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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> |