<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h3>ARDOURS AND ENDURANCES</h3>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/frontis.jpg" width-obs="100%" alt="" title="" /></div>
<h1><b>ARDOURS AND<br/> ENDURANCES</b></h1>
<h3>ALSO A FAUN'S HOLIDAY &<br/> POEMS AND PHANTASIES BY</h3>
<h4>ROBERT NICHOLS</h4>
<p class="center">Author of "Invocation: War Poems
and Others"</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/logo.jpg" width-obs="126" height-obs="160" alt="" title="" /></div>
<p class="center">NEW YORK<br/>
<big>FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY</big><br/>
PUBLISHERS</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>BOOK I</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>ARDOURS AND ENDURANCES</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Summons</span>:</td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>To——</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_4">4</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>The Past</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_5">5</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>The Reckoning</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_6">6</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Farewell To Place of Comfort</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_7">7</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Approach</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>In the Grass: Halt by Roadside</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_12">12</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>The Day's March</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_13">13</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>Nearer</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_15">15</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Battle</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>Noon</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_18">18</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>Night Bombardment</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_19">19</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>Comrades: An Episode</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_22">22</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>IV.</td><td align='left'>Behind the Lines: Night, France</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_27">27</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>V.</td><td align='left'>At the Wars</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_28">28</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>VI.</td><td align='left'>Out of Trenches: The Barn, Twilight</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_30">30</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>VII.</td><td align='left'>Battery moving up to a New Position from Rest Camp: Dawn</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_32">32</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>Eve of Assault: Infantry going down to Trenches</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_35">35</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>IX.</td><td align='left'>The Assault</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_37">37</SPAN><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>X.</td><td align='left'>The Last Morning</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_42">42</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>XI.</td><td align='left'>Fulfilment</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_44">44</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Dead</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>The Burial in Flanders</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_46">46</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>Boy</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_48">48</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>Plaint of Friendship by Death Broken</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_51">51</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>IV.</td><td align='left'>By the Wood</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_55">55</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Aftermath</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>At the Ebb</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_58">58</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>Alone</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_60">60</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>Thanksgiving</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_61">61</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>IV.</td><td align='left'>Annihilated</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_62">62</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>V.</td><td align='left'>Shut of Night</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_63">63</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>VI.</td><td align='left'>The Full Heart</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_65">65</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>VII.</td><td align='left'>Sonnet: Our Dead</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_66">66</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>VIII.</td><td align='left'>Deliverance</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_67">67</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td></td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>BOOK II</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>A FAUN'S HOLIDAY</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_69">69</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td></td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>BOOK III</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'>POEMS AND PHANTASIES</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">A Triptych</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'></td><td align='left'>First Panel: The Hill</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_140">140</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>Second and Centre Panel: The Tower</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_146">146</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>Third Panel: The Tree</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_150">150</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</SPAN></span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Four Songs From "The Prince of Ormuz"</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>The Prince of Ormuz sings to Badoura</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_154">154</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>The Song of the Princess Beside the Fountain</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_155">155</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>The Song of the Prince in Disguise</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_156">156</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>IV.</td><td align='left'>The Princess Badoura's Last Song to her Lover</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_157">157</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Gift of Song</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_160">160</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Fragments from "Orestes"</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>Warning Unheeded</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_164">164</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>Orestes to the Furies</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_167">167</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Black Songs</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>I.</td><td align='left'>At Braydon</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_170">170</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>II.</td><td align='left'>Midday on the Edge of the Downs</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_172">172</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td class='tdr'>III.</td><td align='left'>In Dorsetshire</td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_173">173</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Man's Anacreontic</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_176">176</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Blackbird</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_179">179</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Change</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_180">180</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Transfiguration</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_181">181</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Plaint of Pierrot Ill-Used</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_183">183</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Girl's Song from "The Tailor"</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_188">188</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Last Song in an Opera</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_190">190</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Danaë: Mystery in Eight Poems</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_191">191</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Ecstasy</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_199">199</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Water-Lily</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_201">201</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Deem You the Roses</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_202">202</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">The Passion</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_203">203</SPAN></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span class="smcap">Last Words</span></td><td align='right'><SPAN href="#Page_206">206</SPAN></td></tr>
</table></div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="poem">
<p>My thanks are due to the editor of the
<i>Times</i> and of the <i>Nation</i>, to the editors
of the <i>Palatine Review</i>, and to Messrs.
Blackwell, Oxford, the publishers of
"Oxford Poetry, 1915," and "Oxford
Poetry, 1916," for permission to reprint
certain of these poems.</p>
<p style='text-align: right'>R. M. B. N.</p>
<p> <small>1917.</small></p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><SPAN name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></SPAN>INTRODUCTION</h2>
<div class="poem">
<p>1. <i>Of the nature of the poet</i>:</p>
<p>"We are (often) so impressed by the power of
poetry that we think of it as something made by
a wonderful and unusual person: we do not
realize the fact that all the wonder and marvel
is in our own brains, that the poet is ourselves.
He speaks our language better than we do merely
because he is more skilful with it than we are; his
skill is part of our skill, his power of our power;
generations of English-speaking men and women
have made us sensible to these things, and our
sensibility comes from the same source that the
poet's power of stimulating it comes from. Given
a little more sensitiveness to external stimuli, a
little more power of associating ideas, a co-ordination
of the functions of expression somewhat
more apt, a sense of rhythm somewhat keener
than the average—given these things we should
be poets, too, even as he is.... <i>He is one of us.</i>"</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>2. <i>Of what English poetry consists</i>:</p>
<p>"English poetry is not a rhythm of sound,
but a rhythm of ideas, and the flow of attention-stresses
(<i>i.e.</i>, varying qualities of words and
cadence) which determines its beauty is inseparably
connected with the thought; for each of
them is a judgment of identity, or a judgment
of relation, or an expression of relation, and not
a thing of mere empty sound.... He who would
think of it as a pleasing arrangement of vocal
sounds has missed all chance of ever understanding
its meaning. There awaits him only the
barren generalities of a foreign prosody, tedious,
pedantic, fruitless. And he will flounder ceaselessly
amid the scattered timbers of its iambuses,
spondees, dactyls, tribrachs, never reaching the
firm ground of truth."</p>
</div>
<p class="center"><span class="smcap">"An Introduction To the Scientific Study Of<br/>
English Poetry</span>,"<SPAN name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</SPAN> <i>by</i> <span class="smcap">Mark Liddell</span>.</p>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></SPAN> <i>Published by Grant Richards (1902). This remarkable
book, establishing English poetry as a thing governed
from within by its own necessities, and not by rules of
æsthetics imposed on it from without, formulates principles
which, unperceived, have governed English poetry
from the earliest times, which find their greatest exemplar
in Shakespeare, and which, though beginning to be realized
by the less pedantic of the moderns, are in its pages for the
first time lucidly expounded and—such is their adequacy—can,
in the end, only be regarded as indubitably proven.</i>—R. M. B. N.,
1917.</p>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</SPAN></span></p>
<h1><SPAN name="BOOK_I" id="BOOK_I"></SPAN>BOOK I</h1>
<h2>ARDOURS AND<br/> ENDURANCES</h2>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4><span class="smcap">To THE Memory of my Trusty and<br/>
Gallant Friends</span>: HAROLD STUART<br/>
GOUGH (<i>King's Royal Rifle Corps</i>) <span class="smcap">and</span><br/>
RICHARD PINSENT (<i>the Worcester<br/>
Regiment</i>)</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For what is life if measured by the space,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Not by the act?"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i10"><span class="smcap">Ben Jonson.</span><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_SUMMONS" id="THE_SUMMONS"></SPAN>THE SUMMONS</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—TO——</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Asleep within the deadest hour of night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, turning with the earth, I was aware<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How suddenly the eastern curve was bright,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As when the sun arises from his lair.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But not the sun arose: it was thy hair<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shaken up heaven in tossing leagues of light.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Since then I know that neither night nor day<br/></span>
<span class="i0">May I escape thee, O my heavenly hell!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Awake, in dreams, thou springest to waylay<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And should I dare to die, I know full well<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose voice would mock me in the mourning bell,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose face would greet me in hell's fiery way.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—THE PAST</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How to escape the bondage of the past?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I fly thee, yet my spirit finds no calms<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save when she deems her rocked within those arms<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To which, from which she ne'er was caught or cast.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O sadness of a heart so spent in vain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That drank its age's fuel in an hour:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For whom the whole world burning had not power<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To quick with life the smouldered wick again!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—THE RECKONING</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The whole world burns, and with it burns my flesh.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Arise, thou spirit spent by sterile tears;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thine eyes were ardent once, thy looks were fresh,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thy brow shone bright amid thy shining peers.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fame calls thee not, thou who hast vainly strayed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So far for her; nor Passion, who in the past<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gave thee her ghost to wed and to be paid;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nor Love, whose anguish only learned to last.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Honour it is that calls: canst thou forget<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Once thou wert strong? Listen; the solemn call<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sounds but this once again. Put by regret<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For summons missed, or thou hast missed them all.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Body is ready, Fortune pleased; O let<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Not the poor Past cost the proud Future's fall.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="FAREWELL_TO_PLACE" id="FAREWELL_TO_PLACE"></SPAN>FAREWELL TO PLACE<br/> OF COMFORT</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>FAREWELL TO PLACE OF COMFORT</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For the last time, maybe, upon the knoll<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I stand. The eve is golden, languid, sad....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Day like a tragic actor plays his rôle<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the last whispered word, and falls gold-clad.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I, too, take leave of all I ever had.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They shall not say I went with heavy heart:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heavy I am, but soon I shall be free;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I love them all, but O I now depart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A little sadly, strangely, fearfully,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As one who goes to try a Mystery.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The bell is sounding down in Dedham Vale:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be still, O bell! too often standing here<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When all the air was tremulous, fine, and pale,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thy golden note so calm, so still, so clear,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out of my stony heart has struck a tear.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And now tears are not mine. I have release<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From all the former and the later pain;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like the mid-sea I rock in boundless peace,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soothed by the charity of the deep sea rain....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Calm rain! Calm sea! Calm found, long sought in vain.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O bronzen pines, evening of gold and blue,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Steep mellow slope, brimmed twilit pools below,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hushed trees, still vale dissolving in the dew,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Farewell! Farewell! There is no more to do.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We have been happy. Happy now I go.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_APPROACH" id="THE_APPROACH"></SPAN>THE APPROACH</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—IN THE GRASS: HALT BY ROADSIDE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In my tired, helpless body<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I feel my sunk heart ache;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But suddenly, loudly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The far, the great guns shake.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Is it sudden terror<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Burdens my heart? My hand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flies to my head. I listen....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And do not understand.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Is death so near, then?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From this blaze of light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Do I plunge suddenly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into Vortex? Night?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Guns again! the quiet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shakes at the vengeful voice....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It is terrible pleasure.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I do not fear: I rejoice.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—THE DAY'S MARCH</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The battery grides and jingles,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mile succeeds to mile;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shaking the noonday sunshine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The guns lunge out awhile,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And then are still awhile.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We amble along the highway;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The reeking, powdery dust<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ascends and cakes our faces<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With a striped, sweaty crust.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Under the still sky's violet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The heat thróbs on the air....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The white road's dusty radiance<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Assumes a dark glare.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With a head hot and heavy,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And eyes that cannot rest,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And a black heart burning<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In a stifled breast,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I sit in the saddle,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I feel the road unroll,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And keep my senses straightened<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward to-morrow's goal.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There, over unknown meadows<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which we must reach at last,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Day and night thunders<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A black and chilly blast.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Heads forget heaviness,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hearts forget spleen,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For by that mighty winnowing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Being is blown clean.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Light in the eyes again,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Strength in the hand,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A spirit dares, dies, forgives,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And can understand!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And, best! Love comes back again<br/></span>
<span class="i0">After grief and shame,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And along the wind of death<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Throws a clean flame.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="half" />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The battery grides and jingles,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mile succeeds to mile;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly battering the silence<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The guns burst out awhile.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="half" />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I lift my head and smile.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—NEARER</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Nearer and ever nearer....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My body, tired but tense,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hovers 'twixt vague pleasure<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And tremulous confidence.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Arms to have and to use them<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And a soul to be made<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Worthy if not worthy;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If afraid, unafraid.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To endure for a little,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To endure and have done:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Men I love about me,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over me the sun!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And should at last suddenly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fly the speeding death,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The four great quarters of heaven<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Receive this little breath.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="BATTLE" id="BATTLE"></SPAN>BATTLE</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—NOON</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It is midday: the deep trench glares....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A buzz and blaze of flies....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hot wind puffs the giddy airs....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The great sun rakes the skies.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No sound in all the stagnant trench<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where forty standing men<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Endure the sweat and grit and stench,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like cattle in a pen.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sometimes a sniper's bullet whirs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or twangs the whining wire;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes a soldier sighs and stirs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As in hell's frying fire.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">From out a high cool cloud descends<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An aeroplane's far moan....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sun strikes down, the thin cloud rends....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The black speck travels on.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And sweating, dizzied, isolate<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the hot trench beneath,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We bide the next shrewd move of fate<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be it of life or death.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—NIGHT BOMBARDMENT</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Softly in the silence the evening rain descends....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The soft wind lifts the rain-mist, flurries it, and spends<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Its grief in mournful sighs, drifting from field to field,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soaking the draggled sprays which the low hedges wield<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As they labour in the wet and the load of the wind.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The last light is dimming; night comes on behind.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza"><small>
<span class="i0">I hear no sound but the wind and the rain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And trample of horses, loud and lost again<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where the waggons in the mist rumble dimly on<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bringing more shell.<br/></span>
<span class="i9">The last gleam is gone.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It is not day or night; only the mists unroll<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And blind with their sorrow the sight of my soul.<br/></span>
</small>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I hear the wind weeping in the hollow overhead:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She goes searching for the forgotten dead<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hidden in the hedges or trodden into muck<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the trenches, or maybe limply stuck<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Somewhere in the branches of a high lonely tree—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He was a sniper once. They never found his body.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I see the mist drifting. I hear the wind and rain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And on my clammy face the oozed breath of the slain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Seems to be blowing. Almost I have heard<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the shuddering drift the lost dead's last word:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza"><small>
<span class="i0">Go home, go home, go to my house;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Knock at the door, knock hard, arouse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My wife and the children—that you must do—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What do you say?—Tell the children, too—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Knock at the door, knock hard, arouse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The living. Say: the dead won't come back to this house.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O ... but it's cold—I soak in the rain—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shrapnel found me—I shan't come home again—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No, not home again!<br/></span>
</small></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">The mourning voices trail<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Away into rain, into darkness ... the pale<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soughing of the night drifts on in between.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>The Voices were as if the dead had never been.</i><br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O melancholy heavens, O melancholy fields,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The glad, full darkness grows complete and shields<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Me from your appeal.<br/></span>
<span class="i9">With a terrible delight<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I hear far guns low like oxen at the night.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flames disrupt the sky.<br/></span>
<span class="i9">The work is begun.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Action!" My guns crash, flame, rock and stun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Again and again. Soon the soughing night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is loud with their clamour and leaps with their light.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The imperative chorus rises sonorous and fell:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My heart glows lighted as by fires of hell.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sharply I pass the terse orders down.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The guns blare and rock. The hissing rain is blown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Athwart the hurtled shell that shrilling, shrilling goes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Away into the dark, to burst a cloud of rose<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over German trenches.<br/></span>
<span class="i9">A pause: I stand and see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lifting into the night like founts incessantly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The pistol-lights' pale spores upon the glimmering air....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under them furrowed trenches empty, pallid, bare....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And rain snowing trenchward ghostly and white.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O dead in the hedges, sleep ye well to-night!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—COMRADES: AN EPISODE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Before, before he was aware<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The 'Verey' light had risen ... on the air<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It hung glistering....<br/></span>
<span class="i7">And he could not stay his hand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From moving to the barbed wire's broken strand.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A rifle cracked.<br/></span>
<span class="i7">He fell.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Night waned. He was alone. A heavy shell<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whispered itself passing high, high overhead.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His wound was wet to his hand: for still it bled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On to the glimmering ground.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then with a slow, vain smile his wound he bound,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Knowing, of course, he'd not see home again—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Home whose thought he put away.<br/></span>
<span class="i14">His men<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whispered: "Where's Mister Gates?" "Out on the wire."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"I'll get him," said one....<br/></span>
<span class="i9">Dawn blinked, and the fire<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the Germans heaved up and down the line.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Stand to!"<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Too late! "I'll get him." "O the swine!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When we might get him in yet safe and whole!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Corporal didn't see 'un fall out on patrol,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or he'd 'a got 'un." "Sssh!"<br/></span>
<span class="i10">"No talking there."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A whisper: "'A went down at the last flare."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Meanwhile the Maxims toc-toc-tocked; their swish<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of bullets told death lurked against the wish.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No hope for him!<br/></span>
<span class="i7">His corporal, as one shamed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Vainly and helplessly his ill-luck blamed.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class='half' />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then Gates slowly saw the morn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Break in a rosy peace through the lone thorn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By which he lay, and felt the dawn-wind pass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whispering through the pallid, stalky grass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of No-Man's Land....<br/></span>
<span class="i9">And the tears came<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scaldingly sweet, more lovely than a flame.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He closed his eyes: he thought of home<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And grit his teeth. He knew no help could come....<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class='half' />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The silent sun over the earth held sway,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Occasional rifles cracked and far away<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">A heedless speck, a 'plane, slid on alone,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like a fly traversing a cliff of stone.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I must get back," said Gates aloud, and heaved<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At his body. But it lay bereaved<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of any power. He could not wait till night....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And he lay still. Blood swam across his sight.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then with a groan:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"No luck ever! Well, I must die alone."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Occasional rifles cracked. A cloud that shone,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gold-rimmed, blackened the sun and then was gone....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sun still smiled. The grass sang in its play.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Someone whistled: "Over the hills and far away."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gates watched silently the swift, swift sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Burning his life before it was begun....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Suddenly he heard Corporal Timmins' voice:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Now then,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Urry up with that tea."<br/></span>
<span class="i7">"Hi Ginger!" "Bill!" His men!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Timmins and Jones and Wilkinson (the 'bard'),<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Hughes and Simpson. It was hard<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Not to see them: Wilkinson, stubby, grim,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With his "No, sir," "Yes, sir," and the slim<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Simpson: "Indeed, sir?" (while it seemed he winked<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Because his smiling left eye always blinked)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Corporal Timmins, straight and blonde and wise,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With his quiet-scanning, level, hazel eyes;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all the others ... tunics that didn't fit....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A dozen different sorts of eyes. O it<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was hard to lie there! Yet he must. But no:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"I've got to die. I'll get to them. I'll go."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Inch by inch he fought, breathless and mute,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dragging his carcase like a famished brute....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His head was hammering, and his eyes were dim;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A bloody sweat seemed to ooze out of him<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And freeze along his spine.... Then he'd lie still<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Before another effort of his will<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Took him one nearer yard.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class='half' />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">The parapet was reached.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He could not rise to it. A lookout screeched:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Mr. Gates!"<br/></span>
<span class="i5">Three figures in one breath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Leaped up. Two figures fell in toppling death;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Gates was lifted in. "Who's hit?" said he.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Timmins and Jones." "Why did they that for me?—<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">I'm gone already!" Gently they laid him prone<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And silently watched.<br/></span>
<span class="i5">He twitched. They heard him moan<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Why for me?" His eyes roamed round, and none replied.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"I see it was alone I should have died."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They shook their heads. Then, "Is the doctor here?"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"He's coming, sir; he's hurryin', no fear."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"No good....<br/></span>
