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diff --git a/old/56082-0.txt b/old/56082-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1832bcf..0000000 --- a/old/56082-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1973 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's Dream-Songs for the Belovèd, by Eleanor Farjeon - -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: Dream-Songs for the Belovèd - -Author: Eleanor Farjeon - -Release Date: November 29, 2017 [EBook #56082] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM-SONGS FOR THE BELOVÈD *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, MWS 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) - - - - - - - - - - The Orpheus Series No. 5 - - DREAM-SONGS - FOR THE BELOVÈD - - BY - ELEANOR FARJEON - (Author of "Pan-Worship") - - The Orpheus Press - 3, Amen Corner, Paternoster Row, E.C. - SPRING, 1911 - - - - - _By the same Author_ - - PAN-WORSHIP (_a book of verses_), _published by - Elkin Mathews_, 1908. - - _2s. 6d. net._ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - TO MY MOTHER 5 - - Dream-Songs for the Belovèd 7 - - In Love's House 13 - - Double Beauty 16 - - 440 B.C. 17 - - Fogbound 21 - - The Dance-Ring 23 - - The Happy Shepherd 26 - - Poplars at Night 27 - - Sonnet 28 - - Wild Hyacinth 29 - - Never-Known 32 - - Revolt 33 - - Silence 35 - - My Knowledge Is-- 36 - - The Last Week in September - Child's Vision 38 - Man's Vision 41 - - New Light 44 - - Dedication 45 - - Morning-Vision 47 - - Underworld 48 - - A Song 49 - - Earth and the World 50 - - The Maid's Idyll 53 - - Wêland and the Swan-Girls 62 - - - - - ✶ - - - - -TO MY MOTHER - - - Unuttered songs fly round my thoughts like birds, - And aerially, above an earth of words, - Imagined music on my spirit showers - From azure-feathered throat and golden tongue. - - Most dear, of the many songs I cannot sing - Yours is the bird of heavenliest wing - Whose sunward flight beyond my following towers - And leaves me with an impotent harp unstrung. - - And yet the shadow of my song for you - Falls on my heart forever as a dew, - Or the dim-breathing soul of evening flowers - That love the delicate light of stars still young. - - These lesser songs that all who listen may hear - Shall we call yours for a day, most dear, most dear?-- - Knowing there is one other, only ours, - For ever singing, and for ever unsung. - - - - - ✶ - - - - -DREAM-SONGS FOR THE BELOVÈD - - -I. - - They said it was a lone land, a land of many sorrows, - Grey weeping waters and a strip of golden sand, - Loss and desolation and the washing out of footsteps - That dare to treat the narrow golden peril of the sand. - - They said it was a fire-land, a land of flaming passions, - The sun like a molten rose in burning sapphire skies, - And never sound nor stir save of hearts that beat their way there - Like southron birds whose wings seek the blue of burning skies. - - But I have found a still land of neither pain nor passion, - No loss because no giving there, no gain since no desire, - And the great silent light of the Belovèd's spirit brooding - With the soul of all time there, made empty of desire. - - -II - - Even as between the silence of the sea - And rounded silver miracle of the moon - A little dew is drawn upon the night - To dwell there like the image of a cloud: - - So from the silence of the darkest hour - The light that is a miracle in my soul - Distils the presence of the Well-Belov'd - And I possess the image in him of God. - - -III. - - I seem to walk as a shadow in Love's shadow, - I seem to have always known what love might be - And beyond knowledge passed to the great tranquillity. - - I seem to have gained the light without the longing, - For lo! even as the smoking rose-torch came - Within my hands, red flame turned smokeless silver flame. - - Now in my dreams I tread an asphodel meadow - Where move the lovers out of the dreamful past. - "Dead lovers, how is it with you?" - - "It is well at last, - Sister," reply their eyes about me thronging, - And all the phantoms of that immortal flight - Carry their torches still, and all the flames are white. - - -IV. - - Often, so often, you walk in the cool dim thoughts of me, - Though you may never know how often and where, - And a dream like a little lantern unknowing have given to me-- - Between my two hands as I sit I hold it there - And never will let it again go out of the hands of me. - - For it may be that once you will let me wander the thoughts of you - By a chance, for a moment, and then you will see me bear - The fast-held lantern-light of the dream that was given by you - Since I never will let it go ... will you know? will you care - That the light I bear in my hands came out of the hands of you? - - -V. - - If by the Messengers of Sleep - I should be told that you had died - I do not think that I would weep.-- - For you it only were to glide - Out of the shallows into the deep; - - For me--how could such tidings shake - The thin clear crystal of my dream, - Mine past the breath of the earth to break? - - Till some bright breath from the Supreme - Keen-singing shatters it awake, - Whether you linger here or there - Still in the groves of trance I lean, - While on the hushed and heavenly air - The moon of your spirit floats serene - And makes my twilight softly fair. - - For from the shallows or the deep - Beyond the ports of tranquil death - I know some word of you will creep - Nightly on the mysterious breath - Of the white Messengers of Sleep. - - - - -IN LOVE'S HOUSE - - - Love the God at last has unclouded his eyes.... - - "Newcomer, what are these things that you bear unto me?" - "Songs, the flower and fruit of my wondering heart, - All the creating I have to offer to you." - - "Nothing may be created of you in my house, - Drift your little singing away on the wind. - You cannot hang me about with a music of sighs, - You cannot deck me with roseal vapours of song, - Shape sweet words in a garland to circle my brows - Or make a jewel of speech to be worn in my bosom. - - "Out of soft rain of tears and glamour of joy - Iris-arcs though you weave for your heart's-delight, - Bring me no luminous dream of the saffron and gold, - Bring me no dews of the emerald flame of the grass, - Bring me no vanishing fires of the poppy and rose, - No melting mirage of heavenly hyacinth light, - For I take nothing of colour of those who are mine. - - "I it is colour my chosen ones, never they me, - I am not theirs to possess, they are mine, they are mine. - Did you believe I was given to you as a gift, - Something to treasure and care for and handle and clothe? - Lo! it is you are my gift to be treasured and clothed, - Fashion no garments for me, mine has fallen on you. - - "How should men colour me? sing me? array me in light? - How should they think me, conceive me, endow me with form? - Mine is the thought, the conception none other's than mine, - You and the children of men are the birth I bring forth, - Not within you do I enter, you enter in me. - - "All is expressed for you finally here in my heart. - Struggle no more to express me. My silences sing." - - - - -DOUBLE BEAUTY - - - Love of the light compels the lark to sing - And brims his tiny body with a spark; - The nightingale draws music from a spring - Out of the bosom of the belovèd dark; - But on man's twofold nature God has breathed - The double soul of beauty like a spell, - And dark in light or light in darkness sheathed - His spirit still must sing the miracle. - - - - -440 B.C. - -(_Friday, September 24th, 1909_) - - - More than my sons that day my fathers were mighty within me! - Walking the Past alone nothing I found there unknown. - - Time like a whirlwind blew where I stood by the Tree of the Ages: - Boughs that in years did abound scattered their burthen aground, - - Till in immense liberation divinely austere and familiar, - Naked of over-ripe fruit, knew I the Stem and the Root. - - Under the hand of the Sculptor, the carver of visible music, - Felt I an infinite Truth, saw I immutable Youth. - - Out of the marble a sparkle of motion and delicate gesture - Even as a rose unsheathed blossom-like started and breathed: - - Even as animate light, a tremulous prism, made captive - Once in an æon whose spark leaps to us out of the dark. - - Swift on a wonderful rapture upswung, the eternal procession - Joined I by some great right sharing the ages' delight. - - Deathless singing there sounded and there moved life unarrested, - I was the body and soul, I was the part and the whole. - - I was that boy's fine strength restraining his quivering charger, - Ay, and the nostril's fire quickened by curbèd desire. - - I was this rhythmic strain of melodic, ineffable beauty - Maidenly garments reveal singing from shoulder to heel. - - Well I remember how once when my sandal-latchet was loosened, - While the procession delayed, stooping the knot I re-made. - - Greater and less was I than the flower divinely unconscious, - Golden Youth flowing by scarce asking Whither and Why: - - I was both seed and fruit of it: I was the beast sacrificial, - Garlanded ignorance led forth to be glorious dead: - - Also the elders within whose bosoms the torchlight of duty - Mellowed by Service and Time burned in aloofness sublime: - - More than these things! the thing they aspired to, the ultimate - Godhead, - Like a half-realised dream lifting to clasp the Supreme, - - Crown and star of this Life-Stream endlessly singing and dancing - Till it attain the Most High, Knowledge and Wisdom was I! - - Pheidias! under thy hand the unquenchable spark that Myself is, - Man and his Father and Son, all indissolubly one, - - After great labour of years at last grew a visible wonder - Where men a-gaze at the shrine finally know them divine. - - Ay! though To-morrow become the Wind in the Tree of the Ages, - Dust of my body to spread wide with the dust of the dead, - - In thy golden procession eternally singing and dancing, - Let what may be the rest, stand I for ever expressed. - - - - -FOGBOUND - - - Out of the fog-banks dank and yellow, - As I groped like a soul alone, - The shadow lurched of a drunken fellow, - Blasphemous, ragged, and then was gone. - - Swift the shape of a stranger-woman-- - Soft-shod maidenhood? draggled quean? - Only I know it was something human-- - Passed, and was as it had not been. - - Claspèd lovers with footfall muffled - Faded by ere I caught their bloom, - Whimpering urchins unmothered shuffled - Up from the desolate murky womb. - - Shadows on shadows the lone way haunted - Where one shadow the more, I stole, - Each with a soul I must take for granted-- - But how to be aware of the soul? - - Just the shapes of my fellow-creatures, - Dim and fitful as ghosts at dawn, - Lacking the life-pulse, void of features, - Self-encompassed, adrift, withdrawn. - - Sisters! brothers! remote procession! - I would love and be loved of you, - Give myself for your whole possession, - Take yourselves as my human due:-- - - But my steps were as yours made noiseless - That none may know how we go and come:-- - But you were all created voiceless - Even as I was fashioned dumb. - - Each in his fogbound isolation - Who shall know how the other yearns? - Till some flash of a new Creation - Through this smoke with a clear flame burns, - - And the world is man's for resistless brotherhood - Of hands grown warm and of shining brows, - And the world is woman's for mighty motherhood, - And life is lived in a common house. - - - - -THE DANCE-RING - - - It was the middle of the spring - I saw three girls dance in a ring. - - One was golden as the day, - Around her neck bright tresses lay. - - One as hazel-nuts was brown - And to her feet her hair fell down. - - One was black as midnight sky, - Her locks were like a crown piled high. - - "Sweetings, shall I with ye fling? - It is the middle of the spring." - - I heard the three together sing: - "No man shall break our dancing-ring." - - "Sweetings, that ye cannot tell-- - Unkind sweetings, fare ye well." - - Then each a mocking kiss did blow: - "Give us presents ere you go." - - "You that the morning-glow outvie - For all my gift shall take a sigh. - - To you that like the ebbing year - In russet go I give a tear. - - With you that seem of night to weave - Your grace a broken heart I leave." - - Then as from them I turned my feet - I listened how they laughèd sweet: - - And "Fare you well," their laughter ran, - "Broken-hearted gentleman." - - But shoulder-over I did call: - "Dance on, ye scornful sweetings all. - - "When I am lost in shadows grey - My gifts ye shall not fling away. - - "While still the spring beneath your feet - Flows green your ring shall stand complete. - - "But when the year begins to turn - My gifts to use ye well shall learn. - - "And one shall sigh and one shall weep - And one shall crave eternal sleep." - - _It was the middle of the spring - I saw three girls dance in a ring._ - - _One was a yellow rose new-blown, - One as hazel-nuts was brown, - One she wore a midnight crown._ - - (My heart is still a-hungering.) - - - - -THE HAPPY SHEPHERD - -(Old Love-Lilt) - - - Hither when I see to stray - Her pink dress - With her flock round it prest - As she were a rose in snow: - Then my heart within my breast - Like a lamb to and fro - On a hill of green doth play - For happiness. - - Meward when I hear her sing - And impress - All sweet airs that do flow - Round her head with airs more sweet: - Little songs my heart doth blow, - Gay and glad, half-complete, - Like the snatches piped by spring - For happiness. - - - - -POPLARS AT NIGHT - - - There are no trees so eloquent with wind - As poplars in the moon-mist of the dusk - When like a spirit that has slipt the husk - Among their heavenly crests its breath is thinned. - - Their talk is of such high strange mysteries - They must commune in whispers lest weak men - Ere they are ripe for knowledge snatch again - The secret God has given to the trees. - - - - -SONNET - - - About the house go terrible winds in flight, - Out of the hiss and wash of sleepless seas - Half-drowning voices scream wild messages - Into the hungry belly of the night, - And icy-breasted clouds conceal the white - Souls of the stars, and in their bosoms freeze - The citadel of the moon, to whom gaunt trees - Stretch desperate arms that seem to pray for light. - - Even so in me the elemental war - Strives fiercely to obliterate the heights, - And while the faint flesh staggers up the steeps - The naked spirit cries upon its star - That somewhere dwells among the eternal lights - Beyond this dreadful battle of the deeps. - - - - -WILD HYACINTH - - - Delicate tangle of beauty that flows from the bowl of the - May-green wood - Leading the lingering heart out of love in a transport to tremulous - tears, - When the West wind runs a luminous wave through your bells and your - sensitive spears - It is earth I behold a light with a heavenly mood: - Blue fires, blue floods, that shimmer and swim in a haze in the - heart of the wood. - - I have seen innocent beauty that made my spirit to laugh aloud - As joy danced over my soul like light that travels a fine-rippled - sea; - I have seen awfullest beauty that struck into dumbness the senses - of me - As under its folded wings my spirit lay bowed; - But you seal no terrible silence, nor chime the laughter that - echoes aloud. - - Wonder and worship and gladness and tenderest grief are for you who - dream - Out of the earth like a lost blue cloud from the azure spheres of - sleep, - Where our bodiless souls are the clustering stars that whirl and - revolve and leap - Round the orb of a nameless light in an endless stream. - Oh beauty! the colour of vision is yours and you spring from the - seeds of dream. - - And heaven I know is expressed in you because you were loved of a - God, - You are nourished by tears of celestial dew because from his hand - flew death, - And your quivering singing loveliness was born of his quivering - breath - That sighed its twilight of sorrows into the sod: - For the heart of the lover you wreathed of old was the heart of - the Singing God. - - Distantly out of the Era of Gold that dims the glass of to-day - You shine in the shape of the beautiful boy the Great Ones adored - and destroyed: - The wind in a passion of longing arose from his jealous unsatisfied - void - And the sun came down in a passion of worship to play-- - And the soul of the form their passions made dust is the flower of - the world to-day. - - Oh measureless beauty conceived of the sorrow and love of the Lord - of Light! - Oh swift brief beauty that died before your Spring accomplished its - prime! - Divinest death for you, the divinely-beloved, was it less than - sublime?-- - Oh, rather than die by my enemy's hand in the night, - I would die by the hand of my lover-God at play in a splendour of - light! - - - - -NEVER-KNOWN - - - O Never-Known, it may be Never-to-Know, - You are the murmur of colour in the East - When upon twilit clouds faint ghosts of sunset - Sigh from the Western rose-gardens. - - Or the thin rippled tune - Of imperceptible Æolian harps - Swept by a wind out of the misty sphere - Just higher than the summit of the soul-- - Music half-heard, song uncontainable. - - Or you are violets whispering in the dark. - - You are unshapen in the eyes of me, - But in my breast I carry all the breath - And sound and colour of you, Never-Known, - It may be Never-to-Know. - - - - -REVOLT - - - I will go riding, riding! away from the cities of men! - Into the heart of freedom I will hurl myself with the free! - I will race on the sun-swept mountains, I will dive through the - rock-hewn glen, - I will cleave between hills billowing green like the surge of - the sea! - (_Never shalt thou go riding! but live as man says man must, - Or if thou flee to the open thou shalt find thy spirit to fail, - And shrink as thou treadest the levels where the path has been - beaten in dust - From the glory that thrills the heaven-high hills, and the dark - of the vale._) - - I will go sailing, sailing! on waters that leave no track, - I will follow the path of the sunglow to the ultimate line of - light, - I will plunge where the ocean-giants upcurl their hollows of black, - I will take the way of the wind-blown spray in the dread of the - night! - (_Never shalt thou go sailing! but still in the cities of men - Thou shalt spin thy thread of existence in a pattern not thine - own, - Or lost on the desolate waters thy heart shall sicken again, - For what man bears his burden who dares be adrift and alone?_) - - I will go flying, flying! and scale the steeps of the air - To play with lightning and gather a cloud from the molten noon, - I will find the source of the streams of the sun to lave my feet - and my hair, - And stoop to drink at the brimming brink of the wells of the - moon! - (_Never shalt thou go flying! but stay in thy agelong bond - And stifle the starting pinions that scorn the way of the feet, - Or if thy wild young folly still dreams to compass what lies beyond - When thou clasp a cloud thou shalt find it thy shroud and thy - winding-sheet._) - - - - -SILENCE - - - Words and the body always have been much pain to me, - Little fetters and drags on immensities - Never to be defined. I am done with these. - Meanings of silence suddenly all grow plain to me. - - Something still may sing like a joyous flute in me - Out of the life that dares to be voiced aloud, - But speech no more shall swathe like a burial-shroud - Things unencompassable now eloquent-mute in me. - - - - -MY KNOWLEDGE IS-- - - - My knowledge is, that I am one - That never will behold the sun, - But only on his image look - As a veiled thing that scarcely stirs - Under the silent pool-waters, - Or tossed beneath a restless brook, - Blurred light from blinding glory spun. - - That I shall never feel the sweep - Of pinions from my shoulders leap, - Golden and beautiful and strong - To whirl me higher than heaven and all - Its stars, till there is nothing else - But a great glitter of air, and song - Out of the mouths of a wheeling throng - Which has found, and chants like a triumph-call, - The Miracle of miracles. - - Only, a little dead-gold feather - Came drooping once through the misty weather - Into my hands, all frayed and fine; - And underneath my breast as it clings - Whenever I feel it feebly stirred - My soul imagines a blaze of wings, - They are of neither angel nor bird, - That at the sun's bright passionate springs - Beat up a splendour constantly - And make wherever they flash and fly - A fiery wind in the over-ether. - - Mirage and shadows, these are mine. - - - - -THE LAST WEEK IN SEPTEMBER - - -CHILD'S VISION - - I saw a man, an old, _old_ man, - The oldest man I ever did see-- - Well! I am very nearly five, - And he was _twice_ as old as me. - - His eyes were much too old for sight, - His ears were much too old to hear, - His beard it was all tangled and white, - His old hands shook with a sort of fear. - - He had a kind of twiggy broom - As though he had a room to mind, - Yet he was not in any room - But all among the blowy wind. - - I saw him stoop to gather things-- - He had not very far to stoop-- - Leaves that had scattered like the wings - Of dead moths flying in a troop, - - And little broken sticks beside - Where flowers and berries used to hang-- - I wonder where the music died - Of all the birds that in them sang?-- - - There were some feathers on the ground, - And silky dried-up curls of flow'rs, - And he went stooping round and round - And gathering these things for hours. - - I stood and watched and asked him why, - But still he groped about the mold - And never made the least reply - Because his ears were much too old. - - He got his broom and swept and swept - A pile as round as any cup-- - If I'd been _littler_ I'd have wept - To see him sweeping summer up. - - But I just stood and watched him there, - And presently he didn't sweep, - When there was nothing anywhere - But summer lying in a heap. - - And then the old man found a light - And stooped above the darling mound, - And little dancing flames grew bright ... - He burned up summer on the ground! - - But oh! there was the sweetest smell-- - And yet the smell was sorry too-- - Much sweeter than I ever could tell, - Of all the things I ever knew. - - You could smell _every_ kind of tree - And _every_ kind of flower there is, - And wet weeds rather like the sea-- - And something else as well as this. - - It was--I don't know what it was!-- - The sweetest, sorriest smell of all. - It crept in smoke-rings over the grass, - And hung, and would not rise or fall. - - I think the old man must have known - What smell it was, but would not say. - He shuffled slowly off alone - When summer all was burned away. - - One day when I'm a very old man - Perhaps I'll be as wise as he ... - But I am not quite five, you know, - And he was _twice_ as old as me. - - -MAN'S VISION - - It was the longest August - And the weariest September - That ever I remember, - That ever I remember! - - All the tedious summer - I toiled among the city - Where nothing fresh and sweet was - Or cool or kind or pretty. - - Empty all the streets were, - Every house was lonely, - Nothing human moved there - Saving me, me only. - - I saw little white things, - Things with dreadful faces-- - No, they were not children - In the empty places. - - Haggard, haggard tired things - Crossed my gaze and froze it-- - Men and women never - Looked so, and God knows it. - - Somewhere, men and women-- - All the children, somewhere! - If I asked the heavens - The heavens only dumb were. - - Oh, the city pave-stones, - Common, hard and dusty, - Like ignoble grave-stones - Of high hopes gone rusty. - - Oh, the arid, breathless - Days devoid of rumour. - Oh, the tedious, deathless, - Hateful, humdrum summer ... - - I walked out with a leaden brain - And a heart half-wild-- - And suddenly I saw - A Child. - - She had brown hands and brown bare knees - And a glorious golden skin - And eyes overlaid with sun on the sea - And laughter's heart within. - - She stamped along the pavement - With hard and happy feet, - I was not done with gazing - Till she out-raced the street. - - A Child! One Child! But next day, - Oh, next day there were _two_! - And half-a-score to follow, - And so the legion grew. - - Children! Children! Children! - Come straight from where God is, - All the ocean's rhythm - Rocking in their bodies, - - All the sea-scent, field-scent - Blowing from their tresses, - In their glad free glances - All that Earth expresses, - - Sun-kissed, wind-kissed, - Rain-kissed bands, - Sand-yellow, sturdy legs, - Flower-dabbled hands, - - Eyes so shining, such loud voices, - Such hard, happy feet! - Holiday-homing children - Flowing through the street. - - Laughter's heart beat in - The last week of September-- - The sweetest I remember! - The sweetest I remember! - - - - -NEW LIGHT - - - What light was in me once unguarded was - And any wind could blow it any way, - A flame in tatters, with all moods for laws, - Wildest at midnight, pallidest by day. - - A fire too tossed for comfort to the cold, - A gleam too blurred for guidance to the dark, - Shifting caprice of red and blue and gold - Flickering wanly from the troubled spark; - - And other times a curl of azure smoke, - Like the last puff of incense that is seen - To vanish from the brazier, rose to cloak - The light until I feared it never had been. - - But now the crystal-clear white globe of peace - Has closed my spirit in, that it may burn - Steadily to the stars, and henceforth cease - The wandering way of any wind to turn. - - - - -DEDICATION - - - My body having encountered with a soul, - Be it my body's care to cherish whole - The thing it holds in trust, nor once deny - Ears to receive its faintest ghostly cry, - Nor count the large advantage of the hour - Aught in the scale beside the tiniest flower - Breathed of the spirit, nor make dim its eyes - To simple truths with things the world names wise. - Knowing too well my body's great unworth - Such essence to contain and clothe with earth, - I dare not be unworthier than I must - Lest this my soul be clogged with this my dust, - And that wherefor I owe most gratitude - Shall in the end the caging clay elude, - More soiled and more despoiled, more dragged and sad - Than was the thing from God my body had. - Even as flame consumes its husk of coal - The self must be consumèd by the soul - Till liberate from ash it leaps again, - Light seeking light, beyond the vision of men, - All that is counted I being cast adrift - Before the universe in me can lift - Up to its level of divinity: - Since therefore it has once befallen me - Wondrously for a little space to be - The vessel to whose charge the highest is given, - Pure as I may I'll render it to heaven. - - - - -MORNING-VISION - - - A sea that shimmers on the brink of light, - Emerging over shadow-boundaries - Silverly on a sleeping silver shore: - Phantom-land still, still silent mystery, - Strewn with wan visions of the fading moon, - Whereon the wave that wakens barely breathes. - - Which gathering soon its sweet surrendering dreams - Offers them to the yet invisible fire - That sends its fore-glow from below the rim, - Till they aspire in little golden vapours - And flicker to the pure and passionless skies, - The colour of pale melted sapphires--so - These driftings of the ocean's moon-trance mount, - And through the morning, briefly luminous, - Waver, and cease, above a brightening tide. - - Then lo! the swift shrill flight of sudden gulls, - Up-circling whiteness sprayed against the blue, - The sweep of silver breasts and wheeling wings - That flash across the newly-risen sun - And cleaving through the dazzle of the day - Vanish like light dissolved in greater light - Or music drowned in heavenlier music. - - - - -UNDERWORLD - - - Here lie I in the underworld of trees, - Over my head I have a wave of leaves - Through whose loose shimmering weave of mysteries - The rays of heaven come in yellow sheaves - - Till every leaf is like an amber lamp - Lit at the very source of golden light; - The netted green has drawn the sun's own stamp - And myriad tiny suns are in my sight, - - While such a radiant harmony, on wings - I hear but see not, seems my world to throng - I could believe the only voice that sings - Is of the leafage sparkling into song. - - To-day within my soul I may contain - As much melodic light as one fine leaf - Receives from heaven and gives out again - Into an underworld grown dim with grief. - - - - -A SONG - - - It means so little to you - To sing a note as you pass, - To smile your thanks to the day - For donning its cloudless blue - And then to go your way, - And leave behind in the grass - The print of your little shoe - Or a petal dropt from your rose - And your touch on the vine that grows - Over my cottage door: - It is nothing at all to you. - - But to me, it is alms to the poor, - And the light of day to the blind, - And hope to the desolate; - Though you never have once glanced through - The window where, half-defined, - Half-hidden, I watch and wait-- - For it means so little to you. - - - - -EARTH AND THE WORLD - - - Skies that smile and slumber overspread with peace, - Quiet shores divinely hushed by kissing seas, - Corn-meads like the Mother's breast swelling and at ease, - All these hold me, fold me, that was not born of these. - - _I was born of the city's din - Where the World winds out and in - The endless ways man's hands do spin, - And men and women strive and sin - To win--I know not what to win._ - - Silver feet of twilight stepping from the East, - Golden wings of morning pointing to the South, - Globëd noon that half a-swoon - Discontains its ecstasy, spills its ineffable feast, - And flings about the shining air invisibly a wreath, - Scent of pine and flower and brine - Sweet and sweeter than the breath - Of the Belovèd's mouth. - - _O but O the city's mood - Restlessly divides my blood - Until the greater half doth crave - All at once to plunge and lave - Underneath the murky wave - And commingle with the flood: - And my brow desires the crown - Of the chimney-smoke-wreaths brown, - And my foot upon the pave - Aches to tramp it up and down - To the discord of the town._ - - Sunk in this large retirement where God's presence flows - And I can add no drop to His seas, no speck to His skies, - I might yield myself to His shadow for ever on my eyes - And the vision of Him for ever at peace in my peaceful soul, - Till one still-breathing dusk when the West was a golden rose - I might float out on the tides and over the Brim - To Him:-- - And consummate the whole. - - _O but to touch the Brim - And never have sought to swim!_ - - Out here God says all, does all. But there in the city's hum - Units, whereof I am, have their thing to do and say. - My individual note I would sing ere I go the Way. - Finite was I created. The Infinite strikes me dumb. - - O changeless earth! O changeful world! I will arise! - Here stands the immutable Is. Yonder the Might Be lies. - What Is I cannot achieve, what Might Be perhaps I can - If but to my finite powers the Infinite give the nod: - All's possible here to God, all's possible there to Man, - And I was born in the city, I am Man, I am not God. - - - - -THE MAID'S IDYLL - - -I. - - Night was warm and still, - Moon a dusky red, - Crickets chirped all up the hill, - And I wished me dead. - - "For what use alive to be - And never live?" I said, - Lifting arms to let free - The plaits about my head. - - "Have parents kind enow, - Lack nor roof nor bread, - Day goes I scarce know how - Till day be sped, - - "Each drags by so like to each - Weighted with lead, - Always something needing speech - In my soul unsaid, - - "Something in my soul unsung, - Something unfed-- - _Must_ be eased while still I'm young - And unwitherèd." - - Crickets chirruped strangely shrill, - Smooth lay my bed, - Moon was hot upon the hill, - And I wished me dead. - - -II. - - Over garden and garth and meadow - Lo! I see a slipping shadow - Swift as any swallow-- - Hist, strange shadow! I'll up and follow. - - Neither meadow nor garth nor garden - Has in the sweet close nights its warden: - Oh, yet now I doubt me! - Eyes and whispers do seem about me. - - Yet though the stars high-strewn, a litter - Of lights that shake for fear as they glitter, - All be lamps of danger-- - I will speak with you, shadow-stranger! - - -III. - - Brown boy, brown boy, - What do you here - In the orchard all in rags - At midnight very near? - _Brown boy, I never saw - Eyes so clear._ - - Brown boy, brown boy, - Bare are your feet-- - Say I fetched the watch-dog out - Could they run fleet? - _Brown boy, I never heard - Voice so sweet._ - - Brown boy, brown boy, - Where's your alarm? - Say I fetched my mother out - Sure you'd come to harm! - _Brown boy, I never felt - Hands so warm._ - - Brown boy, brown boy, - Stealing's very wrong! - If I fetched my father out - Your skin weren't worth a song. - _Brown boy, I never knew - Hearts beat so strong._ - - -IV. - - He said, three apples I came to steal, - Red and russet and golden peel, - For I've walked the day and never a meal. - - Give me, he said, your russet hair - Once for my lips, and it's little I care - Though your apples rot as they ripen there. - - Twice to save me, he said, from sin, - Give me your beautiful golden skin - That I may kiss it from forehead to chin. - - Nay, and lest hunger still gnaw, he said, - Give me, belovèd, your mouth's dear red: - Though I starve in the dawn I will still be fed. - - -V. - - What's the road you travel - "Sand, chalk, and gravel, - Green grass and paving-stone, - Always alone. - - "Hard and easy faring, - Freedom unsparing, - Where ant has crept or bird flown - To me is known. - - "The sun's way, the rain's way, - Joy's way and pain's way, - As many ways as wind has blown - All are my own." - - [Symbol: star] - - Love, the future why weigh? - Your way is my way, - Neither grass nor city stone - Walk more alone. - - Will not bitter faring - Better by sharing? - Every pain you've ever known - I'll make my own, - - Beside you free of care foot, - Hungry and barefoot, - Glad, gay, great-hearted grown, - And never alone! - - -VI. - - I know not whether I would laugh or weep, - Whether great sorrow or great gladness fill me, - Only that life has suddenly grown deep, - And from their dim and dreamful caverns springing - The golden-eyed imaginings of sleep - Like glorious birds given full freedom sweep - The world about our heads with strange wild singing ... - Though it do kill me, - Boy, I will love you, only so you will me.... - - -VII. - - Suppose no other night is like to this? - Suppose the coming light - Rives lance-like from the heart even of this night - Its mysteries? - - You have put sudden bloom upon my soul, - And you have made to lift - My wingless spirit that did faintly drift - And saw no goal: - - Have made me know the dazzle of a star - Crowns all this common earth - Which is a planet shooting light from birth - As yonder are. - - These things, this bright new wisdom, could be given - Only of you to me: - The virtue's God's alone, who bade it be, - To unmake heaven: - - So if you, sole destroyer, being sole giver, - Go ere you try your pow'rs, - All this may still be infinitely ours - To guard for ever. - - -VIII. - - Is morning in the sky? - Is not the moon still high? - - A little wing of light - Flutters against the night. - - You scarce have seen my face, - Your own's a shadowed place, - - But your voice I still will know - In a million years or so, - - Say Welcome to your breath - In some abyss of death, - - Meet in the black eclipse - Of unborn worlds your lips, - - Or know by its thrilling pain - This pulse of your heart again. - - The moon is very low, - Soon all this grey will glow-- - - Go now, before the red, - And do not turn your head. - - - - -WÊLAND AND THE SWAN-GIRLS - - - Three white swans flew in the sky - (Are you heeding, Wêland-Smith?) - Three white swans flew in the sky - Till they did a blue lake spy, - Then the three to earth did fly - And they laid their plumage by. - (Are you watchful, Wêland-Smith?) - - When they stood of plumage bare - (What's your eye say, Wêland-Smith?) - When they stood of plumage bare - Three white maidens rose up there. - Earthly maids have not such rare - Rose-flushed limbs, such yellow hair, - Earthly maids are not so fair-- - (What's your heart say, Wêland-Smith?) - - These three maidens did begin - (What the ending, Wêland-Smith?) - These three maidens did begin - By the lakeside flax to spin, - And a low-hummed song did win - Thro' their threads all fine and thin, - Stealing, flashing out and in. - (Was it magic, Wêland-Smith?) - - When the golden flax was spun - (Threads of fate for Wêland-Smith!) - When the golden flax was spun: - "Sisters," said the youngest one, - "See the ripples of the sun - Spinning where the waters run! - Let's unravel them till none - Rests to mock what we have done." - (Tense with hope lay Wêland-Smith.) - - From the blue lake's flowery brim - (Still your breathing, Wêland-Smith!) - From the sweet lake's flowering brim - These three maids did dive and swim. - Oh, the flash of pearly limb - Visioned through the waters dim! - (Steal your moment, Wêland-Smith!) - - Said the youngest Valkyr-Maid - (Did she hear you, Wêland-Smith?) - Said the youngest Valkyr-Maid: - "Sisters, I am grown afraid! - Three men hide within the shade-- - Quick! before we be betrayed!" - (Quicker yet was Wêland-Smith.) - - Three men stood upon the bank - (Egil, Slagfinn, Wêland-Smith) - Three men stood upon the bank, - In their hands the plumage lank. - "What prank's this?" the youngest drank - Breath to ask that triple rank. - Wêland said: "This is no prank." - (Strong and grave was Wêland-Smith.) - - Egil lifted up his hand, - (Not as yet stirred Wêland-Smith) - Egil-Archer raised his hand, - Slagfinn only looked command, - And their maidens came to land, - And the four passed down the strand. - (Patient still was Wêland-Smith.) - - Then the youngest of the brood, - (Ay, and fairest, Wêland-Smith!) - Then the fairest of the brood - Spoke to him from where she stood: - "Brown young Smith, your eyes are good-- - Spare my immortal maidenhood." - But the swan-girl's melting mood - All the stronglier swayed and wooed - Every impulse of his blood - Till desire was at full flood-- - ('Ware of drowning, Wêland-Smith!) - - "What reck I of prayer and plea?" - (So made answer Wêland-Smith.) - "What reck I of prayer and plea? - By this plumage held in fee, - Swan-girl, you belong to me, - Swan-girl, you shall follow me, - Ay, and be true wife to me." - (Warm of voice was Wêland-Smith.) - - "Render me my white swan-wings!" - (Still she strove with Wêland-Smith.) - "Render me my white swan-wings - And I'll teach you cunning things - From the craft-wise fount that springs - Where iron Thor his hammer swings. - Smith, when your red anvil sings, - Fashioning you magic rings, - Swords for hero-happenings, - Crowns more meet for gods than kings-- - You'll not grudge my white swan-wings." - (Plied she thuswise Wêland-Smith.) - - "What reck I of promises?" - (So made answer Wêland-Smith.) - "What reck I of promises? - When I need such things as these - You shall teach me, if I please, - Wife of mine, upon your knees. - Mine you are beyond release." - (Firm of voice was Wêland-Smith.) - - "Back I take all promise and pray'r!" - (Proudly faced she Wêland-Smith.) - "Back I take all promise and pray'r! - Hear, you worm of earth! that dare - With base cunning seek to snare - Me, a Valkyr of the air: - Such as I are slow to spare - Who our god-given rights impair-- - Render me my plumage fair - Lest I blast you standing there!" - (Fiercely faced she Wêland-Smith.) - - "What reck I of passion and pride?" - (So made answer Wêland-Smith.) - "What reck I of passion and pride? - Witless woman-words fly wide. - Woman, you are Wêland's bride, - 'Shall come meekly to his side, - And he will not be denied." - (Stern of voice was Wêland-Smith.) - - Thro' the lake the swan-girl white, - (Ah, be gentle, Wêland-Smith!) - Thro' the lake the swan-girl white - Slipped, and came with footfall light - Till beside him in full sight - Stood she beautiful and bright, - Saying with neither fear nor spite: - "I am here for your delight." - (So she greeted Wêland-Smith.) - - "Nay, but hear me ere we go, - (As I love you, Wêland-Smith!) - Nay, but hear me ere we go - Hence to lay my godhead low - Since my lord will have it so. - Weigh the balance, lord, and know - That if we twain wedded show - All your streams of fate do flow - Henceforth from the tides of woe-- - (Woe, O woe to Wêland-Smith!) - - "Full seven years you shall me hold, - (Seven years' bliss for Wêland-Smith!) - Full seven years you shall me hold. - When the seventh year is told, - Like a parchment read and scrolled-- - Ah, but, lord, inscribed in gold!-- - That we may no more unfold - (Only think on, Wêland-Smith), - - "I shall know a strange unrest, - (Dread the eighth year, Wêland-Smith!) - I shall know a strange unrest, - Be of old desires possessed, - Passionate to ride the crest - Of the storm, North, South, East, West-- - Ay, and by your strong arm pressed - Win no sleep more on your breast. - (Sound tho' _you_ sleep, Wêland-Smith.) - - "In the ninth year I shall hear, - (Will you hear, too, Wêland-Smith?) - In the ninth year I shall hear - Iron Thor's thunder very near - Like a summons in my ear-- - I shall leap for helm and spear - And shall pass in the ninth year! - Wêland! woe for Wêland! drear - Stands his future all too clear, - Yet I may not read it here. - Cast me from you, lord, with fear! - (I have warned you, Wêland-Smith.)" - - "What reck I of hurt and harm?" - (Sweet of voice was Wêland-Smith.) - "What reck I of hurt and harm? - I hold you by a seven-years' charm, - My bride and my belovèd, warm - Within the hollow of my arm!" - (_Go seven years happy, Wêland-Smith, - But Fate shall not be striven with._) - - - - - ✶ - - - - -PUBLISHER'S NOTE - - -This series of books is being produced in connection with _Orpheus_, -a quarterly magazine of mystical art. The magazine contains pictures, -poems, articles and stories. At present (April, 1911) fourteen -numbers have appeared, but the first three issues are out of print. -Subscription (post free), 4/8 per annum. - - -THE ORPHEUS SERIES. - - I. THE HERO IN MAN: by A. E., with introduction by Clifford Bax. - _Second edition_ (first edition, 1,000 copies, sold out in fourteen - months). Printed on Dutch hand-made paper. 6_d._ net. - - II. SEAFOAM AND FIRELIGHT: a book of Celtic poems, by Dermot - O'Byrne, with cover-design by A. Bowmar-Porter. 1/2 net (boards), - 8_d._ net (paper). - - III. TWENTY CHINESE POEMS, paraphrased by Clifford Bax, and - accompanied by _four Illustrations in Colour_ by Arthur - Bowmar-Porter. 2/6 net. - - IV. FROM GARDENS IN THE WILDERNESS: a book of prose and verse, by - Gwendolen Bishop. 2/6 net (boards), 5/- net (in Persian leather). - - V. DREAM-SONGS FOR THE BELOVÈD: by Eleanor Farjeon (author of - _Pan-Worship_). 2/6 net. - - VI. SOLAR SYMBOLS AND THEIR MEANING: by Avola. 6_d._ net. - - VII. THE RENEWAL OF YOUTH: by A. E. 6_d._ net. - - -_In Preparation._ - - VIII. GREEN-MAGIC AND THE SISTERS: by Dermot O'Byrne. (Two studies - of romantic life in the West of Ireland to-day.) - - IX. POEMS DRAMATIC AND LYRICAL: by Clifford Bax, with title-page - and end-paper designs by Diana Read. - - - ✶ - - - LONDON: - WOMEN'S PRINTING SOCIETY, LTD., BRICK ST. - PICCADILLY. - - - - -Transcriber's Note - - Obvious punctuation and spelling errors have been repaired. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Dream-Songs for the Belovèd, by Eleanor Farjeon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DREAM-SONGS FOR THE BELOVÈD *** - -***** This file should be named 56082-0.txt or 56082-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/6/0/8/56082/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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