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diff --git a/24363.txt b/24363.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4efa94a --- /dev/null +++ b/24363.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1931 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Song of the Sword, by W. E. Henley + + +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: The Song of the Sword + and Other Verses + + +Author: W. E. Henley + + + +Release Date: January 18, 2008 [eBook #24363] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SONG OF THE SWORD*** + + +Transcribed from the 1892 David Nutt edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + +THE SONG +OF THE SWORD +AND OTHER VERSES + + +BY + +W. E. HENLEY + +LONDON +Published by DAVID NUTT +in the Strand +1892 + +To R. T. Hamilton-Bruce + +_Edinburgh_, _Mar._ 17, 1892 + +_With three exceptions_, _these numbers have appeared in_ '_The National +Observer_,' _by permission of whose proprietors they are here reprinted_. + + + + +THE SONG OF THE SWORD +(To Rudyard Kipling) + + +_The Sword_ +_Singing_-- +_The voice of the Sword from the heart of the Sword_ +_Clanging imperious_ +_Forth from Time's battlements_ +_His ancient and triumphing Song_. + +In the beginning, +Ere God inspired Himself +Into the clay thing +Thumbed to His image, +The vacant, the naked shell +Soon to be Man: +Thoughtful He pondered it, +Prone there and impotent, +Fragile, inviting +Attack and discomfiture: +Then, with a smile-- +As He heard in the Thunder +That laughed over Eden +The voice of the Trumpet, +The iron Beneficence, +Calling His dooms +To the Winds of the world-- +Stooping, He drew +On the sand with His finger +A shape for a sign +Of His way to the eyes +That in wonder should waken, +For a proof of His will +To the breaking intelligence: +That was the birth of me: +I am the Sword. + +Hard and bleak, keen and cruel, +Short-hilted, long-shafted, +I froze into steel: +And the blood of my elder, +His hand on the hafts of me, +Sprang like a wave +In the wind, as the sense +Of his strength grew to ecstasy, +Glowed like a coal +At the throat of the furnace, +As he knew me and named me +The War-Thing, the Comrade, +Father of honour +And giver of kingship, +The fame-smith, the song-master, +Bringer of women +On fire at his hands +For the pride of fulfilment, +_Priest_ (saith the Lord) +_Of his marriage with victory_. +Ho! then, the Trumpet, +Handmaid of heroes, +Calling the peers +To the place of espousal! +Ho! then, the splendour +And sheen of my ministry, +Clothing the earth +With a livery of lightnings! +Ho! then, the music +Of battles in onset +And ruining armours, +And God's gift returning +In fury to God! +Glittering and keen +As the song of the winter stars, +Ho! then, the sound +Of my voice, the implacable +Angel of Destiny!-- +I am the Sword. + +Heroes, my children, +Follow, O follow me, +Follow, exulting +In the great light that breaks +From the sacred companionship: +Thrust through the fatuous, +Thrust through the fungous brood +Spawned in my shadow +And gross with my gift! +Thrust through, and hearken, +O hark, to the Trumpet, +The Virgin of Battles, +Calling, still calling you +Into the Presence, +Sons of the Judgment, +Pure wafts of the Will! +Edged to annihilate, +Hilted with government, +Follow, O follow me +Till the waste places +All the grey globe over +Ooze, as the honeycomb +Drips, with the sweetness +Distilled of my strength: +And, teeming in peace +Through the wrath of my coming, +They give back in beauty +The dread and the anguish +They had of me visitant! +Follow, O follow, then, +Heroes, my harvesters! +Where the tall grain is ripe +Thrust in your sickles: +Stripped and adust +In a stubble of empire, +Scything and binding +The full sheaves of sovranty: +Thus, O thus gloriously, +Shall you fulfil yourselves: +Thus, O thus mightily, +Show yourselves sons of mine-- +Yea, and win grace of me: +I am the Sword. + +I am the feast-maker: +Hark, through a noise +Of the screaming of eagles, +Hark how the Trumpet, +The mistress of mistresses, +Calls, silver-throated +And stern, where the tables +Are spread, and the work +Of the Lord is in hand! +Driving the darkness, +Even as the banners +And spears of the Morning; +Sifting the nations, +The slag from the metal, +The waste and the weak +From the fit and the strong; +Fighting the brute, +The abysmal Fecundity; +Checking the gross, +Multitudinous blunders, +The groping, the purblind +Excesses in service, +Of the Womb universal, +The absolute Drudge; +Changing the charactry +Carved on the World, +The miraculous gem +In the seal-ring that burns +On the hand of the Master-- +Yea! and authority +Flames through the dim, +Unappeasable Grisliness +Prone down the nethermost +Chasms of the Void; +Clear singing, clean slicing; +Sweet spoken, soft finishing; +Making death beautiful, +Life but a coin +To be staked in the pastime +Whose playing is more +Than the transfer of being; +Arch-anarch, chief builder, +Prince and evangelist, +I am the Will of God: +I am the Sword. + +_The Sword_ +_Singing_-- +_The voice of the Sword from the heart of the Sword_ +_Clanging majestical_, +_As from the starry-staired_ +_Courts of the primal Supremacy_, +_His high_, _irresistible song_. + + + + +LONDON +VOLUNTARIES +(To Charles Whibley) + + +I + + +_Andante con mote_ + +Forth from the dust and din, +The crush, the heat, the many-spotted glare, +The odour and sense of life and lust aflare, +The wrangle and jangle of unrests, +Let us take horse, dear heart, take horse and win-- +As from swart August to the green lap of May-- +To quietness and the fresh and fragrant breasts +Of the still, delicious night, not