<span class="i6">Lift me." They lifted him.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He smiled and held his arms out to the dim,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And in a moment passed beyond their ken,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hearing him whisper, "O my men, my men!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">In Hospital, London</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><small><i>Autumn</i>, 1915.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>IV.—BEHIND THE LINES: NIGHT, FRANCE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the cross-roads I halt<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And stand stock-still....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The linked and flickering constellations climb<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Slowly the spread black heaven's immensity.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The wind wanders like a thought at fault.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Within the close-shuttered cottage nigh<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I hear—while its fearful, ag'd master sleeps like the dead—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A slow clock chime<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With solemn thrill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The most sombre hour of time,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And see stand in the cottage's garden chill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The two white crosses, one at each grave's head....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O France, France, France! I loved you, love you still;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But, Oh! why took you not my life instead?<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>V.—AT THE WARS</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now that I am ta'en away,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And may not see another day,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What is it to my eye appears?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What sound rings in my stricken ears?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Not even the voice of any friend<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or eyes beloved-world-without-end,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But scenes and sounds of the countryside<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In far England across the tide:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An upland field when Spring's begun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mellow beneath the evening sun....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A circle of loose and lichened wall<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over which seven red pines fall....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An orchard of wizen blossoming trees<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherein the nesting chaffinches<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Begin again the self-same song<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All the late April day-time long....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Paths that lead a shelving course<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Between the chalk scarp and the gorse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By English downs; and, O! too well<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I hear the hidden, clanking bell<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of wandering sheep.... I see the brown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Twilight of the huge empty down....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soon blotted out! for now a lane<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glitters with warmth of May-time rain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And on a shooting briar I see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A yellow bird who sings to me.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O yellow-hammer, once I heard<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thy yaffle when no other bird<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Could to my sunk heart comfort bring;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But now I would not have thee sing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So sharp thy note is with the pain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of England I may not see again!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet sing thy song: there answereth<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deep in me a voice which saith:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>The gorse upon the twilit down,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>The English loam so sunset brown,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>The bowed pines and the sheep-bells' clamour,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>The wet, lit lane and the yellow-hammer,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>The orchard and the chaffinch song,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Only to the Brave belong.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>And he shall lose their joy for aye</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>If their price he cannot pay,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Who shall find them dearer far</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Enriched by blood after long War.</i>"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>VI.—OUT OF TRENCHES: THE BARN, TWILIGHT</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the raftered barn we lie,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sprawl, scrawl postcards, laugh and speak—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Just mere men a trifle weary,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Worn in heart, a trifle weak:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Because alway<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At close of day<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thought steals to England far away....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Alf!" "O ay."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Gi' us a tune, mate." "Well, wot say?"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Swipe 'The Policeman's 'Oliday'...."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>Tiddle-iddle-um-tum,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Tum</i>-<span class="smcap">tum</span>."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sprawling on my aching back,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Think I nought; but I am glad—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dear, rare lads of pick and pack!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Aie me too! I'm sad.... I'm sad:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Some must die<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Maybe I):<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O pray it take them suddenly!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Bill!" "Wot ho!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Concertina: let it go—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'If you were the Only Girl.'" "Cheero!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>If you were the Only Girl.</i>"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Damn. 'Abide with Me....' Not now!—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Well ... if you must: just your way.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It racks me till the tears nigh flow.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The tune see-saws. I turn, I pray<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Behind my hand,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shaken, unmanned,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In groans that God may understand:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Miracle!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Let, let them all survive this hell."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hear 'Trumpeter, what are you sounding?' swell.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(My God! I guess indeed too well:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The broken heart, eyes front, proud knell!)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Grant but mine sound with their farewell.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>It's the Last Post I'm sounding.</i>"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>VII.—BATTERY MOVING UP TO A NEW POSITION<br/> FROM REST CAMP: DAWN</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Not a sign of life we rouse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In any square close-shuttered house<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That flanks the road we amble down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward far trenches through the town.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The dark, snow-slushy, empty street....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tingle of frost in brow and feet....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Horse-breath goes dimly up like smoke.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No sound but the smacking stroke<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Of a sergeant flings each arm<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out and across to keep him warm,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the sudden splashing crack<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of ice-pools broken by our track.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">More dark houses, yet no sign<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of life.... An axle's creak and whine....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The splash of hooves, the strain of trace....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clatter: we cross the market place.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Deep quiet again, and on we lurch<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the shadow of a church:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Its tower ascends, fog-wreathed and grim;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within its aisles a light burns dim....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When, marvellous! from overhead,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like abrupt speech of one deemed dead,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Speech-moved by some Superior Will,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A bell tolls thrice and then is still.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And suddenly I know that now<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The priest within, with shining brow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lifts high the small round of the Host.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The server's tingling bell is lost<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In clash of the greater overhead.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Peace like a wave descends, is spread,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While watch the peasants' reverent eyes....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The bell's boom trembles, hangs, and dies.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O people who bow down to see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Miracle of Calvary,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The bitter and the glorious,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bow down, bow down and pray for us.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Once more our anguished way we take<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward our Golgotha, to make<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For all our lovers sacrifice.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Again the troubled bell tolls thrice.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And slowly, slowly, lifted up<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dazzles the overflowing cup.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O worshipping, fond multitude,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Remember us too, and our blood.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Turn hearts to us as we go by,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Salute those about to die,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Plead for them, the deep bell toll:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their sacrifice must soon be whole.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Entreat you for such hearts as break<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With the premonitory ache<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of bodies, whose feet, hands, and side,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Must soon be torn, pierced, crucified.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sue for them and all of us<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who the world over suffer thus,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who have scarce time for prayer indeed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who only march and die and bleed.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class='half' />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The town is left, the road leads on,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bluely glaring in the sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward where in the sunrise gate<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Death, honour, and fierce battle wait.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>VIII.—EVE OF ASSAULT: INFANTRY GOING<br/> DOWN TO TRENCHES</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Downward slopes the wild red sun.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We lie around a waiting gun;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soon we shall load and fire and load.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But, hark! a sound beats down the road.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Ello! wot's up?" "Let's 'ave a look!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Come on, Ginger, drop that book!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Wot an 'ell of bloody noise!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"It's the Yorks and Lancs, meboys!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So we crowd: hear, watch them come—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One man drubbing on a drum,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A crazy, high mouth-organ blowing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tin cans rattling, cat-calls, crowing....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And above their rhythmic feet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A whirl of shrilling loud and sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Round mouths whistling in unison;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shouts: "'O's goin' to out the 'Un?<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Back us up, mates!" "Gawd, we will!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"'Eave them shells at Kaiser Bill!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Art from Lancashire, melad?"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Gi' 'en a cheer, boys; make 'en glad."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Ip 'urrah!" "Give Fritz the chuck."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Good ol' bloody Yorks!" "Good-luck!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Cheer!"<br/></span>
<span class="i4">I cannot cheer or speak<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lest my voice, my heart must break.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>IX.—THE ASSAULT</h3>
<div class="poem">
<p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—(1) "Zero" is the hour agreed upon by the
Staff when the infantry are to go over the parapet and advance
to the assault. (2) Guns are said to "lift" when,
after pounding the front line of the enemy, they lengthen
their range and set up a barrier of fire behind his front line
to prevent supports moving up. Our infantry then advance.</p>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The beating of the guns grows louder.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>Not long, boys, now.</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My heart burns whiter, fearfuller, prouder.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hurricanes grow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As guns redouble their fire.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through the shaken periscope peeping,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I glimpse their wire:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Black earth, fountains of earth rise, leaping,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spouting like shocks of meeting waves.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Death's fountains are playing.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shells like shrieking birds rush over;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crash and din rises higher.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A stream of lead raves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over us from the left ... (we safe under cover!)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crash! Reverberation! Crash!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Acrid smoke billowing. Flash upon flash.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Black smoke drifting. The German line<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Vanishes in confusion, smoke. Cries, and cry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of our men, "<i>Gah, yer swine!</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Ye're for it</i>" die<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In a hurricane of shell.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One cry:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>We're comin' soon! look out!</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There is opened hell<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over there; fragments fly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rifles and bits of men whirled at the sky:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dust, smoke, thunder! A sudden bout<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of machine guns chattering....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And redoubled battering,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As if in fury at their daring!...<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No good staring.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Time soon now ... home ... house on a sunny hill....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gone like a flickered page:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Time soon now ... zero ... will engage....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A sudden thrill—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Fix bayonets!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gods! we have our fill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of fear, hysteria, exultation, rage,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rage to kill.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My heart burns hot, whiter and whiter,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Contracts tighter and tighter,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until I stifle with the will<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Long forged, now used<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Though utterly strained)—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O pounding heart,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Baffled, confused,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heart panged, head singing, dizzily pained—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To do my part.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Blindness a moment. Sick.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There the men are!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bayonets ready: click!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Time goes quick;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A stumbled prayer ... somehow a blazing star<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In a blue night ... where?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Again prayer.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The tongue trips. Start:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How's time? Soon now. Two minutes or less.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The gun's fury mounting higher....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their utmost. I lift a silent hand. Unseen I bless<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Those hearts will follow me.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And beautifully,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now beautifully my will grips.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soul calm and round and filmed and white!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A shout: "Men, no such order as retire"<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">I nod.<br/></span>
<span class="i3">The whistle's 'twixt my lips....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I catch<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A wan, worn smile at me.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dear men!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The pale wrist-watch....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The quiet hand ticks on amid the din.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The guns again<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rise to a last fury, to a rage, a lust:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Kill! Pound! Kill! Pound! Pound!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now comes the thrust!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My part ... dizziness ... will ... but trust<br/></span>
<span class="i0">These men. The great guns rise;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their fury seems to burst the earth and skies!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They lift.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gather, heart, all thoughts that drift;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be steel, soul,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Compress thyself<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into a round, bright whole.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I cannot speak.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Time. Time!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I hear my whistle shriek,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Between teeth set;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I fling an arm up,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scramble up the grime<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the parapet!<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">I'm up. Go on.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Something meets us.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Head down into the storm that greets us.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A wail.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lights. Blurr.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gone.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On, on. Leăd. Leăd. Hail.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spatter. Whirr! Whirr!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>Toward that patch of brown;</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Direction left.</i>" Bullets a stream.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Devouring thought crying in a dream.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Men, crumpled, going down....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Go on. Go.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deafness. Numbness. The loudening tornado.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bullets. Mud. Stumbling and skating.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My voice's strangled shout:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>Steady pace, boys!</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The still light: gladness.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>Look, sir. Look out!</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ha! ha! Bunched figures waiting.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Revolver levelled quick!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flick! Flick!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Red as blood.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Germans. Germans.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Good! O good!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cool madness.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>X.—THE LAST MORNING</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come now, O Death,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While I am proud,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While joy and awe are breath,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And heart beats loud!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">While all around me stand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Men that I love,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind blares aloud, the grand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sun wheels above.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Naked I stand to-day<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Before my doom,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Welcome what comes my way,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whatever come.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What is there more to ask<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than that I have?—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Companions, love, a task,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And a deep grave!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come then, Eternity,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If thou my lot;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Having been thus, I cannot be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As if I had not.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Naked I wait my doom!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Earth enough shroud!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Death, in thy narrow room<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Man can lie proud!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>XI.—FULFILMENT</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Was there love once? I have forgotten her.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was there grief once? grief yet is mine.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Other loves I have, men rough, but men who stir<br/></span>
<span class="i0">More grief, more joy, than love of thee and thine.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Faces cheerful, full of whimsical mirth,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lined by the wind, burned by the sun;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bodies enraptured by the abounding earth,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As whose children we are brethren: one.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And any moment may descend hot death<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To shatter limbs! pulp, tear, blast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beloved soldiers who love rough life and breath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Not less for dying faithful to the last.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O the fading eyes, the grimed face turned bony,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Oped mouth gushing, fallen head,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lessening pressure of a hand shrunk, clammed, and stony!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O sudden spasm, release of the dead!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Was there love once? I have forgotten her.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was there grief once? grief yet is mine.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O loved, living, dying, heroic soldier,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All, all, my joy, my grief, my love, are thine!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_DEAD" id="THE_DEAD"></SPAN>THE DEAD</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—THE BURIAL IN FLANDERS</h3>
<h4>(<span class="smcap">H. S. G., Ypres</span>, 1916)</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Through the light rain I think I see them going,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through the light rain under the muffled skies;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Across the fields a stealthy wet wind wanders,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The mist bedews their tunics, dizzies their brains.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Shoulder-high, khaki shoulder by shoulder,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They bear my Boy upon his last journey.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Night is closing. The wind sighs, ebbs, and falters....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They totter dreaming, deem they see his face.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Even as Vikings of old their slaughtered leader<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon their shoulders, so now bear they on<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All that remains of Boy, my friend, their leader,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An officer who died for them under the dawn.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O that I were there that I might carry,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Might share that bitter load in grief, in pride!...<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I see upon bronze faces love, submission,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And a dumb sorrow for that cheerful Boy.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now they arrive. The priest repeats the service.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The drifting rain obscures.<br/></span>
<span class="i10">They are dispersed.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The dying sun streams out: a moment's radiance;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The still, wet, glistening grave; the trod sward steaming.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class='half' />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sudden great guns startle, echoing on the silence.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thunder. Thunder.<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">He has Fallen in battle.</span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">(O Boy! Boy!)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lessening now. The rain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Patters anew. Far guns rumble and shudder<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And night descends upon the desolate plain.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><small><i>September</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—BOY</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In a far field, away from England, lies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A Boy I friended with a care like love;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All day the wide earth aches, the cold wind cries,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The melancholy clouds drive on above.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There, separate from him by a little span,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Two eagle cousins, generous, reckless, free,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Two Grenfells, lie, and my Boy is made man,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One with these elder knights of chivalry.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Boy, who expected not this dreadful day,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet leaped, a soldier, at the sudden call,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drank as your fathers, deeper though than they,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The soldier's cup of anguish, blood, and gall,<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Not now as friend, but as a soldier, I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Salute you fallen; for the Soldier's name<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Our greatest honour is, if worthily<br/></span>
<span class="i0">These wayward hearts assume and bear the same:<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Soldier's is a name none recognize,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Saving his fellows. Deeds are all his flower.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He lives, he toils, he suffers, and he dies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And if not all in vain this is his dower:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Soldier is the Martyr of a nation,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Expresses but is subject to its will;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His is the Pride ennobles Resignation,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As his the rebel Spirit-to-fulfil.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Anonymous, he takes his country's name,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Becomes its blindest vassal—though its lord<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By force of arms; its shame is called his shame,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As its the glory gathered by his sword.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Lonely he is: he has nor friend nor lover,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sith in his body he is dedicate....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His comrades only share his life, or offer<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their further deeds to one more heart oblate.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Living, he's made an 'Argument Beyond'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For others' peace; but when hot wars have birth,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For all his brothers' safety becomes bond<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To Fate or Whatsoever sways this Earth.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Dying, his mangled body, to inter it,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He doth bequeath him into comrade hands;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His soul he renders to some Captain Spirit<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That knows, admires, pities, and understands!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All this you knew by that which doth reside<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deeper than learning; by apprehension<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of ancient, dark, and melancholy pride<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You were a Soldier true, and died as one.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All day the cold wind cries, the clouds unroll;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But to the cloud and wind I cry, "Be still!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What need of comfort has the heroic soul?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What soldier finds a soldier's grave is chill?<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><small><i>September</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—PLAINT OF FRIENDSHIP BY DEATH BROKEN</h3>
<h4>(<span class="smcap">R. P., Loos</span>, 1915)</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">God, if Thou livest, Thine eye on me bend,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And stay my grief and bring my pain to end:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pain for my lost, the deepest, rarest friend<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>Man ever had, whence groweth this despair</i>.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I had a friend: but, O! he is now dead;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I had a vision: for which he has bled:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I had happiness: but it is fled.<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>God help me now, for I must needs despair.</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His eyes were dark and sad, yet never sad;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In them moved sombre figures sable-clad;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They were the deepest eyes man ever had,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">They were my solemn joy—<i>now my despair</i>.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In my perpetual night they on me look,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Reading me slowly; and I cannot brook<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their silent beauty, for nor crack nor nook<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Can cover me but they shall find me there.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His face was straight, his mouth was wide yet trim;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His hair was tangled black, and through its dim<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Softness his perplexed hand would writhe and swim—<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Hands that were small on arms strong-knit yet spare.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He stood no taller than our common span,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Swam but nor farther leaped nor faster ran;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I know him spirit now, who seemed a man.<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>God help me now, for I must needs despair.</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His voice was low and clear, yet it could rise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And beat in indignation at the skies;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then no man dared to meet his fire-filled eyes,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And even I, his own friend, did not dare.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With humorous wistfulness he spoke to us,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet there was something more mysterious,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond his words or silence, glorious:<br/></span>
<span class="i2">I know not what, but we could feel it there.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I mind now how we sat one winter night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While past his open window raced the bright<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Snow-torrent golden in the hot firelight....<br/></span>
<span class="i2">I see him smiling at the streamered air.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I watched him to the open window go,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And lean long smiling, whispering to the snow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Play with his hands amid the fiery flow<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And when he turned it flamed amid his hair.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Without arose a sudden bell's huge clang<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until a thousand bells in answer rang<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And midnight Oxford hummed and reeled and sang<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Under the whitening fury of the air.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">His figure standing in the fiery room....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Behind him the snow seething through the gloom....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The great bells shaking, thundering out their doom....<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Soft Fiery Snow and Night his being were.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet he could be simply glad and take his choice,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Walking spring woods, mimicking each bird voice;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When he was glad we learned how to rejoice:<br/></span>
