diff options
Diffstat (limited to '9484.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 9484.txt | 6032 |
1 files changed, 6032 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/9484.txt b/9484.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7755f4d --- /dev/null +++ b/9484.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6032 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Georgian Poetry 1911-12, by Various + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Georgian Poetry 1911-12 + +Author: Various + +Editor: Sir Edward Marsh + +Posting Date: February 16, 2013 [EBook #9484] +Release Date: December, 2005 +First Posted: October 5, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GEORGIAN POETRY 1911-12 *** + + + + +Produced by Clytie Siddall, Keren Vergon, and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + +GEORGIAN POETRY + + + +1911-1912 + + + + + +DEDICATED + +TO + +ROBERT BRIDGES + + + +BY THE WRITERS + +AND THE EDITOR + + + + + + +PREFATORY NOTE + + +This volume is issued in the belief that English poetry is now once +again putting on a new strength and beauty. + +Few readers have the leisure or the zeal to investigate each volume as +it appears; and the process of recognition is often slow. This +collection, drawn entirely from the publications of the past two years, +may if it is fortunate help the lovers of poetry to realize that we are +at the beginning of another "Georgian period" which may take rank in due +time with the several great poetic ages of the past. + +It has no pretension to cover the field. Every reader will notice the +absence of poets whose work would be a necessary ornament of any +anthology not limited by a definite aim. Two years ago some of the +writers represented had published nothing; and only a very few of the +others were known except to the eagerest "watchers of the skies." Those +few are here because within the chosen period their work seemed to have +gained some accession of power. + +My grateful thanks are due to the writers who have lent me their poems, +and to the publishers (Messrs Elkin Mathews, Sidgwick and Jackson, +Methuen, Fifield, Constable, Nutt, Dent, Duckworth, Longmans, and +Maunsel, and the Editors of 'Basileon', 'Rhythm', and the 'English +Review') under whose imprint they have appeared. + +E.M. + +Oct. 1912. + + + + + + "Of all materials for labour, dreams are the hardest; and the + artificer in ideas is the chief of workers, who out of nothing will + make a piece of work that may stop a child from crying or lead nations + to higher things. For what is it to be a poet? It is to see at a + glance the glory of the world, to see beauty in all its forms and + manifestations, to feel ugliness like a pain, to resent the wrongs of + others as bitterly as one's own, to know mankind as others know single + men, to know Nature as botanists know a flower, to be thought a fool, + to hear at moments the clear voice of God." + + DUNSANY + + + + + +CONTENTS + + +LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE + The Sale of Saint Thomas + +GORDON BOTTOMLEY + The End of the World (from 'Chambers of Imagery,' 2nd series) + Babel: The Gate of God (from 'Chambers of Imagery,' 2nd series) + +RUPERT BROOKE + The Old Vicarage, Grantchester + Dust + The Fish + Town and Country + Dining-room Tea + +GILBERT K. CHESTERTON + The Song of Elf (a fragment from the Ballad of the White Horse) + +WILLIAM H. DAVIES + The Child and the Mariner (from 'Songs of Joy') + Days too Short (from 'Songs of Joy') + In May (from 'Songs of Joy') + The Heap of Rags (from 'Songs of Joy') + The Kingfisher (from 'Farewell to Poesy') + +WALTER DE LA MARE + Arabia (from 'The Listeners') + The Sleeper (from 'The Listeners') + Winter Dusk (from 'The Listeners') + Miss Loo (from 'The Listeners') + The Listeners + +JOHN DRINKWATER + The Fires of God (from 'Poems of Love and Earth') + +JAMES ELROY FLECKER + Joseph and Mary (from 'Forty-Two Poems') + The Queen's Song (from 'Forty-Two Poems') + +WILFRID WILSON GIBSON + The Hare (from 'Fires,' Book III) + Geraniums + Devil's Edge (from 'Fires,' Book III) + +D. H. LAWRENCE + The Snapdragon + +JOHN MASEFIELD + Biography + +HAROLD MONRO + Child of Dawn (from 'Before Dawn') + Lake Leman (from 'Before Dawn') + +T. STURGE MOORE + A Sicilian Idyll (first part) + +RONALD ROSS + Hesperus (from 'Lyra Modulata') + +EDMUND BEALE SARGANT + The Cuckoo Wood (from 'The Casket Songs') + +JAMES STEPHENS + In the Poppy Field (from 'The Hill of Vision') + In the Cool of the Evening (from 'The Hill of Vision') + The Lonely God (from 'The Hill of Vision') + +ROBERT CALVERLEY TREVELYAN + Dirge + +BIBLIOGRAPHY + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE + + + +THE SALE OF SAINT THOMAS + +[A quay with vessels moored] + + +Thomas: + +To India! Yea, here I may take ship; +From here the courses go over the seas, +Along which the intent prows wonderfully +Nose like lean hounds, and track their journeys out, +Making for harbours as some sleuth was laid +For them to follow on their shifting road. +Again I front my appointed ministry.-- +But why the Indian lot to me? Why mine +Such fearful gospelling? For the Lord knew +What a frail soul He gave me, and a heart +Lame and unlikely for the large events.-- +And this is worse than Baghdad! though that was +A fearful brink of travel. But if the lots, +That gave to me the Indian duty, were +Shuffled by the unseen skill of Heaven, surely +That fear of mine in Baghdad was the same +Marvellous Hand working again, to guard +The landward gate of India from me. There +I stood, waiting in the weak early dawn +To start my journey; the great caravan's +Strange cattle with their snoring breaths made steam +Upon the air, and (as I thought) sadly +The beasts at market-booths and awnings gay +Of shops, the city's comfortable trade, +Lookt, and then into months of plodding lookt. +And swiftly on my brain there came a wind +Of vision; and I saw the road mapt out +Along the desert with a chalk of bones; +I saw a famine and the Afghan greed +Waiting for us, spears at our throats, all we +Made women by our hunger; and I saw +Gigantic thirst grieving our mouths with dust, +Scattering up against our breathing salt +Of blown dried dung, till the taste eat like fires +Of a wild vinegar into our sheathed marrows; +And a sudden decay thicken'd all our bloods +As rotten leaves in fall will baulk a stream; +Then my kill'd life the muncht food of jackals.-- +The wind of vision died in my brain; and lo, +The jangling of the caravan's long gait +Was small as the luting of a breeze in grass +Upon my ears. Into the waiting thirst +Camels and merchants all were gone, while I +Had been in my amazement. Was this not +A sign? God with a vision tript me, lest +Those tall fiends that ken for my approach +In middle Asia, Thirst and his grisly band +Of plagues, should with their brigand fingers stop +His message in my mouth. Therefore I said, +If India is the place where I must preach, +I am to go by ship, not overland. +And here my ship is berthed. But worse, far worse +Than Baghdad, is this roadstead, the brown sails, +All the enginery of going on sea, +The tackle and the rigging, tholes and sweeps, +The prows built to put by the waves, the masts +Stayed for a hurricane; and lo, that line +Of gilded water there! the sun has drawn +In a long narrow band of shining oil +His light over the sea; how evilly move +Ripples along that golden skin!--the gleam +Works like a muscular thing! like the half-gorged +Sleepy swallowing of a serpent's neck. +The sea lives, surely! My eyes swear to it; +And, like a murderous smile that glimpses through +A villain's courtesy, that twitching dazzle +Parts the kind mood of weather to bewray +The feasted waters of the sea, stretched out +In lazy gluttony, expecting prey. +How fearful is this trade of sailing! Worse +Than all land-evils is the water-way +Before me now.--What, cowardice? Nay, why +Trouble myself with ugly words? 'Tis prudence, +And prudence is an admirable thing. +Yet here's much cost--these packages piled up, +Ivory doubtless, emeralds, gums, and silks, +All these they trust on shipboard? Ah, but I, +I who have seen God, I to put myself +Amid the heathen outrage of the sea +In a deal-wood box! It were plain folly. +There is naught more precious in the world than I: +I carry God in me, to give to men. +And when has the sea been friendly unto man? +Let it but guess my errand, it will call +The dangers of the air to wreak upon me, +Winds to juggle the puny boat and pinch +The water into unbelievable creases. +And shall my soul, and God in my soul, drown? +Or venture drowning?--But no, no; I am safe. +Smooth as believing souls over their deaths +And over agonies shall slide henceforth +To God, so shall my way be blest amid +The quiet crouching terrors of the sea, +Like panthers when a fire weakens their hearts; +Ay, this huge sin of nature, the salt sea, +Shall be afraid of me, and of the mind +Within me, that with gesture, speech and eyes +Of the Messiah flames. What element +Dare snarl against my going, what incubus dare +Remember to be fiendish, when I light +My whole being with memory of Him? +The malice of the sea will slink from me, +And the air be harmless as a muzzled wolf; +For I am a torch, and the flame of me is God. + + +A Ship's Captain: + +You are my man, my passenger? + + +Thomas: + I am. +I go to India with you. + + +Captain: + Well, I hope so. +There's threatening in the weather. Have you a mind +To hug your belly to the slanted deck, +Like a louse on a whip-top, when the boat +Spins on an axle in the hissing gales? + + +Thomas: + +Fear not. 'Tis likely indeed that storms are now +Plotting against our voyage; ay, no doubt +The very bottom of the sea prepares +To stand up mountainous or reach a limb +Out of his night of water and huge shingles, +That he and the waves may break our keel. Fear not; +Like those who manage horses, I've a word +Will fasten up within their evil natures +The meanings of the winds and waves and reefs. + + +Captain: + +You have a talisman? I have one too; +I know not if the storms think much of it. +I may be shark's meat yet. And would your spell +Be daunting to a cuttle, think you now? +We had a bout with one on our way here; +It had green lidless eyes like lanterns, arms +As many as the branches of a tree, +But limber, and each one of them wise as a snake. +It laid hold of our bulwarks, and with three +Long knowing arms, slimy, and of a flesh +So tough they'ld fool a hatchet, searcht the ship, +And stole out of the midst of us all a man; +Yes, and he the proudest man upon the seas +For the rare powerful talisman he'd got. +And would yours have done better? + + +Thomas: + I am one +Not easily frightened. I'm for India. +You will not put me from my way with talk. + + +Captain: + +My heart, I never thought of frightening you.-- +Well, here's both tide and wind, and we may not start. + + +Thomas: + +Not start? I pray you, do. + + +Captain: + It's no use praying; +I dare not. I've not half my cargo yet. + + +Thomas: + +What do you wait for, then? + + +Captain: A carpenter. + + +Thomas: + +You are talking strangely. + + +Captain: + But not idly. +I might as well broach all my blood at once +Here as I stand, as sail to India back +Without a carpenter on board;--O strangely +Wise are our kings in the killing of men! + + +Thomas: + +But does your king then need a carpenter? + + +Captain: + +Yes, for he dreamed a dream; and like a man +Who, having eaten poison, and with all +Force of his life turned out the crazing drug, +Has only a weak and wrestled nature left +That gives in foolishly to some bad desire +A healthy man would laugh at; so our king +Is left desiring by his venomous dream. +But, being a king, the whole land aches with him. + +Thomas: + +What dream was that? + + +Captain: + A palace made of souls;-- +Ay, there's a folly for a man to dream! +He saw a palace covering all the land, +Big as the day itself, made of a stone +That answered with a better gleam than glass +To the sun's greeting, fashioned like the sound +Of laughter copied into shining shape: +So the king said. And with him in the dream +There was a voice that fleered upon the king: +'This is the man who makes much of himself +For filling the common eyes with palaces +Gorgeously bragging out his royalty: +Whereas he hath not one that seemeth not +In work, in height, in posture on the ground, +A hut, a peasant's dingy shed, to mine. +And all his excellent woods, metals, and stones, +The things he's filched out of the earth's old pockets +And hoised up into walls and domes; the gold, +Ebony, agate stairs, wainscots of jade, +The windows of jargoon, and heavenly lofts +Of marble, all the stuff he takes to be wealth, +Reckons like savage mud and wattle against +The matter of my building.'--And the king, +Gloating upon the white sheen of that palace, +And weeping like a girl ashamed, inquired +'What is that stone?' And the voice answered him, +'Soul.' 'But in my palaces too,' said he, +'There should be soul built: I have driven nations, +What with quarrying, what with craning, down +To death, and sure their souls stay in my work.' +And 'Mud and wattle' sneered the voice again; +But added, 'In the west there is a man, +A slave, a carpenter, whose heart has been +Apprenticed to the skill that built my reign, +This beauty; and were he master of your gangs, +He'ld build you a palace that would look like mine.'-- +So now no ship may sail from India, +Since the king's scornful dream, unless it bring +A carpenter among its homeward lading: +And carpenters are getting hard to find. + + +Thomas: + +And have none made for the king his desire? + + +Captain: + +Many have tried, with roasting living men +In queer huge kilns, and other sleights, to found +A glass of human souls; and others seek +With marvellous stone to please our desperate king. +Always at last their own tormented bodies +Delight the cruelty of the king's heart. + + +Thomas: + +Well then, I hope you'll find your carpenter, +And soon. I would not that we wait too long; +I loathe a dallying journey.--I should suppose +We'ld have good sailing at this season, now? + + +Captain: + +Why, you were looking, a few minutes gone, +For rare wild storms: I hope we'll have them too; +I want to see you work that talisman +You boast about: I've a great love for spells. + + +Thomas: + +Let it be storm or calm, so we be sailing. +I long have wished to voyage into mid sea, +To give my senses rest from wondering +On this perplexed grammar of the land +Written in men and women, the strange trees, +Herbs, and those things so like to souls, the beasts. +My wilful senses will keep perilously +Employed with these my brain, and weary it +Still to be asking. But on the high seas +Such throng'd reality is left behind,-- +Only vast air and water, and the hue +That always seems like special news of God. +Surely 'tis half way to eternity +To go where only size and colour live; +And I could purify my mind from all +Worldly amazement by imagining +Beyond my senses into God's great Heaven, +If I were in mid sea. I have dreamed of this. +Wondrous too, I think, to sail at night, +While shoals of moonlight flickers dance beside, +Like swimming glee of fishes scaled in gold, +Curvetting in thwart bounds over the swell; +The perceiving flesh, in bliss of such a beauty, +Must sure feel fine as spiritual sight.-- +Moods have been on me, too, when I would be +Sailing recklessly through wild darkness, where +Gigantic whispers of a harassed sea +Fill the whole world of air, and I stand up +To breast the danger of the loosen'd sky, +And feel my immortality like music,-- +Yea, I alone in the broken world, firm things +All gone to monstrous flurry, knowing myself +An indestructible word spoken by God.-- +This is a small, small boat? + + +Captain: + Small is nothing, +A bucket will do, so it know how to ride +Top upward: cleverness is the thing in boats. +And I wish this were cleverer: she goes crank +At times just when she should go sober. +But what? Boats are but girls for whimsies: men +Must let them have their freaks. + + +Thomas: + Have you good skill +In seamanship? + + +Captain: + Well, I am not drowned yet, +Though I'm a grey man and have been at sea +Longer than you've been walking. My old sight +Can tell Mizar from Alcor still. + +Thomas: + Ay, so; +Doubtless you'll bring me safe to India. +But being there--tell me now of the land: +How use they strangers there? + + +Captain: + Queerly, sometimes. +If the king's moody, and tired of feeling nerves +Mildly made happy with soft jewel of silk, +Odours and wines and slim lascivious girls, +And yearns for sharper thrills to pierce his brain, +He often finds a stranger handy then. + + +Thomas: +Why, what do you mean? + + +Captain: + There was a merchant came +To Travancore, and could not speak our talk; +And, it chanced, he was brought before the throne +Just when the king was weary of sweet pleasures. +So, to better his tongue, a rope was bent +Beneath his oxters, up he was hauled, and fire +Let singe the soles of his feet, until his legs +Wriggled like frying eels; then the king's dogs +Were set to hunt the hirpling man. The king +Laught greatly and cried, 'But give the dogs words they know, +And they'll be tame.'--Have you the Indian speech? + + +Thomas: +Not yet: it will be given me, I trust. + + +Captain: +You'd best make sure of the gift. Another stranger, +Who swore he knew of better gods than ours, +Seemed to the king troubled with fleas, and slaves +Were told to groom him smartly, which they did +Thoroughly with steel combs, until at last +They curried the living flesh from off his bones +And stript his face of gristle, till he was +Skull and half skeleton and yet alive. +You're not for dealing in new gods? + + +Thomas: + Not I. +Was the man killed? + + +Captain: + He lived a little while; +But the flies killed him. + + +Thomas: + Flies? I hope India +Is not a fly-plagued land? I abhor flies. + + +Captain: +You will see strange ones, for our Indian life +Hath wonderful fierce breeding. Common earth +With us quickens to buzzing flights of wings +As readily as a week-old carcase here +Thrown in a sunny marsh. Why, we have wasps +That make your hornets seem like pretty midges; +And there be flies in India will drink +Not only blood of bulls, tigers, and bears, +But pierce the river-horses' creasy leather, +Ay, worry crocodiles through their cuirasses +And prick the metal fishes when they bask. +You'll feel them soon, with beaks like sturdy pins, +Treating their stinging thirsts with your best blood. +A man can't walk a mile in India +Without being the business of a throng'd +And moving town of flies; they hawk at a man +As bold as little eagles, and as wild. +And, I suppose, only a fool will blame them. +Flies have the right to sink wells in our skin +All as men to bore parcht earth for water. +But I must do a job on board, and then +Search the town afresh for a carpenter. + + +Thomas: (alone) +Ay, loose tongue, I know how thou art prompted. +Satan's cunning device thou art, to sap +My heart with chatter'd fears. How easy it is +For a stiff mind to hold itself upright +Against the cords of devilish suggestion +Tackled about it, though kept downward strained +With sly, masterful winches made of fear. +Yea, when the mind is warned what engines mean +To ply it into grovelling, and thought set firm, +The tugging strings fail like a cobweb-stuff. +Not as in Baghdad is it with me now; +Nor canst thou, Satan, by a prating mouth +Fell my tall purpose to a flatlong scorn. +I can divide the check of God's own hand +From tempting such as this: India is mine!-- +Ay, fiend, and if thou utter thy storming heart +Into the ocean sea, as into mob +A rebel utters turbulence and rage, +And raise before my path swelling barriers +Of hatred soul'd in water, yet will I strike +My purpose, and God's purpose, clean through all +The ridges of thy power. And I will show +This mask that the devil wears, this old shipman, +A thing to make his proud heart of evil +Writhe like a trodden snake; yea, he shall see +How godly faith can go upon the huge +Fury of forces bursting out of law, +Easily as a boy goes on windy grass.-- +O marvel! that my little life of mind +Can by mere thinking the unsizeable +Creature of sea enslave! I must believe it. +The mind hath many powers beyond name +Deep womb'd within it, and can shoot strange vigours: +Men there have been who could so grimly look +That soldiers' hearts went out like candle flames +Before their eyes, and the blood perisht in them.-- +But I--could I do that? Would I not feel +The power in me if 'twas there? And yet +'Twere a child's game to what I have to do, +For days and days with sleepless faith oppress +And terrorise the demon sea. I think +A man might, as I saw my Master once, +Pass unharmed through a storm of men, yet fail +At this that lies before me: men are mind, +And mind can conquer mind; but how can it quell +The unappointed purpose of great waters?-- +Well, say the sea is past: why, then I have +My feet but on the threshold of my task, +To gospel India,--my single heart +To seize into the order of its beat +All the strange blood of India, my brain +To lord the dark thought of that tann'd mankind!