diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 01:50:52 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-05 01:50:52 -0800 |
| commit | 5b90818c0acd59385f988a246db833d5fc07542d (patch) | |
| tree | 7a8f5a490909d4f71a8ccffa4644a34b7a4600a5 /old/50429-0.txt | |
| parent | 8590d5c142196775f5108b84e74e0c9b3ce68822 (diff) | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old/50429-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/50429-0.txt | 2282 |
1 files changed, 0 insertions, 2282 deletions
diff --git a/old/50429-0.txt b/old/50429-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 52cb80f..0000000 --- a/old/50429-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2282 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Oxford Poetry, 1921, by Various - -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 -www.gutenberg.org. 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: Oxford Poetry, 1921 - -Author: Various - -Editor: Alan Porter - Richard Hughes - Robert Graves - -Release Date: November 10, 2015 [EBook #50429] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OXFORD POETRY, 1921 *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - - - - - - - - - -OXFORD POETRY - -1921 - - - - -_UNIFORM VOLUMES_ - - -3_s._ 6_d._ _net_ - 2_s._ _net_ - - Oxford Poetry 1915 - Oxford Poetry 1916 - Oxford Poetry 1917 - Oxford Poetry 1918 - Oxford Poetry 1919 - Oxford Poetry 1920 - -7_s._ 6_d._ _net_ - - Oxford Poetry 1917-19 - -BASIL BLACKWELL - - - - - OXFORD POETRY - - 1921 - - - EDITED BY - ALAN PORTER, RICHARD HUGHES, - ROBERT GRAVES - - - OXFORD BASIL BLACKWELL - MCMXXI - - - - - PRINTED AT THE - SHAKESPEARE HEAD PRESS - STRATFORD-UPON-AVON - - - - -The Editors of this year’s Oxford Poetry, the work of undergraduates -who have been in residence since the date of the last collection, have -attempted to make the volume more representative of Poetry and less -representative merely of Oxford than its predecessors. There is always -at Oxford a fashion in verse as much as in dress, and, to judge from -the bulk of contributions submitted, this fashion has not changed -materially since last noted and recorded in print. Mr Jones-Smith, of -Balliol, still writes musically of brimming chalices, vermilion lips, -chrysoprase, lotuses, arabesques and darkling spires against glimmering -skies; Miss Smith-Jones, of Somerville, is equally faithful to her -scarlet sins, beloved hearts, little clutching hands, little pattering -feet, rosaries, eternity, roundabouts, and glimmering spires against -darkling skies. Exclusion of these worn properties has given the fewer -writers than usual represented here, extended elbow room, and a chance -of showing some individual capacity for better or worse. - -Most of the pieces have already appeared serially in _The London -Mercury_, _The Spectator_, _The Westminster Gazette_, _The New -Statesman_, _The Nation and Athenæum_, _The Observer_, and the other -leading literary reviews. - -For permission to use copyright poems, our thanks are due to Messrs -Christophers, publishers of Mr Golding’s ‘Shepherd Singing Ragtime,’ -and to Messrs Sidgwick and Jackson, publishers of Mr Rickword’s new -volume ‘Behind the Eyes.’ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - F. N. W. BATESON (_Trinity_) - Trespassers Page 1 - - EDMUND BLUNDEN (_Queen’s_) - The Watermill 2 - The Scythe 4 - That Time is Gone 7 - The South-West Wind 8 - The Canal 9 - The March Bee 11 - - LOUIS GOLDING (_Queen’s_) - Ploughman at the Plough 12 - Portrait of an Artist 13 - Shepherd singing Ragtime 14 - Ghosts Gathering 18 - Silver-badged Waiter 20 - - ROBERT GRAVES (_St John’s_) - Cynics and Romantics 21 - Unicorn and the White Doe 22 - Sullen Moods 25 - Henry and Mary 27 - On the Ridge 28 - A Lover since Childhood 29 - - ROSALEEN GRAVES (_Home Student_) - Night Sounds 30 - ‘A Stronger than he shall come upon him ...’ 32 - Colour 33 - - BERTRAM HIGGINS (_B.N.C._) - White Magic 34 - - RICHARD HUGHES (_Oriel_) - Singing Furies 35 - The Sermon 37 - Tramp 38 - Gratitude 40 - Judy 42 - Ruin 43 - - ALAN PORTER (_Queen’s_) - Introduction to a Narrative Poem 44 - Summer Bathing 47 - Country Churchyard 49 - Museum 50 - Lost Lands 52 - - FRANK PREWETT (_Christ Church_) - Come Girl, and embrace 53 - I went out into the Fields 54 - Comrade, why do you weep? 56 - The Winds caress the Trees 57 - - EDGELL RICKWORD (_Pembroke_) - Complaint of a Tadpole confined in a jam-jar 58 - Regret for the Depopulation of Rural Districts 60 - Complaint after Psycho-Analysis 61 - Desire 62 - Trench Poets 63 - Winter Prophecies 64 - - - - -F. N. W. BATESON - - -TRESPASSERS - - Gauntly outlined, white and still, - Three haystacks peer above the hill; - Three aged rakes thrust sprawlingly - Fantastic tendons to the sky. - In the void and dismal yard - Farmer’s dog keeps rasping guard, - Challenging night’s trespassers, - The solemn legions of the stars; - Growling ignominious scorn - At Cancer and at Capricorn. - The yellow stars, serene and prim, - Tolerantly stare at him. - - - - -EDMUND BLUNDEN - - -THE WATERMILL - - I’ll rise at midnight and I’ll rove - Up the hill and down the drove - That leads to the old unnoticed mill, - And think of one I used to love: - There stooping to the hunching wall - I’ll stare into the rush of stars - Or bubbles that the waterfall - Brings forth and breaks in ceaseless wars. - - The shelving hills have made a fourm - Where the mill holdings shelter warm, - And here I came with one I loved - To watch the seething millions swarm. - But long ago she grew a ghost - Though walking with me every day; - Even when her beauty burned me most - She to a spectre dimmed away-- - - Until though cheeks all morning-bright - And black eyes gleaming life’s delight - And singing voice dwelt in my sense, - Herself paled on my inward sight. - She grew one whom deep waters glassed. - Then in dismay I hid from her, - And lone by talking brooks at last - I found a Love still lovelier. - - O lost in tortured days of France! - Yet still the moment comes like chance - Born in the stirring midnight’s sigh - Or in the wild wet sunset’s glance: - And how I know not but this stream - Still sounds like vision’s voice, and still - I watch with Love the bubbles gleam, - I walk with Love beside the mill. - - The heavens are thralled with cloud, yet gray - Half-moonlight swims the fields till day, - The stubbled fields, the bleaching woods;-- - Even this bleak hour is stolen away - By this shy water falling low, - And calling low the whole night through, - And calling back the long ago - And richest world I ever knew. - - The hop-kiln fingers cobweb-white - With discord dim turned left and right, - And when the wind was south and small - The sea’s far whisper drowsed the night; - Scarce more than mantling ivy’s voice - That in the tumbling water trailed. - Love’s spirit called me to rejoice - When she to nothingness had paled: - - For Love the daffodils shone here - In grass the greenest of the year, - Daffodils seemed the sunset lights - And silver birches budded clear: - And all from east to west there strode - Great shafted clouds in argent air, - The shining chariot-wheels of God, - And still Love’s moment sees them there. - - -THE SCYTHE - - A thick hot haze had choked the valley grounds - Long since, the dogday sun had gone his rounds - Like a dull coal half lit with sulky heat; - And leas were iron, ponds were clay, fierce beat - The blackening flies round moody cattle’s eyes. - Wasps on the mudbanks seemed a hornet’s size, - That on the dead roach battened. The plough’s increase - Stood under a curse. - Behold, the far release! - Old wisdom breathless at her cottage door - ‘Sounds of abundance’ mused, and heard the roar - Of marshalled armies in the silent air, - And thought Elisha stood beside her there, - And clacking reckoned ere the next nightfall - She’d turn the looking-glasses to the wall. - - Faster than armies out of the burnt void - The hour-glass clouds innumerably deployed; - And when the hay-folks next look up, the sky - Sags black above them; scarce is time to fly. - And most run for their cottages; but Ward - The mower for the inn beside the ford, - And slow strides he with shouldered scythe still bare, - While to the coverts leaps the great-eyed hare. - - As he came in, the dust snatched up and whirled - Hung high, and like a bell-rope whipped and twirled, - The brazen light glared round, the haze resolved - Into demoniac shapes bulged and convolved. - Well might poor ewes afar make bleatings wild, - Though this old trusting mower sat and smiled, - For from the hush of many days the land - Had waked itself: and now on every hand - Shrill swift alarm-notes, cries and counter-cries, - Lowings and crowings came and throbbing sighs. - Now atom lightning brandished on the moor, - Then out of sullen drumming came the roar - Of thunder joining battle east and west: - In hedge and orchard small birds durst not rest, - Flittering like dead leaves and like wisps of straws, - And the cuckoo called again, for without pause - Oncoming voices in the vortex burred. - The storm came toppling like a wave, and blurred - In grey the trees that like black steeples towered. - The sun’s last yellow died. Then who but cowered? - Down ruddying darkness floods the hideous flash, - And pole to pole the cataract whirlwinds clash. - - Alone within the tavern parlour still - Sat the gray mower, pondering his God’s will, - And flinching not to flame or bolt, that swooped - With a great hissing rain till terror drooped - In weariness: and then there came a roar - Ten-thousand-fold, he saw not, was no more-- - But life bursts on him once again, and blood - Beats droning round, and light comes in a flood. - - He stares, and sees the sashes battered awry, - The wainscot shivered, the crocks shattered, and by, - His twisted scythe, melted by its fierce foe, - Whose Parthian shot struck down the chimney. Slow - Old Ward lays hand to his old working-friend, - And thanking God Whose mercy did defend - His servant, yet must drop a tear or two - And think of times when that old scythe was new, - And stands in silent grief, nor hears the voices - Of many a bird that through the land rejoices, - Nor sees through the smashed panes the sea-green sky, - That ripens into blue, nor knows the storm is by. - - -THE TIME IS GONE - - The time is gone when we could throw - Our angle in the sleepy stream, - And nothing more desired to know - Than was it roach or was it bream? - Sitting there in such a mute delight, - The Kingfisher would come and on the rods alight. - - Or hurrying through the dewy hay - Without a thought but to make haste - We came to where the old ring lay - And bats and balls seemed heaven at least. - With our laughing and our giant strokes - The echoes clacked among the chestnuts and the oaks. - - When the spring came up we got - And out among wild Emmet Hills - Blossoms, aye and pleasures sought - And found! bloom withers, pleasure chills; - Like geographers along green brooks - We named the capes and tumbling bays and horseshoe crooks. - - But one day I found a man - Leaning on the bridge’s rail; - Dared his face as all to scan, - And awestruck wondered what could ail - An elder, blest with all the gifts of years, - In such a happy place to shed such bitter tears. - - -THE SOUTH-WEST WIND - - We stood by the idle weir, - Like bells the waters played, - The rich moonlight slept everywhere - As it would never fade: - So slept our shining peace of mind - Till rose a south-west wind. - - How sorrow comes who knows? - And here joy surely had been: - But joy like any wild wind blows - From mountains none has seen, - And still its cloudy veilings throws - On the bright road it goes. - - The black-plumed poplars swung - So softly across the sky: - The ivy sighed, the river sung, - Woolpacks were wafting high: - The moon her golden tinges flung - On these she straight was lost among. - - O south-west wind of the soul, - That brought such new delight, - And passing by in music stole - Love’s rich and trusting light, - Would that we thrilled to thy least breath - Now all is still as death. - - -THE CANAL - - There so dark and still - Slept the water, never changing, - From the glad sport in the meadows - Oft I turned me. - - Fear would strike me chill - On the clearest day in summer, - Yet I loved to stand and ponder - Hours together - - By the tarred bridge rail-- - There the lockman’s vine-clad window, - Mirrored in the tomb-like water - Stared in silence - - Till, deformed and pale - In the sunken cavern shadows, - One by one imagined demons - Scowled upon me. - - Barges passed me by, - With their unknown surly masters - And small cabins, whereon some rude - Hand had painted - - Trees and castles high. - Cheerly stepped the towing horses, - And the women sung their children - Into slumber. - - Barges, too, I saw - Drowned in mud, drowned, drowned long ages, - Their gray ribs but seen in summer, - Their names never: - - In whose silted maw - Swarmed great eels, the priests of darkness, - Old as they, who came at midnight - To destroy me. - - Like one blind and lame - Who by some new sense has vision - And strikes deadlier than the strongest - Went this water. - - Many an angler came, - Went his ways; and I would know them, - Some would smile and give me greeting, - Some kept silence-- - - Most, one old dragoon - Who had never a morning hallo, - But with stony eye strode onward - Till the water, - - On a silent noon, - That had watched him long, commanded: - Whom he answered, leaping headlong - To self-murder. - - ‘Fear and fly the spell,’ - Thus my Spirit sang beside me; - Then once more I ranged the meadows, - Yet still brooded, - - When the threefold knell - Sounded through the haze of harvest-- - Who had found the lame blind water - Swift and seeing? - - -THE MARCH BEE - - A warming wind comes to my resting-place - And in a mountain cloud the lost sun chills; - Night comes, and yet before she shows her face - The sun flings off the shadows, warm light fills - The valley and the clearings on the hills, - Bleak crow the moorcocks on the fen’s blue plashes, - But here I warm myself with these bright looks and flashes. - And like to me the merry humble bee - Puts fear aside, runs forth to meet the sun - And by the ploughlands’ shoulder comes to see - The flowers that like him best, and seems to shun - Cold countless quaking windflowers every one, - Primroses too; but makes poor grass his choice - Where small wood-strawberry blossoms nestle and rejoice. - The magpies steering round from wood to wood, - Tree-creepers flicking up to elms’ green rind, - Bold gnats that revel round my solitude - And most this pleasant bee intent to find - The new-born joy, inveigle the rich mind - Long after darkness comes cold-lipped to one - Still hearkening to the bee, still basking in the sun. - - - - -LOUIS GOLDING - - -PLOUGHMAN AT THE PLOUGH - - He behind the straight plough stands - Stalwart, firm shafts in firm hands. - - Naught he cares for wars and naught - For the fierce disease of thought. - - Only for the winds, the sheer - Naked impulse of the year, - - Only for the soil, which stares - Clean into God’s face, he cares. - - In the stark might of his deed - There is more than art or creed; - - In his wrist more strength is hid - Than the monstrous Pyramid; - - Stauncher than stern Everest - Be the muscles of his breast; - - Not the Atlantic sweeps a flood - Potent as the ploughman’s blood. - - He, his horse, his ploughshare, these - Are the only verities. - - Dawn to dusk with God he stands, - The Earth poised on his broad hands. - - -PORTRAIT OF AN ARTIST - - I have been given eyes - Which are neither foolish nor wise, - Seeing through joy or pain - Beauty alone remain. - - I have been given an ear - Which catches nothing clear, - But only along the day - A song stealing away. - - My feet and hands never could - Do anything evil or good: - Instead of these things, - A swift mouth that sings. - - -SHEPHERD SINGING RAGTIME - -(_For F. V. Branford_) - - The shepherd sings: - ’_Way down in Dixie, - Way down in Dixie, - Where the hens are dog-gone glad to lay...._’ - - With shaded eyes he stands to look - Across the hills where the clouds swoon, - He singing, leans upon his crook, - He sings, he sings no more. - The wind is muffled in the tangled hair - Of sheep that drift along the noon. - The mild sheep stare - With amber eyes about the pearl-flecked June. - Two skylarks soar - With singing flame - Into the sun whence first they came. - All else is only grasshoppers - Or a brown wing the shepherd stirs, - Who, like a slow tree moving, goes - Where the pale tide of sheep-drift flows. - - See! the sun smites - With molten lights - The turned wing of a gull that glows - Aslant the violet, the profound - Dome of the mid-June heights. - Alas! again the grasshoppers, - The birds, the slumber-winging bees, - Alas! again for those and these - Demure things drowned; - Drowned in vain raucous words men made - Where no lark rose with swift and sweet - Ascent and where no dim sheep strayed - About the stone immensities, - Where no sheep strayed and where no bees - Probed any flowers nor swung a blade - Of grass with pollened feet. - - He sings: - ‘_In Dixie, - Way down in Dixie, - Where the hens are dog-gone glad to lay - Scrambled eggs in the new-mown hay...._’ - - The herring-gulls with peevish cries - Rebuke the man who sings vain words; - His sheep-dog growls a low complaint, - Then turns to chasing butterflies. - But when the indifferent singing-birds - From midmost down to dimmest shore - Innumerably confirm their songs, - And grasshoppers make summer rhyme - And solemn bees in the wild thyme - Clash cymbals and beat gongs, - The shepherd’s words once more are faint, - Once more the alien song is thinned - Upon the long course of the wind, - He sings, he sings no more. - - Ah now the dear monotonies - Of bells that jangle on the sheep - To the low limit of the hills! - Till the blue cup of music spills - Into the boughs of lowland trees; - Till thence the lowland singings creep - Into the dreamful shepherd’s head, - Creep drowsily through his blood; - The young thrush fluting all he knows, - The ring dove moaning his false woes, - Almost the rabbit’s tiny tread, - The last unfolding bud. - But now, - Now a cool word spreads out along the sea. - Now the day’s violet is cloud-tipped with gold. - Now dusk most silently - Fills the hushed day with other wings than birds’. - Now where on foam-crest waves the seagulls rock, - To their cliff-haven go the seagulls thence. - So too the shepherd gathers in his flock, - Because birds journey to their dens, - Tired sheep to their still fold. - - A dark first bat swoops low and dips - About the shepherd who now sings - A song of timeless evenings; - For dusk is round him with wide wings, - Dusk murmurs on his moving lips. - - _There is not mortal man who knows - From whence the shepherd’s song arose: - It came a thousand years ago._ - - _Once the world’s shepherds woke to lead - The folded sheep that they might feed - On green downs where winds blow._ - - _One shepherd sang a golden word. - A thousand miles away one heard. - One sang it swift, one sang it slow._ - - _Two skylarks heard, two skylarks told - All shepherds this same song of gold - On all downs where winds blow._ - - _This is the song that shepherds must - Sing till the green downlands be dust - And tide of sheep-drift no more flow;_ - - _The song two skylarks told again - To all the sheep and shepherd men - On green downs where winds blow._ - - -GHOSTS GATHERING - - You hear no bones click, see no shaken shroud. - Though no tombs grin, you feel ghosts gathering. Crowd - - On pitiful crowd of small dead singing men - Tread the sure earth they feebly hymned; again - - With fleshless hand seize unswayed grass. They seize - Insensitive flowers which bend not. Through gross trees - - They sift. Nothing withstands them. Nothing knows - Them nor the songs they sang, their busy woes. - - ‘Hence from these ingrate things! To the towns!’ they weep, - (If ghosts have tears). You think a wrinkled heap - - Of leaves heaved, or a wing stirred, less than this. - Some chance on the midnight cities. Others miss - - The few faint lights, thin voices. Wretched these - Doomed to beat long the windy vacancies! - - Some mourn through forlorn towns. They prowl and seek - --What seek they? Who knows them? If branches creak - - And leaves flap and slow women ply their trade, - Those all are living things, but these are dead, - - All that they were, dead totally. What fool still - Knows their extinguished songs? They had their fill - Of average joys and sorrows. They learned how - - Love wilts, Death does not wilt. What more left now? - But one ghost yet of all these ghosts may find - Himself not utterly faded. - Through his blind - - Some old man’s lamp-rays probe the darkness. Sick - Of his gaunt quest, the ghost halts. The clock’s tick - - Troubles the silence. Tiredly the ghost scans - The opened book on the table. A flame fans, - - A weak wan fire floods through his subtle veins. - No, no, not wholly forgotten! Loves and pains - - Not suffered wholly for nothing! - (The old man bends - Over the book, makes notes for pious ends, - - --Some curious futile work twelve men at most - Will read and yawn over.) The dizzy ghost, - - Like some more ignorant moth circles the light... - Not suffered wholly for nothing!... ‘A sweet night!’ - - The old man mumbles.... A warmth is in the air, - He smiles, not knowing why. He moves his chair - - Closer against the table. And sitting bowed - Lovingly turns the leaves and chants aloud. - - -SILVER-BADGED WAITER - - Poor trussed-up lad, what piteous guise - Cloaks the late splendour of your eyes, - Stiffens the fleetness of your face - Into a mask of sleek disgrace, - And makes a smooth caricature - Of your taut body’s swift and sure - Poise, like a proud bird waiting one - Moment ere he taunt the sun; - Your body that stood foolish-wise - Stormed by the treasons of the skies, - Star-like that hung, deliberate - Above the dubieties of Fate, - But with an April gesture chose - Unutterable and certain woes! - And now you stand with discreet charm - Dropping the napkin round your arm, - Anticipate your tip while you - Hear the commercial travellers chew. - You shuffle with their soups and beers - Who held at heel the howling fears, - You whose young limbs were proud to dare - Challenge the black hosts of despair! - - - - -ROBERT GRAVES - - -CYNICS AND ROMANTICS - - In club and messroom let them sit - At skirmish of ingenious wit; - Deriding Love, yet not with hearts - Accorded to those healthier parts - Of grim self-mockery, but with mean - And burrowing search for things unclean, - Pretended deafness, twisted sense, - Sharp innuendoes rising thence, - And affectation of prude-shame - That shrinks from using the short name. - We are not envious of their sour - Disintegrations of Love’s power, - Their swift analysis of the stabs - Devised by virgins and by drabs - (Powder or lace or scent) to excite - A none-too-jaded appetite. - They never guess of Love as we - Have found the amazing Art to be, - Pursuit of dazzling flame, or flight - From web-hung blackness of night, - With laughter only to express - Care overborne by carelessness; - They never bridge from small to great, - From nod or glance to ideal Fate, - From clouded forehead or slow sigh - To doubt and agony looming by, - From shining gaze and hair flung free - To infinity and to eternity-- - They sneer and poke a treacherous joke - With scorn for our rusticity. - - -UNICORN AND THE WHITE DOE - - ‘Alone - Through forests evergreen, - By legend known, - By no eye seen, - Unmated - Unbaited - Untrembling between - The shifting shadows - The sudden echoes, - Deathless I go - Unheard, unseen,’ - Says the White Doe. - - Unicorn with bursting heart - Breath of love has drawn - On his desolate crags apart - At rumour of dawn, - - Has volleyed forth his pride - Twenty thousand years mute, - Tossed his horn from side to side - Lunged with his foot. - - ‘Like a storm of sand I run - Breaking the desert’s boundaries, - I go in hiding from the sun - In thick shade of trees - - Straight was the track I took - Across the plains, but here with briar - And mire the tangled alleys crook - Baulking my desire. - - Ho, there! what glinted white? - (A bough still shakes) - What was it darted from my sight - Through the forest brakes? - - Where are you fled from me? - I pursue, you fade; - I run, you hide from me - In the dark glade. - - Towering straight the trees grow, - The grass grows thick. - Where you are, I do not know, - You fly so quick.’ - - ‘Seek me not here - Lodged among mortal deer,’ - Says the White Doe, - ‘Keeping one place - Held by the ties of space,’ - Says the White Doe. - ‘I - Equally - In air - Above your bare - Hill crest, your basalt lair, - Mirage reflected drink - At the clear pool’s brink - With tigers at play - In the glare of day - Blithely I stray, - Under shadow of myrtle - With Phoenix and his Turtle - For all time true, - With Gryphons at grass - Under the Upas, - Sipping warm dew - That falls hourly new, - I, unattainable - Complete, incomprehensible - No mate for you. - In sun’s beam - Or star-gleam, - No mate for you - No mate for you,’ - Says the White Doe. - - -SULLEN MOODS - - Love, do not count your labour lost - Though I turn sullen, grim, retired - Even at your side; my thought is crossed - With fancies by old longings fired. - - And when I answer you, some days - Vaguely and wildly, do not fear - That my love goes forbidden ways - Hating the laws that bind it here. - - If I speak gruffly, this mood is - Mere indignation at my own - Shortcomings, plagues, uncertainties; - I forget the gentler tone. - - ‘You,’ now that you have come to be - My one beginning, prime and end, - I count at last as wholly ‘me,’ - Lover no longer nor yet friend. - - Friendship is flattery, though close hid; - Must I then flatter my own mind? - And must (which laws of shame forbid) - Blind love of you make self-love blind? - - Do not repay me my own coin, - The sharp rebuke, the frown, the groan; - But stir my memory to disjoin - Your emanation from my own. - - Help me to see you as before - When overwhelmed and dead, almost, - I stumbled on that secret door - Which saves the live man from the ghost. - - Be once again the distant light, - Promise of glory, not yet known - In full perfection--wasted quite - When on my imperfection thrown. - - -HENRY AND MARY - - Henry was a worthy king, - Mary was his queen, - He gave to her a snowdrop - Upon a stalk of green. - - Then all for his kindness - And all for his care - She gave him a new-laid egg - In the garden there. - - Love, can you sing? - I cannot sing. - Or story-tell? - Not one I know. - Then let us play at queen and king, - As down the garden walks we go. - - -ON THE RIDGE - - Below the ridge a raven flew, - And we heard the lost curlew - Mourning out of sight below - Mountain tops were touched with snow; - Even the long dividing plain - Showed no wealth of sheep or grain, - But fields of boulders lay like corn - And raven’s croak was shepherd’s horn - To slow cloud shadow strayed across - A pasture of thin heath and moss. - The North Wind rose; I saw him press - With lusty force against your dress, - Moulding your body’s inward grace, - And streaming off from your set face, - So now no longer flesh and blood - But poised in marble thought you stood; - O wingless Victory, loved of men, - Who could withstand your triumph then? - - -A LOVER SINCE CHILDHOOD - - Tangled in thought am I, - Stumble in speech do I? - Do I blunder and blush for the reason why? - Wander aloof do I, - Lean over gates and sigh, - Making friends with the bee and the butterfly? - - If thus and thus I do - Dazed by the thought of you, - Walking my sorrowful way in the early dew, - My heart pierced through and through - By this despair of you, - Starved for a word or a look will my hope renew. - - Give then a thought for me - Walking so miserably, - Wanting relief in the friendship or flower or tree, - Do but remember, we - Once could in love agree - Swallow your pride, let us be as we used to be. - - - - -ROSALEEN GRAVES - - -NIGHT-SOUNDS - - Faintly through my window come - Sounds of things unheard by day, - Things that nightly speak and play, - But by day again go dumb. - - Uncouth owls, with shuddering cry, - Flap great wings in horrid grief - Flap and swoop on journeys brief, - Hooting long and miserably. - - Lurching in unsteady flight - Comes a lean bat, singing shrill, - Stumbles on my window sill, - And staggers off into the night. - - Wild duck, waking on the marsh, - Din against my sleepy senses; - Like the wind on creaking fences - Comes their croaking, faint and harsh. - - There’s a little bush I hear - Muttering, frightened, half-asleep; - Now a leafy voice, more deep, - Rustles vague comfort, soothes its fear. - - Water flows not as by day. - A new tone through its voice has crept. - Streams that in daylight laughed and leapt - And had humorous things to say, - - Speak so gravely now, and mutter - Of things secret, scarcely guessed, - Winds’ and Waters’ veiled unrest, - Griefs too big for man to utter. - - Of the days before man came - The days when man shall be no more, - And Earth again be ruled by Four, - Air and Water, Earth and Flame. - - Now a sudden silence falls; - Until like rocking, silver boats - Come the curlew’s ripply notes - How far the curious music calls! - - And sweet twitters whisper clearly - From the tree tops dimly seen - Piping from the shadowy green - That the dawn is here, or nearly. - - -‘A STRONGER THAN HE SHALL COME UPON HIM...’ - - And then he was seized by one who was stronger than he, - Seized and tamed and bound and forced to obey; - From the swinging choice of evil or good he was free; - Good was no longer; evil had vanished away - He left to another the gain or loss of the day. - - Was he driven or drawn? What matter? He was content. - He yielded him, body and soul, to the whirl of War - As one yields to the high sea-wind, and is buffered, bent - To his will, when, shouting, he stamps in over the shore - Triumphant, driving all things like dust before. - - Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his might - Who tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong? - The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might, - And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song, - Yield, and are hurried--whirled--hounded along. - - Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he-- - No time to think--no time to ponder and weigh-- - He was swept like a straw on the wind--and yet he knew himself free - Was it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say; - But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey. - - -COLOUR - - Flowers, thick as stars, lay - Splashed about the roadway-- - Flowers nodding up and down, - Gold, lilac, fern-brown, - Colour in which to drown. - The Channel was a dark blue streak, - With pools rosy like the cheek - Of a girl too shy to speak, - And coloured clouds went tossing past, - Warm and windy, - Vivid and quaint, - Faint and eager and vast. - - Colour, thick as dust, lay - Spattered about the highway-- - Colour so bright that one would think - White, blue, cherry-pink - Were made to clutch and drink, - Colour that made one stop and say, - ‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’ - Colour that made one pray. - Lumps of colour, liquid and cool, - Cool and near, - Clear and gay - Tumbled about my way. - - - - -BERTRAM HIGGINS (B.N.C.) - - -WHITE MAGIC - - You came, but still, with heart full-given to gladness, - I paused, as one stands stricken ere he falls; - Not yet my fumblings swept their bounds, clogged sense its - Weakling walls. - - Quaint spaceless musings held me--idiot Mind was - Gaped and gilled like a fish to suck through slow - Tentative pores swift sweetness of strange waters’ - Ebb and flow. - - Yet how could I praise in darkness?--Life, like a sodded - Seed, moved in drought-sleep and cleft its clay - Freshly it seemed, though each sap-season spired its - Stalks into day: - - Till now (ah, deft magician!) your wand hovers - Over all Spirit--over those lost grey fields - Where one frail flower, with burning stem, glad, gradual - Petals yields; - - And whose past pitiful bitter blooms live only - In the flushed mockery of remembering lovers. - - - - -RICHARD HUGHES - - -THE SINGING FURIES - - The yellow sky grows vivid as the sun, - The sea glittering, and the hills dun. - - The stones quiver. Twenty pounds of lead - Fold upon fold, the air laps my head. - - Both eyes scorch: tongue stiff and bitter. - Flies buzz, but no birds twitter: - - Slow bullocks stand with stinging feet, - And naked fishes scarcely stir, for heat. - - White as smoke, - As jetted steam, dead clouds awoke - And quivered on the Western rim. - And then the singing started, dim - And sibilant as rime-stiff reeds - That whistle as the wind leads. - The North answered, low and clear; - The South whispered hard and sere, - And thunder muffled up like drums - Beat, whence the East-wind comes. - The heavy sky that could not weep - Is loosened: rain falls steep, - And thirty singing furies ride - To split the sky from side to side. - They sing, and lash the wet-flanked wind: - Sing, from Col to Hafod Mynd - And fling their voices half a score - Of miles along the mounded shore: - Whip loud music from a tree, - And roll their paean out to sea - Where crowded breakers fling and leap, - And strange things throb five fathoms deep. - - The sudden tempest roared and died: - The singing furies muted ride - Down wet and slippery roads to hell; - And, silent in their captors’ train - Two fishers, storm-caught on the main; - A shepherd, battered with his flocks; - A pit-boy tumbled from the rocks, - A dozen back-broke gulls, and hosts - Of shadowy, small, pathetic ghosts, - Of mice and leverets caught by flood, - Their beauty shrouded in cold mud. - - -THE SERMON - -(_Wales_ 1920). - - Like grippt stick - Still I sit: - Eyes fixed on far small eyes, - Full of it: - On the old, broad face, - The hung chin; - Heavy arms, surplice - Worn through and worn thin. - Probe I the hid mind - Under the gross flesh: - Clutch at poetic words, - Follow their mesh - Scarce heaving breath. - Clutch, marvel, wonder, - Till the words end. - - Stilled is the muttered thunder: - The hard, few people wake, - Gather their books and go-- - Whether their hearts could break - How can I know? - - -TRAMP - - When a brass sun staggers above the sky, - When feet cleave to boots, and the tongue’s dry, - And sharp dust goads the rolling eye, - Come thoughts of wine, and dancing thoughts of girls: - They shiver their white arms, and the head whirls, - And noon light is hid in their dark curls: - Noon feet stumble, and head swims. - Out shines the sun, and the thought dims, - And death, for blood, runs in the weak limbs. - - To fall on flints in the shade of tall nettles - Gives easy sleep as a bed of rose petals, - And dust drifting from the highway - As light a coverlet as down may. - The myriad feet of many-sized flies - May not open those tired eyes. - - The first wind of night - Twitches the coverlet away quite: - The first wind and large first rain - Flickers the dry pulse to life again: - Flickers the lids burning on the eyes - With sudden flashes of the slipping skies. - Hunger, oldest visionary, - Hides a devil in a tree, - Hints a glory in the clouds, - Fills the crooked air with crowds - Of ivory sightless demons singing-- - - Eyes start: straightens back: - Limbs stagger and crack: - But Brain flies, Brain soars - Up, where the Sky roars - Upon the back of cherubim: - Brain rockets up to Him. - Body gives another twist - To the slack waist-band; - In agony clenches fist - Till the nails bite the hand. - Body floats light as air, - With rain in its sparse hair: - - Brain returns, and would tell - The things he has seen well: - Body will not stir his lips: - Brain and Body come to grips. - - Deadly each hates the other - As treacherous blood-brother: - No sight, no sound shows - How the struggle goes. - - They sink at last faint in the wet gutter; - So many words to sing that the tongue cannot utter. - - -GRATITUDE - - Eternal gratitude--a long, thin word: - When meant, oftenest left unheard: - When light on the tongue, light in the purse too: - Of curious metallurgy: when coined true - It glitters not, is neither large nor small: - More worth than rubies--less, times, than a ball. - Not gift, nor willed: yet through its wide range - Buys what it buys exact, and leaves no change. - - Old Gurney had it, won on a hot day - With ale, from glib-voiced Gypsy by the way. - He held it lightly: for ’twas a rum start - To find a hedgeling who had still a heart: - So put it down for twist of a beggar’s tongue... - _He_ had not felt the heat: how the dust stung - A face June-roasted: _he_ saw not the look - Aslant the gift-mug; how the hand shook... - Yet the words rang his head, and he grew merry - And whistled from the Boar to Wrye-brook ferry, - And chaffed with Ferryman when the hawser creakt - Or slipping bilge showed where the planks leakt: - Lent hand himself, till doubly hard the barge - Butted its nose in mud of the farther marge. - When Gurney leapt to shore, he found--dismay! - He had no tuppence--(Tuppence was to pay - To sulky Ferryman)--‘Naught have I,’ says he, - ‘Naught, but the gratitude of Tammas Lee - Given one hour.’--Sulky Charon grinned: - ‘Done,’ said he. ‘Done: I take--all of it, mind.’ - ‘Done,’ cries Jan Gurney. Down the road he went, - But by the ford left all his merriment. - - This is the tale of midday chaffering: - How Charon took, and Gurney lost the thing: - How Ferryman gave it for his youngest daughter - To a tall lad who saved her out of water-- - (Being old and mean, had none of his own to give, - So passed on Tammas’; glad to see her live): - And how young Farmer paid his quarter’s rent - With that one coin, when all else was spent, - And how Squire kept it for some goldless debt... - For aught I know, it wanders current yet. - Yet Tammas was no angel in disguise: - He stole Squire’s chickens--often: he told lies, - Robbed Charon’s garden, burnt young Farmer’s ricks - And played the village many lowsy tricks. - - No children sniffled, and no dog cried - When full of oaths and smells, he died. - - -JUDY - - Sand hot to haunches: - Sun beating eyes down, - Yet they peer under lashes - At the hill’s crown: - - See how the hill slants - Up the sky halfway: - Over the top tall clouds - Poke gold and grey. - - Down: see a green field - Tipped on its short edge, - Its upper rim straggled round - By a black hedge. - - Grass bright as new brass: - Uneven dark gorse - Stuck to its own shadow - _Like Judy that black horse_. - - Birds clatter numberless, - And the breeze tells - That beanflower somewhere - Has ousted the bluebells. - - Birds clatter numberless: - In the muffled wood - Big feet move slowly: - Mean no good. - - -THE RUIN - - Gone are the coloured princes, gone echo, gone laughter: - Drips the blank roof: and the moss creeps after. - - Dead is the crumbled chimney: all mellowed to rotting - The wall-tints, and the floor-tints, from the spotting - Of the rain, from the wind and slow appetite - Of patient mould: and of the worms that bite - At beauty all their innumerable lives. - - But the sudden nip of knives, - The lady aching for her stiffening lord, - The passionate-fearful bride, - And beaded Pallor clamped to the torment-board, - --Leave they no ghosts, no memories by the stairs? - - No sheeted glimmer treading floorless ways? - No haunting melody of lovers’ airs, - Nor stealthy chill upon the noon of days? - - No: for the dead and senseless walls have long forgotten - What passionate hearts beneath the turf lie rotten. - - Only from roofs and chimneys pleasantly sliding - Tumbles the rain in the early hours, - Patters its thousand feet on the flowers, - Cools its small grey feet in the grasses. - - - - -ALAN PORTER - - -INTRODUCTION TO A NARRATIVE POEM - - The vapour, twining and twitching, seems to throw - Black, precipitous boulders to and fro - Light as a bandied scoff; and, look, the cliff-- - Whose root claws at the midworld fire with stiff - Unmolten, adamantine fingers--fails, - Lurches. Above, cold and eternal gales - Run worrying, shredding, eternal sunlight; snatch - At the heather; puff at the flocks of cotton; scratch - White scars along the bents. If strangers climb - To this plateau that buffets back slow time, - They stand awhile impotent, grey with fear, - And feel solidity’s foundation stir. - - But even here a cottage free from harms - Lies havened, hugged and sheltered by the arms - Of a narrow, green recess. A few stunt oaks, - Elders, and barren apples beard the rocks; - But, sleeker than a pool, the lawn beneath - Burns white and blue, bewildering the heath. - On a low wood-bench, rifted by years of rain, - Warped at one end, split far along the grain, - A meagre man with a waste, weary smile - Reads to a boy and girl, or plays awhile - Some quiet, grown-up game. He suddenly bows - Head between hands: no more his children rouse - Flicker or flame, by question or caress, - To break the dead, monotonous, featureless - Winter of grief. At last he rises, and, - With empty scrutiny, feet that understand - No path but falter at random, stumbles out - Where tigrish winds whirry and havoc and shout. - His back-blown hair, wet, smarting eyes, recall - The conscious pang of life; and he must fall - Faint on the ground, or whet his courage keen, - Clench all his being, prise a path between - The loud, inimical flaws. With even might - He batters on, to earth’s and air’s despite, - In storm and tumult winning peace and light. - - Yet, in these roads of quiet, muniment - From fury of nature, home from discontent - Surely of earth’s mean, trafficking miseries, - In this domain of flower and fragrance, this - Green plat of smooth, immotionable ground, - Why does the panther sorrow skulk around - And leap like fear from unsuspected fourm? - Weigh this doubt rather--if the embittered swarm - Of multitudinous grief thins ever or stays - From most unmerited sally; for in what ways - A man may tread, and fate how seeming fair, - His intimate heart is troubled, and despair - Lays present ambush. Many feel the sting - Of casual time like bramble-thorns, that bring - A not-enduring spasm: in other blood, - More sensitive, urging a froward, perilous flood, - It racks like tropic ivy, whose embrace - Turns travellers maniac; nor shall lapse of days, - Nor drug, nor simple, medicine back the mind; - They go forgetting all their manhood, find - No