clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bleak monotonies of silence fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, while the city sleeps, in the central poise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of quiet, lamps are flaming in the night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blown to long tongues by winds that moan between<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46"></a>{46}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The growing walls, and throwing misty light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On swart men bearing bricks of bright red clay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In laden hods; and ever the thin noise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of trowels deftly fashioning the clean<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long lines that are the shaping of proud thought.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ghost-like they move between the day and day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These men whose labour strictly shall be wrought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the captive image of a dream.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their sinews weary not, the plummet falls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To measured use from steadfast hands apace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And momently the moist and levelled seam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knits brick to brick and momently the walls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bestow the wonder of form on formless space.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And whence all these? The hod and plummet-line,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trowels tapping, and the lamps that shine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In long, dust-heavy beams from wall to wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mortar and the bricks of bright red clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ladder and corded scaffolding, and all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gear of common traffic—whence are they?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whence the men who use them?<br /></span> -<span class="i10">When he came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God upon chaos, crying in the name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all adventurous vision that the void<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should yield up man, and man, created, rose<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47"></a>{47}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of the deep, the marvel of all things made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then in immortal wonder was destroyed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All worth of trivial knowledge, and the close<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of man’s most urgent meditation stayed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Even as his first thought—“Whence am I sprung?”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What proud ecstatic mystery was pent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In that first act for man’s astonishment,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From age to unconfessing age, among<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His manifold travel. And in all I see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of common daily usage is renewed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This primal and ecstatic mystery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of chaos bidden into many-hued<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wonders of form, life in the void create,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And monstrous silence made articulate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not the first word of God upon the deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor the first pulse of life along the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More marvellous than these new walls that sweep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Starward, these lines that discipline the clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These lamps swung in the wind that send their light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On swart men climbing ladders in the night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No trowel-tap but sings anew for men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rapture of quickening water and continent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No mortared line but witnesses again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chaos transfigured into lineament.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48"></a>{48}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_SOLDIER" id="THE_SOLDIER"></a>THE SOLDIER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> large report of fame I lack,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shining clasps and crimson scars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I have held my bivouac<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Alone amid the untroubled stars.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My battle-field has known no dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beclouded by a thousand spears;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve been no mounting tyrant’s pawn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To buy his glory with my tears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It never seemed a noble thing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some little leagues of land to gain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From broken men, nor yet to fling<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Abroad the thunderbolts of pain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet I have felt the quickening breath<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As peril heavy peril kissed—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My weapon was a little faith,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fear was my antagonist.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not a brief hour of cannonade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But many days of bitter strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till God of His great pity laid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across my brow the leaves of life.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49"></a>{49}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FIRES_OF_GOD" id="THE_FIRES_OF_GOD"></a>THE FIRES OF GOD</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Time gathers to my name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the ways wheredown my feet have passed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the years with little triumph crowned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exulting not for perils dared, downcast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And weary-eyed and desolate for shame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of having been unstirred of all the sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the deep music of the men that move<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the world’s days in suffering and love.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Poor barren years that brooded over-much<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On your own burden, pale and stricken years—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go down to your oblivion, we part<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With no reproach or ceremonial tears.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Henceforth my hands are lifted to the touch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hands that labour with me, and my heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hereafter to the world’s heart shall be set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And its own pain forget.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time gathers to my name—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Days dead are dark; the days to be, a flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wonder and of promise, and great cries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of travelling people reach me—I must rise.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was I not man? Could I not rise alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the shifting of the things that be,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50"></a>{50}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rise to the crest of all the stars and see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ways of all the world as from a throne?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was I not man, with proud imperial will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cancel all the secrets of high heaven?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should not my sole unbridled purpose fill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All hidden paths with light when once was riven<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God’s veil by my indomitable will?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So dreamt I, little man of little vision,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great only in unconsecrated pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Man’s pity grew from pity to derision,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still I thought, “Albeit they deride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet is it mine uncharted ways to dare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unknown to these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they shall stumble darkly, unaware<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of solemn mysteries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereof the key is mine alone to bear.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So I forgot my God, and I forgot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The holy sweet communion of men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And moved in desolate places, where are not<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meek hands held out with patient healing when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hours are heavy with uncharitable pain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No company but vain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And arrogant thoughts were with me at my side.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ever to myself I lied.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saying “Apart from all men thus I go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To know the things that they may never know.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51"></a>{51}</span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then a great change befell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long time I stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In witless hardihood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With eyes on one sole changeless vision set—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The deep disturbèd fret<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of men who made brief tarrying in hell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On their earth travelling.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was as though the lives of men should be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See circle-wise, whereof one little span<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through which all passed was blackened with the wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of perilous evil, bateless misery.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all beyond, making the whole complete<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er which the travelling feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of every man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made way or ever he might come to death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was odorous with the breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of honey-laden flowers, and alive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sacrificial ministrations sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of man to man, and swift and holy loves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And large heroic hopes, whereby should thrive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Man’s spirit as he moves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dawn of life to the great dawn of death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It was as though mine eyes were set alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon that woeful passage of despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until I held that life had never known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dominion but in this most troubled place<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52"></a>{52}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where many a ruined grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a friendless care<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ran to and fro in sorrowful unrest.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still in my hand I pressed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hope’s fragile chalice, whence I drew deep draughts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That heartened me that even yet should grow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of this dread confusion, as of broken crafts<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Driven along ungovernable seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prosperous order, and that I should know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">After long vigil all the mysteries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of human wonder and of human fate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O fool, O only great<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In pride unhallowed, O most blind of heart!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confusion but more dark confusion bred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grief nurtured grief, I cried aloud and said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Through trackless ways the soul of man is hurled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No sign upon the forehead of the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No beacon, and no chart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are given to him, and the inscrutable world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But mocks his scars and fills his mouth with dust.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>And lies bore lies</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And lust bore lust,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And the world was heavy with flowerless rods,</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53"></a>{53}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And pride outran</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The strength of a man</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Who had set himself in the place of gods.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soon was I then to gather bitter shame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of spirit; I had been most wildly proud—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet in my pride had been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some little courage, formless as a cloud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unpiloted save by a vagrant wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still an earnest of the bonds that tame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The legionary hates, of sacred loves that lean<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the high soul of man towards his kind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all my grief<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had been for those I watched go to and fro<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In uncompassioned woe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along that little span my unbelief<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had fashioned in my vision as all life.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now even this so little virtue waned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For I became caught up into the strife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That I had pitied, and my soul was stained<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At last by that most venomous despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Self-pity.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">I no longer was aware<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of any will to heal the world’s unrest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I suffered as it suffered, and I grew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Troubled in all my daily trafficking,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not with the large heroic trouble known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By proud adventurous men who would atone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54"></a>{54}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With their own passionate pity for the sting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And anguish of a world of peril and snares,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was the trouble of a soul in thrall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mean despairs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Driven about a waste where neither fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of words from lips of love, nor consolation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of grave eyes comforting, nor ministration<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hand or heart could pierce the deadly wall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of self—of self,—I was a living shame—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A broken purpose. I had stood apart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pride rebellious and defiant heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now my pride had perished in the flame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I cried for succour as a little child<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Might supplicate whose days are undefiled,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For tutored pride and innocence are one.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>To the gloom has won</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>A gleam of the sun</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And into the barren desolate ways</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>A scent is blown</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>As of meadows mown</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>By cooling rivers in clover days.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I turned me from that place in humble wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fingers soft were laid upon mine eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I beheld the fruitful earth, with store<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of odorous treasure, full and golden grain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ripe orchard bounty, slender stalks that bore<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55"></a>{55}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their flowered beauty with a meek content,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The prosperous leaves that loved the sun and rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shy creatures unreproved that came and went<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In garrulous joy among the fostering green.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, over all, the changes of the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ordered year their mutable glory laid—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expectant winter soberly arrayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The prudent diligent spring whose eyes have seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The beauty of the roses uncreate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imperial June, magnificent, elate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beholding all the ripening loves that stray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among her blossoms, and the golden time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the full ear and bounty of the boughs,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the great hills and solemn chanting seas<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And prodigal meadows, answering to the chime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of God’s good year, and bearing on their brows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glory of processional mysteries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From dawn to dawn, the woven leaves and light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the high noon, the twilight secrecies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the inscrutable wonder of the stars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flung out along the reaches of the night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>And the ancient might</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of the binding bars</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Waned as I woke to a new desire</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56"></a>{56}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>For the choric song</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of exultant, strong</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Earth-passionate men with souls of fire.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’T was given me to hear. As I beheld—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a new wisdom, tranquil, asking not<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For mystic revelation—this glory long forgot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This re-discovered triumph of the earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In high creative will and beauty’s pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Establishèd beyond the assaulting years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It came to me, a music that compelled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surrender of all tributary fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full-throated, fierce, and rhythmic with the wide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beat of the pilgrim winds and labouring seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sent up from all the harbouring ways of earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein the travelling feet of men have trod,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mounting the firmamental silences<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And challenging the golden gates of God.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>We bear the burden of the years</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Clean limbed, clear-hearted, open-browed,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Albeit sacramental tears</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Have dimmed our eyes, we know the proud</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Content of men who sweep unbowed</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Before the legionary fears;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>In sorrow we have grown to be</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The masters of adversity.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57"></a>{57}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Wise of the storied ages we,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of perils dared and crosses borne,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of heroes bound by no decree</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of laws defiled or faiths outworn,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of poets who have held in scorn</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>All mean and tyrannous things that be;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>We prophesy with lips that sped</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The songs of the prophetic dead.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Wise of the brief belovèd span</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of this our glad earth-travelling,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of beauty’s bloom and ordered plan,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of love and loves compassioning,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of all the dear delights that spring</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>From man’s communion with man;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>We cherish every hour that strays</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Adown the cataract of the days.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>We see the clear untroubled skies,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>We see the summer of the rose</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And laugh, nor grieve that clouds will rise</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And wax with every wind that blows,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Nor that the blossoming time will close,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>For beauty seen of humble eyes</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Immortal habitation has</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Though beauty’s form may pale and pass.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Wise of the great unshapen age,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>To which we move with measured tread</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58"></a>{58}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>All girt with passionate truth to wage</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>High battle for the word unsaid,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The song unsung, the cause unled,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The freedom that no hope can gauge;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Strong-armed, sure-footed, iron-willed</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>We sift and weave, we break and build.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Into one hour we gather all</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The years gone down, the years unwrought</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Upon our ears brave measures fall</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Across uncharted spaces brought,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Upon our lips the words are caught</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Wherewith the dead the unborn call;</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>From love to love, from height to height</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>We press and none may curb our might.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O blessed voices, O compassionate hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calling and healing, O great-hearted brothers!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I come to you. Ring out across the lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your benediction, and I too will sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With you, and haply kindle in another’s<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark desolate hour the flame you stirred in me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O bountiful earth, in adoration meet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bow to you; O glory of years to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I too will labour to your fashioning.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go down, go down, unweariable feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Together we will march towards the ways<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein the marshalled hosts of morning wait<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59"></a>{59}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In sleepless watch, with banners wide unfurled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the skies in ceremonial state,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To greet the men who lived triumphant days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stormed the secret beauty of the world.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60"></a>{60}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHALLENGE" id="CHALLENGE"></a>CHALLENGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> fools behind the panes who peer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At the strong black anger of the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come out and feel the storm swing by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aye, take its blow on your lips, and hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The wind in the branches cry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No. Leave us to the day’s device,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Draw to your blinds and take your ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Grow peak’d in the face and crook’d in the knees;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your sinews could not pay the price<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When the storm goes through the trees.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61"></a>{61}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TRAVEL_TALK" id="TRAVEL_TALK"></a>TRAVEL TALK</h2> - -<p class="c"><small>LADYWOOD, 1912. (TO E. DE S.)</small></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> the high hills you took me, where desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Daughter of difficult life, forgets her lures,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hope’s eternal tasks no longer tire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And only peace endures.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where anxious prayer becomes a worthless thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Subdued by muted praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And asking nought of God and life we bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The conflict of long days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a moment of immortal poise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the scars and proud unbuilded spires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, seeking not the triumphs and the joys<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So treasured in the world, we kindle fires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shall not burn to ash, and are content<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To read anew the eternal argument.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nothing of man’s intolerance we know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here, far from man, among the fortressed hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor of his querulous hopes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To what may we attain? What matter, so<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We feel the unwearied virtue that fulfils<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These cloudy crests and rifts and heathered slopes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With life that is and seeks not to attain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ever spends nor ever asks again?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62"></a>{62}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the high hills you took me. And we saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The everlasting ritual of sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And earth and the waste places of the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And momently the change of changeless law<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was beautiful before us, and the cry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the great winds was as a distant prayer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From a massed people, and the choric sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many waters moaning down the long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Veins of the hills was as an undersong;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in that hour we moved on holy ground.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the high hills you took me. Far below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay pool and tarn locked up in shadowy sleep;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above we watched the clouds unhasting go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From hidden crest to crest; the neighbour sheep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cropped at our side, and swift on darkling wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hawks went sailing down the valley wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rock-bird chattered shrilly to its kind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all these common things were holy things.