-- +O horrible those sweltry places are, +Where the sun comes so close, it makes the earth +Burn in a frenzy of breeding,--smoke and flame +Of lives burning up from agoniz'd loam! +Those monstrous sappy jungles of clutcht growth, +Enormous weed hugging enormous weed, +What can such fearful increase have to do +With prospering bounty? A rage works in the ground, +Incurably, like frantic lechery, +Pouring its passion out in crops and spawns. +'Tis as the mighty spirit of life, that here +Walketh beautifully praising, glad of God, +Should, stepping on the poison'd Indian shore, +Breathing the Indian air of fire and steams, +Fling herself into a craze of hideous dancing, +The green gown whipping her swift limbs, all her body +Writhen to speak inutterable desire, +Tormented by a glee of hating God. +Nay, it must be, to visit India, +That frantic pomp and hurrying forth of life, +As if a man should enter at unawares +The dreaming mind of Satan, gorgeously +Imagining his eternal hell of lust.-- + + They say the land is full of apes, which have +Their own gods and worship; how ghastly, this!-- +That demons (for it must be so) should build, +In mockery of man's upward faith, the souls +Of monkeys, those lewd mammets of mankind, +Into a dreadful farce of adoration! +And flies! a land of flies! where the hot soil +Foul with ceaseless decay steams into flies! +So thick they pile themselves in the air above +Their meal of filth, they seem like breathing heaps +Of formless life mounded upon the earth; +And buzzing always like the pipes and strings +Of solemn music made for sorcerers.-- +I abhor flies,--to see them stare upon me +Out of their little faces of gibbous eyes; +To feel the dry cool skin of their bodies alight +Perching upon my lips!--O yea, a dream, +A dream of impious obscene Satan, this +Monstrous frenzy of life, the Indian being! +And there are men in the dream! What men are they? +I've heard, naught relishes their brains so much +As to tie down a man and tease his flesh +Infamously, until a hundred pains +Hound the desiring life out of his body, +Filling his nerves with such a fearful zest +That the soul overstrained shatters beneath it. +Must I preach God to these murderous hearts? +I would my lot had fallen to go and dare +Death from the silent dealing of Northern cold!-- + + O, but I would face all these Indian fears, +The horror of the huge power of life, +The beasts all fierce and venomous, the men +With cruel souls, learned to invent pain, +All these and more, if I had any hope +That, braving them, Lord Christ prosper'd through me. +If Christ desired India, He had sent +The band of us, solder'd in one great purpose, +To strike His message through those dark vast tribes +But one man!--O surely it is folly, +And we misread the lot! One man, to thrust, +Even though in his soul the lamp was kindled +At God's own hands, one man's lit soul to thrust +The immense Indian darkness out of the world! +For human flesh there breeds as furiously +As the green things and the cattle; and it is all, +All this enormity of measureless folk, +Penn'd in a land so close to the devil's reign +The very apes have faith in him.--No, no; +Impetuous brains mistake the signs of God +Too easily. God would not have me waste +My zeal for Him in this wild enterprise, +Of going alone to swarming India;--one man, +One mortal voice, to charm those myriad ears +Away from the fiendish clamour of Indian gods, +One man preaching the truth against the huge +Bray of the gongs and horns of the Indian priests! +A cup of wine poured in the sea were not +More surely lost in the green and brackish depths, +Than the fire and fragrance of my doctrine poured +Into that multitudinous pond of men, +India.--Shipman! Master of the ship!-- +I have thought better of this journey; now +I find I am not meant to go. + + +Captain: Not meant? + + +Thomas: +I would say, I had forgotten Indian air +Is full of fevers; and my health is bad +For holding out against fever. + + +Captain: + As you please. +I keep your fare, though. + + +Thomas: O, 'tis yours.--Good sailing! + + +[As he makes to depart, a Noble Stranger is seen approaching along the +quay.] + + +Captain: +Well, here's a marvel: 'Tis a king, for sure! +'Twould take the taxes of a world to dress +A man in that silken gold, and all those gems. +What a flash the light makes of him; nay, he burns; +And he's here on the quay all by himself, +Not even a slave to fan him!--Man, you're ailing! +You look like death; is it the falling sickness? +Or has the mere thought of the Indian journey +Made your marrow quail with a cold fever? + + +The Stranger: (to the Captain) + +You are the master of this ship? + + +Captain: I am. + + +Stranger: +This huddled man belongs to me: a slave +Escaped my service. + + +Captain: + Lord, I knew not that. +But you are in good time. + + +Stranger: + And was the slave +For putting out with you? Where are you bound? + + +Captain: +To India. First he would sail, and then +Again he would not. But, my Lord, I swear +I never guesst he was a runaway. + + +Stranger: +Well, he shall have his mind and go with you +To India: a good slave he is, but bears +A restless thought. He has slipt off before, +And vexes me still to be watching him. +We'll make a bargain of him. + + +Captain: + I, my Lord? +I have no need of slaves: I am too poor. + + +Stranger: +For twenty silver pieces he is yours. + + +Captain: +That's cheap, if he has skill. Yes, there might be +Profit in him at that. Has he a trade? + + +Stranger: +He is a carpenter. + + +Captain: + A carpenter! +Why, for a good one I'ld give all my purse. + + +Stranger: +No, twenty silver pieces is the price; +Though 'tis a slave a king might joy to own. +I've taught him to imagine palaces +So high, and tower'd so nobly, they might seem +The marvelling of a God-delighted heart +Escaping into ecstasy; he knows, +Moreover, of a stuff so rare it makes +Smaragdus and the dragon-stone despised; +And yet the quarries whereof he is wise +Would yield enough to house the tribes of the world +In palaces of beautiful shining work. + + +Captain +Lo there! why, that is it: the carpenter +I am to bring is needed for to build +The king's new palace. + + +Stranger: Yea? He is your man. + + +Captain: +Come on, my man. I'll put your cunning heels +Where they'll not budge more than a shuffled inch. +My lord, if you'll bide with the rascal here +I'll get the irons ready. Here's your sum.-- + + +Stranger: +Now, Thomas, know thy sin. It was not fear; +Easily may a man crouch down for fear, +And yet rise up on firmer knees, and face +The hailing storm of the world with graver courage. +But prudence, prudence is the deadly sin, +And one that groweth deep into a life, +With hardening roots that clutch about the breast. +For this refuses faith in the unknown powers +Within man's nature; shrewdly bringeth all +Their inspiration of strange eagerness +To a judgment bought by safe experience; +Narrows desire into the scope of thought. +But it is written in the heart of man, +Thou shalt no larger be than thy desire. +Thou must not therefore stoop thy spirit's sight +To pore only within the candle-gleam +Of conscious wit and reasonable brain; +But search into the sacred darkness lying +Outside thy knowledge of thyself, the vast +Measureless fate, full of the power of stars, +The outer noiseless heavens of thy soul. +Keep thy desire closed in the room of light +The labouring fires of thy mind have made, +And thou shalt find the vision of thy spirit +Pitifully dazzled to so shrunk a ken, +There are no spacious puissances about it, +But send desire often forth to scan +The immense night which is thy greater soul; +Knowing the possible, see thou try beyond it +Into impossible things, unlikely ends; +And thou shalt find thy knowledgeable desire +Grow large as all the regions of thy soul, +Whose firmament doth cover the whole of Being, +And of created purpose reach the ends. + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +GORDON BOTTOMLEY + + + +THE END OF THE WORLD + + +The snow had fallen many nights and days; +The sky was come upon the earth at last, +Sifting thinly down as endlessly +As though within the system of blind planets +Something had been forgot or overdriven. +The dawn now seemed neglected in the grey +Where mountains were unbuilt and shadowless trees +Rootlessly paused or hung upon the air. +There was no wind, but now and then a sigh +Crossed that dry falling dust and rifted it +Through crevices of slate and door and casement. +Perhaps the new moon's time was even past. +Outside, the first white twilights were too void +Until a sheep called once, as to a lamb, +And tenderness crept everywhere from it; +But now the flock must have strayed far away. +The lights across the valley must be veiled, +The smoke lost in the greyness or the dusk. +For more than three days now the snow had thatched +That cow-house roof where it had ever melted +With yellow stains from the beasts' breath inside; +But yet a dog howled there, though not quite lately. +Someone passed down the valley swift and singing. +Yes, with locks spreaded like a son of morning; +But if he seemed too tall to be a man +It was that men had been so long unseen, +Or shapes loom larger through a moving snow. +And he was gone and food had not been given him. +When snow slid from an overweighted leaf, +Shaking the tree, it might have been a bird +Slipping in sleep or shelter, whirring wings; +Yet never bird fell out, save once a dead one-- +And in two days the snow had covered it. +The dog had howled again--or thus it seemed +Until a lean fox passed and cried no more. +All was so safe indoors where life went on +Glad of the close enfolding snow--O glad +To be so safe and secret at its heart, +Watching the strangeness of familiar things. +They knew not what dim hours went on, went by, +For while they slept the clock stopt newly wound +As the cold hardened. Once they watched the road, +Thinking to be remembered. Once they doubted +If they had kept the sequence of the days, +Because they heard not any sound of bells. +A butterfly, that hid until the Spring +Under a ceiling's shadow, dropt, was dead. +The coldness seemed more nigh, the coldness deepened +As a sound deepens into silences; +It was of earth and came not by the air; +The earth was cooling and drew down the sky. +The air was crumbling. There was no more sky. +Rails of a broken bed charred in the grate, +And when he touched the bars he thought the sting +Came from their heat--he could not feel such cold ... +She said 'O, do not sleep, +Heart, heart of mine, keep near me. No, no; sleep. +I will not lift his fallen, quiet eyelids, +Although I know he would awaken then-- +He closed them thus but now of his own will. +He can stay with me while I do not lift them.' + + + +BABEL: THE GATE OF THE GOD + + +Lost towers impend, copeless primeval props +Of the new threatening sky, and first rude digits +Of awe remonstrance and uneasy power +Thrust out by man when speech sank back in his throat: +Then had the last rocks ended bubbling up +And rhythms of change within the heart begun +By a blind need that would make Springs and Winters; +Pylons and monoliths went on by ages, +Mycenae and Great Zimbabwe came about; +Cowed hearts in This conceived a pyramid +That leaned to hold itself upright, a thing +Foredoomed to limits, death and an easy apex; +Then postulants for the stars' previous wisdom +Standing on Carthage must get nearer still; +While in Chaldea an altitude of god +Being mooted, and a saurian unearthed +Upon a mountain stirring a surmise +Of floods and alterations of the sea, +A round-walled tower must rise upon Senaar +Temple and escape to god the ascertained. +These are decayed like Time's teeth in his mouth, +Black cavities and gaps, yet earth is darkened +By their deep-sunken and unfounded shadows +And memories of man's earliest theme of towers. + +Space--the old source of time--should be undone, +Eternity defined, by men who trusted +Another tier would equal them with god. +A city of grimed brick-kilns, squat truncations, +Hunched like spread toads yet high beneath their circles +Of low packed smoke, assemblages of thunder +That glowed upon their under sides by night +And lit like storm small shadowless workmen's toil. +Meaningless stumps, upturned bare roots, remained +In fields of mashy mud and trampled leaves; +While, if a horse died hauling, plasterers +Knelt on a flank to clip its sweaty coat. + +A builder leans across the last wide courses; +His unadjustable unreaching eyes +Fail under him before his glances sink +On the clouds' upper layers of sooty curls +Where some long lightning goes like swallows downward, +But at the wider gallery next below +Recognise master-masons with pricked parchments: +That builder then, as one who condescends +Unto the sea and all that is beneath him, +His hairy breast on the wet mortar, calls +'How many fathoms is it yet to heaven!' +On the next eminence the orgulous king +Nimroud stands up conceiving he shall live +To conquer god, now that he knows where god is: +His eager hands push up the tower in thought ... +Again, his shaggy inhuman height strides down +Among the carpenters because he has seen +One shape an eagle-woman on a door-post: +He drives his spear-beam through him for wasted day. + +Little men hurrying, running here and there, +Within the dark and stifling walls, dissent +From every sound, and shoulder empty hods: +'The god's great altar should stand in the crypt +Among our earth's foundations'--'The god's great altar +Must be the last far coping of our work'-- +It should inaugurate the broad main stair'-- +'Or end it'--'It must stand toward the East!' +But here a grave contemptuous youth cries out +'Womanish babblers, how can we build god's altar +Ere we divine its foreordained true shape?' +Then one 'It is a pedestal for deeds'-- +''Tis more and should be hewn like the king's brow'-- +'It has the nature of a woman's bosom'-- +'The tortoise, first created, signifies it'-- +'A blind and rudimentary navel shows +The source of worship better than horned moons.' +Then a lean giant 'Is not a calyx needful?'-- +'Because round grapes on statues well expressed +Become the nadir of incense, nodal lamps, +Yet apes have hands that cut and carved red crystal'-- +'Birds molten, touchly talc veins bronze buds crumble +Ablid ublai ghan isz rad eighar ghaurl ...' +Words said too often seemed such ancient sounds +That men forgot them or were lost in them; +The guttural glottis-chasms of language reached, +A rhythm, a gasp, were curves of immortal thought. + +Man with his bricks was building, building yet, +Where dawn and midnight mingled and woke no birds, +In the last courses, building past his knowledge +A wall that swung--for towers can have no tops, +No chord can mete the universal segment, +Earth has not basis. Yet the yielding sky, +Invincible vacancy, was there discovered-- +Though piled-up bricks should pulp the sappy balks, +Weight generate a secrecy of heat, +Cankerous charring, crevices' fronds of flame. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +RUPERT BROOKE + + + +THE OLD VICARAGE, GRANTCHESTER + + +[Cafe des Westens, Berlin] + + +Just now the lilac is in bloom, +All before my little room; +And in my flower-beds, I think, +Smile the carnation and the pink; +And down the borders, well I know, +The poppy and the pansy blow ... +Oh! there the chestnuts, summer through, +Beside the river make for you +A tunnel of green gloom, and sleep +Deeply above; and green and deep +The stream mysterious glides beneath, +Green as a dream and deep as death.-- +Oh, damn! I know it! and I know +How the May fields all golden show, +And when the day is young and sweet, +Gild gloriously the bare feet +That run to bathe ... + 'Du lieber Gott!' + +Here am I, sweating, sick, and hot, +And there the shadowed waters fresh +Lean up to embrace the naked flesh. +'Temperamentvoll' German Jews +Drink beer around; and 'there' the dews +Are soft beneath a morn of gold. +Here tulips bloom as they are told; +Unkempt about those hedges blows +An English unofficial rose; +And there the unregulated sun +Slopes down to rest when day is done, +And wakes a vague unpunctual star, +A slippered Hesper; and there are +Meads towards Haslingfield and Coton +Where 'das Betreten's' not 'verboten' ... + +[Greek: eithe genoimaen] ... would I were +In Grantchester, in Grantchester!-- +Some, it may be, can get in touch +With Nature there, or Earth, or such. +And clever modern men have seen +A Faun a-peeping through the green, +And felt the Classics were not dead, +To glimpse a Naiad's reedy head, +Or hear the Goat-foot piping low ... +But these are things I do not know. +I only know that you may lie +Day long and watch the Cambridge sky, +And, flower-lulled in sleepy grass, +Hear the cool lapse of hours pass, +Until the centuries blend and blur +In Grantchester, in Grantchester ... +Still in the dawnlit waters cool +His ghostly Lordship swims his pool, +And tries the strokes, essays the tricks, +Long learnt on Hellespont, or Styx; +Dan Chaucer hears his river still +Chatter beneath a phantom mill; +Tennyson notes, with studious eye, +How Cambridge waters hurry by ... +And in that garden, black and white +Creep whispers through the grass all night; +And spectral dance, before the dawn, +A hundred Vicars down the lawn; +Curates, long dust, will come and go +On lissom, clerical, printless toe; +And oft between the boughs is seen +The sly shade of a Rural Dean ... +Till, at a shiver in the skies, +Vanishing with Satanic cries, +The prim ecclesiastic rout +Leaves but a startled sleeper-out, +Grey heavens, the first bird's drowsy calls, +The falling house that never falls. + + * * * * * + +God! I will pack, and take a train, +And get me to England once again! +For England's the one land, I know, +Where men with Splendid Hearts may go; +And Cambridgeshire, of all England, +The shire for Men who Understand; +And of 'that' district I prefer +The lovely hamlet Grantchester. +For Cambridge people rarely smile, +Being urban, squat, and packed with guile; +And Royston men in the far South +Are black and fierce and strange of mouth; +At Over they fling oaths at one, +And worse than oaths at Trumpington, +And Ditton girls are mean and dirty, +And there's none in Harston under thirty, +And folks in Shelford and those parts +Have twisted lips and twisted hearts, +And Barton men make cockney rhymes, +And Coton's full of nameless crimes, +And things are done you'd not believe +At Madingley on Christmas Eve. +Strong men have run for miles and miles +When one from Cherry Hinton smiles; +Strong men have blanched and shot their wives +Rather than send them to St. Ives; +Strong men have cried like babes, bydam, +To hear what happened at Babraham. +But Grantchester! ah, Grantchester! +There's peace and holy quiet there, +Great clouds along pacific skies, +And men and women with straight eyes, +Lithe children lovelier than a dream, +A bosky wood, a slumbrous stream, +And little kindly winds that creep +Round twilight corners, half asleep. +In Grantchester their skins are white, +They bathe by day, they bathe by night; +The women there do all they ought; +The men observe the Rules of Thought. +They love the Good; they worship Truth; +They laugh uproariously in youth; +(And when they get to feeling old, +They up and shoot themselves, I'm told)... + +Ah God! to see the branches stir +Across the moon at Grantchester! +To smell the thrilling-sweet and rotten +Unforgettable, unforgotten +River smell, and hear the breeze +Sobbing in the little trees. +Say, do the elm-clumps greatly stand, +Still guardians of that holy land? +The chestnuts shade, in reverend dream, +The yet unacademic stream? +Is dawn a secret shy and cold +Anadyomene, silver-gold? +And sunset still a golden sea +From Haslingfield to Madingley? +And after, ere the night is born, +Do hares come out about the corn? +Oh, is the water sweet and cool +Gentle and brown, above the pool? +And laughs the immortal river still +Under the mill, under the mill? +Say, is there Beauty yet to find? +And Certainty? and Quiet kind? +Deep meadows yet, for to forget +The lies, and truths, and pain? ... oh! yet +Stands the Church clock at ten to three? +And is there honey still for tea? + + + +DUST + + +When the white flame in us is gone, + And we that lost the world's delight +Stiffen in darkness, left alone + To crumble in our separate night; + +When your swift hair is quiet in death, + And through the lips corruption thrust +Has stilled the labour of my breath-- + When we are dust, when we are dust!-- + +Not dead, not undesirous yet, + Still sentient, still unsatisfied, +We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit, + Around the places where we died, + +And dance as dust before the sun, + And light of foot, and unconfined, +Hurry from road to road, and run + About the errands of the wind. + +And every mote, on earth or air, + Will speed and gleam, down later days. +And like a secret pilgrim fare + By eager and invisible ways, + +Nor ever rest, nor ever lie, + Till, beyond thinking, out of view, +One mote of all the dust that's I + Shall meet one atom that was you. + +Then in some garden hushed from wind, + Warm in a sunset's afterglow, +The lovers in the flowers will find + A sweet and strange unquiet grow + +Upon the peace; and, past desiring, + So high a beauty in the air, +And such a light, and such a quiring, + And such a radiant ecstasy there, + +They'll know not if it's fire, or dew, + Or out of earth, or in the height, +Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue, + Or two that pass, in light, to light, + +Out of the garden, higher, higher ... + But in that instant they shall learn +The shattering fury of our fire, + And the weak passionless hearts will burn + +And faint in that amazing glow, + Until the darkness close above; +And they will know--poor fools, they'll know!-- + One moment, what it is to love. + + + +THE FISH + + +In a cool curving world he lies +And ripples with dark ecstasies. +The kind luxurious lapse and steal +Shapes all his universe to feel +And know and be; the clinging stream +Closes his memory, glooms his dream, +Who lips the roots o' the shore, and glides +Superb on unreturning tides. +Those silent waters weave for him +A fluctuant mutable world and dim, +Where wavering masses bulge and gape +Mysterious, and shape to shape +Dies momently through whorl and hollow, +And form and line and solid follow +Solid and line and form to dream +Fantastic down the eternal stream; +An obscure world, a shifting world, +Bulbous, or pulled to thin, or curled, +Or serpentine, or driving arrows, +Or serene slidings, or March narrows. +There slipping wave and shore are one, +And weed and mud. No ray of sun, +But glow to glow fades down the deep +(As dream to unknown dream in sleep); +Shaken translucency illumes +The hyaline of drifting glooms; +The strange soft-handed depth subdues +Drowned colour there, but black to hues, +As death to living, decomposes-- +Red darkness of the heart of roses, +Blue brilliant from dead starless skies, +And gold that lies behind the eyes, +The unknown unnameable sightless white +That is the essential flame of night, +Lustreless purple, hooded green, +The myriad hues that lie between +Darkness and darkness! ... + + And all's one, +Gentle, embracing, quiet, dun, +The world he rests in, world he knows, +Perpetual curving. Only--grows +An eddy in that ordered falling, +A knowledge from the gloom, a calling +Weed in the wave, gleam in the mud-- +The dark fire leaps along his blood; +Dateless and deathless, blind and still, +The intricate impulse works its will; +His woven world drops back; and he, +Sans providence, sans memory, +Unconscious and directly driven, +Fades to some dank sufficient heaven. + +O world of lips, O world of laughter, +Where hope is fleet and thought flies after, +Of lights in the clear night, of cries +That drift along the wave and rise +Thin to the glittering stars above, +You know the hands, the eyes of love! +The strife of limbs, the sightless clinging, +The infinite distance, and the singing +Blown by the wind, a flame of sound, +The gleam, the flowers, and vast around +The horizon, and the heights above-- +You know the sigh, the song of love! + +But there the night is close, and there +Darkness is cold and strange and bare; +And the secret deeps are whisperless; +And rhythm is all deliciousness; +And joy is in the throbbing tide, +Whose intricate fingers beat and glide +In felt bewildering harmonies +Of trembling touch; and music is +The exquisite knocking of the blood. +Space is no more, under the mud; +His bliss is older than the sun. +Silent and straight the waters run, +The lights, the cries, the willows dim, +And the dark tide are one with him. + + + +TOWN AND COUNTRY + + +Here, where love's stuff is body, arm and side + Are stabbing-sweet 'gainst chair and lamp and wall. +In every touch more intimate meanings hide; + And flaming brains are the white heart of all. + +Here, million pulses to one centre beat: + Closed in by men's vast friendliness, alone, +Two can be drunk with solitude, and meet + On the sheer point where sense with knowing's one. + +Here the green-purple clanging royal night, + And the straight lines and silent walls of town, +And roar, and glare, and dust, and myriad white + Undying passers, pinnacle and crown + +Intensest heavens between close-lying faces + By the lamp's airless fierce ecstatic fire; +And we've found love in little hidden places, + Under great shades, between the mist and mire. + +Stay! though the woods are quiet, and you've heard + Night creep along the hedges. Never go +Where tangled foliage shrouds the crying bird, + And the remote winds sigh, and waters flow! + +Lest--as our words fall dumb on windless noons, + Or hearts grow hushed and solitary, beneath +Unheeding stars and unfamiliar moons, + Or boughs bend over, close and quiet as death,-- + +Unconscious and unpassionate and still, + Cloud-like we lean and stare as bright leaves stare, +And gradually along the stranger hill + Our unwalled loves thin out on vacuous air, + +And suddenly there's no meaning in our kiss, + And your lit upward face grows, where we lie, +Lonelier and dreadfuller than sunlight is, + And dumb and mad and eyeless like the sky. + + + +DINING-ROOM TEA + + +When you were there, and you, and you, +Happiness crowned the night; I too, +Laughing and looking, one of all, +I watched the quivering lamplight fall +On plate and flowers and pouring tea +And cup and cloth; and they and we +Flung all the dancing moments by +With jest and glitter. Lip and eye +Flashed on the glory, shone and cried, +Improvident, unmemoried; +And fitfully and like a flame +The light of laughter went and came. +Proud in their careless transience moved +The changing faces that I loved. + +Till suddenly, and otherwhence, +I looked upon your innocence; +For lifted clear and still and strange +From the dark woven flow of change +Under a vast and starless sky +I saw the immortal moment lie. +One instant I, an instant, knew +As God knows all. And it and you +I, above Time, oh, blind! could see +In witless immortality. +I saw the marble cup; the tea, +Hung on the air, an amber stream; +I saw the fire's unglittering gleam, +The painted flame, the frozen smoke. +No more the flooding lamplight broke +On flying eyes and lips and hair; +But lay, but slept unbroken there, +On stiller flesh, and body breathless, +And lips and laughter stayed and deathless, +And words on which no silence grew. +Light was more alive than you. + +For suddenly, and otherwhence, +I looked on your magnificence. +I saw the stillness and the light, +And you, august, immortal, white, +Holy and strange; and every glint +Posture and jest and thought and tint +Freed from the mask of transiency, +Triumphant in eternity, +Immote, immortal. + + Dazed at length +Human eyes grew, mortal strength +Wearied; and Time began to creep. +Change closed about me like a sleep. +Light glinted on the eyes I loved. +The cup was filled. The bodies moved. +The drifting petal came to ground. +The laughter chimed its perfect round. +The broken syllable was ended. +And I, so certain and so friended, +How could I cloud, or how distress, +The heaven of your unconsciousness? +Or shake at Time's sufficient spell, +Stammering of lights unutterable? +The eternal holiness of you, +The timeless end, you never knew, +The peace that lay, the light that shone. +You never knew that I had gone +A million miles away, and stayed +A million years. The laughter played +Unbroken round me; and the jest +Flashed on. And we that knew the best +Down wonderful hours grew happier yet. +I sang at heart, and talked, and eat, +And lived from laugh to laugh, I too, +When you were there, and you, and you. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +GILBERT K. CHESTERTON + + + +THE SONG OF ELF + + +Blue-eyed was Elf the minstrel, + With womanish hair and ring, +Yet heavy was his hand on sword, + Though light upon the string. + +And as he stirred the strings of the harp + To notes but four or five, +The heart of each man moved in him + Like a babe buried alive. + +And they felt the land of the folk-songs + Spread southward of the Dane, +And they heard the good Rhine flowing + In the heart of all Allemagne. + +They felt the land of the folk-songs, + Where the gifts hang on the tree, +Where the girls give ale at morning + And the tears come easily, + +The mighty people, womanlike, + That have pleasure in their pain; +As he sang of Balder beautiful, + Whom the heavens loved in vain. + +As he sang of Balder beautiful, + Whom the heavens could not save, +Till the world was like a sea of tears + And every soul a wave. + +'There is always a thing forgotten + When all the world goes well; +A thing forgotten, as long ago +When the gods forgot the mistletoe, +And soundless as an arrow of snow + The arrow of anguish fell. + +'The thing on the blind side of the heart, + On the wrong side of the door; +The green plant groweth, menacing +Almighty lovers in the spring; +There is always a forgotten thing, + And love is not secure.' + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + + +THE CHILD AND THE MARINER + + +A dear old couple my grandparents were, +And kind to all dumb things; they saw in Heaven +The lamb that Jesus petted when a child; +Their faith was never draped by Doubt: to them +Death was a rainbow in Eternity, +That promised everlasting brightness soon. +An old seafaring man was he; a rough +Old man, but kind; and hairy, like the nut +Full of sweet milk. All day on shore he watched +The winds for sailors' wives, and told what ships +Enjoyed fair weather, and what ships had storms; +He watched the sky, and he could tell for sure +What afternoons would follow stormy morns, +If quiet nights would end wild afternoons. +He leapt away from scandal with a roar, +And if a whisper still possessed his mind, +He walked about and cursed it for a plague. +He took offence at Heaven when beggars passed, +And sternly called them back to give them help. +In this old captain's house I lived, and things +That house contained were in ships' cabins once; +Sea-shells and charts and pebbles, model ships; +Green weeds, dried fishes stuffed, and coral stalks; +Old wooden trunks with handles of spliced rope, +With copper saucers full of monies strange, +That seemed the savings of dead men, not touched +To keep them warm since their real owners died; +Strings of red beads, methought were dipped in blood, +And swinging lamps, as though the house might move; +An ivory lighthouse built on ivory rocks, +The bones of fishes and three bottled ships. +And many a thing was there which sailors make +In idle hours, when on long voyages, +Of marvellous patience, to no lovely end. +And on those charts I saw the small black dots +That were called islands, and I knew they had +Turtles and palms, and pirates' buried gold. +There came a stranger to my granddad's house, +The old man's nephew, a seafarer too; +A big, strong able man who could have walked +Twm Barlum's hill all clad in iron mail; +So strong he could have made one man his club +To knock down others--Henry was his name, +No other name was uttered by his kin. +And here he was, insooth illclad, but oh, +Thought I, what secrets of the sea are his! +This man knows coral islands in the sea, +And dusky girls heartbroken for white men; +This sailor knows of wondrous lands afar, +More rich than Spain, when the Phoenicians shipped +Silver for common ballast, and they saw +Horses at silver mangers eating grain; +This man has seen the wind blow up a mermaid's hair +Which, like a golden serpent, reared and stretched +To feel the air away beyond her head. +He begged my pennies, which I gave with joy-- +He will most certainly return some time +A self-made king of some new land, and rich. +Alas that he, the hero of my dreams, +Should be his people's scorn; for they had rose +To proud command of ships, whilst he had toiled +Before the mast for years, and well content; +Him they despised, and only Death could bring +A likeness in his face to show like them. +For he drank all his pay, nor went to sea +As long as ale was easy got on shore. +Now, in his last long voyage he had sailed +From Plymouth Sound to where sweet odours fan +The Cingalese at work, and then back home-- +But came not near his kin till pay was spent. +He was not old, yet seemed so; for his face +Looked like the drowned man's in the morgue, when it +Has struck the wooden wharves and keels of ships. +And all his flesh was pricked with Indian ink, +His body marked as rare and delicate +As dead men struck by lightning under trees, +And pictured with fine twigs and curled ferns; +Chains on his neck and anchors on his arms; +Rings on his fingers, bracelets on his wrist; +And on his breast the Jane of Appledore +Was schooner rigged, and in full sail at sea. +He could not whisper with his strong hoarse voice, +No more than could a horse creep quietly; +He laughed to scorn the men that muffled close +For fear of wind, till all their neck was hid, +Like Indian corn wrapped up in long green leaves; +He knew no flowers but seaweeds brown and green, +He knew no birds but those that followed ships. +Full well he knew the water-world; he heard +A grander music there than we on land, +When organ shakes a church; swore he would make +The sea his home, though it was always roused +By such wild storms as never leave Cape Horn; +Happy to hear the tempest grunt and squeal +Like pigs heard dying in a slaughterhouse. +A true-born mariner, and this his hope-- +His coffin would be what his cradle was, +A boat to drown in and be sunk at sea; +To drown at sea and lie a dainty corpse +Salted and iced in Neptune's larder deep. +This man despised small coasters, fishing-smacks; +He scorned those sailors who at night and morn +Can see the coast, when in their little boats +They go a six days' voyage and are back +Home with their wives for every Sabbath day. +Much did he talk of tankards of old beer, +And bottled stuff he drank in other lands, +Which was a liquid fire like Hell to gulp, +But Paradise to sip. + + And so he talked; +Nor did those people listen with more awe +To Lazarus--whom they had seen stone dead-- +Than did we urchins to that seaman's voice. +He many a tale of wonder told: of where, +At Argostoli, Cephalonia's sea +Ran over the earth's lip in heavy floods; +And then again of how the strange Chinese +Conversed much as our homely Blackbirds sing. +He told us how he sailed in one old ship +Near that volcano Martinique, whose power +Shook like dry leaves the whole Carribean seas; +And made the sun set in a sea of fire +Which only half was his; and dust was thick +On deck, and stones were pelted at the mast. +So, as we walked along, that seaman dropped +Into my greedy ears such words that sleep +Stood at my pillow half the night perplexed. +He told how isles sprang up and sank again, +Between short voyages, to his amaze; +How they did come and go, and cheated charts; +Told how a crew was cursed when one man killed +A bird that perched upon a moving barque; +And how the sea's sharp needles, firm and strong, +Ripped open the bellies of big, iron ships; +Of mighty icebergs in the Northern seas, +That haunt the far horizon like white ghosts, +He told of waves that lift a ship so high +That birds could pass from starboard unto port +Under her dripping keel. + + Oh, it was sweet +To hear that seaman tell such wondrous tales: +How deep the sea in parts, that drowned men +Must go a long way to their graves and sink +Day after day, and wander with the tides. +He spake of his own deeds; of how he sailed +One summer's night along the Bosphorus, +And he--who knew no music like the wash +Of waves against a ship, or wind in shrouds-- +Heard then the music on that woody shore +Of nightingales, and feared to leave the deck, +He thought 'twas sailing into Paradise. +To hear these stories all we urchins placed +Our pennies in that seaman's ready hand; +Until one morn he signed for a long cruise, +And sailed away--we never saw him more. +Could such a man sink in the sea unknown? +Nay, he had found a land with something rich, +That kept his eyes turned inland for his life. +'A damn bad sailor and a landshark too, +No good in port or out'--my granddad said. + + + +DAYS TOO SHORT + + +When primroses are out in Spring, + And small, blue violets come between; + When merry birds sing on boughs green, +And rills, as soon as born, must sing; + +When butterflies will make side-leaps, + As though escaped from Nature's hand + Ere perfect quite; and bees will stand +Upon their heads in fragrant deeps; + +When small clouds are so silvery white + Each seems a broken rimmed moon-- + When such things are, this world too soon, +For me, doth wear the veil of Night. + + + +IN MAY + + +Yes, I will spend the livelong day +With Nature in this month of May; +And sit beneath the trees, and share +My bread with birds whose homes are there; +While cows lie down to eat, and sheep +Stand to their necks in grass so deep; +While birds do sing with all their might, +As though they felt the earth in flight. +This is the hour I dreamed of, when +I sat surrounded by poor men; +And thought of how the Arab sat +Alone at evening, gazing at +The stars that bubbled in clear skies; + +And of young dreamers, when their eyes +Enjoyed methought a precious boon +In the adventures of the Moon +Whose light, behind the Clouds' dark bars, +Searched for her stolen flocks of stars. +When I, hemmed in by wrecks of men, +Thought of some lonely cottage then, +Full of sweet books; and miles of sea, +With passing ships, in front of me; +And having, on the other hand, +A flowery, green, bird-singing land. + + + +THE HEAP OF RAGS + + +One night when I went down +Thames' side, in London Town, +A heap of rags saw I, +And sat me down close by. +That thing could shout and bawl, +But showed no face at all; +When any steamer passed +And blew a loud shrill blast, +That heap of rags would sit +And make a sound like it; +When struck the clock's deep bell, +It made those peals as well. +When winds did moan around, +It mocked them with that sound; +When all was quiet, it +Fell into a strange fit; +Would sigh, and moan and roar, +It laughed, and blessed, and swore. +Yet that poor thing, I know, +Had neither friend nor foe; +Its blessing or its curse +Made no one better or worse. +I left it in that place-- +The thing that showed no face, +Was it a man that had +Suffered till he went mad? +So many showers and not +One rainbow in the lot; +Too many bitter fears +To make a pearl from tears. + + + +THE KINGFISHER + + +It was the Rainbow gave thee birth, + And left thee all her lovely hues; +And, as her mother's name was Tears, + So runs it in thy blood to choose +For haunts the lonely pools, and keep +In company with trees that weep. + +Go you and, with such glorious hues, + Live with proud Peacocks in green parks; +On lawns as smooth as shining glass, + Let every feather show its marks; +Get thee on boughs and clap thy wings +Before the windows of proud kings. + +Nay, lovely Bird, thou art not vain; + Thou hast no proud, ambitious mind; +I also love a quiet place + That's green, away from all mankind; +A lonely pool, and let a tree +Sigh with her bosom over me. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +WALTER DE LA MARE + + + +ARABIA + + +Far are the shades of Arabia, + Where the Princes ride at noon, +'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets, + Under the ghost of the moon; +And so dark is that vaulted purple + Flowers in the forest rise +And toss into blossom 'gainst the phantom stars + Pale in the noonday skies. + +Sweet is the music of Arabia + In my heart, when out of dreams +I still in the thin clear mirk of dawn + Descry her gliding streams; +Hear her strange lutes on the green banks + Ring loud with the grief and delight +Of the dim-silked, dark-haired Musicians + In the brooding silence of night. + +They haunt me--her lutes and her forests; + No beauty on earth I see +But shadowed with that dream recalls + Her loveliness to me: +Still eyes look coldly upon me, + Cold voices whisper and say-- +He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia, + They have stolen his wits away.' + + + +THE SLEEPER + + +As Ann came in one summer's day, + She felt that she must creep, +So silent was the clear cool house, + It seemed a house of sleep. +And sure, when she pushed open the door, + Rapt in the stillness there, +Her mother sat, with stooping head, + Asleep upon a chair; +Fast--fast asleep; her two hands laid + Loose-folded on her knee, +So that her small unconscious face + Looked half unreal to be: +So calmly lit with sleep's pale light + Each feature was; so fair +Her forehead--every trouble was + Smooth'd out beneath her hair. + +But though her mind in dream now moved, + Still seemed her gaze to rest +From out beneath her fast-sealed lids, + Above her moving breast, +On Ann, as quite, quite still she stood; + Yet slumber lay so deep +Even her hands upon her lap + Seemed saturate with sleep. +And as Ann peeped, a cloudlike dread + Stole over her, and then, +On stealthy, mouselike feet she trod, + And tiptoed out again. + + + +WINTER DUSK + + +Dark frost was in the air without, +The dusk was still with cold and gloom, +When less than even a shadow came + And stood within the room. + +But of the three around the fire, +None turned a questioning head to look, +Still read a clear voice, on and on, + Still stooped they o'er their book. + +The children watched their mother's eyes +Moving on softly line to line; +It seemed to listen too--that shade, + Yet made no outward sign. + +The fire-flames crooned a tiny song, +No cold wind moved the wintry tree; +The children both in Faerie dreamed + Beside their mother's knee. + +And nearer yet that spirit drew +Above that heedless one, intent +Only on what the simple words + Of her small story meant. + +No voiceless sorrow grieved her mind, +No memory her bosom stirred, +Nor dreamed she, as she read to two, + 'Twas surely three who heard. + +Yet when, the story done, she smiled +From face to face, serene and clear, +A love, half dread, sprang up, as she + Leaned close and drew them near. + + + +MISS LOO + + +When thin-strewn memory I look through, +I see most clearly poor Miss Loo, +Her tabby cat, her cage of birds, +Her nose, her hair--her muffled words, +And how she'd open her green eyes, +As if in some immense surprise, +Whenever as we sat at tea, +She made some small remark to me. + +It's always drowsy summer when +From out the past she comes again; +The westering sunshine in a pool +Floats in her parlour still and cool; +While the slim bird its lean wires shakes, +As into piercing song it breaks; +Till Peter's pale-green eyes ajar +Dream, wake; wake, dream, in one brief bar; +And I am sitting, dull and shy, +And she with gaze of vacancy, +And large hands folded on the tray, +Musing the afternoon away; +Her satin bosom heaving slow +With sighs that softly ebb and flow, +And her plain face in such dismay, +It seems unkind to look her way: +Until all cheerful back will come +Her cheerful gleaming spirit home: +And one would think that poor Miss Loo +Asked nothing else, if she had you. + + + +THE LISTENERS + + +'Is there anybody there?' said the Traveller, + Knocking on the moonlit door; +And his horse in the silence champed the grasses + Of the forest's ferny floor: +And a bird flew up out of the turret, + Above the Traveller's head: +And he smote upon the door again a second time; + 'Is there anybody there?' he said. +But no one descended to the Traveller; + No head from the leaf-fringed sill +Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, + Where he stood perplexed and still. +But only a host of phantom listeners + That dwelt in the lone house then +Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight + To that voice from the world of men: +Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair, + That goes down to the empty hall, +Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken + By the lonely Traveller's call. +And he felt in his heart their strangeness, + Their stillness answering his cry, +While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf, + 'Neath the starred and leafy sky; +For he suddenly smote on the door, even + Louder, and lifted his head:-- +'Tell them I came, and no one answered, + That I kept my word,' he said. +Never the least stir made the listeners, + Though every word he spake +Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house + From the one man left awake: +Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup, + And the sound of iron on stone, +And how the silence surged softly backward, + When the plunging hoofs were gone. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +JOHN DRINKWATER + + + +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 disturbed fret +Of men who made brief tarrying in hell +On their earth-travelling. +It was as though the lives of men should be +Set 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 +Shaping belief that even yet should grow +Out of this dread confusion, as of broken crafts +Driven along ungovernable seas, +Some threads of 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 the 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 shadow and shine +Of the high moon, 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 + +'Twas 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 +Established 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. + + Long ere from immanent silence leapt + Obedient hands and fashioning will, + The giant god within us slept, + And dreamt of seasons to fulfil + The shaping of our souls that still + Expectant earthward vigil kept; + Our wisdom grew from secrets drawn + From that far-off dim-memoried dawn. + + 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 beloved span + Of this our glad earth-travelling, + Of beauty's bloom and ordered plan, + Of love and love's 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 dear untroubled skies, + We see the glory 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. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +JAMES ELROY FLECKER + + + +JOSEPH AND MARY + + +Joseph: + +Mary, art thou the little maid + Who plucked me flowers in Spring? +I know thee not; I feel afraid: + Thou'rt strange this evening. + +A sweet and rustic girl I won + What time the woods were green; +No woman with deep eyes that shone, + And the pale brows of a Queen. + + +Mary: (inattentive to his words) + +A stranger came with feet of flame + And told me this strange thing,-- +For all I was a village maid + My son should be a King. + + +Joseph: + +A King, dear wife? Who ever knew + Of Kings in stables born! + + +Mary: + +Do you hear, in the dark and starlit blue + The clarion and the horn? + + +Joseph: + +Mary, alas, lest grief and joy + Have sent thy wits astray; +But let me look on this my boy, + And take the wraps away. + + +Mary: + +Behold the lad. + + +Joseph: + +I dare not gaze: +Light streams from every limb. + + +Mary: + +The winter sun has stored his rays, +And passed the fire to him. + +Look Eastward, look! I hear a sound. +O Joseph, what do you see? + + +Joseph: + +The snow lies quiet on the ground +And glistens on the tree; + +The sky is bright with a star's great light, +And clearly I behold +Three Kings descending yonder hill, +Whose crowns are crowns of gold. + +O Mary, what do you hear and see +With your brow toward the West? + + +Mary: + +The snow lies glistening on the tree +And silent on Earth's breast; + +And strong and tall, with lifted eyes +Seven shepherds walk this way, +And angels breaking from the skies +Dance, and sing hymns, and pray. + + +Joseph: + +I wonder much at these bright Kings; +The shepherds I despise. + + +Mary: + +You know not what a shepherd sings, +Nor see his shining eyes. + + + +THE QUEEN'S SONG + + +Had I the power + To Midas given of old +To touch a flower + And leave the petals gold, +I then might touch thy face, + Delightful boy, +And leave a metal grace, + A graven joy. + +Thus would I slay-- + Ah, desperate device! +The vital day + That trembles in thine eyes, +And let the red lips close + Which sang so well, +And drive away the rose + To leave a shell. + +Then I myself, + Rising austere and dumb, +On the high shelf + Of my half-lighted room, +Would place the shining bust + And wait alone, +Until I was but dust, + Buried unknown. + +Thus in my love + For nations yet unborn, +I would remove + From our two lives the morn, +And muse on loveliness + In mine armchair, +Content should Time confess + How sweet you were. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +WILFRID WILSON GIBSON + + + +THE HARE + + +My hands were hot upon a hare, +Half-strangled, struggling in a snare--- +My knuckles at her warm wind-pipe-- +When suddenly, her eyes shot back, +Big, fearful, staggering and black; +And ere I knew, my grip was slack; +And I was clutching empty air, +Half-mad, half-glad at my lost luck ... +When I awoke beside the stack. + +'Twas just the minute when the snipe +As though clock-wakened, every jack, +An hour ere dawn, dart in and out +The mist-wreaths filling syke and slack, +And flutter wheeling round about, +And drumming out the Summer night. +I lay star-gazing yet a bit; +Then, chilly-skinned, I sat upright, +To shrug the shivers from my back; +And, drawing out a straw to suck, +My teeth nipped through it at a bite ... +The liveliest lad is out of pluck +An hour ere dawn--a tame cock-sparrow-- +When cold stars shiver through his marrow, +And wet mist soaks his mother-wit. + +But, as the snipe dropped, one by one; +And one by one the stars blinked out; +I knew 'twould only need the sun +To send the shudders right about: +And as the clear East faded white, +I watched and wearied for the sun-- +The jolly, welcome, friendly sun-- +The sleepy sluggard of a sun +That still kept snoozing out of sight, +Though well he knew the night was done ... +And after all, he caught me dozing, +And leapt up, laughing, in the sky +Just as my lazy eyes were closing: +And it was good as gold to lie +Full-length among the straw, and feel +The day wax warmer every minute, +As, glowing glad, from head to heel. +I soaked, and rolled rejoicing in it ... +When from, the corner of my eye, +Upon a heathery knowe hard-by, +With long lugs cocked, and eyes astare, +Yet all serene, I saw a hare. + +Upon my belly in the straw, +I lay, and watched her sleek her fur, +As, daintily, with well-licked paw, +She washed her face and neck and ears: +Then, clean and comely in the sun, +She kicked her heels up, full of fun, +As if she did not care a pin +Though she should jump out of her skin, +And leapt and lolloped, free of fears, +Until my heart frisked round with her. + +'And yet, if I but lift my head, +You'll scamper off, young Puss,' I said. +'Still, I can't lie, and watch you play, +Upon my belly half the day. +The Lord alone knows where I'm going: +But, I had best be getting there. +Last night I loosed you from the snare-- +Asleep, or waking, who's for knowing!-- +So, I shall thank you now for showing +Which art to take to bring me where +My luck awaits me. When you're ready +To start, I'll follow on your track. +Though slow of foot, I'm sure and steady ...' +She pricked her ears, then set them back; +And like a shot was out of sight: +And, with a happy heart and light, +As quickly I was on my feet; +And following the way she went, +Keen as a lurcher on the scent, +Across the heather and the bent, +Across the quaking moss and peat. +Of course, I lost her soon enough, +For moorland tracks are steep and rough; +And hares are made of nimbler stuff +Than any lad of seventeen, +However lanky-legged and tough, +However kestrel-eyed and keen: +And I'd at last to stop and eat +The little bit of bread and meat +Left in my pocket overnight. +So, in a hollow, snug and green, +I sat beside a burn, and dipped +The dry bread in an icy pool; +And munched a breakfast fresh and cool ... +And then sat gaping like a fool ... +For, right before my very eyes, +With lugs acock and eyes astare, +I saw again the selfsame hare. + +So, up I jumped, and off she slipped; +And I kept sight of her until +I stumbled in a hole, and tripped, +And came a heavy, headlong spill; +And she, ere I'd the wit to rise, +Was o'er the hill, and out of sight: +And, sore and shaken with the tumbling, +And sicker at my foot for stumbling, +I cursed my luck, and went on, grumbling, +The way her flying heels had fled. + +The sky was cloudless overhead, +And just alive with larks asinging; +And in a twinkling I was swinging +Across the windy hills, lighthearted. +A kestrel at my footstep started, +Just pouncing on a frightened mouse, +And hung o'er head with wings a-hover; +Through rustling heath an adder darted: +A hundred rabbits bobbed to cover: +A weasel, sleek and rusty-red, +Popped out of sight as quick as winking: +I saw a grizzled vixen slinking +Behind a clucking brood of grouse +That rose and cackled at my coming: +And all about my way were flying +The peewit, with their slow wings creaking; +And little jack-snipe darted, drumming: +And now and then a golden plover +Or redshank piped with reedy whistle. +But never shaken bent or thistle +Betrayed the quarry I was seeking; +And not an instant, anywhere +Did I clap eyes upon a hare. + +So, travelling still, the twilight caught me; +And as I stumbled on, I muttered: +'A deal of luck the hare has brought me! +The wind and I must spend together +A hungry night among the heather. +If I'd her here ...' And as I uttered, +I tripped, and heard a frightened squeal; +And dropped my hands in time to feel +The hare just bolting 'twixt my feet. +She slipped my clutch: and I stood there +And cursed that devil-littered hare, +That left me stranded in the dark +In that wide waste of quaggy peat +Beneath black night without a spark: +When, looking up, I saw a flare +Upon a far-off hill, and said: +'By God, the heather is afire! +It's mischief at this time of year ...' +And then, as one bright flame shot higher, +And booths and vans stood out quite clear, +My wits came back into my head; +And I remembered Brough Hill Fair. +And as I stumbled towards the glare +I knew the sudden kindling meant +The Fair was over for the day; +And all the cattle-folk away; +And gipsy folk and tinkers now +Were lighting supper-fires without +Each caravan and booth and tent. +And as I climbed the stiff hill-brow +I quite forgot my lucky hare. +I'd something else to think about: +For well I knew there's broken meat +For empty bellies after fair-time; +And looked to have a royal rare time +With something rich and prime to eat; +And then to lie and toast my feet +All night beside the biggest fire. +But, even as I neared the first, +A pleasant whiff of stewing burst +From out a smoking pot a-bubble: +And as I stopped behind the folk +Who sprawled around, and watched it seething, +A woman heard my eager breathing, +And, turning, caught my hungry eye: +And called out to me: 'Draw in nigher, +Unless you find it too much trouble; +Or you've a nose for better fare, +And go to supper with the Squire ... +You've got the hungry parson's air!' +And all looked up, and took the joke, +As I dropped gladly to the ground +Among them, where they all lay gazing +Upon the bubbling and the blazing. +My eyes were dazzled by the fire +At first; and then I glanced around; +And in those swarthy, fire-lit faces-- +Though drowsing in the glare and heat +And snuffing the warm savour in, +Dead-certain of their fill of meat-- +I felt the bit between the teeth, +The flying heels, the broken traces, +And heard the highroad ring beneath +The trampling hoofs; and knew them kin. +Then for the first time, standing there +Behind the woman who had hailed me, +I saw a girl with eyes astare +That looked in terror o'er my head; +And, all at once, my courage failed me ... +For now again, and sore-adread, +My hands were hot upon a hare, +That struggled, strangling in the snare ... +Then once more as the girl stood clear, +Before me--quaking cold with fear-- +I saw the hare look from her eyes ... + +And when, at last, I turned to see +What held her scared, I saw a man-- +A fat man with dull eyes aleer-- +Within the shadow of the van; +And I was on the point to rise +To send him spinning 'mid the wheels +And stop his leering grin with mud ... +And would have done it in a tick ... +When, suddenly, alive with fright, +She started, with red, parted lips, +As though she guessed we'd come to grips, +And turned her black eyes full on me ... +And as I looked into their light +My heart forgot the lust of fight, +And something shot me to the quick, +And ran like wildfire through my blood, +And tingled to my finger-tips ... +And, in a dazzling flash, I knew +I'd never been alive before ... +And she was mine for evermore. + +While all the others slept asnore +In caravan and tent that night, +I lay alone beside the fire; +And stared into its blazing core, +With eyes that would not shut or tire, +Because the best of all was true, +And they looked still into the light +Of her eyes, burning ever bright. +Within the brightest coal for me ... +Once more, I saw her, as she started, +And glanced at me with red lips parted: +And as she looked, the frightened hare +Had fled her eyes; and merrily, +She smiled, with fine teeth flashing white, +As though she, too, were happy-hearted ... +Then she had trembled suddenly, +And dropped her eyes, as that fat man +Stepped from the shadow of the van, +And joined the circle, as the pot +Was lifted off, and, piping-hot, +The supper steamed in wooden bowls. +Yet, she had hardly touched a bite; +And never raised her eyes all night +To mine again; but on the coals, +As I sat staring, she had stared-- +The black curls, shining round her head +From under the red kerchief, tied +So nattily beneath her chin-- +And she had stolen off to bed +Quite early, looking dazed and scared. +Then, all agape and sleepy-eyed, +Ere long the others had turned in: +And I was rid of that fat man, +Who slouched away to his own van. + +And now, before her van, I lay, +With sleepless eyes, awaiting day; +And as I gazed upon the glare +I heard, behind, a gentle stir: +And, turning round, I looked on her +Where she stood on the little stair +Outside the van, with listening air-- +And, in her eyes, the hunted hare ... +And then, I saw her slip away, +A bundle underneath her arm, +Without a single glance at me. +I lay a moment wondering, +My heart a-thump like anything, +Then, fearing she should come to harm, +I rose, and followed speedily +Where she had vanished in the night. +And as she heard my step behind +She started, and stopt dead with fright; +Then blundered on as if struck blind: +And now as I caught up with her, +Just as she took the moorland track, +I saw the hare's eyes, big and black ... +She made as though she'd double back ... +But when she looked into my eyes, +She stood quite still and did not stir ... +And picking up her fallen pack +I tucked it 'neath my arm; and she +Just took her luck quite quietly, +As she must take what chance might come, +And would not have it otherwise, +And walked into the night with me, +Without a word across the fells. + +And all about us, through the night, +The mists were stealing, cold and white, +Down every rushy syke or slack: +But, soon the moon swung into sight; +And as we went my heart was light. +And singing like a burn in flood: +And in my ears were tinkling bells; +My body was a rattled drum: +And fifes were shrilling through my blood +That summer night, to think that she +Was walking through the world with me. + +But when the air with dawn was chill. +As we were travelling down a hill, +She broke her silence with low-sobbing; +And told her tale, her bosom throbbing +As though her very heart were shaken +With fear she'd yet be overtaken ... +She'd always lived in caravans-- +Her father's, gay as any man's, +Grass-green, picked out with red and yellow +And glittering brave with burnished brass +That sparkled in the sun like flame, +And window curtains, white as snow ... +But, they had died, ten years ago, +Her parents both, when fever came ... +And they were buried, side by side. +Somewhere beneath the wayside grass ... +In times of sickness, they kept wide +Of towns and busybodies, so +No parson's or policeman's tricks +Should bother them when in a fix ... +Her father never could abide +A black coat or a blue, poor man ... +And so, Long Dick, a kindly fellow, +When you could keep him from the can, +And Meg, his easy-going wife, +Had taken her into their van; +And kept her since her parents died ... +And she had lived a happy life, +Until Fat Pete's young wife was taken ... +But, ever since, he'd pestered her ... +And she dared scarcely breathe or stir, +Lest she should see his eyes aleer ... +And many a night she'd lain and shaken, +And very nearly died of fear-- +Though safe enough within the van +With Mother Meg and her good-man-- +For, since Fat Pete was Long Dick's friend, +And they were thick and sweet as honey, +And Dick owed Pete a pot of money, +She knew too well how it must end ... +And she would rather lie stone dead +Beneath the wayside grass than wed +With leering Pete, and live the life, +And die the death, of his first wife ... +And so, last night, clean-daft with dread, +She'd bundled up a pack and fled ... + +When all the sobbing tale was out, +She dried her eyes, and looked about, +As though she'd left all fear behind, +And out of sight were out of mind, +Then, when the dawn was burning red, +'I'm hungry as a hawk!' she said: +And from the bundle took out bread, +And at the happy end of night +We sat together by a burn: +And ate a thick slice, turn by turn; +And laughed and kissed between each bite. + +Then, up again, and on our way +We went; and tramped the livelong day +The moorland trackways, steep and rough, +Though there was little fear enough +That they would follow on our flight. + +And then again a shiny night +Among the honey-scented heather, +We wandered in the moonblaze bright, +Together through a land of light, +A lad and lass alone with life. +And merrily we laughed together, +When, starting up from sleep, we heard +The cock-grouse talking to his wife ... +And 'Old Fat Pete' she called the bird. + +Six months and more have cantered by: +And, Winter past, we're out again-- +We've left the fat and weatherwise +To keep their coops and reeking sties. +And eat their fill of oven-pies, +While we win free and out again +To take potluck beneath the sky +With sun and moon and wind and rain. +Six happy months ... and yet, at night, +I've often wakened in affright, +And looked upon her lying there, +Beside me sleeping quietly, +Adread that when she waked, I'd see +The hunted hare within her eyes. + +And only last night, as I slept +Beneath the shelter of a stack ... +My hands were hot upon a hare, +Half-strangled, struggling in the snare, +When, suddenly, her eyes shot back, +Big, fearful, staggering and black; +And ere I knew, my grip was slack, +And I was clutching empty air ... +Bolt-upright from my sleep I leapt ... +Her place was empty in the straw ... +And then, with quaking heart, I saw +That she was standing in the night, +A leveret cuddled to her breast ... + +I spoke no word; but as the light +Through banks of Eastern cloud was breaking, +She turned, and saw that I was waking: +And told me how she could not rest; +And, rising in the night, she'd found +This baby-hare crouched on the ground; +And she had nursed it quite a while; +But, now, she'd better let it go ... +Its mother would be fretting so ... +A mother's heart ... + I saw her smile, +And look at me with tender eyes; +And as I looked into their light, +My foolish, fearful heart grew wise ... +And now, I knew that never there +I'd see again the startled hare, +Or need to dread the dreams of night. + + + +GERANIUMS + + +Stuck in a bottle on the window-sill, +In the cold gaslight burning gaily red +Against the luminous blue of London night, +These flowers are mine: while somewhere out of sight +In some black-throated alley's stench and heat, +Oblivious of the racket of the street, +A poor old weary woman lies in bed. + +Broken with lust and drink, blear-eyed and ill, +Her battered bonnet nodding on her head, +From a