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diff --git a/37556-h/37556-h.htm b/37556-h/37556-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23b966c --- /dev/null +++ b/37556-h/37556-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2710 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Poems, by Edward Shanks +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 200%; + text-align: center } + +P.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 150%; + text-align: center } + +P.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + text-align: center } + +P.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 100%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +P.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: center } + +P.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + font-weight: bold; + text-align: center } + +P.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 60%; + text-align: center } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; + font-size: 80%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edward Shanks + +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: Poems + +Author: Edward Shanks + +Release Date: October 12, 2011 [EBook #37556] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t1"> +POEMS +</P> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +By EDWARD SHANKS +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. +<BR> +3 Adam Street, Adelphi, W.C. +<BR> +1916 +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +<I>By the Same Author</I> +<BR> +SONGS. 6s. net. +<BR> +(The Poetry Bookshop) +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +TO +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +J. C. STOBART +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +NOTE +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%"> +Certain of these pieces have appeared already in the following +periodicals:—<I>The English Review, The Saturday Review, The +Eye-Witness, The Westminster Gazette</I>, and <I>The Pall Mall Gazette</I>. +One of the Songs was printed for the first time in an anthology called +<I>Cambridge Poets</I>. I am indebted to the editors of these for +permission to reprint them here. +<BR><BR> +E. S. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +CONTENTS +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +SONGS— +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 15%"> +<A HREF="#p11">Song for an Unwritten Play</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p12">The Cup</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p13">A Rhymeless Song</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p14">Meadow and Orchard</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p15">Who thinks that he possesses</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p16">Love in the Open Air</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p17">Fear in the Night</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p18">An Old Song</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p19">Love's Close</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p20">The Weed</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p21">Recollection</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p22">The Holiday</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p23">Walking at Night</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p24">Half Hope</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p25">A New Song about the Sea</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +THE WINTER SOLDIER— +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 15%"> +<A HREF="#p29">The Winter Soldier, i.-ix.</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p38">The Pool</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p39">The Dead Poet</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +PASTORAL PIECES— +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 15%"> +<A HREF="#p43">The Vision in the Wood</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p45">The Idyll</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p47">The Pursuit of Daphne</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +MISCELLANEOUS POEMS— +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 15%"> +<A HREF="#p53">Ode on Beauty</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p55">Song in Time of Waiting</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p57">Sonnets on Separation, i.-vii.</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p64">The Morning Sun</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p65">Persuasion</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p66">Apology</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p67">The Golden Moment</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p68">Bramber</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p69">Now would I be</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p71">Midwinter Madness</A><BR> +<A HREF="#p74">At a Lecture</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p11"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> + SONGS +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Song for an Unwritten Play.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The moon's a drowsy fool to-night,<BR> +Wrapped in fleecy clouds and white;<BR> +And all the while Endymion<BR> +Sleeps on Latmos top alone.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Not a single star is seen:<BR> +They are gathered round their queen,<BR> +Keeping vigil by her bed,<BR> +Patient and unwearièd.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now the poet drops his pen<BR> +And moves about like other men:<BR> +Tom o' Bedlam now is still<BR> +And sleeps beneath the hawthorn'd hill.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Only the Latmian shepherd deems<BR> +Something missing from his dreams<BR> +And tosses as he sleeps alone.<BR> +Alas, alas, Endymion!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Cup.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +As a hot traveller<BR> +Going through stones and sands,<BR> +Who sees clear water stir<BR> +Amid the weary lands,<BR> +Takes in his hollowed hands<BR> +The clean and lively water,<BR> +That trickles down his throat<BR> +Like laughter, like laughter,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +So when you come to me<BR> +Across these parchèd places<BR> +And all the waste I see<BR> +Flowered with your graces,<BR> +I take between my hands<BR> +Your face like a rare cup,<BR> +Where kisses mix with laughter,<BR> +And drink and drink them up<BR> +Like water, like water.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>A Rhymeless Song.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Rhyme with its jingle still betrays<BR> +The song that's meant for one alone.<BR> +Dearest, I dedicate to you<BR> +A little song without a rhyme.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The most unpractised schoolboy knows<BR> +That quiet kisses are the sweetest.<BR> +Safe locked within my arms you lie,<BR> +Let not a single sound betray us.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Suppose your jealous mother came<BR> +By chance this way and found us here...<BR> +Be still, be still, and not a sound<BR> +Shall give her warning that we love.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Meadow and Orchard.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +My heart is like a meadow,<BR> +Where clouds go over,<BR> +Dappling the mingled grass and clover<BR> +With mingled sun and shadow,<BR> +With light that will not stay<BR> +And shade that sails away.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Your heart is like an orchard,<BR> +That has the sun for ever in its leaves,<BR> +Where, on the grass beneath the trees,<BR> +There falls the shadow of the fruit<BR> +That ripen there for me.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Who thinks that he possesses.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Who thinks that he possesses<BR> +His mistress with his kisses<BR> + Knows neither love nor her.<BR> +Nor beauty is not his<BR> +Who seeks it in a kiss:<BR> +If you would seek for this<BR> + O seek it otherwhere!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Love is a flame, a spirit<BR> +Beyond all earthly merit<BR> + And all we dream of here;<BR> +Strive as you may but still<BR> +Love is intangible,<BR> +No servant to your will<BR> + But sovereign otherwhere.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Love in the Open Air.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I'll love you in the open air<BR> + But stuffy rooms and blazing fires<BR> +And mirrors with familiar stare<BR> + Cloak and befoul my high desires.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The dearest day that I have known<BR> + Was in the fields, when driving rain<BR> +Was like a veil around us thrown,<BR> + A grey close veil without a stain.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The young oak-tree was stripped and bare<BR> + But naked twigs a shelter made,<BR> +Where curious cows came round to stare<BR> + And stood astonished and dismayed.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Let it be rain or summer sun,<BR> + Smell of wet earth or scent of flowers,<BR> +Love, once more give me, give me one<BR> + Of these enchanted lover's hours.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Fear in the Night.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I am afraid to-night,<BR> + We are too glad, too gay,<BR> +Our life too sweet, too bright<BR> + To last another day.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +What hap, what chance can fall,<BR> + What sorrow come, what schism,<BR> +What loss, what cataclysm<BR> + To part us two at all?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The stars with ageless fire<BR> + In skies serene the same<BR> +Observe our young desire<BR> + And watch our loves aflame.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A whisper soft, a sound<BR> + Unfollowed, unattended,<BR> +Shakes all the branches round:<BR> + They sleep and it is ended.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +You sleep and I alone<BR> + Torment myself with fear<BR> +For new joys coming near<BR> + And gracious actions done.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I am afraid to-night,<BR> + We are too glad, too gay,<BR> +Our life too sweet, too bright<BR> + To last another day.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>An Old Song.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The wild duck fly over<BR> + From river to river<BR> +And so the young lover<BR> + Goes roving for ever.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They fly together,<BR> + He walks alone:<BR> +No maiden can tether<BR> + Him with her moan.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +At the bursting of blossom<BR> + On her breast his head;<BR> +He has left her bosom<BR> + Ere the apples are red.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Across the valley,<BR> + Singing he goes.<BR> +In highway and alley<BR> + He seeks a new rose.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Tell me, O maidens,<BR> + You who all day<BR> +In lyrical cadence<BR> + Dance and play,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why do you proffer<BR> + Your sweets to one,<BR> +Who takes all you offer<BR> + And leaves you to moan?<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Love's Close.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now spring comes round again<BR> +With blossom on the tree,<BR> +Dark blossom of the peach,<BR> +Light blossom of the pear<BR> +And amorous birds complain<BR> +And nesting birds prepare<BR> +And love's keen fingers reach<BR> +After the heart of me.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +But now the blackthorn blows<BR> +About the dusty lane<BR> +And new buds peep and peer,<BR> +I have no joy at all,<BR> +For love draws near its close<BR> +And love's white blossoms fall<BR> +And in the springing year<BR> +Love's fingers bring me pain.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Weed.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +My mother told me this for true<BR> + That there behind the mountains,<BR> +That wear the mists about their feet<BR> + And clouds about their summits,<BR> +There grows the weed Forgetfulness,<BR> + It grows there in the gullies.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +If I but knew the way thereto,<BR> + Three days long would I wander<BR> +And pick a handful of the weed<BR> + And drink it steeped in honey,<BR> +That so I might forget your mouth<BR> + A thousand times that kissed me.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Recollection.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Hawthorn above, as pale as frost,<BR> +Against the paling sky is lost:<BR> +On the pool's dark sheet below,<BR> +The candid water-daisies glow.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +As I came up and saw from far<BR> +The water littered, star on star,<BR> +I thought the may had left its hedge<BR> +To float upon the pool's dark edge.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Holiday.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The world's great ways unclose<BR> +Through little wooded hills:<BR> + An air that stirs and stills,<BR> +Dies sighing where it rose<BR> +Or flies to sigh again<BR> + In elms, whose stately rows<BR> +Receive the summer rain,<BR> +And clouds, clouds, clouds go by,<BR> +A drifting cavalry,<BR> +In squadrons that disperse<BR> + And troops that reassemble<BR> +And now they pass and now<BR> +Their glittering wealth disburse<BR> + On tufted grass a-tremble<BR> +And lately leafing bough.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Thus through the shining day<BR> +We'll love or pass away<BR> +Light hours in golden sleep,<BR> + With clos'd half-sentient eyes<BR> +And lids the light comes through,<BR> +As sheep and flowers do<BR> + Who no new toils devise,<BR> +While shining insects creep<BR> +About us where we lie<BR> +Beneath a pleasant sky,<BR> +In fields no trouble fills,<BR> + Whence, as the traveller goes,<BR> + The world's great ways unclose<BR> +Through little wooded hills.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Walking at Night.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="t3"> +<I>To A. G.</I><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The moon poured down on tree and field,<BR> + The leaf was silvered on the hedge,<BR> +The sleeping kine were half revealed,<BR> + Half shadowed at the pasture's edge.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +By steep inclines and long descents,<BR> + Amid the inattentive trees,<BR> +You spoke of the four elements,<BR> + The four eternal mysteries.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Half Hope.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +August is gone and now this is September,<BR> + Softer the sun in a cloudier sky;<BR> +Yellow the leaves grow and apples grow golden,<BR> + Blackberries ripen and hedges undress.<BR> +Watch and you'll see the departure of summer,<BR> + Here is the end, this the last month of all:<BR> +Pause and look back and remember its promise,<BR> + All that looked open and easy in May.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Nothing will stay them, the seasons go onward,<BR> + Lightly the bright months fly out of my hand,<BR> +Softly the leading note calls a new octave;<BR> + Autumn is coming and what have I done?<BR> +Even as summer my young days go over,<BR> + No day to pause on and nowhere to rest:<BR> +Slowly they go but implacably onwards,<BR> + Ah! and my dreams, alas, still they are dreams.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +How shall I force all my flowers to fruition,<BR> + Use up the season of ripening sun?<BR> +Softly the years go but going have vanished,<BR> + Soon I shall find myself empty and old.<BR> +Yet I feel in myself bright buds and blossoms,<BR> + Promise of mellowest bearing to be.<BR> +Still I have time beside what I have wasted:<BR> + Life shall be good to me, work shall be sweet.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>A New Song about the Sea.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +From Amberley to Storrington,<BR> +From Storrington to Amberley,<BR> +From Amberley to Washington<BR> +You cannot see or smell the sea.<BR> + But why the devil should you wish<BR> + To see the home of silly fish?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Since I prefer the earth and air,<BR> +The fish may wallow in the sea<BR> +And live the life that they prefer,<BR> +If they will leave the land to me,<BR> + So wish for each what he may wish,<BR> + The earth for me, the sea for fish.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p29"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> + THE WINTER SOLDIER +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>September</I> 1914—<I>April</I> 1915 +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Winter Soldier.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +I. TO BE SUNG TO THE TUNE OF HIGH GERMANY<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +No more the English girls may go<BR> + To follow with the drum<BR> +But still they flock together<BR> + To see the soldiers come;<BR> +For horse and foot are marching by<BR> + And the bold artillery:<BR> +They're going to the cruel wars<BR> + In Low Germany.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They're marching down by lane and town<BR> + And they are hot and dry<BR> +But as they marched together<BR> + I heard the soldiers cry:<BR> +"O all of us, both horse and foot<BR> + And the proud artillery,<BR> +We're going to the merry wars<BR> + In Low Germany."<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +<I>August</I>, 1914<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +II. THE COMRADES<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The men that marched and sang with me<BR> +Are most of them in Flanders now:<BR> +I lie abed and hear the wind<BR> +Blow softly through the budding bough.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And they are scattered far and wide<BR> +In this or that brave regiment;<BR> +From trench to trench across the mud<BR> +They go the way that others went.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They run with shining bayonet<BR> +Or lie and take a careful aim<BR> +And theirs it is to learn of death<BR> +And theirs the joy and theirs the fame.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +III. IN TRAINING<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The wind is cold and heavy<BR> + And storms are in the sky:<BR> +Our path across the heather<BR> + Goes higher and more high.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +To right, the town we came from,<BR> + To left, blue hills and sea:<BR> +The wind is growing colder<BR> + And shivering are we.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We drag with stiffening fingers<BR> + Our rifles up the hill.<BR> +The path is steep and tangled<BR> + But leads to Flanders still.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IV. THE OLD SOLDIERS<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We come from dock and shipyard, we come from car and train,<BR> +We come from foreign countries to slope our arms again<BR> +And, forming fours by numbers or turning to the right,<BR> +We're learning all our drill again and 'tis a pretty sight.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Our names are all unspoken, our regiments forgotten,<BR> +For some of us were pretty bad and some of us were rotten<BR> +And some will misremember what once they learnt with pain<BR> +And hit a bloody Serjeant and go to clink again.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +V. GOING IN TO DINNER<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beat the knife on the plate and the fork on the can,<BR> +For we're going in to dinner, so make all the noise you can,<BR> +Up and down the officer wanders, looking blue,<BR> +Sing a song to cheer him up, he wants his dinner too.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +March into the dining-hall, make the tables rattle<BR> +Like a dozen dam' machine guns in the bloody battle,<BR> +Use your forks for drum-sticks, use your plates for drums,<BR> +Make a most infernal clatter, here the dinner comes!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VI. ON TREK<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Under a grey dawn, timidly breaking,<BR> +Through the little village the men are waking,<BR> +Easing their stiff limbs and rubbing their eyes;<BR> +From my misted window I watch the sun rise.<BR> +In the middle of the village a fountain stands,<BR> +Round it the men sit, washing their red hands.<BR> +Slowly the light grows, we call the roll over,<BR> +Bring the laggards stumbling from their warm cover,<BR> +Slowly the company gathers all together<BR> +And the men and the officer look shyly at the weather.<BR> +By the left, quick march! Off the column goes.<BR> +All through the village all the windows unclose:<BR> +At every window stands a child, early waking,<BR> +To see what road the company is taking.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VII. LEAVING THE BILLET<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Good luck, good health, good temper, these,<BR> +A very hive of honey-bees<BR> +To make and store up happiness,<BR> +Should wait upon you without cease,<BR> +If I'd the power to call them down<BR> +Into this stuffy little town,<BR> +Where the dull air in sticky wreaths<BR> +Afflicts a man each time he breathes.<BR> +But since I have no power to call<BR> +Benevolent spirits down at all,<BR> +I'll wish you all the good I know<BR> +And close the chapter up and go.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VIII. THE FAREWELL<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Farewell to rising early, now comes the lying late,<BR> +And long on the parade-ground my company shall wait<BR> +Before I come to join it on mornings cold and dark<BR> +And no more shall I lead it across the rimy park.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The men shall still manoeuvre in sunshine and in rain<BR> +And still they'll make the blunders I shall not check again;<BR> +They'll march upon the highway in weather foul and fair<BR> +And talk and sing with laughter and I shall not be there.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IX. ON ACCOUNT OF ILL HEALTH<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +You go, brave friends, and I am cast to stay behind,<BR> +To read with frowning eyes and discontented mind<BR> +The shining history that you are gone to make,<BR> +To sleep with working brain, to dream and to awake<BR> +Into another day of most ignoble peace,<BR> +To drowse, to read, to smoke, to pray that war may cease.<BR> +The spring is coming on, and with the spring you go<BR> +In countries where strange scents on the April breezes blow;<BR> +You'll see the primroses marched down into the mud,<BR> +You'll see the hawthorn-tree wear crimson flowers of blood<BR> +And I shall walk about, as I did walk of old,<BR> +Where the laburnum trails its chains of useless gold,<BR> +I'll break a branch of may, I'll pick a violet<BR> +And see the new-born flowers that soldiers must forget,<BR> +I'll love, I'll laugh, I'll dream and write undying songs<BR> +But with your regiment my marching soul belongs.<BR> +Men that have marched with me and men that I have led<BR> +Shall know and feel the things that I have only read,<BR> +Shall know what thing it is to sleep beneath the skies<BR> +And to expect their death what time the sun shall rise.<BR> +Men that have marched with me shall march to peace again,<BR> +Bringing for plunder home glad memories of pain,<BR> +Of toils endured and done, of terrors quite brought under,<BR> +And all the world shall be their plaything and their wonder.<BR> +Then in that new-born world, unfriendly and estranged,<BR> +I shall be quite alone, I shall be left unchanged.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p38"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Pool.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Out of that noise and hurry of large life<BR> + The river flings me in an idle pool:<BR> +The waters still go on with stir and strife<BR> + And sunlit eddies, and the beautiful<BR> +Tall trees lean down upon the mighty flow,<BR> + Reflected in that movement. Beauty there<BR> +Waxes more beautiful, the moments grow<BR> + Thicker and keener in that lovely air<BR> +Above the river. Here small sticks and straws<BR> + Come now to harbour, gather, lie and rot,<BR> +Out of cross-currents and the water's flaws<BR> + In this unmoving death, where joy is not,<BR> +Where war's a shade again, ambition rotten<BR> +And bitter hopes and fears alike forgotten.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p39"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Dead Poet.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +When I grow old they'll come to me and say:<BR> +Did you then know him in that distant day?<BR> +Did you speak with him, touch his hand, observe<BR> +The proud eyes' fire, soft voice and light lips' curve?<BR> +And I shall answer: This man was my friend;<BR> +Call to my memory, add, improve, amend<BR> +And count up all the meetings that we had<BR> +And note his good and touch upon his bad.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +When I grow older and more garrulous,<BR> +I shall discourse on the dead poet thus:<BR> +I said to him ... he answered unto me...<BR> +He dined with me one night in Trinity...<BR> +I supped with him in King's ... Ah, pitiful<BR> +The twisted memories of an ancient fool<BR> +And sweet the silence of a young man dead!<BR> +Now far in Lemnos sleeps that golden head,<BR> +Unchanged, serene, for ever young and strong,<BR> +Lifted above the chances that belong<BR> +To us who live, for he shall not grow old<BR> +And only of his youth there shall be told<BR> +Magical stories, true and wondrous tales,<BR> +As of a god whose virtue never fails,<BR> +Whose limbs shall never waste, eyes never fall,<BR> +And whose clear brain shall not be dimmed at all.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p43"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> + PASTORAL PIECES +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Vision in the Wood.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The husht September afternoon was sweet<BR> + With rich and peaceful light. I could not hear<BR> +On either side the sound of moving feet<BR> + Although the hidden road was very near.<BR> +The laden wood had powdered sun in it,<BR> + Slipped through the leaves, a quiet messenger<BR> +To tell me of the golden world outside<BR> +Where fields of stubble stretched through counties wide.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And yet I did not move. My head reposed<BR> + Upon a tuft of dry and scented grass<BR> +And, with half-seeing eyes, through eyelids closed,<BR> + I watched the languid chain of shadows pass,<BR> +Light as the slowly moving shade imposed<BR> + By summer clouds upon a sea of glass,<BR> +And strove to banish or to make more clear<BR> +The elusive and persistent dream of her.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And then I saw her, very dim at first,<BR> + Peering for nuts amid the twisted boughs,<BR> +Thought her some warm-haired dryad, lately burst<BR> + Out of the chambers of her leafy house,<BR> +Seeking for nuts for food and for her thirst<BR> + Such water as the woodland stream allows,<BR> +After the greedy summer has drunk up<BR> +All but a drain within the mossy cup.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Then I, beholding her, was still a space<BR> + And marked each posture as she moved or stood,<BR> +Watching the sunlight on her hair and face.<BR> + Thus with calm folded hands and quiet blood<BR> +I gazed until her counterfeited grace<BR> + Faded and left me lonely in the wood,<BR> +Glad that the gods had given so much as this,<BR> +To see her, if I might not have her kiss.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p45"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Idyll.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +This is the valley where we sojourn now,<BR> + Cut up by narrow brooks and rich and green<BR> +And shaded sweetly by the waving bough<BR> + About the trench where floats the soft serene<BR> +Arun with waters running low and low<BR> + Through banks where lately still the tide has been;<BR> +Here is our resting-place, you walk with me<BR> +And watch the light die out in Amberley.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The light that dies is soft and flooding still,<BR> + Shed from the broad expanse of all the skies<BR> +And brimming up the space from hill to hill,<BR> + Where yet the sheep in their sweet exercise,<BR> +Roaming the meadows, crop and find their fill<BR> + And to each other speak with moaning cries;<BR> +We on the hill-side standing rest and see<BR> +The light die out in brook and grass and tree.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Lately we walked upon the lonely downs<BR> + And through the still heat of the heavy day<BR> +We heard the medley of low drifting sounds<BR> + And through the matted brambles found a way<BR> +Or lightly trod upon enchanted grounds<BR> + Musing, or with rich blackberries made delay,<BR> +Where feed such fruit on the rich air, until<BR> +We struck like falling stars from Bignor Hill.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Down the vast slope, by chalky roads and steep,<BR> + With trees and bushes hidden here and there,<BR> +By circling turns into the valley deep<BR> + We came and left behind the hill-top air<BR> +For this cool village where to-night we sleep,<BR> + A country meal, a country bed to share,<BR> +With sleepy kisses and contented dreams<BR> +Over a land of still and narrow streams.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The light is ebbing in the dusky sky,<BR> + The valley floor is in the shadow. Hark!<BR> +With rushing and mysterious noises fly<BR> + The bats already, looking for the dark<BR> +With blinking still and unaccustomed eye.<BR> + Now over Rackham Mount a steady spark<BR> +Burns, rising slowly in the rising night,<BR> +And pledges peace and promises delight.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now from the east the wheeling shade appears<BR> + And softly night into the valley falls,<BR> +Soft on the meadows drop her dewy tears,<BR> + Softly a darkness on the crumbled walls.<BR> +Now in the dusk the village disappears,<BR> + Men's songs are hushed there and the children's calls,<BR> +While night in passage swallows up the land<BR> +And in the shadow your hand seeks my hand.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Only the glimmering stars in heaven lie<BR> + And unseen trees with rustling still betray<BR> +How all the valley lives invisibly,<BR> + Where dim sweet odours, remnants of the day,<BR> +Float from the sleeping fields to please and die,<BR> + Borne up by roaming airs, that drift away<BR> +Beyond our hearing, vagabond and light,<BR> +To visit the cool meadows of the night.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p47"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Pursuit of Daphne.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Daphne is running, running through the grass,<BR> + The long stalks whip her ankles as she goes.<BR> +I saw the nymph, the god, I saw them pass<BR> + And how a mounting flush of tender rose<BR> +Invaded the white bosom of the lass<BR> + And reached her shoulders, conquering their snows.<BR> +He wasted all his breath, imploring still:<BR> +They passed behind the shadow of the hill.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The mad course goes across the silent plain,<BR> + Their flying footsteps make a path of sound<BR> +Through all the sleeping country. Now with pain<BR> + She runs across a stretch of stony ground<BR> +That wounds her soft-palmed feet and now again<BR> + She hastens through a wood where flowers abound,<BR> +Which staunch her cuts with balsam where she treads<BR> +And for her healing give their trodden heads.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Her sisters, from their coverts unbetrayed,<BR> + Look out in fright and see the two go by,<BR> +Each unrelenting, and reflect dismayed<BR> + How fear and anguish glisten in her eye.<BR> +By them unhelped goes on the fleeting maid<BR> + Whose breath is coming short in agony:<BR> +Hard at her heels pursues the golden boy,<BR> +She flies in fear of him, she flies from joy.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +His arrows scattered on the countryside,<BR> + His shining bow deserted, he pursues<BR> +Through hindering woodlands, over meadows wide<BR> + And now no longer as he runs he sues<BR> +But breathing deep and set and eager-eyed.<BR> + His flashing feet disperse the morning dews,<BR> +His hands most roughly put the boughs away,<BR> +That cross and cling and join and make delay.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Across small shining brooks and rills they leap<BR> + And now she fords the waters of a stream;<BR> +Her hot knees plunge into the hollows deep<BR> + And cool, where ancient trout in quiet dream;<BR> +The silver minnows, wakened from their sleep<BR> + In sunny shallows, round her ankles gleam;<BR> +She scrambles up the grassy bank and on,<BR> +Though courage and quick breath are nearly done.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now in the dusky spinneys round the field,<BR> + The fauns set up a joyous mimicry,<BR> +Pursuing of light nymphs, who lightly yield,<BR> + Or startle the young dryad from her tree<BR> +And shout with joy to see her limbs revealed<BR> + And give her grace and bid her swiftly flee:<BR> +The hunt is up, pursuer and pursued<BR> +Run, double, twist, evade, turn, grasp, elude.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The woodlands are alive with chase and cry,<BR> + Escape and triumph. Still the nymph in vain,<BR> +With heaving breast in lovely agony<BR> + And wide and shining eyes that show her pain,<BR> +Leads on the god and now she knows him nigh<BR> + And sees before her the unsheltered plain.<BR> +His hot hand touches her white side and she<BR> +Thrusts up her hands and turns into a tree.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There is an end of dance and mocking tune,<BR> + Of laughter and bright love among the leaves.<BR> +The sky is overcast, the afternoon<BR> + Is dull and heavy for a god who grieves.<BR> +The woods are quiet and the oak-tree soon<BR> + The ruffled dryad in her trunk receives.<BR> +Cold grow the sunburnt bodies and the white:<BR> +The nymphs and fauns will lie alone to-night.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p53"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> + MISCELLANEOUS POEMS +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Ode on Beauty.</I> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Infinite peace is hanging in the air,<BR> + Infinite peace is resting on mine eyes,<BR> +That just an hour ago learnt how to bear<BR> + Seeing your body's flaming harmonies.<BR> +The grey clouds flecked with orange are and gold,<BR> + Birds unto rest are falling, falling, falling,<BR> + And all the earth goes slowly into night,<BR> + Steadily turning from the harshly bright<BR> +Sunset. And now the wind is growing cold<BR> + And in my heart a hidden voice is calling.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Say, is our sense of beauty mixed with earth<BR> + When lip on lip and breast on breast we cling,<BR> +When ecstasy brings short bright sobs to birth<BR> + And all our pulses, both our bodies sing?<BR> +When through the haze that gathers on my sight<BR> + I see your eyelids, know the eyes behind<BR> + See me and half not see me, when our blood<BR> + Goes roaring like a deep tremendous flood,<BR> +Calm and terrific in unhasty might,<BR> + Is then our inner sight sealed up and blind?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Or could it be that when our blood was colder<BR> + And side by side we sat with lips disparted<BR> +I saw the perfect line of your resting shoulder,<BR> + Your mouth, your peaceful throat with fuller-hearted,<BR> +More splendid joy? Ah poignant joys all these!<BR> + And rest can stab the heart as well as passion.<BR> + Yea, I have known sobs choke my heart to see<BR> + Your honey-coloured hair move languorously,<BR> +Ruffled, not by my hands, but by the breeze,<BR> + And I have prayed the rough air for compassion.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Yea, I have knelt to the unpiteous air<BR> + And knelt to gods I knew not, to remove<BR> +The viewless hands whose sight I could not bear<BR> + Out of the wind-blown head of her I love.<BR> +Ecstasy enters me and cannot speak,<BR> + Seizes my hands and smites my fainting eyes<BR> + And sends through all my veins a dim despair<BR> + Of never apprehending all so fair<BR> +And I have stood, unnerved and numb and weak,<BR> + Watching your breathing bosom fall and rise.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Ah no! This joy is empty, incomplete,<BR> + And sullied with a sense of too much longing,<BR> +Where thoughts and fancies, sweet and bitter-sweet,<BR> + And old regrets and new-born hopes come thronging.<BR> +Man can see beauty for a moment's space<BR> + And live, having seen her with an unfilmed eye,<BR> + If all his body and all his soul in one<BR> + Instant are tuned by passion to unison<BR> +And I can image in your kissing face<BR> + The eternal meaning of the earth and sky.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p55"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Song in Time of Waiting.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Because the days are long for you and me,<BR> + I make this song to lighten their slow time,<BR> +So that the weary waiting fruitful be<BR> + Or blossomed only by my limping rhyme.<BR> + The days are very long<BR> + And may not shortened be by any chime<BR> + Of measured words or any fleeting song.<BR> +Yet let us gather blossoms while we wait<BR> +And sing brave tunes against the face of fate.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Day after day goes by: the exquisite<BR> + Procession of the variable year,<BR> +Summer, a sheaf with flowers bound up in it,<BR> + And autumn, tender till the frosts appear<BR> + And dry the humid skies;<BR> + And winter following on, aloof, austere,<BR> + Clad in the garments of a frore sunrise;<BR> +And spring again. May not too many a spring<BR> +Make both our voices tremble as we sing!<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The days are empty, empty, and the nights<BR> + Are cold and void; there is no single gleam<BR> +Across the space unpeopled of delights,<BR> + Save only now and then some thin-blood dream,<BR> + Some stray of summer weather;<BR> + The tedious hours like slow-foot laggarts seem,<BR> + When you and I, my love, are not together<BR> +And when I hold you in my arms at last<BR> +The minutes go like April cloudlets past.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And yet no hidden charm, no desperate spell<BR> + Can make these minutes longer, those less long:<BR> +No force there is that yearning can impel<BR> + Against the callous years which do us wrong.<BR> + No words, no whispered rune,<BR> + No witchery and no Thessalian song<BR> + Can make that far-off, misty day more soon.<BR> +The bravest tune, the most courageous rhyme<BR> +Fall broken from the bastions of time.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A long and dusty road it is to tread;<BR> + Few are the wayside flowers and far apart<BR> +And are no sooner plucked than withered,<BR> + When yearning heart is torn from yearning heart.<BR> + A weary road it is<BR> + And yet far off I see clear waters start<BR> + And clean sweet grass and tangled traceries<BR> +Of whispering leaves, that laugh to see us come,<BR> +And there one day ... one day shall be our home.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The day will come. O dearest, do not doubt!<BR> + It is not born as yet but I shall see<BR> +Some day the fearless sunrise flashing out<BR> + And know the night will give you up to me.<BR> + O heart, my heart, be glad,<BR> + Because the time will come at last when we<BR> + Shall leave all grief and unlearn all things sad<BR> +And know the joy than which none sweeter is<BR> +And I shall sing a happier song than this.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p57"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Sonnets on Separation.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +I.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The time shall be, old Wisdom says, when you<BR> + Shall grow awrinkled and I, indifferent,<BR> +Shall no more follow the light steps I knew<BR> + Or trace you, finding out the way you went,<BR> +By swinging branches and the displaced flowers<BR> + Among the thickets. I no more shall stand,<BR> +With careful pencil through the adoring hours<BR> + Scratching your grace on paper. My still hand<BR> +No more shall tremble at the touch of yours<BR> + And I'll write no more songs and you'll not sing.<BR> +But this is all a lie, for love endures<BR> + And we shall closer kiss, remembering<BR> +How budding trees turned barren in the sun<BR> +Through this long week, whereof one day's now done.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +II.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The time is all so short. One week is much<BR> + To be without your deep and peaceful eyes,<BR> +Your soft and all-contenting cheek, the touch<BR> + Of well-caressing hands. O were we wise<BR> +We would not love too strongly, would not bind<BR> + Life into life so inextricably,<BR> +That the dumb body suffers with the mind<BR> + In a sad partnership this agony.<BR> +For death will come and swallow up us two,<BR> + You there, I here, and we shall lie apart,<BR> +Out of the houses and the woods we knew.<BR> + Then in the lonely grave, my dust-choked heart<BR> +Out of the dust will raise, if it can speak,<BR> +A threnody for this lost, lovely week.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +III.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Is there no prophylactic against love?<BR> + Can I with drugs not dull the ache one night?<BR> +The rain is heavy and the low clouds move<BR> + Over the empty home of our delight<BR> +And find me in it weeping. You are far<BR> + And you are now asleep. The night's so thick,<BR> +Not even one stooping and compassionate star<BR> + Shines on us both disparted. O be quick,<BR> +Torturing days and heavy, turn your hours<BR> + To minutes, melt yourselves into one day!<BR> +... The cold rain falls in swift assailing showers,<BR> + Darkness is round me and light far away.<BR> +I'm in our well-known room and you're shut in<BR> +By strange unfriendly walls I've never seen.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IV.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Lovers that drug themselves for ecstasy<BR> + Seek love too closely in an overdose,<BR> +When the sweet spasm turns to agony<BR> + And the quick limbs are still and the eyes close.<BR> +I too, a fool, desired—to make love strong—<BR> + Absence and parting but the measure's brimmed,<BR> +The dose is over-poured, the time's too long<BR> + Already, though two nights have hardly dimmed<BR> +My lonely eyes with the elusive sleep.<BR> + O I'll remember, I'll not wish again<BR> +To go with ardent limbs into this deep<BR> + Sea of dejection, this dull mere of pain:<BR> +We'll love our safer loves upon the shore<BR> +And quest for inexperienced joys no more.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +V.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Through the closed curtains comes the early sun,<BR> + First a pale finger, preluding the hand.<BR> +Outside more certainly the day's begun,<BR> + Where bright and brighter still the chestnuts stand,<BR> +Broad candles lighting up at the first fire.<BR> + I stir and turn in my uneasy sleep<BR> +But in my sorrow sleep's my whole desire.<BR> + About the still room small lights move and creep<BR> +Silently, stealthily on wall and chair,<BR> + Till to strong rays and shining lights they grow,<BR> +Which with their magic change the waiting air<BR> + And all its sleeping motes to gold and throw<BR> +A golden radiance on your empty bed,<BR> +Which wakes me with vain likeness to your head.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VI.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +To-morrow I shall see you come again<BR> + Between the pale trees, through the sullen gate,<BR> +Out of the dark and secret house of pain<BR> + Where lie the unhappy and unfortunate.<BR> +To-morrow you will live with me and love me,<BR> + Spring will go on again, I'll see the flowers<BR> +And little things, ridiculous things, shall move me<BR> + To smiles or tears or verse. The world is ours<BR> +To-morrow. Open heaths, tall trees, great skies,<BR> + With massive clouds that fly and come again,<BR> +Sweet fields, delicious rivers and the rise<BR> + And fall of swelling land from the swift train<BR> +We'll see together, knowing that all this<BR> +Is one great room wherein we two may kiss.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +VII.<BR> +</H4> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We're at the world's top now. The hills around<BR> + Stand proud in order with the valleys deep,<BR> +The hills with pastures drest, with tall trees crowned,<BR> + And the low valleys dipt in sunny sleep.<BR> +A sound brims all the country up, a noise<BR> + Of wheels upon the road and labouring bees<BR> +And trodden heather, mixing with the voice<BR> + Of small lost winds that die among the trees.<BR> +And we are prone beneath the flooding sun,<BR> + So drenched, so soaked in the unceasing light,<BR> +That colours, sounds and your close presence are one,<BR> + A texture woven up of all delight,<BR> +Whose shining threads my hands may not undo,<BR> +Yet one thread runs the whole bright garment through.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p64"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Morning Sun.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Perhaps you sleep now, fifty miles to the south,<BR> +While I sit here and dream of you by night.<BR> +The thick soft blankets drawn about your mouth<BR> +Have made for you a nest of warm delight;<BR> +Your short crisp hair is thrown abroad and spilled<BR> +Upon the pillow's whiteness and your eyes<BR> +Are quiet and the round soft lids are filled<BR> +With sleep.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + But I shall watch until sunrise<BR> +Creeps into chilly clouds and heavy air,<BR> +Across the lands where you sleep and I wake,<BR> +And I shall know the sun has seen you there,<BR> +Unmoving though the winter morning break.<BR> +Next, you will lift your hands and rub your eyes<BR> +And turn to sleep again but wake and start<BR> +And feel, half dreaming, with a dear surprise,<BR> +My hand in the sunbeam touching at your heart.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p65"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Persuasion.<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Still must your hands withhold your loveliness?<BR> + Is your soul jealous of your body still?<BR> +The fair white limbs beneath the clouding dress<BR> + Are such hard forms as you alone could fill<BR> +With life and sweetness. Such a harmony<BR> + Is yours as music and the thought expressed<BR> +By the musician: have no rivalry<BR> + Between your soul and the shape in which it's drest.<BR> +Kisses or words, both sensual, which shall be<BR> + The burning symbol of the love we bear?<BR> +My art is words, yours song, but still must we<BR> + Be mute and songless, seeing how love is fair.<BR> +Both our known arts being useless, we must turn<BR> +To love himself and his old practice learn.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p66"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Apology.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Have I slept and failed to hear you calling?<BR> +Cry again, belov'd; for sleep is heavy,<BR> +Curtaining away the golden sunlight,<BR> +Shutting out the blue sky and the breezes,<BR> +Sealing up my ears to all you tell me.<BR> +Cry again! your voice shall pierce the clumsy<BR> +Leaden folds that sleep has wrapt about me,<BR> +Cry again! accomplish what the singing,<BR> +Hours old now on all the trees and bushes,<BR> +And the wind and sun could not accomplish.<BR> +Lo! I waste good hours of love and kisses<BR> +While the sun and you have spilt your glory<BR> +Freely on me lying unregarding.<BR> +In the happy islands, where no sunset<BR> +Stains the waters with a morbid splendour,<BR> +Where the open skies are blue for ever,<BR> +I might stay for years and years unsleeping,<BR> +Living for divinest conversation,<BR> +Music, colour, scent and sense unceasing,<BR> +Entering by eye and ear and nostril.<BR> +Ah, but flesh is flesh and I am mortal!<BR> +Cry again and do not leave me sleeping.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p67"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>The Golden Moment.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Along the branches of the laden tree<BR> + The ripe fruit smiling hang. The afternoon<BR> +Is emptied of all things done and things to be.<BR> + Low in the sky the inconspicuous moon<BR> +Stares enviously upon the mellow earth,<BR> +That mocks her barren girth.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Ripe blackberries and long green trailing grass<BR> + Are motionless beneath the heavy light:<BR> +The happy birds and creeping things that pass<BR> + Go fitfully and stir as if in fright,<BR> +That they have broken on some mystery<BR> +In bramble or in tree.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +This is no hour for beings that are maiden;<BR> + The spring is virgin, lightly afraid and cold,<BR> +But now the whole round earth is ripe and laden<BR> + And stirs beneath her coverlet of gold<BR> +And in her agony a moment calls...<BR> +A heavy apple falls.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p68"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Bramber.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Before the downs in their great horse-shoes rise,<BR> + I know a village where the Adur runs,<BR> + Blown by sweet winds and by beneficent suns<BR> +Visited and made ripe beneath kind skies.<BR> +Light and delight are in the children's eyes<BR> + And there the mothers sit, the fortunate ones,<BR> + Blest in their daughters, happy in their sons,<BR> +And the old men are beautiful and wise.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There stand the downs, great, close, tall, friendly, still,<BR> +Linked up by grassy saddles, hill on hill,<BR> + And steep the village in unending peace<BR> +And to the north the plains in order lie,<BR> +Heavy with crops and woods alternately<BR> + And lively with low sounds that never cease.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p69"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Now would I be.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Now would I be in that removèd place<BR> + Where the dim sunlight hardly comes at all<BR> + And branches of the young trees interlace<BR> + And long swathes of the brambles twine and fall;<BR> + A space between the hedgerow and a road<BR> + Not trod by foot of any known to me,<BR> + Where now and then a cart with scented load<BR> +Goes sleepy down the lane with creaking axle-tree.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + And there I'd lie upon the tumbled leaves,<BR> + Watching a square of the all else hidden sky,<BR> + And made such songs a drowsy mind believes<BR> + To be most perfect music. So would I<BR> +Keep my face heavenwards and bless eternity,<BR> + Wherein my heart could be as glad as this<BR> + And lazily I'd bid all men come hither<BR> + And in my dreams I'd tell them what they miss,<BR> + Living in hate and work and all foul weather.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + And still my happy dreams would go,<BR> + Like children in a cowslip field<BR> + Chasing rich-winged insects to and fro<BR> + To see what rare delights they yield....<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + ... O I am tired of working to be cheated<BR> + And sick of barriers that will not fall,<BR> + Of ancient prudent words too much repeated<BR> + And worn-out dreams that come not true at all.<BR> + I know too well what things they are that ail me;<BR> + To fight is nothing but to see<BR> + Thus at the last my own hand fail me<BR> + Is agony.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + O for that corner by the hummocked marshes,<BR> + Visited hardly by the cynic sun,<BR> + Where nothing clear and nothing bright or harsh is,<BR> + Where labour and the ache of it are done,<BR> + Where naught is ended and where naught begun!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p71"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Midwinter Madness.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A month or twain to live on honeycomb<BR> +Is pleasant—but to eat it for a year<BR> +Is simply beastly. Thus the poet spake,<BR> +Feeling how sticky all his stomach was<BR> +With hivings of ten thousand cheated bees.<BR> +O wisdom that could shape immortal words<BR> +And frame a diet for dyspeptic man!<BR> +But what of turnips? Come, a lyric now<BR> +Upon the luscious roots unsung as yet,<BR> +(Not roots I know but stalks; still, never mind,<BR> +Metre and sauce will suit them just as well)<BR> +Or shall we speak of omelettes? Muse, begin!<BR> +To feed a fortnight on transmuted eggs<BR> +Would doubtless be both comforting and cheap<BR> +But oh, the nausea on the fourteenth day!<BR> +I'd rather read a book by Ezra Pound<BR> +Then choke the seven hundredth omelette down,<BR> +Just as I'd rather read some F. S. Flint<BR> +Than live a month or twain on honeycomb.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O Ezra Pound! O omelette of the world!<BR> +Concocted with strange herbs from dead Provence,<BR> +Garlic from Italy and spice from Greece,<BR> +Having suffered a rare Pound-change on the way,<BR> +How rarely shouldst thou taste, were not the eggs<BR> +Laid in America and hither brought<BR> +Too late. I don't like omelettes made with fowls.<BR> +Take hence this Pound and put him to the test,<BR> +Try him with acid, see if he turn black<BR> +As will the best old silver, when enraged<BR> +At touching fungi of the baser sort.<BR> +(Forgive digression. These similitudes<BR> +Entrance me and I lose myself in them,<BR> +As schoolboys, picking flowers by the way,<BR> +Escape the angry usher's vigilance<BR> +And then, concealed behind a hedge or shed,<BR> +Produce the awesome pipe or thrice-lit fag<BR> +And make themselves incredibly unwell.)<BR> +My brain is bubbling and the thoughts will out,<BR> +But, Ezra Pound! they turn again to thee,<BR> +As surely as the lode-stone to the Pole<BR> +Or as the dog to what he hath cast up<BR> +(A simile of Solomon's, not mine)<BR> +And your shock head of damp, unwholesome hay,<BR> +Such as, the cunning farmer oft declares,<BR> +When stacked, will perish by spontaneous fire,<BR> +Frequents my dreams and makes them ludicrous.<BR> +Thou most ridiculous sprite! Thou ponderous fairy!<BR> +Bourgeois Bohemian! Innocent Verlaine!<BR> +I read in <I>The Booksellers' Circular</I><BR> +That, in the University of Pa.<BR> +(Or Kans. or Col. or Mass, or Tex. or Ont.<BR> +—A line of normal pattern, Saintsbury)<BR> +You hold a fellowship in (O merciful gods!)<BR> +Romanics, which strange word interpreted<BR> +Means, I suppose, the Romance languages.<BR> +Doubtless they read Italian in Pa.<BR> +And some may speak French fluently in Ont.<BR> +But German, Ezra! There's the bloody rub,<BR> +It's not Romance and it is hard to learn<BR> +And Heine, though an easy-going chap,<BR> +Would doubtless trounce you soundly if he knew<BR> +The sorry hash that you have made of him.<BR> +But no! you're not for immortality,<BR> +Not even such as that of Freiligrath,<BR> +Enshrined, together with his <I>Mohrenfurst</I>,<BR> +In unrelenting amber. I hold you here,<BR> +In a soap-bubble's iridescent walls,<BR> +The whimsy of a long midwinter night,<BR> +And give you immortality enough.<BR> +Thou sorry brat! Thou transatlantic clown!<BR> +That seek'st to ape the treadless Ariel<BR> +And out-top Shelley in an aeroplane,<BR> +Take the all-obvious padding from your pants<BR> +And cut your hair and go to Pa. again<BR> +(Or Kans. or Col. or Mass, or Tex. or Ont.<BR> +Or even Oomp. if such a place exist)<BR> +And take with you the poets you admire,<BR> +Both Yeats and Flint to charm the folk of Oomp.<BR> +And write again for <I>Munsey's Magazine</I><BR> +Of your good brother Everyone. (Just God!<BR> +Am even I of his relationship?)<BR> +So end as you began or even worse:<BR> +No matter, so 'tis in America.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="p74"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>At a Lecture.</I><BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The lecturer took his place and looked<BR> + At the eager women's faces,<BR> +Then he cleared his throat and he jetted out<BR> + A stream of commonplaces.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He fondled Wordsworth and patted Shelley<BR> + And said with his hand on his heart<BR> +He would brook no interference from morals<BR> + In any matter of art.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He finished at last and strode away<BR> + Over the naked boards,<BR> +Erect in his conscious majesty<BR> + Back to the House of Lords.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<HR> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap076"></A> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +FROM SIDGWICK & JACKSON'S LIST +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +JOHN MASEFIELD +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +THE EVERLASTING MERCY. +</P> + +<P> +Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net; also Fcap. 8vo, in leather bindings, 5s. +net and 6s. net. <I>Seventeenth Impression</I> +</P> + +<P> +"Here, beyond question, in <I>The Everlasting Mercy</I>, is a great poem, as +true to the essentials of its ancient art as it is astoundingly modern +in its method; a poem, too, which 'every clergyman in the country ought +to read as a revelation of the heathenism still left in the land.' ... +Its technical force is on a level with its high, inspiring thought. It +makes the reader think; it goads him to emotion; and it leaves him +alive with a fresh appreciation of the wonderful capacity of human +nature to receive new influences and atone for old and apparently +ineradicable wrongs."—ARTHUR WAUGH in <I>The Daily Chronicle</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +THE WIDOW IN THE BYE STREET. +</P> + +<P> +Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net. <I>Fourth Thousand</I> +</P> + +<P> +"Mr Masefield is no common realist, but universalises his tragedy in +the grand manner.... We are convinced that he is writing truly of +human nature, which is the vital thing.... The last few stanzas show +us pastoral poetry in the very perfection of simplicity."—<I>Spectator</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"In 'The Widow in the Bye Street' all Mr Masefield's passionate love of +loveliness is utterly fused with the violent and unlovely story, which +glows with an inner harmony. The poem, it is true, ends on a note of +idyllism which recalls Theocritus; but this is no touch of eternal +decoration. Inevitably the story has worked towards this +culmination."—<I>Bookman</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +THE TRAGEDY OF POMPEY THE GREAT. +</P> + +<P> +A Play in Three Acts. Second Edition, revised and reset. <I>Fourth +Impression</I>. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net; wrappers, 1s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<P> +"In this Roman tragedy, while we admire its closely knit structure, +dramatic effectiveness, and atmosphere of reality ... the warmth and +colour of the diction are the most notable things.... He knows the art +of phrasing; he has the instinct for and by them."—<I>Athenæum</I>. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +RUPERT BROOKE +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +POEMS. +</P> + +<P> +(First issued in 1911.) Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. net. <I>Ninth Impression</I> +</P> + +<P> +"Unlike most youthful work it shows a curious absence of imitation and +a strenuous originality ... there is much that is uncommonly good. He +has both imagination and intellect—so much of the latter sometimes +that the verse is crabbed and heavy with its weight of it. It is a +book of rare and remarkable promise."—<I>Spectator</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +1914 AND OTHER POEMS. +</P> + +<P> +Crown 8vo. With a Photogravure Portrait. 2s. 6d. net. <I>Twelfth +Impression</I> +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible to shred up this beauty for the purpose of criticism. +These sonnets are personal—never were sonnets more personal since +Sidney died—and yet the very blood and youth of England seem to find +expression in them. They speak not for one heart only, but for all to +whom her call has come in the hour of need and found instantly +ready."—<I>Times</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +LETTERS FROM AMERICA. +</P> + +<P> +With a Preface by HENRY JAMES, O. M., and a new Portrait. Extra crown +8vo, buckram, 7s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<P> +This volume contains the series of descriptive articles contributed in +1913 by Rupert Brooke to <I>The Westminster Gazette</I>, four written from +the United States, and nine from Canada. To these are here added an +article on Samoa, and a study called "An Unusual Young Man," both of +which appeared in The New Statesman after the outbreak of war. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +POEMS OF TO-DAY: an Anthology. +</P> + +<P> +Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. net. <I>Third Impression</I> +</P> + +<P> +A selection of contemporary poetry made by the English Association and +intended for the use of higher forms in secondary schools. It contains +nearly 150 poems, representative of the chief tendencies of English +poetry during the last quarter of a century, written by 47 authors, +including Meredith, Stevenson, Kipling, Newbolt, Masefield, Bridges, +Yeats, Thompson, Davidson, Watson, Belloc, Chesterton, Gosse, "A.E.," +Binyon, Noyes, Flecker, and Rupert Brooke. +</P> + +<P> +"The great merit of the selection is that the pieces are all genuine; +whatever their ultimate value, they are at least free from the fetters +of past tradition, and they therefore mark ... the beginning of a new +lease of inspiration."—<I>Times Educational Supplement</I>. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a book which any student of English literature will prize for +its own sake."—<I>Scotsman</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +SWORDS AND PLOUGHSHARES. By JOHN DRINKWATER. +</P> + +<P> +Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<P> +"These lyrics, many of them inspired by the war, come from one of the +most accomplished poets of the day."—<I>Times</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +POEMS. By ELINOR JENKINS. Crown 8vo, 2s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<P> +"A new poet, whose poetry is all made out of pain and the beautiful +religion of loss."—Mr JAMES DOUGLAS in <I>The Star</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THE VOLUNTEER, and Other Poems. By HERBERT ASQUITH. Crown 8vo, 1s. +net. <I>Second Impression</I> +</P> + +<P> +"Lieutenant Asquith has undoubtedly a true feeling for poetry.... It +is impossible to miss the beauty of its phrases and the fineness of its +emotion."—<I>Standard</I>. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +KATHARINE TYNAN +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +INNOCENCIES. A Book of Verse. +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +NEW POEMS. +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +IRISH POEMS. <I>Second Impression</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +FLOWER OF YOUTH: Poems in War Time. <I>Second Impression</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +<I>Each, Super-royal 16mo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THE WILD HARP. A Selection from Irish Poetry. By KATHARINE TYNAN. +Decorated by Miss C. M. WATTS. Medium 8vo, designed, cloth gilt, 7s. +6d. net. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THE TWO BLIND COUNTRIES. By ROSE MACAULAY. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. +net. +</P> + +<P> +"Out of familiar things she contrives to draw a magic which sets all +our definitions tottering.... This specific gift is so rare in modern +poetry that we may well hail it with enthusiasm."—<I>Spectator</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +SELECTED POEMS. By LAURENCE HOUSMAN. F'cap. 8vo, 3s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<P> +"The selections have been made from four previous volumes now out of +print: Mendicant Rhymes, The Little Land, Rue, and Spikenard. There is +hardly a stanza that is not felicitous in some way, and not one +selection that could be spared."—<I>Morning Post</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +SOME VERSE. By F. S. F'cap. 8vo, 2s. net. +</P> + +<P> +"Some of these pieces ... might almost have borne the signature C. S. +C. Others ... have the mellow wit of the school of J. K. Stephen and +the Cantabrigians on whom his mantle has fallen."—<I>Times</I>. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="t2"> +SIDGWICK & JACKSON'S MODERN DRAMA +</P> + +<P> +"Messrs Sidgwick & Jackson are choosing their plays +excellently."—<I>Saturday Review</I>. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THREE PLAYS BY GRANVILLE BARKER: +</P> + +<P> +"The Marrying of Ann Leete," "The Voysey Inheritance," and "Waste." In +one Vol., 5s. net; singly, cloth, 2s. net; paper wrappers, 1s. 6d. net. +<I>Fourth Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THE MADRAS HOUSE. A Comedy in Four Acts. By GRANVILLE BARKER. Crown +8vo, cloth, 2s. net; paper wrappers, 1s. 6d. net. <I>Fourth Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +ANATOL. A Sequence of Dialogues. By ARTHUR SCHNITZLER. Paraphrased +for the English Stage by GRANVILLE BARKER. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. net; +paper wrappers, 1s. 6d. net. <I>Third Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +PRUNELLA; or Love in a Dutch Garden. By LAURENCE HOUSMAN and GRANVILLE +BARKER. With a Frontispiece and Music to "Pierrot's Serenade," by +JOSEPH MOORAT. F'cap. 4to, 5s. net. Theatre Edition, crown 8vo, +wrappers, 1s. net. <I>Ninth Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +CHAINS. A Play in Four Acts. By ELIZABETH BAKER, Crown 8vo, cloth, +1s. 6d. net; paper wrappers, 1s. net. <I>Third Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +RUTHERFORD & SON. By GITHA SOWERBY. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. 6d. net; +paper, 1s. 6d. net. <I>Second Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THE NEW SIN. By B. MACDONALD HASTINGS. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. net; +paper, 1s. net. <I>Second Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +HINDLE WAKES. A Play in Four Acts. By STANLEY HOUGHTON. Cloth, 2s. +net; paper, 1s. 6d. net. <I>Sixth Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +MARY BROOME. By ALLAN MONKHOUSE. Cloth, 2s. net; paper, 1s. 6d. net. +<I>Second Impression</I> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +THE TRIAL OF JEANNE D'ARC. A Play in Four Acts. By EDWARD GARNETT. +Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +PAINS AND PENALTIES. By LAURENCE HOUSMAN. Crown 8vo, cloth, 3s. 6d. +net; paper, 1s. 6d. net. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t4"> +ETC., ETC., ETC. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="t3b"> +Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd., 3 Adam Street, London, W.C. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems, by Edward Shanks + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 37556-h.htm or 37556-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/5/5/37556/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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