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From ghostly Skiddaw came the wind in flight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Langdale Pikes to Coniston’s broad brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Coniston to proud Helvellyn’s height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eloquent wind, the wind that even now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whispers again its story gathered in<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For seasons of much traffic in the ways<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where men so straitly spin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The garment of unfathomable days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63"></a>{63}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the high hills you took me. And we turned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our feet again towards the friendly vale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And passed the banks whereon the bracken burned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the last foxglove bells were spent and pale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down to a hallowed spot of English land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Rotha dreams its way from mere to mere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where one with undistracted vision scanned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life’s far horizons, he who sifted clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dust from the grain of being, making song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Memorial of simple men and minds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not bowed to cunning by deliberate wrong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And conversed with the spirit of the winds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And knew the guarded secrets that were sealed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In pool and pine, petal and vagrant wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throning the shepherd folding from the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Robing anew the daffodils of spring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We crossed the threshold of his home and stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside his cottage hearth where once was told<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The day’s adventure drawn from fell and wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wisdom’s words and love’s were manifold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where, in the twilight, gossip poets met<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To read again their peers of older time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And quiet eyes of gracious women set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A bounty to the glamour of the rhyme.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There is a wonder in a simple word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That reinhabits fond and ghostly ways,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64"></a>{64}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when within the poet’s walls we heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One white with ninety years recall the days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When he upon his mountain paths was seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We answered her strange bidding and were made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One with the reverend presence who had been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steward of kingly charges unbetrayed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And to the little garden-close we went,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where he at eventide was wont to pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To watch the willing day’s last sacrament,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cool shadows thrown along the grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To read again the legends of the flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lighten with song th’ obscure heroic plan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To contemplate the process of the hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And think on that old story which is man.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lichened apple-boughs that once had spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their blossoms at his feet, in twisted age<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet knew the wind, and the familiar scent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of heath and fern made sweet his hermitage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, moving so beneath his cottage-eaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His song upon our lips, his life a star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sign, a storied peace among the leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was he not with us then? He was not far.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the high hills you took me. We had seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Much marvellous traffic in the cloudy ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had laughed with the white waters and the green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had praised and heard the choric chant of praise,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65"></a>{65}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Communed anew with the undying dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Resung old songs, retold old fabulous things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, stripped of pride, had lost the world and led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A world refashioned as unconquered kings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the good day was done, and there again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where in your home of quietness we stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from the sight and sound of travelling men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And watched the twilight climb from Lady-wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the pines, above the visible streams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the hidden sources of the rills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bearing the season of uncharted dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the silent fastness of the hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Peace on the hills, and in the valleys peace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Rotha’s moaning music sounding clear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The passing-song of wearied winds that cease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moving among the reeds of Rydal Mere;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The distant gloom of boughs that still unscarred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beside their poet’s grave due vigil keep—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With us were these, till night was throned and starred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bade us to the benison of sleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66"></a>{66}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_VAGABOND" id="THE_VAGABOND"></a>THE VAGABOND</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I know</span> the pools where the grayling rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I know the trees where the filberts fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know the woods where the red fox lies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The twisted elms where the brown owls call.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I’ve seldom a shilling to call my own,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And there’s never a girl I’d marry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I thank the Lord I’m a rolling stone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With never a care to carry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I talk to the stars as they come and go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On every night from July to June,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’m free of the speech of the winds that blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I know what weather will sing what tune.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I sow no seed and I pay no rent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I thank no man for his bounties,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I’ve a treasure that’s never spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I’m lord of a dozen counties.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67"></a>{67}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OLD_WOMAN_IN_MAY" id="OLD_WOMAN_IN_MAY"></a>OLD WOMAN IN MAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Old woman by the hedgerow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In gown of withered black,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With beads and pins and buttons<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And ribbons in your pack—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How many miles do you go?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Dumbleton and back?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“To Dumbleton and back, sir,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And round by Cotsall Hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I count the miles at morning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At night I count them still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Jill without a Jack, sir,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I travel with a will.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“It’s little men are paying<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For such as you can do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You with the grey dust in your hair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And sharp nails in your shoe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The young folks go a-Maying,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But what is May to you?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I care not what they pay me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While I can hear the call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of cattle on the hillside,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And watch the blossoms fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In a churchyard where maybe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s company for all.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68"></a>{68}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_FECKENHAM_MEN" id="THE_FECKENHAM_MEN"></a>THE FECKENHAM MEN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> jolly men at Feckenham<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Don’t count their goods as common men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their heads are full of silly dreams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From half-past ten to half-past ten,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll tell you why the stars are bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some sheep black and some sheep white.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The jolly men at Feckenham<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Draw wages of the sun and rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And count as good as golden coin<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blossoms on the window-pane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Lord! they love a sinewy tale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Told over pots of foaming ale.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now here’s a tale of Feckenham<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Told to me by a Feckenham man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, being only eighty years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ran always when the red fox ran,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And looked upon the earth with eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As quiet as unclouded skies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These jolly men of Feckenham<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One day when summer strode in power<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went down, it seems, among their lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And saw their bean fields all in flower—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Wheat-ricks,” they said, “be good to see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What would a rick of blossoms be?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69"></a>{69}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So straight they brought the sickles out<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And worked all day till day was done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And builded them a good square rick<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of scented bloom beneath the sun.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And was not this I tell to you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fiery-hearted thing to do?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70"></a>{70}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_TRAVELLER" id="THE_TRAVELLER"></a>THE TRAVELLER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> March was master of furrow and fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the skies kept cloudy festival<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the daffodil pods were tipped with gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a passion was in the plover’s call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A spare old man went hobbling by<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With a broken pipe and a tapping stick,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he mumbled—“Blossom before I die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be quick, you little brown buds, be quick.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I ’ve weathered the world for a count of years—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Good old years of shining fire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And death and the devil bring no fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I ’ve fed the flame of my last desire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I ’m ready to go, but I ’d pass the gate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the edge of the world with an old heart sick<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I missed the blossoms. I may not wait—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gate is open—be quick, be quick.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71"></a>{71}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_LADY_STREET" id="IN_LADY_STREET"></a>IN LADY STREET</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">All</span> day long the traffic goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Lady Street by dingy rows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sloven houses, tattered shops—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fried fish, old clothes and fortune-tellers—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tall trams on silver-shining rails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With grinding wheels and swaying tops,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lorries with their corded bales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And screeching cars. “Buy, buy!” the sellers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rags and bones and sickening meat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cry all day long in Lady Street.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the sunshine has its way<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Lady Street, then all the grey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dull desolation grows in state<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More dull and grey and desolate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sun is a shamefast thing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lord not comely-housed, a god<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seeing what gods must blush to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A song where it is ill to sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each gold ray despiteously<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lies like a gold ironic rod.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet one grey man in Lady Street<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looks for the sun. He never bent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life to his will, his travelling feet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have scaled no cloudy continent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72"></a>{72}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor has the sickle-hand been strong.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He lives in Lady Street; a bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Four cobwebbed walls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">But all day long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A time is singing in his head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of youth in Gloucester lanes. He hears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind among the barley-blades,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tapping of the woodpeckers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the smooth beeches, thistle-spades<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slicing the sinewy roots; he sees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hooded filberts in the copse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the loaded orchard trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The netted avenues of hops;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He smells the honeysuckle thrown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the hedge. He lives alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone—yet not alone, for sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are Gloucester lanes in Lady Street.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Aye, Gloucester lanes. For down below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cobwebbed room this grey man plies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A trade, a coloured trade. A show<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many-coloured merchandise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is in his shop. Brown filberts there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And apples red with Gloucester air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cauliflowers he keeps, and round<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smooth marrows grown on Gloucester ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fat cabbages and yellow plums,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73"></a>{73}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gaudy brave chrysanthemums.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And times a glossy pheasant lies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among his store, not Tyrian dyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More rich than are the neck-feathers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And times a prize of violets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or dewy mushrooms satin-skinned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And times an unfamiliar wind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Robbed of its woodland favour stirs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gay daffodils this grey man sets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among his treasure.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">All day long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Lady Street the traffic goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By dingy houses, desolate rows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of shops that stare like hopeless eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Day long the sellers cry their cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fortune-tellers tell no wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lives that know not any right,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drift, that has not even the will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To drift, toils through the day until<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wage of sleep is won at night.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But this grey man heeds not at all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hell of Lady Street. His stall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many-coloured merchandise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He makes a shining paradise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As all day long chrysanthemums<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He sells, and red and yellow plums<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cauliflowers. In that one spot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Lady Street the sun is not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74"></a>{74}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ashamed to shine and send a rare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shower of colour through the air;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grey man says the sun is sweet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Gloucester lanes in Lady Street.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75"></a>{75}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ANTHONY_CRUNDLE" id="ANTHONY_CRUNDLE"></a>ANTHONY CRUNDLE</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Here lies the body of<br /> -ANTHONY CRUNDLE,<br /> -Farmer, of this parish,<br /> -Who died in 1849 at the age of 82.<br /> -“He delighted in music.”<br /> -R. I. P.<br /> -And of<br /> -SUSAN,<br /> -For fifty-three years his wife,<br /> -Who died in 1860, aged 86.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Anthony Crundle</span> of Dorrington Wood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Played on a piccolo. Lord was he,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For seventy years, of sheaves that stood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Under the perry and cider tree;<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Anthony Crundle, R.I.P.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And because he prospered with sickle and scythe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With cattle afield and labouring ewe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Anthony was uncommonly blithe,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And played of a night to himself and Sue;<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Anthony Crundle, eighty-two</i>.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The earth to till, and a tune to play,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Susan for fifty years and three,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Dorrington Wood at the end of day ...<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May providence do no worse by me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Anthony Crundle, R.I.P.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76"></a>{76}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MAD_TOM_TATTERMAN" id="MAD_TOM_TATTERMAN"></a>MAD TOM TATTERMAN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Old man, grey man, good man scavenger,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bearing is it eighty years upon your crumpled back?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What is it you gather in the frosty weather,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is there any treasure here to carry in your sack?”<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i0">“I’ve a million acres and a thousand head of cattle,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And a foaming river where the silver salmon leap;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I’ve left fat valleys to dig in sullen alleys<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Just because a twisted star rode by me in my sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“I’ve a brain is dancing to an old forgotten music<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Heard when all the world was just a crazy flight of dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And don’t you know I scatter in the dirt along the gutter<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seeds that little ladies nursed by Babylonian streams?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Mad Tom Tatterman, that is how they call me.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh, they know so much, so much, all so neatly dressed;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77"></a>{77}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve a tale to tell you—come and listen, will you?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One as ragged as the twigs that make a magpie’s nest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ragged, oh, but very wise. You and this and that man,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All of you are making things that none of you would lack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so your eyes grow dusty, and so your limbs grow rusty—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But mad Tom Tatterman puts nothing in his sack.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Nothing in my sack, sirs, but the Sea of Galilee<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was walked for mad Tom Tatterman, and when I go to sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They’ll know that I have driven through the acres of broad heaven<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Flocks are whiter than the flocks that all your shepherds keep.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78"></a>{78}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FOR_CORIN_TO-DAY" id="FOR_CORIN_TO-DAY"></a>FOR CORIN TO-DAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Old</span> shepherd in your wattle cote,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I think a thousand years are done<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since first you took your pipe of oat<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And piped against the risen sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until his burning lips of gold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sucked up the drifting scarves of dew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bade you count your flocks from fold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And set your hurdle stakes anew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then as now at noon you ’ld take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shadow of delightful trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with good hands of labour break<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your barley bread with dairy cheese,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with some lusty shepherd mate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Would wind a simple argument,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bear at night beyond your gate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A loaded wallet of content.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Corin of the grizzled eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A thousand years upon your down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’ve seen the ploughing teams go by<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the bells of Avon’s town;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while there’s any wind to blow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through frozen February nights,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About your lambing pens will go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The glimmer of your lanthorn lights.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79"></a>{79}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_CARVER_IN_STONE" id="THE_CARVER_IN_STONE"></a>THE CARVER IN STONE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> was a man with wide and patient eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grey, like the drift of twitch-fires blown in June<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, without fearing, searched if any wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Might threaten from your heart. Grey eyes he had<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under a brow was drawn because he knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So many seasons to so many pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of upright service, loyal, unabased<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the world seducing, and so, barren<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of good words praising and thought that mated his.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He carved in stone. Out of his quiet life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He watched as any faithful seaman charged<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With tidings of the myriad faring sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thoughts and premonitions through his mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sailing as ships from strange and storied lands<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His hungry spirit held, till all they were<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Found living witness in the chiselled stone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slowly out of the dark confusion, spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By life’s innumerable venturings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over his brain, he would triumph into the light<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of one clear mood, unblemished of the blind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Legions of errant thought that cried about<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His rapt seclusion: as a pearl unsoiled,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nay, rather washed to lonelier chastity,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80"></a>{80}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In gritty mud. And then would come a bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A flower, or the wind moving upon a flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A beast at pasture, or a clustered fruit,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A peasant face as were the saints of old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leer of custom, or the bow of the moon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swung in miraculous poise—some stray from the world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of things created by the eternal mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In joy articulate. And his perfect mood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would dwell about the token of God’s mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until in bird or flower or moving wind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or flock or shepherd or the troops of heaven<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It sprang in one fierce moment of desire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To visible form.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then would his chisel work among the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Persuading it of petal or of limb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or starry curve, till risen anew there sang<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shape out of chaos, and again the vision<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of one mind single from the world was pressed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the daily custom of the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or field or the body of man.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i12">His people<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had many gods for worship. The tiger-god,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The owl, the dewlapped bull, the running pard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The camel and the lizard of the slime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ram with quivering fleece and fluted horn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crested eagle and the doming bat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were sacred. And the king and his high priests<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81"></a>{81}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Decreed a temple, wide on columns huge,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should top the cornlands to the sky’s far line.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They bade the carvers carve along the walls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Images of their gods, each one to carve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he desired, his choice to name his god....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many came; and he among them, glad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of three leagues’ travel through the singing air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of dawn among the boughs yet bare of green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eager flight of the spring leading his blood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into swift lofty channels of the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud as an eagle riding to the sun....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An eagle, clean of pinion—there’s his choice.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Daylong they worked under the growing roof,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One at his leopard, one the staring ram,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he winning his eagle from the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until each man had carved one image out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arow beyond the portal of the house.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They stood arow, the company of gods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Camel and bat, lizard and bull and ram,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pard and owl, dead figures on the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Figures of habit driven on the stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By chisels governed by no heat of the brain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But drudges of hands that moved by easy rule.