dark arch she clutched my sleeve and said: +'I've sold no bunch to-day, nor touched a bite ... +Son, buy six-pennorth; and 't will mean a bed.' + +So blazing gaily red +Against the luminous deeps +Of starless London night, +They burn for my delight: +While somewhere, snug in bed, +A worn old woman sleeps. + +And yet to-morrow will these blooms be dead +With all their lively beauty; and to-morrow +May end the light lusts and the heavy sorrow +Of that old body with the nodding head. +The last oath muttered, the last pint drained deep, +She'll sink, as Cleopatra sank, to sleep; +Nor need to barter blossoms for a bed. + + + +DEVIL'S EDGE + + +All night I lay on Devil's Edge, +Along an overhanging ledge +Between the sky and sea: +And as I rested 'waiting sleep, +The windless sky and soundless deep +In one dim, blue infinity +Of starry peace encompassed me. + +And I remembered, drowsily, +How 'mid the hills last night I'd lain +Beside a singing moorland burn; +And waked at dawn, to feel the rain +Fall on my face, as on the fern +That drooped about my heather-bed; +And how by noon the wind had blown +The last grey shred from out the sky, +And blew my homespun jacket dry, +As I stood on the topmost stone +That crowns the cairn on Hawkshaw Head, +And caught a gleam of far-off sea; +And heard the wind sing in the bent +Like those far waters calling me: +When, my heart answering to the call, +I followed down the seaward stream, +By silent pool and singing fall; +Till with a quiet, keen content, +I watched the sun, a crimson ball, +Shoot through grey seas a fiery gleam, +Then sink in opal deeps from sight. + +And with the coming on of night, +The wind had dropped: and as I lay, +Retracing all the happy day, +And gazing long and dreamily +Across the dim, unsounding sea, +Over the far horizon came +A sudden sail of amber flame; +And soon the new moon rode on high +Through cloudless deeps of crystal sky. + +Too holy seemed the night for sleep; +And yet, I must have slept, it seems; +For, suddenly, I woke to hear +A strange voice singing, shrill and clear, +Down in a gully black and deep +That cleft the beetling crag in twain. +It seemed the very voice of dreams +That drive hag-ridden souls in fear +Through echoing, unearthly vales, +To plunge in black, slow-crawling streams, +Seeking to drown that cry, in vain ... +Or some sea creature's voice that wails +Through blind, white banks of fog unlifting +To God-forgotten sailors drifting +Rudderless to death ... +And as I heard, +Though no wind stirred, +An icy breath +Was in my hair ... +And clutched my heart with cold despair ... +But, as the wild song died away, +There came a faltering break +That shivered to a sobbing fall; +And seemed half-human, after all ... + +And yet, what foot could find a track +In that deep gully, sheer and black ... +And singing wildly in the night! +So, wondering I lay awake, +Until the coming of the light +Brought day's familiar presence back. + +Down by the harbour-mouth that day. +A fisher told the tale to me. +Three months before, while out at sea, +Young Philip Burn was lost, though how, +None knew, and none would ever know. +The boat becalmed at noonday lay ... +And not a ripple on the sea ... +And Philip standing in the bow, +When his six comrades went below +To sleep away an hour or so, +Dog-tired with working day and night, +While he kept watch ... and not a sound +They heard, until, at set of sun +They woke; and coming up they found +The deck was empty, Philip gone ... +Yet not another boat in sight ... +And not a ripple on the sea. +How he had vanished, none could tell. +They only knew the lad was dead +They'd left but now, alive and well ... +And he, poor fellow, newly-wed ... +And when they broke the news to her, +She spoke no word to anyone: +But sat all day, and would not stir-- +Just staring, staring in the fire, +With eyes that never seemed to tire; +Until, at last, the day was done, +And darkness came; when she would rise, +And seek the door with queer, wild eyes; +And wander singing all the night +Unearthly songs beside the sea: +But always the first blink of light +Would find her back at her own door. + +'Twas Winter when I came once more +To that old village by the shore; +And as, at night, I climbed the street, +I heard a singing, low and sweet, +Within a cottage near at hand: +And I was glad awhile to stand +And listen by the glowing pane: +And as I hearkened, that sweet strain +Brought back the night when I had lain +Awake on Devil's Edge ... +And now I knew the voice again, +So different, free of pain and fear-- +Its terror turned to tenderness-- +And yet the same voice none the less, +Though singing now so true and clear: +And drawing nigh the window-ledge, +I watched the mother sing to rest +The baby snuggling to her breast. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +D.H. LAWRENCE + + + +SNAP-DRAGON + + +She bade me follow to her garden where +The mellow sunlight stood as in a cup +Between the old grey walls; I did not dare +To raise my face, I did not dare look up +Lest her bright eyes like sparrows should fly in +My windows of discovery and shrill 'Sin!' + +So with a downcast mien and laughing voice +I followed, followed the swing of her white dress +That rocked in a lilt along: I watched the poise +Of her feet as they flew for a space, then paused to press +The grass deep down with the royal burden of her: +And gladly I'd offered my breast to the tread of her. + +'I like to see,' she said, and she crouched her down, +She sunk into my sight like a settling bird; +And her bosom couched in the confines of her gown +Like heavy birds at rest there, softly stirred +By her measured breaths: 'I like to see,' said she, +'The snap-dragon put out his tongue at me.' + +She laughed, she reached her hand out to the flower +Closing its crimson throat: my own throat in her power +Strangled, my heart swelled up so full +As if it would burst its wineskin in my throat, +Choke me in my own crimson; I watched her pull +The gorge of the gaping flower, till the blood did float + + Over my eyes and I was blind-- +Her large brown hand stretched over +The windows of my mind, +And in the dark I did discover +Things I was out to find: +My grail, a brown bowl twined +With swollen veins that met in the wrist, +Under whose brown the amethyst +I longed to taste: and I longed to turn +My heart's red measure in her cup, +I longed to feel my hot blood burn +With the lambent amethyst in her cup. + +Then suddenly she looked up +And I was blind in a tawny-gold day +Till she took her eyes away. + + So she came down from above + And emptied my heart of love ... + So I held my heart aloft + To the cuckoo that fluttered above, + And she settled soft. + + It seemed that I and the morning world + Were pressed cup-shape to take this reiver + Bird who was weary to have furled + Her wings on us, + As we were weary to receive her: + + This bird, this rich + Sumptuous central grain, + This mutable witch, + This one refrain. + This laugh in the fight, + This clot of light, + This core of night. + + She spoke, and I closed my eyes + To shut hallucinations out. + I echoed with surprise + Hearing my mere lips shout + The answer they did devise. + + Again, I saw a brown bird hover + Over the flowers at my feet; + I felt a brown bird hover + Over my heart, and sweet + Its shadow lay on my heart. + I thought I saw on the clover + A brown bee pulling apart + The closed flesh of the clover + And burrowing in its heart. + + She moved her hand, and again + I felt the brown bird hover + Over my heart ... and then + The bird came down on my heart, + As on a nest the rover + Cuckoo comes, and shoves over + The brim each careful part + Of love, takes possession and settles her down, + With her wings and her feathers does drown + The nest in a heat of love. + +She turned her flushed face to me for the glint +Of a moment. 'See,' she laughed, 'if you also +Can make them yawn.' I put my hand to the dint +In the flower's throat, and the flower gaped wide with woe. +She watched, she went of a sudden intensely still, +She watched my hand, and I let her watch her fill. + +I pressed the wretched, throttled flower between +My fingers, till its head lay back, its fangs +Poised at her: like a weapon my hand stood white and keen, +And I held the choked flower-serpent in its pangs +Of mordant anguish till she ceased to laugh, +Until her pride's flag, smitten, cleaved down to the staff. + +She hid her face, she murmured between her lips +The low word 'Don't!' I let the flower fall, +But held my hand afloat still towards the slips +Of blossom she fingered, and my crisp fingers all +Put forth to her: she did not move, nor I, +For my hand like a snake watched hers that could not fly. +Then I laughed in the dark of my heart, I did exult +Like a sudden chuckling of music: I bade her eyes +Meet mine, I opened her helpless eyes to consult +Their fear, their shame, their joy that underlies +Defeat in such a battle: in the dark of her eyes +My heart was fierce to make her laughter rise ... +Till her dark deeps shook with convulsive thrills, and the dark +Of her spirit wavered like water thrilled with light, +And my heart leaped up in longing to plunge its stark +Fervour within the pool of her twilight: +Within her spacious gloom, in the mystery +Of her barbarous soul, to grope with ecstasy ... + +And I do not care though the large hands of revenge +Shall get my throat at last--shall get it soon, +If the joy that they are lifted to avenge +Have risen red on my night as a harvest moon, +Which even Death can only put out for me, +And death I know is better than not-to-be. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +JOHN MASEFIELD + + + +BIOGRAPHY + + +When I am buried, all my thoughts and acts +Will be reduced to lists of dates and facts, +And long before this wandering flesh is rotten +The dates which made me will be all forgotten; +And none will know the gleam there used to be +About the feast days freshly kept by me, +But men will call the golden hour of bliss +'About this time,' or 'shortly after this.' + +Men do not heed the rungs by which men climb +Those glittering steps, those milestones upon time, +Those tombstones of dead selves, those hours of birth, +Those moments of the soul in years of earth. +They mark the height achieved, the main result, +The power of freedom in the perished cult, +The power of boredom in the dead man's deeds +Not the bright moments of the sprinkled seeds. + +By many waters and on many ways +I have known golden instants and bright days; +The day on which, beneath an arching sail, +I saw the Cordilleras and gave hail; +The summer day on which in heart's delight +I saw the Swansea Mumbles bursting white, +The glittering day when all the waves wore flags +And the ship Wanderer came with sails in rags; +That curlew-calling time in Irish dusk +When life became more splendid than its husk, +When the rent chapel on the brae at Slains +Shone with a doorway opening beyond brains; +The dawn when, with a brace-block's creaking cry, +Out of the mist a little barque slipped by, +Spilling the mist with changing gleams of red, +Then gone, with one raised hand and one turned head; +The howling evening when the spindrift's mists +Broke to display the four Evangelists, +Snow-capped, divinely granite, lashed by breakers, +Wind-beaten bones of long-since-buried acres; +The night alone near water when I heard +All the sea's spirit spoken by a bird; +The English dusk when I beheld once more +(With eyes so changed) the ship, the citied shore, +The lines of masts, the streets so cheerly trod +In happier seasons, and gave thanks to God. +All had their beauty, their bright moments' gift, +Their something caught from Time, the ever-swift. + +All of those gleams were golden; but life's hands +Have given more constant gifts in changing lands; +And when I count those gifts, I think them such +As no man's bounty could have bettered much: +The gift of country life, near hills and woods +Where happy waters sing in solitudes, +The gift of being near ships, of seeing each day +A city of ships with great ships under weigh, +The great street paved with water, filled with shipping, +And all the world's flags flying and seagulls dipping. + +Yet when I am dust my penman may not know +Those water-trampling ships which made me glow, +But think my wonder mad and fail to find, +Their glory, even dimly, from my mind, +And yet they made me: + not alone the ships +But men hard-palmed from tallying-on to whips, +The two close friends of nearly twenty years +Sea-followers both, sea-wrestlers and sea-peers, +Whose feet with mine wore many a bolthead bright +Treading the decks beneath the riding light. +Yet death will make that warmth of friendship cold, +And who'll know what one said and what one told, +Our hearts' communion, and the broken spells +When the loud call blew at the strike of bells? +No one, I know, yet let me be believed-- +A soul entirely known is life achieved. + +Years blank with hardship never speak a word +Live in the soul to make the being stirred; +Towns can be prisons where the spirit dulls +Away from mates and ocean-wandering hulls, +Away from all bright water and great hills +And sheep-walks where the curlews cry their fills; +Away in towns, where eyes have nought to see +But dead museums and miles of misery +And floating life un-rooted from man's need +And miles of fish-hooks baited to catch greed +And life made wretched out of human ken +And miles of shopping women served by men. +So, if the penman sums my London days, +Let him but say that there were holy ways, +Dull Bloomsbury streets of dull brick mansions old +With stinking doors where women stood to scold +And drunken waits at Christmas with their horn +Droning the news, in snow, that Christ was born; +And windy gas lamps and the wet roads shining +And that old carol of the midnight whining, +And that old room above the noisy slum +Where there was wine and fire and talk with some +Under strange pictures of the wakened soul +To whom this earth was but a burnt-out coal. + +O Time, bring back those midnights and those friends, +Those glittering moments that a spirit lends, +That all may be imagined from the flash, +The cloud-hid god-game through the lightning gash; +Those hours of stricken sparks from which men took +Light to send out to men in song or book; +Those friends who heard St. Pancras' bells strike two, +Yet stayed until the barber's cockerel crew, +Talking of noble styles, the Frenchman's best, +The thought beyond great poets not expressed, +The glory of mood where human frailty failed, +The forts of human light not yet assailed, +Till the dim room had mind and seemed to brood, +Binding our wills to mental brotherhood; +Till we became a college, and each night +Was discipline and manhood and delight; +Till our farewells and winding down the stairs +At each gray dawn had meaning that Time spares +That we, so linked, should roam the whole world round +Teaching the ways our brooding minds had found, +Making that room our Chapter, our one mind +Where all that this world soiled should be refined. + +Often at night I tread those streets again +And see the alleys glimmering in the rain, +Yet now I miss that sign of earlier tramps, +A house with shadows of plane-boughs under lamps, +The secret house where once a beggar stood, +Trembling and blind, to show his woe for food. +And now I miss that friend who used to walk +Home to my lodgings with me, deep in talk, +Wearing the last of night out in still streets +Trodden by us and policemen on their beats +And cats, but else deserted; now I miss +That lively mind and guttural laugh of his +And that strange way he had of making gleam, +Like something real, the art we used to dream. +London has been my prison; but my books +Hills and great waters, labouring men and brooks, +Ships and deep friendships and remembered days +Which even now set all my mind ablaze-- +As that June day when, in the red bricks' chinks +I saw the old Roman ruins white with pinks +And felt the hillside haunted even then +By not dead memory of the Roman men; +And felt the hillside thronged by souls unseen +Who knew the interest in me, and were keen +That man alive should understand man dead +So many centuries since the blood was shed, +And quickened with strange hush because this comer +Sensed a strange soul alive behind the summer. +That other day on Ercall when the stones +Were sunbleached white, like long unburied bones, +While the bees droned and all the air was sweet +From honey buried underneath my feet, +Honey of purple heather and white clover +Sealed in its gummy bags till summer's over. +Then other days by water, by bright sea, +Clear as clean glass, and my bright friend with me; +The cove clean bottomed where we saw the brown +Red spotted plaice go skimming six feet down, +And saw the long fronds waving, white with shells, +Waving, unfolding, drooping, to the swells; +That sadder day when we beheld the great +And terrible beauty of a Lammas spate +Roaring white-mouthed in all the great cliff's gaps, +Headlong, tree-tumbling fury of collapse, +While drenching clouds drove by and every sense +Was water roaring or rushing or in offence, +And mountain sheep stood huddled and blown gaps gleamed +Where torn white hair of torrents shook and streamed. +That sadder day when we beheld again +A spate going down in sunshine after rain +When the blue reach of water leaping bright +Was one long ripple and clatter, flecked with white. +And that far day, that never blotted page +When youth was bright like flowers about old age, +Fair generations bringing thanks for life +To that old kindly man and trembling wife +After their sixty years: Time never made +A better beauty since the Earth was laid, +Than that thanksgiving given to grey hair +For the great gift of life which brought them there. + +Days of endeavour have been good: the days +Racing in cutters for the comrade's praise. +The day they led my cutter at the turn, +Yet could not keep the lead, and dropped astern; +The moment in the spurt when both boats' oars +Dipped in each other's wash, and throats grew hoarse, +And teeth ground into teeth, and both strokes quickened +Lashing the sea, and gasps came, and hearts sickened, +And coxswains damned us, dancing, banking stroke, +To put our weights on, though our hearts were broke, +And both boats seemed to stick and sea seemed glue, +The tide a mill race we were struggling through; +And every quick recover gave us squints +Of them still there, and oar-tossed water-glints, +And cheering came, our friends, our foemen cheering, +A long, wild, rallying murmur on the hearing, +'Port Fore!' and 'Starboard Fore!' 'Port Fore' 'Port Fore,' +'Up with her,' 'Starboard'; and at that each oar +Lightened, though arms were bursting, and eyes shut, +And the oak stretchers grunted in the strut, +And the curse quickened from the cox, our bows +Crashed, and drove talking water, we made vows, +Chastity vows and temperance; in our pain +We numbered things we'd never eat again +If we could only win; then came the yell +'Starboard,' 'Port Fore,' and then a beaten bell +Rung as for fire to cheer us. 'Now.' Oars bent, +Soul took the looms now body's bolt was spent, +'Damn it, come on now.' 'On now,' 'On now,' 'Starboard.' +'Port Fore,' 'Up with her, Port'; each cutter harboured +Ten eye-shut painsick strugglers, 'Heave, oh heave,' +Catcalls waked echoes like a shrieking sheave. +'Heave,' and I saw a back, then two. 'Port Fore,' +'Starboard,' 'Come on'; I saw the midship oar, +And knew we had done them. 'Port Fore,' 'Starboard,' 'Now.' +I saw bright water spurting at their bow, +Their cox' full face an instant. They were done. +The watchers' cheering almost drowned the gun. +We had hardly strength to toss our oars; our cry +Cheering the losing cutter was a sigh. + +Other bright days of action have seemed great: +Wild days in a pampero off the Plate; +Good swimming days, at Hog Back or the Coves +Which the young gannet and the corbie loves; +Surf-swimming between rollers, catching breath +Between the advancing grave and breaking death, +Then shooting up into the sunbright smooth +To watch the advancing roller bare her tooth; +And days of labour also, loading, hauling; +Long days at winch or capstan, heaving, pawling; +The days with oxen, dragging stone from blasting, +And dusty days in mills, and hot days masting. +Trucking on dust-dry deckings smooth like ice, +And hunts in mighty wool-racks after mice; +Mornings with buckwheat when the fields did blanch +With White Leghorns come from the chicken ranch; +Days near the spring upon the sunburnt hill, +Plying the maul or gripping tight the drill; +Delights of work most real, delights that change +The headache life of towns to rapture strange +Not known by townsmen, nor imagined; health +That puts new glory upon mental wealth +And makes the poor man rich. + But that ends, too. +Health, with its thoughts of life; and that bright view, +That sunny landscape from life's peak, that glory, +And all a glad man's comments on life's story, +And thoughts of marvellous towns and living men, +And what pens tell, and all beyond the pen, +End, and are summed in words so truly dead +They raise no image of the heart and head, +The life, the man alive, the friend we knew, +The minds ours argued with or listened to, +None; but are dead, and all life's keenness, all, +Is dead as print before the funeral; +Even deader after, when the dates are sought, +And cold minds disagree with what we thought. + +This many-pictured world of many passions +Wears out the nations as a woman fashions, +And what life is is much to very few; +Men being so strange, so mad, and what men do +So good to watch or share; but when men count +Those hours of life that were a bursting fount +Sparkling the dusty heart with living springs, +There seems a world, beyond our earthly things, +Gated by golden moments, each bright time +Opening to show the city white like lime, +High-towered and many-peopled. This made sure, +Work that obscures those moments seems impure, +Making our not-returning time of breath +Dull with the ritual and records of death, +That frost of fact by which our wisdom gives +Correctly stated death to all that lives. + +Best trust the happy moments. What they gave +Makes man less fearful of the certain grave, +And gives his work compassion and new eyes. +The days that make us happy make us wise. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +HAROLD MONRO + + + +CHILD OF DAWN + + +O gentle vision in the dawn: +My spirit over faint cool water glides. +Child of the day, +To thee; +And thou art drawn +By kindred impulse over silver tides +The dreamy way +To me. + +I need thy hands, O gentle wonder-child, +For they are moulded unto all repose; +Thy lips are frail, +And thou art cooler than an April rose; +White are thy words and mild: +Child of the morning, hail! + +Breathe thus upon mine eyelids--that we twain +May build the day together out of dreams. +Life, with thy breath upon my eyelids, seems +Exquisite to the utmost bounds of pain. +I cannot live, except as I may be +Compelled for love of thee. +O let us drift, +Frail as the floating silver of a star, +Or like the summer humming of a bee, +Or stream-reflected sunlight through a rift. + +I will not hope, because I know, alas, +Morning will glide, and noon, and then the night +Will take thee from me. Everything must pass +Swiftly--but nought so swift as dawn-delight. +If I could hold thee till the day, +Is broad on sea and hill, +Child of repose, +What god can say, +What god or mortal knows, +What dream thou mightest not in me fulfil? + +O gentle vision in the dawn: +My spirit over faint cool water glides, +Child of the day, +To thee; +And thou art drawn +By kindred impulse over silver tides +The dreamy way +To me. + + + +LAKE LEMAN + + +It is the sacred hour: above the far +Low emerald hills that northward fold, +Calmly, upon the blue the evening star +Floats, wreathed in dusky gold. +The winds have sung all day; but now they lie +Faint, sleeping; and the evening sounds awake. +The slow bell tolls across the water: I +Am haunted by the spirit of the lake. +It seems as though the sounding of the bell +Intoned the low song of the water-soul, +And at some moments I can hardly tell +The long-resounding echo from the toll. +O thou mysterious lake, thy spell +Holds all who round thy fruitful margin dwell. +Oft have I seen home-going peasants' eyes +Lit with the peace that emanates from thee. +Those who among thy waters plunge, arise +Filled with new wisdom and serenity. +Thy veins are in the mountains. I have heard, +Down-stretched beside thee at the silent noon, +With leaning head attentive to thy word, +A secret and delicious mountain-tune, +Proceeding as from many shadowed hours +In ancient forests carpeted with flowers, +Or far, where hidden waters, wandering +Through banks of snow, trickle, and meet, and sing. +Ah, what repose at noon to go, +Lean on thy bosom, hold thee with wide hands, +And listen for the music of the snow! +But most, as now, +When harvest covers thy surrounding lands, +I love thee, with a coronal of sheaves +Crowned regent of the day; +And on the air thy placid breathing leaves +A scent of corn and hay. +For thou hast gathered (as a mother will +The sayings of her children in her heart) +The harvest-thoughts of reapers on the hill, +When the cool rose and honeysuckle fill +The air, and fruit is laden on the cart. +Thou breathest the delight +Of summer evening at the deep-roofed farm, +And meditation of the summer night, +When the enravished earth is lying warm +From recent kisses of the conquering sun. + +Dwell as a spirit in me, O thou one +Sweet natural presence. In the years to be +When all the mortal loves perchance are done, +Them I will bid farewell, but, oh, not thee. +I love thee. When the youthful visions fade, +Fade thou not also in the hopeless past. +Be constant and delightful, as a maid +Sought over all the world, and found at last. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +T. STURGE MOORE + + + +A SICILIAN IDYLL + + +(FIRST SCENE) + + +Damon: + +I thank thee, no; +Already have I drunk a bowl of wine ... +Nay, nay, why wouldst thou rise? +There rolls thy ball of worsted! Sit thee down; +Come, sit thee down, Cydilla, +And let me fetch thy ball, rewind the wool, +And tell thee all that happened yesterday. + + +Cydilla: + +Thanks, Damon; now, by Zeus, thou art so brisk, +It shames me that to stoop should try my bones. + + +Damon: + +We both are old, +And if we may have peaceful days are blessed; +Few hours of buoyancy will come to break +The sure withdrawal from us of life's flood. + + +Cydilla: + +True, true, youth looks a great way off! To think +It once was age did lie quite out of sight! + + +Damon: + +Not many days have been so beautiful +As yesterday, Cydilla; yet one was; +And I with thee broke tranced on its fine spell; +Thou dost remember? yes? but not with tears, +Ah, not with tears, Cydilla, pray, oh, pray! + + +Cydilla: + +Pardon me, Damon, +'Tis many years since thou hast touched thereon; +And something stirs about thee-- +Such air of eagerness as was thine when +I was more foolish than in my life, I hope +To ever have been at another time. + + +Damon: + +Pooh! foolish?--thou wast then so very wise +That, often having seen thee foolish since, +Wonder has made me faint that thou shouldst err. + + +Cydilla: + +Nay, then I erred, dear Damon; and remorse +Was not so slow to find me as thou deemst. + + +Damon: + +There, mop those dear wet eyes, or thou'lt ne'er hear +What it was filled my heart full yesterday. + + +Cydilla: + +Tell, Damon; since I well know that regrets +Hang like dull gossips round another's ear. + + +Damon: + +First, thou must know that oftentimes I rise,-- +Not heeding or not finding sleep, of watching +Afraid no longer to be prodigal,-- +And gaze upon the beauty of the night. +Quiet hours, while dawn absorbs the waning stars, +Are like cold water sipped between our cups +Washing the jaded palate till it taste +The wine again. Ere the sun rose, I sat +Within my garden porch; my lamp was left +Burning beside my bed, though it would be +Broad day before I should return upstairs. +I let it burn, willing to waste some oil +Rather than to disturb my tranquil mood; +But, as the Fates determined, it was seen.-- +Suddenly, running round the dovecote, came +A young man naked, breathless, through the dawn, +Florid with haste and wine; it was Hipparchus. +Yes, there he stood before me panting, rubbing +His heated flesh which felt the cold at once. +When he had breath enough he begged me straight +To put the lamp out; and himself had done it +Ere I was on the stair. +Flung all along my bed, his gasping shook it +When I at length could sit down by his side: +'What cause, young sir, brings you here in this plight +At such an hour?' He shuddered, sighed and rolled +My blanket round him; then came a gush of words: +'The first of causes, Damon, namely Love, +Eldest and least resigned and most unblushing +Of all the turbulent impulsive gods. +A quarter of an hour scarce has flown +Since lovely arms clung round me, and my head +Asleep lay nested in a woman's hair; +My cheek still bears print of its ample coils.' +Athwart its burning flush he drew my fingers +And their tips felt it might be as he said. +'Oh I have had a night, a night, a night! +Had Paris so much bliss? +And oh! was Helen's kiss +To be compared with those I tasted? +Which but for me had all been wasted +On a bald man, a fat man, a gross man, a beast +To scare the best guest from the very best feast!' +Cydilla need not hear half that he said, +For he was mad awhile. +But having given rein to hot caprice, +And satyr jest, and the distempered male, +At length, I heard his story. +At sun-down certain miles without the town. +He'd chanced upon a light-wheeled litter-car, +And in it there stood one +Yet more a woman than her garb was rich, +With more of youth and health than elegance. +'The mules,' he said, 'were beauties: she was one, +And cried directions to the neighbour field: +"O catch that big bough! Fool, not that, the next! +Clumsy, you've let it go! O stop it swaying, +The eggs will jolt out!" From the road,' said he, +'I could not see who thus was rated; so +Sprang up beside her and beheld her husband, +Lover or keeper, what you like to call him;-- +A middle-aged stout man upon whose shoulders +Kneeled up a scraggy mule-boy slave, who was +The fool that could not reach a thrush's nest +Which they, while plucking almond, had revealed. +Before she knew who it could be, I said +"Why yes, he is a fool, but we, fair friend, +Were we not foolish waiting for such fools? +Let us be off!" I stooped, took, shook the reins +With one hand, while the other clasped her waist. +"Ah, who?" she turned; I smiled like amorous Zeus; +A certain vagueness clouded her wild eyes +As though she saw a swan, a bull, a shower +Of hurried flames, and felt divinely pleased. +I cracked the whip and we were jolted down; +A kiss was snatched getting the ribbons straight; +We hardly heard them first begin to bawl, +So great our expedition towards the town: +We flew. I pulled up at an inn, then bid them +Stable my mules and chariot and prepare +A meal for Dives; meanwhile we would stroll +Down to the market. Took her arm in mine, +And, out of sight, hurried her through cross-lanes, +Bade her choose, now at a fruit, now pastry booth. +Until we gained my lodging she spoke little +But often laughed, tittering from time to time, +"O Bacchus, what a prank!--Just think of Cymon, +So stout as he is, at least five miles to walk +Without a carriage!--well you take things coolly"-- +Or such appreciation nice of gifts +I need not boast of, since I had them gratis. +When my stiff door creaked open grudgingly +Her face first fell; the room looked bare enough. +Still we brought with us food and cakes; I owned +A little cellar of delicious wine; +An unasked neighbour's garden furnished flowers; +Jests helped me nimbly, I surpassed myself; +So we were friends and, having laughed, we drank, +Ate, sang, danced, grew wild. Soon both had one +Desire, effort, goal, +One bed, one sleep, one dream ... +O Damon, Damon, both had one alarm, +When woken by the door forced rudely open, +Lit from the stair, bedazzled, glowered at, hated! +She clung to me; her master, husband, uncle +(I know not which or what he was) stood there; +It crossed my mind he might have been her father. +Naked, unarmed, I rose, and did assume +What dignity is not derived from clothes, +Bid them to quit my room, my private dwelling. +It was no use, for that gross beast was rich; +Had his been neither legal right nor moral, +My natural right was nought, for his she was +In eyes of those bribed catchpolls. Brute revenge +Seethed in his pimpled face: "To gaol with him!" +He shouted huskily. I wrapped some clothes +About my shuddering bed-fellow, a sheet +Flung round myself; ere she was led away, +Had whispered to her "Shriek, faint on the stairs!" +Then I was seized by two dog officers. +That girl was worth her keep, for, going down, +She suddenly writhed, gasped, and had a fit. +My chance occurred, and I whipped through the casement; +All they could do was catch away the sheet; +I dropped a dozen feet into a bush, +Soon found my heels and plied them; here I am.' + + +Cydilla: + +A strange tale, Damon, this to tell to me +And introduce as thou at first began. + + +Damon: + +Thy life, Cydilla, has at all times been +A ceremony: this young man's +Discovered by free impulse, not couched in forms +Worn and made smooth by prudent folk long dead. +I love Hipparchus for his wave-like brightness; +He wastes himself, but till his flash is gone +I shall be ever glad to hear him laugh: +Nor could one make a Spartan of him even +Were one the Spartan with a will to do it. +Yet had there been no more than what is told, +Thou wouldst not now be lending ear to me. + + +Cydilla: + +Hearing such things, I think of my poor son, +Which makes me far too sad to smile at folly. + + +Damon: + +There, let me tell thee all just as it happened, +And of thy son I shall be speaking soon. + + +Cydilla: + +Delphis! Alas, are his companions still +No better than such ne'er-do-wells? I thought +His life was sager now, though he has killed +My hopes of seeing him a councillor. + + +Damon: + +How thou art quick to lay claim to a sorrow! +Should I have come so eagerly to thee +If all there was to tell thee were such poor news? + + +Cydilla: + +Forgive me; well know I there is no end +To Damon's kindness; my poor boy has proved it; +Could but his father so have understood him! + + +Damon: + +Let lie the sad contents of vanished years; +Why with complaints reproach the helpless dead? +Thy husband ne'er will cross thy hopes again. +Come, think of what a sky made yesterday +The worthy dream of thrice divine Apollo! +Hipparchus' plan was, we should take the road +(As, when such mornings tempt me, is my wont) +And cross the hills, along the coast, toward Mylae. +He in disguise, a younger handier Chloe, +Would lead my mule; must brown his face and arms: +And thereon straight to wake her he was gone. +Their voices from her cabin crossed the yard; +He swears those parts of her are still well made +Which she keeps too well hidden when about;-- +And she, no little pleased; that interlards, +Between her exclamations at his figure, +Reproof of gallantries half-laughed at hers. +Anon she titters as he dons her dress +Doubtless with pantomime-- +Head-carriage and hip-swagger. +A wench, more conscious of her sex than grace, +He then rejoined me, changed beyond belief, +Roguish as vintage makes them; bustling helps +Or hinders Chloe harness to the mule;-- +In fine bewitching both her age and mine. +The life that in such fellows runs to waste +Is like a gust that pulls about spring trees +And spoils your hope of fruit, while it delights +The sense with bloom and odour scattered, mingled +With salt spume savours from a crested offing. +The sun was not long up when we set forth +And, coming to the deeply shadowed gate, +Found catchpolls lurked there, true to his surmise. +Them he, his beard disguised like face-ache, sauced; +(Too gaily for that bandaged cheek, thought I); +But they, whose business was to think, +Were quite contented, let the hussy pass, +Returned her kisses blown back down the road, +And crowned the mirth of their outwitter's heart. +As the steep road wound clear above the town, +Fewer became those little comedies +To which encounters roused him: till, at last, +He scarcely knew we passed some vine-dressers: +And I could see the sun's heat, lack of sleep, +And his late orgy would defeat his powers. +So, where the road grows level and must soon +Descend, I bade him climb into the car; +On which the mule went slower still and slower. +This creature who, upon occasions, shows +Taste very like her master's, left the highway +And took a grass-grown wheel-track that led down +Zigzag athwart the broad curved banks of lawn +Coating a valley between rounded hills +Which faced the sea abruptly in huge crags. +Each slope grew steeper till I left my seat +And led the mule; for now Hipparchus' snore +Tuned with the crooning waves heard from below. +We passed two narrow belts of wood and then +The sea, that first showed blue above their tops, +Was spread before us chequered with white waves +Breaking beneath on boulders which choked up +The narrowed issue seawards of the glen. +The steep path would no more admit of wheels: +I took the beast and tethered her to graze +Within the shade of a stunt ilex clump,-- +Returned to find a vacant car; Hipparchus, +Uneasy on my tilting down the shafts, +And heated with strange clothes, had roused himself +And lay asleep upon his late disguise, +Naked 'neath the cool eaves of one huge rock +That stood alone, much higher up than those +Over, and through, and under which, the waves +Made music or forced milk-white floods of foam. +There I reclined, while vision, sound and scent +Won on my willing soul like sleep on joy, +Till all accustomed thoughts were far away +As from a happy child the cares of men. +The hour was sacred to those earlier gods +Who are not active, but divinely wait +The consummation of their first great deeds, +Unfolding still and blessing hours serene. +Presently I was gazing on a boy, +(Though whence he came my mind had not perceived). +Twelve or thirteen he seemed, with clinging feet +Poised on a boulder, and against the sea +Set off. His wide-brimmed hat of straw was arched +Over his massed black and abundant curls +By orange ribbon tied beneath his chin; +Around his arms and shoulders his sole dress, +A cloak, was all bunched up. He leapt, and lighted +Upon the boulder just beneath; there swayed, +Re-poised, +And perked his head like an inquisitive bird, +As gravely happy; of all unconscious save +His body's aptness for its then employment; +His eyes intent on shells in some clear pool +Or choosing where he next will plant his feet. +Again he leaps, his curls against his hat +Bounce up behind. The daintiest thing alive, +He rocks awhile, turned from me towards the sea; +Unseen I might devour him with my eyes. +At last he stood upon a ledge each wave +Spread with a sheet of foam four inches deep; +He gazing at them saw them disappear +And reappear all shining and refreshed: +Then raised his head, beheld the ocean stretched +Alive before him in its magnitude. +None but a child could have been so absorbed +As to escape its spell till then, none else +Could so have voiced glad wonder in a song:-- +All the waves of the sea are there! +In at my eyes they crush. +Till my head holds as fair a sea: +Though I shut my eyes, they are there! +Now towards my lids they rush, +Mad to burst forth from me +Back to the open air!-- +To follow them my heart needs, +O white-maned steeds, to ride you; +Lithe-shouldered steeds, +To the western isles astride you +Amyntas speeds!' +'Damon!' said a voice quite close to me +And looking up ... as might have stood Apollo +In one vast garment such as shepherds wear +And leaning on such tall staff stood ... Thou guessest, +Whose majesty as vainly was disguised +As must have been Apollo's minding sheep. + + +Cydilla: + +Delphis! I know, dear Damon, it was Delphis! +Healthy life in the country having chased +His haggard looks; his speech is not wild now, +Nor wicked with exceptions to things honest: +Thy face a kindlier way than speech tells this. + + +Damon: + +Yea, dear Cydilla, he was altogether +What mountaineers might dream of for a king. + + +Cydilla: + +But tell me, is he tutor to that boy? + + +Damon: + +He is an elder brother to the lad. + + +Cydilla: + +Nay, nay, hide nothing, speak the worst at once. + + +Damon: + +I meant no hint of ill; +A god in love with young Amyntas might +Look as he did; fathers alone feel like him: +Could I convey his calm and happy speech +Thy last suspicion would be laid to rest. + + +Cydilla: + +Damon, see, my glad tears have drowned all fear; +Think'st thou he may come back and win renown, +And fill his father's place? +Not as his father filled it, +But with an inward spirit correspondent +To that contained and high imposing mien +Which made his father honoured before men +Of greater wisdom, more integrity. + + +Damon: + +And loved before men of more kindliness! + + +Cydilla: + +O Damon, far too happy am I now +To grace thy naughtiness by showing pain. +My Delphis 'owns the brains and presence too +That make a Pericles!' ... (the words are thine) +Had he but the will; and has he now? +Good Damon, tell me quick? + + +Damon: + +He dreams not of the court, and city life +Is what he rails at. + + +Cydilla: + +Well, if he now be wise and sober-souled +And loved for goodness, I can rest content. + + +Damon: + +My brain lights up to see thee happy! wait, +It may be I can give some notion how +Our poet spoke: +'Damon, the best of life is in thine eyes-- +Worship of promise-laden beauty. Seems he not +The god of this fair scene? +Those waves claim such a master as that boy; +And these green slopes have waited till his feet +Should wander them, to prove they were not spread +In wantonness. What were this flower's prayer +Had it a voice? The place behind his ear +Would brim its cup with bliss and overbrim; +Oh, to be worn and fade beside his cheek!'-- +'In love and happy, Delphis; and the boy?'-- +'Loves and is happy'-- + You hale from?'-- + 'AEtna; +We have been out two days and crossed this ridge, +West of Mount Mycon's head. I serve his father, +A farmer well-to-do and full of sense, +Who owns a grass-farm cleared among the pines +North-west the cone, where even at noon in summer, +The slope it falls on lengthens a tree's shade. +To play the lyre, read and write and dance +I teach this lad; in all their country toil +Join, nor ask better fare than cheese, black bread, +Butter or curds, and milk, nor better bed +Than litter of dried fern or lentisk yields, +Such as they all sleep soundly on and dream, +(If e'er they dream) of places where it grew,-- +Where they have gathered mushrooms, eaten berries, +Or found the sheep they lost, or killed a fox, +Or snared the kestrel, or so played their pipes +Some maid showed pleasure, sighed, nay even wept. +There to be poet need involve no strain, +For though enough of coarseness, dung--nay, nay, +And suffering too, be mingled with the life, +'Tis wedded to such air, +Such water and sound health! +What else might jar or fret chimes in attuned +Like satyr's cloven hoof or lorn nymph's grief +In a choice ode. Though lust, disease and death, +As everywhere, are cruel tyrants, yet +They all wear flowers, and each sings a song +Such as the hilly echo loves to learn.' +'At last then even Delphis knows content?' +'Damon, not so: +This life has brought me health but not content. +That boy, whose shouts ring round us while he flings +Intent each stone toward yon shining object +Afloat inshore ... I eat my heart to think +How all which makes him worthy of more love +Must train his ear to catch the siren croon +That never else had reached his upland home! +And he who failed in proof, how should he arm +Another against perils? Ah, false hope +And credulous enjoyment! How should I, +Life's fool, while wakening ready wit in him, +Teach how to shun applause and those bright eyes +Of women who pour in the lap of spring +Their whole year's substance? They can offer +To fill the day much fuller than I could, +And yet teach night surpass it. Can my means +Prevent the ruin of the thing I cherish? +What cares Zeus for him? Fate despises love. +Why, lads more exquisite, brimming with promise, +A thousand times have been lost for the lack +Of just the help a watchful god might give; +But which the best of fathers, best of mothers, +Of friends, of lovers cannot quite supply. +Powers, who swathe man's virtue up in weakness, +Then plunge his delicate mind in hot desire, +Preparing pleasure first and after shame +To bandage round his eyes,--these gods are not +The friends of men.' +The Delphis of old days before me stood, +Passionate, stormy, teeming with black thought, +His back turned on that sparkling summer sea, +His back turned on his love; and wilder words +And less coherent thought poured from him now. +Hipparchus waking took stock of the scene. +I watched him wend down, rubbing sleepy lids, +To where the boy was busy throwing stones. +He joined the work, but even his stronger arm +And heavier flints he hurled would not suffice +To drive that floating object nearer shore: +And, ere the rebel Delphis had expressed +Enough of anger and contempt for gods, +(Who, he asserted, were the dreams of men), +I saw the stone-throwers both take the water +And swimming easily attain their end. +The way they held their noses proved the thing +A tunny, belly floating upward, dead; +Both towed it till the current caught and swept it +Out far from that sweet cove; they laughing watched: +Then, suddenly, Amyntas screamed and Delphis +Turned to see him sink +Locked in Hipparchus' arms. +The god Apollo never +Burst through a cloud with more ease than thy son +Poured from his homespun garb +The rapid glory of his naked limbs, +And like a streak of lightning reached the waves:-- +Wherein his thwarted speed appeared more awful +As, brought within the scope of comprehension, +Its progress and its purpose could be gauged. +Spluttering Amyntas rose, Hipparchus near him +Who cried 'Why coy of kisses, lovely lad? +I ne'er would harm thee; art thou not ashamed +To treat thy conquest thus?' +He shouted partly to drown the sea's noise, chiefly +The nearing Delphis to disarm. +His voice lost its assurance while he spoke, +And, as he finished, quick to escape he turned; +Thy son's eyes and that steady coming on, +As he might see them over ruffled crests, +Far better helped him swim +Than ever in his life he swam before. +Delphis passed by Amyntas; +Hipparchus was o'ertaken, +Cuffed, ducked and shaken; +In vain he clung about his angry foe; +Held under he perforce let go: +I, fearing for his life, set up a whoop +To bring cause and effect to thy son's mind, +And in dire rage's room his sense returned. +He towed Hipparchus back like one he'd saved +From drowning, laid him out upon that ledge +Where late Amyntas stood, where now he kneeled +Shivering, alarmed and mute. +Delphis next set the drowned man's mouth to drain; +We worked his arms, for I had joined them; soon +His breathing recommenced; we laid him higher +On sun-warmed turf to come back to himself; +Then we climbed to the cart without a word. +The sun had dried their limbs; they, putting on +Their clothes, sat down; at length, I asked the lad +What made him keen to pelt a stinking fish. +Blushing he said, 'I wondered what it was. +But that man, when he came to help, declared +'Twould prove a dead sea-nymph, and we might see, +By swimming out, how finely she was made. +I did not half believe, yet when we found +That foul stale fish, it made us laugh.' He smiled +And watched Hipparchus spit and cough and groan. +I moved to the car and unpacked bread and meat, +A cheese, some fruit, a skin of wine, two bowls. +Amyntas was all joy to see such things; +Ran off and pulled acanthus for our plates; +Chattering, he helped me set all forth,--was keen +To choose rock basin where the wine might cool; +Approved, was full as happy as I to praise: +And most he pleased me, when he set a place +For poor Hipparchus. Thus our eager work, +While Delphis, in his thoughts retired, sat frowning, +Grew like a home-conspiracy to trap +The one who bears the brunt of outside cares +Into the glow of cheerfulness that bathes +The children and the mother,--happy not +To foresee winter, short-commons or long debts, +Since they are busied for the present meal,-- +Too young, too weak, too kind, to peer ahead, +Or probe the dark horizon bleak with storms. +Oh! I have sometimes thought there is a god +Who helps with lucky accidents when folk +Join with the little ones to chase such gloom. +That chance which left Hipparchus with no clothes, +Surely divinity was ambushed in it? +When he must put on Chloe's, Amyntas rocked +With laughter, and Hipparchus, quick to use +A favourable gust, pretends confusion +Such as a farmer's daughter red-faced shows +If in the dance her dress has come unpinned. +She suddenly grows grave; yet, seeing there +Friends only, stoops behind a sister-skirt. +Then, having set to rights the small mishap, +Holding her screener's elbows, round her shoulder +Peeps, to bob back meeting a young man's eye. +All, grateful for such laughs, give Hermes thanks. +And even Delphis at Hipparchus smiled +When, from behind me, he peeped bashful forth; +Amyntas called him Baucis every time, +Laughing because he was or was not like +Some wench ... + Why, Delphis, in the name of Zeus +How come you here? + + +Cydilla: + + What can have happened, Delphis? +Be brief for pity! + + +Delphis: + + Nothing, mother, nothing +That has not happened time on time before +To thee, to Damon, when the life ye thought +With pride and pleasure yours, has proved a dream. +They strike down on us from the top of heaven, +Bear us up in their talons, up and up, +Drop us: we fall, are crippled, maimed for life. +'Our dreams'? nay, we are theirs for sport, for prey, +And life is the King Eagle, +The strongest, highest flyer, from whose clutch +The fall is fatal always. + + +Cydilla: + + Delphis, Delphis, +Good Damon had been making me so happy +By telling ... + + +Delphis: + + How he watched me near the zenith? +Three years back +That dream pounced on me and began to soar; +Having been sick, my heart had found new lies; +The only thoughts I then had ears for were +Healthy, virtuous, sweet; +Jaded town-wastrel, +A country setting was the sole could take me +Three years back. +Damon might have guessed +From such a dizzy height +What fall was coming. + + +Cydilla: + +Ah my boy, my boy! + + +Damon: + +Sit down, be patient, let us hear and aid;-- +Has aught befallen Amyntas? + + +Delphis: + +Would he were dead! +Would that I had been brute enough to slay him!-- +Great Zeus, Hipparchus had so turned his head, +His every smile and word +As we sat by our fire, stung my fool's heart.-- +How we laughed to see him curtsey, +Fidget strings about his waist,-- +Giggle, his beard caught in the chlamys' hem +Drawing it tight about his neck, 'just like +Our Baucis.' Could not sleep +For thinking of the life they lead in towns; +He said so: when, at last, +He sighed from dreamland, thoughts +I had been day-long brooding +Broke into vision. + +A child, a girl, +Beautiful, nay more than others beautiful, +Not meant for marriage, not for one man meant, +You know what she will be; +At six years old or seven her life is round her; +A company, all ages, old men, young men, +Whose vices she must prey on. +And the bent crone she will be is there too, +Patting her head and chuckling prophecies.-- +O cherry lips, O wild bird eyes, +O gay invulnerable setter-at-nought +Of will, of virtue-- +Thou art as constant a cause as is the sea, +As is the sun, as are the winds, as night, +Of opportunities not only but events;-- +The unalterable past +Is full of thy contrivance, +Aphrodite, +Goddess of ruin! + +No girl; nay, nay, +Amyntas is young, +Is gay, +Has beauty and health--and yet +In his sleep I have seen him smile +And known that his dream was vile; +Those eyes which brimmed over with glee +Till my life flowed as fresh as the sea-- +Those eyes, gloved each in a warm live lid, +May be glad that their visions are hid. + +I taught myself to rhyme; the trick will cling. +Ah, Damon, day-lit vision is more dread +Than those which suddenly replace the dark! +When the dawn filtered through our tent of boughs +I saw him closely wrapped in his grey cloak, +His head upon a pile of caked thin leaves +Whose life had dried up full two years ago. +Their flakes shook in the breath from those moist lips; +The vow his kiss would seal must prove, I knew +As friable as that pale ashen fritter; +It had more body than reason dare expect +From that so beautiful creature's best intent. +He waking found me no more there; and wanders +Through AEtna's woods to-day +Calling at times, or questioning charcoal burners, +Till he shall strike a road shall lead him home; +Yet all his life must be spent as he spends +This day in whistling, wondering, singing, chatting, +In the great wood, vacant and amiable. + + +Damon: + +Can it be possible that thou desertest +Thy love, thy ward, the work of three long years, +Because chance, on an April holiday +Has filled this boy's talk with another man, +And wonder at another way of life? +Worse than a woman's is such jealousy; +The lad must live! + + +Delphis: + +Live, live! to be sure, he must live! +I have lived, am a fool for my pains! +And yet, and yet, +This heart has ached to play the god for him:-- +Mine eyes for his had sifted visible things; +Speech had been filtered ere it reached his ear; +Not in the world should he have lived, but breathed +Humanity's distilled quintessences; +The indiscriminate multitude sorted should yield him +Acquaintance and friend discerned, chosen by me:-- +By me, who failed, wrecked my youth's prime, and dragged +More wonderful than his gifts in the mire! + + +Damon: + +Yet if experience could not teach and save +Others from ignorance, why, towns would be +Ruins, and civil men like outlaws thieve, +Stab, riot, ere two generations passed. + + +Delphis: + +Where is the Athens that Pericles loved? +Where are the youths that were Socrates' friends? +There was a town where all learnt +What the wisest had taught! +Why had crude Sparta such treasonous force? +Could Philip of Macedon +Breed a true Greek of his son? +What honour to conquer a world +Where Alcibiades failed, +Lead half-drilled highland hordes +Whose lust would inherit the wise? +There is nothing art's industry shaped +But their idleness praising it mocked. +Thus Fate re-assumed her command +And laughed at experienced law. +What ails man to love with such pains? +Why toil to create in the mind +Of those who shall close in his grave +The best that he is and has hoped? +The longer permission he has, +The nobler the structure so raised, +The greater its downfall. Fools, fools, +Where is a town such as Pericles ruled? +Where youths to replace those whom Socrates loved? + +Wise Damon, thou art silent;--Mother, thou +Hast only arms to cling about thy son.-- +Who can descry the purpose of a god +With eyes wide-open? shut them, every fool +Can conjure up a world arriving somewhere, +Resulting in what he may call perfection. +Evil must soon or late succeed to good. +There well may once have been a golden age: +Why should we treat it as a poet's tale? +Yet, in those hills that hung o'er Arcady, +Some roving inebriate Daimon +Begat him fair children +On nymphs of the vineyard, +On nymphs of the rock:-- +And in the heart of the forest +Lay bound in white arms, +In action creative a father +Without a thought for his child:-- +A purposeless god, +The forbear of men +To corrupt, ape, inherit and spoil +That fine race beforehand with doom! + +No, Damon, what's an answer worth to one +Whose mind has been flung open? +Only last night, +The gates of my spirit gave entrance +Unto the great light; +And I saw how virtue seduceth, +Not ended today or tomorrow +Like the passion for love, +Like the passion for life-- +But perennial pain +And age-long effort. +Dead deeds are the teeth that shine +In the mouth that repeateth praise, +That spurs men to do high things +Since their fathers did higher before-- +To give more than they hope to receive, +To slave and to die in a secular cause! +The mouth that smiles over-praise +Eats out the heart of each fool +To feed the great dream of a race. + +Yet wearied peoples each in turn awake +From virtue, as a man from his brief love, +And, roughly shaken, face the useless truth; +No answer to brute fact has e'er been found. +Slaves of your slaves, caged in your furnished rooms, +Ushered to meals when reft of appetite-- +Though hungry, bound to wait a stated hour-- +Your dearest contemplation broken off +By the appointed summons to your bath; +Racked with more thought for those whom you may flog +Than for those dear; obsessed by your possessions +With a dull round of stale anxieties;-- +Soon maintenance grows the extreme reach of hope +For those held in respect, as in a vice, +By citizens of whom they are the pick. +Of men the least bond is the roving seaman +Who hires himself to merchantman or pirate +For single voyages, stays where he may please, +Lives his purse empty in a dozen ports, +And ne'er obeys the ghost of what once was! +His laugh chimes readily; his kiss, no symbol +Of aught to come, but cordial, eager, hot, +Leaves his tomorrow free. With him for comrade +Each day shall be enough, and what is good +Enjoyed, and what is evil borne or cursed. +I go, because I will not have a home, +Or here prefer to there, or near to far. +I go, because I will not have a friend +Lay claim upon my leisure this day week. +I will be melted by each smile that takes me; +What though a hundred lips should meet with mine! +A vagabond I shall be as the moon is. +The sun, the waves, the winds, all birds, all beasts, +Are ever on the move, and take what comes; +They are not parasites like plants and men +Rooted in that which fed them yesterday. +Not even Memory shall follow Delphis, +For I will yield to all impulse save hers, +Therein alone subject to prescient rigour; +Lest she should lure me back among the dying-- +Pilfer the present for the beggar past. +Free minds must bargain with each greedy moment +And seize the most that lies to hand at once. +Ye are too old to understand my words; +I yet have youth enough, and can escape +From that which sucks each individual man +Into the common dream. + + +Cydilla: + +Stay, Delphis, hear what Damon has to say! +He is mad! + + +Damon: + +Mad--yes--mad as cruelty! + * * * * * +Poor, poor Cydilla! was it then to this +That all my tale was prologue? +Think of Amyntas, think of that poor boy, +Bereaved as we are both bereaved! Come, come, +Find him, and say that Love himself has sent us +To offer our poor service in his stead. + + +Cydilla: + +Good Damon, help me find my wool; my eyes +Are blind with tears; then I will come at once! +We must be doing something, for I feel +We both shall drown our hearts with time to spare. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +RONALD ROSS + + + +HESPERUS + + + Ah whither dost thou float, sweet silent star, + In yonder floods of evening's dying light? + Before the fanning wings of rising night, + Methinks thy silvery bark is driven far + To some lone isle or calmly havened shore, +Where the lorn eye of man can follow thee no more. + + How many a one hath watched thee even as I, + And unto thee and thy receding ray + Poured forth his thoughts with many a treasured sigh + Too sweet and strange for the remorseless day; + But thou hast gone and left unto their sight +Too great a host of stars, and yet too black a night. + + E'en as I gaze upon thee, thy bright form + Doth sail away among the cloudy isles + Around whose shores the sea of sunlight smiles. + On thee may break no black and boisterous storm + To turn the tenour of thy calm career. +As thou wert long ago so now thou dost appear. + + Art thou a tear left by the exiled day + Upon the dusky cheek of drowsy night? + Or dost thou as a lark carol alway + Full in the liquid glow of heavenly light? + Or, bent on discord and angelic wars, +As some bright spirit tread before the trooping stars? + + The disenchanted vapours hide thee fast; + The watery twilight fades and night comes on; + One lingering moment more and thou art gone, + Lost in the rising sea of clouds that cast + Their inundations o'er the darkening air; +And wild the night wind wails the lightless world's despair. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +EDMUND BEALE SARGANT + + + +THE CUCKOO WOOD + + +Cuckoo, are you calling me, +Or is it a voice of wizardry? +In these woodlands I am lost, +From glade to glade of flowers tost. +Seven times I held my way, +And seven times the voice did say, +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! No man could +Issue from this underwood, +Half of green and half of brown, +Unless he laid his senses down. +Only let him chance to see +The snows of the anemone +Heaped above its greenery; +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! No man could +Issue from the master wood. + +Magic paths there are that cross; +Some beset with jewelled moss +And boughs all bare; where others run, +Bluebells bathe in mist and sun +Past a clearing filled with clumps +Of primrose round the nutwood stumps; +All as gay as gay can be, +And bordered with dog-mercury, +The wizard flower, the wizard green, +Like a Persian carpet seen. +Brown, dead bracken lies between, +And wrinkled leaves, whence fronds of fern +Still untwist and upward turn. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! No man could +Issue from this wizard wood, +Half of green, and half of brown, +Unless he laid his senses down. + +Seven times I held my way +Where new heaps of brushwood lay, +All with withies loosely bound, +And never heard a human sound. +Yet men have toiled and men have rested +By yon hurdles darkly-breasted, +Woven in and woven out, +Piled four-square, and turned about +To show their white and sharpened stakes +Like teeth of hounds or fangs of snakes. +The men are homeward sped, for none +Loves silence and a sinking sun. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Woodmen know +Souls are lost that hear it so, +Seven times upon the wind, +To lull the watch-dogs of the mind. + +A stranger wood you shall not find! +Beech and birch and oak agree +Here to dwell in company. +Hazel, elder, few men could +Name the kinds of underwood. +Summer and winter haunt together, +And golden light with misty weather. +'Tis summer where this beech is seen +Defenceless in its virgin green; +All its leaves are smooth and thin, +And the sunlight passes in, +Passes in and filters through +To a green heaven below the blue. +Low the branches fall and trace +A circle round that mystic place, +Guarded on its outward side +By hyacinths in all their pride; +And within dim moons appear, +Wax and wane--I go not near! +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! How we fear +Sights and sounds that come and go +Without a cause for men to know! + +Why for a whispered doubt should I +Shun that other beech-tree high, +Red and watchful, still and bare, +With a thousand spears in air, +Guarding yet its treasured leaf +From storm and hail and winter's grief? +Unregarded on the ground +Leaves of yester-year abound, +For what is autumn's gold to one +That hoards a life scarce yet begun? +Let me so renew my youth, +I defend it, nail and tooth, +Rooting deep and lifting high. +For this my dead leaves hiss and sigh +And glow as on the downward road +To the dog-snake's dread abode. +Noxious things of earth and air, +Get you hence, for I prepare +To flaunt my beauty in the sun +When all beside me are undone. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Pan shall see +The surge of my virginity +Overtop the sobered glade. +Luminous and unafraid +Near his sacred oak I'll spread +Lures to tempt him from his bed: +His couch, his lair his form shall be +By none but by the fair beech-tree. + +O cunning Oak! What is your skill +To hold the god against my will? +Keep your favours back like me, +With disfavour he shall see +Orange hues of jealousy: +Show your leaf in early prime, +It shall be dark before its time: +Me you shall not rival ever. +Silver Birch, would you endeavour, +Trembling in your bridal dress, +To win at last a dog's caress? +Through your twigs so thin and dark +Shows the black and ashen bark, +Like a face that underneath +Tightened eyebrows looks on death. +Think not, dwarf, that Pan shall find +Aught about you to his mind. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! All shall try +To win him. But the beech and I, +Man and tree made one at last, +Alone have power to hold him fast. + +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Forth I creep, +When the flowers fall asleep, +And upgather odours rare +Floating on the misty air, +All to be imprisoned where +My sap is rising till they reach +The swelling twigs, and thence shall each +Separate scent be shaken free +As my flowers and leaves agree. +Rare in sooth those flowers shall be: +Cunningly will I devise +Colours to delight the eyes, +Slipping from my fissured stem +To get by stealth or stratagem +The glory of the morning petal. +Where the bees at noontide settle, +Mine to rifle all their sweets: +Honey and bee-bread on the teats +Of my blossoms shall be spread, +Till the lime-trees shake with dread +Of the marvels still to come +When their bees about me hum. + +Welcome, welcome, cloudless night, +Is our labour ended quite? +Are the mortal and the tree +Now made one in ecstasy, +One in foretaste of the dawn? +Crescent moon, sink, sink outworn! +Stars be buried, stars be born, +Mount and dip to tell aright +The doings of the morrow's light! +Mists, assemble, hide me quite, +Till the sun with growing strength +Grips your veils, and length by length +Tears them down from head to foot; +Then to the challenge I am put! + +Tell me busy, busy glade, +Half in light and half in shade, +Is your world of wood-folk there? +All are come but the mole and hare; +One is blind, and underground +Of that tumult hears no sound; +The other Pan has crept within, +To bask afield in the hare-skin. +All are come of woodland fowl +But the cuckoo and the owl; +The owl's asleep, and the cuckoo-bird +Nowhere seen is eachwhere heard. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Those that see +The leafing of this great beech-tree, +And its flowers of every kind, +Woodland lovers have in mind; +Those that breathe the scented wind +Or touch this bark of satin, could +Never issue from our wood. + +Tell me, busy, busy glade, +Are little flying things afraid? +All are come of aery folk, +Gnats that hover like a smoke, +Butterflies and humble-bees, +Insects winged in all degrees, +Honey-toilers, pleasure-makers, +Of labours and of joys forsakers, +Round these boughs to live and die. +Only the moth and the dragon-fly +Keep their haunts and come not nigh: +The moth is moonstruck, she must creep +With twitching wings, and half-asleep, +Through folds of darkness; and that other, +The dragon-fly, Narcissus' brother, +Flashes all his burnished mail +In a still pool adown the dale. + +Tell me, busy, busy glade, +Shifting aye in light and shade, +Are the dryads peeping forth, +More in wonder than in wrath, +Each beneath her own dear tree +Parting her hair that she may see +How queens put on their sovereignty? +All are come of Pan's own race, +Nymphs and satyrs fill the place, +Necks outstretched and ears a-twitching, +That Pan may know of all this witching. +Heedless stumble the goatfeet +Till four-footed things retreat. +Cries of Ah! and Ay! and Eh! +Scare the forest birds away, +And their notes that rang so clear +At dawn, you now shall rarely hear: +Only a robin here and there +Pitches high his trembling voice +In a challenge to rejoice. + +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! How two notes +Stolen from all woodland throats +Make the satyrs stand like stone, +Waiting for Pan to call his own! +How the couching dryads seem +To root themselves as in a dream, +And the naiads, wan and whist, +To melt into an evening mist! + +Tell me, silent, silent glade, +All in light that once was shade, +All in shade that once was light, +How went the creatures from my sight? +Where are the shapes that turned to stone, +And my tree that reigned alone? +Red and watchful, still and bare, +With a thousand spears in air, +Stands the beech that you would bind +Unlawfully to human mind. +Gone is every woodland elf +To the mighty god himself. +Mortal! You yourself are fast! +Doubt not Pan shall come at last +To put a leer within your eyes +That pry into his mysteries. +He shall touch the busy brain +Lest it ever teem again; +Point the ears and twist the feet, +Till by day you dare not meet +Men, or in the failing light +Mutter more than, Friend, good-night! + +Tell me, whispering, whispering glade, +Am I eager or afraid? +Do I wish the god to come? +What shall I say if he be dumb? +Tell me, wherefore hiss and sigh +Those shrivelled leaves? Has Pan gone by? +Why do your thousand pools of light +Gaze like eyes that fade at night? +Pan has but twain, Pan's eyes are bright! +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! See, yon stakes +Gape and grin like fangs of snakes; +Not snakes nor hounds are mouthing thus; +Pan himself is watching us. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Now +The god is breasting the hill-brow. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Pan is near: +Joy runs trembling back to fear. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! All my blood +Knocks through the heart whose every thud +Chokes me, blinds me, drains my madness. +As one half-drowned, I feel life's gladness +Ooze from each pore. Towards the sun +Downhill I reel that fain would run. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Thornless seem +Briars that part as in a dream. +Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Hazel-boughs +Hurt not though they blood the brows. + +Cuckoo! In a meadow prone +At last I lie, my wits my own; +And in my hand I clasp the flower +To counteract that magic power; +The cuckoo-flower, in a lilac sheet +Under body, head and feet. +Above me apple-blossoms fleck +The cloudless sky, a neighbouring beck +With many a happy gurgle goes +Down to the farm through alder-rows. +Strange it is, and it is sweet, +To hear the distant mill-wheel beat, +And the kindly cries of men +Turning the cattle home again, +The clank of pails and all the shades +Of laughter of the busy maids. +Now is come the evening star, +And my limbs new-blooded are. +So beside the stream I choose +A path that patient anglers use, +Which with many twists and turns +Brings me where a candle burns, +A lowly light, through cottage pane +Seen and hid and seen again. +Cuckoo! Now you call in vain. +I am far and I am free +From all woodland wizardry! + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +JAMES STEPHENS + + + +IN THE POPPY FIELD + + +Mad Patsy said, he said to me, +That every morning he could see +An angel walking on the sky; +Across the sunny skies of morn +He threw great handfuls far and nigh +Of poppy seed among the corn; +And then, he said, the angels run +To see the poppies in the sun. + +A poppy is a devil weed, +I said to him--he disagreed; +He said the devil had no hand +In spreading flowers tall and fair +Through corn and rye and meadow land, +By garth and barrow everywhere: +The devil has not any flower, +But only money in his power. + +And then he stretched out in the sun +And rolled upon his back for fun: +He kicked his legs and roared for joy +Because the sun was shining down, +He said he was a little boy +And would not work for any clown: +He ran and laughed behind a bee, +And danced for very ecstasy. + + + +IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING + + +I thought I heard Him calling. Did you hear +A sound, a little sound? My curious ear +Is dinned with flying noises, and the tree +Goes--whisper, whisper, whisper silently +Till all its whispers spread into the sound +Of a dull roar. Lie closer to the ground, +The shade is deep and He may pass us by. +We are so very small, and His great eye, +Customed to starry majesties, may gaze +Too wide to spy us hiding in the maze; +Ah, misery! the sun has not yet gone +And we are naked: He will look upon +Our crouching shame, may make us stand upright +Burning in terror--O that it were night! +He may not come ... what? listen, listen, now-- +He is here! lie closer ... 'Adam, where art thou?' + + + +THE LONELY GOD + + +So Eden was deserted, and at eve +Into the quiet place God came to grieve. +His face was sad, His hands hung slackly down +Along his robe; too sorrowful to frown +He paced along the grassy paths and through +The silent trees, and where the flowers grew +Tended by Adam. All the birds had gone +Out to the world, and singing was not one +To cheer the lonely God out of His grief-- +The silence broken only when a leaf +Tapt lightly on a leaf, or when the wind, +Slow-handed, swayed the bushes to its mind. + +And so along the base of a round hill, +Rolling in fern, He bent His way until +He neared the little hut which Adam made, +And saw its dusky rooftree overlaid +With greenest leaves. Here Adam and his spouse +Were wont to nestle in their little house +Snug at the dew-time: here He, standing sad, +Sighed with the wind, nor any pleasure had +In heavenly knowledge, for His darlings twain +Had gone from Him to learn the feel of pain, +And what was meant by sorrow and despair,-- +Drear knowledge for a Father to prepare. + +There he looked sadly on the little place; +A beehive round it was, without a trace +Of occupant or owner; standing dim +Among the gloomy trees it seemed to Him +A final desolation, the last word +Wherewith the lips of silence had been stirred. +Chaste and remote, so tiny and so shy, +So new withal, so lost to any eye, +So pac't of memories all innocent +Of days and nights that in it had been spent +In blithe communion, Adam, Eve, and He, +Afar from Heaven and its gaudery; +And now no more! He still must be the God +But not the friend; a Father with a rod +Whose voice was fear, whose countenance a threat, +Whose coming terror, and whose going wet +With penitential tears; not evermore +Would they run forth to meet Him as before +With careless laughter, striving each to be +First to His hand and dancing in their glee +To see Him coming--they would hide instead +At His approach, or stand and hang the head, +Speaking in whispers, and would learn to pray +Instead of asking, 'Father, if we may.' + +Never again to Eden would He haste +At cool of evening, when the sun had paced +Back from the tree-tops, slanting from the rim +Of a low cloud, what time the twilight dim +Knit tree to tree in shadow, gathering slow +Till all had met and vanished in the flow +Of dusky silence, and a brooding star +Stared at the growing darkness from afar, +While haply now and then some nested bird +Would lift upon the air a sleepy word +Most musical, or swing its airy bed +To the high moon that drifted overhead. + +'Twas good to quit at evening His great throne, +To lay His crown aside, and all alone +Down through the quiet air to stoop and glide +Unkenned by angels: silently to hide +In the green fields, by dappled shades, where brooks +Through leafy solitudes and quiet nooks +Flowed far from heavenly majesty and pride, +From light astounding and the wheeling tide +Of roaring stars. Thus does it ever seem +Good to the best to stay aside and dream +In narrow places, where the hand can feel +Something beside, and know that it is real. +His angels! silly creatures who could sing +And sing again, and delicately fling +The smoky censer, bow and stand aside +All mute in adoration: thronging wide, +Till nowhere could He look but soon He saw +An angel bending humbly to the law +Mechanic; knowing nothing more of pain, +Than when they were forbid to sing again, +Or swing anew the censer, or bow down +In humble adoration of His frown. +This was the thought in Eden as He trod-- +... It is a lonely thing to be a God. + +So long! afar through Time He bent His mind, +For the beginning, which He could not find, +Through endless centuries and backwards still +Endless for ever, till His 'stonied will +Halted in circles, dizzied in the swing +Of mazy nothingness.--His mind could bring +Not to subjection, grip or hold the theme +Whose wide horizon melted like a dream +To thinnest edges. Infinite behind +The piling centuries were trodden blind +In gulfs chaotic--so He could not see +When He was not who always had To Be. + +Not even godly fortitude can stare +Into Eternity, nor easy bear +The insolent vacuity of Time: +It is too much, the mind can never climb +Up to its meaning, for, without an end, +Without beginning, plan, or scope, or trend +To point a path, there nothing is to hold +And steady surmise: so the mind is rolled +And swayed and drowned in dull Immensity. +Eternity outfaces even Me +With its indifference, and the fruitless year +Would swing as fruitless were I never here. + +And so for ever, day and night the same, +Years flying swiftly nowhere, like a game +Played random by a madman, without end +Or any reasoned object but to spend +What is unspendable--Eternal Woe! +O Weariness of Time that fast or slow +Goes never further, never has in view +An ending to the thing it seeks to do, +And so does nothing: merely ebb and flow, +From nowhere into nowhere, touching so +The shores of many stars and passing on, +Careless of what may come or what has gone. + +O solitude unspeakable! to be +For ever with oneself! never to see +An equal face, or feel an equal hand, +To sit in state and issue reprimand, +Admonishment or glory, and to smile +Disdaining what has happened the while! +O to be breast to breast against a foe! +Against a friend! to strive and not to know +The laboured outcome: love nor be aware +How much the other loved, and greatly care +With passion for that happy love or hate, +Nor know what joy or dole was hid in fate, +For I have ranged the spacy width and gone +Swift north and south, striving to look upon +An ending somewhere. Many days I sped +Hard to the west, a thousand years I fled +Eastwards in fury, but I could not find +The fringes of the Infinite. Behind +And yet behind, and ever at the end +Came new beginnings, paths that did not wend +To anywhere were there: and ever vast +And vaster spaces opened--till at last +Dizzied with distance, thrilling to a pain +Unnameable, I turned to Heaven again. +And there My angels were prepared to fling +The cloudy incense, there prepared to sing +My praise and glory--O, in fury I +Then roared them senseless, then threw down the sky +And stamped upon it, buffeted a star +With My great fist, and flung the sun afar: +Shouted My anger till the mighty sound +Rung to the width, frighting the furthest bound +And scope of hearing: tumult vaster still, +Thronging the echo, dinned My ears, until +I fled in silence, seeking out a place +To hide Me from the very thought of Space. + +And so, He thought, in Mine own Image I +Have made a man, remote from Heaven high +And all its humble angels: I have poured +My essence in his nostrils: I have cored +His heart with My own spirit; part of Me, +His mind with laboured growth unceasingly +Must strive to equal Mine; must ever grow +By virtue of My essence till he know +Both good and evil through the solemn test +Of sin and retribution, till, with zest, +He feels his godhead, soars to challenge Me +In Mine own Heaven for supremacy. + +Through savage beasts and still more savage clay, +Invincible, I bid him fight a way +To greater battles, crawling through defeat +Into defeat again: ordained to meet +Disaster in disaster; prone to fall, +I prick him with My memory to call +Defiance at his victor and arise +With anguished fury to his greater size +Through tribulation, terror, and despair. +Astounded, he must fight to higher air, +Climb battle into battle till he be +Confronted with a flaming sword and Me. + +So growing age by age to greater strength, +To greater beauty, skill and deep intent: +With wisdom wrung from pain, with energy +Nourished in sin and sorrow, he will be +Strong, pure and proud an enemy to meet, +Tremendous on a battle-field, or sweet +To walk by as a friend with candid mind. +--Dear enemy or friend so hard to find, +I yet shall find you, yet shall put My breast +In enmity or love against your breast: +Shall smite or clasp with equal ecstasy +The enemy or friend who grows to Me. + +The topmost blossom of his growing I +Shall take unto Me, cherish and lift high +Beside Myself upon My holy throne:-- +It is not good for God to be alone. +The perfect woman of his perfect race +Shall sit beside Me in the highest place +And be My Goddess, Queen, Companion, Wife, +The rounder of My majesty, the life, +Of My ambition. She will smile to see +Me bending down to worship at her knee +Who never bent before, and she will say, +'Dear God, who was it taught 'Thee' how to pray?' + +And through eternity, adown the slope +Of never-ending time, compact of hope, +Of zest and young enjoyment, I and She +Will walk together, sowing jollity +Among the raving stars, and laughter through +The vacancies of Heaven, till the blue +Vast amplitudes of space lift up a song, +The echo of our presence, rolled along +And ever rolling where the planets sing +The majesty and glory of the King. +Then conquered, thou, Eternity, shalt lie +Under My hand as little as a fly. + +I am the Master: I the mighty God +And you My workshop. Your pavilions trod +By Me and Mine shall never cease to be, +For you are but the magnitude of Me, +The width of My extension, the surround +Of My dense splendour. Rolling, rolling round, +To steeped infinity, and out beyond +My own strong comprehension, you are bond +And servile to My doings. Let you swing +More wide and ever wide, you do but fling +Around this instant Me, and measure still +The breadth and the proportion of My Will. + +Then stooping to the hut--a beehive round-- +God entered in and saw upon the ground +The dusty garland, Adam, (learned to weave) +Had loving placed upon the head of Eve +Before the terror came, when joyous they +Could look for God at closing of the day +Profound and happy. So the Mighty Guest +Rent, took, and placed the blossoms in His breast. +'This,' said He gently, 'I shall show My queen +When she hath grown to Me in space serene, +And say "'twas worn by Eve."' So, smiling fair, +He spread abroad His wings upon the air. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +ROBERT CALVERLEY TREVELYAN + + + +DIRGE + + +Gone is he now. +One flower the less +Is left to make +For thee less lone +Earth's wilderness, +Where thou +Must still live on. + +What hath been, ne'er +May be again. +Yet oft of old, +To cheat despair, +Tales false and fair +In vain +Of death were told. + +O vain belief! +O'erweening dreams! +Trust not fond hope, +Nor think that bliss +Which neither seems, +Nor is, +Aught else than grief. + + + + + + * * * * * + + + + + +BIBLIOGRAPHY + +(These lists, which include poetical works only, are in some cases +incomplete.) + + +LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE + + Interludes and Poems. John Lane. 1908 + Mary and the Bramble. Published by the Author. 1910 + The Sale of St. Thomas. " " 1911 + Emblems of Love. John Lane. 1912 + Deborah (three act play) " " 1912 + + +GORDON BOTTOMLEY + + The Crier by Night (one act play). Unicorn Press. 1902. + (Out of print.) [1] + Midsummer Eve (one act pastoral) Peartree Press. 1905 + The Riding to Lithend (one act play) " " 1909 + The Gate of Smaragdus. Elkin Mathews. 1904 + Chambers of Imagery (First Series). " 1907 + Chambers of Imagery (Second Series). " 1912 + A Vision of Giorgione. T. B. Mosher + (Portland, Maine, U.S.A.). 1910 + + +RUPERT BROOKE + + Poems. Sidgwick and Jackson. 1911 + + +G. K. CHESTERTON + + The Wild Knight. Grant Richards. 1900 + The Ballad of the White Horse. Methuen. 1911 + + +WILLIAM H. DAVIES + + The Soul's Destroyer. Alston Rivers. 1906 + New Poems. Elkin Mathews. 1907 + Nature Poems A. C. Fifield. 1908 + Farewell to Poesy. " " 1910 + Songs of Joy. " " 1911 + + +WALTER DE LA MARE + + Songs of Childhood. Longmans. 1902 + Poems. Murray. 1906 + The Listeners. Constable. 1912 + + +JOHN DRINKWATER + + Lyrical and Other Poems. Samurai Press. 1908. (Out of print.) + Poems of Men and Hours. David Nutt. 1911 + Cophetua (one act play). " " 1911 + Poems of Love and Earth. " " 1912 + + +JAMES ELROY FLECKER + + Forty-Two Poems. J. M. Dent and Sons. 1911 + + +WILFRID WILSON GIBSON + + On the Threshold. Elkin Mathews. 1907 + The Stonefolds. " " 1907 + Daily Bread. " " 1910 + Fires. " " 1912 + + +D. H. LAWRENCE + + ('Poems of Love' will be published by Messrs Duckworth in February.) + + +JOHN MASEFIELD + + Salt Water Ballads. Grant Richards. 1902 + Ballads. Elkin Mathews. 1903 + Ballads and Poems. " " 1910 + The Everlasting Mercy. Sidgwick and Jackson. 1911 + The Widow in the Bye Street. " " 1912 + + +HAROLD MONRO + + Poems. Elkin Mathews. 1906 + Judas. Sampson Low. 1908 + Before Dawn. Constable. 1911 + + +T. STURGE MOORE + + The Vinedresser. Unicorn Press. 1899 + The Little School. Pissarro. 1905 + Poems. Duckworth. 1906 + Mariamne. " 1911 + A Sicilian Idyll, and Judith " 1911 + + +RONALD ROSS + + Fables. Tinling and Co., Liverpool. 1907 + Philosophies. Murray. 1910 + Lyra Modulata. (Privately printed.) 1911 + + +EDMUND BEALE SARGANT + + The Casket Songs. Longmans. 1912 + + +JAMES STEPHENS + + Insurrections. Maunsel. 1909 + The Hill of Vision. " 1912 + + +ROBERT CALVERLEY TREVELYAN + + Mallow and Asphodel. Macmillan. 1898 + Sisyphus. Longmans. 1908 + The Bride of Dionysus. " 1912 + + + +[Footnote 1: Reprinted in 'The Bibelot' for 1909. T. B. Mosher, +Portland, Maine, U.S.A.] + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Georgian Poetry 1911-12, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GEORGIAN POETRY 1911-12 *** + +***** This file should be named 9484.txt or 9484.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/4/8/9484/ + +Produced by Clytie Siddall, Keren Vergon, and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |