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diff --git a/48371-8.txt b/48371-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b1a234b..0000000 --- a/48371-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2428 +0,0 @@ - A Spring Harvest - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: A Spring Harvest -Author: Geoffrey Bache Smith -Release Date: February 26, 2015 [EBook #48371] -Reposted: March 07, 2015 [textual corrections made] -Language: English -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPRING HARVEST *** - - - - -Produced by Andrew Dunning. - -Based on scans by the British Library. - - - - - A Spring Harvest - - - - - To HIS MOTHER - - - - -Geoffrey Bache Smith - -Born October 18th, 1894 - -Entered Corpus Christi College, Oxford, as Exhibitioner - October 1913 - -Received Commission - January 1915 - -Died of wounds at Warlencourt, France - December 3rd, 1916 - - - - - A Spring Harvest - - - - - - - by - - Geoffrey Bache Smith - - Late Lieutenant in the Lancashire Fusiliers - - - - - Erskine Macdonald, Ltd. - - London, W.C.1 - - - - - _All Rights Reserved_ - - _First published June 1918_ - - - - -Note - - -_The_ poems of this book were written at very various times, one ("Wind -over the Sea") I believe even as early as 1910, but the order in which -they are here given is not chronological beyond the fact that the third -part contains only poems written after the outbreak of the war. Of these -some were written in England (at Oxford in particular), some in Wales -and very many during a year in France from November 1915 to December -1916, which was broken by one leave in the middle of May. - -"The Burial of Sophocles," which is here placed at the end, was begun -before the war and continued at odd times and in various circumstances -afterwards; the final version was sent me from the trenches. - -Beyond these few facts no prelude and no _envoi_ is needed other than -those here printed as their author left them. - - J. R. R. T. - -1918. - - - - -Contents - - - Note ............................................................ 7 - Contents ........................................................ 9 - I. Two Legends .................................................. 13 - Glastonbury ................................................... 13 - Legend ........................................................ 21 - II. First Poems ................................................. 24 - Rime .......................................................... 24 - To an Elzevir Cicero .......................................... 26 - To a Dürer Drawing of Antwerp Harbour ......................... 27 - Pure Virginia ................................................. 28 - A Preface for a Tale I have never told ........................ 29 - A Sonnet ...................................................... 30 - "It was all in the Black Countree" ............................ 31 - To a Pianist .................................................. 32 - A Fragment .................................................... 33 - Sea Poppies ................................................... 34 - "O, sing me a Song of the Wild West Wind" ..................... 35 - Ære Perennius ................................................. 36 - The Old Kings ................................................. 37 - "O there be Kings whose Treasuries" ........................... 38 - A Study ....................................................... 39 - The Eremite ................................................... 40 - The House of Eld .............................................. 41 - The South-west Wind ........................................... 42 - Schumann: Erstes Verlust ...................................... 43 - "Dark Boughs against a Golden Sky" ............................ 44 - "Wind of the Darkness" ........................................ 45 - Creator Spiritus .............................................. 46 - Wind over the Sea ............................................. 47 - Songs on the Downs ............................................ 48 - III. Last Poems and "The Burial of Sophocles" ................... 49 - "We who have bowed ourselves to Time" ......................... 49 - Anglia Valida in Senectute .................................... 50 - "Dark is the World our Fathers left us" ....................... 51 - Awakening ..................................................... 52 - Ave atque Vale ................................................ 53 - "O, one came down from Seven Hills" ........................... 55 - Sonnet to the British Navy .................................... 57 - The Last Meeting .............................................. 58 - The New Age and the Old ....................................... 59 - To the Cultured ............................................... 60 - Afterwards .................................................... 61 - Domum redit Poeta ............................................. 62 - Memories ...................................................... 63 - Intercessional ................................................ 64 - April 1916 .................................................... 65 - "Over the Hills and Hollows Green" ............................ 66 - Sonnet ........................................................ 67 - "O Long the Fiends of War shall dance" ........................ 68 - For R. Q. G. .................................................. 69 - "Sun and Shadow and Winds of Spring" .......................... 70 - "Let us tell Quiet Stories of Kind Eyes" ...................... 71 - "Save that Poetic Fire" ....................................... 72 - The Burial of Sophocles ....................................... 73 - "So we lay down the Pen" ...................................... 78 - - - - -_If_ there be one among the Muses nine -Loves not so much _Completion_ as _the Will_, -And less the austere saint than the fond sinner: -Loves scanty ruins, garlanded with years, -Better than lofty palaces entire: -To her I dedicate this spoiléd sheaf -Of rime that scarcely came to harvesting. - -There is a window here in Magdalen -Composite, methinks, of fragments that stark Mars -Has scattered. Even so my verses be -Composite of memories and half-uttered dreams -Welded together sans due ordinance, -Which might have been far other, but that Mars -Scattered and harried them with his ruthless flail. - - - - -I. Two Legends - - - -Glastonbury - - -_Thither_ through moaning woods came Bedivere, -At gloomy breaking of a winter's day, -Weary and travel-stained and sick at heart, -With a great wound gotten in that last fray -Ere he stood by, and watched the King depart -Down the long, silent reaches of the mere: -And all the earth was sad, and skies were drear, -And the wind cried, and chased the relict leaves -Like ships, that the storm-tossed ocean batters and heaves, -And they fly before the gale, and the mariners fear. - -So he found at the last an hermitage -Hard by a little hill, and sheltering trees -That bent gaunt branches in the winter's breeze; -And he drew rein, and leant, and struck the door: -Then presently came forth an hermit sage -And helped him to dismount with labour sore: -Straight went they in, but Bedivere being lame -Stumbled against the open door, and swooned, -And would have fallen, but the hermit caught -And laid him gently down; then hurrying brought -From a great chest a cordial, and came -That he might drink, and so beheld his wound. - -Long time lay Bedivere betwixt life and death, -Like a torn traveller on a stormy height -'Twixt one wind and another: till his breath -Came easier, and he prospered. Then did sleep -Bathe him in soothing waters, soft and deep, -And left him whole, at breaking of the light, -So he beheld the old man, and desired -That he would tell of whom he was, and whence. - -Whereat once more the ancient eyes were fired: -"I, I was Arthur's bishop, at his court -And in his church I ministered, and thence -When at the last the whole was overthrown -With wrath and ill designings, straight I sought -A place where I might die, too feeble grown -To endure a new beginning to my years -When once the past was lost, and whelmed in tears. -Hither I came, where, in the dawns of time -Dim peoples, that the very stones forget, -Lived, loved, and fought, and wove the riddling rime -On a lake island mystically set. -They passed, and after ages manifold -Came wandering sainted Joseph (even he -That tended God's frail body, and enrolled -In linen clothes of spicèd fragrancy). -He brought the vessel, vanished now from earth -That wrought destruction to the Table Round, -Since many deemed themselves above their worth -And sought in vain, and perished ere they found." - -Then Bedivere: "Alas the King! I saw -The unstayed overwhelming tide of war: -And when the opposèd standards were unfurled -Of Arthur and of Mordred, his base son, -Ere yet the noise of battle was begun -I heard the heralds crying to the world: - -"'Ye that have sought out pallid harmonies -Where never wind blows, save the gentle south: -Ye that have trafficked on the sounding seas -And fear nor cheerless rains, nor scorching drouth: - -"'Ye that have piled the rich, full-ripened crops -Of word and measure, till the rime, grown proud, -Did straight contemn the leaping mountain tops -And lose itself in air, and riven cloud: - -"'Ye that have lived a dangerous life of war -Whose speech has been bold words and heady boasts -Gather, for strife and death unknown before, -Come gather all unto the fronting hosts.' - -"I saw the last dim battle in the mist -There, where a dreary waste of barren sand -Doth mark the ultimate leagues of this fair land; -Scarce we beheld the foe we struck, or wist -Which party had advantage: like thin wraiths -Fit to throng Lethe banks the warriors -Struck and o'ercame, or fell, unseen, unwept; -And alien hopes, lives, peoples, alien faiths -Were all confounded on those desolate shores. -And ever the mist seethed, and the waves kept -A hollow chanting, as they mourned the end -Of all mankind, and of created time. -How many fell therein of foe or friend -I know not, save that when the darkness came -And the mist cleared, I found at last the King, -His armour and visage fouled with blood and slime, -And fading in his eyes the ancient flame. - -"I saw him make on Mordred with his spear, -And crying 'Tide me death, betide me life, -He shall not live, that wrought the accursed thing,' -Put a dread ending to the outworn strife. -I saw them fall together, and, drawn near. -Knew that the King was wounded unto death. - -"Then as he drew with growing pain his breath -I looked, and saw a long, black barge that stole -Across the waters, like a wandering soul -Returnèd from the woeful realm, to view -The ancient haunts well-loved that once it knew. -And when it touched the shallows I did bear -The dying Arthur as he bade, and there -I placed him 'mid dark forms: I could not tell -Whose they might be; and wept, and breathed farewell." - -Then spake the eremite: "Beyond yon door -There stands a chapel, ancient and weatherworn, -And there did worship in the days of yore -The sons of kings. The night ere you came hither -I was awakened by the sound of feet. -And I looked forth, and saw a body borne -By veilèd figures straight, as they knew whither, -In at the chapel gateway. I went down -And found that they had digged a grave, most meet -For one of saintly life, or king by birth: -They seemed some score, and by blown candles' light -I saw that each with tears bedewed his gown -Ere sank the corse into the waiting earth, -Then prayed, and so went out into the night." - -Thereon the twain arose, and went straightway -Toward the old, dim chapel, and beheld -The stone beneath whose length the body lay: -Kneeling they closely scanned it all, and spelled -Graven in golden character, _"Arcturus_ -_Rex Quondamque Futurus."_ - - Quoth Bedivere: -"Thank God this voice remaineth unto us; -Now I do mind me of a prophecy -Spoken long since in some emblazoned year, -How Arthur should escape mortality -And lie beneath the hills, in cavern deep -Or on some shore, where faery seas do break: -Around him all his warriors shall sleep, -Who at a great bell's sounding shall awake -What time th' old enemy spreads death and harm -Thorough his ancient realm, and the last woes -Go over her; his own victorious arm -Shall rid the stricken land of hate and foes." - -So leave we them, each head inaureoled -With the awakening spring's young sunlight-gold. - -Then, on an evening, hurrying footsteps rung -Without the door, and straight 'twas open flung, -They saw who stood therein, and each one knew -The face unspared by years and strife and shame, -Pale as the moon is pale on winter nights, -With deep eyes dreaming like September haze, -Or lit with lust of battle, eyes that few -Had looked on and forgot; in such wise came -Lancelot, the hero of immortal fights, -Lancelot, the golden knight of golden days. - -"Whence cam'st thou, Lancelot?" "Even from the - Queen, -The Queen that was, whom now a convent's shade -Imprisons, and a dark and tristful veil -Enwraps those brows, that in old days were seen -Most puissant proud of all that ever made -The traitor honest, and the valorous frail. - -"Yet evermore about her form there clings -And evermore shall cling, the ancient grace, -Like evening sunlight lingering on the mere: -And till the end of all created things -There shall be some one found, shall strive to trace -The immortal loveliness of Guinevere. - -"Shall I not mind me of old ecstasies -In Camelot, beneath the ancient walls, -In shady paths, and marble terraces -Rose-fragrant, where eternal sunlight falls. -But ah! the last long kiss is ta'en and given, -And the last look in those unfathomed eyes, -The passionate last embrace is coldly riven, -And all is grief, beneath the pitiless skies. - -"Gods of the burnt-out hearth, the wandered wind, -Gods of pale dawns that vanished long ago, -Gods of the barren tree, the withered leaf. -The faded flower, and the ungarnered sheaf, -Gods half-forgot in the wild ages' flow -Yours, yours am I, that all for nought have sinned." - -Spring, summer passed away, and autumn rain -Swelled the lean brooks, until the gelid year -Shot forth its icy hand, and grasped again. -Again the hanging clouds were struck and furled -By winds of winter, until skies were clear, -And there was frost o' nights, and all the world -Lay glistening to the newly risen sun. - -Till came that season, wherein solemn days -Do celebrate the reign on earth begun -Of the most blessèd Child, whenas all ways -Were bound, and all the fields were white with snow. -Then in the chapel at high noon they three -Offered their quiet orisons and so -Came forth and looked upon the purity, -And when he saw the fields all stainless-white -Lancelot groaned in spirit, and spake: "How sore -And no wise joyous to a sinner's sight -Is this dear land, where the snow lies untrod. -Even so once before the eyes of God -My soul lay all unspotted; now no more." - -"Courage, my son, and patience," quoth the sage; -No sin there is, that shall not lose its stain -Through the great love of God, and His dear Son. -Repent and be forgiven: know that none -Shall sue before His throne, and sue in vain, -Nor shall one name be blotted from the page -If he that bears it turn to prayer and tears." - -Then Lancelot: "Though through the tale of years -That still are left before the longed-for earth -Receive my body, I should strive amain -To slay myself, and gain regenerate birth, -Alas it were all profitless and vain. -Verily, when I came unto this place -I railed on God, that I had lost my soul -And nothing gained: until a heavenly grace -Enwrapped me, like some sick man made half whole, -And now my grief is only for old sin. -But ah, what boots it? Lo, this barren tree -(He touched a shrub that grew beside the door), -This tree, methinks, shall bud and blossom before -I pass the gates divine, and enter in -To the fair country I must never see." - -But even as he spoke, the hand of God -Worked on the sombre branches, and straightway -They were all green with sap, and bud, and leaf, -As at the very bidding of the spring, -Burst forth, and soon each tender branch was gay -With flowers that nodded in the winter's breeze -(So blossomed in old time the prophet's rod), -And Lancelot stood and saw the wondrous thing. - -Then softly spake the hermit, "Now is grief -Reproved, and sorrow cast out with the lees; -For God beholds the living, not the dead; -And He that took the semblance of a child -Loves He but penance, and the drooping head, -Has He not sung for joy, has He not smiled?" - -So they grew old together, and the years -Pressed no more to their lips the cup of tears -(They had drained all, maybe). And ever less -Seemed all things mortal, as in quietness -They pondered the eternal mysteries -(The noblest heritage of all men born), -Such as are writ upon the face of dawn, -Or in the glamour of a moonlit night, -Or in the autumn swallow's southern flight, -Or in the breaking of the restless seas: -Or dreamed rich, hallowed dreams of aureate days -While yet the King was young, and sunlight fell -On bower and roof of ancient Camelot: -Of triumph clarion, and thanksgiving bell, -When all was song, and laughter, and high praise, -Even when as yet the accursed thing was not. - -Then would loom out from the chill mists of time -The faces and the forms remembered still, -The King and Guinevere, and Galahad, -That rode upon a peerless quest and dire, -Kay, swift and hasty as a flame of fire, -And gentle Percival, whom to give made glad; -Merlin, contriver of the riddling rime, -And Gawain, silent harbinger of ill. - -So as the day draws ever toward the dark, -Ever toward peace the great wind's sounding breath, -And ever toward the further shore the bark -They drew to the dark, silent realm of death. - -Far, far away from their old palace-halls -Where once they lived a splendid life and vain, -That now are scattered stones and crumbled walls -In some soft vale, or by the echoing main, - -Beneath the springing grass, and very deep -They three do lie, where never mornings rise -To ope the portals of their dazèd eyes, -Nor ever mortal footstep breaks their sleep, - -And near beside lies Arthur, even he -That was King once, and yet again shall be. - - - - -Legend - - -_Grey,_ ancient abbeys, you may see them yet, -In that high plain above the western sea: -A broken arch or two, a few worn stones -Piled one upon another, and for paving -Uneven fragments with tall grass between: -Grass that is always green, winter and summer, -The grass that grows on long-forgotten graves. - -It was a springtime morning long ago, -A morning of blue skies and whitest clouds, -And singing birds, and singing streams, and woods -That shone like silver, yet untouched with green: -The brethren of an abbey of the plain ---Whereof what now is ruin yet was whole-- -Were labouring as holy brethren must, -Quietly, and in peace: and elder ones -Paced in the cloister, and some, older still, -Too old to work or dream, sat in the sunlight, -The sunlight which they soon should see no more. - -And there came from the wood upon the hill -One clothed in the sere habit of a monk, -That passed in at the portal of the abbey: -Brighter his face than is the face of spring, -And joy was in his tread, as in his soul. - -And some that paced the cloister paused to glance - at him, -And one that went upon an errand stayed, -And some that laboured left their work, and came -Gathering round him, and he spake, and said: - - "Very fair the golden morning - As in yonder wood I strayed, - And I heard diviner music - Than the greatest harpers made, - - For a sweet bird sang before me - Songs of laughter, and of tears. - All that I have loved and longed for, - As I measured out my years. - - Sang of blessed shores and golden - Where the old, dim heroes be, - Distant isles of sunset glory, - Set beyond the western sea. - - Sang of Christ and Mary Mother - Hearkening unto angels seven - Playing on their golden harp-strings - In the far courts of high Heaven." - -So they stood by, and listened to his speech, -Rhythmic, for that great joy was in his soul: -But while they wondered whence he was, and who, -He cast his eyes around, and, shuddering, cried: -"Who are ye, that I thought to be my brothers? -Strangers and sons of strangers! Where are they -I left behind me but an hour ago?" -Then was there whispering among the throng, -And wonder not a little, and some scorn; -Till he that spake, with anguish in his eye, -Cried: "Take me to a cell, that I may pray." -'Twas done, and in the golden afternoon -A brother entered, and found none within, -Only a sere monk's habit, and much dust, -As of a body crumbled in the grave. - -And while they wondered what these things might be, -At last spake forth the oldest of them all, -Burdened with hundred winters in his soul: -"I can remember, when my years were young, -Hearing the old monks say, one went from here -When spring was on the earth, as it is now, -Some five-score years ago, and was not seen -Again, though search was made in all the land." - -And some believed this was the same, and all -Forgot it in a sennight's silent toil. -Save one, that saw, and seeing understood, -And for the greater glory of High God -Wrote down the story in a mighty book, -And limned the old saint hearkening to the bird -With bright hues, and you still may read and see. - - - - -II. First Poems - - - -Rime - - -_O scholar_ grey, with quiet eyes, -Reading the charactered pages, bright -With one tall candle's flickering light, -In a turret chamber under the skies; -O scholar, learned in gramarye, -Have you seen the manifold things I see? - -Have you seen the forms of tracèd towers -Whence clamorous voices challenge the hours: -Gaunt tree-branches, pitchy black -Against the long, wind-driven wrack -Of scurrying, shuddering clouds, that race -Ever across the pale moon's face? - -Have you heard the tramp of hurrying feet. -There beneath, in the shadowy street, -Have you heard sharp cries, and seen the flame -Of silvery steel, in a perilous game, -A perilous game for men to play, -Hid from the searching eyes of day? - -Have you heard the great awakening breath, -Like trump that summons the saints from death, -Of the wild, majestical wind, which blows -Loud and splendid, that each man knows -Far, O far away is the sea, -Breaking, murmuring, stark and free? - -All these things I hear and see, -I, a scholar of gramarye: -All are writ in the ancient books -Clear, exactly, and he that looks -Finds the night and the changing sea, -The years gone by, and the years to be: -(He that searches, with tireless eyes -In a turret-chamber under the skies) -Passion and joy, and sorrow and laughter, -Life and death, and the things thereafter. - - - - -To an Elzevir Cicero - - -_Dust-covered_ book, that very few men know, - Even as very few men understand - The glory of an ancient, storied land -In the wild current of the ages' flow, -Have not old scholars, centuries ago - Caressed you in the hollow of their hand, - The while with quiet, kindly eyes they scanned -Your pages, yellowed now, then white as snow? - -A voice there is, cries through your every word, -Of him, that after greatest glory came - Down the grey road to darkness and to tears; -A voice like far seas in still valleys heard, -Crying of love and death and hope and fame - That change not with the changing of the years. - - - - -To a Dürer Drawing of Antwerp Harbour - - -_Figured_ by Dürer's magic hand wast thou, - That, lightning-like, traced on the lucid page - Rough, careless lines, with wizardry so sage -That yet the whole was fair, I know not how: -Ships of gaunt masts, and stark, sea-smitten prow, - Idle, yet soon again to sweep the main - In the swift service of old merchants' gain, -Where are ye now, alas, where are ye now? -Gone are ye all, and vanished very long, - Sunk with great glory in the storied wars, - Or conquered by the leaping breakers wild: -And yet we love your image, like some song - That tells of ancient days and high, because - Old Dürer looked upon you once and smiled. - - - - -Pure Virginia - - -York River Returns - - -_Like_ smoke that vanishes on the morning breeze - Are passed the first beginnings of the world, - When time was even as a bud still curled, -And scarce the limit set of lands and seas; -Like smoke, like smoke the composite auguries - Of Hebrew and of Hellene are all furled, - Fulfilled or else forgot, and idly hurled -This way or that way, as the great winds please: -Aye, and like smoke of this delicious herb - Brought by strange ways the curious mind may guess, - From where the parrot and the leopard be, -My thoughts, that should be strong, the years to curb - Go up, and vanish into nothingness - On a blue cloud of exquisite fragrancy. - - - - -A Preface for a Tale I have never told - - -_Herein_ is nought of windy citadels -Where proud kings dwell, that with an iron hand -Deal war or justice: here no history -Of valiant ships upon the wine-dark seas -Passing strange lands and threading channels strait -Between embalmed islands: here no song -That men shall sing in battle and remember -When they are old and grey beside the fire: -Only a story gathered from the hills -And the wind crying of forgotten days, -A story that shall whisper, "All things change-- -For friends do grow indifferent, and loves -Die like a dream at morning: bitterness -Is the sure heritage of all men born, -And he alone sees truly, who looks out -From some huge aery peak, considering not -Fast-walled cities, or the works of men, -But turns his gaze unto the mountain-tops -And the unfathomable blue of heaven -That only change not with the changing years"---- -A tale that shod itself with ancient shoon -And wrapped its cloak, and wandered from the west. - - - - -A Sonnet - - -_There_ is a wind that takes the heart of a man, - A fresh wind in the latter days of spring, - When hate and war and every evil thing -That the wide arches of high Heaven span -Seems dust, and less to be accounted than - The omened touches of a passing wing: - When Destiny, that calls himself a king, - Goes all forgotten for the song of Pan: -For why? Because the twittering of birds - Is the best music that was ever sung, -Because the voice of trees finds better words - Than ever poet from his heartstrings wrung: -Because all wisdom and all gramarye -Are writ in fields, O very plain to see. - - - - -"It was all in the Black Countree" - - -_It_ was all in the Black Countree, -What time the sweet o' the year should be, -I saw a tree, all gaunt and grey, -As mindful of a winter's day: -And that a lonely bird did sit -Upon the topmost branch of it, -Who to my thought did sweeter sing -Than any minstrel of a king. - - - - -To a Pianist - - -_When_ others' fingers touch the keys -Then most doleful threnodies -Chase about the air, and run -Like Pandæmonium begun. -Rhythm strained and false accord -In a ceaseless stream are poured; -Then sighs are heard, and men depart -To seek the sage physician's art, -Or silence, and a little ease, -When others' fingers touch the keys. - -When your fingers touch the keys -Hark, soft sounds of summer seas -In a melody most fair -Whisper through the pleasant air, -Or a winding mountain stream -Glitters to the pale moonbeam, -Or a breeze doth stir the tops -Of springtime larches in a copse, -Or the winds are loosed and hurled -About the wonder-stricken world -With immortal harmonies, -When your fingers touch the keys. - - - - -A Fragment - - - ---- - -_And_ some came down in a great wind - Under grey scurrying skies -To where the long wave-beaten shore - For ever shrieks and cries. - -O, fling aside your toil, your care, - When one cries of the sea, -And the great waves that foam and toss, - And the white clouds that flee: -Let us forget our weariness, - Forget that we have sinned, -So we but sail, what matters it - If Death ride on the wind? - -Storm from the sky, storm from the sea - Beat on them as they stood, -And a great longing sprang in them - To cross the roaring flood. . . . - - - - -Sea Poppies - - -_'Twixt_ lonely lands and desert beach, -Where no wind blows and no waves reach, -A sunken precinct here we keep, -With woven wiles of endless sleep; -Our twisted stems of sere-hued green, -Our pallid blooms what sun has seen? -And he that tastes our magic breath -Shall sleep that sleep whose name is death. - -Wild clouds are scurrying overhead, -The wild wind's voice is loud and dread, -Sounding the knell of the dying day, -Yet here is silence and gloom alway. -And a great longing seizes me -To burst my bondage and be free, -To look on winds' and waters' strife, -And breathe in my nostrils the breath of life. -Give me not dim and slumbrous ease, -But sounding storm and labouring seas, -Not peaceful and untroubled years, -But toil and warfare and passion and tears. -And I would fall in valorous fight, -And lie on lofty far-seen height. - -Yet how to burst these prison-bands, -Forged by unseen spirit-hands? - -O seek not to burst our prison bands -Forged by unseen spirit-hands. -Clashing battle and labouring sea, - These be for others, not for thee. -Thou lover of storm and passion and war -Break'st our charmed circle never more. - - - - -"O, sing me a Song of the Wild West Wind" - - -_O, sing_ me a song of the wild west wind, - And his great sea-harrying flail, -Of hardy mariners, copper skinned, - That fly with a bursting sail. -They see the clouds of crispèd white - That shadow the distant hills, -And filled are they with a strange delight - As shaking away old ills. - -O, give me a boat that is sure and stark, - And swift as a slinger's stone, -With a sail of canvas bronzèd dark, - And I will go out alone: -Nor fear nor sorrow my soul shall keep - When around me lies the sea, -And I will return with the night, and sleep - In the wind's wild harmony. - - - - -Ære Perennius - - -Written on Commemoration Sunday, Corpus Christi College, Oxford - - -_We_ praise, we praise the immortal dead, - Who strove beneath unheeding skies -For truth that raised the drooping head, - For light that gladdened weary eyes: - -The martyr's cross, the warrior's sword, - How should they be of lesser worth -Than some unprofitable hoard - In ancient mines below the earth? - -The song that one alone has sung, - The great uncompromising page, -Are these but glittering baubles, flung - About the world from age to age? - -But ruin'd columns, wondrous tall, - Built in old time with labour sore, -The mighty deeds done once for all, - The voice heard once, and heard no more? - -Rather they shine as doth the star - About the close of winter's day, -That cheers the traveller afar - And draws him on, and points the way. - - ---- - -We praise, we praise the immortal dead. - Do they not verily wait till we -Of the spoilt years unharvested - Be also of their company? - - - - -The Old Kings - - -_Far_ away from sunny rills, -Far away from golden broom, -Far away from any town -Whither merchants travel down-- -In a hollow of the hills -In impenetrable gloom -Sit the old forgotten kings -Unto whom no poet sings, -Unto whom none makes bequest, -Unto whom no kingdoms rest,---- -Only wayward shreds of dreams, -And the sound of ancient streams, -And the shock of ancient strife -On the further shore of life. - - ---- - -When our days are done, shall we -Enter their pale company? - - - - -"O there be Kings whose Treasuries" - - -_O there_ be kings whose treasuries - Are rich with pearls and gold -And silks and bales of cramasy - And spices manifold: -Gardens they have with marble stairs - And streams than life more fair, -With roses set and lavender - That do enchant the air. - -O there be many ships that sail - The sea-ways wide and blue, -And there be master-mariners - To sail them straight and true: -And there be many women fair - Who watch out anxiously, -And are enamoured of the day - Their dear ones come from sea: - -But riches I can find enow - All in a barren land, -Where sombre lakes shine wondrously - With rocks on either hand: -And I can find enow of love - Up there, alone, alone, -With none beside me save the wind, - Nor speech except his moan. - -For there far up among the hills - The great storms come and go -In a most proud processional - Of cloud and rain and snow: -There light and darkness only are - A changing benison -Of the old gods who wrought the world - And shaped the moon and sun. - - - - -A Study - - -_In_ chamber hung with white, -Lit by the dawning light, - -Upon a slender bed -She lies, as she were dead: - -Most carven-ivory fair, -And palely gold her hair. - -Lo, the sun's yellow ray, -That, with the rise of day, - -Through quartered casement came -To wake her life's pale flame. - - - - -The Eremite - - -_When_ the world is still in the hush of dawn, -And yet fast sleeping are hate and scorn, -From my grey lodging under the hill -I do go out, and wander at will. - -Of nights when the riven clouds are hurled, -And strife and rancour possess the world, -I sit alone, with thoughts that are chill, -In my grey lodging under the hill. - - - - -The House of Eld - - -_Now_ the old winds are wild about the house, - And the old ghosts cry to me from the air -Of a far isle set in the western sea, - And of the evening sunlight lingering there. - -Ah! I am bound here, bound and fettered, - The dark house crumbles, and the woods decay, -I was too fain of life, that bound me here; - Away, old long-loved ghosts, away, away! - - - - -The South-west Wind - - -_The_ south-west wind has blown his fill, - And vanished with departing day: -The air is warm, and very still, - And soft as silks of far Cathay. - -This is a night when spirits stray. - Their wan limbs bear them where they will; -They wring their pallid hands alway, - Seeing the lights upon the hill. - - - - -Schumann: Erstes Verlust - - -_O, dreary_ fall the leaves, -The withered leaves; -Among the trees -Complains the breeze, -That still bereaves. - -All silent lies the mere, -The silver mere, -In saddest wise -Reflecting skies -Forlorn and sere. - -Would autumn had not claimed its own -And would the swallows had not flown. - -Skies overcast! -Leaves falling fast! -And she has passed -And left the woodland strown, -The woodland strown, -The silver mere, -The dying year, -And me alone. - -Skies overcast! -Leaves falling fast! -Does she that passed -Dream of the woodland strown, -The woodland strown, -The silver mere, -The dying year, -And me alone? - - - - -"Dark Boughs against a Golden Sky" - - -_Dark_ boughs against a golden sky, - And crying of the winter wind: -And sweet it is, for hope is high, - And sad it is, for we have sinned. - -Perfect is nature's every part - In sunny rest, or windy strife: -But never yet the perfect heart, - And never yet the perfect life! - -Dark boughs against a golden sky, - And crying of the winter wind: -And in the cold earth we must lie, - What matter then if we have sinned? - -For evermore and evermore - Shall the great river onward roll: -And ever winding streams and poor - Shall lose them in the mighty whole. - - - - -"Wind of the Darkness" - - -_Wind_ of the darkness, breathing round us, - Wind from the never-resting sea, -Lo, you have loosed the cords that bound us, - Lo, you have set our spirits free: - -Free to take wings, like the sea-bird lonely - Beating hardily up the wind: -Fixed are his eyes on the waters only, - Never a glance for the land behind. - -Wind of the darkness, breathing round us, - Wind from the never-resting sea. -Was it the old gods' voice that found us - Here, where the bars of prison be? - -From the far isle that neither knoweth - Change of season, nor time's increase, -Where is plenty, and no man soweth: - Calling to strife that shall end in peace. - - - - -Creator Spiritus - - -_The_ wind that scatters dying leaves - And whirls them from the autumn tree -Is grateful to the ship that cleaves - With stately prow the scurrying sea. - -Heedless about the world we play - Like children in a garden close: -A postern bars the outward way - And what's beyond it no man knows: - -For careless days, a life at will, - A little laughter, and some tears, -These are sufficiency to fill - The early, vain, untroubled years, - -Till at the last the wind upheaves - His unimagined strength, and we -Are scattered far, like autumn leaves, - Or proudly sail, like ships at sea. - - - - -Wind over the Sea - - - _Only_ a grey sea, and a long grey shore, - And the grey heavens brooding over them. - Twilight of hopes and purposes forgot, - Twilight of ceaseless eld, and when was youth? - Is it not lonely here, beyond the years? - -Out of the gathering darkness crashes a wind from the - ocean, -Rushing with league-long paces over the plain of the - waters, -Driving the clouds and the breakers before it in sudden - commotion. - -Who are these on the wind, riders and riderless horses? -Riders the great ones that have been and are, and those - to come shall be: -These are the children of might, life's champions and - history's forces. - -Might I but grasp at a bridle, and fear not to be trodden - under, -Swing myself into a saddle, and ride on greatly, exulting -On down the long straight road of the wind, a galloping - thunder! - - Only a grey sea, and a long grey shore, - And the grey heavens brooding over them, - Twilight of hopes and purposes forgot, - Twilight of ceaseless eld, for when was youth? - Is it not lonely here, beyond the years? - - - - -Songs on the Downs - - -1 - - -_This_ is the road the Romans made, - This track half lost in the green hills, -Or fading in a forest-glade - 'Mid violets and daffodils. - -The years have fallen like dead leaves, - Unwept, uncounted, and unstayed -(Such as the autumn tempest thieves), - Since first this road the Romans made. - - -2 - - -A miser lives within this house, -His patron saint's the gnawing mouse, -And there's no peace upon his brows. - -A many ancient trees and thin -Do fold the place their shade within, -And moan, as for remembered sin. - - - - -III. Last Poems and "The Burial of Sophocles" - - - -"We who have bowed ourselves to Time" - - -_We_ who have bowed ourselves to time -Now arm an uneventful rime - With panoply of flowers - Through the long summer hours. . . . - -But now our fierce and warlike Muse -Doth soft companionship refuse, - And we must mount and ride - Upon a steed untried. . . . - -We who have led by gradual ways -Our placid life to sterner days - And for old quiet things - Have set the strife of kings, - -Who battled have with bloody hands -Through evil times in barren lands, - To whom the voice of guns - Speaks and no longer stuns, - -Calm, though with death encompassèd, -That watch the hours go overhead - Knowing too well we must - With all men come to dust. . . . - -Crave of our masters' clemency -Silence a little space that we - Upon their ear may force - Tales of our trodden course. - - - - -Anglia Valida in Senectute - - -(On the Declaration of War) - - -_Not_ like to those who find untrodden ways; - But down the weary paths we know, -Through every change of sky and change of days - Silent, processional we go. - -Not unto us the soft, unlaboured breath - Of children's hopes and children's fears: -We are not sworn to battle to the death - With all the wrongs of all the years: - -We are old, we are old, and worn and school'd with ills, - Maybe our road is almost done, -Maybe we are drawn near unto the hills - Where rest is and the setting sun: - -But yet a pride is ours that will not brook - The taunts of fools too saucy grown, -He that is rash to prove it, let him look - He kindle not a fire unknown. - -Since first we flung our gauntlet to the skies - And dared the high Gods' will to bend, -A fire that still may burn deceit and lies - Burn and consume them to the end. - - - - -"Dark is the World our Fathers left us" - - -_Dark_ is the world our fathers left us, - Wearily, greyly the long years flow, -Almost the gloom has of hope bereft us, - Far is the high gods' song and low: - -Sombre the crests of the mountains lonely, - Leafless, wind-ridden, moan the trees: -Down in the valleys is twilight only, - Twilight over the mourning seas: - -Time was when earth was always golden, - Time was when skies were always clear: -Spirits and souls of the heroes olden, - Faint are cries from the darkness, hear! - -Tear ye the veil of time asunder - Tear the veil, 'tis the gods' command, -Hear we the sun-stricken breakers thunder - Over the shore where the heroes stand. - - ---- - -Dark is the world our fathers left us, - Heavily, greyly the long years flow, -Almost the gloom has of hope bereft us, - Far is the high gods' song and low. - - - - -Awakening - - -_Gold-crested_ towers against the veilèd skies, -Sere branches of the winter trees beneath, -And a low song, and heavy-lidded eyes; - -Is there aught else in all the world beside? -Is not time stilled and ended in this hour? - - ---- - -Up, and away! the belted squadrons ride! - - - - -Ave atque Vale - - -_In_ Oxford, evermore the same - Unto the uttermost verge of time, -Though grave-dust choke the sons of men, - And silence wait upon the rime, - -At evening now the skies set forth - Last glories of the dying year: -The wind gives chase to relict leaves: - And we, we may not linger here. - -A little while, and we are gone: - God knows if it be ours to see -Again the earliest hoar-frost white - On the long lawns of Trinity. - -In Merton, of the many courts - And doorways good to wander through, -Gable and spire shall glitter white - Or tawny gold against the blue: - -And still the winter sun shall smile - At noonday, or at sunset hour -On Magdalen, girt with ancient trees, - Beneath her bright immortal tower. - -Though nevermore we tread the ways - That our returning feet have known -Past Oriel, and Christ Church gate - Unto those dearer walls, our own. - - ---- - -Oxford is evermore the same, - Unto the uttermost verge of time, -Though grave-dust choke the sons of men, - And silence wait upon the rime. - - - - -"O, one came down from Seven Hills" - - -_O, one_ came down from seven hills - And crossèd seven streams: -All in his hands were thyme and grass - And in his eyes were dreams: -He passèd by a seven fields - With early dews all grey -And entered in the stricken town - About the break of day. - -"O you old men that stand and talk - About the market-place, -There is much trouble in your eyes - And anguish in your face: -O woman in a silent room - Within a silent house, -There is no pleasure in your voice - Or peace upon your brows." - -"O how should such as we rejoice - Who weep that others die, -Who quake, and curse ourselves, and watch - The vengeful hours go by? -O better far to fly the grief - That wounds, and never kills; -O better far to fly the town - And seek the seven hills----" - -"I will go pray the seven gods - Who keep the seven hills -That they do grant your city peace, - And easement of her ills." -"Nay, rather pray the seven gods - To launch the latest pain; -For there be many things to do - Ere we see peace again." - -"Then I'll go praise the seven gods - With hymns and chauntings seven, -Such as shall split the mountain-tops - And shrivel up blue heaven: -That there be men who mock at threats - And wag their heads at strife, -Love home above their own hearts' blood - And honour more than life." - - - - -Sonnet to the British Navy - - -_Lest_ force aspire to brand an alien name - Upon the immortal empire of the free: -Lest fire and sword and slaughter strive to tame - This isle, was ne'er so tamed, and ne'er shall be. -Ye guard the ocean barrier, undismayed - 'Midst hidden perils for a brave man's fears, -In iron craft that many smiths have made - With peaceful labour in the old, dead years. -In a small vessel, of one Smith ill-wrought - I must soon venture on another deep, -And dare, with little hope, and little thought - Of praise and honour and untroubled sleep: -So, as each sails upon his perilous sea, - I pray High God He strengthen you, and me. - - - - -The Last Meeting - - -_We_ who are young, and have caught the splendour of - life, - Hunting it down the forested ways of the world, -Do we not wear our hearts like a banner unfurled - (Crowned with a chaplet of love, shod with the sandals - of strife)? - -Now not a lustre of pain, nor an ocean of tears - Nor pangs of death, nor any other thing -That the old tristful gods on our heads may bring - Can rob us of this one hour in the midst of the years. - - - - -The New Age and the Old - - -_Like_ the small source of a smooth-flowing river, - Like the pale dawn of a wonderful day, -Comes the New Age, from High God, the good giver, - Comes with the shouts of the children at play: - -As an old leaf whirls faster and faster - From the sere branch that once gave it fair birth, -Into the arms of the devil, its master, - Be the old age swept away from the earth! - - - - -To the Cultured - - -_Sons_ of culture, God-given, -First offspring of Heaven, -Athletic and tanned, -Well-built and not nervous, -With your golf and your tweeds -And your "noble editions," -Quiet lives and few needs -(Say a thousand a year -For your earthly career) -Who can't understand -Discontent and seditions, -May Heaven preserve us -From being like you. - -What are we, what am I? -Poor rough creatures, whose life -Is "depressing" and "grey," -Is a heart-breaking strife -With death and with shame -And your polite laughter, -Till--the world pass away -In smoke and in flame, -And some of us die, -And some live on after -To build it anew. - - - - -Afterwards - - -_Afterwards,_ when -The old Gods' hate -On the riven earth -No more is poured: - -When weapons of war -Are all outworn -What shall become -Of the race of men? - -One shall go forth -In the likeness of a child: -Under sere skies -Of a grey dawning: - -One shall go forth -In the likeness of a child, -And desolate places -Shall spring and blossom: - -One shall go forth -In the likeness of a child: -And men shall sing -And greatly rejoice: - -All men shall sing -For the love that is in them, -And he shall behold it -And sing also. - - - - -Domum redit Poeta - - -_O much_ desired from far away - And long, I hold thee once again, -Thou undiminished treasury - Of small delights, yet nowise vain: - -The cat curled on the cosy hearth, - The thrushes in the garden trees, -The memories of younger years, - The quiet voices, and the peace. - - - - -Memories - - -_Shapes_ in the mist, it is long since I saw you, - Pale hands and faces, and quiet eyes, -Crowned with a garland the dead years wrought you - Out of remembrance that never dies: - -One among you is tall and supple - Good to fight or to love beside, -Only the stain of a deadly quarrel, - Only that and the years divide: - -One there is with a face as honest, - Heart as true, as the open sea, -One who never betrayed a comrade-- - Death stands now betwixt him and me. - -One I loved with a passionate longing - Born of worship and fierce despair, -Dreamed that Heaven were only happy - If at length I should find him there. - -Shapes in the mist, ye see me lonely, - Lonely and sad in the dim firelight: -How far now to the last of all battles? - (Listen, the guns are loud to-night!) - -Whatever comes, I will strike once surely, - Once because of an ancient tryst, -Once for love of your dear dead faces - Ere I come unto you, Shapes in the mist. - - - - -Intercessional - - -_There_ is a place where voices - Of great guns do not come, -Where rifle, mine, and mortar - For evermore are dumb: -Where there is only silence, - And peace eternal and rest, -Set somewhere in the quiet isles - Beyond Death's starry West. - -O God, the God of battles, - To us who intercede, -Give only strength to follow - Until there's no more need, -And grant us at that ending - Of the unkindly quest -To come unto the quiet isles - Beyond Death's starry West. - - - - -April 1916 - - -_Now_ spring is come upon the hills in France, -And all the trees are delicately fair, -As heeding not the great guns' voice, by chance -Brought down the valley on a wandering air: -Now day by day upon the uplands bare -Do gentle, toiling horses draw the plough, -And birds sing often in the orchards where -Spring wantons it with blossoms on her brow-- -Aye! but there is no peace in England now. - -O little isle amid unquiet seas, -Though grisly messengers knock on many doors, -Though there be many storms among your trees -And all your banners rent with ancient wars; -Yet such a grace and majesty are yours -There be still some, whose glad heart suffereth -All hate can bring from her misgotten stores, -Telling themselves, so England's self draw breath, -That's all the happiness on this side death. - - - - -"Over the Hills and Hollows Green" - - -_Over_ the hills and hollows green - The springtide air goes valiantly, -Where many sainted singing larks - And blessed primaveras be: - -But bitterly the springtide air - Over the desert towns doth blow, -About whose torn and shattered streets - No more shall children's footsteps go. - - - - -Sonnet - - -_To-night_ the world is but a prison house, -And kindly ways, and all the springing grass -Are dungeon stones to him that may not pass -Among them, save with anguish on his brows: -And any wretched husbandman that ploughs -The upland acres in his habit spare -Is king, to those in palaces of glass -Who sit with grief and weariness for spouse. - -O God, who madest first the world that we -Might happy live, and praise its pleasantness -In such wise as the angels never could, -Wherefore are hearts, fashioned so wondrously, -All spoiled and changed by human bitterness -Into the likenesses of stone and wood? - - - - -"O Long the Fiends of War shall dance" - - -_O long_ the fiends of war shall dance -Upon the stricken fields of France: -And long and long their grisly cry -Shall echo up and smite the sky: -O long and long the tears of God -Shall fall upon a barren sod, -Save when, of His great clemency, -He gives men's hearts in custody -Of grim old kindly Death, who knows -The mould is better than the rose. - - - - -For R. Q. G. - - -July 1916 - - -_O God,_ whose great inscrutable purposes -(Seen only of the one all-seeing eye) -Are as unchangeable as the azure sky, -And as fulfilled of infinite mysteries: -Are like a fast-locked castle without keys -Whereof the gates are very strong and high, -Impenetrable, and we poor fools die -Nor even know what thing beyond them is: -O God, by whom men's lives are multiplied, - Are scattered broadcast in the world like grain, - And after long time reaped again and stored, -O Thou who only canst be glorified - By man's own passion and the supreme pain, - Accept this sacrifice of blood outpoured. - - - - -"Sun and Shadow and Winds of Spring" - - -_Sun_ and shadow and winds of spring, - Love and laughter and hope and fame, -Cloud and storm-light over the hills, - Tears and passion and sordid shame: - -All, all are but as quenchèd fire - And vanish'd smoke to him that lies -Amid the silence of the trees - Under the silence of the skies. - - - - -"Let us tell Quiet Stories of Kind Eyes" - - -_Let_ us tell quiet stories of kind eyes - And placid brows where peace and learning sate: -Of misty gardens under evening skies - Where four would walk of old, with steps sedate. - -Let's have no word of all the sweat and blood, - Of all the noise and strife and dust and smoke -(We who have seen Death surging like a flood, - Wave upon wave, that leaped and raced and broke). - -Or let's sit silently, we three together, - Around a wide hearth-fire that's glowing red, -Giving no thought to all the stormy weather - That flies above the roof-tree overhead. - -And he, the fourth, that lies all silently - In some far-distant and untended grave, -Under the shadow of a shattered tree, - Shall leave the company of the hapless brave, - -And draw nigh unto us for memory's sake, - Because a look, a word, a deed, a friend, -Are bound with cords that never a man may break, - Unto his heart for ever, until the end. - - - - -"Save that Poetic Fire" - - -_Save_ that poetic fire - Burns in the hidden heart, -Save that the full-voiced choir - Sings in a place apart, - -Man that's of woman born, - With all his imaginings, -Were less than the dew of morn, - Less than the least of things. - - - - -The Burial of Sophocles - - -The First Verses - - -_Gather_ great store of roses, crimson-red - From ancient gardens under summer skies: -New opened buds, and some that soon must shed - Their leaves to earth, that all expectant lies; -Some from the paths of poets' wandering, - Some from the places where young lovers meet, -Some from the seats of dreamers pondering, - And all most richly red, and honey-sweet. - -For in the splendour of the afternoon, - When sunshine lingers on the glittering town -And glorifies the temples wondrous-hewn - All set about it like a deathless crown, -We will go mingle with the solemn throng, - With neither eyes that weep, nor hearts that bleed, -That to his grave with slow, majestic song - Bears down the latest of the godlike seed. - -Many a singer lies on distant isle - Beneath the canopy of changing sky: -Around them waves innumerable smile, - And o'er their head the restless seabirds cry: -But we will lay him far from sound of seas, - Far from the jutting crags' unhopeful gloom, -Where there blows never wind save summer breeze, - And where the growing rose may clasp his tomb. - -And thither in the splendid nights of spring, - When stars in legions over heaven are flung, -Shall come the ancient gods, all wondering - Why he sings not that had so richly sung: -There Heracles with peaceful foot shall press - The springing herbage, and Hephæstus strong, -Hera and Aphrodite's loveliness, - And the great giver of the choric song. - -And thither, after weary pilgrimage, - From unknown lands beyond the hoary wave, -Shall travellers through every coming age - Approach to pluck a blossom from his grave: -Some in the flush of youth, or in the prime, - Whose life is still as heapèd gold to spend, -And some who have drunk deep of grief and time, - And who yet linger half-afraid the end. - - -The Interlude - - -It was upon a night of spring, -Even the time when first do sing -The new-returnèd nightingales; -Whenas all hills and woods and dales -Are resonant with melody -Of songs that die not, but shall be -Unto the latest hour of time -Beyond the life of word or rime-- -Whenas all brooks more softly flow -Remembering lovers long ago -That stood upon their banks and vowed, -And love was with them like a cloud: -There came one out of Athens town -In a spun robe, with sandals brown, -Just when the white ship of the moon -Had first set sail, and many a rune -Was written in the argent stars; -His feet were set towards the hills -Because he knew that there the rills -Ran down like jewels, and fairy cars -Galloped, maybe, among the dells, -And airy sprites wove fitful spells -Of gossamer and cold moonshine -Which do most mistily entwine: -And ever the hills called, and a voice -Cried: "Soon, maybe, comes thy choice -Twixt mortal immortality -Such as shall never be again, -'Twixt the most passionate-pleasant pain -And all the quiet, barren joys -That old men prate about to boys." - - ---- - -He wandered many nights and days-- -Whose morns were always crystal clear, -As lay the world in still amaze -Enchanted of the springing year, -And all the nights with wakeful eyes -Watched for another dawn to rise-- -Till at the last the mountain tops -Received him, which like giant props -Stand, lest the all-encircling sky -Fall down, and men be crushed and die. -And so he reached a curvèd hill -Whereon the hornèd moon did seem -Her richest radiance to spill -In an inestimable stream, -Like jewels rare of countless price, -Or wizard magic turned to ice. - - ---- - -And as he reached the topmost crest of it, -Lo! the Olympian majesties did sit -In a most high and passionless conclave: -They ate ambrosia with their deathless lips, -And ever and anon the golden wave -Flowed of the drink divine, which only strips -This mortal frame of its mortality. -And there, and there was Aphrodite, she -That is more lovely than the golden dawn -And from a ripple of the sea was born: -And there was Hera, the imperious queen, -And Dian's chastity, that hunts unseen -What time with spring the woodland boughs are green: -And there was Pan with mirth and pleasantness, -And Eros' self that never knew distress -Save for the love of the fair Cretan maid; -There Hermes with the wings of speed arrayed, -And awful Zeus, the king of gods and men, -And ever at his feet Apollo sang -A measure of changing harmonies that rang -From that high mountain over all the world, -And all the sails of fighting ships were furled, -And men drew breath, and there was peace again. -But him that saw, the sight like flame -Or depths of waters overcame: -He swooned, nor heard how ceased the choir -Of strings upon Apollo's lyre, -Nor saw he how the sweet god stood -And smiled on him in kindly mood, -And stooped, and kissed him as he lay; -Then lightly rose and turned away -To join the bright immortal throng -And make for them another song. - - -The Last Verses - - -O ageless nonpareil of stars - That shinest through a mist of cloud, -O light beyond the prison bars - Remote, unwavering, and proud; -Fortunate star and happy light, -Ye benison the gloom of night. - -All hail, unfailing eye and hand, - All hail, all hail, unsilenced voice, -That makest dead men understand, - The very dead in graves rejoice: -Whose utterance, writ in ancient books, -Shall always live, for him that looks. - -Many as leaves from autumn trees - The years shall flutter from on high, -And with their multiple decease - The souls of men shall fall and die, -Yet, while the empires turn to dust, -You shall live on, because you must. - -O seven times happy he that dies - After the splendid harvest-tide, -When strong barns shield from winter skies - The grain that's rightly stored inside: -There death shall scatter no more tears -Than o'er the falling of the years: - -Aye, happy seven times is he - Who enters not the silent doors -Before his time, but tenderly - Death beckons unto him, because -There's rest within for weary feet -Now all the journey is complete. - - - - -"So we lay down the Pen" - - -_So_ we lay down the pen, -So we forbear the building of the rime, -And bid our hearts be steel for times and a time - Till ends the strife, and then, -When the New Age is verily begun, -God grant that we may do the things undone. - - - - - ---- - - _Printed by Hazell, Watson & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._ - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SPRING HARVEST *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48371 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. 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