<span class="i2">If the birds sing, 'tis to my spite they dare.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All women loved him, yet his mother won<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His tenderness alone, for Moon and Sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Rain were for him sister, brother, lovèd one,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And in their life he took an equal share.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Strength he had, too; strength of unrusted will<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Buttressed his natural charity, and ill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fared it with him who sought his good to kill:<br/></span>
<span class="i2">He was its Prince and Champion anywhere.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet he had weakness, for he burned too fast;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And his unrecked-of body at the last<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He in impatience on the bayonets cast,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Body whose spirit had outsoared them there.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I had a friend, but, O! he is now dead.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fate would not let me follow where he led.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In him I had happiness. But he is dead.<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>God help me now, for I must needs despair.</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">God, if Thou livest, and indeed didst send<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thine only Son to be to all a Friend,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bid His dark, pitying eyes upon me bend,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And His hand heal, or <i>I must needs despair</i>.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">In Hospital</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>Autumn</i>, 1915.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>IV.—BY THE WOOD</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How still the day is, and the air how bright!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A thrush sings and is silent in the wood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hillside sleeps dizzy with heat and light;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A rhythmic murmur fills the quietude;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A woodpecker prolongs his leisured flight,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rising and falling on the solitude.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But there are those who far from yon wood lie,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Buried within the trench where all were found.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A weight of mould oppresses every eye,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within that cabin close their limbs are bound,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And there they rot amid the long profound,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Disastrous silence of grey earth and sky.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">These once, too, rested where now rests but one,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who scarce can lift his panged and heavy head,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who drinks in grief the hot light of the sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose eyes watch dully the green branches spread,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who feels his currents ever slowlier run,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose lips repeat a silent '... Dead! all dead!'<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O youths to come shall drink air warm and bright,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shall hear the bird cry in the sunny wood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All my Young England fell to-day in fight:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That bird, that wood, was ransomed by our blood!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I pray you when the drum rolls let your mood<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be worthy of our deaths and your delight.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><small>1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_AFTERMATH" id="THE_AFTERMATH"></SPAN>THE AFTERMATH</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—AT THE EBB</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Alone upon the monotonous ocean's verge<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I take my stand, and view with heavy eye<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The grey wave rise. I hear its sullen surge,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Its bubbling rush and sudden downward sigh....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My friends are dead ... there fades from me the light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of her warm face I loved; upon me stare<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the dull noon or deadest hour of night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The smiling lips and chill eyes of Despair.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A light wind blows.... I hear the low wave steal<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In and collapse like a despondent breath.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My life has ebbed: I neither see nor feel:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I am suspended between life and death.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Again the wave caves in. O, I am worn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Smoother than any pebble on the beach!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I would dissolve to that whence I was born,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or alway bide beyond the long wave's reach.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O Will, thou only strengthener of man's heart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When all is gone—love and the love of friends,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When even Earth's comfort has become a part<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of that futility nor breaks nor mends:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Strengthen me now against these utmost wrongs;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stay my wrecked spirit within thy control,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That men may find some fury in my songs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which, like strong wine, shall fortify the soul.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Beneath Gold Cap</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>June</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—ALONE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The grey wind and the grey sea<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tossing under the long grey sky....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My heart is lonelier than the wind;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My heart is emptier than the sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And beats more heavily<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than the cold surge beneath the gull,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wheeling with his reiterant cry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of loneliness.... All, all is lone:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Alone!...<br/></span>
<span class="i4">And so am I.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—THANKSGIVING</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Amazement fills my heart to-night,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Amaze and awful fears;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I am a ship that sees no light,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But blindly onward steers.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Flung toward heaven's toppling rage,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sunk between steep and steep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A lost and wondrous fight I wage<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With the embattled deep.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I neither know nor care at length<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where drives the storm about;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Only I summon all my strength<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And swear to ride it out.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet give I thanks; despite these wars,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My ship—though blindly blown,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Long lost to sun or moon or stars—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Still stands up alone.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I need no trust in borrowed spars;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My strength is yet my own.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>IV.—ANNIHILATED</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Upon the sweltering sea's enormous round,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Asmoke, adazzle, brown and brown and gold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A hushed light falls....<br/></span>
<span class="i8">Then clouds without a sound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Darken the sea within their curtain's fold.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The sombre clouds through which the sick sun climbs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Smoke slowly on. Below there is no breath.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The long black beach turns livid.<br/></span>
<span class="i12">The sea chimes.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I taste the fulness of my spirit's death.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>V.—SHUT OF NIGHT</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The sea darkens. Waves roar and rush.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind rises. The last birds haste.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One star over eve's bitter flush<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spills on the spouting waste.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Loud and louder the darkened sea.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind shrills on a monotone.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sky and deep, wrecked confusedly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Travail and cry as one.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Long I look on the deepening sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The chill star, the forlorn sea breaking;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For what does my spirit cry?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For what is my heart so aching?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Is it home? but I have no home.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is it tears? but I no more weep.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is it love? love went by dumb.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is it sleep? but I would not sleep.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Must I fare, then, in fear and fever<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On a journey become thrice far—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose sun has gone down for ever,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose night brings no guiding star?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The wind roars, and an ashen beam<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Waving up shrinks away in haste.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The waves crash. The star's trickling gleam<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Travels the warring waste.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I look up. In the windy height<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The lone orb, serene and afar,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shakes with excess of her light....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Beauty, be thou my star!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>VI.—THE FULL HEART</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Alone on the shore in the pause of the night-time<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I stand and I hear the long wind blow light;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I view the constellations quietly, quietly burning;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I hear the wave fall in the hush of the night.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Long after I am dead, ended this bitter journey,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Many another whose heart holds no light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shall your solemn sweetness, hush, awe, and comfort,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O my companions, Wind, Waters, Stars, and Night.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Near Gold Cap</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small>1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>VII.—SONNET: OUR DEAD</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They have not gone from us. O no! they are<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The inmost essence of each thing that is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Perfect for us; they flame in every star;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The trees are emerald with their presences.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They are not gone from us; they do not roam<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The flaw and turmoil of the lower deep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But have now made the whole wide world their home,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And in its loveliness themselves they steep.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They fail not ever; theirs is the diurn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Splendour of sunny hill and forest grave;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In every rainbow's glittering drop they burn;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They dazzle in the massed clouds' architrave;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They chant on every wind, and they return<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the long roll of any deep blue wave.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>VIII.—DELIVERANCE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out of the Night! out of the Night I come:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Free at last: the whole world is my home:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I have lost self: I look not on myself again,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But if I do I see a man among men.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Flesh:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soul I know not from Body within thy mesh:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Accepting all that is, I cannot divide the same:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I accept the smoke because I accept the flame.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Friends:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O all my dead, think ye our friendship ends?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Harold, Kenneth, Dick, many hearts that were true,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While I breathe breath, I am breathing you.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Power:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Many a fight to be won, many an awful hour;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Many an hour to wish death ere I go to death,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Many an hour to bless breath ere I cease from breath.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Out of the Night! out of the Night, O Soul:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Give thanks to the Night: Night and Day are the Whole.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I count mere life-breath nothing now I know Life's worth<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lies all in spending! that known, love Life and Earth.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</SPAN></span></p>
<h1><SPAN name="BOOK_II" id="BOOK_II"></SPAN>BOOK II</h1>
<h2>A FAUN'S HOLIDAY</h2>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4><span class="smcap">To my Brother</span><br/>
PHILIP NICHOLS</h4>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="poem">
<p class="center">'<i>O Fantaisie, emporte-moi sur tes ailes pour désennuyer
ma tristesse!</i>'</p>
<p style='text-align: right'><span class="smcap">Flaubert.</span></p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>Roughly planned in Spring, 1914, at Oxford.
"Midday in Arcadia" composed July, 1914;
"Catch for Spring" adapted from version of
1912 during the same month: both at Grayshott.
Taken up again in February, 1916,
continued at the Hut, Bray, and, after being
frequently interrupted, finished on February
18, 1917, at Ilsington.</p>
<p>The author intends the "hulli" and the
"lulli" of the Faun's call in 'Faun's Rally' to
be pronounced as if they rhymed with such a
word as "fully."</p>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="A_FAUNS_HOLIDAY" id="A_FAUNS_HOLIDAY"></SPAN>A FAUN'S HOLIDAY</h2>
<p class="psub">I</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Faun's
Awakening.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hark! a sound. Is it I sleep?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wake I? or do my senses keep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Commune yet with thoughtful night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And dream they feel, not see, the light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That, with a chord as if a lyre<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Were upward swept by tongues of fire,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spreads in all-seeing majesty<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over crag, dale, curved shore, and sea?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If this be sleep, I do not sleep.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I hear the little woodnote weep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a shy, darkling bird which cries<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In a sweet-fluted, sharp surprise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At glimpse of me, the faun-beast, sleeping<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nigh under her. My crook'd leg, sweeping<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Some dream away, perhaps, awoke her,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For dew shook from a bough doth soak her.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And all elsewhere how still it is!—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The mist beyond the precipice<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Smokes gently up. The bushes hang<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the gulph 'cross which I sprang<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Last midnight,—though the unicorn,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who with clanged hooves and lowered horn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Raging pursued, now hidden lies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Amid the cragside dewberries<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And sweats his frosty flanks in sleep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dreaming he views again my leap<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thrice hazardous.<br/></span>
<span class="i7">The silver chasm<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sighs, and many a blithe phantasm<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Turns in the sunlight's quivering ray.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I couch in peace. Thoughts fond and gay<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Feed on my sense of maiden hours<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And earth refreshed by suns and showers<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of nightly dew and heavy quiet.—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though last night rang with dinning riot:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dionysos in headlong mood<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ranged through the labyrinthine wood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fleet maids sped, yelping, on with him,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Brandishing a torn heifer's limb,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dissonant cymbals, or black bowl<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of wine and blood; a wolfish howl<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fled ululant with them....<br/></span>
<span class="i10">Now there is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Depth, the white mist, the great sun, peace.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Faun's
Descent
from the
Mountain.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Too numb such sunshine!—Let me hence<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out of the solemn imminence<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Of yon chill spire whose shadow creeps<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward me from the stagnant deeps<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the ravine. For now I will<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Descend and take again my fill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of fancy wild and musing joy,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such as each dawn brings to alloy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The long affliction of a spirit<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who a complete world did inherit,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And feels it crumbling.<br/></span>
<span class="i9">I will down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whither twin bluffs of sheer stone frown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over sunk seas of billowing pine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Terrace on terrace, line on line,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Below whose heads the broad downs slope<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Away, away till senses grope<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At something rather felt than seen:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sea,—not wave-tops, but a sheen<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the dazed and distant sky....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Curled on a cliff-top let me lie.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(For yonder, hap, a breeze is blowing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the sun's first gleam is showing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under far wreckage: since our height<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Inherits day while yet their light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Quakes gold under the low clouds' rift.)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down, then! Miraculously swift<br/></span>
<span class="i0">These limbs the gods have given me!...<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Couched mid the gorse, anon I see,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Opposing this my bluff, the face<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the sheer rock, and 'long it trace<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">A sill scarce ample for a goat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet midway in the ledge-path note<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A cave's mouth, which thick creepers hide<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fallen in a silvery tide<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From a slant crevice overhead.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, lo! the creeper stirs, is shed—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all falls quiet.<br/></span>
<span class="i7">Till at last<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Issues a voice deep, young and vast:<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">II</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE
CENTAUR'S
MORNING
SONG.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Centaur.</i> Up! the ag'd centaurs lie yet sleeping,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While crouch I palled of this cavern lair<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And watch the stretched sea-eagle sweeping<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down the grey-blue drizzling air.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sea-nymphs, too, will now be waking,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If sickle-eyed they have not played<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Across the moonlight sets me aching,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Longing and slinking, half afraid,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down the feathery, tawny sand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On sighing tread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deep into banks of glistering shell,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To halt in dread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lest my hoof-scrunch break the spell<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the syren-chants that swell<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the dim shoals toward the land.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But this morn the breeze is blowing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Freshly: I hear lightly flowing<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">From the bending giant beam<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bars the forehead of our door<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The golden raindrops in a stream<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pattering on the steamy floor.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> It is the Centaur's voice I hear!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Young and lusty, deep and clear:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the Panisks at his voice<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In their fastnesses rejoice,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Emerging from the creviced crag<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or cave beneath the mountain's jag,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Merry, shaggy, light of hoof,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To run along the narrow roof,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And upon the shelvèd height<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance before the swimming light.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">THE
CENTAUR'S
MORNING
SONG
(<i>continued</i>)</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Centaur.</i> And I see upon the ledge,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Astir over the hanging edge,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A russet briar cold with dew<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And beyond, forlornly pent<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In a grey cloud's gliding rent,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A pure pool of the brightest blue:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So near it seems I've but to cast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A flint out on the forward vast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To mark it flashing blithely through!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And now at last!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At last<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The great Sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Sudden One,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Stamps upon the cloudy floor;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The heavens are split, and through the floor<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heaven's golden treasures tumbling pour....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the Sun himself, divine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Doth descend<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In such a bursting blaze of shine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That his glorious hair is shook<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the wide world's craggiest end!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, even I, I dare not look.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="half" />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I will shout! I will ramp!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Just three bounds: then out and stamp<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where the air like water is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Eddying up over the precipice;—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wind with an edge to it, sea-damp,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blowing from the canyon's race<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where the dripping sea-wind heaves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through a tunnel of the rocks<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sea-water up in thunderous sheaves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Against the precipitous water-rapids,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To whip from off th' high-hurtled shocks<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bursts of mist which soak the leaves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of each scented bush that cleaves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the cliffs. Till Fauns and Lapiths<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance in the sun-bewildered brakes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till even flushed Silenus wakes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And—with a short deep-throated troll<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the wind and to the wine,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Both delirious, both divine!—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Starts, as he drains the tilted bowl,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At din, to rolling uproar grown,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of rocks dislodged and bounding down,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With splinter of pines and flint-shocked flashes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the ridge whereon we dance<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In a loud exuberance<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of rattling hoofs whose echoes drown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The squealing joy or reedy pining<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of Pan's pipe, where Pan reclining<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Plays in the clouded mountain's crown!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">III</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Faun
hails the
Centaur.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> It is the Centaur's voice I hear.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The creeper tresses toss with fear,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then part before a pow'rful hand.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">See, see, O see the Centaur stand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With ruggëd head erect and proud,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose rounded mouth yet chants aloud<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Joy of Mind fulfilled in Force:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glory of Man, glory of Horse.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hail thou, the sov'reign of the hill!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hail thou, upon whose locks distil<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fresh dews when mid majestic night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thou pacest, hid, along the height.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thine are the solitudes of snow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Between bare peaks, thy hooves also<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Are heard within the dusk defile<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where Titans of a sunless while<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fashioned huge sphinxes in whose eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Kite now skulks or, girding, cries.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thine, too, the sole and sinking pine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Burned by the sunset—ay, and thine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The ledges whence a sudden sift<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of snow sighs downward, thine the swift<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Uproar of avalanche and all<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The mountain echoes. To thee call,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the snow melts and there are seen<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crocuses blazing mid the green<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the dewed grass, the Sylvan folk:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Dryads from the leafless oak<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or budded elder, that at length<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thou mayst release them by the strength<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of thy tough fingers; 'tis on thee<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The nymphs cry should the runnels be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Exhausted of the midsummer sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sith, stamping, thou canst make to run<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hoarded waters of the wold.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And among men thou art of old<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thought's emblem: for to thee belong<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All gifts of deep, wise, epic song.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hail, then, whom Earth and mankind hails.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Ocean, whose high-spouting whales<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And dripping serpents, that arise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Swinging their gold crests to the skies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To drink in all thy bold descant<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Hail, though they cannot view thee chant,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As I who now behold in sooth<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thy lighted eyes and singing mouth.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Centaur's
Beauty.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O grape-hung locks! glorious face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Capacious frame, sinewy grace<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of arm that lifts a skully lyre<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose dithyramb whirls ever higher!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deep breast-bone, belly, curvèd thews—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such as the tussling oak doth use<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon the crumbled scarp to grip—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Striking from trunk down through the hip<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the stallion's massive shoulders<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glossy as moonlit ice-bound boulders!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stiff, stalwart forelegs, heavy hoof<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet fleeter far on heights aloof<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than ev'n such doubled hares as race<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blue 'thwart dim fells, or, speck in space,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Osprey, gale-swept across the tides!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thy man's trunk glisters; on thy sides<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A soft and silver shagginess,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Inviting slim hands to caress,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hangs dewy——<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Centaur.</i> Faun, Faun, art thou near?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> Behold me stand, proud Centaur, here<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon the bluff where 'neath me lies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sunned pool of the precipice.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">
<i>Of the
Centaur's
Ardour.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Centaur.</i> Faun, in my veins the blood 'gins race,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The new sun sweats upon my face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dazzles my pupils, golden swims<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over my flushed and fervid limbs.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I feel in me my spirit rise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Griffon-like flogging up tall skies.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now is the Morning of the World,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And through my heart a flood is hurled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of onerous joyance, of desire<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To clutch the sun and spill its fire<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down heaven's blue bulwarks! to snatch life<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And drain its lusty full in strife<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of all my body with the bent<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wrestle of every element:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Close with the whirlwind, front the tide<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And turn its moony press aside.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But in the world I cannot find<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A match in strength, a foe in mind....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At dawn, at eve the waters burn;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All night the constellations turn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Round the dark pole, and none knows why....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">None seeks to know save only I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And thou, O Faun. We are alone....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet sometimes, when the wind is gone<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all below shines sunned and still,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I feel depart from me the will<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Merely to know, to know and wait:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I would do more: I would create.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</SPAN></span>
<span class="i0">Though what I know not; but I would<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spend this my mind and hardihood.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet find no means save physic force:—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sing as a man, stride as a horse.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then stride I? Swift I overcome<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The fleetest. Sing I? All are dumb.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Natheless my heart demands in grief<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ardour, endurance and relief;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Asks, but receives not.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> Shall not I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Echo thy pain, whom Fates deny<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Answer to thought,—as they to thee<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The lust-of-action's fill? But we<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Accept too much, O Sire. 'Twere best,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though idly, to fulfil our zest.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Challenge.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Four leagues this canyon runs between<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Us twain or ever there is seen<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The arch of rock whose massy grace<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bridges yon gap of golden space.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deignest thou, then, to race with me<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From such tall eyries to the sea,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If even now I upward leap?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Centaur.</i> Leap then! I catch thee e'er the steep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Subsides in woodland or in down.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="psub">IV</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>And of
the Manner
of the
Running.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Away! My rapping footfalls drown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All but the sobbing of the wind<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within my ears and loud behind<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The thunder of the Centaur's hooves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where, like a hailstorm, down he moves.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Past me the spun pines rock and hiss,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Behind my feet stones pelted whizz,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hills rise before me, backward flow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The bare downs, bright'ning, mount below....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On. On. Down. Down. But, ah, no more!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My breath comes keener than the frore<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Indraught of age-long mountain frost;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My head turns dizzy, feet are lost.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet scamper feet! A rock—a mound:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rap! Rap! I soar it at a bound.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On. On. Down. Down. A sudden brook,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And now—in mid-air—lo! there look<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Laughingly up at me the eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of Hyads, and their fading cries<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ring in my ears. Can they have seen<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Centaur hurtle by between<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Them and the clouds? The downs up-fly.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now earth's bowl rocks and reels the sky<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And through my chilly flaming tears<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The molten sun swoops, bursts, and veers....<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">
<i>The Faun
falls.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Still rap my hoofs, though but the sound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tells me they yet rocket the ground.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The uproar loudens more behind.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My crook'd legs cross, my eyes go blind.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I claw the sky: for, O! I can<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scarce lurch. I feel the sudden fan<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the great Centaur's galey breath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon my nape, and like chill death<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His hand descends. But, ah! he laughs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Even as Bacchus when he quaffs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In jest or taunt a double bowl.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I, choking, reel, and, tripping, roll<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wildly aside. See! as I fall<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A rampant shape majestical<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Storms vehement by, and, storming, swings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hand across rushing lyre, which rings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To strains, like rolling breakers tossed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">High o'er an adamantine coast,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In praise of elemental Mirth,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Strength, Beauty and the Golden Earth!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">V</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of Downs
beloved
by Pan.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Beyond the rocks, below the trees,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The great downs lie; nought but the breeze<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is heard upon them. All day long<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The shadows of the great clouds throng<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Across their sides: a noiseless rout.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes a peewit, blown about<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">By airy surge, cries a lone cry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ere hurtled down the clarid sky;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes is heard a shepherd's voice<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shouting, and after it the noise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of many-pattering crowded sheep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Herded within the gay dog's keep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who also, barking, shouts. Save these<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nought breaks the breezy silences<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the green sun-swept, cloud-swept spaces....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Such downs Pan loves, and ofttime places<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His lonely altars on them.<br/></span>
<span class="i10">I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One of such now behold. A high<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mound bears it, and its nakedness<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of festal fruit and fragrant dress<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hints 'tis new-built.<br/></span>
<span class="i8">Up, then, and sound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A rally to the sacred ground:<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">
FAUN'S
RALLY.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> Come ye, merry shepherds all,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Hulli-lulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Listen to my piping call:<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Hulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hasten to Pan's festival;<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Leave your sheep.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cannot Pan a shrewd watch keep<br/></span>
<span class="i4">O'er his own?<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</SPAN></span>
<span class="i0">Safe are they as pent in stall;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Safe are they, for Pan has thrown<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fear about them like a wall.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Wherefore, shepherds, hither run.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I have set my pipes to lip;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now they cry despondingly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As mid shaken locks I dip.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now shrill—as hark!—I lift them high<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To swirl the tune about the sky!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Up and down and round the sky<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till want I further force to blow....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherefore, shepherds, hither run,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance behind me as I skip;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Strike the tóssed támbours in únison,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance, dance and make to dance the sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To your Hulli-li-lo!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Shepherds.</i> Faun, I come. I hear. We hear—<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> This my Hulli-li-lo:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now afar and now anear.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Shepherds.</i> Never sped the midnight deer<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Half so fast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Fore Diana's star-ringed spear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As now haste we to appear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At thy Hulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> Joy, O shepherds, at the sound:<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Hulli-lulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pan's new altar I have found:<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Hulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cowslips prank its holy mound,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With ivy have I wreathed it round—<br/></span>
<span class="i4">But not yet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Is the altar's dress complete<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till with flowers its horns are bound.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Shepherds.</i> Faun, we hear, and from the brook<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flags are pulled; and now we hook<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Honeysuckle high, low<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down to us with shepherd's crook;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Breathing floss,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clematis twines, rushy stook,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Apple blossom, down is shook<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At thy Hulli-li-lo!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun.</i> Wreathe the pedestal anew;<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Hulli-lulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scatter violets scattering dew;<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Hulli-li-lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Honey that the brown bees brew<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pour, and rosy blossoms strew;<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Spill such wine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As in dim-bloomed clusters grew<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On your father's father's vine.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Dance you now.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I my pipe cease—thus—to blow:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance you on.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance about the sacred mound,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance when every sound is gone....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now the timbrels softly, sprightly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beat, and foot it gaily, lightly;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tiptoe o'er the secret ground,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance the round.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Next, to the sole, trilling flute<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And your own subduèd laughter<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flutter all in throngs and mazes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Chase in streams of ardent faces,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With bright eyes and oped mouth mute.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now alone,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One by one,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dance and dream, and dreaming float<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till the multitude drifts after,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And I wake a quicker note:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clap your hands aloft and cry;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Surge in line tumultuously;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cry, and with a whirl of voices<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fright the pigeons whickering by!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Praise the God of field and fold!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shout until the hills have told,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By their sudden echoes flying,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flying, crying, falling, dying,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">That upon his name we call,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who beside the river lying<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hears us keep his festival.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">VI</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Faun
enters the
Valley.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Wearied of solitary hills,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On which the wannish sunlight spills,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And which the glooms of high clouds cross,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clouds wandering ever at a loss<br/></span>
<span class="i0">About th' immeasurable sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I will descend. And by-and-by<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glimpse beneath the shouldered down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A hamlet reeking golden-brown;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Creep through a willow copse to view<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under an orchard avenue,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A lithe girl in a sun-splashed smock<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Calling her perchëd pigeon flock,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And as they coo and flutter over<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Laughing and carolling of her lover.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Girl.</i> '<i>Little pigeon, grave and fleet</i>'—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All the golden grain you'd eat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Greedy! let the little bird<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pick some. Sweet, your cooing's heard;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You shall have this. There! Be bolder:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Light you now upon my shoulder....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cooroo? Cooroo in my ear?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Darling, yes, I hear, I hear:<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">From this hand, then, you shall pluck it.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Foolish love! your wings have struck it,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spilt the grain the grass among.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">—Flutter! Flutter!—where's my song?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'<i>Little pigeon, grave and fleet</i>'—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Too late now your wings you beat<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By my face: look in the ground;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There, they say, all gold is found.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">THE
PIGEON
SONG.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Little pigeon, grave and fleet,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Eye-of-fire, sweet Snowy-wings,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Think you that you can discover<br/></span>
<span class="i3">On what great green down my lover<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Lies by his sunny sheep and sings?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">If you can, O go and greet<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Him from me; say: She is waiting....<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Not for him, O no! but, sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Say June's nigh and doves, remating,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Fill the dancing noontide heat<br/></span>
<span class="i3">With melodious debating.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Say the swift swoops from the beam;<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Soon the cuckoo must cease calling;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Kingcups flare beside the stream,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">That not glides now but runs brawling;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">That wet roses are asteam<br/></span>
<span class="i3">In the sun and will be falling.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Say the chestnut sheds his bloom;<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Honey from straw hivings oozes;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">There's a nightjar in the coombe;<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Venus nightly burns, and chooses<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Most to blaze above my room;<br/></span>
<span class="i3">That the laggard 'tis that loses.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Say the nights are warm and free,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">And the great stars swarm above him;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">But soon starless night must be.<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Yet if all these do not move him,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Tell, O tell—but not too plainly!—<br/></span>
<span class="i3">That I long for him and love him.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Little pigeon, grave and fleet,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Fly you swiftly, tell him this;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And I'll give you grain so golden<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Midas' self has ne'er beholden<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Aught so gold, and—yes!—a kiss.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Smiling at her eager voice,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I will grant the girl her choice,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whispering to the pigeon: "Lo!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yon's the way for you to go:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the willows, past the copse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To where a sylph-like lime-tree tops<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A lonely knoll; then on and on<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward where yesternight there shone<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A silver comet, scarce descried,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Against the fainting eventide."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="psub">VII</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Faun's
Whimseys.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Away then! crashing through the wood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Prancing in a whimsey mood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To yowl as a she-wolf does at dark<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until th' infuriate watch-dogs bark;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or bid hushed tales of ghosts go round,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of warnings heard, but nothing found,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By whistling at the village boor;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or poke my rogue face round a door<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And scare a huffy wife to fits,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who swears, "'Tis Pan himself!" or, "It's<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That grizzled sailor-man who slew<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His mate 'twixt Bogs and Dead Man's Yew!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Next through the dairy steal to slake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My thirst with cream, with honeycake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cram my sweet maw; slip in the churn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A farm cat, that the tub may turn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And fright maid Molly. I will seek<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Strawberries and stain chin, mouth and cheek<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With nuzzling in their scarlet bowl;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then in the goodman's bed I'll roll<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Because he loves me not; I'll sing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until the crowded rafters ring<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The while about my ears I hang<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bobbed cherries.... Lastly I will clang<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Among the clattering pots and pans,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shout, cry "Oh help!" snatch up a man's<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cloak, and slip out.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Pursuit.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i8">Whoop! Whoop! They run:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hare once spied, the hunt's begun!—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Goodman and goodman's wife, pert Polly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clown Colin, Wiggen and maid Molly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pant, crying, "Thief!" The while behind<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shrunk Dorcas hops, and fills the wind<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With apish merriment, shrill malice,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And cries of—"Well run, Poll! Run, Alice!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Run, child! The master's cloak and all!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How sad the goodman's ta'en a fall!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mistress down, too—he! he! what pity!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Run, Alice child, my bird, my pretty;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Show 'em how nimble thou canst be,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ay, but the girl runs prettily.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Run, Hobbinol, thou gawky man!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thou mayest kiss if catch thou can!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Odd's me! and what's it all about?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A thief? That mischief Faun!"<br/></span>
<span class="i11">A shout<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Startles the pigeons from the croft:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"We've circled him!" "He's in the loft."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But as they, silent, crowd unto 't<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I jump. For am not I a goat?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From out the hayloft's height I leap<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O'er their craned heads into the deep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Grass of the orchard. Thence I run<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Across lush meadows. One by one<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They fall behind....<br/></span>
<span class="i8">A scarecrow I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now seek, and 'bout it carefully<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Enwrap the newly pilfered cloak....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scarecrows are such poor crazy folk....<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">VIII</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The
Faun
hides.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So to a thorny thicket dense<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With rosy-coloured may-bloom, whence<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I can hear a torrent rumble,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, peering forth, behold it tumble<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cumbrously into a pool whose white<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tumult sears the giddied sight.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There, half dozed, silent, smile to hear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A babble of voices drawing near,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spy many a boy and laughing lass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Racing hands-linked across the grass.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">A
CATCH
FOR
SPRING.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i3"><i>Boys and Girls.</i> Now has the blue-eyed Spring<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Sped dancing through the plain.<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Girls weave a daisy chain;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Boys race beside the sedge;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Dust fills the blinding lane;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">May lies upon the hedge:<br/></span>
<span class="i4">All creatures love the spring!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">The clouds laugh on, and would<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Dance with us if they could;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">The larks ascend and shrill;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">A woodpecker fills the wood;<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Jays laugh crossing the hill:<br/></span>
<span class="i4">All creatures love the spring!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">The lithe cloud-shadows chase<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Over the whole earth's face,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And where winds ruffling veer<br/></span>
<span class="i2">O'er wooded streams' dark ways<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Mad fish upscudding steer:<br/></span>
<span class="i4">All creatures love the spring!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">Into the dairy cool<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Run, girls, to drink thick cream!<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Race, boys, to where the stream<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Winds through a rumbling pool,<br/></span>
<span class="i2">And your bright bodies fling<br/></span>
<span class="i2">Into the foaming cool!<br/></span>
<span class="i4">For we'll enjoy our spring!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">IX</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Faun's
Journey
to the
Sea.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Seaward my forest way I'll take,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And at a pool's lit quietude slake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My thirst, and feel a dull flame creep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like the first flux of tidal sleep<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Through all my limbs. Yet, when I sink<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sleepward, start wide-eyed up to drink<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sunned wood's wet deliciousness,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Touch flowers, and feel the sun's caress<br/></span>
<span class="i0">About my locks, and wander on,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or pause to smile up at the sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Guarding my eyes with glowing hand,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or, leaned against a beech-trunk, stand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Watching between the branches' rift,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As they gently wave and lift<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the bland breeze softly blowing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The noiseless clouds serenely going<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Slowly to the hid, low sea<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I can hear breathing slumberously.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till from the woodland I emerge,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Greeted by a louder surge,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And from the bushy cliff-top spy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How the hollow bay doth lie<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One quiver and murmur under the sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And how the lightsome wind-puffs run<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Chasing each other crookedly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the idly heaving sea.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Sea-Horses.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Next I will turn my eyes, perhaps,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To where the languid waters lapse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glittering over a sunburned rock<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Round which the shrieking white gulls flock....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thus browsing in my solitude,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I may remember I've a feud<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">With the Sea-Horses, once who drave<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Me from the sea-light of their cave.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Enough! and, crashing down, I come<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To find them drowsing in their home....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So creep I with a crooked stick<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To where a blinding pool is quick<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With green electric water-snakes.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sprawling across a rock which bakes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I stir the molten till they boil<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And up my hawthorn kick and coil;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then scamper, rocketing, to the cave,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hurl the stick in. Hark! how they rave,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And plunge up clattering, kicking, neighing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till Triton on his horn 'gins braying,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And each hasteneth to belabour<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With hooves or tear with teeth his neighbour,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And from the cavern's blueness rush<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the simmering beach's hush,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To stand, with heaving flanks, agaze<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At the hot stones and still sea's blaze:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then stampede, scattering high and wide<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A hail of stones and glittering tide.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">X</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of
the Faun
in his
Meditation.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I will walk the sunny wood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deep and tranquil as my mood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And watch how the honeyed sunlight is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hung in the great boughs of the trees,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And the pattern the branchwork weaves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the panoply of leaves,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And how high up two butterflies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pass, vaulting, out into the skies.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or, entering a silent glade,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Draw a sharp breath and stand dismayed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At beauty which doth straight present<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such a spasm of ravishment<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sight is confused, and doth confess<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her wreck in voiceless tenderness:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Seeing the flower-decked cherry-trees—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Unruffled ever by any breeze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Unburned by bright dawn's fiery chill—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Standing celestially still....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Or lay me down 'neath chestnut boughs,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And drowse and dream and dream and drowse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drunk with the greenness overhead,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until a blossom of sharp red,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shook from her high and scalding place,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Splash with chill scent my upturned face.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XI</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Philosopher.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But, lo! amid the woodland green<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What mantles of strange blue are seen?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What sage is he who slowly leads<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Disciples on and little heeds<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">The holiness of sylvan haunt,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where even the silver bird dare chant<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But seldom? where the sunlight lies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Here scalding gold, and yonder dies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into a humid, still, green gloom?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hath not he in the forum room<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To vent himself, that now with rude<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rabble he scareth Solitude<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From her ultimate hiding-place?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now steps he forward a slow pace,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And 'gins his discourse. Hear him prate,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O woods, to silence consecrate;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hear him, O flowers, whose golden eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Speak more than all Man's orat'ries!—<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>And his
Oration.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Philosopher.</i> Meanwhile, though nations in distress<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cower at a comet's loveliness<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shaken across the midnight sky;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though the wind roars, and Victory,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A virgin fierce, on vans of gold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stoops through the cloud's white smother rolled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the armies' shock and flow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Across the broad green hills below,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet hovers and will not circle down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To cast t'ward one the leafy crown;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though men drive galleys' golden beaks<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To isles beyond the sunset peaks,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And cities on the sea behold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose walls are glass, whose gates are gold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose turrets, risen in an hour,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dazzle between the sun and shower,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose sole inhabitants are kings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Six cubits high with gryphon's wings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And beard and mien more glorious<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than Midas or Assaracus;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though priests in many a hill-top fane<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lift anguished hands—and lift in vain—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward the sun's shaft dancing through<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The bright roof's square of wind-swept blue;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though 'cross the stars nightly arise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The silver fumes of sacrifice;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though a new Helen bring new scars,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pyres piled upon wrecked golden cars,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stacked spears, rolled smoke, and spirits sped<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like a streaked flame toward the dead:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though all these be, yet grows not old<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Delight of sunned and windy wold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of soaking downs aglare, asteam,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of still tarns where the yellow gleam<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a far sunrise slowly breaks,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or sunset strews with golden flakes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The deeps which soon the stars will throng.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For earth yet keeps her undersong<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of comfort and of ultimate peace,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That whoso seeks shall never cease<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">To hear at dawn or noon or night.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Joys hath she, too, joys thin and bright,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Too thin, too bright, for those to hear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who listen with an eager ear,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or course about and seek to spy,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within an hour, eternity.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">First must the spirit cast aside<br/></span>
<span class="i0">This world's and next his own poor pride<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And learn the universe to scan<br/></span>
<span class="i0">More as a flower less as a man.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then shall he hear the lonely dead<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sing and the stars sing overhead,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And every spray upon the heath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And larks above and ants beneath;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The stream shall take him in her arms;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blue skies shall rest him in their calms;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind shall be a lovely friend,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And every leaf and bough shall bend<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over him with a lover's grace.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hills shall bare a perfect face<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Full of a high solemnity;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The heavenly clouds shall weep, and be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Content as overhead they swim<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To be high brothers unto him.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No more shall he feel pitched and hurled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Uncomprehended into this world<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For every place shall be his place,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And he shall recognize its face.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At dawn he shall upon his path;<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">No sword shall touch him, nor the wrath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the ranked crowd of clamorous men.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At even he shall home again,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And lay him down to sleep at ease,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One with the Night and the Night's peace.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ev'n Sorrow, to be escaped of none,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But a more deep communion<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shall be to him, and Death at last<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No more dreaded than the Past,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose shadow in the brain of earth<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Informs him now and gave him birth.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The
Faun's
Anger.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Up, O Faun, up! is he a man<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So dares affront the great god Pan?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Creep I now close....<br/></span>
<span class="i9">(Has he not heard<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ever the lamb cry as the bird<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Descends upon its helpless head<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To pluck its eyes out? Blank with dread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Did he ne'er press in stumbling haste<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the wide moor's tossing waste?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or, stripped to plunge, did never eye<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sunned pool smiling treacherously,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Despair and terror in his heart?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hate on him!)<br/></span>
<span class="i6">See: he draws apart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That with himself he may commune<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The while to a low murmuring tune<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wrung from a golden-stringëd lyre<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The young men chant. Hist! Draws he nigher?<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now crouch I mid a thicket where<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The spicy hedge-rose warms the air<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With giddy scent, and for an hour<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Woos with her open-bosomed flower<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The full gaze of her lord the sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And through whose thorns the sunbeams run<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spangling the cavern of the brake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With chequered shade such as the snake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Loves to repose in, that the heat<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon his sullen coils may beat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Breeding within his ancient heart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such malice that his tongue must dart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flickering in silence out and in,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The while adown his withered skin,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From horns above his murderous eyes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The cold surge shudders, ebbs, and dies.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>And of
the Trick
the Faun
played,
thereby
symbolizing
the Rule
of Pan
in Nature.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And now yon comes, with solemn head<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sunk upon breast, with laurel spread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">About his thought-bewrinkled brows.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All hail, philosopher! I rouse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thee by a low and single hiss.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He is frozen still. A sudden bliss<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Seizes me, and a branch I shake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As gently as an unseen snake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Swinging toward him.<br/></span>
<span class="i9">But he stands,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clasps and unclasps his gradual hands<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">In silence save for one long sigh<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of terror.<br/></span>
<span class="i4">And I draw more nigh.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath his glazèd eyes I sway<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Three leaves upon one stilly spray:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He blenches.<br/></span>
<span class="i5">Ha! it was well done,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That final hiss.<br/></span>
<span class="i6">I am alone:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For with a harsh cry he has fled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hideously stumbling, and is led<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Speechless away.<br/></span>
<span class="i7">The lyre, forgot,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lies in the grass....<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XII</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Spring,
Frequent
Haunt
of the
Lonely
Naiads.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i9">I know a spot<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where, to the sound of water sighing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Naiads, when the sun is lying<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heavy on mead and fronded tree,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When birds are silent and the bee<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Swoons in the dewed heart of the rose,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sing hushedly.<br/></span>
<span class="i6">I will repose<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon its banks and to the spring<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An answer make with hands that cling<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over this lost lyre's murmurous chords<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And with their voiced quiet mingle words<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such as my shrouded soul affords<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the warm blood within my veins<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Throbs heavily, and the noon sun reigns,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who would heaven and earth unite<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In one blaze of arduous light,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till dark woods, fields, bronzed sky, and deep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In one maniac dull dream sleep.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XIII</p>
<div class="sidenote">THE
NAIADS'
MUSIC.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>The Naiads.</i> Come, ye sorrowful, and steep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For our kisses lightlier run<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than the traceries of the sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By the lolling water cast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Up grey precipices vast,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lifting smooth and warm and steep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out of the palely shimmering deep.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come, ye sorrowful, and take<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Kisses that are but half awake:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For here are eyes O softer far<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than the blossom of the star<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon the mothy twilit waters,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And here are mouths whose gentle laughters<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Are but the echoes of the deep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Laughing and murmuring in its sleep.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come, ye sorrowful, and see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The raindrops flaming goldenly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On the stream's eddies overhead<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And dragonflies with drops of red<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the crisp surface of each wing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Threading slant rains that flash and sing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or under the water-lily's cup,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From darkling depths, roll slowly up<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The bronze flanks of an ancient bream<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the hot sun's shattered beam,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or over a sunk tree's bubbled bole<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The perch stream in a golden shoal:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Come, ye sorrowful; our deep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Holds dreams lovelier than sleep.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But if ye sons of Sorrow come<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Only wishing to be numb:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Our eyes are sad as bluebell posies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Our breasts are soft as silken roses,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And our hands are tenderer<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than the breaths that scarce can stir<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sunlit eglantine that is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Murmurous with hidden bees.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Come, ye sorrowful, and steep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come, ye sorrowful, for here<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No voices sound but fond and clear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of mouths as lorn as is the rose<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That under water doth disclose,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Amid her crimson petals torn,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A heart as golden as the morn;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And here are tresses languorous<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As the weeds wander over us,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And brows as holy and as bland<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As the honey-coloured sand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lying sun-entranced below<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The lazy water's limpid flow:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Come, ye sorrowful, and steep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Your tired brows in a nectarous sleep.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The Faun
prepares
to reply.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sweet water-voices! now must I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Unto your sorrowings reply.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But hark! or ever there can sound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On the lull air the first profound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Few murmurs of my lyre's grave strings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A voice uprises. Who now sings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The noon's and his own tristfulness?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A slim youth—in a shepherd's dress,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet without sheep—who careless lies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upon the hill. His shepherd guise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tokens, perhaps, a poet's heart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which joys in wandering apart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the dinned ways where chariots roll,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the shrill sophist with his shoal<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of gapers, from the angry mart,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the full eyes and empty heart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of babbling women, from the neat<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Aridity of paven street,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">A heart that wandering, musing, sings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The joy, depth, pain of simple things:<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">MIDDAY
IN ARCADIA.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>The Youth.</i> The earth is still; only the white sun climbs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through the green silence of the branching limes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose linked flowers hanging from the still tree-top<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Distil their soundless syrup drop by drop,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While 'twixt the starry bracket of their lips<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The black bee drowsing floats and drowsing sips.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The flimsy leaves hang on the bright blue air<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Calm-suspended. Deep peace is everywhere<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Filled with the murmurous rumour of high noon.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Earth seems with open eyes to sink and swoon.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the sky peace: where nothing moves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save the sun that smiles and loves.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A quivering peace is on the grass.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through the noon gloam butterflies pass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">White and hot blue, only to where<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They can float flat and dream on the soft air....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The trees are asleep, beautiful, slumbrous trees!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stirred only by the passion of the breeze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That, like a warm wave welling over rocks,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Loosens and lifts the mass of drowsing locks.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Earth, too, under the profound grass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sleeps and sleeps, and softly heaves her slumbrous mass.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">The earth sleeps. Sleeps the newly-buried clay<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or doth divinity trouble it to live alway?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No voice uplifts from under the rapt crust.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The dust cries to the unregarding dust.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Over the hill the stopped notes of twin reeds<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Speak like drops from an old wound that bleeds:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A yokel's pipe an ancient pastoral sings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Above the innumerable murmur of hid wings.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I hear the cadence, sorrowful and sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The oldest burthen of the earth repeat:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All love, all passion, all strife, all delight<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Are but the dreams that haunt earth's visioned night.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In her eternal consciousness the stir<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of Alexander is no more to her<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than you or I: being all part of dreams,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The shadowiest shadow of a thing that seems,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The images the lone pipe-player sees,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sitting and playing to the lone, noon breeze.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One note, one life!<br/></span>
<span class="i8">They sleep: soon we as these!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XIV</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Satyrs'
Feast.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now plunge I into deepest woods,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where everlastingly there broods<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such quiet and glamour as must be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath the threshing upper sea.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</SPAN></span>
<span class="i0">Here burns no sun, but tawny light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pervades the vistas still and bright<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of mazy boles and fallen leaves....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I press yet on. At length there cleaves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The twilit hush a pillared gleam.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The leafed floor rises. 'Tis a beam<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of sunlight fallen in a dell<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the mound. There will I dwell,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soothed by sunned quietude. For there<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A carved rock spouts and moists the air<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With gross-mouthed pour and rising spray....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But hark! what festive cries are they<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which greet me as I top the mound?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Below, dispersed and sunk around<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The green and golden of the glen,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lie satyrs; in a leafy den,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silenus, crowned with vines and roses,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drowses and starts, blinks, drinks, and dozes.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Banqueting dishes strew the grass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Goblets of gold and peacock glass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flagons, urns, many a brimming bowl,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And horns from which the flushed fruits roll.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">High o'er the feast a fronded ash<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hangs full of sunlight, and the splash<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the spring's leap or gurgeing flow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the rippled pool below,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where lilies rock, shakes up a bright<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Eddy of golden tremulous light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the leaves. The Oread,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">In a hooded lynx pelt clad,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Smiles where she lolls ... the while twin fauns<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With stamping hooves and butting horns<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Join combat for a dripping cup<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She bears.<br/></span>
<span class="i4">But now a shout goes up<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At sight of me:<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The
Invitation.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Satyr.</i> "We feast, we feast;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For, lo! the flaming sun hath ceased<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To climb the curve of arid sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And his meridian holds on high,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Narrowing with his scorching beams<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The chestnut's shade, exhausting streams,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stilling the woodland singer's note,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Piercing the eyes, shrinking the throat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Saddening the heart of man and beast.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet grieve not we but sprawl and feast.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Leap down, O Faun, then, from thy rocks,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Leap down to us. Bedew thy locks<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With such cool spicy nards as dwell<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within this ribbed and rosy shell;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Around thy scalded temples twine<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sprays of this fountain-wetted vine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And from this golden jorum sip<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nectarous liquor—ay, and lip<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Smooth nectarines, thy sunk teeth clench<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In melon dripping sherds, and quench<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thy salty thirst anew in flow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of sparkled or dark wines that glow<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">With sober warmth and merriment,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until our gladdened voices blent<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Awake the vigour of our feet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And up we start the grass to beat<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With fervent foot, drink, dance again,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, ever at the loud refrain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clashing our cups, dance on and on,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till the noontide lull is gone."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So join I them, and drink and sup,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And fill again the great bowl up;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, drenched thus down, spin lusty tales<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of topping bouts 'twixt men and whales;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the East's Emperor who hath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A pool of wine to be his bath;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of Hercules his thirst, and how<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He did all Ethiopia plough,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And plant with vines, his thirst to sate.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We will discuss the Ideal State,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose sky is covered by a vine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose hills are cheese, whose rivers wine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose trees bear loaves brown, crisp and sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose citizens do nought but eat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But eat and drink, drink, eat, and snore,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And eat again, and wish no more<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than so to drink, snore, eat; who find<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In this true liberty of mind<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And true equality, in this<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fraternity, law, earthly bliss.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">So swill again and yet again,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till a fire flushes all the brain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, trolling lustily and long,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Each hearty throat bursts into song.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">A
DITHYRAMB
TO
DIONYSOS.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Faun and Satyrs.</i> Avaunt, mild-eyed Melancholy!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Welcome, Mirth and mænad Folly!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">See about the lifted bowl,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wrinkled on its bossy scroll,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ribald nymphs and satyrs jolly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tussle with a prancing goat;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While Silenus, kneeling, drolly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Proffers a dry bowl unto 't——<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ay, and round the mazer's brim<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Boisterous Mermen shouting swim,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And each burly arm lifts up,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine that o'erbrims its conchëd cup;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherefore pour a triple potion:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If such can be dry in ocean,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Tis as Titans we must sup!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Avaunt, brow and visage pious:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">None but Bacchus boys come nigh us!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Raise the bowl and shout his name:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Io, Bacchus! for a flame<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Chafes in our blood, O Bromios!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fire no water e'er could quench,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And its heat must scorify us<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">If with wine we do not drench.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherefore overbrim the cup:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">This to Jove now drink I up,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who upon thy first of days<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Snátched thee and cówed thy natal blaze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Even as 'tis now the merry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Strength of this thy vintaged berry,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That the scorching danger stays.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To the vine now! let its golden<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Leaves about our brows be folden.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the swarthy hand that trims it!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the grape! the sun that dims it!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the pipe that doth embolden<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Purpled stamping feet to riot<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O'er the vatted winepress olden!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the cavern's depth, chill, quiet!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Last to wine's own ruddy sprite,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wakes in rheumy eyes a light—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ay, and ripens youth to man;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine which more works than wisdom can;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine that welcomes hardy morrows;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine that turns to song our sorrows;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine the only magian!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Deep now! every bowl enhances<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The world's beauty; see there dances<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the sky the leaping sun!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Nay, can thine eye catch but one?'<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">'Six now spin.' 'A seventh advances,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flares and vomits, swerves and blazes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now bursts and countlessly it prances,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pulsing to my frantic paces!'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'I flame,—gyrate!' 'I shoot out heat!'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'My tricked speech trips, and trip my feet!'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'The earth runs round and heav'n is wheeling!'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'I sway; I reel.' 'Earth's wrecked and reeling!'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Dance on.' 'Earth's gone.' 'All's white and clear!'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Ah! Ah! Behind the blaze I hear<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Oread's laughter pealing!'<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Avaunt, grief! Descend, O holy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fierce Bacchic rapture, divine folly!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XV</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Faun's
Further
Wanderings.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Forth from the forest wend I slowly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While in my ears yet rings the holy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dithyramb. The noon is past,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But the sun rages. There is cast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A dumbness yet o'er earth and sky.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down to the river then will I,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Slowly about its depths to swim,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While the stream fondles every limb<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And soothes its ache. Deep I will dip,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, blowing, raise my locks, that drip<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till the slim Hyads troop to see,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And revel, too, and play with me,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Hanging my ears with humid weed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or mounting me as water steed.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then, musing I will on, and so<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stray to where a silver slow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">River circles through the meads,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherein the mooching great ox feeds,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And turns a slow eye round the sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wondering if he can ever die.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And there, mayhap, 'twill come to pass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I'll hear a sweet voice in the grass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And yet shall mark no singer nigh,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till, gently peering, I espy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A solemn, elfish child who sits<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Unseen mid towering grass, and knits<br/></span>
<span class="i0">An endless, endless daisy chain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crooning the while some soft refrain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her mother sings her when she closes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her twilit eyes.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Little Girl.</i> Three red, red, roses—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One each for father and mother, and one,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The reddest of all, for her baby son.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">None for wee Amoret? Oh, none! for she<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Some day, when she grows up, a red rose will be!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Faun's
Converse
with
a Small
She-Child.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then, crossed-legged mid the meadow-sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I will sink down, laugh low, and greet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her blue, inquiring, childish eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With mine, sharp, merry, brown, and wise,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And tell her tales—of Jack who slew<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ten giants; or Mirabel who flew<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On a white owl to find the Prince<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And give to him the Golden Quince<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Would change him from a roaring bull<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To a youth blithe and beautiful;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or tales of the Goblin and the Sloth,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who watched the moon and swore an oath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To find out what she was: how these<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Explored her mines and found her—cheese.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus will I sit and both amuse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until I rise and beg excuse:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Off 'to El Raschid in Assyria'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or 'the Grand-Duchess of Illyria,'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or 'to ask the maiden moon<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Why one only of her shoon<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She left us last night in the sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And not her silver self, and why<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She always climbs the self-same track?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lets no one ever see her back?'<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XVI</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But neither to the moon go I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or to the river gliding by,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But to the woods, therein to move<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Among the quiet glades I love,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Desiring nought but aye to see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The beech, ash, oak, and chestnut tree....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till I a nymph meet who persuades<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Me to the broadest of the glades,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Around whose smooth and sunken space<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The far woods lie. For in this place,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deserted but for a mid-grove<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of maiden trees, bower of the dove,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pan plays, and should the sylvans chance,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nymphs, fauns, and sylvans, join in dance.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XVII</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Immortal
Dance.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On either hand the slender trees<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bow to the caressing breeze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And shake their shocks of silver light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Against skies marbled greenish-white,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save where, within a rent of blue,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The tilted slip of moon glints through,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glittering upon us as we dance<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With a soft extravagance<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of limbs as blonde as autumn boughs,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And gold locks floating from moony brows.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While anguished Pan the pipes doth blow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fond and tremulous and low,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And anon the timbrel shakes.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">—It is his sudden heart that breaks<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For springs before the world grew old,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rich vales, and hill-tops fiery cold!—<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">He watches the scarce moving skies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The trees, the glittering revelries,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The moon, the dancers lemon-clad:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The world fantastical and sad.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The high-flung timbrels pulse and knock;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We follow in a dancing flock,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Touching each other's finger-tips,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While from between our parted lips<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The solemn melodies repeat<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The rhythm of our shaken feet.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then faster! and the round we trace,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hair flowing from elated face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Eyes lit, breast bare, with lifted knees,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And hands that toss as toss the trees....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And slow again ... with cumulate motion,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As the long draw and plunge of ocean<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bursting in a cloud of spray<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Up a white, deserted bay<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the sun-circled green Bermooths,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose blistering sands the cool foam soothes....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Next the bewildering pipes may sing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Some simple melody of spring,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose cadences remember yet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sadly lost springs that we forget.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To which as dances April rain<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On a still pool where leans no stain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save of the cloud's pure splendour spread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gloriously overhead,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Our fast-flickering feet shall twinkle,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And our golden anklets tinkle,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While fair arms in aery sleeves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shiver as the poplar's leaves.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And all the while shall Pan sit by<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And play, and pause, perhaps, to sigh,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Viewing the scarce-moving skies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hushed and glittering revelries,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The infant moon, the slender trees<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silvering to the shivery breeze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The fair, lorn dancers lemon-clad:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The world fantastical and sad.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XVIII</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus may we dance the light away<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of yet one more unmemoried day.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But, the dance ended, I will go<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the reach of pipes that blow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A sadness thrilling through my veins....<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The
Faun's
Sadness.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For now within my spirit reigns<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shadow: before whose brooding face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silent, there trail on gliding pace<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A multitude of restless Fears,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Obscure Griefs and obscurer Tears,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bewildered Sighs, waned Phantasies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all disastrous Presences,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Mutely prophetic of a Woe<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I know not yet, but I shall know.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Such power Pan's grief hath to oppress,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Memory!—since now I guess<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Only too well that there must come<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Twilight, Calamity, and Doom.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For once I saw beneath an oak<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A bard so aged it seemed he woke<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That moment from a sleep of years<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And in his voice were sleep and tears....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till, wide-eyed, he, raging, spake,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rocking as when woodlands shake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the first urge of the wind,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose roaring murk lightens behind.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The
Prophecy.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>Prophetic Bard.</i> "Be warned! I feel the world grow old,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And off Olympus fades the gold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the simple passionate sun;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the Gods wither one by one:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Proud-eyed Apollo's bow is broken,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And throned Zeus nods nor may be woken<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But by the song of spirits seven<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Quiring in the midnight heaven<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a new world no more forlorn,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sith unto it a Babe is born,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That in a propped, thatched stable lies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While with darkling, reverend eyes<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Dusky Emperors, coifed in gold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Kneel mid the rushy mire, and hold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Caskets of rubies, urns of myrrh,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose fumes enwrap the thurifer<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And coil toward the high dim rafters<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where, with lutes and warbling laughters,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clustered cherubs of rainbow feather,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fanning the fragrant air together,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flit in jubilant holy glee,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And make heavenly minstrelsy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the Child their Sun, whose glow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bathes them His cloudlets from below....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Long shall this chimed accord be heard,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet all earth hushed at His first word:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then shall be seen Apollo's car<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blaze headlong like a banished star;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the Queen of heavenly Loves<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dragged downward by her dying doves;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Vulcan, spun on a wheel, shall track<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The circle of the zodiac;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silver Artemis be lost,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the polar blizzards tossed;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heaven shall curdle as with blood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sun be swallowed in the flood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The universe be silent save<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For the low drone of winds that lave<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The shadowed great world's ashen sides<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As through the rustling void she glides.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then shall there be a whisper heard<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Of the Grave's Secret and its Word,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where in black silence none shall cry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save those who, dead-affrighted, spy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How from the murmurous graveyards creep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The figures of eternal sleep.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Last: when 'tis light men shall behold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the crags, a flower of gold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blossoming in a golden haze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, while they guess Zeus' halls now blaze<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shall in the blossom's heart descry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The saints of a new hierarchy!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He ceased ... and in the morning sky<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Zeus' anger threatened murmurously.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I sped away. The lightning's sword<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stabbed on the forest. But the word<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Abides with me. I feel its power<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Most darkly in the twilit hour,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When Night's eternal shadow, cast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over earth hushed and pale and vast,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Darkly foretells the soundless Night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In which this orb, so green, so bright,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now spins, and which shall compass her<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When on her rondure nought shall stir<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But snow-whorls which the wind shall roll<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the Equator to the Pole....<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Final
Nature of
Pan.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For everlastingly there is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Something Beyond, Behind: I wis<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">All Gods are haunted, and there clings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As hound behind fled sheep, the things<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the Universe's ken:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gods haunt the Half-Gods, Half-Gods men,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Man the brute. Gods, born of Night,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Feel a blacker appetite<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gape to devour them; Half-Gods dread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But jealous Gods; and mere men tread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Warily lest a Half-God rise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And loose on them from empty skies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Amazement, thunder, stark affright,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Famine and sudden War's thick night,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In which loud Furies hunt the Pities<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through smoke above wrecked, flaming cities.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For Pan, the Unknown God, rules all.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He shall outlive the funeral,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Change, and decay, of many Gods,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until he, too, lets fall his rods<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of viewless power upon that minute<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When Universe cowers at Infinite!<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XIX</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So far my mind runs, yet I see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How little faun-philosophy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Repays my heart would learn, not teach....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Better laugh long, lie, suck a peach<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Couched under tiger-lily flowers<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which daze the low hot sun with showers<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of fragrance, while the dusty bee<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drones, fumbles, falls luxuriantly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within their throats; couched, turn a song<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of flowers all the flowers among:<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">THE
FAUN'S
AFTERNOON
SONG.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There is a vale beyond blue Ida's mount,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And thither often would I, piping, stray<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To listen to the music of a fount<br/></span>
<span class="i1">That spelt her tears out in a Dorian lay.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Long, long ago," she wept, "Narcissus came<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Wandering down the sunny-shafted glade;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Full weary was he of the lamp's gold flame<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Wavering beneath the dusky colonnade.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"For at the fall of night forth from the dim<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Gardens stole Echo; kneeling by his bed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With small sweet love-words she importuned him<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Who watched the lamp flame idle overhead.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Dry was her hot flushed cheek and dark the fire<br/></span>
<span class="i1">In her great eyes; her lips roamed warm and light<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over his arm; her murmurs of desire<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Mixed with the many murmurs of the night.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"In vain! He came to rest and sing with me<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And loll his fingers in the liquid cool,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And drop slow tears, slow tears luxuriously<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Into the shadowy motion of the pool.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"With tongue scarce audible I wooed the lad,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Whispering how beneath the drumming fall<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Slumbers a rapt, deep lake, so blue, so sad,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">That no fish swim it, nor about it call<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Delighting birds from green-bowered shore to shore,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Nor doth the nightingale, when June begins<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the moon mounts a pattin of bright or,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Hymn her long sorrows and her lord's black sins.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"And the boy answered, answered me, and mourned<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The loveliness of Echo. 'Yet,' sighed he,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'My soul is fled, and long, thou knowest, bourned<br/></span>
<span class="i1">In what far dell none knoweth, love, but thee<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"'Who farest thither! Sweeter to my ears<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Are thy quiet voices and the gentle breast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of rambling water sweeter than my dear's.'<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Then murmured I, 'Lean lower, love, and rest.'<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"There was no sound through all the sleeping wood,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Save one sharp cry from Echo, open-lipped,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who, as she followed, from afar did spy<br/></span>
<span class="i1">How to my arms my lover downward slipped.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Softly I rocked him down into the pool,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Shutting his ears to the loud torrents' din,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And kissed and bore him through the portals cool,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And laid him sleeping the blue halls within.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"So I returned; but never to me came<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Another as beautiful, nor shall come.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lonely I flow, and, flowing, lisp his name,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Till the sky waste and all the earth be dumb."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So sang the spring, and, answering my look,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Through the dark wood from the spring's fountain-head<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flock upon flock of eyed narcissi shook,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And the brook wept in sorrow for the dead.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ah, Death again! nothing can fend<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Us from the Sibyl of the End,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whose delight 'tis to find new forms,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now in dull sighs, anon in storms,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Singing, and ever of the same:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The trusting heart betrayed; the flame<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Whirled in a night on cities proud;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lightnings from skies undimmed by cloud;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wide grave yawned before swift feet;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The small success that brings defeat;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The smiling lips and deadly eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of Destiny walking in disguise.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XX</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Evening
River.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But now the sun sinks I will go<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whither two full streams meet and flow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Murmuring as in wedded sleep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Through evening meadows dim and deep.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There will I watch the slow trout rise<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At the myriad simmering flies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And listen to the water flowing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With such faint sounds there is no knowing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whether its spirit laughs or weeps<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Among the dreams wherein it sleeps.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sunken amid the twilight grass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I will watch the water pass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Weaving ever dimmer tales<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And dimmer as the evening pales....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till from the calm the silent lark<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drops to the meadows hushed and dark,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While in the stagnant silver west,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Above the tranquil poplars' crest,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">There glimmers through the murky bar<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The slowly climbing Hesperal Star.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus brooding by the hazy stream,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I shall hear the water dream<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tinkily on, and I shall see,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As my eyes close quietly.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into a soft and long repose,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The lone star like a silver rose<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fade with me on the drifting stream<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the quiet night of dream.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of
Night's
Rhapsodist.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet sleep I not; for lo! there wakes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the dim water-meadow brakes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A quiring: voice as if a star,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fallen to earth from midnight far<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the haze of highest cloud,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bewailed her errëd path aloud.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It is the nightingale who sings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fanning soft air with whirrëd wings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Probing the dark with jewelled eyes.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How oft, how sad, how loud she cries!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all the echoes answer her;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The night airs through the close wood stir<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The stars that through the eddies climb<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Glitter; the silver waters chime;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The lily bows her dewy head....<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I, too, a sudden tear have shed.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For, ah! what voice is this can make<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The vagrant heart within me ache?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That stirs an ancient tenderness,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A new need to console, love, bless<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All things that 'neath this warm night sky<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rejoice and suffer, age and die?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hunger is in my heart like bliss,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I stretch my arms out and I kiss,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gathered in sad and sweet embrace,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The whole world's dark and simple face.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">XXI</p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>Of the
Second
Singer.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I wander forth. About my feet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sward is fresh and doubly sweet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The loved air on my salvëd brow.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Be still. Be still. For hearken: now<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A second voice behind the grove<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Uprises tremulous with love.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How hushed, how moody is the strain!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pleading—O, surely, not in vain!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sombrely rises every note,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lingers, and in dark dells remote<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Echoes until another come.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Philomel herself falls dumb.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Philomel herself falls dumb,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mindful of her shadowy home;<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Of a slowly falling surge<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sounding its unending dirge<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On an alien ocean's verge;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a rain-smitten tower that stood<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fronting the calm, pale rolling flood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a slim sister's beauty glows,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fatefuller than a midnight rose;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the birth, growth, and scheming dire,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of an accursëd King's desire;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of night-long vigil, tongueless wrack,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the last exultation black<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O'er loathly offering, feasting sour,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A fell cry in the lonely tower,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Raging pursuit, flight's vain endeavour,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Vengeance stilling all for ever.—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save the voice that nightly cries<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the slowly wheeling skies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of unrest resolved in calm,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Time's tears fallen like a balm,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sorrows that dead hearts have wrung,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By the sad Enthusiast sung,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sweeter than Euphrosyne's tongue.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O tremulous voice! who is 't that shakes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The night with fervour?<br/></span>
<span class="i9">Through the brakes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Softly I thread ... emerge, and now<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Across the rising meadow's brow<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">I glimpse, beside the farther wood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the shadow of its hood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A glimmering shape that does not move.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It is the shepherd and his love:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Close, close they stand, swooning and dim;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her shadowed face looks up at him,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her sighing breath his forehead warms;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He sings, she leans within his arms.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote">THE
SHEPHERD'S
NIGHT
SONG.</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><i>The Shepherd.</i> Now arched dark boughs hang dim and still;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The deep dew glistens up the hill;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silence trembles. All is still.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now the sweet siren of the woods,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Philomel, passionately broods,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or, darkling, hymns love's wildest moods.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Danaë, fainting in her tower,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Feels a sudden sun swim lower,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gasps beneath the starry shower.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Venus in the pomegranate grove<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flutters like a fluttering dove<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under young Adonis' love.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Leda longs until alight<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the reeds those wings of white<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She hears beat the upper night.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Golden now the glowing moon,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Diana over Endymion<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Downward bends as in a swoon.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Wherefore, since the gods agree,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Youth is sweet and Night is free,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And Love pleasure, should not we?<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="sidenote"><i>The
Faun is
struck
with
Sorrow.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Song whose desire her kisses bless!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Song that wreaks wounds no lips redress,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O wounding song! Such loneliness<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Falls, like a stun blow from behind,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That my hands grope, my eyes go blind.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I gasp....<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Away, Away, O heart!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lone, wretched Faun, depart, depart;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hide thyself, wretched, utterly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Climb to the clouds where none may see<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And mock thy causeless misery!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What joy is mine? what is 't I have:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Immortal life? would 'twere a grave.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thus, thus to suffer world-without-end,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No love, no hope, no goal, no friend!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And the proud, morning Centaur, how<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fares he? what lot doth Fate allow?—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">More wretched yet! to live and be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Perfection's lone epitome.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote"><i>He takes
Comfort
in the
Uncommon
Gift of
God.</i></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To feel in him a fecund power,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And lack on which to spend that dower!...<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I mind me now that once I heard<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wise, gentle Pan pronounce this word:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>Whoever like a God would shine</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Must share the loneliness divine.</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! to be Gods, then, is to be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One fierce eternal agony.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet, being Gods, such feel no pain;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their strength is equal to their bane.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While I, poor half-god and half-beast,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I would be man, the last and least<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of men!<br/></span>
<span class="i4">O reasoning vain:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Were I but man and one in pain,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I could not by my utmost wipe<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One tear away. But now this pipe<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hangs from my neck, god Pan's elect<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gift to his children to perfect<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In awe, joy, grief, and loneliness.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sound, pipe, and with thy note express<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All this my heart! to thee I give<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All the long days that I must live.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I wander on, I fade in mist,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O peopled World, and dost thou list?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pipe on, difficult pipes of mine;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There is something in me divine,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And it must out. For this was I<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Born, and I know I cannot die<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Until, perfected pipe, thou send<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My utmost: God, which is<br/></span></div>
</div>
<h4><span class="smcap">The End.</span></h4>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</SPAN></span></p>
<h1><SPAN name="BOOK_III" id="BOOK_III"></SPAN>BOOK III</h1>
<h2>POEMS AND<br/> PHANTASIES</h2>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</SPAN></span></p>
<h4><SPAN name="To" id="To"></SPAN>To<br/>
MR. <span class="smcap">and</span> MRS. MOISEIWITSCH</h4>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="A_TRIPTYCH" id="A_TRIPTYCH"></SPAN>A TRIPTYCH</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—FIRST PANEL: THE HILL</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On a day in Maytime mild<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mary sat on a hill-top with her child.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Overhead in the calm sky's arching<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The curled white clouds went slowly marching....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But underneath the blue abyss<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All was stiller than water is<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Leagues under the surface of the sea.)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And all about her thick and free<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blossomed the dear familiar flowers.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There, while her boy played through the hours,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the high sun shook gold upon her,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mary plaited a garland in his honour<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who should be the King of Kings;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And when 'tis done this song she sings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As Jesus, tired and happy, rests<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Curled in the hollow of her breasts:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i3">"In the shadow of my dress,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Out of the sun<br/></span>
<span class="i3">And his fierce caress,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Sleep, my son.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Soft the air about the hill,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scented, sunny, clear, and still;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Below in the woods the daffodil<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nods, and the shy anemone<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Creeps up from the thicket to look on thee,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And ten thousand daisies meet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In an ocean of stars about thy feet.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Daisies have I strung for thee,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Darling boy,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wee white blossoms that shall be<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Dappled, ah! so rosily<br/></span>
<span class="i4">With thy blood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When they nail thee to the wood<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cleft from out the crooked tree.<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Can it be,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Daisies innocent and good,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That ye star black Calvary?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Buttercups I make thy crown,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Darling boy.<br/></span>
<span class="i1">(Lullaby, O lullaby!)<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Son of sorrow, son of joy,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pain and Paradise thou art,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thou that sighest nestling down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In my breast, over my heart<br/></span>
<span class="i4">That is a lake<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where the hidden tear-drops ache<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</SPAN></span><span class="i3">To be free,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till mounting upward for thy sake<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Out they break,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Down they plash on me and thee.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"And Heaven in her charity<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drops seven tears on me and thee.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"This thy little childhood's crown,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Flower on flower,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wear thou in thy lullaby<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till thou facest the soldiers' frown<br/></span>
<span class="i3">In thine iron hour,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till the thorn they crown thee by<br/></span>
<span class="i3">They press down:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah, the sharp points in my heart!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah, the sword, the sudden smart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flaying me as 'twere a flame!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crowned indeed, my son, thou art<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With red flowers of pain and shame!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Birds and butterflies and trees,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the long hush of the breeze<br/></span>
<span class="r1">Shimmering over the silken grass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What wouldst thou have more than these?...<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the stall the ox and ass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gazed on thee with tender eyes;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All things love thee; yet there lies<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Some hid thing in thee breeds fear—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Brims not falls thy mother's tear.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherefore, baby, must thou go?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rose, to be torn in sunder so?<br/></span>
<span class="r1">Little bonny limbs, little bonny face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My lamb, my torment, my disgrace!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O baby, are thine eyelids closed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Faster than my eyes supposed?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With foxes must thy bed be maken,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A beggar with beggars must thou go,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To be at last forsworn, forsaken?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And bear alone thy cross also<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Anigh to the foot of a bare hill?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To hang gibbeted and abhorred,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For passers-by to wish thee ill?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And to thrust against thy will<br/></span>
<span class="r1">Through thy mother's bosom the sharpest sword?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O baby, breathing so quietly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Have thou mercy upon me!<br/></span>
<span class="i3">That in thy madness<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On thy lonely journey farest,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That understandest not nor carest<br/></span>
