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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:27 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:27 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12643-0.txt b/12643-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..51dafe5 --- /dev/null +++ b/12643-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,924 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12643 *** + +TWENTY + +BY + +STELLA BENSON + +Author of "This Is the End," "I Pose" + +1918 + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the +majority of them included in two books, _I Pose_ and _This is +the End_. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind +in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the +Editors of the _Athenaeum, Everyman_, and the _Pall Mall +Gazette_ for allowing me to reprint verses. + +The title of the book has no reference to the writer's age. + +S.B. + + + + + + +CONTENTS + PAGE + +CHRISTMAS, 1917 1 +THE SECRET DAY 3 +SONG 6 +THE ORCHARD 8 +THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY 11 +SONG 13 +WORDS 15 +REDNECK'S SONG 17 +TO THE UNBORN 19 +THE NEWER ZION 21 +TWO WOMEN SING 26 +THE WOMAN ALONE 28 +THE INEVITABLE 30 +THE DOG TUPMAN 32 +SAINT BRIDE 34 +THE SLAVE OF GOD 36 +TRUE PROMISES 40 +THE CORNISHMAN 43 +FIVE SMOOTH STONES 45 +NEW YEAR, 1918 51 + + + + + + + CHRISTMAS, 1917 + + + A key no thief can steal, no time can rust; + A faery door, adventurous and golden; + A palace, perfect to our eyes--Ah must + Our eyes be holden? + + Has the past died before this present sin? + Has this most cruel age already stonèd + To martyrdom that magic Day, within + Those halls, enthronèd? + + No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain, + Through the faint summer, and the autumn's burning, + Our still immortal Day has heard again + Our steps returning. + + + + + THE SECRET DAY + + + My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired, + And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door; + So I have built To-day, the day that I desired, + Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more, + Lest comfort come no more. + + So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day, + And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands; + The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way; + The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands, + Grew pink beneath my hands. + + So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream; + And I have painted peace upon the sky above; + And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem + More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love-- + More beautiful than love. + + And I have built a house--a house upon the brink + Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea's low singing fills it; + And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think + I'll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it-- + A cold to-morrow kills it. + + Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow, + So let To-morrow knock--I shall not be afraid, + For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow, + And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made. + No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade + This day that I have made. + + + + + SONG + + + There is the track my feet have worn + By which my fate may find me: + From that dim place where I was born + Those footprints run behind me. + Uncertain was the trail I left, + For--oh, the way was stormy; + But now this splendid sea has cleft + My journey from before me. + + Three things the sea shall never end, + Three things shall mock its power: + My singing soul, my Secret Friend, + And this, my perfect hour. + And you shall seek me till you reach + The tangled tide advancing, + And you shall find upon the beach + The traces of my dancing, + And in the air the happy speech + Of Secret Friends romancing. + + + + + THE ORCHARD + + + I will repent me of my ways; + I will come here and bury + Five thousand odd superfluous days + Beneath a flow'ring cherry. + + Between a pear and a cherry tree + My temple I will enter-- + My place, where even I may be + The altar and the centre. + + One altar to a thousand aisles, + A hundred thousand arches ... + The loud lamb-choir about me files, + The bleating bishop marches, + + The congregation kneels and nods, + The bishop leads its praises, + So I'll pray too, to their dim gods + Whose feet are decked with daisies: + + _Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let + Me not grow old, and falter + In my delusion, or forget + My heart was once an altar. + Let me still think myself a star + With these my rays about me; + Pretend these green perspectives are + All purposeless without me._ + + _Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid + The coming night retire, + And all the good I ever did + Shall feed your altar fire; + The hour shall stand and sing your praise, + The minute shall adore you, + And my ten thousand unborn days + I'll sacrifice before you._ + + _Gods of great joy, and little grief, + See--I will wear as token + A pear leaf and a cherry leaf + Until this pledge be broken_.... + + Between a pear and a cherry tree + A cold hand touched my shoulder-- + _Ah, my false gods have forsaken me, + I am a minute older_. + + + + + THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY + + + That day you wrought for me + Shone, and was ended. + Perfect your thought for me, + Whom you befriended. + Such joy was new to me-- + New, and most splendid, + More than was due to me. + More than was due to me. + + Though I do wrong to you, + Having no power, + Singing no song to you, + Bringing no flower, + Yet does my youth again + Thrill, for the hour + Cometh in truth again. + Cometh in truth again. + + I shall possess to-day + All I have wanted, + All I lacked yesterday + Now shall be granted. + No longer dumb to you, + Changed and enchanted, + Singing I'll come to you. + Singing I'll come to you. + + I will amass for you + Very great treasure. + Swift years shall pass for you + Dancing for pleasure. + Time shall be slave to me, + Giving--full measure-- + All that you gave to me. + All that you gave to me. + + + + + SONG + + + If I have dared to surrender some imitation of splendour, + Something I knew that was tender, something I loved that was brave, + If in my singing I showed songs that I heard on my road, + Were they not debts that I owed, rather than gifts that I gave? + + If certain hours on their climb up the long ladder of time + Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove me to dare an attempt, + If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme, + Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt? + + High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes; + All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true. + Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me; + Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you? + + + + + WORDS + + + Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule + The world? What is it but the tongue + That doth proclaim a man a fool, + So that his best songs go unsung, + So that his dreams are sent to school + And all die young. + + There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these + My soul adores--my words condemn-- + Oh, I would fall upon my knees + To kiss their golden garments' hem, + Yet words do lie in wait to seize + And murder them. + + To-night the swinging stars shall plumb + The silence of the sky. And herds + Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come + To hunt with dreams the restless birds. + To-night the moon shall strike you dumb, + Oh words, oh words.... + + + + + REDNECK'S SONG + + + These thirty years + Old men have filled my ears + With middle-aged ideas + That never have been young, + They made me wise. + I learnt to whitewash lies. + I learnt to shut my eyes, + And hold my tongue. + + Damned Philistine. + And was it then so fine + To learn to draw the line. + (Is there a line to draw?) + And must I then + For threescore years and ten + Worship the laws of men + Who worshipped law? + + Those laws are dust + To-day, and yet I must + Be faithful still, and trust + In what dead men did prove. + Magic may kill + Their wisdom and their will, + Yet I must follow still + Their path ... my groove.... + + + + + TO THE UNBORN + + + Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your glance about. + Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond the kerb. + Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets out. + For thus no punishment + Of magic shall disturb + Your very great content. + + Oh, shut your lips to words that are forbidden. + Oh, throw away your sword, nor think to fight. + Seek not the best, the best is better hidden. + Thus need you have no fear, + No terrible delight + Shall cross your path, my dear. + + Call no man foe, but never love a stranger. + Build up no plan, nor any star pursue. + Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger. + Thus nothing God can send, + And nothing God can do + Shall pierce your peace, my friend. + + + + + THE NEWER ZION + + + When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying, + When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green, + Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying + Behind the staging of this darling scene? + + Shall I--a cast-off puppet--seek to study + The Showman who manipulates the strings, + The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy, + The prosy truths of all these faery things? + + Shall I--self-conscious by a glassy ocean-- + Stammer strange songs amid an alien host? + Or shall I not, refusing such promotion, + Bequeath to London my contented ghost? + + I will come back to my Eternal City; + Her fogs once more my countenance shall dim; + I will enliven your austere committee + With gossip gleaned among the cherubim. + + By day I'll tread again the sounding mazes, + By night I'll track the moths about the Park; + My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies, + Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark. + + I will repeat old inexpensive orgies; + Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch, + Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George's, + And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich. + + My soundless feet shall fly among the runners + Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid, + My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners, + The fires shall glare--but I shall cast no shade. + + And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent + Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot-- + (Fool that he is)--and fumble with his warrant, + And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet," + + Mocking I'll go, and he shall be postillion, + Until we reach the Keeper of the Door: + "H'm ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ... + There's some mistake, we've had this soul before...." + + * * * * * * + + Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion; + Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless + The splendid voice of London, like a lion + Calling its lover in the wilderness. + + + + + TWO WOMEN SING + + FIRST WOMAN + + + Oh woman--woman--woman,-- + Shall I to woman be a friend? + I deal with man, and when I can + Reclaim with interest all I lend. + Who but a witless gambler plays + For farthing stakes these golden days? + No, woman--woman--woman-- + Must only play the game that pays. + + + + SECOND WOMAN + + + Oh woman--woman--woman,-- + To-morrow woman shall awake. + She shall arise, and realise + The goodly value of her stake. + And she shall lend her loan, and claim + Her rightful interest on the same. + So woman--woman--woman-- + Shall learn at last the paying game. + + + + + THE WOMAN ALONE + + + My eyes are girt with outer mists; + My ears sing shrill, and this I bless; + My finger-nails do bite my fists + In ecstasy of loneliness. + This I intend, and this I want, + That--passing--you may only mark + A dumb soul with its confidant + Entombed together in the dark. + + The hoarse church-bells of London ring; + The hoarser horns of London croak; + The poor brown lives of London cling + About the poor brown streets like smoke; + The deep air stands above my roof + Like water, to the floating stars. + My Friend and I--we sit aloof,-- + We sit and smile, and bind our scars. + + For you may wound and you may kill-- + It's such a little thing to die-- + Your cruel God may work his will, + We do not care, my Friend and I. + Though, at the gate of Paradise, + Peter the Saint withhold his keys, + My Friend and I--we have no eyes + For Heav'n or Hell--or dreams like these.... + + + + + THE INEVITABLE + + + _There is a sword, a fatal blade, + Unthwarted, subtle as the air, + And I could meet it unafraid + If I might only meet it fair. + Yet how I wonder why the Smith + Who wrought that steel of subtle grain + Should also be contented with + So blunt and mean a thing as pain_. + + The stars and fire-flies dance in rings. + The fire-flies set my heart alight, + Like fingers, writing magic things + In flame, upon the wall of night. + There is high meaning in the skies-- + (The stars and fire-flies--high and low--) + And all the spangled world is wise + With knowledge that I almost know. + + To-morrow I will don my cloak + Of opal-grey, and I will stand + Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke + Across the dazzle of the sand. + To-morrow I will throw this blind + Blind whiteness from my soul away, + And pluck this blackness from my mind, + And only leave the medium--grey. + + To-morrow I will cry for gains + Upon the blue and brazen sky. + The precious venom in my veins + To-morrow will be parched and dry. + To-morrow it shall be my goal + To throw myself away from me, + To lose the outline of my soul + Against the greyness of the sea. + + + + + THE DOG TUPMAN + + + Oh little friend of half my days, + My little friend, who followed me + Along those crooked sullen ways + That only you had eyes to see. + + You felt the same. You understood + You too, defensive and morose, + Encloaked your secret puppyhood-- + Your secret heart--and hid them close. + + For I alone have seen you serve, + Disciple of those early springs, + With ears awry and tail a-curve + You lost yourself in puppy things. + + And you saw me. You bore in mind + The clean and sunny things I felt + When, throwing hate along the wind, + I flashed the lantern at my belt. + + The moment passed, and we returned + To barren words and old cold truth, + Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned, + We two had seen each other's youth. + + When filthy pain did wrap me round + Your upright ears I always saw, + And on my outflung hand I found + The blessing of your horny paw; + + And yet--oh impotence of men-- + My paw, more soft but not more wise, + Old friend, was lacking to you when + You looked your crisis in the eyes.... + + You shared my youth, oh faithful friend, + You let me share your puppyhood; + So, if I failed you in the end, + My friend, my friend, you understood. + + + + + SAINT BRIDE + + + About your brow a starry wreath, + About your feet a wilderness, + Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath + The tangled bondage of the press. + Set like a saint within a niche-- + A strait and narrow niche--you hide, + And weave a veil about you, which + Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man + Are sceptic and satirical. + "_What, little saint, and still you scan + Old heaven for that miracle?_" + Oh heart deceived, yet harmèd not, + Child-widow of a truth that died, + Bearer in mind of things forgot, + Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + About you and about you thunders + The wise young public on its 'bus, + Exploding all your faery blunders, + Explaining neatly--"_Thus and thus + Hath science banished heaven now, + And see--your Groom is crucified--_" + On heaven's breast you lean your brow + And laugh, and love--Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + + + + THE SLAVE OF GOD + + + The finest fruit God ever made + Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue. + It hangs above the steel sea blade + That cuts the world's great globe in two. + + The keenest eye that ever saw + Stares out of Heaven into mine, + Spins out my heart, and seems to draw + My soul's elastic very fine. + + The greatest beacon ever fired + Stands up on Heaven's Hill to show + The limit of the thing desired, + Beyond which man may never go. + + * * * * * * + + At midnight, when the night did dance + Along the hours that led to morning, + I saw a little boat advance + Towards the great moon's beacon warning. + + (The moon, God's Slave, who lights her torch, + Lest men should slip between the bars, + And run aground on Heav'n, and scorch + To death upon a bank of stars.) + + The little boat, on leaning keel, + Sang up the mountains of the sea, + Bearing a man who hoped to steal + God's Slave from out eternity. + + + "_My love, I see you through my tears. + No pity in your face I see. + I have sailed far across the years: + Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me._ + + "_My love, I have an island seen, + So shadowed, God's most piercing star + Shall never see where we have been, + Shall never whisper where we are._ + + "_There we will wander, you and I, + Down guilty and delightful ways, + While palm-trees plait their fingers high + Against your God's enormous gaze._ + + "_For oh--the joy of two and two + Your Paradise shall never see, + The ecstasy of me and you, + The white delight of you and me._ + + "_I know the penalty--the clutch + Of God's great rocks upon my keel. + Drowned in the ocean of Too Much-- + So ends your thief--yet let me steal...._" + + The Slave of God she froze her face, + The Slave of God she paid no heed, + And, thund'ring down high Heaven's space, + Loud angels mocked the sailor's greed. + + The diamond sun arose, and tossed + A billion gems across the sea. + "_The Slave of God is lost, is lost, + The Slave of God is lost to me...._" + + He grounded on the common beach, + He trod the little towns of men, + And God removèd from his reach + The cup of Heaven's passion then, + And gave him vulgar love and speech, + And gave him threescore years and ten. + + + + + TRUE PROMISES + + + You promised War and Thunder and Romance. + You promised true, but we were very blind + And very young, and in our ignorance + We never called to mind + That truth is seldom kind. + + You promised love, immortal as a star. + You promised true, yet how the truth can lie! + For now we grope for hands where no hands are, + And, deathless, still we cry, + Nor hope for a reply. + + You promised harvest and a perfect yield. + You promised true, for on the harvest morn, + Behold a reaper strode across the field, + And man of woman born + Was gathered in as corn. + + You promised honour and ordeal by