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diff --git a/old/mnyvc10.txt b/old/mnyvc10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d677532 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mnyvc10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2763 @@ +****The Project Gutenberg Etext of Many Voices, by E. Nesbit**** +#8 in our series by E. Nesbit + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Many Voices + +by E. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1922 Hutchinson and Co. edition. + + + + + +MANY VOICES + + + + +Contents: + +The Return +For Dolly--Who does not Learn her Lessons +Questions +The Daisies +The Touchstone +The December Rose +The Fire +Song +A Parting +The Gift of Life +Incompatibilities +The Stolen God--Lazarus to Dives +Winter +Sea-shells +Hope +The Prodigal's Return +The Skylark +Saturday Song +The Champion +The Garden Refused +These Little Ones +The Despot +The Magic Ring +Philosophy +The Whirligig of Time +Magic +Windflowers +As it is +Before Winter +The Vault--after Sedgmoor +Surrender +Values +In the People's Park +Wedding Day +The Last Defeat +May Day +Gretna Green +The Eternal +The Point of View: I +The Point of View: II +Mary of Magdala +The Home-coming +Age to Youth +In Age +White Magic +From the Portuguese +The Nest +The Old Magic +Faith +The Death of Agnes +In Trouble +Gratitude +At the Last +Fear +The Day of Judgment +A Farewell +In Hospital +Prayer in Time of War +At Parting +Invocation +To Her: In Time of War +The Fields of Flanders +Spring in War-time +The Mother's Prayer +Inasmuch as ye did it not + + + + +POEM: THE RETURN + + + +The grass was gray with the moonlit dew, +The stones were white as I came through; +I came down the path by the thirteen yews, +Through the blocks of shade that the moonlight hews. +And when I came to the high lych-gate +I waited awhile where the corpses wait; +Then I came down the road where the moonlight lay +Like the fallen ghost of the light of day. + +The bats shrieked high in their zigzag flight, +The owls' spread wings were quiet and white, +The wind and the poplar gave sigh for sigh, +And all about were the rustling shy +Little live creatures that love the night - +Little wild creatures timid and free. +I passed, and they were not afraid of me. + +It was over the meadow and down the lane +The way to come to my house again: +Through the wood where the lovers talk, +And the ghosts, they say, get leave to walk. +I wore the clothes that we all must wear, +And no one saw me walking there, +No one saw my pale feet pass +By my garden path to my garden grass. +My garden was hung with the veil of spring - +Plum-tree and pear-tree blossoming; +It lay in the moon's cold sheet of light +In garlands and silence, wondrous and white +As a dead bride decked for her burying. + +Then I saw the face of my house +Held close in the arms of the blossomed boughs: +I leaned my face to the window bright +To feel if the heart of my house beat right. +The firelight hung it with fitful gold; +It was warm as the house of the dead is cold. +I saw the settles, the candles tall, +The black-faced presses against the wall, +Polished beechwood and shining brass, +The gleam of china, the glitter of glass, +All the little things that were home to me - +Everything as it used to be. + +Then I said, "The fire of life still burns, +And I have returned whence none returns: +I will warm my hands where the fire is lit, +I will warm my heart in the heart of it!" +So I called aloud to the one within: +"Open, open, and let me in! +Let me in to the fire and the light - +It is very cold out here in the night!" +There was never a stir or an answering breath - +Only a silence as deep as death. + +Then I beat on the window, and called, and cried. +No one heard me, and none replied. +The golden silence lay warm and deep, +And I wept as the dead, forgotten, weep; +And there was no one to hear or see - +To comfort me, to have pity on me. + +But deep in the silence something stirred - +Something that had not seen or heard - +And two drew near to the window-pane, +Kissed in the moonlight and kissed again, +And looked, through my face, to the moon-shroud, spread +Over the garlanded garden bed; +And--"How ghostly the moonlight is!" she said. + +Back through the garden, the wood, the lane, +I came to mine own place again. +I wore the garments we all must wear, +And no one saw me walking there. +No one heard my thin feet pass +Through the white of the stones and the gray of the grass, +Along the path where the moonlight hews +Slabs of shadow for thirteen yews. + +In the hollow where drifted dreams lie deep +It is good to sleep: it was good to sleep: +But my bed has grown cold with the drip of the dew, +And I cannot sleep as I used to do. + + + +POEM: FOR DOLLY--WHO DOES NOT LEARN HER LESSONS + + + +You see the fairies dancing in the fountain, +Laughing, leaping, sparkling with the spray; +You see the gnomes, at work beneath the mountain, +Make gold and silver and diamonds every day; +You see the angels, sliding down the moonbeams, +Bring white dreams like sheaves of lilies fair; +You see the imps, scarce seen against the moonbeams, +Rise from the bonfire's blue and liquid air. + +All the enchantment, all the magic there is +Hid in trees and blossoms, to you is plain and true. +Dewdrops in lupin leaves are jewels for the fairies; +Every flower that blows is a miracle for you. +Air, earth, water, fire, spread their splendid wares for you. +Millions of magics beseech your little looks; +Every soul your winged soul meets, loves you and cares for you. +Ah! why must we clip those wings and dim those eyes with books? + +Soon, soon enough the magic lights grow dimmer, +Marsh mists arise to cloud the radiant sky, +Dust of hard highways will veil the starry glimmer, +Tired hands will lay the folded magic by. +Storm winds will blow through those enchanted closes, +Fairies be crushed where weed and briar grow strong . . . +Leave her her crown of magic stars and roses, +Leave her her kingdom--she will not keep it long! + + + +POEM: QUESTIONS + + + +What do the roses do, mother, +Now that the summer's done? +They lie in the bed that is hung with red +And dream about the sun. + +What do the lilies do, mother, +Now that there's no more June? +Each one lies down in her white nightgown +And dreams about the moon. + +What can I dream of, mother, +With the moon and the sun away? +Of a rose unborn, of an untried thorn, +And a lily that lives a day! + + + +POEM: THE DAISIES + + + +In the great green park with the wooden palings - +The wooden palings so hard to climb, +There are fern and foxglove, primrose and violet, +And green things growing all the time; +And out in the open the daisies grow, +Pretty and proud in their proper places, +Millions of white-frilled daisy faces, +Millions and millions--not one or two. +And they call to the bluebells down in the wood: +"Are you out--are you in? We have been so good +All the school-time winter through, +But now it's playtime, +The gay time, the May time; +We are out and at play. Where are you?" + +In the gritty garden inside the railings, +The spiky railings all painted green, +There are neat little beds of geraniums and fuchsia +With never a happy weed between. +There's a neat little grass plot, bald in places, +And very dusty to touch; +A respectable man comes once a week +To keep the garden weeded and swept, +To keep it as we don't want it kept. +He cuts the grass with his mowing-machine, +And we think he cuts it too much. +But even on the lawn, all dry and gritty, +The daisies play about. +They are so brave as well as so pretty, +You cannot keep them out. +I love them, I want to let them grow, +But that respectable man says no. +He cuts off their heads with his mowing-machine +Like the French Revolution guillotine. +He sweeps up the poor little pretty faces, +The dear little white-frilled daisy faces; +Says things must be kept in their proper places +He has no frill round his ugly face - +I wish I could find his proper place! + + + +POEM: THE TOUCHSTONE + + + +There was a garden, very strange and fair +With all the roses summer never brings. +The snowy blossom of immortal Springs +Lighted its boughs, and I, even I, was there. +There were new heavens, and the earth was new, +And still I told my heart the dream was true. + +But when the sun stood still, and Time went out +Like a blown candle--when she came to me +Under the bride-veil of the blossomed tree, +Chill through the garden blew the winds of doubt, +And when, with starry eyes, and lips too near, +She leaned to me, my heart knew what to fear. + +"It is no dream," she said. "What dream had stayed +So long? It is the blessed isle that lies +Between the tides of twin eternities. +It is our island; do not be afraid!" +Then, then at last my heart was well deceived; +I hid my eyes; I trembled and believed. + +Her real presence sanctified my faith, +Her very voice my restless fears beguiled, +And it was Life that clasped me when she smiled, +But when she said "I love you!" it was Death. +That, that at least could neither be nor seem - +Oh, then, indeed, I knew it was a dream! + + + +POEM: THE DECEMBER ROSE + + + +Here's a rose that blows for Chloe, +Fair as ever a rose in June was, +Now the garden's silent, snowy, +Where the burning summer noon was. + +In your garden's summer glory +One poor corner, shelved and shady, +Told no rosy, radiant story, +Grew no rose to grace its lady. + +What shuts sun out shuts out snow too; +From his nook your secret lover +Shows what slighted roses grow to +When the rose you chose is over. + + + +POEM: THE FIRE + + + +I was picking raspberries, my head was in the canes, +And he came behind and kissed me, and I smacked him for his pains. +Says he, "You take it easy! That ain't the way to do! +I love you hot as fire, my girl, and you know you know it too. +So won't you name the day?" +But I said, "That I will not." +And I pushed him away, +Out among the raspberries all on a summer day. +And I says, "You ask in winter, if your love's so hot, +For it's summer now, and sunny, and my hands is full," says I, +"With the fair by and by, +And the village dance and all; +And the turkey poults is small, +And so's the ducks and chicks, +And the hay not yet in ricks, +And the flower-show'll be presently and hop-picking's to come, +And the fruiting and the harvest home, +And my new white gown to make, and the jam all to be done. +Can't you leave a girl alone? +Your love's too hot for me! +Can't you leave a girl be +Till the evenings do draw in, +Till the leaves be getting thin, +Till the fires be lighted early, and the curtains drawed for tea? +That's the time to do your courting, if you come a-courting me!" + +* * * + +And he took it as I said it, an' not as it was meant. +And he went. + +* * * + +The hay was stacked, the fruit was picked, the hops were dry and +brown, +And everything was garnered, and the year turned upside down, +And the winter it come on, and the fires were early lit, +And he'd never come anigh again, and all my life was sick. +And I was cold alone, with nought to do but sit +With my hands in my black lap, and hear the clock tick. +For father, he lay dead +With the candles at his head, +And his coffin was that black I could see it through the wall; +And I'd sent them all away, +Though they'd offered for to stay. +I wanted to be cold alone, and learn to bear it all. +Then I heard him. I'd a-known it for his footstep just as plain +If he'd brought his regiment with him up the rutty frozen lane. +And I hadn't drawed the curtains, and I see him through the pane; +And I jumped up in my blacks and I threw the door back wide. +Says I, "You come inside; +For it's cold outside for you, +And it's cold here too; +And I haven't no more pride - +It's too cold for that," I cried. + +* * * + +Then I saw in his face +The fear of death, and desire. +And oh, I took and kissed him again and again, +And I clipped him close and all, +In the winter, in the dusk, in the quiet house-place, +With the coffin lying black and full the other side the wall; +And "YOU warm my heart," I told him, "if there's any fire in men!" +And he got his two arms round me, and I felt the fire then. +And I warmed my heart at the fire. + + + +POEM: SONG + + + +Now the Spring is waking, +Very shy as yet, +Busy mending, making +Grass and violet. +Frowsy Winter's over: +See the budding lane! +Go and meet your lover: +Spring is here again! + +Every day is longer +Than the day before; +Lambs are whiter, stronger, +Birds sing more and more; +Woods are less than shady, +Griefs are more than vain - +Go and kiss your lady: +Spring is here again! + + + +POEM: A PARTING + + + +So good-bye! +This is where we end it, you and I. +Life's to live, you know, and death's to die; +So good-bye! + +I was yours +For the love in life that loves while life endures, +For the earth-path that the Heaven-flight ensures +I was yours. + +You were mine +For the moment that a garland takes to twine, +For the human hour that sorcery shews divine +You were mine. + +All is over. +You and I no more are love and lover; +Nought's to seek now, gain, attain, discover. +All is over. + + + +POEM: THE GIFT OF LIFE + + + +Life is a night all dark and wild, +Yet still stars shine: +This moment is a star, my child - +Your star and mine. + +Life is a desert dry and drear, +Undewed, unblest; +This hour is an oasis, dear; +Here let us rest. + +Life is a sea of windy spray, +Cold, fierce and free: +An isle enchanted is to-day +For you and me. + +Forget night, sea, and desert: take +The gift supreme, +And, of life's brief relenting, make +A deathless dream. + + + +POEM: INCOMPATIBILITIES + + + +If you loved me I could trust you to your fancy's furthest bound +While the sun shone and the wind blew, and the world went round, +To the utmost of the meshes of the devil's strongest net . . . +If you loved me, if you loved me--but you do not love me yet! + +I love you--and I cannot trust you further than the door! +But winds and worlds and seasons change, and you will love me more +And more--until I trust you, dear, as women do trust men - +I shall trust you, I shall trust you, but I shall not love you +then! + + + +POEM: THE STOLEN GOD--LAZARUS TO DIVES + + + +We do not clamour for vengeance, +We do not whine for fear; +We have cried in the outer darkness +Where was no man to hear. +We cried to man and he heard not; +Yet we thought God heard us pray; +But our God, who loved and was sorry - +Our God is taken away. + +Ours were the stream and the pasture, +Forest and fen were ours; +Ours were the wild wood-creatures, +The wild sweet berries and flowers. +You have taken our heirlooms from us, +And hardly you let us save +Enough of our woods for a cradle, +Enough of our earth for a grave. + +You took the wood and the cornland, +Where still we tilled and felled; +You took the mine and quarry, +And all you took you held. +The limbs of our weanling children +You crushed in your mills of power; +And you made our bearing women toil +To the very bearing hour. + +You have taken our clean quick longings, +Our joy in lover and wife, +Our hope of the sunset quiet +At the evening end of life; +You have taken the land that bore us, +Its soil and stone and sod; +You have taken our faith in each other - +And now you have taken our God. + +When our God came down from Heaven +He came among men, a Man, +Eating and drinking and working +As common people can; +And the common people received Him +While the rich men turned away. +But what have we to do with a God +To whom the rich men pray? + +He hangs, a dead God, on your altars, +Who lived a Man among men, +You have taken away our Lord +And we cannot find Him again. +You have not left us a handful +Of even the earth He trod . . . +You have made Him a rich man's idol +Who came as a poor man's God. + +He promised the poor His heaven, +He loved and lived with the poor; +He said that the rich man's shadow +Should never darken His door: +But bishops and priests lie softly, +Drink full and are fully fed +In the Name of the Lord, who had not +Where to lay His head. + +This is the God you have stolen, +As you steal all else--in His name. +You have taken the ease and the honour, +Left us the toil and the shame. +You have chosen the seat of Dives, +We lie where Lazarus lay; +But, by God, we will not yield you our God, +You shall not take Him away. + +All else we had you have taken; +All else, but not this, not this. +The God of Heaven is ours, is ours, +And the poor are His, are His. +Is He ours? Is He yours? Give answer! +For both He cannot be. +And if He is ours--O you rich men, +Then whose, in God's name, are ye? + + + +POEM: WINTER + + + +Hold your hands to the blaze; +Winter is here +With the short cold days, +Bleak, keen and drear. +Was there ever a day +With hawthorn along the way +Where you wandered in mild mid-May +With your dear? + +That was when you were young +And the world was gold; +Now all the songs are sung, +The tales all told. +You shiver now by the fire +Where the last red sparks expire; +Dead are delight and desire: +You are old. + + + +POEM: SEA-SHELLS + + + +I gathered shells upon the sand, +Each shell a little perfect thing, +So frail, yet potent to withstand +The mountain-waves' wild buffeting. +Through storms no ship could dare to brave +The little shells float lightly, save +All that they might have lost of fine +Shape and soft colour crystalline. + +Yet I amid the world's wild surge +Doubt if my soul can face the strife, +The waves of circumstance that urge +That slight ship on the rocks of life. +O soul, be brave, for He who saves +The frail shell in the giant waves, +Will bring thy puny bark to land +Safe in the hollow of His hand. + + + +POEM: HOPE + + + +O thrush, is it true? +Your song tells +Of a world born anew, +Of fields gold with buttercups, woodlands all blue +With hyacinth bells; +Of primroses deep +In the moss of the lane, +Of a Princess asleep +And dear magic to do. +Will the sun wake the princess? O thrush, is it true? +Will Spring come again? + +Will Spring come again? +Now at last +With soft shine and rain +Will the violet be sweet where the dead leaves have lain? +Will Winter be past? +In the brown of the copse +Will white wind-flowers star through +Where the last oak-leaf drops? +Will the daisies come too, +And the may and the lilac? Will Spring come again? +O thrush, is it true? + + + +POEM: THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN + + + +I reach my hand to thee! +Stoop; take my hand in thine; +Lead me where I would be, +Father divine. +I do not even know +The way I want to go, +The way that leads to rest: +But, Thou who knowest me, +Lead where I cannot see, +Thou knowest best. + +Toys, worthless, yet desired, +Drew me afar to roam. +Father, I am so tired; +I am come home. +The love I held so cheap +I see, so dear, so deep, +So almost understood. +Life is so cold and wild, +I am thy little child - +I WILL be good. + + + +POEM: THE SKYLARK + + + +". . . a dripping shower of notes from the softening blue. It is +the skylark come."--Robert A Field, in the New Age. + +"It is the skylark come." For shame! +Robert-a-Cockney is thy name: +Robert-a-Field would surely know +That skylarks, bless them, never go! + +* * * + +Love of my life, bear witness here +How we have heard them all the year; +How to the skylark's song are set +The days we never can forget. +At Rustington, do you remember? +We heard the skylarks in December; +In January above the snow +They sang to us by Hurstmonceux +Once in the keenest airs of March +We heard them near the Marble Arch; +Their April song thrilled Tonbridge air; +May found them singing everywhere; +And oh, in Sheppey, how their tune +Rhymed with the bean-flower scent in June. +One unforgotten day at Rye +They sang a love-song in July; +In August, hard by Lewes town, +They sang of joy 'twixt sky and down; +And in September's golden spell +We heard them singing on Scaw Fell. +October's leaves were brown and sere, +But skylarks sang by Teston Weir; +And in November, at Mount's Bay, +They sang upon our wedding day! + +* * * + +Mr.-a-Field, go forth, go forth, +Go east and west and south and north; +You'll always find the furze in flower, +Find every hour the lovers' hour, +And, by my faith in love and rhyme, +The skylark singing all the time! + + + +POEM: SATURDAY SONG + + + +They talk about gardens of roses, +And moonlight over the sea, +And mountains and snow +And sunsetty glow, +But I know what is best for me. +The prettiest sight I know, +Worth all your roses and snow, +Is the blaze of light on a Saturday night, +When the barrows are set in a row. + +I've heard of bazaars in India +All glitter and spices and smells, +But they don't compare +With the naphtha flare +And the herrings the coster sells; +And the oranges piled like gold, +The cucumbers lean and cold, +And the red and white block-trimmings +And the strawberries fresh and ripe, +And the peas and beans, +And the sprouts and greens, +And the 'taters and trotters and tripe. + +And the shops where they sell the chairs, +The mangles and tables and bedding, +And the lovers go by in pairs, +And look--and think of the wedding. +And your girl has her arm in yours, +And you whisper and make her blush. +Oh! the snap in her eyes--and her smiles and her sighs +As she fancies the purple plush! + +And you haven't a penny to spend, +But you dream that you've pounds and pounds; +And arm in arm with your only friend +You make your Saturday rounds: +And you see the cradle bright +With ribbon--lace--pink and white; +And she stops her laugh +And you drop your chaff +In the light of the Saturday night. +And the world is new +For her and you - +A little bit of all-right. + + + +POEM: THE CHAMPION + + + +Young and a conqueror, once on a day, +Wild white Winter rode out this way; +With his sword of ice and his banner of snow +Vanquished the Summer and laid her low. + +Winter was young then, young and strong; +Now he is old, he has reigned too long. +He shall be routed, he shall be slain; +Summer shall come to her own again! + +See the champion of Summer wake +Little armies in field and brake: +"Cruel and cold has King Winter been; +Fight for the Summer, fight for the Queen!" + +First the aconite dots the mould +With little round cannon-balls of gold; +Then, to help in the winter's rout, +Regiments of crocuses march out. + +See the swords of the flag-leaves shine; +See the shield of the celandine, +And daffodil lances green and keen, +To fight for the Summer, fight for the Queen. + +Silver triumphant the snowdrop swings +Banners that mock at defeated kings; +And wherever the green of the new grass peers, +See the array of victorious spears. + +Daffodil trumpets soon shall sound +Over the garden's battle-ground, +And lovely ladies crowd out to see +The long procession of victory. + +Little daisies with snowy frills, +Courtly tulips and sweet jonquils, +Primrose and cowslip, friends well met +With white wood-sorrel and violet. + +Hundreds of milkmaids by field and fold; +Thousands of buttercups licked with gold; +Budding hedges and woods and trees - +Spring brings freedom and life to these. + +Then the triumphant Spring shall ride +Over the happy countryside; +Deep in the woods the birds shall sing: +"The King is dead--long live the King!" + +But Spring is no king, but a faithful knight; +He will ride on through the meadows bright +Till at Summer's feet he shall light him down +And lay at her feet the royal crown. + +She will lean down where the roses twine +Between the may-trees' silver shine, +And look in the eyes of the dying knight +Who led his army and won her fight. + +She will stoop to his lips and say, +"Oh, live, O love! O my true love, stay!" +While he smiles and sighs her arms between +And dies for the Summer, dies for the Queen. + + + +POEM: THE GARDEN REFUSED + + + +There is a garden made for our delight, +Where all the dreams we dare not dream come true. +I know it, but I do not know the way. +We slip and tumble in the doubtful night, +Where everything is difficult and new, +And clouds our breath has made obscure the day. + +The blank unhappy towns, where sick men strive, +Still doing work that yet is never done; +The hymns to Gold that drown their desperate voice; +The weeds that grow where once corn stood alive, +The black injustice that puts out the sun: +These are our portion, since they are our choice. + +Yet there the garden blows with rose on rose, +The sunny, shadow-dappled lawns are there; +There the immortal lilies, heavenly sweet. +O roses, that for us shall not unclose! +O lilies, that we shall not pluck or wear! +O dewy lawns untrodden by our feet! + + + +POEM: THESE LITTLE ONES + + + +"What of the garden I gave?" +God said to me; +"Hast thou been diligent to foster and save +The life of flower and tree? +How have the roses thriven, +The lilies I have given, +The pretty scented miracles that Spring +And Summer come to bring? + +"My garden is fair and dear," +I said to God; +"From thorns and nettles I have kept it clear. +Green-trimmed its sod. +The rose is red and bright, +The lily a live delight; +I have not lost a flower of all the flowers +That blessed my hours." + +"What of the child I gave?" +God said to me; +"The little, little one I died to save +And gave in trust to thee? +How have the flowers grown +That in its soul were sown, +The lovely living miracles of youth +And hope and joy and truth?" + +"The child's face is all white," +I said to God; +"It cries for cold and hunger in the night: +Its little feet have trod +The pavement muddy and cold. +It has no flowers to hold, +And in its soul the flowers you set are dead." +"Thou fool!" God said. + + + +POEM: THE DESPOT + + + +The garden mould was damp and chill; +Winter had had his brutal will +Since over all the year's content +His devastating legions went. + +The Spring's bright banners came: there woke +Millions of little growing folk +Who thrilled to know the winter done, +Gave thanks, and strove towards the sun. + +Not so the elect; reserved, and slow +To trust a stranger-sun and grow, +They hesitated, cowered and hid, +Waiting to see what others did. + +Yet even they, a little, grew, +Put out prim leaves to day and dew, +And lifted level formal heads +In their appointed garden beds. + +The gardener came: he coldly loved +The flowers that lived as he approved, +That duly, decorously grew +As he, the despot, meant them to. + +He saw the wildlings flower more brave +And bright than any cultured slave; +Yet, since he had not set them there, +He hated them for being fair. + +So he uprooted, one by one, +The free things that had loved the sun, +The happy, eager, fruitful seeds +Who had not known that they were weeds. + + + +POEM: THE MAGIC RING + + + +Your touch on my hand is fire, +Your lips on my lips are flowers. +My darling, my one desire, +Dear crown of my days and hours. +Dear crown of each hour and day +Since ever my life began. +Ah! leave me--ah! go away - +We two are woman and man. + +To lie in your arms and see +The stars melt into the sun; +Till there is no you and me, +Since you and I are one. +To loose my soul to your breath, +To bare my heart to your life - +It is death, it is death, it is death! +I am not your wife. + +The hours will come and will go, +But never again such an hour +When the tides immortal flow +And life is a flood, a flower . . . +Wait for the ring; it is strong, +It has a magic of might +To make all that was splendid and wrong +Sordid and right. + + + +POEM: PHILOSOPHY + + + +The sulky sage scarce condescends to see +This pretty world of sun and grass and leaves; +To him 'tis all illusion--only he +Is real amid the visions he perceives. + +No sage am I, and yet, by Love's decree, +To me the world's a masque of shadows too, +And I a shadow also--since to me +The only real thing in life is--you. + + + +POEM: THE WHIRLIGIG OF TIME + + + +Before your feet, +My love, my sweet, +Behold! your slave bows down; +And in his hands +From other lands +Brings you another crown. + +For in far climes, +In bygone times, +Myself was royal too: +Oh, I have been +A king, my queen, +Who am a slave for you! + + + +POEM: MAGIC + + + +What was the spell she wove for me? +Life was a common useful thing, +An eligible building site +To hold a house to shelter me. +There were no woodlands whispering; +No unimagined dreams at night +About that house had folded wing, +Disordering my life for me. + +I was so safe until she came +With starry secrets in her eyes, +And on her lips the word of power. +- Like to the moon of May she came, +That makes men mad who were born wise - +Within her hand the only flower +Man ever plucked from Paradise; +So to my half-built house she came. + +She turned my useful plot of land +Into a garden wild and fair, +Where stars in garlands hung like flowers: +A moonlit, lonely, lovely land. +Dim groves and glimmering fountains there +Embraced a secret bower of bowers, +And in its rose-ringed heart we were +Alone in that enchanted land. + +What was the spell I wove for her, +Her mad dear magic to undo? +The red rose dies, the white rose dies, +The garden spits me forth with her +On the old suburban road I knew. +My house is gone, and by my side +A stranger stands with angry eyes +And lips that swear I ruined her. + + + +POEM: WINDFLOWERS + + + +When I was little and good +I walked in the dappled wood +Where light white windflowers grew, +And hyacinths heavy and blue. + +The windflowers fluttered light, +Like butterflies white and bright; +The bluebells tremulous stood +Deep in the heart of the wood. + +I gathered the white and the blue, +The wild wet woodland through, +With hands too silly and small +To clasp and carry them all. + +Some dropped from my hands and died +By the home-road's grassy side; +And those that my fond hands pressed +Died even before the rest. + + + +POEM: AS IT IS + + + +If you and I +Had wings to fly - +Great wings like seagulls' wings - +How would we soar +Above the roar +Of loud unneeded things! + +We two would rise +Through changing skies +To blue unclouded space, +And undismayed +And unafraid +Meet the sun face to face. + +But wings we know not; +The feathers grow not +To carry us so high; +And low in the gloom +Of a little room +We weep and say good-bye. + + + +POEM: BEFORE WINTER + + + +The wind is crying in the night, +Like a lost child; +The waves break wonderful and white +And wild. +The drenched sea-poppies swoon along +The drenched sea-wall, +And there's an end of summer and of song - +An end of all. + +The fingers of the tortured boughs +Gripped by the blast +Clutch at the windows of your house +Closed fast. +And the lost child of love, despair, +Cries in the night, +Remembering how once those windows were +Open and bright. + + + +POEM: THE VAULT--AFTER SEDGMOOR + + + +You need not call at the Inn; +I have ordered my bed: +Fair linen sheets therein +And a tester of lead. +No musty fusty scents +Such as inn chambers keep, +But tapestried with content +And hung with sleep. + +My Inn door bears no bar +Set up against fear. +The guests have journeyed far, +They are glad to be here. +Where the damp arch curves up grey, +Long, long shall we lie; +Good King's men all are they, +A King's man I. + +Old Giles, in his stone asleep, +Fought at Poictiers. +Piers Ralph and Roger keep +The spoil of their fighting years. +I shall lie with my folk at last +In a quiet bed; +I shall dream of the sword held fast +In a round-capped head. + +Good tale of men all told +My Inn affords; +And their hands peace shall hold +That once held swords. +And we who rode and ran +On many a loyal quest +Shall find the goal of man - +A bed, and rest. + +We shall not stand to the toast +Of Love or King; +We be all too tired to boast +About anything. +We be dumb that did jest and sing; +We rest who laboured and warred . . . +Shout once, shout once for the King. +Shout once for the sword! + + + +POEM: SURRENDER + + + +Oh, the nights were dark and cold, +When my love was gone. +And life was hard to hold +When my love was gone. +I was wise, I never gave +What they teach a girl to save, +But I wished myself his slave +When my love was gone. + +I was all alone at night +When my love came home. +Oh, what thought of wrong or right +When my love came home? +I flung the door back wide +And I pulled my love inside; +There was no more shame or pride +When my love came home. + + + +POEM: VALUES + + + +Did you deceive me? Did I trust +A heart of fire to a heart of dust? +What matter? Since once the world was fair, +And you gave me the rose of the world to wear. + +That was the time to live for! Flowers, +Sunshine and starshine and magic hours, +Summer about me, Heaven above, +And all seemed immortal, even Love. + +Well, the mortal rose of your love was worth +The pains of death and the pains of birth; +And the thorns may be sharper than death--who knows? - +That crowd round the stem of a deathless rose. + + + +POEM: IN THE PEOPLE'S PARK + + + +Many's the time I've found your face +Fresh as a bunch of flowers in May, +Waiting for me at our own old place +At the end of the working day. +Many's the time I've held your hand +On the shady seat in the People's Park, +And blessed the blaring row of the band +And kissed you there in the dark. + +Many's the time you promised true, +Swore it with kisses, swore it with tears: +"I'll marry no one without it's you - +If we have to wait for years." +And now it's another chap in the Park +That holds your hand like I used to do; +And I kiss another girl in the dark, +And try to fancy it's you! + + + +POEM: WEDDING DAY + + + +The enchanted hour, +The magic bower, +Where, crowned with roses, +Love love discloses. + +"Kiss me, my lover; +Doubting is over, +Over is waiting; +Love lights our mating!" + +"But roses wither, +Chill winds blow hither, +One thing all say, dear, +Love lives a day, dear!" + +"Heed those old stories? +New glowing glories +Blot out those lies, love! +Look in my eyes, love! + +"Ah, but the world knows - +Naught of the true rose; +Back the world slips, love! +Give me your lips, love! + +"Even were their lies true, +Yet were you wise to +Swear, at Love's portal, +The god's immortal." + + + +POEM: THE LAST DEFEAT + + + +Across the field of day +In sudden blazon lay +The pallid bar of gold +Borne on the shield of day. +Night had endured so long, +And now the Day grew strong +With lance of light to hold +The Night at bay. + +So on my life's dull night +The splendour of your light +Traversed the dusky shield +And shone forth golden bright. +Your colours I have worn +Through all the fight forlorn, +And these, with life, I yield, +To-night, to Night. + + + +POEM: MAY DAY + + + +Will you go a-maying, a-maying, a-maying, +Come and be my Queen of May and pluck the may with me? +The fields are full of daisy buds and new lambs playing, +The bird is on the nest, dear, the blossom's on the tree." + +"If I go with you, if I go a-maying, +To be your Queen and wear my crown this May-day bright, +Hand in hand straying, it must be only playing, +And playtime ends at sunset, and then good-night. + +"For I have heard of maidens who laughed and went a-maying, +Went out queens and lost their crowns and came back slaves. +I will be no young man's slave, submitting and obeying, +Bearing chains as those did, even to their graves." + +"If you come a-maying, a-straying, a-playing, +We will pluck the little flowers, enough for you and me; +And when the day dies, end our one day's playing, +Give a kiss and take a kiss and go home free." + + + +POEM: GRETNA GREEN + + + +Last night when I kissed you, +My soul caught alight; +And oh! how I missed you +The rest of the night - +Till Love in derision +Smote sleep with his wings, +And gave me in vision +Impossible things. + +A night that was clouded, +Long windows asleep; +Dark avenues crowded +With secrets to keep. +A terrace, a lover, +A foot on the stair; +The waiting was over, +The lady was there. + +What a flight, what a night! +The hoofs splashed and pounded. +Dark fainted in light +And the first bird-notes sounded. +You slept on my shoulder, +Shy night hid your face; +But dawn, bolder, colder, +Beheld our embrace. + +Your lips of vermilion, +Your ravishing shape, +The flogging postillion, +The village agape, +The rattle and thunder +Of postchaise a-speed . . . +My woman, my wonder, +My ultimate need! + +We two matched for mating +Came, handclasped, at last, +Where the blacksmith was waiting +To fetter us fast . . . +At the touch of the fetter +The dream snapped and fell - +And I woke to your letter +That bade me farewell. + + + +POEM: THE ETERNAL + + + +Your dear desired grace, +Your hands, your lips of red, +The wonder of your perfect face +Will fade, like sweet rose-petals shed, +When you are dead. + +Your beautiful hair +Dust in the dust will lie - +But not the light I worship there, +The gold the sunshine crowns you by - +This will not die. + +Your beautiful eyes +Will be closed up with clay; +But all the magic they comprise, +The hopes, the dreams, the ecstasies +Pass not away. + +All I desire and see +Will be a carrion thing; +But all that you have been to me +Is, and can never cease to be. +O Grave! where is thy victory? +Where, Death, thy sting? + + + +POEM: THE POINT OF VIEW: I. + + + +I + +There was never winter, summer only: roses, +Pink and white and red, +Shining down the warm rich garden closes; +Quiet trees and lawns of dappled shadow, +Silver lilies, whisper of mignonette, +Cloth-of-gold of buttercups outspread; +Good gold sun that kissed me when we met, +Shadows of floating clouds on sunny meadow. +In the hay-field, scented, grey, +Loving life and love, I lay; +By fresh airs blown, drifted into sleep; +Slept and dreamed there. Winter was the dream. + +II + +Summer never was, was always winter only; +Cold and ice and frost +Only, driven by the ice-wind, lonely, +In a world of strangers, in the welter +Of the puddles and the spiteful wind and sleet, +Blinded by the spitting hailstones, lost +In a bitter unfamiliar street, +I found a doorway, crouched there for just shelter, +Crouched and fought in vain for breath, +Cursed the cold and wished for death; +Crouched there, gathered somehow warmth to sleep; +Slept and dreamed there. Summer was the dream. + + + +POEM: THE POINT OF VIEW: II. + + + +I + +In the wood of lost causes, the valley of tears, +Old hopes, like dead leaves, choke the difficult way; +Dark pinions fold dank round the soul, and it hears: +"It is night, it is night, it has never been day; +Thou hast dreamed of the day, of the rose of delight; +It was always dead leaves and the heart of the night. +Drink deep then, and rest, O thou foolish wayfarer, +For night, like a chalice, holds sleep in her hands." + +II + +Then you drain the dark cup, and, half-drugged as you lie +In the arms of despair that is masked as delight, +You thrill to the rush of white wings, and you hear: +"It is day, it is day, it has never been night! +Thou hast dreamed of the night and the wood of lost leaves; +It was always noon, June, and red roses in sheaves, +Unlock the blind lids, and behold the light-bearer +Who holds, like a monstrance, the sun in his hands." + + + +POEM: MARY OF MAGDALA + + + +Mary of Magdala came to bed; +There were no soft curtains round her head; +She had no mother to hold of worth +The little baby she brought to birth. + +Mary of Magdala groaned and prayed: +"O God, I am very much afraid; +For out of my body, by sin defiled, +Thou biddest me make a little child. + +"O God, I have turned my face from Thee +To that which the angels may not see; +How can I make, from my deep disgrace, +A child whose angel shall see Thy face? + +"O God, I have sinned, and I know well +That the pains I bear are the pains of hell; +But the thought of the child that sin has given +Is like the thought of the airs of Heaven." + +Mary of Magdala held her breath +In the clutch of pain like the pains of Death, +And through her heart, like the mortal knife, +Went the pang of joy and the pang of life. + +"We two are two alone," said she, +"And we are two who should be three; +Now who will clothe my baby fair +In the little garments that babies wear?" + +There came two angels with quiet wings +And hands that were full of baby things; +And the new-born child was bathed and dressed +And laid again on his mother's breast. + +"Now who will sign on his brow the mark +To keep him safe from the Powers of the Dark? +Who will my baby's sponsor be?" +"I, the Lord God, who died for thee." + +"Now who will comfort him if he cry; +And who will suckle him by and bye? +For my hands are cold and my breasts are dry, +And I think that my time has come to die." + +"I will dandle thy son as a mother may; +And his lips shall lie where my own Son's lay. +Come, dear little one, come to me; +The Mother of God shall suckle thee." + +Mary of Magdala laughed and sighed; +"I never deserved a child," she cried. +"Dear God, I am ready to go to hell, +Since with my little one all is well." + +Then the Son of Mary did o'er her lean. +"Poor mother, thy tears have washed thee clean. +Thy last poor pains, they will soon be done, +And My Mother shall give thee back thy son." + +Frozen grass for a bearing bed, +A halo of frost round a woman's head, +And pious folks who looked and said: +"A drab and her brat that are better dead." + + + +POEM: THE HOME-COMING + + + +This was our house. To this we came +Lighted by love with torch aflame, +And in this chamber, door locked fast, +I held you to my heart at last. + +This was our house. In this we knew +The worst that Time and Fate can do. +You left the room bare, wide the door; +You did not love me any more. + +Where once the kind warm curtain hung +The spider's ghostly cloth is flung; +The beetle and the woodlouse creep +Where once I loved your lovely sleep. + +Yet so the vanished spell endures, +That this, our house, still, still is yours. +Here, spite of all these years apart, +I still can hold you to my heart! + + + +POEM: AGE TO YOUTH + + + +Sunrise is in your eyes, and in your heart +The hope and bright desire of morn and May. +My eyes are full of shadow, and my part +Of life is yesterday. + +Yet lend my hand your hand, and let us sit +And see your life unfolding like a scroll, +Rich with illuminated blazon, fit +For your arm-bearing soul. + +My soul bears arms too, but the scroll's rolled tight, +Yet the one strip of faded brightness shown +Proclaims that when 'twas splendid in the light +Its blazon matched your own. + + + +POEM: IN AGE + + + +The wine of life was rough and new, +But sweet beyond belief, +And wrong was false, and right was true - +The rose was in the leaf. + +In that good sunlight well we knew +The hues of wrong and right; +We slept among the roses through +The long enchanted night. + +Now to our eyes, made dim with years, +Right intertwines with wrong. +How can we hear, with these tired ears, +The old, the magic song? + +But this we know--wine once was red, +Roses were red and dear; +Once in our ears the truths were said +That now the young men hear! + + + +POEM: WHITE MAGIC + + + +This is the room to which she came, +And Spring itself came with her; +She stirred the fire of life to flame, +She called all music hither. +Her glance upon the lean white walls +Hung them with cloth of splendour, +And still the rose she dropped recalls +The graces that attend her. + +The same poor room, so dull and bare +Before, in consecration, +She breathed upon its common air +The true transfiguration . . .? +This room the same to which she came +For one immortal minute? - +How can it ever be the same +Since she has once been in it! + + + +POEM: FROM THE PORTUGUESE + + + +I + +When I lived in the village of youth +There were lilies in all the orchards, +Flowers in the orange-gardens +For brides to wear in their hair. +It was always sunshine and summer, +Roses at every lattice, +Dreams in the eyes of maidens, +Love in the eyes of men. + +When I lived in the village of youth +The doors, all the doors, stood open; +We went in and out of them laughing, +Laughing and calling each other +To shew each other our fairings, +The new shawl, the new comb, the new fan, +The new rose, the new lover. + +Now I live in the town of age +Where are no orchards, no gardens. +Here, too, all the doors stand open, +But no one goes in or goes out. +We sit alone by the hearthstone +Where memories lie like ashes +Upon a hearth that is cold; + +And they from the village of youth +Run by our doorsteps laughing, +Calling, to shew each other +The new shawl, the new comb, the new fan, +The new rose, the new lover. + +Once we had all these things - +We kept them from the old people, +And now the young people have them +And will not shew them to us - +To us who are old and have nothing +But the white, still, heaped-up ashes +On the hearth where the fire went out +A very long time ago. + +II + +I had a mistress; I loved her. +She left me with memories bitter, +Corroding, eating my heart +As the acid eats into the steel +Etching the portrait triumphant. +Intolerable, indelible, +Never to be effaced. + +A wife was mine to my heart, +Beautiful flower of my garden, +Lily I worshipped by day, +Scented rose of my nights. +Now the night wind sighing +Blows white rose petals only +Over the bed where she sleeps +Dreamless alone. + +I had a son; I loved him. +Mother of God, bear witness +How all my manhood loved him +As thy womanhood loved thy Son! +When he was grown to his manhood +He crucified my heart, +And even as it hung bleeding +He laughed with his bold companions, +Mocked and turned away +With laughter into the night. + +Those three I loved and lost; +But there was one who loved me +With all the fire of her heart. +Mine was the sacred altar +Where she burnt her life for my worship. +She was my slave, my servant; +Mine all she had, all she was, +All she could suffer, could be. +That was the love of my life, +I did not say, "She loves me"; +I was so used to her love +I never asked its name, +Till, feeling the wind blow cold +Where all the doors were left open, +And seeing a fireless hearth +And the garden deserted and weed-grown +That once was full of flowers for me, +I said, "What has changed? What is it +That has made all the clocks stop?" +Thus I asked and they answered: +"It is thy mother who is dead." + +And now I am alone. +My son, too, some day will stand +Here, where I stand and weep. +He too will weep, knowing too late +The love that wrapped round his life. +Dear God spare him this: +Let him never know how I loved him, +For he was always weak. +He could not endure as I can. +Mother, my dear, ask God +To grant me this, for my son! + + + +POEM: THE NEST + + + +That was the skylark we heard +Singing so high, +The little quivering bird +We saw, and the sky. +The earth was drenched with sun, +The sky was drenched with song; +We lay in the grass and listened, +Long and long and long. + +I said, "What a spell it is +Has made her rise +To pour out her world of bliss +In that world of skies!" +You said, "What a spell must pass +Between sky and plain, +Since she finds in this world of grass +Her nest again!" + + + +POEM: THE OLD MAGIC + + + +Gray is the sea, and the skies are gray; +They are ghosts of our blue, bright yesterday; +And gray are the breasts of the gulls that scream +Like tortured souls in an evil dream. + +There is white on the wings of the sea and sky, +And white are the gulls' wings wheeling by, +And white, like snow, is the pall that lies +Where love weeps over his memories. + +For the dead is dead, and its shroud is wrought +Of good unfound and of wrong unsought; +Yet from God's good magic there ever springs +The resurrection of holy things. + +See--the gold and blue of our yesterday +In the eyes and the hair of a child at play; +And the spell of joy that our youth beguiled +Is woven anew in the laugh of the child. + + + +POEM: FAITH + + + +A wall +Gray and tall, +And a sky of gray, +And a twilight cold; +And that is all +That my eyes behold. +But I know that unseen, +Beyond the wall, +On a lawn of green +White blossoms fall +In the waning light; +And beyond the lawn +Curtains are drawn +From windows bright. +And within she moves with her gracious hands +And the heart that loves and that understands, +Waiting to succour poor souls in need, +And to bind with her blessing the hearts that bleed. + +I know it all, though I cannot see; +But the tired-out tramp, +Dirty and ill, +In the evening's damp, +In the Spring's clean chill, +Knows not that there +Is the heart to care +For such as I and for such as he. +He slouches along, and sees alone +The gray of the sky and the gray of the stone. + +Lord, when my eyes see nothing but grey +In all Thy world that is now so green, +I will bethink me of this spring day +And the house of welcome, known yet unseen; +The wall that conceals +And the faith that reveals. + + + +POEM: THE DEATH OF AGNES + + + +Now that the sunlight dies in my eyes, +And the moonlight grows in my hair, +I who was never very wise, +Never was very fair, +Virgin and martyr all my life, +What has life left to give +Me--who was never mother nor wife, +Never got leave to live? + +Nothing of life could I clasp or claim, +Nothing could steal or save. +So when you come to carve my name, +Give me life in my grave. +To keep me warm when I sleep alone +A lie is little to give; +Call me "Magdalen" on my stone, +Though I died and did not live. + + + +POEM: IN TROUBLE + + + +It's all for nothing: I've lost him now. +I suppose it had to be; +But oh, I never thought it of him, +Nor he never thought it of me. +And all for a kiss on your evening out, +And a field where the grass was down . . . +And he 'as gone to God-knows-where, +And I may go on the town. + +The worst of all was the thing he said +The night that he went away; +He said he'd 'a married me right enough +If I hadn't 'a been so gay. +Me--gay! When I'd cried, and I'd asked him not, +But he said he loved me so; +An' whatever he wanted seemed right to me . . . +An' how was a girl to know? + +Well, the river is deep, and drowned folk sleep sound, +An' it might be the best to do; +But when he made me a light-o'-love +He made me a mother too. +I've had enough sin to last my time, +If 'twas sin as I got it by, +But it ain't no sin to stand by his kid +And work for it till I die. + +But oh! the long days and the death-long nights +When I feel it move and turn, +And cry alone in my single bed +And count what a girl can earn +To buy the baby the bits of things +HE ought to ha' bought, by rights; +And wonder whether he thinks of Us . . . +And if he sleeps sound o' nights. + + + +POEM: GRATITUDE + + + +I found a starving cat in the street: +It cried for food and a place by the fire. +I carried it home, and I strove to meet +The claims of its desire. + +And since its desire was a little fish, +A little hay and a little milk, +I gave it cream in a silver dish +And a basket lined with silk. + +And when we came to the grateful pause +When it should have fawned on the hand that fed, +It turned to a devil all teeth and claws, +Scratched me and bit me and fled. + +To pay for the fish and the milk and the hay +With a purr had been an easy task: +But its hate and my blood were required to pay +For the gifts that it did not ask. + + + +POEM: AT THE LAST + + + +Where are you--you whose loving breath +Alone can stay my soul from death? +The world's so wide, I seek it through, +Yet--dare I dream to win to you? +Perhaps your dear desired feet +Pass me in this grey muddy street. +Your face, it may be, has its shrine +In that dull house that's next to mine. +But I believe, O Life, O Fate, +That when I call on Death and wait +One moment at the unclosing gate +I shall turn back for one last gaze +Along the trampled, sordid ways, +And in the sunset see at last, +Just as the barred gate holds me fast, +Your face, your face, too late. + + + +POEM: FEAR + + + +If you were here, +Hopes, dreams, ambitions, faith would disappear, +Drowned in your eyes; and I should touch your hand, +Forgetting all that now I understand. +For you confuse my life with memories +Of unrememberable ecstasies +Which were, and are not, and can never be; . . . +Ah! keep the whole earth between you and me. + + + +POEM: THE DAY OF JUDGMENT + + + +When the bearing and doing are over, +And no more is to do or bear, +God will see us and judge us +The kind of men we were; +And our sins, so ugly and heavy, +We shall drag them into His sight, +And throw them down at the foot of the throne, +Foul on the steps of light. + +We shall not be shamed or frightened, +Though the angels are all at hand, +For He will look at our burden, +And He will understand. +He will turn to the little angels, +Agog to hear and obey, +And point to the festering sin-loads +With, "Take that rubbish away!" + +Then the steps will be cleared of the burdens +That we threw down at His feet; +And we shall be washed in the tears of Christ, +And our tears bathe His feet. +And the harvest of all our sinning +That moment's shame will reap - +When we look in the eyes that love us +And know we have made them weep. + + + +POEM: A FAREWELL + + + +Good-bye, good-bye; it is not hard to part! +You have my heart--the heart that leaps to hear +Your name called by an echo in a dream; +You have my soul that, like an untroubled stream, +Reflects your soul that leans so dear, so near - +Your heartbeats set the rhythm for my heart. + +What more could Life give if we gave her leave +To give, and Life should give us leave to take? +Only each other's arms, each other's eyes, +Each other's lips, the clinging secrecies +That are but as the written words to make +Records of what the heart and soul achieve. + +This, only this we yield, my love, my friend, +To Fate's implacable eyes and withering breath. +We still are yours and mine, though, by Time's theft, +My arms are empty and your arms bereft. +It is not hard to part--not harder than Death; +And each of us must face Death in the end! + + + +POEM: IN HOSPITAL + + + +Under the shadow of a hawthorn brake, +Where bluebells draw the sky down to the wood, +Where, 'mid brown leaves, the primroses awake +And hidden violets smell of solitude; +Beneath green leaves bright-fluttered by the wing +Of fleeting, beautiful, immortal Spring, +I should have said, "I love you," and your eyes +Have said, "I, too . . . " The gods saw otherwise. + +For this is winter, and the London streets +Are full of soldiers from that far, fierce fray +Where life knows death, and where poor glory meets +Full-face with shame, and weeps and turns away. +And in the broken, trampled foreign wood +Is horror, and the terrible scent of blood, +And love shines tremulous, like a drowning star, +Under the shadow of the wings of war. + +1916. + + + +POEM: PRAYER IN TIME OF WAR + + + +Now Death is near, and very near, +In this wild whirl of horror and fear, +When round the vessel of our State +Roll the great mountain waves of hate. +God! We have but one prayer to-day - +O Father, teach us how to pray. + +For prayer is strong, and very strong; +But we have turned from Thee so long +To follow gods that have no power +Save in the safe and sordid hour, +That to Thy feet we have lost the way . . . +O Father, teach us how to pray. + +We have done ill, and very ill, +Set up our will against Thy will. +That our soft lives might gorge, full-fed, +We stole our brothers' daily bread. +Lord, we are sorry we went astray - +O Father, teach us how to pray. + +Now in this hour of desperate strife +For England's life, her very life, +Teach us to pray that life may be +A new life, beautiful to Thee, +And in Thy hands that life to lay. +O Father, teach us how to pray. + +1915. + + + +POEM: AT PARTING + + + +Go, since you must, but, Dearest, know +That, Honour having bid you go, +Your honour, if your life be spent, +Shall have a costly monument. + +This heart, that fire and roses is +Beneath the magic of your kiss, +Shall turn to marble if you die +And be your deathless effigy. + +1914. + + + +POEM: INVOCATION + + + +The Spirit of Darkness, the Prince of the Power of the Air, +The terror that walketh by night, and the horror by day, +The legions of Evil, alert and awake and aware, +Press round him each hour; and I pray here alone, far away. + +God! call up Thy legions to fight on the side of my love, +Let the seats of the mighty be cast down before him, O Lord, +Send strong wings of angels to shield him beneath and above, +Let glorious Michael unsheath his implacable sword. + +Let the whole host of Heaven take part with my dear in his fight, +That the armies of Hell may be scattered like chaff in the blast, +And the trumpets of Heaven blow fair for the triumph of Right. +Inspire him, protect him, and bring him home victor at last. + +But if--ah, dear God, give me strength to withhold nothing now! - +If the life of my life be required for Thy splendid design, +Give his country the laurels, though cold and uncrowned be his brow +. . . +Thou gavest Thy Son for the world, and shall I not give mine? + +1914. + + + +POEM: TO HER: IN TIME OF WAR + + + +Once I made for you songs, +Rondels, triolets, sonnets; +Verse that my love deemed due, +Verse that your love found fair. +Now the wide wings of war +Hang, like a hawk's, over England, +Shadowing meadows and groves; +And the birds and the lovers are mute. + +Yet there's a thing to say +Before I go into battle, +Not now a poet's word +But a man's word to his mate: +Dear, if I come back never, +Be it your pride that we gave +The hope of our hearts, each other, +For the sake of the Hope of the World. + +1915. + + + +POEM: THE FIELDS OF FLANDERS + + + +Last year the fields were all glad and gay +With silver daisies and silver may; +There were kingcups gold by the river's edge +And primrose stars under every hedge. + +This year the fields are trampled and brown, +The hedges are broken and beaten down, +And where the primroses used to grow +Are little black crosses set in a row. + +And the flower of hopes, and the flowers of dreams, +The noble, fruitful, beautiful schemes, +The tree of life with its fruit and bud, +Are trampled down in the mud and the blood. + +The changing seasons will bring again +The magic of Spring to our wood and plain: +Though the Spring be so green as never was seen +The crosses will still be black in the green. + +The God of battles shall judge the foe +Who trampled our country and laid her low . . . +God! hold our hands on the reckoning day, +Lest all we owe them we should repay. + +1915. + + + +POEM: SPRING IN WAR-TIME + + + +Now the sprinkled blackthorn snow +Lies along the lovers' lane +Where last year we used to go - +Where we shall not go again. + +In the hedge the buds are new, +By our wood the violets peer - +Just like last year's violets, too, +But they have no scent this year. + +Every bird has heart to sing +Of its nest, warmed by its breast; +We had heart to sing last spring, +But we never built our nest. + +Presently red roses blown +Will make all the garden gay . . . +Not yet have the daisies grown +On your clay. + +1916. + + + +POEM: THE MOTHER'S PRAYER + + + +This was my little son +Who leapt and laughed on my knee: +Body we made with love, +Soul made with love by Thee. +This was the mystery +In which I worshipped Thy grace; +This was the sign to me - +The unveiling of Thy face . . . +This, that lies under Thy skies +Naked as on that day +When the floor of heaven gave way +And the glory of God shone through, +When the world was made new +And Thy word was made flesh for me . . . +He lies there, bare to Thy skies, +O Lord God, see! + +Body that was in mine +A secret, sacred spell, +Little hands I have kissed +Trampled by beasts in Hell . . . +Growing beauty and grace . . . +Oh, head that lay on my bosom . . . +Broken, battered, shattered . . . +Body that grew like a blossom! +All that was promised me +On my life's royal day. +Every promise broken - +Only a ghost, and clay! + +O God, I kneel at Thy feet; +I lay my hands in Thine: +Thou gavest Thy Son for the world, +And shall I not give mine? +Only--O God, have pity! +All my defences are down: +God, I accept the Cross, +Let HIM have the Crown! + +By all that my love has borne, +By all that all mothers bear, +By the infinite patient anguish, +By the never-ceasing prayer, +By the thoughts that cut like a living knife, +By the tears that are never dry, +Take what he died to win You - +God, take Your victory! + +We have watched on till the light burned low, +And watched the dawn awake; +We have lived hardly and hardly fared +For our sons' sake. +All that was good in Thy earth, +All that taught us of Heaven, +All that we had in the world +We have given. +We pray with empty hands +And hearts that are stiff with pain. +O God! O God! O God! +Let the sacrifice not be vain. +This is his blood, Lord, see! +His blood that was shed for Thee; +Thy banner is dyed in that red tide +Lord, take Thy victory! + +God! give Thine angels power +To fight as he fought, +To scatter the hosts of evil, +To bring their boastings to naught - +Gabriel with trumpet of battle . . . +Michael, who wields Thy sword . . . +Breathe Thou Thy spirit upon them, +Put forth Thy strength, O Lord. +See, Lord, this is his body, +Broken for Thee, for Thee . . . +My son, my little son, +Who leapt and laughed on my knee. + + + +POEM: "INASMUCH AS YE DID IT NOT . . . " + + + +If Jesus came to London, +Came to London to-day, +He would not go to the West End, +He would come down our way; +He'd talk with the children dancing +To the organ out in the street, +And say he was their big Brother, +And give them something to eat. + +He wouldn't go to the mansions +Where the charitable live; +He'd come to the tenement houses +Where we ain't got nothing to give. +He'd come so kind and so homely, +And treat us to beer and bread, +And tell us how we ought to behave; +And we'd try to mind what He said. + +In the warm bright West End churches +They sing and preach and pray, +They call us "Beloved brethren," +But they do not act that way. +And when He came to the church door +He'd call out loud and free, +You stop that preaching and praying +And show what you've done for Me." + +Then they'd say, "O Lord, we have given +To the poor both blankets and tracts, +And we've tried to make them sober, +And we've tried to teach them facts. +But they will sneak round to the drink-shop, +And pawn the blankets for beer, +And we find them very ungrateful, +But still we persevere." + +Then He would say, "I told you +The time I was here before, +That you were all of you brothers, +All you that I suffered for. +I won't go into your churches, +I'll stop in the sun outside. +You bring out the men your brothers, +The men for whom I died!" + +Out of our beastly lodgings, +From arches and doorways about, +They'd have to do as He told them, +They'd have to call us out. +Millions and millions and millions, +Thick and crawling like flies, +We should creep out to the sunshine +And not be afraid of His eyes. + +He'd see what God's image looks like +When men have dealt with the same, +Wrinkled with work that is never done, +Swollen and dirty with shame. +He'd see on the children's forehead +The branded gutter-sign +That marks the girls to be harlots, +That dooms the boys to be swine. + +Then He'd say, "What's the good of churches +When these have nowhere to sleep? +And how can I hear you praying +When they are cursing so deep? +I gave My Blood and My Body +That they might have bread and wine, +And you have taken your share and theirs +Of these good gifts of mine!" + +Then some of the rich would be sorry, +And all would be very scared, +And they'd say, "But we never knew, Lord!" +And He'd say, "You never cared!" +And some would be sick and shameful +Because they'd know that they knew, +And the best would say, "We were wrong, Lord. +Now tell us what to do!" + +I think He'd be sitting, likely, +For someone 'ud bring Him a chair, +With a common kid cuddled up on His knee +And the common sun on His hair; +And they'd be standing before Him, +And He'd say, "You know that you knew. +Why haven't you worked for your brothers +The same as I worked for you? + +"For since you're all of you brothers +It's clear as God's blessed sun +That each must work for the others, +Not thousands work for one. +And the ones that have lived bone-idle +If they want Me to hear them pray, +Let them go and work for their livings +The only honest way! + +"I've got nothing new to tell you, +You know what I always said - +But you've built their bones into churches +And stolen their wine and bread; +You with My Name on your foreheads, +Liar, and traitor, and knave, +You have lived by the death of your brothers, +These whom I died to save!" + +I wish He would come and say it; +Perhaps they'd believe it then, +And work like men for their livings +And let us work like men. +Brothers? They don't believe it, +The lie on their lips is red. +They'll never believe till He comes again, +Or till we rise from the dead! + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Many Voices by ,E. Nesbit + diff --git a/old/mnyvc10.zip b/old/mnyvc10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a576073 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mnyvc10.zip |