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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c631813 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #63895 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63895) diff --git a/old/63895-0.txt b/old/63895-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3c2ac1a..0000000 --- a/old/63895-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1893 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Severn & Somme, by Ivor Gurney - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: Severn & Somme - -Author: Ivor Gurney - -Release Date: November 27, 2020 [EBook #63895] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVERN & SOMME *** - - - - - SEVERN & SOMME - - - - - SEVERN & SOMME - - BY - - IVOR GURNEY - - Private, of the Gloucesters - - - LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. - 3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI, W.C.2. 1917 - - _First published in 1917_ - - - _All rights reserved_ - - - - - TO - - MARGARET HUNT - - - - -PREFACE - - -This book stands dedicated to one only of my friends, but there are many -others to whom I would willingly dedicate singly and in state, if that -did not mean the writing of forty books of verse and dedications--a -terrible thing for all concerned. - -So that, under the single name and sign of homage and affection, I would -desire such readers as come to me to add also: - -To my father and mother; F. W. Harvey (also a Gloucestershire lad); Miss -Marion Scott, whose criticism has been so useful, and she so kind, in -spite of my continued refusal to alter a word of anything; the Vicar of -Twigworth; Herbert Howells (and this is not the last time you will hear -of him); Mr. Hilaire Belloc, whose “Path to Rome” has been my trench -companion, with “The Spirit of Man”; Mr. Wilfred Gibson, author of -“Friends,” a great little book; many others also, including Shakespeare -and Bach, both friends of mine; and, last but not least, my comrades of -two platoons of the-/-[A] Gloucesters, who so often have wondered -whether I were crazy or not. Let them draw their own conclusions now, -for the writing of this book it was that so distracted me.... This is a -long list, and even now does not include old Mrs. Poyner, who was so -jolly and long-suffering, nor my boat _Dorothy_, now idle in the mud; -though a poet sang of her full of glory at Framilode. - -[A] The publication of Battalion Nos. being strictly forbidden by -the Military Authorities, we have to leave the identification of the -platoons referred to by Mr. Gurney to those whom it concerns.--S. & J., -LTD. - -Even as I write the list becomes fuller, farther extended, yet a soldier -must face pain, and so it remains shorter by far than might be. - -I fear that those who buy the book (or even borrow), to get information -about the Gloucesters will be disappointed. Most of the book is -concerned with a person named Myself, and the rest with my county, -Gloucester, that whether I die or live stays always with me--being in -itself so beautiful, so full of memories; whose people are so good to be -friends with, so easy-going and so frank. - -Some of the afore-mentioned people I have never had good fortune enough -to meet in the flesh, but that was not my fault. I hope they will -forgive my using their names without permission. Ah, would they only -retaliate in kind! That is, however, not likely, as I never was famous, -and a Common Private makes but little show. - -All these verses were written in France, and in sound of the guns, save -only two or three earlier pieces. This should be reason enough to excuse -any roughness in the technique. If more reason is required, people of -home, and most of all, people of Gloucester, may well be indulgent to -one who thought of them so often, and whose images of beauty in the mind -were always of Gloucester, county of Cotswold and Severn, and a plain -rich, blossomy, and sweet of airs--as the wise Romans knew, who made -their homes in exile by the brown river, watching the further bank for -signs of war. - - Ivor Gurney. - -_Spring_, 1917. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -TO CERTAIN COMRADES 13 - -THE FIRE KINDLED 15 - -TO THE POET BEFORE BATTLE 17 - -MAISEMORE 18 - -AFTERWARDS 20 - -CAROL 21 - -STRANGE SERVICE 23 - -SERENITY 25 - -THE SIGNALLER’S VISION 26 - -THE MOTHER 27 - -TO ENGLAND--A NOTE 28 - -BACH AND THE SENTRY 29 - -LETTERS 30 - -STRAFE 31 - -ACQUIESCENCE 32 - -THE STRONG THING 33 - -SCOTS 34 - -TO AN UNKNOWN LADY 35 - -SONG AND PAIN 36 - -PURPLE AND BLACK 37 - -WEST COUNTRY 38 - -FIRELIGHT 39 - -THE ESTAMINET 40 - -SONG 42 - -BALLAD OF THE THREE SPECTRES 43 - -COMMUNION 44 - -TIME AND THE SOLDIER 45 - -INFLUENCES 46 - -AFTER-GLOW 47 - -HAIL AND FAREWELL 48 - -PRAISE 49 - -WINTER BEAUTY 50 - -SONG OF PAIN AND BEAUTY 52 - -SPRING. ROUEN, MAY 1917 53 - -JUNE--TO--COME 57 - -“HARK, HARK, THE LARK” 59 - -SONG AT MORNING 60 - -TREES 61 - -REQUIEM 62 - -REQUIEM 63 - -REQUIEM 64 - -SONNETS 1917: - - 1. FOR ENGLAND 65 - - 2. PAIN 66 - - 3. SERVITUDE 67 - - 4. HOME-SICKNESS 68 - - 5. ENGLAND THE MOTHER 69 - - - - -SEVERN AND SOMME - - - - -TO CERTAIN COMRADES - -(E. S. AND J. H.) - - - LIVING we loved you, yet withheld our praises - Before your faces; - - And though we had your spirits high in honour, - After the English manner - - We said no word. Yet, as such comrades would, - You understood. - - Such friendship is not touched by Death’s disaster, - But stands the faster; - - And all the shocks and trials of time cannot - Shake it one jot. - - Beside the fire at night some far December, - We shall remember - - And tell men, unbegotten as yet, the story - Of your sad glory-- - - Of your plain strength, your truth of heart, your splendid - Coolness, all ended! - - All ended, ... yet the aching hearts of lovers - Joy overcovers, - - Glad in their sorrow; hoping that if they must - Come to the dust, - - An ending such as yours may be their portion, - And great good fortune-- - - That if we may not live to serve in peace - England, watching increase-- - - Then death with you, honoured, and swift, and high; - And so--not die. - - =IN TRENCHES, _July_ 1916=. - - - - -THE FIRE KINDLED - - GOD, that I might see - Framilode once again! - Redmarley, all renewed, - Clear shining after rain. - - And Cranham, Cranham trees, - And blaze of Autumn hues. - Portway under the moon, - Silvered with freezing dews. - - May Hill that Gloster dwellers - ’Gainst every sunset see; - And the wide Severn river - Homing again to the sea. - - The star of afterglow, - Venus, on western hills; - Dymock in spring: O spring - Of home! O daffodils! - - And Malvern’s matchless huge - Bastions of ancient fires-- - These will not let me rest, - So hot my heart desires.... - - Here we go sore of shoulder, - Sore of foot, by quiet streams; - But these are not my rivers.... - And these are useless dreams. - - - - -TO THE POET BEFORE BATTLE - - - NOW, youth, the hour of thy dread passion comes: - Thy lovely things must all be laid away; - And thou, as others, must face the riven day - Unstirred by rattle of the rolling drums, - Or bugles’ strident cry. When mere noise numbs - The sense of being, the fear-sick soul doth sway, - Remember thy great craft’s honour, that they may say - Nothing in shame of poets. Then the crumbs - Of praise the little versemen joyed to take - Shall be forgotten: then they must know we are, - For all our skill in words, equal in might - And strong of mettle as those we honoured; make - The name of poet terrible in just war, - And like a crown of honour upon the fight. - - - - -MAISEMORE - - - O WHEN we swung through Maisemore, - The Maisemore people cheered, - And women ran from farmyards, - And men from ricks, afeared - - To lose the sight of soldiers - Who would, ’fore Christmas Day, - Blow Kaiser William’s Army - Like mist of breath away! - - The war it was but young then! - And we were young, unknowing - The path we were to tread, - The way the path was going. - - And not a man of all of us, - Marching across the bridge, - Had thought how Home would linger - In our hearts, as Maisemore Ridge. - - When the darkness downward hovers - Making trees like German shadows, - How our souls fly homing, homing - Times and times to Maisemore meadows, - - By Aubers ridge that Maisemore men - Have died in vain to hold.... - The burning thought but once desires - Maisemore in morning gold! - - O when we marched through Maisemore - Past many a creaking cart, - We little thought we had in us - Love so hot at heart. - - - - -AFTERWARDS - - - THOSE dreadful evidences of Man’s ill-doing - The kindly Mother of all shall soon hide deep, - Covering with tender fingers her children asleep, - Till Time’s slow cycle turns them to renewing - In other forms their beauty--no grief, no rueing - Irrevocable woe. They’ll lie, they’ll steep - Their hearts in peace unfathomed, till they leap - Quick to the light of the sun, as flowers strewing, - Maybe, their own friends’ paths. And that’s not all. - When men who knew them walk old ways alone, - The paths they loved together, at even-fall, - The troubled heart shall know a presence near, - Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone, - The new keen joy shall make all darkness clear. - - - - -CAROL - - - WINTER now has bared the trees, - Killed with tiny swords the jolly - Leafage that mid-summer sees, - But left the ivy and the holly. - Hold them high - And make delight - For Christë’s joy that’s born to-night. - - All green things but these have hid - Their heads, or died in melancholy, - Winter’s spite them all has rid - Save only ivy and brave holly. - Give them place - In all men’s sight - For Christë’s grace that’s born to-night. - - Baby eyes are pleased to see - Bright red berries and children jolly, - So shout and dance and sing with glee, - And honour ivy and prickly holly. - Honour courage - And make delight - For Christë’s sake that’s born to-night. - - Christus natus hodie! - Drink deep of joy on Christmas Day, - Join hands and sing a roundelay, - For this is Christ’s and children’s day, - Christus natus hodie! - Hodie! - - - - -STRANGE SERVICE - - - LITTLE did I dream, England, that you bore me - Under the Cotswold hills beside the water meadows, - To do you dreadful service, here, beyond your borders - And your enfolding seas. - - I was a dreamer ever, and bound to your dear service, - Meditating deep, I thought on your secret beauty, - As through a child’s face one may see the clear spirit - Miraculously shining. - - Your hills not only hills, but friends of mine and kindly, - Your tiny knolls and orchards hidden beside the river - Muddy and strongly-flowing, with shy and tiny streamlets - Safe in its bosom. - - Now these are memories only, and your skies and rushy sky-pools - Fragile mirrors easily broken by moving airs.... - In my deep heart for ever goes on your daily being, - And uses consecrate. - - Think on me too, O Mother, who wrest my soul to serve you - In strange and fearful ways beyond your encircling waters; - None but you can know my heart, its tears and sacrifice; - None, but you, repay. - - - - -SERENITY - - - NOR steel nor flame has any power on me, - Save that its malice work the Almighty Will, - Nor steel nor flame has any power on me; - Through tempests of hell-fire I must go free - And unafraid; so I remember still - Nor steel nor flame has any power on me, - Save that its malice work the Almighty Will. - - - - -THE SIGNALLER’S VISION - - - ONE rainy winter dusk - Mending a parted cable, - Sudden I saw so clear - Home and the tea-table. - - So clear it was, so sweet, - I did not start, but drew - The breath of deep content - Some minutes ere I knew - - My Mother’s face that’s soother - Than autumn half-lights kind, - My softly smiling sisters - Who keep me still in mind, - - Were but a dream, a vision-- - That faded. And I knew - The smell of trench, trench-feeling-- - And turned to work anew. - - - - -THE MOTHER - - - WE scar the earth with dreadful engin’ry; - She takes us to her bosom at the last; - Hiding our hate with love, who cannot see - Of any child the faults; and holds us fast. - We’ll wait in quiet till our passion’s past. - - - - -TO ENGLAND--A NOTE - - - I WATCHED the boys of England where they went - Through mud and water to do appointed things. - See one a stake, and one wire-netting brings, - And one comes slowly under a burden bent - Of ammunition. Though the strength be spent - They “carry on” under the shadowing wings - Of Death the ever-present. And hark, one sings - Although no joy from the grey skies be lent. - - Are these the heroes--these? have kept from you - The power of primal savagery so long? - Shall break the devil’s legions? These they are - Who do in silence what they might boast to do; - In the height of battle tell the world in song - How they do hate and fear the face of War. - - - - -BACH AND THE SENTRY - - - WATCHING the dark my spirit rose in flood - On that most dearest Prelude of my delight. - The low-lying mist lifted its hood, - The October stars showed nobly in clear night. - - When I return, and to real music-making, - And play that Prelude, how will it happen then? - Shall I feel as I felt, a sentry hardly waking, - With a dull sense of No Man’s Land again? - - - - -LETTERS - - - “MAIL’S UP!” The vast of night is over, - And love of friends fills all one’s mind. - (His wife, his sister, or his lover.) - Mail’s up, the vast of night is over, - The grey-faced heaven joy does cover - With love, and God once more seems kind. - “Mail’s up!” the vast of night is over, - And love of friends fills all one’s mind. - - - - -STRAFE - - - THE “crumps” are falling twenty to the minute. - We crouch, and wait the end of it--or us. - Just behind the trench, before, and in it, - The “crumps” are falling twenty to the minute; - (O Framilode! O Maisemore’s laughing linnet!) - Here comes a monster like a motor-bus. - The “crumps” are falling twenty to the minute: - We crouch and wait the end of it--or us. - - - - -ACQUIESCENCE - - - SINCE I can neither alter my destiny - By one hair’s breadth from its appointed course; - Since bribes nor prayers nor any earthly force - May from its pathway move a life not free-- - I must gather together the whole strength of me. - My senses make my willing servitors; - Cherish and feed the better, starve the worse; - Turn all my pride to proud humility. - Meeting the daily shocks and frozen, stony, - Cynical face of doubt with smiles and joy-- - As a battle with autumn winds delights a boy, - Before the smut of the world and the lust of money, - Power, and fame, can yet his youth destroy; - Ere he has scorned his Father’s patrimony. - - - - -THE STRONG THING - - - I HAVE seen Death and the faces of men in fear - Of Death, and shattered, terribly ruined flesh, - Appalled; but through the horror, coloured and clear - The love of my county, Gloster, rises afresh. - - And on the Day of Days, the Judgment Day, - The Word of Doom awaiting breathless and still, - I’ll marvel how sweet’s the air down Framilode way, - And take my sentence on sheer-down Crickley Hill. - - - - -SCOTS - - - THE boys who laughed and jested with me but yesterday, - So fit for kings to speak to, so blithe and proud and gay ... - Are now but thoughts of blind pain, and best hid away.... - (Over the top this morning at the dawn’s first grey.) - - O, if we catch the