flame. + You promised true. In joy we trembled lest + We should be found unworthy when it came; + But--oh--we never guessed + The fury of the test! + + You promised friends and songs and festivals. + You promised true. Our friends, who still are young, + Assemble for their feasting in those halls + Where speaks no human tongue. + And thus our songs are sung. + + + + + THE CORNISHMAN + + + At sunset, when the high sea span + About the rocks a web of foam, + I saw the ghost of a Cornishman + Come home. + I saw the ghost of a Cornishman + Run from the weariness of war, + I heard him laughing as he ran + Across his unforgotten shore. + The great cliff, gilded by the west, + Received him as an honoured guest. + The green sea, shining in the bay, + Did drown his dreadful yesterday. + + Come home, come home, you million ghosts, + The honest years shall make amends, + The sun and moon shall be your hosts, + The everlasting hills your friends. + And some shall seek their mothers' faces, + And some shall run to trysting places, + And some to towns, and others yet + Shall find great forests in their debt. + Oh, I would siege the golden coasts + Of space, and climb high heaven's dome, + So I might see those million ghosts + Come home. + + + + + FIVE SMOOTH STONES + + + It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle, + Pursued his fate, the April fields among, + Singing a song of solitary battle, + A loud mad song, for he was very young. + + Vivid the air--and something more than vivid,-- + Tall clouds were in the sky--and something more,-- + The light horizon of the spring was livid + With a steel smile that showed the teeth of war. + + It was young David mocked the Philistine. + It was young David laughed beside the river. + There came his mother--his and yours and mine-- + With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver. + + You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy. + You never saw such very April eyes. + She sang him sorrow's song to make him wary, + She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise. + + _The first stone is love, and that shall fail you. + The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you. + The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you. + The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you. + The fifth stone shall not fail you_. + + For what is love, O lovers of my tribe? + And what is love, O women of my day? + Love is a farthing piece, a bloody bribe + Pressed in the palm of God--and thrown away. + + And what is hate, O fierce and unforgiving? + And what shall hate achieve, when all is said? + A silly joke that cannot reach the living, + A spitting in the faces of the dead. + + And what is knowledge, O young men who tasted + The reddest fruit on that forbidden tree? + Knowledge is but a painful effort wasted, + A bitter drowning in a bitter sea. + + And what is prayer, O waiters for the answer? + And what is prayer, O seekers of the cause? + Prayer is the weary soul of Herod's dancer, + Dancing before blind kings without applause. + + The fifth stone is a magic stone, my David, + Made up of fear and failure, lies and loss. + Its heart is lead, and on its face is gravèd + A crookèd cross, my son, a crookèd cross. + + It has no dignity to lend it value; + No purity--alas, it bears a stain. + You shall not give it gratitude, nor shall you + Recall it all your days, except with pain. + + Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your groping! + Mock at your betters with an upward chin! + And when the moment has gone by for hoping, + Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, and win. + + Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful laughter; + Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your wine. + Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what comes after; + The fifth stone shall not fail you, son of mine. + + GO FORTH, GO FORTH, AND SLAY THE PHILISTINE. + + + + + NEW YEAR, 1918 + + + A song I never heard + I must rehearse, + Counting each hour a word, + Counting each day a verse. + Not of my proper choice + Raise I my voice, + While others--fierce and strong-- + Raise theirs to drown my song. + + Must I then sing aloud, + Faint as a bird, + And, like a bird, be proud + To sing--to sing unheard? + Weary and very weak, + Shall I then seek + A hearing, idiot-wise, + From the unhearing skies? + + Drowning my whispered dreams, + Great voices cry. + They sing their songs, it seems, + With better heart than I. + Hush--I can hear Death sing-- + "_Here is my sting_." + And the Grave echo--"_See, + Here is my victory_" + + To-night the heavens bend + A little nearer. + The singer is my friend, + And I--at last--the hearer. + No more to sing alone + A song unknown,-- + Hush--very tense and thin, + The dawn-like notes begin. + + + * * * * * + + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. + + I POSE + + BY + + STELLA BENSON + + Sir Henry Lucy writes: "One of the brightest, most original, and + best-written books that have come my way for a long time." + + "Even the dullest can hardly fail to respond to the brilliant + humour of the book. As the mature work of an experienced author it + would have been a remarkable achievement; being 'the first book of + a new writer' it is an astonishing performance."--_Daily Graphic_. + + "This book is a fantasy, an absurdity, a dream charged with + purpose; it has wit and humour, and some deep feeling covered with + the gossamer of irresponsibility; it is an act of rebellion, an + edged complaint, a protest touched with flame.... There are + epigrams and sentences that read like a sob or a stab."--_ Daily + Chronicle._ + + "For its sheer cleverness the book is a delightful thing."--_Daily + News_. + + + LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. + + + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. + + THIS IS THE END + + BY + + STELLA BENSON + + "Miss Benson has a delicious sense of humour, and her way of + describing people and things is most refreshing. With her + sympathy, her realism, her wit and ability, it would seem that + Miss Benson's possibilities are limitless."--_The Bookman_. + + "In her second book she not only makes good, but betrays a + ripening talent."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + "The book shows one thing very clearly, that Miss Benson is a + force to be reckoned with."--_Pall Mall Gazette_. + + "It is the second step of a very brilliant beginning ... You will + be foolish if you miss this book."--_Punch_. + + "She has unusual originality, illuminating wit, deep feeling, and + a gift for startling epigram."--_Daily Graphic_. + + + LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12643 *** diff --git a/12643-h/12643-h.htm b/12643-h/12643-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8932d80 --- /dev/null +++ b/12643-h/12643-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1083 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Transitional//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/2000/REC-xhtml1-20000126/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Twenty, by Stella Benson</title> +<style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + <!-- + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + text-align: left; font-size: 115%; } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {text-align: center;} + pre {font-size: 9pt;} + + a:link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + link {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:visited {color:blue; + text-decoration:none} + a:hover {color:red} + hr {text-align: center; width: 50%;} + html>body hr {margin-right: 25%; margin-left: 25%; + width: 50%;} + html>body hr.mid {margin-right: 17%; margin-left: 17%; + width: 66%;} + hr.full {width: 100%;} + html>body hr.full {margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 0%; width: 100%;} + hr.short {text-align: center; width: 20%;} + html>body hr.short {margin-right: 40%; margin-left: 40%; + width: 20%;} + table, td {margin: 1em} + .toc {width: 600px;font-variant: small-caps;} + .num {text-align: right;} + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; + margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left; + line-height: 120%} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 0em 0em;} + .poem p {margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em;} + .poem p.i2 {margin-left: 1.5em;} + .poem p.i2stanza {margin: 1em 0em 0em 1.5em;} + .poem p.i2st {margin: 1em 0em 0em 1.5em;} + .poem p.i4 {margin-left: 2.5em;} + .poem p.i4stanza {margin: 1em 0em 0em 2.5em;font-variant: normal; + font-weight: normal;} + .poem .title {text-align: left; font-weight: bold; + font-size: 105%; margin: 1em 0em 1em;} + .poem .subtitle {text-align: left; font-weight: bold; + font-size: 100%; margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; + font-variant: small-caps;} + --> +/*]]>*/ +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12643 ***</div> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Twenty, by Stella Benson</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<center><b>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Susan Lucy,<br /> + and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders</b></center> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<br /><br /> +<h1>T W E N T Y</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<h4>BY</h4> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>STELLA BENSON</h2> + +<h6>AUTHOR OF +<br/> +“THIS IS THE END,” “I POSE”</h6> +<br /> +<h5>1918</h5> + +<br /><br /><hr class="mid" /><br /><br /><br /> + +<h3>PREFACE</h3> +<p>Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the +majority of them included in two books, <i>I Pose</i> and <i>This is +the End</i>. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind +in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the +Editors of the <i>Athenæum</i>, <i>Everyman</i>, and the <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i> for allowing me to reprint verses.</p> + +<p>The title of the book has no reference to the writer’s age.</p> + +<p>S.B.</p> + +<br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page1">Christmas, 1917</a></td> +<td class="num">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page3">The Secret Day</a></td> +<td class="num">3</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page6">Song</a></td> +<td class="num">6</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page8">The Orchard</a></td> +<td class="num">8</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page11">Thanks to My World for the Loan of a Fair Day</a></td> +<td class="num">11</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page13">Song</a></td> +<td class="num">13</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page15">Words</a></td> +<td class="num">15</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page17">Redneck’s Song</a></td> +<td class="num">17</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page19">To the Unborn</a></td> +<td class="num">19</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page21">The Newer Zion</a></td> +<td class="num">21</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page26">Two Women Sing</a></td> +<td class="num">26</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page28">The Woman Alone</a></td> +<td class="num">28</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page30">The Inevitable</a></td> +<td class="num">30</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page32">The Dog Tupman</a></td> +<td class="num">32</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page34">Saint Bride</a></td> +<td class="num">34</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page36">The Slave of God</a></td> +<td class="num">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page40">True Promises</a></td> +<td class="num">40</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page43">The Cornishman</a></td> +<td class="num">43</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page45">Five Smooth Stones</a></td> +<td class="num">45</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page51">New Year, 1918</a></td> +<td class="num">51</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page1"></a><hr class="mid" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="title">CHRISTMAS, 1917</p> +<p>A key no thief can steal, no time can rust;</p> +<p>A faery door, adventurous and golden;</p> +<p>A palace, perfect to our eyes—Ah must</p> +<p>Our eyes be holden?</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Has the past died before this present sin?</p> +<p>Has this most cruel age already stonèd</p> +<p>To martyrdom that magic Day, within</p> +<p>Those halls, enthronèd?</p> + +<p class="stanza"> No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain,</p> +<p>Through the faint summer, and the autumn’s burning,</p> +<p>Our still immortal Day has heard again</p> +<p>Our steps returning.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page3"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><br /> +<p class="title">THE SECRET DAY</p> + +<p>My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired,</p> +<p>And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door;</p> +<p>So I have built To-day, the day that I desired,</p> +<p>Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more,</p> +<p>Lest comfort come no more.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day,</p> +<p>And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands;</p> +<p>The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way;</p> +<p>The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands,</p> +<p>Grew pink beneath my hands.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream;</p> +<p>And I have painted peace upon the sky above;</p> +<p>And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem</p> +<p>More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love—</p> +<p>More beautiful than love.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> And I have built a house—a house upon the brink</p> +<p>Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea’s low singing fills it;</p> +<p>And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think</p> +<p>I’ll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it—</p> +<p>A cold to-morrow kills it.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow,</p> +<p>So let To-morrow knock—I shall not be afraid,</p> +<p>For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow,</p> +<p>And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made.</p> +<p>No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade</p> +<p>This day that I have made.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page6"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">SONG</p> + +<p>There is the track my feet have worn</p> +<p>By which my fate may find me:</p> +<p>From that dim place where I was born</p> +<p>Those footprints run behind me.</p> +<p>Uncertain was the trail I left,</p> +<p>For—oh, the way was stormy;</p> +<p>But now this splendid sea has cleft</p> +<p>My journey from before me.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Three things the sea shall never end,</p> +<p>Three things shall mock its power:</p> +<p>My singing soul, my Secret Friend,</p> +<p>And this, my perfect hour.</p> +<p>And you shall seek me till you reach</p> +<p>The tangled tide advancing,</p> +<p>And you shall find upon the beach</p> +<p>The traces of my dancing,</p> +<p>And in the air the happy speech</p> +<p>Of Secret Friends romancing.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page8"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title"> THE ORCHARD</p> + +<p>I will repent me of my ways;</p> +<p>I will come here and bury</p> +<p>Five thousand odd superfluous days</p> +<p>Beneath a flow’ring cherry.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Between a pear and a cherry tree</p> +<p>My temple I will enter—</p> +<p>My place, where even I may be</p> +<p>The altar and the centre.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> One altar to a thousand aisles,</p> +<p>A hundred thousand arches ...</p> +<p>The loud lamb-choir about me files,</p> +<p>The bleating bishop marches,</p> + +<p class="stanza"> The congregation kneels and nods,</p> +<p>The bishop leads its praises,</p> +<p>So I’ll pray too, to their dim gods</p> +<p>Whose feet are decked with daisies:</p> + +<p class="i4stanza"><i>Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Me not grow old, and falter</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>In my delusion, or forget</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>My heart was once an altar. </i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Let me still think myself a star</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>With these my rays about me; </i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Pretend these green perspectives are</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>All purposeless without me.</i></p> + +<p class="i4stanza"><i> Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>The coming night retire,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>And all the good I ever did</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Shall feed your altar fire;</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>The hour shall stand and sing your praise,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>The minute shall adore you,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>And my ten thousand unborn days</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>I’ll sacrifice before you.</i></p> + +<p class="i4stanza"> <i>Gods of great joy, and little grief, </i></p> +<p class="i4"> <i>See—I will wear as token</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>A pear leaf and a cherry leaf</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Until this pledge be broken</i>....</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Between a pear and a cherry tree</p> +<p>A cold hand touched my shoulder—</p> +<p class="i4"> <i>Ah, my false gods have forsaken me,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>I am a minute older</i>.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page11"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY</p> + +<p>That day you wrought for me</p> +<p>Shone, and was ended.</p> +<p>Perfect your thought for me,</p> +<p>Whom you befriended.</p> +<p>Such joy was new to me—</p> +<p>New, and most splendid,</p> +<p>More than was due to me.</p> +<p>More than was due to me.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Though I do wrong to you,</p> +<p>Having no power,</p> +<p>Singing no song to you,</p> +<p>Bringing no flower,</p> +<p>Yet does my youth again</p> +<p>Thrill, for the hour</p> +<p>Cometh in truth again.</p> +<p>Cometh in truth again.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> I shall possess to-day</p> +<p>All I have wanted,</p> +<p>All I lacked yesterday</p> +<p>Now shall be granted.</p> +<p>No longer dumb to you,</p> +<p>Changed and enchanted,</p> +<p>Singing I’ll come to you.</p> +<p>Singing I’ll come to you.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> I will amass for you</p> +<p>Very great treasure.</p> +<p>Swift years shall pass for you</p> +<p>Dancing for pleasure.</p> +<p>Time shall be slave to me,</p> +<p>Giving—full measure—</p> +<p>All that you gave to me.</p> +<p>All that you gave to me.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page13"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">SONG</p> +<p>If I have dared to surrender some imitation of splendour,</p> +<p>Something I knew that was tender, something I loved that was brave,</p> +<p>If in my singing I showed songs that I heard on my road,</p> +<p>Were they not debts that I owed, rather than gifts that I gave?</p> + +<p class="stanza">If certain hours on their climb up the long ladder of time</p> +<p>Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove me to dare an attempt,</p> +<p>If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme,</p> +<p>Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt?</p> + +<p class="stanza">High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes;</p> +<p>All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true.</p> +<p>Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me;</p> +<p>Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you?</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page15"></a> +<br /> +<br /> + +<p class="title">WORDS</p> + +<p>Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule</p> +<p>The world? What is it but the tongue</p> +<p>That doth proclaim a man a fool,</p> +<p>So that his best songs go unsung,</p> +<p>So that his dreams are sent to school</p> +<p>And all die young.</p> + +<p class="stanza">There pass the trav’lling dreams, and these</p> +<p>My soul adores—my words condemn—</p> +<p>Oh, I would fall upon my knees</p> +<p>To kiss their golden garments’ hem,</p> +<p>Yet words do lie in wait to seize</p> +<p>And murder them.</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-night the swinging stars shall plumb</p> +<p>The silence of the sky. And herds</p> +<p>Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come</p> +<p>To hunt with dreams the restless birds.</p> +<p>To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,</p> +<p>Oh words, oh words....</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page17"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">REDNECK’S SONG</p> + +<p>These thirty years</p> +<p>Old men have filled my ears</p> +<p>With middle-aged ideas</p> +<p>That never have been young,</p> +<p>They made me wise.</p> +<p>I learnt to whitewash lies.</p> +<p>I learnt to shut my eyes,</p> +<p>And hold my tongue.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Damned Philistine.</p> +<p>And was it then so fine</p> +<p>To learn to draw the line.</p> +<p>(Is there a line to draw?)</p> +<p>And must I then</p> +<p>For threescore years and ten</p> +<p>Worship the laws of men</p> +<p>Who worshipped law?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Those laws are dust</p> +<p>To-day, and yet I must</p> +<p>Be faithful still, and trust</p> +<p>In what dead men did prove.</p> +<p>Magic may kill</p> +<p>Their wisdom and their will,</p> +<p>Yet I must follow still</p> +<p>Their path ... my groove....</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page19"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">TO THE UNBORN</p> + +<p>Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your glance about.</p> +<p>Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond the kerb.</p> +<p>Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets out.</p> +<p>For thus no punishment</p> +<p>Of magic shall disturb</p> +<p>Your very great content.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Oh, shut your lips to words that are forbidden.</p> +<p>Oh, throw away your sword, nor think to fight.</p> +<p>Seek not the best, the best is better hidden.</p> +<p>Thus need you have no fear,</p> +<p>No terrible delight</p> +<p>Shall cross your path, my dear.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Call no man foe, but never love a stranger.</p> +<p>Build up no plan, nor any star pursue.</p> +<p>Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger.</p> +<p>Thus nothing God can send,</p> +<p>And nothing God can do</p> +<p>Shall pierce your peace, my friend.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page21"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE NEWER ZION</p> + +<p>When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying,</p> +<p>When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green,</p> +<p>Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying</p> +<p>Behind the staging of this darling scene?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Shall I—a cast-off puppet—seek to study</p> +<p>The Showman who manipulates the strings,</p> +<p>The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy,</p> +<p>The prosy truths of all these faery things?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Shall I—self-conscious by a glassy ocean—</p> +<p>Stammer strange songs amid an alien host?</p> +<p>Or shall I not, refusing such promotion,</p> +<p>Bequeath to London my contented ghost?</p> + +<p class="stanza">I will come back to my Eternal City;</p> +<p>Her fogs once more my countenance shall dim;</p> +<p>I will enliven your austere committee</p> +<p>With gossip gleaned among the cherubim.</p> + +<p class="stanza">By day I’ll tread again the sounding mazes,</p> +<p>By night I’ll track the moths about the Park;</p> +<p>My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies,</p> +<p>Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark.</p> + +<p class="stanza">I will repeat old inexpensive orgies;</p> +<p>Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch,</p> +<p>Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George’s,</p> +<p>And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich.</p> + +<p class="stanza">My soundless feet shall fly among the runners</p> +<p>Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid,</p> +<p>My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners,</p> +<p>The fires shall glare—but I shall cast no shade.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent</p> +<p>Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot—</p> +<p>(Fool that he is)—and fumble with his warrant,</p> +<p>And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet,"</p> + +<p class="stanza">Mocking I’ll go, and he shall be postillion,</p> +<p>Until we reach the Keeper of the Door:</p> +<p>"H’m ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ...</p> +<p>There’s some mistake, we’ve had this soul before...."</p> + +<p class="i4stanza">* * + * * + * *</p> + +<p class="stanza">Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion;</p> +<p>Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless</p> +<p>The splendid voice of London, like a lion</p> +<p>Calling its lover in the wilderness.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page26"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">TWO WOMEN SING</p> + +<p class="subtitle">First Woman</p> + +<p>Oh woman—woman—woman,—</p> +<p>Shall I to woman be a friend?</p> +<p>I deal with man, and when I can</p> +<p>Reclaim with interest all I lend.</p> +<p>Who but a witless gambler plays</p> +<p>For farthing stakes these golden days?</p> +<p>No, woman—woman—woman—</p> +<p>Must only play the game that pays.</p> +<br /> +<p class="subtitle">Second Woman</p> + +<p>Oh woman—woman—woman,—</p> +<p>To-morrow woman shall awake.</p> +<p>She shall arise, and realise</p> +<p>The goodly value of her stake.</p> +<p>And she shall lend her loan, and claim</p> +<p>Her rightful interest on the same.</p> +<p>So woman—woman—woman—</p> +<p>Shall learn at last the paying game.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page28"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE WOMAN ALONE</p> + +<p>My eyes are girt with outer mists;</p> +<p>My ears sing shrill, and this I bless;</p> +<p>My finger-nails do bite my fists</p> +<p>In ecstasy of loneliness.</p> +<p>This I intend, and this I want,</p> +<p>That—passing—you may only mark</p> +<p>A dumb soul with its confidant</p> +<p>Entombed together in the dark.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The hoarse church-bells of London ring;</p> +<p>The hoarser horns of London croak;</p> +<p>The poor brown lives of London cling</p> +<p>About the poor brown streets like smoke;</p> +<p>The deep air stands above my roof</p> +<p>Like water, to the floating stars.</p> +<p>My Friend and I—we sit aloof,—</p> +<p>We sit and smile, and bind our scars.</p> + +<p class="stanza">For you may wound and you may kill—</p> +<p>It’s such a little thing to die—</p> +<p>Your cruel God may work his will,</p> +<p>We do not care, my Friend and I.</p> +<p>Though, at the gate of Paradise,</p> +<p>Peter the Saint withhold his keys,</p> +<p>My Friend and I—we have no eyes</p> +<p>For Heav’n or Hell—or dreams like these....</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page30"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE INEVITABLE</p> + +<p><i>There is a sword, a fatal blade,</i></p> +<p><i>Unthwarted, subtle as the air,</i></p> +<p><i>And I could meet it unafraid</i></p> +<p><i>If I might only meet it fair.</i></p> +<p><i>Yet how I wonder why the Smith</i></p> +<p><i>Who wrought that steel of subtle grain</i></p> +<p><i>Should also be contented with</i></p> +<p><i>So blunt and mean a thing as pain</i>.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The stars and fire-flies dance in rings.</p> +<p>The fire-flies set my heart alight,</p> +<p>Like fingers, writing magic things</p> +<p>In flame, upon the wall of night.</p> +<p>There is high meaning in the skies—</p> +<p>(The stars and fire-flies—high and low—)</p> +<p>And all the spangled world is wise</p> +<p>With knowledge that I almost know.</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-morrow I will don my cloak</p> +<p>Of opal-grey, and I will stand</p> +<p>Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke</p> +<p>Across the dazzle of the sand.</p> +<p>To-morrow I will throw this blind</p> +<p>Blind whiteness from my soul away,</p> +<p>And pluck this blackness from my mind,</p> +<p>And only leave the medium—grey.</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-morrow I will cry for gains</p> +<p>Upon the blue and brazen sky.</p> +<p>The precious venom in my veins</p> +<p>To-morrow will be parched and dry.</p> +<p>To-morrow it shall be my goal</p> +<p>To throw myself away from me,</p> +<p>To lose the outline of my soul</p> +<p>Against the greyness of the sea.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page32"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE DOG TUPMAN</p> + +<p>Oh little friend of half my days,</p> +<p>My little friend, who followed me</p> +<p>Along those crooked sullen ways</p> +<p>That only you had eyes to see.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You felt the same. You understood</p> +<p>You too, defensive and morose,</p> +<p>Encloaked your secret puppyhood—</p> +<p>Your secret heart—and hid them close.</p> + +<p class="stanza">For I alone have seen you serve,</p> +<p>Disciple of those early springs,</p> +<p>With ears awry and tail a-curve</p> +<p>You lost yourself in puppy things.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And you saw me. You bore in mind</p> +<p>The clean and sunny things I felt</p> +<p>When, throwing hate along the wind,</p> +<p>I flashed the lantern at my belt.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The moment passed, and we returned</p> +<p>To barren words and old cold truth,</p> +<p>Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned,</p> +<p>We two had seen each other’s youth.</p> + +<p class="stanza">When filthy pain did wrap me round</p> +<p>Your upright ears I always saw,</p> +<p>And on my outflung hand I found</p> +<p>The blessing of your horny paw;</p> + +<p class="stanza">And yet—oh impotence of men—</p> +<p>My paw, more soft but not more wise,</p> +<p>Old friend, was lacking to you when</p> +<p>You looked your crisis in the eyes....</p> + +<p class="stanza">You shared my youth, oh faithful friend,</p> +<p>You let me share your puppyhood;</p> +<p>So, if I failed you in the end,</p> +<p>My friend, my friend, you understood.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page34"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">SAINT BRIDE</p> + +<p>About your brow a starry wreath,</p> +<p>About your feet a wilderness,</p> +<p>Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath</p> +<p>The tangled bondage of the press.</p> +<p>Set like a saint within a niche—</p> +<p>A strait and narrow niche—you hide,</p> +<p>And weave a veil about you, which</p> +<p>Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The eyes of coarse and pond’rous man</p> +<p>Are sceptic and satirical.</p> +<p>“<i>What, little saint, and still you scan</i></p> +<p><i>Old heaven for that miracle?</i>”</p> +<p>Oh heart deceived, yet harmèd not,</p> +<p>Child-widow of a truth that died,</p> +<p>Bearer in mind of things forgot,</p> +<p>Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.</p> + +<p class="stanza">About you and about you thunders</p> +<p>The wise young public on its ’bus,</p> +<p>Exploding all your faery blunders,</p> +<p>Explaining neatly—“<i>Thus and thus</i></p> +<p><i>Hath science banished heaven now, </i></p> +<p><i>And see—your Groom is crucified—</i>”</p> +<p>On heaven’s breast you lean your brow</p> +<p>And laugh, and love—Saint Bride, Saint Bride.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page36"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE SLAVE OF GOD</p> + +<p class="i4"> The finest fruit God ever made</p> +<p class="i4"> Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue.</p> +<p class="i4"> It hangs above the steel sea blade</p> +<p class="i4"> That cuts the world’s great globe in two.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The keenest eye that ever saw</p> +<p class="i4"> Stares out of Heaven into mine,</p> +<p class="i4"> Spins out my heart, and seems to draw</p> +<p class="i4"> My soul’s elastic very fine.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The greatest beacon ever fired</p> +<p class="i4"> Stands up on Heaven’s Hill to show</p> +<p class="i4"> The limit of the thing desired,</p> +<p class="i4"> Beyond which man may never go.</p> + +<p class="i4stanza">* * + * * + * *</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> At midnight, when the night did dance</p> +<p class="i4"> Along the hours that led to morning,</p> +<p class="i4"> I saw a little boat advance</p> +<p class="i4"> Towards the great moon’s beacon warning.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> (The moon, God’s Slave, who lights her torch,</p> +<p class="i4"> Lest men should slip between the bars,</p> +<p class="i4"> And run aground on Heav’n, and scorch</p> +<p class="i4"> To death upon a bank of stars.)</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The little boat, on leaning keel,</p> +<p class="i4"> Sang up the mountains of the sea,</p> +<p class="i4"> Bearing a man who hoped to steal</p> +<p class="i4"> God’s Slave from out eternity.</p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>My love, I see you through my tears. </i></p> +<p><i>No pity in your face I see. </i></p> +<p><i>I have sailed far across the years: </i></p> +<p><i>Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>My love, I have an island seen, </i></p> +<p><i>So shadowed, God’s most piercing star</i></p> +<p><i>Shall never see where we have been, </i></p> +<p><i>Shall never whisper where we are.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>There we will wander, you and I, </i></p> +<p><i>Down guilty and delightful ways, </i></p> +<p><i>While palm-trees plait their fingers high</i></p> +<p><i>Against your God’s enormous gaze.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>For oh—the joy of two and two</i></p> +<p><i>Your Paradise shall never see, </i></p> +<p><i>The ecstasy of me and you, </i></p> +<p><i>The white delight of you and me.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>I know the penalty—the clutch</i></p> +<p><i>Of God’s great rocks upon my keel. </i></p> +<p><i>Drowned in the ocean of Too Much— </i></p> +<p><i>So ends your thief—yet let me steal....</i>”</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The Slave of God she froze her face,</p> +<p class="i4"> The Slave of God she paid no heed,</p> +<p class="i4"> And, thund’ring down high Heaven’s space,</p> +<p class="i4"> Loud angels mocked the sailor’s greed.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The diamond sun arose, and tossed</p> +<p class="i4"> A billion gems across the sea.</p> +<p>“<i>The Slave of God is lost, is lost,</i></p> +<p><i>The Slave of God is lost to me....</i>”</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> He grounded on the common beach,</p> +<p class="i4"> He trod the little towns of men,</p> +<p class="i4"> And God removèd from his reach</p> +<p class="i4"> The cup of Heaven’s passion then,</p> +<p class="i4"> And gave him vulgar love and speech,</p> +<p class="i4"> And gave him threescore years and ten.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page40"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">TRUE PROMISES</p> + +<p>You promised War and Thunder and Romance.</p> +<p>You promised true, but we were very blind</p> +<p>And very young, and in our ignorance</p> +<p>We never called to mind</p> +<p>That truth is seldom kind.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised love, immortal as a star.</p> +<p>You promised true, yet how the truth can lie!</p> +<p>For now we grope for hands where no hands are,</p> +<p>And, deathless, still we cry,</p> +<p>Nor hope for a reply.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised harvest and a perfect yield.</p> +<p>You promised true, for on the harvest morn,</p> +<p>Behold a reaper strode across the field,</p> +<p>And man of woman born</p> +<p>Was gathered in as corn.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised honour and ordeal by flame.</p> +<p>You promised true. In joy we trembled lest</p> +<p>We should be found unworthy when it came;</p> +<p>But—oh—we never guessed</p> +<p>The fury of the test!</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised friends and songs and festivals.</p> +<p>You promised true. Our friends, who still are young,</p> +<p>Assemble for their feasting in those halls</p> +<p>Where speaks no human tongue.</p> +<p>And thus our songs are sung.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page43"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE CORNISHMAN</p> + +<p>At sunset, when the high sea span</p> +<p>About the rocks a web of foam,</p> +<p>I saw the ghost of a Cornishman</p> +<p>Come home.