<span class="i3">For me and my sadness!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Woe indeed! thou dost not know<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Man cometh into this world in sorrow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To spend in grief to-night, to-morrow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In sorrow the third day to go!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O sleep, dear baby, and, heart, sleep;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Turn to thy slumber, golden, deep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of present possible happiness.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Let drop the daisies one by one<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over his body and his dress;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Afflicted eyes, see but thy son<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Who sleeps secure from hurt, from harm,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clasped to my breast, closed in my arm,<br/></span>
<span class="r1">Who murmurs as the flowers by the faint wind shaken,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, putting forth sweet, sleepy hands,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Feels for the kisses he demands....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Slowly, belov'd, dost thou awaken,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And sure, in heaven there is no sign:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It is not true that thou shalt be taken,<br/></span>
<span class="r1">Who for ever, for ever art mine, art mine!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Into the west the calm white sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Floated and sank. The day was done.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mary returned, and as she went,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Above her, in the firmament,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The stars, that are the flowers of God,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mirrored the flowery earth she trod.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thus bore she on her destined child,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And while she wept, behold! he smiled,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And stretched his arms seeking a kiss....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Softly she kissed him, and a bliss,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Deeper than all her human tears,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flooded her and put out her fears.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Oxford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><small><i>Early Spring</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—SECOND AND CENTRE PANEL: THE TOWER</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">It was deep night, and over Jerusalem's low roofs<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The moon floated, drifting through high vaporous woofs.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The moonlight crept and glistened silent, solemn, sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over dome and column, up empty, endless street;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the closed, scented gardens the rose loosed from the stem<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her white showery petals; none regarded them;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The starry thicket breathed odours to the sentinel palm;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silence possessed the city like a soul possessed by calm.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Not a spark in the warren under the giant night,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save where in a turret's lantern beamed a grave, still light:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">There in the topmost chamber a gold-eyed lamp was lit—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Marvellous lamp in darkness, informing, redeeming it!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">For, set in that tiny chamber, Jesus, the blessed and doomed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spoke to the lone apostles as light to men entombed;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And spreading his hands in blessing, as one soon to be dead,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He put soft enchantment into spare wine and bread.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The hearts of the disciples were broken and full of tears,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Because their lord, the spearless, was hedgëd about with spears;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And in his face the sickness of departure had spread a gloom,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At leaving his young friends friendless.<br/></span>
<span class="i6">They could not forget the tomb.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He smiled subduedly, telling, in tones soft as voice of the dove,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The endlessness of sorrow, the eternal solace of love;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And lifting the earthly tokens, wine and sorrowful bread,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He bade them sup and remember one who lived and was dead.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And they could not restrain their weeping.<br/></span>
<span class="i8">But one rose up to depart,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Having weakness and hate of weakness raging within his heart,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And bowed to the robed assembly whose eyes gleamed wet in the light.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Judas arose and departed: night went out to the night.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then Jesus lifted his voice like a fountain in an ocean of tears,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And comforted his disciples and calmed and allayed their fears.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But Judas wound down the turret, creeping from floor to floor,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And would fly; but one leaning, weeping, barred him beside the door.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And he knew her by her ruddy garment and two yet-watching men:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mary of Seven Evils, Mary Magdalen.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And he was frighted at her. She sighed: "I dreamed him dead.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We sell the body for silver...."<br/></span>
<span class="i8">Then Judas cried out and fled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Forth into the night!... The moon had begun to set;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A drear, deft wind went sifting, setting the dust afret;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the heart of the city Judas ran on and prayed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To stern Jehovah lest his deed make him afraid.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But in the tiny lantern, hanging as if on air,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The disciples sat unspeaking. Amaze and peace were there.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">For <i>his</i> voice, more lovely than song of all earthly birds,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In accents humble and happy spoke slow, consoling words.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus Jesus discoursed, and was silent, sitting upright, and soon<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Past the casement behind him slanted the sinking moon;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, rising for Olivet, all stared, between love and dread,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Seeing the torrid moon a ruddy halo behind his head.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Grayshott</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>July</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—THIRD PANEL: THE TREE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The crookëd tree creaked as its loaded bough dipped<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And suddenly jerked up. The rope had slipped,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And hideously Judas fell, and all the grass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Was soused and reddened where he was,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the tree creaked its mirth....<br/></span>
<span class="i12">Mid the hot sky<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Appeared immediate dots tiny and high,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till downward wound in batlike herds<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Black, monstrous, gawky birds,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, narrowing their rustling rings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Alit, talons foremost. And with flat wings<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flapped in the branches, and glared, and croaked and croaked,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While no compassionate human came and cloaked<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The thing that stared up at the giddy day<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With pale blue eyeballs and wry-lipped display<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of yellow teeth closed on the blue, bit tongue.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Overhead the light in silence hung,<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And fiercely showed the sweaty, knotted hands<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Clutching the rope about the swollen glands....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the birds croaked and croaked, evilly eyeing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The thing so lying,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which no commiserate pity came and cloaked,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But which soaked<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The earth, so that the flies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dizzily swung over its winkless eyes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And in a crawling, shiny, busy brood<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blackened the sticky blood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And tickled the tongue-choked mouth that sought to cry<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bitterly and beseechingly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Against the judgment of th' unflinching sky.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The poor dead, lonely thing had not a shroud<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From that still, frightful glare until a cloud<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of darkness, flowing like a dye<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the edges of the sky,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Browned and put out the silent sun:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A benison<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of three hours' space.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And it had power<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To put a shadow into that thing's face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And th' invisible birds fell silent by its grace.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus Judas lay in shadow and all was still....<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Then faint light, like water, began again to fill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sky, and a whisper—came it from the grass,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Whispering dry and sparse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or from the air beyond the neighbouring hill?—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ebbed, as a spirit on a sigh<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Passing beyond alarm:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"<i>It is finished!</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And there was calm<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the empty tree and in the brightening sky.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Grayshott</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>July</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="FOUR_SONGS_FROM" id="FOUR_SONGS_FROM"></SPAN>FOUR SONGS FROM<br/> "THE PRINCE OF<br/> ORMUZ"</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—THE PRINCE OF ORMUZ SINGS TO<br/> BADOURA</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When she kisses me with her lips, I become<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A Roc, that giant, that fabulous bird<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And over the desert, vast, yellow, and dumb,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I wheel, and my jubilant screaming is heard,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A voice, an echo, high up and glad,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over the domes and green pools of Bagdad.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But when she kisses me with her eyes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My heart melts in me; she is my sun;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She strokes my snow; I am loosed, I arise:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A brook of water I run, I run,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crystal water, sunny and sweet,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Laughing and weeping to fawn at her feet.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>Easter</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—THE SONG OF THE PRINCESS BESIDE THE<br/> FOUNTAIN</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My rose, or ever the three tears were shed<br/></span>
<span class="i1">I wished lie in its bosom, has fallen apart;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Off their knapped golden hair all my pure pearls have sped<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Before their mid-ruby could burn on my heart.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To-day is as yesterday; as to-day so to-morrow;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But fallen my rose, pearls, tears,<br/></span>
<span class="i12">Fallen in sorrow.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or ever I woke it was sunset to-day;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As fast flows the fountain, as fast flows away,<br/></span>
<span class="i12">As fast fall away<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My rose and my tears, my pearls and my sorrow.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">In Hospital</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>January</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—THE SONG OF THE PRINCE IN DISGUISE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The look in thine eyes can change me utterly;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thine eyes challenge: my heart is lighted,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I am thy taper, I burn straight-pointed—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ay, even so doing I waste away.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Bathe me in thy calm eyes' soft glances;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I am thy slave, I bow, I worship;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bid me to steal, and I will steal gladly:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! bid me not, thou robbest my manhood.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Let thine eyes smile: change comes upon me,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I put forth blossoms, flowers of my passion,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Roses crimson, alas! whose petals,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Once white, now blush with blood of my heart.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Gaze not on me: I burn, I perish;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gaze not on me: I am thy servant;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gaze not on me: I sink a-bleeding;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet gaze! I cannot otherwise live.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>Easter</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>IV.—THE PRINCESS BADOURA'S LAST SONG TO<br/> HER LOVER</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I have poured my wine into a gold cup,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">I have plucked my roses, unfastened the stone<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From my bosom. Thou mayest drink my red wine up,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Or spill where my jewel and roses are thrown.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The golden-globed night deepens quickly over<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Me, afraid under its curtains. The spheres<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stare. O gather me swiftly, my lover;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Make me forget and forgive me these tears.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>Easter</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</SPAN></span></p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="THE_GIFT_OF_SONG" id="THE_GIFT_OF_SONG"></SPAN>THE GIFT OF SONG</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>THE GIFT OF SONG</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Beyond a hill and a river,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Within a tower of stone,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A Princess by a casement<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dreamed, sitting still, alone.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Her golden hair hung heavy<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Over her kirtle green;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her eyes were blue and lonely,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her tender mouth had been<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A joy for splendid kisses,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It was so red, so red;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But it was parted in singing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, beginning her song, she said:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Three songs in my spirit:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Elusive, tremulous, light.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If you can feel their tremor,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">This gift is spended aright."<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Without in the silent garden<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sunflowers dozed in the sun,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bees blackened their tawny faces,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their heads drooped one by one.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Amid a stilly fig-tree,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hidden from sun and sight,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A nightingale sang over<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The songs that rejoice the night.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And browsing upon sweet grasses<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the fair solitude,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Half in sun, half in shadow,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A lordly bay stag stood.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Upon earth all was silent<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save when the hid bird sung;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the dark blue afternoon heavens<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A silent half-moon hung.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="half" />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">As she commenced singing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The nightingale stopped. In the dead<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silence the leaves flicked softly;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The great stag turned his head.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="half" />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus sung she alone, and only<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The stag, the fig-tree, the bird<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And pensive moon in the darkling heavens<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Her lovely singing heard.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And as she finished singing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She bowed her golden head<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Low, O low, on her shaking bosom,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, ending her song, she said:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Three songs in my spirit:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Elusive, tremulous, light.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You have felt their tremor;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">This gift is spended aright."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The nightingale lifted her voice up,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The moon fled out of the skies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The fig-tree split, and two tears rolled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out of the great stag's eyes.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now, when she had done singing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She closed her eyes, and her breath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Went out as she lay down backward<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And folded her hands in death.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Lyme Regis</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i1"><small><i>July</i> 6, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="FRAGMENTS_FROM_A" id="FRAGMENTS_FROM_A"></SPAN>FRAGMENTS FROM A<br/> DRAMA ON THE SUBJECT<br/> OF ORESTES</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—WARNING UNHEEDED</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Kassandra.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0">I cried in the halls where the feast will be set;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hurrying servants whom I met<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Brushed me aside, asked why I tarried.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On their black woolly heads gold platters they carried,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Piled high with rich fruits; betwixt jewelled hands,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Goblets of crystal, white blossoming wands,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Urns breathing incense: all these to be set<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where Truth's feast and the feasters too soon shall be met.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The guest shall turn as he laughs and sups,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Reaching his hand for the golden wine;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His face shall change as he sees next to him<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A mouth that mocks, eyes that look through him,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A head sink her glistening brow 'twixt the cups,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Locks blackening his stoup with a liquor of brine.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the scrolls of the platter of gold there has bled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The juice of fruit battered and hairy and red;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">The goblets of crystal are fissured and cracked<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like ice the bronze tyre of the chariot has wracked,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the blossoms curl withered because of the heat<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of urns overset by the slip of red feet<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the reveller fell forward unable to save<br/></span>
<span class="i0">His eyes from the torch, his groin from the glaive.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0">For Truth rejected returns as Pain.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Kassandra.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the trestles the guests lie slain;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The curtains upon the gold cords pull<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heavily, sagging like nets that are full,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">For curved in the trough and propped in the fold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The red, red catch lies tossed and rolled;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The halls and corridors reek with the flood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The pillars are trickled with cyphers of blood;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rent garlands lie trampled over the floors;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rusty footprints lead out through the high bronze doors<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the starlit night and the whispering plain:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0">For Truth rejected returns as Pain.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Kassandra.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0">I weep for the ruin of a high, proud house;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Moths fret the still curtains; down the throne runs a mouse;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">The sun fades on the floors heaped high with dead leaves;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The moon runs on the rills that run from the eaves;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Brown clogs the peristyle; the air has a tang;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Weeds rot on the terrace; the hanging gates clang;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind is a weariness; man lives in vain<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>Chorus.</i><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where Truth rejected returns as Pain.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><small>1914-1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—ORESTES TO THE FURIES</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ye are no madman's dreams, then!...<br/></span>
<span class="i8">Out sword! Backward tread<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O curs that circle the bright blade ye dread.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Back to where dead-eyed Hate, your shameful priest,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Prepares your bowl of blood, your fleshy feast:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where in the thronged and long-hushed marketplace<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ten thousand faces gaze on one pale face;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where the lost victim feels the lonely ban<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of death terrific loosed by man on man;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where black blood froths, where drives the whirring wheel;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where hands, ears, lips fall lopped of instant steel;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where the intent and dazzling pincher plies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till to the silent tortures Anguish cries<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At once for death! and when sharp death is given,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Others, corded and swooned, antic and sick, are driven<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the axe, whose sheeny flash and fall<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bids the block ring as pile beneath the maul,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till Man's protest dies to a whisper, dumb<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath the maddened rolling of Death's drum!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><small>1915.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="BLACK_SONG" id="BLACK_SONG"></SPAN>BLACK SONG</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>I.—AT BRAYDON</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Day wanes slowly;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On the hill no sound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Save the wind uttering<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Chords low ... few ... profound.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How the west smokes and quivers!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It sears, it blinds my sight;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I am burned out wholly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hide me from the light.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Within dear arms yoke me,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Gather me. I am sped<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into your little bosom<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Press, hide my childish head.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How long I have struggled<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I know not; but the past<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Seems twice livelong,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beaten at the last!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My soul leaps and shudders<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In pain none understands;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With your clear voice calm it,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soothe it with your hands.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I can say only<br/></span>
<span class="i0">—So lost am I, so distressed—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"I love you: I am tired."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You must guess the rest.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I love you: I am tired.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I give you my soul,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">It hurts me. Hate has lamed it.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Take it; make it whole.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><small><i>Late Summer</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>II.—MIDDAY ON THE EDGE OF THE DOWNS</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Stillness falls and a glare.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The woods in darkness lie.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The fields are stretched and stare<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the empty sky.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Vacant the ways of the air,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Along which no birds fly.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Only the high sun's flare<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spills on the empty sky.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I lift my aching eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the dry wilderness:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Across me a peewit flies<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With gestures meaningless....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Mine are his piping cries<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At this world's emptiness!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><small>1913.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>III.—IN DORSETSHIRE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Cold and bare the sunlight<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drifted across the hill,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Round which the sea wind's current<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Unfathomable and chill,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From dawn to silver sunset<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Poured now faint, now shrill.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"How to comfort you,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Share any part?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Even to understand you<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Too deep an art!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet I'd comfort you,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tear out my heart."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Do not look on me,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dry eyes for my sake;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Do not smooth my forehead<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Your hands make me ache;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O, and turn away your kisses<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or heart must break."<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Cold and bare the sunlight<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drifted across the hill,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Only the sea-wind's current,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Unfathomable and chill,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heard such speech gather,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bewail itself ... fall still.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Toward the hill then zigzagged<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One wind-harried plover—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Rocked for a moment....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Cried to love and lover<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The top of loneliness<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ere he heeled over.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2>MAN'S ANACREONTIC<br/> AND OTHER POEMS</h2>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3>MAN'S ANACREONTIC</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Kiss! Kiss me and kiss again,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Make kissing almost pain;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Close your fingers close on mine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And our grappling looks entwine;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Kiss again, and when that's done<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Blind me with each facing sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of your clear and golden eyes,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till my spirit in me dies,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And endures a long eclipse<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till rekindled at your lips.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">From this minute I pursue<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The intense Idea that's you—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Your you's Being. I would draw<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You from Obscurity's dusk maw<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into my hands—whate'er you are,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Moth or spirit, gnome or star.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet I would not filch a part,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Misty soul or flaming heart,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Which left but, as doth the snake,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A pale tissue. I will take<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">And shut all your sweetness up<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the gold walls of a cup,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Sandalled feet to sweeping hair,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Soul, brain, body, all you are—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Curled as a mermaid coiled in brine,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now drunk one gush of giddy wine!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Nay, as a strange lump of snow<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In my two hands you shall go,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And I'll bare my browny breast,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Press you there, where now you rest!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ay, and bless the frozen smart<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As you melt into my heart!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Come, I'll twine you round my brows:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A defiant diadem,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Poets of your light shall sing.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Satraps by you swear stout vows<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Eyeing my twice-marvellous gem—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You: the emerald in my ring.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Thus I'll keep you night and day,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Since no stone can run away—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And might dare a pleasure splendid:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toss my ring into the air,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Watch it spinning, heart suspended,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lest it slip me unaware,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Fall clean through my finger bars,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shatter in ten thousand stars!<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</SPAN></span><span class="i0">Yet you shall not be my ring;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">You shall not be any thing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crown or stone set cunningly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Time can separate from me.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No! I'll find an alchemist,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With a beard of cobwebs grey<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And fired eyes like moonstones kissed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">By the last gold beam of day,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And older and gentler than a fish,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And wiser than an elephant;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And when I've told him what we wish,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bribe or force him work our want.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We two shall opposëd stand,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Each touch other's finger-tip;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">At a slow pass of his hand<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And a soft word from his lip,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We will incline smilingly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And as drops together run,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shaking off the he and she,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Close and be forever one.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><span class="smcap">Grayshott</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><small><i>Summer</i>, 1914.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="THE_BLACKBIRD" id="THE_BLACKBIRD"></SPAN>THE BLACKBIRD</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I stand in a sunny garden;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">A blackbird sings overhead:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"I'm alive ... I've a love ... the sun's shining<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And where's the man would be dead?"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Blackbird, make an ending of fluting<br/></span>
<span class="i1">That song down your orange beak:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I'm alive ... I've a love ... the sun's shining,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And—I am the man you seek."<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Stamford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><small><i>May</i>, 1913.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="CHANGE" id="CHANGE"></SPAN>CHANGE</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Behold, the tides are awake!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Under the high moon's light,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Broad bands of silver, they glitter and quake,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Moving out into the night.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Off from the shore they slide,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out, out into the blue:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And I am turned to a shimmering tide<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flooding on outward to you!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hengistbury Head</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i1"><small><i>Spring</i>, 1915.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="TRANSFIGURATION" id="TRANSFIGURATION"></SPAN>TRANSFIGURATION</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two feet apart, straight-limbed on the heathered hill<br/></span>
<span class="i0">We lie, under the wavering haze<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the sun, even as two logs that lie still<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the heart of a blaze.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Side by side we lie through the long<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Late noon together;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On us the light wind stoops his strong,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hot, sweet scents of heather.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No word breaks the air that smothers,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lest we miss<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The dull heart-beat of the earth below each other's,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the soft kiss<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of breathless heather upon heather, while the sun<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beats on us encouraging the swiftening blood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till up the limbs and through the ears it run,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A thin, red singing flood.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Love hath put in me might,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That was so weak;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I am strong with light,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My senses seek<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Something indefinable, afar;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They go wandering, and return....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With the light drunk off a star<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They calmly burn,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Even as the immense sun burns on us<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till evening turns watery those beams of his;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, rising from that joyance onerous,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I stoop a kiss<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Lighter than the balls of fluff<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind sways across the heath,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Though each invisible, hot puff<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scarce rocks a spray beneath.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I sit, and it is so still,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Now wind and sun have gone home,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I can almost hear distil<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The dew in the gloam.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And from the clear and cool<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the twilit air,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">That is still as a pool<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Iced over and bare,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I catch at length<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The thought I have been searching for:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Did I absorb the sun's or just your strength,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Or Something More?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><small><i>Summer</i>, 1914</small>.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="PLAINT_OF_PIERROT_ILL-USED" id="PLAINT_OF_PIERROT_ILL-USED"></SPAN>PLAINT OF PIERROT ILL-USED</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I am Pierrot, and was born<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On some February morn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When through glistering rain shone down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The full moon on Paris town.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Ah the moonshine in my head!)<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For, upon the fatal minute<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the moon's heart changes in it<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And the tides their flow reverse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I, for better or for worse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Born was. (Better been born dead<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Than with moonwork in my head!)<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Clown stood foster, but another<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Got me of Clown's wife my mother,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And as suited my poor station,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Thieving was made my profession:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Doorsteps often were my bed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Frosty moonshine in my head).<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet while Pierrot was a thief—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Miracle beyond belief,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Chance fantastic as divine!—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I fell in with Columbine:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Dark eyes, lips of mournful red<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Dark-bright moonshine in my head).<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the corner of the street<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She and I by night would meet;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Met, but never told our love,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">While th' ironic moon above<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In her reverie smiled, and shed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Tranquil radiance round each head.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Till my father by a breath<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Stifled at the hands of Death,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"—Since no other children were—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Assigned me as only heir."<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Silver sequins heaped and spread:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Billowing silver in my head.)<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So, in search of fitting knowledge,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Poor Pierrot was sent to college,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Where Pantaloon and Pantaloon<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In answerless riddles o' the moon<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Crammed more moonshine in his head.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Home, then, Pierrot by-and-by<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hurried spent, resolved to sigh<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Headache, heartache, and the rest,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Out on Columbine's white breast,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">White as the moon's cloudy bed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Hush the moonshine in my head).<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But, while gone, had entered in<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Spangled, smiling Harlequin;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Laughter cynic and unholy:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Pah! Pierrot's poor melancholy!"<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Turned but not a word I said<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Moons like swords within my head!)<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Forth: but money burns so bright!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Let it burn, then, left and right:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Where, O where, is Punchinello?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Scaramouch too, that gay fellow?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A brisk life it is we'll lead:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Drown the moonshine in my head!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Midnight: Venus by an urn,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Roses and rose lanterns burn,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wine, fount's purl, and mandoline....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pulcinella waits within,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Faithless she—but in her bed:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">No more moonlight in my head!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ah!...<br/></span>
<span class="i3">yet dawns a dreary morrow:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Spend at ease, and owe in sorrow,'<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">With light purse to her begone,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">If but as a hanger-on!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">(Dread and moonlight in my head.)<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Home then: catch upon the way—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Harlequin fled yesterday.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bankruptcy of his employ.'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Surging of relief and joy:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Welcome then? past words unsaid?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Surge of moonlight through my head.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So on, beating, to her street:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What sight Pierrot's eyes doth greet?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">One coach at her door arrives,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From the back another drives....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Strange! (mere moonlight in the head).<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Pull the bell: is she within?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'I must see Miss Columbine.'<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Maid with finger laid by nose,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Better not inquire too close—<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Such puts bullets through the head!</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now I wander back and forth;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pierrot goes east, south, west, north;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till the more acute beholders,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Watching him, have hazarded,—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">'Touch of something in the head?'<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I am Pierrot, and was born<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On some far forgotten morn<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the cold moon on the pane<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Struck and, signless, 'gan to wane,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the tides their flow reversed;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And I bear, uncured, accursed,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Aching until I am dead,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Moonlight, moonlight in my head!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><span class="smcap">Devonshire</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i1"><small><i>November</i>, 1916</small>.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="GIRLS_SONG_FROM_THE_TAILORA" id="GIRLS_SONG_FROM_THE_TAILORA"></SPAN>GIRL'S SONG FROM "THE TAILOR"<SPAN name="FNanchor_A_2" id="FNanchor_A_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#Footnote_A_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</SPAN></h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O silver bird, fly down, fly down,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Bring thy fair gifts to him and me:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A purse contains a minted crown,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">A golden ring for me.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! lovely bird, fly down, fly down.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But upon the highest bough<br/></span>
<span class="i1">See amid the leaves he swings,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pipes three notes of laughter low,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Flirts, and folds his flashy wings.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! lovely bird, fly down, fly down.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What is't, bird, thy soul demands?<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Come, I'll rock thee in my breast;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I will stroke thee with my hands;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Where none rested thou shalt rest....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Ah! lovely bird, fly down, fly down.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Jewels wouldst thou, then, O bird?<br/></span>
<span class="i1">See, among the sunny grass<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A tear has fallen unseen, unheard,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Brighter than ever diamond was.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hark! Hark! His joy my voice doth drown:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">See, see, he leaps, floats, dives him down!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><small>1916</small>.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<div class="footnote"><p><SPAN name="Footnote_A_2" id="Footnote_A_2"></SPAN><SPAN href="#FNanchor_A_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></SPAN> "The Tailor," opera-buffa in three acts, being Op. 10
of Bernard van Dieren.</p>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="LAST_SONG_IN_AN_OPERA" id="LAST_SONG_IN_AN_OPERA"></SPAN>LAST SONG IN AN OPERA</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">From the apple bough many petals fly tossed of the wind,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet goldenly heavy it hangs on blue autumn eves<br/></span>
<span class="i1">(<i>All things come unto him whose heart believes</i>).<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The dove, though the tempest-swept sun her bright eyes blind,<br/></span>
<span class="i5">Beats onward fast.<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Till with clapped, sailing wings down at the last<br/></span>
<span class="i4">To the loved cote she come.<br/></span>
<span class="i1"><i>Ah, the long way of Love, but Love comes home!</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The silver river wanders and circles time out of mind,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Yet turns at length where the sea tosses her smoking sheaves<br/></span>
<span class="i1">(<i>All things come unto him whose heart believes</i>).<br/></span>
<span class="i0">So golden-feathered Love beats his high course, though blind,<br/></span>
<span class="i5">Until that hour<br/></span>
<span class="i1">When, downward stooping through the flaming shower,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Into the heart he come.<br/></span>
<span class="i1"><i>Ah, the long way of Love, but Love comes home!</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><small>1916</small>.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</SPAN></span></p>
<h2><SPAN name="DANAE" id="DANAE"></SPAN>DANAË</h2>
<h3>MYSTERY IN EIGHT POEMS</h3>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="DANAE_MYSTERY_IN_EIGHT_POEMS" id="DANAE_MYSTERY_IN_EIGHT_POEMS"></SPAN>DANAË: MYSTERY IN EIGHT POEMS</h3>
<p class="psub">I</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"What with clangour, clangour of iron din,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Do they beat till daylight ring?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">What heat, that I see the night air spin,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And sparks dance over the scaffolding?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"The birds have flown because of their strife<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Hammering difficult metal;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Their reek has taken my roses' life,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Dripping white petal on petal.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"What glows gold taller than earthly tree<br/></span>
<span class="i1">In that maze of mast on mast<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of the scaffolding? What can it be<br/></span>
<span class="i1">They build so secret and fast?"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">II</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"What art mooning at, fool?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Some wanton boy and his limbs?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Such dreams should be put to school:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I'll chasten these fleshly whims!"<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">He has shot the bolts on her room<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In the brazen tower.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Remain there, ninny: your doom<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till the sand sifts your last hour!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With eyes grieving on space,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Has she sight among all these blind?<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Because of her dreaming face....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">How harshly the great keys grind!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They have gone. She clenches her hands,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">She struggles and makes soft moan....<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Then smiles, for she understands:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The soul is never alone.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">III</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Last night as I was sitting,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My faint heart ceased to beat,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Listening in the silence<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the tread of nearing feet.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Through the tower dumb in midnight<br/></span>
<span class="i0">They passed from floor to floor,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till at length they halted<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Hard without my door.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"I knew 'twas Thou who stood'st there,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With but a door's divide!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With a wild and longing motion<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I strode and flung it wide.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Out into velvet darkness<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My whirring eyeballs stare.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I whisper. Nothing answers.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And there is no one there."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub"> IV<br/>
<span class="smcap">Canticle</span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O Day so bright,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Bring thou my Love to me,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In blinding, deep delight<br/></span>
<span class="i3">And ecstasy.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O Night so wide,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">So black, keep close till He,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The light within my side<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Seen, comes to me.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O wandering Wind,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Sing in His ears the sum<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of longing, mad His mind,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Compel He come.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Earth I adore,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">From whom to whom I go,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Bring Him to me before<br/></span>
<span class="i3">I return so.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Sun, nought doth let<br/></span>
<span class="i1">In journey or depart;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Make Him, arisen, set<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Within my heart.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O high white Moon,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Alone and glittering,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As you pull ocean soon,<br/></span>
<span class="i3">My Belovëd bring.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O swelling Sea,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Cavernous in your sweep,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Make Him ingulph, drown me<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Far in His deep.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"O Day, O Night,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">O Moon, O Sun, O Sea,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">O Wind, bring my Delight!<br/></span>
<span class="i3">Bring Him to me!"<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">V</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the second watch of the night<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The amazed guards saw with affright<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Gold stars fall in a shower:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Coins of gold in a sweeping flight,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">They silently broke on the tower.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And the tower's top turned a rose<br/></span>
<span class="i4">Of enwreathed, ruddy light,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And, like men smit of their foes,<br/></span>
<span class="i4">The guards fell at the sight....<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And the Rose possessed the tower alone<br/></span>
<span class="i4">All the blue, windless night.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">VI</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Soft torrential wind<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Falls through the vast, still deep<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Like thick dreams pouring behind<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The opened gates of sleep:<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>Ah, not so swift, Lord, not so bright,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Lest I be blown—a feather;</i><br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>Not so white, not so white,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Lest I be withered altogether.</i><br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Earth shifts under my feet,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Glory breaks over my head;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Speechlessly my wings I beat,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And fall mute in breathless dread:<br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>Ah, not so swift, Lord, not so bright,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Lest I be blown—a feather;</i><br/></span>
<span class="i2"><i>Not so white, not so white,</i><br/></span>
<span class="i3"><i>Lest I be wilted altogether.</i>"<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</SPAN></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">VII</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Mine is a heavenly Lover,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">In Him I am wholly blest;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My heart it is His coffer<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wherein His gold doth rest.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"Dead in the metal tower<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I lie till night doth come,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When in a golden shower<br/></span>
<span class="i0">He bursts the midnight dome.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">"And, caught beyond releasing,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">I yield me to His claim,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And by my creature ceasing<br/></span>
<span class="i0">All that He is I am."<br/></span></div>
</div>
<p class="psub">VIII</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The silver sun looks down<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On the silent tower;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The guards awaken, nor own<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the unguarded hour.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They eye each other's face,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But to speak none durst;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">As though the night were ungraced,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Silent they are dispersed.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The cruel King climbs, doth draw<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Near, then by he creeps,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Marking in rage and awe<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The smile in which she sleeps.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Stamford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="r1"><small><i>Autumn</i>, 1912, <i>and Autumn</i>, 1913.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="THE_ECSTASY" id="THE_ECSTASY"></SPAN>THE ECSTASY</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I lay upon a headland hill:<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The sun spilt out his gold;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The wind blew with a fluttering thrill;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The skies were blue and cold.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All day above the little cove<br/></span>
<span class="i1">I heard the long wind flow;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The clouds foamed in the blue above,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The blue sea foamed below.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All day the bare sun fiercely burned;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">All day in the profound<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And quivering grass my body turned,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">One with Earth's turning round.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Till, fledged amid her fluid rings,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">My soul began to rouse,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And slowly beat her silver wings<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Within her darkened house.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Then with vans lifted up for flight,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">With stretched and fiery crest,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Upward she leaped toward the light<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And drew from out my breast.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How long I lay while she was fled,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And on the cliff below<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My body lay stiff, dark, and dead,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">I knew not nor may know.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But long it seemed. Sped beyond sight<br/></span>
<span class="i1">My soul enjoyed release;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the clouds, within the light,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">She entered into peace.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr class="half" />
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To-day, amid a world of men,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">How often must I cry:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">"Happy I never was but then<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Nor shall be till I die!"<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><span class="smcap">Near Gold Cap</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><small><i>Late Summer</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="THE_WATER-LILY" id="THE_WATER-LILY"></SPAN>THE WATER-LILY</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Lily floated white and red,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Pouring its scent up to the sun;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The rapt sun floating overhead<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Watched no such other one.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">None marked it as it spread abroad<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And beautifully learned to cease:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">But Beauty is its own reward,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Being a form of Peace.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><small>1913</small>.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="DEEM_YOU_THE_ROSES" id="DEEM_YOU_THE_ROSES"></SPAN>DEEM YOU THE ROSES....</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Deem you the roses taste no pleasure<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Unfolding hour by hour<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Toward, through starlit peace and sunny leisure,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Their sharpest moment, when they dower<br/></span>
<span class="i1">This great green world, this rustling place,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Active in music, light, and grace,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">With their hid hearts, their golden treasure,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Odours so deep they overpower?<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">See how, hazed in the sunny weather,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The silken roses swim,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Nodding heads frail as a high cloud's feather,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Expressing Joy in Beauty's Hymn.<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And, hark! from many a hidden face<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Echoes I hear through silver space:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The Morning Stars that sing together,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And the delighting Seraphim!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i2"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i0"><small><i>Early Summer</i>, 1916</small>.<br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="THE_PASSION" id="THE_PASSION"></SPAN>THE PASSION</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Those whose Love, unborn to sight,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Never did itself disclose<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Save in water's cry; a rose;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Meteor furrowing the night;<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mote of any turning ray;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Pipe of bird mid sunset's flush;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Rain stilled, leaves flame-wet, and hush<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a rainbow's fire and spray;<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Any straight road leads afar<br/></span>
<span class="i1">'Cross a hill-brow—What's beyond?<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Seven hung notes of music fond;<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Seven dark poplars, one white star;<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Cloud lifting a tower aloft;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Light and play and shadowy grace<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Of the soul behind a face<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Flitting by on motion soft;<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Lonely figure on a height;<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Those whose love but shines a hint<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Fainter than the far sea's glint<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the inland gazer's sight—<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">These alone, and but in part,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Guess of what my songs are spun,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">And Who holds communion<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Subtly with my troubled heart.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">But the substance of my grief<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Scarcely can their thought surmise,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Who but glimpse through these my eyes<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Joy as fathomless as brief.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Others in this strange world flung,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Orphans, too, of Destiny,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Have the virtue, but not I,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Keeps heart crystal, single tongue;<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">And know not, whose hearts are whole,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">How—when sickened and unclean,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Unfit or to see, be seen—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Close thorns pack and prick the soul.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yet though here soul suffereth,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Complicate by vision's light,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Never would I cede this right<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Of a sharpened life and death.<br/></span>
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</SPAN></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For I keep in confidence<br/></span>
<span class="i1">In my breast a subtle faith<br/></span>
<span class="i1">'Scapes alway by narrow scathe<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And I draw my succour thence.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">One Day, or maybe one Night—<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Living? dying?—I shall see<br/></span>
<span class="i1">The Rose open gloriously<br/></span>
<span class="i0">On its heart of living light.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Know what any bird may mean,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Meteor in my heart shall rest,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Spelled on my brain blaze th' unguessed<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Words of the rainbow's dazzling sheen.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O the hour for which I wait!<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Lovers of the Secret Love<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Watch with me, and we will prove<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Constancy can be elate.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">For the sigil we have now<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Is but echo, shadow, less<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Than a nothing's nothingness,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To what that hour will allow:<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Lost and found! The Shining Ones!<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Music, passion, scent, delight,<br/></span>
<span class="i1">Light and depth and space and height:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Heaven and its seven suns!<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="r1"><span class="smcap">Dorset Square</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i1"><small><i>October</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</SPAN></span></p>
<h3><SPAN name="LAST_WORDS" id="LAST_WORDS"></SPAN>LAST WORDS</h3>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">O let it be<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Just such an eve as this when I must die!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To see the green bough soaking, still against a sky<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Washed clean after the rain.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To watch the rapturous rainbow flame and fly<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Into the gloom where drops fall goldenly,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And in my heart to feel the end of pain.<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The end of pain: the late, the long expected!—<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To see the skies clear in a sudden minute,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The grey disparting on the blue within it,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">And on the low far sea the clouds collected.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In that deep quiet die to all has been,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To be renewed, to bud, to flower again:<br/></span>
<span class="i0">My second spring!—whose hope was nigh rejected<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Before I go hence and am no more seen.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To hear the blackbird ring out, gay and bold,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The low renewal of the ringdove's moan<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From among high, sheltered boughs, and ceaseless fall<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</SPAN></span><br/></span>
<span class="i0">Pitter, pitter, patter,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">A dribble of gold<br/></span>
<span class="i0">From leaves nodding each on the other one,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The hush, calm piping and the slow, sweet mood!<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To drink the ripe warm scent of soaking matter,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wet grass, wet leaves, wet wood,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Wet mould,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The saddest and the grandest scent of all.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">So when my dying eyes have loved the trees<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Till with huge tears turned blind,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">When the vague ears for the last time have hearkened<br/></span>
<span class="i0">To the cool stir of the long evening breeze,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">The blackbird's tireless call,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Having drunk deep of earth-scent strong and kind,<br/></span>
<span class="i0">Come then, O Death, and let my day be darkened.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I shall have had my all.<br/></span></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i1"><span class="smcap">Lawford</span>,<br/></span>
<span class="i3"><small><i>April</i>, 1916.</small><br/></span></div>
</div>
<SPAN name="endofbook"></SPAN>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />