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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/19170-8.txt b/19170-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9168861 --- /dev/null +++ b/19170-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1478 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Primavera, by +Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +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: Primavera + Poems by Four Authors + +Author: Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +Release Date: September 4, 2006 [EBook #19170] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + PRIMAVERA: POEMS + + + BY FOUR AUTHORS + + + + + + + PORTLAND MAINE PUBLISHED + BY THOMAS B MOSHER AT XLV + EXCHANGE STREET MDCCCC + + * * * * * + + + + +PREFACE + + + _Primavera: Poems, by Four Authors. Oxford: + Published by B. H. Blackwell, Broad Street. + MDCCCXC._ (Fcap 8vo, pp. 43.) + +Such is the title of a little 'book of verses' that at the time +found favour in the eyes of a few discerning critics, and then, +apparently, was forgotten. As originally issued its dark brown +paper wrapper was adorned with a simple but effective woodcut +design by Mr. Selwyn Image, which we have reproduced on our first +half-title. Even more fortunate has been the discovery of a +signed review in the pages of the _Academy_ for August 9, 1890, +by the late John Addington Symonds. As a preface nothing could be +better. And in this connexion the lines which we prefix from +Guarini are also singularly appropriate. For these songs of Youth +are still worth while; they thrill and fill us as of yesterday +with their haunting sense of vanished love, of + + 'Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips + Bidding adieu.' + + * * * * * + + + + +PREFACE + + +This little book was written by four friends, three of them +under-graduates at Oxford, and all of them penetrated with the +spirit of the higher culture of our time. The poems, it is clear, +have been carefully selected; and, it is probable, have been +diligently polished. There is not one which is not remarkable for +delicacy of style and conscious aiming after excellence in art. +Whether these qualities promise well for future achievement and +development is a question open to debate. But there can be no +doubt that in _Primavera_ we possess another of those tiny +verse-books like _Ionica_, or Mr. Percy Pinkerton's _Galeazzo_, +which will not lose in freshness and in perfume as the years go +by. + +The poems have the distinction of making one wish to be +acquainted with their authors. Though they differ a good deal in +mental tone, perhaps also somewhat in literary merit, they +possess marked common characteristics: a restrained refinement, a +subdued reserve, a gentle melancholy; the note of the latest +Anglican æsthetic school. We find no humour, no _Sturm und +Drang_, no inequalities and incoherences of passion. Even where +it is obvious that the emotion has been intense, possibly of a +rare and peculiar strain, as in Mr. Binyon's "Testamentum Amoris" +and Mr. Phillips's "To a Lost Love," the expression of it obeys +no violence of impulse. A tender tone of regret, rather than of +acute grief, steeps these stanzas (to quote one instance) +addressed to a friend removed into the spiritual world by death. + + "Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere + Thou art a thing apart, + Losing in saner happiness + This madness of the heart. + + "And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel + A passing breath, a pain; + Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven + Had oped and closed again. + + "And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns, + The solemn hymns, shall cease; + A moment half remember me; + Then turn away to peace." + +It would be invidious to institute critical comparisons between +the styles of these four friends and their respective merits. It +may, however, be remarked that Mr. Manmohan Ghose's work possesses +a peculiar interest on account of its really notable command of +the subtleties of English prosody and diction, combined with just +a touch of foreign feeling. The artful employment of imperfect +rhymes in "Raymond and Ida" illustrates what I mean. Occasionally, +too, Mr. Ghose produces exactly the right phrase by means of a +felicitous simplicity. Notice the line which I have italicised in +the following stanza: + + "In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier, + Eve after eve; and still + _The glorious stars remember to appear;_ + The roses on the hill + Are fragrant as before; + Only thy face, of all that's dear, + I shall see nevermore!" + +Take, again, these two lines: + + "Forget the shining of the stars, forget + The vernal visitation of the rose." + +There is but one piece of blank verse in the book. This prologue +to "Orestes," by Mr. Stephen Phillips, has strength, is firm in +outline, somewhat tardy in movement, fit for sonorous declamation. +The gravity which I have indicated as a ruling quality of all +these youthful compositions makes itself felt here in its proper +place. We might have wished, perhaps, for more of joyous accent in +the ode to "Youth," by Mr. Laurence Binyon, which dwells less on +the rapture of youth than on its sadness--the melancholy of +Theognis over youth's decay: + + "O bright new-comer, filled with thoughts of joy, + Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains, + Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains + Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy? + Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears, + Wronged love, spoiled hope, mistrust and ageing fears, + Eternal longing for one perfect friend, + And unavailing wishes without end?" + +Mr. Cripps alone permits his Muse a gravely jocund note in his +"Seasons' Comfort." He, too, of the four fellow-versifiers shows +the greater aptitude for experiments, though it may perhaps be +felt that his touch is nowhere quite so sure, nor his artistic +feeling so direct as theirs. + +It is difficult to lay the critic's hand lightly enough upon +poems like these, or to make it clear what particular attraction +they possess. With all the charm of rathe spring-flowers, they +suggest the possibilities of varied personality not yet +accentuated in the authors. Let us hope that the four Muses of +the four friends will not, like the primroses, + + "die unmarried ere they can behold + Bright Phoebus in his strength," + +but that we shall profit by their summer-songs, while ever +remaining grateful for their _Primavera_. + +JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. + +_August_, 1890. + + * * * * * + + + + +PRIMAVERA + + + O Primavera, gioventù de l' anno, + Bella madre de' fiori, + D'erbe novelle e di novelli amori, + Tu torni ben; ma teco + Non tornano i sereni + E fortunati dì de le mie gioje: + Tu torni ben, tu torni, + Ma teco altro non torna + Che del perduto mio caro tesoro + La rimembranza misera e dolente: + Tu quella sei, tu quella, + Ch'era pur dianzi si vezzosa e bella; + Ma non son io già quel ch'un tempo fui, + Sì caro a gli occhi altrui. + +GUARINI. _Pastor Fido_, Atto iii, Sc. I. + + + + +POEMS + + + No Muse will I invoke; for she is fled! + Lo! where she sits, breathing, yet all but dead. + She loved the heavens of old, she thought them fair; + And dream'd of Gods in Tempe's golden air. + For her the wind had voice, the sea its cry; + She deem'd heroic Greece could never die. + Breathless was she, to think what nymphs might play + In clear green depths, deep-shaded from the day; + She thought the dim and inarticulate god + Was beautiful, nor knew she man a sod; + But hoped what seem'd might not be all untrue, + And feared to look beyond the eternal blue. + But now the heavens are bared of dreams divine. + Still murmurs she, like Autumn, _This was mine!_ + How should she face the ghastly, jarring Truth, + That questions all, and tramples without ruth? + And still she clings to Ida of her dreams, + And sobs, _Ah! let the world be what it seems!_ + Then the shy nymph shall softly come again; + The world, once more, make music for her pain. + For, sitting in the dim and ghostly night, + She fain would stay the strong approach of light; + While later bards cleave to her, and believe + That in her sorrow she can still conceive! + Oh, let her dream; still lovely is her sigh; + Oh, rouse her not, or she shall surely die. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + + + +YOUTH + + + When life begins anew, + And Youth, from gathering flowers, + From vague delights, rapt musings, twilight hours, + Turns restless, seeking some great deed to do, + To sum his foster'd dreams; when that fresh birth + Unveils the real, the throng'd and spacious Earth, + And he awakes to those more ample skies, + By other aims and by new powers possess'd: + How deeply, then, his breast + Is fill'd with pangs of longing! how his eyes + Drink in the enchanted prospect! Fair it lies + Before him, with its plains expanding vast, + Peopled with visions, and enrich'd with dreams; + Dim cities, ancient forests, winding streams, + Places resounding in the famous past, + A kingdom ready to his hand! + How like a bride Life seems to stand + In welcome, and with festal robes array'd! + He feels her loveliness pervade + And pierce him with inexplicable sweetness; + And, in her smiles delighting, and the fires + Of his own pulses, passionate soul! + Measures his strength by his desires, + And the wide future by their fleetness, + As his thought leaps to the long-distant goal. + + So eagerly across that unknown span + Of years he gazes: what, to him, + Are bounds and barriers, tales of Destiny, + Death, and the fabled impotence of man? + Already, in his marching dream, + Men at his sun-like coming seem + As with an inspiration stirr'd, and he + To kindle with new thoughts degenerate nations, + In sordid cares immersed so long; + Thrill'd with ethereal exultations + And a victorious expectancy, + Even such as swell'd the breasts of Bacchus' throng, + When that triumphal burst of joy was hurl'd + Upon the wondering world; + When from the storied, sacred East afar, + Down Indian gorges clothed in green, + With flower-rein'd tigers and with ivory car + He came, the youthful god; + Beautiful Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, his hair + Blown on the wind, and flush'd limbs bare, + And lips apart, and radiant eyes, + And ears that caught the coming melodies, + As wave on wave of revellers swept abroad; + Wreathed with vine-leaves, shouting, trampling onwards, + With toss'd timbrel and loud tambourine. + + Alas! the disenchanting years have roll'd + On hearts and minds becoming cold: + Mirth is gone from us; and the world is old. + + O bright new-comer, fill'd with thoughts of joy, + Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains, + Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains + Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy? + Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears, + Wrong'd love, spoil'd hope, mistrust and ageing fears, + Eternal longing for one perfect friend, + And unavailing wishes without end? + Thou proud and pure of spirit, how must thou bear + To have thine infinite hates and loves confined, + School'd, and despised? How keep unquench'd and free + 'Mid others' commerce and economy + Such ample visions, oft in alien air + Tamed to the measure of the common kind? + How hard for thee, swept on, for ever hurl'd + From hour to hour, bewilder'd and forlorn, + To move with clear eyes and with steps secure, + To keep the light within, to fitly scorn + Those all too possible and easy goals, + Trivial ambitions of soon-sated souls! + And, patient in thy purpose, to endure + The pity and the wisdom of the world. + + Vain, vain such warning to those happy ears! + Disturb not their delight! By unkind powers + Doom'd to keep pace with the relentless Hours, + He, too, ere long, shall feel Earth's glory change; + Familiar names shall take an accent strange, + A deeper meaning, a more human tone; + No more pass'd by, unheeded or unknown, + The things that then shall be beheld through tears. + + Yet, O just Nature, thou + Who, if men's hearts be hard, art always mild; + O fields and streams, and places undefiled, + Let your sweet airs be ever on his brow, + Remember still your child. + Thou too, O human world, if old desires, + If thoughts, not alien once, can move thee now, + Teach him not yet that idly he aspires + Where thou hast fail'd; not soon let it be plain, + That all who seek in thee for nobler fires, + For generous passion, spend their hopes in vain: + Lest that insidious Fate, foe of mankind, + Who ever waits upon our weakness, try + With whispers his unnerved and faltering mind, + Palsy his powers; for she has spells to dry, + Like the March blast, his blood, turn flesh to stone, + And, conjuring action with necessity, + Freeze the quick will, and make him all her own. + + Come, then, as ever, like the Wind at morning! + Joyous, O Youth, in the aged world renew + Freshness to feel the eternities around it, + Rains, stars, and clouds, light and the sacred dew. + The strong sun shines above thee: + That strength, that radiance bring! + If Winter come to Winter, + When shall men hope for Spring? + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + * * * * * + + 'Tis my twentieth year: dim, now, youth stretches behind me; + Breaking fresh at my feet, lies, like an ocean, the world. + And despised seem, now, those quiet fields I have travell'd: + Eager to thee I turn, Life, and thy visions of joy. + Fame I see, with her wreath, far off approaching to crown me; + Love, whose starry eyes fever my heart with desire: + And impassion'd I yearn for the future, all unconscious, + Ah, poor dreamer! what ills life in its circle enfolds. + Not more restless the boy, whose eager, confident bosom + The wide, unknown sea fills with a hunger to roam. + Often beside the surge of the desolate ocean he paces; + Ingrate, dreams of a sky brighter, serener than his. + Passionate soul! light holds he a mother's tearful entreaties, + Lightly leaves he behind all the sad faces of home; + Never again, perchance, to behold them; lost in the tempest, + Or on some tropic shore dying in fever and pain! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +TESTAMENTUM AMORIS + + + I cannot raise my eyelids up from sleep, + But I am visited with thoughts of you; + Slumber has no refreshment half so deep + As the sweet morn, that wakes my heart anew. + + I cannot put away life's trivial care, + But you straightway steal on me with delight: + My purest moments are your mirror fair; + My deepest thought finds you the truth most bright. + + You are the lovely regent of my mind, + The constant sky to my unresting sea; + Yet, since 'tis you that rule me, I but find + A finer freedom in such tyranny. + + Were the world's anxious kingdoms govern'd so, + Lost were their wrongs, and vanish'd half their woe! + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + + + +AMAVIMUS, AMAMUS, AMABIMUS + + + Persephone, Persephone! + Still I fancy I can see + Thee amid the daffodils. + Golden wealth thy basket fills; + Golden blossoms at thy breast; + Golden hair that shames the West; + Golden sunlight round thy head! + Ah! the golden years have fled; + Thee have reft, and me have left + Here alone, thy loss to mourn. + + Persephone, Persephone! + Still I fancy I can see + Her, as white and still she lies: + Death has woo'd and won his prize. + White the blossoms at her breast; + White and still her face at rest; + White the moonbeams round her head. + Ah! the wintry years have fled; + Comfort lent and patience sent, + And my grief is easier borne. + + Persephone, Persephone! + Still in dreams thou com'st to me; + Every night art at my side, + Half my bride, and half Death's bride! + Golden blossoms at thy breast; + Golden hair that shames the West; + Golden sunlight circling thee! + Half of gold the lone years flee: + Night is glad, though day is sad, + Till I go where thou art gone. + +ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. + + + + +TO A LOST LOVE + + + I cannot look upon thy grave, + Though there the rose is sweet: + Better to hear the long wave wash + These wastes about my feet! + + Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live + A spirit, though afar, + With a deep hush about thee, like + The stillness round a star? + + Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere + Thou art a thing apart, + Losing in saner happiness + This madness of the heart. + + And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel + A passing breath, a pain; + Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven + Had oped and closed again. + + And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns, + The solemn hymns, shall cease; + A moment half remember me: + Then turn away to peace. + + But oh, for evermore thy look, + Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone, + Thy sweet and wayward earthliness, + Dear trivial things, are gone! + + Therefore I look not on thy grave, + Though there the rose is sweet; + But rather hear the loud wave wash + These wastes about my feet. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + + + +RAYMOND AND IDA + + +_Raymond._ + + Dearest, that sit'st in dreams, + Through the window look, this way. + How changed and desolate seems + The world, Ida, to-day! + Heavy and low the sky is glooming: + Winter is coming! + +_Ida._ + + My dreaming heart is stirr'd: + Sadly the winter comes! + The wind is loud: how weird, + Heard in these darken'd rooms! + Speak to me, Raymond; ease this dread: + I am afraid, afraid. + +_Raymond._ + + Love, what is this? Like snow + Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear. + What ails my darling so? + What is it thou dost hear? + Close, close, thy soft arms cling to mine: + Tears on thy lashes shine. + +_Ida._ + + Hark! love, the wind wails by + The wet October trees, + Swaying them mournfully: + The wet leaves shower and cease. + And hark! how blows the weary rain, + Against the shaken pane. + +_Raymond._ + + Ah, yes, the world is drear + Outside; there is no rest. + But what can Ida fear, + Shelter'd upon my breast? + Heed not the storm-blast, beating wild, + I love thee, love thee, child. + +_Ida._ + + Thy breath is in my hair, + Thy kisses on my cheek; + Yet I scarce feel them there: + Faintly I hear thee speak. + My heart is dreaming far away, + In some sad, future day. + +_Raymond._ + + The future? In the mist + Of years what dost thou see? + O let that dark land rest: + Come back, come back to me! + Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem + Thine eyes; so deep they dream. + +_Ida._ + + To leave the blessed light: + Cold in the grave to lie! + No voice, no human sight: + Darkness and apathy! + To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er; + But ah, to love no more! + +_Raymond._ + + What dream is this, alas! + O, if but for my sake, + Wake, darling; let this pass: + Ida, dear Ida, wake! + I cannot bear to see those tears: + Thy sad tones hurt my ears. + +_Ida._ + + Will he forget me, then, + When I am gone away? + 'Twere best: to give him pain, + Let not my memory stay. + But O, even there, in Hades dim, + I would remember him. + +_Raymond._ + + Thou griev'st thyself in vain: + Sweet love, be comforted. + Come, leave this world of rain; + To the bright hearth turn thy head. + We have our fireside still, the same: + How cheerful is the flame! + + Though darkness round us press; + Though wild, without, it blows; + Here sit thee, while thy face + In the happy firelight glows: + Clasp'd in my arms, lie tranquil here; + And listen, Ida dear. + + As, from that outlook chill, + The glad hearth meets our sight, + A charm for every ill + We bear, a charm of might. + Ah, 'gainst its power not death shall stay! + Know'st thou it, darling, say? + + Thou smilest! Joy, I see, + Dawns in thine eyes again: + Those cheeks of ivory + Their own sweet bloom regain. + Thou know'st that heavenly charm; how well, + Thy happy kisses tell! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +PSYCHE + + + She is not fair, as some are fair, + Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay: + On her clear brow, come grief what may, + She suffers not too stern an air; + But, grave in silence, sweet in speech, + Loves neither mockery nor disdain; + Gentle to all, to all doth teach + The charm of deeming nothing vain. + + She join'd me: and we wander'd on; + And I rejoiced, I cared not why, + Deeming it immortality + To walk with such a soul alone. + Primroses pale grew all around, + Violets, and moss, and ivy wild; + Yet, drinking sweetness from the ground, + I was but conscious that she smiled. + + The wind blew all her shining hair + From her sweet brows; and she, the while, + Put back her lovely head, to smile + On my enchanted spirit there. + Jonquils and pansies round her head + Gleam'd softly; but a heavenlier hue + Upon her perfect cheek was shed, + And in her eyes a purer blue. + + There came an end to break the spell; + She murmur'd something in my ear; + The words fell vague, I did not hear, + And ere I knew, I said farewell; + And homeward went, with happy heart + And spirit dwelling in a gleam, + Rapt to a Paradise apart, + With all the world become a dream. + + Yet now, too soon, the world's strong strife + Breaks on me pitiless again; + The pride of passion, hopes made vain, + The wounds, the weariness, of life. + And losing that forgetful sphere, + For some less troubled world I sigh, + If not divine, more free, more clear, + Than this poor, soil'd humanity. + + But when, in trances of the night, + Wakeful, my lonely bed I keep, + And linger at the gate of Sleep, + Fearing, lest dreams deny me light; + Her image comes into the gloom, + With her pale features moulded fair, + Her breathing beauty, morning bloom, + My heart's delight, my tongue's despair. + + With loving hand she touches mine, + Showers her soft tresses on my brow, + And heals my heart, I know not how, + Bathing me with her looks divine. + She beckons me; and I arise; + And, grief no more remembering, + Wander again with rapturous eyes + Through those enchanted lands of Spring. + + Then, as I walk with her in peace, + I leave this troubled air below, + Where, hurrying sadly to and fro, + Men toil, and strain, and cannot cease: + Then, freed from tyrannous Fate's control, + Untouch'd by years or grief, I see + Transfigured in that child-like soul + The soil'd soul of humanity. + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + + + +A LAMENT + + + Over thy head, in joyful wanderings + Through heaven's wide spaces, free, + Birds fly with music in their wings; + And from the blue, rough sea + The fishes flash and leap; + There is a life of loveliest things + O'er thee, so fast asleep. + + In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier, + Eve after eve; and still + The glorious stars remember to appear; + The roses on the hill + Are fragrant as before: + Only thy face, of all that's dear, + I shall see nevermore! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +UNDINES OF DIVERSE DAYS + + +I + + The eyes of heaven were on her bent, + In a rapture of loving wonderment, + As her song with the nightingale's was blent: + And one yearn'd for a love, and one sigh'd for a soul! + + Moonlight and starlight alike seemed cold, + As their silver glanced on her locks of gold; + And the dream on her face was a dream of old, + Whose sorrow no sunrise might smile away. + + I read her yearning and weary smile, + As her song rang sadder and sadder the while, + With its weird refrain of a magic isle, + Where some might have rest, but never might she! + + She, the darling of Sky and Stream, + She was but as wind, or as wave, or as dream, + To play for a while in life's glory and gleam: + But what would be left at the end of the day? + +II + + The sun smiles down upon her distress + With a tyrant smile most pitiless, + As she stitches away in her tatter'd dress, + With a song on her lips, that sinks in a sigh. + + Yet, scorning her dusty window pane, + For all his pride, in love he is fain + Soft gold on her golden hair to rain; + But no sunlight may soften that soulless stare. + + I read her yearning and weary sigh, + And the eyes that would be, but are not, dry; + And I catch the voice of that voiceless cry + For a moment to rest, for a moment to weep. + + She, the darling of Want and Woe, + Why was she sent, save to work and to go + With feet that will ever more weary grow? + Whither? she has not a moment to care! + + The Undine of olden days, I read, + By the love of a soul from her trammels was freed: + Knows there another such dolorous need? + Sure on the earth lingers yet such a soul! + +ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. + + + + +A DREAM + + + My dead love came to me, and said, + 'God gives me one hour's rest, + To spend with thee on earth again: + How shall we spend it best?' + + 'Why, as of old,' I said; and so + We quarrell'd, as of old: + But, when I turn'd to make my peace, + That one short hour was told. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + * * * * * + + Thou who hast follow'd far with eyes of love + The shy and virgin sights of Spring to-day, + Sad soul, what dost thou in this happy grove? + Hast thou no pipe to touch, no strain to play, + Where Nature smiles so fair and seems to ask a lay? + + Ah! she needs none! she is too beautiful. + How should I sing her? for my heart would tire, + Seeking a lovelier verse each time to cull, + In striving still to pitch my music higher: + Lovelier than any muse is she who gives the fire! + + No impulse I beseech; my strains are vile: + To escape thee, Nature, restless here I rove. + Look not so sweet on me, avert thy smile! + O cease at length this fever'd breast to move! + I have loved thee in vain; I cannot speak my love. + + Here sense with apathy seems gently wed: + The gloom is starr'd with flowers; the unseen trees + Spread thick and softly real above my head; + And the far birds add music to the peace, + In this dark place of sleep, where whispers never cease. + + Hush, then, my pipe; vain is thy passion here; + Vain is the burning bosom of desire! + Forever hush'd, let me this silence hear, + As a sad Muse in the melodious choir + Hushes her voice, to catch the happier voices by her. + + Deep-shaded will I lie, and deeper yet + In night, where not a leaf its neighbour knows; + Forget the shining of the stars, forget + The vernal visitation of the rose; + And, far from all delights, prepare my heart's repose. + + Strive how I may, I cannot slumber so: + Still burns that sleepless beauty on the mind; + Still insupportable those visions glow; + And hark! my spirit's aspirations find + An answer in the leaves, a warning on the wind. + + 'O crave not silence thou! too soon, too sure, + Shall Autumn come, and through these branches weep: + Soon birds shall cease, and flowers no more endure; + And thou beneath the mould unwilling creep, + And silent soon shalt be in that eternal sleep. + + 'Green still it is, where that fair goddess strays; + Then follow, till around thee all be sere. + Lose not a vision of her passing face; + Nor miss the sound of her soft robes, that here + Sweep over the wet leaves of the fast-falling year.' + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +ORESTES + + + Me in far lands did Justice call, cold queen + Among the dead, who after heat and haste + At length have leisure for her steadfast voice, + That gathers peace from the great deeps of hell. + She call'd me, saying: 'I heard a cry by night! + Go thou, and question not; within thy halls + My will awaits fulfilment. Lo, the dead + Cries out before me in the under-world. + Seek not to justify thyself: in me + Be strong, and I will show thee wise in time; + For, though my face be dark, yet unto those + Who truly follow me through storm or shine, + For these the veil shall fall, and they shall see + They walked with Wisdom, though they knew her not.' + So sped I home; and from the under-world + Forever came a wind that fill'd my sails, + Cold, like a spirit! and ever her still voice + Spoke over shoreless seas and fathomless deeps, + And in great calms, as from a colder world; + Nor slack'd I sail by day, nor yet when night + Fell on my running keel, and now would burn, + With all her eyes, my errand into me. + So sped I on, fill'd with a voice divine: + And hardly wist I whom I was to slay, + My mother! but a vague, heroic dream + Possess'd me; fired to do the will of gods, + I lost the man in minister of Heaven; + Nor took I note of sandbank, nor of storm, + Nor of the ocean's thunders, when the shores + All round had faded, leaving me alone: + I knew I could not die, till I had slain! + But, when I came once more upon the land + That rear'd me, all the sweetness of old days + Came back on me: I stood, as from a dream + Waked to a sudden, sad reality. + And when, far off, I saw those ancient towers, + The palaces and places of my youth, + I long'd to fall into my mother's arms, + And tell a thousand tales of near escapes. + And lo! the nurse, that fondled me of yore, + Fell with glad tears upon my neck, and told + How she, and how my mother, all this while + Had dream'd of all I was to do, and said + How dear I should be to my mother's eyes. + Her words shook me, but shook not my resolve. + For even then there came that sterner voice, + Echoing to what was highest in the soul. + Then, like to those who have a work on earth, + And put far from them lips of wife or child, + And gird them to the accomplishment; so I + Strode in, nor saw at all mine ancient halls; + And struck my father's murderess, not my mother. + And, when I had smitten, lo, the strength of gods + Pass'd from me, and the old, familiar halls + Reel'd back on me; dim statues, that of old + Holding my mother's hand I marvell'd at, + And questioned her of each. And she lies there, + My mother! ay, my mother now; O hair + That once I play'd with in these halls! O eyes + That for a moment knew me as I came, + And lighten'd up, and trembled into love; + The next were darkened by my hand! Ah me! + Ye will not look upon me in that world. + Yet thou, perchance, art happier, if thou go'st + Into some land of wind and drifting leaves, + To sleep without a star; but as for me, + Hell hungers, and the restless Furies wait. + Then the dark Curse, that sits upon the towers, + Bow'd down her awful head, thus satisfied, + And I fled forth, a murderer, through the world. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + + + +THE SEASONS' COMFORT + + + Dry thine eyes, Doll! the stars above us shine; + God of His goodness made them mine and thine; + His silver have we gotten, and His gold, + Whilst there's a sun to call us in the morn + To ply the hook among amid the yellow corn, + That such a mine of pretty gems doth hold: + For there's the poppy half in sorrow, + Greeting sleepy-eyed the morrow, + And the corn-flower, dainty tire for a sweetheart sunny-poll'd. + + Dry thine eyes, Doll! the woods are all our own, + The woods that soon shall take a braver tone, + What time the frosts first silver Nature's hair; + The birds shall sing their best for thee and me; + And every sunrise listeners will we be, + And so of singing get the goodliest share; + When the thrushes sing so sweetly, + We would fain be footing featly, + But our hearts dance time instead in the throbbing matin air. + + Dry thine eyes, Doll! there's Love to feed our fire, + Not for the buying, but for the desire; + Winter ne'er quenched a blaze so bravely fed. + And Sleep, I wot, will grudge us not his best: + In winter earlier sink the suns to rest, + And eke the sooner shall our toils be sped; + When in the embers glowing + There'll be love-charms worth the knowing, + Or, at Yule-tide, mazes threaded, with the mistletoe o'erhead. + +ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. + + * * * * * + + O Summer sun, O moving trees! + O cheerful human noise, O busy glittering street! + What hour shall Fate in all the future find, + Or what delights, ever to equal these: + Only to taste the warmth, the light, the wind, + Only to be alive, and feel that life is sweet? + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + + + +MENTEM MORTALIA TANGUNT + + + Now lonely is the wood: + No flower now lingers, none! + The virgin sisterhood + Of roses, all are gone; + Now Autumn sheds her latest leaf; + And in my heart is grief. + + Ah me, for all earth rears, + The appointed bound is placed! + After a thousand years + The great oak falls at last: + And thou, more lovely, canst not stay, + Sweet rose, beyond thy day. + + Our life is not the life + Of roses and of leaves; + Else wherefore this deep strife, + This pain, our soul conceives? + The fall of ev'n such short-lived things + To us some sorrow brings. + + And yet, plant, bird, and fly + Feel no such hidden fire. + Happy they live; and die + Happy, with no desire. + They in their brief life have fulfill'd + All Nature in them will'd. + + And were we also made + Of like terrestrial mould + We should not be afraid, + Nor feel the grave so cold; + But, all oblivious of our fate, + Live sweetly out our date. + + For the great mother loves + Her children far too well; + These longings that she moves + Their own fulfilment tell: + She would not burden us with aught + We really needed not. + + O, not in vain she gave + To the wild birds their wings! + They spread them forth, and have + Heaven for their wanderings. + But we, to whom no wings are given + Why seek we for a Heaven? + + And, when far o'er us fly + Those voyagers of the air, + Why must we gaze, and sigh, + _O would that I were there?_ + Why are we restless, ill content, + Tied to one element? + + 'Tis not that in our tears + Some happier life we crave; + Our happiest, sweetest years + Mysterious moments have: + The sense of our brief human lot + Clings to us, haunts our thought. + + O then this pleasant earth + Seems but an alien thing: + Faint grows her busy mirth; + Far hence our thoughts take wing: + For some enduring home we cry! + She cannot satisfy, + + Or bind us: only ties + Immortal found can bless; + Only in loving eyes + We see our happiness; + Only upon a loving breast + Our souls find any rest. + + Why thirsts the spirit so + For life? what moves it thus? + 'Tis _her_ voice; yes, I know, + 'Tis Nature cries in us: + 'Tis no unholy strife of ours + Against forbidding powers. + + What though we gaze with fear, + So blank death seems to be; + What though no land appear + Beyond that lonely sea; + Still in our hearts her cry doth stay; + She will find out a way. + + So in the chrysalis + Slumber those lovely wings; + So from the shell it is + The dazzling pearl she brings: + Her glorious works she works alone, + Unfathom'd and unknown! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Primavera, by +Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA *** + +***** This file should be named 19170-8.txt or 19170-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/7/19170/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Cripps, Manmohan Ghose, and Stephen Phillips + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } +.center {text-align: center;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + font-style:normal; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot { margin-left:25% } + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .img1 {border-style:groove; border-color:#FF0000; border-width: 2px; } + .sig { text-align:right; } +.sig1 { margin-left:5%; } +.sig2 { margin-left:50%; } +.sig3 { margin-left:40%; } +.sig4 { margin-left:25%; } + .figcenter { display: block; margin: auto; text-align: center;} +.figleft { display: block; float: left; clear: left; margin-left: -6px; margin-bottom: 0em; margin-right: 0em; padding-bottom: 0em; } +img { display: block; } + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 0em; } + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i5 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Primavera, by +Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +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: Primavera + Poems by Four Authors + +Author: Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +Release Date: September 4, 2006 [EBook #19170] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width:500px"><img class="img1" src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Cover Page" width="500" height="830" /></div> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:580px"><img src="images/image_02.jpg" alt="Primevera" width="580" height="257" /> +</div> +<p> </p> + +<h1>PRIMAVERA: POEMS<br /> +BY FOUR AUTHORS</h1> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width:150px"><img src="images/image_03.jpg" alt="Illustration" width="150" height="364" /></div> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h3>PORTLAND MAINE PUBLISHED<br /> + + BY THOMAS B MOSHER AT XLV<br /> + EXCHANGE STREET MDCCCC</h3> + + <hr style="width: 65%;" /> + <p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p> + <h2>PREFACE</h2> + <p class="blockquot"><i>Primavera: Poems, by Four Authors. Oxford: <br /> +Published by B. H. Blackwell, Broad Street. <br /> +MDCCCXC.</i> (Fcap 8vo, pp. 43.)</p> + +<p>Such is the title of a little 'book of verses' that at the time +found favour in the eyes of a few discerning critics, and then, +apparently, was forgotten. As originally issued its dark brown +paper wrapper was adorned with a simple but effective woodcut +design by Mr. Selwyn Image, which we have reproduced on our first +half-title. Even more fortunate has been the discovery of a +signed review in the pages of the <i>Academy</i> for August 9, 1890, +by the late John Addington Symonds. As a preface nothing could be +better. And in this connexion the lines which we prefix from +Guarini are also singularly appropriate. For these songs of Youth +are still worth while; they thrill and fill us as of yesterday +with their haunting sense of vanished love, of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bidding adieu.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> +<h2>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p>This little book was written by four friends, three of them +under-graduates at Oxford, and all of them penetrated with the +spirit of the higher culture of our time. The poems, it is clear, +have been carefully selected; and, it is probable, have been +diligently polished. There is not one which is not remarkable for +delicacy of style and conscious aiming after excellence in art. +Whether these qualities promise well for future achievement and +development is a question open to debate. But there can be no +doubt that in <i>Primavera</i> we possess another of those tiny +verse-books like <i>Ionica</i>, or Mr. Percy Pinkerton's <i>Galeazzo</i>, +which will not lose in freshness and in perfume as the years go +by.</p> + +<p>The poems have the distinction of making one wish to be +acquainted with their authors. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>Though they differ a good deal in +mental tone, perhaps also somewhat in literary merit, they +possess marked common characteristics: a restrained refinement, a +subdued reserve, a gentle melancholy; the note of the latest +Anglican æsthetic school. We find no humour, no <i>Sturm und +Drang</i>, no inequalities and incoherences of passion. Even where +it is obvious that the emotion has been intense, possibly of a +rare and peculiar strain, as in Mr. Binyon's "Testamentum Amoris" +and Mr. Phillips's "To a Lost Love," the expression of it obeys +no violence of impulse. A tender tone of regret, rather than of +acute grief, steeps these stanzas (to quote one instance) +addressed to a friend removed into the spiritual world by death.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou art a thing apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Losing in saner happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This madness of the heart.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A passing breath, a pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had oped and closed again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The solemn hymns, shall cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment half remember me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then turn away to peace."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It would be invidious to institute critical comparisons between +the styles of these four friends and their respective merits. It +may, however, be remarked that Mr. Manmohan Ghose's work possesses +a peculiar interest on account of its really notable command of +the subtleties of English prosody and diction, combined with just +a touch of foreign feeling. The artful employment of imperfect +rhymes in "Raymond and Ida" illustrates what I mean. Occasionally, +too, Mr. Ghose produces exactly the right phrase by means of a +felicitous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span>simplicity. Notice the line which I have italicised in +the following stanza:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eve after eve; and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>The glorious stars remember to appear;</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2">The roses on the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are fragrant as before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only thy face, of all that's dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shall see nevermore!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Take, again, these two lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Forget the shining of the stars, forget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vernal visitation of the rose."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There is but one piece of blank verse in the book. This prologue +to "Orestes," by Mr. Stephen Phillips, has strength, is firm in +outline, somewhat tardy in movement, fit for sonorous declamation. +The gravity which I have indicated as a ruling quality of all +these youthful compositions makes itself felt <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span> here in its proper +place. We might have wished, perhaps, for more of joyous accent in +the ode to "Youth," by Mr. Laurence Binyon, which dwells less on +the rapture of youth than on its sadness—the melancholy of +Theognis over youth's decay:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O bright new-comer, filled with thoughts of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wronged love, spoiled hope, mistrust and ageing fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternal longing for one perfect friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unavailing wishes without end?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mr. Cripps alone permits his Muse a gravely jocund note in his +"Seasons' Comfort." He, too, of the four fellow-versifiers shows +the greater aptitude for experiments, though it may perhaps be +felt that his touch is nowhere quite so sure, nor his artistic +feeling so direct as theirs.</p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span></p> +<p>It is difficult to lay the critic's hand lightly enough upon +poems like these, or to make it clear what particular attraction +they possess. With all the charm of rathe spring-flowers, they +suggest the possibilities of varied personality not yet +accentuated in the authors. Let us hope that the four Muses of +the four friends will not, like the primroses,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"die unmarried ere they can behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright Phœbus in his strength,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>but that we shall profit by their summer-songs, while ever +remaining grateful for their <i>Primavera</i>.</p> + +<p class="sig"><span class="smcap">john addington symonds.</span></p> + +<p class="sig1"><i>August</i>, 1890.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span></p> +<h2>PRIMAVERA</h2> + +<div class="poem"> +<div class="stanza"> + + + +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/o.jpg" alt="" width="45" height="44" /></span> Primavera, gioventù de l' anno,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Bella madre de' fiori,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> D'erbe novelle e di novelli amori,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu torni ben; ma teco<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Non tornano i sereni<br /></span> +<span class="i0">E fortunati dì de le mie gioje:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu torni ben, tu torni,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ma teco altro non torna<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Che del perduto mio caro tesoro<br /></span> +<span class="i0">La rimembranza misera e dolente:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tu quella sei, tu quella,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ch'era pur dianzi si vezzosa e bella;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ma non son io già quel ch'un tempo fui,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sì caro a gli occhi altrui.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Guarini</span>. <i>Pastor Fido</i>, Atto iii, Sc. I.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> +<h2>POEMS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/n.jpg" alt="N" width="45" height="34" /></span>o Muse will I invoke; for she is fled!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Lo! where she sits, breathing, yet all but dead.<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">She loved the heavens of old, she thought them fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dream'd of Gods in Tempe's golden air.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her the wind had voice, the sea its cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She deem'd heroic Greece could never die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathless was she, to think what nymphs might play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In clear green depths, deep-shaded from the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She thought the dim and inarticulate god<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was beautiful, nor knew she man a sod;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But hoped what seem'd might not be all untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feared to look beyond the eternal blue.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now the heavens are bared of dreams divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still murmurs she, like Autumn, <i>This was mine!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">How should she face the ghastly, jarring Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That questions all, and tramples without ruth?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still she clings to Ida of her dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sobs, <i>Ah! let the world be what it seems!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the shy nymph shall softly come again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world, once more, make music for her pain.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span><span class="i0">For, sitting in the dim and ghostly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She fain would stay the strong approach of light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While later bards cleave to her, and believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in her sorrow she can still conceive!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, let her dream; still lovely is her sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, rouse her not, or she shall surely die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Stephen Phillips.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p> +<h2>YOUTH</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/w.jpg" alt="W" width="45" height="34" /></span>hen life begins anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And Youth, from gathering flowers,<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">From vague delights, rapt musings, twilight hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns restless, seeking some great deed to do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sum his foster'd dreams; when that fresh birth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unveils the real, the throng'd and spacious Earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he awakes to those more ample skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By other aims and by new powers possess'd:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How deeply, then, his breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is fill'd with pangs of longing! how his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drink in the enchanted prospect! Fair it lies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before him, with its plains expanding vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Peopled with visions, and enrich'd with dreams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim cities, ancient forests, winding streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Places resounding in the famous past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A kingdom ready to his hand!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How like a bride Life seems to stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In welcome, and with festal robes array'd!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He feels her loveliness pervade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pierce him with inexplicable sweetness;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +<span class="i0">And, in her smiles delighting, and the fires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of his own pulses, passionate soul!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Measures his strength by his desires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the wide future by their fleetness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his thought leaps to the long-distant goal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So eagerly across that unknown span<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of years he gazes: what, to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are bounds and barriers, tales of Destiny,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death, and the fabled impotence of man?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Already, in his marching dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men at his sun-like coming seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with an inspiration stirr'd, and he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To kindle with new thoughts degenerate nations,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sordid cares immersed so long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrill'd with ethereal exultations<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a victorious expectancy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even such as swell'd the breasts of Bacchus' throng,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When that triumphal burst of joy was hurl'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the wondering world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from the storied, sacred East afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down Indian gorges clothed in green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flower-rein'd tigers and with ivory car<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He came, the youthful god;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, his hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown on the wind, and flush'd limbs bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lips apart, and radiant eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ears that caught the coming melodies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As wave on wave of revellers swept abroad;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wreathed with vine-leaves, shouting, trampling onwards,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With toss'd timbrel and loud tambourine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! the disenchanting years have roll'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On hearts and minds becoming cold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mirth is gone from us; and the world is old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O bright new-comer, fill'd with thoughts of joy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wrong'd love, spoil'd hope, mistrust and ageing fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternal longing for one perfect friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And unavailing wishes without end?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou proud and pure of spirit, how must thou bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To have thine infinite hates and loves confined,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">School'd, and despised? How keep unquench'd and free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid others' commerce and economy<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span><span class="i0">Such ample visions, oft in alien air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tamed to the measure of the common kind?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How hard for thee, swept on, for ever hurl'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From hour to hour, bewilder'd and forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To move with clear eyes and with steps secure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep the light within, to fitly scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those all too possible and easy goals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trivial ambitions of soon-sated souls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, patient in thy purpose, to endure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pity and the wisdom of the world.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vain, vain such warning to those happy ears!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disturb not their delight! By unkind powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doom'd to keep pace with the relentless Hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, too, ere long, shall feel Earth's glory change;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Familiar names shall take an accent strange,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A deeper meaning, a more human tone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more pass'd by, unheeded or unknown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The things that then shall be beheld through tears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet, O just Nature, thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, if men's hearts be hard, art always mild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O fields and streams, and places undefiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let your sweet airs be ever on his brow,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span><span class="i0">Remember still your child.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou too, O human world, if old desires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If thoughts, not alien once, can move thee now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Teach him not yet that idly he aspires<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where thou hast fail'd; not soon let it be plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That all who seek in thee for nobler fires,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For generous passion, spend their hopes in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest that insidious Fate, foe of mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who ever waits upon our weakness, try<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With whispers his unnerved and faltering mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Palsy his powers; for she has spells to dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the March blast, his blood, turn flesh to stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, conjuring action with necessity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freeze the quick will, and make him all her own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Come, then, as ever, like the Wind at morning!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joyous, O Youth, in the aged world renew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Freshness to feel the eternities around it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rains, stars, and clouds, light and the sacred dew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strong sun shines above thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That strength, that radiance bring!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If Winter come to Winter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shall men hope for Spring?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Laurence Binyon</span>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/c.jpg" alt="'T" width="45" height="37" /></span>is my twentieth year: dim, now, youth stretches behind me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Breaking fresh at my feet, lies, like an ocean, the world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> And despised seem, now, those quiet fields I have travell'd:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eager to thee I turn, Life, and thy visions of joy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fame I see, with her wreath, far off approaching to crown me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, whose starry eyes fever my heart with desire:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And impassion'd I yearn for the future, all unconscious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, poor dreamer! what ills life in its circle enfolds.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not more restless the boy, whose eager, confident bosom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wide, unknown sea fills with a hunger to roam.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span><span class="i0">Often beside the surge of the desolate ocean he paces;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ingrate, dreams of a sky brighter, serener than his.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passionate soul! light holds he a mother's tearful entreaties,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lightly leaves he behind all the sad faces of home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never again, perchance, to behold them; lost in the tempest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or on some tropic shore dying in fever and pain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig2"><span class="smcap">Manmohan Ghose.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> +<h2>TESTAMENTUM AMORIS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/i.jpg" alt="I" width="22" height="45" /></span> cannot raise my eyelids up from sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> But I am visited with thoughts of you;<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> Slumber has no refreshment half so deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the sweet morn, that wakes my heart anew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I cannot put away life's trivial care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you straightway steal on me with delight:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My purest moments are your mirror fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My deepest thought finds you the truth most bright.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You are the lovely regent of my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The constant sky to my unresting sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, since 'tis you that rule me, I but find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A finer freedom in such tyranny.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Were the world's anxious kingdoms govern'd so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost were their wrongs, and vanish'd half their woe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig2"><span class="smcap">Laurence Binyon.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span></p> +<h2>AMAVIMUS, AMAMUS, AMABIMUS</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/p.jpg" alt="P" width="35" height="48" /></span>ersephone, Persephone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Still I fancy I can see<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> Thee amid the daffodils.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden wealth thy basket fills;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden blossoms at thy breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden hair that shames the West;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden sunlight round thy head!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! the golden years have fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thee have reft, and me have left<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here alone, thy loss to mourn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Persephone, Persephone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still I fancy I can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her, as white and still she lies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death has woo'd and won his prize.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White the blossoms at her breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White and still her face at rest;<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span><span class="i0">White the moonbeams round her head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! the wintry years have fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comfort lent and patience sent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my grief is easier borne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Persephone, Persephone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still in dreams thou com'st to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Every night art at my side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half my bride, and half Death's bride!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden blossoms at thy breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden hair that shames the West;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden sunlight circling thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half of gold the lone years flee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night is glad, though day is sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till I go where thou art gone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Arthur S. Cripps.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p> +<h2>TO A LOST LOVE</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/i.jpg" alt="I" width="22" height="45" /></span> cannot look upon thy grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> Though there the rose is sweet:<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">Better to hear the long wave wash<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> These wastes about my feet!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A spirit, though afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a deep hush about thee, like<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The stillness round a star?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thou art a thing apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Losing in saner happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This madness of the heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A passing breath, a pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had oped and closed again.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The solemn hymns, shall cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A moment half remember me:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then turn away to peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But oh, for evermore thy look,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy sweet and wayward earthliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dear trivial things, are gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Therefore I look not on thy grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though there the rose is sweet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But rather hear the loud wave wash<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These wastes about my feet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Stephen Phillips.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> +<h2>RAYMOND AND IDA</h2> + + +<p class="sig4"><i>Raymond.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/d.jpg" alt="D" width="45" height="45" /></span>earest, that sit'st in dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> Through the window look, this way.<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">How changed and desolate seems<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The world, Ida, to-day!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavy and low the sky is glooming:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Winter is coming!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Ida.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My dreaming heart is stirr'd:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sadly the winter comes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind is loud: how weird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Heard in these darken'd rooms!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speak to me, Raymond; ease this dread:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I am afraid, afraid.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Raymond.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Love, what is this? Like snow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What ails my darling so?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What is it thou dost hear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Close, close, thy soft arms cling to mine:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tears on thy lashes shine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Ida.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hark! love, the wind wails by<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wet October trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swaying them mournfully:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wet leaves shower and cease.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hark! how blows the weary rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against the shaken pane.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Raymond.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, yes, the world is drear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Outside; there is no rest.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what can Ida fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shelter'd upon my breast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heed not the storm-blast, beating wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I love thee, love thee, child.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Ida.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thy breath is in my hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy kisses on my cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet I scarce feel them there:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faintly I hear thee speak.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart is dreaming far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In some sad, future day.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Raymond.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The future? In the mist<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of years what dost thou see?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O let that dark land rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come back, come back to me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thine eyes; so deep they dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Ida.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To leave the blessed light:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cold in the grave to lie!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No voice, no human sight:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Darkness and apathy!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But ah, to love no more!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Raymond.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What dream is this, alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O, if but for my sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wake, darling; let this pass:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ida, dear Ida, wake!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cannot bear to see those tears:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy sad tones hurt my ears.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Ida.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Will he forget me, then,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When I am gone away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twere best: to give him pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let not my memory stay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But O, even there, in Hades dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I would remember him.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><i>Raymond.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou griev'st thyself in vain:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet love, be comforted.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, leave this world of rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To the bright hearth turn thy head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have our fireside still, the same:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How cheerful is the flame!<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though darkness round us press;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though wild, without, it blows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here sit thee, while thy face<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the happy firelight glows:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasp'd in my arms, lie tranquil here;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And listen, Ida dear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As, from that outlook chill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The glad hearth meets our sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A charm for every ill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We bear, a charm of might.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, 'gainst its power not death shall stay!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Know'st thou it, darling, say?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou smilest! Joy, I see,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dawns in thine eyes again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those cheeks of ivory<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their own sweet bloom regain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou know'st that heavenly charm; how well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy happy kisses tell!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Manmohan Ghose.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p> +<h2>PSYCHE</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/s.jpg" alt="S" width="34" height="45" /></span>he is not fair, as some are fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay:<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> On her clear brow, come grief what may,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She suffers not too stern an air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, grave in silence, sweet in speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loves neither mockery nor disdain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gentle to all, to all doth teach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The charm of deeming nothing vain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She join'd me: and we wander'd on;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I rejoiced, I cared not why,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeming it immortality<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To walk with such a soul alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Primroses pale grew all around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Violets, and moss, and ivy wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, drinking sweetness from the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was but conscious that she smiled.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wind blew all her shining hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her sweet brows; and she, the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Put back her lovely head, to smile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On my enchanted spirit there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jonquils and pansies round her head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleam'd softly; but a heavenlier hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her perfect cheek was shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in her eyes a purer blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There came an end to break the spell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She murmur'd something in my ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The words fell vague, I did not hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ere I knew, I said farewell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And homeward went, with happy heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And spirit dwelling in a gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rapt to a Paradise apart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all the world become a dream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet now, too soon, the world's strong strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks on me pitiless again;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pride of passion, hopes made vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wounds, the weariness, of life.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><span class="i0">And losing that forgetful sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For some less troubled world I sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If not divine, more free, more clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than this poor, soil'd humanity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when, in trances of the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wakeful, my lonely bed I keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And linger at the gate of Sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearing, lest dreams deny me light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her image comes into the gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her pale features moulded fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her breathing beauty, morning bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart's delight, my tongue's despair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With loving hand she touches mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showers her soft tresses on my brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heals my heart, I know not how,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bathing me with her looks divine.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She beckons me; and I arise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, grief no more remembering,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wander again with rapturous eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through those enchanted lands of Spring.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, as I walk with her in peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I leave this troubled air below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, hurrying sadly to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men toil, and strain, and cannot cease:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, freed from tyrannous Fate's control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Untouch'd by years or grief, I see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Transfigured in that child-like soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soil'd soul of humanity.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Laurence Binyon.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> +<h2>A LAMENT</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/o.jpg" alt="O" width="45" height="44" /></span>ver thy head, in joyful wanderings<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> Through heaven's wide spaces, free,<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">Birds fly with music in their wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And from the blue, rough sea<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The fishes flash and leap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a life of loveliest things<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O'er thee, so fast asleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Eve after eve; and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glorious stars remember to appear;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The roses on the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are fragrant as before:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only thy face, of all that's dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I shall see nevermore!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Manmohan Ghose.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> +<h2>UNDINES OF DIVERSE DAYS</h2> + + +<p class="sig4"><b>I</b></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/t.jpg" alt="T" width="45" height="46" /></span>he eyes of heaven were on her bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> In a rapture of loving wonderment,<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> As her song with the nightingale's was blent:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one yearn'd for a love, and one sigh'd for a soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moonlight and starlight alike seemed cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As their silver glanced on her locks of gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the dream on her face was a dream of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose sorrow no sunrise might smile away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I read her yearning and weary smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As her song rang sadder and sadder the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its weird refrain of a magic isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where some might have rest, but never might she!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She, the darling of Sky and Stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She was but as wind, or as wave, or as dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To play for a while in life's glory and gleam:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what would be left at the end of the day?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></div></div> + +<p class="sig4"><b>II</b></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The sun smiles down upon her distress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a tyrant smile most pitiless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As she stitches away in her tatter'd dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a song on her lips, that sinks in a sigh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet, scorning her dusty window pane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all his pride, in love he is fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft gold on her golden hair to rain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But no sunlight may soften that soulless stare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I read her yearning and weary sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the eyes that would be, but are not, dry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I catch the voice of that voiceless cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a moment to rest, for a moment to weep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She, the darling of Want and Woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why was she sent, save to work and to go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With feet that will ever more weary grow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whither? she has not a moment to care!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Undine of olden days, I read,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the love of a soul from her trammels was freed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knows there another such dolorous need?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sure on the earth lingers yet such a soul!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Arthur S. Cripps.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> +<h2>A DREAM</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/m.jpg" alt="M" width="45" height="42" /></span>y dead love came to me, and said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> 'God gives me one hour's rest,<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">To spend with thee on earth again:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How shall we spend it best?'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Why, as of old,' I said; and so<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We quarrell'd, as of old:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, when I turn'd to make my peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That one short hour was told.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Stephen Phillips.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/t.jpg" alt="T" width="45" height="46" /></span>hou who hast follow'd far with eyes of love<br /></span> +<span class="i2"> The shy and virgin sights of Spring to-day,<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0">Sad soul, what dost thou in this happy grove?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hast thou no pipe to touch, no strain to play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Nature smiles so fair and seems to ask a lay?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! she needs none! she is too beautiful.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How should I sing her? for my heart would tire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seeking a lovelier verse each time to cull,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In striving still to pitch my music higher:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lovelier than any muse is she who gives the fire!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No impulse I beseech; my strains are vile:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To escape thee, Nature, restless here I rove.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look not so sweet on me, avert thy smile!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O cease at length this fever'd breast to move!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have loved thee in vain; I cannot speak my love.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here sense with apathy seems gently wed:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gloom is starr'd with flowers; the unseen trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spread thick and softly real above my head;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the far birds add music to the peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this dark place of sleep, where whispers never cease.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hush, then, my pipe; vain is thy passion here;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vain is the burning bosom of desire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever hush'd, let me this silence hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As a sad Muse in the melodious choir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hushes her voice, to catch the happier voices by her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deep-shaded will I lie, and deeper yet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In night, where not a leaf its neighbour knows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forget the shining of the stars, forget<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The vernal visitation of the rose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, far from all delights, prepare my heart's repose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Strive how I may, I cannot slumber so:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still burns that sleepless beauty on the mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still insupportable those visions glow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hark! my spirit's aspirations find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An answer in the leaves, a warning on the wind.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'O crave not silence thou! too soon, too sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Shall Autumn come, and through these branches weep:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon birds shall cease, and flowers no more endure;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thou beneath the mould unwilling creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And silent soon shalt be in that eternal sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Green still it is, where that fair goddess strays;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then follow, till around thee all be sere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lose not a vision of her passing face;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor miss the sound of her soft robes, that here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweep over the wet leaves of the fast-falling year.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig2"><span class="smcap">Manmohan Ghose.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> +<h2>ORESTES</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/m.jpg" alt="M" width="45" height="42" /></span>e in far lands did Justice call, cold queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> Among the dead, who after heat and haste<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> At length have leisure for her steadfast voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That gathers peace from the great deeps of hell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She call'd me, saying: 'I heard a cry by night!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go thou, and question not; within thy halls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My will awaits fulfilment. Lo, the dead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cries out before me in the under-world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek not to justify thyself: in me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be strong, and I will show thee wise in time;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, though my face be dark, yet unto those<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who truly follow me through storm or shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For these the veil shall fall, and they shall see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They walked with Wisdom, though they knew her not.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sped I home; and from the under-world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever came a wind that fill'd my sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cold, like a spirit! and ever her still voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoke over shoreless seas and fathomless deeps,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span><span class="i0">And in great calms, as from a colder world;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor slack'd I sail by day, nor yet when night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell on my running keel, and now would burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With all her eyes, my errand into me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sped I on, fill'd with a voice divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hardly wist I whom I was to slay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother! but a vague, heroic dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Possess'd me; fired to do the will of gods,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lost the man in minister of Heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor took I note of sandbank, nor of storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor of the ocean's thunders, when the shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All round had faded, leaving me alone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I knew I could not die, till I had slain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, when I came once more upon the land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That rear'd me, all the sweetness of old days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came back on me: I stood, as from a dream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Waked to a sudden, sad reality.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when, far off, I saw those ancient towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The palaces and places of my youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I long'd to fall into my mother's arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell a thousand tales of near escapes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo! the nurse, that fondled me of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell with glad tears upon my neck, and told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How she, and how my mother, all this while<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span><span class="i0">Had dream'd of all I was to do, and said<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How dear I should be to my mother's eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her words shook me, but shook not my resolve.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For even then there came that sterner voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Echoing to what was highest in the soul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, like to those who have a work on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And put far from them lips of wife or child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gird them to the accomplishment; so I<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strode in, nor saw at all mine ancient halls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And struck my father's murderess, not my mother.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, when I had smitten, lo, the strength of gods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass'd from me, and the old, familiar halls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reel'd back on me; dim statues, that of old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding my mother's hand I marvell'd at,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And questioned her of each. And she lies there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother! ay, my mother now; O hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once I play'd with in these halls! O eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That for a moment knew me as I came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lighten'd up, and trembled into love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The next were darkened by my hand! Ah me!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ye will not look upon me in that world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet thou, perchance, art happier, if thou go'st<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into some land of wind and drifting leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sleep without a star; but as for me,<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span><span class="i0">Hell hungers, and the restless Furies wait.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the dark Curse, that sits upon the towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bow'd down her awful head, thus satisfied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I fled forth, a murderer, through the world.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Stephen Phillips.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p> +<h2>THE SEASONS' COMFORT</h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/d.jpg" alt="D" width="45" height="45" /></span>ry thine eyes, Doll! the stars above us shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> God of His goodness made them mine and thine;<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> His silver have we gotten, and His gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whilst there's a sun to call us in the morn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To ply the hook among amid the yellow corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That such a mine of pretty gems doth hold:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there's the poppy half in sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greeting sleepy-eyed the morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the corn-flower, dainty tire for a sweetheart sunny-poll'd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dry thine eyes, Doll! the woods are all our own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woods that soon shall take a braver tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What time the frosts first silver Nature's hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The birds shall sing their best for thee and me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every sunrise listeners will we be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so of singing get the goodliest share;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the thrushes sing so sweetly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We would fain be footing featly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But our hearts dance time instead in the throbbing matin air.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dry thine eyes, Doll! there's Love to feed our fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not for the buying, but for the desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winter ne'er quenched a blaze so bravely fed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Sleep, I wot, will grudge us not his best:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In winter earlier sink the suns to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And eke the sooner shall our toils be sped;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When in the embers glowing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There'll be love-charms worth the knowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, at Yule-tide, mazes threaded, with the mistletoe o'erhead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig2"><span class="smcap">Arthur S. Cripps.</span></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/o.jpg" alt="O" width="45" height="44" /></span> Summer sun, O moving trees!<br /></span> +<span class="i0"> O cheerful human noise, O busy glittering street!<br /> +</span> +<span class="i0"> What hour shall Fate in all the future find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or what delights, ever to equal these:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only to taste the warmth, the light, the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only to be alive, and feel that life is sweet?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Laurence Binyon.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> +<h2>MENTEM MORTALIA TANGUNT</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="figleft"><img src="images/n.jpg" alt="N" width="45" height="34" /></span>ow lonely is the wood:<br /></span> +<span class="i4">No flower now lingers, none!<br /> +</span> +<span class="i2">The virgin sisterhood<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of roses, all are gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now Autumn sheds her latest leaf;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And in my heart is grief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ah me, for all earth rears,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The appointed bound is placed!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">After a thousand years<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The great oak falls at last:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thou, more lovely, canst not stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet rose, beyond thy day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Our life is not the life<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of roses and of leaves;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Else wherefore this deep strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This pain, our soul conceives?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fall of ev'n such short-lived things<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To us some sorrow brings.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And yet, plant, bird, and fly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Feel no such hidden fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Happy they live; and die<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Happy, with no desire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They in their brief life have fulfill'd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All Nature in them will'd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And were we also made<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of like terrestrial mould<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We should not be afraid,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor feel the grave so cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, all oblivious of our fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Live sweetly out our date.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">For the great mother loves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Her children far too well;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">These longings that she moves<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Their own fulfilment tell:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She would not burden us with aught<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We really needed not.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">O, not in vain she gave<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To the wild birds their wings!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They spread them forth, and have<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Heaven for their wanderings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But we, to whom no wings are given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why seek we for a Heaven?<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">And, when far o'er us fly<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Those voyagers of the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Why must we gaze, and sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i4"><i>O would that I were there?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why are we restless, ill content,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tied to one element?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">'Tis not that in our tears<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Some happier life we crave;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our happiest, sweetest years<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mysterious moments have:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sense of our brief human lot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clings to us, haunts our thought.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">O then this pleasant earth<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Seems but an alien thing:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Faint grows her busy mirth;<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Far hence our thoughts take wing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For some enduring home we cry!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She cannot satisfy,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Or bind us: only ties<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Immortal found can bless;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Only in loving eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">We see our happiness;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only upon a loving breast<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our souls find any rest.<br /></span> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Why thirsts the spirit so<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For life? what moves it thus?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tis <i>her</i> voice; yes, I know,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">'Tis Nature cries in us:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis no unholy strife of ours<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Against forbidding powers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">What though we gaze with fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">So blank death seems to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What though no land appear<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Beyond that lonely sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still in our hearts her cry doth stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She will find out a way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">So in the chrysalis<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Slumber those lovely wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So from the shell it is<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The dazzling pearl she brings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her glorious works she works alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unfathom'd and unknown!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p class="sig3"><span class="smcap">Manmohan Ghose.</span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Primavera, by +Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA *** + +***** This file should be named 19170-h.htm or 19170-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/7/19170/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Primavera + Poems by Four Authors + +Author: Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +Release Date: September 4, 2006 [EBook #19170] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + PRIMAVERA: POEMS + + + BY FOUR AUTHORS + + + + + + + PORTLAND MAINE PUBLISHED + BY THOMAS B MOSHER AT XLV + EXCHANGE STREET MDCCCC + + * * * * * + + + + +PREFACE + + + _Primavera: Poems, by Four Authors. Oxford: + Published by B. H. Blackwell, Broad Street. + MDCCCXC._ (Fcap 8vo, pp. 43.) + +Such is the title of a little 'book of verses' that at the time +found favour in the eyes of a few discerning critics, and then, +apparently, was forgotten. As originally issued its dark brown +paper wrapper was adorned with a simple but effective woodcut +design by Mr. Selwyn Image, which we have reproduced on our first +half-title. Even more fortunate has been the discovery of a +signed review in the pages of the _Academy_ for August 9, 1890, +by the late John Addington Symonds. As a preface nothing could be +better. And in this connexion the lines which we prefix from +Guarini are also singularly appropriate. For these songs of Youth +are still worth while; they thrill and fill us as of yesterday +with their haunting sense of vanished love, of + + 'Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips + Bidding adieu.' + + * * * * * + + + + +PREFACE + + +This little book was written by four friends, three of them +under-graduates at Oxford, and all of them penetrated with the +spirit of the higher culture of our time. The poems, it is clear, +have been carefully selected; and, it is probable, have been +diligently polished. There is not one which is not remarkable for +delicacy of style and conscious aiming after excellence in art. +Whether these qualities promise well for future achievement and +development is a question open to debate. But there can be no +doubt that in _Primavera_ we possess another of those tiny +verse-books like _Ionica_, or Mr. Percy Pinkerton's _Galeazzo_, +which will not lose in freshness and in perfume as the years go +by. + +The poems have the distinction of making one wish to be +acquainted with their authors. Though they differ a good deal in +mental tone, perhaps also somewhat in literary merit, they +possess marked common characteristics: a restrained refinement, a +subdued reserve, a gentle melancholy; the note of the latest +Anglican aesthetic school. We find no humour, no _Sturm und +Drang_, no inequalities and incoherences of passion. Even where +it is obvious that the emotion has been intense, possibly of a +rare and peculiar strain, as in Mr. Binyon's "Testamentum Amoris" +and Mr. Phillips's "To a Lost Love," the expression of it obeys +no violence of impulse. A tender tone of regret, rather than of +acute grief, steeps these stanzas (to quote one instance) +addressed to a friend removed into the spiritual world by death. + + "Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere + Thou art a thing apart, + Losing in saner happiness + This madness of the heart. + + "And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel + A passing breath, a pain; + Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven + Had oped and closed again. + + "And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns, + The solemn hymns, shall cease; + A moment half remember me; + Then turn away to peace." + +It would be invidious to institute critical comparisons between +the styles of these four friends and their respective merits. It +may, however, be remarked that Mr. Manmohan Ghose's work possesses +a peculiar interest on account of its really notable command of +the subtleties of English prosody and diction, combined with just +a touch of foreign feeling. The artful employment of imperfect +rhymes in "Raymond and Ida" illustrates what I mean. Occasionally, +too, Mr. Ghose produces exactly the right phrase by means of a +felicitous simplicity. Notice the line which I have italicised in +the following stanza: + + "In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier, + Eve after eve; and still + _The glorious stars remember to appear;_ + The roses on the hill + Are fragrant as before; + Only thy face, of all that's dear, + I shall see nevermore!" + +Take, again, these two lines: + + "Forget the shining of the stars, forget + The vernal visitation of the rose." + +There is but one piece of blank verse in the book. This prologue +to "Orestes," by Mr. Stephen Phillips, has strength, is firm in +outline, somewhat tardy in movement, fit for sonorous declamation. +The gravity which I have indicated as a ruling quality of all +these youthful compositions makes itself felt here in its proper +place. We might have wished, perhaps, for more of joyous accent in +the ode to "Youth," by Mr. Laurence Binyon, which dwells less on +the rapture of youth than on its sadness--the melancholy of +Theognis over youth's decay: + + "O bright new-comer, filled with thoughts of joy, + Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains, + Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains + Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy? + Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears, + Wronged love, spoiled hope, mistrust and ageing fears, + Eternal longing for one perfect friend, + And unavailing wishes without end?" + +Mr. Cripps alone permits his Muse a gravely jocund note in his +"Seasons' Comfort." He, too, of the four fellow-versifiers shows +the greater aptitude for experiments, though it may perhaps be +felt that his touch is nowhere quite so sure, nor his artistic +feeling so direct as theirs. + +It is difficult to lay the critic's hand lightly enough upon +poems like these, or to make it clear what particular attraction +they possess. With all the charm of rathe spring-flowers, they +suggest the possibilities of varied personality not yet +accentuated in the authors. Let us hope that the four Muses of +the four friends will not, like the primroses, + + "die unmarried ere they can behold + Bright Phoebus in his strength," + +but that we shall profit by their summer-songs, while ever +remaining grateful for their _Primavera_. + +JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS. + +_August_, 1890. + + * * * * * + + + + +PRIMAVERA + + + O Primavera, gioventu de l' anno, + Bella madre de' fiori, + D'erbe novelle e di novelli amori, + Tu torni ben; ma teco + Non tornano i sereni + E fortunati di de le mie gioje: + Tu torni ben, tu torni, + Ma teco altro non torna + Che del perduto mio caro tesoro + La rimembranza misera e dolente: + Tu quella sei, tu quella, + Ch'era pur dianzi si vezzosa e bella; + Ma non son io gia quel ch'un tempo fui, + Si caro a gli occhi altrui. + +GUARINI. _Pastor Fido_, Atto iii, Sc. I. + + + + +POEMS + + + No Muse will I invoke; for she is fled! + Lo! where she sits, breathing, yet all but dead. + She loved the heavens of old, she thought them fair; + And dream'd of Gods in Tempe's golden air. + For her the wind had voice, the sea its cry; + She deem'd heroic Greece could never die. + Breathless was she, to think what nymphs might play + In clear green depths, deep-shaded from the day; + She thought the dim and inarticulate god + Was beautiful, nor knew she man a sod; + But hoped what seem'd might not be all untrue, + And feared to look beyond the eternal blue. + But now the heavens are bared of dreams divine. + Still murmurs she, like Autumn, _This was mine!_ + How should she face the ghastly, jarring Truth, + That questions all, and tramples without ruth? + And still she clings to Ida of her dreams, + And sobs, _Ah! let the world be what it seems!_ + Then the shy nymph shall softly come again; + The world, once more, make music for her pain. + For, sitting in the dim and ghostly night, + She fain would stay the strong approach of light; + While later bards cleave to her, and believe + That in her sorrow she can still conceive! + Oh, let her dream; still lovely is her sigh; + Oh, rouse her not, or she shall surely die. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + + + +YOUTH + + + When life begins anew, + And Youth, from gathering flowers, + From vague delights, rapt musings, twilight hours, + Turns restless, seeking some great deed to do, + To sum his foster'd dreams; when that fresh birth + Unveils the real, the throng'd and spacious Earth, + And he awakes to those more ample skies, + By other aims and by new powers possess'd: + How deeply, then, his breast + Is fill'd with pangs of longing! how his eyes + Drink in the enchanted prospect! Fair it lies + Before him, with its plains expanding vast, + Peopled with visions, and enrich'd with dreams; + Dim cities, ancient forests, winding streams, + Places resounding in the famous past, + A kingdom ready to his hand! + How like a bride Life seems to stand + In welcome, and with festal robes array'd! + He feels her loveliness pervade + And pierce him with inexplicable sweetness; + And, in her smiles delighting, and the fires + Of his own pulses, passionate soul! + Measures his strength by his desires, + And the wide future by their fleetness, + As his thought leaps to the long-distant goal. + + So eagerly across that unknown span + Of years he gazes: what, to him, + Are bounds and barriers, tales of Destiny, + Death, and the fabled impotence of man? + Already, in his marching dream, + Men at his sun-like coming seem + As with an inspiration stirr'd, and he + To kindle with new thoughts degenerate nations, + In sordid cares immersed so long; + Thrill'd with ethereal exultations + And a victorious expectancy, + Even such as swell'd the breasts of Bacchus' throng, + When that triumphal burst of joy was hurl'd + Upon the wondering world; + When from the storied, sacred East afar, + Down Indian gorges clothed in green, + With flower-rein'd tigers and with ivory car + He came, the youthful god; + Beautiful Bacchus, ivy-crown'd, his hair + Blown on the wind, and flush'd limbs bare, + And lips apart, and radiant eyes, + And ears that caught the coming melodies, + As wave on wave of revellers swept abroad; + Wreathed with vine-leaves, shouting, trampling onwards, + With toss'd timbrel and loud tambourine. + + Alas! the disenchanting years have roll'd + On hearts and minds becoming cold: + Mirth is gone from us; and the world is old. + + O bright new-comer, fill'd with thoughts of joy, + Joy to be thine amid these pleasant plains, + Know'st thou not, child, what surely coming pains + Await thee, for that eager heart's annoy? + Misunderstanding, disappointment, tears, + Wrong'd love, spoil'd hope, mistrust and ageing fears, + Eternal longing for one perfect friend, + And unavailing wishes without end? + Thou proud and pure of spirit, how must thou bear + To have thine infinite hates and loves confined, + School'd, and despised? How keep unquench'd and free + 'Mid others' commerce and economy + Such ample visions, oft in alien air + Tamed to the measure of the common kind? + How hard for thee, swept on, for ever hurl'd + From hour to hour, bewilder'd and forlorn, + To move with clear eyes and with steps secure, + To keep the light within, to fitly scorn + Those all too possible and easy goals, + Trivial ambitions of soon-sated souls! + And, patient in thy purpose, to endure + The pity and the wisdom of the world. + + Vain, vain such warning to those happy ears! + Disturb not their delight! By unkind powers + Doom'd to keep pace with the relentless Hours, + He, too, ere long, shall feel Earth's glory change; + Familiar names shall take an accent strange, + A deeper meaning, a more human tone; + No more pass'd by, unheeded or unknown, + The things that then shall be beheld through tears. + + Yet, O just Nature, thou + Who, if men's hearts be hard, art always mild; + O fields and streams, and places undefiled, + Let your sweet airs be ever on his brow, + Remember still your child. + Thou too, O human world, if old desires, + If thoughts, not alien once, can move thee now, + Teach him not yet that idly he aspires + Where thou hast fail'd; not soon let it be plain, + That all who seek in thee for nobler fires, + For generous passion, spend their hopes in vain: + Lest that insidious Fate, foe of mankind, + Who ever waits upon our weakness, try + With whispers his unnerved and faltering mind, + Palsy his powers; for she has spells to dry, + Like the March blast, his blood, turn flesh to stone, + And, conjuring action with necessity, + Freeze the quick will, and make him all her own. + + Come, then, as ever, like the Wind at morning! + Joyous, O Youth, in the aged world renew + Freshness to feel the eternities around it, + Rains, stars, and clouds, light and the sacred dew. + The strong sun shines above thee: + That strength, that radiance bring! + If Winter come to Winter, + When shall men hope for Spring? + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + * * * * * + + 'Tis my twentieth year: dim, now, youth stretches behind me; + Breaking fresh at my feet, lies, like an ocean, the world. + And despised seem, now, those quiet fields I have travell'd: + Eager to thee I turn, Life, and thy visions of joy. + Fame I see, with her wreath, far off approaching to crown me; + Love, whose starry eyes fever my heart with desire: + And impassion'd I yearn for the future, all unconscious, + Ah, poor dreamer! what ills life in its circle enfolds. + Not more restless the boy, whose eager, confident bosom + The wide, unknown sea fills with a hunger to roam. + Often beside the surge of the desolate ocean he paces; + Ingrate, dreams of a sky brighter, serener than his. + Passionate soul! light holds he a mother's tearful entreaties, + Lightly leaves he behind all the sad faces of home; + Never again, perchance, to behold them; lost in the tempest, + Or on some tropic shore dying in fever and pain! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +TESTAMENTUM AMORIS + + + I cannot raise my eyelids up from sleep, + But I am visited with thoughts of you; + Slumber has no refreshment half so deep + As the sweet morn, that wakes my heart anew. + + I cannot put away life's trivial care, + But you straightway steal on me with delight: + My purest moments are your mirror fair; + My deepest thought finds you the truth most bright. + + You are the lovely regent of my mind, + The constant sky to my unresting sea; + Yet, since 'tis you that rule me, I but find + A finer freedom in such tyranny. + + Were the world's anxious kingdoms govern'd so, + Lost were their wrongs, and vanish'd half their woe! + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + + + +AMAVIMUS, AMAMUS, AMABIMUS + + + Persephone, Persephone! + Still I fancy I can see + Thee amid the daffodils. + Golden wealth thy basket fills; + Golden blossoms at thy breast; + Golden hair that shames the West; + Golden sunlight round thy head! + Ah! the golden years have fled; + Thee have reft, and me have left + Here alone, thy loss to mourn. + + Persephone, Persephone! + Still I fancy I can see + Her, as white and still she lies: + Death has woo'd and won his prize. + White the blossoms at her breast; + White and still her face at rest; + White the moonbeams round her head. + Ah! the wintry years have fled; + Comfort lent and patience sent, + And my grief is easier borne. + + Persephone, Persephone! + Still in dreams thou com'st to me; + Every night art at my side, + Half my bride, and half Death's bride! + Golden blossoms at thy breast; + Golden hair that shames the West; + Golden sunlight circling thee! + Half of gold the lone years flee: + Night is glad, though day is sad, + Till I go where thou art gone. + +ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. + + + + +TO A LOST LOVE + + + I cannot look upon thy grave, + Though there the rose is sweet: + Better to hear the long wave wash + These wastes about my feet! + + Shall I take comfort? Dost thou live + A spirit, though afar, + With a deep hush about thee, like + The stillness round a star? + + Oh, thou art cold! In that high sphere + Thou art a thing apart, + Losing in saner happiness + This madness of the heart. + + And yet, at times, thou still shalt feel + A passing breath, a pain; + Disturb'd, as though a door in heaven + Had oped and closed again. + + And thou shalt shiver, while the hymns, + The solemn hymns, shall cease; + A moment half remember me: + Then turn away to peace. + + But oh, for evermore thy look, + Thy laugh, thy charm, thy tone, + Thy sweet and wayward earthliness, + Dear trivial things, are gone! + + Therefore I look not on thy grave, + Though there the rose is sweet; + But rather hear the loud wave wash + These wastes about my feet. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + + + +RAYMOND AND IDA + + +_Raymond._ + + Dearest, that sit'st in dreams, + Through the window look, this way. + How changed and desolate seems + The world, Ida, to-day! + Heavy and low the sky is glooming: + Winter is coming! + +_Ida._ + + My dreaming heart is stirr'd: + Sadly the winter comes! + The wind is loud: how weird, + Heard in these darken'd rooms! + Speak to me, Raymond; ease this dread: + I am afraid, afraid. + +_Raymond._ + + Love, what is this? Like snow + Thy cheeks feel, snow they wear. + What ails my darling so? + What is it thou dost hear? + Close, close, thy soft arms cling to mine: + Tears on thy lashes shine. + +_Ida._ + + Hark! love, the wind wails by + The wet October trees, + Swaying them mournfully: + The wet leaves shower and cease. + And hark! how blows the weary rain, + Against the shaken pane. + +_Raymond._ + + Ah, yes, the world is drear + Outside; there is no rest. + But what can Ida fear, + Shelter'd upon my breast? + Heed not the storm-blast, beating wild, + I love thee, love thee, child. + +_Ida._ + + Thy breath is in my hair, + Thy kisses on my cheek; + Yet I scarce feel them there: + Faintly I hear thee speak. + My heart is dreaming far away, + In some sad, future day. + +_Raymond._ + + The future? In the mist + Of years what dost thou see? + O let that dark land rest: + Come back, come back to me! + Look up! How fix'd and vacant seem + Thine eyes; so deep they dream. + +_Ida._ + + To leave the blessed light: + Cold in the grave to lie! + No voice, no human sight: + Darkness and apathy! + To die! 'tis hard, ere youth is o'er; + But ah, to love no more! + +_Raymond._ + + What dream is this, alas! + O, if but for my sake, + Wake, darling; let this pass: + Ida, dear Ida, wake! + I cannot bear to see those tears: + Thy sad tones hurt my ears. + +_Ida._ + + Will he forget me, then, + When I am gone away? + 'Twere best: to give him pain, + Let not my memory stay. + But O, even there, in Hades dim, + I would remember him. + +_Raymond._ + + Thou griev'st thyself in vain: + Sweet love, be comforted. + Come, leave this world of rain; + To the bright hearth turn thy head. + We have our fireside still, the same: + How cheerful is the flame! + + Though darkness round us press; + Though wild, without, it blows; + Here sit thee, while thy face + In the happy firelight glows: + Clasp'd in my arms, lie tranquil here; + And listen, Ida dear. + + As, from that outlook chill, + The glad hearth meets our sight, + A charm for every ill + We bear, a charm of might. + Ah, 'gainst its power not death shall stay! + Know'st thou it, darling, say? + + Thou smilest! Joy, I see, + Dawns in thine eyes again: + Those cheeks of ivory + Their own sweet bloom regain. + Thou know'st that heavenly charm; how well, + Thy happy kisses tell! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +PSYCHE + + + She is not fair, as some are fair, + Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay: + On her clear brow, come grief what may, + She suffers not too stern an air; + But, grave in silence, sweet in speech, + Loves neither mockery nor disdain; + Gentle to all, to all doth teach + The charm of deeming nothing vain. + + She join'd me: and we wander'd on; + And I rejoiced, I cared not why, + Deeming it immortality + To walk with such a soul alone. + Primroses pale grew all around, + Violets, and moss, and ivy wild; + Yet, drinking sweetness from the ground, + I was but conscious that she smiled. + + The wind blew all her shining hair + From her sweet brows; and she, the while, + Put back her lovely head, to smile + On my enchanted spirit there. + Jonquils and pansies round her head + Gleam'd softly; but a heavenlier hue + Upon her perfect cheek was shed, + And in her eyes a purer blue. + + There came an end to break the spell; + She murmur'd something in my ear; + The words fell vague, I did not hear, + And ere I knew, I said farewell; + And homeward went, with happy heart + And spirit dwelling in a gleam, + Rapt to a Paradise apart, + With all the world become a dream. + + Yet now, too soon, the world's strong strife + Breaks on me pitiless again; + The pride of passion, hopes made vain, + The wounds, the weariness, of life. + And losing that forgetful sphere, + For some less troubled world I sigh, + If not divine, more free, more clear, + Than this poor, soil'd humanity. + + But when, in trances of the night, + Wakeful, my lonely bed I keep, + And linger at the gate of Sleep, + Fearing, lest dreams deny me light; + Her image comes into the gloom, + With her pale features moulded fair, + Her breathing beauty, morning bloom, + My heart's delight, my tongue's despair. + + With loving hand she touches mine, + Showers her soft tresses on my brow, + And heals my heart, I know not how, + Bathing me with her looks divine. + She beckons me; and I arise; + And, grief no more remembering, + Wander again with rapturous eyes + Through those enchanted lands of Spring. + + Then, as I walk with her in peace, + I leave this troubled air below, + Where, hurrying sadly to and fro, + Men toil, and strain, and cannot cease: + Then, freed from tyrannous Fate's control, + Untouch'd by years or grief, I see + Transfigured in that child-like soul + The soil'd soul of humanity. + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + + + +A LAMENT + + + Over thy head, in joyful wanderings + Through heaven's wide spaces, free, + Birds fly with music in their wings; + And from the blue, rough sea + The fishes flash and leap; + There is a life of loveliest things + O'er thee, so fast asleep. + + In the deep West the heavens grow heavenlier, + Eve after eve; and still + The glorious stars remember to appear; + The roses on the hill + Are fragrant as before: + Only thy face, of all that's dear, + I shall see nevermore! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +UNDINES OF DIVERSE DAYS + + +I + + The eyes of heaven were on her bent, + In a rapture of loving wonderment, + As her song with the nightingale's was blent: + And one yearn'd for a love, and one sigh'd for a soul! + + Moonlight and starlight alike seemed cold, + As their silver glanced on her locks of gold; + And the dream on her face was a dream of old, + Whose sorrow no sunrise might smile away. + + I read her yearning and weary smile, + As her song rang sadder and sadder the while, + With its weird refrain of a magic isle, + Where some might have rest, but never might she! + + She, the darling of Sky and Stream, + She was but as wind, or as wave, or as dream, + To play for a while in life's glory and gleam: + But what would be left at the end of the day? + +II + + The sun smiles down upon her distress + With a tyrant smile most pitiless, + As she stitches away in her tatter'd dress, + With a song on her lips, that sinks in a sigh. + + Yet, scorning her dusty window pane, + For all his pride, in love he is fain + Soft gold on her golden hair to rain; + But no sunlight may soften that soulless stare. + + I read her yearning and weary sigh, + And the eyes that would be, but are not, dry; + And I catch the voice of that voiceless cry + For a moment to rest, for a moment to weep. + + She, the darling of Want and Woe, + Why was she sent, save to work and to go + With feet that will ever more weary grow? + Whither? she has not a moment to care! + + The Undine of olden days, I read, + By the love of a soul from her trammels was freed: + Knows there another such dolorous need? + Sure on the earth lingers yet such a soul! + +ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. + + + + +A DREAM + + + My dead love came to me, and said, + 'God gives me one hour's rest, + To spend with thee on earth again: + How shall we spend it best?' + + 'Why, as of old,' I said; and so + We quarrell'd, as of old: + But, when I turn'd to make my peace, + That one short hour was told. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + * * * * * + + Thou who hast follow'd far with eyes of love + The shy and virgin sights of Spring to-day, + Sad soul, what dost thou in this happy grove? + Hast thou no pipe to touch, no strain to play, + Where Nature smiles so fair and seems to ask a lay? + + Ah! she needs none! she is too beautiful. + How should I sing her? for my heart would tire, + Seeking a lovelier verse each time to cull, + In striving still to pitch my music higher: + Lovelier than any muse is she who gives the fire! + + No impulse I beseech; my strains are vile: + To escape thee, Nature, restless here I rove. + Look not so sweet on me, avert thy smile! + O cease at length this fever'd breast to move! + I have loved thee in vain; I cannot speak my love. + + Here sense with apathy seems gently wed: + The gloom is starr'd with flowers; the unseen trees + Spread thick and softly real above my head; + And the far birds add music to the peace, + In this dark place of sleep, where whispers never cease. + + Hush, then, my pipe; vain is thy passion here; + Vain is the burning bosom of desire! + Forever hush'd, let me this silence hear, + As a sad Muse in the melodious choir + Hushes her voice, to catch the happier voices by her. + + Deep-shaded will I lie, and deeper yet + In night, where not a leaf its neighbour knows; + Forget the shining of the stars, forget + The vernal visitation of the rose; + And, far from all delights, prepare my heart's repose. + + Strive how I may, I cannot slumber so: + Still burns that sleepless beauty on the mind; + Still insupportable those visions glow; + And hark! my spirit's aspirations find + An answer in the leaves, a warning on the wind. + + 'O crave not silence thou! too soon, too sure, + Shall Autumn come, and through these branches weep: + Soon birds shall cease, and flowers no more endure; + And thou beneath the mould unwilling creep, + And silent soon shalt be in that eternal sleep. + + 'Green still it is, where that fair goddess strays; + Then follow, till around thee all be sere. + Lose not a vision of her passing face; + Nor miss the sound of her soft robes, that here + Sweep over the wet leaves of the fast-falling year.' + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + +ORESTES + + + Me in far lands did Justice call, cold queen + Among the dead, who after heat and haste + At length have leisure for her steadfast voice, + That gathers peace from the great deeps of hell. + She call'd me, saying: 'I heard a cry by night! + Go thou, and question not; within thy halls + My will awaits fulfilment. Lo, the dead + Cries out before me in the under-world. + Seek not to justify thyself: in me + Be strong, and I will show thee wise in time; + For, though my face be dark, yet unto those + Who truly follow me through storm or shine, + For these the veil shall fall, and they shall see + They walked with Wisdom, though they knew her not.' + So sped I home; and from the under-world + Forever came a wind that fill'd my sails, + Cold, like a spirit! and ever her still voice + Spoke over shoreless seas and fathomless deeps, + And in great calms, as from a colder world; + Nor slack'd I sail by day, nor yet when night + Fell on my running keel, and now would burn, + With all her eyes, my errand into me. + So sped I on, fill'd with a voice divine: + And hardly wist I whom I was to slay, + My mother! but a vague, heroic dream + Possess'd me; fired to do the will of gods, + I lost the man in minister of Heaven; + Nor took I note of sandbank, nor of storm, + Nor of the ocean's thunders, when the shores + All round had faded, leaving me alone: + I knew I could not die, till I had slain! + But, when I came once more upon the land + That rear'd me, all the sweetness of old days + Came back on me: I stood, as from a dream + Waked to a sudden, sad reality. + And when, far off, I saw those ancient towers, + The palaces and places of my youth, + I long'd to fall into my mother's arms, + And tell a thousand tales of near escapes. + And lo! the nurse, that fondled me of yore, + Fell with glad tears upon my neck, and told + How she, and how my mother, all this while + Had dream'd of all I was to do, and said + How dear I should be to my mother's eyes. + Her words shook me, but shook not my resolve. + For even then there came that sterner voice, + Echoing to what was highest in the soul. + Then, like to those who have a work on earth, + And put far from them lips of wife or child, + And gird them to the accomplishment; so I + Strode in, nor saw at all mine ancient halls; + And struck my father's murderess, not my mother. + And, when I had smitten, lo, the strength of gods + Pass'd from me, and the old, familiar halls + Reel'd back on me; dim statues, that of old + Holding my mother's hand I marvell'd at, + And questioned her of each. And she lies there, + My mother! ay, my mother now; O hair + That once I play'd with in these halls! O eyes + That for a moment knew me as I came, + And lighten'd up, and trembled into love; + The next were darkened by my hand! Ah me! + Ye will not look upon me in that world. + Yet thou, perchance, art happier, if thou go'st + Into some land of wind and drifting leaves, + To sleep without a star; but as for me, + Hell hungers, and the restless Furies wait. + Then the dark Curse, that sits upon the towers, + Bow'd down her awful head, thus satisfied, + And I fled forth, a murderer, through the world. + +STEPHEN PHILLIPS. + + + + +THE SEASONS' COMFORT + + + Dry thine eyes, Doll! the stars above us shine; + God of His goodness made them mine and thine; + His silver have we gotten, and His gold, + Whilst there's a sun to call us in the morn + To ply the hook among amid the yellow corn, + That such a mine of pretty gems doth hold: + For there's the poppy half in sorrow, + Greeting sleepy-eyed the morrow, + And the corn-flower, dainty tire for a sweetheart sunny-poll'd. + + Dry thine eyes, Doll! the woods are all our own, + The woods that soon shall take a braver tone, + What time the frosts first silver Nature's hair; + The birds shall sing their best for thee and me; + And every sunrise listeners will we be, + And so of singing get the goodliest share; + When the thrushes sing so sweetly, + We would fain be footing featly, + But our hearts dance time instead in the throbbing matin air. + + Dry thine eyes, Doll! there's Love to feed our fire, + Not for the buying, but for the desire; + Winter ne'er quenched a blaze so bravely fed. + And Sleep, I wot, will grudge us not his best: + In winter earlier sink the suns to rest, + And eke the sooner shall our toils be sped; + When in the embers glowing + There'll be love-charms worth the knowing, + Or, at Yule-tide, mazes threaded, with the mistletoe o'erhead. + +ARTHUR S. CRIPPS. + + * * * * * + + O Summer sun, O moving trees! + O cheerful human noise, O busy glittering street! + What hour shall Fate in all the future find, + Or what delights, ever to equal these: + Only to taste the warmth, the light, the wind, + Only to be alive, and feel that life is sweet? + +LAURENCE BINYON. + + + + +MENTEM MORTALIA TANGUNT + + + Now lonely is the wood: + No flower now lingers, none! + The virgin sisterhood + Of roses, all are gone; + Now Autumn sheds her latest leaf; + And in my heart is grief. + + Ah me, for all earth rears, + The appointed bound is placed! + After a thousand years + The great oak falls at last: + And thou, more lovely, canst not stay, + Sweet rose, beyond thy day. + + Our life is not the life + Of roses and of leaves; + Else wherefore this deep strife, + This pain, our soul conceives? + The fall of ev'n such short-lived things + To us some sorrow brings. + + And yet, plant, bird, and fly + Feel no such hidden fire. + Happy they live; and die + Happy, with no desire. + They in their brief life have fulfill'd + All Nature in them will'd. + + And were we also made + Of like terrestrial mould + We should not be afraid, + Nor feel the grave so cold; + But, all oblivious of our fate, + Live sweetly out our date. + + For the great mother loves + Her children far too well; + These longings that she moves + Their own fulfilment tell: + She would not burden us with aught + We really needed not. + + O, not in vain she gave + To the wild birds their wings! + They spread them forth, and have + Heaven for their wanderings. + But we, to whom no wings are given + Why seek we for a Heaven? + + And, when far o'er us fly + Those voyagers of the air, + Why must we gaze, and sigh, + _O would that I were there?_ + Why are we restless, ill content, + Tied to one element? + + 'Tis not that in our tears + Some happier life we crave; + Our happiest, sweetest years + Mysterious moments have: + The sense of our brief human lot + Clings to us, haunts our thought. + + O then this pleasant earth + Seems but an alien thing: + Faint grows her busy mirth; + Far hence our thoughts take wing: + For some enduring home we cry! + She cannot satisfy, + + Or bind us: only ties + Immortal found can bless; + Only in loving eyes + We see our happiness; + Only upon a loving breast + Our souls find any rest. + + Why thirsts the spirit so + For life? what moves it thus? + 'Tis _her_ voice; yes, I know, + 'Tis Nature cries in us: + 'Tis no unholy strife of ours + Against forbidding powers. + + What though we gaze with fear, + So blank death seems to be; + What though no land appear + Beyond that lonely sea; + Still in our hearts her cry doth stay; + She will find out a way. + + So in the chrysalis + Slumber those lovely wings; + So from the shell it is + The dazzling pearl she brings: + Her glorious works she works alone, + Unfathom'd and unknown! + +MANMOHAN GHOSE. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Primavera, by +Stephen Phillips, Laurence Binyon, Manmohan Ghose and Arthur Shearly Cripps + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PRIMAVERA *** + +***** This file should be named 19170.txt or 19170.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/7/19170/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Sankar Viswanathan, +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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