</p> +<p>I saw the ghost of a Cornishman</p> +<p>Run from the weariness of war,</p> +<p>I heard him laughing as he ran</p> +<p>Across his unforgotten shore.</p> +<p>The great cliff, gilded by the west,</p> +<p>Received him as an honoured guest.</p> +<p>The green sea, shining in the bay,</p> +<p>Did drown his dreadful yesterday.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Come home, come home, you million ghosts,</p> +<p>The honest years shall make amends,</p> +<p>The sun and moon shall be your hosts,</p> +<p>The everlasting hills your friends.</p> +<p>And some shall seek their mothers’ faces,</p> +<p>And some shall run to trysting places,</p> +<p>And some to towns, and others yet</p> +<p>Shall find great forests in their debt.</p> +<p class="i4">Oh, I would siege the golden coasts</p> +<p class="i4">Of space, and climb high heaven’s dome,</p> +<p class="i4">So I might see those million ghosts</p> +<p class="i4">Come home.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page45"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">FIVE SMOOTH STONES</p> + +<p>It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle,</p> +<p>Pursued his fate, the April fields among,</p> +<p>Singing a song of solitary battle,</p> +<p>A loud mad song, for he was very young.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Vivid the air—and something more than vivid,—</p> +<p>Tall clouds were in the sky—and something more,—</p> +<p>The light horizon of the spring was livid</p> +<p>With a steel smile that showed the teeth of war.</p> + +<p class="stanza">It was young David mocked the Philistine.</p> +<p>It was young David laughed beside the river.</p> +<p>There came his mother—his and yours and mine—</p> +<p>With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy.</p> +<p>You never saw such very April eyes.</p> +<p>She sang him sorrow’s song to make him wary,</p> +<p>She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise.</p> + +<p class="stanza"><i>The first stone is love, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The fifth stone shall not fail you</i>.</p> + +<p class="stanza">For what is love, O lovers of my tribe?</p> +<p>And what is love, O women of my day?</p> +<p>Love is a farthing piece, a bloody bribe</p> +<p>Pressed in the palm of God—and thrown away.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And what is hate, O fierce and unforgiving?</p> +<p>And what shall hate achieve, when all is said?</p> +<p>A silly joke that cannot reach the living,</p> +<p>A spitting in the faces of the dead.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And what is knowledge, O young men who tasted</p> +<p>The reddest fruit on that forbidden tree?</p> +<p>Knowledge is but a painful effort wasted,</p> +<p>A bitter drowning in a bitter sea.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And what is prayer, O waiters for the answer?</p> +<p>And what is prayer, O seekers of the cause?</p> +<p>Prayer is the weary soul of Herod’s dancer,</p> +<p>Dancing before blind kings without applause.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The fifth stone is a magic stone, my David,</p> +<p>Made up of fear and failure, lies and loss.</p> +<p>Its heart is lead, and on its face is gravèd</p> +<p>A crookèd cross, my son, a crookèd cross.</p> + +<p class="stanza">It has no dignity to lend it value;</p> +<p>No purity—alas, it bears a stain.</p> +<p>You shall not give it gratitude, nor shall you</p> +<p>Recall it all your days, except with pain.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your groping!</p> +<p>Mock at your betters with an upward chin!</p> +<p>And when the moment has gone by for hoping,</p> +<p>Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, and win.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful laughter;</p> +<p>Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your wine.</p> +<p>Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what comes after;</p> +<p>The fifth stone shall not fail you, son of mine.</p> + +<p class="subtitle">Go forth, go forth, and slay the Philistine.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page51"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title"> +NEW YEAR, 1918</p> + +<p>A song I never heard</p> +<p>I must rehearse,</p> +<p>Counting each hour a word,</p> +<p>Counting each day a verse.</p> +<p>Not of my proper choice</p> +<p>Raise I my voice,</p> +<p>While others—fierce and strong—</p> +<p>Raise theirs to drown my song.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Must I then sing aloud,</p> +<p>Faint as a bird,</p> +<p>And, like a bird, be proud</p> +<p>To sing—to sing unheard?</p> +<p>Weary and very weak,</p> +<p>Shall I then seek</p> +<p>A hearing, idiot-wise,</p> +<p>From the unhearing skies?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Drowning my whispered dreams,</p> +<p>Great voices cry.</p> +<p>They sing their songs, it seems,</p> +<p>With better heart than I.</p> +<p>Hush—I can hear Death sing—</p> +<p>“<i>Here is my sting</i>.”</p> +<p>And the Grave echo—“<i>See</i>,</p> +<p><i>Here is my victory</i>“</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-night the heavens bend</p> +<p>A little nearer.</p> +<p>The singer is my friend,</p> +<p>And I—at last—the hearer.</p> +<p>No more to sing alone</p> +<p>A song unknown,—</p> +<p>Hush—very tense and thin,</p> +<p>The dawn-like notes begin. </p> +<br /> +<br /> + + +<p class="stanza">THE END</p> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p align="center"><i>Crown 8vo. 6s. net</i>.</p> + +<p align="center"><b><big>I POSE</big></b></p> + +<p align="center">BY</p> + +<p align="center"><b>STELLA BENSON</b></p> + +<p>Sir Henry Lucy writes: “One of the brightest, most +original, and best-written books that have come my way for a long +time.” </p> + +<p>“Even the dullest can hardly fail to respond to the +brilliant humour of the book. As the mature work of an experienced +author it would have been a remarkable achievement; being ‘the +first book of a new writer’ it is an astonishing +performance.”—<i>Daily Graphic</i>.</p> + +<p>“This book is a fantasy, an absurdity, a dream charged with +purpose; it has wit and humour, and some deep feeling covered with +the gossamer of irresponsibility; it is an act of rebellion, an +edged complaint, a protest touched with flame ... There are epigrams +and sentences that read like a sob or a stab.”—<i> +Daily Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>“For its sheer cleverness the book is a delightful +thing.”—<i>Daily News</i>.</p> + +<p align="center">LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. </p> + +<hr /> + +<p align="center"> <i>Crown 8vo. 6s. net</i>.</p> + +<p align="center"><b><big>THIS IS THE END</big></b></p> + +<p align="center">BY</p> + +<p align="center"><b>STELLA BENSON</b></p> + +<p>“Miss Benson has a delicious sense of humour, and her way +of describing people and things is most refreshing. With her +sympathy, her realism, her wit and ability, it would seem that Miss +Benson’s possibilities are limitless.”—<i>The +Bookman</i>.</p> + +<p>“In her second book she not only makes good, but betrays a +ripening talent.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>“The book shows one thing very clearly, that Miss Benson is +a force to be reckoned with.”—<i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>“It is the second step of a very brilliant beginning ... +You will be foolish if you miss this +book.”—<i>Punch</i>.</p> + +<p>“She has unusual originality, illuminating wit, deep +feeling, and a gift for startling epigram.”—<i>Daily +Graphic</i>.</p> + + +<p align="center">LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12643 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a3a4128 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12643 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12643) diff --git a/old/12643-8.txt b/old/12643-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5767097 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12643-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1314 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Twenty, by Stella Benson + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Twenty + +Author: Stella Benson + +Release Date: June 17, 2004 [eBook #12643] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: iso-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Susan Lucy, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +TWENTY + +BY + +STELLA BENSON + +Author of "This Is the End," "I Pose" + +1918 + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the +majority of them included in two books, _I Pose_ and _This is +the End_. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind +in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the +Editors of the _Athenaeum, Everyman_, and the _Pall Mall +Gazette_ for allowing me to reprint verses. + +The title of the book has no reference to the writer's age. + +S.B. + + + + + + +CONTENTS + PAGE + +CHRISTMAS, 1917 1 +THE SECRET DAY 3 +SONG 6 +THE ORCHARD 8 +THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY 11 +SONG 13 +WORDS 15 +REDNECK'S SONG 17 +TO THE UNBORN 19 +THE NEWER ZION 21 +TWO WOMEN SING 26 +THE WOMAN ALONE 28 +THE INEVITABLE 30 +THE DOG TUPMAN 32 +SAINT BRIDE 34 +THE SLAVE OF GOD 36 +TRUE PROMISES 40 +THE CORNISHMAN 43 +FIVE SMOOTH STONES 45 +NEW YEAR, 1918 51 + + + + + + + CHRISTMAS, 1917 + + + A key no thief can steal, no time can rust; + A faery door, adventurous and golden; + A palace, perfect to our eyes--Ah must + Our eyes be holden? + + Has the past died before this present sin? + Has this most cruel age already stonèd + To martyrdom that magic Day, within + Those halls, enthronèd? + + No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain, + Through the faint summer, and the autumn's burning, + Our still immortal Day has heard again + Our steps returning. + + + + + THE SECRET DAY + + + My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired, + And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door; + So I have built To-day, the day that I desired, + Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more, + Lest comfort come no more. + + So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day, + And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands; + The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way; + The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands, + Grew pink beneath my hands. + + So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream; + And I have painted peace upon the sky above; + And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem + More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love-- + More beautiful than love. + + And I have built a house--a house upon the brink + Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea's low singing fills it; + And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think + I'll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it-- + A cold to-morrow kills it. + + Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow, + So let To-morrow knock--I shall not be afraid, + For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow, + And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made. + No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade + This day that I have made. + + + + + SONG + + + There is the track my feet have worn + By which my fate may find me: + From that dim place where I was born + Those footprints run behind me. + Uncertain was the trail I left, + For--oh, the way was stormy; + But now this splendid sea has cleft + My journey from before me. + + Three things the sea shall never end, + Three things shall mock its power: + My singing soul, my Secret Friend, + And this, my perfect hour. + And you shall seek me till you reach + The tangled tide advancing, + And you shall find upon the beach + The traces of my dancing, + And in the air the happy speech + Of Secret Friends romancing. + + + + + THE ORCHARD + + + I will repent me of my ways; + I will come here and bury + Five thousand odd superfluous days + Beneath a flow'ring cherry. + + Between a pear and a cherry tree + My temple I will enter-- + My place, where even I may be + The altar and the centre. + + One altar to a thousand aisles, + A hundred thousand arches ... + The loud lamb-choir about me files, + The bleating bishop marches, + + The congregation kneels and nods, + The bishop leads its praises, + So I'll pray too, to their dim gods + Whose feet are decked with daisies: + + _Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let + Me not grow old, and falter + In my delusion, or forget + My heart was once an altar. + Let me still think myself a star + With these my rays about me; + Pretend these green perspectives are + All purposeless without me._ + + _Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid + The coming night retire, + And all the good I ever did + Shall feed your altar fire; + The hour shall stand and sing your praise, + The minute shall adore you, + And my ten thousand unborn days + I'll sacrifice before you._ + + _Gods of great joy, and little grief, + See--I will wear as token + A pear leaf and a cherry leaf + Until this pledge be broken_.... + + Between a pear and a cherry tree + A cold hand touched my shoulder-- + _Ah, my false gods have forsaken me, + I am a minute older_. + + + + + THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY + + + That day you wrought for me + Shone, and was ended. + Perfect your thought for me, + Whom you befriended. + Such joy was new to me-- + New, and most splendid, + More than was due to me. + More than was due to me. + + Though I do wrong to you, + Having no power, + Singing no song to you, + Bringing no flower, + Yet does my youth again + Thrill, for the hour + Cometh in truth again. + Cometh in truth again. + + I shall possess to-day + All I have wanted, + All I lacked yesterday + Now shall be granted. + No longer dumb to you, + Changed and enchanted, + Singing I'll come to you. + Singing I'll come to you. + + I will amass for you + Very great treasure. + Swift years shall pass for you + Dancing for pleasure. + Time shall be slave to me, + Giving--full measure-- + All that you gave to me. + All that you gave to me. + + + + + SONG + + + If I have dared to surrender some imitation of splendour, + Something I knew that was tender, something I loved that was brave, + If in my singing I showed songs that I heard on my road, + Were they not debts that I owed, rather than gifts that I gave? + + If certain hours on their climb up the long ladder of time + Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove me to dare an attempt, + If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme, + Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt? + + High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes; + All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true. + Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me; + Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you? + + + + + WORDS + + + Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule + The world? What is it but the tongue + That doth proclaim a man a fool, + So that his best songs go unsung, + So that his dreams are sent to school + And all die young. + + There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these + My soul adores--my words condemn-- + Oh, I would fall upon my knees + To kiss their golden garments' hem, + Yet words do lie in wait to seize + And murder them. + + To-night the swinging stars shall plumb + The silence of the sky. And herds + Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come + To hunt with dreams the restless birds. + To-night the moon shall strike you dumb, + Oh words, oh words.... + + + + + REDNECK'S SONG + + + These thirty years + Old men have filled my ears + With middle-aged ideas + That never have been young, + They made me wise. + I learnt to whitewash lies. + I learnt to shut my eyes, + And hold my tongue. + + Damned Philistine. + And was it then so fine + To learn to draw the line. + (Is there a line to draw?) + And must I then + For threescore years and ten + Worship the laws of men + Who worshipped law? + + Those laws are dust + To-day, and yet I must + Be faithful still, and trust + In what dead men did prove. + Magic may kill + Their wisdom and their will, + Yet I must follow still + Their path ... my groove.... + + + + + TO THE UNBORN + + + Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your glance about. + Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond the kerb. + Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets out. + For thus no punishment + Of magic shall disturb + Your very great content. + + Oh, shut your lips to words that are forbidden. + Oh, throw away your sword, nor think to fight. + Seek not the best, the best is better hidden. + Thus need you have no fear, + No terrible delight + Shall cross your path, my dear. + + Call no man foe, but never love a stranger. + Build up no plan, nor any star pursue. + Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger. + Thus nothing God can send, + And nothing God can do + Shall pierce your peace, my friend. + + + + + THE NEWER ZION + + + When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying, + When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green, + Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying + Behind the staging of this darling scene? + + Shall I--a cast-off puppet--seek to study + The Showman who manipulates the strings, + The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy, + The prosy truths of all these faery things? + + Shall I--self-conscious by a glassy ocean-- + Stammer strange songs amid an alien host? + Or shall I not, refusing such promotion, + Bequeath to London my contented ghost? + + I will come back to my Eternal City; + Her fogs once more my countenance shall dim; + I will enliven your austere committee + With gossip gleaned among the cherubim. + + By day I'll tread again the sounding mazes, + By night I'll track the moths about the Park; + My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies, + Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark. + + I will repeat old inexpensive orgies; + Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch, + Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George's, + And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich. + + My soundless feet shall fly among the runners + Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid, + My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners, + The fires shall glare--but I shall cast no shade. + + And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent + Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot-- + (Fool that he is)--and fumble with his warrant, + And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet," + + Mocking I'll go, and he shall be postillion, + Until we reach the Keeper of the Door: + "H'm ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ... + There's some mistake, we've had this soul before...." + + * * * * * * + + Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion; + Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless + The splendid voice of London, like a lion + Calling its lover in the wilderness. + + + + + TWO WOMEN SING + + FIRST WOMAN + + + Oh woman--woman--woman,-- + Shall I to woman be a friend? + I deal with man, and when I can + Reclaim with interest all I lend. + Who but a witless gambler plays + For farthing stakes these golden days? + No, woman--woman--woman-- + Must only play the game that pays. + + + + SECOND WOMAN + + + Oh woman--woman--woman,-- + To-morrow woman shall awake. + She shall arise, and realise + The goodly value of her stake. + And she shall lend her loan, and claim + Her rightful interest on the same. + So woman--woman--woman-- + Shall learn at last the paying game. + + + + + THE WOMAN ALONE + + + My eyes are girt with outer mists; + My ears sing shrill, and this I bless; + My finger-nails do bite my fists + In ecstasy of loneliness. + This I intend, and this I want, + That--passing--you may only mark + A dumb soul with its confidant + Entombed together in the dark. + + The hoarse church-bells of London ring; + The hoarser horns of London croak; + The poor brown lives of London cling + About the poor brown streets like smoke; + The deep air stands above my roof + Like water, to the floating stars. + My Friend and I--we sit aloof,-- + We sit and smile, and bind our scars. + + For you may wound and you may kill-- + It's such a little thing to die-- + Your cruel God may work his will, + We do not care, my Friend and I. + Though, at the gate of Paradise, + Peter the Saint withhold his keys, + My Friend and I--we have no eyes + For Heav'n or Hell--or dreams like these.... + + + + + THE INEVITABLE + + + _There is a sword, a fatal blade, + Unthwarted, subtle as the air, + And I could meet it unafraid + If I might only meet it fair. + Yet how I wonder why the Smith + Who wrought that steel of subtle grain + Should also be contented with + So blunt and mean a thing as pain_. + + The stars and fire-flies dance in rings. + The fire-flies set my heart alight, + Like fingers, writing magic things + In flame, upon the wall of night. + There is high meaning in the skies-- + (The stars and fire-flies--high and low--) + And all the spangled world is wise + With knowledge that I almost know. + + To-morrow I will don my cloak + Of opal-grey, and I will stand + Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke + Across the dazzle of the sand. + To-morrow I will throw this blind + Blind whiteness from my soul away, + And pluck this blackness from my mind, + And only leave the medium--grey. + + To-morrow I will cry for gains + Upon the blue and brazen sky. + The precious venom in my veins + To-morrow will be parched and dry. + To-morrow it shall be my goal + To throw myself away from me, + To lose the outline of my soul + Against the greyness of the sea. + + + + + THE DOG TUPMAN + + + Oh little friend of half my days, + My little friend, who followed me + Along those crooked sullen ways + That only you had eyes to see. + + You felt the same. You understood + You too, defensive and morose, + Encloaked your secret puppyhood-- + Your secret heart--and hid them close. + + For I alone have seen you serve, + Disciple of those early springs, + With ears awry and tail a-curve + You lost yourself in puppy things. + + And you saw me. You bore in mind + The clean and sunny things I felt + When, throwing hate along the wind, + I flashed the lantern at my belt. + + The moment passed, and we returned + To barren words and old cold truth, + Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned, + We two had seen each other's youth. + + When filthy pain did wrap me round + Your upright ears I always saw, + And on my outflung hand I found + The blessing of your horny paw; + + And yet--oh impotence of men-- + My paw, more soft but not more wise, + Old friend, was lacking to you when + You looked your crisis in the eyes.... + + You shared my youth, oh faithful friend, + You let me share your puppyhood; + So, if I failed you in the end, + My friend, my friend, you understood. + + + + + SAINT BRIDE + + + About your brow a starry wreath, + About your feet a wilderness, + Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath + The tangled bondage of the press. + Set like a saint within a niche-- + A strait and narrow niche--you hide, + And weave a veil about you, which + Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man + Are sceptic and satirical. + "_What, little saint, and still you scan + Old heaven for that miracle?_" + Oh heart deceived, yet harmèd not, + Child-widow of a truth that died, + Bearer in mind of things forgot, + Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + About you and about you thunders + The wise young public on its 'bus, + Exploding all your faery blunders, + Explaining neatly--"_Thus and thus + Hath science banished heaven now, + And see--your Groom is crucified--_" + On heaven's breast you lean your brow + And laugh, and love--Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + + + + THE SLAVE OF GOD + + + The finest fruit God ever made + Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue. + It hangs above the steel sea blade + That cuts the world's great globe in two. + + The keenest eye that ever saw + Stares out of Heaven into mine, + Spins out my heart, and seems to draw + My soul's elastic very fine. + + The greatest beacon ever fired + Stands up on Heaven's Hill to show + The limit of the thing desired, + Beyond which man may never go. + + * * * * * * + + At midnight, when the night did dance + Along the hours that led to morning, + I saw a little boat advance + Towards the great moon's beacon warning. + + (The moon, God's Slave, who lights her torch, + Lest men should slip between the bars, + And run aground on Heav'n, and scorch + To death upon a bank of stars.) + + The little boat, on leaning keel, + Sang up the mountains of the sea, + Bearing a man who hoped to steal + God's Slave from out eternity. + + + "_My love, I see you through my tears. + No pity in your face I see. + I have sailed far across the years: + Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me._ + + "_My love, I have an island seen, + So shadowed, God's most piercing star + Shall never see where we have been, + Shall never whisper where we are._ + + "_There we will wander, you and I, + Down guilty and delightful ways, + While palm-trees plait their fingers high + Against your God's enormous gaze._ + + "_For oh--the joy of two and two + Your Paradise shall never see, + The ecstasy of me and you, + The white delight of you and me._ + + "_I know the penalty--the clutch + Of God's great rocks upon my keel. + Drowned in the ocean of Too Much-- + So ends your thief--yet let me steal...._" + + The Slave of God she froze her face, + The Slave of God she paid no heed, + And, thund'ring down high Heaven's space, + Loud angels mocked the sailor's greed. + + The diamond sun arose, and tossed + A billion gems across the sea. + "_The Slave of God is lost, is lost, + The Slave of God is lost to me...._" + + He grounded on the common beach, + He trod the little towns of men, + And God removèd from his reach + The cup of Heaven's passion then, + And gave him vulgar love and speech, + And gave him threescore years and ten. + + + + + TRUE PROMISES + + + You promised War and Thunder and Romance. + You promised true, but we were very blind + And very young, and in our ignorance + We never called to mind + That truth is seldom kind. + + You promised love, immortal as a star. + You promised true, yet how the truth can lie! + For now we grope for hands where no hands are, + And, deathless, still we cry, + Nor hope for a reply. + + You promised harvest and a perfect yield. + You promised true, for on the harvest morn, + Behold a reaper strode across the field, + And man of woman born + Was gathered in as corn. + + You promised honour and ordeal by flame. + You promised true. In joy we trembled lest + We should be found unworthy when it came; + But--oh--we never guessed + The fury of the test! + + You promised friends and songs and festivals. + You promised true. Our friends, who still are young, + Assemble for their feasting in those halls + Where speaks no human tongue. + And thus our songs are sung. + + + + + THE CORNISHMAN + + + At sunset, when the high sea span + About the rocks a web of foam, + I saw the ghost of a Cornishman + Come home. + I saw the ghost of a Cornishman + Run from the weariness of war, + I heard him laughing as he ran + Across his unforgotten shore. + The great cliff, gilded by the west, + Received him as an honoured guest. + The green sea, shining in the bay, + Did drown his dreadful yesterday. + + Come home, come home, you million ghosts, + The honest years shall make amends, + The sun and moon shall be your hosts, + The everlasting hills your friends. + And some shall seek their mothers' faces, + And some shall run to trysting places, + And some to towns, and others yet + Shall find great forests in their debt. + Oh, I would siege the golden coasts + Of space, and climb high heaven's dome, + So I might see those million ghosts + Come home. + + + + + FIVE SMOOTH STONES + + + It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle, + Pursued his fate, the April fields among, + Singing a song of solitary battle, + A loud mad song, for he was very young. + + Vivid the air--and something more than vivid,-- + Tall clouds were in the sky--and something more,-- + The light horizon of the spring was livid + With a steel smile that showed the teeth of war. + + It was young David mocked the Philistine. + It was young David laughed beside the river. + There came his mother--his and yours and mine-- + With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver. + + You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy. + You never saw such very April eyes. + She sang him sorrow's song to make him wary, + She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise. + + _The first stone is love, and that shall fail you. + The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you. + The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you. + The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you. + The fifth stone shall not fail you_. + + For what is love, O lovers of my tribe? + And what is love, O women of my day? + Love is a farthing piece, a bloody bribe + Pressed in the palm of God--and thrown away. + + And what is hate, O fierce and unforgiving? + And what shall hate achieve, when all is said? + A silly joke that cannot reach the living, + A spitting in the faces of the dead. + + And what is knowledge, O young men who tasted + The reddest fruit on that forbidden tree? + Knowledge is but a painful effort wasted, + A bitter drowning in a bitter sea. + + And what is prayer, O waiters for the answer? + And what is prayer, O seekers of the cause? + Prayer is the weary soul of Herod's dancer, + Dancing before blind kings without applause. + + The fifth stone is a magic stone, my David, + Made up of fear and failure, lies and loss. + Its heart is lead, and on its face is gravèd + A crookèd cross, my son, a crookèd cross. + + It has no dignity to lend it value; + No purity--alas, it bears a stain. + You shall not give it gratitude, nor shall you + Recall it all your days, except with pain. + + Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your groping! + Mock at your betters with an upward chin! + And when the moment has gone by for hoping, + Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, and win. + + Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful laughter; + Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your wine. + Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what comes after; + The fifth stone shall not fail you, son of mine. + + GO FORTH, GO FORTH, AND SLAY THE PHILISTINE. + + + + + NEW YEAR, 1918 + + + A song I never heard + I must rehearse, + Counting each hour a word, + Counting each day a verse. + Not of my proper choice + Raise I my voice, + While others--fierce and strong-- + Raise theirs to drown my song. + + Must I then sing aloud, + Faint as a bird, + And, like a bird, be proud + To sing--to sing unheard? + Weary and very weak, + Shall I then seek + A hearing, idiot-wise, + From the unhearing skies? + + Drowning my whispered dreams, + Great voices cry. + They sing their songs, it seems, + With better heart than I. + Hush--I can hear Death sing-- + "_Here is my sting_." + And the Grave echo--"_See, + Here is my victory_" + + To-night the heavens bend + A little nearer. + The singer is my friend, + And I--at last--the hearer. + No more to sing alone + A song unknown,-- + Hush--very tense and thin, + The dawn-like notes begin. + + + * * * * * + + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. + + I POSE + + BY + + STELLA BENSON + + Sir Henry Lucy writes: "One of the brightest, most original, and + best-written books that have come my way for a long time." + + "Even the dullest can hardly fail to respond to the brilliant + humour of the book. As the mature work of an experienced author it + would have been a remarkable achievement; being 'the first book of + a new writer' it is an astonishing performance."--_Daily Graphic_. + + "This book is a fantasy, an absurdity, a dream charged with + purpose; it has wit and humour, and some deep feeling covered with + the gossamer of irresponsibility; it is an act of rebellion, an + edged complaint, a protest touched with flame.... There are + epigrams and sentences that read like a sob or a stab."--_ Daily + Chronicle._ + + "For its sheer cleverness the book is a delightful thing."--_Daily + News_. + + + LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. + + + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. + + THIS IS THE END + + BY + + STELLA BENSON + + "Miss Benson has a delicious sense of humour, and her way of + describing people and things is most refreshing. With her + sympathy, her realism, her wit and ability, it would seem that + Miss Benson's possibilities are limitless."--_The Bookman_. + + "In her second book she not only makes good, but betrays a + ripening talent."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + "The book shows one thing very clearly, that Miss Benson is a + force to be reckoned with."--_Pall Mall Gazette_. + + "It is the second step of a very brilliant beginning ... 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Twenty</p> +<p>Author: Stella Benson</p> +<p>Release Date: June 17, 2004 [eBook #12643]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: iso-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY***</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<center><b>E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Susan Lucy,<br /> + and Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders</b></center> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> + +<br /><br /> +<h1>T W E N T Y</h1> +<br /> +<br /> +<h4>BY</h4> +<br /> +<br /> + +<h2>STELLA BENSON</h2> + +<h6>AUTHOR OF +<br/> +“THIS IS THE END,” “I POSE”</h6> +<br /> +<h5>1918</h5> + +<br /><br /><hr class="mid" /><br /><br /><br /> + +<h3>PREFACE</h3> +<p>Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the +majority of them included in two books, <i>I Pose</i> and <i>This is +the End</i>. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind +in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the +Editors of the <i>Athenæum</i>, <i>Everyman</i>, and the <i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i> for allowing me to reprint verses.</p> + +<p>The title of the book has no reference to the writer’s age.</p> + +<p>S.B.</p> + +<br /><br /><hr /><br /><br /><br /> + +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page1">Christmas, 1917</a></td> +<td class="num">1</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page3">The Secret Day</a></td> +<td class="num">3</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page6">Song</a></td> +<td class="num">6</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page8">The Orchard</a></td> +<td class="num">8</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page11">Thanks to My World for the Loan of a Fair Day</a></td> +<td class="num">11</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page13">Song</a></td> +<td class="num">13</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page15">Words</a></td> +<td class="num">15</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page17">Redneck’s Song</a></td> +<td class="num">17</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page19">To the Unborn</a></td> +<td class="num">19</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page21">The Newer Zion</a></td> +<td class="num">21</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page26">Two Women Sing</a></td> +<td class="num">26</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page28">The Woman Alone</a></td> +<td class="num">28</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page30">The Inevitable</a></td> +<td class="num">30</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page32">The Dog Tupman</a></td> +<td class="num">32</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page34">Saint Bride</a></td> +<td class="num">34</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page36">The Slave of God</a></td> +<td class="num">36</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page40">True Promises</a></td> +<td class="num">40</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page43">The Cornishman</a></td> +<td class="num">43</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page45">Five Smooth Stones</a></td> +<td class="num">45</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="toc"><a href="#page51">New Year, 1918</a></td> +<td class="num">51</td> +</tr> +</table> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page1"></a><hr class="mid" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="title">CHRISTMAS, 1917</p> +<p>A key no thief can steal, no time can rust;</p> +<p>A faery door, adventurous and golden;</p> +<p>A palace, perfect to our eyes—Ah must</p> +<p>Our eyes be holden?</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Has the past died before this present sin?</p> +<p>Has this most cruel age already stonèd</p> +<p>To martyrdom that magic Day, within</p> +<p>Those halls, enthronèd?</p> + +<p class="stanza"> No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain,</p> +<p>Through the faint summer, and the autumn’s burning,</p> +<p>Our still immortal Day has heard again</p> +<p>Our steps returning.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page3"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><br /> +<p class="title">THE SECRET DAY</p> + +<p>My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired,</p> +<p>And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door;</p> +<p>So I have built To-day, the day that I desired,</p> +<p>Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more,</p> +<p>Lest comfort come no more.