Kaiser his dirty hide to flay, - We’ll hang him on a tall tree his pride to allay. - That will not bring the boys again to mountain and brae.... - (Over the top this morning at the dawn’s first grey.) - - To think--earth’s best and dearest turned to red broken clay - By one devil’s second! What words can we say? - Or what gift has God their mothers’ anguish to repay?... - (Over the top this morning at the first flush of day.) - - - - -TO AN UNKNOWN LADY - - - YOU that were once so sweet, are sweeter now - That an even leaden greyness clouds my days; - A pain it is to think on your sweet ways, - Your careless-tender speaking, tender and low. - When the hills enclosed us, hid in happy valleys, - Greeting a thousand times the things most dear, - We wasted thoughts of love in laughter clear, - And told our passion out in mirthful sallies. - But in me now a burning impulse rages - To praise our love in words like flaming gold, - Molten and live for ever; not fit for cold - And coward like-to-passions Time assuages. - Nor do I fear you are lovely only in dreams, - Being as the sky reflected in clear streams. - - - - -SONG AND PAIN - - - OUT of my sorrow have I made these songs, - Out of my sorrow; - Though somewhat of the making’s eager pain - From Joy did borrow. - - Some day, I trust, God’s purpose of Pain for me - Shall be complete, - And then--to enter in the House of Joy.... - Prepare, my feet. - - - - -PURPLE AND BLACK - - - THE death of princes is - Honoured most greatly, - Proud kings put purple on - In manner stately. - - Though they have lived such life - As God offends, - Gone fearful down to death, - Sick, without friends. - - And in the temple dim, - Trumpets of gold - Proclaim their glory; so - Their story is told. - - In sentimental hymns - Weeping her dolour, - The mother of heroes wears - Vile black--Death’s colour, - - Who should walk proudly with - The noblest one - Of all that purple throng-- - “This was my son.” - - - - -WEST COUNTRY - - - SPRING comes soon to Maisemore - And spring comes sweet, - With bird-songs and blue skies, - On gay dancing feet; - But she is such a shy lady - I fear we’ll never meet. - - Yet some day round a corner - Where the hedge foams white, - I’ll find Spring sleeping - In the young-crescent night, - And seize her and make her - Yield all her delight. - - But yon’s a glad story - That’s yet to be told. - Here’s grey winter’s bareness - And no-shadowed cold. - O Spring, with your music, - Your blue, green, and gold, - Come shame his hard wisdom - With laughter and gold! - - - - -FIRELIGHT - - - SILENT, bathed in firelight, in dusky light and gloom - The boys squeeze together in the smoky dirty room, - Crowded round the fireplace, a thing of bricks and tin, - They watch the shifting embers till the good dreams enter in, - - That fill the low hovel with blossoms fresh with dew, - And blue sky and white clouds that sail the clear air through. - They talk of daffodillies and the bluebells’ skiey bed, - Till silence thrills and murmurs at the things they have said. - - And yet, they have no skill of words, whose eyes glow so deep, - They wait for night and silence and the strange power of sleep, - To lift them and drift them like sea-birds over the sea - Where some day I shall walk again, and they walk with me. - - - - -THE ESTAMINET - - - THE crowd of us were drinking - One night at Riez Bailleul, - The glasses were a-clinking, - The estaminet was full; - - And loud with song and story - And blue with tales and smoke,-- - We spoke no word of glory, - Nor mentioned “foreign yoke.” - - But yarns of girls in Blighty; - Vain, jolly, ugly, fair, - Standoffish, foolish, flighty-- - And O! that we were there! - - Where never thuds a “Minnie,” - But Minnie smiles at you - A-meeting in the spinney, - With kisses not a few. - - And of an inn that Johnson - Does keep; the “Rising Sun.” - His friends him call Jack Johnson, - He’s Gloster’s only one. - - And talk of poachers’ habits - (But girls ever and again) - Of killing weasels, rabbits, - Stoats, pheasants, never men, - - Although we knew to-morrow - Must take us to the line, - In beer hid thought and sorrow, - In ruddy and white wine. - - When all had finished drinking, - Though still was clear each head, - We said no word--went slinking - Straight homeward (?), into bed (?). - - O never lads were merrier - Nor straighter nor more fine, - Though we were only “Terrier” - And only, “Second Line.” - - O I may get to Blighty, - Or hell, without a sign - Of all the love that filled me, - Leave dumb the love that filled me, - The flood of love that filled me - For these dear comrades of mine. - - - - -SONG - - - ONLY the wanderer - Knows England’s graces, - Or can anew see clear - Familiar faces. - - And who loves joy as he - That dwells in shadows? - Do not forget me quite, - O Severn meadows. - - - - -BALLAD OF THE THREE SPECTRES - - - AS I went up by Ovillers - In mud and water cold to the knee, - There went three jeering, fleering spectres, - That walked abreast and talked of me. - - The first said, “Here’s a right brave soldier - That walks the dark unfearingly; - Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher, - And laughing for a nice Blighty.” - - The second, “Read his face, old comrade, - No kind of lucky chance I see; - One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow, - Then look his last on Picardie.” - - Though bitter the word of these first twain - Curses the third spat venomously; - “He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning - Then live one hour of agony.” - - Liars the first two were. Behold me - At sloping arms by one--two--three; - Waiting the time I shall discover - Whether the third spake verity. - - - - -COMMUNION - - - BEAUTY lies so deep - On all the fields, - Nothing for the eyes - But blessing yields. - - Tall elms, greedy of light, - Stand tip-toe. See - The last light linger in - Their tracery. - - The guns are dumb, are still - All evil noises. - The singing heart in peace - Softly rejoices, - - Only unsatisfied - With Beauty’s hunger - And sacramental thirst-- - Nothing of anger. - - Mist wraiths haunt the path - As daylight lessens, - The stars grow clearer, and - My dead friend’s presence. - - - - -TIME AND THE SOLDIER - - - HOW slow you move, old Time; - Walk a bit faster! - Old fool, I’m not your slave.... - Beauty’s my master! - - You hold me for a space.... - What are you, Time? - A ghost, a thing of thought, - An easy rhyme. - - Some day I shall again, - For all your scheming, - See Severn valley clouds - Like banners streaming. - - And walk in Cranham lanes, - By Maisemore go.... - But, fool, decrepit Fool, - You are SO SLOW!!! - - - - -INFLUENCES - - - WHEN woods of home grow dark, - I grow dark too. - Images of strange power - Fill me and thrill me that hour, - Sombre of hue. - - The woods of Dunsinane - I walk, and know - What storms did shake Macbeth, - That brought on Duncan’s death, - And his own woe. - - Strange whispers chill the blood - Of evil breath; - Such rumours as did stir - Witch and foul sorcerer - On the lone heath. - - No power have these on me; - I know too well - Their weakness to condemn. - Spring will exorcise them - With one bluebell. - - - - -AFTER-GLOW - -[_TO_ F. W. HARVEY] - - - OUT of the smoke and dust of the little room - With tea-talk loud and laughter of happy boys, - I passed into the dusk. Suddenly the noise - Ceased with a shock, left me alone in the gloom, - To wonder at the miracle hanging high - Tangled in twigs, the silver crescent clear.-- - Time passed from mind. Time died; and then we were - Once more at home together, you and I. - - The elms with arms of love wrapped us in shade - Who watched the ecstatic West with one desire, - One soul uprapt; and still another fire - Consumed us, and our joy yet greater made: - That Bach should sing for us, mix us in one - The joy of firelight and the sunken sun. - - - - -HAIL AND FAREWELL - - - THE destined bullet wounded him, - They brought him down to die, - Far-off a bugle sounded him - “Retreat,” Good-bye. - - Strange, that from ways so hated, - And tyranny so hard - Should come this strangely fated - And farewell word. - - He thought, “Some Old Sweat might - Have thrilled at heart to hear, - Gone down into the night - Too proud to fear! - - But I--the fool at arms, - Musician, poet to boot, - Who hail release; what charms - In this salute?” - - He smiled--“The latest jest - That time on me shall play.” - And watched the dying west, - Went out with the day. - - - - -PRAISE - - - O friends of mine, if men mock at my name, - Say “Children loved him.” - Since by that word you will have far removed him - From any bitter shame. - - - - -WINTER BEAUTY - - - I CANNOT live with Beauty out of mind; - I seek her and desire her all the day, - Being the chiefest treasure man may find, - And word most sweet his eager lips can say. - She is as strong on me as though I wandered - In Severn meadows some blue riotous day. - - But since the trees have long since lost their green, - And I, an exile, can but dream of things - Grown magic in the mind, I watch the sheen - Of frost and hear the song Orion sings, - And hear the star-born passion of Beethoven; - Man’s consolations sung on the quivering strings. - - Beauty of song remembered, sunset glories, - Mix in my mind, till I not care nor know - Whether the stars do move me, golden stories, - Or ruddy Cotswold in the sunset glow. - I am uprapt, and not my own, immortal, ... - In winds of Beauty swinging to and fro. - - Beauty immortal, not to be hid, desire - Of all men, each in his fashion, give me the strong - Thirst past satisfaction for thee, and fire - Not to be quenched.... O lift me, bear me along, - Touch me, make me worthy that men may seek me - For Beauty, Mistress Immortal, Healer of Wrong. - - - - -SONG OF PAIN AND BEAUTY - -[_To_ M. M. S.] - - - O MAY these days of pain, - These wasted-seeming days, - Somewhere reflower again - With scent and savour of praise. - Draw out of memory all bitterness - Of night with Thy sun’s rays. - - And strengthen Thou in me - The love of men here found, - And eager charity, - That, out of difficult ground, - Spring like flowers in barren deserts, or - Like light, or a lovely sound. - - A simpler heart than mine - Might have seen beauty clear - Where I could see no sign - Of Thee, but only fear. - Strengthen me, make me to see Thy beauty always - In every happening here. - - IN TRENCHES, _March 1917_. - - - - -SPRING. ROUEN, MAY 1917 - - - I AM dumb, I am dumb! - And here’s a Norman orchard and here’s Spring - Goading the sullen words that will not come. - Romance, beating his distant magical drum, - Calls to a soldier bearing alien arms, - “Throw off your yoke and hear my darlings sing, - Blackbirds” (by red-roofed farms) - “More drunk than any poet with May’s delight, - Green alive to the eye, and pink and white.” - - Joy’s there, but not for me; - And song, but shall I sing - That live as in a dream of some bad night, - Whose memories are of such ecstasy - And height of passionate joy, that pain alone - Is born of beauty in cloud and flower and tree; - Yes, and the great Cathedral’s towering stone. - - To me these are but shadows - Of orchards and old meadows - Trodden before the dawn, - Trodden after the dusk.... - All loveliness of France is as a husk, - The inner living spirit of beauty gone, - To that familiar beauty now withdrawn - From exiles hungering ever for the sight - Of her day-face; - England’s; - Or in some orchard space - Breathless to drink peace from her calm night. - - How shall I sing, since she sings not to me - Songs any more? - High rule she holds for ever on the sea - That’s hers, but dreams too might guard the shore - Of France, that’s French and set apart for ever. - A Spirit of Love our link of song does sever. - Had it been hate - (The weakest of all sworn enemies of Love) - We should have broken through or passed above - Its foolish barriers; - Here we must bow as to established Fate, - And reverently; for, comrades and high peers, - Sisters in blood, - Our mothers brook no rival in their state - Of motherhood. - - But not for ever shall our travail last, - And not for ever we - Be held by iron Duty over sea. - The image of evil shall be overcast, - And all his willing slaves and priests of evil - Scattered like dust, shall lie upon the plain; - That image, ground to dust utterly level - With unregarded weeds and all as vain. - The oppressed shall lift their hearts up once again, - And we return.... - Not to scarred lands and homes laid in the dust, - Not with hard hearts to sights that sear and burn, - But with assured longing and certain trust, - To England’s royal grace and dignity, - To England’s changing skies, rich greenery, - High strength controlled, queenly serenity, - Inviolate kept by her confederate sea - And hearts resolved to every sacrifice. - We shall come home, - We shall come home again, - Living and dead, one huge victorious host-- - The dead that would not leave their comrades till - The last steep were topped of the difficult hill, - The last farthing paid of the Great Cost, - The last thrill suffered of the Great Pain. - Living and dead, we shall come home at last - To her sweet breast, - England’s; by one touch be paid in full - For all things grey and long and terrible - Of that dread night which seemed eternity. - - O Mother, shall thy kisses not restore - Body and life-sick soul? Yes, and set free - Songs and great floods of lovelier melody - Than thou didst give - When we those days of half-awake did live. - And joy must surely flower again more fair - To us, who dwelt in shadows and foul air. - We’ll breathe and drink in song. - - Spring shall blot out all traces of old care; - Her clouds of green and waves of gold among - We shall grow free of heart, and great, and young-- - Be made anew in that Great Resurrection, - Perfect as is the violet’s perfection. - Perfect as she - Who sanctifies our memory with sorrow, - Hugs, as a mother hugs, the thoughts that harrow, - Watching for dawn, hungering for the morrow - Lone oversea.... - - I am dumb now, dumb, - But in that time what music shall not come? - Mother of Beauty, Mistress of the Sea. - - - - -JUNE--TO--COME - - - WHEN the sun’s fire and gold - Sets the bee humming, - I will not write to tell - Him that I’m coming, - - But ride out unawares - On that old road, - Of Minsterworth, of Peace, - Of Framilode, - - And walk, not looked for, in - That cool, dark passage. - Never a single word; - Myself my message. - - And then; well ... O we’ll drift - And stand and gaze, - And wonder how we could - In those Bad Days - - Live without Minsterworth; - Or western air - Fanning the hot cheek, - Stirring the hair; - In land where hate of men - God’s love did cover; - This land.... And here’s my dream - Irrevocably over. - - - - -“HARK, HARK, THE LARK” - - - HARK, hark, the lark to heaven’s gate uprisen, - Pours out his joy ... - I think of you, shut in some distant prison, - O Boy, poor Boy; - - Your heart grown sick with hope deferred and shadows - Of prison ways; - Not daring to snatch a thought of Severn meadows, - Or old blue-days. - - - - -SONG AT MORNING - - - PRAISE for the day’s magnificent uprising! - Praise for the cool - Air and the blue new-old ever-surprising - Face of the sky, and mirrored blue of the pool. - Only the fool, bat-witted, owl-eyed fool - Can hold a deaf ear while life begins - The actual opening of a myriad stories.... - Blindness, ingratitude, the foolishest sins! - Now if this day blot out my chief desires, - And leave me maimed and blind and full of hot - Surges of insurrection, evil fires, - Memories of joys that seem better forgot; - Quiet me then. - Thy Will is binding on the nearest flower - As on the farthest star; and what shall put me - Out of Thy power, or from Thy guidance far, - Though I in hell of my self-will would shut me? - But if Thy Will be joy for me to-day, - Give me clear eyes, a heart open to feel - Thy influence, Thy kindness: O unseal - The shut, the hidden places in me, reveal - Those things most precious secretly hidden away - From all save children and the simply wise. - Give me clear eyes! - And strength to know, whatever may befall, - The eternal presence of great mysteries, - Glorifying Thee for all. - - - - -TREES - - (“You cannot think how ghastly these battle-fields look under a - grey sky. Torn trees are the most terrible things I have ever seen. - Absolute blight and curse is on the face of everything.”) - - - THE dead land oppressed me; - I turned my thoughts away, - And went where hill and meadow - Are shadowless and gay. - - Where Coopers stands by Cranham, - Where the hill-gashes white - Show golden in the sunshine, - Our sunshine--God’s delight. - - Beauty my feet stayed at last - Where green was most cool, - Trees worthy of all worship - I worshipped ... then, O fool, - - Let my thoughts slide unwitting - To other, dreadful trees, ... - And found me standing, staring - Sick of heart--at these! - - - - -REQUIEM - - - POUR out your light, O stars, and do not hold - Your loveliest shining from earth’s outworn shell-- - Pure and cold your radiance, pure and cold - My dead friend’s face as well. - - - - -REQUIEM - - - NOR grief nor tears should wrong the silent dead - Save England’s, for her children fallen so far - From her eager care; though by God’s justice led - And fallen in such a war. - - - - -REQUIEM - - - POUR out your bounty, moon of radiant shining - On all this shattered flesh, these quiet forms; - For these were slain, so strangely still reclining, - In the noblest cause was ever waged with arms. - - - - -SONNETS 1917 - -[_TO_ THE MEMORY OF RUPERT BROOKE] - - - - -1. FOR ENGLAND - - THOUGH heaven be packed with joy-bewildering - Pleasures of soul and heart and mind, yet who - Would willingly let slip, freely let go - Earth’s mortal loveliness; go wandering - Where never the late bird is heard to sing, - Nor full-sailed cloud-galleons wander slow; - No pathways in the woods; no afterglow, - When the air’s fire and magic with sense of spring? - - So the dark horror clouds us, and the dread - Of the unknown.... But if it must be, then - What better passing than to go out like men - For England, giving all in one white glow? - Whose bodies shall lie in earth as on a bed, - And as the Will directs our spirits may go - - - - -2. PAIN - - PAIN, pain continual; pain unending; - Hard even to the roughest, but to those - Hungry for beauty.... Not the wisest knows, - Nor most pitiful-hearted, what the wending - Of one hour’s way meant. Grey monotony lending - Weight to the grey skies, grey mud where goes - An army of grey bedrenched scarecrows in rows - Careless at last of cruellest Fate-sending. - Seeing the pitiful eyes of men foredone, - Or horses shot, too tired merely to stir, - Dying in shell-holes both, slain by the mud. - Men broken, shrieking even to hear a gun.-- - Till pain grinds down, or lethargy numbs her, - The amazed heart cries angrily out on God. - - - - -3. SERVITUDE - - IF it were not for England, who would bear - This heavy servitude one moment more? - To keep a brothel, sweep and wash the floor - Of filthiest hovels were noble to compare - With this brass-cleaning life. Now here, now there - Harried in foolishness, scanned curiously o’er - By fools made brazen by conceit, and store - Of antique witticisms thin and bare. - - Only the love of comrades sweetens all, - Whose laughing spirit will not be outdone. - As night-watching men wait for the sun - To hearten them, so wait I on such boys - As neither brass nor Hell-fire may appal, - Nor guns, nor sergeant-major’s bluster and noise. - - - - -4. HOME-SICKNESS - - WHEN we go wandering the wide air’s blue spaces, - Bare, unhappy, exiled souls of men; - How will our thoughts over and over again - Return to Earth’s familiar lovely places, - Where light with shadow ever interlaces-- - No blanks of blue, nor ways beyond man’s ken-- - Where birds are, and flowers, as violet, and wren, - Blackbird, bluebell, hedge-sparrow, tiny daisies. - - O tiny things, but very stuff of soul - To us ... so frail.... Remember what we are; - Set us not on some strange outlandish star, - But one caring for Love. Give us a Home. - There we may wait while the long ages roll - Content, unfrightened by vast Time-to-come. - - - - -5. ENGLAND THE MOTHER - - WE have done our utmost, England, terrible - And dear taskmistress, darling Mother and stern. - The unnoticed nations praise us, but we turn - Firstly, only to thee--“Have we done well? - Say, are you pleased?”--and watch your eyes that tell - To us all secrets, eyes sea-deep that burn - With love so long denied; with tears discern - The scars and haggard look of all that hell. - - Thy love, thy love shall cherish, make us whole, - Whereto the power of Death’s destruction is weak. - Death impotent, by boys bemocked at, who - Will leave unblotted in the soldier-soul - Gold of the daffodil, the sunset streak, - The innocence and joy of England’s blue. - - THE END - - - PRINTED BY - HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD., - LONDON AND AYLESBURY. - - * * * * * - - _From Sidgwick & Jackson’s List of Poetry_ - - - =ASQUITH, HERBERT. The Volunteer and other Poems.= _Second Edition, - with new Poems added._ =2s.= net. - - =BROOKE, RUPERT. Poems.= (_First issued 1911._) _Nineteenth - Impression._ =2s. 6d.= net. - - ---- =1914 and other Poems.= With a Portrait. _Twenty-first - Impression._ =2s. 6d.= net. - - ---- =Selected Poems.= With a new Portrait. _Second Impression._ - Cloth, =3s. 6d.= net; lambskin, =5s.= net. - - =DRINKWATER, JOHN. Swords and Ploughshares.= _Second Impression._ =2s. - 6d.= net. - - ---- =Olton Pools.= _Second Impression._ =2s. 6d.= net. - - ---- =Pawns; Three Poetic Plays. 2s. 6d.= net. - - ---- =Poems, 1908-1914. 5s.= net. - - =ENSOR, R. C. K. Odes and other Poems. 2s.= net. - - =GARSTIN, CROSBIE. Vagabond Verses.= Cloth, =2s. 6d.= net. - - =GRAVES, C. L. War’s Surprises, and other Verses.= Cloth, =3s. 6d.= - net. - - [_Second Impression._ - - =HARVEY, F. W. A Gloucestershire Lad.= _Fourth Impression._ Cloth, - =2s.= net; paper =1s. 6d.= net. - - ---- =Gloucestershire Friends.= Poems from a German Prison Camp. =2s. - 6d.= net. - - =JENKINS, ELINOR. Poems. 2s. 6d.= net. - - =MACAULAY, ROSE. The Two Blind Countries.= Cloth, =2s. 6d.= net. - - =NIVEN, FREDERICK. Maple-leaf Songs.= Wrappers. =1s.= net. - - =OWEN, EVERARD. Three Hills and other Poems.= _Second Impression._ - Wrappers, =6d.= net. - - =SHAKESPEARE, W. G. Ypres and other Poems.= Boards, =2s.= net. - - =SHANKS, EDWARD. Poems. 2s. 6d.= net. - - “=SOME VERSE.=” =By F. S.= _Third Impression._ Boards, =2s.= net. - - =SONGS OF THE “BLUE DRAGON.”= Cloth, =1s. 6d.= net; wrappers, =1s.= net. - - =TURNER, W. J. The Hunter and other Poems.= Cloth, =2s. 6d.= net. - - =TYNAN, KATHARINE. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: Severn & Somme - -Author: Ivor Gurney - -Release Date: November 27, 2020 [EBook #63895] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SEVERN & SOMME *** -</pre><hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="nind"><b>SEVERN & SOMME</b></p> - -<h1> -SEVERN & SOMME</h1> - -<p class="cb">BY<br /> -<br /> -IVOR GURNEY<br /> -<br /><small> -Private, of the Gloucesters</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD.<br /> -3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI, W.C.2. 1917<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span><br /> -<br /><br /><i>First published in 1917</i><br /> -<br /> - -<i>All rights reserved</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span><br /> -<br /><br /><br />TO<br /><br /> -<big>MARGARET HUNT</big></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span> </p> - -<h2 style="text-align:left;"><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">This</span> book stands dedicated to one only of my friends, but there are many -others to whom I would willingly dedicate singly and in state, if that -did not mean the writing of forty books of verse and dedications—a -terrible thing for all concerned.</p> - -<p>So that, under the single name and sign of homage and affection, I would -desire such readers as come to me to add also:</p> - -<p>To my father and mother; F. W. Harvey (also a Gloucestershire lad); Miss -Marion Scott, whose criticism has been so useful, and she so kind, in -spite of my continued refusal to alter a word of anything; the Vicar of -Twigworth; Herbert Howells (and this is not the last time you will hear -of him); Mr. Hilaire Belloc, whose “Path to Rome” has been my trench -companion, with “The Spirit of Man”; Mr. Wilfred Gibson, author of -“Friends,” a great little book; many others also, including Shakespeare -and Bach, both friends of mine; and, last but not least, my comrades of -two platoons of the-/-<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> Gloucesters, who so often have wondered -whether I were crazy or not. Let them draw their own conclusions now, -for the writing of this book it was that so distracted me.... This is a -long list, and even now does not include old Mrs. Poyner, who was so -jolly and long-suffering,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> nor my boat <i>Dorothy</i>, now idle in the mud; -though a poet sang of her full of glory at Framilode.</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The publication of Battalion Nos. being strictly forbidden -by the Military Authorities, we have to leave the identification of the -platoons referred to by Mr. Gurney to those whom it concerns.—S. & J., -<span class="smcap">Ltd.</span></p></div> - -<p>Even as I write the list becomes fuller, farther extended, yet a soldier -must face pain, and so it remains shorter by far than might be.</p> - -<p>I fear that those who buy the book (or even borrow), to get information -about the Gloucesters will be disappointed. Most of the book is -concerned with a person named Myself, and the rest with my county, -Gloucester, that whether I die or live stays always with me—being in -itself so beautiful, so full of memories; whose people are so good to be -friends with, so easy-going and so frank.</p> - -<p>Some of the afore-mentioned people I have never had good fortune enough -to meet in the flesh, but that was not my fault. I hope they will -forgive my using their names without permission. Ah, would they only -retaliate in kind! That is, however, not likely, as I never was famous, -and a Common Private makes but little show.</p> - -<p>All these verses were written in France, and in sound of the guns, save -only two or three earlier pieces. This should be reason enough to excuse -any roughness in the technique. If more reason is required, people of -home, and most of all, people of Gloucester, may well be indulgent to -one who thought of them so often, and whose images of beauty in the mind -were always of Gloucester, county of Cotswold and Severn, and a plain -rich, blossomy, and sweet of airs—as the wise Romans knew, who made -their homes in exile by the brown river, watching the further bank for -signs of war.</p> - -<p class="r"> -Ivor Gurney.<br /> -</p> - -<p><i>Spring</i>, 1917.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> </p> - -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TO_CERTAIN_COMRADES">TO CERTAIN COMRADES</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_13">13</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_FIRE_KINDLED">THE FIRE KINDLED</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_15">15</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TO_THE_POET_BEFORE_BATTLE">TO THE POET BEFORE BATTLE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_17">17</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#MAISEMORE">MAISEMORE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_18">18</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#AFTERWARDS">AFTERWARDS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_20">20</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#CAROL">CAROL</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_21">21</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#STRANGE_SERVICE">STRANGE SERVICE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_23">23</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SERENITY">SERENITY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_25">25</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_SIGNALLERS_VISION">THE SIGNALLER’S VISION</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_26">26</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_MOTHER">THE MOTHER</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_27">27</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TO_ENGLAND">TO ENGLAND—A NOTE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_28">28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#BACH_AND_THE_SENTRY">BACH AND THE SENTRY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_29">29</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#LETTERS">LETTERS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#STRAFE">STRAFE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#ACQUIESCENCE">ACQUIESCENCE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_32">32</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_STRONG_THING">THE STRONG THING</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_33">33</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SCOTS">SCOTS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_34">34</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TO_AN_UNKNOWN_LADY">TO AN UNKNOWN LADY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_35">35</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SONG_AND_PAIN">SONG AND PAIN</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_36">36</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#PURPLE_AND_BLACK">PURPLE AND BLACK</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_37">37</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#WEST_COUNTRY">WEST COUNTRY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_38">38</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#FIRELIGHT">FIRELIGHT</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#THE_ESTAMINET">THE ESTAMINET</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_40">40</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SONG">SONG</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_42">42</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#BALLAD_OF_THE_THREE_SPECTRES">BALLAD OF THE THREE SPECTRES</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_43">43</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#COMMUNION">COMMUNION</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_44">44</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TIME_AND_THE_SOLDIER">TIME AND THE SOLDIER</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_45">45</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#INFLUENCES">INFLUENCES</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_46">46</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#AFTER-GLOW">AFTER-GLOW</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_47">47</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#HAIL_AND_FAREWELL">HAIL AND FAREWELL</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_48">48</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#PRAISE">PRAISE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_49">49</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#WINTER_BEAUTY">WINTER BEAUTY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SONG_OF_PAIN_AND_BEAUTY">SONG OF PAIN AND BEAUTY</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_52">52</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SPRING_ROUEN_MAY_1917">SPRING. ROUEN, MAY 1917</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_53">53</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#JUNE">JUNE—TO—COME</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_57">57</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#HARK_HARK_THE_LARK">“HARK, HARK, THE LARK”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_59">59</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#SONG_AT_MORNING">SONG AT MORNING</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_60">60</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#TREES">TREES</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_61">61</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#REQUIEM1">REQUIEM</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_62">62</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#REQUIEM2">REQUIEM</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_63">63</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#REQUIEM3">REQUIEM</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_64">64</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>SONNETS 1917:</td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#FOR_ENGLAND">1. FOR ENGLAND</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_65">65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#PAIN">2. PAIN</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_66">66</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#SERVITUDE">3. SERVITUDE</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_67">67</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#HOME-SICKNESS">4. HOME-SICKNESS</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_68">68</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td valign="top" class="pdd"><a href="#ENGLAND_THE_MOTHER">5. ENGLAND THE MOTHER</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_69">69</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> </p> - -<h1>SEVERN AND SOMME</h1> - -<h2><a name="TO_CERTAIN_COMRADES" id="TO_CERTAIN_COMRADES"></a>TO CERTAIN COMRADES<br /><br /> -(E. S. AND J. H.)</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Living</span> we loved you, yet withheld our praises<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before your faces;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And though we had your spirits high in honour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">After the English manner<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">We said no word. Yet, as such comrades would,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You understood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Such friendship is not touched by Death’s disaster,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But stands the faster;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And all the shocks and trials of time cannot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shake it one jot.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beside the fire at night some far December,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall remember<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And tell men, unbegotten as yet, the story<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of your sad glory—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Of your plain strength, your truth of heart, your splendid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Coolness, all ended!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All ended, ... yet the aching hearts of lovers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Joy overcovers,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Glad in their sorrow; hoping that if they must<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come to the dust,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">An ending such as yours may be their portion,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And great good fortune—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That if we may not live to serve in peace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England, watching increase—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then death with you, honoured, and swift, and high;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And so—not die.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><b>IN TRENCHES, <i>July</i> 1916</b>.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_FIRE_KINDLED" id="THE_FIRE_KINDLED"></a>THE FIRE KINDLED</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">God</span>, that I might see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Framilode once again!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Redmarley, all renewed,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Clear shining after rain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Cranham, Cranham trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And blaze of Autumn hues.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Portway under the moon,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Silvered with freezing dews.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">May Hill that Gloster dwellers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">’Gainst every sunset see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the wide Severn river<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Homing again to the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The star of afterglow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Venus, on western hills;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dymock in spring: O spring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of home! O daffodils!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Malvern’s matchless huge<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bastions of ancient fires—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These will not let me rest,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">So hot my heart desires....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here we go sore of shoulder,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sore of foot, by quiet streams;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But these are not my rivers....<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And these are useless dreams.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_THE_POET_BEFORE_BATTLE" id="TO_THE_POET_BEFORE_BATTLE"></a>TO THE POET BEFORE BATTLE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Now</span>, youth, the hour of thy dread passion comes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy lovely things must all be laid away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thou, as others, must face the riven day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unstirred by rattle of the rolling drums,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or bugles’ strident cry. When mere noise numbs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sense of being, the fear-sick soul doth sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Remember thy great craft’s honour, that they may say<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing in shame of poets. Then the crumbs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of praise the little versemen joyed to take<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall be forgotten: then they must know we are,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all our skill in words, equal in might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strong of mettle as those we honoured; make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The name of poet terrible in just war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like a crown of honour upon the fight.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="MAISEMORE" id="MAISEMORE"></a>MAISEMORE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O <span class="smcap">when</span> we swung through Maisemore,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Maisemore people cheered,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And women ran from farmyards,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And men from ricks, afeared<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To lose the sight of soldiers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who would, ’fore Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blow Kaiser William’s Army<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like mist of breath away!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The war it was but young then!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And we were young, unknowing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The path we were to tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The way the path was going.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And not a man of all of us,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Marching across the bridge,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had thought how Home would linger<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In our hearts, as Maisemore Ridge.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When the darkness downward hovers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Making trees like German shadows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How our souls fly homing, homing<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Times and times to Maisemore meadows,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By Aubers ridge that Maisemore men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have died in vain to hold....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The burning thought but once desires<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Maisemore in morning gold!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O when we marched through Maisemore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Past many a creaking cart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We little thought we had in us<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Love so hot at heart.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="AFTERWARDS" id="AFTERWARDS"></a>AFTERWARDS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Those</span> dreadful evidences of Man’s ill-doing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The kindly Mother of all shall soon hide deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Covering with tender fingers her children asleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Time’s slow cycle turns them to renewing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In other forms their beauty—no grief, no rueing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Irrevocable woe. They’ll lie, they’ll steep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their hearts in peace unfathomed, till they leap<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quick to the light of the sun, as flowers strewing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maybe, their own friends’ paths. And that’s not all.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When men who knew them walk old ways alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The paths they loved together, at even-fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The troubled heart shall know a presence near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Friendly, familiar, and the old grief gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The new keen joy shall make all darkness clear.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="CAROL" id="CAROL"></a>CAROL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Winter</span> now has bared the trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Killed with tiny swords the jolly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leafage that mid-summer sees,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But left the ivy and the holly.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Hold them high<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And make delight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Christë’s joy that’s born to-night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All green things but these have hid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their heads, or died in melancholy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Winter’s spite them all has rid<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Save only ivy and brave holly.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Give them place<br /></span> -<span class="i6">In all men’s sight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Christë’s grace that’s born to-night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Baby eyes are pleased to see<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Bright red berries and children jolly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So shout and dance and sing with glee,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And honour ivy and prickly holly.<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Honour courage<br /></span> -<span class="i6">And make delight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Christë’s sake that’s born to-night.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Christus natus hodie!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drink deep of joy on Christmas Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Join hands and sing a roundelay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this is Christ’s and children’s day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Christus natus hodie!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hodie!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="STRANGE_SERVICE" id="STRANGE_SERVICE"></a>STRANGE SERVICE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Little</span> did I dream, England, that you bore me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Under the Cotswold hills beside the water meadows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To do you dreadful service, here, beyond your borders<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And your enfolding seas.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I was a dreamer ever, and bound to your dear service,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meditating deep, I thought on your secret beauty,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As through a child’s face one may see the clear spirit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Miraculously shining.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your hills not only hills, but friends of mine and kindly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your tiny knolls and orchards hidden beside the river<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Muddy and strongly-flowing, with shy and tiny streamlets<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Safe in its bosom.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now these are memories only, and your skies and rushy sky-pools<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fragile mirrors easily broken by moving airs....<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In my deep heart for ever goes on your daily being,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And uses consecrate.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Think on me too, O Mother, who wrest my soul to serve you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In strange and fearful ways beyond your encircling waters;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None but you can know my heart, its tears and sacrifice;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">None, but you, repay.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SERENITY" id="SERENITY"></a>SERENITY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Nor</span> steel nor flame has any power on me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save that its malice work the Almighty Will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor steel nor flame has any power on me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through tempests of hell-fire I must go free<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And unafraid; so I remember still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor steel nor flame has any power on me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save that its malice work the Almighty Will.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_SIGNALLERS_VISION" id="THE_SIGNALLERS_VISION"></a>THE SIGNALLER’S VISION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">One</span> rainy winter dusk<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mending a parted cable,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sudden I saw so clear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Home and the tea-table.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So clear it was, so sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I did not start, but drew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The breath of deep content<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Some minutes ere I knew<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">My Mother’s face that’s soother<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Than autumn half-lights kind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My softly smiling sisters<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Who keep me still in mind,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Were but a dream, a vision—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That faded. And I knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The smell of trench, trench-feeling—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And turned to work anew.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_MOTHER" id="THE_MOTHER"></a>THE MOTHER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> scar the earth with dreadful engin’ry;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She takes us to her bosom at the last;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hiding our hate with love, who cannot see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of any child the faults; and holds us fast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll wait in quiet till our passion’s past.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_ENGLAND" id="TO_ENGLAND"></a>TO ENGLAND—A NOTE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I <span class="smcap">watched</span> the boys of England where they went<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through mud and water to do appointed things.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See one a stake, and one wire-netting brings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And one comes slowly under a burden bent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of ammunition. Though the strength be spent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They “carry on” under the shadowing wings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Death the ever-present. And hark, one sings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Although no joy from the grey skies be lent.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Are these the heroes—these? have kept from you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The power of primal savagery so long?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall break the devil’s legions? These they are<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who do in silence what they might boast to do;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In the height of battle tell the world in song<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How they do hate and fear the face of War.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="BACH_AND_THE_SENTRY" id="BACH_AND_THE_SENTRY"></a>BACH AND THE SENTRY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Watching</span> the dark my spirit rose in flood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On that most dearest Prelude of my delight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The low-lying mist lifted its hood,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The October stars showed nobly in clear night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When I return, and to real music-making,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And play that Prelude, how will it happen then?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall I feel as I felt, a sentry hardly waking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With a dull sense of No Man’s Land again?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="LETTERS" id="LETTERS"></a>LETTERS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smcap">Mail’s up</span>!” The vast of night is over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And love of friends fills all one’s mind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(His wife, his sister, or his lover.)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mail’s up, the vast of night is over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grey-faced heaven joy does cover<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With love, and God once more seems kind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Mail’s up!” the vast of night is over,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And love of friends fills all one’s mind.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="STRAFE" id="STRAFE"></a>STRAFE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> “crumps” are falling twenty to the minute.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We crouch, and wait the end of it—or us.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Just behind the trench, before, and in it,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The “crumps” are falling twenty to the minute;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(O Framilode! O Maisemore’s laughing linnet!)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here comes a monster like a motor-bus.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The “crumps” are falling twenty to the minute:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We crouch and wait the end of it—or us.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ACQUIESCENCE" id="ACQUIESCENCE"></a>ACQUIESCENCE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Since</span> I can neither alter my destiny<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By one hair’s breadth from its appointed course;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since bribes nor prayers nor any earthly force<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May from its pathway move a life not free—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I must gather together the whole strength of me.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My senses make my willing servitors;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cherish and feed the better, starve the worse;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turn all my pride to proud humility.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Meeting the daily shocks and frozen, stony,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cynical face of doubt with smiles and joy—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As a battle with autumn winds delights a boy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the smut of the world and the lust of money,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Power, and fame, can yet his youth destroy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere he has scorned his Father’s patrimony.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_STRONG_THING" id="THE_STRONG_THING"></a>THE STRONG THING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I <span class="smcap">have</span> seen Death and the faces of men in fear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Death, and shattered, terribly ruined flesh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Appalled; but through the horror, coloured and clear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The love of my county, Gloster, rises afresh.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And on the Day of Days, the Judgment Day,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The Word of Doom awaiting breathless and still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll marvel how sweet’s the air down Framilode way,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And take my sentence on sheer-down Crickley Hill.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SCOTS" id="SCOTS"></a>SCOTS</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> boys who laughed and jested with me but yesterday,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So fit for kings to speak to, so blithe and proud and gay ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are now but thoughts of blind pain, and best hid away....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Over the top this morning at the dawn’s first grey.)<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O, if we catch the Kaiser his dirty hide to flay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll hang him on a tall tree his pride to allay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That will not bring the boys again to mountain and brae....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Over the top this morning at the dawn’s first grey.)<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To think—earth’s best and dearest turned to red broken clay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By one devil’s second! What words can we say?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or what gift has God their mothers’ anguish to repay?...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Over the top this morning at the first flush of day.)<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_AN_UNKNOWN_LADY" id="TO_AN_UNKNOWN_LADY"></a>TO AN UNKNOWN LADY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">You</span> that were once so sweet, are sweeter now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That an even leaden greyness clouds my days;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A pain it is to think on your sweet ways,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your careless-tender speaking, tender and low.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the hills enclosed us, hid in happy valleys,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Greeting a thousand times the things most dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We wasted thoughts of love in laughter clear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And told our passion out in mirthful sallies.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But in me now a burning impulse rages<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To praise our love in words like flaming gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Molten and live for ever; not fit for cold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And coward like-to-passions Time assuages.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor do I fear you are lovely only in dreams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being as the sky reflected in clear streams.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SONG_AND_PAIN" id="SONG_AND_PAIN"></a>SONG AND PAIN</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Out</span> of my sorrow have I made these songs,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Out of my sorrow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though somewhat of the making’s eager pain<br /></span> -<span class="i4">From Joy did borrow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some day, I trust, God’s purpose of Pain for me<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Shall be complete,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And then—to enter in the House of Joy....<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Prepare, my feet.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="PURPLE_AND_BLACK" id="PURPLE_AND_BLACK"></a>PURPLE AND BLACK</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> death of princes is<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Honoured most greatly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud kings put purple on<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In manner stately.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though they have lived such life<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As God offends,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gone fearful down to death,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sick, without friends.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And in the temple dim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Trumpets of gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaim their glory; so<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their story is told.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In sentimental hymns<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Weeping her dolour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mother of heroes wears<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vile black—Death’s colour,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Who should walk proudly with<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The noblest one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all that purple throng—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“This was my son.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="WEST_COUNTRY" id="WEST_COUNTRY"></a>WEST COUNTRY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Spring</span> comes soon to Maisemore<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And spring comes sweet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bird-songs and blue skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On gay dancing feet;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But she is such a shy lady<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I fear we’ll never meet.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet some day round a corner<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the hedge foams white,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ll find Spring sleeping<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the young-crescent night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seize her and make her<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Yield all her delight.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But yon’s a glad story<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That’s yet to be told.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here’s grey winter’s bareness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And no-shadowed cold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O Spring, with your music,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your blue, green, and gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come shame his hard wisdom<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With laughter and gold!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FIRELIGHT" id="FIRELIGHT"></a>FIRELIGHT</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Silent</span>, bathed in firelight, in dusky light and gloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The boys squeeze together in the smoky dirty room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crowded round the fireplace, a thing of bricks and tin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They watch the shifting embers till the good dreams enter in,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">That fill the low hovel with blossoms fresh with dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And blue sky and white clouds that sail the clear air through.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They talk of daffodillies and the bluebells’ skiey bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till silence thrills and murmurs at the things they have said.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And yet, they have no skill of words, whose eyes glow so deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They wait for night and silence and the strange power of sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To lift them and drift them like sea-birds over the sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where some day I shall walk again, and they walk with me.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_ESTAMINET" id="THE_ESTAMINET"></a>THE ESTAMINET</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> crowd of us were drinking<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One night at Riez Bailleul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glasses were a-clinking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The estaminet was full;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And loud with song and story<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And blue with tales and smoke,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We spoke no word of glory,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor mentioned “foreign yoke.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But yarns of girls in Blighty;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Vain, jolly, ugly, fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Standoffish, foolish, flighty—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And O! that we were there!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where never thuds a “Minnie,”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But Minnie smiles at you<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A-meeting in the spinney,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With kisses not a few.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And of an inn that Johnson<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Does keep; the “Rising Sun.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His friends him call Jack Johnson,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">He’s Gloster’s only one.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And talk of poachers’ habits<br /></span> -<span class="i2">(But girls ever and again)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of killing weasels, rabbits,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stoats, pheasants, never men,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Although we knew to-morrow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Must take us to the line,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In beer hid thought and sorrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In ruddy and white wine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When all had finished drinking,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Though still was clear each head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We said no word—went slinking<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Straight homeward (?), into bed (?).<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O never lads were merrier<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nor straighter nor more fine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though we were only “Terrier”<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And only, “Second Line.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O I may get to Blighty,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or hell, without a sign<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of all the love that filled me,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Leave dumb the love that filled me,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flood of love that filled me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For these dear comrades of mine.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SONG" id="SONG"></a>SONG</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Only</span> the wanderer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Knows England’s graces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or can anew see clear<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Familiar faces.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And who loves joy as he<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That dwells in shadows?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Do not forget me quite,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">O Severn meadows.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="BALLAD_OF_THE_THREE_SPECTRES" id="BALLAD_OF_THE_THREE_SPECTRES"></a>BALLAD OF THE THREE SPECTRES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> I went up by Ovillers<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In mud and water cold to the knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There went three jeering, fleering spectres,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That walked abreast and talked of me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The first said, “Here’s a right brave soldier<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That walks the dark unfearingly;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soon he’ll come back on a fine stretcher,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And laughing for a nice Blighty.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The second, “Read his face, old comrade,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">No kind of lucky chance I see;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One day he’ll freeze in mud to the marrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then look his last on Picardie.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though bitter the word of these first twain<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Curses the third spat venomously;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“He’ll stay untouched till the war’s last dawning<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Then live one hour of agony.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Liars the first two were. Behold me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">At sloping arms by one—two—three;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Waiting the time I shall discover<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Whether the third spake verity.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="COMMUNION" id="COMMUNION"></a>COMMUNION</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Beauty</span> lies so deep<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On all the fields,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nothing for the eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i2">But blessing yields.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tall elms, greedy of light,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stand tip-toe. See<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last light linger in<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Their tracery.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The guns are dumb, are still<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All evil noises.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The singing heart in peace<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Softly rejoices,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only unsatisfied<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With Beauty’s hunger<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sacramental thirst—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Nothing of anger.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mist wraiths haunt the path<br /></span> -<span class="i2">As daylight lessens,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stars grow clearer, and<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My dead friend’s presence.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TIME_AND_THE_SOLDIER" id="TIME_AND_THE_SOLDIER"></a>TIME AND THE SOLDIER</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">How</span> slow you move, old Time;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Walk a bit faster!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old fool, I’m not your slave....<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Beauty’s my master!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">You hold me for a space....<br /></span> -<span class="i2">What are you, Time?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A ghost, a thing of thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">An easy rhyme.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Some day I shall again,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For all your scheming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See Severn valley clouds<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like banners streaming.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And walk in Cranham lanes,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">By Maisemore go....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, fool, decrepit Fool,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">You are <small>SO SLOW</small>!!!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="INFLUENCES" id="INFLUENCES"></a>INFLUENCES</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> woods of home grow dark,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I grow dark too.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Images of strange power<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fill me and thrill me that hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sombre of hue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The woods of Dunsinane<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I walk, and know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What storms did shake Macbeth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That brought on Duncan’s death,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And his own woe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strange whispers chill the blood<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of evil breath;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such rumours as did stir<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Witch and foul sorcerer<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On the lone heath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No power have these on me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I know too well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their weakness to condemn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spring will exorcise them<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With one bluebell.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="AFTER-GLOW" id="AFTER-GLOW"></a>AFTER-GLOW</h2> - -<p class="c">[<span class="smcap"><i>To</i> F. W. Harvey</span>]</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Out</span> of the smoke and dust of the little room<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With tea-talk loud and laughter of happy boys,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I passed into the dusk. Suddenly the noise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ceased with a shock, left me alone in the gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To wonder at the miracle hanging high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tangled in twigs, the silver crescent clear.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time passed from mind. Time died; and then we were<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Once more at home together, you and I.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The elms with arms of love wrapped us in shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who watched the ecstatic West with one desire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One soul uprapt; and still another fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Consumed us, and our joy yet greater made:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Bach should sing for us, mix us in one<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The joy of firelight and the sunken sun.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HAIL_AND_FAREWELL" id="HAIL_AND_FAREWELL"></a>HAIL AND FAREWELL</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> destined bullet wounded him,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They brought him down to die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far-off a bugle sounded him<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Retreat,” Good-bye.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strange, that from ways so hated,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And tyranny so hard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should come this strangely fated<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And farewell word.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He thought, “Some Old Sweat might<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Have thrilled at heart to hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gone down into the night<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Too proud to fear!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But I—the fool at arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Musician, poet to boot,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who hail release; what charms<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In this salute?”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He smiled—“The latest jest<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That time on me shall play.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And watched the dying west,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Went out with the day.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="PRAISE" id="PRAISE"></a>PRAISE</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O friends of mine, if men mock at my name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say “Children loved him.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Since by that word you will have far removed him<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From any bitter shame.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="WINTER_BEAUTY" id="WINTER_BEAUTY"></a>WINTER BEAUTY</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I cannot</span> live with Beauty out of mind;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I seek her and desire her all the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Being the chiefest treasure man may find,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And word most sweet his eager lips can say.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She is as strong on me as though I wandered<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In Severn meadows some blue riotous day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But since the trees have long since lost their green,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And I, an exile, can but dream of things<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grown magic in the mind, I watch the sheen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of frost and hear the song Orion sings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hear the star-born passion of Beethoven;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Man’s consolations sung on the quivering strings.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beauty of song remembered, sunset glories,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Mix in my mind, till I not care nor know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whether the stars do move me, golden stories,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or ruddy Cotswold in the sunset glow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I am uprapt, and not my own, immortal, ...<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In winds of Beauty swinging to and fro.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beauty immortal, not to be hid, desire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of all men, each in his fashion, give me the strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thirst past satisfaction for thee, and fire<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Not to be quenched.... O lift me, bear me along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Touch me, make me worthy that men may seek me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For Beauty, Mistress Immortal, Healer of Wrong.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SONG_OF_PAIN_AND_BEAUTY" id="SONG_OF_PAIN_AND_BEAUTY"></a>SONG OF PAIN AND BEAUTY</h2> - -<p class="c">[<i>To</i> M. M. S.]</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">O may</span> these days of pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">These wasted-seeming days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Somewhere reflower again<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With scent and savour of praise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Draw out of memory all bitterness<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of night with Thy sun’s rays.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And strengthen Thou in me<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The love of men here found,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And eager charity,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That, out of difficult ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spring like flowers in barren deserts, or<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Like light, or a lovely sound.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A simpler heart than mine<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Might have seen beauty clear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where I could see no sign<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Thee, but only fear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strengthen me, make me to see Thy beauty always<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In every happening here.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="c"><span class="smcap">In Trenches</span>, <i>March 1917</i>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="SPRING_ROUEN_MAY_1917" id="SPRING_ROUEN_MAY_1917"></a>SPRING. ROUEN, MAY 1917</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">I am</span> dumb, I am dumb!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here’s a Norman orchard and here’s Spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Goading the sullen words that will not come.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Romance, beating his distant magical drum,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Calls to a soldier bearing alien arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Throw off your yoke and hear my darlings sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blackbirds” (by red-roofed farms)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“More drunk than any poet with May’s delight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Green alive to the eye, and pink and white.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Joy’s there, but not for me;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And song, but shall I sing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That live as in a dream of some bad night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose memories are of such ecstasy<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And height of passionate joy, that pain alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is born of beauty in cloud and flower and tree;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, and the great Cathedral’s towering stone.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To me these are but shadows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of orchards and old meadows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trodden before the dawn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trodden after the dusk....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All loveliness of France is as a husk,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The inner living spirit of beauty gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To that familiar beauty now withdrawn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From exiles hungering ever for the sight<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of her day-face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England’s;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or in some orchard space<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breathless to drink peace from her calm night.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How shall I sing, since she sings not to me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs any more?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High rule she holds for ever on the sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That’s hers, but dreams too might guard the shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of France, that’s French and set apart for ever.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Spirit of Love our link of song does sever.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had it been hate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(The weakest of all sworn enemies of Love)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We should have broken through or passed above<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its foolish barriers;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here we must bow as to established Fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And reverently; for, comrades and high peers,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sisters in blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our mothers brook no rival in their state<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of motherhood.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But not for ever shall our travail last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And not for ever we<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be held by iron Duty over sea.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The image of evil shall be overcast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all his willing slaves and priests of evil<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scattered like dust, shall lie upon the plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That image, ground to dust utterly level<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With unregarded weeds and all as vain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The oppressed shall lift their hearts up once again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we return....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not to scarred lands and homes laid in the dust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not with hard hearts to sights that sear and burn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But with assured longing and certain trust,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To England’s royal grace and dignity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To England’s changing skies, rich greenery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High strength controlled, queenly serenity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inviolate kept by her confederate sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hearts resolved to every sacrifice.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall come home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall come home again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Living and dead, one huge victorious host—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dead that would not leave their comrades till<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last steep were topped of the difficult hill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last farthing paid of the Great Cost,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last thrill suffered of the Great Pain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Living and dead, we shall come home at last<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To her sweet breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">England’s; by one touch be paid in full<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For all things grey and long and terrible<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of that dread night which seemed eternity.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O Mother, shall thy kisses not restore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Body and life-sick soul? Yes, and set free<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Songs and great floods of lovelier melody<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than thou didst give<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When we those days of half-awake did live.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And joy must surely flower again more fair<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To us, who dwelt in shadows and foul air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We’ll breathe and drink in song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Spring shall blot out all traces of old care;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her clouds of green and waves of gold among<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We shall grow free of heart, and great, and young—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be made anew in that Great Resurrection,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perfect as is the violet’s perfection.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perfect as she<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who sanctifies our memory with sorrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hugs, as a mother hugs, the thoughts that harrow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Watching for dawn, hungering for the morrow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lone oversea....<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I am dumb now, dumb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But in that time what music shall not come?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mother of Beauty, Mistress of the Sea.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="JUNE" id="JUNE"></a>JUNE—TO—COME</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> the sun’s fire and gold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sets the bee humming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I will not write to tell<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Him that I’m coming,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But ride out unawares<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On that old road,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Minsterworth, of Peace,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of Framilode,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And walk, not looked for, in<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That cool, dark passage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never a single word;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Myself my message.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And then; well ... O we’ll drift<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And stand and gaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wonder how we could<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In those Bad Days<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Live without Minsterworth;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Or western air<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fanning the hot cheek,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Stirring the hair;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In land where hate of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">God’s love did cover;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This land.... And here’s my dream<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Irrevocably over.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="HARK_HARK_THE_LARK" id="HARK_HARK_THE_LARK"></a>“HARK, HARK, THE LARK”</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hark</span>, hark, the lark to heaven’s gate uprisen,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Pours out his joy ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I think of you, shut in some distant prison,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">O Boy, poor Boy;<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Your heart grown sick with hope deferred and shadows<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Of prison ways;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not daring to snatch a thought of Severn meadows,<br /></span> -<span class="i4">Or old blue-days.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SONG_AT_MORNING" id="SONG_AT_MORNING"></a>SONG AT MORNING</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Praise</span> for the day’s magnificent uprising!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Praise for the cool<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Air and the blue new-old ever-surprising<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Face of the sky, and mirrored blue of the pool.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Only the fool, bat-witted, owl-eyed fool<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can hold a deaf ear while life begins<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The actual opening of a myriad stories....<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blindness, ingratitude, the foolishest sins!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now if this day blot out my chief desires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave me maimed and blind and full of hot<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surges of insurrection, evil fires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Memories of joys that seem better forgot;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quiet me then.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy Will is binding on the nearest flower<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As on the farthest star; and what shall put me<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Out of Thy power, or from Thy guidance far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though I in hell of my self-will would shut me?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But if Thy Will be joy for me to-day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give me clear eyes, a heart open to feel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy influence, Thy kindness: O unseal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The shut, the hidden places in me, reveal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those things most precious secretly hidden away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From all save children and the simply wise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give me clear eyes!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strength to know, whatever may befall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eternal presence of great mysteries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glorifying Thee for all.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TREES" id="TREES"></a>TREES</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p>(“You cannot think how ghastly these battle-fields look under a -grey sky. Torn trees are the most terrible things I have ever seen. -Absolute blight and curse is on the face of everything.”)</p></div> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> dead land oppressed me;<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I turned my thoughts away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And went where hill and meadow<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Are shadowless and gay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where Coopers stands by Cranham,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where the hill-gashes white<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Show golden in the sunshine,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Our sunshine—God’s delight.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beauty my feet stayed at last<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Where green was most cool,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trees worthy of all worship<br /></span> -<span class="i2">I worshipped ... then, O fool,<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Let my thoughts slide unwitting<br /></span> -<span class="i2">To other, dreadful trees, ...<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And found me standing, staring<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Sick of heart—at these!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="REQUIEM1" id="REQUIEM1"></a>REQUIEM</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Pour</span> out your light, O stars, and do not hold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Your loveliest shining from earth’s outworn shell—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pure and cold your radiance, pure and cold<br /></span> -<span class="i2">My dead friend’s face as well.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="REQUIEM2" id="REQUIEM2"></a>REQUIEM</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Nor</span> grief nor tears should wrong the silent dead<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Save England’s, for her children fallen so far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From her eager care; though by God’s justice led<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And fallen in such a war.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="REQUIEM3" id="REQUIEM3"></a>REQUIEM</h2> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Pour</span> out your bounty, moon of radiant shining<br /></span> -<span class="i2">On all this shattered flesh, these quiet forms;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For these were slain, so strangely still reclining,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">In the noblest cause was ever waged with arms.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="SONNETS_1917" id="SONNETS_1917"></a>SONNETS 1917</h2> - -<p class="c">[<span class="smcap"><i>To</i> the Memory of Rupert Brooke</span>]</p> - -<h3><a name="FOR_ENGLAND" id="FOR_ENGLAND"></a>1. FOR ENGLAND</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Though</span> heaven be packed with joy-bewildering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pleasures of soul and heart and mind, yet who<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would willingly let slip, freely let go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Earth’s mortal loveliness; go wandering<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where never the late bird is heard to sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor full-sailed cloud-galleons wander slow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No pathways in the woods; no afterglow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the air’s fire and magic with sense of spring?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So the dark horror clouds us, and the dread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of the unknown.... But if it must be, then<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What better passing than to go out like men<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For England, giving all in one white glow?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose bodies shall lie in earth as on a bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as the Will directs our spirits may go<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="PAIN" id="PAIN"></a>2. PAIN</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Pain</span>, pain continual; pain unending;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hard even to the roughest, but to those<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hungry for beauty.... Not the wisest knows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor most pitiful-hearted, what the wending<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of one hour’s way meant. Grey monotony lending<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weight to the grey skies, grey mud where goes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An army of grey bedrenched scarecrows in rows<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Careless at last of cruellest Fate-sending.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seeing the pitiful eyes of men foredone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or horses shot, too tired merely to stir,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dying in shell-holes both, slain by the mud.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men broken, shrieking even to hear a gun.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till pain grinds down, or lethargy numbs her,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The amazed heart cries angrily out on God.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="SERVITUDE" id="SERVITUDE"></a>3. SERVITUDE</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">If</span> it were not for England, who would bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This heavy servitude one moment more?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To keep a brothel, sweep and wash the floor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of filthiest hovels were noble to compare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With this brass-cleaning life. Now here, now there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Harried in foolishness, scanned curiously o’er<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By fools made brazen by conceit, and store<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of antique witticisms thin and bare.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Only the love of comrades sweetens all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose laughing spirit will not be outdone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As night-watching men wait for the sun<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hearten them, so wait I on such boys<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As neither brass nor Hell-fire may appal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor guns, nor sergeant-major’s bluster and noise.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="HOME-SICKNESS" id="HOME-SICKNESS"></a>4. HOME-SICKNESS</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> we go wandering the wide air’s blue spaces,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bare, unhappy, exiled souls of men;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How will our thoughts over and over again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Return to Earth’s familiar lovely places,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where light with shadow ever interlaces—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No blanks of blue, nor ways beyond man’s ken—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where birds are, and flowers, as violet, and wren,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blackbird, bluebell, hedge-sparrow, tiny daisies.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O tiny things, but very stuff of soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To us ... so frail.... Remember what we are;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Set us not on some strange outlandish star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But one caring for Love. Give us a Home.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There we may wait while the long ages roll<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Content, unfrightened by vast Time-to-come.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h3><a name="ENGLAND_THE_MOTHER" id="ENGLAND_THE_MOTHER"></a>5. ENGLAND THE MOTHER</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">We</span> have done our utmost, England, terrible<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dear taskmistress, darling Mother and stern.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The unnoticed nations praise us, but we turn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Firstly, only to thee—“Have we done well?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say, are you pleased?”—and watch your eyes that tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To us all secrets, eyes sea-deep that burn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With love so long denied; with tears discern<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The scars and haggard look of all that hell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy love, thy love shall cherish, make us whole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whereto the power of Death’s destruction is weak.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death impotent, by boys bemocked at, who<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will leave unblotted in the soldier-soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gold of the daffodil, the sunset streak,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The innocence and joy of England’s blue.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">THE END<br /><br /><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span><br /><br /> -<small>PRINTED BY<br /> -HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,<br /> -LONDON AND AYLESBURY.</small></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="cbun"><big>From Sidgwick & Jackson’s List of Poetry</big></p> - -<div class="blockquot"><p><b>ASQUITH, HERBERT. 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