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proudly recorded mood was none, no thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Plucked from the dark battalions of the mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And throned in everlasting sight. But one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God of them all was witness of belief<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And large adventure dared. His eagle spread<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82"></a>{82}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wide pinions on a cloudless ground of heaven,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glad with the heart’s high courage of that dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moving upon the ploughlands newly sown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dead stone the rest. He looked, and knew it so.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then came the king with priests and counsellors<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many chosen of the people, wise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With words weary of custom, and eyes askew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That watched their neighbour face for any news<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the best way of judgment, till, each sure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None would determine with authority,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All spoke in prudent praise. One liked the owl<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because an owl blinked on the beam of his barn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One, hoarse with crying gospels in the street,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Praised most the ram, because the common folk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wore breeches made of ram’s wool. One declared<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tiger pleased him best,—the man who carved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tiger-god was halt out of the womb—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A man to praise, being so pitiful.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one, whose eyes dwelt in a distant void,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With spell and omen pat upon his lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a purse for any crystal prophet ripe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A zealot of the mist, gazed at the bull—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A lean ill-shapen bull of meagre lines<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That scarce the steel had graved upon the stone—<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83"></a>{83}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saying that here was very mystery<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And truth, did men but know. And one there was<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who praised his eagle, but remembering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lither pinion of the swift, the curve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That liked him better of the mirrored swan.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they who carved the tiger-god and ram,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The camel and the pard, the owl and bull,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lizard, listened greedily, and made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Humble denial of their worthiness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the king his royal judgment gave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That all had fashioned well, and bade that each<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Re-shape his chosen god along the walls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till all the temple boasted of their skill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They bowed themselves in token that as this<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never had carvers been so fortunate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only the man with wide and patient eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made no denial, neither bowed his head.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Already while they spoke his thought had gone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from his eagle, leaving it for a sign<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loyally wrought of one deep breath of life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And played about the image of a toad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That crawled among his ivy leaves. A queer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Puff-bellied toad, with eyes that always stared<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sidelong at heaven and saw no heaven there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weak-hammed, and with a throttle somehow twisted<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond full wholesome draughts of air, and skin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84"></a>{84}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wrinkled lips, the only zest or will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The little flashing tongue searching the leaves.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And king and priest, chosen and counsellor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Babbling out of their thin and jealous brains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seemed strangely one; a queer enormous toad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Panting under giant leaves of dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunk in the loins, peering into the day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their judgment wry he counted not for wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More than the fabled poison of the toad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Striking at simple wits; how should their thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or word in praise or blame come near the peace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That shone in seasonable hours above<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The patience of his spirit’s husbandry?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They foolish and not seeing, how should he<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spend anger there or fear—great ceremonies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Equal for none save great antagonists?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grave indifference of his heart before them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was moved by laughter innocent of hate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chastising clean of spite, that moulded them<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into the antic likeness of his toad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bidding for laughter underneath the leaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He bowed not, nor disputed, but he saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those ill-created joyless gods, and loathed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And saw them creeping, creeping round the walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death breeding death, wile witnessing to wile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sickened at the dull iniquity<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85"></a>{85}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should be rewarded, and for ever breathe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Contagion on the folk gathered in prayer.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His truth should not be doomed to march among<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This falsehood to the ages. He was called,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he must labour there; if so the king<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would grant it, where the pillars bore the roof<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A galleried way of meditation nursed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Secluded time, with wall of ready stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In panels for the carver set between<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The windows—there his chisel should be set,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was his plea. And the king spoke of him,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scorning, as one lack-fettle, among all these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eager to take the riches of renown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One fearful of the light or knowing nothing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of light’s dimension, a witling who would throw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Honour aside and praise spoken aloud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All men of heart should covet. Let him go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grubbing out of the sight of these who knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The worth of substance; there was his proper trade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A squat and curious toad indeed.... The eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Patient and grey, were dumb as were the lips,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, fixed and governed, hoarded from them all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The larger laughter lifting in his heart.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straightway about his gallery he moved,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86"></a>{86}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Measured the windows and the virgin stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till all was weighed and patterned in his brain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then first where most the shadow struck the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the sills, and centre of the base,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From floor to sill out of the stone was wooed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Memorial folly, as from the chisel leapt<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His chastening laughter searching priest and king—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A huge and wrinkled toad, with legs asplay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And belly loaded, leering with great eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Busily fixed upon the void.<br /></span> -<span class="i12">All days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His chisel was the first to ring across<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The temple’s quiet; and at fall of dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Passing among the carvers homeward, they<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would speak of him as mad, or weak against<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The challenge of the world, and let him go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lonely, as was his will, under the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of stars or cloud or summer’s folded sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through crop and wood and pastureland to sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None took the narrow stair as wondering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How did his chisel prosper in the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unvisited his labour and forgot.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And times when he would lean out of his height<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And watch the gods growing along the walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The row of carvers in their linen coats<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Took in his vision a virtue that alone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87"></a>{87}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Carving they had not nor the thing they carved.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knowing the health that flowed about his close<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imagining, the daily quiet won<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From process of his clean and supple craft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those carvers there, far on the floor below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would haply be transfigured in his thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into a gallant company of men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glad of the strict and loyal reckoning<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That proved in the just presence of the brain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each chisel-stroke. How surely would he prosper<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In pleasant talk at easy hours with men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So fashioned if it might be—and his eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would pass again to those dead gods that grew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In spreading evil round the temple walls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, one dead pressure made, the carvers moved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the wall to mould and mould again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The self-same god, their chisels on the stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tapping in dull precision as before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he would turn, back to his lonely truth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He carved apace. And first his people’s gods,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About the toad, out of their sterile time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under his hand thrilled and were recreate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bull, the pard, the camel and the ram,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tiger and owl and bat—all were the signs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Visibly made body on the stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sightless thought adventuring the host<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88"></a>{88}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is mere spirit; these the bloom achieved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By secret labour in the flowing wood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rain and air and wind and continent sun....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His tiger, lithe, immobile in the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A swift destruction for a moment leashed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sprang crying from the jealous stealth of men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Opposed in cunning watch, with engines hid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of torment and calamitous desire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His leopard, swift on lean and paltry limbs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was fear in flight before accusing faith.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His bull, with eyes that often in the dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would lift from the sweet meadow grass to watch<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Him homeward passing, bore on massy beam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The burden of the patient of the earth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His camel bore the burden of the damned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being gaunt, with eyes aslant along the nose.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had a friend, who hammered bronze and iron<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cupped the moonstone on a silver ring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One constant like himself, would come at night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or bid him as a guest, when they would make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their poets touch a starrier height, or search<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Together with unparsimonious mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The crowded harbours of mortality.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there were jests, wholesome as harvest ale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of homely habit, bred of hearts that dared<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Judgment of laughter under the eternal eye:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This frolic wisdom was his carven owl.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His ram was lordship on the lonely hills,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89"></a>{89}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alert and fleet, content only to know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wind mightily pouring on his fleece,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With yesterday and all unrisen suns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poorer than disinherited ghosts. His bat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was ancient envy made a mockery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cowering below the newer eagle carved<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the arches with wide pinion spread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His faith’s dominion of that happy dawn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And so he wrought the gods upon the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Living and crying out of his desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of his patient incorruptible thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrought them in joy was wages to his faith.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And other than the gods he made. The stalks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bluebells heavy with the news of spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vine loaded with plenty of the year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swallows, merely tenderness of thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bidding the stone to small and fragile flight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaves, the thin relics of autumnal boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or massed in June....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All from their native pressure bloomed and sprang<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under his shaping hand into a proud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And governed image of the central man,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their moulding, charts of all his travelling.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all were deftly ordered, duly set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Between the windows, underneath the sills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And roofward, as a motion rightly planned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till on the wall, out of the sullen stone,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90"></a>{90}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A glory blazed, his vision manifest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His wonder captive. And he was content.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And when the builders and the carvers knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their labour done, and high the temple stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the cornlands, king and counsellor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And priest and chosen of the people came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among a ceremonial multitude<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dedication. And, below the thrones<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where king and archpriest ruled above the throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Highest among the ranked artificers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The carvers stood. And when, the temple vowed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To holy use, tribute and choral praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Given as was ordained, the king looked down<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the gathered folk, and bade them see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The comely gods fashioned about the walls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And keep in honour men whose precious skill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could so adorn the sessions of their worship,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gravely the carvers bowed them to the ground.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the man with wide and patient eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stood not among them; nor did any come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To count his labour, where he watched alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the coloured throng. He heard, and looked<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again upon his work, and knew it good,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Smiled on his toad, passed down the stair unseen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sang across the teeming meadows home.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91"></a>{91}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ELIZABETH_ANN" id="ELIZABETH_ANN"></a>ELIZABETH ANN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">This</span> is the tale of Elizabeth Ann,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who went away with her fancy man.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ann was a girl who hadn’t a gown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As fine as the ladies who walk the town.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day long from seven to six<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ann was polishing candlesticks,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For Bishops and crapulous Millionaires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To buy for their altars or bed-chambers.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And youth in a year and a year will pass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there’s never an end of polishing brass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All day long from seven to six—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seventy thousand candlesticks.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So frail and lewd Elizabeth Ann<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went away with her fancy man.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You Bishops and crapulous Millionaires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give her your charity, give her your prayers.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92"></a>{92}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_COTSWOLD_FARMERS" id="THE_COTSWOLD_FARMERS"></a>THE COTSWOLD FARMERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span> the ghosts forgotten go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the hill-top way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with long scythes of silver mow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Meadows of moonlit hay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until the cocks of Cotswold crow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The coming of the day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">There’s Tony Turkletob who died<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When he could drink no more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Uncle Heritage, the pride<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of eighteen-twenty-four,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ebenezer Barleytide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And others half a score.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They fold in phantom pens, and plough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Furrows without a share,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one will milk a faery cow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And one will stare and stare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whistle ghostly tunes that now<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are not sung anywhere.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The moon goes down on Oakridge lea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The other world’s astir,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Cotswold farmers silently<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go back to sepulchre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sleeping watchdogs wake, and see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No ghostly harvester.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93"></a>{93}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_MANS_DAUGHTER" id="A_MANS_DAUGHTER"></a>A MAN’S DAUGHTER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There</span> is an old woman who looks each night<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Out of the wood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She has one tooth, that isn’t too white.<br /></span> -<span class="i5">She isn’t too good.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She came from the north looking for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">About my jewel.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her son, she says, is tall as can be;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">But, men say, cruel.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My girl went northward, holiday making,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And a queer man spoke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the woodside once when night was breaking,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And her heart broke.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For ever since she has pined and pined,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">A sorry maid;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her fingers are slack as the wool they wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Or her girdle-braid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So now shall I send her north to wed,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Who here may know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the little house of the dead<br /></span> -<span class="i5">To ease her woe?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or keep her for fear of that old woman,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">As a bird quick-eyed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her tall son who is hardly human,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">At the woodside?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94"></a>{94}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She is my babe and my daughter dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">How well, how well.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her grief to me is a fourfold fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Tongue cannot tell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And yet I know that far in that wood<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Are crumbling bones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a mumble mumble of nothing that’s good,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">In heathen tones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I know that frail ghosts flutter and sigh<br /></span> -<span class="i5">In brambles there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And never a bird or beast to cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Beware, beware,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While threading the silent thickets go<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Mother and son,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where scrupulous berries never grow,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And airs are none.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And her deep eyes peer at eventide<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Out of the wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her tall son waits by the dark woodside<br /></span> -<span class="i5">For maidenhood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And the little eyes peer, and peer, and peer;<br /></span> -<span class="i5">And a word is said.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some house knows, for many a year,<br /></span> -<span class="i5">But years of dread.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95"></a>{95}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_LIFE_OF_JOHN_HERITAGE" id="THE_LIFE_OF_JOHN_HERITAGE"></a>THE LIFE OF JOHN HERITAGE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Born</span> in the Cotswolds in eighteen-forty or so,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bred on a hill-top that seemed the most of the world<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until he travelled the valleys, and found what a wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of leagues from Gloucester lay to Stroud or Ciceter,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">John Heritage was a tiler. He split the stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">After the frosts, and learnt the laying of tiles,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And was famous about the shire. And he was friendly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Cotswold nature, hearing the hidden rooks<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Golden Vale, and the thin bleat of goats,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the rattling harness of Trilly’s teams at plough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Richard Parker’s scythe for many years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he went upon his tiling; and the great landmarks,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As loops of the Severn seen from Bisley Hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were his familiars, something of his religion.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And he prospered, as men do. His little wage<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet left a little over his wedded needs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here a cottage he bought, and there another,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">About the Cotswolds, built of the royallest stone<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96"></a>{96}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s quarried in England, until he could think of age<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With an easy mind; and an acre of land was his<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where at hay-harvest he worked a little from tiling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making his rick maturely or damning the wind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That scattered the swathes beyond his fork’s controlling.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he trotted ajog to the town on market Thursdays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Driving a stout succession of good black geldings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That cropped his acre some twenty years apiece.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he was an honest neighbour; and so he grew old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And five strong sons, grizzled and middle-aged,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Carried him down the hill, and on a stone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mason cut—“John Heritage, who died,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fearing the Lord, at the age of seventy-six.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I know that some of us shatter our hearts on earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With mightier aims than ever John Heritage knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And think such things as never the tiler thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97"></a>{97}</span> Because of our pride and our eagerness of mind ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But a life complete is a great nobility,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there’s a wisdom biding in Cotswold stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While we in our furious intellectual travel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall in with strange foot-fellows on the road.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98"></a>{98}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THOMAS_YARNTON_OF_TARLTON" id="THOMAS_YARNTON_OF_TARLTON"></a>THOMAS YARNTON OF TARLTON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">One</span> of those old men fearing no man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Two hundred broods his eaves have known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since they cut on a Sapperton churchyard stone—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thomas Yarnton of Tarlton, Yeoman.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At dusk you can hear the yeomen calling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cattle still to Sapperton stalls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still the stroke of the woodman falls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Thomas of Tarlton heard it falling.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I walked these meadows in seventeen-hundred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seed of his loins, a dream that stirred<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beyond the shape of a yeoman’s word,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So faint that but unawares he wondered.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now, from the weeds of his tomb uncomely,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I travel again the tracks he made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And walks at my side the yeoman shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Thomas Yarnton of Tarlton dumbly.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99"></a>{99}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MRS_WILLOW" id="MRS_WILLOW"></a>MRS. WILLOW</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Mrs</span>. Thomas Willow seems very glum.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her life, perhaps, is very lonely and hum-drum,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Digging up potatoes, cleaning out the weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Doing the little for a lone woman’s needs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who was her husband? How long ago?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What does she wonder? What does she know?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why does she listen over the wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Morning and noon-time and twilight and all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As though unforgotten were some footfall?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Good morning, Mrs. Willow.” “Good morning, sir,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all the conversation I can get from her.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her path-stones are white as lilies of the wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she washes this and that till she must be very good.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She sends no letters, and no one calls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she doesn’t go whispering beyond her walls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing in her garden is secret, I think—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s all sun-bright with foxglove and pink,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she doesn’t hover around old cupboards and shelves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As old people do who have buried themselves;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She has no late lamps, and she digs all day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And polishes and plants in a common way,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100"></a>{100}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But glum she is, and she listens now and then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For a footfall, a footfall, a footfall again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whether it’s hope, or whether it’s dread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or a poor old fancy in her head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I shall never be told; it will never be said.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101"></a>{101}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ROUNDELS_OF_THE_YEAR" id="ROUNDELS_OF_THE_YEAR"></a>ROUNDELS OF THE YEAR</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>I caught the changes of the year</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>In soft and fragile nets of song,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>For you to whom my days belong.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>For you to whom each day is dear</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Of all the high processional throng,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>I caught the changes of the year</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>In soft and fragile nets of song.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>And here some sound of beauty, here</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Some note of ancient, ageless wrong</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Reshaping as my lips were strong,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>I caught the changes of the year</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>In soft and fragile nets of song,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>For you to whom my days belong.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The spring is passing through the land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In web of ghostly green arrayed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blood is warm in man and maid.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The arches of desire have spanned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The barren ways, the debt is paid,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The spring is passing through the land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In web of ghostly green arrayed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102"></a>{102}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet scents along the winds are fanned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From shadowy wood and secret glade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where beauty blossoms unafraid,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The spring is passing through the land<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In web of ghostly green arrayed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And blood is warm in man and maid.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Proud insolent June with burning lips<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Holds riot now from sea to sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shod in sovran gold is she.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To the full flood of reaping slips<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The seeding-tide by God’s decree,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Proud insolent June with burning lips<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Holds riot now from sea to sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And all the goodly fellowships<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of bird and bloom and beast and tree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are gallant of her company—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Proud insolent June with burning lips<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Holds riot now from sea to sea,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And shod in sovran gold is she.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The loaded sheaves are harvested,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sheep are in the stubbled fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tale of labour crowned is told.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103"></a>{103}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wizard of the year has spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A glory over wood and wold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The loaded sheaves are harvested,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sheep are in the stubbled fold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The yellow apples and the red<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bear down the boughs, the hazels hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more their fruit in cups of gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The loaded sheaves are harvested,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sheep are in the stubbled fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The tale of labour crowned is told.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The year is lapsing into time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along a deep and songless gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unchapleted of leaf or bloom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And mute between the dusk and prime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The diligent earth resets her loom,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The year is lapsing into time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along a deep and songless gloom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">While o’er the snows the seasons chime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their golden hopes to reillume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brief eclipse about the tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The year is lapsing into time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along a deep and songless gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unchapleted of leaf or bloom.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104"></a>{104}</span></p> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Not wise as cunning scholars are,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>With curious words upon your tongue,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Are you for whom my song is sung.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>But you are wise of cloud and star,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>And winds and boughs all blossom-hung,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Not wise as cunning scholars are,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>With curious words upon your tongue.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><i>Surely, clear child of earth, some far</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Dim Dryad-haunted groves among,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Your lips to lips of knowledge clung—</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Not wise as cunning scholars are,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>With curious words upon your tongue,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i2"><i>Are you for whom my song is sung.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105"></a>{105}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LIEGEWOMAN" id="LIEGEWOMAN"></a>LIEGEWOMAN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> may not wear immortal leaves<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor yet go laurelled in your days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But he believes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who loves you with most intimate praise<br /></span> -<span class="i4">That none on earth has ever gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">In whom a cleanlier spirit shone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You may be unremembered when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our chronicles are piled in dust:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No matter than—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">None ever bore a lordlier lust<br /></span> -<span class="i4">To know the savour sweet or sour<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Down to the dregs of every hour.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And this your epitaph shall be—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Within life’s house her eager words<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Continually<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lightened as wings of arrowy birds:<br /></span> -<span class="i4">She was life’s house-fellow, she knew<br /></span> -<span class="i4">The passion of him, soul and thew.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106"></a>{106}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LOVERS_TO_LOVERS" id="LOVERS_TO_LOVERS"></a>LOVERS TO LOVERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">Our love forsworn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was very love upon a day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bitterness now, forlorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This tattered love once went as proud a way<br /></span> -<span class="i3">As any born.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">You well have kept<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your love from all corrupting things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your house of love is swept<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bright for use; whatso each season brings<br /></span> -<span class="i3">You may accept<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">In pride. But we?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our date of love is dead. Our blind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brief moment was to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sum, yet was it signed as yours, and signed<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Indelibly.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107"></a>{107}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LOVES_PERSONALITY" id="LOVES_PERSONALITY"></a>LOVE’S PERSONALITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> I had never seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy sweet grave face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If I had never known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy pride as of a queen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet would another’s grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have led me to her throne.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I should have loved as well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not loving thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My faith had been as strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrought by another spell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her love had grown to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As thine for fire and song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet is our love a thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone, austere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A new and sacred birth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That we alone could bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through flames of faith and fear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To pass upon the earth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As one who makes a rhyme<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of his fierce thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With momentary art<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May challenge change and time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So is the love we wrought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not greatest, but apart.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108"></a>{108}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PIERROT" id="PIERROT"></a>PIERROT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3"><i>Pierrot alone,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i3"><i>And then Pierrette,</i><br /></span> -<span class="i3"><i>And then a story to forget.</i><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3"><i>Pierrot alone.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierrette among the apple boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come down and take a Pierrot’s kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon is white upon your brows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierrette among the apple boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your lips are cold, and I would set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A rose upon your lips, Pierrette,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A rosy kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierrette, Pierrette.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3"><i>And then Pierrette.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve left my apple boughs, Pierrot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shadow now is on my face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still my lips are cold, and O<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No rose is on my lips, Pierrot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You laugh, and then you pass away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the scented leaves of May,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on my face<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shadows stay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3"><i>And then a story to forget.</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The petals fall upon the grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I am crying in the dark,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109"></a>{109}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clouds above the white moon pass—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My tears are falling on the grass;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierrot, Pierrot, I heard your vows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And left my blossomed apple boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sorrows dark<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are on my brows.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110"></a>{110}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RECKONING" id="RECKONING"></a>RECKONING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I heard</span> my love go laughing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beyond the bolted door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I saw my love go riding<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the windy moor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I would give my love no word<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because of evil tales I heard.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let fancy men go laughing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Let light men ride away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bruised corn is not for my mill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What’s paid I will not pay,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so I thought because of this<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gossip that poisoned clasp and kiss.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Four hundred men went riding,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And he the best of all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A jolly man for labour,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A sinewy man and tall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I watched him go beyond the hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shaped my anger with my will.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At night my love came riding<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the dusky moor,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And other two rode with him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who knocked my bolted door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And called me out and bade me see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How quiet a man a man could be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111"></a>{111}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now the tales that stung me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And gave my pride its rule,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are worth a beggar’s broken shoe<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or the sermon of a fool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all I know and all I can<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is, false or true, he was my man.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112"></a>{112}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DERELICT" id="DERELICT"></a>DERELICT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> cloudy peril of the seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The menace of mid-winter days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May break the scented boughs of ease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lock the lips of praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But every sea its harbour knows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every winter wakes to spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every broken song the rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall yet resing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But comfortable love once spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May not re-shape its broken trust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or find anew the old content,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dishonoured in the dust;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No port awaits those tattered sails,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No sun rides high above that gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unchronicled those half-told tales<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall time entomb.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113"></a>{113}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WED" id="WED"></a>WED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I married</span> him on Christmas morn,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah woe betide, ah woe betide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Folk said I was a comely bride,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah me forlorn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All braided was my golden hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heavy then, and shining then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My limbs were sweet to madden men,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O cunning snare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My beauty was a thing they say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of large renown,—O dread renown,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its rumour travelled through the town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas the day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His kisses burn my mouth and brows,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O burning kiss, O barren kiss,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My body for his worship is,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so he vows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But daily many men draw near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With courtly speech and subtle speech;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I gather from the lips of each<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A deadly fear.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As he grows sullen I grow cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whose the blame? Not mine the blame;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114"></a>{114}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their passions round me as a flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All fiercely fold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And oh, to think that he might be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So proudly set, above them set,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If he might but awaken yet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soul of me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Will no man seek and seeking find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The soul of me, the soul of me?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nay, even as they are, so is he,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all are blind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On Christmas morning we were wed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah me the morn, the luckless morn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now poppies burn along the corn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would I were dead.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115"></a>{115}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FORSAKEN" id="FORSAKEN"></a>FORSAKEN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> word is said, and I no more shall know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aught of the changing story of her days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor any treasure that her lips bestow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I, who loving her was wont to praise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All things in love, now reft of music go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With silent step down unfrequented ways.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My soul is like a lonely market-place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where late were laughing folk and shining steeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many things of comeliness and grace;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now between the stones are twisting weeds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No sound there is, nor any friendly face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save for a bedesman telling o’er his beads.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116"></a>{116}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DEFIANCE" id="DEFIANCE"></a>DEFIANCE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O wide</span> the way your beauty goes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all its feigned indifference,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every folly’s path it knows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And every humour of pretence.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But I can be as false as are<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rainbow loves which are your days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I will gladly go and far,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Content with your immediate praise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your lips, the shyer lover’s bane,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I take with disputation none,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And am your kinsman in disdain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When all is excellently done.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117"></a>{117}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LOVE_IN_OCTOBER" id="LOVE_IN_OCTOBER"></a>LOVE IN OCTOBER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> fields, the clouds, the farms and farming gear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The drifting kine, the scarlet apple trees ...<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not of the sun but separate are these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And individual joys, and very dear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet when the sun is folded, they are here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No more, the drifting skies: the argosies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of wagoned apples: still societies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of elms: red cattle on the stubbled year.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So are you not love’s whole estate. I owe<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In many hearts more dues than I shall pay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet is your heart the spring of all love’s light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And should your love weary of me and go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With all its thriving beams out of my day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These many loves would founder in that night.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118"></a>{118}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TO_THE_LOVERS_THAT_COME_AFTER_US" -id="TO_THE_LOVERS_THAT_COME_AFTER_US"></a>TO THE LOVERS THAT COME<br /> AFTER US</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lovers</span>, a little of this your happy time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Give to the thought of us who were as you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That we, whose dearest passion in your prime<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is but a winter garment, may renew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our love in yours, our flesh in your desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our tenderness in your discovering kiss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we are half the fuel of your fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As ours was fed by Marc and Beatrice.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remember us, and, when you too are dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our prayer with yours shall fall upon love’s spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That all our ghostly loves be comforted<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In those yet later lover’s love-making;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So shall oblivion bring his dust to spill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On brain and limbs, and we be lovers still.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119"></a>{119}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DERBYSHIRE_SONG" id="DERBYSHIRE_SONG"></a>DERBYSHIRE SONG</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Come</span> loving me to Darley Dale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In spring time or sickle time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we will make as proud a tale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As lovers in the antique prime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Harry or Elizabeth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With kirtle green and nodding flowers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To deck my hair and little waist,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I ’ll be worth a lover’s hours....<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Come, fellow, thrive, there is no haste<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But soon is worn away in death.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soon shall the blood be tame, and soon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our bodies lie in Darley Dale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unreckoning of jolly June,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With tongues past telling any tale;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My man, come loving me to-day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have a wrist is smooth and brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I have a shoulder smooth and white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I have my grace in any gown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By sun or moon or candle-light....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come Darley way, come Darley way.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120"></a>{120}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LOVES_HOUSE" id="LOVES_HOUSE"></a>LOVE’S HOUSE</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I know not how these men or those may take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their first glad measure of love’s character,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or whether one should let the summer make<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love’s festival, and one the falling year.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I only know that in my prime of days<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When my young branches came to blossoming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You were the sign that loosed my lips in praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You were the zeal that governed all my spring.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In prudent counsel many gathered near,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Forewarning us of deft and secret snares<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That are love’s use. We heard them as we hear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ticking of a clock upon the stairs.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The troops of reason, careful to persuade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Blackened love’s name, but love was more than these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we had wills to venture unafraid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The trouble of unnavigable seas.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Their word was but a barren seed that lies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Undrawn of the sun’s health and undesired,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121"></a>{121}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because the habit of their hearts was wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Because the wisdom of their tongues was tired.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For in the smother of contentious pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in the fear of each tumultuous mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our love has kept serenely fortified<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And unusurped one stedfast solitude.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>IV</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Dark words, and hasty humours of the blood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have come to us and made no longer stay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than footprints of a bird upon the mud<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That in an hour the tide will take away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But not March weather over ploughlands blown,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor cresses green upon their gravel bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are beautiful with the clean rigour grown<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of quiet thought our love has piloted.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>V</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I sit before the hearths of many men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When speech goes gladly, eager to withhold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No word at all, yet when I pass again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The last of words is captive and untold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We talk together in love’s house, and there<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No thought but seeks what counsel you may give,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122"></a>{122}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every secret trouble from its lair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes to your hand, no longer fugitive.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>VI</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I woo the world, with burning will to be<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Delighted in all fortune it may find,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still the strident dogs of jealousy<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go mocking down the tunnels of my mind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only for you my contemplation goes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clean as a god’s, undarkened of pretence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Most happy when your garner overflows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Achieving in your prosperous diligence.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>VII</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When from the dusty corners of my brain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes limping some ungainly word or deed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know not if my dearest friend’s disdain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be durable or brief, spent husk or seed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But your rebuke and that poor fault of mine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go straitly outcast, and we close the door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I, no promise asking and no sign,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stand blameless in love’s presence as before.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>VIII</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A beggar in the ditch, I stand and call<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My questions out upon the queer parade<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123"></a>{123}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of folk that hurry by, and one and all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go down the road with never answer made.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I do not question love. I am a lord<br /></span> -<span class="i2">High at love’s table, and the vigilant king,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unquestioned, from the hubbub at the board<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leans down to me and tells me everything.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124"></a>{124}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="COTSWOLD_LOVE" id="COTSWOLD_LOVE"></a>COTSWOLD LOVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Blue</span> skies are over Cotswold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And April snows go by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lasses turn their ribbons<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For April’s in the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And April is the season<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When Sabbath girls are dressed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From Rodboro’ to Campden,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In all their silken best.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An ankle is a marvel<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When first the buds are brown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And not a lass but knows it<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Stow to Gloucester town.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And not a girl goes walking<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Along the Cotswold lanes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But knows men’s eyes in April<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are quicker than their brains.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It’s little that it matters,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So long as you’re alive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If you’re eighteen in April,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or rising sixty-five,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When April comes to Amberley<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With skies of April blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Cotswold girls are briding<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With slyly tilted shoe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125"></a>{125}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WITH_DAFFODILS" id="WITH_DAFFODILS"></a>WITH DAFFODILS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I send</span> you daffodils, my dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For these are emperors of spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in my heart you keep so clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So delicate an empery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That none but emperors could be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ambassadors endowed to bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My messages of honesty.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My mind makes faring to and fro,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deft or bewildered, dark or kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That not the eye of God may know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which motion is of true estate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And which a twisted runagate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all the farings of my mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And which has honesty for mate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only my love for you is clean<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of scandal’s use, and though, may be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far rangers have my passions been,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since thus the word of Eden went,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet of the springs of my content,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My very wells of honesty<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are you the only firmament.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126"></a>{126}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FOUNDATIONS" id="FOUNDATIONS"></a>FOUNDATIONS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Those</span> lovers old had rare conceits<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make persuasion beautiful,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or rail upon the pretty fool<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who would not share those wanton sweets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, guarded, soon are bitterness.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But we, my love, can look on these<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old tournaments of wit, and say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What novices of love were they,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who loved by seasons and degrees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And in the rate of more and less.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We will not make of love a stale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For deft and nimble argument,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor shall denial and consent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be processes whereof shall fail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One surety that we possess.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127"></a>{127}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DEAR_AND_INCOMPARABLE" id="DEAR_AND_INCOMPARABLE"></a>DEAR AND INCOMPARABLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> and incomparable<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is that love to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flowing out of the woodlands,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the sea;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of the firmament breathing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Between pasture and sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For no reward is cherished here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To reckon by.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is not of my earning,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor forfeit I can<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This love that flows upon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poverty of man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though faithless and unkind<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I sleep and forget<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This love that asks no wage of me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Waits my waking yet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of such is the love, dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That you fold me in,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It knows no governance<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of virtue or sin;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From nothing of my achieving<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shall it enrichment take,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the glooms of my unworthiness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It will not forsake.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128"></a>{128}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="A_SABBATH_DAY" id="A_SABBATH_DAY"></a>A SABBATH DAY<br /> -<small>IN FIVE WATCHES</small></h2> - -<h3 class="lft">I. MORNING<br /> -(TO M. C.)</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> were three men and women two,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And well I loved you, all of you,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And well we kept the Sabbath day.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bells called out of Malvern town,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But never bell could call us down<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As we went up the hill away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was it a thousand years ago<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or yesterday that men were so<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Zealous of creed and argument?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here wind is brother to the rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the hills laugh upon the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the old brain-gotten feuds are spent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bring lusty laughter, lusty jest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bring each the song he names the best,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bring eager thought and speech that’s keen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell each his tale and tell it out,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only shame be prudent doubt,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bring bodies where the lust is clean.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 class="lft">II. FULL DAY<br /> -(TO K. D.)</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> moved along the gravelled way<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Between the laurels and the yews,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129"></a>{129}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some touch of old enchantment lay<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About us, some remembered news<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of men who rode among the trees<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With burning dreams of Camelot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose names are beauty’s litanies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As Galahad and Launcelot.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We looked along the vaulted gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of boughs unstripped of winter’s bane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As for some pride of scarf and plume<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And painted shield and broidered rein,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the cloven laurel walls<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We searched the darkling pines and pale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beech-boles and woodbine coronals,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As for the passing of the Grail.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But Launcelot no travel keeps,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For brother Launcelot is dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And brother Galahad he sleeps<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This long while in his quiet bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we are all the knights that pass<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Among the yews and laurels now.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They are but fruit among the grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we but fruit upon the bough.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No coloured blazon meets us here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all that courtly company;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Elaine is not, nor Guenevere,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The dream is but of dreams that die.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130"></a>{130}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But yet the purple violet lies<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beside the golden daffodil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And women strong of limb and wise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fierce of blood are with us still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And never through the woodland goes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Grail of that forgotten quest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still about the woodland flows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sap of God made manifest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In boughs that labour to their time,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And birds that gossip secret things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And eager lips that seek to rhyme<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The latest of a thousand springs.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 class="lft">III. DUSK<br /> -(TO E. S. V.)</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> come from the laurels and daffodils<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Down to the homestead under the fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ve gathered our hunger upon the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And that is well.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Howbeit to-morrow gives or takes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And leads to barren or flowering ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ve a linen cloth and wheaten cakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For which be praise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here in the valley at lambing-time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The shepherd folk of their watching tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the shadows up to the beacon climb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And that is well.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131"></a>{131}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let be what may when we make an end<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the laughter and labour of all our days<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ve men to friend and women to friend,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For whom be praise.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 class="lft">IV. EVENSONG<br /> -(TO B. M.)</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, let us tell it over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each to each by the fireside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How that earth has been a swift adventure for us,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the watches of the day as a gay song and a right song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now the traveller wind has found a bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sheep crowd under the thorn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">Good was the day and our travelling,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And now there is evensong to sing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Night, and along the valleys<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watch the eyes of the homesteads.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dark hills are very still and still are the stars.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Patiently under the ploughlands the wheat moves and the barley.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The secret hour of love is upon the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And our thought in praise is aflame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">Sing evensong as well we may<br /></span> -<span class="i3">For our travel upon this Sabbath day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132"></a>{132}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Earth, we have known you truly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard your mutable music,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have been your lovers and felt the savour of you,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And you have quickened in us the blood’s fire and the heart’s fire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have wooed and striven with you and made you ours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the strength sprung out of your loins.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i3">Lift the latch on its twisted thong,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And an end be made of our evensong.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3 class="lft">V. NIGHT<br /> -(TO H. S. S.)</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> barriers of sleep are crossed<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I alone am yet awake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keeping another Pentecost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For that new visitation’s sake<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of life descending on the hills<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In blackthorn bloom and daffodils.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At peace upon my pillow lain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I celebrate the spirit come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In spring’s immutable youth again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the lands of Christendom;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear in all the choral host<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The coming of the Holy Ghost.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133"></a>{133}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sacrament of bough and blade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of populous folds and building birds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I take, till now an end is made<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of praise and ceremonial words,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I too turn myself to keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The quiet festival of sleep.<br /></span> -</div> - -<p><i>March 1913.</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134"></a>{134}</span></p> -</div></div> - -<h2><a name="A_DEDICATION" id="A_DEDICATION"></a>A DEDICATION<br /> -<small>(TO E. G.)</small></h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span> youth comes to age and asks a blessing,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or counsel, or a tale of old estate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet youth will still be curiously guessing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The old man’s thought when death is at his gate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all their courteous words they are not one,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This youth and age, but civil strangers still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Age with the best of all his seasons done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Youth with his face towards the upland hill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Age looks for rest while youth runs far and wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Age talks with death, which is youth’s very fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Age knows so many comrades who have died,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Youth burns that one companion is so dear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So, with good will, and in one house, may dwell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These two, and talk, and all be yet to tell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But there are men who, in the time of age,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sometimes remember all that age forgets:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The early hope, the hardly compassed wage,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The change of corn, and snow, and violets;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They are glad of praise; they know this morning brings<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135"></a>{135}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">As true a song as any yesterday;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their labour still is set to many things,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They cry their questions out along the way.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They give as who may gladly take again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some gift at need; they move with gallant ease<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among all eager companies of men;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And never signed of age are such as these.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They speak with youth, and never speak amiss;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of such are you; and what is youth but this?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136"></a>{136}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RUPERT_BROOKE" id="RUPERT_BROOKE"></a>RUPERT BROOKE<br /> -<small>(DIED APRIL 23, 1915)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To-day</span> I have talked with old Euripides;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shakespeare this morning sang for my content<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of chimney-sweepers; through the Carian trees<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Comes beating still the nightingales’ lament;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Tabard ales to-day are freshly brewed;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wordsworth is with me, mounting Loughrigg Fell;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All timeless deaths in Lycid are renewed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And basils blossom yet for Isabel.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Quick thoughts are these; they do not pass; they gave<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Only to death such little, casual things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As are the noteless levies of the grave,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sad flesh, weak verse, and idle marketings.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So my mortality for yours complains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While our immortal fellowship remains.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137"></a>{137}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ON_READING_FRANCIS_LEDWIDGES_LAST_SONGS" -id="ON_READING_FRANCIS_LEDWIDGES_LAST_SONGS"></a>ON READING FRANCIS LEDWIDGE’S<br /> -LAST SONGS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">At</span> April’s end, when blossoms break<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To birth upon my apple-tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know the certain year will take<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Full harvest of this infancy.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">At April’s end, when comes the dear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Occasion of your valley tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I know your beauty’s arc is here,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A little ghostly morning moon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet are these fosterlings of rhyme<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As fortunately born to spend<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy conspiracies with time<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As apple flowers at April’s end.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138"></a>{138}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="IN_THE_WOODS" id="IN_THE_WOODS"></a>IN THE WOODS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I was</span> in the woods to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the leaves were spinning there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich apparelled in decay,—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In decay more wholly fair<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than in life they ever were.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Gold and rich barbaric red<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Freakt with pale and sapless vein,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spinning, spinning, spun and sped<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a little sob of pain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Back to harbouring earth again.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long in homely green they shone<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through the summer rains and sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now their humbleness is gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Now their little season run,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pomp and pageantry begun.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sweet was life, and buoyant breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lovely too; but for a day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Issues from the house of death<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet more beautiful array:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Hark, a whisper—“Come away.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One by one they spin and fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But they fall in regal pride:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dying, do they hear a call<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Rising from an ebbless tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, hearing, are beatified?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139"></a>{139}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="LATE_SUMMER" id="LATE_SUMMER"></a>LATE SUMMER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Though</span> summer long delayeth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her blue and golden boon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet now at length she stayeth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Her wings above the noon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She sets the waters dreaming<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To murmurous leafy tones,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The weeded waters gleaming<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Above the stepping-stones.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where fern and ivied willow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lean o’er the seaward brook,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I read a volume mellow—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A poet’s fairy-book;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The seaward brook is narrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hazel spans its pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like a painted arrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The king-bird keeps the tide.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140"></a>{140}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="JANUARY_DUSK" id="JANUARY_DUSK"></a>JANUARY DUSK</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Austere</span> and clad in sombre robes of grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With hands upfolded and with silent wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In unimpassioned mystery the day<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Passes; a lonely thrush its requiem sings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The dust of night is tangled in the boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of leafless lime and lilac, and the pine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grows blacker, and the star upon the brows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of sleep is set in heaven for a sign.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Earth’s little weary peoples fall on peace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And dream of breaking buds and blossoming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of primrose airs, of days of large increase,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all the coloured retinue of spring.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141"></a>{141}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="AT_GRAFTON" id="AT_GRAFTON"></a>AT GRAFTON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">God</span> laughed when he made Grafton<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s under Bredon Hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A jewel in a jewelled plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The seasons work their will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On golden thatch and crumbling stone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every soft-lipped breeze<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes music for the Grafton men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In comfortable trees.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">God’s beauty over Grafton<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stole into roof and wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hallowed every pavèd path<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every lowly stall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to a woven wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Conspired with one accord<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The labour of the servant,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The labour of the Lord.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And momently to Grafton<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes in from vale and wold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sound of sheep unshepherded,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sound of sheep in fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, blown along the bases<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lands that set their wide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frank brows to God, comes chanting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The breath of Bristol tide.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142"></a>{142}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DOMINION" id="DOMINION"></a>DOMINION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I went</span> beneath the sunny sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When all things bowed to June’s desire,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pansy with its steadfast eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The blue shells on the lupin spire,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The swelling fruit along the boughs,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The grass grown heady in the rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark roses fitted for the brows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of queens great kings have sung in vain;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My little cat with tiger bars,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bright claws all hidden in content;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift birds that flashed like darkling stars<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across the cloudy continent;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wiry-coated fellow curled<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stump-tailed upon the sunny flags;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bees that sacked a coloured world<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of treasure for their honey-bags.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And all these things seemed very glad,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The sun, the flowers, the birds on wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The jolly beasts, the furry-clad<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fat bees, the fruit, and everything.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But gladder than them all was I,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who, being man, might gather up<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143"></a>{143}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The joy of all beneath the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And add their treasure to my cup,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And travel every shining way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And laugh with God in God’s delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Create a world for every day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And store a dream for every night.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144"></a>{144}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_MIRACLE" id="THE_MIRACLE"></a>THE MIRACLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, sweetheart, listen, for I have a thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Most wonderful to tell you—news of spring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Albeit winter still is in the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the earth troubled, and the branches bare,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet down the fields to-day I saw her pass—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spring—her feet went shining through the grass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She touched the ragged hedgerows—I have seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her finger-prints, most delicately green;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And she has whispered to the crocus leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to the garrulous sparrows in the eaves.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Swiftly she passed and shyly, and her fair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young face was hidden in her cloudy hair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She would not stay, her season is not yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But she has reawakened, and has set<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sap of all the world astir, and rent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once more the shadows of our discontent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Triumphant news—a miracle I sing—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The everlasting miracle of spring.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145"></a>{145}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MILLERS_DALE" id="MILLERS_DALE"></a>MILLERS DALE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Barefoot</span> we went by Millers Dale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When meadowsweet was golden gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And happy love was in the vale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Singing upon the summer bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of gipsy crop and branches laid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of willows over chanting pools,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Barefoot by Millers Dale we made<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our summer festival of fools.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Folly bright-eyed, and quick, and young<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Was there with all his silly plots,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And trotty wagtail stepped among<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The delicate forget-me-nots,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And laughter played with us above<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The rocky shelves and weeded holes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we had fellowship to love<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The pigeons and the water-voles.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Time soon shall be when we are all<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stiller than ever runs the Wye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every bitterness shall fall<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To-morrow in obscurity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wars be done, and treasons fail,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yet shall new friends go down to greet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The singing rocks of Millers Dale,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And willow pools and meadowsweet.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146"></a>{146}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WRITTEN_AT_LUDLOW_CASTLE" id="WRITTEN_AT_LUDLOW_CASTLE"></a>WRITTEN AT LUDLOW CASTLE<br /><br /> -<small>(IN THE HALL WHERE COMUS WAS<br /> FIRST PERFORMED)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Where</span> wall and sill and broken window-frame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are bright with flowers unroofed against the skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And nothing but the nesting jackdaws’ cries<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breaks the hushed even, once imperial came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The muse that moved transfiguring the name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Puritan, and beautiful and wise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The verses fell, forespeaking Paradise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And poetry set all this hall aflame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now silence has come down upon the place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where life and song so wonderfully went,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the mole’s afoot now where that passion rang,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet Comus now first moves his laurelled pace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For song and life for ever are unspent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they are more than ghosts who lived and sang.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147"></a>{147}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WORDSWORTH_AT_GRASMERE" id="WORDSWORTH_AT_GRASMERE"></a>WORDSWORTH AT GRASMERE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">These</span> hills and waters fostered you<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Abiding in your argument<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until all comely wisdom drew<br /></span> -<span class="i2">About you, and the years were spent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now over hill and water stays<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A world more intimately wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Built of your dedicated days,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And seen in your beholding eyes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So, marvellous and far, the mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That slept among them when began<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waters and hills, leaps up to find<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Its kingdom in the thought of man.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148"></a>{148}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SUNRISE_ON_RYDAL_WATER" id="SUNRISE_ON_RYDAL_WATER"></a>SUNRISE ON RYDAL WATER<br /><br /> -<small>(TO E. DE S.)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Come</span> down at dawn from windless hills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into the valley of the lake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where yet a larger quiet fills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The hour, and mist and water make<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With rocks and reeds and island boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One silence and one element,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where wonder goes surely as once<br /></span> -<span class="i2">It went<br /></span> -<span class="i3">By Galilean prows.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Moveless the water and the mist,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Moveless the secret air above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hushed, as upon some happy tryst<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The poised expectancy of love;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">What spirit is it that adores<br /></span> -<span class="i3">What mighty presence yet unseen?<br /></span> -<span class="i3">What consummation works apace<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Between<br /></span> -<span class="i5">These rapt enchanted shores?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Never did virgin beauty wake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Devouter to the bridal feast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than moves this hour upon the lake<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In adoration to the east;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Here is the bride a god may know,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The primal will, the young consent,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149"></a>{149}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i3">Till surely upon the appointed mood<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Intent<br /></span> -<span class="i5">The god shall leap—and, lo,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over the lake’s end strikes the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">White, flameless fire; some purity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrilling the mist, a splendour won<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Out of the world’s heart. Let there be<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Thoughts, and atonements, and desires,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Proud limbs, and undeliberate tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Where now we move with mortal oars<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Among<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Immortal dews and fires.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So the old mating goes apace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wind with the sea, and blood with thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lover with lover; and the grace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of understanding comes unsought<br /></span> -<span class="i3">When stars into the twilight steer,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Or thrushes build among the may,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Or wonder moves between the hills,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And day<br /></span> -<span class="i5">Comes up on Rydal mere.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150"></a>{150}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="SEPTEMBER" id="SEPTEMBER"></a>SEPTEMBER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Wind</span> and the robin’s note to-day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have heard of autumn and betray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The green long reign of summer.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rust is falling in the leaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">September stands beside the sheaves,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The new, the happy comer.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not sad my season of the red<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And russet orchards gaily spread<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From Cholesbury to Cooming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor sad when twilit valley trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are ships becalmed on misty seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And beetles go abooming.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now soon shall come the morning crowds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of starlings, soon the coloured clouds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From oak and ash and willow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soon the thorn and briar shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich in their crimson livery,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In scarlet and in yellow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Spring laughed and thrilled a million veins,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And summer shone above her rains<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To fill September’s faring;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">September talks as kings who know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world’s way and superbly go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In robes of wisdom’s wearing.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151"></a>{151}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OLTON_POOLS" id="OLTON_POOLS"></a>OLTON POOLS<br /><br /> -<small>(TO G. C. G.)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> June walks on the waters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the cuckoo’s last enchantment<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Passes from Olton pools.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now dawn comes to my window<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathing midsummer roses,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scythes are wet with dew.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Is it not strange for ever<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, bowered in this wonder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Man keeps a jealous heart?...<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That June and the June waters,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And birds and dawn-lit roses,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are gospels in the wind,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fading upon the deserts,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poor pilgrim revelations?...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hist ... over Olton pools!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152"></a>{152}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OF_GREATHAM" id="OF_GREATHAM"></a>OF GREATHAM<br /><br /> -<small>(TO THOSE WHO LIVE THERE)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">For</span> peace, than knowledge more desirable<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into your Sussex quietness I came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When summer’s green and gold and azure fell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Over the world in flame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And peace upon your pasture-lands I found,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where grazing flocks drift on continually,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As little clouds that travel with no sound<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Across a windless sky.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Out of your oaks the birds call to their mates<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That brood among the pines, where hidden deep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From curious eyes a world’s adventure waits<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In columned choirs of sleep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Under the calm ascension of the night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We heard the mellow lapsing and return<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of night-owls purring in their groundling flight<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through lanes of darkling fern.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Unbroken peace when all the stars were drawn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Back to their lairs of light, and ranked along<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From shire to shire the downs out of the dawn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Were risen in golden song.<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . .</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153"></a>{153}</span><br /> -<span class="i0">I sing of peace who have known the large unrest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of men bewildered in their travelling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I have known the bridal earth unblest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By the brigades of spring.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I have known that loss. And now the broken thought<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of nations marketing in death I know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The very winds to threnodies are wrought<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That on your downlands blow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I sing of peace. Was it but yesterday<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I came among your roses and your corn?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then momently amid this wrath I pray<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For yesterday reborn.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154"></a>{154}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MAMBLE" id="MAMBLE"></a>MAMBLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I never</span> went to Mamble<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lies above the Teme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So I wonder who’s in Mamble,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whether people seem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who breed and brew along there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As lazy as the name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whether any song there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sets alehouse wits aflame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The finger-post says Mamble,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that is all I know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the narrow road to Mamble,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And should I turn and go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To that place of lazy token<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lies above the Teme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There might be a Mamble broken<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That was lissom in a dream.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So leave the road to Mamble<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And take another road<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To as good a place as Mamble<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be it lazy as a toad;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who travels Worcester county<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Takes any place that comes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When April tosses bounty<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the cherries and the plums.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155"></a>{155}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OUT_OF_THE_MOON" id="OUT_OF_THE_MOON"></a>OUT OF THE MOON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Merely</span> the moonlight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Piercing the boughs of my may-tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falling upon my ferns;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touching my ferns with silver bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sea-flowers here in the sleeping city—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And suddenly the imagination burns<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With knowledge of many a dark significant doom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of antiquity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sung to hushed halls by troubadours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who knew the ways of the heart because they had seen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moonlight washing the garden’s deeper green<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To silver flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falling with tidings out of the moon, as now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It falls on the ferns under my may-tree bough.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156"></a>{156}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MOONLIT_APPLES" id="MOONLIT_APPLES"></a>MOONLIT APPLES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">At</span> the top of the house the apples are laid in rows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the skylight lets the moonlight in, and those<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Apples are deep-sea apples of green. There goes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A cloud on the moon in the autumn night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A mouse in the wainscot scratches, and scratches, and then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is no sound at the top of the house of men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or mice; and the cloud is blown, and the moon again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dapples the apples with deep-sea light.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They are lying in rows there, under the gloomy beams;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the sagging floor; they gather the silver streams<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of the moon, those moonlit apples of dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And quiet is the steep stair under.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In the corridors under there is nothing but sleep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stiller than ever on orchard boughs they keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tryst with the moon, and deep is the silence, deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On moon-washed apples of wonder.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157"></a>{157}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="COTTAGE_SONG" id="COTTAGE_SONG"></a>COTTAGE SONG</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Morning</span> and night I bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clear water from the spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And through the lyric noon<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear the larks in tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the shadows fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There’s providence for all.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My garden is alight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With currants red and white;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And my blue curtains peep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On starry courses deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When down her silver tides<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moon on Cotswold rides.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My path of paven grey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is thoroughfare all day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For fellowship, till time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bids us with candles climb<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The little whitewashed stair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above my lavender.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158"></a>{158}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_MIDLANDS" id="THE_MIDLANDS"></a>THE MIDLANDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Black</span> in the summer night my Cotswold hill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Aslant my window sleeps, beneath a sky<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep as the bedded violets that fill<br /></span> -<span class="i2">March woods with dusky passion. As I lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Abed between cool walls I watch the host<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the slow stars lit over Gloucester plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drowsily the habit of these most<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beloved of English lands moves in my brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While silence holds dominion of the dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save when the foxes from the spinneys bark.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see the valleys in their morning mist<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Wreathed under limpid hills in moving light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy with many a yeoman melodist:<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I see the little roads of twinkling white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Busy with fieldward teams and market gear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of rosy men, cloth-gaitered, who can tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The many-minded changes of the year,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who know why crops and kine fare ill or well;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the sun persuade the mist away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till town and stead are shining to the day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see the wagons move along the rows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of ripe and summer-breathing clover-flower,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the lissom husbandman who knows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deep in his heart the beauty of his power,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159"></a>{159}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">As, lithely pitched, the full-heaped fork bids on<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The harvest home. I hear the rickyard fill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With gossip as in generations gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While wagon follows wagon from the hill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think how, when our seasons all are sealed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall come the unchanging harvest from the field.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I see the barns and comely manors planned<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By men who somehow moved in comely thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, with a simple shippon to their hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As men upon some godlike business wrought;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the little cottages that keep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their beauty still where since Plantagenet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have come the shepherds happily to sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Finding the loaves and cups of cider set;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I see the twisted shepherds, brown and old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Driving at dusk their glimmering sheep to fold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now the valleys that upon the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Broke from their opal veils, are veiled again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the last light upon the wolds is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And silence falls on flocks and fields and men;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And black upon the night I watch my hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the stars shine, and there an owly wing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Brushes the night, and all again is still,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, from this land of worship that I sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I turn to sleep, content that from my sires<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I draw the blood of England’s midmost shires.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160"></a>{160}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="OLD_CROW" id="OLD_CROW"></a>OLD CROW</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> bird in the corn<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is a marvellous crow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He was laid and was born<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the season of snow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he chants his old catches<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like a ghost under hatches.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He comes from the shades<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of his wood very early,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And works in the blades<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of the wheat and the barley,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he’s happy, although<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He’s a grumbleton crow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The larks have devices<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For sunny delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the sheep in their fleeces<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are woolly and white;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But these things are the scorn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the bird in the corn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And morning goes by,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And still he is there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till a rose in the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Calls him back to his lair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the boughs where the gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is a part of his plume.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161"></a>{161}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But the boy in the lane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With his gun, by and by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the heart of the grain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Will narrowly spy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the twilight will come,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no crow will fly home.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162"></a>{162}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="VENUS_IN_ARDEN" id="VENUS_IN_ARDEN"></a>VENUS IN ARDEN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span> Love, her mantle thrown,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Goes naked by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Threading the woods alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Her royal eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy because the primroses again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Break on the winter continence of men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I saw her pass to-day<br /></span> -<span class="i3">In Warwickshire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the old imperial way,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The old desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh as among those other flowers they went<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More beautiful for Adon’s discontent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Those other years she made<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Her festival<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the blue eggs were laid<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And lambs were tall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the Athenian rivers while the reeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made love melodious for the Ganymedes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now through Cantlow brakes,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">By Wilmcote hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Avon-side, she makes<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Her garlands still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I who watch her flashing limbs am one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With youth whose days three thousand years are done.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163"></a>{163}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="ON_A_LAKE" id="ON_A_LAKE"></a>ON A LAKE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sweet</span> in the rushes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The reed-singers make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A music that hushes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The life of the lake;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leaves are dumb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the tides are still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And no calls come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the flocks on the hill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Forgotten now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are nightingales,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on his bough<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The linnet fails,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Midway the mere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My mirrored boat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall rest and hear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A slenderer note.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though, heart, you measure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But one proud rhyme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You build a treasure<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confounding time—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet in the rushes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The reed-singers make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A music that hushes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The life of the lake.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164"></a>{164}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="HARVEST_MOON" id="HARVEST_MOON"></a>HARVEST MOON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Hush!” was my whisper<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the stair-top<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the waggoners were down below<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Home from the barley-crop.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the high window<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looked the harvest moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the waggoners sang<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A harvest tune,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hush!” was my whisper when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Marjory stept<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down from her attic-room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A true-love-adept.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Fill a can, fill a can,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waggoners of heart were they,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Harvest-home, harvest-home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Barleycorn is home to-day.” ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Marjory, hush now—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harvest—you hear?”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red was the moon’s rose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the full year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cobwebs shook, so well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Did the waggoners sing—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hush!”—there was beauty at<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That harvesting.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165"></a>{165}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="AT_AN_EARTHWORKS" id="AT_AN_EARTHWORKS"></a>AT AN EARTHWORKS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Ringed</span> high with turf the arena lies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The neighbouring world unseen, unheard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here are but unhorizoned skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And on the skies a passing bird,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The conies and a wandering sheep,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The castings of the chambered mole,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These, and the haunted years that keep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lost agonies of blood and soul.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They say that in the midnight moon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ghostly legions gather yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hear a ghostly timbrel-tune,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And see a ghostly combat met.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These are but yeoman’s tales. And here<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No marvel on the midnight falls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But starlight marvellously clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Being girdled in these shadowy walls.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet now strange glooms of ancestry<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Creep on me through this morning light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some spectral self is seeking me ...<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I will not parley with the night.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166"></a>{166}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="INSTRUCTION" id="INSTRUCTION"></a>INSTRUCTION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I have</span> a place in a little garden,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That laurel-leaf and fern<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keep a cool place though fires of summer<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All the green grasses burn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little cool winds creep there about<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When winds all else are dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tired limbs there find gentle keeping,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And humours of sloth are shed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So do your songs come always to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poets of age and age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clear and cool as rivers of wind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Threading my hermitage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stilling my mind from tribulation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of life half-seen, half-heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With images made in the brain’s quietness,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the leaping of a word.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167"></a>{167}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="HABITATION" id="HABITATION"></a>HABITATION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">High</span> up in the sky there, now, you know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In this May twilight, our cottage is asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tenantless, and no creature there to go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near it but Mrs. Fry’s fat cows, and sheep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dove-coloured, as is Cotswold. No one hears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under that cherry-tree the night-jars yet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The windows are uncurtained; on the stairs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Silence is but by tip-toe silence met.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All doors are fast there. It is a dwelling put by<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From use for a little, or long, up there in the sky.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Empty; a walled-in silence, in this twilight of May—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A home for lovers, and friendly withdrawing, and sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With none to love there, nor laugh, nor climb from the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the candles and linen.... Yet in the silence creep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This minute, I know, little ghosts, little virtuous lives,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathing upon that still, insensible place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touching the latches, sorting the napkins and knives,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And such for the comfort of being, and bowls for the grace,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168"></a>{168}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That roses will brim; they are creeping from that room to this,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One room, and two, till the four are visited ... they,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little ghosts, little lives, are our thoughts in this twilight of May,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Signs that even the curious man would miss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of travelling lovers to Cotswold, signs of an hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Very soon, when up from the valley in June will ride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lovers by Lynch to Oakridge up in the wide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bow of the hill, to a garden of lavender flower....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The doors are locked; no foot falls; the hearths are dumb—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But we are there—we are waiting ourselves who come.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169"></a>{169}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="WRITTEN_IN_WINTERBORNE_CAME_CHURCH" -id="WRITTEN_IN_WINTERBORNE_CAME_CHURCH"></a>WRITTEN IN WINTERBORNE CAME<br /> -CHURCH<br /> -<small>(William Barnes, 1801-1886)</small><br /></h2> -<p class="c"><i>To Mrs. Thomas Hardy</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I do</span> not use to listen well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At sermon time,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I ’ld rather hear the plainest rhyme<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than tales the parsons tell;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The homespun of experience<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They will not wear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But walk a transcendental air<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In dusty rags of sense.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But humbly in your little church<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Alone I watch;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old rector, lift again the latch,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Here is a heart to search.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come, with a simple word and wise<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Quicken my brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while upon the painted pane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The painted butterflies<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beat in the early April beams,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You shall instruct<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My spirit in the knowledge plucked<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From your still Dorset dreams.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170"></a>{170}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your word shall strive with no obscure<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Debated text,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your vision being unperplexed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your loving purpose pure.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I know you’ll speak of April flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or lambs in pen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or happy-hearted maids and men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Weaving their April hours.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or rising to your thought will come,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For lessoning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those lovers of an older spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That now in tombs are dumb.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And brooding in your theme shall be,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Half said, half heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The presage of a poet’s word<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To mock mortality.<br /></span> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;">. . . . . . . . . .</span><br /> -<span class="i0">The years are on your grave the while,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And yet, almost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think to see your surpliced ghost<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stand hesitant in the aisle,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Find me sole congregation there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Assess my mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know mine a kindred solitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And climb the pulpit-stair.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171"></a>{171}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="BUDS" id="BUDS"></a>BUDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> raining hour is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And, threaded on the bough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The May-buds in the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are shining emeralds now.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As transitory these<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As things of April will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, trembling in the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Is briefer beauty still.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For, flowering from the sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Upon an April day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are silver buds that lie<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Amid the buds of May.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The April emeralds now,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">While thrushes fill the lane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are linked along the bough<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With silver buds of rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And, straightly though to earth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The buds of silver slip,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The green buds keep the mirth<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of that companionship.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172"></a>{172}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="BLACKBIRD" id="BLACKBIRD"></a>BLACKBIRD</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> comes on chosen evenings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My blackbird bountiful, and sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Over the gardens of the town<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just at the hour the sun goes down.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His flight across the chimneys thick,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By some divine arithmetic,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes to his customary stack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And couches there his plumage black,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there he lifts his yellow bill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Kindled against the sunset, till<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These suburbs are like Dymock woods<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where music has her solitudes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while he mocks the winter’s wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rapt on his pinnacle of song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Figured above our garden plots<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those are celestial chimney-pots.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173"></a>{173}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MAY_GARDEN" id="MAY_GARDEN"></a>MAY GARDEN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A shower</span> of green gems on my apple-tree<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This first morning of May<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has fallen out of the night, to be<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Herald of holiday—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright gems of green that, fallen there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Seem fixed and glowing on the air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Until a flutter of blackbird wings<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Shakes and makes the boughs alive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the gems are now no frozen things,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But apple-green buds to thrive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On sap of my May garden, how well<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The green September globes will tell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Also my pear-tree has its buds,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But they are silver yellow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like autumn meadows when the floods<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are silver under willow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here shall long and shapely pears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Be gathered while the autumn wears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there are sixty daffodils<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beneath my wall....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And jealousy it is that kills<br /></span> -<span class="i2">This world when all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spring’s behaviour here is spent<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To make the world magnificent.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174"></a>{174}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="AT_AN_INN" id="AT_AN_INN"></a>AT AN INN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> are talkative proud, and assured, and self-sufficient,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The quick of the earth this day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This inn is ours, and its courtyard, and English history,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And the Post Office up the way.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The stars in their changes, and heavenly speculation,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The habits of birds and flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And character bred of poverty and riches,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All these are ours.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The world is ours, and these its themes and its substance,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And of these we are free men and wise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among them all we move in possession and judgment,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For a day, till it dies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But in eighteen-hundred-and-fifty, who were the tenants,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sure and deliberate as we?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They knew us not in the time of their ascension,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their self-sufficiency.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175"></a>{175}</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in nineteen-hundred-and-fifty this inn shall flourish,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And history still be told,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the heat of blood shall thrive, and speculation,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When we are cold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176"></a>{176}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PERSPECTIVE" id="PERSPECTIVE"></a>PERSPECTIVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">In</span> the Wheatsheaf parlour I sat to see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The story of Chippington street go by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The squire, and dames of little degree,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And drovers with cattle and flocks to cry.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And these were all as my creatures there,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Twinkling to and fro in the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And placidly I had joy, had care,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all their labours and dealings done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Into the parlour strode me then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Two fellows fiercely set at odds,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To whom the difference of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Gave the sufficiency of God.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They saw me, and they stept beyond<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To a chamber within earshot still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each on each of broken bond,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And honour, and inflexible will,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Railed. And loud the little inn grew,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But nothing I cared their quarrel to learn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though the issue tossing between the two<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They deemed the bait of the world’s concern.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only I thought how most are men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Fantastic when they most are proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And out of my laughter I looked again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the flowing figures of Chippington crowd.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177"></a>{177}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CROCUSES" id="CROCUSES"></a>CROCUSES<br /><br /> -<small>TO E. H. C.</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Desires</span>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little determined desires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gripped by the mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moving so hardly among<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The earth, of whose heart they were bred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That is old; it is old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not gracious to little desires such as these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But apter for work on the bases of trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose branches are hung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Overhead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Very mightily, there overhead.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Through the summer they stirred,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They strove to the bulbs after May,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until harvest and song of the bird<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went together away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ever till coming of snows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They worked in the mould, for undaunted were those<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift little determined desires, in the earth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without sign, any day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ever shaping to marvels of birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we went<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without heed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178"></a>{178}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On our way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never knowing what virtue was spent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Day by day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By those little desires that were gallant to breed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such beauty as fortitude may.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not once in our mind<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was that corner of earth under trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Very mighty and tall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As we travelled the roads and the seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gathered the wage of our kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And were laggard or trim to the call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the duties that lengthen the hours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Into seasons that flourish and fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And blind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the womb of the flowers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unresting they wrought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the bulbs, in the depth of the year,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Buried far from our thought;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till one day, when the thrushes were clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In their note it was spring—and they know—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unheeding we came into sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of that corner forgotten, and lo,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They had won through the meshes of mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And treasuries lay in the light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of ivory, purple, and gold.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179"></a>{179}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RIDDLES_RFC1" id="RIDDLES_RFC1"></a>RIDDLES, R.F.C.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a><br /> -<small>(1916)</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He</span> was a boy of April beauty; one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who had not tried the world; who, while the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flamed yet upon the eastern sky, was done.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Time would have brought him in her patient ways—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So his young beauty spoke—to prosperous days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fulness of authority and praise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He would not wait so long. A boy, he spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His boy’s dear life for England. Be content:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No honour of age had been more excellent.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Lieutenant Stewart G. Ridley, Royal Flying Corps, -sacrificed his life in the Egyptian desert in an attempt to save a -comrade. He was twenty years of age.</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180"></a>{180}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_SHIPS_OF_GRIEF" id="THE_SHIPS_OF_GRIEF"></a>THE SHIPS OF GRIEF</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">On</span> seas where every pilot fails<br /></span> -<span class="i2">A thousand thousand ships to-day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ride with a moaning in their sails,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through winds grey and waters grey.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">They are the ships of grief. They go<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As fleets are derelict and driven,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Estranged from every port they know,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Scarce asking fortitude of heaven.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No, do not hail them. Let them ride<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Lonely as they would lonely be ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There is an hour will prove the tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">There is a sun will strike the sea.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181"></a>{181}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="NOCTURNE" id="NOCTURNE"></a>NOCTURNE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O royal</span> night, under your stars that keep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their golden troops in charted motion set,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The living legions are renewed in sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For bloodier battle yet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O royal death, under your boundless sky<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where unrecorded constellations throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dispassionate those other legions lie,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Invulnerably strong.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182"></a>{182}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_PATRIOT" id="THE_PATRIOT"></a>THE PATRIOT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Scarce</span> is my life more dear to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Brief tutor of oblivion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than fields below the rookery<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That comfortably looks upon<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The little street of Piddington.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I never think of Avon’s meadows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ryton woods or Rydal mere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or moon-tide moulding Cotswold shadows,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But I know that half the fear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of death’s indifference is here.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I love my land. No heart can know<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The patriot’s mystery, until<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It aches as mine for woods ablow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Gloucestershire with daffodil,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or Bicester brakes that violets fill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No man can tell what passion surges<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For the house of his nativity<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the patriot’s blood, until he purges<br /></span> -<span class="i2">His grosser mood of jealousy,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And comes to meditate with me<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of gifts of earth that stamp his brain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As mine the pools of Ludlow mill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hazels fencing Trilly’s Lane,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183"></a>{183}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i2">And Forty Acres under Brill,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The ferry under Elsfield hill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These are what England is to me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not empire, nor the name of her<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ranging from pole to tropic sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These are the soil in which I bear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All that I have of character.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That men my fellows near and far<br /></span> -<span class="i2">May live in like communion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is all I pray; all pastures are<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The best beloved beneath the sun;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I have my own; I envy none.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184"></a>{184}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="EPILOGUE_FOR_A_MASQUE" id="EPILOGUE_FOR_A_MASQUE"></a>EPILOGUE FOR A MASQUE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">A little</span> time they lived again, and lo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back to the quiet night the shadows go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the great folds of silence once again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are over fools and kings and fighting-men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A little while they went with stumbling feet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With spears of hate, and love all flowery sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wondering hearts and bright adventurous wills,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now their dust is on a thousand hills.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We dream of them, as men unborn shall dream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of us, who strive a little with the stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before we too go out beyond the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And are as much a memory as they.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Death, so coming, shall not seem a thing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of any fear, nor terrible his wing.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We too shall be a tale on earth, and time<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall shape our pilgrimage into a rhyme.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185"></a>{185}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="THE_GUEST" id="THE_GUEST"></a>THE GUEST</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Sometimes</span> I feel that death is very near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with half-lifted hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Looks in my eyes, and tells me not to fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But walk his friendly land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comrade with him, and wise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As peace is wise.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then, greatly though my heart with pity moves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For dear imperilled loves,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I somehow know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That death is friendly so,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A comfortable spirit; one who takes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long thought for all our sakes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I wonder; will he come that friendly way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That guest, or roughly in the appointed day?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And will, when the last drops of life are spilt,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My soul be torn from me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, like a ship truly and trimly built,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slip quietly to sea?<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186"></a>{186}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TREASON" id="TREASON"></a>TREASON</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">What</span> time I write my roundelays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am as proud as princes gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who built their empires in old days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As Tamburlaine or Solomon;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wisely though companions then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say well it is and well I sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Assured above the praise of men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am a solitary king.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But when I leave that straiter mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That lonely hour, and put aside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The continence of solitude,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I fall in treason to my pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if a witling’s word be spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon my song in jealousy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In anger and in argument<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am as derelict as he.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187"></a>{187}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="POLITICS" id="POLITICS"></a>POLITICS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> say a thousand things,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Persuasively,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with strange passion hotly I agree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And praise your zest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A blackbird sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On April lilac, or fieldfaring men,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ghostlike, with loaded wain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come down the twilit lane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And what is all your argument to me?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh, yes—I know, I know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It must be so—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You must devise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your myriad policies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For we are little wise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And must be led and marshalled, lest we keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Too fast a sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far from the central world’s realities.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, we must heed—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For surely you reveal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life’s very heart; surely with flaming zeal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You search our folly and our secret need;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And surely it is wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To count my blackbird’s song,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188"></a>{188}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">My cones of lilac, and my wagon team,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More than a world of dream.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A voice calls from the hill—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I must away—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I cannot hear your argument to-day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189"></a>{189}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="FOR_A_GUEST_ROOM" id="FOR_A_GUEST_ROOM"></a>FOR A GUEST ROOM</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">All</span> words are said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And may it fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, crowning these,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You here shall find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A friendly bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sheltering wall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your body’s ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A quiet mind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">May you forget<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In happy sleep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world that still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You hold as friend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And may it yet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be ours to keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your friendly will<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the world’s end.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For he is blest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, fixed to shun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All evil, when<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The worst is known,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Counts, east and west,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When life is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His debts to men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In love alone.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190"></a>{190}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DAY" id="DAY"></a>DAY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Dawn</span> is up at my window, and in the May-tree<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The finches gossip, and tits, and beautiful sparrows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With feathers bright and brown as September hazels.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The sunlight is here, filtered through rosy curtains,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Docile and disembodied, a ghost of sunlight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gentle light to greet the dreamer returning.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Part the curtains. I give you salutation<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Day, clear day; let us be friendly fellows.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come.... I hear the Liars about the city.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191"></a>{191}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DREAMS" id="DREAMS"></a>DREAMS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> have our dreams; not happiness.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great cities are upon the hill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lighten all our dream, and still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have no cities to possess<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But cities built of bitterness.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We see gay fellows top to toe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And girls in rainbow beauty bright—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis but of silly dreams I write,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For up and down the streets we know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The scavengers and harlots go.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Give me a dozen men whose theme<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is honesty, and we will set<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On high the banner of dreams ... and yet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thousands will pass us in a stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor care a penny what we dream.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192"></a>{192}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="RESPONSIBILITY" id="RESPONSIBILITY"></a>RESPONSIBILITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> ploughmen at the gate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All that you are for me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is of my mind create,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And in my brain to be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A figure newly won<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the world’s confusion.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And if you are of grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That’s honesty for me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if of evil face,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Recorded then shall be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dishonour that I saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not beauty, but the flaw.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193"></a>{193}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PROVOCATIONS" id="PROVOCATIONS"></a>PROVOCATIONS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I am</span> no merry monger when<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I see the slatterns of the town:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hate to think of docile men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose angers all are driven down;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For sluts make joy a thing obscene,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And in contempt is nothing clean.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I like to see the ladies walk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With heels to set their chins atilt:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I like to hear the clergy talk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of other clergy’s people’s guilt;<br /></span> -<span class="i4">For happy is the amorous eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">And indignation clears the sky.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194"></a>{194}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TRIAL" id="TRIAL"></a>TRIAL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beauty</span> of old and beauty yet to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stripped of occasion, have security;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This hour it is searches the judgment through,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When masks of beauty walk with beauty too.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195"></a>{195}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHARGE_TO_THE_PLAYERS" id="CHARGE_TO_THE_PLAYERS"></a>CHARGE TO THE PLAYERS<br /><br /> -<small>THE TROJAN WOMEN, BIRMINGHAM REPERTORY<br /> THEATRE, APRIL 1918</small></h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Shades</span>, that our town-fellows have come<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear rewake for Christendom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This cleansing of a Pagan wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In flowing tides of tragic song,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You shadows that the living call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To walk again the Trojan wall,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You lips and countenance renewed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of an immortal fortitude,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know that, among the silent rows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of these our daily town-fellows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching the shades with these who bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But mortal ears to this you sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There somewhere sits the Greek who made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This gift of song, himself a shade.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196"></a>{196}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHARACTER" id="CHARACTER"></a>CHARACTER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> one should tell you that in such a spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hawthorn boughs into the blackbird’s nest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Poured poison, or that once at harvesting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ears were stony, from so manifest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slander of proven faith in tree and corn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You would turn unheeding, knowing him forsworn.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet now, when one whose life has never known<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Corruption, as you know: whose days have been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As daily tidings in your heart of lone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gentle courage, suffers the word unclean<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of envious tongues, doubting you dare not cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I have been this man’s familiar, and you lie.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197"></a>{197}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="REALITY" id="REALITY"></a>REALITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">It</span> is strange how we travel the wide world over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And see great churches and foreign streets,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And armies afoot and kings of wonder,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And deeds a-doing to fill the sheets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That grave historians will pen<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To ferment the brains of simple men.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And all the time the heart remembers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The quiet habit of one far place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The drawings and books, the turn of a passage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glance of a dear familiar face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there is the true cosmopolis,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the thronging world a phantom is.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198"></a>{198}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="EPILOGUE" id="EPILOGUE"></a>EPILOGUE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Come</span> tell us, you that travel far<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With brave or shabby merchandise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have you saluted any star<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That goes uncourtiered in the skies?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Do you remember leaf or wing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or brook the willows leant along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or any small familiar thing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That passed you as you went along?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or does the trade that is your lust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Drive you as yoke-beasts driven apace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Making the world a road of dust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">From market-place to market-place?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your traffic in the grain, the wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In purple and in cloth of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In treasure of the field and mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In fables of the poets told,—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But have you laughed the wine-cups dry<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And on the loaves of plenty fed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And walked, with all your banners high,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In gold and purple garmented?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And do you know the songs you sell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And cry them out along the way?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199"></a>{199}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And is the profit that you tell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">After your travel day by day<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sinew and sap of life, or husk—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Dead coffer-ware or kindled brain?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And do you gather in the dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To make your heroes live again?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">If the grey dust is over all,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And stars and leaves and wings forgot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And your blood holds no festival—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Go out from us; we need you not.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But if you are immoderate men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Zealots of joy, the salt and sting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And savour of life upon you—then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We call you to our counselling.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And we will hew the holy boughs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To make us level rows of oars,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we will set our shining prows<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For strange and unadventured shores.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where the great tideways swiftliest run<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We will be stronger than the strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sack the cities of the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And spend our booty in a song.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200"></a>{200}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="MOONRISE" id="MOONRISE"></a>MOONRISE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Where</span> are you going, you pretty riders?—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To the moon’s rising, the rising of death’s moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the waters move not, and birds are still and songless,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Soon, very soon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where are you faring to, you proud Hectors?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Through battle, out of battle, under the grass,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dust behind your hoof-beats rises, and into dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clouded, you pass.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’m a pretty rider, I’m a proud Hector,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I as you a little am pretty and proud;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I with you am riding, riding to the moonrise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So sing we loud—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Out beyond the dust lies mystery of moonrise,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">We go to chiller learning than is bred in the sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hectors, and riders, and a simple singer,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Riding as one.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201"></a>{201}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="DEER" id="DEER"></a>DEER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Shy</span> in their herding dwell the fallow deer.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They are spirits of wild sense. Nobody near<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Comes upon their pastures. There a life they live,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of sufficient beauty, phantom, fugitive,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Treading as in jungles free leopards do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Printless as evelight, instant as dew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The great kine are patient, and home-coming sheep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Know our bidding. The fallow deer keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Delicate and far their counsels wild,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never to be folded reconciled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the spoiling hand as the poor flocks are:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lightfoot, and swift, and unfamiliar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These you may not hinder, unconfined<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beautiful flocks of the mind.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202"></a>{202}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TO_ONE_I_LOVE" id="TO_ONE_I_LOVE"></a>TO ONE I LOVE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> I walked along the passage, in the night, beyond the stairs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was afraid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suddenly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As will happen you know, my dear, it will often happen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I knew the walls at my side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knew the drawings hanging there, the order of their placing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the door where my bed lay beyond,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the window on the landing—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There was even a little ray of moonlight through it—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All was known, familiar, my comfortable home;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet I was afraid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suddenly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the dark, like a child, of nothing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of vastness, of eternity, of the queer pains of thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such as used to trouble me when I heard,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I was little, the people talk<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Sundays of “As it was in the Beginning,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is Now, and Ever Shall Be....”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am thirty-six years old,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And folk are friendly to me,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203"></a>{203}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there are no ghosts that should have reason to haunt me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I have tempted no magical happenings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By forsaking the clear noons of thought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the wizardries that the credulous take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To be golden roads to revelation.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I knew all was simplicity there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without conspiracy, without antagonism,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet I was afraid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suddenly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A child, in the dark, forlorn....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then, as suddenly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I was aware of a profound, a miraculous understanding,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knowledge that comes to a man<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But once or twice, as a bird’s note<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the still depth of the night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Striking upon the silence ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I stood at the door, and there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was mellow candle-light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And companionship, and comfort,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That it was even so,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That it must be even so<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With death.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That no harm could have touched me out of my fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because I had no grudge against anything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204"></a>{204}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Because I had desired<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the darkness, when fear came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love only, and pity, and fellowship,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And it would have been a thing monstrous,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Something defying nature<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the simple universal fitness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For any force there to have come evilly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon me, who had no evil in my heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But only trust, and tenderness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For every presence about me in the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the very shadow about me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being a little child for no one’s envy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I knew that God<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must understand that we go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To death as little children,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Desiring love so simply, and love’s defence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that he would be a barren God, without humour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cheat so little, so wistful, a desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That he created<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In us, in our childishness ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I may never again be sure of this,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there, for a moment,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the candle-light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Standing at the door,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I knew.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205"></a>{205}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="TO_ALICE_MEYNELL" id="TO_ALICE_MEYNELL"></a>TO ALICE MEYNELL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I too</span> have known my mutinies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Played with improvident desires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gone indolently vain as these<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whose lips from undistinguished choirs<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mock at the music of our sires.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I too have erred in thought. In hours<br /></span> -<span class="i2">When needy life forbade me bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To song the brain’s unravished powers,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then had it been a temperate thing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Loosely to pluck an easy string.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet thought has been, poor profligate,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sin’s period. Through dear and long<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Obedience I learn to hate<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Unhappy lethargies that wrong<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The larger loyalties of song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And you upon your slender reed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Most exquisitely tuned, have made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For every singing heart a creed.<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I have heard; and I have played<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My lonely music unafraid,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Knowing that still a friendly few,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Turning aside from turbulence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cherish the difficult phrase, the due<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bridals of disembodied sense<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the new word’s magnificence.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206"></a>{206}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="PETITION" id="PETITION"></a>PETITION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O Lord</span>, I pray: that for each happiness<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My housemate brings I may give back no less<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Than all my fertile will;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That I may take from friends but as the stream<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Creates again the hawthorn bloom adream<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Above the river sill;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That I may see the spurge upon the wall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hear the nesting birds give call to call,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Keeping my wonder new;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That I may have a body fit to mate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the green fields, and stars, and streams in spate,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And clean as clover-dew;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That I may have the courage to confute<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All fools with silence when they will dispute,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">All fools who will deride;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That I may know all strict and sinewy art<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As that in man which is the counterpart,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Lord, of Thy fiercest pride;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That somehow this beloved earth may wear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A later grace for all the love I bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">For some song that I sing;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207"></a>{207}</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, when I die, this word may stand for me—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He had a heart to praise, an eye to see,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">And beauty was his king.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208"></a>{208}</span></p> - -<h2><a name="HARVESTING" id="HARVESTING"></a>HARVESTING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Pale</span> sheaves of oats, pocked by untimely rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Under October skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Teased and forlorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ungathered lie where still the tardy wain<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Comes not to seal<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The seasons of the corn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From prime to June, with running barns of grain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now time with me is at the middle year,<br /></span> -<span class="i3">The register of youth<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Is now to sing ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My thoughts are ripe, my moods are in full ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i3">That they should fail<br /></span> -<span class="i3">Of harvesting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uncarried on cold fields, is all my fear.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209"></a>{209}</span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210"></a>{210}</span> </p> - -<p class="c"> -<span class="eng">The Riverside Press</span><br /> -<small>CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS<br /> -U. S. A.</small></p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, 1908-1919, by John Drinkwater - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS, 1908-1919 *** - -***** This file should be named 51575-h.htm or 51575-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/5/7/51575/ - -Produced by MWS, Bryan Ness, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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