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day,</p> +<p>And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands;</p> +<p>The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way;</p> +<p>The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands,</p> +<p>Grew pink beneath my hands.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream;</p> +<p>And I have painted peace upon the sky above;</p> +<p>And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem</p> +<p>More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love—</p> +<p>More beautiful than love.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> And I have built a house—a house upon the brink</p> +<p>Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea’s low singing fills it;</p> +<p>And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think</p> +<p>I’ll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it—</p> +<p>A cold to-morrow kills it.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow,</p> +<p>So let To-morrow knock—I shall not be afraid,</p> +<p>For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow,</p> +<p>And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made.</p> +<p>No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade</p> +<p>This day that I have made.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page6"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">SONG</p> + +<p>There is the track my feet have worn</p> +<p>By which my fate may find me:</p> +<p>From that dim place where I was born</p> +<p>Those footprints run behind me.</p> +<p>Uncertain was the trail I left,</p> +<p>For—oh, the way was stormy;</p> +<p>But now this splendid sea has cleft</p> +<p>My journey from before me.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Three things the sea shall never end,</p> +<p>Three things shall mock its power:</p> +<p>My singing soul, my Secret Friend,</p> +<p>And this, my perfect hour.</p> +<p>And you shall seek me till you reach</p> +<p>The tangled tide advancing,</p> +<p>And you shall find upon the beach</p> +<p>The traces of my dancing,</p> +<p>And in the air the happy speech</p> +<p>Of Secret Friends romancing.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page8"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title"> THE ORCHARD</p> + +<p>I will repent me of my ways;</p> +<p>I will come here and bury</p> +<p>Five thousand odd superfluous days</p> +<p>Beneath a flow’ring cherry.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Between a pear and a cherry tree</p> +<p>My temple I will enter—</p> +<p>My place, where even I may be</p> +<p>The altar and the centre.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> One altar to a thousand aisles,</p> +<p>A hundred thousand arches ...</p> +<p>The loud lamb-choir about me files,</p> +<p>The bleating bishop marches,</p> + +<p class="stanza"> The congregation kneels and nods,</p> +<p>The bishop leads its praises,</p> +<p>So I’ll pray too, to their dim gods</p> +<p>Whose feet are decked with daisies:</p> + +<p class="i4stanza"><i>Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Me not grow old, and falter</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>In my delusion, or forget</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>My heart was once an altar. </i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Let me still think myself a star</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>With these my rays about me; </i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Pretend these green perspectives are</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>All purposeless without me.</i></p> + +<p class="i4stanza"><i> Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>The coming night retire,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>And all the good I ever did</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Shall feed your altar fire;</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>The hour shall stand and sing your praise,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>The minute shall adore you,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>And my ten thousand unborn days</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>I’ll sacrifice before you.</i></p> + +<p class="i4stanza"> <i>Gods of great joy, and little grief, </i></p> +<p class="i4"> <i>See—I will wear as token</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>A pear leaf and a cherry leaf</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>Until this pledge be broken</i>....</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Between a pear and a cherry tree</p> +<p>A cold hand touched my shoulder—</p> +<p class="i4"> <i>Ah, my false gods have forsaken me,</i></p> +<p class="i4"><i>I am a minute older</i>.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page11"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY</p> + +<p>That day you wrought for me</p> +<p>Shone, and was ended.</p> +<p>Perfect your thought for me,</p> +<p>Whom you befriended.</p> +<p>Such joy was new to me—</p> +<p>New, and most splendid,</p> +<p>More than was due to me.</p> +<p>More than was due to me.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> Though I do wrong to you,</p> +<p>Having no power,</p> +<p>Singing no song to you,</p> +<p>Bringing no flower,</p> +<p>Yet does my youth again</p> +<p>Thrill, for the hour</p> +<p>Cometh in truth again.</p> +<p>Cometh in truth again.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> I shall possess to-day</p> +<p>All I have wanted,</p> +<p>All I lacked yesterday</p> +<p>Now shall be granted.</p> +<p>No longer dumb to you,</p> +<p>Changed and enchanted,</p> +<p>Singing I’ll come to you.</p> +<p>Singing I’ll come to you.</p> + +<p class="stanza"> I will amass for you</p> +<p>Very great treasure.</p> +<p>Swift years shall pass for you</p> +<p>Dancing for pleasure.</p> +<p>Time shall be slave to me,</p> +<p>Giving—full measure—</p> +<p>All that you gave to me.</p> +<p>All that you gave to me.</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page13"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">SONG</p> +<p>If I have dared to surrender some imitation of splendour,</p> +<p>Something I knew that was tender, something I loved that was brave,</p> +<p>If in my singing I showed songs that I heard on my road,</p> +<p>Were they not debts that I owed, rather than gifts that I gave?</p> + +<p class="stanza">If certain hours on their climb up the long ladder of time</p> +<p>Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove me to dare an attempt,</p> +<p>If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme,</p> +<p>Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt?</p> + +<p class="stanza">High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes;</p> +<p>All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true.</p> +<p>Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me;</p> +<p>Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you?</p> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page15"></a> +<br /> +<br /> + +<p class="title">WORDS</p> + +<p>Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule</p> +<p>The world? What is it but the tongue</p> +<p>That doth proclaim a man a fool,</p> +<p>So that his best songs go unsung,</p> +<p>So that his dreams are sent to school</p> +<p>And all die young.</p> + +<p class="stanza">There pass the trav’lling dreams, and these</p> +<p>My soul adores—my words condemn—</p> +<p>Oh, I would fall upon my knees</p> +<p>To kiss their golden garments’ hem,</p> +<p>Yet words do lie in wait to seize</p> +<p>And murder them.</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-night the swinging stars shall plumb</p> +<p>The silence of the sky. And herds</p> +<p>Of plumèd winds like huntsmen come</p> +<p>To hunt with dreams the restless birds.</p> +<p>To-night the moon shall strike you dumb,</p> +<p>Oh words, oh words....</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page17"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">REDNECK’S SONG</p> + +<p>These thirty years</p> +<p>Old men have filled my ears</p> +<p>With middle-aged ideas</p> +<p>That never have been young,</p> +<p>They made me wise.</p> +<p>I learnt to whitewash lies.</p> +<p>I learnt to shut my eyes,</p> +<p>And hold my tongue.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Damned Philistine.</p> +<p>And was it then so fine</p> +<p>To learn to draw the line.</p> +<p>(Is there a line to draw?)</p> +<p>And must I then</p> +<p>For threescore years and ten</p> +<p>Worship the laws of men</p> +<p>Who worshipped law?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Those laws are dust</p> +<p>To-day, and yet I must</p> +<p>Be faithful still, and trust</p> +<p>In what dead men did prove.</p> +<p>Magic may kill</p> +<p>Their wisdom and their will,</p> +<p>Yet I must follow still</p> +<p>Their path ... my groove....</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page19"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">TO THE UNBORN</p> + +<p>Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your glance about.</p> +<p>Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond the kerb.</p> +<p>Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets out.</p> +<p>For thus no punishment</p> +<p>Of magic shall disturb</p> +<p>Your very great content.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Oh, shut your lips to words that are forbidden.</p> +<p>Oh, throw away your sword, nor think to fight.</p> +<p>Seek not the best, the best is better hidden.</p> +<p>Thus need you have no fear,</p> +<p>No terrible delight</p> +<p>Shall cross your path, my dear.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Call no man foe, but never love a stranger.</p> +<p>Build up no plan, nor any star pursue.</p> +<p>Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger.</p> +<p>Thus nothing God can send,</p> +<p>And nothing God can do</p> +<p>Shall pierce your peace, my friend.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page21"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE NEWER ZION</p> + +<p>When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying,</p> +<p>When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green,</p> +<p>Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying</p> +<p>Behind the staging of this darling scene?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Shall I—a cast-off puppet—seek to study</p> +<p>The Showman who manipulates the strings,</p> +<p>The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy,</p> +<p>The prosy truths of all these faery things?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Shall I—self-conscious by a glassy ocean—</p> +<p>Stammer strange songs amid an alien host?</p> +<p>Or shall I not, refusing such promotion,</p> +<p>Bequeath to London my contented ghost?</p> + +<p class="stanza">I will come back to my Eternal City;</p> +<p>Her fogs once more my countenance shall dim;</p> +<p>I will enliven your austere committee</p> +<p>With gossip gleaned among the cherubim.</p> + +<p class="stanza">By day I’ll tread again the sounding mazes,</p> +<p>By night I’ll track the moths about the Park;</p> +<p>My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies,</p> +<p>Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark.</p> + +<p class="stanza">I will repeat old inexpensive orgies;</p> +<p>Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch,</p> +<p>Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George’s,</p> +<p>And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich.</p> + +<p class="stanza">My soundless feet shall fly among the runners</p> +<p>Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid,</p> +<p>My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners,</p> +<p>The fires shall glare—but I shall cast no shade.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent</p> +<p>Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot—</p> +<p>(Fool that he is)—and fumble with his warrant,</p> +<p>And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet,"</p> + +<p class="stanza">Mocking I’ll go, and he shall be postillion,</p> +<p>Until we reach the Keeper of the Door:</p> +<p>"H’m ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ...</p> +<p>There’s some mistake, we’ve had this soul before...."</p> + +<p class="i4stanza">* * + * * + * *</p> + +<p class="stanza">Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion;</p> +<p>Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless</p> +<p>The splendid voice of London, like a lion</p> +<p>Calling its lover in the wilderness.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page26"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">TWO WOMEN SING</p> + +<p class="subtitle">First Woman</p> + +<p>Oh woman—woman—woman,—</p> +<p>Shall I to woman be a friend?</p> +<p>I deal with man, and when I can</p> +<p>Reclaim with interest all I lend.</p> +<p>Who but a witless gambler plays</p> +<p>For farthing stakes these golden days?</p> +<p>No, woman—woman—woman—</p> +<p>Must only play the game that pays.</p> +<br /> +<p class="subtitle">Second Woman</p> + +<p>Oh woman—woman—woman,—</p> +<p>To-morrow woman shall awake.</p> +<p>She shall arise, and realise</p> +<p>The goodly value of her stake.</p> +<p>And she shall lend her loan, and claim</p> +<p>Her rightful interest on the same.</p> +<p>So woman—woman—woman—</p> +<p>Shall learn at last the paying game.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page28"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE WOMAN ALONE</p> + +<p>My eyes are girt with outer mists;</p> +<p>My ears sing shrill, and this I bless;</p> +<p>My finger-nails do bite my fists</p> +<p>In ecstasy of loneliness.</p> +<p>This I intend, and this I want,</p> +<p>That—passing—you may only mark</p> +<p>A dumb soul with its confidant</p> +<p>Entombed together in the dark.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The hoarse church-bells of London ring;</p> +<p>The hoarser horns of London croak;</p> +<p>The poor brown lives of London cling</p> +<p>About the poor brown streets like smoke;</p> +<p>The deep air stands above my roof</p> +<p>Like water, to the floating stars.</p> +<p>My Friend and I—we sit aloof,—</p> +<p>We sit and smile, and bind our scars.</p> + +<p class="stanza">For you may wound and you may kill—</p> +<p>It’s such a little thing to die—</p> +<p>Your cruel God may work his will,</p> +<p>We do not care, my Friend and I.</p> +<p>Though, at the gate of Paradise,</p> +<p>Peter the Saint withhold his keys,</p> +<p>My Friend and I—we have no eyes</p> +<p>For Heav’n or Hell—or dreams like these....</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page30"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE INEVITABLE</p> + +<p><i>There is a sword, a fatal blade,</i></p> +<p><i>Unthwarted, subtle as the air,</i></p> +<p><i>And I could meet it unafraid</i></p> +<p><i>If I might only meet it fair.</i></p> +<p><i>Yet how I wonder why the Smith</i></p> +<p><i>Who wrought that steel of subtle grain</i></p> +<p><i>Should also be contented with</i></p> +<p><i>So blunt and mean a thing as pain</i>.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The stars and fire-flies dance in rings.</p> +<p>The fire-flies set my heart alight,</p> +<p>Like fingers, writing magic things</p> +<p>In flame, upon the wall of night.</p> +<p>There is high meaning in the skies—</p> +<p>(The stars and fire-flies—high and low—)</p> +<p>And all the spangled world is wise</p> +<p>With knowledge that I almost know.</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-morrow I will don my cloak</p> +<p>Of opal-grey, and I will stand</p> +<p>Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke</p> +<p>Across the dazzle of the sand.</p> +<p>To-morrow I will throw this blind</p> +<p>Blind whiteness from my soul away,</p> +<p>And pluck this blackness from my mind,</p> +<p>And only leave the medium—grey.</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-morrow I will cry for gains</p> +<p>Upon the blue and brazen sky.</p> +<p>The precious venom in my veins</p> +<p>To-morrow will be parched and dry.</p> +<p>To-morrow it shall be my goal</p> +<p>To throw myself away from me,</p> +<p>To lose the outline of my soul</p> +<p>Against the greyness of the sea.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page32"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE DOG TUPMAN</p> + +<p>Oh little friend of half my days,</p> +<p>My little friend, who followed me</p> +<p>Along those crooked sullen ways</p> +<p>That only you had eyes to see.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You felt the same. You understood</p> +<p>You too, defensive and morose,</p> +<p>Encloaked your secret puppyhood—</p> +<p>Your secret heart—and hid them close.</p> + +<p class="stanza">For I alone have seen you serve,</p> +<p>Disciple of those early springs,</p> +<p>With ears awry and tail a-curve</p> +<p>You lost yourself in puppy things.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And you saw me. You bore in mind</p> +<p>The clean and sunny things I felt</p> +<p>When, throwing hate along the wind,</p> +<p>I flashed the lantern at my belt.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The moment passed, and we returned</p> +<p>To barren words and old cold truth,</p> +<p>Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned,</p> +<p>We two had seen each other’s youth.</p> + +<p class="stanza">When filthy pain did wrap me round</p> +<p>Your upright ears I always saw,</p> +<p>And on my outflung hand I found</p> +<p>The blessing of your horny paw;</p> + +<p class="stanza">And yet—oh impotence of men—</p> +<p>My paw, more soft but not more wise,</p> +<p>Old friend, was lacking to you when</p> +<p>You looked your crisis in the eyes....</p> + +<p class="stanza">You shared my youth, oh faithful friend,</p> +<p>You let me share your puppyhood;</p> +<p>So, if I failed you in the end,</p> +<p>My friend, my friend, you understood.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page34"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">SAINT BRIDE</p> + +<p>About your brow a starry wreath,</p> +<p>About your feet a wilderness,</p> +<p>Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath</p> +<p>The tangled bondage of the press.</p> +<p>Set like a saint within a niche—</p> +<p>A strait and narrow niche—you hide,</p> +<p>And weave a veil about you, which</p> +<p>Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The eyes of coarse and pond’rous man</p> +<p>Are sceptic and satirical.</p> +<p>“<i>What, little saint, and still you scan</i></p> +<p><i>Old heaven for that miracle?</i>”</p> +<p>Oh heart deceived, yet harmèd not,</p> +<p>Child-widow of a truth that died,</p> +<p>Bearer in mind of things forgot,</p> +<p>Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.</p> + +<p class="stanza">About you and about you thunders</p> +<p>The wise young public on its ’bus,</p> +<p>Exploding all your faery blunders,</p> +<p>Explaining neatly—“<i>Thus and thus</i></p> +<p><i>Hath science banished heaven now, </i></p> +<p><i>And see—your Groom is crucified—</i>”</p> +<p>On heaven’s breast you lean your brow</p> +<p>And laugh, and love—Saint Bride, Saint Bride.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page36"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE SLAVE OF GOD</p> + +<p class="i4"> The finest fruit God ever made</p> +<p class="i4"> Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue.</p> +<p class="i4"> It hangs above the steel sea blade</p> +<p class="i4"> That cuts the world’s great globe in two.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The keenest eye that ever saw</p> +<p class="i4"> Stares out of Heaven into mine,</p> +<p class="i4"> Spins out my heart, and seems to draw</p> +<p class="i4"> My soul’s elastic very fine.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The greatest beacon ever fired</p> +<p class="i4"> Stands up on Heaven’s Hill to show</p> +<p class="i4"> The limit of the thing desired,</p> +<p class="i4"> Beyond which man may never go.</p> + +<p class="i4stanza">* * + * * + * *</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> At midnight, when the night did dance</p> +<p class="i4"> Along the hours that led to morning,</p> +<p class="i4"> I saw a little boat advance</p> +<p class="i4"> Towards the great moon’s beacon warning.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> (The moon, God’s Slave, who lights her torch,</p> +<p class="i4"> Lest men should slip between the bars,</p> +<p class="i4"> And run aground on Heav’n, and scorch</p> +<p class="i4"> To death upon a bank of stars.)</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The little boat, on leaning keel,</p> +<p class="i4"> Sang up the mountains of the sea,</p> +<p class="i4"> Bearing a man who hoped to steal</p> +<p class="i4"> God’s Slave from out eternity.</p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>My love, I see you through my tears. </i></p> +<p><i>No pity in your face I see. </i></p> +<p><i>I have sailed far across the years: </i></p> +<p><i>Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>My love, I have an island seen, </i></p> +<p><i>So shadowed, God’s most piercing star</i></p> +<p><i>Shall never see where we have been, </i></p> +<p><i>Shall never whisper where we are.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>There we will wander, you and I, </i></p> +<p><i>Down guilty and delightful ways, </i></p> +<p><i>While palm-trees plait their fingers high</i></p> +<p><i>Against your God’s enormous gaze.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>For oh—the joy of two and two</i></p> +<p><i>Your Paradise shall never see, </i></p> +<p><i>The ecstasy of me and you, </i></p> +<p><i>The white delight of you and me.</i></p> + +<p class="stanza">“<i>I know the penalty—the clutch</i></p> +<p><i>Of God’s great rocks upon my keel. </i></p> +<p><i>Drowned in the ocean of Too Much— </i></p> +<p><i>So ends your thief—yet let me steal....</i>”</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The Slave of God she froze her face,</p> +<p class="i4"> The Slave of God she paid no heed,</p> +<p class="i4"> And, thund’ring down high Heaven’s space,</p> +<p class="i4"> Loud angels mocked the sailor’s greed.</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> The diamond sun arose, and tossed</p> +<p class="i4"> A billion gems across the sea.</p> +<p>“<i>The Slave of God is lost, is lost,</i></p> +<p><i>The Slave of God is lost to me....</i>”</p> + +<p class=" i4stanza"> He grounded on the common beach,</p> +<p class="i4"> He trod the little towns of men,</p> +<p class="i4"> And God removèd from his reach</p> +<p class="i4"> The cup of Heaven’s passion then,</p> +<p class="i4"> And gave him vulgar love and speech,</p> +<p class="i4"> And gave him threescore years and ten.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page40"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">TRUE PROMISES</p> + +<p>You promised War and Thunder and Romance.</p> +<p>You promised true, but we were very blind</p> +<p>And very young, and in our ignorance</p> +<p>We never called to mind</p> +<p>That truth is seldom kind.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised love, immortal as a star.</p> +<p>You promised true, yet how the truth can lie!</p> +<p>For now we grope for hands where no hands are,</p> +<p>And, deathless, still we cry,</p> +<p>Nor hope for a reply.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised harvest and a perfect yield.</p> +<p>You promised true, for on the harvest morn,</p> +<p>Behold a reaper strode across the field,</p> +<p>And man of woman born</p> +<p>Was gathered in as corn.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised honour and ordeal by flame.</p> +<p>You promised true. In joy we trembled lest</p> +<p>We should be found unworthy when it came;</p> +<p>But—oh—we never guessed</p> +<p>The fury of the test!</p> + +<p class="stanza">You promised friends and songs and festivals.</p> +<p>You promised true. Our friends, who still are young,</p> +<p>Assemble for their feasting in those halls</p> +<p>Where speaks no human tongue.</p> +<p>And thus our songs are sung.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page43"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">THE CORNISHMAN</p> + +<p>At sunset, when the high sea span</p> +<p>About the rocks a web of foam,</p> +<p>I saw the ghost of a Cornishman</p> +<p>Come home.</p> +<p>I saw the ghost of a Cornishman</p> +<p>Run from the weariness of war,</p> +<p>I heard him laughing as he ran</p> +<p>Across his unforgotten shore.</p> +<p>The great cliff, gilded by the west,</p> +<p>Received him as an honoured guest.</p> +<p>The green sea, shining in the bay,</p> +<p>Did drown his dreadful yesterday.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Come home, come home, you million ghosts,</p> +<p>The honest years shall make amends,</p> +<p>The sun and moon shall be your hosts,</p> +<p>The everlasting hills your friends.</p> +<p>And some shall seek their mothers’ faces,</p> +<p>And some shall run to trysting places,</p> +<p>And some to towns, and others yet</p> +<p>Shall find great forests in their debt.</p> +<p class="i4">Oh, I would siege the golden coasts</p> +<p class="i4">Of space, and climb high heaven’s dome,</p> +<p class="i4">So I might see those million ghosts</p> +<p class="i4">Come home.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page45"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title">FIVE SMOOTH STONES</p> + +<p>It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle,</p> +<p>Pursued his fate, the April fields among,</p> +<p>Singing a song of solitary battle,</p> +<p>A loud mad song, for he was very young.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Vivid the air—and something more than vivid,—</p> +<p>Tall clouds were in the sky—and something more,—</p> +<p>The light horizon of the spring was livid</p> +<p>With a steel smile that showed the teeth of war.</p> + +<p class="stanza">It was young David mocked the Philistine.</p> +<p>It was young David laughed beside the river.</p> +<p>There came his mother—his and yours and mine—</p> +<p>With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver.</p> + +<p class="stanza">You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy.</p> +<p>You never saw such very April eyes.</p> +<p>She sang him sorrow’s song to make him wary,</p> +<p>She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise.</p> + +<p class="stanza"><i>The first stone is love, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you.</i></p> +<p><i>The fifth stone shall not fail you</i>.</p> + +<p class="stanza">For what is love, O lovers of my tribe?</p> +<p>And what is love, O women of my day?</p> +<p>Love is a farthing piece, a bloody bribe</p> +<p>Pressed in the palm of God—and thrown away.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And what is hate, O fierce and unforgiving?</p> +<p>And what shall hate achieve, when all is said?</p> +<p>A silly joke that cannot reach the living,</p> +<p>A spitting in the faces of the dead.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And what is knowledge, O young men who tasted</p> +<p>The reddest fruit on that forbidden tree?</p> +<p>Knowledge is but a painful effort wasted,</p> +<p>A bitter drowning in a bitter sea.</p> + +<p class="stanza">And what is prayer, O waiters for the answer?</p> +<p>And what is prayer, O seekers of the cause?</p> +<p>Prayer is the weary soul of Herod’s dancer,</p> +<p>Dancing before blind kings without applause.</p> + +<p class="stanza">The fifth stone is a magic stone, my David,</p> +<p>Made up of fear and failure, lies and loss.</p> +<p>Its heart is lead, and on its face is gravèd</p> +<p>A crookèd cross, my son, a crookèd cross.</p> + +<p class="stanza">It has no dignity to lend it value;</p> +<p>No purity—alas, it bears a stain.</p> +<p>You shall not give it gratitude, nor shall you</p> +<p>Recall it all your days, except with pain.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your groping!</p> +<p>Mock at your betters with an upward chin!</p> +<p>And when the moment has gone by for hoping,</p> +<p>Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, and win.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful laughter;</p> +<p>Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your wine.</p> +<p>Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what comes after;</p> +<p>The fifth stone shall not fail you, son of mine.</p> + +<p class="subtitle">Go forth, go forth, and slay the Philistine.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<br /><a name="page51"></a> +<br /> +<br /> +<p class="title"> +NEW YEAR, 1918</p> + +<p>A song I never heard</p> +<p>I must rehearse,</p> +<p>Counting each hour a word,</p> +<p>Counting each day a verse.</p> +<p>Not of my proper choice</p> +<p>Raise I my voice,</p> +<p>While others—fierce and strong—</p> +<p>Raise theirs to drown my song.</p> + +<p class="stanza">Must I then sing aloud,</p> +<p>Faint as a bird,</p> +<p>And, like a bird, be proud</p> +<p>To sing—to sing unheard?</p> +<p>Weary and very weak,</p> +<p>Shall I then seek</p> +<p>A hearing, idiot-wise,</p> +<p>From the unhearing skies?</p> + +<p class="stanza">Drowning my whispered dreams,</p> +<p>Great voices cry.</p> +<p>They sing their songs, it seems,</p> +<p>With better heart than I.</p> +<p>Hush—I can hear Death sing—</p> +<p>“<i>Here is my sting</i>.”</p> +<p>And the Grave echo—“<i>See</i>,</p> +<p><i>Here is my victory</i>“</p> + +<p class="stanza">To-night the heavens bend</p> +<p>A little nearer.</p> +<p>The singer is my friend,</p> +<p>And I—at last—the hearer.</p> +<p>No more to sing alone</p> +<p>A song unknown,—</p> +<p>Hush—very tense and thin,</p> +<p>The dawn-like notes begin. </p> +<br /> +<br /> + + +<p class="stanza">THE END</p> +</div> +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> +<br /> +<br /> +<p align="center"><i>Crown 8vo. 6s. net</i>.</p> + +<p align="center"><b><big>I POSE</big></b></p> + +<p align="center">BY</p> + +<p align="center"><b>STELLA BENSON</b></p> + +<p>Sir Henry Lucy writes: “One of the brightest, most +original, and best-written books that have come my way for a long +time.” </p> + +<p>“Even the dullest can hardly fail to respond to the +brilliant humour of the book. As the mature work of an experienced +author it would have been a remarkable achievement; being ‘the +first book of a new writer’ it is an astonishing +performance.”—<i>Daily Graphic</i>.</p> + +<p>“This book is a fantasy, an absurdity, a dream charged with +purpose; it has wit and humour, and some deep feeling covered with +the gossamer of irresponsibility; it is an act of rebellion, an +edged complaint, a protest touched with flame ... There are epigrams +and sentences that read like a sob or a stab.”—<i> +Daily Chronicle.</i></p> + +<p>“For its sheer cleverness the book is a delightful +thing.”—<i>Daily News</i>.</p> + +<p align="center">LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. </p> + +<hr /> + +<p align="center"> <i>Crown 8vo. 6s. net</i>.</p> + +<p align="center"><b><big>THIS IS THE END</big></b></p> + +<p align="center">BY</p> + +<p align="center"><b>STELLA BENSON</b></p> + +<p>“Miss Benson has a delicious sense of humour, and her way +of describing people and things is most refreshing. With her +sympathy, her realism, her wit and ability, it would seem that Miss +Benson’s possibilities are limitless.”—<i>The +Bookman</i>.</p> + +<p>“In her second book she not only makes good, but betrays a +ripening talent.”—<i>Daily Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>“The book shows one thing very clearly, that Miss Benson is +a force to be reckoned with.”—<i>Pall Mall +Gazette</i>.</p> + +<p>“It is the second step of a very brilliant beginning ... +You will be foolish if you miss this +book.”—<i>Punch</i>.</p> + +<p>“She has unusual originality, illuminating wit, deep +feeling, and a gift for startling epigram.”—<i>Daily +Graphic</i>.</p> + + +<p align="center">LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.</p> + +<br /> +<br /> +<hr class="full" /> + +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 12643-h.txt or 12643-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/4/12643">https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/4/12643</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Twenty + +Author: Stella Benson + +Release Date: June 17, 2004 [eBook #12643] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TWENTY*** + + +E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Susan Lucy, and Project Gutenberg +Distributed Proofreaders + + + +TWENTY + +BY + +STELLA BENSON + +Author of "This Is the End," "I Pose" + +1918 + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +Almost all the verses in this book have appeared before, the +majority of them included in two books, _I Pose_ and _This is +the End_. Messrs. Macmillan, who published these, have been kind +in raising no objection to re-publication. I have also to thank the +Editors of the _Athenaeum, Everyman_, and the _Pall Mall +Gazette_ for allowing me to reprint verses. + +The title of the book has no reference to the writer's age. + +S.B. + + + + + + +CONTENTS + PAGE + +CHRISTMAS, 1917 1 +THE SECRET DAY 3 +SONG 6 +THE ORCHARD 8 +THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY 11 +SONG 13 +WORDS 15 +REDNECK'S SONG 17 +TO THE UNBORN 19 +THE NEWER ZION 21 +TWO WOMEN SING 26 +THE WOMAN ALONE 28 +THE INEVITABLE 30 +THE DOG TUPMAN 32 +SAINT BRIDE 34 +THE SLAVE OF GOD 36 +TRUE PROMISES 40 +THE CORNISHMAN 43 +FIVE SMOOTH STONES 45 +NEW YEAR, 1918 51 + + + + + + + CHRISTMAS, 1917 + + + A key no thief can steal, no time can rust; + A faery door, adventurous and golden; + A palace, perfect to our eyes--Ah must + Our eyes be holden? + + Has the past died before this present sin? + Has this most cruel age already stoned + To martyrdom that magic Day, within + Those halls, enthroned? + + No. Through the dancing of the young spring rain, + Through the faint summer, and the autumn's burning, + Our still immortal Day has heard again + Our steps returning. + + + + + THE SECRET DAY + + + My yesterday has gone, has gone and left me tired, + And now to-morrow comes and beats upon the door; + So I have built To-day, the day that I desired, + Lest joy come not again, lest peace return no more, + Lest comfort come no more. + + So I have built To-day, a proud and perfect day, + And I have built the towers of cliffs upon the sands; + The foxgloves and the gorse I planted on my way; + The thyme, the velvet thyme, grew up beneath my hands, + Grew pink beneath my hands. + + So I have built To-day, more precious than a dream; + And I have painted peace upon the sky above; + And I have made immense and misty seas, that seem + More kind to me than life, more fair to me than love-- + More beautiful than love. + + And I have built a house--a house upon the brink + Of high and twisted cliffs; the sea's low singing fills it; + And there my Secret Friend abides, and there I think + I'll hide my heart away before to-morrow kills it-- + A cold to-morrow kills it. + + Yes, I have built To-day, a wall against To-morrow, + So let To-morrow knock--I shall not be afraid, + For none shall give me death, and none shall give me sorrow, + And none shall spoil this darling day that I have made. + No storm shall stir my sea. No night but mine shall shade + This day that I have made. + + + + + SONG + + + There is the track my feet have worn + By which my fate may find me: + From that dim place where I was born + Those footprints run behind me. + Uncertain was the trail I left, + For--oh, the way was stormy; + But now this splendid sea has cleft + My journey from before me. + + Three things the sea shall never end, + Three things shall mock its power: + My singing soul, my Secret Friend, + And this, my perfect hour. + And you shall seek me till you reach + The tangled tide advancing, + And you shall find upon the beach + The traces of my dancing, + And in the air the happy speech + Of Secret Friends romancing. + + + + + THE ORCHARD + + + I will repent me of my ways; + I will come here and bury + Five thousand odd superfluous days + Beneath a flow'ring cherry. + + Between a pear and a cherry tree + My temple I will enter-- + My place, where even I may be + The altar and the centre. + + One altar to a thousand aisles, + A hundred thousand arches ... + The loud lamb-choir about me files, + The bleating bishop marches, + + The congregation kneels and nods, + The bishop leads its praises, + So I'll pray too, to their dim gods + Whose feet are decked with daisies: + + _Ah, let me not grow old. Ah, let + Me not grow old, and falter + In my delusion, or forget + My heart was once an altar. + Let me still think myself a star + With these my rays about me; + Pretend these green perspectives are + All purposeless without me._ + + _Ah, bid the sun stand still. Ah, bid + The coming night retire, + And all the good I ever did + Shall feed your altar fire; + The hour shall stand and sing your praise, + The minute shall adore you, + And my ten thousand unborn days + I'll sacrifice before you._ + + _Gods of great joy, and little grief, + See--I will wear as token + A pear leaf and a cherry leaf + Until this pledge be broken_.... + + Between a pear and a cherry tree + A cold hand touched my shoulder-- + _Ah, my false gods have forsaken me, + I am a minute older_. + + + + + THANKS TO MY WORLD FOR THE LOAN OF A FAIR DAY + + + That day you wrought for me + Shone, and was ended. + Perfect your thought for me, + Whom you befriended. + Such joy was new to me-- + New, and most splendid, + More than was due to me. + More than was due to me. + + Though I do wrong to you, + Having no power, + Singing no song to you, + Bringing no flower, + Yet does my youth again + Thrill, for the hour + Cometh in truth again. + Cometh in truth again. + + I shall possess to-day + All I have wanted, + All I lacked yesterday + Now shall be granted. + No longer dumb to you, + Changed and enchanted, + Singing I'll come to you. + Singing I'll come to you. + + I will amass for you + Very great treasure. + Swift years shall pass for you + Dancing for pleasure. + Time shall be slave to me, + Giving--full measure-- + All that you gave to me. + All that you gave to me. + + + + + SONG + + + If I have dared to surrender some imitation of splendour, + Something I knew that was tender, something I loved that was brave, + If in my singing I showed songs that I heard on my road, + Were they not debts that I owed, rather than gifts that I gave? + + If certain hours on their climb up the long ladder of time + Turned my confusion to rhyme, drove me to dare an attempt, + If by fair chance I might seem sometimes abreast of my theme, + Was I translating a dream? Was it a dream that you dreamt? + + High and miraculous skies bless and astonish my eyes; + All my dead secrets arise, all my dead stories come true. + Here is the Gate to the Sea. Once you unlocked it for me; + Now, since you gave me the key, shall I unlock it for you? + + + + + WORDS + + + Oh words, oh words, and shall you rule + The world? What is it but the tongue + That doth proclaim a man a fool, + So that his best songs go unsung, + So that his dreams are sent to school + And all die young. + + There pass the trav'lling dreams, and these + My soul adores--my words condemn-- + Oh, I would fall upon my knees + To kiss their golden garments' hem, + Yet words do lie in wait to seize + And murder them. + + To-night the swinging stars shall plumb + The silence of the sky. And herds + Of plumed winds like huntsmen come + To hunt with dreams the restless birds. + To-night the moon shall strike you dumb, + Oh words, oh words.... + + + + + REDNECK'S SONG + + + These thirty years + Old men have filled my ears + With middle-aged ideas + That never have been young, + They made me wise. + I learnt to whitewash lies. + I learnt to shut my eyes, + And hold my tongue. + + Damned Philistine. + And was it then so fine + To learn to draw the line. + (Is there a line to draw?) + And must I then + For threescore years and ten + Worship the laws of men + Who worshipped law? + + Those laws are dust + To-day, and yet I must + Be faithful still, and trust + In what dead men did prove. + Magic may kill + Their wisdom and their will, + Yet I must follow still + Their path ... my groove.... + + + + + TO THE UNBORN + + + Oh, bend your eyes, nor send your glance about. + Oh, watch your feet, nor stray beyond the kerb. + Oh, bind your heart lest it find secrets out. + For thus no punishment + Of magic shall disturb + Your very great content. + + Oh, shut your lips to words that are forbidden. + Oh, throw away your sword, nor think to fight. + Seek not the best, the best is better hidden. + Thus need you have no fear, + No terrible delight + Shall cross your path, my dear. + + Call no man foe, but never love a stranger. + Build up no plan, nor any star pursue. + Go forth with crowds; in loneliness is danger. + Thus nothing God can send, + And nothing God can do + Shall pierce your peace, my friend. + + + + + THE NEWER ZION + + + When I achieve the chestnut joke of dying, + When I slip through that Gate at Kensal Green, + Shall I go spoil the fantasy by prying + Behind the staging of this darling scene? + + Shall I--a cast-off puppet--seek to study + The Showman who manipulates the strings, + The Hand that paints the western drop-scene ruddy, + The prosy truths of all these faery things? + + Shall I--self-conscious by a glassy ocean-- + Stammer strange songs amid an alien host? + Or shall I not, refusing such promotion, + Bequeath to London my contented ghost? + + I will come back to my Eternal City; + Her fogs once more my countenance shall dim; + I will enliven your austere committee + With gossip gleaned among the cherubim. + + By day I'll tread again the sounding mazes, + By night I'll track the moths about the Park; + My feet shall fall among the dusky daisies, + Nor break nor bruise a petal in the dark. + + I will repeat old inexpensive orgies; + Drink nectar at the bun-shop in Shoreditch, + Or call for Nut-Ambrosia at St. George's, + And with a ghost-tip make the waitress rich. + + My soundless feet shall fly among the runners + Through the red thunders of a Zeppelin raid, + My still voice cheer the Anti-Aircraft gunners, + The fires shall glare--but I shall cast no shade. + + And if a Shadow, wading in the torrent + Of high excitement, snatch me from the riot-- + (Fool that he is)--and fumble with his warrant, + And hail a hearse, and beg me to "Go quiet," + + Mocking I'll go, and he shall be postillion, + Until we reach the Keeper of the Door: + "H'm ... Benson ... Stella ... militant civilian ... + There's some mistake, we've had this soul before...." + + * * * * * * + + Ah, none shall keep my soul from this its Zion; + Lost in the spaces I shall hear and bless + The splendid voice of London, like a lion + Calling its lover in the wilderness. + + + + + TWO WOMEN SING + + FIRST WOMAN + + + Oh woman--woman--woman,-- + Shall I to woman be a friend? + I deal with man, and when I can + Reclaim with interest all I lend. + Who but a witless gambler plays + For farthing stakes these golden days? + No, woman--woman--woman-- + Must only play the game that pays. + + + + SECOND WOMAN + + + Oh woman--woman--woman,-- + To-morrow woman shall awake. + She shall arise, and realise + The goodly value of her stake. + And she shall lend her loan, and claim + Her rightful interest on the same. + So woman--woman--woman-- + Shall learn at last the paying game. + + + + + THE WOMAN ALONE + + + My eyes are girt with outer mists; + My ears sing shrill, and this I bless; + My finger-nails do bite my fists + In ecstasy of loneliness. + This I intend, and this I want, + That--passing--you may only mark + A dumb soul with its confidant + Entombed together in the dark. + + The hoarse church-bells of London ring; + The hoarser horns of London croak; + The poor brown lives of London cling + About the poor brown streets like smoke; + The deep air stands above my roof + Like water, to the floating stars. + My Friend and I--we sit aloof,-- + We sit and smile, and bind our scars. + + For you may wound and you may kill-- + It's such a little thing to die-- + Your cruel God may work his will, + We do not care, my Friend and I. + Though, at the gate of Paradise, + Peter the Saint withhold his keys, + My Friend and I--we have no eyes + For Heav'n or Hell--or dreams like these.... + + + + + THE INEVITABLE + + + _There is a sword, a fatal blade, + Unthwarted, subtle as the air, + And I could meet it unafraid + If I might only meet it fair. + Yet how I wonder why the Smith + Who wrought that steel of subtle grain + Should also be contented with + So blunt and mean a thing as pain_. + + The stars and fire-flies dance in rings. + The fire-flies set my heart alight, + Like fingers, writing magic things + In flame, upon the wall of night. + There is high meaning in the skies-- + (The stars and fire-flies--high and low--) + And all the spangled world is wise + With knowledge that I almost know. + + To-morrow I will don my cloak + Of opal-grey, and I will stand + Where the palm-shadows stride like smoke + Across the dazzle of the sand. + To-morrow I will throw this blind + Blind whiteness from my soul away, + And pluck this blackness from my mind, + And only leave the medium--grey. + + To-morrow I will cry for gains + Upon the blue and brazen sky. + The precious venom in my veins + To-morrow will be parched and dry. + To-morrow it shall be my goal + To throw myself away from me, + To lose the outline of my soul + Against the greyness of the sea. + + + + + THE DOG TUPMAN + + + Oh little friend of half my days, + My little friend, who followed me + Along those crooked sullen ways + That only you had eyes to see. + + You felt the same. You understood + You too, defensive and morose, + Encloaked your secret puppyhood-- + Your secret heart--and hid them close. + + For I alone have seen you serve, + Disciple of those early springs, + With ears awry and tail a-curve + You lost yourself in puppy things. + + And you saw me. You bore in mind + The clean and sunny things I felt + When, throwing hate along the wind, + I flashed the lantern at my belt. + + The moment passed, and we returned + To barren words and old cold truth, + Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned, + We two had seen each other's youth. + + When filthy pain did wrap me round + Your upright ears I always saw, + And on my outflung hand I found + The blessing of your horny paw; + + And yet--oh impotence of men-- + My paw, more soft but not more wise, + Old friend, was lacking to you when + You looked your crisis in the eyes.... + + You shared my youth, oh faithful friend, + You let me share your puppyhood; + So, if I failed you in the end, + My friend, my friend, you understood. + + + + + SAINT BRIDE + + + About your brow a starry wreath, + About your feet a wilderness, + Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath + The tangled bondage of the press. + Set like a saint within a niche-- + A strait and narrow niche--you hide, + And weave a veil about you, which + Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man + Are sceptic and satirical. + "_What, little saint, and still you scan + Old heaven for that miracle?_" + Oh heart deceived, yet harmed not, + Child-widow of a truth that died, + Bearer in mind of things forgot, + Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + About you and about you thunders + The wise young public on its 'bus, + Exploding all your faery blunders, + Explaining neatly--"_Thus and thus + Hath science banished heaven now, + And see--your Groom is crucified--_" + On heaven's breast you lean your brow + And laugh, and love--Saint Bride, Saint Bride. + + + + + THE SLAVE OF GOD + + + The finest fruit God ever made + Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue. + It hangs above the steel sea blade + That cuts the world's great globe in two. + + The keenest eye that ever saw + Stares out of Heaven into mine, + Spins out my heart, and seems to draw + My soul's elastic very fine. + + The greatest beacon ever fired + Stands up on Heaven's Hill to show + The limit of the thing desired, + Beyond which man may never go. + + * * * * * * + + At midnight, when the night did dance + Along the hours that led to morning, + I saw a little boat advance + Towards the great moon's beacon warning. + + (The moon, God's Slave, who lights her torch, + Lest men should slip between the bars, + And run aground on Heav'n, and scorch + To death upon a bank of stars.) + + The little boat, on leaning keel, + Sang up the mountains of the sea, + Bearing a man who hoped to steal + God's Slave from out eternity. + + + "_My love, I see you through my tears. + No pity in your face I see. + I have sailed far across the years: + Stretch out, stretch out your arms to me._ + + "_My love, I have an island seen, + So shadowed, God's most piercing star + Shall never see where we have been, + Shall never whisper where we are._ + + "_There we will wander, you and I, + Down guilty and delightful ways, + While palm-trees plait their fingers high + Against your God's enormous gaze._ + + "_For oh--the joy of two and two + Your Paradise shall never see, + The ecstasy of me and you, + The white delight of you and me._ + + "_I know the penalty--the clutch + Of God's great rocks upon my keel. + Drowned in the ocean of Too Much-- + So ends your thief--yet let me steal...._" + + The Slave of God she froze her face, + The Slave of God she paid no heed, + And, thund'ring down high Heaven's space, + Loud angels mocked the sailor's greed. + + The diamond sun arose, and tossed + A billion gems across the sea. + "_The Slave of God is lost, is lost, + The Slave of God is lost to me...._" + + He grounded on the common beach, + He trod the little towns of men, + And God removed from his reach + The cup of Heaven's passion then, + And gave him vulgar love and speech, + And gave him threescore years and ten. + + + + + TRUE PROMISES + + + You promised War and Thunder and Romance. + You promised true, but we were very blind + And very young, and in our ignorance + We never called to mind + That truth is seldom kind. + + You promised love, immortal as a star. + You promised true, yet how the truth can lie! + For now we grope for hands where no hands are, + And, deathless, still we cry, + Nor hope for a reply. + + You promised harvest and a perfect yield. + You promised true, for on the harvest morn, + Behold a reaper strode across the field, + And man of woman born + Was gathered in as corn. + + You promised honour and ordeal by flame. + You promised true. In joy we trembled lest + We should be found unworthy when it came; + But--oh--we never guessed + The fury of the test! + + You promised friends and songs and festivals. + You promised true. Our friends, who still are young, + Assemble for their feasting in those halls + Where speaks no human tongue. + And thus our songs are sung. + + + + + THE CORNISHMAN + + + At sunset, when the high sea span + About the rocks a web of foam, + I saw the ghost of a Cornishman + Come home. + I saw the ghost of a Cornishman + Run from the weariness of war, + I heard him laughing as he ran + Across his unforgotten shore. + The great cliff, gilded by the west, + Received him as an honoured guest. + The green sea, shining in the bay, + Did drown his dreadful yesterday. + + Come home, come home, you million ghosts, + The honest years shall make amends, + The sun and moon shall be your hosts, + The everlasting hills your friends. + And some shall seek their mothers' faces, + And some shall run to trysting places, + And some to towns, and others yet + Shall find great forests in their debt. + Oh, I would siege the golden coasts + Of space, and climb high heaven's dome, + So I might see those million ghosts + Come home. + + + + + FIVE SMOOTH STONES + + + It was young David, lord of sheep and cattle, + Pursued his fate, the April fields among, + Singing a song of solitary battle, + A loud mad song, for he was very young. + + Vivid the air--and something more than vivid,-- + Tall clouds were in the sky--and something more,-- + The light horizon of the spring was livid + With a steel smile that showed the teeth of war. + + It was young David mocked the Philistine. + It was young David laughed beside the river. + There came his mother--his and yours and mine-- + With five smooth stones, and dropped them in his quiver. + + You never saw so green-and-gold a fairy. + You never saw such very April eyes. + She sang him sorrow's song to make him wary, + She gave him five smooth stones to make him wise. + + _The first stone is love, and that shall fail you. + The second stone is hate, and that shall fail you. + The third stone is knowledge, and that shall fail you. + The fourth stone is prayer, and that shall fail you. + The fifth stone shall not fail you_. + + For what is love, O lovers of my tribe? + And what is love, O women of my day? + Love is a farthing piece, a bloody bribe + Pressed in the palm of God--and thrown away. + + And what is hate, O fierce and unforgiving? + And what shall hate achieve, when all is said? + A silly joke that cannot reach the living, + A spitting in the faces of the dead. + + And what is knowledge, O young men who tasted + The reddest fruit on that forbidden tree? + Knowledge is but a painful effort wasted, + A bitter drowning in a bitter sea. + + And what is prayer, O waiters for the answer? + And what is prayer, O seekers of the cause? + Prayer is the weary soul of Herod's dancer, + Dancing before blind kings without applause. + + The fifth stone is a magic stone, my David, + Made up of fear and failure, lies and loss. + Its heart is lead, and on its face is graved + A crooked cross, my son, a crooked cross. + + It has no dignity to lend it value; + No purity--alas, it bears a stain. + You shall not give it gratitude, nor shall you + Recall it all your days, except with pain. + + Oh, bless your blindness, glory in your groping! + Mock at your betters with an upward chin! + And when the moment has gone by for hoping, + Sling your fifth stone, O son of mine, and win. + + Grief do I give you, grief and dreadful laughter; + Sackcloth for banner, ashes in your wine. + Go forth, go forth, nor ask me what comes after; + The fifth stone shall not fail you, son of mine. + + GO FORTH, GO FORTH, AND SLAY THE PHILISTINE. + + + + + NEW YEAR, 1918 + + + A song I never heard + I must rehearse, + Counting each hour a word, + Counting each day a verse. + Not of my proper choice + Raise I my voice, + While others--fierce and strong-- + Raise theirs to drown my song. + + Must I then sing aloud, + Faint as a bird, + And, like a bird, be proud + To sing--to sing unheard? + Weary and very weak, + Shall I then seek + A hearing, idiot-wise, + From the unhearing skies? + + Drowning my whispered dreams, + Great voices cry. + They sing their songs, it seems, + With better heart than I. + Hush--I can hear Death sing-- + "_Here is my sting_." + And the Grave echo--"_See, + Here is my victory_" + + To-night the heavens bend + A little nearer. + The singer is my friend, + And I--at last--the hearer. + No more to sing alone + A song unknown,-- + Hush--very tense and thin, + The dawn-like notes begin. + + + * * * * * + + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. + + I POSE + + BY + + STELLA BENSON + + Sir Henry Lucy writes: "One of the brightest, most original, and + best-written books that have come my way for a long time." + + "Even the dullest can hardly fail to respond to the brilliant + humour of the book. As the mature work of an experienced author it + would have been a remarkable achievement; being 'the first book of + a new writer' it is an astonishing performance."--_Daily Graphic_. + + "This book is a fantasy, an absurdity, a dream charged with + purpose; it has wit and humour, and some deep feeling covered with + the gossamer of irresponsibility; it is an act of rebellion, an + edged complaint, a protest touched with flame.... There are + epigrams and sentences that read like a sob or a stab."--_ Daily + Chronicle._ + + "For its sheer cleverness the book is a delightful thing."--_Daily + News_. + + + LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. + + + + + Crown 8vo. 6s. net. + + THIS IS THE END + + BY + + STELLA BENSON + + "Miss Benson has a delicious sense of humour, and her way of + describing people and things is most refreshing. With her + sympathy, her realism, her wit and ability, it would seem that + Miss Benson's possibilities are limitless."--_The Bookman_. + + "In her second book she not only makes good, but betrays a + ripening talent."--_Daily Telegraph._ + + "The book shows one thing very clearly, that Miss Benson is a + force to be reckoned with."--_Pall Mall Gazette_. + + "It is the second step of a very brilliant beginning ... 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