recollection save the venom of death - That whistles about their brain and sears their breath. - - Thus almost had it been with him, thus grief - Came turbulent, and left him no relief. - - -SUMMER BATHING - - The ruckling pool, torn grey by Pendry Weir, - Became Cocytus to my boy time fear. - Two haw-trees, pulping fat their close, green fruits - Turned cuttlefish below, wagging no roots - But narrow tentacles. Old Jacob Fry - Tells how he drained this pool one hot July - When drought had sucked the white stream thick and slow: - Fish, four-foot deep, shone thirty feet below. - Leaning to drop a stone, the farmboy whews - Bewildered that his confident ear should lose - All thud for grounding. Now he fears to stay, - And walks by whistling on another day. - - Here, when the black bees blundered in the heat - Half-drunk, rifling the fine-flurred meadowsweet, - I stripped and bathed. At first, numb for delight, - I lost all thought but this--Come, you must fight - Free from the swirl. But when blank eyes grew clear - Like a pit-pattering mouse came fluttered fear. - Now here and there slide snakish eels, now voles - Bolt hizzing over the brook to round, black holes. - These groping roots perhaps will grip my flesh - Till I grow tired of screaming: so the mesh - Will move, my bones will crackle, I sink down; - So to an end. - Or in some cave of brown - Sluttering scum and broad, plump bladder-weeds - Old fiends may sprawling meditate false deeds; - One, ware of prey, slip out lean fingers, pluck - Unusual meat through water’s rush and ruck. - - Yet, braving all, to prove wild fancy vain, - I held my breath and sank. The brook, astrain - And fierce to be free, spun snarling overhead; - Dull roars droned round, cold currents buffeted. - Proud of this daring shewn--but doubtful, too, - Of tempting fortune far--I battled through - To the root-held scroll of turf on the sagging bank, - And carefully muscled up. The sheep-field drank - The wide-spent, white-spilt sun, the wrapping air - Swung flame-like past, and, while I ran, the bare - Close-nibbled grass pushed hot against my feet. - The yeanlings rose and rushed with timid bleat - Full-tilt at the mothering ewe; fed sleek with clover, - Three cows, in mild amazement bending over - The gap-set palings, rubbed their necks or chewed. - But in mid-course I staggered, having trod - Firm on a flat and spiny thistle; stayed - Nursing my foot, half grinning, half dismayed: - Then lay full length, as light-heel time were not; - Pale fears, fantastic perils, all forgot. - - -COUNTRY CHURCHYARD - - This grave, moss-grown, marks him who once went free; - Now pent--no, portionless; from sharp life lost; - Mere mouldered bone-work. His unheeded name - - Who, curious, pausing, may decipher? See; - Thin gulled by running rain, by chipping frost - Frustrated, muffled under a yellow, same, - - Fat scurf of lichen, the dim characters - Withstand conjecture, aimless and awry. - Yet here lies one who, living, peopled earth - - With indestructible fancy. Now he hears - No nature’s music, who for hours would lie - To hear the blue-caps click their quick, small mirth. - - -MUSEUM - - The day was death. A chalk road, pale in dust, - Accused with leprous finger the long moors. - The drab, damp air so blanketed the town - No doddered oak swung leathern leaf. The chimneys - Pushed oddling pillars at the loose-hung sky. - May, pansy, lilac, dense as the night steam - Of lowland swamps, fettered the sodden air, - And, through the haze, along the ragstone houses, - Blood-lichens dulled to a rotten-apple brown. - Behind close doors pale women drooped and dragged - In customary toils. They dusted shelves - Or changed from chair to chair dull, cotton cushions: - Soon, vacantly, they bore them back and wiped - With languid arms the black, unspotted shelves. - Such mind’s own symbols of despair they went - That never movement shook a face to grief-- - At first they looked no more than cheerless women, - But dug deep in the plaster of their flesh - Those eyes were year-dead, underpouched with blue. - A word would sear the silence of a week. - Of a sudden, turning a byeway corner, a cripple, - Bloodless with age, lumbered along the road. - The motes of dust whirled at his iron-shod crutches - And quickly settled. A dog whined. The old - Cripple looked round and saw no man, but gave - A cruel, crackling chuckle, swung a yard, - And stopped to look about and laugh again. - ‘That,’ said a girl in a flat voice, ‘is God.’ - She turned and slid the table-cover straight. - Her mother could not answer, but she thought - ‘It must be Beggar Joe, gone lately mad.’ - He lumbered along the road and turned a corner. - His tapping faded and the day was death. - - -LOST LANDS - - When from this alien multitude of man - These, kind or kindred, speak in approbation - Of what I strove to write, for all my pleasure - I feel my gross dismerit and fall shamed. - - Set no regard on me: not I can pierce - Clogged air and homely falsehood in prophetic - Dream or sudden awakening. Sinewed phrases, - There are my petty troublings of weak sight. - - Shame took me once, and shame has tracked me since: - My friend spoke of a man who lives bewildered, - Even in London striding over mountains, - Through populous roads companioning the dead. - - Stars move around him and the dew falls grey; - Thin firs pry through the mist. Old fables quicken-- - Undine laughs by the waters, vague, uneasy: - Maiden Mary sings to the sleepy Child. - - Then I remembered boyhood, in whose hours - Thistles were knights, old men were murderous, daytime - Intractable as dream. I knew that either - Hid with coarse walls imaginable worlds. - - Now I am dulled, habitual now with known - Earth. Never shall other-country pathways - Bring me, familiar, through amazing valleys - Fire-white with blossom, dark with ancient boughs. - - - - -FRANK PREWETT - - - Come girl, and embrace, - And ask no more I wed thee; - Know then you are sweet of face, - Soft-limbed and fashioned lovingly;-- - Must you go marketing your charms - In cunning woman-like, - And filled with old wives’ tales’ alarms? - I tell you, girl, come embrace; - What reck we of churchling and priest - With hands on paunch and chubby face; - Behold, we are life’s pitiful least, - And we perish at the first smell - Of death, whither heaves earth - To spurn us cringing into hell. - Come girl, and embrace; - Nay, cry not, poor wretch, nor plead, - But haste, for life strikes a swift pace - And I burn with envious greed: - Know you not, fool, we are the mock, - Of gods, time, clothes, and priests? - But come, there is no time for talk. - - - I went out into the fields - In my anguish of mind, - And sought comfort of the trees - For they looked to be kind. - - ‘Alas!’ cried they, ‘who have peace?-- - We are prey that is caught, - The sun warms us, the blast chills, - And we understand not.’ - - On rolled the world with fools’ noise, - But I strode in tears’ wrack; - Would God, fools, I too were fool, - Or had light that I lack. - - I held the fields all day, - I, a madman, too; - My spirit called aloud - To sift the false from true. - - The troubled sun turned black, - Earth heaved to and fro, - Whene’er I spurned the flowers - Lifting heads to grow. - - Trees reached their hands to stay, - Whistled birds to me, - ‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all, - Brother, let things be. - - For not their heads alone - Bleed, but the stars fade - And all things grieve, for we - One fabric are made.’ - - The heavens and earth do meet - And all things are true, - So trample ye no flowers - Lest skies lose their blue. - - - Comrade, why do you weep? - Is it sorrow for a friend - Who fell, rifle in hand, - His proud stand at an end? - - The harsh thunder-lipped guns - Roll his dirge deep and slow, - Where he makes his dreamless bed, - Head to head with a foe. - - The sweet lark beats on high, - For the joy of those who sleep - In quiet embrace of earth. - Comrade, why do you weep? - - - The winds caress the trees, - Woman to man is led, - And I too have my love, - Though she comes not to bed. - - Beyond the heat of flesh, - Which has its place and day, - We hold our keen delights - In spirit, earth away. - - Mount me on high, O soul, - Expand me my desires, - So shall I clasp in love - Even the heavenly fires! - - - - -EDGELL RICKWORD - - -COMPLAINT OF A TADPOLE CONFINED IN A JAM-JAR - - What reveries of far-off days - These withered plaques of duck-weed raise! - - The creeping wretches, the crowded pond, - A death in life, no Culture, no Beyond. - - Light and No-light in dull routine; - Thought and No-thought two shades of green. - - The fair ideals all creatures need - Smothered beneath the inferior weed. - - For highest aspirations stop - With breathing, at the water’s top. - - O Fairy Metamorphosis - For Being to become What Is. - - Here ceaseless radiance fills my sphere, - The Lamp my Moon, all night, bright, near. - - And clustering on the crystal wall - Great strawberries iconistical. - - No strife to propagate the kind - But leisure to improve the mind; - - Till curious sensations range - About the tail and hint at change. - - The weed with flowers stars the sky - And monstrous forms go dimly by. - - Tail fades! The vestiges of gills - Swell with rare æther from the hills. - - Now Time reared up in rocky crests - Where flaming fowl involve their nests, - - Across the rippled Stream of Space - Throws shadows that obscure this place; - - But in the valleys pipers play: - ‘Over the hills and far away.’ - - -REGRET FOR THE DEPOPULATION OF RURAL DISTRICTS - - I have seen villages grow suddenly - From dust and stand upright in the air - With comfortable homes grouped round a spire; - And in the fields strong women bending - Down to coarse toil to nourish unborn women. - But in the gardens, languid with flowers’ fragrance - Girls linger on close lawns for unknown happenings, - Tearing a petal in long shining fingers. - So waiting whilst pear blossom apple blossom - And white plum blossom are fallen down to earth, - And the white moon fallen. Then a heap of dust - That once was named, loved and familiar - Lies unsubstantial in the eternal sunlight. - Whence faint thoughts - Stirring far down in twilight consciousness - Move dark-boughed yew-trees over graves and stars. - - -COMPLAINT AFTER PSYCHO-ANALYSIS - - Now my days are all undone, - Spirit sunken, girls forgone, - I will weave in other mesh - Than fading bone and flesh. - - Into cold deserted mind - Drag the relics of the blind; - And raise from wives none other sees - Substantial families. - - Hunt through woods of maidenhair - Tangled in the shining air - The forms of ecstasies achieved, - Not then believed. - - O Unicorns and jewelled Birds - And trampling dappled moonlight herds, - In icy glades now slain - With arrows bright as pain. - - Leap, Moon, from the berg’s pale womb! - Frail Bride, out of Earth’s tomb! - The stars are ashen cold - Beneath their gold. - - -DESIRE - - As the white sails of ships across the ocean, - The last sounds fade when the sun has declined. - I am alone. There is no motion - Rippling the clear waters in the mind. - - Only now the madrepores’ frail tentacles - Sway languidly before they fall asleep; - And waiting in their dark pinnacles - The virgin medusae watch and weep. - - Moving darkly among the forests of weed - Ancient memories drag their crinkled shells - To glades where crimson tree-trunks bleed - Thickly, and hushed are the faint sea-bells. - - Out of that silent depth loveless arising - Undine sheds on the water her shining hair, - Softly calleth her soul, devising - A fragrance of music in the air. - - -TRENCH POETS - - I knew a man, he was my chum, - But he grew blacker every day, - And would not brush the flies away, - Nor blanch however fierce the hum - Of passing shells. I used to read, - To rouse him, random things from Donne, - Like ‘Get with child a mandrake-root,’ - But you can tell he was far gone, - For he lay gaping, mackerel-eyed, - And stiff and senseless as a post, - Even when that old poet cried, - ‘I long to talk with some old lover’s ghost.’ - - I tried the Elegies one day; - But he, because he heard me say, - ‘What needst thou have more covering than a man?’ - Grinned nastily, and so I knew - The worms had got his brains at last. - There was one thing that I might do - To starve the worms; I racked my head - For healthy things and quoted _Maud_. - His grin got worse, and I could see - He laughed at passion’s purity. - - He stank so badly, though we were great chums - I had to leave him; then rats ate his thumbs. - - -WINTER PROPHECIES - - Cities with tall and graceful spires I know - Mirrored in pools and rivers silver bright, - That wither if the softest wind should blow - And by a stone are blotted out of sight. - Frailer they are than curvèd leaves of snow - Fluttering down from the dark trees of night - Slowly, and then unutterably slow, - And ceasing as most quietly comes the light. - - Water is carved like fern and stone takes on - The flush of life when flesh lies quiet as stone; - Whilst sinister and clownish, bright and wan, - With solemn affectations the old Moon - Spins dooms and weirds and meltings of the bone - And universal silence to be soon. - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - - -Simple typographical errors were corrected. - -Page 2: “fourm” was printed that way. - -Pages 53-57: The poems of Frank Prewett are untitled except in the -Table of Contents, so two consecutive blank lines are the only visible -boundaries between them in some versions of this eBook. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Oxford Poetry, 1921, by Various - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OXFORD POETRY, 1921 *** - -***** This file should be named 50429-0.txt or 50429-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/4/2/50429/ - -Produced by MWS, Charlie Howard, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -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. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - 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 www.gutenberg.org. 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. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - |