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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/441-0.txt b/441-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..542dca4 --- /dev/null +++ b/441-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4775 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, New Poems, by Robert Louis Stevenson + + +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: New Poems + and Variant Readings + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + + + +Release Date: February 12, 2013 [eBook #441] +[This file was first posted on January 6, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW POEMS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1918 Chatto & Windus edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + New Poems + AND VARIANT READINGS + + + BY + ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON + + * * * * * + + LONDON + CHATTO & WINDUS + 1918 + + + + +PREFACE + + +ALL Stevensonians owe a debt of gratitude to the Bibliophile Society of +Boston for having discovered the following poems and given them light in +a privately printed edition, thus making them known, in fact, to the +world at large. Otherwise they would have remained scattered and hidden +indefinitely in the hands of various collectors. They will be found +extraordinarily interesting in their self-revelation, and some, indeed, +are so intimate and personal that one understands why Stevenson withheld +them from all eyes save his own. The love-poems in particular, though +they are of very unequal merit, possess in common a really affecting +sincerity. That Stevenson should have preserved these poems through all +the vicissitudes of his wandering life shows how dearly he must have +valued them; and shows, too, I think, beyond any contradiction, that he +meant they should be ultimately published. + + LLOYD OSBOURNE. + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE +PRAYER 1 +LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ 2 +THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE 2 +MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACKBIRD SINGS 3 +I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR 4 +ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER 6 +DEDICATION 7 +THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS 8 +PRELUDE 10 +THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT 11 +TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS 11 +THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE? 13 +ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND 14 +AFTER READING “ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA” 15 +I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT 15 +SPRING SONG 16 +THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME 16 +YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW 17 +LOVE’S VICISSITUDES 18 +DUDDINGSTONE 18 +STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS 20 +AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC 20 +TO SYDNEY 21 +HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL 23 +O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY 24 +APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER 25 +TO MARCUS 26 +TO OTTILIE 27 +THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY 28 +THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES 29 +A VALENTINE’S SONG 31 +HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES 34 +SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO 36 +TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE 37 +TO MADAME GARSCHINE 39 +MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA 39 +FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS 40 +LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL 41 +I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN 42 +I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE 44 +VOLUNTARY 45 +ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE 47 +IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING 47 +DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE 48 +TO CHARLES BAXTER 49 +I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH 52 +LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE? 53 +SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH 53 +AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG 53 +STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN 55 +THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART 56 +MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE 57 +THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR 58 +NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS 59 +WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO 60 +SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN 61 +KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ 62 +IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM 63 +AN ENGLISH BREEZE 65 +AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG 66 +THE PIPER 67 +TO MRS. MACMARLAND 58 +TO MISS CORNISH 69 +TALES OF ARABIA 71 +BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN 72 +STILL I LOVE TO RHYME 73 +LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE 74 +FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING 75 +COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME 76 +SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE 77 +ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES” 78 +FOR RICHMOND’S GARDEN WALL 80 +HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY! 80 +LO, NOW, MY GUEST 81 +SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR 81 +AD SE IPSUM 82 +BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME 82 +GO, LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT PHRASE 83 +MY LOVE WAS WARM 84 +DEDICATORY POEM FOR “UNDERWOODS” 85 +FAREWELL 86 +THE FAR-FARERS 87 +COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU 87 +HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS 88 +EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO 88 +FAIR ISLE AT SEA 89 +LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY 89 +I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE 90 +AT LAST SHE COMES 90 +MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE 90 +FIXED IS THE DOOM 91 +MEN ARE HEAVEN’S PIERS 92 +THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD 93 +SPRING CAROL 94 +TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER 95 +WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN 96 +LATE, O MILLER 97 +TO FRIENDS AT HOME 97 +I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED 98 +TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED 98 +VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM 99 +I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS 100 +SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD 103 +GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART 104 +OVER THE LAND IS APRIL 105 +LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START 106 +COMIC, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY 106 +IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE 107 +NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR 107 +TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE 108 +THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN 110 +TO ROSABELLE 111 +NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE 112 +THE BOUR-TREE DEN 114 +SONNETS 118 +FRAGMENTS 123 +AIR OF DIABELLI’S 128 +EPITAPHIUM EROTII 132 +DE M. ANTONIO 133 +AD MAGISTRUM LUDI 133 +AD NEPOTEM 134 +IN CHARIDEMUM 135 +DE LIGURRA 135 +IN LUPUM 136 +AD QUINTILIANUM 137 +DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS 137 +AD MARTIALEM 139 +IN MAXIMUM 139 +AD OLUM 140 +DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ 140 +DE EROTIO PUELLA 141 +AD PISCATOREM 141 + +PRAYER + + + I ASK good things that I detest, + With speeches fair; + Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, + But hear my prayer. + + I say ill things I would not say— + Things unaware: + Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, + And not my prayer. + + My heart is evil in Thy sight: + My good thoughts flee: + O Lord, I cannot wish aright— + Wish Thou for me. + + O bend my words and acts to Thee, + However ill, + That I, whate’er I say or be, + May serve Thee still. + + O let my thoughts abide in Thee + Lest I should fall: + Show me Thyself in all I see, + Thou Lord of all. + + + + +LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ + + + LO! in thine honest eyes I read + The auspicious beacon that shall lead, + After long sailing in deep seas, + To quiet havens in June ease. + + Thy voice sings like an inland bird + First by the seaworn sailor heard; + And like road sheltered from life’s sea + Thine honest heart is unto me. + + + + +THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE + + + THOUGH deep indifference should drowse + The sluggish life beneath my brows, + And all the external things I see + Grow snow-showers in the street to me, + Yet inmost in my stormy sense + Thy looks shall be an influence. + + Though other loves may come and go + And long years sever us below, + Shall the thin ice that grows above + Freeze the deep centre-well of love? + No, still below light amours, thou + Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now. + + Year following year shall only set + Fresh gems upon thy coronet; + And Time, grown lover, shall delight + To beautify thee in my sight; + And thou shalt ever rule in me + Crowned with the light of memory. + + + + +MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS + + + MY heart, when first the blackbird sings, + My heart drinks in the song: + Cool pleasure fills my bosom through + And spreads each nerve along. + + My bosom eddies quietly, + My heart is stirred and cool + As when a wind-moved briar sweeps + A stone into a pool + + But unto thee, when thee I meet, + My pulses thicken fast, + As when the maddened lake grows black + And ruffles in the blast. + + + + +I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR + + +I. + + + I DREAMED of forest alleys fair + And fields of gray-flowered grass, + Where by the yellow summer moon + My Jenny seemed to pass. + + I dreamed the yellow summer moon, + Behind a cedar wood, + Lay white on fields of rippling grass + Where I and Jenny stood. + + I dreamed—but fallen through my dream, + In a rainy land I lie + Where wan wet morning crowns the hills + Of grim reality. + + + +II. + + + I am as one that keeps awake + All night in the month of June, + That lies awake in bed to watch + The trees and great white moon. + + For memories of love are more + Than the white moon there above, + And dearer than quiet moonshine + Are the thoughts of her I love. + + + +III. + + + Last night I lingered long without + My last of loves to see. + Alas! the moon-white window-panes + Stared blindly back on me. + + To-day I hold her very hand, + Her very waist embrace— + Like clouds across a pool, I read + Her thoughts upon her face. + + And yet, as now, through her clear eyes + I seek the inner shrine— + I stoop to read her virgin heart + In doubt if it be mine— + + O looking long and fondly thus, + What vision should I see? + No vision, but my own white face + That grins and mimics me. + + + +IV. + + + Once more upon the same old seat + In the same sunshiny weather, + The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet + And foliage move together. + + The shadows shift upon the grass, + The dial point creeps on; + The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass, + As then they passed and shone. + + But now deep sleep is on my heart, + Deep sleep and perfect rest. + Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more + The quiet of my breast. + + + + +ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER + + + AS swallows turning backward + When half-way o’er the sea, + At one word’s trumpet summons + They came again to me— + The hopes I had forgotten + Came back again to me. + + I know not which to credit, + O lady of my heart! + Your eyes that bade me linger, + Your words that bade us part— + I know not which to credit, + My reason or my heart. + + But be my hopes rewarded, + Or be they but in vain, + I have dreamed a golden vision, + I have gathered in the grain— + I have dreamed a golden vision, + I have not lived in vain. + + + + +DEDICATION + + + MY first gift and my last, to you + I dedicate this fascicle of songs— + The only wealth I have: + Just as they are, to you. + + I speak the truth in soberness, and say + I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes, + Had rather hear you praise + This bosomful of songs + + Than that the whole, hard world with one consent, + In one continuous chorus of applause + Poured forth for me and mine + The homage of ripe praise. + + I write the finis here against my love, + This is my love’s last epitaph and tomb. + Here the road forks, and I + Go my way, far from yours. + + + + +THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS + + + THE old Chimæras, old receipts + For making “happy land,” + The old political beliefs + Swam close before my hand. + + The grand old communistic myths + In a middle state of grace, + Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell, + And walking for a space, + + Quite dead, and looking it, and yet + All eagerness to show + The Social-Contract forgeries + By Chatterton—Rousseau— + + A hundred such as these I tried, + And hundreds after that, + I fitted Social Theories + As one would fit a hat! + + Full many a marsh-fire lured me on, + I reached at many a star, + I reached and grasped them and behold— + The stump of a cigar! + + All through the sultry sweltering day + The sweat ran down my brow, + The still plains heard my distant strokes + That have been silenced now. + + This way and that, now up, now down, + I hailed full many a blow. + Alas! beneath my weary arm + The thicket seemed to grow. + + I take the lesson, wipe my brow + And throw my axe aside, + And, sorely wearied, I go home + In the tranquil eventide. + + And soon the rising moon, that lights + The eve of my defeat, + Shall see me sitting as of yore + By my old master’s feet. + + + + +PRELUDE + + + BY sunny market-place and street + Wherever I go my drum I beat, + And wherever I go in my coat of red + The ribbons flutter about my head. + + I seek recruits for wars to come— + For slaughterless wars I beat the drum, + And the shilling I give to each new ally + Is hope to live and courage to die. + + I know that new recruits shall come + Wherever I beat the sounding drum, + Till the roar of the march by country and town + Shall shake the tottering Dagons down. + + For I was objectless as they + And loitering idly day by day; + But whenever I heard the recruiters come, + I left my all to follow the drum. + + + + +THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT + + + I HAVE left all upon the shameful field, + Honour and Hope, my God, and all but life; + Spurless, with sword reversed and dinted shield, + Degraded and disgraced, I leave the strife. + + From him that hath not, shall there not be taken + E’en that he hath, when he deserts the strife? + Life left by all life’s benefits forsaken, + O keep the promise, Lord, and take the life. + + + + +TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS + + + I SEND to you, commissioners, + A paper that may please ye, sirs + (For troth they say it might be worse + An’ I believe’t) + And on your business lay my curse + Before I leav’t. + + I thocht I’d serve wi’ you, sirs, yince, + But I’ve thocht better of it since; + The maitter I will nowise mince, + But tell ye true: + I’ll service wi’ some ither prince, + An’ no wi’ you. + + I’ve no been very deep, ye’ll think, + Cam’ delicately to the brink + An’ when the water gart me shrink + Straucht took the rue, + An’ didna stoop my fill to drink— + I own it true. + + I kent on cape and isle, a light + Burnt fair an’ clearly ilka night; + But at the service I took fright, + As sune’s I saw, + An’ being still a neophite + Gaed straucht awa’. + + Anither course I now begin, + The weeg I’ll cairry for my sin, + The court my voice shall echo in, + An’—wha can tell?— + Some ither day I may be yin + O’ you mysel’. + + + + +THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE? + + + THE relic taken, what avails the shrine? + The locket, pictureless? O heart of mine, + Art thou not worse than that, + Still warm, a vacant nest where love once sat? + + Her image nestled closer at my heart + Than cherished memories, healed every smart + And warmed it more than wine + Or the full summer sun in noon-day shine. + + This was the little weather gleam that lit + The cloudy promontories—the real charm was + That gilded hills and woods + And walked beside me thro’ the solitudes. + + The sun is set. My heart is widowed now + Of that companion-thought. Alone I plough + The seas of life, and trace + A separate furrow far from her and grace. + + + + +ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND + + + ABOUT the sheltered garden ground + The trees stand strangely still. + The vale ne’er seemed so deep before, + Nor yet so high the hill. + + An awful sense of quietness, + A fulness of repose, + Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns, + The silent garden rows. + + As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse + Heard far across a plain, + A nearer knowledge of great thoughts + Thrills vaguely through my brain. + + I lean my head upon my arm, + My heart’s too full to think; + Like the roar of seas, upon my heart + Doth the morning stillness sink. + + + + +AFTER READING “ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA” + + + AS when the hunt by holt and field + Drives on with horn and strife, + Hunger of hopeless things pursues + Our spirits throughout life. + + The sea’s roar fills us aching full + Of objectless desire— + The sea’s roar, and the white moon-shine, + And the reddening of the fire. + + Who talks to me of reason now? + It would be more delight + To have died in Cleopatra’s arms + Than be alive to-night. + + + + +I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT + + + I KNOW not how, but as I count + The beads of former years, + Old laughter catches in my throat + With the very feel of tears. + + + + +SPRING SONG + + + THE air was full of sun and birds, + The fresh air sparkled clearly. + Remembrance wakened in my heart + And I knew I loved her dearly. + + The fallows and the leafless trees + And all my spirit tingled. + My earliest thought of love, and Spring’s + First puff of perfume mingled. + + In my still heart the thoughts awoke, + Came lone by lone together— + Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love + A mere affair of weather? + + + + +THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME + + + THE summer sun shone round me, + The folded valley lay + In a stream of sun and odour, + That sultry summer day. + + The tall trees stood in the sunlight + As still as still could be, + But the deep grass sighed and rustled + And bowed and beckoned me. + + The deep grass moved and whispered + And bowed and brushed my face. + It whispered in the sunshine: + “The winter comes apace.” + + + + +YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW + + + YOU looked so tempting in the pew, + You looked so sly and calm— + My trembling fingers played with yours + As both looked out the Psalm. + + Your heart beat hard against my arm, + My foot to yours was set, + Your loosened ringlet burned my cheek + Whenever they two met. + + O little, little we hearkened, dear, + And little, little cared, + Although the parson sermonised, + The congregation stared. + + + + +LOVE’S VICISSITUDES + + + AS Love and Hope together + Walk by me for a while, + Link-armed the ways they travel + For many a pleasant mile— + Link-armed and dumb they travel, + They sing not, but they smile. + + Hope leaving, Love commences + To practise on the lute; + And as he sings and travels + With lingering, laggard foot, + Despair plays obligato + The sentimental flute. + + Until in singing garments + Comes royally, at call— + Comes limber-hipped Indiff’rence + Free stepping, straight and tall— + Comes singing and lamenting, + The sweetest pipe of all. + + + + +DUDDINGSTONE + + + WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods + In this thin sun rejoice. + The Psalm seems but the little kirk + That sings with its own voice. + + The cloud-rifts share their amber light + With the surface of the mere— + I think the very stones are glad + To feel each other near. + + Once more my whole heart leaps and swells + And gushes o’er with glee; + The fingers of the sun and shade + Touch music stops in me. + + Now fancy paints that bygone day + When you were here, my fair— + The whole lake rang with rapid skates + In the windless winter air. + + You leaned to me, I leaned to you, + Our course was smooth as flight— + We steered—a heel-touch to the left, + A heel-touch to the right. + + We swung our way through flying men, + Your hand lay fast in mine: + We saw the shifting crowd dispart, + The level ice-reach shine. + + I swear by yon swan-travelled lake, + By yon calm hill above, + I swear had we been drowned that day + We had been drowned in love. + + + + +STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS + + + STOUT marches lead to certain ends, + We seek no Holy Grail, my friends— + That dawn should find us every day + Some fraction farther on our way. + + The dumb lands sleep from east to west, + They stretch and turn and take their rest. + The cock has crown in the steading-yard, + But priest and people slumber hard. + + We two are early forth, and hear + The nations snoring far and near. + So peacefully their rest they take, + It seems we are the first awake! + + —Strong heart! this is no royal way, + A thousand cross-roads seek the day; + And, hid from us, to left and right, + A thousand seekers seek the light. + + + + +AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC + + + AWAY with funeral music—set + The pipe to powerful lips— + The cup of life’s for him that drinks + And not for him that sips. + + + + +TO SYDNEY + + + NOT thine where marble-still and white + Old statues share the tempered light + And mock the uneven modern flight, + But in the stream + Of daily sorrow and delight + To seek a theme. + + I too, O friend, have steeled my heart + Boldly to choose the better part, + To leave the beaten ways of art, + And wholly free + To dare, beyond the scanty chart, + The deeper sea. + + All vain restrictions left behind, + Frail bark! I loose my anchored mind + And large, before the prosperous wind + Desert the strand— + A new Columbus sworn to find + The morning land. + + Nor too ambitious, friend. To thee + I own my weakness. Not for me + To sing the enfranchised nations’ glee, + Or count the cost + Of warships foundered far at sea + And battles lost. + + High on the far-seen, sunny hills, + Morning-content my bosom fills; + Well-pleased, I trace the wandering rills + And learn their birth. + Far off, the clash of sovereign wills + May shake the earth. + + The nimble circuit of the wheel, + The uncertain poise of merchant weal, + Heaven of famine, fire and steel + When nations fall; + These, heedful, from afar I feel— + I mark them all. + + But not, my friend, not these I sing, + My voice shall fill a narrower ring. + Tired souls, that flag upon the wing, + I seek to cheer: + Brave wines to strengthen hope I bring, + Life’s cantineer! + + Some song that shall be suppling oil + To weary muscles strained with toil, + Shall hearten for the daily moil, + Or widely read + Make sweet for him that tills the soil + His daily bread. + + Such songs in my flushed hours I dream + (High thought) instead of armour gleam + Or warrior cantos ream by ream + To load the shelves— + Songs with a lilt of words, that seem + To sing themselves. + + + + +HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL + + + HAD I the power that have the will, + The enfeebled will—a modern curse— + This book of mine should blossom still + A perfect garden-ground of verse. + + White placid marble gods should keep + Good watch in every shadowy lawn; + And from clean, easy-breathing sleep + The birds should waken me at dawn. + + —A fairy garden;—none the less + Throughout these gracious paths of mine + All day there should be free access + For stricken hearts and lives that pine; + + And by the folded lawns all day— + No idle gods for such a land— + All active Love should take its way + With active Labour hand in hand. + + + + +O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY + + + O DULL cold northern sky, + O brawling sabbath bells, + O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells + The year is like to die! + + O still, spoiled trees, O city ways, + O sun desired in vain, + O dread presentiment of coming rain + That cloys the sullen days! + + Thee, heart of mine, I greet. + In what hard mountain pass + Striv’st thou? In what importunate morass + Sink now thy weary feet? + + Thou run’st a hopeless race + To win despair. No crown + Awaits success, but leaden gods look down + On thee, with evil face. + + And those that would befriend + And cherish thy defeat, + With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet + Home-coming of the end. + + Yea, those that offer praise + To idleness, shall yet + Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat + Of honourable ways. + + + + +APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER + + + IF you see this song, my dear, + And last year’s toast, + I’m confoundedly in fear + You’ll be serious and severe + About the boast. + + Blame not that I sought such aid + To cure regret. + I was then so lowly laid + I used all the Gasconnade + That I could get. + + Being snubbed is somewhat smart, + Believe, my sweet; + And I needed all my art + To restore my broken heart + To its conceit. + + Come and smile, dear, and forget + I boasted so, + I apologise—regret— + It was all a jest;—and—yet— + I do not know. + + + + +TO MARCUS + + + YOU have been far, and I + Been farther yet, + Since last, in foul or fair + An impecunious pair, + Below this northern sky + Of ours, we met. + + Now winter night shall see + Again us two, + While howls the tempest higher, + Sit warmly by the fire + And dream and plan, as we + Were wont to do. + + And, hand in hand, at large + Our thoughts shall walk + While storm and gusty rain, + Again and yet again, + Shall drive their noisy charge + Across the talk. + + The pleasant future still + Shall smile to me, + And hope with wooing hands + Wave on to fairy lands + All over dale and hill + And earth and sea. + + And you who doubt the sky + And fear the sun— + You—Christian with the pack— + You shall not wander back + For I am Hopeful—I + Will cheer you on. + + Come—where the great have trod, + The great shall lead— + Come, elbow through the press, + Pluck Fortune by the dress— + By God, we must—by God, + We shall succeed. + + + + +TO OTTILIE + + + YOU remember, I suppose, + How the August sun arose, + And how his face + Woke to trill and carolette + All the cages that were set + About the place. + + In the tender morning light + All around lay strange and bright + And still and sweet, + And the gray doves unafraid + Went their morning promenade + Along the street. + + + + +THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY + + + THIS gloomy northern day, + Or this yet gloomier night, + Has moved a something high + In my cold heart; and I, + That do not often pray, + Would pray to-night. + + And first on Thee I call + For bread, O God of might! + Enough of bread for all,— + That through the famished town + Cold hunger may lie down + With none to-night. + + I pray for hope no less, + Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord, + That to the struggling young + May preach with brazen tongue + Stout Labour, high success, + And bright reward. + + And last, O Lord, I pray + For hearts resigned and bold + To trudge the dusty way— + Hearts stored with song and joke + And warmer than a cloak + Against the cold. + + If nothing else he had, + He who has this, has all. + This comforts under pain; + This, through the stinging rain, + Keeps ragamuffin glad + Behind the wall. + + This makes the sanded inn + A palace for a Prince, + And this, when griefs begin + And cruel fate annoys, + Can bring to mind the joys + Of ages since. + + + + +THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES + + + THE wind is without there and howls in the trees, + And the rain-flurries drum on the glass: + Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees + I can number the hours as they pass. + Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin, + And my pipe is just happily lit, + Believe me, my friend, tho’ the evening draws in, + That not all uncontested I sit. + + Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone + With the Past sitting warm on my knee, + To gossip of days that are over and gone, + But still charming to her and to me. + With much to be glad of and much to deplore, + Yet, as these days with those we compare, + Believe me, my friend, tho’ the sorrows seem more + They are somehow more easy to bear. + + And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail, + As I cherish thy light in each draught, + His lamp is not more to the miner—their sail + Is not more to the crew on the raft. + For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave, + And, as forth thro’ the years I look on, + Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave, + I see wonderful things to be done. + + To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend, + If the call should come early for me, + I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend + For some new city over the sea. + To do or to try; and if failure be mine, + And if Fortune go cross to my plan, + Believe me, my friend, tho’ I mourn the design + I shall never lament for the man. + + + + +A VALENTINE’S SONG + + + MOTLEY I count the only wear + That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise, + Who boldly smile upon despair + And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy’s eyes. + Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer + That the bare listening should make strong like wine, + At this unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + We do not now parade our “oughts” + And “shoulds” and motives and beliefs in God. + Their life lies all indoors; sad thoughts + Must keep the house, while gay thoughts go abroad, + Within we hold the wake for hopes deceased; + But in the public streets, in wind or sun, + Keep open, at the annual feast, + The puppet-booth of fun. + + Our powers, perhaps, are small to please, + But even negro-songs and castanettes, + Old jokes and hackneyed repartees + Are more than the parade of vain regrets. + Let Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer— + We shall make merry, honest friends of mine, + At this unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + I know how, day by weary day, + Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade. + I have not trudged in vain that way + On which life’s daylight darkens, shade by shade. + And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased, + Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one, + Keep open, at the annual feast, + The puppet-booth of fun. + + I care not if the wit be poor, + The old worn motley stained with rain and tears, + If but the courage still endure + That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years; + If still, with friends averted, fate severe, + A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine + To greet the unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + Priest, I am none of thine, and see + In the perspective of still hopeful youth + That Truth shall triumph over thee— + Truth to one’s self—I know no other truth. + I see strange days for thee and thine, O priest, + And how your doctrines, fallen one by one, + Shall furnish at the annual feast + The puppet-booth of fun. + + Stand on your putrid ruins—stand, + White neck-clothed bigot, fixedly the same, + Cruel with all things but the hand, + Inquisitor in all things but the name. + Back, minister of Christ and source of fear— + We cherish freedom—back with thee and thine + From this unruly time of year, + The Feast of Valentine. + + Blood thou mayest spare; but what of tears? + But what of riven households, broken faith— + Bywords that cling through all men’s years + And drag them surely down to shame and death? + Stand back, O cruel man, O foe of youth, + And let such men as hearken not thy voice + Press freely up the road to truth, + The King’s highway of choice. + + + + +HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES + + + HAIL! Childish slaves of social rules + You had yourselves a hand in making! + How I could shake your faith, ye fools, + If but I thought it worth the shaking. + I see, and pity you; and then + Go, casting off the idle pity, + In search of better, braver men, + My own way freely through the city. + + My own way freely, and not yours; + And, careless of a town’s abusing, + Seek real friendship that endures + Among the friends of my own choosing. + I’ll choose my friends myself, do you hear? + And won’t let Mrs. Grundy do it, + Tho’ all I honour and hold dear + And all I hope should move me to it. + + I take my old coat from the shelf— + I am a man of little breeding. + And only dress to please myself— + I own, a very strange proceeding. + I smoke a pipe abroad, because + To all cigars I much prefer it, + And as I scorn your social laws + My choice has nothing to deter it. + + Gladly I trudge the footpath way, + While you and yours roll by in coaches + In all the pride of fine array, + Through all the city’s thronged approaches. + O fine religious, decent folk, + In Virtue’s flaunting gold and scarlet, + I sneer between two puffs of smoke,— + Give me the publican and harlot. + + Ye dainty-spoken, stiff, severe + Seed of the migrated Philistian, + One whispered question in your ear— + Pray, what was Christ, if you be Christian? + If Christ were only here just now, + Among the city’s wynds and gables + Teaching the life he taught us, how + Would he be welcome to your tables? + + I go and leave your logic-straws, + Your former-friends with face averted, + Your petty ways and narrow laws, + Your Grundy and your God, deserted. + From your frail ark of lies, I flee + I know not where, like Noah’s raven. + Full to the broad, unsounded sea + I swim from your dishonest haven. + + Alone on that unsounded deep, + Poor waif, it may be I shall perish, + Far from the course I thought to keep, + Far from the friends I hoped to cherish. + It may be that I shall sink, and yet + Hear, thro’ all taunt and scornful laughter, + Through all defeat and all regret, + The stronger swimmers coming after. + + + + +SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO + + + SWALLOWS travel to and fro, + And the great winds come and go, + And the steady breezes blow, + Bearing perfume, bearing love. + Breezes hasten, swallows fly, + Towered clouds forever ply, + And at noonday, you and I + See the same sunshine above. + + Dew and rain fall everywhere, + Harvests ripen, flowers are fair, + And the whole round earth is bare + To the moonshine and the sun; + And the live air, fanned with wings, + Bright with breeze and sunshine, brings + Into contact distant things, + And makes all the countries one. + + Let us wander where we will, + Something kindred greets us still; + Something seen on vale or hill + Falls familiar on the heart; + So, at scent or sound or sight, + Severed souls by day and night + Tremble with the same delight— + Tremble, half the world apart. + + + + +TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE + + + THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way + And aye the lift be mirk an’ gray, + An deep the moss and steigh the brae + Where a’ maun gang— + There’s still an hoor in ilka day + For luve and sang. + + And canty hearts are strangely steeled. + By some dikeside they’ll find a bield, + Some couthy neuk by muir or field + They’re sure to hit, + Where, frae the blatherin’ wind concealed, + They’ll rest a bit. + + An’ weel for them if kindly fate + Send ower the hills to them a mate; + They’ll crack a while o’ kirk an’ State, + O’ yowes an’ rain: + An’ when it’s time to take the gate, + Tak’ ilk his ain. + + —Sic neuk beside the southern sea + I soucht—sic place o’ quiet lee + Frae a’ the winds o’ life. To me, + Fate, rarely fair, + Had set a freendly company + To meet me there. + + Kindly by them they gart me sit, + An’ blythe was I to bide a bit. + Licht as o’ some hame fireside lit + My life for me. + —Ower early maun I rise an’ quit + This happy lee. + + + + +TO MADAME GARSCHINE + + + WHAT is the face, the fairest face, till Care, + Till Care the graver—Care with cunning hand, + Etches content thereon and makes it fair, + Or constancy, and love, and makes it grand? + + + + +MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA + + + FOR some abiding central source of power, + Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow + And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below, + The vain tumultuous passions of the hour + Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun + Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast + O’er all the shattered ruins of my past + A strong contentment as of battles won. + + And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear + The long drawn pageant of your passage roll + Magnificently forth into the night. + To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere + Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight, + O even wings of music, bear my soul! + + Ye have the power, if but ye had the will, + Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand, + To bear me forth into that tranquil land + Where good is no more ravelled up with ill; + Where she and I, remote upon some hill + Or by some quiet river’s windless strand, + May live, and love, and wander hand in hand, + And follow nature simply, and be still. + + From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, we + Sit bound with others’ heart-strings as with chains, + And, if one moves, all suffer,—to that Goal, + If such a land, if such a sphere, there be, + Thither, from life and all life’s joys and pains, + O even wings of music, bear my soul! + + + + +FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS + + + FEAR not, dear friend, but freely live your days + Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I, + A lesser life, that what is his of sky + Gladly would give for you, and what of praise. + Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways. + We that have touched your raiment, are made whole + From all the selfish cankers of man’s soul, + And we would see you happy, dear, or die. + Therefore be brave, and therefore, dear, be free; + Try all things resolutely, till the best, + Out of all lesser betters, you shall find; + And we, who have learned greatness from you, we, + Your lovers, with a still, contented mind, + See you well anchored in some port of rest. + + + + +LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL + + + LET love go, if go she will. + Seek not, O fool, her wanton flight to stay. + Of all she gives and takes away + The best remains behind her still. + + The best remains behind; in vain + Joy she may give and take again, + Joy she may take and leave us pain, + If yet she leave behind + The constant mind + To meet all fortunes nobly, to endure + All things with a good heart, and still be pure, + Still to be foremost in the foremost cause, + And still be worthy of the love that was. + Love coming is omnipotent indeed, + But not Love going. Let her go. The seed + Springs in the favouring Summer air, and grows, + And waxes strong; and when the Summer goes, + Remains, a perfect tree. + + Joy she may give and take again, + Joy she may take and leave us pain. + O Love, and what care we? + For one thing thou hast given, O Love, one thing + Is ours that nothing can remove; + And as the King discrowned is still a King, + The unhappy lover still preserves his love. + + + + +I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN + + + I DO not fear to own me kin + To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin; + Or to my brothers, the great trees, + That speak with pleasant voices in the breeze, + Loud talkers with the winds that pass; + Or to my sister, the deep grass. + + Of such I am, of such my body is, + That thrills to reach its lips to kiss. + That gives and takes with wind and sun and rain + And feels keen pleasure to the point of pain. + + Of such are these, + The brotherhood of stalwart trees, + The humble family of flowers, + That make a light of shadowy bowers + Or star the edges of the bent: + They give and take sweet colour and sweet scent; + They joy to shed themselves abroad; + And tree and flower and grass and sod + Thrill and leap and live and sing + With silent voices in the Spring. + + Hence I not fear to yield my breath, + Since all is still unchanged by death; + Since in some pleasant valley I may be, + Clod beside clod, or tree by tree, + Long ages hence, with her I love this hour; + And feel a lively joy to share + With her the sun and rain and air, + To taste her quiet neighbourhood + As the dumb things of field and wood, + The clod, the tree, and starry flower, + Alone of all things have the power. + + + + +I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE + + + I AM like one that for long days had sate, + With seaward eyes set keen against the gale, + On some lone foreland, watching sail by sail, + The portbound ships for one ship that was late; + And sail by sail, his heart burned up with joy, + And cruelly was quenched, until at last + One ship, the looked-for pennant at its mast, + Bore gaily, and dropt safely past the buoy; + And lo! the loved one was not there—was dead. + Then would he watch no more; no more the sea + With myriad vessels, sail by sail, perplex + His eyes and mock his longing. Weary head, + Take now thy rest; eyes, close; for no more me + Shall hopes untried elate, or ruined vex. + + For thus on love I waited; thus for love + Strained all my senses eagerly and long; + Thus for her coming ever trimmed my song; + Till in the far skies coloured as a dove, + A bird gold-coloured flickered far and fled + Over the pathless waterwaste for me; + And with spread hands I watched the bright bird flee + And waited, till before me she dropped dead. + O golden bird in these dove-coloured skies + How long I sought, how long with wearied eyes + I sought, O bird, the promise of thy flight! + And now the morn has dawned, the morn has died, + The day has come and gone; and once more night + About my lone life settles, wild and wide. + + + + +VOLUNTARY + + + HERE in the quiet eve + My thankful eyes receive + The quiet light. + I see the trees stand fair + Against the faded air, + And star by star prepare + The perfect night. + + And in my bosom, lo! + Content and quiet grow + Toward perfect peace. + And now when day is done, + Brief day of wind and sun, + The pure stars, one by one, + Their troop increase. + + Keen pleasure and keen grief + Give place to great relief: + Farewell my tears! + Still sounds toward me float; + I hear the bird’s small note, + Sheep from the far sheepcote, + And lowing steers. + + For lo! the war is done, + Lo, now the battle won, + The trumpets still. + The shepherd’s slender strain, + The country sounds again + Awake in wood and plain, + On haugh and hill. + + Loud wars and loud loves cease. + I welcome my release; + And hail once more + Free foot and way world-wide. + And oft at eventide + Light love to talk beside + The hostel door. + + + + +ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE + + + ON now, although the year be done, + Now, although the love be dead, + Dead and gone; + Hear me, O loved and cherished one, + Give me still the hand that led, + Led me on. + + + + +IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING + + + IN the green and gallant Spring, + Love and the lyre I thought to sing, + And kisses sweet to give and take + By the flowery hawthorn brake. + + Now is russet Autumn here, + Death and the grave and winter drear, + And I must ponder here aloof + While the rain is on the roof. + + + + +DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE + + + DEATH, to the dead for evermore + A King, a God, the last, the best of friends— + Whene’er this mortal journey ends + Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; + Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore + Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn + Disturbs the eternal sleep, + But in the stillness far withdrawn + Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep. + + For as from open windows forth we peep + Upon the night-time star beset + And with dews for ever wet; + So from this garish life the spirit peers; + And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread, + Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo! + After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears + And clamour of man’s passion, Death appears, + And we must rise and go. + + Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears + Weary of utterance, seeing all is said; + Soon, racked by hopes and fears, + The all-pondering, all-contriving head, + Weary with all things, wearies of the years; + And our sad spirits turn toward the dead; + And the tired child, the body, longs for bed. + + + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + +_On the death of their common friend_, _Mr. John Adam_, _Clerk of court_. + + OUR Johnie’s deid. The mair’s the pity! + He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua-vitæ. + O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city, + Noo Johnie’s deid! + Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty + Ower Johnie’s heid. + + To see him was baith drink an’ meat, + Gaun linkin’ glegly up the street. + He but to rin or tak a seat, + The wee bit body! + Bein’ aye unsicken on his feet + Wi’ whusky toddy. + + To be aye tosh was Johnie’s whim, + There’s nane was better teut than him, + Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim’ + Ahint his ear, + An’ whiles he’d buttons oot or in + The less ae mair. + + His hair a’ lang about his bree, + His tap-lip lang by inches three— + A slockened sort ‘mon,’ to pree + A’ sensuality— + A droutly glint was in his e’e + An’ personality. + + An’ day an’ nicht, frae daw to daw, + Dink an’ perjink an’ doucely braw, + Wi’ a kind o’ Gospel ower a’, + May or October, + Like Peden, followin’ the Law + An’ no that sober. + + Whusky an’ he were pack thegether. + Whate’er the hour, whate’er the weather, + John kept himsel’ wi’ mistened leather + An’ kindled spunk. + Wi’ him, there was nae askin’ whether— + John was aye drunk. + + The auncient heroes gash an’ bauld + In the uncanny days of auld, + The task ance fo(u)nd to which th’were called, + Stack stenchly to it. + His life sic noble lives recalled, + Little’s he knew it. + + Single an’ straucht, he went his way. + He kept the faith an’ played the play. + Whusky an’ he were man an’ may + Whate’er betided. + Bonny in life—in death—this twae + Were no’ divided. + + An’ wow! but John was unco sport. + Whiles he wad smile about the Court + Malvolio-like—whiles snore an’ snort + Was heard afar. + The idle winter lads’ resort + Was aye John’s bar. + + What’s merely humorous or bonny + The Worl’ regairds wi’ cauld astony. + Drunk men tak’ aye mair place than ony; + An’ sae, ye see, + The gate was aye ower thrang for Johnie— + Or you an’ me. + + John micht hae jingled cap an’ bells, + Been a braw fule in silks an’ pells, + In ane o’ the auld worl’s canty hells + Paris or Sodom. + I wadnae had him naething else + But Johnie Adam. + + He suffered—as have a’ that wan + Eternal memory frae man, + Since e’er the weary worl’ began— + Mister or Madam, + Keats or Scots Burns, the Spanish Don + Or Johnie Adam. + + We leuch, an’ Johnie deid. An’ fegs! + Hoo he had keept his stoiterin’ legs + Sae lang’s he did’s a fact that begs + An explanation. + He stachers fifty years—syne plegs + To’s destination. + + + + +I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH + + + I WHO all the winter through + Cherished other loves than you, + And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew; + Now I know the false and true, + For the earnest sun looks through, + And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. + + Now the hedged meads renew + Rustic odour, smiling hue, + And the clean air shines and tinkles as the world goes wheeling + through; + And my heart springs up anew, + Bright and confident and true, + And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. + + + + +LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE? + + + LOVE—what is love? A great and aching heart; + Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair. + Life—what is life? Upon a moorland bare + To see love coming and see love depart. + + + + +SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH + + + SOON our friends perish, + Soon all we cherish + Fades as days darken—goes as flowers go. + Soon in December + Over an ember, + Lonely we hearken, as loud winds blow. + + + + +AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG + + + AS one who having wandered all night long + In a perplexed forest, comes at length + In the first hours, about the matin song, + And when the sun uprises in his strength, + To the fringed margin of the wood, and sees, + Gazing afar before him, many a mile + Of falling country, many fields and trees, + And cities and bright streams and far-off Ocean’s smile: + + I, O Melampus, halting, stand at gaze: + I, liberated, look abroad on life, + Love, and distress, and dusty travelling ways, + The steersman’s helm, the surgeon’s helpful knife, + On the lone ploughman’s earth-upturning share, + The revelry of cities and the sound + Of seas, and mountain-tops aloof in air, + And of the circling earth the unsupported round: + + I, looking, wonder: I, intent, adore; + And, O Melampus, reaching forth my hands + In adoration, cry aloud and soar + In spirit, high above the supine lands + And the low caves of mortal things, and flee + To the last fields of the universe untrod, + Where is no man, nor any earth, nor sea, + And the contented soul is all alone with God. + + + + +STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN + + + STRANGE are the ways of men, + And strange the ways of God! + We tread the mazy paths + That all our fathers trod. + + We tread them undismayed, + And undismayed behold + The portents of the sky, + The things that were of old. + + The fiery stars pursue + Their course in heav’n on high; + And round the ‘leaguered town, + Crest-tossing heroes cry. + + Crest-tossing heroes cry; + And martial fifes declare + How small, to mortal minds, + Is merely mortal care. + + And to the clang of steel + And cry of piercing flute + Upon the azure peaks + A God shall plant his foot: + + A God in arms shall stand, + And seeing wide and far + The green and golden earth, + The killing tide of war, + + He, with uplifted arm, + Shall to the skies proclaim + The gleeful fate of man, + The noble road to fame! + + + + +THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART + + + THE wind blew shrill and smart, + And the wind awoke my heart + Again to go a-sailing o’er the sea, + To hear the cordage moan + And the straining timbers groan, + And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee. + + O sailor of the fleet, + It is time to stir the feet! + It’s time to man the dingy and to row! + It’s lay your hand in mine + And it’s empty down the wine, + And it’s drain a health to death before we go! + + To death, my lads, we sail; + And it’s death that blows the gale + And death that holds the tiller as we ride. + For he’s the king of all + In the tempest and the squall, + And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide! + + + + +MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE + + + MAN sails the deep awhile; + Loud runs the roaring tide; + The seas are wild and wide; + O’er many a salt, o’er many a desert mile, + The unchained breakers ride, + The quivering stars beguile. + + Hope bears the sole command; + Hope, with unshaken eyes, + Sees flaw and storm arise; + Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand, + Steers, under changing skies, + Unchanged toward the land. + + O wind that bravely blows! + O hope that sails with all + Where stars and voices call! + O ship undaunted that forever goes + Where God, her admiral, + His battle signal shows! + + What though the seas and wind + Far on the deep should whelm + Colours and sails and helm? + There, too, you touch that port that you designed— + There, in the mid-seas’ realm, + Shall you that haven find. + + Well hast thou sailed: now die, + To die is not to sleep. + Still your true course you keep, + O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky; + And fifty fathom deep + Your colours still shall fly. + + + + +THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR + + + THE cock’s clear voice into the clearer air + Where westward far I roam, + Mounts with a thrill of hope, + Falls with a sigh of home. + + A rural sentry, he from farm and field + The coming morn descries, + And, mankind’s bugler, wakes + The camp of enterprise. + + He sings the morn upon the westward hills + Strange and remote and wild; + He sings it in the land + Where once I was a child. + + He brings to me dear voices of the past, + The old land and the years: + My father calls for me, + My weeping spirit hears. + + Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, + And sing the morning in; + For the old days are past + And new days begin. + + + + +NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS + + + NOW when the number of my years + Is all fulfilled, and I + From sedentary life + Shall rouse me up to die, + Bury me low and let me lie + Under the wide and starry sky. + Joying to live, I joyed to die, + Bury me low and let me lie. + + Clear was my soul, my deeds were free, + Honour was called my name, + I fell not back from fear + Nor followed after fame. + Bury me low and let me lie + Under the wide and starry sky. + Joying to live, I joyed to die, + Bury me low and let me lie. + + Bury me low in valleys green + And where the milder breeze + Blows fresh along the stream, + Sings roundly in the trees— + Bury me low and let me lie + Under the wide and starry sky. + Joying to live, I joyed to die, + Bury me low and let me lie. + + + + +WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO + + + WHAT man may learn, what man may do, + Of right or wrong of false or true, + While, skipper-like, his course he steers + Through nine and twenty mingled years, + Half misconceived and half forgot, + So much I know and practise not. + + Old are the words of wisdom, old + The counsels of the wise and bold: + To close the ears, to check the tongue, + To keep the pining spirit young; + To act the right, to say the true, + And to be kind whate’er you do. + + Thus we across the modern stage + Follow the wise of every age; + And, as oaks grow and rivers run + Unchanged in the unchanging sun, + So the eternal march of man + Goes forth on an eternal plan. + + + + +SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN + + + SMALL is the trust when love is green + In sap of early years; + A little thing steps in between + And kisses turn to tears. + + Awhile—and see how love be grown + In loveliness and power! + Awhile, it loves the sweets alone, + But next it loves the sour. + + A little love is none at all + That wanders or that fears; + A hearty love dwells still at call + To kisses or to tears. + + Such then be mine, my love to give, + And such be yours to take:— + A faith to hold, a life to live, + For lovingkindness’ sake: + + Should you be sad, should you be gay, + Or should you prove unkind, + A love to hold the growing way + And keep the helping mind:— + + A love to turn the laugh on care + When wrinkled care appears, + And, with an equal will, to share + Your losses and your tears. + + + + +KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ + + + KNOW you the river near to Grez, + A river deep and clear? + Among the lilies all the way, + That ancient river runs to-day + From snowy weir to weir. + + Old as the Rhine of great renown, + She hurries clear and fast, + She runs amain by field and town + From south to north, from up to down, + To present on from past. + + The love I hold was borne by her; + And now, though far away, + My lonely spirit hears the stir + Of water round the starling spur + Beside the bridge at Grez. + + So may that love forever hold + In life an equal pace; + So may that love grow never old, + But, clear and pure and fountain-cold, + Go on from grace to grace. + + + + +IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM + + + IT’S forth across the roaring foam, and on towards the west, + It’s many a lonely league from home, o’er many a mountain crest, + From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold, + To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold. + + Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn, + Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn; + It’s there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and cold, + In yon distressful city beside the Gates of Gold. + + I slept as one that nothing knows; but far along my way, + Before the morning God rose and planned the coming day; + Afar before me forth he went, as through the sands of old, + And chose the friends to help me beside the Gates of Gold. + + I have been near, I have been far, my back’s been at the wall, + Yet aye and ever shone the star to guide me through it all: + The love of God, the help of man, they both shall make me bold + Against the gates of darkness as beside the Gates of Gold. + + + + +AN ENGLISH BREEZE + + + UP with the sun, the breeze arose, + Across the talking corn she goes, + And smooth she rustles far and wide + Through all the voiceful countryside. + + Through all the land her tale she tells; + She spins, she tosses, she compels + The kites, the clouds, the windmill sails + And all the trees in all the dales. + + God calls us, and the day prepares + With nimble, gay and gracious airs: + And from Penzance to Maidenhead + The roads last night He watered. + + God calls us from inglorious ease, + Forth and to travel with the breeze + While, swift and singing, smooth and strong + She gallops by the fields along. + + + + +AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG + + + AS in their flight the birds of song + Halt here and there in sweet and sunny dales, + But halt not overlong; + The time one rural song to sing + They pause; then following bounteous gales + Steer forward on the wing: + Sun-servers they, from first to last, + Upon the sun they wait + To ride the sailing blast. + + So he awhile in our contested state, + Awhile abode, not longer, for his Sun— + Mother we say, no tenderer name we know— + With whose diviner glow + His early days had shone, + Now to withdraw her radiance had begun. + Or lest a wrong I say, not she withdrew, + But the loud stream of men day after day + And great dust columns of the common way + Between them grew and grew: + And he and she for evermore might yearn, + But to the spring the rivulets not return + Nor to the bosom comes the child again. + + And he (O may we fancy so!), + He, feeling time forever flow + And flowing bear him forth and far away + From that dear ingle where his life began + And all his treasure lay— + He, waxing into man, + And ever farther, ever closer wound + In this obstreperous world’s ignoble round, + From that poor prospect turned his face away. + + + + +THE PIPER + + + AGAIN I hear you piping, for I know the tune so well,— + You rouse the heart to wander and be free, + Tho’ where you learned your music, not the God of song can tell, + For you pipe the open highway and the sea. + O piper, lightly footing, lightly piping on your way, + Tho’ your music thrills and pierces far and near, + I tell you you had better pipe to someone else to-day, + For you cannot pipe my fancy from my dear. + + You sound the note of travel through the hamlet and the town; + You would lure the holy angels from on high; + And not a man can hear you, but he throws the hammer down + And is off to see the countries ere he die. + But now no more I wander, now unchanging here I stay; + By my love, you find me safely sitting here: + And pipe you ne’er so sweetly, till you pipe the hills away, + You can never pipe my fancy from my dear. + + + + +TO MRS. MACMARLAND + + + IN Schnee der Alpen—so it runs + To those divine accords—and here + We dwell in Alpine snows and suns, + A motley crew, for half the year: + A motley crew, we dwell to taste— + A shivering band in hope and fear— + That sun upon the snowy waste, + That Alpine ether cold and clear. + + Up from the laboured plains, and up + From low sea-levels, we arise + To drink of that diviner cup + The rarer air, the clearer skies; + For, as the great, old, godly King + From mankind’s turbid valley cries, + So all we mountain-lovers sing: + I to the hills will lift mine eyes. + + The bells that ring, the peaks that climb, + The frozen snow’s unbroken curd + Might yet revindicate in rhyme + The pauseless stream, the absent bird. + In vain—for to the deeps of life + You, lady, you my heart have stirred; + And since you say you love my life, + Be sure I love you for the word. + + Of kindness, here I nothing say— + Such loveless kindnesses there are + In that grimacing, common way, + That old, unhonoured social war. + Love but my dog and love my love, + Adore with me a common star— + I value not the rest above + The ashes of a bad cigar. + + + + +TO MISS CORNISH + + + THEY tell me, lady, that to-day + On that unknown Australian strand— + Some time ago, so far away— + Another lady joined the band. + She joined the company of those + Lovelily dowered, nobly planned, + Who, smiling, still forgive their foes + And keep their friends in close command. + + She, lady, as I learn, was one + Among the many rarely good; + And destined still to be a sun + Through every dark and rainy mood:— + She, as they told me, far had come, + By sea and land, o’er many a rood:— + Admired by all, beloved by some, + She was yourself, I understood. + + But, compliment apart and free + From all constraint of verses, may + Goodness and honour, grace and glee, + Attend you ever on your way— + Up to the measure of your will, + Beyond all power of mine to say— + As she and I desire you still, + Miss Cornish, on your natal day. + + + + +TALES OF ARABIA + + + YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia + Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals, + Age-old but yet untamed, for ages + Pass and the magic is undiminished. + + Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman, + Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars, + Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions, + Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood. + + Fair ones, beyond all numerability, + Beam from the palace, beam on humanity, + Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris + Offering pleasure and only pleasure. + + Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian, + Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities, + Greek Gods or old time-honoured muses, + Easily proffer unloved caresses. + + Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy; + Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances, + Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in- + Edible, flatter and wholly starve him. + + + + +BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN + + + BEHOLD, as goblins dark of mien + And portly tyrants dyed with crime + Change, in the transformation scene, + At Christmas, in the pantomime, + + Instanter, at the prompter’s cough, + The fairy bonnets them, and they + Throw their abhorred carbuncles off + And blossom like the flowers in May. + + —So mankind, to angelic eyes, + So, through the scenes of life below, + In life’s ironical disguise, + A travesty of man, ye go: + + But fear not: ere the curtain fall, + Death in the transformation scene + Steps forward from her pedestal, + Apparent, as the fairy Queen; + + And coming, frees you in a trice + From all your lendings—lust of fame, + Ungainly virtue, ugly vice, + Terror and tyranny and shame. + + So each, at last himself, for good + In that dear country lays him down, + At last beloved and understood + And pure in feature and renown. + + + + +STILL I LOVE TO RHYME + + + STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander + Far from the commoner way; + Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder, + Dreaming to-morrow to-day. + + Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo, + Measures descanted before; + Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow, + Prints in the marbles of yore. + + Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested, + Songs for the brain to forget— + Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested + Piping and chirruping yet. + + Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter + Trammelled so vilely in verse; + He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter, + Won with a groan and a curse. + + + + +LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE + + + LONG time I lay in little ease + Where, placed by the Turanian, + Marseilles, the many-masted, sees + The blue Mediterranean. + + Now songful in the hour of sport, + Now riotous for wages, + She camps around her ancient port, + As ancient of the ages. + + Algerian airs through all the place + Unconquerably sally; + Incomparable women pace + The shadows of the alley. + + And high o’er dark and graving yard + And where the sky is paler, + The golden virgin of the guard + Shines, beckoning the sailor. + + She hears the city roar on high, + Thief, prostitute, and banker; + She sees the masted vessels lie + Immovably at anchor. + + She sees the snowy islets dot + The sea’s immortal azure, + And If, that castellated spot, + Tower, turret, and embrasure. + + + + +FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING + + + FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, + Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, + Here I wander in April + Cold, grey-headed; and still to my + Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, + Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; + Spring, flower-planter in meadows, + Child-conductor in willowy + Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses: + Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity: + O child, happy are children! + She still smiles on their innocence, + She, dear mother in God, fostering violets, + Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins: + Thus one cunning in music + Wakes old chords in the memory: + Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances. + One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal + Green—one more, and my bosom + Feels new life with an ecstasy. + + + + +COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME + + + COME, my beloved, hear from me + Tales of the woods or open sea. + Let our aspiring fancy rise + A wren’s flight higher toward the skies; + Or far from cities, brown and bare, + Play at the least in open air. + In all the tales men hear us tell + Still let the unfathomed ocean swell, + Or shallower forest sound abroad + Below the lonely stars of God; + In all, let something still be done, + Still in a corner shine the sun, + Slim-ankled maids be fleet of foot, + Nor man disown the rural flute. + Still let the hero from the start + In honest sweat and beats of heart + Push on along the untrodden road + For some inviolate abode. + Still, O beloved, let me hear + The great bell beating far and near— + The odd, unknown, enchanted gong + That on the road hales men along, + That from the mountain calls afar, + That lures a vessel from a star, + And with a still, aerial sound + Makes all the earth enchanted ground. + Love, and the love of life and act + Dance, live and sing through all our furrowed tract; + Till the great God enamoured gives + To him who reads, to him who lives, + That rare and fair romantic strain + That whoso hears must hear again. + + + + +SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE + + + SINCE years ago for evermore + My cedar ship I drew to shore; + And to the road and riverbed + And the green, nodding reeds, I said + Mine ignorant and last farewell: + Now with content at home I dwell, + And now divide my sluggish life + Betwixt my verses and my wife: + In vain; for when the lamp is lit + And by the laughing fire I sit, + Still with the tattered atlas spread + Interminable roads I tread. + + + + +ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES” + + + WHETHER upon the garden seat + You lounge with your uplifted feet + Under the May’s whole Heaven of blue; + Or whether on the sofa you, + No grown up person being by, + Do some soft corner occupy; + Take you this volume in your hands + And enter into other lands, + For lo! (as children feign) suppose + You, hunting in the garden rows, + Or in the lumbered attic, or + The cellar—a nail-studded door + And dark, descending stairway found + That led to kingdoms underground: + There standing, you should hear with ease + Strange birds a-singing, or the trees + Swing in big robber woods, or bells + On many fairy citadels: + + There passing through (a step or so— + Neither mamma nor nurse need know!) + From your nice nurseries you would pass, + Like Alice through the Looking-Glass + Or Gerda following Little Ray, + To wondrous countries far away. + Well, and just so this volume can + Transport each little maid or man + Presto from where they live away + Where other children used to play. + As from the house your mother sees + You playing round the garden trees, + So you may see if you but look + Through the windows of this book + Another child far, far away + And in another garden play. + But do not think you can at all, + By knocking on the window, call + That child to hear you. He intent + Is still on his play-business bent. + He does not hear, he will not look, + Nor yet be lured out of this book. + For long ago, the truth to say, + He has grown up and gone away; + And it is but a child of air + That lingers in the garden there. + + + + +FOR RICHMOND’S GARDEN WALL + + + WHEN Thomas set this tablet here, + Time laughed at the vain chanticleer; + And ere the moss had dimmed the stone, + Time had defaced that garrison. + Now I in turn keep watch and ward + In my red house, in my walled yard + Of sunflowers, sitting here at ease + With friends and my bright canvases. + But hark, and you may hear quite plain + Time’s chuckled laughter in the lane. + + + + +HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY! + + + HAIL, guest, and enter freely! All you see + Is, for your momentary visit, yours; and we + Who welcome you are but the guests of God, + And know not our departure. + + + + +LO, NOW, MY GUEST + + + LO, now, my guest, if aught amiss were said, + Forgive it and dismiss it from your head. + For me, for you, for all, to close the date, + Pass now the ev’ning sponge across the slate; + And to that spirit of forgiveness keep + Which is the parent and the child of sleep. + + + + +SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR + + + SO live, so love, so use that fragile hour, + That when the dark hand of the shining power + Shall one from other, wife or husband, take, + The poor survivor may not weep and wake. + + + + +AD SE IPSUM + + + DEAR sir, good-morrow! Five years back, + When you first girded for this arduous track, + And under various whimsical pretexts + Endowed another with your damned defects, + Could you have dreamed in your despondent vein + That the kind God would make your path so plain? + Non nobis, domine! O, may He still + Support my stumbling footsteps on the hill! + + + + +BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME + + + BEFORE this little gift was come + The little owner had made haste for home; + And from the door of where the eternal dwell, + Looked back on human things and smiled farewell. + O may this grief remain the only one! + O may our house be still a garrison + Of smiling children, and for evermore + The tune of little feet be heard along the floor! + + + + +GO, LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT PHRASE + + + GO, little book—the ancient phrase + And still the daintiest—go your ways, + My Otto, over sea and land, + Till you shall come to Nelly’s hand. + + How shall I your Nelly know? + By her blue eyes and her black brow, + By her fierce and slender look, + And by her goodness, little book! + + What shall I say when I come there? + You shall speak her soft and fair: + See—you shall say—the love they send + To greet their unforgotten friend! + + Giant Adulpho you shall sing + The next, and then the cradled king: + And the four corners of the roof + Then kindly bless; and to your perch aloof, + Where Balzac all in yellow dressed + And the dear Webster of the west + Encircle the prepotent throne + Of Shakespeare and of Calderon, + Shall climb an upstart. + + There with these + You shall give ear to breaking seas + And windmills turning in the breeze, + A distant undetermined din + Without; and you shall hear within + The blazing and the bickering logs, + The crowing child, the yawning dogs, + And ever agile, high and low, + Our Nelly going to and fro. + + There shall you all silent sit, + Till, when perchance the lamp is lit + And the day’s labour done, she takes + Poor Otto down, and, warming for our sakes, + Perchance beholds, alive and near, + Our distant faces reappear. + + + + +MY LOVE WAS WARM + + + MY love was warm; for that I crossed + The mountains and the sea, + Nor counted that endeavour lost + That gave my love to me. + + If that indeed were love at all, + As still, my love, I trow, + By what dear name am I to call + The bond that holds me now + + + + +DEDICATORY POEM FOR “UNDERWOODS” + + + TO her, for I must still regard her + As feminine in her degree, + Who has been my unkind bombarder + Year after year, in grief and glee, + Year after year, with oaken tree; + And yet betweenwhiles my laudator + In terms astonishing to me— + To the Right Reverend The Spectator + I here, a humble dedicator, + Bring the last apples from my tree. + + In tones of love, in tones of warning, + She hailed me through my brief career; + And kiss and buffet, night and morning, + Told me my grandmamma was near; + Whether she praised me high and clear + Through her unrivalled circulation, + Or, sanctimonious insincere, + She damned me with a misquotation— + A chequered but a sweet relation, + Say, was it not, my granny dear? + + Believe me, granny, altogether + Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. + Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, + Oft brought a light into my eyes— + For notice still the writer cries. + In any civil age or nation, + The book that is not talked of dies. + So that shall be my termination: + Whether in praise or execration, + Still, if you love me, criticise! + + + + +FAREWELL + + + FAREWELL, and when forth + I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles + Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, + Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, + Isle upon island, sea upon sea, + Why should I sail, why should the breeze? + I have been young, and I have counted friends. + A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late. + Why should I from isle to isle + Sail, a hopeless sailor? + + + + +THE FAR-FARERS + + + THE broad sun, + The bright day: + White sails + On the blue bay: + The far-farers + Draw away. + + Light the fires + And close the door. + To the old homes, + To the loved shore, + The far-farers + Return no more. + + + + +COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU + + + COME, my little children, here are songs for you; + Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new. + You must learn to sing them very small and clear, + Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear. + + Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall, + Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all. + So when night is come, and you have gone to bed, + All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head. + + + + +HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS + + + HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet— + Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set; + For the dews are falling fast + And the night has come at last. + Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest, + Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother’s breast. + Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you; she’ll be your guardian + and shield. + Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be bright upon mountain and + field. + Long, long the shadows fall. + All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid. + All round your head be angels. + + + + +EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO + + + EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano + You (at least, I guess it’s you) proceed to learn to play. + Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano + While the birds are singing in the morning of the day. + + + + +FAIR ISLE AT SEA + + + FAIR Isle at Sea—thy lovely name + Soft in my ear like music came. + That sea I loved, and once or twice + I touched at isles of Paradise. + + + + +LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY + + + LOUD and low in the chimney + The squalls suspire; + Then like an answer dwindles + And glows the fire, + And the chamber reddens and darkens + In time like taken breath. + Near by the sounding chimney + The youth apart + Hearkens with changing colour + And leaping heart, + And hears in the coil of the tempest + The voice of love and death. + Love on high in the flute-like + And tender notes + Sounds as from April meadows + And hillside cotes; + But the deep wood wind in the chimney + Utters the slogan of death. + + + + +I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE + + + I LOVE to be warm by the red fireside, + I love to be wet with rain: + I love to be welcome at lamplit doors, + And leave the doors again. + + + + +AT LAST SHE COMES + + + AT last she comes, O never more + In this dear patience of my pain + To leave me lonely as before, + Or leave my soul alone again. + + + + +MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE + + + MINE eyes were swift to know thee, and my heart + As swift to love. I did become at once + Thine wholly, thine unalterably, thine + In honourable service, pure intent, + Steadfast excess of love and laughing care: + And as she was, so am, and so shall be. + I knew thee helpful, knew thee true, knew thee + And Pity bedfellows: I heard thy talk + With answerable throbbings. On the stream, + Deep, swift, and clear, the lilies floated; fish + Through the shadows ran. There, thou and I + Read Kindness in our eyes and closed the match. + + + + +FIXED IS THE DOOM + + + FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years + Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child, + Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds + His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars. + We also, love, forever dwell apart; + With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph, + The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air + Above a mountain, and with screams confer, + Far heard athwart the cedars. + Yet the years + Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day + Endearing, week by week, till death at last + Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love, + Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed, + Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart. + We but excuse + Those things we merely are; and to our souls + A brave deception cherish. + So from unhappy war a man returns + Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep; + So from cool night and woodlands to a feast + May someone enter, and still breathe of dews, + And in her eyes still wear the dusky night. + + + + +MEN ARE HEAVEN’S PIERS + + + MEN are Heaven’s piers; they evermore + Unwearying bear the skyey floor; + Man’s theatre they bear with ease, + Unfrowning cariatides! + I, for my wife, the sun uphold, + Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold. + She, on her side, in fairy-wise + Deals in diviner mysteries, + By spells to make the fuel burn + And keep the parlour warm, to turn + Water to wine, and stones to bread, + By her unconquered hero-head. + A naked Adam, naked Eve, + Alone the primal bower we weave; + Sequestered in the seas of life, + A Crusoe couple, man and wife, + With all our good, with all our will, + Our unfrequented isle we fill; + And victor in day’s petty wars, + Each for the other lights the stars. + Come then, my Eve, and to and fro + Let us about our garden go; + And, grateful-hearted, hand in hand + Revisit all our tillage land, + And marvel at our strange estate, + For hooded ruin at the gate + Sits watchful, and the angels fear + To see us tread so boldly here. + Meanwhile, my Eve, with flower and grass + Our perishable days we pass; + Far more the thorn observe—and see + How our enormous sins go free— + Nor less admire, beside the rose, + How far a little virtue goes. + + + + +THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD + + + THE angler rose, he took his rod, + He kneeled and made his prayers to God. + The living God sat overhead: + The angler tripped, the eels were fed + + + + +SPRING CAROL + + + WHEN loud by landside streamlets gush, + And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush, + With sun on the meadows + And songs in the shadows + Comes again to me + The gift of the tongues of the lea, + The gift of the tongues of meadows. + + Straightway my olden heart returns + And dances with the dancing burns; + It sings with the sparrows; + To the rain and the (grimy) barrows + Sings my heart aloud— + To the silver-bellied cloud, + To the silver rainy arrows. + + It bears the song of the skylark down, + And it hears the singing of the town; + And youth on the highways + And lovers in byways + Follows and sees: + And hearkens the song of the leas + And sings the songs of the highways. + + So when the earth is alive with gods, + And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod, + And the grass sings in the meadows, + And the flowers smile in the shadows, + Sits my heart at ease, + Hearing the song of the leas, + Singing the songs of the meadows. + + + + +TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER? + + + TO what shall I compare her, + That is as fair as she? + For she is fairer—fairer + Than the sea. + What shall be likened to her, + The sainted of my youth? + For she is truer—truer + Than the truth. + + As the stars are from the sleeper, + Her heart is hid from me; + For she is deeper—deeper + Than the sea. + Yet in my dreams I view her + Flush rosy with new ruth— + Dreams! Ah, may these prove truer + Than the truth. + + + + +WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN + + + WHEN the sun comes after rain + And the bird is in the blue, + The girls go down the lane + Two by two. + + When the sun comes after shadow + And the singing of the showers, + The girls go up the meadow, + Fair as flowers. + + When the eve comes dusky red + And the moon succeeds the sun, + The girls go home to bed + One by one. + + And when life draws to its even + And the day of man is past, + They shall all go home to heaven, + Home at last. + + + + +LATE, O MILLER + + + LATE, O miller, + The birds are silent, + The darkness falls. + In the house the lights are lighted. + See, in the valley they twinkle, + The lights of home. + Late, O lovers, + The night is at hand; + Silence and darkness + Clothe the land. + + + + +TO FRIENDS AT HOME + + + TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost + The gracious old, the lovely young, to May + The fair, December the beloved, + These from my blue horizon and green isles, + These from this pinnacle of distances I, + The unforgetful, dedicate. + + + + +I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED + + + I, WHOM Apollo sometime visited, + Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done, + Do slumber wholly; nor shall know at all + The weariness of changes; nor perceive + Immeasurable sands of centuries + Drink of the blanching ink, or the loud sound + Of generations beat the music down. + + + + +TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED + + + TEMPEST tossed and sore afflicted, sin defiled and care oppressed, + Come to me, all ye that labour; come, and I will give ye rest. + Fear no more, O doubting hearted; weep no more, O weeping eye! + Lo, the voice of your redeemer; lo, the songful morning near. + + Here one hour you toil and combat, sin and suffer, bleed and die; + In my father’s quiet mansion soon to lay your burden by. + Bear a moment, heavy laden, weary hand and weeping eye. + Lo, the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom here. + + + + +VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM + + + COME to me, all ye that labour; I will give your spirits rest; + Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest. + Come to me, ye heavy laden, sin defiled and care opprest, + In your father’s quiet mansions, soon to prove a welcome guest. + But an hour you bear your trial, sin and suffer, bleed and die; + But an hour you toil and combat here in day’s inspiring eye. + See the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom nigh. + + + + +I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS + + + I NOW, O friend, whom noiselessly the snows + Settle around, and whose small chamber grows + Dusk as the sloping window takes its load: + + * * * * * + + The kindly hill, as to complete our hap, + Has ta’en us in the shelter of her lap; + Well sheltered in our slender grove of trees + And ring of walls, we sit between her knees; + A disused quarry, paved with rose plots, hung + With clematis, the barren womb whence sprung + The crow-stepped house itself, that now far seen + Stands, like a bather, to the neck in green. + A disused quarry, furnished with a seat + Sacred to pipes and meditation meet + For such a sunny and retired nook. + There in the clear, warm mornings many a book + Has vied with the fair prospect of the hills + That, vale on vale, rough brae on brae, upfills + Halfway to the zenith all the vacant sky + To keep my loose attention. . . . + Horace has sat with me whole mornings through: + And Montaigne gossiped, fairly false and true; + And chattering Pepys, and a few beside + That suit the easy vein, the quiet tide, + The calm and certain stay of garden-life, + Far sunk from all the thunderous roar of strife. + There is about the small secluded place + A garnish of old times; a certain grace + Of pensive memories lays about the braes: + The old chestnuts gossip tales of bygone days. + Here, where some wandering preacher, blest Lazil, + Perhaps, or Peden, on the middle hill + Had made his secret church, in rain or snow, + He cheers the chosen residue from woe. + All night the doors stood open, come who might, + The hounded kebbock mat the mud all night. + Nor are there wanting later tales; of how + Prince Charlie’s Highlanders . . . + + * * * * * + + I have had talents, too. In life’s first hour + God crowned with benefits my childish head. + Flower after flower, I plucked them; flower by flower + Cast them behind me, ruined, withered, dead. + Full many a shining godhead disappeared. + From the bright rank that once adorned her brow + The old child’s Olympus + + * * * * * + + Gone are the fair old dreams, and one by one, + As, one by one, the means to reach them went, + As, one by one, the stars in riot and disgrace, + I squandered what . . . + + There shut the door, alas! on many a hope + Too many; + My face is set to the autumnal slope, + Where the loud winds shall . . . + + There shut the door, alas! on many a hope, + And yet some hopes remain that shall decide + My rest of years and down the autumnal slope. + + * * * * * + + Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I + Loved, as all men have loved them; gone! + I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on high— + Dreams of the knight’s stout heart and tempered will. + Not in Elysian lands they take their way; + Not as of yore across the gay champaign, + Towards some dream city, towered . . . + and my . . . + The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain, + Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky + November’s russet woodlands toss and wail, + Still the white road goes thro’ them, still may I, + Strong in new purpose, God, may still prevail. + + * * * * * + + I and my like, improvident sailors! + + * * * * * + + At whose light fall awaking, all my heart + Grew populous with gracious, favoured thought, + And all night long thereafter, hour by hour, + The pageant of dead love before my eyes + Went proudly, and old hopes with downcast head + Followed like Kings, subdued in Rome’s imperial hour, + Followed the car; and I . . . + + + + +SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD + + + SINCE thou hast given me this good hope, O God, + That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod + And the great woods embower me, and white dawn + And purple even sweetly lead me on + From day to day, and night to night, O God, + My life shall no wise miss the light of love; + But ever climbing, climb above + Man’s one poor star, man’s supine lands, + Into the azure steadfastness of death, + My life shall no wise lack the light of love, + My hands not lack the loving touch of hands; + But day by day, while yet I draw my breath, + And day by day, unto my last of years, + I shall be one that has a perfect friend. + Her heart shall taste my laughter and my tears, + And her kind eyes shall lead me to the end. + + + + +GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART + + + GOD gave to me a child in part, + Yet wholly gave the father’s heart: + Child of my soul, O whither now, + Unborn, unmothered, goest thou? + + You came, you went, and no man wist; + Hapless, my child, no breast you kist; + On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb, + Nor knew the kindly feel of home. + + My voice may reach you, O my dear— + A father’s voice perhaps the child may hear; + And, pitying, you may turn your view + On that poor father whom you never knew. + + Alas! alone he sits, who then, + Immortal among mortal men, + Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through + With your dear mother wondered over you. + + + + +OVER THE LAND IS APRIL + + + OVER the land is April, + Over my heart a rose; + Over the high, brown mountain + The sound of singing goes. + Say, love, do you hear me, + Hear my sonnets ring? + Over the high, brown mountain, + Love, do you hear me sing? + + By highway, love, and byway + The snows succeed the rose. + Over the high, brown mountain + The wind of winter blows. + Say, love, do you hear me, + Hear my sonnets ring? + Over the high, brown mountain + I sound the song of spring, + I throw the flowers of spring. + Do you hear the song of spring? + Hear you the songs of spring? + + + + +LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START + + + LIGHT as the linnet on my way I start, + For all my pack I bear a chartered heart. + Forth on the world without a guide or chart, + Content to know, through all man’s varying fates, + The eternal woman by the wayside waits. + + + + +COME, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY + + + COME, here is adieu to the city + And hurrah for the country again. + The broad road lies before me + Watered with last night’s rain. + The timbered country woos me + With many a high and bough; + And again in the shining fallows + The ploughman follows the plough. + + The whole year’s sweat and study, + And the whole year’s sowing time, + Comes now to the perfect harvest, + And ripens now into rhyme. + For we that sow in the Autumn, + We reap our grain in the Spring, + And we that go sowing and weeping + Return to reap and sing. + + + + +IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE + + + IT blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year; + The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier. + The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro, + A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane. + Autumn leaves and rain, + The passion of the gale. + + + + +NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR + + + THERE’S just a twinkle in your eye + That seems to say I _might_, if I + Were only bold enough to try + An arm about your waist. + I hear, too, as you come and go, + That pretty nervous laugh, you know; + And then your cap is always so + Coquettishly displaced. + + Your cap! the word’s profanely said. + That little top-knot, white and red, + That quaintly crowns your graceful head, + No bigger than a flower, + Is set with such a witching art, + Is so provocatively smart, + I’d like to wear it on my heart, + An order for an hour! + + O graceful housemaid, tall and fair, + I love your shy imperial air, + And always loiter on the stair + When you are going by. + A strict reserve the fates demand; + But, when to let you pass I stand, + Sometimes by chance I touch your hand + And sometimes catch your eye. + + + + +TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE + + + TO all that love the far and blue: + Whether, from dawn to eve, on foot + The fleeing corners ye pursue, + Nor weary of the vain pursuit; + Or whether down the singing stream, + Paddle in hand, jocund ye shoot, + To splash beside the splashing bream + Or anchor by the willow root: + + Or, bolder, from the narrow shore + Put forth, that cedar ark to steer, + Among the seabirds and the roar + Of the great sea, profound and clear; + Or, lastly if in heart ye roam, + Not caring to do else, and hear, + Safe sitting by the fire at home, + Footfalls in Utah or Pamere: + + Though long the way, though hard to bear + The sun and rain, the dust and dew; + Though still attainment and despair + Inter the old, despoil the new; + There shall at length, be sure, O friends, + Howe’er ye steer, whate’er ye do— + At length, and at the end of ends, + The golden city come in view. + + + + +THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN + + + (A FRAGMENT) + + THOU strainest through the mountain fern, + A most exiguously thin + Burn. + For all thy foam, for all thy din, + Thee shall the pallid lake inurn, + With well-a-day for Mr. Swin- + Burne! + Take then this quarto in thy fin + And, O thou stoker huge and stern, + The whole affair, outside and in, + Burn! + But save the true poetic kin, + The works of Mr. Robert Burn’ + And William Wordsworth upon Tin- + Tern! + + + + +TO ROSABELLE + + + WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid, + And in long raiment wondrously arrayed, + She may take pleasure with a smile to know + How she delighted men-folk long ago. + For her long after, then, this tale I tell + Of the two fans and fairy Rosabelle. + Hot was the day; her weary sire and I + Sat in our chairs companionably nigh, + Each with a headache sat her sire and I. + + Instant the hostess waked: she viewed the scene, + Divined the giants’ languor by their mien, + And with hospitable care + Tackled at once an Atlantean chair. + Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat— + She dragged it where she would, and with her feet + Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned + The vast plateau of the piano, found + And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped, + Our mountaineer back to the level slipped; + And being landed, with considerate eyes, + Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize; + The small to me, the greater to her sire. + As painters now advance and now retire + Before the growing canvas, and anon + Once more approach and put the climax on: + So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed— + For half a moment half supposed it good— + Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran + To remedy; and with the greater fan, + In gracious better thought, equipped the guest. + + From ill to well, from better on to best, + Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind; + And high ideals fired that infant mind. + Once more she backed, once more a space apart + Considered and reviewed her work of art: + Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile; + Till all her features blossomed in a smile. + And the child, waking at the call of bliss, + To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss. + + + + +NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE + + + NOW bare to the beholder’s eye + Your late denuded bindings lie, + Subsiding slowly where they fell, + A disinvested citadel; + The obdurate corset, Cupid’s foe, + The Dutchman’s breeches frilled below. + Those that the lover notes to note, + And white and crackling petticoat. + + From these, that on the ground repose, + Their lady lately re-arose; + And laying by the lady’s name, + A living woman re-became. + Of her, that from the public eye + They do enclose and fortify, + Now, lying scattered as they fell, + An indiscreeter tale they tell: + Of that more soft and secret her + Whose daylong fortresses they were, + By fading warmth, by lingering print, + These now discarded scabbards hint. + + A twofold change the ladies know: + First, in the morn the bugles blow, + And they, with floral hues and scents, + Man their beribboned battlements. + But let the stars appear, and they + Shed inhumanities away; + And from the changeling fashion see, + Through comic and through sweet degree, + In nature’s toilet unsurpassed, + Forth leaps the laughing girl at last. + + + + +THE BOUR-TREE DEN + + + CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride, + Down by the braes and the grey sea-side; + Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn, + Weary fa’ their horse-shoe-airn! + + Loud on the causey, saft on the sand, + Round they rade by the tail of the land; + Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den, + Weary fa’ the red-coat men! + + Aft hae I gane where they hae rade + And straigled in the gowden brooms— + Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid, + And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms! + + Wi’ swords and guns they wanton there, + Wi’ red, red coats and braw, braw plumes. + But I gaed wi’ my gowden hair, + And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms! + + I ran, a little hempie lass, + In the sand and the bent grass, + Or took and kilted my small coats + To play in the beached fisher-boats. + + I waded deep and I ran fast, + I was as lean as a lugger’s mast, + I was as brown as a fisher’s creel, + And I liked my life unco weel. + + They blew a trumpet at the cross, + Some forty men, both foot and horse. + A’body cam to hear and see, + And wha, among the rest, but me. + My lips were saut wi’ the saut air, + My face was brown, my feet were bare + The wind had ravelled my tautit hair, + And I thought shame to be standing there. + + Ae man there in the thick of the throng + Sat in his saddle, straight and strong. + I looked at him and he at me, + And he was a master-man to see. + . . . And who is this yin? and who is yon + That has the bonny lendings on? + That sits and looks sae braw and crouse? + . . . Mister Frank o’ the Big House! + + I gaed my lane beside the sea; + The wind it blew in bush and tree, + The wind blew in bush and bent: + Muckle I saw, and muckle kent! + + Between the beach and the sea-hill + I sat my lane and grat my fill— + I was sae clarty and hard and dark, + And like the kye in the cow park! + + There fell a battle far in the north; + The evil news gaed back and forth, + And back and forth by brae and bent + Hider and hunter cam and went: + The hunter clattered horse-shoe-airn + By causey-crest and hill-top cairn; + The hider, in by shag and shench, + Crept on his wame and little lench. + + The eastland wind blew shrill and snell, + The stars arose, the gloaming fell, + The firelight shone in window and door + When Mr. Frank cam here to shore. + He hirpled up by the links and the lane, + And chappit laigh in the back-door-stane. + My faither gaed, and up wi’ his han’! + . . . Is this Mr. Frank, or a beggarman? + + I have mistrysted sair, he said, + But let me into fire and bed; + Let me in, for auld lang syne, + And give me a dram of the brandy wine. + + They hid him in the Bour-Tree Den, + And I thought it strange to gang my lane; + I thought it strange, I thought it sweet, + To gang there on my naked feet. + In the mirk night, when the boats were at sea, + I passed the burn abune the knee; + In the mirk night, when the folks were asleep, + I had a tryst in the den to keep. + + Late and air’, when the folks were asleep, + I had a tryst, a tryst to keep, + I had a lad that lippened to me, + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + O’ the bour-tree leaves I busked his bed, + The mune was siller, the dawn was red: + Was nae man there but him and me— + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + Unco weather hae we been through: + The mune glowered, and the wind blew, + And the rain it rained on him and me, + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + Dwelling his lane but house or hauld, + Aft he was wet and aft was cauld; + I warmed him wi’ my briest and knee— + And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + There was nae voice of beast ae man, + But the tree soughed and the burn ran, + And we heard the ae voice of the sea: + Bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + + + +SONNETS + + +I. + + + NOR judge me light, tho’ light at times I seem, + And lightly in the stress of fortune bear + The innumerable flaws of changeful care— + Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem + (Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme + And separate the prerogative of God!) + That seaman idle who is borne abroad + To the far haven by the favouring stream. + Not he alone that to contrarious seas + Opposes, all night long, the unwearied oar, + Not he alone, by high success endeared, + Shall reach the Port; but, winged, with some light breeze + Shall they, with upright keels, pass in before + Whom easy Taste, the golden pilot, steered. + + + +II. + + + So shall this book wax like unto a well, + Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim, + Or like some tarn that wailing curlews skim, + Glassing the sallow uplands or brown fell; + And so, as men go down into a dell + (Weary with noon) to find relief and shade, + When on the uneasy sick-bed we are laid, + We shall go down into thy book, and tell + The leaves, once blank, to build again for us + Old summer dead and ruined, and the time + Of later autumn with the corn in stook. + So shalt thou stint the meagre winter thus + Of his projected triumph, and the rime + Shall melt before the sunshine in thy book. + + + +III. + + + I have a hoard of treasure in my breast; + The grange of memory steams against the door, + Full of my bygone lifetime’s garnered store— + Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest, + Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest, + Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore + That, like a new evangel, more and more + Supports our halting will toward the best. + Ah! what to us the barren after years + May bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell? + O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well + That we shall find old pleasures and old fears, + And our remembered childhood seen thro’ tears, + The best of Heaven and the worst of Hell. + + + +IV. + + + As starts the absent dreamer when a train, + Suddenly disengulphed below his feet, + Roars forth into the sunlight, to its seat + My soul was shaken with immediate pain + Intolerable as the scanty breath + Of that one word blew utterly away + The fragile mist of fair deceit that lay + O’er the bleak years that severed me from death. + Yes, at the sight I quailed; but, not unwise + Or not, O God, without some nervous thread + Of that best valour, Patience, bowed my head, + And with firm bosom and most steadfast eyes, + Strong in all high resolve, prepared to tread + The unlovely path that leads me toward the skies. + + + +V. + + + Not undelightful, friend, our rustic ease + To grateful hearts; for by especial hap, + Deep nested in the hill’s enormous lap, + With its own ring of walls and grove of trees, + Sits, in deep shelter, our small cottage—nor + Far-off is seen, rose carpeted and hung + With clematis, the quarry whence she sprung, + O mater pulchra filia pulchrior, + Whither in early spring, unharnessed folk, + We join the pairing swallows, glad to stay + Where, loosened in the hills, remote, unseen, + From its tall trees, it breathes a slender smoke + To heaven, and in the noon of sultry day + Stands, coolly buried, to the neck in green. + + + +VI. + + + As in the hostel by the bridge I sate, + Nailed with indifference fondly deemed complete, + And (O strange chance, more sorrowful than sweet) + The counterfeit of her that was my fate, + Dressed in like vesture, graceful and sedate, + Went quietly up the vacant village street, + The still small sound of her most dainty feet + Shook, like a trumpet blast, my soul’s estate. + Instant revolt ran riot through my brain, + And all night long, thereafter, hour by hour, + The pageant of dead love before my eyes + Went proudly; and old hopes, broke loose again + From the restraint of wisely temperate power, + With ineffectual ardour sought to rise. + + + +VII. + + + The strong man’s hand, the snow-cool head of age, + The certain-footed sympathies of youth— + These, and that lofty passion after truth, + Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage + Or the great men of former years, he needs + That not unworthily would dare to sing + (Hard task!) black care’s inevitable ring + Settling with years upon the heart that feeds + Incessantly on glory. Year by year + The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet; + With disenchanting touch rude-handed time + The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear + Leads him at last to eld’s inclement seat, + The bitter north of life—a frozen clime. + + + +VIII. + + + As Daniel, bird-alone, in that far land, + Kneeling in fervent prayer, with heart-sick eyes + Turned thro’ the casement toward the westering skies; + Or as untamed Elijah, that red brand + Among the starry prophets; or that band + And company of Faithful sanctities + Who in all times, when persecutions rise, + Cherish forgotten creeds with fostering hand: + Such do ye seem to me, light-hearted crew, + O turned to friendly arts with all your will, + That keep a little chapel sacred still, + One rood of Holy-land in this bleak earth + Sequestered still (our homage surely due!) + To the twin Gods of mirthful wine and mirth. + + About my fields, in the broad sun + And blaze of noon, there goeth one, + Barefoot and robed in blue, to scan + With the hard eye of the husbandman + My harvests and my cattle. Her, + When even puts the birds astir + And day has set in the great woods, + We seek, among her garden roods, + With bells and cries in vain: the while + Lamps, plate, and the decanter smile + On the forgotten board. But she, + Deaf, blind, and prone on face and knee, + Forgets time, family, and feast, + And digs like a demented beast. + + Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at dawn, + Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn? + Rails for his breakfast? routs his vassals out + (Like boys escaped from school) with song and shout? + Kind and unkind, his Maker’s final freak, + Part we deride the child, part dread the antique! + See where his gang, like frogs, among the dew + Crouch at their duty, an unquiet crew; + Adjust their staring kilts; and their swift eyes + Turn still to him who sits to supervise. + He in the midst, perched on a fallen tree, + Eyes them at labour; and, guitar on knee, + Now ministers alarm, now scatters joy, + Now twangs a halting chord, now tweaks a boy. + Thorough in all, my resolute vizier + Plays both the despot and the volunteer, + Exacts with fines obedience to my laws, + And for his music, too, exacts applause. + + The Adorner of the uncomely—those + Amidst whose tall battalions goes + Her pretty person out and in + All day with an endearing din, + Of censure and encouragement; + And when all else is tried in vain + See her sit down and weep again. + She weeps to conquer; + She varies on her grenadiers + From satire up to girlish tears! + + Or rather to behold her when + She plies for me the unresting pen, + And when the loud assault of squalls + Resounds upon the roof and walls, + And the low thunder growls and I + Raise my dictating voice on high. + + What glory for a boy of ten + Who now must three gigantic men + And two enormous, dapple grey + New Zealand pack-horses array + And lead, and wisely resolute + Our day-long business execute + In the far shore-side town. His soul + Glows in his bosom like a coal; + His innocent eyes glitter again, + And his hand trembles on the rein. + Once he reviews his whole command, + And chivalrously planting hand + On hip—a borrowed attitude— + Rides off downhill into the wood. + + I meanwhile in the populous house apart + Sit snugly chambered, and my silent art + Uninterrupted, unremitting ply + Before the dawn, by morning lamplight, by + The glow of smelting noon, and when the sun + Dips past my westering hill and day is done; + So, bending still over my trade of words, + I hear the morning and the evening birds, + The morning and the evening stars behold; + So there apart I sit as once of old + Napier in wizard Merchiston; and my + Brown innocent aides in home and husbandry + Wonder askance. What ails the boss? they ask. + Him, richest of the rich, an endless task + Before the earliest birds or servants stir + Calls and detains him daylong prisoner? + He whose innumerable dollars hewed + This cleft in the boar and devil-haunted wood, + And bade therein, from sun to seas and skies, + His many-windowed, painted palace rise + Red-roofed, blue-walled, a rainbow on the hill, + A wonder in the forest glade: he still, + + Unthinkable Aladdin, dawn and dark, + Scribbles and scribbles, like a German clerk. + We see the fact, but tell, O tell us why? + My reverend washman and wise butler cry. + Meanwhile at times the manifold + Imperishable perfumes of the past + And coloured pictures rise on me thick and fast: + And I remember the white rime, the loud + Lamplitten city, shops, and the changing crowd; + And I remember home and the old time, + The winding river, the white moving rhyme, + The autumn robin by the river-side + That pipes in the grey eve. + + The old lady (so they say), but I + Admire your young vitality. + Still brisk of foot, still busy and keen + In and about and up and down. + + I hear you pass with bustling feet + The long verandahs round, and beat + Your bell, and “Lotu! Lotu!” cry; + Thus calling our queer company, + In morning or in evening dim, + To prayers and the oft mangled hymn. + + All day you watch across the sky + The silent, shining cloudlands ply, + That, huge as countries, swift as birds, + Beshade the isles by halves and thirds, + Till each with battlemented crest + Stands anchored in the ensanguined west, + An Alp enchanted. All the day + You hear the exuberant wind at play, + In vast, unbroken voice uplift, + In roaring tree, round whistling clift. + + + + +AIR OF DIABELLI’S + + + CALL it to mind, O my love. + Dear were your eyes as the day, + Bright as the day and the sky; + Like the stream of gold and the sky above, + Dear were your eyes in the grey. + We have lived, my love, O, we have lived, my love! + Now along the silent river, azure + Through the sky’s inverted image, + Softly swam the boat that bore our love, + Swiftly ran the shallow of our love + Through the heaven’s inverted image, + In the reedy mazes round the river. + See along the silent river, + + See of old the lover’s shallop steer. + Berried brake and reedy island, + Heaven below and only heaven above. + Through the sky’s inverted image + Swiftly swam the boat that bore our love. + Berried brake and reedy island, + Mirrored flower and shallop gliding by. + All the earth and all the sky were ours, + Silent sat the wafted lovers, + Bound with grain and watched by all the sky, + Hand to hand and eye to . . . eye. + + Days of April, airs of Eden, + Call to mind how bright the vanished angel hours, + Golden hours of evening, + When our boat drew homeward filled with flowers. + O darling, call them to mind; love the past, my love. + Days of April, airs of Eden. + How the glory died through golden hours, + And the shining moon arising; + How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. + Age and winter close us slowly in. + + Level river, cloudless heaven, + Islanded reed mazes, silver weirs; + How the silent boat with silver + Threads the inverted forest as she goes, + Broke the trembling green of mirrored trees. + O, remember, and remember + How the berries hung in garlands. + + Still in the river see the shallop floats. + Hark! Chimes the falling oar. + Still in the mind + Hark to the song of the past! + Dream, and they pass in their dreams. + + Those that loved of yore, O those that loved of yore! + Hark through the stillness, O darling, hark! + Through it all the ear of the mind + + Knows the boat of love. Hark! + Chimes the falling oar. + + O half in vain they grew old. + + Now the halcyon days are over, + Age and winter close us slowly round, + And these sounds at fall of even + Dim the sight and muffle all the sound. + And at the married fireside, sleep of soul and sleep of fancy, + Joan and Darby. + Silence of the world without a sound; + And beside the winter faggot + + Joan and Darby sit and dose and dream and wake— + Dream they hear the flowing, singing river, + See the berries in the island brake; + Dream they hear the weir, + See the gliding shallop mar the stream. + Hark! in your dreams do you hear? + + Snow has filled the drifted forest; + Ice has bound the . . . stream. + Frost has bound our flowing river; + Snow has whitened all our island brake. + + Berried brake and reedy island, + Heaven below and only heaven above azure + Through the sky’s inverted image + Safely swam the boat that bore our love. + Dear were your eyes as the day, + Bright ran the stream, bright hung the sky above. + Days of April, airs of Eden. + How the glory died through golden hours, + And the shining moon arising, + How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. + Bright were your eyes in the night: + We have lived, my love; + O, we have loved, my love. + Now the . . . days are over, + Age and winter close us slowly round. + + Vainly time departs, and vainly + Age and winter come and close us round. + + Hark the river’s long continuous sound. + + Hear the river ripples in the reeds. + + Lo, in dreams they see their shallop + Run the lilies down and drown the weeds + Mid the sound of crackling faggots. + So in dreams the new created + Happy past returns, to-day recedes, + And they hear once more, + + From the old years, + Yesterday returns, to-day recedes, + And they hear with aged hearing warbles + + Love’s own river ripple in the weeds. + And again the lover’s shallop; + Lo, the shallop sheds the streaming weeds; + And afar in foreign countries + In the ears of aged lovers. + + And again in winter evens + Starred with lilies . . . with stirring weeds. + In these ears of aged lovers + Love’s own river ripples in the reeds. + + + + +EPITAPHIUM EROTII + + + HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old + Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, + Who shall succeed me in my rural field), + To this small spirit annual honours yield! + Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave + And this, in thy green farm, the only grave. + + + + +DE M. ANTONIO + + + NOW Antoninus, in a smiling age, + Counts of his life the fifteenth finished stage. + The rounded days and the safe years he sees, + Nor fears death’s water mounting round his knees. + To him remembering not one day is sad, + Not one but that its memory makes him glad. + So good men lengthen life; and to recall + The past is to have twice enjoyed it all. + + + + +AD MAGISTRUM LUDI + + + (UNFINISHED DRAFT.) + + NOW in the sky + And on the hearth of + Now in a drawer the direful cane, + That sceptre of the . . . reign, + And the long hawser, that on the back + Of Marsyas fell with many a whack, + Twice hardened out of Scythian hides, + Now sleep till the October ides. + + In summer if the boys be well. + + + + +AD NEPOTEM + + + O NEPOS, twice my neigh(b)our (since at home + We’re door by door, by Flora’s temple dome; + And in the country, still conjoined by fate, + Behold our villas standing gate by gate), + Thou hast a daughter, dearer far than life— + Thy image and the image of thy wife. + Thy image and thy wife’s, and be it so! + + But why for her, [ neglect the flowing / O Nepos, leave the ] can + + And lose the prime of thy Falernian? + Hoard casks of money, if to hoard be thine; + But let thy daughter drink a younger wine! + Let her go rich and wise, in silk and fur; + + Lay down a [ bin that shall / vintage to ] grow old with her; + + But thou, meantime, the while the batch is sound, + With pleased companions pass the bowl around; + Nor let the childless only taste delights, + For Fathers also may enjoy their nights. + + + + +IN CHARIDEMUM + + + YOU, Charidemus, who my cradle swung, + And watched me all the days that I was young; + You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake, + And both the bailiff and the butler quake; + The barber’s suds now blacken with my beard, + And my rough kisses make the maids afeared; + But with reproach your awful eyebrows twitch, + And for the cane, I see, your fingers itch. + If something daintily attired I go, + Straight you exclaim: “Your father did not so.” + And fuming, count the bottles on the board + As though my cellar were your private hoard. + Enough, at last: I have done all I can, + And your own mistress hails me for a man. + + + + +DE LIGURRA + + + YOU fear, Ligurra—above all, you long— + That I should smite you with a stinging song. + This dreadful honour you both fear and hope— + Both all in vain: you fall below my scope. + The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull, + He does not harm the midge along the pool. + + Lo! if so close this stands in your regard, + From some blind tap fish forth a drunken barn, + Who shall with charcoal, on the privy wall, + Immortalise your name for once and all. + + + + +IN LUPUM + + + BEYOND the gates thou gav’st a field to till; + I have a larger on my window-sill. + A farm, d’ye say? Is this a farm to you, + Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue, + And that so rusty, and so small a thing, + One shrill cicada hides it with a wing; + Where one cucumber covers all the plain; + And where one serpent rings himself in vain + To enter wholly; and a single snail + Eats all and exit fasting to the pool? + Here shall my gardener be the dusty mole. + My only ploughman the . . . mole. + Here shall I wait in vain till figs be set, + And till the spring disclose the violet. + Through all my wilds a tameless mouse careers, + And in that narrow boundary appears, + Huge as the stalking lion of Algiers, + Huge as the fabled boar of Calydon. + And all my hay is at one swoop impresst + By one low-flying swallow for her nest, + Strip god Priapus of each attribute + Here finds he scarce a pedestal to foot. + The gathered harvest scarcely brims a spoon; + And all my vintage drips in a cocoon. + Generous are you, but I more generous still: + Take back your farm and stand me half a gill! + + + + +AD QUINTILIANUM + + + O CHIEF director of the growing race, + Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace, + Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive + Before from labour I make haste to live? + Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule, + Or with white statues fill the atrium full. + The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke, + Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke: + A sturdy slave, not too learned wife, + Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet life. + + + + +DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS + + + MY Martial owns a garden, famed to please, + Beyond the glades of the Hesperides; + Along Janiculum lies the chosen block + Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock. + The moderate summit, something plain and bare, + Tastes overhead of a serener air; + And while the clouds besiege the vales below, + Keeps the clear heaven and doth with sunshine glow. + To the June stars that circle in the skies + The dainty roofs of that tall villa rise. + Hence do the seven imperial hills appear; + And you may view the whole of Rome from here; + Beyond, the Alban and the Tuscan hills; + And the cool groves and the cool falling rills, + Rubre Fidenæ, and with virgin blood + Anointed once Perenna’s orchard wood. + Thence the Flaminian, the Salarian way, + Stretch far broad below the dome of day; + And lo! the traveller toiling towards his home; + And all unheard, the chariot speeds to Rome! + For here no whisper of the wheels; and tho’ + The Mulvian Bridge, above the Tiber’s flow, + Hangs all in sight, and down the sacred stream + The sliding barges vanish like a dream, + The seaman’s shrilling pipe not enters here, + Nor the rude cries of porters on the pier. + And if so rare the house, how rarer far + The welcome and the weal that therein are! + So free the access, the doors so widely thrown, + You half imagine all to be your own. + + + + +AD MARTIALEM + + + GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be + To enjoy our days set wholly free; + To the true life together bend our mind, + And take a furlough from the falser kind. + No rich saloon, nor palace of the great, + Nor suit at law should trouble our estate; + On no vainglorious statues should we look, + But of a walk, a talk, a little book, + Baths, wells and meads, and the veranda shade, + Let all our travels and our toils be made. + Now neither lives unto himself, alas! + And the good suns we see, that flash and pass + And perish; and the bell that knells them cries: + “Another gone: O when will ye arise?” + + + + +IN MAXIMUM + + + WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed; + But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede: + [When quite contented / Thou shall be free when] thou canst dine at + home + And drink a small wine of the march of Rome; + When thou canst see unmoved thy neighbour’s plate, + And wear my threadbare toga in the gate; + When thou hast learned to love a small abode, + And not to choose a mistress _à la mode_: + When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be, + Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free. + + + + +AD OLUM + + + CALL me not rebel, though [ here at every word / in what I sing ] + If I no longer hail thee [ King and Lord / Lord and King ] + I have redeemed myself with all I had, + And now possess my fortunes poor but glad. + With all I had I have redeemed myself, + And escaped at once from slavery and pelf. + The unruly wishes must a ruler take, + Our high desires do our low fortunes make: + Those only who desire palatial things + Do bear the fetters and the frowns of Kings; + Set free thy slave; thou settest free thyself. + + + + +DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ + + + LOOK round: You see a little supper room; + But from my window, lo! great Cæsar’s tomb! + And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath + Bid you be merry and remember death. + + + + +DE EROTIO PUELLA + + + THIS girl was sweeter than the song of swans, + And daintier than the lamb upon the lawns + Or Curine oyster. She, the flower of girls, + Outshone the light of Erythræan pearls; + The teeth of India that with polish glow, + The untouched lilies or the morning snow. + Her tresses did gold-dust outshine + And fair hair of women of the Rhine. + Compared to her the peacock seemed not fair, + The squirrel lively, or the phoenix rare; + Her on whose pyre the smoke still hovering waits; + Her whom the greedy and unequal fates + On the sixth dawning of her natal day, + My child-love and my playmate—snatcht away. + + + + +AD PISCATOREM + + + FOR these are sacred fishes all + Who know that lord that is the lord of all; + Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand + That sways and can beshadow all the land. + Nor only so, but have their names, and come + When they are summoned by the Lord of Rome. + Here once his line an impious Lybian threw; + And as with tremulous reed his prey he drew, + Straight, the light failed him. + He groped, nor found the prey that he had ta’en. + Now as a warning to the fisher clan + Beside the lake he sits, a beggarman. + Thou, then, while still thine innocence is pure, + Flee swiftly, nor presume to set thy lure; + Respect these fishes, for their friends are great; + And in the waters empty all thy bait. + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW POEMS*** + + +******* This file should be named 441-0.txt or 441-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/441 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: New Poems + and Variant Readings + + +Author: Robert Louis Stevenson + + + +Release Date: February 12, 2013 [eBook #441] +[This file was first posted on January 6, 1996] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW POEMS*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1918 Chatto & Windus edition by David +Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<h1>New Poems<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND VARIANT READINGS</span></h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center">LONDON<br /> +CHATTO & WINDUS<br /> +1918</p> +<h2><a name="pageix"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +ix</span>PREFACE</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">All</span> Stevensonians owe a debt of +gratitude to the Bibliophile Society of Boston for having +discovered the following poems and given them light in a +privately printed edition, thus making them known, in fact, to +the world at large. Otherwise they would have remained +scattered and hidden indefinitely in the hands of various +collectors. They will be found extraordinarily interesting +in their self-revelation, and some, indeed, are so intimate and +personal that one understands why Stevenson withheld them from +all eyes save his own. The love-poems in particular, though +they are of very unequal merit, possess in common a really +affecting sincerity. That Stevenson should have preserved +these poems through all the vicissitudes of his wandering life +shows how dearly he must have valued them; and shows, too, I +think, beyond any contradiction, that he meant they should be +ultimately published.</p> +<p style="text-align: right">LLOYD OSBOURNE.</p> +<h2><a name="pagexi"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xi</span>CONTENTS</h2> +<table> +<tr> +<td><p> </p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span +class="GutSmall">PAGE</span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">PRAYER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page1">1</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I +READ</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD +DROWSE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page2">2</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACKBIRD +SINGS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page3">3</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS +FAIR</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page4">4</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">ST. MARTIN’S +SUMMER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page6">6</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DEDICATION</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page7">7</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD +RECEIPTS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page8">8</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">PRELUDE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page10">10</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN +LIGHTS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page11">11</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE +SHRINE?</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page13">13</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN +GROUND</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page14">14</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AFTER READING “ANTONY AND +CLEOPATRA”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I +COUNT</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page15">15</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SPRING SONG</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND +ME</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page16">16</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE +PEW</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page17">17</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LOVE’S +VICISSITUDES</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DUDDINGSTONE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page18">18</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN +ENDS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page20">20</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO SYDNEY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page21">21</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE +WILL</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page23">23</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page24">24</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR +LATER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page25">25</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO MARCUS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page26">26</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO OTTILIE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page27">27</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page28">28</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS +IN THE TREES</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page29">29</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">A VALENTINE’S SONG</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page31">31</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF +SOCIAL RULES</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page34">34</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND +FRO</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page36">36</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xii</span><span class="GutSmall">TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND +GARSCHINE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page37">37</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO MADAME GARSCHINE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">MUSIC AT THE VILLA +MARINA</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page39">39</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY +LIVE YOUR DAYS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page40">40</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE +WILL</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page41">41</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME +KIN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page42">42</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS +HAD SATE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page44">44</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VOLUNTARY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page45">45</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE +DONE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT +SPRING</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page47">47</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR +EVERMORE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page48">48</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO CHARLES BAXTER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page49">49</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I WHO ALL THE WINTER +THROUGH</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page52">52</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE?</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL +NIGHT LONG</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page53">53</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF +MEN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page55">55</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND +SMART</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page56">56</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">MAN SAILS THE DEEP +AWHILE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page57">57</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO +THE CLEARER AIR</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY +YEARS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page59">59</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY +DO</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page60">60</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS +GREEN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page61">61</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO +GREZ</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page62">62</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING +FOAM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page63">63</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AN ENGLISH BREEZE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page65">65</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF +SONG</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page66">66</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE PIPER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page67">67</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO MRS. MACMARLAND</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page58">58</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO MISS CORNISH</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page69">69</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TALES OF ARABIA</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page71">71</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF +MIEN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page72">72</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">STILL I LOVE TO RHYME</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page73">73</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE +EASE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page74">74</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE +SPRING</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page75">75</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM +ME</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page76">76</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SINCE YEARS AGO FOR +EVERMORE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page77">77</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S +GARDEN OF VERSES”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page78">78</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FOR RICHMOND’S GARDEN +WALL</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page80">80</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexiii"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiii</span><span class="GutSmall">HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER +FREELY!</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page80">80</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LO, NOW, MY GUEST</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT +FRAGILE HOUR</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page81">81</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD SE IPSUM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS +COME</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page82">82</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">GO, LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT +PHRASE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page83">83</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">MY LOVE WAS WARM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page84">84</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DEDICATORY POEM FOR +“UNDERWOODS”</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page85">85</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FAREWELL</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page86">86</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE FAR-FARERS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE +SONGS FOR YOU</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page87">87</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">HOME FROM THE DAISIED +MEADOWS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR +PIANO</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page88">88</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FAIR ISLE AT SEA</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LOUD AND LOW IN THE +CHIMNEY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page89">89</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED +FIRESIDE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AT LAST SHE COMES</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW +THEE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page90">90</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FIXED IS THE DOOM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page91">91</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">MEN ARE HEAVEN’S +PIERS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page92">92</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS +ROD</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page93">93</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SPRING CAROL</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page94">94</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE +HER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page95">95</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER +RAIN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page96">96</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LATE, O MILLER</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO FRIENDS AT HOME</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page97">97</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME +VISITED</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE +AFFLICTED</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page98">98</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING +POEM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page99">99</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY +THE SNOWS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page100">100</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD +HOPE, O GOD</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page103">103</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN +PART</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page104">104</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">OVER THE LAND IS APRIL</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page105">105</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I +START</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">COMIC, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE +CITY</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page106">106</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR +PUDOR</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page107">107</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND +BLUE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page108">108</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN +FERN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page110">110</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><a name="pagexiv"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +xiv</span><span class="GutSmall">TO ROSABELLE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page111">111</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S +EYE</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page112">112</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">THE BOUR-TREE DEN</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page114">114</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">SONNETS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page118">118</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">FRAGMENTS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page123">123</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AIR OF DIABELLI’S</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page128">128</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">EPITAPHIUM EROTII</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page132">132</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DE M. ANTONIO</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD MAGISTRUM LUDI</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page133">133</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD NEPOTEM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page134">134</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IN CHARIDEMUM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DE LIGURRA</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page135">135</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IN LUPUM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page136">136</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD QUINTILIANUM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DE HORTIS JULII +MARTIALIS</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page137">137</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD MARTIALEM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">IN MAXIMUM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page139">139</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD OLUM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DE CŒNATIONE +MICÆ</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page140">140</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">DE EROTIO PUELLA</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td><p><span class="GutSmall">AD PISCATOREM</span></p> +</td> +<td><p style="text-align: right"><span class="indexpageno"><a +href="#page141">141</a></span></p> +</td> +</tr> +</table> +<h2><a name="page1"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +1</span>PRAYER</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">ask</span> good things +that I detest,<br /> + With speeches fair;<br /> +Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast,<br /> + But hear my prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">I say ill things I would not say—<br /> + Things unaware:<br /> +Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day,<br /> + And not my prayer.</p> +<p class="poetry">My heart is evil in Thy sight:<br /> + My good thoughts flee:<br /> +O Lord, I cannot wish aright—<br /> + Wish Thou for me.</p> +<p class="poetry">O bend my words and acts to Thee,<br /> + However ill,<br /> +That I, whate’er I say or be,<br /> + May serve Thee still.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page2"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +2</span>O let my thoughts abide in Thee<br /> + Lest I should fall:<br /> +Show me Thyself in all I see,<br /> + Thou Lord of all.</p> +<h2>LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lo</span>! in thine honest +eyes I read<br /> +The auspicious beacon that shall lead,<br /> +After long sailing in deep seas,<br /> +To quiet havens in June ease.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thy voice sings like an inland bird<br /> +First by the seaworn sailor heard;<br /> +And like road sheltered from life’s sea<br /> +Thine honest heart is unto me.</p> +<h2>THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Though</span> deep +indifference should drowse<br /> +The sluggish life beneath my brows,<br /> +And all the external things I see<br /> +Grow snow-showers in the street to me,<br /> +Yet inmost in my stormy sense<br /> +Thy looks shall be an influence.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page3"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +3</span>Though other loves may come and go<br /> +And long years sever us below,<br /> +Shall the thin ice that grows above<br /> +Freeze the deep centre-well of love?<br /> +No, still below light amours, thou<br /> +Shalt rule me as thou rul’st me now.</p> +<p class="poetry">Year following year shall only set<br /> +Fresh gems upon thy coronet;<br /> +And Time, grown lover, shall delight<br /> +To beautify thee in my sight;<br /> +And thou shalt ever rule in me<br /> +Crowned with the light of memory.</p> +<h2>MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> heart, when first +the blackbird sings,<br /> + My heart drinks in the song:<br /> +Cool pleasure fills my bosom through<br /> + And spreads each nerve along.</p> +<p class="poetry">My bosom eddies quietly,<br /> + My heart is stirred and cool<br /> +As when a wind-moved briar sweeps<br /> + A stone into a pool</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page4"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +4</span>But unto thee, when thee I meet,<br /> + My pulses thicken fast,<br /> +As when the maddened lake grows black<br /> + And ruffles in the blast.</p> +<h2>I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR</h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">dreamed</span> of forest +alleys fair<br /> + And fields of gray-flowered grass,<br /> +Where by the yellow summer moon<br /> + My Jenny seemed to pass.</p> +<p class="poetry">I dreamed the yellow summer moon,<br /> + Behind a cedar wood,<br /> +Lay white on fields of rippling grass<br /> + Where I and Jenny stood.</p> +<p class="poetry">I dreamed—but fallen through my dream,<br +/> + In a rainy land I lie<br /> +Where wan wet morning crowns the hills<br /> + Of grim reality.</p> +<h3>II.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I am as one that keeps awake<br /> + All night in the month of June,<br /> +That lies awake in bed to watch<br /> + The trees and great white moon.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page5"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +5</span>For memories of love are more<br /> + Than the white moon there above,<br /> +And dearer than quiet moonshine<br /> + Are the thoughts of her I love.</p> +<h3>III.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Last night I lingered long without<br /> + My last of loves to see.<br /> +Alas! the moon-white window-panes<br /> + Stared blindly back on me.</p> +<p class="poetry">To-day I hold her very hand,<br /> + Her very waist embrace—<br /> +Like clouds across a pool, I read<br /> + Her thoughts upon her face.</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet, as now, through her clear eyes<br /> + I seek the inner shrine—<br /> +I stoop to read her virgin heart<br /> + In doubt if it be mine—</p> +<p class="poetry">O looking long and fondly thus,<br /> + What vision should I see?<br /> +No vision, but my own white face<br /> + That grins and mimics me.</p> +<h3><a name="page6"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 6</span>IV.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Once more upon the same old seat<br /> + In the same sunshiny weather,<br /> +The elm-trees’ shadows at their feet<br /> + And foliage move together.</p> +<p class="poetry">The shadows shift upon the grass,<br /> + The dial point creeps on;<br /> +The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass,<br /> + As then they passed and shone.</p> +<p class="poetry">But now deep sleep is on my heart,<br /> + Deep sleep and perfect rest.<br /> +Hope’s flutterings now disturb no more<br /> + The quiet of my breast.</p> +<h2>ST. MARTIN’S SUMMER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> swallows turning +backward<br /> + When half-way o’er the sea,<br /> +At one word’s trumpet summons<br /> + They came again to me—<br /> +The hopes I had forgotten<br /> + Came back again to me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page7"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +7</span>I know not which to credit,<br /> + O lady of my heart!<br /> +Your eyes that bade me linger,<br /> + Your words that bade us part—<br /> +I know not which to credit,<br /> + My reason or my heart.</p> +<p class="poetry">But be my hopes rewarded,<br /> + Or be they but in vain,<br /> +I have dreamed a golden vision,<br /> + I have gathered in the grain—<br /> +I have dreamed a golden vision,<br /> + I have not lived in vain.</p> +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> first gift and my +last, to you<br /> +I dedicate this fascicle of songs—<br /> +The only wealth I have:<br /> +Just as they are, to you.</p> +<p class="poetry">I speak the truth in soberness, and say<br /> +I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes,<br /> +Had rather hear you praise<br /> +This bosomful of songs</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page8"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +8</span>Than that the whole, hard world with one consent,<br /> +In one continuous chorus of applause<br /> +Poured forth for me and mine<br /> +The homage of ripe praise.</p> +<p class="poetry">I write the finis here against my love,<br /> +This is my love’s last epitaph and tomb.<br /> +Here the road forks, and I<br /> +Go my way, far from yours.</p> +<h2>THE OLD CHIMÆRAS, OLD RECEIPTS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> old +Chimæras, old receipts<br /> + For making “happy land,”<br /> +The old political beliefs<br /> + Swam close before my hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">The grand old communistic myths<br /> + In a middle state of grace,<br /> +Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell,<br /> + And walking for a space,</p> +<p class="poetry">Quite dead, and looking it, and yet<br /> + All eagerness to show<br /> +The Social-Contract forgeries<br /> + By Chatterton—Rousseau—</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page9"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +9</span>A hundred such as these I tried,<br /> + And hundreds after that,<br /> +I fitted Social Theories<br /> + As one would fit a hat!</p> +<p class="poetry">Full many a marsh-fire lured me on,<br /> + I reached at many a star,<br /> +I reached and grasped them and behold—<br /> + The stump of a cigar!</p> +<p class="poetry">All through the sultry sweltering day<br /> + The sweat ran down my brow,<br /> +The still plains heard my distant strokes<br /> + That have been silenced now.</p> +<p class="poetry">This way and that, now up, now down,<br /> + I hailed full many a blow.<br /> +Alas! beneath my weary arm<br /> + The thicket seemed to grow.</p> +<p class="poetry">I take the lesson, wipe my brow<br /> + And throw my axe aside,<br /> +And, sorely wearied, I go home<br /> + In the tranquil eventide.</p> +<p class="poetry">And soon the rising moon, that lights<br /> + The eve of my defeat,<br /> +Shall see me sitting as of yore<br /> + By my old master’s feet.</p> +<h2><a name="page10"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +10</span>PRELUDE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">By</span> sunny +market-place and street<br /> +Wherever I go my drum I beat,<br /> +And wherever I go in my coat of red<br /> +The ribbons flutter about my head.</p> +<p class="poetry">I seek recruits for wars to come—<br /> +For slaughterless wars I beat the drum,<br /> +And the shilling I give to each new ally<br /> +Is hope to live and courage to die.</p> +<p class="poetry">I know that new recruits shall come<br /> +Wherever I beat the sounding drum,<br /> +Till the roar of the march by country and town<br /> +Shall shake the tottering Dagons down.</p> +<p class="poetry">For I was objectless as they<br /> +And loitering idly day by day;<br /> +But whenever I heard the recruiters come,<br /> +I left my all to follow the drum.</p> +<h2><a name="page11"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 11</span>THE +VANQUISHED KNIGHT</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">have</span> left all upon +the shameful field,<br /> + Honour and Hope, my God, and all but life;<br /> +Spurless, with sword reversed and dinted shield,<br /> + Degraded and disgraced, I leave the strife.</p> +<p class="poetry">From him that hath not, shall there not be +taken<br /> + E’en that he hath, when he deserts the +strife?<br /> +Life left by all life’s benefits forsaken,<br /> + O keep the promise, Lord, and take the life.</p> +<h2>TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">send</span> to you, +commissioners,<br /> +A paper that may please ye, sirs<br /> +(For troth they say it might be worse<br /> + An’ I believe’t)<br /> +And on your business lay my curse<br /> + Before I leav’t.</p> +<p class="poetry">I thocht I’d serve wi’ you, sirs, +yince,<br /> +But I’ve thocht better of it since;<br /> +The maitter I will nowise mince,<br /> + But tell ye true:<br /> +I’ll service wi’ some ither prince,<br /> + An’ no wi’ you.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page12"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +12</span>I’ve no been very deep, ye’ll think,<br /> +Cam’ delicately to the brink<br /> +An’ when the water gart me shrink<br /> + Straucht took the rue,<br /> +An’ didna stoop my fill to drink—<br /> + I own it true.</p> +<p class="poetry">I kent on cape and isle, a light<br /> +Burnt fair an’ clearly ilka night;<br /> +But at the service I took fright,<br /> + As sune’s I saw,<br /> +An’ being still a neophite<br /> + Gaed straucht awa’.</p> +<p class="poetry">Anither course I now begin,<br /> +The weeg I’ll cairry for my sin,<br /> +The court my voice shall echo in,<br /> + An’—wha can +tell?—<br /> +Some ither day I may be yin<br /> + O’ you mysel’.</p> +<h2><a name="page13"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 13</span>THE +RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE?</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> relic taken, +what avails the shrine?<br /> +The locket, pictureless? O heart of mine,<br /> +Art thou not worse than that,<br /> +Still warm, a vacant nest where love once sat?</p> +<p class="poetry">Her image nestled closer at my heart<br /> +Than cherished memories, healed every smart<br /> +And warmed it more than wine<br /> +Or the full summer sun in noon-day shine.</p> +<p class="poetry">This was the little weather gleam that lit<br +/> +The cloudy promontories—the real charm was<br /> +That gilded hills and woods<br /> +And walked beside me thro’ the solitudes.</p> +<p class="poetry">The sun is set. My heart is widowed +now<br /> +Of that companion-thought. Alone I plough<br /> +The seas of life, and trace<br /> +A separate furrow far from her and grace.</p> +<h2><a name="page14"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 14</span>ABOUT +THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">About</span> the sheltered +garden ground<br /> + The trees stand strangely still.<br /> +The vale ne’er seemed so deep before,<br /> + Nor yet so high the hill.</p> +<p class="poetry">An awful sense of quietness,<br /> + A fulness of repose,<br /> +Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns,<br /> + The silent garden rows.</p> +<p class="poetry">As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse<br /> + Heard far across a plain,<br /> +A nearer knowledge of great thoughts<br /> + Thrills vaguely through my brain.</p> +<p class="poetry">I lean my head upon my arm,<br /> + My heart’s too full to think;<br /> +Like the roar of seas, upon my heart<br /> + Doth the morning stillness sink.</p> +<h2><a name="page15"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 15</span>AFTER +READING “ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA”</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> when the hunt by +holt and field<br /> + Drives on with horn and strife,<br /> +Hunger of hopeless things pursues<br /> + Our spirits throughout life.</p> +<p class="poetry">The sea’s roar fills us aching full<br /> + Of objectless desire—<br /> +The sea’s roar, and the white moon-shine,<br /> + And the reddening of the fire.</p> +<p class="poetry">Who talks to me of reason now?<br /> + It would be more delight<br /> +To have died in Cleopatra’s arms<br /> + Than be alive to-night.</p> +<h2>I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">know</span> not how, but +as I count<br /> + The beads of former years,<br /> +Old laughter catches in my throat<br /> + With the very feel of tears.</p> +<h2><a name="page16"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 16</span>SPRING +SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> air was full of +sun and birds,<br /> + The fresh air sparkled clearly.<br /> +Remembrance wakened in my heart<br /> + And I knew I loved her dearly.</p> +<p class="poetry">The fallows and the leafless trees<br /> + And all my spirit tingled.<br /> +My earliest thought of love, and Spring’s<br /> + First puff of perfume mingled.</p> +<p class="poetry">In my still heart the thoughts awoke,<br /> + Came lone by lone together—<br /> +Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love<br /> + A mere affair of weather?</p> +<h2>THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> summer sun shone +round me,<br /> + The folded valley lay<br /> +In a stream of sun and odour,<br /> + That sultry summer day.</p> +<p class="poetry">The tall trees stood in the sunlight<br /> + As still as still could be,<br /> +But the deep grass sighed and rustled<br /> + And bowed and beckoned me.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page17"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +17</span>The deep grass moved and whispered<br /> + And bowed and brushed my face.<br /> +It whispered in the sunshine:<br /> + “The winter comes apace.”</p> +<h2>YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> looked so +tempting in the pew,<br /> + You looked so sly and calm—<br /> +My trembling fingers played with yours<br /> + As both looked out the Psalm.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your heart beat hard against my arm,<br /> + My foot to yours was set,<br /> +Your loosened ringlet burned my cheek<br /> + Whenever they two met.</p> +<p class="poetry">O little, little we hearkened, dear,<br /> + And little, little cared,<br /> +Although the parson sermonised,<br /> + The congregation stared.</p> +<h2><a name="page18"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +18</span>LOVE’S VICISSITUDES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> Love and Hope +together<br /> + Walk by me for a while,<br /> +Link-armed the ways they travel<br /> + For many a pleasant mile—<br /> +Link-armed and dumb they travel,<br /> + They sing not, but they smile.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hope leaving, Love commences<br /> + To practise on the lute;<br /> +And as he sings and travels<br /> + With lingering, laggard foot,<br /> +Despair plays obligato<br /> + The sentimental flute.</p> +<p class="poetry">Until in singing garments<br /> + Comes royally, at call—<br /> +Comes limber-hipped Indiff’rence<br /> + Free stepping, straight and tall—<br /> +Comes singing and lamenting,<br /> + The sweetest pipe of all.</p> +<h2>DUDDINGSTONE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">With</span> caws and +chirrupings, the woods<br /> + In this thin sun rejoice.<br /> +The Psalm seems but the little kirk<br /> + That sings with its own voice.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page19"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +19</span>The cloud-rifts share their amber light<br /> + With the surface of the mere—<br /> +I think the very stones are glad<br /> + To feel each other near.</p> +<p class="poetry">Once more my whole heart leaps and swells<br /> + And gushes o’er with glee;<br /> +The fingers of the sun and shade<br /> + Touch music stops in me.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now fancy paints that bygone day<br /> + When you were here, my fair—<br /> +The whole lake rang with rapid skates<br /> + In the windless winter air.</p> +<p class="poetry">You leaned to me, I leaned to you,<br /> + Our course was smooth as flight—<br /> +We steered—a heel-touch to the left,<br /> + A heel-touch to the right.</p> +<p class="poetry">We swung our way through flying men,<br /> + Your hand lay fast in mine:<br /> +We saw the shifting crowd dispart,<br /> + The level ice-reach shine.</p> +<p class="poetry">I swear by yon swan-travelled lake,<br /> + By yon calm hill above,<br /> +I swear had we been drowned that day<br /> + We had been drowned in love.</p> +<h2><a name="page20"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 20</span>STOUT +MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Stout</span> marches lead +to certain ends,<br /> +We seek no Holy Grail, my friends—<br /> +That dawn should find us every day<br /> +Some fraction farther on our way.</p> +<p class="poetry">The dumb lands sleep from east to west,<br /> +They stretch and turn and take their rest.<br /> +The cock has crown in the steading-yard,<br /> +But priest and people slumber hard.</p> +<p class="poetry">We two are early forth, and hear<br /> +The nations snoring far and near.<br /> +So peacefully their rest they take,<br /> +It seems we are the first awake!</p> +<p class="poetry">—Strong heart! this is no royal way,<br +/> +A thousand cross-roads seek the day;<br /> +And, hid from us, to left and right,<br /> +A thousand seekers seek the light.</p> +<h2>AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Away</span> with funeral +music—set<br /> + The pipe to powerful lips—<br /> +The cup of life’s for him that drinks<br /> + And not for him that sips.</p> +<h2><a name="page21"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 21</span>TO +SYDNEY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Not</span> thine where +marble-still and white<br /> +Old statues share the tempered light<br /> +And mock the uneven modern flight,<br /> + But in the stream<br /> +Of daily sorrow and delight<br /> + To seek a theme.</p> +<p class="poetry">I too, O friend, have steeled my heart<br /> +Boldly to choose the better part,<br /> +To leave the beaten ways of art,<br /> + And wholly free<br /> +To dare, beyond the scanty chart,<br /> + The deeper sea.</p> +<p class="poetry">All vain restrictions left behind,<br /> +Frail bark! I loose my anchored mind<br /> +And large, before the prosperous wind<br /> + Desert the strand—<br /> +A new Columbus sworn to find<br /> + The morning land.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor too ambitious, friend. To thee<br /> +I own my weakness. Not for me<br /> +To sing the enfranchised nations’ glee,<br /> + Or count the cost<br /> +Of warships foundered far at sea<br /> + And battles lost.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page22"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +22</span>High on the far-seen, sunny hills,<br /> +Morning-content my bosom fills;<br /> +Well-pleased, I trace the wandering rills<br /> + And learn their birth.<br /> +Far off, the clash of sovereign wills<br /> + May shake the earth.</p> +<p class="poetry">The nimble circuit of the wheel,<br /> +The uncertain poise of merchant weal,<br /> +Heaven of famine, fire and steel<br /> + When nations fall;<br /> +These, heedful, from afar I feel—<br /> + I mark them all.</p> +<p class="poetry">But not, my friend, not these I sing,<br /> +My voice shall fill a narrower ring.<br /> +Tired souls, that flag upon the wing,<br /> + I seek to cheer:<br /> +Brave wines to strengthen hope I bring,<br /> + Life’s cantineer!</p> +<p class="poetry">Some song that shall be suppling oil<br /> +To weary muscles strained with toil,<br /> +Shall hearten for the daily moil,<br /> + Or widely read<br /> +Make sweet for him that tills the soil<br /> + His daily bread.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page23"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +23</span>Such songs in my flushed hours I dream<br /> +(High thought) instead of armour gleam<br /> +Or warrior cantos ream by ream<br /> + To load the shelves—<br /> +Songs with a lilt of words, that seem<br /> + To sing themselves.</p> +<h2>HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Had</span> I the power that +have the will,<br /> + The enfeebled will—a modern curse—<br /> +This book of mine should blossom still<br /> + A perfect garden-ground of verse.</p> +<p class="poetry">White placid marble gods should keep<br /> + Good watch in every shadowy lawn;<br /> +And from clean, easy-breathing sleep<br /> + The birds should waken me at dawn.</p> +<p class="poetry">—A fairy garden;—none the less<br +/> + Throughout these gracious paths of mine<br /> +All day there should be free access<br /> + For stricken hearts and lives that pine;</p> +<p class="poetry">And by the folded lawns all day—<br /> + No idle gods for such a land—<br /> +All active Love should take its way<br /> + With active Labour hand in hand.</p> +<h2><a name="page24"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 24</span>O DULL +COLD NORTHERN SKY</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">dull</span> cold northern +sky,<br /> + O brawling sabbath bells,<br /> +O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells<br /> + The year is like to die!</p> +<p class="poetry">O still, spoiled trees, O city ways,<br /> + O sun desired in vain,<br /> +O dread presentiment of coming rain<br /> + That cloys the sullen days!</p> +<p class="poetry">Thee, heart of mine, I greet.<br /> + In what hard mountain pass<br /> +Striv’st thou? In what importunate morass<br /> + Sink now thy weary feet?</p> +<p class="poetry">Thou run’st a hopeless race<br /> + To win despair. No crown<br /> +Awaits success, but leaden gods look down<br /> + On thee, with evil face.</p> +<p class="poetry">And those that would befriend<br /> + And cherish thy defeat,<br /> +With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet<br /> + Home-coming of the end.</p> +<p class="poetry">Yea, those that offer praise<br /> + To idleness, shall yet<br /> +Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat<br /> + Of honourable ways.</p> +<h2><a name="page25"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +25</span>APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">If</span> you see this +song, my dear,<br /> + And last year’s toast,<br /> +I’m confoundedly in fear<br /> +You’ll be serious and severe<br /> + About the boast.</p> +<p class="poetry">Blame not that I sought such aid<br /> + To cure regret.<br /> +I was then so lowly laid<br /> +I used all the Gasconnade<br /> + That I could get.</p> +<p class="poetry">Being snubbed is somewhat smart,<br /> + Believe, my sweet;<br /> +And I needed all my art<br /> +To restore my broken heart<br /> + To its conceit.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come and smile, dear, and forget<br /> + I boasted so,<br /> +I apologise—regret—<br /> +It was all a jest;—and—yet—<br /> + I do not know.</p> +<h2><a name="page26"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 26</span>TO +MARCUS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> have been far, +and I<br /> + Been farther yet,<br /> + Since last, in foul or fair<br /> + An impecunious pair,<br /> +Below this northern sky<br /> + Of ours, we met.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now winter night shall see<br /> + Again us two,<br /> + While howls the tempest higher,<br /> + Sit warmly by the fire<br /> +And dream and plan, as we<br /> + Were wont to do.</p> +<p class="poetry">And, hand in hand, at large<br /> + Our thoughts shall walk<br /> + While storm and gusty rain,<br /> + Again and yet again,<br /> +Shall drive their noisy charge<br /> + Across the talk.</p> +<p class="poetry">The pleasant future still<br /> + Shall smile to me,<br /> + And hope with wooing hands<br /> + Wave on to fairy lands<br /> +All over dale and hill<br /> + And earth and sea.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page27"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +27</span>And you who doubt the sky<br /> + And fear the sun—<br /> + You—Christian with the pack—<br /> + You shall not wander back<br /> +For I am Hopeful—I<br /> + Will cheer you on.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come—where the great have trod,<br /> + The great shall lead—<br /> + Come, elbow through the press,<br /> + Pluck Fortune by the dress—<br /> +By God, we must—by God,<br /> + We shall succeed.</p> +<h2>TO OTTILIE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> remember, I +suppose,<br /> +How the August sun arose,<br /> + And how his face<br /> +Woke to trill and carolette<br /> +All the cages that were set<br /> + About the place.</p> +<p class="poetry">In the tender morning light<br /> +All around lay strange and bright<br /> + And still and sweet,<br /> +And the gray doves unafraid<br /> +Went their morning promenade<br /> + Along the street.</p> +<h2><a name="page28"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 28</span>THIS +GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> gloomy northern +day,<br /> + Or this yet gloomier night,<br /> + Has moved a something high<br /> + In my cold heart; and I,<br /> +That do not often pray,<br /> + Would pray to-night.</p> +<p class="poetry">And first on Thee I call<br /> + For bread, O God of might!<br /> + Enough of bread for all,—<br +/> + That through the famished town<br +/> +Cold hunger may lie down<br /> + With none to-night.</p> +<p class="poetry">I pray for hope no less,<br /> + Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord,<br /> + That to the struggling young<br /> + May preach with brazen tongue<br +/> +Stout Labour, high success,<br /> + And bright reward.</p> +<p class="poetry">And last, O Lord, I pray<br /> + For hearts resigned and bold<br /> + To trudge the dusty way—<br +/> + Hearts stored with song and +joke<br /> +And warmer than a cloak<br /> + Against the cold.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page29"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +29</span>If nothing else he had,<br /> + He who has this, has all.<br /> + This comforts under pain;<br /> + This, through the stinging +rain,<br /> +Keeps ragamuffin glad<br /> + Behind the wall.</p> +<p class="poetry">This makes the sanded inn<br /> + A palace for a Prince,<br /> + And this, when griefs begin<br /> + And cruel fate annoys,<br /> +Can bring to mind the joys<br /> + Of ages since.</p> +<h2>THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> wind is without +there and howls in the trees,<br /> + And the rain-flurries drum on the glass:<br /> +Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees<br /> + I can number the hours as they pass.<br /> +Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin,<br /> + And my pipe is just happily lit,<br /> +Believe me, my friend, tho’ the evening draws in,<br /> + That not all uncontested I sit.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page30"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +30</span>Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone<br /> + With the Past sitting warm on my knee,<br /> +To gossip of days that are over and gone,<br /> + But still charming to her and to me.<br /> +With much to be glad of and much to deplore,<br /> + Yet, as these days with those we compare,<br /> +Believe me, my friend, tho’ the sorrows seem more<br /> + They are somehow more easy to bear.</p> +<p class="poetry">And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail,<br +/> + As I cherish thy light in each draught,<br /> +His lamp is not more to the miner—their sail<br /> + Is not more to the crew on the raft.<br /> +For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave,<br /> + And, as forth thro’ the years I look on,<br /> +Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave,<br /> + I see wonderful things to be done.</p> +<p class="poetry">To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend,<br +/> + If the call should come early for me,<br /> +I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend<br /> + For some new city over the sea.<br /> +To do or to try; and if failure be mine,<br /> + And if Fortune go cross to my plan,<br /> +Believe me, my friend, tho’ I mourn the design<br /> + I shall never lament for the man.</p> +<h2><a name="page31"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 31</span>A +VALENTINE’S SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Motley</span> I count the +only wear<br /> + That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise,<br +/> +Who boldly smile upon despair<br /> + And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy’s +eyes.<br /> +Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer<br /> + That the bare listening should make strong like +wine,<br /> +At this unruly time of year,<br /> + The Feast of Valentine.</p> +<p class="poetry">We do not now parade our +“oughts”<br /> + And “shoulds” and motives and beliefs in +God.<br /> +Their life lies all indoors; sad thoughts<br /> + Must keep the house, while gay thoughts go +abroad,<br /> +Within we hold the wake for hopes deceased;<br /> + But in the public streets, in wind or sun,<br /> +Keep open, at the annual feast,<br /> + The puppet-booth of fun.</p> +<p class="poetry">Our powers, perhaps, are small to please,<br /> + But even negro-songs and castanettes,<br /> +Old jokes and hackneyed repartees<br /> + Are more than the parade of vain regrets.<br /> +<a name="page32"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 32</span>Let +Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer—<br /> + We shall make merry, honest friends of mine,<br /> +At this unruly time of year,<br /> + The Feast of Valentine.</p> +<p class="poetry">I know how, day by weary day,<br /> + Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures +fade.<br /> +I have not trudged in vain that way<br /> + On which life’s daylight darkens, shade by +shade.<br /> +And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased,<br /> + Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one,<br /> +Keep open, at the annual feast,<br /> + The puppet-booth of fun.</p> +<p class="poetry">I care not if the wit be poor,<br /> + The old worn motley stained with rain and tears,<br +/> +If but the courage still endure<br /> + That filled and strengthened hope in earlier +years;<br /> +If still, with friends averted, fate severe,<br /> + A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine<br /> +To greet the unruly time of year,<br /> + The Feast of Valentine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Priest, I am none of thine, and see<br /> + In the perspective of still hopeful youth<br /> +That Truth shall triumph over thee—<br /> + Truth to one’s self—I know no other +truth.<br /> +<a name="page33"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 33</span>I see +strange days for thee and thine, O priest,<br /> + And how your doctrines, fallen one by one,<br /> +Shall furnish at the annual feast<br /> + The puppet-booth of fun.</p> +<p class="poetry">Stand on your putrid ruins—stand,<br /> + White neck-clothed bigot, fixedly the same,<br /> +Cruel with all things but the hand,<br /> + Inquisitor in all things but the name.<br /> +Back, minister of Christ and source of fear—<br /> + We cherish freedom—back with thee and thine<br +/> +From this unruly time of year,<br /> + The Feast of Valentine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Blood thou mayest spare; but what of tears?<br +/> + But what of riven households, broken faith—<br +/> +Bywords that cling through all men’s years<br /> + And drag them surely down to shame and death?<br /> +Stand back, O cruel man, O foe of youth,<br /> + And let such men as hearken not thy voice<br /> +Press freely up the road to truth,<br /> + The King’s highway of choice.</p> +<h2><a name="page34"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 34</span>HAIL! +CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hail</span>! Childish +slaves of social rules<br /> + You had yourselves a hand in making!<br /> +How I could shake your faith, ye fools,<br /> + If but I thought it worth the shaking.<br /> +I see, and pity you; and then<br /> + Go, casting off the idle pity,<br /> +In search of better, braver men,<br /> + My own way freely through the city.</p> +<p class="poetry">My own way freely, and not yours;<br /> + And, careless of a town’s abusing,<br /> +Seek real friendship that endures<br /> + Among the friends of my own choosing.<br /> +I’ll choose my friends myself, do you hear?<br /> + And won’t let Mrs. Grundy do it,<br /> +Tho’ all I honour and hold dear<br /> + And all I hope should move me to it.</p> +<p class="poetry">I take my old coat from the shelf—<br /> + I am a man of little breeding.<br /> +And only dress to please myself—<br /> + I own, a very strange proceeding.<br /> +<a name="page35"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 35</span>I smoke a +pipe abroad, because<br /> + To all cigars I much prefer it,<br /> +And as I scorn your social laws<br /> + My choice has nothing to deter it.</p> +<p class="poetry">Gladly I trudge the footpath way,<br /> + While you and yours roll by in coaches<br /> +In all the pride of fine array,<br /> + Through all the city’s thronged approaches.<br +/> +O fine religious, decent folk,<br /> + In Virtue’s flaunting gold and scarlet,<br /> +I sneer between two puffs of smoke,—<br /> + Give me the publican and harlot.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ye dainty-spoken, stiff, severe<br /> + Seed of the migrated Philistian,<br /> +One whispered question in your ear—<br /> + Pray, what was Christ, if you be Christian?<br /> +If Christ were only here just now,<br /> + Among the city’s wynds and gables<br /> +Teaching the life he taught us, how<br /> + Would he be welcome to your tables?</p> +<p class="poetry">I go and leave your logic-straws,<br /> + Your former-friends with face averted,<br /> +Your petty ways and narrow laws,<br /> + Your Grundy and your God, deserted.<br /> +<a name="page36"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 36</span>From your +frail ark of lies, I flee<br /> + I know not where, like Noah’s raven.<br /> +Full to the broad, unsounded sea<br /> + I swim from your dishonest haven.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alone on that unsounded deep,<br /> + Poor waif, it may be I shall perish,<br /> +Far from the course I thought to keep,<br /> + Far from the friends I hoped to cherish.<br /> +It may be that I shall sink, and yet<br /> + Hear, thro’ all taunt and scornful +laughter,<br /> +Through all defeat and all regret,<br /> + The stronger swimmers coming after.</p> +<h2>SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Swallows</span> travel to +and fro,<br /> +And the great winds come and go,<br /> +And the steady breezes blow,<br /> + Bearing perfume, bearing love.<br /> +Breezes hasten, swallows fly,<br /> +Towered clouds forever ply,<br /> +And at noonday, you and I<br /> + See the same sunshine above.</p> +<p class="poetry">Dew and rain fall everywhere,<br /> +Harvests ripen, flowers are fair,<br /> +And the whole round earth is bare<br /> + To the moonshine and the sun;<br /> +<a name="page37"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 37</span>And the +live air, fanned with wings,<br /> +Bright with breeze and sunshine, brings<br /> +Into contact distant things,<br /> + And makes all the countries one.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let us wander where we will,<br /> +Something kindred greets us still;<br /> +Something seen on vale or hill<br /> + Falls familiar on the heart;<br /> +So, at scent or sound or sight,<br /> +Severed souls by day and night<br /> +Tremble with the same delight—<br /> + Tremble, half the world apart.</p> +<h2>TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> wind may blaw +the lee-gang way<br /> +And aye the lift be mirk an’ gray,<br /> +An deep the moss and steigh the brae<br /> + Where a’ maun gang—<br /> +There’s still an hoor in ilka day<br /> + For luve and sang.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page38"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +38</span>And canty hearts are strangely steeled.<br /> +By some dikeside they’ll find a bield,<br /> +Some couthy neuk by muir or field<br /> + They’re sure to hit,<br /> +Where, frae the blatherin’ wind concealed,<br /> + They’ll rest a bit.</p> +<p class="poetry">An’ weel for them if kindly fate<br /> +Send ower the hills to them a mate;<br /> +They’ll crack a while o’ kirk an’ State,<br /> + O’ yowes an’ rain:<br /> +An’ when it’s time to take the gate,<br /> + Tak’ ilk his ain.</p> +<p class="poetry">—Sic neuk beside the southern sea<br /> +I soucht—sic place o’ quiet lee<br /> +Frae a’ the winds o’ life. To me,<br /> + Fate, rarely fair,<br /> +Had set a freendly company<br /> + To meet me there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Kindly by them they gart me sit,<br /> +An’ blythe was I to bide a bit.<br /> +Licht as o’ some hame fireside lit<br /> + My life for me.<br /> +—Ower early maun I rise an’ quit<br /> + This happy lee.</p> +<h2><a name="page39"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 39</span>TO +MADAME GARSCHINE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> is the face, +the fairest face, till Care,<br /> + Till Care the graver—Care with cunning +hand,<br /> +Etches content thereon and makes it fair,<br /> + Or constancy, and love, and makes it grand?</p> +<h2>MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">For</span> some abiding +central source of power,<br /> + Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow<br /> + And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below,<br /> +The vain tumultuous passions of the hour<br /> +Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun<br /> + Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast<br /> + O’er all the shattered ruins of my past<br /> +A strong contentment as of battles won.</p> +<p class="poetry">And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear<br /> + The long drawn pageant of your passage roll<br /> + Magnificently forth into the night.<br /> +To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere<br /> +Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight,<br /> + O even wings of music, bear my soul!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page40"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +40</span>Ye have the power, if but ye had the will,<br /> + Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand,<br +/> + To bear me forth into that tranquil land<br /> +Where good is no more ravelled up with ill;<br /> +Where she and I, remote upon some hill<br /> + Or by some quiet river’s windless strand,<br +/> + May live, and love, and wander hand in hand,<br /> +And follow nature simply, and be still.</p> +<p class="poetry">From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, +we<br /> + Sit bound with others’ heart-strings as with +chains,<br /> + And, if one moves, all suffer,—to that +Goal,<br /> +If such a land, if such a sphere, there be,<br /> + Thither, from life and all life’s joys and +pains,<br /> + O even wings of music, bear my soul!</p> +<h2>FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fear</span> not, dear +friend, but freely live your days<br /> + Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am +I,<br /> + A lesser life, that what is his of sky<br /> +Gladly would give for you, and what of praise.<br /> +Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways.<br /> + We that have touched your raiment, are made whole<br +/> + From all the selfish cankers of man’s soul,<br +/> +<a name="page41"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 41</span>And we +would see you happy, dear, or die.<br /> +Therefore be brave, and therefore, dear, be free;<br /> +Try all things resolutely, till the best,<br /> +Out of all lesser betters, you shall find;<br /> +And we, who have learned greatness from you, we,<br /> + Your lovers, with a still, contented mind,<br /> + See you well anchored in some port of rest.</p> +<h2>LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Let</span> love go, if go +she will.<br /> + Seek not, O fool, her wanton flight to stay.<br /> + Of all she gives and takes away<br /> +The best remains behind her still.</p> +<p class="poetry">The best remains behind; in vain<br /> +Joy she may give and take again,<br /> +Joy she may take and leave us pain,<br /> + If yet she leave behind<br /> + The constant mind<br /> +To meet all fortunes nobly, to endure<br /> +All things with a good heart, and still be pure,<br /> +Still to be foremost in the foremost cause,<br /> +And still be worthy of the love that was.<br /> +Love coming is omnipotent indeed,<br /> +But not Love going. Let her go. The seed<br /> +<a name="page42"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 42</span>Springs in +the favouring Summer air, and grows,<br /> +And waxes strong; and when the Summer goes,<br /> + Remains, a perfect tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">Joy she may give and take again,<br /> +Joy she may take and leave us pain.<br /> + O Love, and what care we?<br /> +For one thing thou hast given, O Love, one thing<br /> + Is ours that nothing can remove;<br /> +And as the King discrowned is still a King,<br /> + The unhappy lover still preserves his love.</p> +<h2>I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">do</span> not fear to own +me kin<br /> +To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin;<br /> +Or to my brothers, the great trees,<br /> +That speak with pleasant voices in the breeze,<br /> +Loud talkers with the winds that pass;<br /> +Or to my sister, the deep grass.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of such I am, of such my body is,<br /> +That thrills to reach its lips to kiss.<br /> +That gives and takes with wind and sun and rain<br /> +And feels keen pleasure to the point of pain.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page43"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +43</span>Of such are these,<br /> +The brotherhood of stalwart trees,<br /> +The humble family of flowers,<br /> +That make a light of shadowy bowers<br /> +Or star the edges of the bent:<br /> +They give and take sweet colour and sweet scent;<br /> +They joy to shed themselves abroad;<br /> +And tree and flower and grass and sod<br /> +Thrill and leap and live and sing<br /> +With silent voices in the Spring.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hence I not fear to yield my breath,<br /> +Since all is still unchanged by death;<br /> +Since in some pleasant valley I may be,<br /> +Clod beside clod, or tree by tree,<br /> +Long ages hence, with her I love this hour;<br /> +And feel a lively joy to share<br /> +With her the sun and rain and air,<br /> +To taste her quiet neighbourhood<br /> +As the dumb things of field and wood,<br /> +The clod, the tree, and starry flower,<br /> +Alone of all things have the power.</p> +<h2><a name="page44"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 44</span>I AM +LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">am</span> like one that +for long days had sate,<br /> + With seaward eyes set keen against the gale,<br /> + On some lone foreland, watching sail by sail,<br /> +The portbound ships for one ship that was late;<br /> +And sail by sail, his heart burned up with joy,<br /> + And cruelly was quenched, until at last<br /> + One ship, the looked-for pennant at its mast,<br /> +Bore gaily, and dropt safely past the buoy;<br /> +And lo! the loved one was not there—was dead.<br /> +Then would he watch no more; no more the sea<br /> + With myriad vessels, sail by sail, perplex<br /> +His eyes and mock his longing. Weary head,<br /> +Take now thy rest; eyes, close; for no more me<br /> + Shall hopes untried elate, or ruined vex.</p> +<p class="poetry">For thus on love I waited; thus for love<br /> + Strained all my senses eagerly and long;<br /> + Thus for her coming ever trimmed my song;<br /> +Till in the far skies coloured as a dove,<br /> +A bird gold-coloured flickered far and fled<br /> + Over the pathless waterwaste for me;<br /> + And with spread hands I watched the bright bird +flee<br /> +<a name="page45"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 45</span>And +waited, till before me she dropped dead.<br /> + O golden bird in these dove-coloured skies<br /> + How long I sought, how long with wearied eyes<br /> +I sought, O bird, the promise of thy flight!<br /> + And now the morn has dawned, the morn has died,<br +/> +The day has come and gone; and once more night<br /> + About my lone life settles, wild and wide.</p> +<h2>VOLUNTARY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here</span> in the quiet +eve<br /> +My thankful eyes receive<br /> + The quiet light.<br /> +I see the trees stand fair<br /> +Against the faded air,<br /> +And star by star prepare<br /> + The perfect night.</p> +<p class="poetry">And in my bosom, lo!<br /> +Content and quiet grow<br /> + Toward perfect peace.<br /> +And now when day is done,<br /> +Brief day of wind and sun,<br /> +The pure stars, one by one,<br /> + Their troop increase.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page46"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +46</span>Keen pleasure and keen grief<br /> +Give place to great relief:<br /> + Farewell my tears!<br /> +Still sounds toward me float;<br /> +I hear the bird’s small note,<br /> +Sheep from the far sheepcote,<br /> + And lowing steers.</p> +<p class="poetry">For lo! the war is done,<br /> +Lo, now the battle won,<br /> + The trumpets still.<br /> +The shepherd’s slender strain,<br /> +The country sounds again<br /> +Awake in wood and plain,<br /> + On haugh and hill.</p> +<p class="poetry">Loud wars and loud loves cease.<br /> +I welcome my release;<br /> + And hail once more<br /> +Free foot and way world-wide.<br /> +And oft at eventide<br /> +Light love to talk beside<br /> + The hostel door.</p> +<h2><a name="page47"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 47</span>ON +NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">On</span> now, although the +year be done,<br /> + Now, although the love be dead,<br /> + Dead and gone;<br /> +Hear me, O loved and cherished one,<br /> + Give me still the hand that led,<br /> + Led me on.</p> +<h2>IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> the green and +gallant Spring,<br /> +Love and the lyre I thought to sing,<br /> +And kisses sweet to give and take<br /> +By the flowery hawthorn brake.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now is russet Autumn here,<br /> +Death and the grave and winter drear,<br /> +And I must ponder here aloof<br /> +While the rain is on the roof.</p> +<h2><a name="page48"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 48</span>DEATH, +TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Death</span>, to the dead +for evermore<br /> +A King, a God, the last, the best of friends—<br /> +Whene’er this mortal journey ends<br /> +Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;<br /> +Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore<br /> +Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn<br /> +Disturbs the eternal sleep,<br /> +But in the stillness far withdrawn<br /> +Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.</p> +<p class="poetry">For as from open windows forth we peep<br /> +Upon the night-time star beset<br /> +And with dews for ever wet;<br /> +So from this garish life the spirit peers;<br /> +And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,<br /> +Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!<br /> +After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears<br /> +And clamour of man’s passion, Death appears,<br /> +And we must rise and go.</p> +<p class="poetry">Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the +ears<br /> +Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;<br /> +Soon, racked by hopes and fears,<br /> +The all-pondering, all-contriving head,<br /> +<a name="page49"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 49</span>Weary with +all things, wearies of the years;<br /> +And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;<br /> +And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.</p> +<h2>TO CHARLES BAXTER</h2> +<p><i>On the death of their common friend</i>, <i>Mr. John +Adam</i>, <i>Clerk of court</i>.</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Our</span> Johnie’s +deid. The mair’s the pity!<br /> +He’s deid, an’ deid o’ Aqua-vitæ.<br /> +O Embro’, you’re a shrunken city,<br /> + Noo Johnie’s deid!<br /> +Tak hands, an’ sing a burial ditty<br /> + Ower Johnie’s heid.</p> +<p class="poetry">To see him was baith drink an’ meat,<br +/> +Gaun linkin’ glegly up the street.<br /> +He but to rin or tak a seat,<br /> + The wee bit body!<br /> +Bein’ aye unsicken on his feet<br /> + Wi’ whusky toddy.</p> +<p class="poetry">To be aye tosh was Johnie’s whim,<br /> +There’s nane was better teut than him,<br /> +Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim’<br /> + Ahint his ear,<br /> +An’ whiles he’d buttons oot or in<br /> + The less ae mair.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page50"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +50</span>His hair a’ lang about his bree,<br /> +His tap-lip lang by inches three—<br /> +A slockened sort ‘mon,’ to pree<br /> + A’ sensuality—<br /> +A droutly glint was in his e’e<br /> + An’ personality.</p> +<p class="poetry">An’ day an’ nicht, frae daw to +daw,<br /> +Dink an’ perjink an’ doucely braw,<br /> +Wi’ a kind o’ Gospel ower a’,<br /> + May or October,<br /> +Like Peden, followin’ the Law<br /> + An’ no that sober.</p> +<p class="poetry">Whusky an’ he were pack thegether.<br /> +Whate’er the hour, whate’er the weather,<br /> +John kept himsel’ wi’ mistened leather<br /> + An’ kindled spunk.<br /> +Wi’ him, there was nae askin’ whether—<br /> + John was aye drunk.</p> +<p class="poetry">The auncient heroes gash an’ bauld<br /> +In the uncanny days of auld,<br /> +The task ance fo(u)nd to which th’were called,<br /> + Stack stenchly to it.<br /> +His life sic noble lives recalled,<br /> + Little’s he knew it.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page51"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +51</span>Single an’ straucht, he went his way.<br /> +He kept the faith an’ played the play.<br /> +Whusky an’ he were man an’ may<br /> + Whate’er betided.<br /> +Bonny in life—in death—this twae<br /> + Were no’ divided.</p> +<p class="poetry">An’ wow! but John was unco sport.<br /> +Whiles he wad smile about the Court<br /> +Malvolio-like—whiles snore an’ snort<br /> + Was heard afar.<br /> +The idle winter lads’ resort<br /> + Was aye John’s bar.</p> +<p class="poetry">What’s merely humorous or bonny<br /> +The Worl’ regairds wi’ cauld astony.<br /> +Drunk men tak’ aye mair place than ony;<br /> + An’ sae, ye see,<br /> +The gate was aye ower thrang for Johnie—<br /> + Or you an’ me.</p> +<p class="poetry">John micht hae jingled cap an’ bells,<br +/> +Been a braw fule in silks an’ pells,<br /> +In ane o’ the auld worl’s canty hells<br /> + Paris or Sodom.<br /> +I wadnae had him naething else<br /> + But Johnie Adam.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page52"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +52</span>He suffered—as have a’ that wan<br /> +Eternal memory frae man,<br /> +Since e’er the weary worl’ began—<br /> + Mister or Madam,<br /> +Keats or Scots Burns, the Spanish Don<br /> + Or Johnie Adam.</p> +<p class="poetry">We leuch, an’ Johnie deid. +An’ fegs!<br /> +Hoo he had keept his stoiterin’ legs<br /> +Sae lang’s he did’s a fact that begs<br /> + An explanation.<br /> +He stachers fifty years—syne plegs<br /> + To’s destination.</p> +<h2>I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH</h2> +<p class="poetry"> I <span +class="smcap">who</span> all the winter through<br /> + Cherished other loves than you,<br +/> +And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew;<br /> + Now I know the false and true,<br +/> + For the earnest sun looks +through,<br /> +And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Now the +hedged meads renew<br /> + Rustic odour, smiling hue,<br /> +And the clean air shines and tinkles as the world goes wheeling +through;<br /> + <a name="page53"></a><span +class="pagenum">p. 53</span>And my heart springs up anew,<br /> + Bright and confident and true,<br +/> +And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew.</p> +<h2>LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE?</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Love</span>—what is +love? A great and aching heart;<br /> +Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.<br /> +Life—what is life? Upon a moorland bare<br /> +To see love coming and see love depart.</p> +<h2>SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Soon</span> our friends perish,<br /> + Soon all we cherish<br /> +Fades as days darken—goes as flowers go.<br /> + Soon in December<br /> + Over an ember,<br /> +Lonely we hearken, as loud winds blow.</p> +<h2>AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> one who having +wandered all night long<br /> + In a perplexed forest, comes at length<br /> +In the first hours, about the matin song,<br /> + And when the sun uprises in his strength,<br /> +<a name="page54"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 54</span>To the +fringed margin of the wood, and sees,<br /> + Gazing afar before him, many a mile<br /> +Of falling country, many fields and trees,<br /> + And cities and bright streams and far-off +Ocean’s smile:</p> +<p class="poetry">I, O Melampus, halting, stand at gaze:<br /> + I, liberated, look abroad on life,<br /> +Love, and distress, and dusty travelling ways,<br /> + The steersman’s helm, the surgeon’s +helpful knife,<br /> +On the lone ploughman’s earth-upturning share,<br /> + The revelry of cities and the sound<br /> +Of seas, and mountain-tops aloof in air,<br /> + And of the circling earth the unsupported round:</p> +<p class="poetry">I, looking, wonder: I, intent, adore;<br /> + And, O Melampus, reaching forth my hands<br /> +In adoration, cry aloud and soar<br /> + In spirit, high above the supine lands<br /> +And the low caves of mortal things, and flee<br /> + To the last fields of the universe untrod,<br /> +Where is no man, nor any earth, nor sea,<br /> + And the contented soul is all alone with God.</p> +<h2><a name="page55"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +55</span>STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Strange</span> are the ways +of men,<br /> + And strange the ways of God!<br /> +We tread the mazy paths<br /> + That all our fathers trod.</p> +<p class="poetry">We tread them undismayed,<br /> + And undismayed behold<br /> +The portents of the sky,<br /> + The things that were of old.</p> +<p class="poetry">The fiery stars pursue<br /> + Their course in heav’n on high;<br /> +And round the ‘leaguered town,<br /> + Crest-tossing heroes cry.</p> +<p class="poetry">Crest-tossing heroes cry;<br /> + And martial fifes declare<br /> +How small, to mortal minds,<br /> + Is merely mortal care.</p> +<p class="poetry">And to the clang of steel<br /> + And cry of piercing flute<br /> +Upon the azure peaks<br /> + A God shall plant his foot:</p> +<p class="poetry">A God in arms shall stand,<br /> + And seeing wide and far<br /> +The green and golden earth,<br /> + The killing tide of war,</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page56"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +56</span>He, with uplifted arm,<br /> + Shall to the skies proclaim<br /> +The gleeful fate of man,<br /> + The noble road to fame!</p> +<h2>THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART</h2> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">The</span> wind blew shrill and smart,<br /> + And the wind awoke my heart<br /> +Again to go a-sailing o’er the sea,<br /> + To hear the cordage moan<br /> + And the straining timbers +groan,<br /> +And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee.</p> +<p class="poetry"> O sailor of +the fleet,<br /> + It is time to stir the feet!<br /> +It’s time to man the dingy and to row!<br /> + It’s lay your hand in +mine<br /> + And it’s empty down the +wine,<br /> +And it’s drain a health to death before we go!</p> +<p class="poetry"> To death, +my lads, we sail;<br /> + And it’s death that blows +the gale<br /> +And death that holds the tiller as we ride.<br /> + For he’s the king of all<br +/> + In the tempest and the squall,<br +/> +And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide!</p> +<h2><a name="page57"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 57</span>MAN +SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Man</span> sails the deep +awhile;<br /> + Loud runs the roaring tide;<br /> + The seas are wild and wide;<br /> +O’er many a salt, o’er many a desert mile,<br /> + The unchained breakers ride,<br /> + The quivering stars beguile.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hope bears the sole command;<br /> + Hope, with unshaken eyes,<br /> + Sees flaw and storm arise;<br /> +Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand,<br /> + Steers, under changing skies,<br +/> + Unchanged toward the land.</p> +<p class="poetry">O wind that bravely blows!<br /> + O hope that sails with all<br /> + Where stars and voices call!<br /> +O ship undaunted that forever goes<br /> + Where God, her admiral,<br /> + His battle signal shows!</p> +<p class="poetry">What though the seas and wind<br /> + Far on the deep should whelm<br /> + Colours and sails and helm?<br /> +There, too, you touch that port that you designed—<br /> + There, in the mid-seas’ +realm,<br /> + Shall you that haven find.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page58"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +58</span>Well hast thou sailed: now die,<br /> + To die is not to sleep.<br /> + Still your true course you +keep,<br /> +O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky;<br /> + And fifty fathom deep<br /> + Your colours still shall fly.</p> +<h2>THE COCK’S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> cock’s +clear voice into the clearer air<br /> + Where westward far I roam,<br /> +Mounts with a thrill of hope,<br /> + Falls with a sigh of home.</p> +<p class="poetry">A rural sentry, he from farm and field<br /> + The coming morn descries,<br /> +And, mankind’s bugler, wakes<br /> + The camp of enterprise.</p> +<p class="poetry">He sings the morn upon the westward hills<br /> + Strange and remote and wild;<br /> +He sings it in the land<br /> + Where once I was a child.</p> +<p class="poetry">He brings to me dear voices of the past,<br /> + The old land and the years:<br /> +My father calls for me,<br /> + My weeping spirit hears.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page59"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +59</span>Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird,<br /> + And sing the morning in;<br /> +For the old days are past<br /> + And new days begin.</p> +<h2>NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> when the number +of my years<br /> + Is all fulfilled, and I<br /> + From sedentary life<br /> + Shall rouse me up to die,<br /> + Bury me low and let me lie<br /> + Under the wide and starry sky.<br +/> + Joying to live, I joyed to die,<br +/> + Bury me low and let me lie.</p> +<p class="poetry">Clear was my soul, my deeds were free,<br /> + Honour was called my name,<br /> + I fell not back from fear<br /> + Nor followed after fame.<br /> + Bury me low and let me lie<br /> + Under the wide and starry sky.<br +/> + Joying to live, I joyed to die,<br +/> + Bury me low and let me lie.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page60"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +60</span>Bury me low in valleys green<br /> + And where the milder breeze<br /> + Blows fresh along the stream,<br /> + Sings roundly in the trees—<br /> + Bury me low and let me lie<br /> + Under the wide and starry sky.<br +/> + Joying to live, I joyed to die,<br +/> + Bury me low and let me lie.</p> +<h2>WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> man may learn, +what man may do,<br /> +Of right or wrong of false or true,<br /> +While, skipper-like, his course he steers<br /> +Through nine and twenty mingled years,<br /> +Half misconceived and half forgot,<br /> +So much I know and practise not.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old are the words of wisdom, old<br /> +The counsels of the wise and bold:<br /> +To close the ears, to check the tongue,<br /> +To keep the pining spirit young;<br /> +To act the right, to say the true,<br /> +And to be kind whate’er you do.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page61"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +61</span>Thus we across the modern stage<br /> +Follow the wise of every age;<br /> +And, as oaks grow and rivers run<br /> +Unchanged in the unchanging sun,<br /> +So the eternal march of man<br /> +Goes forth on an eternal plan.</p> +<h2>SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Small</span> is the trust +when love is green<br /> + In sap of early years;<br /> +A little thing steps in between<br /> + And kisses turn to tears.</p> +<p class="poetry">Awhile—and see how love be grown<br /> + In loveliness and power!<br /> +Awhile, it loves the sweets alone,<br /> + But next it loves the sour.</p> +<p class="poetry">A little love is none at all<br /> + That wanders or that fears;<br /> +A hearty love dwells still at call<br /> + To kisses or to tears.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page62"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +62</span>Such then be mine, my love to give,<br /> + And such be yours to take:—<br /> +A faith to hold, a life to live,<br /> + For lovingkindness’ sake:</p> +<p class="poetry">Should you be sad, should you be gay,<br /> + Or should you prove unkind,<br /> +A love to hold the growing way<br /> + And keep the helping mind:—</p> +<p class="poetry">A love to turn the laugh on care<br /> + When wrinkled care appears,<br /> +And, with an equal will, to share<br /> + Your losses and your tears.</p> +<h2>KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Know</span> you the river +near to Grez,<br /> + A river deep and clear?<br /> +Among the lilies all the way,<br /> +That ancient river runs to-day<br /> + From snowy weir to weir.</p> +<p class="poetry">Old as the Rhine of great renown,<br /> + She hurries clear and fast,<br /> +She runs amain by field and town<br /> +From south to north, from up to down,<br /> + To present on from past.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page63"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +63</span>The love I hold was borne by her;<br /> + And now, though far away,<br /> +My lonely spirit hears the stir<br /> +Of water round the starling spur<br /> + Beside the bridge at Grez.</p> +<p class="poetry">So may that love forever hold<br /> + In life an equal pace;<br /> +So may that love grow never old,<br /> +But, clear and pure and fountain-cold,<br /> + Go on from grace to grace.</p> +<h2>IT’S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It’s</span> forth +across the roaring foam, and on towards the west,<br /> +It’s many a lonely league from home, o’er many a +mountain crest,<br /> +From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the +fold,<br /> +To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come +to bring the corn,<br /> +Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn;<br +/> +<a name="page64"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 64</span>It’s +there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and cold,<br /> +In yon distressful city beside the Gates of Gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">I slept as one that nothing knows; but far +along my way,<br /> +Before the morning God rose and planned the coming day;<br /> +Afar before me forth he went, as through the sands of old,<br /> +And chose the friends to help me beside the Gates of Gold.</p> +<p class="poetry">I have been near, I have been far, my +back’s been at the wall,<br /> +Yet aye and ever shone the star to guide me through it all:<br /> +The love of God, the help of man, they both shall make me bold<br +/> +Against the gates of darkness as beside the Gates of Gold.</p> +<h2><a name="page65"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 65</span>AN +ENGLISH BREEZE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Up</span> with the sun, the +breeze arose,<br /> +Across the talking corn she goes,<br /> +And smooth she rustles far and wide<br /> +Through all the voiceful countryside.</p> +<p class="poetry">Through all the land her tale she tells;<br /> +She spins, she tosses, she compels<br /> +The kites, the clouds, the windmill sails<br /> +And all the trees in all the dales.</p> +<p class="poetry">God calls us, and the day prepares<br /> +With nimble, gay and gracious airs:<br /> +And from Penzance to Maidenhead<br /> +The roads last night He watered.</p> +<p class="poetry">God calls us from inglorious ease,<br /> +Forth and to travel with the breeze<br /> +While, swift and singing, smooth and strong<br /> +She gallops by the fields along.</p> +<h2><a name="page66"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 66</span>AS IN +THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> in their flight +the birds of song<br /> +Halt here and there in sweet and sunny dales,<br /> +But halt not overlong;<br /> +The time one rural song to sing<br /> +They pause; then following bounteous gales<br /> +Steer forward on the wing:<br /> +Sun-servers they, from first to last,<br /> +Upon the sun they wait<br /> +To ride the sailing blast.</p> +<p class="poetry">So he awhile in our contested state,<br /> +Awhile abode, not longer, for his Sun—<br /> +Mother we say, no tenderer name we know—<br /> +With whose diviner glow<br /> +His early days had shone,<br /> +Now to withdraw her radiance had begun.<br /> +Or lest a wrong I say, not she withdrew,<br /> +But the loud stream of men day after day<br /> +And great dust columns of the common way<br /> +Between them grew and grew:<br /> +And he and she for evermore might yearn,<br /> +But to the spring the rivulets not return<br /> +Nor to the bosom comes the child again.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page67"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +67</span>And he (O may we fancy so!),<br /> +He, feeling time forever flow<br /> +And flowing bear him forth and far away<br /> +From that dear ingle where his life began<br /> +And all his treasure lay—<br /> +He, waxing into man,<br /> +And ever farther, ever closer wound<br /> +In this obstreperous world’s ignoble round,<br /> +From that poor prospect turned his face away.</p> +<h2>THE PIPER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Again</span> I hear you +piping, for I know the tune so well,—<br /> + You rouse the heart to wander and be free,<br /> +Tho’ where you learned your music, not the God of song can +tell,<br /> + For you pipe the open highway and the sea.<br /> +O piper, lightly footing, lightly piping on your way,<br /> + Tho’ your music thrills and pierces far and +near,<br /> +I tell you you had better pipe to someone else to-day,<br /> + For you cannot pipe my fancy from my dear.</p> +<p class="poetry">You sound the note of travel through the hamlet +and the town;<br /> + You would lure the holy angels from on high;<br /> +And not a man can hear you, but he throws the hammer down<br /> + And is off to see the countries ere he die.<br /> +<a name="page68"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 68</span>But now no +more I wander, now unchanging here I stay;<br /> + By my love, you find me safely sitting here:<br /> +And pipe you ne’er so sweetly, till you pipe the hills +away,<br /> + You can never pipe my fancy from my dear.</p> +<h2>TO MRS. MACMARLAND</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> Schnee der +Alpen—so it runs<br /> + To those divine accords—and here<br /> +We dwell in Alpine snows and suns,<br /> + A motley crew, for half the year:<br /> +A motley crew, we dwell to taste—<br /> + A shivering band in hope and fear—<br /> +That sun upon the snowy waste,<br /> + That Alpine ether cold and clear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Up from the laboured plains, and up<br /> + From low sea-levels, we arise<br /> +To drink of that diviner cup<br /> + The rarer air, the clearer skies;<br /> +For, as the great, old, godly King<br /> + From mankind’s turbid valley cries,<br /> +So all we mountain-lovers sing:<br /> + I to the hills will lift mine eyes.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page69"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +69</span>The bells that ring, the peaks that climb,<br /> + The frozen snow’s unbroken curd<br /> +Might yet revindicate in rhyme<br /> + The pauseless stream, the absent bird.<br /> +In vain—for to the deeps of life<br /> + You, lady, you my heart have stirred;<br /> +And since you say you love my life,<br /> + Be sure I love you for the word.</p> +<p class="poetry">Of kindness, here I nothing say—<br /> + Such loveless kindnesses there are<br /> +In that grimacing, common way,<br /> + That old, unhonoured social war.<br /> +Love but my dog and love my love,<br /> + Adore with me a common star—<br /> +I value not the rest above<br /> + The ashes of a bad cigar.</p> +<h2>TO MISS CORNISH</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">They</span> tell me, lady, +that to-day<br /> + On that unknown Australian strand—<br /> +Some time ago, so far away—<br /> + Another lady joined the band.<br /> +<a name="page70"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 70</span>She joined +the company of those<br /> + Lovelily dowered, nobly planned,<br /> +Who, smiling, still forgive their foes<br /> + And keep their friends in close command.</p> +<p class="poetry">She, lady, as I learn, was one<br /> + Among the many rarely good;<br /> +And destined still to be a sun<br /> + Through every dark and rainy mood:—<br /> +She, as they told me, far had come,<br /> + By sea and land, o’er many a rood:—<br +/> +Admired by all, beloved by some,<br /> + She was yourself, I understood.</p> +<p class="poetry">But, compliment apart and free<br /> + From all constraint of verses, may<br /> +Goodness and honour, grace and glee,<br /> + Attend you ever on your way—<br /> +Up to the measure of your will,<br /> + Beyond all power of mine to say—<br /> +As she and I desire you still,<br /> + Miss Cornish, on your natal day.</p> +<h2><a name="page71"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 71</span>TALES +OF ARABIA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Yes</span>, friend, I own +these tales of Arabia<br /> +Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals,<br /> + Age-old but yet untamed, for ages<br /> + Pass and the magic is undiminished.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus, friend, the tales of the old +Camaralzaman,<br /> +Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars,<br /> + Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions,<br /> + Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood.</p> +<p class="poetry">Fair ones, beyond all numerability,<br /> +Beam from the palace, beam on humanity,<br /> + Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris<br /> + Offering pleasure and only pleasure.</p> +<p class="poetry">Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian,<br /> +Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities,<br /> + Greek Gods or old time-honoured muses,<br /> + Easily proffer unloved caresses.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the +minstrelsy;<br /> +Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances,<br /> + Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in-<br /> + Edible, flatter and wholly starve him.</p> +<h2><a name="page72"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +72</span>BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Behold</span>, as goblins +dark of mien<br /> + And portly tyrants dyed with crime<br /> +Change, in the transformation scene,<br /> + At Christmas, in the pantomime,</p> +<p class="poetry">Instanter, at the prompter’s cough,<br /> + The fairy bonnets them, and they<br /> +Throw their abhorred carbuncles off<br /> + And blossom like the flowers in May.</p> +<p class="poetry">—So mankind, to angelic eyes,<br /> + So, through the scenes of life below,<br /> +In life’s ironical disguise,<br /> + A travesty of man, ye go:</p> +<p class="poetry">But fear not: ere the curtain fall,<br /> + Death in the transformation scene<br /> +Steps forward from her pedestal,<br /> + Apparent, as the fairy Queen;</p> +<p class="poetry">And coming, frees you in a trice<br /> + From all your lendings—lust of fame,<br /> +Ungainly virtue, ugly vice,<br /> + Terror and tyranny and shame.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page73"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +73</span>So each, at last himself, for good<br /> + In that dear country lays him down,<br /> +At last beloved and understood<br /> + And pure in feature and renown.</p> +<h2>STILL I LOVE TO RHYME</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Still</span> I love to +rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander<br /> + Far from the commoner way;<br /> +Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,<br +/> + Dreaming to-morrow to-day.</p> +<p class="poetry">Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, +Apollo,<br /> + Measures descanted before;<br /> +Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,<br /> + Prints in the marbles of yore.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young +raiment invested,<br /> + Songs for the brain to forget—<br /> +Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested<br /> + Piping and chirruping yet.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page74"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +74</span>Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted +to flutter<br /> + Trammelled so vilely in verse;<br /> +He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter,<br +/> + Won with a groan and a curse.</p> +<h2>LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Long</span> time I lay in +little ease<br /> + Where, placed by the Turanian,<br /> +Marseilles, the many-masted, sees<br /> + The blue Mediterranean.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now songful in the hour of sport,<br /> + Now riotous for wages,<br /> +She camps around her ancient port,<br /> + As ancient of the ages.</p> +<p class="poetry">Algerian airs through all the place<br /> + Unconquerably sally;<br /> +Incomparable women pace<br /> + The shadows of the alley.</p> +<p class="poetry">And high o’er dark and graving yard<br /> + And where the sky is paler,<br /> +The golden virgin of the guard<br /> + Shines, beckoning the sailor.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page75"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +75</span>She hears the city roar on high,<br /> + Thief, prostitute, and banker;<br /> +She sees the masted vessels lie<br /> + Immovably at anchor.</p> +<p class="poetry">She sees the snowy islets dot<br /> + The sea’s immortal azure,<br /> +And If, that castellated spot,<br /> + Tower, turret, and embrasure.</p> +<h2>FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Flower</span> god, god of +the spring, beautiful, bountiful,<br /> +Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,<br /> + Here I wander in April<br /> + Cold, grey-headed; and still to my<br /> +Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer,<br /> +Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant;<br /> + Spring, flower-planter in meadows,<br /> + Child-conductor in willowy<br /> +Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses:<br /> +Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity:<br /> + O child, happy are children!<br /> + She still smiles on their innocence,<br /> +She, dear mother in God, fostering violets,<br /> +Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins:<br /> + <a name="page76"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +76</span>Thus one cunning in music<br /> + Wakes old chords in the memory:<br /> +Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances.<br /> +One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal<br /> + Green—one more, and my bosom<br /> + Feels new life with an ecstasy.</p> +<h2>COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, my beloved, +hear from me<br /> +Tales of the woods or open sea.<br /> +Let our aspiring fancy rise<br /> +A wren’s flight higher toward the skies;<br /> +Or far from cities, brown and bare,<br /> +Play at the least in open air.<br /> +In all the tales men hear us tell<br /> +Still let the unfathomed ocean swell,<br /> +Or shallower forest sound abroad<br /> +Below the lonely stars of God;<br /> +In all, let something still be done,<br /> +Still in a corner shine the sun,<br /> +Slim-ankled maids be fleet of foot,<br /> +Nor man disown the rural flute.<br /> +Still let the hero from the start<br /> +In honest sweat and beats of heart<br /> +Push on along the untrodden road<br /> +For some inviolate abode.<br /> +<a name="page77"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 77</span>Still, O +beloved, let me hear<br /> +The great bell beating far and near—<br /> +The odd, unknown, enchanted gong<br /> +That on the road hales men along,<br /> +That from the mountain calls afar,<br /> +That lures a vessel from a star,<br /> +And with a still, aerial sound<br /> +Makes all the earth enchanted ground.<br /> +Love, and the love of life and act<br /> +Dance, live and sing through all our furrowed tract;<br /> +Till the great God enamoured gives<br /> +To him who reads, to him who lives,<br /> +That rare and fair romantic strain<br /> +That whoso hears must hear again.</p> +<h2>SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Since</span> years ago for +evermore<br /> +My cedar ship I drew to shore;<br /> +And to the road and riverbed<br /> +And the green, nodding reeds, I said<br /> +Mine ignorant and last farewell:<br /> +Now with content at home I dwell,<br /> +And now divide my sluggish life<br /> +Betwixt my verses and my wife:<br /> +<a name="page78"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 78</span>In vain; +for when the lamp is lit<br /> +And by the laughing fire I sit,<br /> +Still with the tattered atlas spread<br /> +Interminable roads I tread.</p> +<h2>ENVOY FOR “A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES”</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Whether</span> upon the +garden seat<br /> +You lounge with your uplifted feet<br /> +Under the May’s whole Heaven of blue;<br /> +Or whether on the sofa you,<br /> +No grown up person being by,<br /> +Do some soft corner occupy;<br /> +Take you this volume in your hands<br /> +And enter into other lands,<br /> +For lo! (as children feign) suppose<br /> +You, hunting in the garden rows,<br /> +Or in the lumbered attic, or<br /> +The cellar—a nail-studded door<br /> +And dark, descending stairway found<br /> +That led to kingdoms underground:<br /> +There standing, you should hear with ease<br /> +Strange birds a-singing, or the trees<br /> +Swing in big robber woods, or bells<br /> +On many fairy citadels:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page79"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +79</span>There passing through (a step or so—<br /> +Neither mamma nor nurse need know!)<br /> +From your nice nurseries you would pass,<br /> +Like Alice through the Looking-Glass<br /> +Or Gerda following Little Ray,<br /> +To wondrous countries far away.<br /> +Well, and just so this volume can<br /> +Transport each little maid or man<br /> +Presto from where they live away<br /> +Where other children used to play.<br /> +As from the house your mother sees<br /> +You playing round the garden trees,<br /> +So you may see if you but look<br /> +Through the windows of this book<br /> +Another child far, far away<br /> +And in another garden play.<br /> +But do not think you can at all,<br /> +By knocking on the window, call<br /> +That child to hear you. He intent<br /> +Is still on his play-business bent.<br /> +He does not hear, he will not look,<br /> +Nor yet be lured out of this book.<br /> +For long ago, the truth to say,<br /> +He has grown up and gone away;<br /> +And it is but a child of air<br /> +That lingers in the garden there.</p> +<h2><a name="page80"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 80</span>FOR +RICHMOND’S GARDEN WALL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> Thomas set this +tablet here,<br /> +Time laughed at the vain chanticleer;<br /> +And ere the moss had dimmed the stone,<br /> +Time had defaced that garrison.<br /> +Now I in turn keep watch and ward<br /> +In my red house, in my walled yard<br /> +Of sunflowers, sitting here at ease<br /> +With friends and my bright canvases.<br /> +But hark, and you may hear quite plain<br /> +Time’s chuckled laughter in the lane.</p> +<h2>HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY!</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Hail</span>, guest, and +enter freely! All you see<br /> +Is, for your momentary visit, yours; and we<br /> +Who welcome you are but the guests of God,<br /> +And know not our departure.</p> +<h2><a name="page81"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 81</span>LO, +NOW, MY GUEST</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Lo</span>, now, my guest, +if aught amiss were said,<br /> +Forgive it and dismiss it from your head.<br /> +For me, for you, for all, to close the date,<br /> +Pass now the ev’ning sponge across the slate;<br /> +And to that spirit of forgiveness keep<br /> +Which is the parent and the child of sleep.</p> +<h2>SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">So</span> live, so love, so +use that fragile hour,<br /> +That when the dark hand of the shining power<br /> +Shall one from other, wife or husband, take,<br /> +The poor survivor may not weep and wake.</p> +<h2><a name="page82"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 82</span>AD SE +IPSUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Dear</span> sir, +good-morrow! Five years back,<br /> +When you first girded for this arduous track,<br /> +And under various whimsical pretexts<br /> +Endowed another with your damned defects,<br /> +Could you have dreamed in your despondent vein<br /> +That the kind God would make your path so plain?<br /> +Non nobis, domine! O, may He still<br /> +Support my stumbling footsteps on the hill!</p> +<h2>BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Before</span> this little +gift was come<br /> +The little owner had made haste for home;<br /> +And from the door of where the eternal dwell,<br /> +Looked back on human things and smiled farewell.<br /> +O may this grief remain the only one!<br /> +O may our house be still a garrison<br /> +Of smiling children, and for evermore<br /> +The tune of little feet be heard along the floor!</p> +<h2><a name="page83"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 83</span>GO, +LITTLE BOOK—THE ANCIENT PHRASE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Go</span>, little +book—the ancient phrase<br /> +And still the daintiest—go your ways,<br /> +My Otto, over sea and land,<br /> +Till you shall come to Nelly’s hand.</p> +<p class="poetry">How shall I your Nelly know?<br /> +By her blue eyes and her black brow,<br /> +By her fierce and slender look,<br /> +And by her goodness, little book!</p> +<p class="poetry">What shall I say when I come there?<br /> +You shall speak her soft and fair:<br /> +See—you shall say—the love they send<br /> +To greet their unforgotten friend!</p> +<p class="poetry">Giant Adulpho you shall sing<br /> +The next, and then the cradled king:<br /> +And the four corners of the roof<br /> +Then kindly bless; and to your perch aloof,<br /> +Where Balzac all in yellow dressed<br /> +And the dear Webster of the west<br /> +Encircle the prepotent throne<br /> +Of Shakespeare and of Calderon,<br /> +Shall climb an upstart.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page84"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +84</span>There with these<br /> +You shall give ear to breaking seas<br /> +And windmills turning in the breeze,<br /> +A distant undetermined din<br /> +Without; and you shall hear within<br /> +The blazing and the bickering logs,<br /> +The crowing child, the yawning dogs,<br /> +And ever agile, high and low,<br /> +Our Nelly going to and fro.</p> +<p class="poetry">There shall you all silent sit,<br /> +Till, when perchance the lamp is lit<br /> +And the day’s labour done, she takes<br /> +Poor Otto down, and, warming for our sakes,<br /> +Perchance beholds, alive and near,<br /> +Our distant faces reappear.</p> +<h2>MY LOVE WAS WARM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> love was warm; +for that I crossed<br /> + The mountains and the sea,<br /> +Nor counted that endeavour lost<br /> + That gave my love to me.</p> +<p class="poetry">If that indeed were love at all,<br /> + As still, my love, I trow,<br /> +By what dear name am I to call<br /> + The bond that holds me now</p> +<h2><a name="page85"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +85</span>DEDICATORY POEM FOR “UNDERWOODS”</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> her, for I must +still regard her<br /> +As feminine in her degree,<br /> +Who has been my unkind bombarder<br /> +Year after year, in grief and glee,<br /> +Year after year, with oaken tree;<br /> +And yet betweenwhiles my laudator<br /> +In terms astonishing to me—<br /> +To the Right Reverend The Spectator<br /> +I here, a humble dedicator,<br /> +Bring the last apples from my tree.</p> +<p class="poetry">In tones of love, in tones of warning,<br /> +She hailed me through my brief career;<br /> +And kiss and buffet, night and morning,<br /> +Told me my grandmamma was near;<br /> +Whether she praised me high and clear<br /> +Through her unrivalled circulation,<br /> +Or, sanctimonious insincere,<br /> +She damned me with a misquotation—<br /> +A chequered but a sweet relation,<br /> +Say, was it not, my granny dear?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page86"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +86</span>Believe me, granny, altogether<br /> +Yours, though perhaps to your surprise.<br /> +Oft have you spruced my wounded feather,<br /> +Oft brought a light into my eyes—<br /> +For notice still the writer cries.<br /> +In any civil age or nation,<br /> +The book that is not talked of dies.<br /> +So that shall be my termination:<br /> +Whether in praise or execration,<br /> +Still, if you love me, criticise!</p> +<h2>FAREWELL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span>, and when +forth<br /> +I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles<br /> +Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles,<br /> +Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south,<br /> +Isle upon island, sea upon sea,<br /> +Why should I sail, why should the breeze?<br /> +I have been young, and I have counted friends.<br /> +A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late.<br /> +Why should I from isle to isle<br /> +Sail, a hopeless sailor?</p> +<h2><a name="page87"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 87</span>THE +FAR-FARERS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> broad sun,<br /> + The bright day:<br /> +White sails<br /> + On the blue bay:<br /> +The far-farers<br /> + Draw away.</p> +<p class="poetry">Light the fires<br /> + And close the door.<br /> +To the old homes,<br /> + To the loved shore,<br /> +The far-farers<br /> + Return no more.</p> +<h2>COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, my little +children, here are songs for you;<br /> +Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new.<br /> +You must learn to sing them very small and clear,<br /> +Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear.</p> +<p class="poetry">Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that +fall,<br /> +Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all.<br /> +So when night is come, and you have gone to bed,<br /> +All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head.</p> +<h2><a name="page88"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 88</span>HOME +FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Home</span> from the +daisied meadows, where you linger yet—<br /> +Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set;<br /> +For the dews are falling fast<br /> +And the night has come at last.<br /> +Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest,<br /> +Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother’s breast.<br +/> +Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you; she’ll be +your guardian and shield.<br /> +Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be bright upon +mountain and field.<br /> +Long, long the shadows fall.<br /> +All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid.<br /> +All round your head be angels.</p> +<h2>EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Early</span> in the morning +I hear on your piano<br /> +You (at least, I guess it’s you) proceed to learn to +play.<br /> +Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano<br /> +While the birds are singing in the morning of the day.</p> +<h2><a name="page89"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 89</span>FAIR +ISLE AT SEA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fair</span> Isle at +Sea—thy lovely name<br /> +Soft in my ear like music came.<br /> +That sea I loved, and once or twice<br /> +I touched at isles of Paradise.</p> +<h2>LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Loud</span> and low in the +chimney<br /> + The squalls suspire;<br /> +Then like an answer dwindles<br /> + And glows the fire,<br /> +And the chamber reddens and darkens<br /> + In time like taken breath.<br /> +Near by the sounding chimney<br /> + The youth apart<br /> +Hearkens with changing colour<br /> + And leaping heart,<br /> +And hears in the coil of the tempest<br /> + The voice of love and death.<br /> +Love on high in the flute-like<br /> + And tender notes<br /> +Sounds as from April meadows<br /> + And hillside cotes;<br /> +But the deep wood wind in the chimney<br /> + Utters the slogan of death.</p> +<h2><a name="page90"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 90</span>I LOVE +TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">love</span> to be warm by +the red fireside,<br /> + I love to be wet with rain:<br /> +I love to be welcome at lamplit doors,<br /> + And leave the doors again.</p> +<h2>AT LAST SHE COMES</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">At</span> last she comes, O +never more<br /> +In this dear patience of my pain<br /> +To leave me lonely as before,<br /> +Or leave my soul alone again.</p> +<h2>MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Mine</span> eyes were swift +to know thee, and my heart<br /> +As swift to love. I did become at once<br /> +Thine wholly, thine unalterably, thine<br /> +In honourable service, pure intent,<br /> +Steadfast excess of love and laughing care:<br /> +And as she was, so am, and so shall be.<br /> +I knew thee helpful, knew thee true, knew thee<br /> +And Pity bedfellows: I heard thy talk<br /> +<a name="page91"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 91</span>With +answerable throbbings. On the stream,<br /> +Deep, swift, and clear, the lilies floated; fish<br /> +Through the shadows ran. There, thou and I<br /> +Read Kindness in our eyes and closed the match.</p> +<h2>FIXED IS THE DOOM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Fixed</span> is the doom; +and to the last of years<br /> +Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child,<br /> +Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds<br /> +His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars.<br /> +We also, love, forever dwell apart;<br /> +With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph,<br /> +The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air<br /> +Above a mountain, and with screams confer,<br /> +Far heard athwart the cedars.<br /> + + +Yet the years<br /> +Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day<br /> +Endearing, week by week, till death at last<br /> +Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love,<br /> +Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed,<br /> +Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart.<br /> + + +We but excuse<br /> +Those things we merely are; and to our souls<br /> +A brave deception cherish.<br /> +So from unhappy war a man returns<br /> +<a name="page92"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 92</span>Unfearing, +or the seaman from the deep;<br /> +So from cool night and woodlands to a feast<br /> +May someone enter, and still breathe of dews,<br /> +And in her eyes still wear the dusky night.</p> +<h2>MEN ARE HEAVEN’S PIERS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Men</span> are +Heaven’s piers; they evermore<br /> +Unwearying bear the skyey floor;<br /> +Man’s theatre they bear with ease,<br /> +Unfrowning cariatides!<br /> +I, for my wife, the sun uphold,<br /> +Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold.<br /> +She, on her side, in fairy-wise<br /> +Deals in diviner mysteries,<br /> +By spells to make the fuel burn<br /> +And keep the parlour warm, to turn<br /> +Water to wine, and stones to bread,<br /> +By her unconquered hero-head.<br /> +A naked Adam, naked Eve,<br /> +Alone the primal bower we weave;<br /> +Sequestered in the seas of life,<br /> +A Crusoe couple, man and wife,<br /> +With all our good, with all our will,<br /> +Our unfrequented isle we fill;<br /> +<a name="page93"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 93</span>And victor +in day’s petty wars,<br /> +Each for the other lights the stars.<br /> +Come then, my Eve, and to and fro<br /> +Let us about our garden go;<br /> +And, grateful-hearted, hand in hand<br /> +Revisit all our tillage land,<br /> +And marvel at our strange estate,<br /> +For hooded ruin at the gate<br /> +Sits watchful, and the angels fear<br /> +To see us tread so boldly here.<br /> +Meanwhile, my Eve, with flower and grass<br /> +Our perishable days we pass;<br /> +Far more the thorn observe—and see<br /> +How our enormous sins go free—<br /> +Nor less admire, beside the rose,<br /> +How far a little virtue goes.</p> +<h2>THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> angler rose, he +took his rod,<br /> +He kneeled and made his prayers to God.<br /> +The living God sat overhead:<br /> +The angler tripped, the eels were fed</p> +<h2><a name="page94"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 94</span>SPRING +CAROL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> loud by +landside streamlets gush,<br /> +And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush,<br /> + With sun on the meadows<br /> + And songs in the shadows<br /> + Comes again to me<br /> + The gift of the tongues of the +lea,<br /> +The gift of the tongues of meadows.</p> +<p class="poetry">Straightway my olden heart returns<br /> +And dances with the dancing burns;<br /> + It sings with the sparrows;<br /> + To the rain and the (grimy) barrows<br /> + Sings my heart aloud—<br /> + To the silver-bellied cloud,<br /> +To the silver rainy arrows.</p> +<p class="poetry">It bears the song of the skylark down,<br /> +And it hears the singing of the town;<br /> + And youth on the highways<br /> + And lovers in byways<br /> + Follows and sees:<br /> + And hearkens the song of the +leas<br /> +And sings the songs of the highways.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page95"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +95</span>So when the earth is alive with gods,<br /> +And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod,<br /> + And the grass sings in the meadows,<br /> + And the flowers smile in the shadows,<br /> + Sits my heart at ease,<br /> + Hearing the song of the leas,<br +/> +Singing the songs of the meadows.</p> +<h2>TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER?</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> what shall I +compare her,<br /> + That is as fair as she?<br /> +For she is fairer—fairer<br /> + Than the sea.<br /> +What shall be likened to her,<br /> + The sainted of my youth?<br /> +For she is truer—truer<br /> + Than the truth.</p> +<p class="poetry">As the stars are from the sleeper,<br /> + Her heart is hid from me;<br /> +For she is deeper—deeper<br /> + Than the sea.<br /> +Yet in my dreams I view her<br /> + Flush rosy with new ruth—<br /> +Dreams! Ah, may these prove truer<br /> + Than the truth.</p> +<h2><a name="page96"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 96</span>WHEN +THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> the sun comes +after rain<br /> + And the bird is in the blue,<br /> +The girls go down the lane<br /> + Two by two.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the sun comes after shadow<br /> + And the singing of the showers,<br /> +The girls go up the meadow,<br /> + Fair as flowers.</p> +<p class="poetry">When the eve comes dusky red<br /> + And the moon succeeds the sun,<br /> +The girls go home to bed<br /> + One by one.</p> +<p class="poetry">And when life draws to its even<br /> + And the day of man is past,<br /> +They shall all go home to heaven,<br /> + Home at last.</p> +<h2><a name="page97"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 97</span>LATE, +O MILLER</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Late</span>, O miller,<br +/> +The birds are silent,<br /> +The darkness falls.<br /> +In the house the lights are lighted.<br /> +See, in the valley they twinkle,<br /> +The lights of home.<br /> +Late, O lovers,<br /> +The night is at hand;<br /> +Silence and darkness<br /> +Clothe the land.</p> +<h2>TO FRIENDS AT HOME</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> friends at home, +the lone, the admired, the lost<br /> +The gracious old, the lovely young, to May<br /> + The fair, December the beloved,<br /> +These from my blue horizon and green isles,<br /> +These from this pinnacle of distances I,<br /> + The unforgetful, dedicate.</p> +<h2><a name="page98"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 98</span>I, +WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED</h2> +<p class="poetry">I, <span class="smcap">whom</span> Apollo +sometime visited,<br /> +Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done,<br /> +Do slumber wholly; nor shall know at all<br /> +The weariness of changes; nor perceive<br /> +Immeasurable sands of centuries<br /> +Drink of the blanching ink, or the loud sound<br /> +Of generations beat the music down.</p> +<h2>TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Tempest</span> tossed and +sore afflicted, sin defiled and care oppressed,<br /> +Come to me, all ye that labour; come, and I will give ye rest.<br +/> +Fear no more, O doubting hearted; weep no more, O weeping eye!<br +/> +Lo, the voice of your redeemer; lo, the songful morning near.</p> +<p class="poetry">Here one hour you toil and combat, sin and +suffer, bleed and die;<br /> +In my father’s quiet mansion soon to lay your burden by.<br +/> +Bear a moment, heavy laden, weary hand and weeping eye.<br /> +Lo, the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom here.</p> +<h2><a name="page99"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +99</span>VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span> to me, all ye +that labour; I will give your spirits rest;<br /> +Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest.<br /> +Come to me, ye heavy laden, sin defiled and care opprest,<br /> +In your father’s quiet mansions, soon to prove a welcome +guest.<br /> +But an hour you bear your trial, sin and suffer, bleed and +die;<br /> +But an hour you toil and combat here in day’s inspiring +eye.<br /> +See the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom nigh.</p> +<h2><a name="page100"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 100</span>I +NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS</h2> +<p class="poetry">I <span class="smcap">now</span>, O friend, +whom noiselessly the snows<br /> +Settle around, and whose small chamber grows<br /> +Dusk as the sloping window takes its load:</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">The kindly hill, as to complete our hap,<br /> +Has ta’en us in the shelter of her lap;<br /> +Well sheltered in our slender grove of trees<br /> +And ring of walls, we sit between her knees;<br /> +A disused quarry, paved with rose plots, hung<br /> +With clematis, the barren womb whence sprung<br /> +The crow-stepped house itself, that now far seen<br /> +Stands, like a bather, to the neck in green.<br /> +A disused quarry, furnished with a seat<br /> +Sacred to pipes and meditation meet<br /> +For such a sunny and retired nook.<br /> +There in the clear, warm mornings many a book<br /> +Has vied with the fair prospect of the hills<br /> +That, vale on vale, rough brae on brae, upfills<br /> +Halfway to the zenith all the vacant sky<br /> +To keep my loose attention. . . .<br /> +Horace has sat with me whole mornings through:<br /> +And Montaigne gossiped, fairly false and true;<br /> +And chattering Pepys, and a few beside<br /> +That suit the easy vein, the quiet tide,<br /> +<a name="page101"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 101</span>The calm +and certain stay of garden-life,<br /> +Far sunk from all the thunderous roar of strife.<br /> +There is about the small secluded place<br /> +A garnish of old times; a certain grace<br /> +Of pensive memories lays about the braes:<br /> +The old chestnuts gossip tales of bygone days.<br /> +Here, where some wandering preacher, blest Lazil,<br /> +Perhaps, or Peden, on the middle hill<br /> +Had made his secret church, in rain or snow,<br /> +He cheers the chosen residue from woe.<br /> +All night the doors stood open, come who might,<br /> +The hounded kebbock mat the mud all night.<br /> +Nor are there wanting later tales; of how<br /> +Prince Charlie’s Highlanders . . .</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">I have had talents, too. In life’s +first hour<br /> +God crowned with benefits my childish head.<br /> +Flower after flower, I plucked them; flower by flower<br /> +Cast them behind me, ruined, withered, dead.<br /> +Full many a shining godhead disappeared.<br /> +From the bright rank that once adorned her brow<br /> +The old child’s Olympus</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Gone are the fair old dreams, and one by +one,<br /> +<a name="page102"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 102</span>As, one +by one, the means to reach them went,<br /> +As, one by one, the stars in riot and disgrace,<br /> +I squandered what . . .</p> +<p class="poetry">There shut the door, alas! on many a hope<br /> +Too many;<br /> +My face is set to the autumnal slope,<br /> +Where the loud winds shall . . .</p> +<p class="poetry">There shut the door, alas! on many a hope,<br +/> +And yet some hopes remain that shall decide<br /> +My rest of years and down the autumnal slope.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I<br /> +Loved, as all men have loved them; gone!<br /> +I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on +high—<br /> +Dreams of the knight’s stout heart and tempered will.<br /> +Not in Elysian lands they take their way;<br /> +Not as of yore across the gay champaign,<br /> +Towards some dream city, towered . . .<br /> +and my . . .<br /> +The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain,<br /> +Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky<br /> +November’s russet woodlands toss and wail,<br /> +Still the white road goes thro’ them, still may I,<br /> +Strong in new purpose, God, may still prevail.</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry">I and my like, improvident sailors!</p> +<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">* * * * *</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page103"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +103</span>At whose light fall awaking, all my heart<br /> +Grew populous with gracious, favoured thought,<br /> +And all night long thereafter, hour by hour,<br /> +The pageant of dead love before my eyes<br /> +Went proudly, and old hopes with downcast head<br /> +Followed like Kings, subdued in Rome’s imperial hour,<br /> +Followed the car; and I . . .</p> +<h2>SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Since</span> thou hast +given me this good hope, O God,<br /> +That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod<br /> +And the great woods embower me, and white dawn<br /> +And purple even sweetly lead me on<br /> +From day to day, and night to night, O God,<br /> +My life shall no wise miss the light of love;<br /> +But ever climbing, climb above<br /> +Man’s one poor star, man’s supine lands,<br /> +Into the azure steadfastness of death,<br /> +My life shall no wise lack the light of love,<br /> +My hands not lack the loving touch of hands;<br /> +But day by day, while yet I draw my breath,<br /> +And day by day, unto my last of years,<br /> +I shall be one that has a perfect friend.<br /> +Her heart shall taste my laughter and my tears,<br /> +And her kind eyes shall lead me to the end.</p> +<h2><a name="page104"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 104</span>GOD +GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">God</span> gave to me a +child in part,<br /> +Yet wholly gave the father’s heart:<br /> +Child of my soul, O whither now,<br /> +Unborn, unmothered, goest thou?</p> +<p class="poetry">You came, you went, and no man wist;<br /> +Hapless, my child, no breast you kist;<br /> +On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb,<br /> +Nor knew the kindly feel of home.</p> +<p class="poetry">My voice may reach you, O my dear—<br /> +A father’s voice perhaps the child may hear;<br /> +And, pitying, you may turn your view<br /> +On that poor father whom you never knew.</p> +<p class="poetry">Alas! alone he sits, who then,<br /> +Immortal among mortal men,<br /> +Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through<br /> +With your dear mother wondered over you.</p> +<h2><a name="page105"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 105</span>OVER +THE LAND IS APRIL</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Over</span> the land is +April,<br /> + Over my heart a rose;<br /> +Over the high, brown mountain<br /> + The sound of singing goes.<br /> +Say, love, do you hear me,<br /> + Hear my sonnets ring?<br /> +Over the high, brown mountain,<br /> + Love, do you hear me sing?</p> +<p class="poetry">By highway, love, and byway<br /> + The snows succeed the rose.<br /> +Over the high, brown mountain<br /> + The wind of winter blows.<br /> +Say, love, do you hear me,<br /> + Hear my sonnets ring?<br /> +Over the high, brown mountain<br /> + I sound the song of spring,<br /> + I throw the flowers of spring.<br /> + Do you hear the song of spring?<br /> + Hear you the songs of spring?</p> +<h2><a name="page106"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +106</span>LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Light</span> as the linnet +on my way I start,<br /> +For all my pack I bear a chartered heart.<br /> +Forth on the world without a guide or chart,<br /> +Content to know, through all man’s varying fates,<br /> +The eternal woman by the wayside waits.</p> +<h2>COME, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Come</span>, here is adieu +to the city<br /> + And hurrah for the country again.<br /> +The broad road lies before me<br /> + Watered with last night’s rain.<br /> +The timbered country woos me<br /> + With many a high and bough;<br /> +And again in the shining fallows<br /> + The ploughman follows the plough.</p> +<p class="poetry">The whole year’s sweat and study,<br /> + And the whole year’s sowing time,<br /> +Comes now to the perfect harvest,<br /> + And ripens now into rhyme.<br /> +For we that sow in the Autumn,<br /> + We reap our grain in the Spring,<br /> +And we that go sowing and weeping<br /> + Return to reap and sing.</p> +<h2><a name="page107"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 107</span>IT +BLOWS A SNOWING GALE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">It</span> blows a snowing +gale in the winter of the year;<br /> +The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier.<br /> +The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro,<br /> +A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane.<br /> + Autumn leaves +and rain,<br /> + The passion of +the gale.</p> +<h2>NE SIT ANCILLÆ TIBI AMOR PUDOR</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">There’s</span> just a +twinkle in your eye<br /> +That seems to say I <i>might</i>, if I<br /> +Were only bold enough to try<br /> + An arm about your waist.<br /> +I hear, too, as you come and go,<br /> +That pretty nervous laugh, you know;<br /> +And then your cap is always so<br /> + Coquettishly displaced.</p> +<p class="poetry">Your cap! the word’s profanely said.<br +/> +That little top-knot, white and red,<br /> +That quaintly crowns your graceful head,<br /> + No bigger than a flower,<br /> +<a name="page108"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 108</span>Is set +with such a witching art,<br /> +Is so provocatively smart,<br /> +I’d like to wear it on my heart,<br /> + An order for an hour!</p> +<p class="poetry">O graceful housemaid, tall and fair,<br /> +I love your shy imperial air,<br /> +And always loiter on the stair<br /> + When you are going by.<br /> +A strict reserve the fates demand;<br /> +But, when to let you pass I stand,<br /> +Sometimes by chance I touch your hand<br /> + And sometimes catch your eye.</p> +<h2>TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> all that love the +far and blue:<br /> + Whether, from dawn to eve, on foot<br /> +The fleeing corners ye pursue,<br /> + Nor weary of the vain pursuit;<br /> +Or whether down the singing stream,<br /> + Paddle in hand, jocund ye shoot,<br /> +To splash beside the splashing bream<br /> + Or anchor by the willow root:</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page109"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +109</span>Or, bolder, from the narrow shore<br /> + Put forth, that cedar ark to steer,<br /> +Among the seabirds and the roar<br /> + Of the great sea, profound and clear;<br /> +Or, lastly if in heart ye roam,<br /> + Not caring to do else, and hear,<br /> +Safe sitting by the fire at home,<br /> + Footfalls in Utah or Pamere:</p> +<p class="poetry">Though long the way, though hard to bear<br /> + The sun and rain, the dust and dew;<br /> +Though still attainment and despair<br /> + Inter the old, despoil the new;<br /> +There shall at length, be sure, O friends,<br /> + Howe’er ye steer, whate’er ye +do—<br /> +At length, and at the end of ends,<br /> + The golden city come in view.</p> +<h2><a name="page110"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 110</span>THOU +STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(A <span +class="smcap">Fragment</span>)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> strainest +through the mountain fern,<br /> +A most exiguously thin<br /> + Burn.<br /> +For all thy foam, for all thy din,<br /> +Thee shall the pallid lake inurn,<br /> +With well-a-day for Mr. Swin-<br /> + Burne!<br /> +Take then this quarto in thy fin<br /> +And, O thou stoker huge and stern,<br /> +The whole affair, outside and in,<br /> + Burn!<br /> +But save the true poetic kin,<br /> +The works of Mr. Robert Burn’<br /> +And William Wordsworth upon Tin-<br /> + Tern!</p> +<h2><a name="page111"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 111</span>TO +ROSABELLE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span> my young lady +has grown great and staid,<br /> +And in long raiment wondrously arrayed,<br /> +She may take pleasure with a smile to know<br /> +How she delighted men-folk long ago.<br /> +For her long after, then, this tale I tell<br /> +Of the two fans and fairy Rosabelle.<br /> +Hot was the day; her weary sire and I<br /> +Sat in our chairs companionably nigh,<br /> +Each with a headache sat her sire and I.</p> +<p class="poetry">Instant the hostess waked: she viewed the +scene,<br /> +Divined the giants’ languor by their mien,<br /> +And with hospitable care<br /> +Tackled at once an Atlantean chair.<br /> +Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat—<br /> +She dragged it where she would, and with her feet<br /> +Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned<br /> +The vast plateau of the piano, found<br /> +And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped,<br /> +Our mountaineer back to the level slipped;<br /> +And being landed, with considerate eyes,<br /> +Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize;<br /> +The small to me, the greater to her sire.<br /> +As painters now advance and now retire<br /> +<a name="page112"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 112</span>Before +the growing canvas, and anon<br /> +Once more approach and put the climax on:<br /> +So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed—<br /> +For half a moment half supposed it good—<br /> +Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran<br /> +To remedy; and with the greater fan,<br /> +In gracious better thought, equipped the guest.</p> +<p class="poetry">From ill to well, from better on to best,<br /> +Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind;<br /> +And high ideals fired that infant mind.<br /> +Once more she backed, once more a space apart<br /> +Considered and reviewed her work of art:<br /> +Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile;<br /> +Till all her features blossomed in a smile.<br /> +And the child, waking at the call of bliss,<br /> +To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss.</p> +<h2>NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER’S EYE</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> bare to the +beholder’s eye<br /> +Your late denuded bindings lie,<br /> +Subsiding slowly where they fell,<br /> +A disinvested citadel;<br /> +The obdurate corset, Cupid’s foe,<br /> +The Dutchman’s breeches frilled below.<br /> +Those that the lover notes to note,<br /> +And white and crackling petticoat.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page113"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +113</span>From these, that on the ground repose,<br /> +Their lady lately re-arose;<br /> +And laying by the lady’s name,<br /> +A living woman re-became.<br /> +Of her, that from the public eye<br /> +They do enclose and fortify,<br /> +Now, lying scattered as they fell,<br /> +An indiscreeter tale they tell:<br /> +Of that more soft and secret her<br /> +Whose daylong fortresses they were,<br /> +By fading warmth, by lingering print,<br /> +These now discarded scabbards hint.</p> +<p class="poetry">A twofold change the ladies know:<br /> +First, in the morn the bugles blow,<br /> +And they, with floral hues and scents,<br /> +Man their beribboned battlements.<br /> +But let the stars appear, and they<br /> +Shed inhumanities away;<br /> +And from the changeling fashion see,<br /> +Through comic and through sweet degree,<br /> +In nature’s toilet unsurpassed,<br /> +Forth leaps the laughing girl at last.</p> +<h2><a name="page114"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 114</span>THE +BOUR-TREE DEN</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Clinkum-clank</span> in the +rain they ride,<br /> +Down by the braes and the grey sea-side;<br /> +Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn,<br /> +Weary fa’ their horse-shoe-airn!</p> +<p class="poetry">Loud on the causey, saft on the sand,<br /> +Round they rade by the tail of the land;<br /> +Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den,<br /> +Weary fa’ the red-coat men!</p> +<p class="poetry">Aft hae I gane where they hae rade<br /> + And straigled in the gowden brooms—<br /> +Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid,<br /> + And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!</p> +<p class="poetry">Wi’ swords and guns they wanton there,<br +/> + Wi’ red, red coats and braw, braw plumes.<br +/> +But I gaed wi’ my gowden hair,<br /> + And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms!</p> +<p class="poetry">I ran, a little hempie lass,<br /> +In the sand and the bent grass,<br /> +Or took and kilted my small coats<br /> +To play in the beached fisher-boats.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page115"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +115</span>I waded deep and I ran fast,<br /> +I was as lean as a lugger’s mast,<br /> +I was as brown as a fisher’s creel,<br /> +And I liked my life unco weel.</p> +<p class="poetry">They blew a trumpet at the cross,<br /> +Some forty men, both foot and horse.<br /> +A’body cam to hear and see,<br /> +And wha, among the rest, but me.<br /> +My lips were saut wi’ the saut air,<br /> +My face was brown, my feet were bare<br /> +The wind had ravelled my tautit hair,<br /> +And I thought shame to be standing there.</p> +<p class="poetry">Ae man there in the thick of the throng<br /> +Sat in his saddle, straight and strong.<br /> +I looked at him and he at me,<br /> +And he was a master-man to see.<br /> +. . . And who is this yin? and who is yon<br /> +That has the bonny lendings on?<br /> +That sits and looks sae braw and crouse?<br /> +. . . Mister Frank o’ the Big House!</p> +<p class="poetry">I gaed my lane beside the sea;<br /> +The wind it blew in bush and tree,<br /> +The wind blew in bush and bent:<br /> +Muckle I saw, and muckle kent!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page116"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +116</span>Between the beach and the sea-hill<br /> +I sat my lane and grat my fill—<br /> +I was sae clarty and hard and dark,<br /> +And like the kye in the cow park!</p> +<p class="poetry">There fell a battle far in the north;<br /> +The evil news gaed back and forth,<br /> +And back and forth by brae and bent<br /> +Hider and hunter cam and went:<br /> +The hunter clattered horse-shoe-airn<br /> +By causey-crest and hill-top cairn;<br /> +The hider, in by shag and shench,<br /> +Crept on his wame and little lench.</p> +<p class="poetry">The eastland wind blew shrill and snell,<br /> +The stars arose, the gloaming fell,<br /> +The firelight shone in window and door<br /> +When Mr. Frank cam here to shore.<br /> +He hirpled up by the links and the lane,<br /> +And chappit laigh in the back-door-stane.<br /> +My faither gaed, and up wi’ his han’!<br /> +. . . Is this Mr. Frank, or a beggarman?</p> +<p class="poetry">I have mistrysted sair, he said,<br /> +But let me into fire and bed;<br /> +Let me in, for auld lang syne,<br /> +And give me a dram of the brandy wine.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page117"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +117</span>They hid him in the Bour-Tree Den,<br /> +And I thought it strange to gang my lane;<br /> +I thought it strange, I thought it sweet,<br /> +To gang there on my naked feet.<br /> +In the mirk night, when the boats were at sea,<br /> +I passed the burn abune the knee;<br /> +In the mirk night, when the folks were asleep,<br /> +I had a tryst in the den to keep.</p> +<p class="poetry">Late and air’, when the folks were +asleep,<br /> +I had a tryst, a tryst to keep,<br /> +I had a lad that lippened to me,<br /> +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!</p> +<p class="poetry">O’ the bour-tree leaves I busked his +bed,<br /> +The mune was siller, the dawn was red:<br /> +Was nae man there but him and me—<br /> +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!</p> +<p class="poetry">Unco weather hae we been through:<br /> +The mune glowered, and the wind blew,<br /> +And the rain it rained on him and me,<br /> +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!</p> +<p class="poetry">Dwelling his lane but house or hauld,<br /> +Aft he was wet and aft was cauld;<br /> +I warmed him wi’ my briest and knee—<br /> +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page118"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +118</span>There was nae voice of beast ae man,<br /> +But the tree soughed and the burn ran,<br /> +And we heard the ae voice of the sea:<br /> +Bour-tree blossom is fair to see!</p> +<h2>SONNETS</h2> +<h3>I.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Nor</span> judge me light, +tho’ light at times I seem,<br /> +And lightly in the stress of fortune bear<br /> +The innumerable flaws of changeful care—<br /> +Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem<br /> +(Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme<br /> +And separate the prerogative of God!)<br /> +That seaman idle who is borne abroad<br /> +To the far haven by the favouring stream.<br /> +Not he alone that to contrarious seas<br /> +Opposes, all night long, the unwearied oar,<br /> +Not he alone, by high success endeared,<br /> +Shall reach the Port; but, winged, with some light breeze<br /> +Shall they, with upright keels, pass in before<br /> +Whom easy Taste, the golden pilot, steered.</p> +<h3><a name="page119"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +119</span>II.</h3> +<p class="poetry">So shall this book wax like unto a well,<br /> +Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim,<br /> +Or like some tarn that wailing curlews skim,<br /> +Glassing the sallow uplands or brown fell;<br /> +And so, as men go down into a dell<br /> +(Weary with noon) to find relief and shade,<br /> +When on the uneasy sick-bed we are laid,<br /> +We shall go down into thy book, and tell<br /> +The leaves, once blank, to build again for us<br /> +Old summer dead and ruined, and the time<br /> +Of later autumn with the corn in stook.<br /> +So shalt thou stint the meagre winter thus<br /> +Of his projected triumph, and the rime<br /> +Shall melt before the sunshine in thy book.</p> +<h3>III.</h3> +<p class="poetry">I have a hoard of treasure in my breast;<br /> +The grange of memory steams against the door,<br /> +Full of my bygone lifetime’s garnered store—<br /> +Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest,<br /> +Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest,<br /> +Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore<br /> +That, like a new evangel, more and more<br /> +Supports our halting will toward the best.<br /> +Ah! what to us the barren after years<br /> +<a name="page120"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 120</span>May +bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell?<br /> +O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well<br /> +That we shall find old pleasures and old fears,<br /> +And our remembered childhood seen thro’ tears,<br /> +The best of Heaven and the worst of Hell.</p> +<h3>IV.</h3> +<p class="poetry">As starts the absent dreamer when a train,<br +/> +Suddenly disengulphed below his feet,<br /> +Roars forth into the sunlight, to its seat<br /> +My soul was shaken with immediate pain<br /> +Intolerable as the scanty breath<br /> +Of that one word blew utterly away<br /> +The fragile mist of fair deceit that lay<br /> +O’er the bleak years that severed me from death.<br /> +Yes, at the sight I quailed; but, not unwise<br /> +Or not, O God, without some nervous thread<br /> +Of that best valour, Patience, bowed my head,<br /> +And with firm bosom and most steadfast eyes,<br /> +Strong in all high resolve, prepared to tread<br /> +The unlovely path that leads me toward the skies.</p> +<h3>V.</h3> +<p class="poetry">Not undelightful, friend, our rustic ease<br /> +To grateful hearts; for by especial hap,<br /> +Deep nested in the hill’s enormous lap,<br /> +With its own ring of walls and grove of trees,<br /> +<a name="page121"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 121</span>Sits, in +deep shelter, our small cottage—nor<br /> +Far-off is seen, rose carpeted and hung<br /> +With clematis, the quarry whence she sprung,<br /> +O mater pulchra filia pulchrior,<br /> +Whither in early spring, unharnessed folk,<br /> +We join the pairing swallows, glad to stay<br /> +Where, loosened in the hills, remote, unseen,<br /> +From its tall trees, it breathes a slender smoke<br /> +To heaven, and in the noon of sultry day<br /> +Stands, coolly buried, to the neck in green.</p> +<h3>VI.</h3> +<p class="poetry">As in the hostel by the bridge I sate,<br /> +Nailed with indifference fondly deemed complete,<br /> +And (O strange chance, more sorrowful than sweet)<br /> +The counterfeit of her that was my fate,<br /> +Dressed in like vesture, graceful and sedate,<br /> +Went quietly up the vacant village street,<br /> +The still small sound of her most dainty feet<br /> +Shook, like a trumpet blast, my soul’s estate.<br /> +Instant revolt ran riot through my brain,<br /> +And all night long, thereafter, hour by hour,<br /> +The pageant of dead love before my eyes<br /> +Went proudly; and old hopes, broke loose again<br /> +From the restraint of wisely temperate power,<br /> +With ineffectual ardour sought to rise.</p> +<h3><a name="page122"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +122</span>VII.</h3> +<p class="poetry">The strong man’s hand, the snow-cool head +of age,<br /> +The certain-footed sympathies of youth—<br /> +These, and that lofty passion after truth,<br /> +Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage<br /> +Or the great men of former years, he needs<br /> +That not unworthily would dare to sing<br /> +(Hard task!) black care’s inevitable ring<br /> +Settling with years upon the heart that feeds<br /> +Incessantly on glory. Year by year<br /> +The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet;<br /> +With disenchanting touch rude-handed time<br /> +The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear<br /> +Leads him at last to eld’s inclement seat,<br /> +The bitter north of life—a frozen clime.</p> +<h3>VIII.</h3> +<p class="poetry">As Daniel, bird-alone, in that far land,<br /> +Kneeling in fervent prayer, with heart-sick eyes<br /> +Turned thro’ the casement toward the westering skies;<br /> +Or as untamed Elijah, that red brand<br /> +Among the starry prophets; or that band<br /> +And company of Faithful sanctities<br /> +Who in all times, when persecutions rise,<br /> +Cherish forgotten creeds with fostering hand:<br /> +Such do ye seem to me, light-hearted crew,<br /> +<a name="page123"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 123</span>O turned +to friendly arts with all your will,<br /> +That keep a little chapel sacred still,<br /> +One rood of Holy-land in this bleak earth<br /> +Sequestered still (our homage surely due!)<br /> +To the twin Gods of mirthful wine and mirth.</p> +<p class="poetry">About my fields, in the broad sun<br /> +And blaze of noon, there goeth one,<br /> +Barefoot and robed in blue, to scan<br /> +With the hard eye of the husbandman<br /> +My harvests and my cattle. Her,<br /> +When even puts the birds astir<br /> +And day has set in the great woods,<br /> +We seek, among her garden roods,<br /> +With bells and cries in vain: the while<br /> +Lamps, plate, and the decanter smile<br /> +On the forgotten board. But she,<br /> +Deaf, blind, and prone on face and knee,<br /> +Forgets time, family, and feast,<br /> +And digs like a demented beast.</p> +<p class="poetry">Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at +dawn,<br /> +Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn?<br /> +Rails for his breakfast? routs his vassals out<br /> +(Like boys escaped from school) with song and shout?<br /> +<a name="page124"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 124</span>Kind and +unkind, his Maker’s final freak,<br /> +Part we deride the child, part dread the antique!<br /> +See where his gang, like frogs, among the dew<br /> +Crouch at their duty, an unquiet crew;<br /> +Adjust their staring kilts; and their swift eyes<br /> +Turn still to him who sits to supervise.<br /> +He in the midst, perched on a fallen tree,<br /> +Eyes them at labour; and, guitar on knee,<br /> +Now ministers alarm, now scatters joy,<br /> +Now twangs a halting chord, now tweaks a boy.<br /> +Thorough in all, my resolute vizier<br /> +Plays both the despot and the volunteer,<br /> +Exacts with fines obedience to my laws,<br /> +And for his music, too, exacts applause.</p> +<p class="poetry">The Adorner of the uncomely—those<br /> +Amidst whose tall battalions goes<br /> +Her pretty person out and in<br /> +All day with an endearing din,<br /> +Of censure and encouragement;<br /> +And when all else is tried in vain<br /> +See her sit down and weep again.<br /> +She weeps to conquer;<br /> +She varies on her grenadiers<br /> +From satire up to girlish tears!</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page125"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +125</span>Or rather to behold her when<br /> +She plies for me the unresting pen,<br /> +And when the loud assault of squalls<br /> +Resounds upon the roof and walls,<br /> +And the low thunder growls and I<br /> +Raise my dictating voice on high.</p> +<p class="poetry">What glory for a boy of ten<br /> +Who now must three gigantic men<br /> +And two enormous, dapple grey<br /> +New Zealand pack-horses array<br /> +And lead, and wisely resolute<br /> +Our day-long business execute<br /> +In the far shore-side town. His soul<br /> +Glows in his bosom like a coal;<br /> +His innocent eyes glitter again,<br /> +And his hand trembles on the rein.<br /> +Once he reviews his whole command,<br /> +And chivalrously planting hand<br /> +On hip—a borrowed attitude—<br /> +Rides off downhill into the wood.</p> +<p class="poetry">I meanwhile in the populous house apart<br /> +Sit snugly chambered, and my silent art<br /> +Uninterrupted, unremitting ply<br /> +Before the dawn, by morning lamplight, by<br /> +<a name="page126"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 126</span>The glow +of smelting noon, and when the sun<br /> +Dips past my westering hill and day is done;<br /> +So, bending still over my trade of words,<br /> +I hear the morning and the evening birds,<br /> +The morning and the evening stars behold;<br /> +So there apart I sit as once of old<br /> +Napier in wizard Merchiston; and my<br /> +Brown innocent aides in home and husbandry<br /> +Wonder askance. What ails the boss? they ask.<br /> +Him, richest of the rich, an endless task<br /> +Before the earliest birds or servants stir<br /> +Calls and detains him daylong prisoner?<br /> +He whose innumerable dollars hewed<br /> +This cleft in the boar and devil-haunted wood,<br /> +And bade therein, from sun to seas and skies,<br /> +His many-windowed, painted palace rise<br /> +Red-roofed, blue-walled, a rainbow on the hill,<br /> +A wonder in the forest glade: he still,</p> +<p class="poetry">Unthinkable Aladdin, dawn and dark,<br /> +Scribbles and scribbles, like a German clerk.<br /> +We see the fact, but tell, O tell us why?<br /> +My reverend washman and wise butler cry.<br /> +Meanwhile at times the manifold<br /> +Imperishable perfumes of the past<br /> +And coloured pictures rise on me thick and fast:<br /> +<a name="page127"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 127</span>And I +remember the white rime, the loud<br /> +Lamplitten city, shops, and the changing crowd;<br /> +And I remember home and the old time,<br /> +The winding river, the white moving rhyme,<br /> +The autumn robin by the river-side<br /> +That pipes in the grey eve.</p> +<p class="poetry">The old lady (so they say), but I<br /> +Admire your young vitality.<br /> +Still brisk of foot, still busy and keen<br /> +In and about and up and down.</p> +<p class="poetry">I hear you pass with bustling feet<br /> +The long verandahs round, and beat<br /> +Your bell, and “Lotu! Lotu!” cry;<br /> +Thus calling our queer company,<br /> +In morning or in evening dim,<br /> +To prayers and the oft mangled hymn.</p> +<p class="poetry">All day you watch across the sky<br /> +The silent, shining cloudlands ply,<br /> +That, huge as countries, swift as birds,<br /> +Beshade the isles by halves and thirds,<br /> +Till each with battlemented crest<br /> +Stands anchored in the ensanguined west,<br /> +<a name="page128"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 128</span>An Alp +enchanted. All the day<br /> +You hear the exuberant wind at play,<br /> +In vast, unbroken voice uplift,<br /> +In roaring tree, round whistling clift.</p> +<h2>AIR OF DIABELLI’S</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Call</span> it to mind, O +my love.<br /> +Dear were your eyes as the day,<br /> +Bright as the day and the sky;<br /> +Like the stream of gold and the sky above,<br /> +Dear were your eyes in the grey.<br /> +We have lived, my love, O, we have lived, my love!<br /> +Now along the silent river, azure<br /> +Through the sky’s inverted image,<br /> +Softly swam the boat that bore our love,<br /> +Swiftly ran the shallow of our love<br /> +Through the heaven’s inverted image,<br /> +In the reedy mazes round the river.<br /> +See along the silent river,</p> +<p class="poetry">See of old the lover’s shallop steer.<br +/> +Berried brake and reedy island,<br /> +Heaven below and only heaven above.<br /> +Through the sky’s inverted image<br /> +Swiftly swam the boat that bore our love.<br /> +<a name="page129"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 129</span>Berried +brake and reedy island,<br /> +Mirrored flower and shallop gliding by.<br /> +All the earth and all the sky were ours,<br /> +Silent sat the wafted lovers,<br /> +Bound with grain and watched by all the sky,<br /> +Hand to hand and eye to . . . eye.</p> +<p class="poetry">Days of April, airs of Eden,<br /> +Call to mind how bright the vanished angel hours,<br /> +Golden hours of evening,<br /> +When our boat drew homeward filled with flowers.<br /> +O darling, call them to mind; love the past, my love.<br /> +Days of April, airs of Eden.<br /> +How the glory died through golden hours,<br /> +And the shining moon arising;<br /> +How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers.<br /> +Age and winter close us slowly in.</p> +<p class="poetry">Level river, cloudless heaven,<br /> +Islanded reed mazes, silver weirs;<br /> +How the silent boat with silver<br /> +Threads the inverted forest as she goes,<br /> +Broke the trembling green of mirrored trees.<br /> +O, remember, and remember<br /> +How the berries hung in garlands.</p> +<p class="poetry">Still in the river see the shallop floats.<br +/> +Hark! Chimes the falling oar.<br /> +<a name="page130"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 130</span>Still in +the mind<br /> +Hark to the song of the past!<br /> +Dream, and they pass in their dreams.</p> +<p class="poetry">Those that loved of yore, O those that loved of +yore!<br /> +Hark through the stillness, O darling, hark!<br /> +Through it all the ear of the mind</p> +<p class="poetry">Knows the boat of love. Hark!<br /> +Chimes the falling oar.</p> +<p class="poetry">O half in vain they grew old.</p> +<p class="poetry">Now the halcyon days are over,<br /> +Age and winter close us slowly round,<br /> +And these sounds at fall of even<br /> +Dim the sight and muffle all the sound.<br /> +And at the married fireside, sleep of soul and sleep of fancy,<br +/> +Joan and Darby.<br /> +Silence of the world without a sound;<br /> +And beside the winter faggot</p> +<p class="poetry">Joan and Darby sit and dose and dream and +wake—<br /> +Dream they hear the flowing, singing river,<br /> +See the berries in the island brake;<br /> +Dream they hear the weir,<br /> +See the gliding shallop mar the stream.<br /> +Hark! in your dreams do you hear?</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page131"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +131</span>Snow has filled the drifted forest;<br /> +Ice has bound the . . . stream.<br /> +Frost has bound our flowing river;<br /> +Snow has whitened all our island brake.</p> +<p class="poetry">Berried brake and reedy island,<br /> +Heaven below and only heaven above azure<br /> +Through the sky’s inverted image<br /> +Safely swam the boat that bore our love.<br /> + Dear were your eyes as the day,<br /> + Bright ran the stream, bright hung the sky above.<br +/> +Days of April, airs of Eden.<br /> +How the glory died through golden hours,<br /> +And the shining moon arising,<br /> +How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers.<br /> + Bright were your eyes in the night:<br /> + We have lived, my love;<br /> + O, we have loved, my love.<br /> +Now the . . . days are over,<br /> +Age and winter close us slowly round.</p> +<p class="poetry">Vainly time departs, and vainly<br /> +Age and winter come and close us round.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hark the river’s long continuous +sound.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hear the river ripples in the reeds.</p> +<p class="poetry">Lo, in dreams they see their shallop<br /> +Run the lilies down and drown the weeds<br /> +<a name="page132"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 132</span>Mid the +sound of crackling faggots.<br /> +So in dreams the new created<br /> +Happy past returns, to-day recedes,<br /> +And they hear once more,</p> +<p class="poetry">From the old years,<br /> +Yesterday returns, to-day recedes,<br /> +And they hear with aged hearing warbles</p> +<p class="poetry">Love’s own river ripple in the weeds.<br +/> +And again the lover’s shallop;<br /> +Lo, the shallop sheds the streaming weeds;<br /> +And afar in foreign countries<br /> +In the ears of aged lovers.</p> +<p class="poetry">And again in winter evens<br /> +Starred with lilies . . . with stirring weeds.<br /> +In these ears of aged lovers<br /> +Love’s own river ripples in the reeds.</p> +<h2>EPITAPHIUM EROTII</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here</span> lies Erotion, +whom at six years old<br /> +Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold,<br /> +Who shall succeed me in my rural field),<br /> +To this small spirit annual honours yield!<br /> +Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave<br /> +And this, in thy green farm, the only grave.</p> +<h2><a name="page133"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 133</span>DE +M. ANTONIO</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> Antoninus, in a +smiling age,<br /> +Counts of his life the fifteenth finished stage.<br /> +The rounded days and the safe years he sees,<br /> +Nor fears death’s water mounting round his knees.<br /> +To him remembering not one day is sad,<br /> +Not one but that its memory makes him glad.<br /> +So good men lengthen life; and to recall<br /> +The past is to have twice enjoyed it all.</p> +<h2>AD MAGISTRUM LUDI</h2> +<p style="text-align: center">(<span class="smcap">Unfinished +Draft</span>.)</p> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Now</span> in the sky<br /> +And on the hearth of<br /> + Now in a drawer the direful cane,<br /> + That sceptre of the . . . reign,<br /> + And the long hawser, that on the back<br /> + Of Marsyas fell with many a whack,<br /> + Twice hardened out of Scythian hides,<br /> + Now sleep till the October ides.</p> +<p class="poetry">In summer if the boys be well.</p> +<h2><a name="page134"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 134</span>AD +NEPOTEM</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">Nepos</span>, twice my +neigh(b)our (since at home<br /> +We’re door by door, by Flora’s temple dome;<br /> +And in the country, still conjoined by fate,<br /> +Behold our villas standing gate by gate),<br /> +Thou hast a daughter, dearer far than life—<br /> +Thy image and the image of thy wife.<br /> +Thy image and thy wife’s, and be it so!</p> +<p class="poetry">But why for her, [ neglect the flowing / O +Nepos, leave the ] can</p> +<p class="poetry">And lose the prime of thy Falernian?<br /> +Hoard casks of money, if to hoard be thine;<br /> +But let thy daughter drink a younger wine!<br /> +Let her go rich and wise, in silk and fur;</p> +<p class="poetry">Lay down a [ bin that shall / vintage to ] grow +old with her;</p> +<p class="poetry">But thou, meantime, the while the batch is +sound,<br /> +With pleased companions pass the bowl around;<br /> +Nor let the childless only taste delights,<br /> +For Fathers also may enjoy their nights.</p> +<h2><a name="page135"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 135</span>IN +CHARIDEMUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span>, Charidemus, who +my cradle swung,<br /> +And watched me all the days that I was young;<br /> +You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake,<br /> +And both the bailiff and the butler quake;<br /> +The barber’s suds now blacken with my beard,<br /> +And my rough kisses make the maids afeared;<br /> +But with reproach your awful eyebrows twitch,<br /> +And for the cane, I see, your fingers itch.<br /> +If something daintily attired I go,<br /> +Straight you exclaim: “Your father did not so.”<br /> +And fuming, count the bottles on the board<br /> +As though my cellar were your private hoard.<br /> +Enough, at last: I have done all I can,<br /> +And your own mistress hails me for a man.</p> +<h2>DE LIGURRA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> fear, +Ligurra—above all, you long—<br /> +That I should smite you with a stinging song.<br /> +This dreadful honour you both fear and hope—<br /> +Both all in vain: you fall below my scope.<br /> +The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull,<br /> +He does not harm the midge along the pool.</p> +<p class="poetry"><a name="page136"></a><span class="pagenum">p. +136</span>Lo! if so close this stands in your regard,<br /> +From some blind tap fish forth a drunken barn,<br /> +Who shall with charcoal, on the privy wall,<br /> +Immortalise your name for once and all.</p> +<h2>IN LUPUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Beyond</span> the gates +thou gav’st a field to till;<br /> +I have a larger on my window-sill.<br /> +A farm, d’ye say? Is this a farm to you,<br /> +Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue,<br /> +And that so rusty, and so small a thing,<br /> +One shrill cicada hides it with a wing;<br /> +Where one cucumber covers all the plain;<br /> +And where one serpent rings himself in vain<br /> +To enter wholly; and a single snail<br /> +Eats all and exit fasting to the pool?<br /> +Here shall my gardener be the dusty mole.<br /> +My only ploughman the . . . mole.<br /> +Here shall I wait in vain till figs be set,<br /> +And till the spring disclose the violet.<br /> +Through all my wilds a tameless mouse careers,<br /> +And in that narrow boundary appears,<br /> +Huge as the stalking lion of Algiers,<br /> +Huge as the fabled boar of Calydon.<br /> +And all my hay is at one swoop impresst<br /> +By one low-flying swallow for her nest,<br /> +<a name="page137"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 137</span>Strip +god Priapus of each attribute<br /> +Here finds he scarce a pedestal to foot.<br /> +The gathered harvest scarcely brims a spoon;<br /> +And all my vintage drips in a cocoon.<br /> +Generous are you, but I more generous still:<br /> +Take back your farm and stand me half a gill!</p> +<h2>AD QUINTILIANUM</h2> +<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">chief</span> director of +the growing race,<br /> +Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace,<br /> +Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive<br /> +Before from labour I make haste to live?<br /> +Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule,<br /> +Or with white statues fill the atrium full.<br /> +The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke,<br /> +Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke:<br /> +A sturdy slave, not too learned wife,<br /> +Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet life.</p> +<h2>DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> Martial owns a +garden, famed to please,<br /> +Beyond the glades of the Hesperides;<br /> +Along Janiculum lies the chosen block<br /> +Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock.<br /> +The moderate summit, something plain and bare,<br /> +Tastes overhead of a serener air;<br /> +<a name="page138"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 138</span>And +while the clouds besiege the vales below,<br /> +Keeps the clear heaven and doth with sunshine glow.<br /> +To the June stars that circle in the skies<br /> +The dainty roofs of that tall villa rise.<br /> +Hence do the seven imperial hills appear;<br /> +And you may view the whole of Rome from here;<br /> +Beyond, the Alban and the Tuscan hills;<br /> +And the cool groves and the cool falling rills,<br /> +Rubre Fidenæ, and with virgin blood<br /> +Anointed once Perenna’s orchard wood.<br /> +Thence the Flaminian, the Salarian way,<br /> +Stretch far broad below the dome of day;<br /> +And lo! the traveller toiling towards his home;<br /> +And all unheard, the chariot speeds to Rome!<br /> +For here no whisper of the wheels; and tho’<br /> +The Mulvian Bridge, above the Tiber’s flow,<br /> +Hangs all in sight, and down the sacred stream<br /> +The sliding barges vanish like a dream,<br /> +The seaman’s shrilling pipe not enters here,<br /> +Nor the rude cries of porters on the pier.<br /> +And if so rare the house, how rarer far<br /> +The welcome and the weal that therein are!<br /> +So free the access, the doors so widely thrown,<br /> +You half imagine all to be your own.</p> +<h2><a name="page139"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 139</span>AD +MARTIALEM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Go</span>(<span +class="smcap">d</span>) knows, my Martial, if we two could be<br +/> +To enjoy our days set wholly free;<br /> +To the true life together bend our mind,<br /> +And take a furlough from the falser kind.<br /> +No rich saloon, nor palace of the great,<br /> +Nor suit at law should trouble our estate;<br /> +On no vainglorious statues should we look,<br /> +But of a walk, a talk, a little book,<br /> +Baths, wells and meads, and the veranda shade,<br /> +Let all our travels and our toils be made.<br /> +Now neither lives unto himself, alas!<br /> +And the good suns we see, that flash and pass<br /> +And perish; and the bell that knells them cries:<br /> +“Another gone: O when will ye arise?”</p> +<h2>IN MAXIMUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wouldst</span> thou be +free? I think it not, indeed;<br /> +But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede:<br /> +[When quite contented / Thou shall be free when] thou canst dine +at home<br /> +And drink a small wine of the march of Rome;<br /> +When thou canst see unmoved thy neighbour’s plate,<br /> +And wear my threadbare toga in the gate;<br /> +<a name="page140"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 140</span>When +thou hast learned to love a small abode,<br /> +And not to choose a mistress <i>à la mode</i>:<br /> +When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be,<br /> +Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free.</p> +<h2>AD OLUM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Call</span> me not rebel, +though [ here at every word / in what I sing ]<br /> +If I no longer hail thee [ King and Lord / Lord and King ]<br /> +I have redeemed myself with all I had,<br /> +And now possess my fortunes poor but glad.<br /> +With all I had I have redeemed myself,<br /> +And escaped at once from slavery and pelf.<br /> +The unruly wishes must a ruler take,<br /> +Our high desires do our low fortunes make:<br /> +Those only who desire palatial things<br /> +Do bear the fetters and the frowns of Kings;<br /> +Set free thy slave; thou settest free thyself.</p> +<h2>DE CŒNATIONE MICÆ</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Look</span> round: You see +a little supper room;<br /> +But from my window, lo! great Cæsar’s tomb!<br /> +And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath<br /> +Bid you be merry and remember death.</p> +<h2><a name="page141"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 141</span>DE +EROTIO PUELLA</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">This</span> girl was +sweeter than the song of swans,<br /> +And daintier than the lamb upon the lawns<br /> +Or Curine oyster. She, the flower of girls,<br /> +Outshone the light of Erythræan pearls;<br /> +The teeth of India that with polish glow,<br /> +The untouched lilies or the morning snow.<br /> +Her tresses did gold-dust outshine<br /> +And fair hair of women of the Rhine.<br /> +Compared to her the peacock seemed not fair,<br /> +The squirrel lively, or the phoenix rare;<br /> +Her on whose pyre the smoke still hovering waits;<br /> +Her whom the greedy and unequal fates<br /> +On the sixth dawning of her natal day,<br /> +My child-love and my playmate—snatcht away.</p> +<h2>AD PISCATOREM</h2> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">For</span> these are sacred +fishes all<br /> +Who know that lord that is the lord of all;<br /> +Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand<br /> +That sways and can beshadow all the land.<br /> +Nor only so, but have their names, and come<br /> +When they are summoned by the Lord of Rome.<br /> +<a name="page142"></a><span class="pagenum">p. 142</span>Here +once his line an impious Lybian threw;<br /> +And as with tremulous reed his prey he drew,<br /> +Straight, the light failed him.<br /> +He groped, nor found the prey that he had ta’en.<br /> +Now as a warning to the fisher clan<br /> +Beside the lake he sits, a beggarman.<br /> +Thou, then, while still thine innocence is pure,<br /> +Flee swiftly, nor presume to set thy lure;<br /> +Respect these fishes, for their friends are great;<br /> +And in the waters empty all thy bait.</p> +<div class="gapspace"> </div> +<div class="gapmediumline"> </div> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BILLING AND +SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD, ENGLAND.</span></p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NEW POEMS***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 441-h.htm or 441-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/4/441 + + + +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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IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ +THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE +MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACKBIRD SINGS +I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR +ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER +DEDICATION +THE OLD CHIMAERAS, OLD RECEIPTS +PRELUDE +THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT +TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS +THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE? +ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND +AFTER READING "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA" +I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT +SPRING SONG +THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME +YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW +LOVE'S VICISSITUDES +DUDDINGSTONE +STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS +AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC +TO SYDNEY +HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL +O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY +APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER +TO MARCUS +TO OTTILIE +THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY +THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES +A VALENTINE'S SONG +HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES +SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO +TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE +TO MADAME GARSCHINE +MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA +FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS +LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL +I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN +I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE +VOLUNTARY +ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE +IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING +DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE +TO CHARLES BAXTER +I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH +LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE? +SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH +AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG +STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN +THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART +MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE +THE COCK'S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR +NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS +WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO +SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN +KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ +IT'S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM +AN ENGLISH BREEZE +AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG +THE PIPER +TO MRS. MACMARLAND +TO MISS CORNISH +TALES OF ARABIA +BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN +STILL I LOVE TO RHYME +LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE +FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING +COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME +SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE +ENVOY FOR "A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES" +FOR RICHMOND'S GARDEN WALL +HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY! +LO, NOW, MY GUEST +SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR +AD SE IPSUM +BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME +GO, LITTLE BOOK - THE ANCIENT PHRASE +MY LOVE WAS WARM +DEDICATORY POEM FOR "UNDERWOODS" +FAREWELL +THE FAR-FARERS +COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU +HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS +EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO +FAIR ISLE AT SEA +LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY +I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE +AT LAST SHE COMES +MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE +FIXED IS THE DOOM +MEN ARE HEAVEN'S PIERS +THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD +SPRING CAROL +TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER +WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN +LATE, O MILLER +TO FRIENDS AT HOME +I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED +TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED +VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM +I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS +SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD +GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART +OVER THE LAND IS APRIL +LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START +COMIC, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY +IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE +NE SIT ANCILLAE TIBI AMOR PUDOR +TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE +THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN +TO ROSABELLE +NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER'S EYE +THE BOUR-TREE DEN +SONNETS +FRAGMENTS +AIR OF DIABELLI'S +EPITAPHIUM EROTII +DE M. ANTONIO +AD MAGISTRUM LUDI +AD NEPOTEM +IN CHARIDEMUM +DE LIGURRA +IN LUPUM +AD QUINTILIANUM +DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS +AD MARTIALEM +IN MAXIMUM +AD OLUM +DE COENATIONE MICAE +DE EROTIO PUELLA +AD PISCATOREM + + + + + +New Poems + + + + +PRAYER + + +I ASK good things that I detest, +With speeches fair; +Heed not, I pray Thee, Lord, my breast, +But hear my prayer. + +I say ill things I would not say - +Things unaware: +Regard my breast, Lord, in Thy day, +And not my prayer. + +My heart is evil in Thy sight: +My good thoughts flee: +O Lord, I cannot wish aright - +Wish Thou for me. + +O bend my words and acts to Thee, +However ill, +That I, whate'er I say or be, +May serve Thee still. + +O let my thoughts abide in Thee +Lest I should fall: +Show me Thyself in all I see, +Thou Lord of all. + + +LO! IN THINE HONEST EYES I READ + + +LO! in thine honest eyes I read +The auspicious beacon that shall lead, +After long sailing in deep seas, +To quiet havens in June ease. + +Thy voice sings like an inland bird +First by the seaworn sailor heard; +And like road sheltered from life's sea +Thine honest heart is unto me. + + +THOUGH DEEP INDIFFERENCE SHOULD DROWSE + + +THOUGH deep indifference should drowse +The sluggish life beneath my brows, +And all the external things I see +Grow snow-showers in the street to me, +Yet inmost in my stormy sense +Thy looks shall be an influence. + +Though other loves may come and go +And long years sever us below, +Shall the thin ice that grows above +Freeze the deep centre-well of love? +No, still below light amours, thou +Shalt rule me as thou rul'st me now. + +Year following year shall only set +Fresh gems upon thy coronet; +And Time, grown lover, shall delight +To beautify thee in my sight; +And thou shalt ever rule in me +Crowned with the light of memory. + + +MY HEART, WHEN FIRST THE BLACK-BIRD SINGS + + +MY heart, when first the blackbird sings, +My heart drinks in the song: +Cool pleasure fills my bosom through +And spreads each nerve along. + +My bosom eddies quietly, +My heart is stirred and cool +As when a wind-moved briar sweeps +A stone into a pool + +But unto thee, when thee I meet, +My pulses thicken fast, +As when the maddened lake grows black +And ruffles in the blast. + + +I DREAMED OF FOREST ALLEYS FAIR + + +I. + +I DREAMED of forest alleys fair +And fields of gray-flowered grass, +Where by the yellow summer moon +My Jenny seemed to pass. + +I dreamed the yellow summer moon, +Behind a cedar wood, +Lay white on fields of rippling grass +Where I and Jenny stood. + +I dreamed - but fallen through my dream, +In a rainy land I lie +Where wan wet morning crowns the hills +Of grim reality. + +II. + +I am as one that keeps awake +All night in the month of June, +That lies awake in bed to watch +The trees and great white moon. + +For memories of love are more +Than the white moon there above, +And dearer than quiet moonshine +Are the thoughts of her I love. + +III. + +Last night I lingered long without +My last of loves to see. +Alas! the moon-white window-panes +Stared blindly back on me. + +To-day I hold her very hand, +Her very waist embrace - +Like clouds across a pool, I read +Her thoughts upon her face. + +And yet, as now, through her clear eyes +I seek the inner shrine - +I stoop to read her virgin heart +In doubt if it be mine - + +O looking long and fondly thus, +What vision should I see? +No vision, but my own white face +That grins and mimics me. + +IV. + +Once more upon the same old seat +In the same sunshiny weather, +The elm-trees' shadows at their feet +And foliage move together. + +The shadows shift upon the grass, +The dial point creeps on; +The clear sun shines, the loiterers pass, +As then they passed and shone. + +But now deep sleep is on my heart, +Deep sleep and perfect rest. +Hope's flutterings now disturb no more +The quiet of my breast. + + +ST. MARTIN'S SUMMER + + +AS swallows turning backward +When half-way o'er the sea, +At one word's trumpet summons +They came again to me - +The hopes I had forgotten +Came back again to me. + +I know not which to credit, +O lady of my heart! +Your eyes that bade me linger, +Your words that bade us part - +I know not which to credit, +My reason or my heart. + +But be my hopes rewarded, +Or be they but in vain, +I have dreamed a golden vision, +I have gathered in the grain - +I have dreamed a golden vision, +I have not lived in vain. + + +DEDICATION + + +MY first gift and my last, to you +I dedicate this fascicle of songs - +The only wealth I have: +Just as they are, to you. + +I speak the truth in soberness, and say +I had rather bring a light to your clear eyes, +Had rather hear you praise +This bosomful of songs + +Than that the whole, hard world with one consent, +In one continuous chorus of applause +Poured forth for me and mine +The homage of ripe praise. + +I write the finis here against my love, +This is my love's last epitaph and tomb. +Here the road forks, and I +Go my way, far from yours. + + +THE OLD CHIMAERAS, OLD RECEIPTS + + +THE old Chimaeras, old receipts +For making "happy land," +The old political beliefs +Swam close before my hand. + +The grand old communistic myths +In a middle state of grace, +Quite dead, but not yet gone to Hell, +And walking for a space, + +Quite dead, and looking it, and yet +All eagerness to show +The Social-Contract forgeries +By Chatterton - Rousseau - + +A hundred such as these I tried, +And hundreds after that, +I fitted Social Theories +As one would fit a hat! + +Full many a marsh-fire lured me on, +I reached at many a star, +I reached and grasped them and behold - +The stump of a cigar! + +All through the sultry sweltering day +The sweat ran down my brow, +The still plains heard my distant strokes +That have been silenced now. + +This way and that, now up, now down, +I hailed full many a blow. +Alas! beneath my weary arm +The thicket seemed to grow. + +I take the lesson, wipe my brow +And throw my axe aside, +And, sorely wearied, I go home +In the tranquil eventide. + +And soon the rising moon, that lights +The eve of my defeat, +Shall see me sitting as of yore +By my old master's feet. + + +PRELUDE + + +BY sunny market-place and street +Wherever I go my drum I beat, +And wherever I go in my coat of red +The ribbons flutter about my head. + +I seek recruits for wars to come - +For slaughterless wars I beat the drum, +And the shilling I give to each new ally +Is hope to live and courage to die. + +I know that new recruits shall come +Wherever I beat the sounding drum, +Till the roar of the march by country and town +Shall shake the tottering Dagons down. + +For I was objectless as they +And loitering idly day by day; +But whenever I heard the recruiters come, +I left my all to follow the drum. + + +THE VANQUISHED KNIGHT + + +I HAVE left all upon the shameful field, +Honour and Hope, my God, and all but life; +Spurless, with sword reversed and dinted shield, +Degraded and disgraced, I leave the strife. + +From him that hath not, shall there not be taken +E'en that he hath, when he deserts the strife? +Life left by all life's benefits forsaken, +O keep the promise, Lord, and take the life. + + +TO THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS + + +I SEND to you, commissioners, +A paper that may please ye, sirs +(For troth they say it might be worse +An' I believe't) +And on your business lay my curse +Before I leav't. + +I thocht I'd serve wi' you, sirs, yince, +But I've thocht better of it since; +The maitter I will nowise mince, +But tell ye true: +I'll service wi' some ither prince, +An' no wi' you. + +I've no been very deep, ye'll think, +Cam' delicately to the brink +An' when the water gart me shrink +Straucht took the rue, +An' didna stoop my fill to drink - +I own it true. + +I kent on cape and isle, a light +Burnt fair an' clearly ilka night; +But at the service I took fright, +As sune's I saw, +An' being still a neophite +Gaed straucht awa'. + +Anither course I now begin, +The weeg I'll cairry for my sin, +The court my voice shall echo in, +An' - wha can tell? - +Some ither day I may be yin +O' you mysel'. + + +THE RELIC TAKEN, WHAT AVAILS THE SHRINE? + + +THE relic taken, what avails the shrine? +The locket, pictureless? O heart of mine, +Art thou not worse than that, +Still warm, a vacant nest where love once sat? + +Her image nestled closer at my heart +Than cherished memories, healed every smart +And warmed it more than wine +Or the full summer sun in noon-day shine. + +This was the little weather gleam that lit +The cloudy promontories - the real charm was +That gilded hills and woods +And walked beside me thro' the solitudes. + +The sun is set. My heart is widowed now +Of that companion-thought. Alone I plough +The seas of life, and trace +A separate furrow far from her and grace. + + +ABOUT THE SHELTERED GARDEN GROUND + + +ABOUT the sheltered garden ground +The trees stand strangely still. +The vale ne'er seemed so deep before, +Nor yet so high the hill. + +An awful sense of quietness, +A fulness of repose, +Breathes from the dewy garden-lawns, +The silent garden rows. + +As the hoof-beats of a troop of horse +Heard far across a plain, +A nearer knowledge of great thoughts +Thrills vaguely through my brain. + +I lean my head upon my arm, +My heart's too full to think; +Like the roar of seas, upon my heart +Doth the morning stillness sink. + + +AFTER READING "ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA" + + +AS when the hunt by holt and field +Drives on with horn and strife, +Hunger of hopeless things pursues +Our spirits throughout life. + +The sea's roar fills us aching full +Of objectless desire - +The sea's roar, and the white moon-shine, +And the reddening of the fire. + +Who talks to me of reason now? +It would be more delight +To have died in Cleopatra's arms +Than be alive to-night. + + +I KNOW NOT HOW, BUT AS I COUNT + + +I KNOW not how, but as I count +The beads of former years, +Old laughter catches in my throat +With the very feel of tears. + + +SPRING SONG + + +THE air was full of sun and birds, +The fresh air sparkled clearly. +Remembrance wakened in my heart +And I knew I loved her dearly. + +The fallows and the leafless trees +And all my spirit tingled. +My earliest thought of love, and Spring's +First puff of perfume mingled. + +In my still heart the thoughts awoke, +Came lone by lone together - +Say, birds and Sun and Spring, is Love +A mere affair of weather? + + +THE SUMMER SUN SHONE ROUND ME + + +THE summer sun shone round me, +The folded valley lay +In a stream of sun and odour, +That sultry summer day. + +The tall trees stood in the sunlight +As still as still could be, +But the deep grass sighed and rustled +And bowed and beckoned me. + +The deep grass moved and whispered +And bowed and brushed my face. +It whispered in the sunshine: +"The winter comes apace." + + +YOU LOOKED SO TEMPTING IN THE PEW + + +YOU looked so tempting in the pew, +You looked so sly and calm - +My trembling fingers played with yours +As both looked out the Psalm. + +Your heart beat hard against my arm, +My foot to yours was set, +Your loosened ringlet burned my cheek +Whenever they two met. + +O little, little we hearkened, dear, +And little, little cared, +Although the parson sermonised, +The congregation stared. + + +LOVE'S VICISSITUDES + + +AS Love and Hope together +Walk by me for a while, +Link-armed the ways they travel +For many a pleasant mile - +Link-armed and dumb they travel, +They sing not, but they smile. + +Hope leaving, Love commences +To practise on the lute; +And as he sings and travels +With lingering, laggard foot, +Despair plays obligato +The sentimental flute. + +Until in singing garments +Comes royally, at call - +Comes limber-hipped Indiff'rence +Free stepping, straight and tall - +Comes singing and lamenting, +The sweetest pipe of all. + + +DUDDINGSTONE + + +WITH caws and chirrupings, the woods +In this thin sun rejoice. +The Psalm seems but the little kirk +That sings with its own voice. + +The cloud-rifts share their amber light +With the surface of the mere - +I think the very stones are glad +To feel each other near. + +Once more my whole heart leaps and swells +And gushes o'er with glee; +The fingers of the sun and shade +Touch music stops in me. + +Now fancy paints that bygone day +When you were here, my fair - +The whole lake rang with rapid skates +In the windless winter air. + +You leaned to me, I leaned to you, +Our course was smooth as flight - +We steered - a heel-touch to the left, +A heel-touch to the right. + +We swung our way through flying men, +Your hand lay fast in mine: +We saw the shifting crowd dispart, +The level ice-reach shine. + +I swear by yon swan-travelled lake, +By yon calm hill above, +I swear had we been drowned that day +We had been drowned in love. + + +STOUT MARCHES LEAD TO CERTAIN ENDS + + +STOUT marches lead to certain ends, +We seek no Holy Grail, my friends - +That dawn should find us every day +Some fraction farther on our way. + +The dumb lands sleep from east to west, +They stretch and turn and take their rest. +The cock has crown in the steading-yard, +But priest and people slumber hard. + +We two are early forth, and hear +The nations snoring far and near. +So peacefully their rest they take, +It seems we are the first awake! + +- Strong heart! this is no royal way, +A thousand cross-roads seek the day; +And, hid from us, to left and right, +A thousand seekers seek the light. + + +AWAY WITH FUNERAL MUSIC + + +AWAY with funeral music - set +The pipe to powerful lips - +The cup of life's for him that drinks +And not for him that sips. + + +TO SYDNEY + + +NOT thine where marble-still and white +Old statues share the tempered light +And mock the uneven modern flight, +But in the stream +Of daily sorrow and delight +To seek a theme. + +I too, O friend, have steeled my heart +Boldly to choose the better part, +To leave the beaten ways of art, +And wholly free +To dare, beyond the scanty chart, +The deeper sea. + +All vain restrictions left behind, +Frail bark! I loose my anchored mind +And large, before the prosperous wind +Desert the strand - +A new Columbus sworn to find +The morning land. + +Nor too ambitious, friend. To thee +I own my weakness. Not for me +To sing the enfranchised nations' glee, +Or count the cost +Of warships foundered far at sea +And battles lost. + +High on the far-seen, sunny hills, +Morning-content my bosom fills; +Well-pleased, I trace the wandering rills +And learn their birth. +Far off, the clash of sovereign wills +May shake the earth. + +The nimble circuit of the wheel, +The uncertain poise of merchant weal, +Heaven of famine, fire and steel +When nations fall; +These, heedful, from afar I feel - +I mark them all. + +But not, my friend, not these I sing, +My voice shall fill a narrower ring. +Tired souls, that flag upon the wing, +I seek to cheer: +Brave wines to strengthen hope I bring, +Life's cantineer! + +Some song that shall be suppling oil +To weary muscles strained with toil, +Shall hearten for the daily moil, +Or widely read +Make sweet for him that tills the soil +His daily bread. + +Such songs in my flushed hours I dream +(High thought) instead of armour gleam +Or warrior cantos ream by ream +To load the shelves - +Songs with a lilt of words, that seem +To sing themselves. + + +HAD I THE POWER THAT HAVE THE WILL + + +HAD I the power that have the will, +The enfeebled will - a modern curse - +This book of mine should blossom still +A perfect garden-ground of verse. + +White placid marble gods should keep +Good watch in every shadowy lawn; +And from clean, easy-breathing sleep +The birds should waken me at dawn. + +- A fairy garden; - none the less +Throughout these gracious paths of mine +All day there should be free access +For stricken hearts and lives that pine; + +And by the folded lawns all day - +No idle gods for such a land - +All active Love should take its way +With active Labour hand in hand. + + +O DULL COLD NORTHERN SKY + + +O DULL cold northern sky, +O brawling sabbath bells, +O feebly twittering Autumn bird that tells +The year is like to die! + +O still, spoiled trees, O city ways, +O sun desired in vain, +O dread presentiment of coming rain +That cloys the sullen days! + +Thee, heart of mine, I greet. +In what hard mountain pass +Striv'st thou? In what importunate morass +Sink now thy weary feet? + +Thou run'st a hopeless race +To win despair. No crown +Awaits success, but leaden gods look down +On thee, with evil face. + +And those that would befriend +And cherish thy defeat, +With angry welcome shall turn sour the sweet +Home-coming of the end. + +Yea, those that offer praise +To idleness, shall yet +Insult thee, coming glorious in the sweat +Of honourable ways. + + +APOLOGETIC POSTSCRIPT OF A YEAR LATER + + +IF you see this song, my dear, +And last year's toast, +I'm confoundedly in fear +You'll be serious and severe +About the boast. + +Blame not that I sought such aid +To cure regret. +I was then so lowly laid +I used all the Gasconnade +That I could get. + +Being snubbed is somewhat smart, +Believe, my sweet; +And I needed all my art +To restore my broken heart +To its conceit. + +Come and smile, dear, and forget +I boasted so, +I apologise - regret - +It was all a jest; - and - yet - +I do not know. + + +TO MARCUS + + +YOU have been far, and I +Been farther yet, +Since last, in foul or fair +An impecunious pair, +Below this northern sky +Of ours, we met. + +Now winter night shall see +Again us two, +While howls the tempest higher, +Sit warmly by the fire +And dream and plan, as we +Were wont to do. + +And, hand in hand, at large +Our thoughts shall walk +While storm and gusty rain, +Again and yet again, +Shall drive their noisy charge +Across the talk. + +The pleasant future still +Shall smile to me, +And hope with wooing hands +Wave on to fairy lands +All over dale and hill +And earth and sea. + +And you who doubt the sky +And fear the sun - +You - Christian with the pack - +You shall not wander back +For I am Hopeful - I +Will cheer you on. + +Come - where the great have trod, +The great shall lead - +Come, elbow through the press, +Pluck Fortune by the dress - +By God, we must - by God, +We shall succeed. + + +TO OTTILIE + + +YOU remember, I suppose, +How the August sun arose, +And how his face +Woke to trill and carolette +All the cages that were set +About the place. + +In the tender morning light +All around lay strange and bright +And still and sweet, +And the gray doves unafraid +Went their morning promenade +Along the street. + + +THIS GLOOMY NORTHERN DAY + + +THIS gloomy northern day, +Or this yet gloomier night, +Has moved a something high +In my cold heart; and I, +That do not often pray, +Would pray to-night. + +And first on Thee I call +For bread, O God of might! +Enough of bread for all, - +That through the famished town +Cold hunger may lie down +With none to-night. + +I pray for hope no less, +Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord, +That to the struggling young +May preach with brazen tongue +Stout Labour, high success, +And bright reward. + +And last, O Lord, I pray +For hearts resigned and bold +To trudge the dusty way - +Hearts stored with song and joke +And warmer than a cloak +Against the cold. + +If nothing else he had, +He who has this, has all. +This comforts under pain; +This, through the stinging rain, +Keeps ragamuffin glad +Behind the wall. + +This makes the sanded inn +A palace for a Prince, +And this, when griefs begin +And cruel fate annoys, +Can bring to mind the joys +Of ages since. + + +THE WIND IS WITHOUT THERE AND HOWLS IN THE TREES + + +THE wind is without there and howls in the trees, +And the rain-flurries drum on the glass: +Alone by the fireside with elbows on knees +I can number the hours as they pass. +Yet now, when to cheer me the crickets begin, +And my pipe is just happily lit, +Believe me, my friend, tho' the evening draws in, +That not all uncontested I sit. + +Alone, did I say? O no, nowise alone +With the Past sitting warm on my knee, +To gossip of days that are over and gone, +But still charming to her and to me. +With much to be glad of and much to deplore, +Yet, as these days with those we compare, +Believe me, my friend, tho' the sorrows seem more +They are somehow more easy to bear. + +And thou, faded Future, uncertain and frail, +As I cherish thy light in each draught, +His lamp is not more to the miner - their sail +Is not more to the crew on the raft. +For Hope can make feeble ones earnest and brave, +And, as forth thro' the years I look on, +Believe me, my friend, between this and the grave, +I see wonderful things to be done. + +To do or to try; and, believe me, my friend, +If the call should come early for me, +I can leave these foundations uprooted, and tend +For some new city over the sea. +To do or to try; and if failure be mine, +And if Fortune go cross to my plan, +Believe me, my friend, tho' I mourn the design +I shall never lament for the man. + + +A VALENTINE'S SONG + + +MOTLEY I count the only wear +That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise, +Who boldly smile upon despair +And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy's eyes. +Singers should sing with such a goodly cheer +That the bare listening should make strong like wine, +At this unruly time of year, +The Feast of Valentine. + +We do not now parade our "oughts" +And "shoulds" and motives and beliefs in God. +Their life lies all indoors; sad thoughts +Must keep the house, while gay thoughts go abroad, +Within we hold the wake for hopes deceased; +But in the public streets, in wind or sun, +Keep open, at the annual feast, +The puppet-booth of fun. + +Our powers, perhaps, are small to please, +But even negro-songs and castanettes, +Old jokes and hackneyed repartees +Are more than the parade of vain regrets. +Let Jacques stand Wert(h)ering by the wounded deer - +We shall make merry, honest friends of mine, +At this unruly time of year, +The Feast of Valentine. + +I know how, day by weary day, +Hope fades, love fades, a thousand pleasures fade. +I have not trudged in vain that way +On which life's daylight darkens, shade by shade. +And still, with hopes decreasing, griefs increased, +Still, with what wit I have shall I, for one, +Keep open, at the annual feast, +The puppet-booth of fun. + +I care not if the wit be poor, +The old worn motley stained with rain and tears, +If but the courage still endure +That filled and strengthened hope in earlier years; +If still, with friends averted, fate severe, +A glad, untainted cheerfulness be mine +To greet the unruly time of year, +The Feast of Valentine. + +Priest, I am none of thine, and see +In the perspective of still hopeful youth +That Truth shall triumph over thee - +Truth to one's self - I know no other truth. +I see strange days for thee and thine, O priest, +And how your doctrines, fallen one by one, +Shall furnish at the annual feast +The puppet-booth of fun. + +Stand on your putrid ruins - stand, +White neck-clothed bigot, fixedly the same, +Cruel with all things but the hand, +Inquisitor in all things but the name. +Back, minister of Christ and source of fear - +We cherish freedom - back with thee and thine +From this unruly time of year, +The Feast of Valentine. + +Blood thou mayest spare; but what of tears? +But what of riven households, broken faith - +Bywords that cling through all men's years +And drag them surely down to shame and death? +Stand back, O cruel man, O foe of youth, +And let such men as hearken not thy voice +Press freely up the road to truth, +The King's highway of choice. + + +HAIL! CHILDISH SLAVES OF SOCIAL RULES + + +HAIL! Childish slaves of social rules +You had yourselves a hand in making! +How I could shake your faith, ye fools, +If but I thought it worth the shaking. +I see, and pity you; and then +Go, casting off the idle pity, +In search of better, braver men, +My own way freely through the city. + +My own way freely, and not yours; +And, careless of a town's abusing, +Seek real friendship that endures +Among the friends of my own choosing. +I'll choose my friends myself, do you hear? +And won't let Mrs. Grundy do it, +Tho' all I honour and hold dear +And all I hope should move me to it. + +I take my old coat from the shelf - +I am a man of little breeding. +And only dress to please myself - +I own, a very strange proceeding. +I smoke a pipe abroad, because +To all cigars I much prefer it, +And as I scorn your social laws +My choice has nothing to deter it. + +Gladly I trudge the footpath way, +While you and yours roll by in coaches +In all the pride of fine array, +Through all the city's thronged approaches. +O fine religious, decent folk, +In Virtue's flaunting gold and scarlet, +I sneer between two puffs of smoke, - +Give me the publican and harlot. + +Ye dainty-spoken, stiff, severe +Seed of the migrated Philistian, +One whispered question in your ear - +Pray, what was Christ, if you be Christian? +If Christ were only here just now, +Among the city's wynds and gables +Teaching the life he taught us, how +Would he be welcome to your tables? + +I go and leave your logic-straws, +Your former-friends with face averted, +Your petty ways and narrow laws, +Your Grundy and your God, deserted. +From your frail ark of lies, I flee +I know not where, like Noah's raven. +Full to the broad, unsounded sea +I swim from your dishonest haven. + +Alone on that unsounded deep, +Poor waif, it may be I shall perish, +Far from the course I thought to keep, +Far from the friends I hoped to cherish. +It may be that I shall sink, and yet +Hear, thro' all taunt and scornful laughter, +Through all defeat and all regret, +The stronger swimmers coming after. + + +SWALLOWS TRAVEL TO AND FRO + + +SWALLOWS travel to and fro, +And the great winds come and go, +And the steady breezes blow, +Bearing perfume, bearing love. +Breezes hasten, swallows fly, +Towered clouds forever ply, +And at noonday, you and I +See the same sunshine above. + +Dew and rain fall everywhere, +Harvests ripen, flowers are fair, +And the whole round earth is bare +To the moonshine and the sun; +And the live air, fanned with wings, +Bright with breeze and sunshine, brings +Into contact distant things, +And makes all the countries one. + +Let us wander where we will, +Something kindred greets us still; +Something seen on vale or hill +Falls familiar on the heart; +So, at scent or sound or sight, +Severed souls by day and night +Tremble with the same delight - +Tremble, half the world apart. + + + +TO MESDAMES ZASSETSKY AND GARSCHINE + + +THE wind may blaw the lee-gang way +And aye the lift be mirk an' gray, +An deep the moss and steigh the brae +Where a' maun gang - +There's still an hoor in ilka day +For luve and sang. + +And canty hearts are strangely steeled. +By some dikeside they'll find a bield, +Some couthy neuk by muir or field +They're sure to hit, +Where, frae the blatherin' wind concealed, +They'll rest a bit. + +An' weel for them if kindly fate +Send ower the hills to them a mate; +They'll crack a while o' kirk an' State, +O' yowes an' rain: +An' when it's time to take the gate, +Tak' ilk his ain. + +- Sic neuk beside the southern sea +I soucht - sic place o' quiet lee +Frae a' the winds o' life. To me, +Fate, rarely fair, +Had set a freendly company +To meet me there. + +Kindly by them they gart me sit, +An' blythe was I to bide a bit. +Licht as o' some hame fireside lit +My life for me. +- Ower early maun I rise an' quit +This happy lee. + + +TO MADAME GARSCHINE + + +WHAT is the face, the fairest face, till Care, +Till Care the graver - Care with cunning hand, +Etches content thereon and makes it fair, +Or constancy, and love, and makes it grand? + + +MUSIC AT THE VILLA MARINA + + +FOR some abiding central source of power, +Strong-smitten steady chords, ye seem to flow +And, flowing, carry virtue. Far below, +The vain tumultuous passions of the hour +Fleet fast and disappear; and as the sun +Shines on the wake of tempests, there is cast +O'er all the shattered ruins of my past +A strong contentment as of battles won. + +And yet I cry in anguish, as I hear +The long drawn pageant of your passage roll +Magnificently forth into the night. +To yon fair land ye come from, to yon sphere +Of strength and love where now ye shape your flight, +O even wings of music, bear my soul! + +Ye have the power, if but ye had the will, +Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand, +To bear me forth into that tranquil land +Where good is no more ravelled up with ill; +Where she and I, remote upon some hill +Or by some quiet river's windless strand, +May live, and love, and wander hand in hand, +And follow nature simply, and be still. + +From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, we +Sit bound with others' heart-strings as with chains, +And, if one moves, all suffer, - to that Goal, +If such a land, if such a sphere, there be, +Thither, from life and all life's joys and pains, +O even wings of music, bear my soul! + + +FEAR NOT, DEAR FRIEND, BUT FREELY LIVE YOUR DAYS + + +FEAR not, dear friend, but freely live your days +Though lesser lives should suffer. Such am I, +A lesser life, that what is his of sky +Gladly would give for you, and what of praise. +Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways. +We that have touched your raiment, are made whole +From all the selfish cankers of man's soul, +And we would see you happy, dear, or die. +Therefore be brave, and therefore, dear, be free; +Try all things resolutely, till the best, +Out of all lesser betters, you shall find; +And we, who have learned greatness from you, we, +Your lovers, with a still, contented mind, +See you well anchored in some port of rest. + + +LET LOVE GO, IF GO SHE WILL + + +LET love go, if go she will. +Seek not, O fool, her wanton flight to stay. +Of all she gives and takes away +The best remains behind her still. + +The best remains behind; in vain +Joy she may give and take again, +Joy she may take and leave us pain, +If yet she leave behind +The constant mind +To meet all fortunes nobly, to endure +All things with a good heart, and still be pure, +Still to be foremost in the foremost cause, +And still be worthy of the love that was. +Love coming is omnipotent indeed, +But not Love going. Let her go. The seed +Springs in the favouring Summer air, and grows, +And waxes strong; and when the Summer goes, +Remains, a perfect tree. + +Joy she may give and take again, +Joy she may take and leave us pain. +O Love, and what care we? +For one thing thou hast given, O Love, one thing +Is ours that nothing can remove; +And as the King discrowned is still a King, +The unhappy lover still preserves his love. + + +I DO NOT FEAR TO OWN ME KIN + + +I DO not fear to own me kin +To the glad clods in which spring flowers begin; +Or to my brothers, the great trees, +That speak with pleasant voices in the breeze, +Loud talkers with the winds that pass; +Or to my sister, the deep grass. + +Of such I am, of such my body is, +That thrills to reach its lips to kiss. +That gives and takes with wind and sun and rain +And feels keen pleasure to the point of pain. + +Of such are these, +The brotherhood of stalwart trees, +The humble family of flowers, +That make a light of shadowy bowers +Or star the edges of the bent: +They give and take sweet colour and sweet scent; +They joy to shed themselves abroad; +And tree and flower and grass and sod +Thrill and leap and live and sing +With silent voices in the Spring. + +Hence I not fear to yield my breath, +Since all is still unchanged by death; +Since in some pleasant valley I may be, +Clod beside clod, or tree by tree, +Long ages hence, with her I love this hour; +And feel a lively joy to share +With her the sun and rain and air, +To taste her quiet neighbourhood +As the dumb things of field and wood, +The clod, the tree, and starry flower, +Alone of all things have the power. + + +I AM LIKE ONE THAT FOR LONG DAYS HAD SATE + + +I AM like one that for long days had sate, +With seaward eyes set keen against the gale, +On some lone foreland, watching sail by sail, +The portbound ships for one ship that was late; +And sail by sail, his heart burned up with joy, +And cruelly was quenched, until at last +One ship, the looked-for pennant at its mast, +Bore gaily, and dropt safely past the buoy; +And lo! the loved one was not there - was dead. +Then would he watch no more; no more the sea +With myriad vessels, sail by sail, perplex +His eyes and mock his longing. Weary head, +Take now thy rest; eyes, close; for no more me +Shall hopes untried elate, or ruined vex. + +For thus on love I waited; thus for love +Strained all my senses eagerly and long; +Thus for her coming ever trimmed my song; +Till in the far skies coloured as a dove, +A bird gold-coloured flickered far and fled +Over the pathless waterwaste for me; +And with spread hands I watched the bright bird flee +And waited, till before me she dropped dead. +O golden bird in these dove-coloured skies +How long I sought, how long with wearied eyes +I sought, O bird, the promise of thy flight! +And now the morn has dawned, the morn has died, +The day has come and gone; and once more night +About my lone life settles, wild and wide. + + +VOLUNTARY + + +HERE in the quiet eve +My thankful eyes receive +The quiet light. +I see the trees stand fair +Against the faded air, +And star by star prepare +The perfect night. + +And in my bosom, lo! +Content and quiet grow +Toward perfect peace. +And now when day is done, +Brief day of wind and sun, +The pure stars, one by one, +Their troop increase. + +Keen pleasure and keen grief +Give place to great relief: +Farewell my tears! +Still sounds toward me float; +I hear the bird's small note, +Sheep from the far sheepcote, +And lowing steers. + +For lo! the war is done, +Lo, now the battle won, +The trumpets still. +The shepherd's slender strain, +The country sounds again +Awake in wood and plain, +On haugh and hill. + +Loud wars and loud loves cease. +I welcome my release; +And hail once more +Free foot and way world-wide. +And oft at eventide +Light love to talk beside +The hostel door. + + +ON NOW, ALTHOUGH THE YEAR BE DONE + + +ON now, although the year be done, +Now, although the love be dead, +Dead and gone; +Hear me, O loved and cherished one, +Give me still the hand that led, +Led me on. + + +IN THE GREEN AND GALLANT SPRING + + +IN the green and gallant Spring, +Love and the lyre I thought to sing, +And kisses sweet to give and take +By the flowery hawthorn brake. + +Now is russet Autumn here, +Death and the grave and winter drear, +And I must ponder here aloof +While the rain is on the roof. + + +DEATH, TO THE DEAD FOR EVERMORE + + +DEATH, to the dead for evermore +A King, a God, the last, the best of friends - +Whene'er this mortal journey ends +Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door; +Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore +Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn +Disturbs the eternal sleep, +But in the stillness far withdrawn +Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep. + +For as from open windows forth we peep +Upon the night-time star beset +And with dews for ever wet; +So from this garish life the spirit peers; +And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread, +Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo! +After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears +And clamour of man's passion, Death appears, +And we must rise and go. + +Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears +Weary of utterance, seeing all is said; +Soon, racked by hopes and fears, +The all-pondering, all-contriving head, +Weary with all things, wearies of the years; +And our sad spirits turn toward the dead; +And the tired child, the body, longs for bed. + + +TO CHARLES BAXTER + + +ON THE DEATH OF THEIR COMMON FRIEND, MR. JOHN ADAM, CLERK OF COURT. + +OUR Johnie's deid. The mair's the pity! +He's deid, an' deid o' Aqua-vitae. +O Embro', you're a shrunken city, +Noo Johnie's deid! +Tak hands, an' sing a burial ditty +Ower Johnie's heid. + +To see him was baith drink an' meat, +Gaun linkin' glegly up the street. +He but to rin or tak a seat, +The wee bit body! +Bein' aye unsicken on his feet +Wi' whusky toddy. + +To be aye tosh was Johnie's whim, +There's nane was better teut than him, +Though whiles his gravit-knot wad clim' +Ahint his ear, +An' whiles he'd buttons oot or in +The less ae mair. + +His hair a' lang about his bree, +His tap-lip lang by inches three - +A slockened sort 'mon,' to pree +A' sensuality - +A droutly glint was in his e'e +An' personality. + +An' day an' nicht, frae daw to daw, +Dink an' perjink an' doucely braw, +Wi' a kind o' Gospel ower a', +May or October, +Like Peden, followin' the Law +An' no that sober. + +Whusky an' he were pack thegether. +Whate'er the hour, whate'er the weather, +John kept himsel' wi' mistened leather +An' kindled spunk. +Wi' him, there was nae askin' whether - +John was aye drunk. + +The auncient heroes gash an' bauld +In the uncanny days of auld, +The task ance fo(u)nd to which th'were called, +Stack stenchly to it. +His life sic noble lives recalled, +Little's he knew it. + +Single an' straucht, he went his way. +He kept the faith an' played the play. +Whusky an' he were man an' may +Whate'er betided. +Bonny in life - in death - this twae +Were no' divided. + +An' wow! but John was unco sport. +Whiles he wad smile about the Court +Malvolio-like - whiles snore an' snort +Was heard afar. +The idle winter lads' resort +Was aye John's bar. + +What's merely humorous or bonny +The Worl' regairds wi' cauld astony. +Drunk men tak' aye mair place than ony; +An' sae, ye see, +The gate was aye ower thrang for Johnie - +Or you an' me. + +John micht hae jingled cap an' bells, +Been a braw fule in silks an' pells, +In ane o' the auld worl's canty hells +Paris or Sodom. +I wadnae had him naething else +But Johnie Adam. + +He suffered - as have a' that wan +Eternal memory frae man, +Since e'er the weary worl' began - +Mister or Madam, +Keats or Scots Burns, the Spanish Don +Or Johnie Adam. + +We leuch, an' Johnie deid. An' fegs! +Hoo he had keept his stoiterin' legs +Sae lang's he did's a fact that begs +An explanation. +He stachers fifty years - syne plegs +To's destination. + + +I WHO ALL THE WINTER THROUGH + + +I WHO all the winter through +Cherished other loves than you, +And kept hands with hoary policy in marriage-bed and pew; +Now I know the false and true, +For the earnest sun looks through, +And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. + +Now the hedged meads renew +Rustic odour, smiling hue, +And the clean air shines and tinkles as the world goes wheeling through; +And my heart springs up anew, +Bright and confident and true, +And my old love comes to meet me in the dawning and the dew. + + +LOVE, WHAT IS LOVE? + + +LOVE - what is love? A great and aching heart; +Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair. +Life - what is life? Upon a moorland bare +To see love coming and see love depart. + + +SOON OUR FRIENDS PERISH + + +SOON our friends perish, +Soon all we cherish +Fades as days darken - goes as flowers go. +Soon in December +Over an ember, +Lonely we hearken, as loud winds blow. + + +AS ONE WHO HAVING WANDERED ALL NIGHT LONG + + +AS one who having wandered all night long +In a perplexed forest, comes at length +In the first hours, about the matin song, +And when the sun uprises in his strength, +To the fringed margin of the wood, and sees, +Gazing afar before him, many a mile +Of falling country, many fields and trees, +And cities and bright streams and far-off Ocean's smile: + +I, O Melampus, halting, stand at gaze: +I, liberated, look abroad on life, +Love, and distress, and dusty travelling ways, +The steersman's helm, the surgeon's helpful knife, +On the lone ploughman's earth-upturning share, +The revelry of cities and the sound +Of seas, and mountain-tops aloof in air, +And of the circling earth the unsupported round: + +I, looking, wonder: I, intent, adore; +And, O Melampus, reaching forth my hands +In adoration, cry aloud and soar +In spirit, high above the supine lands +And the low caves of mortal things, and flee +To the last fields of the universe untrod, +Where is no man, nor any earth, nor sea, +And the contented soul is all alone with God. + + +STRANGE ARE THE WAYS OF MEN + + +STRANGE are the ways of men, +And strange the ways of God! +We tread the mazy paths +That all our fathers trod. + +We tread them undismayed, +And undismayed behold +The portents of the sky, +The things that were of old. + +The fiery stars pursue +Their course in heav'n on high; +And round the 'leaguered town, +Crest-tossing heroes cry. + +Crest-tossing heroes cry; +And martial fifes declare +How small, to mortal minds, +Is merely mortal care. + +And to the clang of steel +And cry of piercing flute +Upon the azure peaks +A God shall plant his foot: + +A God in arms shall stand, +And seeing wide and far +The green and golden earth, +The killing tide of war, + +He, with uplifted arm, +Shall to the skies proclaim +The gleeful fate of man, +The noble road to fame! + + +THE WIND BLEW SHRILL AND SMART + + +THE wind blew shrill and smart, +And the wind awoke my heart +Again to go a-sailing o'er the sea, +To hear the cordage moan +And the straining timbers groan, +And to see the flying pennon lie a-lee. + +O sailor of the fleet, +It is time to stir the feet! +It's time to man the dingy and to row! +It's lay your hand in mine +And it's empty down the wine, +And it's drain a health to death before we go! + +To death, my lads, we sail; +And it's death that blows the gale +And death that holds the tiller as we ride. +For he's the king of all +In the tempest and the squall, +And the ruler of the Ocean wild and wide! + + +MAN SAILS THE DEEP AWHILE + + +MAN sails the deep awhile; +Loud runs the roaring tide; +The seas are wild and wide; +O'er many a salt, o'er many a desert mile, +The unchained breakers ride, +The quivering stars beguile. + +Hope bears the sole command; +Hope, with unshaken eyes, +Sees flaw and storm arise; +Hope, the good steersman, with unwearying hand, +Steers, under changing skies, +Unchanged toward the land. + +O wind that bravely blows! +O hope that sails with all +Where stars and voices call! +O ship undaunted that forever goes +Where God, her admiral, +His battle signal shows! + +What though the seas and wind +Far on the deep should whelm +Colours and sails and helm? +There, too, you touch that port that you designed - +There, in the mid-seas' realm, +Shall you that haven find. + +Well hast thou sailed: now die, +To die is not to sleep. +Still your true course you keep, +O sailor soul, still sailing for the sky; +And fifty fathom deep +Your colours still shall fly. + + +THE COCK'S CLEAR VOICE INTO THE CLEARER AIR + + +THE cock's clear voice into the clearer air +Where westward far I roam, +Mounts with a thrill of hope, +Falls with a sigh of home. + +A rural sentry, he from farm and field +The coming morn descries, +And, mankind's bugler, wakes +The camp of enterprise. + +He sings the morn upon the westward hills +Strange and remote and wild; +He sings it in the land +Where once I was a child. + +He brings to me dear voices of the past, +The old land and the years: +My father calls for me, +My weeping spirit hears. + +Fife, fife, into the golden air, O bird, +And sing the morning in; +For the old days are past +And new days begin. + + +NOW WHEN THE NUMBER OF MY YEARS + + +NOW when the number of my years +Is all fulfilled, and I +From sedentary life +Shall rouse me up to die, +Bury me low and let me lie +Under the wide and starry sky. +Joying to live, I joyed to die, +Bury me low and let me lie. + +Clear was my soul, my deeds were free, +Honour was called my name, +I fell not back from fear +Nor followed after fame. +Bury me low and let me lie +Under the wide and starry sky. +Joying to live, I joyed to die, +Bury me low and let me lie. + +Bury me low in valleys green +And where the milder breeze +Blows fresh along the stream, +Sings roundly in the trees - +Bury me low and let me lie +Under the wide and starry sky. +Joying to live, I joyed to die, +Bury me low and let me lie. + + +WHAT MAN MAY LEARN, WHAT MAN MAY DO + + +WHAT man may learn, what man may do, +Of right or wrong of false or true, +While, skipper-like, his course he steers +Through nine and twenty mingled years, +Half misconceived and half forgot, +So much I know and practise not. + +Old are the words of wisdom, old +The counsels of the wise and bold: +To close the ears, to check the tongue, +To keep the pining spirit young; +To act the right, to say the true, +And to be kind whate'er you do. + +Thus we across the modern stage +Follow the wise of every age; +And, as oaks grow and rivers run +Unchanged in the unchanging sun, +So the eternal march of man +Goes forth on an eternal plan. + + +SMALL IS THE TRUST WHEN LOVE IS GREEN + + +SMALL is the trust when love is green +In sap of early years; +A little thing steps in between +And kisses turn to tears. + +Awhile - and see how love be grown +In loveliness and power! +Awhile, it loves the sweets alone, +But next it loves the sour. + +A little love is none at all +That wanders or that fears; +A hearty love dwells still at call +To kisses or to tears. + +Such then be mine, my love to give, +And such be yours to take:- +A faith to hold, a life to live, +For lovingkindness' sake: + +Should you be sad, should you be gay, +Or should you prove unkind, +A love to hold the growing way +And keep the helping mind:- + +A love to turn the laugh on care +When wrinkled care appears, +And, with an equal will, to share +Your losses and your tears. + + +KNOW YOU THE RIVER NEAR TO GREZ + + +KNOW you the river near to Grez, +A river deep and clear? +Among the lilies all the way, +That ancient river runs to-day +From snowy weir to weir. + +Old as the Rhine of great renown, +She hurries clear and fast, +She runs amain by field and town +From south to north, from up to down, +To present on from past. + +The love I hold was borne by her; +And now, though far away, +My lonely spirit hears the stir +Of water round the starling spur +Beside the bridge at Grez. + +So may that love forever hold +In life an equal pace; +So may that love grow never old, +But, clear and pure and fountain-cold, +Go on from grace to grace. + + +IT'S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM + + +IT'S forth across the roaring foam, and on towards the west, +It's many a lonely league from home, o'er many a mountain crest, +From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold, +To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold. + +Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn, +Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn; +It's there that I was sick and sad, alone and poor and cold, +In yon distressful city beside the Gates of Gold. + +I slept as one that nothing knows; but far along my way, +Before the morning God rose and planned the coming day; +Afar before me forth he went, as through the sands of old, +And chose the friends to help me beside the Gates of Gold. + +I have been near, I have been far, my back's been at the wall, +Yet aye and ever shone the star to guide me through it all: +The love of God, the help of man, they both shall make me bold +Against the gates of darkness as beside the Gates of Gold. + + +AN ENGLISH BREEZE + + +UP with the sun, the breeze arose, +Across the talking corn she goes, +And smooth she rustles far and wide +Through all the voiceful countryside. + +Through all the land her tale she tells; +She spins, she tosses, she compels +The kites, the clouds, the windmill sails +And all the trees in all the dales. + +God calls us, and the day prepares +With nimble, gay and gracious airs: +And from Penzance to Maidenhead +The roads last night He watered. + +God calls us from inglorious ease, +Forth and to travel with the breeze +While, swift and singing, smooth and strong +She gallops by the fields along. + + +AS IN THEIR FLIGHT THE BIRDS OF SONG + + +AS in their flight the birds of song +Halt here and there in sweet and sunny dales, +But halt not overlong; +The time one rural song to sing +They pause; then following bounteous gales +Steer forward on the wing: +Sun-servers they, from first to last, +Upon the sun they wait +To ride the sailing blast. + +So he awhile in our contested state, +Awhile abode, not longer, for his Sun - +Mother we say, no tenderer name we know - +With whose diviner glow +His early days had shone, +Now to withdraw her radiance had begun. +Or lest a wrong I say, not she withdrew, +But the loud stream of men day after day +And great dust columns of the common way +Between them grew and grew: +And he and she for evermore might yearn, +But to the spring the rivulets not return +Nor to the bosom comes the child again. + +And he (O may we fancy so!), +He, feeling time forever flow +And flowing bear him forth and far away +From that dear ingle where his life began +And all his treasure lay - +He, waxing into man, +And ever farther, ever closer wound +In this obstreperous world's ignoble round, +From that poor prospect turned his face away. + + +THE PIPER + + +AGAIN I hear you piping, for I know the tune so well, - +You rouse the heart to wander and be free, +Tho' where you learned your music, not the God of song can tell, +For you pipe the open highway and the sea. +O piper, lightly footing, lightly piping on your way, +Tho' your music thrills and pierces far and near, +I tell you you had better pipe to someone else to-day, +For you cannot pipe my fancy from my dear. + +You sound the note of travel through the hamlet and the town; +You would lure the holy angels from on high; +And not a man can hear you, but he throws the hammer down +And is off to see the countries ere he die. +But now no more I wander, now unchanging here I stay; +By my love, you find me safely sitting here: +And pipe you ne'er so sweetly, till you pipe the hills away, +You can never pipe my fancy from my dear. + + +TO MRS. MACMARLAND + + +IN Schnee der Alpen - so it runs +To those divine accords - and here +We dwell in Alpine snows and suns, +A motley crew, for half the year: +A motley crew, we dwell to taste - +A shivering band in hope and fear - +That sun upon the snowy waste, +That Alpine ether cold and clear. + +Up from the laboured plains, and up +From low sea-levels, we arise +To drink of that diviner cup +The rarer air, the clearer skies; +For, as the great, old, godly King +From mankind's turbid valley cries, +So all we mountain-lovers sing: +I to the hills will lift mine eyes. + +The bells that ring, the peaks that climb, +The frozen snow's unbroken curd +Might yet revindicate in rhyme +The pauseless stream, the absent bird. +In vain - for to the deeps of life +You, lady, you my heart have stirred; +And since you say you love my life, +Be sure I love you for the word. + +Of kindness, here I nothing say - +Such loveless kindnesses there are +In that grimacing, common way, +That old, unhonoured social war. +Love but my dog and love my love, +Adore with me a common star - +I value not the rest above +The ashes of a bad cigar. + + +TO MISS CORNISH + + +THEY tell me, lady, that to-day +On that unknown Australian strand - +Some time ago, so far away - +Another lady joined the band. +She joined the company of those +Lovelily dowered, nobly planned, +Who, smiling, still forgive their foes +And keep their friends in close command. + +She, lady, as I learn, was one +Among the many rarely good; +And destined still to be a sun +Through every dark and rainy mood:- +She, as they told me, far had come, +By sea and land, o'er many a rood:- +Admired by all, beloved by some, +She was yourself, I understood. + +But, compliment apart and free +From all constraint of verses, may +Goodness and honour, grace and glee, +Attend you ever on your way - +Up to the measure of your will, +Beyond all power of mine to say - +As she and I desire you still, +Miss Cornish, on your natal day. + + +TALES OF ARABIA + + +YES, friend, I own these tales of Arabia +Smile not, as smiled their flawless originals, +Age-old but yet untamed, for ages +Pass and the magic is undiminished. + +Thus, friend, the tales of the old Camaralzaman, +Ayoub, the Slave of Love, or the Calendars, +Blind-eyed and ill-starred royal scions, +Charm us in age as they charmed in childhood. + +Fair ones, beyond all numerability, +Beam from the palace, beam on humanity, +Bright-eyed, in truth, yet soul-less houris +Offering pleasure and only pleasure. + +Thus they, the venal Muses Arabian, +Unlike, indeed, the nobler divinities, +Greek Gods or old time-honoured muses, +Easily proffer unloved caresses. + +Lost, lost, the man who mindeth the minstrelsy; +Since still, in sandy, glittering pleasances, +Cold, stony fruits, gem-like but quite in- +Edible, flatter and wholly starve him. + + +BEHOLD, AS GOBLINS DARK OF MIEN + + +BEHOLD, as goblins dark of mien +And portly tyrants dyed with crime +Change, in the transformation scene, +At Christmas, in the pantomime, + +Instanter, at the prompter's cough, +The fairy bonnets them, and they +Throw their abhorred carbuncles off +And blossom like the flowers in May. + +- So mankind, to angelic eyes, +So, through the scenes of life below, +In life's ironical disguise, +A travesty of man, ye go: + +But fear not: ere the curtain fall, +Death in the transformation scene +Steps forward from her pedestal, +Apparent, as the fairy Queen; + +And coming, frees you in a trice +From all your lendings - lust of fame, +Ungainly virtue, ugly vice, +Terror and tyranny and shame. + +So each, at last himself, for good +In that dear country lays him down, +At last beloved and understood +And pure in feature and renown. + + +STILL I LOVE TO RHYME + + +STILL I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander +Far from the commoner way; +Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder, +Dreaming to-morrow to-day. + +Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo, +Measures descanted before; +Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow, +Prints in the marbles of yore. + +Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested, +Songs for the brain to forget - +Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested +Piping and chirruping yet. + +Thoughts? No thought has yet unskilled attempted to flutter +Trammelled so vilely in verse; +He who writes but aims at fame and his bread and his butter, +Won with a groan and a curse. + + +LONG TIME I LAY IN LITTLE EASE + + +LONG time I lay in little ease +Where, placed by the Turanian, +Marseilles, the many-masted, sees +The blue Mediterranean. + +Now songful in the hour of sport, +Now riotous for wages, +She camps around her ancient port, +As ancient of the ages. + +Algerian airs through all the place +Unconquerably sally; +Incomparable women pace +The shadows of the alley. + +And high o'er dark and graving yard +And where the sky is paler, +The golden virgin of the guard +Shines, beckoning the sailor. + +She hears the city roar on high, +Thief, prostitute, and banker; +She sees the masted vessels lie +Immovably at anchor. + +She sees the snowy islets dot +The sea's immortal azure, +And If, that castellated spot, +Tower, turret, and embrasure. + + +FLOWER GOD, GOD OF THE SPRING + + +FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful, +Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles, +Here I wander in April +Cold, grey-headed; and still to my +Heart, Spring comes with a bound, Spring the deliverer, +Spring, song-leader in woods, chorally resonant; +Spring, flower-planter in meadows, +Child-conductor in willowy +Fields deep dotted with bloom, daisies and crocuses: +Here that child from his heart drinks of eternity: +O child, happy are children! +She still smiles on their innocence, +She, dear mother in God, fostering violets, +Fills earth full of her scents, voices and violins: +Thus one cunning in music +Wakes old chords in the memory: +Thus fair earth in the Spring leads her performances. +One more touch of the bow, smell of the virginal +Green - one more, and my bosom +Feels new life with an ecstasy. + + +COME, MY BELOVED, HEAR FROM ME + + +COME, my beloved, hear from me +Tales of the woods or open sea. +Let our aspiring fancy rise +A wren's flight higher toward the skies; +Or far from cities, brown and bare, +Play at the least in open air. +In all the tales men hear us tell +Still let the unfathomed ocean swell, +Or shallower forest sound abroad +Below the lonely stars of God; +In all, let something still be done, +Still in a corner shine the sun, +Slim-ankled maids be fleet of foot, +Nor man disown the rural flute. +Still let the hero from the start +In honest sweat and beats of heart +Push on along the untrodden road +For some inviolate abode. +Still, O beloved, let me hear +The great bell beating far and near- +The odd, unknown, enchanted gong +That on the road hales men along, +That from the mountain calls afar, +That lures a vessel from a star, +And with a still, aerial sound +Makes all the earth enchanted ground. +Love, and the love of life and act +Dance, live and sing through all our furrowed tract; +Till the great God enamoured gives +To him who reads, to him who lives, +That rare and fair romantic strain +That whoso hears must hear again. + + +SINCE YEARS AGO FOR EVERMORE + + +SINCE years ago for evermore +My cedar ship I drew to shore; +And to the road and riverbed +And the green, nodding reeds, I said +Mine ignorant and last farewell: +Now with content at home I dwell, +And now divide my sluggish life +Betwixt my verses and my wife: +In vain; for when the lamp is lit +And by the laughing fire I sit, +Still with the tattered atlas spread +Interminable roads I tread. + + +ENVOY FOR "A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES" + + +WHETHER upon the garden seat +You lounge with your uplifted feet +Under the May's whole Heaven of blue; +Or whether on the sofa you, +No grown up person being by, +Do some soft corner occupy; +Take you this volume in your hands +And enter into other lands, +For lo! (as children feign) suppose +You, hunting in the garden rows, +Or in the lumbered attic, or +The cellar - a nail-studded door +And dark, descending stairway found +That led to kingdoms underground: +There standing, you should hear with ease +Strange birds a-singing, or the trees +Swing in big robber woods, or bells +On many fairy citadels: + +There passing through (a step or so - +Neither mamma nor nurse need know!) +From your nice nurseries you would pass, +Like Alice through the Looking-Glass +Or Gerda following Little Ray, +To wondrous countries far away. +Well, and just so this volume can +Transport each little maid or man +Presto from where they live away +Where other children used to play. +As from the house your mother sees +You playing round the garden trees, +So you may see if you but look +Through the windows of this book +Another child far, far away +And in another garden play. +But do not think you can at all, +By knocking on the window, call +That child to hear you. He intent +Is still on his play-business bent. +He does not hear, he will not look, +Nor yet be lured out of this book. +For long ago, the truth to say, +He has grown up and gone away; +And it is but a child of air +That lingers in the garden there. + + +FOR RICHMOND'S GARDEN WALL + + +WHEN Thomas set this tablet here, +Time laughed at the vain chanticleer; +And ere the moss had dimmed the stone, +Time had defaced that garrison. +Now I in turn keep watch and ward +In my red house, in my walled yard +Of sunflowers, sitting here at ease +With friends and my bright canvases. +But hark, and you may hear quite plain +Time's chuckled laughter in the lane. + + +HAIL, GUEST, AND ENTER FREELY! + + +HAIL, guest, and enter freely! All you see +Is, for your momentary visit, yours; and we +Who welcome you are but the guests of God, +And know not our departure. + + +LO, NOW, MY GUEST + + +LO, now, my guest, if aught amiss were said, +Forgive it and dismiss it from your head. +For me, for you, for all, to close the date, +Pass now the ev'ning sponge across the slate; +And to that spirit of forgiveness keep +Which is the parent and the child of sleep. + + +SO LIVE, SO LOVE, SO USE THAT FRAGILE HOUR + + +SO live, so love, so use that fragile hour, +That when the dark hand of the shining power +Shall one from other, wife or husband, take, +The poor survivor may not weep and wake. + + +AD SE IPSUM + + +DEAR sir, good-morrow! Five years back, +When you first girded for this arduous track, +And under various whimsical pretexts +Endowed another with your damned defects, +Could you have dreamed in your despondent vein +That the kind God would make your path so plain? +Non nobis, domine! O, may He still +Support my stumbling footsteps on the hill! + + +BEFORE THIS LITTLE GIFT WAS COME + + +BEFORE this little gift was come +The little owner had made haste for home; +And from the door of where the eternal dwell, +Looked back on human things and smiled farewell. +O may this grief remain the only one! +O may our house be still a garrison +Of smiling children, and for evermore +The tune of little feet be heard along the floor! + + +GO, LITTLE BOOK - THE ANCIENT PHRASE + + +GO, little book - the ancient phrase +And still the daintiest - go your ways, +My Otto, over sea and land, +Till you shall come to Nelly's hand. + +How shall I your Nelly know? +By her blue eyes and her black brow, +By her fierce and slender look, +And by her goodness, little book! + +What shall I say when I come there? +You shall speak her soft and fair: +See - you shall say - the love they send +To greet their unforgotten friend! + +Giant Adulpho you shall sing +The next, and then the cradled king: +And the four corners of the roof +Then kindly bless; and to your perch aloof, +Where Balzac all in yellow dressed +And the dear Webster of the west +Encircle the prepotent throne +Of Shakespeare and of Calderon, +Shall climb an upstart. + +There with these +You shall give ear to breaking seas +And windmills turning in the breeze, +A distant undetermined din +Without; and you shall hear within +The blazing and the bickering logs, +The crowing child, the yawning dogs, +And ever agile, high and low, +Our Nelly going to and fro. + +There shall you all silent sit, +Till, when perchance the lamp is lit +And the day's labour done, she takes +Poor Otto down, and, warming for our sakes, +Perchance beholds, alive and near, +Our distant faces reappear. + + +MY LOVE WAS WARM + + +MY love was warm; for that I crossed +The mountains and the sea, +Nor counted that endeavour lost +That gave my love to me. + +If that indeed were love at all, +As still, my love, I trow, +By what dear name am I to call +The bond that holds me now + + +DEDICATORY POEM FOR "UNDERWOODS" + + +TO her, for I must still regard her +As feminine in her degree, +Who has been my unkind bombarder +Year after year, in grief and glee, +Year after year, with oaken tree; +And yet betweenwhiles my laudator +In terms astonishing to me - +To the Right Reverend The Spectator +I here, a humble dedicator, +Bring the last apples from my tree. + +In tones of love, in tones of warning, +She hailed me through my brief career; +And kiss and buffet, night and morning, +Told me my grandmamma was near; +Whether she praised me high and clear +Through her unrivalled circulation, +Or, sanctimonious insincere, +She damned me with a misquotation - +A chequered but a sweet relation, +Say, was it not, my granny dear? + +Believe me, granny, altogether +Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. +Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, +Oft brought a light into my eyes - +For notice still the writer cries. +In any civil age or nation, +The book that is not talked of dies. +So that shall be my termination: +Whether in praise or execration, +Still, if you love me, criticise! + + +FAREWELL + + +FAREWELL, and when forth +I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles +Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, +Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, +Isle upon island, sea upon sea, +Why should I sail, why should the breeze? +I have been young, and I have counted friends. +A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late. +Why should I from isle to isle +Sail, a hopeless sailor? + + +THE FAR-FARERS + + +THE broad sun, +The bright day: +White sails +On the blue bay: +The far-farers +Draw away. + +Light the fires +And close the door. +To the old homes, +To the loved shore, +The far-farers +Return no more. + + +HOME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU + + +COME, my little children, here are songs for you; +Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new. +You must learn to sing them very small and clear, +Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear. + +Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall, +Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all. +So when night is come, and you have gone to bed, +All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head. + + +COME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS + + +HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet - +Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set; +For the dews are falling fast +And the night has come at last. +Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest, +Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother's breast. +Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you; + she'll be your guardian and shield. +Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be + bright upon mountain and field. +Long, long the shadows fall. +All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid. +All round your head be angels. + + +EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO + + +EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano +You (at least, I guess it's you) proceed to learn to play. +Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano +While the birds are singing in the morning of the day. + + +FAIR ISLE AT SEA + + +FAIR Isle at Sea - thy lovely name +Soft in my ear like music came. +That sea I loved, and once or twice +I touched at isles of Paradise. + + +LOUD AND LOW IN THE CHIMNEY + + +LOUD and low in the chimney +The squalls suspire; +Then like an answer dwindles +And glows the fire, +And the chamber reddens and darkens +In time like taken breath. +Near by the sounding chimney +The youth apart +Hearkens with changing colour +And leaping heart, +And hears in the coil of the tempest +The voice of love and death. +Love on high in the flute-like +And tender notes +Sounds as from April meadows +And hillside cotes; +But the deep wood wind in the chimney +Utters the slogan of death. + + +I LOVE TO BE WARM BY THE RED FIRESIDE + + +I LOVE to be warm by the red fireside, +I love to be wet with rain: +I love to be welcome at lamplit doors, +And leave the doors again. + + +AT LAST SHE COMES + + +AT last she comes, O never more +In this dear patience of my pain +To leave me lonely as before, +Or leave my soul alone again. + + +MINE EYES WERE SWIFT TO KNOW THEE + + +MINE eyes were swift to know thee, and my heart +As swift to love. I did become at once +Thine wholly, thine unalterably, thine +In honourable service, pure intent, +Steadfast excess of love and laughing care: +And as she was, so am, and so shall be. +I knew thee helpful, knew thee true, knew thee +And Pity bedfellows: I heard thy talk +With answerable throbbings. On the stream, +Deep, swift, and clear, the lilies floated; fish +Through the shadows ran. There, thou and I +Read Kindness in our eyes and closed the match. + + +FIXED IS THE DOOM + + +FIXED is the doom; and to the last of years +Teacher and taught, friend, lover, parent, child, +Each walks, though near, yet separate; each beholds +His dear ones shine beyond him like the stars. +We also, love, forever dwell apart; +With cries approach, with cries behold the gulph, +The Unvaulted; as two great eagles that do wheel in air +Above a mountain, and with screams confer, +Far heard athwart the cedars. +Yet the years +Shall bring us ever nearer; day by day +Endearing, week by week, till death at last +Dissolve that long divorce. By faith we love, +Not knowledge; and by faith, though far removed, +Dwell as in perfect nearness, heart to heart. +We but excuse +Those things we merely are; and to our souls +A brave deception cherish. +So from unhappy war a man returns +Unfearing, or the seaman from the deep; +So from cool night and woodlands to a feast +May someone enter, and still breathe of dews, +And in her eyes still wear the dusky night. + + +MEN ARE HEAVEN'S PIERS + + +MEN are Heaven's piers; they evermore +Unwearying bear the skyey floor; +Man's theatre they bear with ease, +Unfrowning cariatides! +I, for my wife, the sun uphold, +Or, dozing, strike the seasons cold. +She, on her side, in fairy-wise +Deals in diviner mysteries, +By spells to make the fuel burn +And keep the parlour warm, to turn +Water to wine, and stones to bread, +By her unconquered hero-head. +A naked Adam, naked Eve, +Alone the primal bower we weave; +Sequestered in the seas of life, +A Crusoe couple, man and wife, +With all our good, with all our will, +Our unfrequented isle we fill; +And victor in day's petty wars, +Each for the other lights the stars. +Come then, my Eve, and to and fro +Let us about our garden go; +And, grateful-hearted, hand in hand +Revisit all our tillage land, +And marvel at our strange estate, +For hooded ruin at the gate +Sits watchful, and the angels fear +To see us tread so boldly here. +Meanwhile, my Eve, with flower and grass +Our perishable days we pass; +Far more the thorn observe - and see +How our enormous sins go free - +Nor less admire, beside the rose, +How far a little virtue goes. + + +THE ANGLER ROSE, HE TOOK HIS ROD + + +THE angler rose, he took his rod, +He kneeled and made his prayers to God. +The living God sat overhead: +The angler tripped, the eels were fed + + +SPRING CAROL + + +WHEN loud by landside streamlets gush, +And clear in the greenwood quires the thrush, +With sun on the meadows +And songs in the shadows +Comes again to me +The gift of the tongues of the lea, +The gift of the tongues of meadows. + +Straightway my olden heart returns +And dances with the dancing burns; +It sings with the sparrows; +To the rain and the (grimy) barrows +Sings my heart aloud - +To the silver-bellied cloud, +To the silver rainy arrows. + +It bears the song of the skylark down, +And it hears the singing of the town; +And youth on the highways +And lovers in byways +Follows and sees: +And hearkens the song of the leas +And sings the songs of the highways. + +So when the earth is alive with gods, +And the lusty ploughman breaks the sod, +And the grass sings in the meadows, +And the flowers smile in the shadows, +Sits my heart at ease, +Hearing the song of the leas, +Singing the songs of the meadows. + + +TO WHAT SHALL I COMPARE HER? + + +TO what shall I compare her, +That is as fair as she? +For she is fairer - fairer +Than the sea. +What shall be likened to her, +The sainted of my youth? +For she is truer - truer +Than the truth. + +As the stars are from the sleeper, +Her heart is hid from me; +For she is deeper - deeper +Than the sea. +Yet in my dreams I view her +Flush rosy with new ruth - +Dreams! Ah, may these prove truer +Than the truth. + + +WHEN THE SUN COMES AFTER RAIN + + +WHEN the sun comes after rain +And the bird is in the blue, +The girls go down the lane +Two by two. + +When the sun comes after shadow +And the singing of the showers, +The girls go up the meadow, +Fair as flowers. + +When the eve comes dusky red +And the moon succeeds the sun, +The girls go home to bed +One by one. + +And when life draws to its even +And the day of man is past, +They shall all go home to heaven, +Home at last. + + +LATE, O MILLER + + +LATE, O miller, +The birds are silent, +The darkness falls. +In the house the lights are lighted. +See, in the valley they twinkle, +The lights of home. +Late, O lovers, +The night is at hand; +Silence and darkness +Clothe the land. + + +TO FRIENDS AT HOME + + +TO friends at home, the lone, the admired, the lost +The gracious old, the lovely young, to May +The fair, December the beloved, +These from my blue horizon and green isles, +These from this pinnacle of distances I, +The unforgetful, dedicate. + + +I, WHOM APOLLO SOMETIME VISITED + + +I, WHOM Apollo sometime visited, +Or feigned to visit, now, my day being done, +Do slumber wholly; nor shall know at all +The weariness of changes; nor perceive +Immeasurable sands of centuries +Drink of the blanching ink, or the loud sound +Of generations beat the music down. + + +TEMPEST TOSSED AND SORE AFFLICTED + + +TEMPEST tossed and sore afflicted, sin defiled and care oppressed, +Come to me, all ye that labour; come, and I will give ye rest. +Fear no more, O doubting hearted; weep no more, O weeping eye! +Lo, the voice of your redeemer; lo, the songful morning near. + +Here one hour you toil and combat, sin and suffer, bleed and die; +In my father's quiet mansion soon to lay your burden by. +Bear a moment, heavy laden, weary hand and weeping eye. +Lo, the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom here. + + +VARIANT FORM OF THE PRECEDING POEM + + +COME to me, all ye that labour; I will give your spirits rest; +Here apart in starry quiet I will give you rest. +Come to me, ye heavy laden, sin defiled and care opprest, +In your father's quiet mansions, soon to prove a welcome guest. +But an hour you bear your trial, sin and suffer, bleed and die; +But an hour you toil and combat here in day's inspiring eye. +See the feet of your deliverer; lo, the hour of freedom nigh. + + +I NOW, O FRIEND, WHOM NOISELESSLY THE SNOWS + + +I NOW, O friend, whom noiselessly the snows +Settle around, and whose small chamber grows +Dusk as the sloping window takes its load: + +* * * * * + +The kindly hill, as to complete our hap, +Has ta'en us in the shelter of her lap; +Well sheltered in our slender grove of trees +And ring of walls, we sit between her knees; +A disused quarry, paved with rose plots, hung +With clematis, the barren womb whence sprung +The crow-stepped house itself, that now far seen +Stands, like a bather, to the neck in green. +A disused quarry, furnished with a seat +Sacred to pipes and meditation meet +For such a sunny and retired nook. +There in the clear, warm mornings many a book +Has vied with the fair prospect of the hills +That, vale on vale, rough brae on brae, upfills +Halfway to the zenith all the vacant sky +To keep my loose attention. . . . +Horace has sat with me whole mornings through: +And Montaigne gossiped, fairly false and true; +And chattering Pepys, and a few beside +That suit the easy vein, the quiet tide, +The calm and certain stay of garden-life, +Far sunk from all the thunderous roar of strife. +There is about the small secluded place +A garnish of old times; a certain grace +Of pensive memories lays about the braes: +The old chestnuts gossip tales of bygone days. +Here, where some wandering preacher, blest Lazil, +Perhaps, or Peden, on the middle hill +Had made his secret church, in rain or snow, +He cheers the chosen residue from woe. +All night the doors stood open, come who might, +The hounded kebbock mat the mud all night. +Nor are there wanting later tales; of how +Prince Charlie's Highlanders . . . + +* * * * * + +I have had talents, too. In life's first hour +God crowned with benefits my childish head. +Flower after flower, I plucked them; flower by flower +Cast them behind me, ruined, withered, dead. +Full many a shining godhead disappeared. +From the bright rank that once adorned her brow +The old child's Olympus + +* * * * * + +Gone are the fair old dreams, and one by one, +As, one by one, the means to reach them went, +As, one by one, the stars in riot and disgrace, +I squandered what . . . + +There shut the door, alas! on many a hope +Too many; +My face is set to the autumnal slope, +Where the loud winds shall . . . + +There shut the door, alas! on many a hope, +And yet some hopes remain that shall decide +My rest of years and down the autumnal slope. + +* * * * * + +Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I +Loved, as all men have loved them; gone! +I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on high - +Dreams of the knight's stout heart and tempered will. +Not in Elysian lands they take their way; +Not as of yore across the gay champaign, +Towards some dream city, towered . . . +and my . . . +The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain, +Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky +November's russet woodlands toss and wail, +Still the white road goes thro' them, still may I, +Strong in new purpose, God, may still prevail. + +* * * * * + +I and my like, improvident sailors! + +* * * * * + +At whose light fall awaking, all my heart +Grew populous with gracious, favoured thought, +And all night long thereafter, hour by hour, +The pageant of dead love before my eyes +Went proudly, and old hopes with downcast head +Followed like Kings, subdued in Rome's imperial hour, +Followed the car; and I . . . + + +SINCE THOU HAST GIVEN ME THIS GOOD HOPE, O GOD + + +SINCE thou hast given me this good hope, O God, +That while my footsteps tread the flowery sod +And the great woods embower me, and white dawn +And purple even sweetly lead me on +From day to day, and night to night, O God, +My life shall no wise miss the light of love; +But ever climbing, climb above +Man's one poor star, man's supine lands, +Into the azure steadfastness of death, +My life shall no wise lack the light of love, +My hands not lack the loving touch of hands; +But day by day, while yet I draw my breath, +And day by day, unto my last of years, +I shall be one that has a perfect friend. +Her heart shall taste my laughter and my tears, +And her kind eyes shall lead me to the end. + + +GOD GAVE TO ME A CHILD IN PART + + +GOD gave to me a child in part, +Yet wholly gave the father's heart: +Child of my soul, O whither now, +Unborn, unmothered, goest thou? + +You came, you went, and no man wist; +Hapless, my child, no breast you kist; +On no dear knees, a privileged babbler, clomb, +Nor knew the kindly feel of home. + +My voice may reach you, O my dear- +A father's voice perhaps the child may hear; +And, pitying, you may turn your view +On that poor father whom you never knew. + +Alas! alone he sits, who then, +Immortal among mortal men, +Sat hand in hand with love, and all day through +With your dear mother wondered over you. + + +OVER THE LAND IS APRIL + + +OVER the land is April, +Over my heart a rose; +Over the high, brown mountain +The sound of singing goes. +Say, love, do you hear me, +Hear my sonnets ring? +Over the high, brown mountain, +Love, do you hear me sing? + +By highway, love, and byway +The snows succeed the rose. +Over the high, brown mountain +The wind of winter blows. +Say, love, do you hear me, +Hear my sonnets ring? +Over the high, brown mountain +I sound the song of spring, +I throw the flowers of spring. +Do you hear the song of spring? +Hear you the songs of spring? + + +LIGHT AS THE LINNET ON MY WAY I START + + +LIGHT as the linnet on my way I start, +For all my pack I bear a chartered heart. +Forth on the world without a guide or chart, +Content to know, through all man's varying fates, +The eternal woman by the wayside waits. + + +COME, HERE IS ADIEU TO THE CITY + + +COME, here is adieu to the city +And hurrah for the country again. +The broad road lies before me +Watered with last night's rain. +The timbered country woos me +With many a high and bough; +And again in the shining fallows +The ploughman follows the plough. + +The whole year's sweat and study, +And the whole year's sowing time, +Comes now to the perfect harvest, +And ripens now into rhyme. +For we that sow in the Autumn, +We reap our grain in the Spring, +And we that go sowing and weeping +Return to reap and sing. + + +IT BLOWS A SNOWING GALE + + +IT blows a snowing gale in the winter of the year; +The boats are on the sea and the crews are on the pier. +The needle of the vane, it is veering to and fro, +A flash of sun is on the veering of the vane. +Autumn leaves and rain, +The passion of the gale. + + +NE SIT ANCILLAE TIBI AMOR PUDOR + + +THERE'S just a twinkle in your eye +That seems to say I MIGHT, if I +Were only bold enough to try +An arm about your waist. +I hear, too, as you come and go, +That pretty nervous laugh, you know; +And then your cap is always so +Coquettishly displaced. + +Your cap! the word's profanely said. +That little top-knot, white and red, +That quaintly crowns your graceful head, +No bigger than a flower, +Is set with such a witching art, +Is so provocatively smart, +I'd like to wear it on my heart, +An order for an hour! + +O graceful housemaid, tall and fair, +I love your shy imperial air, +And always loiter on the stair +When you are going by. +A strict reserve the fates demand; +But, when to let you pass I stand, +Sometimes by chance I touch your hand +And sometimes catch your eye. + + +TO ALL THAT LOVE THE FAR AND BLUE + + +TO all that love the far and blue: +Whether, from dawn to eve, on foot +The fleeing corners ye pursue, +Nor weary of the vain pursuit; +Or whether down the singing stream, +Paddle in hand, jocund ye shoot, +To splash beside the splashing bream +Or anchor by the willow root: + +Or, bolder, from the narrow shore +Put forth, that cedar ark to steer, +Among the seabirds and the roar +Of the great sea, profound and clear; +Or, lastly if in heart ye roam, +Not caring to do else, and hear, +Safe sitting by the fire at home, +Footfalls in Utah or Pamere: + +Though long the way, though hard to bear +The sun and rain, the dust and dew; +Though still attainment and despair +Inter the old, despoil the new; +There shall at length, be sure, O friends, +Howe'er ye steer, whate'er ye do - +At length, and at the end of ends, +The golden city come in view. + + +THOU STRAINEST THROUGH THE MOUNTAIN FERN +(A FRAGMENT) + + +THOU strainest through the mountain fern, +A most exiguously thin Burn. +For all thy foam, for all thy din, +Thee shall the pallid lake inurn, +With well-a-day for Mr. Swin-Burne! +Take then this quarto in thy fin +And, O thou stoker huge and stern, +The whole affair, outside and in, +Burn! +But save the true poetic kin, +The works of Mr. Robert Burn' +And William Wordsworth upon Tin-Tern! + + +TO ROSABELLE + + +WHEN my young lady has grown great and staid, +And in long raiment wondrously arrayed, +She may take pleasure with a smile to know +How she delighted men-folk long ago. +For her long after, then, this tale I tell +Of the two fans and fairy Rosabelle. +Hot was the day; her weary sire and I +Sat in our chairs companionably nigh, +Each with a headache sat her sire and I. + +Instant the hostess waked: she viewed the scene, +Divined the giants' languor by their mien, +And with hospitable care +Tackled at once an Atlantean chair. +Her pigmy stature scarce attained the seat - +She dragged it where she would, and with her feet +Surmounted; thence, a Phaeton launched, she crowned +The vast plateau of the piano, found +And culled a pair of fans; wherewith equipped, +Our mountaineer back to the level slipped; +And being landed, with considerate eyes, +Betwixt her elders dealt her double prize; +The small to me, the greater to her sire. +As painters now advance and now retire +Before the growing canvas, and anon +Once more approach and put the climax on: +So she awhile withdrew, her piece she viewed - +For half a moment half supposed it good - +Spied her mistake, nor sooner spied than ran +To remedy; and with the greater fan, +In gracious better thought, equipped the guest. + +From ill to well, from better on to best, +Arts move; the homely, like the plastic kind; +And high ideals fired that infant mind. +Once more she backed, once more a space apart +Considered and reviewed her work of art: +Doubtful at first, and gravely yet awhile; +Till all her features blossomed in a smile. +And the child, waking at the call of bliss, +To each she ran, and took and gave a kiss. + + +NOW BARE TO THE BEHOLDER'S EYE + + +NOW bare to the beholder's eye +Your late denuded bindings lie, +Subsiding slowly where they fell, +A disinvested citadel; +The obdurate corset, Cupid's foe, +The Dutchman's breeches frilled below. +Those that the lover notes to note, +And white and crackling petticoat. + +From these, that on the ground repose, +Their lady lately re-arose; +And laying by the lady's name, +A living woman re-became. +Of her, that from the public eye +They do enclose and fortify, +Now, lying scattered as they fell, +An indiscreeter tale they tell: +Of that more soft and secret her +Whose daylong fortresses they were, +By fading warmth, by lingering print, +These now discarded scabbards hint. + +A twofold change the ladies know: +First, in the morn the bugles blow, +And they, with floral hues and scents, +Man their beribboned battlements. +But let the stars appear, and they +Shed inhumanities away; +And from the changeling fashion see, +Through comic and through sweet degree, +In nature's toilet unsurpassed, +Forth leaps the laughing girl at last. + + +THE BOUR-TREE DEN + + +CLINKUM-CLANK in the rain they ride, +Down by the braes and the grey sea-side; +Clinkum-clank by stane and cairn, +Weary fa' their horse-shoe-airn! + +Loud on the causey, saft on the sand, +Round they rade by the tail of the land; +Round and up by the Bour-Tree Den, +Weary fa' the red-coat men! + +Aft hae I gane where they hae rade +And straigled in the gowden brooms - +Aft hae I gane, a saikless maid, +And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms! + +Wi' swords and guns they wanton there, +Wi' red, red coats and braw, braw plumes. +But I gaed wi' my gowden hair, +And O! sae bonny as the bour-tree blooms! + +I ran, a little hempie lass, +In the sand and the bent grass, +Or took and kilted my small coats +To play in the beached fisher-boats. + +I waded deep and I ran fast, +I was as lean as a lugger's mast, +I was as brown as a fisher's creel, +And I liked my life unco weel. + +They blew a trumpet at the cross, +Some forty men, both foot and horse. +A'body cam to hear and see, +And wha, among the rest, but me. +My lips were saut wi' the saut air, +My face was brown, my feet were bare +The wind had ravelled my tautit hair, +And I thought shame to be standing there. + +Ae man there in the thick of the throng +Sat in his saddle, straight and strong. +I looked at him and he at me, +And he was a master-man to see. +. . . And who is this yin? and who is yon +That has the bonny lendings on? +That sits and looks sae braw and crouse? +. . . Mister Frank o' the Big House! + +I gaed my lane beside the sea; +The wind it blew in bush and tree, +The wind blew in bush and bent: +Muckle I saw, and muckle kent! + +Between the beach and the sea-hill +I sat my lane and grat my fill - +I was sae clarty and hard and dark, +And like the kye in the cow park! + +There fell a battle far in the north; +The evil news gaed back and forth, +And back and forth by brae and bent +Hider and hunter cam and went: +The hunter clattered horse-shoe-airn +By causey-crest and hill-top cairn; +The hider, in by shag and shench, +Crept on his wame and little lench. + +The eastland wind blew shrill and snell, +The stars arose, the gloaming fell, +The firelight shone in window and door +When Mr. Frank cam here to shore. +He hirpled up by the links and the lane, +And chappit laigh in the back-door-stane. +My faither gaed, and up wi' his han'! +. . . Is this Mr. Frank, or a beggarman? + +I have mistrysted sair, he said, +But let me into fire and bed; +Let me in, for auld lang syne, +And give me a dram of the brandy wine. + +They hid him in the Bour-Tree Den, +And I thought it strange to gang my lane; +I thought it strange, I thought it sweet, +To gang there on my naked feet. +In the mirk night, when the boats were at sea, +I passed the burn abune the knee; +In the mirk night, when the folks were asleep, +I had a tryst in the den to keep. + +Late and air', when the folks were asleep, +I had a tryst, a tryst to keep, +I had a lad that lippened to me, +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + +O' the bour-tree leaves I busked his bed, +The mune was siller, the dawn was red: +Was nae man there but him and me - +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + +Unco weather hae we been through: +The mune glowered, and the wind blew, +And the rain it rained on him and me, +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + +Dwelling his lane but house or hauld, +Aft he was wet and aft was cauld; +I warmed him wi' my briest and knee - +And bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + +There was nae voice of beast ae man, +But the tree soughed and the burn ran, +And we heard the ae voice of the sea: +Bour-tree blossom is fair to see! + + +SONNETS + +I. + +NOR judge me light, tho' light at times I seem, +And lightly in the stress of fortune bear +The innumerable flaws of changeful care - +Nor judge me light for this, nor rashly deem +(Office forbid to mortals, kept supreme +And separate the prerogative of God!) +That seaman idle who is borne abroad +To the far haven by the favouring stream. +Not he alone that to contrarious seas +Opposes, all night long, the unwearied oar, +Not he alone, by high success endeared, +Shall reach the Port; but, winged, with some light breeze +Shall they, with upright keels, pass in before +Whom easy Taste, the golden pilot, steered. + +II. + +So shall this book wax like unto a well, +Fairy with mirrored flowers about the brim, +Or like some tarn that wailing curlews skim, +Glassing the sallow uplands or brown fell; +And so, as men go down into a dell +(Weary with noon) to find relief and shade, +When on the uneasy sick-bed we are laid, +We shall go down into thy book, and tell +The leaves, once blank, to build again for us +Old summer dead and ruined, and the time +Of later autumn with the corn in stook. +So shalt thou stint the meagre winter thus +Of his projected triumph, and the rime +Shall melt before the sunshine in thy book. + +III. + +I have a hoard of treasure in my breast; +The grange of memory steams against the door, +Full of my bygone lifetime's garnered store - +Old pleasures crowned with sorrow for a zest, +Old sorrow grown a joy, old penance blest, +Chastened remembrance of the sins of yore +That, like a new evangel, more and more +Supports our halting will toward the best. +Ah! what to us the barren after years +May bring of joy or sorrow, who can tell? +O, knowing not, who cares? It may be well +That we shall find old pleasures and old fears, +And our remembered childhood seen thro' tears, +The best of Heaven and the worst of Hell. + +IV. + +As starts the absent dreamer when a train, +Suddenly disengulphed below his feet, +Roars forth into the sunlight, to its seat +My soul was shaken with immediate pain +Intolerable as the scanty breath +Of that one word blew utterly away +The fragile mist of fair deceit that lay +O'er the bleak years that severed me from death. +Yes, at the sight I quailed; but, not unwise +Or not, O God, without some nervous thread +Of that best valour, Patience, bowed my head, +And with firm bosom and most steadfast eyes, +Strong in all high resolve, prepared to tread +The unlovely path that leads me toward the skies. + +V. + +Not undelightful, friend, our rustic ease +To grateful hearts; for by especial hap, +Deep nested in the hill's enormous lap, +With its own ring of walls and grove of trees, +Sits, in deep shelter, our small cottage - nor +Far-off is seen, rose carpeted and hung +With clematis, the quarry whence she sprung, +O mater pulchra filia pulchrior, +Whither in early spring, unharnessed folk, +We join the pairing swallows, glad to stay +Where, loosened in the hills, remote, unseen, +From its tall trees, it breathes a slender smoke +To heaven, and in the noon of sultry day +Stands, coolly buried, to the neck in green. + +VI. + +As in the hostel by the bridge I sate, +Nailed with indifference fondly deemed complete, +And (O strange chance, more sorrowful than sweet) +The counterfeit of her that was my fate, +Dressed in like vesture, graceful and sedate, +Went quietly up the vacant village street, +The still small sound of her most dainty feet +Shook, like a trumpet blast, my soul's estate. +Instant revolt ran riot through my brain, +And all night long, thereafter, hour by hour, +The pageant of dead love before my eyes +Went proudly; and old hopes, broke loose again +From the restraint of wisely temperate power, +With ineffectual ardour sought to rise. + +VII. + +The strong man's hand, the snow-cool head of age, +The certain-footed sympathies of youth - +These, and that lofty passion after truth, +Hunger unsatisfied in priest or sage +Or the great men of former years, he needs +That not unworthily would dare to sing +(Hard task!) black care's inevitable ring +Settling with years upon the heart that feeds +Incessantly on glory. Year by year +The narrowing toil grows closer round his feet; +With disenchanting touch rude-handed time +The unlovely web discloses, and strange fear +Leads him at last to eld's inclement seat, +The bitter north of life - a frozen clime. + +VIII. + +As Daniel, bird-alone, in that far land, +Kneeling in fervent prayer, with heart-sick eyes +Turned thro' the casement toward the westering skies; +Or as untamed Elijah, that red brand +Among the starry prophets; or that band +And company of Faithful sanctities +Who in all times, when persecutions rise, +Cherish forgotten creeds with fostering hand: +Such do ye seem to me, light-hearted crew, +O turned to friendly arts with all your will, +That keep a little chapel sacred still, +One rood of Holy-land in this bleak earth +Sequestered still (our homage surely due!) +To the twin Gods of mirthful wine and mirth. + +About my fields, in the broad sun +And blaze of noon, there goeth one, +Barefoot and robed in blue, to scan +With the hard eye of the husbandman +My harvests and my cattle. Her, +When even puts the birds astir +And day has set in the great woods, +We seek, among her garden roods, +With bells and cries in vain: the while +Lamps, plate, and the decanter smile +On the forgotten board. But she, +Deaf, blind, and prone on face and knee, +Forgets time, family, and feast, +And digs like a demented beast. + +Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at dawn, +Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn? +Rails for his breakfast? routs his vassals out +(Like boys escaped from school) with song and shout? +Kind and unkind, his Maker's final freak, +Part we deride the child, part dread the antique! +See where his gang, like frogs, among the dew +Crouch at their duty, an unquiet crew; +Adjust their staring kilts; and their swift eyes +Turn still to him who sits to supervise. +He in the midst, perched on a fallen tree, +Eyes them at labour; and, guitar on knee, +Now ministers alarm, now scatters joy, +Now twangs a halting chord, now tweaks a boy. +Thorough in all, my resolute vizier +Plays both the despot and the volunteer, +Exacts with fines obedience to my laws, +And for his music, too, exacts applause. + +The Adorner of the uncomely - those +Amidst whose tall battalions goes +Her pretty person out and in +All day with an endearing din, +Of censure and encouragement; +And when all else is tried in vain +See her sit down and weep again. +She weeps to conquer; +She varies on her grenadiers +From satire up to girlish tears! + +Or rather to behold her when +She plies for me the unresting pen, +And when the loud assault of squalls +Resounds upon the roof and walls, +And the low thunder growls and I +Raise my dictating voice on high. + +What glory for a boy of ten +Who now must three gigantic men +And two enormous, dapple grey +New Zealand pack-horses array +And lead, and wisely resolute +Our day-long business execute +In the far shore-side town. His soul +Glows in his bosom like a coal; +His innocent eyes glitter again, +And his hand trembles on the rein. +Once he reviews his whole command, +And chivalrously planting hand +On hip - a borrowed attitude - +Rides off downhill into the wood. + +I meanwhile in the populous house apart +Sit snugly chambered, and my silent art +Uninterrupted, unremitting ply +Before the dawn, by morning lamplight, by +The glow of smelting noon, and when the sun +Dips past my westering hill and day is done; +So, bending still over my trade of words, +I hear the morning and the evening birds, +The morning and the evening stars behold; +So there apart I sit as once of old +Napier in wizard Merchiston; and my +Brown innocent aides in home and husbandry +Wonder askance. What ails the boss? they ask. +Him, richest of the rich, an endless task +Before the earliest birds or servants stir +Calls and detains him daylong prisoner? +He whose innumerable dollars hewed +This cleft in the boar and devil-haunted wood, +And bade therein, from sun to seas and skies, +His many-windowed, painted palace rise +Red-roofed, blue-walled, a rainbow on the hill, +A wonder in the forest glade: he still, + +Unthinkable Aladdin, dawn and dark, +Scribbles and scribbles, like a German clerk. +We see the fact, but tell, O tell us why? +My reverend washman and wise butler cry. +Meanwhile at times the manifold +Imperishable perfumes of the past +And coloured pictures rise on me thick and fast: +And I remember the white rime, the loud +Lamplitten city, shops, and the changing crowd; +And I remember home and the old time, +The winding river, the white moving rhyme, +The autumn robin by the river-side +That pipes in the grey eve. + +The old lady (so they say), but I +Admire your young vitality. +Still brisk of foot, still busy and keen +In and about and up and down. + +I hear you pass with bustling feet +The long verandahs round, and beat +Your bell, and "Lotu! Lotu!" cry; +Thus calling our queer company, +In morning or in evening dim, +To prayers and the oft mangled hymn. + +All day you watch across the sky +The silent, shining cloudlands ply, +That, huge as countries, swift as birds, +Beshade the isles by halves and thirds, +Till each with battlemented crest +Stands anchored in the ensanguined west, +An Alp enchanted. All the day +You hear the exuberant wind at play, +In vast, unbroken voice uplift, +In roaring tree, round whistling clift. + + +AIR OF DIABELLI'S + + +CALL it to mind, O my love. +Dear were your eyes as the day, +Bright as the day and the sky; +Like the stream of gold and the sky above, +Dear were your eyes in the grey. +We have lived, my love, O, we have lived, my love! +Now along the silent river, azure +Through the sky's inverted image, +Softly swam the boat that bore our love, +Swiftly ran the shallow of our love +Through the heaven's inverted image, +In the reedy mazes round the river. +See along the silent river, + +See of old the lover's shallop steer. +Berried brake and reedy island, +Heaven below and only heaven above. +Through the sky's inverted image +Swiftly swam the boat that bore our love. +Berried brake and reedy island, +Mirrored flower and shallop gliding by. +All the earth and all the sky were ours, +Silent sat the wafted lovers, +Bound with grain and watched by all the sky, +Hand to hand and eye to . . . eye. + +Days of April, airs of Eden, +Call to mind how bright the vanished angel hours, +Golden hours of evening, +When our boat drew homeward filled with flowers. +O darling, call them to mind; love the past, my love. +Days of April, airs of Eden. +How the glory died through golden hours, +And the shining moon arising; +How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. +Age and winter close us slowly in. + +Level river, cloudless heaven, +Islanded reed mazes, silver weirs; +How the silent boat with silver +Threads the inverted forest as she goes, +Broke the trembling green of mirrored trees. +O, remember, and remember +How the berries hung in garlands. + +Still in the river see the shallop floats. +Hark! Chimes the falling oar. +Still in the mind +Hark to the song of the past! +Dream, and they pass in their dreams. + +Those that loved of yore, O those that loved of yore! +Hark through the stillness, O darling, hark! +Through it all the ear of the mind + +Knows the boat of love. Hark! +Chimes the falling oar. + +O half in vain they grew old. + +Now the halcyon days are over, +Age and winter close us slowly round, +And these sounds at fall of even +Dim the sight and muffle all the sound. +And at the married fireside, sleep of soul and sleep of fancy, +Joan and Darby. +Silence of the world without a sound; +And beside the winter faggot + +Joan and Darby sit and dose and dream and wake - +Dream they hear the flowing, singing river, +See the berries in the island brake; +Dream they hear the weir, +See the gliding shallop mar the stream. +Hark! in your dreams do you hear? + +Snow has filled the drifted forest; +Ice has bound the . . . stream. +Frost has bound our flowing river; +Snow has whitened all our island brake. + +Berried brake and reedy island, +Heaven below and only heaven above azure +Through the sky's inverted image +Safely swam the boat that bore our love. +Dear were your eyes as the day, +Bright ran the stream, bright hung the sky above. +Days of April, airs of Eden. +How the glory died through golden hours, +And the shining moon arising, +How the boat drew homeward filled with flowers. +Bright were your eyes in the night: +We have lived, my love; +O, we have loved, my love. +Now the . . . days are over, +Age and winter close us slowly round. + +Vainly time departs, and vainly +Age and winter come and close us round. + +Hark the river's long continuous sound. + +Hear the river ripples in the reeds. + +Lo, in dreams they see their shallop +Run the lilies down and drown the weeds +Mid the sound of crackling faggots. +So in dreams the new created +Happy past returns, to-day recedes, +And they hear once more, + +From the old years, +Yesterday returns, to-day recedes, +And they hear with aged hearing warbles + +Love's own river ripple in the weeds. +And again the lover's shallop; +Lo, the shallop sheds the streaming weeds; +And afar in foreign countries +In the ears of aged lovers. + +And again in winter evens +Starred with lilies . . . with stirring weeds. +In these ears of aged lovers +Love's own river ripples in the reeds. + + +EPITAPHIUM EROTII + + +HERE lies Erotion, whom at six years old +Fate pilfered. Stranger (when I too am cold, +Who shall succeed me in my rural field), +To this small spirit annual honours yield! +Bright be thy hearth, hale be thy babes, I crave +And this, in thy green farm, the only grave. + + +DE M. ANTONIO + + +NOW Antoninus, in a smiling age, +Counts of his life the fifteenth finished stage. +The rounded days and the safe years he sees, +Nor fears death's water mounting round his knees. +To him remembering not one day is sad, +Not one but that its memory makes him glad. +So good men lengthen life; and to recall +The past is to have twice enjoyed it all. + + +AD MAGISTRUM LUDI +(UNFINISHED DRAFT.) + + +NOW in the sky +And on the hearth of +Now in a drawer the direful cane, +That sceptre of the . . . reign, +And the long hawser, that on the back +Of Marsyas fell with many a whack, +Twice hardened out of Scythian hides, +Now sleep till the October ides. + +In summer if the boys be well. + + +AD NEPOTEM + + +O NEPOS, twice my neigh(b)our (since at home +We're door by door, by Flora's temple dome; +And in the country, still conjoined by fate, +Behold our villas standing gate by gate), +Thou hast a daughter, dearer far than life - +Thy image and the image of thy wife. +Thy image and thy wife's, and be it so! + +But why for her, { neglect the flowing } can + { O Nepos, leave the } + +And lose the prime of thy Falernian? +Hoard casks of money, if to hoard be thine; +But let thy daughter drink a younger wine! +Let her go rich and wise, in silk and fur; + +Lay down a { bin that shall } grow old with her; + { vintage to } + +But thou, meantime, the while the batch is sound, +With pleased companions pass the bowl around; +Nor let the childless only taste delights, +For Fathers also may enjoy their nights. + + +IN CHARIDEMUM + + +YOU, Charidemus, who my cradle swung, +And watched me all the days that I was young; +You, at whose step the laziest slaves awake, +And both the bailiff and the butler quake; +The barber's suds now blacken with my beard, +And my rough kisses make the maids afeared; +But with reproach your awful eyebrows twitch, +And for the cane, I see, your fingers itch. +If something daintily attired I go, +Straight you exclaim: "Your father did not so." +And fuming, count the bottles on the board +As though my cellar were your private hoard. +Enough, at last: I have done all I can, +And your own mistress hails me for a man. + + +DE LIGURRA + + +YOU fear, Ligurra - above all, you long - +That I should smite you with a stinging song. +This dreadful honour you both fear and hope - +Both all in vain: you fall below my scope. +The Lybian lion tears the roaring bull, +He does not harm the midge along the pool. + +Lo! if so close this stands in your regard, +From some blind tap fish forth a drunken barn, +Who shall with charcoal, on the privy wall, +Immortalise your name for once and all. + + +IN LUPUM + + +BEYOND the gates thou gav'st a field to till; +I have a larger on my window-sill. +A farm, d'ye say? Is this a farm to you, +Where for all woods I spay one tuft of rue, +And that so rusty, and so small a thing, +One shrill cicada hides it with a wing; +Where one cucumber covers all the plain; +And where one serpent rings himself in vain +To enter wholly; and a single snail +Eats all and exit fasting to the pool? +Here shall my gardener be the dusty mole. +My only ploughman the . . . mole. +Here shall I wait in vain till figs be set, +And till the spring disclose the violet. +Through all my wilds a tameless mouse careers, +And in that narrow boundary appears, +Huge as the stalking lion of Algiers, +Huge as the fabled boar of Calydon. +And all my hay is at one swoop impresst +By one low-flying swallow for her nest, +Strip god Priapus of each attribute +Here finds he scarce a pedestal to foot. +The gathered harvest scarcely brims a spoon; +And all my vintage drips in a cocoon. +Generous are you, but I more generous still: +Take back your farm and stand me half a gill! + + +AD QUINTILIANUM + + +O CHIEF director of the growing race, +Of Rome the glory and of Rome the grace, +Me, O Quintilian, may you not forgive +Before from labour I make haste to live? +Some burn to gather wealth, lay hands on rule, +Or with white statues fill the atrium full. +The talking hearth, the rafters sweet with smoke, +Live fountains and rough grass, my line invoke: +A sturdy slave, not too learned wife, +Nights filled with slumber, and a quiet life. + + +DE HORTIS JULII MARTIALIS + + +MY Martial owns a garden, famed to please, +Beyond the glades of the Hesperides; +Along Janiculum lies the chosen block +Where the cool grottos trench the hanging rock. +The moderate summit, something plain and bare, +Tastes overhead of a serener air; +And while the clouds besiege the vales below, +Keeps the clear heaven and doth with sunshine glow. +To the June stars that circle in the skies +The dainty roofs of that tall villa rise. +Hence do the seven imperial hills appear; +And you may view the whole of Rome from here; +Beyond, the Alban and the Tuscan hills; +And the cool groves and the cool falling rills, +Rubre Fidenae, and with virgin blood +Anointed once Perenna's orchard wood. +Thence the Flaminian, the Salarian way, +Stretch far broad below the dome of day; +And lo! the traveller toiling towards his home; +And all unheard, the chariot speeds to Rome! +For here no whisper of the wheels; and tho' +The Mulvian Bridge, above the Tiber's flow, +Hangs all in sight, and down the sacred stream +The sliding barges vanish like a dream, +The seaman's shrilling pipe not enters here, +Nor the rude cries of porters on the pier. +And if so rare the house, how rarer far +The welcome and the weal that therein are! +So free the access, the doors so widely thrown, +You half imagine all to be your own. + + +AD MARTIALEM + + +GO(D) knows, my Martial, if we two could be +To enjoy our days set wholly free; +To the true life together bend our mind, +And take a furlough from the falser kind. +No rich saloon, nor palace of the great, +Nor suit at law should trouble our estate; +On no vainglorious statues should we look, +But of a walk, a talk, a little book, +Baths, wells and meads, and the veranda shade, +Let all our travels and our toils be made. +Now neither lives unto himself, alas! +And the good suns we see, that flash and pass +And perish; and the bell that knells them cries: +"Another gone: O when will ye arise?" + + +IN MAXIMUM + + +WOULDST thou be free? I think it not, indeed; +But if thou wouldst, attend this simple rede: +When quite contented }thou canst dine at home +Thou shall be free when } +And drink a small wine of the march of Rome; +When thou canst see unmoved thy neighbour's plate, +And wear my threadbare toga in the gate; +When thou hast learned to love a small abode, +And not to choose a mistress A LA MODE: +When thus contained and bridled thou shalt be, +Then, Maximus, then first shalt thou be free. + + +AD OLUM + + +CALL me not rebel, though { here at every word + {in what I sing +If I no longer hail thee { King and Lord + { Lord and King +I have redeemed myself with all I had, +And now possess my fortunes poor but glad. +With all I had I have redeemed myself, +And escaped at once from slavery and pelf. +The unruly wishes must a ruler take, +Our high desires do our low fortunes make: +Those only who desire palatial things +Do bear the fetters and the frowns of Kings; +Set free thy slave; thou settest free thyself. + + +DE COENATIONE MICAE + + +LOOK round: You see a little supper room; +But from my window, lo! great Caesar's tomb! +And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath +Bid you be merry and remember death. + + +DE EROTIO PUELLA + + +THIS girl was sweeter than the song of swans, +And daintier than the lamb upon the lawns +Or Curine oyster. She, the flower of girls, +Outshone the light of Erythraean pearls; +The teeth of India that with polish glow, +The untouched lilies or the morning snow. +Her tresses did gold-dust outshine +And fair hair of women of the Rhine. +Compared to her the peacock seemed not fair, +The squirrel lively, or the phoenix rare; +Her on whose pyre the smoke still hovering waits; +Her whom the greedy and unequal fates +On the sixth dawning of her natal day, +My child-love and my playmate - snatcht away. + + +AD PISCATOREM + + +FOR these are sacred fishes all +Who know that lord that is the lord of all; +Come to the brim and nose the friendly hand +That sways and can beshadow all the land. +Nor only so, but have their names, and come +When they are summoned by the Lord of Rome. +Here once his line an impious Lybian threw; +And as with tremulous reed his prey he drew, +Straight, the light failed him. +He groped, nor found the prey that he had ta'en. +Now as a warning to the fisher clan +Beside the lake he sits, a beggarman. +Thou, then, while still thine innocence is pure, +Flee swiftly, nor presume to set thy lure; +Respect these fishes, for their friends are great; +And in the waters empty all thy bait. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Etext of New Poems by Robert Louis Stevenson + diff --git a/old/rlsnp10.zip b/old/rlsnp10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a12a03 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/rlsnp10.zip |