yet aware +In any of her innumerable nests +Of that first sudden plash of dawn, +Clear, sapphirine, luminous, large, +Which tells that soon the flowing springs of day +In deep and ever deeper eddies drawn +Forward and up, in wider and wider way +Shall float the sands and brim the shores +On this our haunch of Earth, as round she roars +And spins into the outlook of the Sun +(The Lord's first gift, the Lord's especial charge) +With light, with living light, from marge to marge, +Until the course He set and staked be run. + +Through street and square, through square and street, +Each with his home-grown quality of dark +And violated silence, loud and fleet, +Waylaid by a merry ghost at every lamp, +The hansom wheels and plunges. Hark, O hark, +Sweet, how the old mare's bit and chain +Ring back a rough refrain +Upon the marked and cheerful tramp +Of her four shoes! Here is the Park, +And O the languid midsummer wafts adust, +The tired midsummer blooms! +O the mysterious distances, the glooms +Romantic, the august +And solemn shapes! At night this City of Trees +Tunis to a tryst of vague and strange +And monstrous Majesties, +Let loose from some dim underworld to range +These terrene vistas till their twilight sets: +When, dispossessed of wonderfulness, they stand +Beggared and common, plain to all the land +For stooks of leaves! And lo! the wizard hour +Whose shining, silent sorcery hath such power! +Still, still the streets, between their carcanets +Of linking gold, are avenues of sleep: +But see how gable ends and parapets +In gradual beauty and significance +Emerge! And did you hear +That little twitter-and-cheep, +Breaking inordinately loud and clear +On this still, spectral, exquisite atmosphere? +'Tis a first nest at matins! And behold +A rakehell cat--how furtive and acold! +A spent witch homing from some infamous dance-- +Obscene, quick-trotting, see her tip and fade +Through shadowy railings into a pit of shade! +And lo! a little wind and shy, +The smell of ships (that earnest of romance), +A sense of space and water, and thereby +A lamplit bridge ouching the troubled sky. +And look, O look! a tangle of silver gleams +And dusky lights, our River and all his dreams, +His dreams of a dead past that cannot die! + +What miracle is happening in the air, +Charging the very texture of the gray +With something luminous and rare? +The night goes out like an ill-parcelled fire, +And, as one lights a candle, it is day. +The extinguisher that fain would strut for spire +On the formal little church is not yet green +Across the water: but the house-tops nigher, +The corner-lines, the chimneys--look how clean, +How new, how naked! See the batch of boats, +Here at the stairs, washed in the fresh-sprung beam! +And those are barges that were goblin floats, +Black, hag-steered, fraught with devilry and dream! +And in the piles the water frolics clear, +The ripples into loose rings wander and flee, +And we--we can behold that could but hear +The ancient River singing as he goes +New-mailed in morning to the ancient Sea. +The gas burns lank and jaded in its glass: +The old Ruffian soon shall yawn himself awake, +And light his pipe, and shoulder his tools, and take +His hobnailed way to work! + Let us too pass: +Through these long blindfold rows +Of casements staring blind to right and left, +Each with his gaze turned inward on some piece +Of life in death's own likeness--Life bereft +Of living looks as by the Great Release +(Perchance of shadow-shapes from shadow-shows), +Whose upshot all men know yet no man knows. + +Reach upon reach of burial--so they feel, +These colonies of dreams! And as we steal +Homeward together, but for the buxom breeze +That frolics at our heel, +Greeting the town with news of the summer seas, +We might--thus awed, thus lonely that we are-- +Be wandering some depopulated star, +Some world of memories and unbroken graves, +So broods the abounding Silence near and far: +Till even your footfall craves +Forgiveness of the majesty it braves. + + + +II + + +_Scherzando_ + +Down through the ancient Strand +The Spirit of October, mild and boon +And sauntering, takes his way +This golden end of afternoon, +As though the corn stood yellow in all the land +And the ripe apples dropped to the harvest-moon. + +Lo! the round sun, half down the western slope-- +Seen as along an unglazed telescope-- +Lingers and lolls, loth to be done with day: +Gifting the long, lean, lanky street +And its abounding confluences of being +With aspects generous and bland: +Making a thousand harnesses to shine +As with new ore from some enchanted mine, +And every horse's coat so full of sheen +He looks new-tailored, and every 'bus feels clean, +And never a hansom but is worth the feeing; +And every jeweller within the pale +Offers a real Arabian Night for sale; +And even the roar +Of the strong streams of toil that pause and pour +Eastward and westward sounds suffused-- +Seems as it were bemused +And blurred, and like the speech +Of lazy seas upon a lotus-eating beach-- +With this enchanted lustrousness, +This mellow magic, that (as a man's caress +Brings back to some faded face beloved before +A heavenly shadow of the grace it wore +Ere the poor eyes were minded to beseech) +Old things transfigures, and you hail and bless +Their looks of long-lapsed loveliness once more; +Till the sedate and mannered elegance +Of Clement's is all tinctured with romance; +The while the fanciful, formal, finicking charm +Of Bride's, that madrigal in stone, +Glows flushed and warm +And beauteous with a beauty not its own; +And the high majesty of Paul's +Uplifts a voice of living light, and calls-- +Calls to his millions to behold and see +How goodly this his London Town can be! + +For earth and sky and air +Are golden everywhere, +And golden with a gold so suave and fine +The looking on it lifts the heart like wine. +Trafalgar Square +(The fountains volleying golden glaze) +Gleams like an angel-market. High aloft +Over his couchant Lions in a haze +Shimmering and bland and soft, +A dust of chrysoprase, +Our Sailor takes the golden gaze +Of the saluting sun, and flames superb +As once he flamed it on his ocean round. +The dingy dreariness of the picture-place, +Turned very nearly bright, +Takes on a certain dismal grace, +And shows not all a scandal to the ground. +The very blind man pottering on the kerb, +Among the posies and the ostrich feathers +And the rude voices touched with all the weathers +Of all the varying year, +Shares in the universal alms of light. +The windows, with their fleeting, flickering fires, +The height and spread of frontage shining sheer, +The glistering signs, the rejoicing roofs and spires-- +'Tis El Dorado--El Dorado plain, +The Golden City! And when a girl goes by, +Look! as she turns her glancing head, +A call of gold is floated from her ear! +Golden, all golden! In a golden glory, +Long lapsing down a golden coasted sky, +The day not dies but seems +Dispersed in wafts and drifts of gold, and shed +Upon a past of golden song and story +And memories of gold and golden dreams. + + + +III + + +_Largo e mesto_ + +Out of the poisonous East, +Over a continent of blight, +Like a maleficent Influence released +From the most squalid cellarage of hell, +The Wind-Fiend, the abominable-- +The hangman wind that tortures temper and light-- +Comes slouching, sullen and obscene, +Hard on the skirts of the embittered night: +And in a cloud unclean +Of excremental humours, roused to strife +By the operation of some ruinous change +Wherever his evil mandate run and range +Into a dire intensity of life, +A craftsman at his bench, he settles down +To the grim job of throttling London Town. + +And, by a jealous lightlessness beset +That might have oppressed the dragons of old time +Crunching and groping in the abysmal slime, +A cave of cut-throat thoughts and villainous dreams, +Hag-rid and crying with cold and dirt and wet, +The afflicted city, prone from mark to mark +In shameful occultation, seems +A nightmare labyrinthine, dim and drifting, +With wavering gulfs and antic heights and shifting +Rent in the stuff of a material dark +Wherein the lamplight, scattered and sick and pale, +Shows like the leper's living blotch of bale: +Uncoiling monstrous into street on street +Paven with perils, teeming with mischance, +Where man and beast go blindfold and in dread, +Working with oaths and threats and faltering feet +Somewhither in the hideousness ahead; +Working through wicked airs and deadly dews +That make the laden robber grin askance +At the good places in his black romance, +And the poor, loitering harlot rather choose +Go pinched and pined to bed +Than lurk and shiver and curse her wretched way +From arch to arch, scouting some threepenny prey. + +Forgot his dawns and far-flushed afterglows, +His green garlands and windy eyots forgot, +The old Father-River flows, +His watchfires cores of menace in the gloom, +As he came oozing from the Pit, and bore, +Sunk in his filthily transfigured sides, +Shoals of dishonoured dead to tumble and rot +In the squalor of the universal shore: +His voices sounding through the gruesome air +As from the ferry where the Boat of Doom +With her blaspheming cargo reels and rides: +The while his children, the brave ships, +No more adventurous and fair +Nor tripping it light of heel as home-bound brides, +But infamously enchanted, +Huddle together in the foul eclipse, +Or feel their course by inches desperately, +As through a tangle of alleys murder-haunted, +From sinister reach to reach--out--out--to sea. + +And Death the while-- +Death with his well-worn, lean, professional smile, +Death in his threadbare working trim-- +Comes to your bedside, unannounced and bland, +And with expert, inevitable hand +Feels at your windpipe, fingers you in the lung, +Or flicks the clot well into the labouring heart: +Thus signifying unto old and young, +However hard of mouth or wild of whim, +'Tis time--'tis time by his ancient watch--to part +With books and women and talk and drink and art: +And you go humbly after him +To a mean suburban lodging: on the way +To what or where +Not Death, who is old and very wise, can say: +And you--how should you care +So long as, unreclaimed of hell, +The Wind-Fiend, the insufferable, +Thus vicious and thus patient sits him down +To the black job of burking London Town? + + + +IV + + +_Allegro maestoso_ + +Spring winds that blow +As over leagues of myrtle-blooms and may; +Bevies of spring clouds trooping slow, +Like matrons heavy-bosomed and aglow +With the mild and placid pride of increase! Nay, +What makes this insolent and comely stream +Of appetence, this freshet of desire +(Milk from the wild breasts of the wilful Day!), +Down Piccadilly dance and murmur and gleam +In genial wave on wave and gyre on gyre? +Why does that nymph unparalleled splash and churn +The wealth of her enchanted urn +Till, over-billowing all between +Her cheerful margents grey and living green, +It floats and wanders, glittering and fleeing, +An estuary of the joy of being? +Why should the buxom leafage of the Park +Touch to an ecstasy the act of seeing? +--As if my paramour, my bride of brides, +Lingering and flushed, mysteriously abides +In some dim, eye-proof angle of odorous dark, +Some smiling nook of green-and-golden shade, +In the divine conviction robed and crowned +The globe fulfils his immemorial round +But as the marrying-place of all things made! + +There is no man, this deifying day, +But feels the primal blessing in his blood. +The sacred impulse of the May +Brightening like sex made sunshine through her veins, +There is no woman but disdains +To vail the ensigns of her womanhood. +None but, rejoicing, flaunts them as she goes, +Bounteous in looks of her delicious best, +On her inviolable quest: +These with their hopes, with their sweet secrets those, +But all desirable and frankly fair, +As each were keeping some most prosperous tryst, +And in the knowledge went imparadised. +For look! a magical influence everywhere, +Look how the liberal and transfiguring air +Washes this inn of memorable meetings, +This centre of ravishments and gracious greetings, +Till, through its jocund loveliness of length +A tidal-race of lust from shore to shore, +A brimming reach of beauty met with strength, +It shines and sounds like some miraculous dream, +Some vision multitudinous and agleam, +Of happiness as it shall be evermore! + +Praise God for giving +Through this His messenger among the days +His word the life He gave is thrice-worth living! +For Pan, the bountiful, imperious Pan-- +Not dead, not dead, as dreamers feigned, +But the lush genius of a million Mays +Renewing his beneficent endeavour!-- +Still reigns and triumphs, as he hath triumphed and reigned +Since in the dim blue dawn of time +The universal ebb-and-flow began, +To sound his ancient music, and prevails +By the persuasion of his mighty rhyme +Here in this radiant and immortal street +Lavishly and omnipotently as ever +In the open hills, the undissembling dales, +The laughing-places of the juvenile earth. +For lo! the wills of man and woman meet, +Meet and are moved, each unto each endeared +As once in Eden's prodigal bowers befell, +To share his shameless, elemental mirth +In one great act of faith, while deep and strong, +Incomparably nerved and cheered, +The enormous heart of London joys to beat +To the measures of his rough, majestic song: +The lewd, perennial, overmastering spell +That keeps the rolling universe ensphered +And life and all for which life lives to long +Wanton and wondrous and for ever well. + + + + +RHYMES +AND RHYTHMS + + +I + + +Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade +On desolate sea and lonely sand, +Out of the silence and the shade +What is the voice of strange command +Calling you still, as friend calls friend +With love that cannot brook delay, +To rise and follow the ways that wend +Over the hills and far away? + +Hark in the city, street on street +A roaring reach of death and life, +Of vortices that clash and fleet +And ruin in appointed strife, +Hark to it calling, calling clear, +Calling until you cannot stay +From dearer things than your own most dear +Over the hills and far away. + +Out of the sound of ebb and flow, +Out of the sight of lamp and star, +It calls you where the good winds blow, +And the unchanging meadows are: +From faded hopes and hopes agleam, +It calls you, calls you night and day +Beyond the dark into the dream +Over the hills and far away. + + + +II + + +A desolate shore, +The sinister seduction of the Moon, +The menace of the irreclaimable Sea. + +Flaunting, tawdry and grim, +From cloud to cloud along her beat, +Leering her battered and inveterate leer, +She signals where he prowls in the dark alone, +Her horrible old man, +Mumbling old oaths and warming +His villainous old bones with villainous talk-- +The secrets of their grisly housekeeping +Since they went out upon the pad +In the first twilight of self-conscious Time: +Growling, obscene and hoarse, +Tales of unnumbered Ships, +Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance +In some vile alley of the night +Waylaid and bludgeoned-- +Dead. + +Deep cellared in primeval ooze, +Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled, +They lie where the lean water-worm +Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides +Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide, +Thus fouled and desecrate, +The summons of the Trumpet, and the while +These Twain, their murderers, +Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued, +Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft +As in the shining streets, +He as in ambush at some fetid stair. + +The stalwart Ships, +The beautiful and bold adventurers! +Stationed out yonder in the isle, +The tall Policeman, +Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers +About him in the ancient vacancy, +Tells them this way is safety--this way home. + + + +III +(To R. F. B.) + + +We are the Choice of the Will: God, when He gave the word +That called us into line, set in our hand a sword; + +Set us a sword to wield none else could lift and draw, +And bade us forth to the sound of the trumpet of the Law. + +East and west and north, wherever the battle grew, +As men to a feast we fared, the work of the Will to do. + +Bent upon vast beginnings, bidding anarchy cease-- +(Had we hacked it to the Pit, we had left it a place of peace!)-- + +Marching, building, sailing, pillar of cloud or fire, +Sons of the Will, we fought the fight of the Will, our sire. + +Road was never so rough that we left its purpose dark; +Stark was ever the sea, but our ships were yet more stark; + +We tracked the winds of the world to the steps of their very thrones; +The secret parts of the world were salted with our bones; + +Till now the name of names, England, the name of might, +Flames from the austral bounds to the ends of the northern night; + +And the call of her morning drum goes in a girdle of sound, +Like the voice of the sun in song, the great globe round and round; + +And the shadow of her flag, when it shouts to the mother-breeze, +Floats from shore to shore of the universal seas; + +And the loneliest death is fair with a memory of her flowers, +And the end of the road to Hell with the sense of her dews and showers! + +Who says that we shall pass, or the fame of us fade and die, +While the living stars fulfil their round in the living sky? + +For the sire lives in his sons, and they pay their father's debt, +And the Lion has left a whelp wherever his claw was set: + +And the Lion in his whelps, his whelps that none shall brave, +Is but less strong than Time and the all-devouring Grave. + + + +IV + + +It came with the threat of a waning moon + And the wail of an ebbing tide, +But many a woman has lived for less, + And many a man has died; +For life upon life took hold and passed, + Strong in a fate set free, +Out of the deep, into the dark, + On for the years to be. + +Between the gleam of a waning moon + And the song of an ebbing tide, +Chance upon chance of love and death + Took wing for the world so wide. +Leaf out of leaf is the way of the land, + Wave out of wave of the sea; +And who shall reckon what lives may live + In the life that we bade to be? + + + +V + + +Why, my heart, do we love her so? + (Geraldine, Geraldine!)-- +Why does the great sea ebb and flow? + Why does the round world spin? +Geraldine, Geraldine, + Bid me my life renew, +What is it worth unless I win, + Love--love and you? + +Why, my heart, when we speak her name + (Geraldine, Geraldine!), +Throbs the word like a flinging flame?-- + Why does the spring begin? +Geraldine, Geraldine, + Bid me indeed to be, +Open your heart and take us in, + Love--love and me. + + + +VI + + +Space and dread and the dark-- +Over a livid stretch of sky +Cloud-monsters crawling like a funeral train +Of huge primeval presences +Stooping beneath the weight +Of some enormous, rudimentary grief; +While in the haunting loneliness +The far sea waits and wanders, with a sound +As of the trailing skirts of Destiny +Passing unseen +To some immitigable end +With her grey henchman, Death. + +What larve, what spectre is this +Thrilling the wilderness to life +As with the bodily shape of Fear? +What but a desperate sense, +A strong foreboding of those dim, +Interminable continents, forlorn +And many-silenced in a dusk +Inviolable utterly, and dead +As the poor dead it huddles and swarms and styes +In hugger-mugger through eternity? + +Life--life--let there be life! +Better a thousand times the roaring hours +When wave and wind, +Like the Arch-Murderer in flight +From the Avenger at his heel, +Storm through the desolate fastnesses +And wild waste places of the world! + +Life--give me life until the end, +That at the very top of being, +The battle-spirit shouting in my blood, +Out of the reddest hell of the fight +I may be snatched and flung +Into the everlasting lull, +The immortal, incommunicable dream. + + + +VII + + +There's a regret +So grinding, so immitigably sad, +Remorse thereby feels tolerant, even glad. . . . +Do you not know it yet? + +For deeds undone +Rankle, and snarl, and hunger for their due +Till there seems naught so despicable as you +In all the grin o' the sun. + +Like an old shoe +The sea spurns and the land abhors, you lie +About the beach of Time, till by-and-by +Death, that derides you too-- + +Death, as he goes +His ragman's round, espies you, where you stray, +With half-an-eye, and kicks you out of his way; +And then--and then, who knows + +But the kind Grave +Turns on you, and you feel the convict Worm, +In that black bridewell working out his term, +Hanker and grope and crave? + +'Poor fool that might-- +That might, yet would not, dared not, let this be, +Think of it, here and thus made over to me +In the implacable night!' + +And writhing, fain +And like a lover, he his fill shall take +Where no triumphant memory lives to make +His obscene victory vain. + + + +VIII +(To J. A. C.) + + +Fresh from his fastnesses +Wholesome and spacious, +The north wind, the mad huntsman, +Halloos on his white hounds +Over the grey, roaring +Reaches and ridges, +The forest of ocean, +The chace of the world. +Hark to the peal +Of the pack in full cry, +As he thongs them before him +Swarming voluminous, +Weltering, wide-wallowing, +Till in a ruining +Chaos of energy, +Hurled on their quarry, +They crash into foam! + +Old Indefatigable, +Time's right-hand man, the sea +Laughs as in joy +From his millions of wrinkles: +Laughs that his destiny, +Great with the greatness +Of triumphing order, +Shows as a dwarf +By the strength of his heart +And the might of his hands. + +Master of masters, +O maker of heroes, +Thunder the brave, +Irresistible message:-- +'Life is worth living +Through every grain of it +From the foundations +To the last edge +Of the cornerstone, death.' + + + +IX + + +'As like the Woman as you can'-- + (_Thus the New Adam was beguiled_)-- +'So shall you touch the Perfect Man'-- + (_God in the Garden heard and smiled_). +'Your father perished with his day: + 'A clot of passions fierce and blind +'He fought, he slew, he hacked his way: + 'Your muscles, Child, must be of mind. + +'The Brute that lurks and irks within, + 'How, till you have him gagged and bound, +'Escape the foullest form of Sin?' + (_God in the Garden laughed and frowned_). +'So vile, so rank, the bestial mood + 'In which the race is bid to be, +'It wrecks the Rarer Womanhood: + 'Live, therefore, you, for Purity! + +'Take for your mate no buxom croup, + 'No girl all grace and natural will: +'To make her happy were to stoop + 'From light to dark, from Good to Ill. +'Choose one of whom your grosser make'-- + (_God in the Garden laughed outright_)-- +'The true refining touch may take + 'Till both attain Life's highest height. + +'There, equal, purged of soul and sense, + 'Beneficent, high-thinking, just, +'Beyond the appeal of Violence, + 'Incapable of common Lust, +'In mental Marriage still prevail'-- + (_God in the Garden hid His face_)-- +'Till you achieve that Female-Male, + 'In Which shall culminate the race. + + + +X + + +Midsummer midnight skies, +Midsummer midnight influences and airs, +The shining sensitive silver of the sea +Touched with the strange-hued blazonings of dawn: +And all so solemnly still I seem to hear +The breathing of Life and Death, +The secular Accomplices, +Renewing the visible miracle of the world. + +The wistful stars +Shine like good memories. The young morning wind +Blows full of unforgotten hours +As over a region of roses. Life and Death +Sound on--sound on. . . . And the night magical, +Troubled yet comforting, thrills +As if the Enchanted Castle at the heart +Of the wood's dark wonderment +Swung wide his valves and filled the dim sea-banks +With exquisite visitants: +Words fiery-hearted yet, dreams and desires +With living looks intolerable, regrets +Whose voice comes as the voice of an only child +Heard from the grave: shapes of a Might-Have-Been-- +Beautiful, miserable, distraught-- +The Law no man may baffle denied and slew. + +The spell-bound ships stand as at gaze +To let the marvel by. The grey road glooms . . . +Glimmers . . . goes out . . . and there, O there where it fades, +What grace, what glamour, what wild will, +Transfigure the shadows? Whose, +Heart of my heart, Soul of my soul, but yours? + +Ghosts--ghosts--the sapphirine air +Teems with them even to the gleaming ends +Of the wild day-spring! Ghosts, +Everywhere--everywhere--till I and you +At last--dear love, at last!-- +Are in the dreaming, even as Life and Death, +Twin-ministers of the unoriginal Will. + + + +XI + + +Gulls in an aery morrice + Gleam and vanish and gleam . . . +The full sea, sleepily basking, + Dreams under skies of dream. + +Gulls in an aery morrice + Circle and swoop and close . . . +Fuller and ever fuller + The rose of the morning blows. + +Gulls in an aery morrice + Frolicking float and fade . . . +O the way of a bird in the sunshine, + The way of a man with a maid! + + + +XII + + +Some starlit garden grey with dew, +Some chamber flushed with wine and fire, +What matters where, so I and you + Are worthy our desire? + +Behind, a past that scolds and jeers +For ungirt loin and lamp unlit; +In front the unmanageable years, + The trap upon the pit; + +Think on the shame of dreams for deeds, +The scandal of unnatural strife, +The slur upon immortal needs, + The treason done to life: + +Arise! no more a living lie +And with me quicken and control +A memory that shall magnify + The universal Soul. + + + +XIII +(To James McNeill Whistler) + + +Under a stagnant sky, +Gloom out of gloom uncoiling into gloom, +The River, jaded and forlorn, +Welters and wanders wearily--wretchedly--on; +Yet in and out among the ribs +Of the old skeleton bridge, as in the piles +Of some dead lake-built city, fall of skulls, +Worm-worn, rat-riddled, mouldy with memories, +Lingers to babble, to a broken tune +(Once, O the unvoiced music of my heart!) +So melancholy a soliloquy +It sounds as it might tell +The secret of the unending grief-in-grain, +The terror of Time and Change and Death, +That wastes this floating, transitory world. + +What of the incantation +That forced the huddled shapes on yonder short +To take and wear the night +Like a material majesty? +That touched the shafts of wavering fire +About this miserable welter and wash-- +(River, O River of Journeys, River of Dreams!--) +Into long, shining signals from the panes +Of an enchanted pleasure-house +Where life and life might live life lost in life +For ever and evermore? + +O Death! O Change! O Time! +Without you, O the insufferable eyes +Of these poor Might-Have-Beens, +These fatuous, ineffectual Yesterdays! + + + +XIV + + +Time and the Earth-- +The old Father and Mother-- +Their teeming accomplished, +Their purpose fulfilled, +Close with a smile +For a moment of kindness +Ere for the winter +They settle to sleep. + +Failing yet gracious, +Slow pacing, soon homing, +A patriarch that strolls +Through the tents of his children, +The Sun, as he journeys +His round on the lower +Ascents of the blue, +Washes the roofs +And the hillsides with clarity; +Charms the dark pools +Till they break into pictures; +Scatters magnificent +Alms to the beggar trees; +Touches the mist-folk +That crowd to his escort +Into translucencies +Radiant and ravishing, +As with the visible +Spirit of Summer +Gloriously vaporised, +Visioned in gold. + +Love, though the fallen leaf +Mark, and the fleeting light +And the loud, loitering +Footfall of darkness +Sign, to the heart +Of the passage of destiny, +Here is the ghost +Of a summer that lived for us, +Here is a promise +Of summers to be. + + + +XV + + +You played and sang a snatch of song, + A song that all-too well we knew; +But whither had flown the ancient wrong; + And was it really I and you? +O since the end of life's to live + And pay in pence the common debt, +What should it cost us to forgive + Whose daily task is to forget? + +You babbled in the well-known voice-- + Not new, not new, the words you said. +You touched me off that famous poise, + That old effect, of neck and head. +Dear, was it really you and I? + In truth the riddle's ill to read, +So many are the deaths we die + Before we can be dead indeed. + + + +XVI + + +One with the ruined sunset, + The strange forsaken sands, +What is it waits and wanders + And signs with desperate hands? + +What is it calls in the twilight-- + Calls as its chance were vain? +The cry of a gull sent seaward + Or the voice of an ancient pain? + +The red ghost of the sunset, + It walks them as its own, +These dreary and desolate reaches . . . + But O that it walked alone! + + + +XVII +_CARMEN PATIBULARE_ +(To H. S.) + + +Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Crook + And the rope of the Black Election, +'Tis the faith of the Fool that a race you rule + Can never achieve perfection: +And 'It's O for the time of the New Sublime + And the better than human way +When the Wolf (poor beast) shall come to his own + And the Rat shall have his day!' + +For Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Beam + And the power of provocation, +You have cockered the Brute with your dreadful fruit + Till your thought is mere stupration: +And 'It's how should we rise to be pure and wise, + And how can we choose but fall, +So long as the Hangman makes us dread + And the Noose floats free for all?' + +So Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Coign + And the trick there's no recalling, +They will haggle and hew till they hack you through + And at last they lay you sprawling: +When 'Hey! for the hour of the race in flower + And the long good-bye to sin!' +And 'Ho! for the fires of Hell gone out + For the want of keeping in!' + +But Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Bough + And the ghastly Dreams that tend you, +Your growth began with the life of Man + And only his death can end you: +They may tug in line at your hempen twine, + They may flourish with axe and saw, +But your taproot drinks of the Sacred Springs + In the living rock of Law. + +And Tree, Old Tree of the Triple Fork, + When the spent sun reels and blunders +Down a welkin lit with the flare of the Pit + As it seethes in spate and thunders, +Stern on the glare of the tortured air + Your lines august shall gloom, +And your master-beam be the last thing whelmed + In the ruining roar of Doom. + + + +XVIII +(To M. E. H.) + + +When you wake in your crib, +You, an inch of experience-- +Vaulted about +With the wonder of darkness; +Wailing and striving +To reach from your feebleness +Something you feel +Will be good to and cherish you, +Something you know +And can rest upon blindly: +O then a hand +(Your mother's, your mother's!) +By the fall of its fingers +All knowledge, all power to you, +Out of the dreary, +Discouraging strangenesses +Comes to and masters you, +Takes you, and lovingly +Woos you and soothes you +Back, as you cling to it, +Back to some comforting +Corner of sleep. + +So you wake in your bed, +Having lived, having loved: +But the shadows are there, +And the world and its kingdoms +Incredibly faded; +And you grope in the Terror +Above you and under +For the light, for the warmth, +The assurance of life; +But the blasts are ice-born, +And your heart is nigh burst +With the weight of the gloom +And the stress of your strangled +And desperate endeavour: +Sudden a hand-- +Mother, O Mother!-- +God at His best to you, +Out of the roaring, +Impossible silences, +Falls on and urges you, +Mightily, tenderly, +Forth, as you clutch at it, +Forth to the infinite +Peace of the Grave. + + + +XIX + + +O Time and Change, they range and range + From sunshine round to thunder!-- +They glance and go as the great winds blow, + And the best of our dreams drive under: +For Time and Change estrange, estrange-- + And, now they have looked and seen us, +O we that were dear we are all-too near + With the thick of the world between us. + +O Death and Time, they chime and chime + Like bells at sunset falling!-- +They end the song, they right the wrong, + They set the old echoes calling: +For Death and Time bring on the prime + Of God's own chosen weather, +And we lie in the peace of the Great Release + As once in the grass together. + + + +XX + + +The shadow of Dawn; +Stillness and stars and over-mastering dreams +Of Life and Death and Sleep; +Heard over gleaming flats the old unchanging sound +Of the old unchanging Sea. + +My soul and yours-- +O hand in hand let us fare forth, two ghosts, +Into the ghostliness, +The infinite and abounding solitudes, +Beyond--O beyond!--beyond . . . + +Here in the porch +Upon the multitudinous silences +Of the kingdoms of the grave, +We twain are you and I--two ghosts Omnipotence +Can touch no more--no more! + + + +XXI + + +When the wind storms by with a shout, and the stern sea-caves +Exult in the tramp and the roar of onsetting waves, +Then, then, it comes home to the heart that the top of life +Is the passion that burns the blood in the act of strife-- +Till you pity the dead down there in their quiet graves. + +But to drowse with the fen behind and the fog before, +When the rain-rot spreads and a tame sea mumbles the shore, +Not to adventure, none to fight, no right and no wrong, +Sons of the Sword heart-sick for a stave of your sire's old song-- +O you envy the blessed dead that can live no more! + + + +XXII + + +Trees and the menace of night; +Then a long, lonely, leaden mere +Backed by a desolate fell +As by a spectral battlement; and then, +Low-brooding, interpenetrating all, +A vast, grey, listless, inexpressive sky, +So beggared, so incredibly bereft +Of starlight and the song of racing worlds +It might have bellied down upon the Void +Where as in terror Light was beginning to be. + +Hist! In the trees fulfilled of night +(Night and the wretchedness of the sky) +Is it the hurry of the rain? +Or the noise of a drive of the Dead +Streaming before the irresistible Will +Through the strange dusk of this, the Debateable Land +Between their place and ours? + +Like the forgetfulness +Of the work-a-day world made visible, +A mist falls from the melancholy sky: +A messenger from some lost and loving soul, +Hopeless, far wandered, dazed +Here in the provinces of life, +A great white moth fades miserably past. + +Thro' the trees in the strange dead night, +Under the vast dead sky, +Forgetting and forgot, a drift of Dead +Sets to the mystic mere, the phantom fell, +And the unimagined vastitudes beyond. + + + +XXIII +(To P. A. G.) + + +Here they trysted, here they strayed, + In the leafage dewy and boon, +Many a man and many a maid, + And the morn was merry June: +'Death is fleet, Life is sweet,' + Sang the blackbird in the may; +And the hour with flying feet + While they dreamed was yesterday. + +Many a maid and many a man + Found the leafage close and boon; +Many a destiny began-- + O the morn was merry June. +Dead and gone, dead and gone, + (Hark the blackbird in the may!), +Life and Death went hurrying on, + Cheek on cheek--and where were they? + +Dust in dust engendering dust + In the leafage fresh and boon, +Man and maid fulfil their trust-- + Still the morn turns merry June. +Mother Life, Father Death + (O the blackbird in the may!), +Each the other's breath for breath, + Fleet the times of the world away. + + + +XXIV +(To A. C.) + + +What should the Trees, +Midsummer-manifold, each one, +Voluminous, a labyrinth of life-- +What should such things of bulk and multitude +Yield of their huge, unutterable selves, +To the random importunity of Day, +The blabbing journalist? +Alert to snatch and publish hour by hour +Their greenest hints, their leafiest privacies, +How can he other than endure +The ruminant irony that foists him off +With broad-blown falsehoods, or the obviousness +Of laughter flickering back from shine to shade, +And disappearances of homing birds, +And frolicsome freaks +Of little boughs that frisk with little boughs? + +Now, at the word +Of the ancient, sacerdotal Night, +Night of the many secrets, whose effect-- +Transfiguring, hierophantic, dread-- +Themselves alone may fully apprehend, +They tremble and are changed: +In each, the uncouth individual soul +Looms forth and glooms +Essential, and, their bodily presences +Touched with inordinate significance, +Wearing the darkness like the livery +Of some mysterious and tremendous guild, +They brood--they menace--they appal: +Or the anguish of prophecy tears them, and they wring +Wild hands of warning in the face +Of some inevitable advance of doom: +Or, each to the other bending, beckoning, signing, +As in some monstrous market-place, +They pass the news, these Gossips of the Prime, +In that old speech their forefathers +Learned on the lawns of Eden, ere they heard +The troubled voice of Eve +Naming the wondering folk of Paradise. + +Your sense is sealed, or you should hear them tell +The tale of their dim life and all +Its compost of experience: how the Sun +Spreads them their daily feast, +Sumptuous, of light, firing them as with wine; +Of the old Moon's fitful solicitude +And those mild messages the Stars +Descend in silver silences and dews; +Or what the buxom West, +Wanton with wading in the swirl of the wheat, +Said, and their leafage laughed; +And how the wet-winged Angel of the Rain +Came whispering . . . whispering; and the gifts of the Year-- +The sting of the stirring sap +Under the wizardry of the young-eyed Spring, +Their summer amplitudes of pomp +And rich autumnal melancholy, and the shrill, +Embittered housewifery +Of the lean Winter: all such things, +And with them all the goodness of the Master +Whose right hand blesses with increase and life, +Whose left hand honours with decay and death. + +So, under the constraint of Night, +These gross and simple creatures, +Each in his scores of rings, which rings are years, +A servant of the Will. +And God, the Craftsman, as He walks +The floor of His workshop, hearkens, full of cheer +In thus accomplishing +The aims of His miraculous artistry. + + + +XXV + + +What have I done for you, + England, my England? +What is there I would not do, + England my own? +With your glorious eyes austere, +As the Lord were walking near, +Whispering terrible things and dear + As the Song on your bugles blown, + England-- + Round the world on your bugles blown! + +Where shall the watchful Sun, + England, my England, +Match the master-work you've done, + England my own? +When shall he rejoice agen +Such a breed of mighty men +As come forward, one to ten, + To the Song on your bugles blown, + England-- + Down the years on your bugles blown? + +Ever the faith endures, + England, my England:-- +'Take and break us: we are yours, + 'England, my own! +'Life is good, and joy runs high +'Between English earth and sky: +'Death is death; but we shall die + 'To the Song on your bugles blown, + 'England-- + 'To the stars on your bugles blown!' + +They call you proud and hard, + England, my England: +You with worlds to watch and ward, + England, my own! +You whose mailed hand keeps the keys +Of such teeming destinies +You could know nor dread nor ease + Were the Song on your bugles blown, + England, + Round the Pit on your bugles blown! + +Mother of Ships whose might, + England, my England, +Is the fierce old Sea's delight, + England, my own, +Chosen daughter of the Lord, +Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword, +There's the menace of the Word + In the Song on your bugles blown, + England-- + Out of heaven on your bugles blown! + +Edinburgh: T. and A. 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