diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-0.txt | 4328 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-0.zip | bin | 67238 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-h.zip | bin | 543067 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-h/66889-h.htm | 5961 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 193630 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg | bin | 251867 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/66889-h/images/i_title.jpg | bin | 24562 -> 0 bytes |
10 files changed, 17 insertions, 10289 deletions
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..8fb9404 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66889 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66889) diff --git a/old/66889-0.txt b/old/66889-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 17eaa9a..0000000 --- a/old/66889-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4328 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems by Isaac Rosenberg, by Isaac Rosenberg - -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: Poems by Isaac Rosenberg - -Author: Isaac Rosenberg - -Editor: Gordon Bottomley - -Contributor: Laurence Binyon - -Release Date: December 5, 2021 [eBook #66889] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG *** - - - - - POEMS BY - ISAAC ROSENBERG - - - - - SONGS IN CAPTIVITY - _By R. H. Sauter_ - - BALLAD OF THE “ROYAL ANN” - _By Crosbie Garston_ - - DOWN HERE THE HAWTHORN - _By Thomas Moult_ - - -LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN - -[Illustration: - - ISAAC ROSENBERG. -] - - - - - POEMS BY - ISAAC ROSENBERG - - - SELECTED AND EDITED BY - GORDON BOTTOMLEY - - WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR BY - LAURENCE BINYON - -[Illustration: 1922] - - LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN - - - - -_Youth is still childhood: when we cast off every cloudy vesture, and -our thoughts are clear and mature; when every act is a conscious -thought, every thought an attempt to arrest feeling; our feelings strong -and overwhelming, our sensitiveness awakened by insignificant things in -life; when the skies race tumultuously with our blood, and the earth -shines and laughs; when our blood hangs suspended at the rustling of a -gown. Our vanity loves to subdue—battle, aggressive. How we despise -those older and duller—we want life, newness, excitement._ - - -(_Circa 1916._) - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR 1 - †MOSES: A PLAY 51 - - POEMS FROM CAMP AND TRENCH: - DAUGHTERS OF WAR 81 - ON RECEIVING THE FIRST NEWS OF THE WAR 84 - †SPRING, 1916 86 - THE TROOP SHIP 87 - †MARCHING 88 - BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES 89 - KILLED IN ACTION 91 - RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS 92 - THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES 93 - THE BURNING OF THE TEMPLE 95 - HOME-THOUGHTS FROM FRANCE 96 - THE IMMORTALS 97 - LOUSE HUNTING 98 - GIRL TO SOLDIER ON LEAVE 100 - SOLDIER: TWENTIETH CENTURY 102 - THE JEW 103 - THE DYING SOLDIER 104 - DEAD MAN’S DUMP 105 - IN WAR 109 - §THE DEAD HEROES 112 - - FRAGMENTS OF “THE UNICORN”: - I. THE AMULET 117 - II. THE SONG OF TEL THE NUBIAN 129 - III. THE TOWER OF SKULLS 130 - - EARLIER POEMS: - §EXPRESSION 135 - *FROM “NIGHT AND DAY” 137 - ZION 140 - *SPIRITUAL ISOLATION: A FRAGMENT 142 - FAR AWAY 144 - SPRING 145 - SONG 146 - *HEART’S FIRST WORD. I. 147 - †HEART’S FIRST WORD. II. 149 - *LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD 150 - §IF YOU ARE FIRE 151 - IN THE UNDERWORLD 152 - *O, IN A WORLD OF MEN AND WOMEN 153 - §A GIRL’S THOUGHTS 154 - A BALLAD OF WHITECHAPEL 155 - *TESS 159 - THE NUN 160 - §IN PICCADILLY 161 - §A MOOD 162 - †FIRST FRUIT 163 - A CARELESS HEART 164 - DAWN 165 - AT NIGHT 166 - CREATION 168 - OF ANY OLD MAN 170 - THE ONE LOST 171 - §WEDDED 172 - DON JUAN’S SONG 173 - ON A LADY SINGING 174 - BEAUTY 175 - A QUESTION 176 - †CHAGRIN 177 - THE BLIND GOD 179 - THE FEMALE GOD 180 - †GOD 182 - †SLEEP 184 - MY DAYS 186 - - - - - BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE - - -The poems whose titles are marked * appeared in a privately issued -pamphlet, “Night and Day. By Isaac Rosenberg. 1912” (pp. 24); those -marked § in “Youth. By Isaac Rosenberg. London, I. Narodiczky, Printer, -48 Mile End Road, E. 1915” (pp. 18); and those marked † in “Moses. A -Play. By Isaac Rosenberg. London, Printed By The Paragon Printing Works, -8 Ocean Street, Stepney Green, E. 1916” (pp. ii + 26). - -These pamphlets were the only work issued by the author, in addition to -the following single pieces which appeared in various periodicals: - - -“In the Workshop,” in _A Piece of Mosaic_ (for a Jewish Bazaar). - -“Our Dead Heroes,” in _South African Women in Council_, December, 1914. - -“Essay on Art,” Part I. (prose), prefaced by a poem, “Beauty,” in _South -African Women in Council_, December, 1914. - -“Essay on Art,” Part II., _South African Women in Council_, January, -1915. - -“Marching,” and “Break of Day in the Trenches,” in _Poetry_ (Chicago), -December, 1916. - - -The following pieces have appeared posthumously: - - -“In Piccadilly,” “If You are Fire,” “Heart’s First Word, II.,” “Wedded,” -“I Did Not Pluck at All,” in _Art and Letters_, Summer, 1919; with an -“In Memoriam” notice by Annie Rosenberg. - -“Killed in Action,” in _Colour_, October, 1919. - -“Savage Song” (“A Naked African” from “Moses”), “God,” in _Rainbow_ (New -York), October, 1920; with an “In Memoriam” notice by Horace Brodzky. - -“I Mingle with Your Bones”; with an article by Samuel Roth, in _Voices_, -Summer, 1921. - - - - - INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR - - - I - -Of the many young poets who gave their lives in the war, Isaac Rosenberg -was not the least gifted. Adverse circumstances, imperfect education, -want of opportunity, impeded and obscured his genius; but whatever -criticism be made of his poetry, its faults are plainly those of excess -rather than deficiency. His writing was often difficult and obscure, -because he instinctively thought in images and did not sufficiently -appreciate the limitations of language. Also, a continual fear of being -empty or thin led him to an over-intricate complexity. But there was no -incoherence in his mind. And the main object of these notes, beyond -recording the facts of his life, is to illustrate the growth and -workings of his mind from his own letters, which will be the best -commentary on his poems. - -I cannot precisely fix the date, but it must have been some time in -1912, when one morning there came to me a letter in an untidy hand from -an address in Whitechapel, enclosing some pages of verse on which -criticism was asked, and signed “Isaac Rosenberg.” It was impossible not -to be struck by something unusual in the quality of the poems. Thoughts -and emotions of no common nature struggled for expression, and at times -there gushed forth a pure song which haunted the memory. - -I answered at once, and the next day received another letter which told -me something about my unknown correspondent. In this letter, which, like -nearly all his letters, is undated, he wrote: - -“I must thank you very much for your encouraging reply to my poetical -efforts.... As you are kind enough to ask about myself, I am sending a -sort of autobiography I wrote about a year ago.... You will see from -that that my circumstances have not been very favourable for artistic -production; but generally I am optimistic, I suppose because I am young -and do not properly realize the difficulties. I am now attending the -Slade, being sent there by some wealthy Jews who are kindly interested -in me, and, of course, I spend most of my time drawing. I find writing -interferes with drawing a good deal, and is far more exhausting.” - -He went on to tell of his admirations, Rossetti coming first for him -among modern artists. He had seen very little of early Italian art, but -divined that theirs was the type of art which he thought the only kind -worth having—“expression through passionate colour and definite -design”—not “a moment frozen on to canvas,” but “the spontaneity of -un-selfconscious and childlike nature—infinity of suggestion—that is as -much part and voice of the artist’s soul as the song to the bird.” As to -modern poets, they were “difficult to get hold of” (their volumes being -expensive), but he had an immense admiration for Francis Thompson—“that -is the sort of poetry that appeals most to me.” He had done nothing yet -in painting which he would care to show. He aspired to do imaginative -work, but at present was practising portraiture, as it was necessary to -earn a living. - -At my invitation Rosenberg came to see me. Small in stature, dark, -bright-eyed, thoroughly Jewish in type, he seemed a boy with an unusual -mixture of self-reliance and modesty. Indeed, no one could have had a -more independent nature. Obviously sensitive, he was not touchy or -aggressive. Possessed of vivid enthusiasms, he was shy in speech. One -found in talk how strangely little of second-hand (in one of his age) -there was in his opinions, how fresh a mind he brought to what he saw -and read. There was an odd kind of charm in his manner which came from -his earnest, transparent sincerity. - -The “sort of autobiography,” which I have never seen since I returned it -to him, and has perhaps been destroyed, was the story of a youth, -mentally ambitious, introspective, dissatisfied with his surroundings, -consumed by secret desires for liberation and self-expression. - -The external facts of his life are briefly told. For these I am mainly -indebted to his sister, Mrs. Wynick, whose devotion to her brother and -his work was at all times unwearied. She gave much of a scanty -leisure-time to typing copies of his poems, and many of them would have -been lost but for her care in preserving them. - -Isaac Rosenberg was born at Bristol on the 25th of November, 1890. When -he was seven he came to London with his parents. The family settled in -the East End. The boy was sent to the Board School of St. George’s in -the East, and afterwards to the Stepney Board School. From childhood he -showed a natural gift both for drawing and for writing. While at the -Stepney school his promise appeared so remarkable that the headmaster -allowed him to spend all his time in these pursuits. Out of school he -would draw with chalks on the street pavement. Reading poetry was a -passion with him. At the age of fourteen he was reluctantly obliged to -leave school. His parents were poor; and though they took great pride in -his gifts, he was one of a family of eight, and he must now earn his -living. He was apprenticed, therefore, to the firm of Carl Hentschel, in -Fleet Street. A trade connected with art was chosen for him as a -stepping-stone to a painter’s career, and as something to fall back upon -in case his resources failed him. But he hated trade, and felt in -bondage. In his meal-times he consoled himself by writing poems; in the -evenings he went to classes at the Art School of Birkbeck College. He -worked hard and won many prizes. Mr. Frank Emanuel, the painter, who -befriended and encouraged him at this time, describes him as having been -made “bitter and despondent by his circumstances”; and his letters -reveal fits of the deepest dejection against which his will contended. - -The uncongenial work came at last to an end. The sense of liberation was -at first intoxicating. Yet work had to be found, and Isaac was -determined to pursue art and nothing else. He met at first with -disappointment, and endured many privations. But before long he found -good friends. Mr. Amschewitz, an artist, and Mr. Samuels warmly -interested themselves in his behalf. Through them he made the -acquaintance of three ladies, Mrs. Josephs, Mrs. Herbert Cohen, and Mrs. -Lowy, who undertook to provide the means for his training at the Slade -School. - -Through Mr. Emanuel’s friendship he had become a member of “The -Limners,” a club of artists and art teachers, which met at Mr. Emanuel’s -studio. Here he had the opportunity of meeting other artists and -exchanging ideas. Prizes were given, which young Rosenberg occasionally -won. In spite, therefore, of his poverty and unpropitious surroundings, -he had now won sympathetic friends, and received both encouragement and -material help from discerning compatriots. But with his sensitive -artist’s pride and jealous independence of spirit, he was not always -easy to understand; and those who, with the sole desire to help him, -advanced his circumstances sometimes felt that their efforts did not -seem to be appreciated. The case is not unfamiliar to readers of -artists’ biographies. - -Rosenberg went to the Slade School in October, 1911, and remained till -March, 1914. He won prizes at the school and praise from his teachers. -Thrown among contemporaries, all occupied with the problems of art and -the discussion of them, he became tinged with the temper and the -prevalent ideas of his own generation of students. His natural bent, I -think, was in another direction. He showed me drawings and studies from -time to time, and I saw a few of his paintings when they were exhibited -one summer at the Whitechapel Gallery. He was full of ideas, was a -capable draughtsman, and could conceive an interesting design. Yet, to -judge from what I have seen of his work, it did not seem to be for him -the inevitable means of expression. He once showed me at his studio a -large, ambitious composition—an oil-painting—which I fancy was never -completed. I cannot recall the nominal subject, but it was saturated -with symbolism and required a good deal of explanation. I liked the -mysteriousness of it, and the ideas which inspired the painting had -suggested figures and groups and visionary glimpses of landscape which -had passages of real beauty, though the whole work had grown impossibly -complex with its convolutions of symbolic meaning. It reminded me of his -poetry; and I think that represented his natural bent in art. Had he -been born half a century earlier, he would have been an ardent disciple -of Rossetti. But he could not escape from the mental atmosphere of his -own generation, in which so “literary” a conception of painting was -bound to wither in discouragement. Later, he showed me some studies of -landscape and portrait which he had made in South Africa. These were in -a more “modern” vein of realism, but they seemed to fail in the quality -of force, to which all other qualities had been, in intention, -sacrificed. They had no personal savour. Like every generous and -ambitious youth, Rosenberg wished his own generation to do glorious -things, and wished to belong to it as a comrade. Whether he would have -emerged and found himself as a painter is a doubtful conjecture. I think -it possible that he would have abandoned painting. For his true vocation -was poetry, and he thought of himself as a poet rather than as a -painter. - -He had begun to write verse at a very early age. Mr. Morley Dainow, who -was at the time librarian in the Whitechapel Public Library, was -approached one day by a Jewish girl who wanted advice and help for her -young brother. His aim in life, she said, was to be a poet. The next day -the boy was brought to the library. Isaac then seemed to be between ten -and twelve years of age. He had already determined to be a poet and a -painter. He interested and impressed Mr. Dainow, and in return for his -friendly encouragement sent him a poem called “David’s Harp.” These are -the earliest verses of Rosenberg’s that Mr. Bottomley or I have seen. -They are not printed in this book, but they are interesting because they -show how, even as a young boy, Rosenberg cherished the traditions of his -race and aspired to become a representative poet of his own nation. -Moses and Judas Maccabæus were intended to be themes of his maturer -poetry. “David’s Harp” is in fluent stanzas, and shows the passing -influence of Byron. - -The pamphlet called “Night and Day,” printed in 1912, contains probably -all that Rosenberg cared to preserve of his early verse, though no doubt -it represented but a small selection from what he had written. - -After leaving the Slade School, he found himself faced with a harder -struggle than ever. But he never admitted defeat. He sold a few pictures -and got a few poems into print, but his health was now a cause for -anxiety. His lungs were thought to be affected, and he was advised to -try a warmer climate. Having a married sister in Cape Town, he thought -of South Africa, and in June, 1914, he sailed for the Cape. Here he made -one or two friends, painted some pictures, taught a little, gave a few -lectures, and published some poems and articles. But the visit was not a -material success, and he returned disappointed and despondent. Soon -after his return, in 1915, he printed a second pamphlet of verse, -“Youth.” But he was restless and unhappy, and could not work. It was now -that he enlisted in the Army. From this date onward he had practically -no time for painting, but he continued to write till the end. “Moses” -was printed in 1916. He was first in a Bantam regiment, then in the -King’s Own Royal Lancasters, and after a period of training at Bury St. -Edmunds and at Farnborough went out, early in 1916, to France. No one -could have been less fitted for a military life. He suffered not only -from physical disability, bad health, and sensitiveness, but from the -absent-mindedness of one whose imagination was possessed by his poetic -schemes. “My mind will not relinquish its poetical yearnings,” he wrote, -“and concentration on alien things and dull has strained my memory.” But -he endured the inhuman horror of modern war with a great heart; he would -not have liked to be called a hero, but his fortitude was truly heroic. -On the first of April, 1918, he was killed in action. - - - II - -The poems collected in this volume speak for themselves. The -obscurities, the straining and tormenting of language in the effort to -find right expression, the immaturities of style and taste, are apparent -on the surface. The imaginative conceptions and the frequent gleam of -imaginative phrasing should be equally apparent. But what does not -appear on the surface is the fine intention, the ardent toil, and the -continual self-criticism which underlay his work. Rosenberg’s aim was, -in his own words, a kind of poetry “where an interesting complexity of -thought is kept in tone and right value to the dominating idea so that -it is understandable and still ungraspable.” The sentence occurs in one -of his letters, and from this point on I wish to let Rosenberg speak for -himself. His letters give a picture both of his mind and character, far -more vivid than anything one could write about him. He very rarely dated -a letter, but the address and internal evidence give a clue to the date. -The first extract is from a letter written, while he was still an -apprentice, to Miss Winifreda Seaton, a friend to whom Mr. Amschewitz -introduced him. Miss Seaton lent him books, encouraged him to write, -discussed art and literature with him, and criticized his poems. - - -“It is horrible to think that all these hours, when my days are full of -vigour and my hands and soul craving for self-expression, I am bound, -chained to this fiendish mangling-machine, without hope and almost -desire of deliverance, and the days of youth go by.... I have tried to -make some sort of self-adjustment to circumstances by saying, ‘It is all -_experience_’; but, good God! it is _all_ experience, and nothing -else.... I really would like to take up painting seriously; I think I -might do something at that; but poetry—I despair of ever writing -excellent poetry. I can’t look at things in the simple, large way that -great poets do. My mind is so cramped and dulled and fevered, there is -no consistency of purpose, no oneness of aim; the very fibres are torn -apart, and application deadened by the fiendish persistence of the coil -of circumstance.” - - -At last the apprenticeship is over and Rosenberg writes[1] exulting: - - -“Congratulate me! I’ve cleared out of the —— shop, I hope for good and -all. I’m free—free to do anything, hang myself or anything except -work.... I’m very optimistic, now that I don’t know what to do, and -everything seems topsy-turvy.” - - -Footnote 1: - - This and the following extracts are from letters to the same - correspondent. - -A little later comes the reaction: - - -“I am out of work. I doubt if I feel the better for it, much as the work -was distasteful, though I expect it’s the hankering thought of the -consequences, pecuniary, etc., that bothers me.... All one’s thoughts -seem to revolve round to one point—death. It is horrible, especially at -night, ‘in the silence of the midnight’; it seems to clutch at your -thought—you can’t breathe. Oh, I think, work, work, any work, only to -stop one thinking.” - - -But such moods are resisted. At another time he is writing: - - -“One conceives one’s lot (I suppose it’s the same with all people, no -matter what their condition) to be terribly tragic. You are the victim -of a horrible conspiracy; everything is unfair. The gods have either -forgotten you or made you a sort of scapegoat to bear all the -punishment. I believe, however hard one’s lot is, one ought to try and -accommodate oneself to the conditions; and except in a case of purely -physical pain, I think it can be done. Why not make the very utmost of -our lives?... I’m a practical economist in this respect. I endeavour to -waste nothing.... Waste words! Not to talk is to waste words.... - -“To most people life is a musical instrument on which they are unable to -play: but in the musician’s hands it becomes a living thing.... The -artist can see beauty everywhere, anywhere....” - - -In what is perhaps an earlier letter he excuses his neglect of serious -reading by his lack of leisure and the worries that make him crave for -amusing books as an antidote: - - -“You mustn’t forget the circumstances I have been brought up in, the -little education I have had. Nobody ever told me what to read, or ever -put poetry in my way. I don’t think I knew what real poetry was till I -read Keats a couple of years ago. True, I galloped through Byron when I -was about fourteen, but I fancy I read him more for the story than for -the poetry. I used to try to imitate him. Anyway, if I didn’t quite take -to Donne at first, you understand why. Poetical appreciation is only -newly bursting on me. I always enjoyed Shelley and Keats. The ‘Hyperion’ -ravished me.... - -“Whenever I read anything in a great man’s life that pulls him down to -me, my heart always pleads for him, and my mind pictures extenuating -circumstances. - - * * * * * - -“Have you ever picked up a book that looks like a Bible on the outside, -but is full of poetry or comic within? My Hood is like that, and, I am -afraid, so am I. Whenever I feel inclined to laugh, my visage assumes -the longitude and gravity of a church spire. - - * * * * * - -“I can’t say I have ever experienced the power of one spirit over -another, except in books, of course, at least in any intense way that -you mean. Unless you mean the interest one awakes in us, and we long to -know more, and none other. I suppose we are all influenced by everybody -we come in contact with, in a subconscious way, if not direct, and -everything that happens to us is experience; but only the few know it. -Most people can only see and hear the noisy sunsets, mountains and -waterfalls; but the delicate greys and hues, the star in the puddle, the -quiet sailing cloud, is nothing to them. Of course, I only mean this -metaphorically, as distinguishing between obvious experiences and the -almost imperceptible. I still have no work to do. I think, if nothing -turns up here, I will go to Africa. I could not endure to live upon my -people; and up till now I have been giving them from what I had managed -to save up when I was at work. It is nearly run out now, and if I am to -do nothing, I would rather do it somewhere else. Besides, I feel so -cramped up here, I can do no drawing, reading, or anything.... - -“Create our own experience! We can, but we don’t. Very often it’s only -the trouble of a word, and who knows what we miss through not having -spoken? It’s the man with impudence who has more experience than -anybody. He not only varies his own, but makes other people’s his own. - - * * * * * - -“Do I like music, and what music I like best? I know nothing whatever -about music. Once I heard Schubert’s ‘Unfinished Symphony’ at the band; -and—well, I was in heaven. It was a blur of sounds—sweet, fading and -blending. It seemed to draw the sky down, the whole spirit out of me; it -was articulate feeling. The inexpressible in poetry, in painting, was -there expressed. But I have not heard much, and the sensation that gave -me I never had again. I should like very much to be one of the -initiated. - - * * * * * - -“Some more confidences. I’ve discovered I’m a very bad talker: I find it -difficult to make myself intelligible at times; I can’t remember the -exact word I want, and I think I leave the impression of being a -rambling idiot.” - - -In 1910 he went to see the wonderful collection of Japanese paintings -lent by Japan to the Exhibition at Shepherd’s Bush. - - -“The thoroughness is astounding. No slipshod, tricky slickness, trusting -to chance effects, but a subtle suggestiveness, and accident that is the -consequence of intention.” - - -Here are a few sentences from some “Notes on Art”: - - -“Life stales and dulls; the mind demands noble excitement, -half-apprehended surmises, the eternal desire, the beautiful. It is a -vain belief that Art and Life go hand-in-hand; Art is, as it were, -another planet. - -“Mere representation is unreal, is fragmentary. The bone taken from Adam -remains a bone. To create is to apply pulsating rhythmic principles to -the part; a unity, another nature, is created.” - - - _To Miss Seaton._ - -“Thanks so much for the Donne. I had just been reading Ben Jonson again, -and from his poem to Donne he must have thought him a giant. I have read -some of the Donne; I have certainly never come across anything so -choke-full of profound meaningful ideas. It would have been very -difficult for him to express something commonplace, if he had to.” - - - _To Miss Seaton._ - - -“I forgot to ask you to return my poetry, as I mean to work on some [of -the poems]. I agree the emotions are not worth expressing, but I thought -the things had some force, and an idea or so I rather liked. Of course, -I know poetry is a far finer thing than that, but I don’t think the -failure was due to the subject—I had nothing to say about it, that’s -all. Crashaw, I think, is sometimes very sexual in his religious poems, -but it is always new and beautiful. I believe we are apt to fix a -standard (of subject) in poetry. We acknowledge the poetry in subjects -not generally taken as material, but I think we all (at least I do) -prefer the poetical subject—“Kubla Khan,” “The Mistress of Vision,” -“Dream-Tryst”; Poe, Verlaine. Here feeling is separated from intellect; -our senses are not interfered with by what we know of facts: we know -infinity through melody.” - - -After leaving the Slade School, at a loss for work and anxious about his -health, Rosenberg thought for a time of going to Russia. But it was -difficult for a Jew to get a passport, and he reverted to the African -journey which he had contemplated already some years before. - - - _To Miss Seaton._ - - -“So I’ve decided on Africa, the climate being very good, and I believe -plenty to do.... I won’t be quite lost in Africa.... I dislike London -for the selfishness it instils into one, which is a reason of the -peculiar feeling of isolation I believe most people have in London. I -hardly know anybody whom I would regret leaving (except, of course, the -natural ties of sentiment with one’s own people); but whether it is that -my nature distrusts people, or is intolerant, or whether my pride or my -backwardness cools people, I have always been alone. Forgive this little -excursion into the forbidden lands of egotism.” - - -The next letter was written to Mr. Edward Marsh, in the midst of packing -for the voyage to the Cape. Mr. Marsh was interested in Rosenberg both -as an artist and as a poet; he printed one of his poems in “Georgian -Poetry, 1916–1917,” and befriended him in many ways. The letter throws -light on Rosenberg’s use of language in poetry. As the piece referred -to—“Midsummer Frost”—is not in the present selection, it may be given -here: - - A July ghost, aghast at the strange winter, - Wonders, at burning noon, all summer-seeming, - How, like a sad thought buried in light [woven] words, - Winter, an alien presence, is ambushed here. - See from the fire-fountained noon there creep - Lazy yellow ardours towards pale evening, - Dragging the sun across the shell of thought; - A web threaded with fading fire; - Futile and fragile lure, a July ghost - Standing with feet of fire on banks of ice, - My frozen heart, the summer cannot reach— - Hidden as a root from air, or star from day, - A frozen pool whereon mirth dances, - Where the shining boys would fish. - - - _To Edward Marsh_ (1914). - - -“I believe that all poets who are personal see things genuinely—have -their place. One needn’t be a Shakespeare and yet be quite as -interesting. I have moods when Rossetti satisfies me more than -Shakespeare, and I am sure I have enjoyed some things of Francis -Thompson more than the best of Shakespeare. Yet I never meant to go as -high as these. I know I’ve come across things by people of far inferior -vision that were as important in their results to me. I am not going to -refute your criticisms; in literature I have no judgment, at least for -style. If in reading a thought has expressed itself to me in beautiful -words, my ignorance of grammar, etc., makes me accept that, I should -think you are right mostly, and I may yet work away your chief -objections. You are quite right in the way you read my poems, but I -thought I could use the ‘July Ghost’ to mean the summer, and also an -ambassador of the summer, without interfering with the sense. The ‘shell -of thought’ is man; you realize a shell has an opening, the ‘ardours’; -the sense of heat forms a web; this signifies a sense of summer; the web -again becomes another metaphor, a July Ghost. But, of course, I mean it -for summer right through. I think your suggestion of taking out ‘woven’ -is very good.” - - -The next letter is from Cape Town. - - - _To Edward Marsh_ (1914). - -“I should like you to do me a favour if it’s not putting you to too much -bother. I am in an infernal city by the sea. This city has men in it—and -these men have souls in them—or at least have the passages to souls. -Though they are millions of years behind time, they have yet reached the -stage of evolution that knows ears and eyes. But these passages are -dreadfully clogged up: gold dust, diamond dust, stocks and shares, and -Heaven knows what other flinty muck. Well, I’ve made up my mind to clear -through all this rubbish, but I want your help. Now, I’m going to give a -series of lectures on modern art (I’m sending you the first, which I -gave in great style. I was asked whether the Futurists exhibited at the -Royal Academy). But I want to make the lectures interesting and -intelligible by reproductions or slides. Now, I wonder whether you have -reproductions which you could lend me till I returned or was finished -with them. I want to talk about John, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Innes, the -early Picasso (not the cubistic one), Spencer, Gertler, Lamb, Puvis de -Chavannes, Degas. A book of reproductions of the P.-Impressionists would -do, and I could get them transferred on slides. I hope this would not -put you to any great trouble, but if you could manage to do it you don’t -know how you would help me. Stanley gave me a little job to paint two -babies, which helped me to pay my way for a bit. I expect to get pupils -and kick up a row with my lectures. But nobody seems to have money here, -and not an ounce of interest in Art. The climate’s fine, but the Sun is -a very changeable creature and I can’t come to any sort of understanding -with this golden beast. He pretends to keep quiet for half an hour, and -just as I think, ‘Now I’ve got it,’ the damned thing has frisked about. -There’s a lot of splendid stuff to paint. We are walled in by the sharp -upright mountain and the bay. Across the bay the piled-up mountains of -Africa look lovely and dangerous. It makes one think of savagery and -earthquakes—the elemental lawlessness.” - - -The next extract is from a letter written in 1915, just after hearing -the news of Rupert Brooke’s death. - - - _To Miss Seaton._ - -“Do you know Emerson’s poems? I think they are wonderful. ‘Each and All’ -I think is deep and beautiful. There is always a kind of beaminess, like -a dancing of light in light, in his poems. I do think, though, that he -depends too much on inspiration; and though they always have a solid -texture of thought, they sometimes seem thin in colour or sensuousness.” - - - _To Miss Seaton._ - -“I saw Olive Schreiner last night. She’s an extraordinary woman—full of -life. I had a little picture for her from a dear friend of hers in -Africa I stayed with while I was there. She was so pleased with my -pictures of Kaffirs. Who is your best living English poet? I’ve found -somebody miles and miles above everybody—a young man, Lascelles -Abercrombie—a mighty poet and brother to Browning.” - - -Other references in letters show how deep at this time Mr. Abercrombie’s -influence was. Rosenberg calls his “Hymn of Love” the finest poem of our -time. - -He has now joined the Army, and writes from Bury St. Edmunds. - - - _To Edward Marsh_ (1915). - -“I have just joined the Bantams, and am down here amongst a horrible -rabble. Falstaff’s scarecrows were nothing to these. Three out of every -four have been scavengers, the fourth is a ticket-of-leave. But that is -nothing; though while I’m waiting for my kit I’m roughing it a bit, -having come down without even a towel. I dry myself with my -pocket-handkerchief. I don’t know whether I will be shifted as soon as I -get my rig-out.” - - -The next was written in hospital at Bury. - - - _To Edward Marsh._ - -“First, not to alarm you by this heading, I must tell you that while -running before the Colonel I started rather excitedly and tripped -myself, coming down pretty heavily in the wet grit, and am in hospital -with both my hands cut. I’ve been here since last Saturday, and expect -to be out by about the beginning of the week. It is a dull kind of life -in the hospital, and I’m very anxious to get out and be doing some rough -kind of work. Mr. Shiff sent me some water-colours, and I amuse myself -with drawing the other invalids. Of course, I must give them what I do, -but I can see heaps of material for pictures here. The landscape, too, -seems decent, though I haven’t seen anything but from the barracks, as -this accident happened pretty near at the start. I hope you were not -annoyed at that fib of mine, but I never dreamt they would trouble to -find out at home. I have managed to persuade my mother that I am for -home service only, though, of course, I have signed on for general -service. I left without saying anything because I was afraid it would -kill my mother or I would be too weak and not go. She seems to have got -over it, though, and as soon as I can get leave I’ll see her, and I hope -it will be well. It is very hard to write here, so you must not expect -interesting letters; there is always behind or through my object some -pressing sense of foreign matter, immediate and not personal, which -hinders and disjoints what would otherwise have coherence and perhaps -weight. I have left all my poems, including a short drama, with a -friend, and I will write to him for them, when I shall send them either -direct to Abercrombie or to you first. I believe in myself more as a -poet than a painter; I think I get more depth into my writing. I have -only taken Donne with me, and don’t feel for poetry much in this -wretched place. There is not a book or paper here; we are not allowed to -stir from the gate, have little to eat, and are not allowed to buy any -if we have money, and are utterly wretched. (I mean the hospital.) If -you could send me some novel or chocolates, you would make me very -happy.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (from Bury St. Edmunds)._ - -“I received a letter to-day (sent over a week ago) from Abercrombie, and -I feel very flushed about it. He says no one who tries to write poetry -would help envying some of my writing. Since I wrote you I have had more -mishaps. My feet now are the trouble. Do you know what privates’ -military boots are? You are given a whole armourer’s shop to wear; but, -by God! in a few hours my heels were all blistered, and I’ve been -marching and drilling in most horrible pain. I drew three weeks’ pay and -had some money sent me from home, and bought a pair of boots three or -four sizes too large for me, my feet had swelled so. Besides this -trouble I have a little impudent schoolboy pup for an officer, and he -has me marked; he has taken a dislike to me: I don’t know why.” - - - _To Miss Seaton (from Bury St. Edmunds)._ - -“Thanks for your letter and your books which they sent me from home. It -is impossible to read as we are, and I don’t expect to get proper -leisure for reading till this rotten affair is over. My feet are pretty -nigh better, and my hands, and I am put down for a Lance-Corporal. The -advantage is, though you have a more responsible position, you are less -likely to be interfered with by the men, and you become an authority. I -expect to be home for four days shortly. I don’t know whether I told you -Lascelles Abercrombie sent me a fine letter about my work, which made me -very bucked. There is nobody living whose praise could have pleased me -so much. I have some pictures at the N.E.A.C., one of which is likely to -be sold.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (from Bury St. Edmunds)._ - -“I suppose my troubles are really laughable, but they do irritate at the -moment. Doing coal fatigues and cookhouse work with a torn hand, and -marching ten miles with a clean hole about an inch round in your heel, -and bullies swearing at you, is not very natural. I think when my hands -and feet get better I’ll enjoy it. Nobody thinks of helping you—I mean -those who could. Not till I had been made a thorough cripple an officer -said it was absurd to think of wearing those boots, and told me to soak -them thoroughly in oil to soften them. Thank you for your note; we get -little enough, you know, and I allow half of that to my mother (I rather -fancy she is going to be swindled in this rat-trap affair), so it will -do to get to London with. You must now be the busiest man in England, -and I am sure would hardly have time to read my things; besides, you -won’t like the formlessness of the play. If you like you can send them -to Abercrombie, and read them when you have more time. I don’t think I -told you what he said: ‘A good many of your poems strike me as -experimental and not quite certain of themselves. But, on the other -hand, I always find a vivid and original impulse; and what I like most -in your songs is your ability to make the concealed poetic power in -words come flashing out. Some of your phrases are remarkable; no one who -tries to write poetry would help envying some of them.’ I have asked him -to sit for me—a poet to paint a poet. All this must seem to you like a -blur on the window, or hearing sounds without listening while you are -thinking.” - - - _To Miss Seaton (from Blackdown Camp, Farnborough)._ - -“Thanks very much for the bread and biscuits, which I enjoyed very much. -I am in another regiment now, as the old one was smashed up on account -of most of the men being unfit. We that were left have been transferred -here. The food is much better, but conditions are most unsettling. Every -other person is a thief, and in the end you become one yourself, when -you see all your most essential belongings go, which you must replace -somehow. I also got into trouble here the first day. It’s not worth -while detailing what happened and exposing how ridiculous, idiotic, and -meaningless the Army is, and its dreadful bullyisms, and what puny minds -control it. I am trying to get our Passover off, which falls Easter. If -I do I’ll let you know. The bother is that we will be on our ball-firing -then, and also this before-mentioned affair may mess it up. This -ball-firing implies we will be ready for the front. I have been working -on ‘Moses’—in my mind, I mean—and it was through my absent-mindedness -while full of that that I forgot certain orders, and am now undergoing a -rotten and unjust punishment. I’m working a curious plot into it, and of -course, as I can’t work here, I jot little scraps down and will piece it -together the first chance I get.” - - -The remaining letters are all from France. - - - _To Miss Seaton_ (1916). - -“We made straight for the trenches, but we’ve had vile weather, and I’ve -been wet through for four days and nights. I lost all my socks and -things before I left England, and hadn’t the chance to make it up again, -so I’ve been in trouble, particularly with bad heels; you can’t have the -slightest conception of what such an apparently trivial thing means. -We’ve had shells bursting two yards off, bullets whizzing all over the -show, but all you are aware of is the agony of your heels.... I had a -letter from R. C. Trevelyan, the poet.... He writes: ‘It is a long time -since I have read anything that has impressed me so much as your “Moses” -and some of your short poems....’ He confesses parts are difficult, and -he is not sure whether it’s my fault or his.” - - -The next letter is the first of a series to Mr. Bottomley, whom he was -only to know by correspondence. He was now for a time working with the -Salvage Corps. - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, June 12, 1916)._ - -“If you really mean what you say in your letter, there is no need to -tell you how proud I am. I had to read your letter many times before I -could convince myself you were not ‘pulling my leg.’ People are always -telling me my work is promising—incomprehensible, but promising, and all -that sort of thing, and my meekness subsides before the patronizing -knowingness. The first thing I saw of yours was last year in the -Georgian Book, ‘The End of the World.’ I must have worried all London -about it—certainly everybody I know. I had never seen anything like it. -After that I got hold of ‘Chambers of Imagery.’ Mr. Marsh told me of -your plays, but I joined the Army and have never been able to get at -them. It is a great thing to me to be able to tell you now in this way -what marvellous pleasure your work has given me, and what pride that my -work pleases you. I had ideas for a play called ‘Adam and Lilith’ before -I came to France, but I must wait now.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, July 23, 1916)._ - -“Your letter came to-day with Mr. Trevelyan’s, like two friends to take -me for a picnic. Or rather like friends come to release the convict from -his chains with his innocence in their hands, as one sees in the -twopenny picture palace. You might say, friends come to take you to -church, or the priest to the prisoner. Simple _poetry_,—that is where an -interesting complexity of thought is kept in tone and right value to the -dominating idea so that it is understandable and still ungraspable. I -know it is beyond my reach just now, except, perhaps, in bits. I am -always afraid of being empty. When I get more leisure in more settled -times I will work on a larger scale and give myself room; then I may be -less frustrated in my efforts to be clear, and satisfy myself too. I -think what you say about getting beauty by phrasing of passages rather -than the placing of individual words very fine and very true.” - - - _To Miss Seaton (written in Hospital, 1916)._ - -“I was very glad to have your letter and know there is no longer a -mix-up about letters and suchlike. Always the best thing to do is to -answer at once, that is the likeliest way of catching one, for we shift -about so quickly; how long I will stay here I cannot say: it may be a -while or just a bit. I have some Shakespeare: the Comedies and also -‘Macbeth.’ Now I see your argument and cannot deny my treatment of your -criticisms, but have you ever asked yourself why I always am rude to -your criticisms? Now, I intended to show you ——’s letters and why I -value his criticisms. I think anybody can pick holes and find unsound -parts in any work of art; anyone can say Christ’s creed is a slave’s -creed, the Mosaic is a vindictive, savage creed, and so on. It is the -unique and superior, the illuminating qualities one wants to -find—discover the direction of the impulse. Whatever anybody thinks of a -poet he will always know himself: he knows that the most marvellously -expressed idea is still nothing; and it is stupid to think that praise -can do him harm. I know sometimes one cannot exactly define one’s -feelings nor explain reasons for liking and disliking; but there is then -the right of a suspicion that the thing has not been properly understood -or one is prejudiced. It is much my fault if I am not understood, I -know; but I also feel a kind of injustice if my idea is not grasped and -is ignored, and only petty cavilling at form, which I had known all -along was so, is continually knocked into me. I feel quite sure that -form is only a question of time. I am afraid I am more rude than ever, -but I have exaggerated here the difference between your criticisms and -——’s. Ideas of poetry can be very different too. Tennyson thought Burns’ -love-songs important, but the ‘Cottar’s S. N.’ poor. Wordsworth thought -the opposite.” - - - _To Miss Seaton (November 15, 1916; written in Hospital)._ - -“London may not be the place for poetry to keep healthy in, but -Shakespeare did most of his work there, and Donne, Keats, Milton, -Blake—I think nearly all our big poets. But, after all, that is a matter -of personal likings or otherwise. Most of the French country I have seen -has been devastated by war, torn up—even the woods look ghastly with -their shell-shattered trees; our only recollections of warm and -comfortable feelings are the rare times amongst human villages, which -happened about twice in a year; but who can tell what one will like or -do after the war? If the twentieth century is so awful, tell me what -period you believe most enviable. Even Pater points out the Renaissance -was not an outburst—it was no simultaneous marked impulse of minds -living in a certain period of time—but scattered and isolated.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (Postmark, January 30, 1917)._ - -“I think with you that poetry should be definite thought and clear -expressions, however subtle; I don’t think there should be any vagueness -at all, but a sense of something hidden and felt to be there. Now, when -my things fail to be clear, I am sure it is because of the luckless -choice of a word or the failure to introduce a word that would flash my -idea plain, as it is to my own mind. I believe my Amazon poem to be my -best poem. If there is any difficulty, it must be in words here and -there, the changing or elimination of which may make the poem clear. It -has taken me about a year to write; for I have changed and rechanged it -and thought hard over that poem, and striven to get that sense of -inexorableness the human (or unhuman) side of this war has. It even -penetrates behind human life; for the ‘Amazon’ who speaks in the second -half of the poem is imagined to be without her lover yet, while all her -sisters have theirs, the released spirits of the slain earth-men; her -lover yet remains to be released.” - - - _To Miss Seaton (1916)._ - -“Many thanks for book and chocolate. Both are being devoured with equal -pleasure. I can’t get quite the delight in Whitman as from one poem of -his I know—‘Captain, my Captain.’ I admire the vigour and independence -of his mind, but his diction is so diffused. Emerson and not Whitman is -America’s poet. You will persist in refusing to see my side of our -little debate on criticism. Everybody has agreed with you about the -faults, and the reason is obvious; the faults are so glaring that nobody -can fail to see them. But how many have seen the beauties? And it is -here more than the other that the true critic shows himself. And I -absolutely disagree that it is blindness or carelessness; it is the -brain succumbing to the herculean attempt to enrich the world of ideas.” - - - _To Laurence Binyon (1916)._ - -“It is far, very far, to the British Museum from here (situated as I am, -Siberia is no further and certainly no colder), but not too far for that -tiny mite of myself, my letter, to reach there. Winter has found its way -into the trenches at last, but I will assure you, and leave to your -imagination, the transport of delight with which we welcomed its coming. -Winter is not the least of the horrors of war. I am determined that this -war, with all its powers for devastation, shall not master my poeting; -that is, if I am lucky enough to come through all right. I will not -leave a corner of my consciousness covered up, but saturate myself with -the strange and extraordinary new conditions of this life, and it will -all refine itself into poetry later on. I have thoughts of a play round -our Jewish hero, Judas Maccabeus. I have much real material here, and -also there is some parallel in the savagery of the invaders then to this -war. I am not decided whether truth of period is a good quality or a -negative one. Flaubert’s ‘Salambo’ proves, perhaps, that it is good. It -decides the tone of the work, though it makes it hard to give the human -side and make it more living. However, it is impossible now to work and -difficult even to think of poetry, one is so cramped intellectually.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (February, 1917)._ - -“Your letters always give me a strange and large pleasure; and I shall -never think I have written poetry in vain, since it has brought your -friendliness in my way. Now, feeling as I am, cast away and used up, you -don’t know what a letter like yours is to me. Ever since November, when -we first started on our long marches, I have felt weak; but it seems to -be some inscrutable mysterious quality of weakness that defies all -doctors. I have been examined most thoroughly several times by our -doctor, and there seems to be nothing at all wrong with my lungs. I -believe I have strained my abdomen in some way, and I shall know of it -later on. We have had desperate weather, but the poor fellows in the -trenches where there are no dug-outs are the chaps to pity. I am sending -a very slight sketch of a louse-hunt. It may be a bit vague, as I could -not work it out here, but if you can keep it till I get back I can work -on it then. I do believe I could make a fine thing of Judas. Judas as a -character is more magnanimous than Moses, and I believe I could make it -very intense and write a lot from material out here. Thanks very much -for your joining in with me to rout the pest out, but I have tried all -kinds of stuff; if you can think of any preparation you believe -effective I’d be most grateful for it.” - - -The “louse-hunt” refers to a night scene in which Rosenberg took part, -and which forcibly struck his imagination as a subject for a Goya -picture or for a poem like the “Jolly Beggars”: a barn full of naked -soldiers—Scottish and others—singing, swearing, and laughing, in mad -antics as they pursued the chase. - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, April 8, 1917)._ - -“All through this winter I have felt most crotchety, all kinds of small -things interfering with my fitness. My hands would get chilblains or bad -boots would make my feet sore; and this aggravating a general -run-down-ness, I have not felt too happy. I have gone less warmly clad -during the winter than through the summer, because of the increased -liveliness on my clothes. I’ve been stung to what we call ‘dumping’ a -great part of my clothing, as I thought it wisest to go cold than lousy. -It may have been this that caused all the crotchetiness. However, we’ve -been in no danger—that is, from shell-fire—for a good long while, though -so very close to most terrible fighting. But as far as houses or sign of -ordinary human living is concerned, we might as well be in the Sahara -Desert. I think I could give some blood-curdling touches if I wished to -tell all I see, of dead buried men blown out of their graves, and more, -but I will spare you all this.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (Postmark, May, 1917)._ - -“Regular rhythms I do not like much, but, of course, it depends on where -the stress and accent are laid. I think there is nothing finer than the -vigorous opening to ‘Lycidas’ for music; yet it is regular.... It is -only when we get a bit of a rest and the others might be gambling or -squabbling I do a line or two and continue this way. The weather is -gorgeous now, and we are bivouacked in the fields.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (1917)._ - -“I hope you have not yet got my poem, ‘The Amulet,’ I’ve asked my sister -to send you. If you get it, please don’t read it, because it’s the -merest sketch and the best is yet to come. If I am able to carry on with -it, I’ll send you it in a more presentable fashion. I believe I have a -good idea at bottom. It’s a kind of ‘Rape of the Sabine Women’ idea: -some strange race of wanderers have settled in some wild place and are -perishing out for lack of women. The prince of these explores some -country near where the women are most fair. But the natives will not -hear of foreign marriages; and he plots another Rape of the Sabines, but -is trapped in the act.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (1917)._ - -“I am now fearfully rushed, but find energy enough to scribble this in -the minute I plunder from my work. I believe I can see the obscurities -in the ‘Daughters,’ but hardly hope to clear them up in France. The -first part, the picture of the Daughters dancing and calling to the -spirits of the slain before their last ones have ceased among the boughs -of the tree of life, I must still work on. In that part obscure the -description of the voice of the Daughter I have not made clear, I see; I -have tried to suggest the wonderful sound of her voice, spiritual and -voluptuous at the same time. The end is an attempt to imagine the -severance of all human relationship and the fading away of human love. -Later on I will try and work on it, because I think it a pity if the -ideas are to be lost for want of work. My ‘Unicorn’ play is stopped -because of my increased toil, and I forget how much or little I told you -of it. I want to do it in one Act, although I think I have a subject -here that could make a gigantic play. I have not the time to write out -the sketch of it as far as it’s gone, though I’d like to know your -criticism of it very much. The most difficult part I shrink from; I -think even Shakespeare might:—the first time Tel, the chief of the -decaying race, sees a woman (who is Lilith, Saul’s wife), and he is -called upon to talk. Saul and Lilith are ordinary folk into whose -ordinary lives the Unicorn bursts. It is to be a play of terror—terror -of hidden things and the fear of the supernatural. But I see no hope of -doing the play while out here. I have a way, when I write, to try and -put myself in the situation, and I make gestures and grimaces.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, July 20, 1917)._ - -“My sister wrote me of your note, and it made me very glad to feel you -thought in that way about my poem, because I liked it myself above -anything I have yet done. I know my letters are not what they should be; -but I must take any chance I get of writing for fear another chance does -not come, so I write hastily and leave out most I should write about. I -wished to say last time a lot about your poem, but I could think of -nothing that would properly express my great pleasure in it; and I can -think of nothing now. If anything, I think it is too brief—although it -is so rare and compressed and full of hinted matter. I wish I could get -back and read your plays; and if my luck still continues, I shall. -Leaves have commenced with us, but it may be a good while before I get -mine. We are more busy now than when I last wrote, but I generally -manage to knock something up if my brain means to, and I am sketching -out a little play. My great fear is that I may lose what I’ve written, -which can happen here so easily. I send home any bit I write, for -safety, but that can easily get lost in transmission. However, I live in -an immense trust that things will turn out well.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (1917)._ - -“The other poems I have not yet read, but I will follow on with letters -and shall send the bits of—or rather the bit of—a play I’ve written. -Just now it is interfered with by a punishment I am undergoing for the -offence of being endowed with a poor memory, which continually causes me -trouble and often punishment. I forgot to wear my gas-helmet one day; in -fact, I’ve often forgotten it, but I was noticed one day, and seven -days’ pack drill is the consequence, which I do between the hours of -going up the line and sleep. My memory, always weak, has become worse -since I’ve been out here.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, August 3, 1917)._ - -“I don’t think I’ll get my play complete for it in time, though it will -hardly take much space, it’s so slight. If I could get home on leave I’d -work at it and get it done, no doubt, but leaves are so chancy. It’s -called ‘The Unicorn.’ Now, it’s about a decaying race who have never -seen a woman; animals take the place of women, but they yearn for -continuity. The chief’s Unicorn breaks away and he goes in chase. The -Unicorn is found by boys outside a city and brought in, and breaks away -again. Saul, who has seen the Unicorn on his way to the city for the -week’s victuals, gives chase in his cart. A storm comes on, the mules -break down, and by the lightning he sees the Unicorn race by; a naked -black like an apparition rises up and easily lifts the wheels from the -rut, and together they ride to Saul’s hut. There Lilith is in great -consternation, having seen the Unicorn and knowing the legend of this -race of men. The emotions of the black (the Chief) are the really -difficult part of my story. Afterwards a host of blacks on horses, like -centaurs and buffaloes, come rushing up, the Unicorn in front. On every -horse is clasped a woman. Lilith faints, Saul stabs himself, the Chief -places Lilith on the Unicorn, and they all race away.” - - -In the late summer of this year (1917) Rosenberg came to England on -leave. - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (dated September 21, 1917)._ - -“The greatest thing of my leave after seeing my mother was your letter -which has just arrived.... I wish I could have seen you, but now I must -go on and hope that things will turn out well, and some happy day will -give me the chance of meeting you.... I am afraid I can do no writing or -reading; I feel so restless here and unanchored. We have lived in such -an elemental way so long, things here don’t look quite right to me -somehow; or it may be the consciousness of my so limited time here for -freedom—so little time to do so many things bewilders me. ‘The Unicorn,’ -as will be obvious, is just a basis; its final form will be very -different, I hope.” - - -On returning to France he was taken ill and sent down the line. The time -in hospital was a relief, especially as his restlessness in England had -prevented writing or reading. - - - _To Miss Seaton (dated February 14, 1918)._ - -“We had a rough time in the trenches with the mud, but now we’re out for -a bit of a rest, and I will try and write longer letters. You must know -by now what a rest behind the line means. I can call the evenings—that -is, from tea to lights out—my own; but there is no chance whatever for -seclusion or any hope of writing poetry now. Sometimes I give way and am -appalled at the devastation this life seems to have made in my nature. -It seems to have blunted me. I seem to be powerless to compel my will to -any direction, and all I do is without energy and interest.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, February 26, 1918)._ - -“I wanted to send some bits I wrote for the ‘Unicorn’ while I was in -hospital, and if I find them I’ll enclose them. I tried to work on your -suggestion and divided it into four acts, but since I left the hospital -all the poetry has gone quite out of me. I seem even to forget words, -and I believe if I met anybody with ideas I’d be dumb. No drug could be -more stupefying than our work (to me anyway), and this goes on like that -old torture of water trickling, drop by drop unendingly, on one’s -helplessness.” - - - _To Gordon Bottomley (Dated, March 7, 1918)._ - -“I believe our interlude is nearly over, and we may go up the line any -moment now, so I answer your letter straightaway. If only this war were -over our eyes would not be on death so much: it seems to underlie even -our underthoughts. Yet when I have been so near to it as anybody could -be, the idea has never crossed my mind, certainly not so much as when -some lying doctor told me I had consumption. I like to think of myself -as a poet; so what you say, though I know it to be extravagant, gives me -immense pleasure.” - - - _To Miss Seaton (March 8, 1918)._ - -“I do not feel that I have much to say, but I do know that unless I -write now it will be a long time before you hear from me again, without -something exceptional happens. It is not very cold now, but I dread the -wet weather, which is keeping off while we are out, and, I fear, saving -itself up for us. We will become like mummies—look warm and lifelike, -but a touch and we crumble to pieces. Did I send you a little poem, ‘The -Burning of the Temple’? I thought it was poor, or rather, difficult in -expression, but G. Bottomley thinks it fine. Was it clear to you? If I -am lucky, and come off undamaged, I mean to put all my innermost -experiences into the ‘Unicorn.’ I want it to symbolize the war and all -the devastating forces let loose by an ambitious and unscrupulous will. -Last summer I wrote pieces for it and had the whole of it planned out, -but since then I’ve had no chance of working on it and it may have gone -quite out of my mind.” - - - _To Edward Marsh (dated March 28, 1918)._ - -“I think I wrote you I was about to go up the line again after our -little rest. We are now in the trenches again, and though I feel very -sleepy, I just have a chance to answer your letter, so I will while I -may. It’s really my being lucky enough to bag an inch of candle that -incites me to this pitch of punctual epistolary. I must measure my -letter by the light....” - - -The date of the postmark on this letter is April 2, when the writer was -already dead. - - LAURENCE BINYON. - - - - - MOSES - A PLAY (1916) - - - PERSONS - - MOSES _An Egyptian Prince_ - ABINOAH _An Overseer_ - TWO HEBREWS - KOELUE _Abinoah’s Daughter_ - MESSENGER - - - MOSES - - - SCENE I.: _Outside a college in Thebes. Egyptian students pass by._ - MOSES _alone in meditation_. - - [_Enter_ MESSENGER.] - - MESSENGER - -[_Handing papyrus._] Pharaoh’s desires. - - MOSES - -[_Reads._] To our beloved son, greeting. Add to our thoughts of you, if -possible to add, but a little, and you are more than old heroes—not to -bemean your genius, who might cry “Was that all!” We pile barriers -everywhere: we give you idiots for tools, tree stumps for swords, skin -sacks for souls. The sixteenth pyramid remains to be built: we give you -the last draft of slaves. Move! Forget not the edict. PHARAOH. - - MOSES - -[_To_ MESSENGER.] What is the edict? - - MESSENGER - - The royal paunch of Pharaoh dangled worriedly, - Not knowing where the wrong: viands once giant-like - Came to him thin and thinner—what rats gnawed? - Horror, the swarm of slaves! The satraps swore - Their wives’ bones hurt them when they lay abed, - That before were soft and plump: the people howled - They’d boil the slaves three days to get their fat, - Ending the famine. A haggard council held - Decrees the two hind molars, those two staunchest - Busy labourers in the belly’s service, to be drawn - From out each slave’s greased mouth, which soon - From incapacity will lose the habit - Of eating. - - MOSES - - Well, should their bones stick out to find the air, - I’ll make a use of them for pleasantness— - Droll demonstrations of anatomy. - - MESSENGER - - And when you’ve ended find ’twas one on sharks. - - [MOSES _signs to_ MESSENGER _to go. - Exit_ MESSENGER.] - - MOSES - - Fine! Fine! - See, in my brain - What madmen have rushed through - And like a tornado - Torn up the tight roots - Of some dead universe: - The old clay is broken - For a power to soak in and knit - It all into tougher tissues - To hold life; - Pricking my nerves till the brain might crack - It boils to my finger-tips, - Till my hands ache to grip - The hammer—the lone hammer - That breaks lives into a road - Through which my genius drives. - Pharaoh well peruked and oiled, - And your admirable pyramids, - And your interminable procession - Of crowded kings, - You are my little fishing rods - Wherewith I catch the fish - To suit my hungry belly. - I am rough now, and new, and will have no tailor. - Startlingly, - As a mountain-side - Wakes aware of its other side - When from a cave a leopard comes, - On its heels the same red sand, - Springing with acquainted air, - Sprang an intelligence - Coloured as a whim of mine, - Showed to my dull outer eyes - The living eyes underneath. - Did I not shrivel up and take the place of air, - Secret as those eyes were, - And those strong eyes call up a giant frame? - And I am that now. - - Pharaoh is sleek and deep; - And where his love for me is set—under - The deeps, on their floor, or in the shallow ways, - Though I have been as a diver—never yet - Could I find.... I have a way, a touchstone! - A small misdemeanour, touch of rebelliousness; - To prick the vein of father, monitor, foe, - Will tell which of these his kingship is. - If I shut my eyes to the edict, - And leave the pincers to rust - And the slaves’ teeth as God made them, - Then hide from the summoning tribunal, - Pharaoh will speak; and I’ll seize that word to act. - Should the word be a foe’s I can use it well - As a poison to soak into Egypt’s bowels; - A wraith from old Nile will cry - “For his mercy they break his back” - And I shall have a great following for this, - The rude, touched heart of the mauled, sweaty horde, - Their rough tongues fawn at my hands, their red-streaked eyes - Glitter with sacrifice. Well! Pharaoh bids me act.... - Hah! I’m all a-bristle.... Lord, his eyes would go wide - If he knew the road my rampant dreams would race! - I am too much awake now—restless, so restless. - Behind white mists invisibly - My thoughts stood like a mountain; - But Power, watching as a man, - Saw no mountain there— - Only the mixing mist and sky - And the flat earth. - What shoulder pushed through those mists - Of gay fantastic pastimes - And startled hills of sleep? - - [_He looks in a mirror._] - - Oh, apparition of me, - Ruddy flesh soon hueless, - Fade and show to my eyes - The lasting bare body; - Soul-sack fall away - And show what you hold! - Sing! Let me hear you sing. - - A VOICE - - [_Sings._] - - Upon my lips, like a cloud - To burst on the peaks of light, - Sit cowled impossible things - To tie my hands at their prime and height. - Power, break through their shroud; - Pierce them so thoroughly, - Thoroughly enter me, - Know me for one dead; - Break the shadowy thread, - The cowering spirit’s bond - Writ by illusions blond! - - Ah! Let the morning pale - Throb with a wilder pulse: - No delicate flame shall quail - With terror at your convulse. - Thin branches whip the white skies - To lips and spaces of song - That chant a mood to my eyes.... - Ah! Sleep can be overlong. - - MOSES - - Voices thunder, voices of deeds not done: - Lo, on the air are scrawled in abysmal light - Old myths never known and yet already forgone, - And songs more lost, more secret than desert light: - Martyrdoms of uncreated things, - Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice— - As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wings - Under life, over life: is their unbeing my choice? - - Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies limp. - Ah! If she would run into a mould, - Some new idea unwalled - To human by-ways, an apocalyptic camp - Of utterest and ulterior dreaming, - Understood only in its gleaming, - To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world. - - I am sick of priests and forms, - This rigid dry-boned refinement: - As ladies’ perfumes are - Obnoxious to stern natures, - This miasma of a rotting god - Is to me. - Who has made of the forest a park? - Who has changed the wolf to a dog? - And put the horse in harness? - And man’s mind in a groove? - - I heard the one spirit cry in them, - “Break this metamorphosis, - Disenchant my lying body; - Only putrefaction is free, - And I, Freedom, am not. - Moses! Touch us, thou!” - - There shall not be a void or calm, - But a fury fill the veins of time— - Whose limbs had begun to rot, - Who had flattered my stupid torpor - With an easy and mimic energy, - And drained my veins with a paltry marvel - More monstrous than battle; - For the soul ached and went out dead in pleasure. - - Is not this song still sung in the streets of me? - - A naked African - Walked in the sun - Singing—singing - Of his wild love. - - I slew the tiger - With your young strength - (My tawny panther) - Rolled round my life. - - Three sheep, your breasts - And my head between, - Grazing together - On a smooth slope. - - Ah! Koelue! - Had you embalmed your beauty, so - It could not backward go - Or change in any way, - What were the use if on my eyes - The embalming spices were not laid - To keep us fixed, - Two amorous sculptures passioned endlessly? - What were the use if my sight grew - And its far branches were cloud-hung, - You small at the roots like grass; - While the new lips my spirit would kiss - Were not red lips of flesh, - But the huge kiss of power? - Where yesterday soft hair through my fingers fell - A shaggy mane would entwine; - And no slim form work fire to my thighs, - But human Life’s inarticulate mass - Throb the pulse of a thing - Whose mountain flanks awry - Beg my mastery—mine! - Ah! I will ride the dizzy beast of the world - My road—my way. - - - SCENE II.: _Evening before Thebes. The Pyramids are being built. - Swarms of Hebrews labouring. Priests and Taskmasters. Two Hebrews - are furtively talking._ KOELUE _passes by singing_. - - KOELUE - - The vague viols of evening - Call all the flower clans - To some abysmal swinging - And tumult of deep trance; - He may hear, flower of my singing, - And come hither winging. - - OLD HEBREW - - [_Gazing after her in a muffled frenzy._] - - Hateful harlot! Boils cover your small cruel face. - O, fine champion Moses: O, so good to us: - O, grand begetter on her of a whip and a torturer, - Her father, born to us since you kissed her. - Our champion, O so good to us! - - - YOUNG HEBREW - - For shame! Our brothers’ twisted blood-smeared gums - Tell we only have more room for wreck curtailed: - For you, having no teeth to draw, it is no mercy - Perhaps; but they might mangle your gums - Or touch a nerve somewhere. He barred it now; - And that is all his thanks, he, too, in peril. - Be still, old man; wait a little. - - OLD HEBREW - - Wait! - All day some slow dark quadruped beats - To pulp our springiness: - All day some hoofed animal treads our veins, - Leisurely—leisurely our energies flow out: - All agonies created from the first day - Have wandered hungry searching the world for us, - Or they would perish like disused Behemoth. - Is our Messiah one to unleash these agonies - As Moses does, who gives us an Abinoah? - - YOUNG HEBREW - - Yesterday as I lay nigh dead with toil - Underneath the hurtling crane oiled with our blood, - - Thinking to end all and let the crane crush me, - He came by and bore me into the shade: - O, what a furnace roaring in his blood - Thawed my congealed sinews and tingled my own - Raging through me like a strong cordial. - He spoke! Since yesterday - Am I not larger grown? - I’ve seen men hugely shapen in soul, - Of such unhuman shaggy male turbulence - They tower in foam miles from our neck-strained sight, - And to their shop only heroes come; - But all were cripples to this speed - Constrained to the stables of flesh. - I say there is a famine in ripe harvest - When hungry giants come as guests: - Come knead the hills and ocean into food, - There is none for him. - The streaming vigours of his blood erupting - From his halt tongue are like an anger thrust - Out of a madman’s piteous craving for - A monstrous balked perfection. - - OLD HEBREW - - He is a prince, an animal - Not of our kind; who perhaps has heard - - Vague rumours of our world, to his mind - An unpleasant miasma. - - YOUNG HEBREW - - Is not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother? - In the womb he looked round and saw - From furthermost stretches our wrong: - From the palaces and schools - Our pain has pierced dead generations - Back to his blood’s thin source. - As we lie chained by Egyptian men - He lay in nets of their women, - And now rejoices he has broken their meshes. - O! His desires are fleets of treasure - He has squandered in treacherous seas, - Sailing mistrust to find frank ports; - He fears our fear and tampers mildly - For our assent to let him save us. - When he walks amid our toil - With some master-mason - His tense brows, critical - Of the loose enginery, - Hint famed devices flat, his rod - Scratching new schemes on the sand: - But read hard the scrawled lines there— - Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light, - - Half beasts snorting into the light, - A phantasmagoria, wild escapade - To our hearts’ clue; just a daring plan - To the honest mason. What swathed meanings peer - From his work-a-day council, washed to and from - Your understanding till you doubt - That a word was said— - But a terror wakes and forces your eyes - Into his covertly, to search his searching; - Startled to life, starved hopes slink out - Cowering, incredulous. - - OLD HEBREW - - [_To himself._] His youth is flattered at Moses’ kind speech to him. - - [_To the_ YOUNG HEBREW.] - - I am broken and grey, have seen much in my time, - And all this gay grotesque of childish man - Long passed; half blind, half deaf, I only grumble - I am not blind or deaf enough for peace. - I have seen splendid young fools cheat themselves - Into a prophet’s frenzy; I have seen - So many crazed shadows puffed away, - And conscious cheats with such an ache for fame - - They’d make a bonfire of themselves to be - Mouthed in the squares, broad in the public eye: - And whose backs break, whose lives are mauled, after - It all falls flat? His tender airs chill me— - As thoughts of sleep to a man tiptoed night-long - Roped round his neck, for sleep means death to him. - Oh, he is kind to us! - Your safe teeth chatter when they hear a step: - He left them yours because his cunning way - Would brag the wrong against his humane act - By Pharaoh; so gain more favour than he lost. - - YOUNG HEBREW - - Help him not then, and push your safety away: - I for my part will be his backward eye, - His hands when they are shut. Ah! Abinoah! - Like a bad smell from the soul of Moses dipt - In the mire of lust he hangs round him; - And if his slit-like eyes could tear right out - The pleasure Moses on his daughter had, - She’d be as virgin as ere she came nestling - Into that fierce unmanageable blood, - Flying from her loathed father. O, that slave - Has hammered from the anvil of her beauty - - A steel to break his manacles: hard for us - Moses has made him overseer. O, his slits - Pry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra.... - - [ABINOAH _is seen approaching_.] - - Sh! The thin-lipped abomination! - Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style: - It were delightful labour making bricks, - Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head. - - ABINOAH - - - [_Who has been taking haschish; and who has one obsession, hatred of - Jews._] - - Dirt-draggled mongrels, circumcised slaves, - You puddle with your lousy gibberish - The holy air, Pharaoh’s own tributary: - Filthy manure for Pharaoh’s flourishing, - I’ll circumcise and make holy your tongues, - And stop one outlet to your profanation. - - [_To the_ OLD HEBREW.] - - I’ve never seen one beg so for a blow; - Too soft am I to resist such entreaty. - [_Beats him._] - Your howling holds the earnest energies - You cheat from Pharaoh when you make his bricks. - - - AN AGED MINSTREL - - [_Sings from a distance._] - - Taut is the air and tied the trees, - The leaves lie as on a hand; - God’s unthinkable imagination - Invents new tortures for nature. - - And when the air is soft and the leaves - Feel free and push and tremble, - Will they not remember and say - How wonderful to have lived? - - [_The_ OLD HEBREW _is agitated and murmurs_.] - - Messiah, Messiah.... That voice.... - O, he has beaten my sight out.... I see - Like a rain about a devouring fire.... - - [_The Minstrel sings._] - - Ye who best God awhile, O hear: your wealth - Is but His cunning to see to make death more hard, - Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking; - And he has made the market for your beauty - Too poor to buy although you die to sell. - - - OLD HEBREW - - I am crazed with whips.... I hear a Messiah. - - YOUNG HEBREW - - The venerable man will question this. - - ABINOAH - - [_Overhearing._] I’ll beat you more, and he’ll question - The scratchiness of your whining; or, may be, - Thence may be born deep argument - With reasons from philosophy, - That this blow, taking longer, yet was but one, - Or perhaps two; or that you felt this one— - Arguing from the difference in your whine— - Exactly, or not, like the other. - - MINSTREL - - You labour hard to give pain. - - ABINOAH - - [_Still beating._] My pain is ... not ... to labour so. - - MINSTREL - - What is this greybeard worth to you now, - All his dried-up blood crumbled to dust? - - - [_Motions_ ABINOAH _to desist, but not in time to prevent the old man - fainting into the hands of the_ YOUNG HEBREW.] - - ABINOAH - - Harper, are you envious of the old fool? - Go! Hug the rat who stole your last crumbs, - And gnawed the hole in your life which made time wonder - Who it was saved labour for him the next score of years. - We allowed them life for their labour—they haggled. - Food they must have, and (god of laughter!) even ease; - But mud and lice and Jews are very busy - Breeding plagues in ease. - - [_The Minstrel pulls his beard and robe off._] - - ABINOAH - - Moses! - - MOSES - - You drunken rascal! - - ABINOAH - - A drunken rascal! Isis, hear the Prince! - Drunken with duty, and he calls me rascal. - - - MOSES - - You may think it your duty to get drunk; - But get yourself bronze claws before - You would be impudent. - - ABINOAH - - When a man’s drunk he’ll kiss a horse or king, - He’s so affectionate. Under your words - There is strong wine to make me drunk; you think, - The lines of all your face say, “Her father, Koelue’s father.” - - MOSES - - This is too droll and extraordinary. - I dreamt I was a prince—a queer droll dream - Where a certain slave of mine, a thing, a toad, - Shifting his belly, showed a diamond - Where he had lain; and a blind dumb messenger - Bore syllabled messages soaked right through with glee: - I paid the toad, the blind man; afterwards - They spread a stench and snarling. O, droll dream! - - I think you merely mean to flatter me, - You subtle knave, that, more than prince, I’m _man_ - And worth to listen to your bawdy breath. - - ABINOAH - - Yet my breath was worth your mixing with. - - MOSES - - A boy at college flattered so by a girl - Will give her what she asks for. - - ABINOAH - - Osiris! Burning Osiris! - Of thee desirable, for thee, her hair.... - - [_He looks inanely at_ MOSES, _saying to himself_.] - - Prince Imra vowed his honey-hives and vineyards: - Isis, to let a Jew have her for nothing! - - [_He sings under his breath._] - - Night by night in a little house - A man and woman meet; - They look like each other, - They are sister and brother; - And night by night at that same hour - A king calls for his son in vain. - - - MOSES - - [_To himself._] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die. - [_Aloud._] O, you ambiguous stench, - You’ll be more interesting as a mummy - I have no doubt. - - ABINOAH - - I’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thought - Of a certain thing. [_Aside._] I’ll sleep sounder to-night - Than all the nights I’ve followed him about - Worrying each slight clue, each monosyllable - To give the word to Imra: the prince is near, - And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hour - To a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come. - [_Aloud._] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mist - Of her sighs I hung round you; - As in some hallucination I’ve been walking - A white waste world, we two only in it. - - MOSES - - Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl, - Making large gapings in your haschish dreams, - - Led you to me in whom she was thoroughly lost. - Pah, you sicken me! - - [_He is silent awhile, then turns away._] - - ABINOAH - - Prince Imra is Pharaoh’s choice now, and Koelue’s. - - [MOSES _turns back menacingly_.] - - MOSES - - Silence, you beast! - - [_He changes his tone to a winning softness._] - - I hate these family quarrels: it is so - Like fratricide. I am a rebel, well? - Soft! You are not, and we are knit so close - It would be shame for a son to be so honoured - And the father still unknown: come, Koelue’s (so _my_) father, - I’ll tell my plans—you’ll beg to be rebel then. - Look round on the night— - Old as the first, bleak, even her wish is done; - She has never seen, though dreamt perhaps of the sun, - Yet only dawn divides; could a miracle - - Destroy the dawn, night would be mixed with light, - No night or light would be, but a new thing: - So with these slaves, who perhaps have dreamt of freedom, - Egypt was in the way; I’ll strike it out - With my ways curious and unusual. - I have a trouble in my mind for largeness, - Rough-hearted, shaggy, which your grave ardours lack: - Here is the quarry quiet for me to hew; - Here are the springs, primeval elements, - The roots’ hid secrecy, old source of race, - Unreasoned reason of the savage instinct. - I’d shape one impulse through the contraries - Of vain ambitious men, selfish and callous, - And frail life-drifters, reticent, delicate— - Litheness thread bulk, a nation’s harmony: - These are not lame nor bent awry, but placeless - With the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm, - Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness, - Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill; - Their meanness, threaded right and sensibly, - Change to a prudence envied and not sneered; - Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thing - - Ineffable and useable, as near - Solidity as human life can be: - So grandly fashion these rude elements - Into some newer nature, a consciousness - Like naked light seizing the all-eyed soul, - Oppressing with its gorgeous tyranny - Until they take it thus—or die. - - [_While speaking, he places his hand on the unsuspecting Egyptian’s head - and gently, caressingly, pulls his hair back until his chin is above - his forehead, and holds him so till he is suffocated. In the darkness - ahead is seen the glimmer of javelins and spears: it is Prince Imra’s - cohorts come to arrest_ MOSES.] - - - THE END. - - - - - POEMS FROM CAMP AND TRENCH - - And like the artist who creates - From dying things what never dies.... - _Fragment._ - - - DAUGHTERS OF WAR - - Space beats the ruddy freedom of their limbs, - Their naked dances with man’s spirit naked - By the root side of the tree of life - (The under side of things - And shut from earth’s profoundest eyes). - - I saw in prophetic gleams - These mighty daughters in their dances - Beckon each soul aghast from its crimson corpse - To mix in their glittering dances: - I heard the mighty daughters’ giant sighs - In sleepless passion for the sons of valour - And envy of the days of flesh, - Barring their love with mortal boughs across— - The mortal boughs, the mortal tree of life. - The old bark burnt with iron wars - They blow to a live flame - To char the young green days - And reach the occult soul; they have no softer lure, - No softer lure than the savage ways of death. - - We were satisfied of our lords the moon and the sun - To take our wage of sleep and bread and warmth— - These maidens came—these strong everliving Amazons, - And in an easy might their wrists - Of night’s sway and noon’s sway the sceptres brake, - Clouding the wild, the soft lustres of our eyes. - - Clouding the wild lustres, the clinging tender lights; - Driving the darkness into the flame of day - With the Amazonian wind of them - Over our corroding faces - That must be broken—broken for evermore, - So the soul can leap out - Into their huge embraces. - Though there are human faces - Best sculptures of Deity, - And sinews lusted after - By the Archangels tall, - Even these must leap to the love-heat of these maidens - From the flame of terrene days, - Leaving grey ashes to the wind—to the wind. - - One (whose great lifted face, - Where wisdom’s strength and beauty’s strength - And the thewed strength of large beasts - Moved and merged, gloomed and lit) - Was speaking, surely, as the earth-men’s earth fell away; - Whose new hearing drank the sound - Where pictures, lutes, and mountains mixed - With the loosed spirit of a thought, - Essenced to language thus— - - “My sisters force their males - From the doomed earth, from the doomed glee - And hankering of hearts. - Frail hands gleam up through the human quagmire, and lips of ash - Seem to wail, as in sad faded paintings - Far-sunken and strange. - My sisters have their males - Clean of the dust of old days - That clings about those white hands - And yearns in those voices sad: - But these shall not see them, - Or think of them in any days or years; - They are my sisters’ lovers in other days and years.” - - - ON RECEIVING THE FIRST NEWS OF THE WAR - - Snow is a strange white word; - No ice or frost - Has asked of bud or bird - For Winter’s cost. - - Yet ice and frost and snow - From earth to sky - This Summer land doth know; - No man knows why. - - In all men’s hearts it is: - Some spirit old - Hath turned with malign kiss - Our lives to mould. - - Red fangs have torn His face, - God’s blood is shed: - He mourns from His lone place - His children dead. - - O ancient crimson curse! - Corrode, consume; - Give back this universe - Its pristine bloom. - - -_Cape Town, 1914._ - - - SPRING, 1916 - - Slow, rigid, is this masquerade - That passes as through a difficult air: - Heavily—heavily passes. - What has she fed on? Who her table laid - Through the three seasons? What forbidden fare - Ruined her as a mortal lass is? - - I played with her two years ago, - Who might be now her own sister in stone; - So altered from her May mien, - When round the pink a necklace of warm snow - Laughed to her throat where my mouth’s touch had gone. - How is this, ruined Queen? - - Who lured her vivid beauty so - To be that strained chill thing that moves - So ghastly midst her young brood - Of pregnant shoots that she for men did grow? - Where are the strong men who made these their loves? - Spring! God pity your mood! - - - THE TROOP SHIP - - Grotesque and queerly huddled - Contortionists to twist - The sleepy soul to a sleep, - We lie all sorts of ways - And cannot sleep. - The wet wind is so cold, - And the lurching men so careless, - That, should you drop to a doze, - Winds’ fumble or men’s feet - Are on your face. - - - MARCHING - - (AS SEEN FROM THE LEFT FILE). - - My eyes catch ruddy necks - Sturdily pressed back— - All a red-brick moving glint. - Like flaming pendulums, hands - Swing across the khaki— - Mustard-coloured khaki— - To the automatic feet. - - We husband the ancient glory - In these bared necks and hands. - Not broke is the forge of Mars; - But a subtler brain beats iron - To shoe the hoofs of death - (Who paws dynamic air now). - Blind fingers loose an iron cloud - To rain immortal darkness - On strong eyes. - - - BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES - - The darkness crumbles away— - It is the same old druid Time as ever. - Only a live thing leaps my hand— - A queer sardonic rat— - As I pull the parapet’s poppy - To stick behind my ear. - Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew - Your cosmopolitan sympathies - (And God knows what antipathies). - Now you have touched this English hand - You will do the same to a German— - Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure - To cross the sleeping green between. - It seems you inwardly grin as you pass - Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes - Less chanced than you for life, - Bonds to the whims of murder, - Sprawled in the bowels of the earth, - The torn fields of France. - What do you see in our eyes - At the shrieking iron and flame - Hurled through still heavens? - What quaver—what heart aghast? - Poppies whose roots are in man’s veins - Drop, and are ever dropping; - But mine in my ear is safe, - Just a little white with the dust. - - - KILLED IN ACTION - - Your “Youth”[2] has fallen from its shelf, - And you have fallen, you yourself. - They knocked a soldier on the head, - I mourn the poet who fell dead. - And yet I think it was by chance, - By oversight you died in France. - You were so poor an outward man, - So small against your spirit’s span, - That Nature, being tired awhile, - Saw but your outward human pile; - And Nature, who would never let - A sun with light still in it set, - Before you even reached your sky, - In inadvertence let you die. - -Footnote 2: - - “Youth,” a volume of poems by I. Rosenberg. - - - RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS - - Sombre the night is: - And, though we have our lives, we know - What sinister threat lurks there. - - Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know - This poison-blasted track opens on our camp— - On a little safe sleep. - - But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy. - Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks: - Music showering on our upturned listening faces. - - Death could drop from the dark - As easily as song— - But song only dropped, - Like a blind man’s dreams on the sand - By dangerous tides; - Like a girl’s dark hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there, - Or her kisses where a serpent hides. - - - THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES - - They left their Babylon bare - Of all its tall men, - Of all its proud horses; - They made for Lebanon. - - And shadowy sowers went - Before their spears to sow - The fruit whose taste is ash, - For Judah’s soul to know. - - They who bowed to the Bull god, - Whose wings roofed Babylon, - In endless hosts darkened - The bright-heavened Lebanon. - - They washed their grime in pools - Where laughing girls forgot - The wiles they used for Solomon. - Sweet laughter, remembered not! - - Sweet laughter charred in the flame - That clutched the cloud and earth, - While Solomon’s towers crashed between - To a gird of Babylon’s mirth. - - - THE BURNING OF THE TEMPLE - - Fierce wrath of Solomon, - Where sleepest thou? O see, - The fabric which thou won - Earth and ocean to give thee— - O look at the red skies. - - Or hath the sun plunged down? - What is this molten gold— - These thundering fires blown - Through heaven, where the smoke rolled? - Again the great king dies. - - His dreams go out in smoke. - His days he let not pass - And sculptured here are broke, - Are charred as the burnt grass, - Gone as his mouth’s last sighs. - - - HOME-THOUGHTS FROM FRANCE - - Wan, fragile faces of joy, - Pitiful mouths that strive - To light with smiles the place - We dream we walk alive, - - To you I stretch my hands, - Hands shut in pitiless trance - In a land of ruin and woe, - The desolate land of France. - - Dear faces startled and shaken, - Out of wild dust and sounds - You yearn to me, lure and sadden - My heart with futile bounds. - - - THE IMMORTALS - - I killed them, but they would not die. - Yea, all the day and all the night - For them I could not rest nor sleep, - Nor guard from them nor hide in flight! - - Then in my agony I turned - And made my hands red in their gore. - In vain—for faster than I slew - They rose more cruel than before. - - I killed and killed with slaughter mad; - I killed till all my strength was gone; - And still they rose to torture me, - For Devils only die for fun. - - I used to think the Devil hid - In women’s smiles and wine’s carouse; - I called him Satan, Balzebub; - But now I call him dirty louse. - - - LOUSE HUNTING - - Nudes, stark and glistening, - Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning faces - And raging limbs - Whirl over the floor one fire; - For a shirt verminously busy - Yon soldier tore from his throat - With oaths - Godhead might shrink at, but not the lice, - And soon the shirt was aflare - Over the candle he’d lit while we lay. - - Then we all sprang up and stript - To hunt the verminous brood. - Soon like a demons’ pantomime - This plunge was raging. - See the silhouettes agape, - See the gibbering shadows - Mixed with the baffled arms on the wall. - See Gargantuan hooked fingers - Pluck in supreme flesh - To smutch supreme littleness. - See the merry limbs in that Highland fling - Because some wizard vermin willed - To charm from the quiet this revel - When our ears were half lulled - By the dark music - Blown from Sleep’s trumpet. - - - GIRL TO SOLDIER ON LEAVE - - I love you, Titan lover, - My own storm-days’ Titan. - Greater than the son of Zeus, - I know whom I would choose. - - Titan—my splendid rebel— - The old Prometheus - Wanes like a ghost before your power: - His pangs were joys to yours. - - Pallid days, arid and wan, - Tied your soul fast: - Babel-cities’ smoky tops - Pressed upon your growth - - Weary gyves. What were you - But a word in the brain’s ways, - Or the sleep of Circe’s swine? - One gyve holds you yet. - - It held you hiddenly on the Somme - Tied from my heart at home: - O must it loosen now? I wish - You were bound with the old, old gyves. - - Love! You love me—your eyes - Have looked through death at mine. - You have tempted a grave too much. - I let you—I repine. - - - SOLDIER: TWENTIETH CENTURY - - I love you, great new Titan! - Am I not you? - Napoleon and Cæsar - Out of you grew. - - Out of unthinkable torture, - Eyes kissed by death, - Won back to the world again, - Lost and won in a breath, - - Cruel men are made immortal. - Out of your pain born, - They have stolen the sun’s power - With their feet on your shoulders worn. - - Let them shrink from your girth, - That has outgrown the pallid days - When you slept like Circe’s swine - Or a word in the brain’s ways. - - - THE JEW - - Moses, from whose loins I sprung, - Lit by a lamp in his blood - Ten immutable rules, a moon - For mutable lampless men. - - The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy, - With the same heaving blood, - Keep tide to the moon of Moses. - Then why do they sneer at me? - - - THE DYING SOLDIER - - “Here are houses,” he moaned, - “I could reach, but my brain swims.” - Then they thundered and flashed, - And shook the earth to its rims. - - “They are gunpits,” he gasped, - “Our men are at the guns. - Water!... Water!... Oh, water! - For one of England’s dying sons.” - - “We cannot give you water, - Were all England in your breath.” - “Water!... Water!... Oh, water!” - He moaned and swooned to death. - - - DEAD MAN’S DUMP - - The plunging limbers over the shattered track - Racketed with their rusty freight, - Stuck out like many crowns of thorns, - And the rusty stakes like sceptres old - To stay the flood of brutish men - Upon our brothers dear. - - The wheels lurched over sprawled dead - But pained them not, though their bones crunched; - Their shut mouths made no moan. - They lie there huddled, friend and foeman, - Man born of man, and born of woman; - And shells go crying over them - From night till night and now. - - Earth has waited for them, - All the time of their growth - Fretting for their decay: - Now she has them at last! - In the strength of their strength - Suspended—stopped and held. - - What fierce imaginings their dark souls lit? - Earth! Have they gone into you? - Somewhere they must have gone, - And flung on your hard back - Is their souls’ sack, - Emptied of God-ancestralled essences. - Who hurled them out? Who hurled? - - None saw their spirits’ shadow shake the grass, - Or stood aside for the half used life to pass - Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth, - When the swift iron burning bee - Drained the wild honey of their youth. - - What of us who, flung on the shrieking pyre, - Walk, our usual thoughts untouched, - Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed, - Immortal seeming ever? - Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us, - A fear may choke in our veins - And the startled blood may stop. - - The air is loud with death, - The dark air spurts with fire, - The explosions ceaseless are. - Timelessly now, some minutes past, - These dead strode time with vigorous life, - Till the shrapnel called “An end!” - But not to all. In bleeding pangs - Some borne on stretchers dreamed of home, - Dear things, war-blotted from their hearts. - - A man’s brains splattered on - A stretcher-bearer’s face; - His shook shoulders slipped their load, - But when they bent to look again - The drowning soul was sunk too deep - For human tenderness. - - They left this dead with the older dead, - Stretched at the cross roads. - - Burnt black by strange decay - Their sinister faces lie, - The lid over each eye; - The grass and coloured clay - More motion have than they, - Joined to the great sunk silences. - - Here is one not long dead. - His dark hearing caught our far wheels, - And the choked soul stretched weak hands - To reach the living word the far wheels said; - The blood-dazed intelligence beating for light, - Crying through the suspense of the far torturing wheels - Swift for the end to break - Or the wheels to break, - Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight, - “Will they come? Will they ever come?” - Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules, - The quivering-bellied mules, - And the rushing wheels all mixed - With his tortured upturned sight. - - So we crashed round the bend, - We heard his weak scream, - We heard his very last sound, - And our wheels grazed his dead face. - - - IN WAR - - Fret the nonchalant noon - With your spleen - Or your gay brow, - For the motion of your spirit - Ever moves with these. - - When day shall be too quiet, - Deaf to you - And your dumb smile, - Untuned air shall lap the stillness - In the old space for your voice— - - The voice that once could mirror - Remote depths - Of moving being, - Stirred by responsive voices near, - Suddenly stilled for ever. - - No ghost darkens the places - Dark to One; - But my eyes dream, - And my heart is heavy to think - How it was heavy once. - - In the old days when death - Stalked the world - For the flower of men, - And the rose of beauty faded - And pined in the great gloom, - - One day we dug a grave: - We were vexed - With the sun’s heat. - We scanned the hooded dead: - At noon we sat and talked. - - How death had kissed their eyes - Three dread noons since, - How human art won - The dark soul to flicker - Till it was lost again: - - And we whom chance kept whole— - But haggard, - Spent—were charged - To make a place for them who knew - No pain in any place. - - The good priest came to pray; - Our ears half heard, - And half we thought - Of alien things, irrelevant; - And the heat and thirst were great. - - The good priest read: “I heard....” - Dimly my brain - Held words and lost.... - Sudden my blood ran cold.... - God! God! It could not be. - - He read my brother’s name; - I sank— - I clutched the priest. - They did not tell me it was he - Was killed three days ago. - - What are the great sceptred dooms - To us, caught - In the wild wave? - We break ourselves on them, - My brother, our hearts and years. - - - THE DEAD HEROES - - Flame out, you glorious skies, - Welcome our brave; - Kiss their exultant eyes; - Give what they gave. - - Flash, mailed seraphim, - Your burning spears; - New days to outflame their dim - Heroic years. - - Thrills their baptismal tread - The bright proud air; - The embattled plumes outspread - Burn upwards there. - - Flame out, flame out, O Song! - Star ring to star; - Strong as our hurt is strong - Our children are. - - Their blood is England’s heart; - By their dead hands - It is their noble part - That England stands. - - England—Time gave them thee; - They gave back this - To win Eternity - And claim God’s kiss. - - - - - FRAGMENTS OF “THE UNICORN” - - - I - THE AMULET - - LILITH. SAUL. AMAK. NUBIAN. - - LILITH _sits under pomegranate trees watching her child_ AMAK _playing - with Saul his father’s helm and spear. A light smoke is ascending - from the chimney of their hut, and through the doorway a naked - Nubian man is seen stirring the embers._ SAUL _sleeps_. - - LILITH - - Amak, you’ll break your father’s sleep: - Come here and tell me what those spices are - This strange man bakes our cakes with. - It makes the brain wild. Be still, Amak: - I’ll give you the strange man your father brought, - And he will run with you upon his back to-day. - - Come from your father or you’ll get no cake; - He’s been a long journey. - Bring me the pictured book he brought for you. - What! Already cut to pieces? - Put away that horn from your father’s ear, - And stay that horrid noise: come, Amak. - - [_Amak runs to his mother with a jade amulet, shouting._] - - AMAK - - Look, mother, what I’ve found. - - [_He runs back again, making great shouts._] - - LILITH - - It dances with my blood: when my eyes caught it first - I was like lost, and yearned and yearned and yearned, - And strained like iron to stay my head from falling - Upon that beggar’s breast where the jade stone hung. - Perhaps the spirit of Saul’s young love lies here - Strayed far and brought back by this stranger near. - Saul said his discourse was more deep than Heaven. - - For the storm trapped him ere he left the town - Loaded with our week’s victuals: the slime clung - And licked and clawed and chewed the clogged dragging wheels - Till they sunk right to the axle: Saul, sodden and vexed, - Like fury smote the mules’ mouths, pulling but sweat - From his drowned hair and theirs, while the thunder knocked - And all the air yawned water, falling water, - And the light cart was water, like a wrecked raft, - And all seemed like a forest under the ocean. - Sudden the lightning flashed upon a figure - Moving as a man moves in the slipping mud, - Singing, but not as a man sings, through the storm, - Which could not drown his sounds. Saul bawled “Hi! Hi!” - And the man loomed, naked, vast, and gripped the wheels; - Saul fiercely dug from under; he tugged the wheels; - The mules foamed straining, straining. - Suddenly they went. - Saul and the man leaped in: Saul, miserably sodden, - - Marvelled at the large cheer in a naked glistening man; - Yet soon fell in with that contented mood, - That when our hut’s light broke on his new mind - He could not credit it—too soon it seemed: - The stranger man’s talk was witchery. - I pray his baking be as magical; - The cakes should be nigh burnt. - - [_She calls the_ NUBIAN. _He answers from within._] - - NUBIAN - - They are laid by to cool, housewife. - - LILITH - - Bring me the sherbet from the ledge and the fast-dried figs. - - [_The_ NUBIAN _brings sherbet, figs, and a bowl of ice, and lays - them down_.] - - [_She looks curiously at him. He is an immense man with squat, - mule-skinned features: his jet-black curled beard, crisp hair, - glistening nude limbs, appear to her like some heathen idol of - ancient stories._] - - - [_She thinks to herself._] - - Out of the lightning - In a dizzying cloven wink - This apparition stood up, - Of stricken trunk or beast’s spirit, - Stirred by Saul’s blasphemies; - So Saul’s heart feared, aghast. - But lo, he touched the mischance and life ran straight! - Was it the storm-spirit, storm’s pilot, - With all the heaving débris of Noah’s sunken days - Dragged on his loins; - Law’s spirit wandering to us - Through Nature’s anarchy, - Wandering towards us when the Titans yet were young? - Perhaps Moses and Buddha he met. - - [_She speaks aloud._] - - The shadow of these pomegranate boughs - Is sweet and restful; sit and ease your feet. Eat of these figs; - You have journeyed long. - - NUBIAN - - All my life, housewife. - - - LILITH - - You have seen men and women, - Soaked yourself in powers and old glories, - In broken days and tears and glees, - And touched cold hands— - Hands shut in pitiless trances where the feast high. - I think there is more sorrow in the world - Than man can bear. - - NUBIAN - - None can exceed their limit, lady: - You either bear or break. - - LILITH - - Can one choose to break? To bear, - Wearily to bear, is misery. - Beauty is this corroding malady. - - NUBIAN - - Beauty is a great paradox— - Music’s secret soul creeping about the senses - To wrestle with man’s coarser nature. - It is hard when beauty loses. - - - LILITH - - I think beauty is a bad bargain made of life. - Men’s iron sinews hew them room in the world - And use deceits to gain them trophies: - O, when our beauty fails us did we not use - Deceits, where were our room in the world— - Only our room in the world? - Are not the songs and devices of men - Moulds they have made after my scarlet mouth, - Of cunning words and contours of bronze - And viols and gathered air? - They without song have sung me - Boldly and shamelessly. - I am no wanton, no harlot; - I have been pleased and smiled my pleasure, - I am a wife with a woman’s natural ways. - Yet through the shadow of the pomegranates - Filters a poison day by day, - And to a malady turns - The blond, the ample music of my heart: - Inward to eat my heart - My thoughts are worms that suck my softness all away. - I watch the dumb eyeless hours - Drop their tears, then shapeless moaning drop. - - Unfathomable is my mouth’s dream - Do not men say? - So secret are my far eyes, - Weaving for iron men profound subtleties. - - Sorceress they name me; - And my eyes harden, and they say, - “How may those eyes know love - If God made her without a heart? - - “Her tears, her moaning, - Her sad profound gaze, - The dishevelled lustres of her hair - Moon-storm like” they say, - “These are her subtleties” men say. - My husband sleeps, - The ghosts of my virgin days do not trouble him: - His sleep can be over-long, - For there is that in my embers - Pride and blushes of fire, the outraged blood, - His sleep makes me remember. - - Sleep, hairy hunter; sleep! - You are not hungry more, - Having fed on my deliciousness; - Your sleep is not adultery to me, - - For you were wed to a girl - And I am a woman. - My lonely days are not whips to my honour. - - [_She dries her tears with her hair, then fingers the amulet at her - throat._] - - Yours, friend. - - NUBIAN - - [_Eagerly._] My amulet! My amulet! - - [_He speaks gravely._] Small comfort is counsel to broken lives; - But tolerance is medicinal. - In all our textures are loosed - Pulses straining against strictness - Because an easy issue lies therefrom. - (Could they but slink past the hands holding whips - To hunt them from the human pale - Where is the accident to cover? Spite fears bias.) - I am justified at my heart’s plea; - He is justified also. - - For the eyes of vanity are sleepless—are suspicious. - Are mad with imaginings - Of secret stabs in words, in looks, in gestures. - - Man is a chimera’s eremite, - That lures him from the good kindness of days - Which only ask his willingness. - - There is a crazed shadow from no golden body - That poisons at the core - What smiles may stray: - It mixes with all God-ancestralled essences, - And twists the brain and heart. - This shadow sits in the texture of Saul’s being, - Mauling your love and beauty with its lies: - I hold a power like light to shrivel it— - There, in your throat’s hollow—that green jade. - - [_He snatches at it as she lets it fall. He grows white and troubled, - and walks to where_ AMAK _is playing, and sees minutely strewn pieces - of paper_.] - - [_He mutters._] Lost—lost. - The child has torn the scroll in it, - And half is away. It cannot be spelt now. - - LILITH - - God, restore me his love. - Ah! Well! - - [_She rises._] - - I will go now; prepare our evening meal; - And waken my husband, my love once. - - NUBIAN - - [_Musing._] The lightning of the heavens - Lifts an apocalypse: - The dumb night’s lips are scared and wide, - The world is reeling with sound: - Was I deaf before, mute, tied? - What shakes here from lustre-seeded pomegranates - Not in the great world, - More vast and terrible? - What is this ecstasy in form, - This lightning - That found the lightning in my blood, - Searing my spirit’s lips aghast and naked? - I am flung in the abyss of days, - And the void is filled with rushing sound - From pent eternities: - I am strewn as the cypher is strewn. - A woman—a soft woman! - Our girls have hair - Like heights of night ringing with never-seen larks, - Or blindness dim with dreams: - Here is a yellow tiger gay that blinds your night. - Mane—Mane—Mane! - - Your honey spilt round that small dazzling face - Shakes me to golden tremors; - I have no life at all, - Only thin golden tremors. - Light tender beast! - Your fragile gleaming wrists - Have shaken the scaled glacier from under me, - And bored into my craft - That is now with the old dreamy Adam - With other things of dust. - - LILITH - - You lazy hound! See my poor child. - - [_He turns to see_ LILITH _drop the bowl and cakes and run to_ AMAK—_who - is crying, half stifled under_ SAUL’S _huge shield_.] - - [SAUL _opens his eyes_.] - - * * * * * - - - II - THE SONG OF TEL THE NUBIAN - - Small dazzling face! - I shut you in my soul; - How can I perish now? - - But thence a strange decay— - Your fragile gleaming wrists - Waver my days and shake my life - To golden tremors. I have no life at all, - Only thin golden tremors - That shudder over the abyss of days - Which hedged my spirit, my spirit your prison walls - That shrunk like phantasms with your vivid beauty— - - Towering and widening till - The sad moonless place - Throngs with a million torches - And spears of flaming wings. - - - III - THE TOWER OF SKULLS - - MOURNERS - - These layers of piled-up skulls, - These layers of gleaming horror—stark horror! - Ah me! Through my thin hands they touch my eyes. - - Everywhere, everywhere is a pregnant birth, - And here in death’s land is a pregnant birth. - Your own crying is less mortal - Than the amazing soul in your body. - Your own crying yon parrot takes up - And from your empty skull cries it afterwards. - - Thou whose dark activities unenchanted - Days from gyrating days, suspending them - To thrust them far from sight, from the gyrating days - Which have gone widening on and left us here, - Cast derelicts lost for ever. - - When aged flesh looks down on tender brood; - For he knows between his thin ribs’ walls - The giant universe, the interminable - Panorama—synods, myths and creeds, - He knows his dust is fire and seed. - - - - - EARLIER POEMS - - I have heard the Gods - In their high conference - As I lay outside the world - Quiet in sleep.... - _Fragment._ - -He was an artist and a dreamer—that is, one whose delight in the beauty -of life was an effective obstacle to the achievement of the joy of -living. - - (_Circa 1913._) - - - EXPRESSION - - Call—call—and bruise the air: - Shatter dumb space! - Yea! We will fling this passion everywhere; - Leaving no place - - For the superb and grave - Magnificent throng, - The pregnant queens of quietness that brave - And edge our song - - Of wonder at the light - (Our life-leased home), - Of greeting to our housemates. And in might - Our song shall roam - - Life’s heart, a blossoming fire - Blown bright by thought, - While gleams and fades the infinite desire, - Phantasmed naught. - - Can this be caught and caged? - Wings can be clipt - Of eagles, the sun’s gaudy measure gauged, - But no sense dipt - - In the mystery of sense: - The troubled throng - Of words break out like smothered fire through dense - And smouldering wrong. - - - FROM “NIGHT AND DAY” - - - I - IN THE WORKSHOP - - Dim watery lights gleaming on gibbering faces, - Faces speechful, barren of soul and sordid, - Huddled and chewing a jest, lewd and gabbled insidious: - Laughter, born of its dung, flashes and floods like sunlight, - Filling the room with a sense of a soul lethargic and kindly, - Touches my soul with a pathos, a hint of a wide desolation. - - - II - - I saw the face of God to-day, - I heard the music of His smile, - And yet I was not far away, - And yet in Paradise the while. - - I lay upon the sparkling grass, - And God’s own mouth was kissing me, - And there was nothing that did pass - But blazed with divinity. - - Divine—divine—upon my eyes, - Upon mine hair—divine—divine, - The fervour of the golden skies, - The ardent gaze of God on mine. - - - III - - Then spake I to the tree, - “Were ye your own desire - What is it ye would be?” - - Answered the tree to me, - “I am my own desire, - I am what I would be. - - “If you were your desire - Would you lie under me, - And see me as you see?” - - “I am my own desire - While I lie under you, - And that which I would be - Desire will sing to you.” - - - IV - - I wander—I wander—O will she wander here - Where’er my footsteps carry me I know that she is near, - A jewelled lamp within her hand and jewels in her hair; - I lost her in a vision once and seek her everywhere. - - My spirit whispers she is near, I look at you and you: - Surely she has not passed me, I sleeping as she flew. - I wander—I wander, and yet she is not here, - Although my spirit whispers to me that she is near. - - - ZION[3] - - She stood—a hill-ensceptred Queen, - The glory streaming from her; - While Heaven flashed her rays between, - And shed eternal summer. - - The gates of morning opened wide - On sunny dome and steeple; - Noon gleamed upon the mountain-side - Thronged with a happy people; - - And twilight’s drowsy, half closed eyes - Beheld that virgin splendour - Whose orbs were as her darkening skies, - And as her spirit, tender. - - Girt with that strength, first-born of right, - Held fast by deeds of honour, - Her robe she wove with rays more bright - Than Heaven could rain upon her. - -Footnote 3: - - Written at the age of sixteen. - - - Where is that light—that citadel? - That robe with woof of glory? - She lost her virtue and she fell, - And only left her story. - - - SPIRITUAL ISOLATION: A FRAGMENT - - My Maker shunneth me: - Even as a wretch stricken with leprosy, - So hold I pestilent supremacy. - Yea! He hath fled far as the uttermost star, - Beyond the unperturbed fastnesses of night - And dreams that bastioned are - By fretted towers of sleep that scare His light. - - Of wisdom writ, whereto - My burdened feet may haste withouten rue, - I may not spell—and I am sore to do. - Yea, all (seeing my Maker hath such dread), - Even mine own self-love, wists not but to fly - To Him, and sore besped - Leaves me, its captain, in such mutiny. - - Will, deemed incorporate - With me, hath flown ere love, to expiate - Its sinful stay where He did habitate. - Ah me, if they had left a sepulchre; - But no—the light hath changed not, and in it - Of its same colour stir - Spirits I see not but phantasmed feel to flit. - - Air, legioned with such, stirreth, - So that I seem to draw them with my breath, - Ghouls that devour each joy they do to death, - Strange glimmering griefs and sorrowing silences - Bearing dead flowers unseen whose charnel smell - Great awe to my sense is - Even in the rose-time when all else is well. - - * * * * * - - - FAR AWAY - - By what pale light or moon-pale shore - Drifts my soul in lonely flight? - Regions God had floated o’er - Ere He touched the world with light? - - Not in Heaven and not in earth - Is this water, is this moon; - For there is no starry birth, - And no dawning and no noon. - - Far away—O far away, - Mist-born—dewy vapours rise - From the dim gates of the day - Far below in earthly skies. - - - SPRING - - I walk and I wonder - To hear the birds sing; - Without you, my lady, - How can there be Spring? - I see the pink blossoms - That slept for a year, - But who could have waked them - While you were not near? - - Birds sing to the blossoms, - Blind, dreaming your pink; - These blush to the songsters, - Your music they think: - So well had you taught them - To look and to sing, - Your bloom and your music, - The ways of the Spring. - - - SONG - - A silver rose to show - Is your sweet face; - And like the heavens’ white brow, - Sometime God’s battle-place, - Your blood is quiet now. - - Your body is a star - Unto my thought; - But stars are not too far, - And can be caught— - Small pools their prisons are. - - - HEART’S FIRST WORD. I. - - To sweeten a swift minute so - With such rare fragrance of sweet speech, - And make the after hours go - In a blank yearning each on each; - To drain the springs till they be dry, - And then in anguish thirst for drink; - So but to glimpse her robe thirst I, - And my soul hungers and I sink. - - There is no word that we have said - Whereby the lips and heart are fire; - No look the linked glances read - That held the springs of deep desire. - And yet the sounds her glad lips gave - Are on my soul vibrating still; - Her eyes that swept me as a wave - Shine my soul’s worship to fulfil. - - Her hair, her eyes, her throat and chin— - Sweet hair, sweet eyes, sweet throat, so sweet, - So fair because the ways of sin - Have never known her perfect feet— - By what far ways and marvellous - May I such lovely heaven reach? - What dread, dark seas and perilous - Lie ’twixt love’s silence and love’s speech? - - - HEARTS FIRST WORD. II. - - And all her soft dark hair - Breathed for him like a prayer, - And her white lost face - Was prisoned to some far place. - Love was not denied— - Love’s ends would hide, - And flower and fruit and tree - Were under its sea. - Yea, its abundance knelt - Where the nerves felt - The springs of feeling flow - And made pain grow! - There seemed no root or sky, - But a pent infinity - Where apparitions dim - Sculptured each whim - In flame and wandering mist - Of kisses to be kist. - - - LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD - - Lady, you are my God— - Lady, you are my Heaven. - - _If I am your God - Labour for your Heaven._ - - Lady, you are my God, - And shall not love win Heaven? - - _If love made me God - Deeds must win my Heaven._ - - If my love made you God, - What more can I for Heaven? - - - IF YOU ARE FIRE - - If you are fire and I am fire, - Who blows the flame apart - So that desire eludes desire - Around one central heart? - - A single root and separate bough, - And what blind hands between - That make our longing’s mutual glow - As if it had not been? - - - IN THE UNDERWORLD - - I have lived in the underworld so long: - How can you, a creature of light, - Without terror understand the song - And unmoved hear what moves in night? - - I am a spirit that yours has found, - Strange, undelightful, obscure, - Created by some other God, and bound - In terrible darkness, breathing breath impure. - - Creature of light and happiness, - Deeper the darkness was when you, - With your bright terror eddying the distress, - Grazed the dark waves and shivering further flew. - - - O, IN A WORLD OF MEN AND WOMEN - - O, in a world of men and women, - Where all things seemed so strange to me, - And speech the common world called human - For me was a vain mimicry, - - I thought—O, am I one in sorrow? - Or is the world more quick to hide - Their pain with raiment that they borrow - From pleasure in the house of pride? - - O joy of mine, O longed-for stranger, - How I would greet you if you came: - In the world’s joys I’ve been a ranger, - In my world sorrow is their name. - - - A GIRL’S THOUGHTS - - Dim apprehension of a trust - Comes over me this quiet hour, - As though the silence were a flower, - And this, its perfume, dark like dust. - - My individual self would cling - Through fear, through pride, unto its fears: - It strives to shut out what it hears, - The founts of being murmuring. - - O! Need, whose hauntings terrorize; - Whether my maiden ways would hide, - Or lose and to that need subside, - Life shrinks and instinct dreads surprise. - - - A BALLAD OF WHITECHAPEL - - God’s mercy shines; - And our full hearts must make record of this, - For grief that burst from out its dark confines - Into strange sunlit bliss. - - I stood where glowed - The merry glare of golden whirring lights - Above the monstrous mass that seethed and flowed - Through one of London’s nights. - - I watched the gleams - Of jagged warm lights on shrunk faces pale: - I heard mad laughter as one hears in dreams - Or Hell’s harsh lurid tale. - - The traffic rolled, - A gliding chaos populous of din, - A steaming wail at doom the Lord had scrawled - For perilous loads of sin. - - And my soul thought: - “What fearful land have my steps wandered to? - God’s love is everywhere, but here is naught - Save love His anger slew.” - - And as I stood - Lost in promiscuous bewilderment, - Which to my mazèd soul was wonder-food, - A girl in garments rent - - Peered ’neath lids shamed - And spoke to me and murmured to my blood. - My soul stopped dead, and all my horror flamed - At her forgot of God. - - Her hungered eyes, - Craving and yet so sadly spiritual, - Shone like the unsmirched corner of a jewel - Where else foul blemish lies. - - I walked with her - Because my heart thought, “Here the soul is clean, - The fragrance of the frankincense and myrrh - Is lost in odours mean.” - - She told me how - The shadow of black death had newly come - And touched her father, mother, even now - Grim-hovering in her home, - - Where fevered lay - Her wasting brother in a cold, bleak room, - Which theirs would be no longer than a day, - And then—the streets and doom. - - Lord! Lord! Dear Lord! - I knew that life was bitter, but my soul - Recoiled, as anguish-smitten by sharp sword, - Grieving such body’s dole. - - Then grief gave place - To a strange pulsing rapture as she spoke; - For I could catch the glimpses of God’s grace, - And a desire awoke - - To take this trust - And warm and gladden it with love’s new fires, - Burning the past to ashes and to dust - Through purified desires. - - We walked our way, - One way hewn for us from the birth of Time; - For we had wandered into Love’s strange clime - Through ways sin waits to slay. - - Love’s euphony, - In Love’s own temple that is our glad hearts, - Makes now long music wild deliciously; - Now Grief hath used his darts. - - Love infinite, - Chastened by sorrow, hallowed by pure flame— - Not all the surging world can compass it. - Love—Love—O tremulous name! - - God’s mercy shines; - And my full heart hath made record of this, - Of grief that burst from out its dark confines - Into strange sunlit bliss. - - - TESS - - The free fair life that has never been mine, the glory that might have - been, - If I were what you seem to be and what I may not be! - I know I walk upon the earth, but a dreadful wall between - My spirit and your spirit lies, your joy and my misery. - - The angels that lie watching us, the little human play, - What deem they of the laughter and the tears that flow apart? - When a word of man is a woman’s doom do they turn and wonder and say, - “Ah! Why has God made love so great that love must burst her heart?” - - - THE NUN - - So thy soul’s meekness shrinks, - Too loth to show her face— - Why should she shun the world? - It is a holy place. - - Concealèd to itself - If the flower kept its scent, - Of itself amorous, - Less rich its ornament. - - Use—utmost in each kind— - Is beauty, truth in one, - While soul rays light to soul - In one God-linkèd sun. - - - IN PICCADILLY - - Lamp-lit faces, to you - What is your starry dew? - Gold flowers of the night blue! - - Deep in wet pavement’s slime - Mud-rooted is your fierce prime, - To bloom in lust’s coloured clime. - - The sheen of eyes that lust, - Which dew-time made your trust, - Lights your passionless dust. - - - A MOOD - - You are so light and gay, - So slight, sweet maid— - Your limbs like leaves in play, - Or beams that grasses braid; - O! Joys whose jewels pray - My breast to be inlaid. - - Frail fairy of the streets; - Strong, dainty lure; - For all men’s eyes the sweets - Whose lack makes hearts so poor; - While your heart loveless beats, - Light, laughing, and impure. - - O! Fragrant waft of flesh, - Float through me so— - My limbs are in your mesh, - My blood forgets to flow; - Ah! Lilied meadows fresh, - It knows where it would go. - - - FIRST FRUIT - - I did not pluck at all, - And I am sorry now: - The garden is not barred - But the boughs are heavy with snow, - The flake-blossoms thickly fall - And the hid roots sigh, “How long will our flowers be marred?” - - Strange as a bird were dumb, - Strange as a hueless leaf. - As one deaf hungers to hear, - Or gazes without belief, - The fruit yearned “Fingers, come!” - O, shut hands, be empty another year. - - - A CARELESS HEART - - A little breath can make a prayer, - A little wind can take it - And turn it back again to air: - Then say, why should you make it? - - An ardent thought can make a word, - A little ear can hear it, - A careless heart forget it heard: - Then why keep ever near it? - - - DAWN - - O tender first cold flush of rose, - O budded dawn, wake dreamily; - Your dim lips as your lids unclose - Murmur your own sad threnody. - O as the soft and frail lights break - Upon your eyelids, and your eyes - Wider and wider grow and wake, - The old pale glory dies. - - And then, as sleep lies down to sleep - And all her dreams lie somewhere dead, - The iron shepherd leads his sheep - To pastures parched whose green is shed. - Still, O frail dawn, still in your hair - And your cold eyes and sad sweet lips, - The ghosts of all the dreams are there, - To fade like passing ships. - - - AT NIGHT - - Crazed shadows, from no golden body - That I can see, embrace me warm; - All is purple and closed - Round by night’s arm. - - A brilliance wings from dark-lit voices, - Wild lost voices of shadows white: - See the long houses lean - To the weird flight. - - Star-amorous things that wake at sleep-time - (Because the sun spreads wide like a tree - With no good fruit for them) - Thrill secrecy. - - Pale horses ride before the morning, - The secret roots of the sun to tread, - With hoofs shod with venom - And ageless dread; - - To breathe on burning emerald grasses - And opalescent dews of the day, - And poison at the core - What smiles may stray. - - - CREATION - - As the pregnant womb of night - Thrills with imprisoned light, - Misty, nebulous-born, - Growing deeper into her morn, - So man, with no sudden stride, - Bloomed into pride. - - In the womb of the All-spirit - The universe lay; the will - Blind, an atom, lay still. - The pulse of matter - Obeyed in awe - And strove to flatter - The rhythmic law. - But the will grew; nature feared, - And cast off the child she reared, - Now her rival, instinct-led, - With her own powers impregnated. - - Brain and heart, blood-fervid flowers, - Creation is each act of yours. - Your roots are God, the pauseless cause, - But your boughs sway to self-windy laws. - Perception is no dreamy birth - And magnifies transfigured earth. - With each new light, our eyes receive - A larger power to perceive. - - If we could unveil our eyes, - Become as wise as the All-wise, - No love would be, no mystery: - Love and joy dwell in infinity. - Love begets love; reaching highest - We find a higher still, unseen - From where we stood to reach the first; - Moses must die to live in Christ, - The seed be buried to live to green. - Perfection must begin from worst. - Christ perceives a larger reachless love, - More full, and grows to reach thereof. - The green plant yearns for its yellow fruit. - Perfection always is a root, - And joy a motion that doth feed - Itself on light of its own speed, - And round its radiant circle runs, - Creating and devouring suns. - - - OF ANY OLD MAN - - Wreck not the ageing heart of quietness - With alien uproar and rude jolly cries, - Which (satyr-like to a mild maiden’s pride) - Ripen not wisdom but a large recoil; - Give them their withered peace, their trial grave, - Their past youth’s three-scored shadowy effigy. - Mock them not with your ripened turbulence, - Their frost-mailed petulance with your torrid wrath, - When, edging your boisterous thunders, shivers one word - (Pap to their senile sneering, drug to truth, - The feigned rampart of bleak ignorance) - “Experience”—crown of naked majesties, - That tells us naught we know not, but confirms. - O think, you reverend shadowy austere, - Your Christ’s youth was not ended when he died. - - - THE ONE LOST - - I mingle with your bones; - You steal in subtle noose - This lighted dust Jehovah loans - And now I lose. - - What will the Lender say - When I shall not be found, - Safe-sheltered at the Judgment Day, - Being in you bound? - - He’ll hunt through wards of Heaven, - Call to uncoffined earth - “Where is this soul, unjudged, not given - Dole for good’s dearth?” - - And I, lying so safe - Within you, hearing all, - To have cheated God shall laugh, - Freed by your thrall. - - - WEDDED - - They leave their love-lorn haunts, - Their sigh-warm floating Eden; - And they are mute at once, - Mortals by God unheeden, - By their past kisses chidden. - - But they have kist and known - Clear things we dim by guesses— - Spirit to spirit grown: - Heaven, born in hand-caresses. - Love, fall from sheltering tresses. - - And they are dumb and strange: - Bared trees bowed from each other. - Their last green interchange - What lost dreams shall discover? - Dead, strayed, to love-strange lover. - - - DON JUAN’S SONG - - The moon is in an ecstasy, - It wanes not nor can grow; - The heavens are in a mist of love, - And deepest knowledge know: - What things in nature seem to move - Bear love as I bear love? - And bear my pleasures so? - - I bear my love as streams that bear - The sky still flow or shake: - Though deep within, too far on high. - Light blossoms kiss and wake - The waters sooner than the sky; - And if they kiss and die - God made them frail to break. - - - ON A LADY SINGING - - She bade us listen to the singing lark - In tones far sweeter than its own: - For fear that she should cease and leave us dark - We built the bird a feignèd throne, - Shrined in her gracious glory-giving ways - From sceptred hands of starred humility— - Praising herself the more in giving praise - To music less than she. - - - BEAUTY - - As a sword in the sun— - A glory calling a glory— - Our eyes, seeing it run, - Capture its gleam for our story. - - Singer, marvellous gleam - Dancing in splendid light, - Here you have brought us our dream— - Ah, but its stay is its flight! - - - A QUESTION - - What if you shut your eyes and look, - Yea, look with all the spirit’s eyes, - While mystic unrevealèd skies - Unfold like pages of a book - - Wherein new scenes of wonder rare - Are imaged, till the sense deceives - Itself, and what it sees believes— - Even what the soul has pictured there? - - - CHAGRIN - - Caught still as Absalom, - Surely the air hangs - From the swayless cloud-boughs - Like hair of Absalom - Caught and hanging still. - - From the imagined weight - Of spaces in a sky - Of mute chagrin my thoughts - Hang like branch-clung hair - To trunks of silence swung, - With the choked soul weighing down - Into thick emptiness. - Christ, end this hanging death, - For endlessness hangs therefrom! - - Invisibly branches break - From invisible trees: - The cloud-woods where we rush - (Our eyes holding so much), - Which we must ride dim ages round - Ere the hands (we dream) can touch, - We ride, we ride—before the morning - The secret roots of the sun to tread— - And suddenly - We are lifted of all we know, - And hang from implacable boughs. - - - THE BLIND GOD - - Streaked with immortal blasphemies, - Betwixt His twin eternities - The Shaper of mortal destinies - Sits in that limbo of dreamless sleep, - Some nothing that hath shadows deep. - - The world is only a small pool - In the meadows of Eternity, - And men like fishes lying cool; - And the wise man and the fool - In its depths like fishes lie. - When an angel drops a rod - And he draws you to the sky - Will you bear to meet your God - You have streaked with blasphemy? - - - THE FEMALE GOD - - We curl into your eyes— - They drink our fires and have never drained; - In the fierce forest of your hair - Our desires beat blindly for their treasure. - - In your eyes’ subtle pit, - Far down, glimmer our souls; - And your hair like massive forest trees - Shadows our pulses, overtired and dumb. - - Like a candle lost in an electric glare - Our spirits tread your eyes’ infinities; - In the wrecking waves of your tumultuous locks - Do you not hear the moaning of our pulses? - - Queen! Goddess! Animal! - In sleep do your dreams battle with our souls? - When your hair is spread like a lover on the pillow - Do not our jealous pulses wake between? - - You have dethroned the ancient God, - You have usurped his Sabbath, his common days; - Yea, every moment is delivered to you, - Our Temple, our Eternal, our one God! - - Our souls have passed into your eyes, - Our days into your hair; - And you, our rose-deaf prison, are very pleased with the world, - Your world. - - - GOD - - In his malodorous brain what slugs and mire, - Lanthorned in his oblique eyes, guttering burned! - His body lodged a rat where men nursed souls: - The world flashed grape-green eyes of a foiled cat - To him. On fragments of an old shrunk power, - On shy and maimed, on women wrung awry, - He lay—a bullying hulk—to crush them more; - But when one fearless turned and clawed like bronze, - Cringing was easy to blunt these stern paws, - And he would weigh the heavier on those after. - - Who rests in God’s mean flattery now? Your wealth - Is but his cunning to make death more hard, - Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking; - And he has made the market for your beauty - Too poor to buy although you die to sell. - Only that he has never heard of sleep, - And when the cats come out the rats are sly, - Here we are safe till he slinks in at dawn. - - But he has gnawed a fibre from strange roots, - And in the morning some pale wonder ceases. - Things are not strange; and strange things are forgetful. - Ah! If the day were arid, somehow lost - Out of us; but it is as hair of us, - And only in the hush no wind stirs it, - And in the light vague trouble lifts and breathes, - And restlessness still shadows the lost ways. - The fingers shut on voices that pass through - Where blind farewells are taken easily. - - Ah, this miasma of a rotting God! - - - SLEEP - - Godhead’s lip hangs - When our pulses have no golden tremors, - And his whips are flicked by mice - And all star-amorous things. - - Drops, drops of shivering quiet - Filter under my lids. - Now only am I powerful. - What though the cunning gods outwit us here - In daytime and in playtime, - Surely they feel the gyves we lay on them - In our sleep. - - O, subtle gods lying hidden! - O, gods with your oblique eyes! - Your elbows in the dawn, and wrists - Bright with the afternoon, - Do you not shake when a mortal slides - Into your own unvexed peace? - - When a moving stillness breaks over your knees - (An emanation of piled æons’ pressures), - From our bodies flat and straight, - And your limbs are locked, - Futilely gods, - And shut your sinister essences? - - - MY DAYS - - My days are but the tombs of buried hours; - Which tombs are hidden in the pilèd years; - But from the mounds there spring up many flowers, - Whose beauty well repays their cost of tears. - Time, like a sexton, pileth mould on mould, - Minutes on minutes till the tombs are high; - But from the dust there fall some grains of gold, - And the dead corpse leaves what will never die— - It may be but a thought, the nursling seed - Of many thoughts, of many a high desire; - Some little act that stirs a noble deed, - Like breath rekindling a smouldering fire: - They only live who have not lived in vain, - For in their works their life returns again. - - - PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY - BILLING AND SONS, LIMITED, - GUILDFORD AND ESHER - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in - spelling. - 2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/66889-0.zip b/old/66889-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index cd56adb..0000000 --- a/old/66889-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66889-h.zip b/old/66889-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 18271b9..0000000 --- a/old/66889-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66889-h/66889-h.htm b/old/66889-h/66889-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 30ff9ce..0000000 --- a/old/66889-h/66889-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5961 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Isaac Rosenberg</title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - body { margin-left: 8%; margin-right: 10%; } - h1 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; } - h2 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; } - h3 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: large; } - h4 { text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 1.0em; } - .pageno { right: 1%; font-size: x-small; background-color: inherit; color: silver; - text-indent: 0em; text-align: right; position: absolute; - border: thin solid silver; padding: .1em .2em; font-style: normal; - font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; } - p { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; text-align: justify; } - sup { vertical-align: top; font-size: 0.6em; } - .sc { font-variant: small-caps; } - .large { font-size: large; } - .xlarge { font-size: x-large; } - .small { font-size: small; } - .lg-container-b { text-align: center; } - .x-ebookmaker .lg-container-b { clear: both; } - .lg-container-l { text-align: justify; } - .x-ebookmaker .lg-container-l { clear: both; } - .linegroup { display: inline-block; text-align: justify; } - .x-ebookmaker .linegroup { display: block; margin-left: 1.5em; } - .linegroup .group { margin: 1em auto; } - .linegroup .line { text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em; } - div.linegroup > :first-child { margin-top: 0; } - .linegroup .in12 { padding-left: 9.0em; } - .linegroup .in14 { padding-left: 10.0em; } - .linegroup .in16 { padding-left: 11.0em; } - .linegroup .in18 { padding-left: 12.0em; } - .linegroup .in2 { padding-left: 4.0em; } - .linegroup .in20 { padding-left: 13.0em; } - .linegroup .in22 { padding-left: 14.0em; } - .linegroup .in24 { padding-left: 15.0em; } - .linegroup .in32 { padding-left: 19.0em; } - .linegroup .in36 { padding-left: 21.0em; } - .linegroup .in4 { padding-left: 5.0em; } - .linegroup .in6 { padding-left: 6.0em; } - .linegroup .in8 { padding-left: 7.0em; } - .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; } - ol.ol_1 {padding-left: 0; margin-left: 2.78%; margin-top: .5em; - margin-bottom: .5em; list-style-type: decimal; } - div.footnote > :first-child { margin-top: 1em; } - div.footnote p { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - div.pbb { page-break-before: always; } - hr.pb { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; margin-bottom: 1em; } - .x-ebookmaker hr.pb { display: none; } - .chapter { clear: both; page-break-before: always; } - .figcenter { clear: both; max-width: 100%; margin: 2em auto; text-align: center; } - div.figcenter p { text-align: center; text-indent: 0; } - .figcenter img { max-width: 100%; height: auto; } - .id001 { width:40%; } - .id002 { width:30%; } - .x-ebookmaker .id001 { margin-left:30%; width:40%; } - .x-ebookmaker .id002 { margin-left:35%; width:30%; } - .ic001 { width:100%; } - .ig001 { width:100%; } - .table0 { margin: auto; margin-top: 2em; } - .table1 { margin: auto; margin-top: 1em; } - .nf-center { text-align: center; } - .nf-center-c0 { text-align: justify; margin: 0.5em 0; } - .c000 { margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - .c001 { margin-top: 4em; } - .c002 { margin-top: 2em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c003 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em; } - .c004 { margin-top: 2em; } - .c005 { margin-top: 1em; } - .c006 { margin-top: 4em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c007 { page-break-before:auto; margin-top: 4em; } - .c008 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em; - padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; } - .c009 { vertical-align: top; text-align: right; } - .c010 { vertical-align: top; text-align: justify; text-indent: -1em; - padding-left: 1em; } - .c011 { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: 0.25em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c012 { page-break-before: always; margin-top: 2em; } - .c013 { margin-top: 1em; text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 0.25em; } - .c014 { text-decoration: none; } - .c015 { border: none; border-bottom: thin solid; margin-top: 0.8em; - margin-bottom: 0.8em; margin-left: 35%; margin-right: 35%; width: 30%; } - .c016 { margin-top: 1em; font-size: .9em; } - .c017 { text-align: right; } - .c018 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - .c019 { margin-top: 2em; font-size: .9em; } - .c020 { margin-left: 5.56%; text-indent: -2.78%; margin-top: 0.5em; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; } - .c021 { page-break-before: auto; margin-top: 2em; } - div.tnotes { padding-left:1em;padding-right:1em;background-color:#E3E4FA; - border:thin solid silver; margin:2em 10% 0 10%; font-family: Georgia, serif; - } - .covernote { visibility: hidden; display: none; } - div.tnotes p { text-align: justify; } - .x-ebookmaker .covernote { visibility: visible; display: block; } - .figcenter {font-size: .9em; page-break-inside: avoid; max-width: 100%; } - .x-ebookmaker img {max-height: 31em; width: 100%; } - .footnote {font-size: .9em; } - div.footnote p {text-indent: 2em; margin-bottom: .5em; } - .chapter { clear: both; page-break-before: always; } - .ol_1 li {font-size: .9em; } - .x-ebookmaker .ol_1 li {padding-left: 1em; text-indent: 0em; } - body {font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: justify; } - table {font-size: .9em; padding: 1.5em .5em 1em; page-break-inside: avoid; - clear: both; } - div.titlepage {text-align: center; page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; } - div.titlepage p {text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 3em; } - .ph1 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: xx-large; - margin: .67em auto; page-break-before: always; } - .ph2 { text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; - page-break-before: always; } - .x-ebookmaker p.dropcap:first-letter { float: left; } - </style> - </head> - <body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems by Isaac Rosenberg, by Isaac Rosenberg</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Poems by Isaac Rosenberg</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Isaac Rosenberg</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: Gordon Bottomley</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Contributor: Laurence Binyon</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 5, 2021 [eBook #66889]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG ***</div> - -<div class='tnotes covernote'> - -<p class='c000'><strong>Transcriber’s Note:</strong></p> - -<p class='c000'>The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='chapter ph1'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>POEMS BY</div> - <div>ISAAC ROSENBERG</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l c001'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>SONGS IN CAPTIVITY</div> - <div class='line in4'><i>By R. H. Sauter</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>BALLAD OF THE “ROYAL ANN”</div> - <div class='line in4'><i>By Crosbie Garston</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>DOWN HERE THE HAWTHORN</div> - <div class='line in4'><i>By Thomas Moult</i></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c002'>LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN</p> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/i_frontispiece.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic001'> -<p>ISAAC ROSENBERG.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class='titlepage'> - -<div> - <h1 class='c003'>POEMS BY<br /> ISAAC ROSENBERG</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div>SELECTED AND EDITED BY</div> - <div><span class='large'>GORDON BOTTOMLEY</span></div> - <div class='c005'>WITH AN INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR BY</div> - <div><span class='large'>LAURENCE BINYON</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/i_title.jpg' alt='1922' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='xlarge'>LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<p class='c006'><span class='pageno' id='Page_v'>v</span><i>Youth is still childhood: when we cast off -every cloudy vesture, and our thoughts are -clear and mature; when every act is a conscious -thought, every thought an attempt to -arrest feeling; our feelings strong and overwhelming, -our sensitiveness awakened by -insignificant things in life; when the skies -race tumultuously with our blood, and the -earth shines and laughs; when our blood -hangs suspended at the rustling of a gown. -Our vanity loves to subdue—battle, aggressive. -How we despise those older and duller—we -want life, newness, excitement.</i></p> - -<p class='c002'>(<i>Circa 1916.</i>)</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_vii'>vii</span> - <h2 class='c007'>CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> - <tr> - <th class='c008'></th> - <th class='c009'><span class='small'>PAGE</span></th> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR</td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_1'>1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†MOSES: <span class='sc'>A Play</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_51'>51</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'> </td> - <td class='c009'> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010' colspan='2'>POEMS FROM CAMP AND TRENCH:</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Daughters of War</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_81'>81</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>On Receiving the First News of the War</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_84'>84</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>Spring</span>, 1916</td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_86'>86</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Troop Ship</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_87'>87</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>Marching</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_88'>88</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Break of Day in the Trenches</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_89'>89</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Killed in Action</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_91'>91</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Returning, we hear the Larks</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_92'>92</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Destruction of Jerusalem by the Babylonian Hordes</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_93'>93</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Burning of the Temple</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_95'>95</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Home-Thoughts from France</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_96'>96</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_viii'>viii</span><span class='sc'>The Immortals</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_97'>97</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Louse Hunting</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_98'>98</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Girl to Soldier on Leave</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_100'>100</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Soldier: Twentieth Century</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_102'>102</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Jew</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_103'>103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Dying Soldier</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_104'>104</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Dead Man’s Dump</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_105'>105</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>In War</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_109'>109</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>The Dead Heroes</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_112'>112</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'> </td> - <td class='c009'> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010' colspan='2'>FRAGMENTS OF “THE UNICORN”:</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>I. <span class='sc'>The Amulet</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_117'>117</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>II. <span class='sc'>The Song of Tel the Nubian</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_129'>129</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>III. <span class='sc'>The Tower of Skulls</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_130'>130</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'> </td> - <td class='c009'> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c010' colspan='2'>EARLIER POEMS:</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>Expression</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_135'>135</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>*<span class='sc'>From “Night and Day”</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_137'>137</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Zion</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_140'>140</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>*<span class='sc'>Spiritual Isolation: A Fragment</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_142'>142</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_ix'>ix</span><span class='sc'>Far Away</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_144'>144</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Spring</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_145'>145</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Song</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_146'>146</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>*<span class='sc'>Heart’s First Word.</span> I.</td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_147'>147</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>Heart’s First Word.</span> II.</td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_149'>149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>*<span class='sc'>Lady, You are My God</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_150'>150</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>If You are Fire</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_151'>151</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>In the Underworld</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_152'>152</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>*<span class='sc'>O, In a World of Men and Women</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_153'>153</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>A Girl’s Thoughts</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_154'>154</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>A Ballad of Whitechapel</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_155'>155</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>*<span class='sc'>Tess</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_159'>159</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Nun</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_160'>160</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>In Piccadilly</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_161'>161</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>A Mood</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_162'>162</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>First Fruit</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_163'>163</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>A Careless Heart</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_164'>164</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Dawn</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_165'>165</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>At Night</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_166'>166</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Creation</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_168'>168</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Of Any Old Man</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_170'>170</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='pageno' id='Page_x'>x</span><span class='sc'>The One Lost</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_171'>171</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>§<span class='sc'>Wedded</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_172'>172</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Don Juan’s Song</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_173'>173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>On a Lady Singing</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_174'>174</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Beauty</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_175'>175</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>A Question</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_176'>176</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>Chagrin</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_177'>177</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Blind God</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_179'>179</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>The Female God</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_180'>180</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>God</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_182'>182</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'>†<span class='sc'>Sleep</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_184'>184</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>My Days</span></td> - <td class='c009'><a href='#Page_186'>186</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_xi'>xi</span> - <h2 class='c007'>BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE</h2> -</div> - -<p class='c002'>The poems whose titles are marked * appeared in a -privately issued pamphlet, “Night and Day. By Isaac -Rosenberg. 1912” (pp. 24); those marked § in “Youth. -By Isaac Rosenberg. London, I. Narodiczky, Printer, -48 Mile End Road, E. 1915” (pp. 18); and those -marked † in “Moses. A Play. By Isaac Rosenberg. -London, Printed By The Paragon Printing Works, -8 Ocean Street, Stepney Green, E. 1916” (pp. ii + 26).</p> - -<p class='c011'>These pamphlets were the only work issued by the -author, in addition to the following single pieces which -appeared in various periodicals:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“In the Workshop,” in <cite>A Piece of Mosaic</cite> (for a Jewish -Bazaar).</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Our Dead Heroes,” in <cite>South African Women in Council</cite>, -December, 1914.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Essay on Art,” Part I. (prose), prefaced by a poem, -“Beauty,” in <cite>South African Women in Council</cite>, December, -1914.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Essay on Art,” Part II., <cite>South African Women in -Council</cite>, January, 1915.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Marching,” and “Break of Day in the Trenches,” in -<cite>Poetry</cite> (Chicago), December, 1916.</p> - -<p class='c002'><span class='pageno' id='Page_xii'>xii</span>The following pieces have appeared posthumously:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“In Piccadilly,” “If You are Fire,” “Heart’s First -Word, II.,” “Wedded,” “I Did Not Pluck at All,” in -<cite>Art and Letters</cite>, Summer, 1919; with an “In Memoriam” -notice by Annie Rosenberg.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Killed in Action,” in <cite>Colour</cite>, October, 1919.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Savage Song” (“A Naked African” from “Moses”), -“God,” in <cite>Rainbow</cite> (New York), October, 1920; with an -“In Memoriam” notice by Horace Brodzky.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“I Mingle with Your Bones”; with an article by -Samuel Roth, in <cite>Voices</cite>, Summer, 1921.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span> - <h2 class='c007'>INTRODUCTORY MEMOIR</h2> -</div> -<h3 class='c012'>I</h3> - -<p class='c013'>Of the many young poets who gave their lives in -the war, Isaac Rosenberg was not the least gifted. -Adverse circumstances, imperfect education, want -of opportunity, impeded and obscured his genius; -but whatever criticism be made of his poetry, its -faults are plainly those of excess rather than -deficiency. His writing was often difficult and -obscure, because he instinctively thought in images -and did not sufficiently appreciate the limitations -of language. Also, a continual fear of being empty -or thin led him to an over-intricate complexity. -But there was no incoherence in his mind. And -the main object of these notes, beyond recording -the facts of his life, is to illustrate the growth and -workings of his mind from his own letters, which -will be the best commentary on his poems.</p> - -<p class='c011'>I cannot precisely fix the date, but it must have -been some time in 1912, when one morning there -came to me a letter in an untidy hand from an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>address in Whitechapel, enclosing some pages of -verse on which criticism was asked, and signed -“Isaac Rosenberg.” It was impossible not to be -struck by something unusual in the quality of the -poems. Thoughts and emotions of no common -nature struggled for expression, and at times -there gushed forth a pure song which haunted -the memory.</p> - -<p class='c011'>I answered at once, and the next day received -another letter which told me something about my -unknown correspondent. In this letter, which, -like nearly all his letters, is undated, he wrote:</p> - -<p class='c011'>“I must thank you very much for your encouraging -reply to my poetical efforts.... As you -are kind enough to ask about myself, I am sending -a sort of autobiography I wrote about a -year ago.... You will see from that that my -circumstances have not been very favourable for -artistic production; but generally I am optimistic, -I suppose because I am young and do not properly -realize the difficulties. I am now attending the -Slade, being sent there by some wealthy Jews who -are kindly interested in me, and, of course, I spend -most of my time drawing. I find writing interferes -with drawing a good deal, and is far more -exhausting.”</p> - -<p class='c011'><span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>He went on to tell of his admirations, Rossetti -coming first for him among modern artists. He -had seen very little of early Italian art, but divined -that theirs was the type of art which he thought -the only kind worth having—“expression through -passionate colour and definite design”—not “a -moment frozen on to canvas,” but “the spontaneity -of un-selfconscious and childlike nature—infinity -of suggestion—that is as much part and voice of -the artist’s soul as the song to the bird.” As to -modern poets, they were “difficult to get hold of” -(their volumes being expensive), but he had an -immense admiration for Francis Thompson—“that -is the sort of poetry that appeals most to me.” He -had done nothing yet in painting which he would -care to show. He aspired to do imaginative work, -but at present was practising portraiture, as it was -necessary to earn a living.</p> - -<p class='c011'>At my invitation Rosenberg came to see me. -Small in stature, dark, bright-eyed, thoroughly -Jewish in type, he seemed a boy with an unusual -mixture of self-reliance and modesty. Indeed, no -one could have had a more independent nature. -Obviously sensitive, he was not touchy or aggressive. -Possessed of vivid enthusiasms, he was shy -in speech. One found in talk how strangely little -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>of second-hand (in one of his age) there was in his -opinions, how fresh a mind he brought to what he -saw and read. There was an odd kind of charm -in his manner which came from his earnest, transparent -sincerity.</p> - -<p class='c011'>The “sort of autobiography,” which I have -never seen since I returned it to him, and has -perhaps been destroyed, was the story of a youth, -mentally ambitious, introspective, dissatisfied with -his surroundings, consumed by secret desires for -liberation and self-expression.</p> - -<p class='c011'>The external facts of his life are briefly told. -For these I am mainly indebted to his sister, Mrs. -Wynick, whose devotion to her brother and his -work was at all times unwearied. She gave much -of a scanty leisure-time to typing copies of his -poems, and many of them would have been lost -but for her care in preserving them.</p> - -<p class='c011'>Isaac Rosenberg was born at Bristol on the 25th -of November, 1890. When he was seven he came -to London with his parents. The family settled -in the East End. The boy was sent to the Board -School of St. George’s in the East, and afterwards -to the Stepney Board School. From childhood he -showed a natural gift both for drawing and for -writing. While at the Stepney school his promise -<span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>appeared so remarkable that the headmaster -allowed him to spend all his time in these pursuits. -Out of school he would draw with chalks on the -street pavement. Reading poetry was a passion -with him. At the age of fourteen he was reluctantly -obliged to leave school. His parents were -poor; and though they took great pride in his gifts, -he was one of a family of eight, and he must now -earn his living. He was apprenticed, therefore, to -the firm of Carl Hentschel, in Fleet Street. A -trade connected with art was chosen for him as a -stepping-stone to a painter’s career, and as something -to fall back upon in case his resources failed -him. But he hated trade, and felt in bondage. -In his meal-times he consoled himself by writing -poems; in the evenings he went to classes at the -Art School of Birkbeck College. He worked hard -and won many prizes. Mr. Frank Emanuel, the -painter, who befriended and encouraged him at -this time, describes him as having been made -“bitter and despondent by his circumstances”; -and his letters reveal fits of the deepest dejection -against which his will contended.</p> - -<p class='c011'>The uncongenial work came at last to an end. -The sense of liberation was at first intoxicating. -Yet work had to be found, and Isaac was determined -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>to pursue art and nothing else. He met at -first with disappointment, and endured many privations. -But before long he found good friends. -Mr. Amschewitz, an artist, and Mr. Samuels -warmly interested themselves in his behalf. -Through them he made the acquaintance of three -ladies, Mrs. Josephs, Mrs. Herbert Cohen, and -Mrs. Lowy, who undertook to provide the means -for his training at the Slade School.</p> - -<p class='c011'>Through Mr. Emanuel’s friendship he had become -a member of “The Limners,” a club of artists -and art teachers, which met at Mr. Emanuel’s -studio. Here he had the opportunity of meeting -other artists and exchanging ideas. Prizes were -given, which young Rosenberg occasionally won. -In spite, therefore, of his poverty and unpropitious -surroundings, he had now won sympathetic friends, -and received both encouragement and material -help from discerning compatriots. But with his -sensitive artist’s pride and jealous independence -of spirit, he was not always easy to understand; -and those who, with the sole desire to help him, -advanced his circumstances sometimes felt that -their efforts did not seem to be appreciated. -The case is not unfamiliar to readers of artists’ -biographies.</p> - -<p class='c011'><span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>Rosenberg went to the Slade School in October, -1911, and remained till March, 1914. He won -prizes at the school and praise from his teachers. -Thrown among contemporaries, all occupied with -the problems of art and the discussion of them, he -became tinged with the temper and the prevalent -ideas of his own generation of students. His -natural bent, I think, was in another direction. He -showed me drawings and studies from time to time, -and I saw a few of his paintings when they were -exhibited one summer at the Whitechapel Gallery. -He was full of ideas, was a capable draughtsman, -and could conceive an interesting design. Yet, to -judge from what I have seen of his work, it did -not seem to be for him the inevitable means of -expression. He once showed me at his studio -a large, ambitious composition—an oil-painting—which -I fancy was never completed. I cannot recall -the nominal subject, but it was saturated with -symbolism and required a good deal of explanation. -I liked the mysteriousness of it, and the ideas which -inspired the painting had suggested figures and -groups and visionary glimpses of landscape which -had passages of real beauty, though the whole -work had grown impossibly complex with its convolutions -of symbolic meaning. It reminded me -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>of his poetry; and I think that represented his -natural bent in art. Had he been born half a century -earlier, he would have been an ardent disciple -of Rossetti. But he could not escape from the -mental atmosphere of his own generation, in which -so “literary” a conception of painting was bound to -wither in discouragement. Later, he showed me -some studies of landscape and portrait which he -had made in South Africa. These were in a more -“modern” vein of realism, but they seemed to fail -in the quality of force, to which all other qualities -had been, in intention, sacrificed. They had -no personal savour. Like every generous and -ambitious youth, Rosenberg wished his own -generation to do glorious things, and wished to -belong to it as a comrade. Whether he would -have emerged and found himself as a painter is a -doubtful conjecture. I think it possible that he -would have abandoned painting. For his true -vocation was poetry, and he thought of himself as -a poet rather than as a painter.</p> - -<p class='c011'>He had begun to write verse at a very early -age. Mr. Morley Dainow, who was at the time -librarian in the Whitechapel Public Library, was -approached one day by a Jewish girl who wanted -advice and help for her young brother. His aim -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>in life, she said, was to be a poet. The next day -the boy was brought to the library. Isaac then -seemed to be between ten and twelve years of age. -He had already determined to be a poet and a -painter. He interested and impressed Mr. Dainow, -and in return for his friendly encouragement sent -him a poem called “David’s Harp.” These are -the earliest verses of Rosenberg’s that Mr. -Bottomley or I have seen. They are not printed -in this book, but they are interesting because -they show how, even as a young boy, Rosenberg -cherished the traditions of his race and aspired to -become a representative poet of his own nation. -Moses and Judas Maccabæus were intended to be -themes of his maturer poetry. “David’s Harp” -is in fluent stanzas, and shows the passing influence -of Byron.</p> - -<p class='c011'>The pamphlet called “Night and Day,” printed -in 1912, contains probably all that Rosenberg cared -to preserve of his early verse, though no doubt it -represented but a small selection from what he -had written.</p> - -<p class='c011'>After leaving the Slade School, he found himself -faced with a harder struggle than ever. But -he never admitted defeat. He sold a few pictures -and got a few poems into print, but his health -<span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>was now a cause for anxiety. His lungs were -thought to be affected, and he was advised to try -a warmer climate. Having a married sister in -Cape Town, he thought of South Africa, and in -June, 1914, he sailed for the Cape. Here he -made one or two friends, painted some pictures, -taught a little, gave a few lectures, and published -some poems and articles. But the visit was not a -material success, and he returned disappointed and -despondent. Soon after his return, in 1915, he -printed a second pamphlet of verse, “Youth.” -But he was restless and unhappy, and could not -work. It was now that he enlisted in the Army. -From this date onward he had practically no time -for painting, but he continued to write till the -end. “Moses” was printed in 1916. He was first -in a Bantam regiment, then in the King’s Own -Royal Lancasters, and after a period of training -at Bury St. Edmunds and at Farnborough went -out, early in 1916, to France. No one could have -been less fitted for a military life. He suffered not -only from physical disability, bad health, and -sensitiveness, but from the absent-mindedness of -one whose imagination was possessed by his poetic -schemes. “My mind will not relinquish its -poetical yearnings,” he wrote, “and concentration -<span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>on alien things and dull has strained my memory.” -But he endured the inhuman horror of modern -war with a great heart; he would not have liked -to be called a hero, but his fortitude was truly -heroic. On the first of April, 1918, he was killed -in action.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'>II</h3> - -<p class='c013'>The poems collected in this volume speak for -themselves. The obscurities, the straining and -tormenting of language in the effort to find right -expression, the immaturities of style and taste, are -apparent on the surface. The imaginative conceptions -and the frequent gleam of imaginative -phrasing should be equally apparent. But what -does not appear on the surface is the fine intention, -the ardent toil, and the continual self-criticism -which underlay his work. Rosenberg’s aim was, -in his own words, a kind of poetry “where an -interesting complexity of thought is kept in tone -and right value to the dominating idea so that it -is understandable and still ungraspable.” The -sentence occurs in one of his letters, and from -this point on I wish to let Rosenberg speak for himself. -His letters give a picture both of his mind -and character, far more vivid than anything one -<span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>could write about him. He very rarely dated a -letter, but the address and internal evidence give -a clue to the date. The first extract is from a -letter written, while he was still an apprentice, -to Miss Winifreda Seaton, a friend to whom -Mr. Amschewitz introduced him. Miss Seaton -lent him books, encouraged him to write, discussed -art and literature with him, and criticized his -poems.</p> - -<p class='c002'>“It is horrible to think that all these hours, -when my days are full of vigour and my hands -and soul craving for self-expression, I am bound, -chained to this fiendish mangling-machine, without -hope and almost desire of deliverance, and the -days of youth go by.... I have tried to make -some sort of self-adjustment to circumstances by -saying, ‘It is all <i>experience</i>’; but, good God! it is -<i>all</i> experience, and nothing else.... I really -would like to take up painting seriously; I think -I might do something at that; but poetry—I -despair of ever writing excellent poetry. I can’t -look at things in the simple, large way that great -poets do. My mind is so cramped and dulled and -fevered, there is no consistency of purpose, no -oneness of aim; the very fibres are torn apart, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span>application deadened by the fiendish persistence -of the coil of circumstance.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>At last the apprenticeship is over and Rosenberg -writes<a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c014'><sup>[1]</sup></a> exulting:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“Congratulate me! I’ve cleared out of the —— shop, -I hope for good and all. I’m free—free to do -anything, hang myself or anything except work.... -I’m very optimistic, now that I don’t know -what to do, and everything seems topsy-turvy.”</p> - -<div class='footnote' id='f1'> -<p class='c002'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. This and the following extracts are from letters to the -same correspondent.</p> -</div> - -<p class='c011'>A little later comes the reaction:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“I am out of work. I doubt if I feel the better -for it, much as the work was distasteful, though I -expect it’s the hankering thought of the consequences, -pecuniary, etc., that bothers me.... -All one’s thoughts seem to revolve round to one -point—death. It is horrible, especially at night, -‘in the silence of the midnight’; it seems to clutch -at your thought—you can’t breathe. Oh, I think, -work, work, any work, only to stop one thinking.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>But such moods are resisted. At another time -he is writing:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“One conceives one’s lot (I suppose it’s the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>same with all people, no matter what their condition) -to be terribly tragic. You are the victim -of a horrible conspiracy; everything is unfair. -The gods have either forgotten you or made you -a sort of scapegoat to bear all the punishment. -I believe, however hard one’s lot is, one ought to -try and accommodate oneself to the conditions; -and except in a case of purely physical pain, I -think it can be done. Why not make the very -utmost of our lives?... I’m a practical economist -in this respect. I endeavour to waste nothing.... -Waste words! Not to talk is to waste -words....</p> - -<p class='c011'>“To most people life is a musical instrument -on which they are unable to play: but in the -musician’s hands it becomes a living thing.... -The artist can see beauty everywhere, anywhere....”</p> - -<p class='c002'>In what is perhaps an earlier letter he excuses -his neglect of serious reading by his lack of -leisure and the worries that make him crave for -amusing books as an antidote:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“You mustn’t forget the circumstances I have -been brought up in, the little education I have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>had. Nobody ever told me what to read, or ever -put poetry in my way. I don’t think I knew -what real poetry was till I read Keats a couple of -years ago. True, I galloped through Byron when -I was about fourteen, but I fancy I read him more -for the story than for the poetry. I used to try -to imitate him. Anyway, if I didn’t quite take to -Donne at first, you understand why. Poetical -appreciation is only newly bursting on me. -I always enjoyed Shelley and Keats. The -‘Hyperion’ ravished me....</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Whenever I read anything in a great man’s -life that pulls him down to me, my heart always -pleads for him, and my mind pictures extenuating -circumstances.</p> - -<hr class='c015' /> - -<p class='c011'>“Have you ever picked up a book that looks -like a Bible on the outside, but is full of poetry -or comic within? My Hood is like that, and, I -am afraid, so am I. Whenever I feel inclined to -laugh, my visage assumes the longitude and -gravity of a church spire.</p> - -<hr class='c015' /> - -<p class='c011'>“I can’t say I have ever experienced the power -of one spirit over another, except in books, of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>course, at least in any intense way that you mean. -Unless you mean the interest one awakes in us, -and we long to know more, and none other. I -suppose we are all influenced by everybody we -come in contact with, in a subconscious way, if -not direct, and everything that happens to us is -experience; but only the few know it. Most -people can only see and hear the noisy sunsets, -mountains and waterfalls; but the delicate greys -and hues, the star in the puddle, the quiet sailing -cloud, is nothing to them. Of course, I only mean -this metaphorically, as distinguishing between -obvious experiences and the almost imperceptible. -I still have no work to do. I think, if nothing -turns up here, I will go to Africa. I could not -endure to live upon my people; and up till now -I have been giving them from what I had managed -to save up when I was at work. It is nearly run -out now, and if I am to do nothing, I would -rather do it somewhere else. Besides, I feel so -cramped up here, I can do no drawing, reading, or -anything....</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Create our own experience! We can, but we -don’t. Very often it’s only the trouble of a word, -and who knows what we miss through not having -spoken? It’s the man with impudence who has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>more experience than anybody. He not only -varies his own, but makes other people’s his own.</p> - -<hr class='c015' /> - -<p class='c011'>“Do I like music, and what music I like best? -I know nothing whatever about music. Once I -heard Schubert’s ‘Unfinished Symphony’ at the -band; and—well, I was in heaven. It was a blur -of sounds—sweet, fading and blending. It seemed -to draw the sky down, the whole spirit out of me; -it was articulate feeling. The inexpressible in -poetry, in painting, was there expressed. But I -have not heard much, and the sensation that gave -me I never had again. I should like very much -to be one of the initiated.</p> - -<hr class='c015' /> - -<p class='c011'>“Some more confidences. I’ve discovered I’m -a very bad talker: I find it difficult to make myself -intelligible at times; I can’t remember the exact -word I want, and I think I leave the impression -of being a rambling idiot.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>In 1910 he went to see the wonderful collection -of Japanese paintings lent by Japan to the -Exhibition at Shepherd’s Bush.</p> - -<p class='c002'>“The thoroughness is astounding. No slipshod, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>tricky slickness, trusting to chance effects, but a -subtle suggestiveness, and accident that is the -consequence of intention.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>Here are a few sentences from some “Notes -on Art”:</p> - -<p class='c002'>“Life stales and dulls; the mind demands noble -excitement, half-apprehended surmises, the eternal -desire, the beautiful. It is a vain belief that Art -and Life go hand-in-hand; Art is, as it were, -another planet.</p> - -<p class='c011'>“Mere representation is unreal, is fragmentary. -The bone taken from Adam remains a bone. To -create is to apply pulsating rhythmic principles to -the part; a unity, another nature, is created.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton.</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Thanks so much for the Donne. I had just -been reading Ben Jonson again, and from his poem -to Donne he must have thought him a giant. I -have read some of the Donne; I have certainly -never come across anything so choke-full of profound -meaningful ideas. It would have been very -difficult for him to express something commonplace, -if he had to.”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span> - <h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton.</i></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c002'>“I forgot to ask you to return my poetry, as I -mean to work on some [of the poems]. I agree the -emotions are not worth expressing, but I thought -the things had some force, and an idea or so I -rather liked. Of course, I know poetry is a far -finer thing than that, but I don’t think the failure -was due to the subject—I had nothing to say -about it, that’s all. Crashaw, I think, is sometimes -very sexual in his religious poems, but it is always -new and beautiful. I believe we are apt to fix a -standard (of subject) in poetry. We acknowledge -the poetry in subjects not generally taken as -material, but I think we all (at least I do) prefer -the poetical subject—“Kubla Khan,” “The -Mistress of Vision,” “Dream-Tryst”; Poe, -Verlaine. Here feeling is separated from intellect; -our senses are not interfered with by what we know -of facts: we know infinity through melody.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>After leaving the Slade School, at a loss for work -and anxious about his health, Rosenberg thought -for a time of going to Russia. But it was difficult -for a Jew to get a passport, and he reverted to -the African journey which he had contemplated -already some years before.</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span> - <h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton.</i></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c002'>“So I’ve decided on Africa, the climate being -very good, and I believe plenty to do.... I won’t -be quite lost in Africa.... I dislike London for -the selfishness it instils into one, which is a reason -of the peculiar feeling of isolation I believe most -people have in London. I hardly know anybody -whom I would regret leaving (except, of course, the -natural ties of sentiment with one’s own people); -but whether it is that my nature distrusts people, -or is intolerant, or whether my pride or my backwardness -cools people, I have always been alone. -Forgive this little excursion into the forbidden -lands of egotism.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The next letter was written to Mr. Edward -Marsh, in the midst of packing for the voyage to -the Cape. Mr. Marsh was interested in Rosenberg -both as an artist and as a poet; he printed one of -his poems in “Georgian Poetry, 1916–1917,” and -befriended him in many ways. The letter throws -light on Rosenberg’s use of language in poetry. As -the piece referred to—“Midsummer Frost”—is not -in the present selection, it may be given here:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A July ghost, aghast at the strange winter,</div> - <div class='line'>Wonders, at burning noon, all summer-seeming,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>How, like a sad thought buried in light [woven] words,</div> - <div class='line'>Winter, an alien presence, is ambushed here.</div> - <div class='line'>See from the fire-fountained noon there creep</div> - <div class='line'>Lazy yellow ardours towards pale evening,</div> - <div class='line'>Dragging the sun across the shell of thought;</div> - <div class='line'>A web threaded with fading fire;</div> - <div class='line'>Futile and fragile lure, a July ghost</div> - <div class='line'>Standing with feet of fire on banks of ice,</div> - <div class='line'>My frozen heart, the summer cannot reach—</div> - <div class='line'>Hidden as a root from air, or star from day,</div> - <div class='line'>A frozen pool whereon mirth dances,</div> - <div class='line'>Where the shining boys would fish.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh</i> (1914).</h3> - -<p class='c002'>“I believe that all poets who are personal see -things genuinely—have their place. One needn’t -be a Shakespeare and yet be quite as interesting. -I have moods when Rossetti satisfies me more than -Shakespeare, and I am sure I have enjoyed some -things of Francis Thompson more than the best of -Shakespeare. Yet I never meant to go as high as -these. I know I’ve come across things by people -of far inferior vision that were as important in -their results to me. I am not going to refute your -criticisms; in literature I have no judgment, at -least for style. If in reading a thought has expressed -itself to me in beautiful words, my -ignorance of grammar, etc., makes me accept that, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>I should think you are right mostly, and I may -yet work away your chief objections. You are -quite right in the way you read my poems, but I -thought I could use the ‘July Ghost’ to mean the -summer, and also an ambassador of the summer, -without interfering with the sense. The ‘shell of -thought’ is man; you realize a shell has an opening, -the ‘ardours’; the sense of heat forms a web; this -signifies a sense of summer; the web again becomes -another metaphor, a July Ghost. But, of course, I -mean it for summer right through. I think your -suggestion of taking out ‘woven’ is very good.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The next letter is from Cape Town.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh</i> (1914).</h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I should like you to do me a favour if it’s not -putting you to too much bother. I am in an -infernal city by the sea. This city has men in it—and -these men have souls in them—or at least -have the passages to souls. Though they are -millions of years behind time, they have yet reached -the stage of evolution that knows ears and eyes. -But these passages are dreadfully clogged up: gold -dust, diamond dust, stocks and shares, and Heaven -knows what other flinty muck. Well, I’ve made up -<span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>my mind to clear through all this rubbish, but I -want your help. Now, I’m going to give a series of -lectures on modern art (I’m sending you the first, -which I gave in great style. I was asked whether -the Futurists exhibited at the Royal Academy). -But I want to make the lectures interesting and -intelligible by reproductions or slides. Now, I -wonder whether you have reproductions which you -could lend me till I returned or was finished with -them. I want to talk about John, Cézanne, Van -Gogh, Innes, the early Picasso (not the cubistic -one), Spencer, Gertler, Lamb, Puvis de Chavannes, -Degas. A book of reproductions of the P.-Impressionists -would do, and I could get them -transferred on slides. I hope this would not put -you to any great trouble, but if you could manage -to do it you don’t know how you would help me. -Stanley gave me a little job to paint two babies, -which helped me to pay my way for a bit. I -expect to get pupils and kick up a row with my -lectures. But nobody seems to have money here, -and not an ounce of interest in Art. The climate’s -fine, but the Sun is a very changeable creature and -I can’t come to any sort of understanding with -this golden beast. He pretends to keep quiet for -half an hour, and just as I think, ‘Now I’ve got it,’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>the damned thing has frisked about. There’s a lot -of splendid stuff to paint. We are walled in by the -sharp upright mountain and the bay. Across the -bay the piled-up mountains of Africa look lovely -and dangerous. It makes one think of savagery -and earthquakes—the elemental lawlessness.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The next extract is from a letter written in -1915, just after hearing the news of Rupert -Brooke’s death.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton.</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Do you know Emerson’s poems? I think -they are wonderful. ‘Each and All’ I think is -deep and beautiful. There is always a kind of -beaminess, like a dancing of light in light, in his -poems. I do think, though, that he depends too -much on inspiration; and though they always have -a solid texture of thought, they sometimes seem -thin in colour or sensuousness.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton.</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I saw Olive Schreiner last night. She’s an extraordinary -woman—full of life. I had a little picture -for her from a dear friend of hers in Africa I stayed -with while I was there. She was so pleased with -my pictures of Kaffirs. Who is your best living -<span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>English poet? I’ve found somebody miles and -miles above everybody—a young man, Lascelles -Abercrombie—a mighty poet and brother to -Browning.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>Other references in letters show how deep at this -time Mr. Abercrombie’s influence was. Rosenberg -calls his “Hymn of Love” the finest poem of our -time.</p> - -<p class='c011'>He has now joined the Army, and writes from -Bury St. Edmunds.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh</i> (1915).</h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I have just joined the Bantams, and am down -here amongst a horrible rabble. Falstaff’s scarecrows -were nothing to these. Three out of every -four have been scavengers, the fourth is a ticket-of-leave. -But that is nothing; though while I’m -waiting for my kit I’m roughing it a bit, having -come down without even a towel. I dry myself with -my pocket-handkerchief. I don’t know whether -I will be shifted as soon as I get my rig-out.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The next was written in hospital at Bury.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh.</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“First, not to alarm you by this heading, I must -tell you that while running before the Colonel I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>started rather excitedly and tripped myself, coming -down pretty heavily in the wet grit, and am in -hospital with both my hands cut. I’ve been here -since last Saturday, and expect to be out by about -the beginning of the week. It is a dull kind of life -in the hospital, and I’m very anxious to get out and -be doing some rough kind of work. Mr. Shiff sent -me some water-colours, and I amuse myself with -drawing the other invalids. Of course, I must give -them what I do, but I can see heaps of material -for pictures here. The landscape, too, seems decent, -though I haven’t seen anything but from the -barracks, as this accident happened pretty near at -the start. I hope you were not annoyed at that -fib of mine, but I never dreamt they would trouble -to find out at home. I have managed to persuade -my mother that I am for home service only, -though, of course, I have signed on for general -service. I left without saying anything because I -was afraid it would kill my mother or I would be -too weak and not go. She seems to have got over -it, though, and as soon as I can get leave I’ll see -her, and I hope it will be well. It is very hard to -write here, so you must not expect interesting -letters; there is always behind or through my -object some pressing sense of foreign matter, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>immediate and not personal, which hinders and -disjoints what would otherwise have coherence and -perhaps weight. I have left all my poems, including -a short drama, with a friend, and I will write -to him for them, when I shall send them either -direct to Abercrombie or to you first. I believe in -myself more as a poet than a painter; I think I get -more depth into my writing. I have only taken -Donne with me, and don’t feel for poetry much in -this wretched place. There is not a book or paper -here; we are not allowed to stir from the gate, -have little to eat, and are not allowed to buy any -if we have money, and are utterly wretched. (I -mean the hospital.) If you could send me some -novel or chocolates, you would make me very -happy.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (from Bury St. Edmunds).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I received a letter to-day (sent over a week -ago) from Abercrombie, and I feel very flushed -about it. He says no one who tries to write -poetry would help envying some of my writing. -Since I wrote you I have had more mishaps. My -feet now are the trouble. Do you know what -privates’ military boots are? You are given a -whole armourer’s shop to wear; but, by God! in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>few hours my heels were all blistered, and I’ve been -marching and drilling in most horrible pain. I drew -three weeks’ pay and had some money sent me -from home, and bought a pair of boots three or -four sizes too large for me, my feet had swelled so. -Besides this trouble I have a little impudent -schoolboy pup for an officer, and he has me marked; -he has taken a dislike to me: I don’t know why.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (from Bury St. Edmunds).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Thanks for your letter and your books which -they sent me from home. It is impossible to read -as we are, and I don’t expect to get proper leisure -for reading till this rotten affair is over. My feet -are pretty nigh better, and my hands, and I am -put down for a Lance-Corporal. The advantage -is, though you have a more responsible position, -you are less likely to be interfered with by the -men, and you become an authority. I expect to -be home for four days shortly. I don’t know -whether I told you Lascelles Abercrombie sent me -a fine letter about my work, which made me very -bucked. There is nobody living whose praise -could have pleased me so much. I have some -pictures at the N.E.A.C., one of which is likely to -be sold.”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span> - <h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (from Bury St. Edmunds).</i></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>“I suppose my troubles are really laughable, -but they do irritate at the moment. Doing coal -fatigues and cookhouse work with a torn hand, and -marching ten miles with a clean hole about an inch -round in your heel, and bullies swearing at you, is -not very natural. I think when my hands and feet -get better I’ll enjoy it. Nobody thinks of helping -you—I mean those who could. Not till I had -been made a thorough cripple an officer said it was -absurd to think of wearing those boots, and told -me to soak them thoroughly in oil to soften them. -Thank you for your note; we get little enough, you -know, and I allow half of that to my mother (I -rather fancy she is going to be swindled in this -rat-trap affair), so it will do to get to London -with. You must now be the busiest man in -England, and I am sure would hardly have time to -read my things; besides, you won’t like the formlessness -of the play. If you like you can send -them to Abercrombie, and read them when you -have more time. I don’t think I told you what -he said: ‘A good many of your poems strike me -as experimental and not quite certain of themselves. -But, on the other hand, I always find a -vivid and original impulse; and what I like most -<span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>in your songs is your ability to make the concealed -poetic power in words come flashing out. Some -of your phrases are remarkable; no one who tries -to write poetry would help envying some of them.’ -I have asked him to sit for me—a poet to paint a -poet. All this must seem to you like a blur on -the window, or hearing sounds without listening -while you are thinking.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (from Blackdown Camp, Farnborough).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Thanks very much for the bread and biscuits, -which I enjoyed very much. I am in another -regiment now, as the old one was smashed up on -account of most of the men being unfit. We that -were left have been transferred here. The food -is much better, but conditions are most unsettling. -Every other person is a thief, and in the end you -become one yourself, when you see all your most -essential belongings go, which you must replace -somehow. I also got into trouble here the first -day. It’s not worth while detailing what happened -and exposing how ridiculous, idiotic, and meaningless -the Army is, and its dreadful bullyisms, and -what puny minds control it. I am trying to get -our Passover off, which falls Easter. If I do I’ll let -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>you know. The bother is that we will be on our -ball-firing then, and also this before-mentioned -affair may mess it up. This ball-firing implies we -will be ready for the front. I have been working -on ‘Moses’—in my mind, I mean—and it was -through my absent-mindedness while full of that -that I forgot certain orders, and am now undergoing -a rotten and unjust punishment. I’m working -a curious plot into it, and of course, as I can’t -work here, I jot little scraps down and will piece -it together the first chance I get.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The remaining letters are all from France.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton</i> (1916).</h3> - -<p class='c013'>“We made straight for the trenches, but we’ve -had vile weather, and I’ve been wet through for -four days and nights. I lost all my socks and -things before I left England, and hadn’t the chance -to make it up again, so I’ve been in trouble, -particularly with bad heels; you can’t have the -slightest conception of what such an apparently -trivial thing means. We’ve had shells bursting -two yards off, bullets whizzing all over the show, -but all you are aware of is the agony of your -heels.... I had a letter from R. C. Trevelyan, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>the poet.... He writes: ‘It is a long time -since I have read anything that has impressed me -so much as your “Moses” and some of your short -poems....’ He confesses parts are difficult, and -he is not sure whether it’s my fault or his.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The next letter is the first of a series to Mr. -Bottomley, whom he was only to know by correspondence. -He was now for a time working with -the Salvage Corps.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, June 12, 1916).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“If you really mean what you say in your letter, -there is no need to tell you how proud I am. I -had to read your letter many times before I could -convince myself you were not ‘pulling my leg.’ -People are always telling me my work is promising—incomprehensible, -but promising, and all that -sort of thing, and my meekness subsides before the -patronizing knowingness. The first thing I saw -of yours was last year in the Georgian Book, ‘The -End of the World.’ I must have worried all -London about it—certainly everybody I know. I -had never seen anything like it. After that I got -hold of ‘Chambers of Imagery.’ Mr. Marsh told -me of your plays, but I joined the Army and have -<span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span>never been able to get at them. It is a great -thing to me to be able to tell you now in this -way what marvellous pleasure your work has -given me, and what pride that my work pleases -you. I had ideas for a play called ‘Adam and -Lilith’ before I came to France, but I must wait -now.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, July 23, 1916).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Your letter came to-day with Mr. Trevelyan’s, -like two friends to take me for a picnic. Or rather -like friends come to release the convict from his -chains with his innocence in their hands, as one -sees in the twopenny picture palace. You might -say, friends come to take you to church, or the -priest to the prisoner. Simple <i>poetry</i>,—that is -where an interesting complexity of thought is -kept in tone and right value to the dominating -idea so that it is understandable and still ungraspable. -I know it is beyond my reach just -now, except, perhaps, in bits. I am always afraid -of being empty. When I get more leisure in more -settled times I will work on a larger scale and give -myself room; then I may be less frustrated in my -efforts to be clear, and satisfy myself too. I think -what you say about getting beauty by phrasing of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>passages rather than the placing of individual -words very fine and very true.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (written in Hospital, 1916).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I was very glad to have your letter and know -there is no longer a mix-up about letters and suchlike. -Always the best thing to do is to answer at -once, that is the likeliest way of catching one, for -we shift about so quickly; how long I will stay -here I cannot say: it may be a while or just a bit. -I have some Shakespeare: the Comedies and also -‘Macbeth.’ Now I see your argument and cannot -deny my treatment of your criticisms, but have -you ever asked yourself why I always am rude to -your criticisms? Now, I intended to show you -——’s letters and why I value his criticisms. I -think anybody can pick holes and find unsound -parts in any work of art; anyone can say Christ’s -creed is a slave’s creed, the Mosaic is a vindictive, -savage creed, and so on. It is the unique and -superior, the illuminating qualities one wants to -find—discover the direction of the impulse. -Whatever anybody thinks of a poet he will always -know himself: he knows that the most marvellously -expressed idea is still nothing; and it is -stupid to think that praise can do him harm. I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>know sometimes one cannot exactly define one’s -feelings nor explain reasons for liking and disliking; -but there is then the right of a suspicion that the -thing has not been properly understood or one is -prejudiced. It is much my fault if I am not -understood, I know; but I also feel a kind of injustice -if my idea is not grasped and is ignored, -and only petty cavilling at form, which I had -known all along was so, is continually knocked -into me. I feel quite sure that form is only a -question of time. I am afraid I am more rude -than ever, but I have exaggerated here the difference -between your criticisms and ——’s. Ideas of -poetry can be very different too. Tennyson -thought Burns’ love-songs important, but the -‘Cottar’s S. N.’ poor. Wordsworth thought the -opposite.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (November 15, 1916; written in Hospital).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“London may not be the place for poetry to -keep healthy in, but Shakespeare did most of his -work there, and Donne, Keats, Milton, Blake—I -think nearly all our big poets. But, after all, -that is a matter of personal likings or otherwise. -Most of the French country I have seen has been -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>devastated by war, torn up—even the woods look -ghastly with their shell-shattered trees; our only -recollections of warm and comfortable feelings are -the rare times amongst human villages, which -happened about twice in a year; but who can tell -what one will like or do after the war? If the -twentieth century is so awful, tell me what period -you believe most enviable. Even Pater points out -the Renaissance was not an outburst—it was no -simultaneous marked impulse of minds living -in a certain period of time—but scattered and -isolated.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (Postmark, January 30, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I think with you that poetry should be -definite thought and clear expressions, however -subtle; I don’t think there should be any vagueness -at all, but a sense of something hidden and -felt to be there. Now, when my things fail to be -clear, I am sure it is because of the luckless choice -of a word or the failure to introduce a word that -would flash my idea plain, as it is to my own -mind. I believe my Amazon poem to be my best -poem. If there is any difficulty, it must be in -words here and there, the changing or elimination -of which may make the poem clear. It has taken -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>me about a year to write; for I have changed and -rechanged it and thought hard over that poem, and -striven to get that sense of inexorableness the -human (or unhuman) side of this war has. It -even penetrates behind human life; for the -‘Amazon’ who speaks in the second half of the -poem is imagined to be without her lover yet, -while all her sisters have theirs, the released spirits -of the slain earth-men; her lover yet remains to -be released.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (1916).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Many thanks for book and chocolate. Both -are being devoured with equal pleasure. I can’t -get quite the delight in Whitman as from one -poem of his I know—‘Captain, my Captain.’ I -admire the vigour and independence of his mind, -but his diction is so diffused. Emerson and not -Whitman is America’s poet. You will persist in -refusing to see my side of our little debate on -criticism. Everybody has agreed with you about -the faults, and the reason is obvious; the faults -are so glaring that nobody can fail to see them. -But how many have seen the beauties? And it is -here more than the other that the true critic -shows himself. And I absolutely disagree that it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>is blindness or carelessness; it is the brain succumbing -to the herculean attempt to enrich the -world of ideas.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Laurence Binyon (1916).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“It is far, very far, to the British Museum from -here (situated as I am, Siberia is no further and -certainly no colder), but not too far for that tiny -mite of myself, my letter, to reach there. Winter -has found its way into the trenches at last, but I -will assure you, and leave to your imagination, the -transport of delight with which we welcomed its -coming. Winter is not the least of the horrors of -war. I am determined that this war, with all its -powers for devastation, shall not master my -poeting; that is, if I am lucky enough to come -through all right. I will not leave a corner of my -consciousness covered up, but saturate myself with -the strange and extraordinary new conditions of -this life, and it will all refine itself into poetry -later on. I have thoughts of a play round our -Jewish hero, Judas Maccabeus. I have much real -material here, and also there is some parallel in -the savagery of the invaders then to this war. I -am not decided whether truth of period is a good -quality or a negative one. Flaubert’s ‘Salambo’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>proves, perhaps, that it is good. It decides the tone -of the work, though it makes it hard to give the -human side and make it more living. However, -it is impossible now to work and difficult even to -think of poetry, one is so cramped intellectually.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (February, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Your letters always give me a strange and -large pleasure; and I shall never think I have -written poetry in vain, since it has brought your -friendliness in my way. Now, feeling as I am, -cast away and used up, you don’t know what a -letter like yours is to me. Ever since November, -when we first started on our long marches, I have -felt weak; but it seems to be some inscrutable -mysterious quality of weakness that defies all -doctors. I have been examined most thoroughly -several times by our doctor, and there seems to be -nothing at all wrong with my lungs. I believe I -have strained my abdomen in some way, and I shall -know of it later on. We have had desperate -weather, but the poor fellows in the trenches where -there are no dug-outs are the chaps to pity. I -am sending a very slight sketch of a louse-hunt. -It may be a bit vague, as I could not work it out -here, but if you can keep it till I get back I can -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>work on it then. I do believe I could make a -fine thing of Judas. Judas as a character is more -magnanimous than Moses, and I believe I could -make it very intense and write a lot from material -out here. Thanks very much for your joining in -with me to rout the pest out, but I have tried all -kinds of stuff; if you can think of any preparation -you believe effective I’d be most grateful for it.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The “louse-hunt” refers to a night scene in which -Rosenberg took part, and which forcibly struck his -imagination as a subject for a Goya picture or for -a poem like the “Jolly Beggars”: a barn full of -naked soldiers—Scottish and others—singing, -swearing, and laughing, in mad antics as they -pursued the chase.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, April 8, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“All through this winter I have felt most -crotchety, all kinds of small things interfering -with my fitness. My hands would get chilblains -or bad boots would make my feet sore; and this -aggravating a general run-down-ness, I have not -felt too happy. I have gone less warmly clad -during the winter than through the summer, -because of the increased liveliness on my clothes. -I’ve been stung to what we call ‘dumping’ a great -<span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>part of my clothing, as I thought it wisest to go -cold than lousy. It may have been this that caused -all the crotchetiness. However, we’ve been in no -danger—that is, from shell-fire—for a good long -while, though so very close to most terrible -fighting. But as far as houses or sign of ordinary -human living is concerned, we might as well be in -the Sahara Desert. I think I could give some -blood-curdling touches if I wished to tell all I see, -of dead buried men blown out of their graves, and -more, but I will spare you all this.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (Postmark, May, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“Regular rhythms I do not like much, but, of -course, it depends on where the stress and accent -are laid. I think there is nothing finer than the -vigorous opening to ‘Lycidas’ for music; yet it is -regular.... It is only when we get a bit of a rest -and the others might be gambling or squabbling -I do a line or two and continue this way. The -weather is gorgeous now, and we are bivouacked in -the fields.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I hope you have not yet got my poem, ‘The -Amulet,’ I’ve asked my sister to send you. If you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>get it, please don’t read it, because it’s the merest -sketch and the best is yet to come. If I am able -to carry on with it, I’ll send you it in a more -presentable fashion. I believe I have a good idea -at bottom. It’s a kind of ‘Rape of the Sabine -Women’ idea: some strange race of wanderers -have settled in some wild place and are perishing -out for lack of women. The prince of these -explores some country near where the women are -most fair. But the natives will not hear of foreign -marriages; and he plots another Rape of the -Sabines, but is trapped in the act.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I am now fearfully rushed, but find energy -enough to scribble this in the minute I plunder -from my work. I believe I can see the obscurities -in the ‘Daughters,’ but hardly hope to clear them -up in France. The first part, the picture of the -Daughters dancing and calling to the spirits of -the slain before their last ones have ceased among -the boughs of the tree of life, I must still work -on. In that part obscure the description of the -voice of the Daughter I have not made clear, I see; -I have tried to suggest the wonderful sound of her -voice, spiritual and voluptuous at the same time. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>The end is an attempt to imagine the severance of -all human relationship and the fading away of -human love. Later on I will try and work on -it, because I think it a pity if the ideas are to -be lost for want of work. My ‘Unicorn’ play is -stopped because of my increased toil, and I forget -how much or little I told you of it. I want to do -it in one Act, although I think I have a subject -here that could make a gigantic play. I have not -the time to write out the sketch of it as far as it’s -gone, though I’d like to know your criticism of it -very much. The most difficult part I shrink from; -I think even Shakespeare might:—the first time -Tel, the chief of the decaying race, sees a woman -(who is Lilith, Saul’s wife), and he is called upon -to talk. Saul and Lilith are ordinary folk into -whose ordinary lives the Unicorn bursts. It is to -be a play of terror—terror of hidden things and -the fear of the supernatural. But I see no hope -of doing the play while out here. I have a way, -when I write, to try and put myself in the situation, -and I make gestures and grimaces.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, July 20, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“My sister wrote me of your note, and it made me -very glad to feel you thought in that way about my -<span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>poem, because I liked it myself above anything I -have yet done. I know my letters are not what -they should be; but I must take any chance I get -of writing for fear another chance does not come, -so I write hastily and leave out most I should -write about. I wished to say last time a lot about -your poem, but I could think of nothing that -would properly express my great pleasure in it; -and I can think of nothing now. If anything, I -think it is too brief—although it is so rare and -compressed and full of hinted matter. I wish I -could get back and read your plays; and if my -luck still continues, I shall. Leaves have commenced -with us, but it may be a good while before -I get mine. We are more busy now than when I -last wrote, but I generally manage to knock something -up if my brain means to, and I am sketching -out a little play. My great fear is that I may -lose what I’ve written, which can happen here so -easily. I send home any bit I write, for safety, -but that can easily get lost in transmission. -However, I live in an immense trust that things -will turn out well.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“The other poems I have not yet read, but I will -<span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span>follow on with letters and shall send the bits of—or -rather the bit of—a play I’ve written. Just -now it is interfered with by a punishment I am -undergoing for the offence of being endowed with -a poor memory, which continually causes me -trouble and often punishment. I forgot to wear -my gas-helmet one day; in fact, I’ve often forgotten -it, but I was noticed one day, and seven -days’ pack drill is the consequence, which I do -between the hours of going up the line and sleep. -My memory, always weak, has become worse since -I’ve been out here.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, August 3, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I don’t think I’ll get my play complete for it -in time, though it will hardly take much space, -it’s so slight. If I could get home on leave I’d -work at it and get it done, no doubt, but leaves -are so chancy. It’s called ‘The Unicorn.’ Now, -it’s about a decaying race who have never seen a -woman; animals take the place of women, but -they yearn for continuity. The chief’s Unicorn -breaks away and he goes in chase. The Unicorn is -found by boys outside a city and brought in, and -breaks away again. Saul, who has seen the Unicorn -on his way to the city for the week’s victuals, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>gives chase in his cart. A storm comes on, the -mules break down, and by the lightning he sees -the Unicorn race by; a naked black like an -apparition rises up and easily lifts the wheels from -the rut, and together they ride to Saul’s hut. -There Lilith is in great consternation, having seen -the Unicorn and knowing the legend of this race -of men. The emotions of the black (the Chief) -are the really difficult part of my story. Afterwards -a host of blacks on horses, like centaurs and -buffaloes, come rushing up, the Unicorn in front. -On every horse is clasped a woman. Lilith faints, -Saul stabs himself, the Chief places Lilith on the -Unicorn, and they all race away.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>In the late summer of this year (1917) Rosenberg -came to England on leave.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (dated September 21, 1917).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“The greatest thing of my leave after seeing -my mother was your letter which has just arrived.... -I wish I could have seen you, but now I -must go on and hope that things will turn out -well, and some happy day will give me the chance -of meeting you.... I am afraid I can do no -writing or reading; I feel so restless here and unanchored. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>We have lived in such an elemental -way so long, things here don’t look quite right to -me somehow; or it may be the consciousness of -my so limited time here for freedom—so little -time to do so many things bewilders me. ‘The -Unicorn,’ as will be obvious, is just a basis; its -final form will be very different, I hope.”</p> - -<p class='c002'>On returning to France he was taken ill and -sent down the line. The time in hospital was a -relief, especially as his restlessness in England had -prevented writing or reading.</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (dated February 14, 1918).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“We had a rough time in the trenches with -the mud, but now we’re out for a bit of a rest, -and I will try and write longer letters. You -must know by now what a rest behind the line -means. I can call the evenings—that is, from tea -to lights out—my own; but there is no chance -whatever for seclusion or any hope of writing -poetry now. Sometimes I give way and am appalled -at the devastation this life seems to have -made in my nature. It seems to have blunted -me. I seem to be powerless to compel my will to -any direction, and all I do is without energy and -interest.”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span> - <h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Postmark, February 26, 1918).</i></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>“I wanted to send some bits I wrote for the -‘Unicorn’ while I was in hospital, and if I find -them I’ll enclose them. I tried to work on your -suggestion and divided it into four acts, but since -I left the hospital all the poetry has gone quite -out of me. I seem even to forget words, and I -believe if I met anybody with ideas I’d be dumb. -No drug could be more stupefying than our work -(to me anyway), and this goes on like that old -torture of water trickling, drop by drop unendingly, -on one’s helplessness.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Gordon Bottomley (Dated, March 7, 1918).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I believe our interlude is nearly over, and we -may go up the line any moment now, so I answer -your letter straightaway. If only this war were -over our eyes would not be on death so much: it -seems to underlie even our underthoughts. Yet -when I have been so near to it as anybody could -be, the idea has never crossed my mind, certainly -not so much as when some lying doctor told me I -had consumption. I like to think of myself as a -poet; so what you say, though I know it to be -extravagant, gives me immense pleasure.”</p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span> - <h3 class='c012'><i>To Miss Seaton (March 8, 1918).</i></h3> -</div> - -<p class='c013'>“I do not feel that I have much to say, but I -do know that unless I write now it will be a long -time before you hear from me again, without -something exceptional happens. It is not very -cold now, but I dread the wet weather, which is -keeping off while we are out, and, I fear, saving -itself up for us. We will become like mummies—look -warm and lifelike, but a touch and we -crumble to pieces. Did I send you a little poem, -‘The Burning of the Temple’? I thought it was -poor, or rather, difficult in expression, but G. -Bottomley thinks it fine. Was it clear to you? -If I am lucky, and come off undamaged, I mean to -put all my innermost experiences into the ‘Unicorn.’ -I want it to symbolize the war and all the -devastating forces let loose by an ambitious and -unscrupulous will. Last summer I wrote pieces -for it and had the whole of it planned out, but -since then I’ve had no chance of working on it -and it may have gone quite out of my mind.”</p> - -<h3 class='c012'><i>To Edward Marsh (dated March 28, 1918).</i></h3> - -<p class='c013'>“I think I wrote you I was about to go up the -line again after our little rest. We are now in -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>the trenches again, and though I feel very sleepy, I -just have a chance to answer your letter, so I will -while I may. It’s really my being lucky enough -to bag an inch of candle that incites me to this -pitch of punctual epistolary. I must measure my -letter by the light....”</p> - -<p class='c002'>The date of the postmark on this letter is -April 2, when the writer was already dead.</p> - -<div class='c017'>LAURENCE BINYON.</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span> - <h2 class='c007'>MOSES<br /> <span class='large'><span class='sc'>A Play</span> (1916)</span></h2> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span> - <h3 class='c012'>PERSONS</h3> -</div> - -<table class='table1' summary=''> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></td> - <td class='c010'><i>An Egyptian Prince</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></td> - <td class='c010'><i>An Overseer</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Two Hebrews</span></td> - <td class='c010'> </td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Koelue</span></td> - <td class='c010'><i>Abinoah’s Daughter</i></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c008'><span class='sc'>Messenger</span></td> - <td class='c010'> </td> - </tr> -</table> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span> - <h3 class='c012'>MOSES</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div><span class='sc'>Scene I.</span>: <i>Outside a college in Thebes. Egyptian students pass by.</i> <span class='sc'>Moses</span> <i>alone in meditation</i>.</div> - <div class='c005'>[<i>Enter</i> <span class='sc'>Messenger</span>.]</div> - <div class='c005'><span class='sc'>Messenger</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c011'>[<i>Handing papyrus.</i>] Pharaoh’s desires.</p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c011'>[<i>Reads.</i>] To our beloved son, greeting. Add -to our thoughts of you, if possible to add, but a -little, and you are more than old heroes—not to -bemean your genius, who might cry “Was that -all!” We pile barriers everywhere: we give you -idiots for tools, tree stumps for swords, skin sacks -for souls. The sixteenth pyramid remains to be -built: we give you the last draft of slaves. -Move! Forget not the edict. <span class='sc'>Pharaoh.</span></p> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c011'>[<i>To</i> <span class='sc'>Messenger</span>.] What is the edict?</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span><span class='sc'>Messenger</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The royal paunch of Pharaoh dangled worriedly,</div> - <div class='line'>Not knowing where the wrong: viands once giant-like</div> - <div class='line'>Came to him thin and thinner—what rats gnawed?</div> - <div class='line'>Horror, the swarm of slaves! The satraps swore</div> - <div class='line'>Their wives’ bones hurt them when they lay abed,</div> - <div class='line'>That before were soft and plump: the people howled</div> - <div class='line'>They’d boil the slaves three days to get their fat,</div> - <div class='line'>Ending the famine. A haggard council held</div> - <div class='line'>Decrees the two hind molars, those two staunchest</div> - <div class='line'>Busy labourers in the belly’s service, to be drawn</div> - <div class='line'>From out each slave’s greased mouth, which soon</div> - <div class='line'>From incapacity will lose the habit</div> - <div class='line'>Of eating.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in22'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Well, should their bones stick out to find the air,</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll make a use of them for pleasantness—</div> - <div class='line'>Droll demonstrations of anatomy.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Messenger</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And when you’ve ended find ’twas one on sharks.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>[<span class='sc'>Moses</span> <i>signs to</i> <span class='sc'>Messenger</span> <i>to go.</i></div> - <div class='line in16'><i>Exit</i> <span class='sc'>Messenger</span>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Fine! Fine!</div> - <div class='line'>See, in my brain</div> - <div class='line'>What madmen have rushed through</div> - <div class='line'>And like a tornado</div> - <div class='line'>Torn up the tight roots</div> - <div class='line'>Of some dead universe:</div> - <div class='line'>The old clay is broken</div> - <div class='line'>For a power to soak in and knit</div> - <div class='line'>It all into tougher tissues</div> - <div class='line'>To hold life;</div> - <div class='line'>Pricking my nerves till the brain might crack</div> - <div class='line'>It boils to my finger-tips,</div> - <div class='line'>Till my hands ache to grip</div> - <div class='line'>The hammer—the lone hammer</div> - <div class='line'>That breaks lives into a road</div> - <div class='line'>Through which my genius drives.</div> - <div class='line'>Pharaoh well peruked and oiled,</div> - <div class='line'>And your admirable pyramids,</div> - <div class='line'>And your interminable procession</div> - <div class='line'>Of crowded kings,</div> - <div class='line'>You are my little fishing rods</div> - <div class='line'>Wherewith I catch the fish</div> - <div class='line'>To suit my hungry belly.</div> - <div class='line'>I am rough now, and new, and will have no tailor.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>Startlingly,</div> - <div class='line'>As a mountain-side</div> - <div class='line'>Wakes aware of its other side</div> - <div class='line'>When from a cave a leopard comes,</div> - <div class='line'>On its heels the same red sand,</div> - <div class='line'>Springing with acquainted air,</div> - <div class='line'>Sprang an intelligence</div> - <div class='line'>Coloured as a whim of mine,</div> - <div class='line'>Showed to my dull outer eyes</div> - <div class='line'>The living eyes underneath.</div> - <div class='line'>Did I not shrivel up and take the place of air,</div> - <div class='line'>Secret as those eyes were,</div> - <div class='line'>And those strong eyes call up a giant frame?</div> - <div class='line'>And I am that now.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Pharaoh is sleek and deep;</div> - <div class='line'>And where his love for me is set—under</div> - <div class='line'>The deeps, on their floor, or in the shallow ways,</div> - <div class='line'>Though I have been as a diver—never yet</div> - <div class='line'>Could I find.... I have a way, a touchstone!</div> - <div class='line'>A small misdemeanour, touch of rebelliousness;</div> - <div class='line'>To prick the vein of father, monitor, foe,</div> - <div class='line'>Will tell which of these his kingship is.</div> - <div class='line'>If I shut my eyes to the edict,</div> - <div class='line'>And leave the pincers to rust</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>And the slaves’ teeth as God made them,</div> - <div class='line'>Then hide from the summoning tribunal,</div> - <div class='line'>Pharaoh will speak; and I’ll seize that word to act.</div> - <div class='line'>Should the word be a foe’s I can use it well</div> - <div class='line'>As a poison to soak into Egypt’s bowels;</div> - <div class='line'>A wraith from old Nile will cry</div> - <div class='line'>“For his mercy they break his back”</div> - <div class='line'>And I shall have a great following for this,</div> - <div class='line'>The rude, touched heart of the mauled, sweaty horde,</div> - <div class='line'>Their rough tongues fawn at my hands, their red-streaked eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Glitter with sacrifice. Well! Pharaoh bids me act....</div> - <div class='line'>Hah! I’m all a-bristle.... Lord, his eyes would go wide</div> - <div class='line'>If he knew the road my rampant dreams would race!</div> - <div class='line'>I am too much awake now—restless, so restless.</div> - <div class='line'>Behind white mists invisibly</div> - <div class='line'>My thoughts stood like a mountain;</div> - <div class='line'>But Power, watching as a man,</div> - <div class='line'>Saw no mountain there—</div> - <div class='line'>Only the mixing mist and sky</div> - <div class='line'>And the flat earth.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>What shoulder pushed through those mists</div> - <div class='line'>Of gay fantastic pastimes</div> - <div class='line'>And startled hills of sleep?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'>[<i>He looks in a mirror.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Oh, apparition of me,</div> - <div class='line'>Ruddy flesh soon hueless,</div> - <div class='line'>Fade and show to my eyes</div> - <div class='line'>The lasting bare body;</div> - <div class='line'>Soul-sack fall away</div> - <div class='line'>And show what you hold!</div> - <div class='line'>Sing! Let me hear you sing.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'><span class='sc'>A Voice</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>Sings.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in6'>Upon my lips, like a cloud</div> - <div class='line in6'>To burst on the peaks of light,</div> - <div class='line in6'>Sit cowled impossible things</div> - <div class='line in6'>To tie my hands at their prime and height.</div> - <div class='line in6'>Power, break through their shroud;</div> - <div class='line in6'>Pierce them so thoroughly,</div> - <div class='line in6'>Thoroughly enter me,</div> - <div class='line in6'>Know me for one dead;</div> - <div class='line in6'>Break the shadowy thread,</div> - <div class='line in6'>The cowering spirit’s bond</div> - <div class='line in6'>Writ by illusions blond!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in6'>Ah! Let the morning pale</div> - <div class='line in6'><span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>Throb with a wilder pulse:</div> - <div class='line in6'>No delicate flame shall quail</div> - <div class='line in6'>With terror at your convulse.</div> - <div class='line in6'>Thin branches whip the white skies</div> - <div class='line in6'>To lips and spaces of song</div> - <div class='line in6'>That chant a mood to my eyes....</div> - <div class='line in6'>Ah! Sleep can be overlong.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in24'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Voices thunder, voices of deeds not done:</div> - <div class='line'>Lo, on the air are scrawled in abysmal light</div> - <div class='line'>Old myths never known and yet already forgone,</div> - <div class='line'>And songs more lost, more secret than desert light:</div> - <div class='line'>Martyrdoms of uncreated things,</div> - <div class='line'>Virgin silences waiting a breaking voice—</div> - <div class='line'>As in a womb they cry, in a cage beat vain wings</div> - <div class='line'>Under life, over life: is their unbeing my choice?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dull wine of torpor—the unsoldered spirit lies limp.</div> - <div class='line'>Ah! If she would run into a mould,</div> - <div class='line'>Some new idea unwalled</div> - <div class='line'>To human by-ways, an apocalyptic camp</div> - <div class='line'>Of utterest and ulterior dreaming,</div> - <div class='line'>Understood only in its gleaming,</div> - <div class='line'>To flash stark naked the whole girth of the world.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>I am sick of priests and forms,</div> - <div class='line'>This rigid dry-boned refinement:</div> - <div class='line'>As ladies’ perfumes are</div> - <div class='line'>Obnoxious to stern natures,</div> - <div class='line'>This miasma of a rotting god</div> - <div class='line'>Is to me.</div> - <div class='line'>Who has made of the forest a park?</div> - <div class='line'>Who has changed the wolf to a dog?</div> - <div class='line'>And put the horse in harness?</div> - <div class='line'>And man’s mind in a groove?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I heard the one spirit cry in them,</div> - <div class='line'>“Break this metamorphosis,</div> - <div class='line'>Disenchant my lying body;</div> - <div class='line'>Only putrefaction is free,</div> - <div class='line'>And I, Freedom, am not.</div> - <div class='line'>Moses! Touch us, thou!”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>There shall not be a void or calm,</div> - <div class='line'>But a fury fill the veins of time—</div> - <div class='line'>Whose limbs had begun to rot,</div> - <div class='line'>Who had flattered my stupid torpor</div> - <div class='line'>With an easy and mimic energy,</div> - <div class='line'>And drained my veins with a paltry marvel</div> - <div class='line'>More monstrous than battle;</div> - <div class='line'>For the soul ached and went out dead in pleasure.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>Is not this song still sung in the streets of me?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>A naked African</div> - <div class='line in14'>Walked in the sun</div> - <div class='line in14'>Singing—singing</div> - <div class='line in14'>Of his wild love.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>I slew the tiger</div> - <div class='line in14'>With your young strength</div> - <div class='line in14'>(My tawny panther)</div> - <div class='line in14'>Rolled round my life.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>Three sheep, your breasts</div> - <div class='line in14'>And my head between,</div> - <div class='line in14'>Grazing together</div> - <div class='line in14'>On a smooth slope.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in18'>Ah! Koelue!</div> - <div class='line'>Had you embalmed your beauty, so</div> - <div class='line'>It could not backward go</div> - <div class='line'>Or change in any way,</div> - <div class='line'>What were the use if on my eyes</div> - <div class='line'>The embalming spices were not laid</div> - <div class='line'>To keep us fixed,</div> - <div class='line'>Two amorous sculptures passioned endlessly?</div> - <div class='line'>What were the use if my sight grew</div> - <div class='line'>And its far branches were cloud-hung,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>You small at the roots like grass;</div> - <div class='line'>While the new lips my spirit would kiss</div> - <div class='line'>Were not red lips of flesh,</div> - <div class='line'>But the huge kiss of power?</div> - <div class='line'>Where yesterday soft hair through my fingers fell</div> - <div class='line'>A shaggy mane would entwine;</div> - <div class='line'>And no slim form work fire to my thighs,</div> - <div class='line'>But human Life’s inarticulate mass</div> - <div class='line'>Throb the pulse of a thing</div> - <div class='line'>Whose mountain flanks awry</div> - <div class='line'>Beg my mastery—mine!</div> - <div class='line'>Ah! I will ride the dizzy beast of the world</div> - <div class='line'>My road—my way.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c018'><span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span><span class='sc'>Scene II.</span>: <i>Evening before Thebes. The Pyramids -are being built. Swarms of Hebrews -labouring. Priests and Taskmasters. Two -Hebrews are furtively talking.</i> <span class='sc'>Koelue</span> -<i>passes by singing</i>.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Koelue</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>The vague viols of evening</div> - <div class='line in8'>Call all the flower clans</div> - <div class='line in8'>To some abysmal swinging</div> - <div class='line in8'>And tumult of deep trance;</div> - <div class='line in8'>He may hear, flower of my singing,</div> - <div class='line in8'>And come hither winging.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>Gazing after her in a muffled frenzy.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Hateful harlot! Boils cover your small cruel face.</div> - <div class='line'>O, fine champion Moses: O, so good to us:</div> - <div class='line'>O, grand begetter on her of a whip and a torturer,</div> - <div class='line'>Her father, born to us since you kissed her.</div> - <div class='line'>Our champion, O so good to us!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span><span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>For shame! Our brothers’ twisted blood-smeared gums</div> - <div class='line'>Tell we only have more room for wreck curtailed:</div> - <div class='line'>For you, having no teeth to draw, it is no mercy</div> - <div class='line'>Perhaps; but they might mangle your gums</div> - <div class='line'>Or touch a nerve somewhere. He barred it now;</div> - <div class='line'>And that is all his thanks, he, too, in peril.</div> - <div class='line'>Be still, old man; wait a little.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wait!</div> - <div class='line'>All day some slow dark quadruped beats</div> - <div class='line'>To pulp our springiness:</div> - <div class='line'>All day some hoofed animal treads our veins,</div> - <div class='line'>Leisurely—leisurely our energies flow out:</div> - <div class='line'>All agonies created from the first day</div> - <div class='line'>Have wandered hungry searching the world for us,</div> - <div class='line'>Or they would perish like disused Behemoth.</div> - <div class='line'>Is our Messiah one to unleash these agonies</div> - <div class='line'>As Moses does, who gives us an Abinoah?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yesterday as I lay nigh dead with toil</div> - <div class='line'>Underneath the hurtling crane oiled with our blood,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>Thinking to end all and let the crane crush me,</div> - <div class='line'>He came by and bore me into the shade:</div> - <div class='line'>O, what a furnace roaring in his blood</div> - <div class='line'>Thawed my congealed sinews and tingled my own</div> - <div class='line'>Raging through me like a strong cordial.</div> - <div class='line'>He spoke! Since yesterday</div> - <div class='line'>Am I not larger grown?</div> - <div class='line'>I’ve seen men hugely shapen in soul,</div> - <div class='line'>Of such unhuman shaggy male turbulence</div> - <div class='line'>They tower in foam miles from our neck-strained sight,</div> - <div class='line'>And to their shop only heroes come;</div> - <div class='line'>But all were cripples to this speed</div> - <div class='line'>Constrained to the stables of flesh.</div> - <div class='line'>I say there is a famine in ripe harvest</div> - <div class='line'>When hungry giants come as guests:</div> - <div class='line'>Come knead the hills and ocean into food,</div> - <div class='line'>There is none for him.</div> - <div class='line'>The streaming vigours of his blood erupting</div> - <div class='line'>From his halt tongue are like an anger thrust</div> - <div class='line'>Out of a madman’s piteous craving for</div> - <div class='line'>A monstrous balked perfection.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>He is a prince, an animal</div> - <div class='line'>Not of our kind; who perhaps has heard</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>Vague rumours of our world, to his mind</div> - <div class='line'>An unpleasant miasma.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Is not Miriam his sister, Jochabed his mother?</div> - <div class='line'>In the womb he looked round and saw</div> - <div class='line'>From furthermost stretches our wrong:</div> - <div class='line'>From the palaces and schools</div> - <div class='line'>Our pain has pierced dead generations</div> - <div class='line'>Back to his blood’s thin source.</div> - <div class='line'>As we lie chained by Egyptian men</div> - <div class='line'>He lay in nets of their women,</div> - <div class='line'>And now rejoices he has broken their meshes.</div> - <div class='line'>O! His desires are fleets of treasure</div> - <div class='line'>He has squandered in treacherous seas,</div> - <div class='line'>Sailing mistrust to find frank ports;</div> - <div class='line'>He fears our fear and tampers mildly</div> - <div class='line'>For our assent to let him save us.</div> - <div class='line'>When he walks amid our toil</div> - <div class='line'>With some master-mason</div> - <div class='line'>His tense brows, critical</div> - <div class='line'>Of the loose enginery,</div> - <div class='line'>Hint famed devices flat, his rod</div> - <div class='line'>Scratching new schemes on the sand:</div> - <div class='line'>But read hard the scrawled lines there—</div> - <div class='line'>Limned turrets and darkness, chinks of light,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>Half beasts snorting into the light,</div> - <div class='line'>A phantasmagoria, wild escapade</div> - <div class='line'>To our hearts’ clue; just a daring plan</div> - <div class='line'>To the honest mason. What swathed meanings peer</div> - <div class='line'>From his work-a-day council, washed to and from</div> - <div class='line'>Your understanding till you doubt</div> - <div class='line'>That a word was said—</div> - <div class='line'>But a terror wakes and forces your eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Into his covertly, to search his searching;</div> - <div class='line'>Startled to life, starved hopes slink out</div> - <div class='line'>Cowering, incredulous.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in18'><span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>To himself.</i>] His youth is flattered at Moses’ kind speech to him.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>[<i>To the</i> <span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I am broken and grey, have seen much in my time,</div> - <div class='line'>And all this gay grotesque of childish man</div> - <div class='line'>Long passed; half blind, half deaf, I only grumble</div> - <div class='line'>I am not blind or deaf enough for peace.</div> - <div class='line'>I have seen splendid young fools cheat themselves</div> - <div class='line'>Into a prophet’s frenzy; I have seen</div> - <div class='line'>So many crazed shadows puffed away,</div> - <div class='line'>And conscious cheats with such an ache for fame</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>They’d make a bonfire of themselves to be</div> - <div class='line'>Mouthed in the squares, broad in the public eye:</div> - <div class='line'>And whose backs break, whose lives are mauled, after</div> - <div class='line'>It all falls flat? His tender airs chill me—</div> - <div class='line'>As thoughts of sleep to a man tiptoed night-long</div> - <div class='line'>Roped round his neck, for sleep means death to him.</div> - <div class='line'>Oh, he is kind to us!</div> - <div class='line'>Your safe teeth chatter when they hear a step:</div> - <div class='line'>He left them yours because his cunning way</div> - <div class='line'>Would brag the wrong against his humane act</div> - <div class='line'>By Pharaoh; so gain more favour than he lost.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Help him not then, and push your safety away:</div> - <div class='line'>I for my part will be his backward eye,</div> - <div class='line'>His hands when they are shut. Ah! Abinoah!</div> - <div class='line'>Like a bad smell from the soul of Moses dipt</div> - <div class='line'>In the mire of lust he hangs round him;</div> - <div class='line'>And if his slit-like eyes could tear right out</div> - <div class='line'>The pleasure Moses on his daughter had,</div> - <div class='line'>She’d be as virgin as ere she came nestling</div> - <div class='line'>Into that fierce unmanageable blood,</div> - <div class='line'>Flying from her loathed father. O, that slave</div> - <div class='line'>Has hammered from the anvil of her beauty</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>A steel to break his manacles: hard for us</div> - <div class='line'>Moses has made him overseer. O, his slits</div> - <div class='line'>Pry—pry.... For what?... To sell to Imra....</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>[<span class='sc'>Abinoah</span> <i>is seen approaching</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Sh! The thin-lipped abomination!</div> - <div class='line'>Zig-zagging haschish tours in a fine style:</div> - <div class='line'>It were delightful labour making bricks,</div> - <div class='line'>Knowing they would kiss friendly with his head.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line c004'>[<i>Who has been taking haschish; and who has one obsession, hatred of Jews.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dirt-draggled mongrels, circumcised slaves,</div> - <div class='line'>You puddle with your lousy gibberish</div> - <div class='line'>The holy air, Pharaoh’s own tributary:</div> - <div class='line'>Filthy manure for Pharaoh’s flourishing,</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll circumcise and make holy your tongues,</div> - <div class='line'>And stop one outlet to your profanation.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>[<i>To the</i> <span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I’ve never seen one beg so for a blow;</div> - <div class='line'>Too soft am I to resist such entreaty.</div> - <div class='line in36'>[<i>Beats him.</i>]</div> - <div class='line'>Your howling holds the earnest energies</div> - <div class='line'>You cheat from Pharaoh when you make his bricks.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span><span class='sc'>An Aged Minstrel</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in14'>[<i>Sings from a distance.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>Taut is the air and tied the trees,</div> - <div class='line in8'>The leaves lie as on a hand;</div> - <div class='line in8'>God’s unthinkable imagination</div> - <div class='line in8'>Invents new tortures for nature.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>And when the air is soft and the leaves</div> - <div class='line in8'>Feel free and push and tremble,</div> - <div class='line in8'>Will they not remember and say</div> - <div class='line in8'>How wonderful to have lived?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>The</i> <span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span> <i>is agitated and murmurs</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Messiah, Messiah.... That voice....</div> - <div class='line'>O, he has beaten my sight out.... I see</div> - <div class='line'>Like a rain about a devouring fire....</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>[<i>The Minstrel sings.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Ye who best God awhile, O hear: your wealth</div> - <div class='line'>Is but His cunning to see to make death more hard,</div> - <div class='line'>Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking;</div> - <div class='line'>And he has made the market for your beauty</div> - <div class='line'>Too poor to buy although you die to sell.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span><span class='sc'>Old Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I am crazed with whips.... I hear a Messiah.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The venerable man will question this.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>Overhearing.</i>] I’ll beat you more, and he’ll question</div> - <div class='line'>The scratchiness of your whining; or, may be,</div> - <div class='line'>Thence may be born deep argument</div> - <div class='line'>With reasons from philosophy,</div> - <div class='line'>That this blow, taking longer, yet was but one,</div> - <div class='line'>Or perhaps two; or that you felt this one—</div> - <div class='line'>Arguing from the difference in your whine—</div> - <div class='line'>Exactly, or not, like the other.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Minstrel</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>You labour hard to give pain.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>Still beating.</i>] My pain is ... not ... to labour so.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Minstrel</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What is this greybeard worth to you now,</div> - <div class='line'>All his dried-up blood crumbled to dust?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>[<i>Motions</i> <span class='sc'>Abinoah</span> <i>to desist, but not in time to prevent the old man fainting into the hands of the</i> <span class='sc'>Young Hebrew</span>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Harper, are you envious of the old fool?</div> - <div class='line'>Go! Hug the rat who stole your last crumbs,</div> - <div class='line'>And gnawed the hole in your life which made time wonder</div> - <div class='line'>Who it was saved labour for him the next score of years.</div> - <div class='line'>We allowed them life for their labour—they haggled.</div> - <div class='line'>Food they must have, and (god of laughter!) even ease;</div> - <div class='line'>But mud and lice and Jews are very busy</div> - <div class='line'>Breeding plagues in ease.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>The Minstrel pulls his beard and robe off.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Moses!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>You drunken rascal!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A drunken rascal! Isis, hear the Prince!</div> - <div class='line'>Drunken with duty, and he calls me rascal.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>You may think it your duty to get drunk;</div> - <div class='line'>But get yourself bronze claws before</div> - <div class='line'>You would be impudent.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>When a man’s drunk he’ll kiss a horse or king,</div> - <div class='line'>He’s so affectionate. Under your words</div> - <div class='line'>There is strong wine to make me drunk; you think,</div> - <div class='line'>The lines of all your face say, “Her father, Koelue’s father.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>This is too droll and extraordinary.</div> - <div class='line'>I dreamt I was a prince—a queer droll dream</div> - <div class='line'>Where a certain slave of mine, a thing, a toad,</div> - <div class='line'>Shifting his belly, showed a diamond</div> - <div class='line'>Where he had lain; and a blind dumb messenger</div> - <div class='line'>Bore syllabled messages soaked right through with glee:</div> - <div class='line'>I paid the toad, the blind man; afterwards</div> - <div class='line'>They spread a stench and snarling. O, droll dream!</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>I think you merely mean to flatter me,</div> - <div class='line'>You subtle knave, that, more than prince, I’m <i>man</i></div> - <div class='line'>And worth to listen to your bawdy breath.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yet my breath was worth your mixing with.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A boy at college flattered so by a girl</div> - <div class='line'>Will give her what she asks for.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Osiris! Burning Osiris!</div> - <div class='line'>Of thee desirable, for thee, her hair....</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>He looks inanely at</i> <span class='sc'>Moses</span>, <i>saying to himself</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Prince Imra vowed his honey-hives and vineyards:</div> - <div class='line'>Isis, to let a Jew have her for nothing!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>[<i>He sings under his breath.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>Night by night in a little house</div> - <div class='line in8'>A man and woman meet;</div> - <div class='line in8'>They look like each other,</div> - <div class='line in8'>They are sister and brother;</div> - <div class='line in8'>And night by night at that same hour</div> - <div class='line in8'>A king calls for his son in vain.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>To himself.</i>] So, sister Miriam, it is known then. Slave, you die.</div> - <div class='line'>[<i>Aloud.</i>] O, you ambiguous stench,</div> - <div class='line'>You’ll be more interesting as a mummy</div> - <div class='line'>I have no doubt.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I’m drunk, yes—drenched with the thought</div> - <div class='line'>Of a certain thing. [<i>Aside.</i>] I’ll sleep sounder to-night</div> - <div class='line'>Than all the nights I’ve followed him about</div> - <div class='line'>Worrying each slight clue, each monosyllable</div> - <div class='line'>To give the word to Imra: the prince is near,</div> - <div class='line'>And Moses’ eyes shall blink before next hour</div> - <div class='line'>To a hundred javelins. I’ll tease him till they come.</div> - <div class='line'>[<i>Aloud.</i>] On Koelue’s tears I swam to you, in a mist</div> - <div class='line'>Of her sighs I hung round you;</div> - <div class='line'>As in some hallucination I’ve been walking</div> - <div class='line'>A white waste world, we two only in it.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Doubtless the instinct balked to bully the girl,</div> - <div class='line'>Making large gapings in your haschish dreams,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>Led you to me in whom she was thoroughly lost.</div> - <div class='line'>Pah, you sicken me!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>He is silent awhile, then turns away.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Abinoah</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Prince Imra is Pharaoh’s choice now, and Koelue’s.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in8'>[<span class='sc'>Moses</span> <i>turns back menacingly</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Moses</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Silence, you beast!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>He changes his tone to a winning softness.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I hate these family quarrels: it is so</div> - <div class='line'>Like fratricide. I am a rebel, well?</div> - <div class='line'>Soft! You are not, and we are knit so close</div> - <div class='line'>It would be shame for a son to be so honoured</div> - <div class='line'>And the father still unknown: come, Koelue’s (so <i>my</i>) father,</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll tell my plans—you’ll beg to be rebel then.</div> - <div class='line'>Look round on the night—</div> - <div class='line'>Old as the first, bleak, even her wish is done;</div> - <div class='line'>She has never seen, though dreamt perhaps of the sun,</div> - <div class='line'>Yet only dawn divides; could a miracle</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>Destroy the dawn, night would be mixed with light,</div> - <div class='line'>No night or light would be, but a new thing:</div> - <div class='line'>So with these slaves, who perhaps have dreamt of freedom,</div> - <div class='line'>Egypt was in the way; I’ll strike it out</div> - <div class='line'>With my ways curious and unusual.</div> - <div class='line'>I have a trouble in my mind for largeness,</div> - <div class='line'>Rough-hearted, shaggy, which your grave ardours lack:</div> - <div class='line'>Here is the quarry quiet for me to hew;</div> - <div class='line'>Here are the springs, primeval elements,</div> - <div class='line'>The roots’ hid secrecy, old source of race,</div> - <div class='line'>Unreasoned reason of the savage instinct.</div> - <div class='line'>I’d shape one impulse through the contraries</div> - <div class='line'>Of vain ambitious men, selfish and callous,</div> - <div class='line'>And frail life-drifters, reticent, delicate—</div> - <div class='line'>Litheness thread bulk, a nation’s harmony:</div> - <div class='line'>These are not lame nor bent awry, but placeless</div> - <div class='line'>With the rust and stagnant. All that’s low I’ll charm,</div> - <div class='line'>Barbaric love sweeten to tenderness,</div> - <div class='line'>Cunning run into wisdom, craft turn to skill;</div> - <div class='line'>Their meanness, threaded right and sensibly,</div> - <div class='line'>Change to a prudence envied and not sneered;</div> - <div class='line'>Their hugeness be a driving wedge to a thing</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>Ineffable and useable, as near</div> - <div class='line'>Solidity as human life can be:</div> - <div class='line'>So grandly fashion these rude elements</div> - <div class='line'>Into some newer nature, a consciousness</div> - <div class='line'>Like naked light seizing the all-eyed soul,</div> - <div class='line'>Oppressing with its gorgeous tyranny</div> - <div class='line'>Until they take it thus—or die.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>While speaking, he places his hand on the unsuspecting Egyptian’s head and gently, caressingly, pulls his hair back until his chin is above his forehead, and holds him so till he is suffocated. In the darkness ahead is seen the glimmer of javelins and spears: it is Prince Imra’s cohorts come to arrest</i> <span class='sc'>Moses</span>.]</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div><span class='sc'>The End.</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span> - <h2 class='c007'>POEMS FROM CAMP AND TRENCH</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c019'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And like the artist who creates</div> - <div class='line'>From dying things what never dies....</div> - <div class='line in32'><i>Fragment.</i></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span> - <h3 class='c012'>DAUGHTERS OF WAR</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Space beats the ruddy freedom of their limbs,</div> - <div class='line'>Their naked dances with man’s spirit naked</div> - <div class='line'>By the root side of the tree of life</div> - <div class='line'>(The under side of things</div> - <div class='line'>And shut from earth’s profoundest eyes).</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I saw in prophetic gleams</div> - <div class='line'>These mighty daughters in their dances</div> - <div class='line'>Beckon each soul aghast from its crimson corpse</div> - <div class='line'>To mix in their glittering dances:</div> - <div class='line'>I heard the mighty daughters’ giant sighs</div> - <div class='line'>In sleepless passion for the sons of valour</div> - <div class='line'>And envy of the days of flesh,</div> - <div class='line'>Barring their love with mortal boughs across—</div> - <div class='line'>The mortal boughs, the mortal tree of life.</div> - <div class='line'>The old bark burnt with iron wars</div> - <div class='line'>They blow to a live flame</div> - <div class='line'>To char the young green days</div> - <div class='line'>And reach the occult soul; they have no softer lure,</div> - <div class='line'>No softer lure than the savage ways of death.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>We were satisfied of our lords the moon and the sun</div> - <div class='line'>To take our wage of sleep and bread and warmth—</div> - <div class='line'>These maidens came—these strong everliving Amazons,</div> - <div class='line'>And in an easy might their wrists</div> - <div class='line'>Of night’s sway and noon’s sway the sceptres brake,</div> - <div class='line'>Clouding the wild, the soft lustres of our eyes.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Clouding the wild lustres, the clinging tender lights;</div> - <div class='line'>Driving the darkness into the flame of day</div> - <div class='line'>With the Amazonian wind of them</div> - <div class='line'>Over our corroding faces</div> - <div class='line'>That must be broken—broken for evermore,</div> - <div class='line'>So the soul can leap out</div> - <div class='line'>Into their huge embraces.</div> - <div class='line'>Though there are human faces</div> - <div class='line'>Best sculptures of Deity,</div> - <div class='line'>And sinews lusted after</div> - <div class='line'>By the Archangels tall,</div> - <div class='line'>Even these must leap to the love-heat of these maidens</div> - <div class='line'>From the flame of terrene days,</div> - <div class='line'>Leaving grey ashes to the wind—to the wind.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>One (whose great lifted face,</div> - <div class='line'>Where wisdom’s strength and beauty’s strength</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>And the thewed strength of large beasts</div> - <div class='line'>Moved and merged, gloomed and lit)</div> - <div class='line'>Was speaking, surely, as the earth-men’s earth fell away;</div> - <div class='line'>Whose new hearing drank the sound</div> - <div class='line'>Where pictures, lutes, and mountains mixed</div> - <div class='line'>With the loosed spirit of a thought,</div> - <div class='line'>Essenced to language thus—</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“My sisters force their males</div> - <div class='line'>From the doomed earth, from the doomed glee</div> - <div class='line'>And hankering of hearts.</div> - <div class='line'>Frail hands gleam up through the human quagmire, and lips of ash</div> - <div class='line'>Seem to wail, as in sad faded paintings</div> - <div class='line'>Far-sunken and strange.</div> - <div class='line'>My sisters have their males</div> - <div class='line'>Clean of the dust of old days</div> - <div class='line'>That clings about those white hands</div> - <div class='line'>And yearns in those voices sad:</div> - <div class='line'>But these shall not see them,</div> - <div class='line'>Or think of them in any days or years;</div> - <div class='line'>They are my sisters’ lovers in other days and years.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span> - <h3 class='c012'>ON RECEIVING THE FIRST NEWS OF THE WAR</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Snow is a strange white word;</div> - <div class='line'>No ice or frost</div> - <div class='line'>Has asked of bud or bird</div> - <div class='line'>For Winter’s cost.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yet ice and frost and snow</div> - <div class='line'>From earth to sky</div> - <div class='line'>This Summer land doth know;</div> - <div class='line'>No man knows why.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In all men’s hearts it is:</div> - <div class='line'>Some spirit old</div> - <div class='line'>Hath turned with malign kiss</div> - <div class='line'>Our lives to mould.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Red fangs have torn His face,</div> - <div class='line'>God’s blood is shed:</div> - <div class='line'>He mourns from His lone place</div> - <div class='line'>His children dead.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>O ancient crimson curse!</div> - <div class='line'>Corrode, consume;</div> - <div class='line'>Give back this universe</div> - <div class='line'>Its pristine bloom.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c002'><i>Cape Town, 1914.</i></p> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span> - <h3 class='c012'>SPRING, 1916</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Slow, rigid, is this masquerade</div> - <div class='line'>That passes as through a difficult air:</div> - <div class='line'>Heavily—heavily passes.</div> - <div class='line'>What has she fed on? Who her table laid</div> - <div class='line'>Through the three seasons? What forbidden fare</div> - <div class='line'>Ruined her as a mortal lass is?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I played with her two years ago,</div> - <div class='line'>Who might be now her own sister in stone;</div> - <div class='line'>So altered from her May mien,</div> - <div class='line'>When round the pink a necklace of warm snow</div> - <div class='line'>Laughed to her throat where my mouth’s touch had gone.</div> - <div class='line'>How is this, ruined Queen?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Who lured her vivid beauty so</div> - <div class='line'>To be that strained chill thing that moves</div> - <div class='line'>So ghastly midst her young brood</div> - <div class='line'>Of pregnant shoots that she for men did grow?</div> - <div class='line'>Where are the strong men who made these their loves?</div> - <div class='line'>Spring! God pity your mood!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE TROOP SHIP</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Grotesque and queerly huddled</div> - <div class='line'>Contortionists to twist</div> - <div class='line'>The sleepy soul to a sleep,</div> - <div class='line'>We lie all sorts of ways</div> - <div class='line'>And cannot sleep.</div> - <div class='line'>The wet wind is so cold,</div> - <div class='line'>And the lurching men so careless,</div> - <div class='line'>That, should you drop to a doze,</div> - <div class='line'>Winds’ fumble or men’s feet</div> - <div class='line'>Are on your face.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span> - <h3 class='c012'>MARCHING</h3> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c005'> - <div>(AS SEEN FROM THE LEFT FILE).</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My eyes catch ruddy necks</div> - <div class='line'>Sturdily pressed back—</div> - <div class='line'>All a red-brick moving glint.</div> - <div class='line'>Like flaming pendulums, hands</div> - <div class='line'>Swing across the khaki—</div> - <div class='line'>Mustard-coloured khaki—</div> - <div class='line'>To the automatic feet.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>We husband the ancient glory</div> - <div class='line'>In these bared necks and hands.</div> - <div class='line'>Not broke is the forge of Mars;</div> - <div class='line'>But a subtler brain beats iron</div> - <div class='line'>To shoe the hoofs of death</div> - <div class='line'>(Who paws dynamic air now).</div> - <div class='line'>Blind fingers loose an iron cloud</div> - <div class='line'>To rain immortal darkness</div> - <div class='line'>On strong eyes.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span> - <h3 class='c012'>BREAK OF DAY IN THE TRENCHES</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The darkness crumbles away—</div> - <div class='line'>It is the same old druid Time as ever.</div> - <div class='line'>Only a live thing leaps my hand—</div> - <div class='line'>A queer sardonic rat—</div> - <div class='line'>As I pull the parapet’s poppy</div> - <div class='line'>To stick behind my ear.</div> - <div class='line'>Droll rat, they would shoot you if they knew</div> - <div class='line'>Your cosmopolitan sympathies</div> - <div class='line'>(And God knows what antipathies).</div> - <div class='line'>Now you have touched this English hand</div> - <div class='line'>You will do the same to a German—</div> - <div class='line'>Soon, no doubt, if it be your pleasure</div> - <div class='line'>To cross the sleeping green between.</div> - <div class='line'>It seems you inwardly grin as you pass</div> - <div class='line'>Strong eyes, fine limbs, haughty athletes</div> - <div class='line'>Less chanced than you for life,</div> - <div class='line'>Bonds to the whims of murder,</div> - <div class='line'>Sprawled in the bowels of the earth,</div> - <div class='line'>The torn fields of France.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>What do you see in our eyes</div> - <div class='line'>At the shrieking iron and flame</div> - <div class='line'>Hurled through still heavens?</div> - <div class='line'>What quaver—what heart aghast?</div> - <div class='line'>Poppies whose roots are in man’s veins</div> - <div class='line'>Drop, and are ever dropping;</div> - <div class='line'>But mine in my ear is safe,</div> - <div class='line'>Just a little white with the dust.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span> - <h3 class='c012'>KILLED IN ACTION</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Your “Youth”<a id='r2' /><a href='#f2' class='c014'><sup>[2]</sup></a> has fallen from its shelf,</div> - <div class='line'>And you have fallen, you yourself.</div> - <div class='line'>They knocked a soldier on the head,</div> - <div class='line'>I mourn the poet who fell dead.</div> - <div class='line'>And yet I think it was by chance,</div> - <div class='line'>By oversight you died in France.</div> - <div class='line'>You were so poor an outward man,</div> - <div class='line'>So small against your spirit’s span,</div> - <div class='line'>That Nature, being tired awhile,</div> - <div class='line'>Saw but your outward human pile;</div> - <div class='line'>And Nature, who would never let</div> - <div class='line'>A sun with light still in it set,</div> - <div class='line'>Before you even reached your sky,</div> - <div class='line'>In inadvertence let you die.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='footnote' id='f2'> -<p class='c011'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. “Youth,” a volume of poems by I. Rosenberg.</p> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span> - <h3 class='c012'>RETURNING, WE HEAR THE LARKS</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Sombre the night is:</div> - <div class='line'>And, though we have our lives, we know</div> - <div class='line'>What sinister threat lurks there.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dragging these anguished limbs, we only know</div> - <div class='line'>This poison-blasted track opens on our camp—</div> - <div class='line'>On a little safe sleep.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But hark! Joy—joy—strange joy.</div> - <div class='line'>Lo! Heights of night ringing with unseen larks:</div> - <div class='line'>Music showering on our upturned listening faces.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Death could drop from the dark</div> - <div class='line'>As easily as song—</div> - <div class='line'>But song only dropped,</div> - <div class='line'>Like a blind man’s dreams on the sand</div> - <div class='line'>By dangerous tides;</div> - <div class='line'>Like a girl’s dark hair, for she dreams no ruin lies there,</div> - <div class='line'>Or her kisses where a serpent hides.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE DESTRUCTION OF JERUSALEM BY THE BABYLONIAN HORDES</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They left their Babylon bare</div> - <div class='line'>Of all its tall men,</div> - <div class='line'>Of all its proud horses;</div> - <div class='line'>They made for Lebanon.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And shadowy sowers went</div> - <div class='line'>Before their spears to sow</div> - <div class='line'>The fruit whose taste is ash,</div> - <div class='line'>For Judah’s soul to know.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They who bowed to the Bull god,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose wings roofed Babylon,</div> - <div class='line'>In endless hosts darkened</div> - <div class='line'>The bright-heavened Lebanon.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They washed their grime in pools</div> - <div class='line'>Where laughing girls forgot</div> - <div class='line'>The wiles they used for Solomon.</div> - <div class='line'>Sweet laughter, remembered not!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span>Sweet laughter charred in the flame</div> - <div class='line'>That clutched the cloud and earth,</div> - <div class='line'>While Solomon’s towers crashed between</div> - <div class='line'>To a gird of Babylon’s mirth.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE BURNING OF THE TEMPLE</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Fierce wrath of Solomon,</div> - <div class='line'>Where sleepest thou? O see,</div> - <div class='line'>The fabric which thou won</div> - <div class='line'>Earth and ocean to give thee—</div> - <div class='line'>O look at the red skies.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Or hath the sun plunged down?</div> - <div class='line'>What is this molten gold—</div> - <div class='line'>These thundering fires blown</div> - <div class='line'>Through heaven, where the smoke rolled?</div> - <div class='line'>Again the great king dies.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>His dreams go out in smoke.</div> - <div class='line'>His days he let not pass</div> - <div class='line'>And sculptured here are broke,</div> - <div class='line'>Are charred as the burnt grass,</div> - <div class='line'>Gone as his mouth’s last sighs.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span> - <h3 class='c012'>HOME-THOUGHTS FROM FRANCE</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wan, fragile faces of joy,</div> - <div class='line'>Pitiful mouths that strive</div> - <div class='line'>To light with smiles the place</div> - <div class='line'>We dream we walk alive,</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>To you I stretch my hands,</div> - <div class='line'>Hands shut in pitiless trance</div> - <div class='line'>In a land of ruin and woe,</div> - <div class='line'>The desolate land of France.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dear faces startled and shaken,</div> - <div class='line'>Out of wild dust and sounds</div> - <div class='line'>You yearn to me, lure and sadden</div> - <div class='line'>My heart with futile bounds.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE IMMORTALS</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I killed them, but they would not die.</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, all the day and all the night</div> - <div class='line'>For them I could not rest nor sleep,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor guard from them nor hide in flight!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then in my agony I turned</div> - <div class='line'>And made my hands red in their gore.</div> - <div class='line'>In vain—for faster than I slew</div> - <div class='line'>They rose more cruel than before.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I killed and killed with slaughter mad;</div> - <div class='line'>I killed till all my strength was gone;</div> - <div class='line'>And still they rose to torture me,</div> - <div class='line'>For Devils only die for fun.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I used to think the Devil hid</div> - <div class='line'>In women’s smiles and wine’s carouse;</div> - <div class='line'>I called him Satan, Balzebub;</div> - <div class='line'>But now I call him dirty louse.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span> - <h3 class='c012'>LOUSE HUNTING</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Nudes, stark and glistening,</div> - <div class='line'>Yelling in lurid glee. Grinning faces</div> - <div class='line'>And raging limbs</div> - <div class='line'>Whirl over the floor one fire;</div> - <div class='line'>For a shirt verminously busy</div> - <div class='line'>Yon soldier tore from his throat</div> - <div class='line'>With oaths</div> - <div class='line'>Godhead might shrink at, but not the lice,</div> - <div class='line'>And soon the shirt was aflare</div> - <div class='line'>Over the candle he’d lit while we lay.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then we all sprang up and stript</div> - <div class='line'>To hunt the verminous brood.</div> - <div class='line'>Soon like a demons’ pantomime</div> - <div class='line'>This plunge was raging.</div> - <div class='line'>See the silhouettes agape,</div> - <div class='line'>See the gibbering shadows</div> - <div class='line'>Mixed with the baffled arms on the wall.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>See Gargantuan hooked fingers</div> - <div class='line'>Pluck in supreme flesh</div> - <div class='line'>To smutch supreme littleness.</div> - <div class='line'>See the merry limbs in that Highland fling</div> - <div class='line'>Because some wizard vermin willed</div> - <div class='line'>To charm from the quiet this revel</div> - <div class='line'>When our ears were half lulled</div> - <div class='line'>By the dark music</div> - <div class='line'>Blown from Sleep’s trumpet.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span> - <h3 class='c012'>GIRL TO SOLDIER ON LEAVE</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I love you, Titan lover,</div> - <div class='line'>My own storm-days’ Titan.</div> - <div class='line'>Greater than the son of Zeus,</div> - <div class='line'>I know whom I would choose.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Titan—my splendid rebel—</div> - <div class='line'>The old Prometheus</div> - <div class='line'>Wanes like a ghost before your power:</div> - <div class='line'>His pangs were joys to yours.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Pallid days, arid and wan,</div> - <div class='line'>Tied your soul fast:</div> - <div class='line'>Babel-cities’ smoky tops</div> - <div class='line'>Pressed upon your growth</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Weary gyves. What were you</div> - <div class='line'>But a word in the brain’s ways,</div> - <div class='line'>Or the sleep of Circe’s swine?</div> - <div class='line'>One gyve holds you yet.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>It held you hiddenly on the Somme</div> - <div class='line'>Tied from my heart at home:</div> - <div class='line'>O must it loosen now? I wish</div> - <div class='line'>You were bound with the old, old gyves.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Love! You love me—your eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Have looked through death at mine.</div> - <div class='line'>You have tempted a grave too much.</div> - <div class='line'>I let you—I repine.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span> - <h3 class='c012'>SOLDIER: TWENTIETH CENTURY</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I love you, great new Titan!</div> - <div class='line'>Am I not you?</div> - <div class='line'>Napoleon and Cæsar</div> - <div class='line'>Out of you grew.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Out of unthinkable torture,</div> - <div class='line'>Eyes kissed by death,</div> - <div class='line'>Won back to the world again,</div> - <div class='line'>Lost and won in a breath,</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Cruel men are made immortal.</div> - <div class='line'>Out of your pain born,</div> - <div class='line'>They have stolen the sun’s power</div> - <div class='line'>With their feet on your shoulders worn.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Let them shrink from your girth,</div> - <div class='line'>That has outgrown the pallid days</div> - <div class='line'>When you slept like Circe’s swine</div> - <div class='line'>Or a word in the brain’s ways.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE JEW</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Moses, from whose loins I sprung,</div> - <div class='line'>Lit by a lamp in his blood</div> - <div class='line'>Ten immutable rules, a moon</div> - <div class='line'>For mutable lampless men.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The blonde, the bronze, the ruddy,</div> - <div class='line'>With the same heaving blood,</div> - <div class='line'>Keep tide to the moon of Moses.</div> - <div class='line'>Then why do they sneer at me?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE DYING SOLDIER</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Here are houses,” he moaned,</div> - <div class='line'>“I could reach, but my brain swims.”</div> - <div class='line'>Then they thundered and flashed,</div> - <div class='line'>And shook the earth to its rims.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“They are gunpits,” he gasped,</div> - <div class='line'>“Our men are at the guns.</div> - <div class='line'>Water!... Water!... Oh, water!</div> - <div class='line'>For one of England’s dying sons.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“We cannot give you water,</div> - <div class='line'>Were all England in your breath.”</div> - <div class='line'>“Water!... Water!... Oh, water!”</div> - <div class='line'>He moaned and swooned to death.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span> - <h3 class='c012'>DEAD MAN’S DUMP</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The plunging limbers over the shattered track</div> - <div class='line'>Racketed with their rusty freight,</div> - <div class='line'>Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,</div> - <div class='line'>And the rusty stakes like sceptres old</div> - <div class='line'>To stay the flood of brutish men</div> - <div class='line'>Upon our brothers dear.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The wheels lurched over sprawled dead</div> - <div class='line'>But pained them not, though their bones crunched;</div> - <div class='line'>Their shut mouths made no moan.</div> - <div class='line'>They lie there huddled, friend and foeman,</div> - <div class='line'>Man born of man, and born of woman;</div> - <div class='line'>And shells go crying over them</div> - <div class='line'>From night till night and now.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Earth has waited for them,</div> - <div class='line'>All the time of their growth</div> - <div class='line'>Fretting for their decay:</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span>Now she has them at last!</div> - <div class='line'>In the strength of their strength</div> - <div class='line'>Suspended—stopped and held.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What fierce imaginings their dark souls lit?</div> - <div class='line'>Earth! Have they gone into you?</div> - <div class='line'>Somewhere they must have gone,</div> - <div class='line'>And flung on your hard back</div> - <div class='line'>Is their souls’ sack,</div> - <div class='line'>Emptied of God-ancestralled essences.</div> - <div class='line'>Who hurled them out? Who hurled?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>None saw their spirits’ shadow shake the grass,</div> - <div class='line'>Or stood aside for the half used life to pass</div> - <div class='line'>Out of those doomed nostrils and the doomed mouth,</div> - <div class='line'>When the swift iron burning bee</div> - <div class='line'>Drained the wild honey of their youth.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What of us who, flung on the shrieking pyre,</div> - <div class='line'>Walk, our usual thoughts untouched,</div> - <div class='line'>Our lucky limbs as on ichor fed,</div> - <div class='line'>Immortal seeming ever?</div> - <div class='line'>Perhaps when the flames beat loud on us,</div> - <div class='line'>A fear may choke in our veins</div> - <div class='line'>And the startled blood may stop.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>The air is loud with death,</div> - <div class='line'>The dark air spurts with fire,</div> - <div class='line'>The explosions ceaseless are.</div> - <div class='line'>Timelessly now, some minutes past,</div> - <div class='line'>These dead strode time with vigorous life,</div> - <div class='line'>Till the shrapnel called “An end!”</div> - <div class='line'>But not to all. In bleeding pangs</div> - <div class='line'>Some borne on stretchers dreamed of home,</div> - <div class='line'>Dear things, war-blotted from their hearts.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A man’s brains splattered on</div> - <div class='line'>A stretcher-bearer’s face;</div> - <div class='line'>His shook shoulders slipped their load,</div> - <div class='line'>But when they bent to look again</div> - <div class='line'>The drowning soul was sunk too deep</div> - <div class='line'>For human tenderness.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They left this dead with the older dead,</div> - <div class='line'>Stretched at the cross roads.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Burnt black by strange decay</div> - <div class='line'>Their sinister faces lie,</div> - <div class='line'>The lid over each eye;</div> - <div class='line'>The grass and coloured clay</div> - <div class='line'>More motion have than they,</div> - <div class='line'>Joined to the great sunk silences.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>Here is one not long dead.</div> - <div class='line'>His dark hearing caught our far wheels,</div> - <div class='line'>And the choked soul stretched weak hands</div> - <div class='line'>To reach the living word the far wheels said;</div> - <div class='line'>The blood-dazed intelligence beating for light,</div> - <div class='line'>Crying through the suspense of the far torturing wheels</div> - <div class='line'>Swift for the end to break</div> - <div class='line'>Or the wheels to break,</div> - <div class='line'>Cried as the tide of the world broke over his sight,</div> - <div class='line'>“Will they come? Will they ever come?”</div> - <div class='line'>Even as the mixed hoofs of the mules,</div> - <div class='line'>The quivering-bellied mules,</div> - <div class='line'>And the rushing wheels all mixed</div> - <div class='line'>With his tortured upturned sight.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>So we crashed round the bend,</div> - <div class='line'>We heard his weak scream,</div> - <div class='line'>We heard his very last sound,</div> - <div class='line'>And our wheels grazed his dead face.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span> - <h3 class='c012'>IN WAR</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Fret the nonchalant noon</div> - <div class='line'>With your spleen</div> - <div class='line'>Or your gay brow,</div> - <div class='line'>For the motion of your spirit</div> - <div class='line'>Ever moves with these.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>When day shall be too quiet,</div> - <div class='line'>Deaf to you</div> - <div class='line'>And your dumb smile,</div> - <div class='line'>Untuned air shall lap the stillness</div> - <div class='line'>In the old space for your voice—</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The voice that once could mirror</div> - <div class='line'>Remote depths</div> - <div class='line'>Of moving being,</div> - <div class='line'>Stirred by responsive voices near,</div> - <div class='line'>Suddenly stilled for ever.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>No ghost darkens the places</div> - <div class='line'>Dark to One;</div> - <div class='line'>But my eyes dream,</div> - <div class='line'>And my heart is heavy to think</div> - <div class='line'>How it was heavy once.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In the old days when death</div> - <div class='line'>Stalked the world</div> - <div class='line'>For the flower of men,</div> - <div class='line'>And the rose of beauty faded</div> - <div class='line'>And pined in the great gloom,</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>One day we dug a grave:</div> - <div class='line'>We were vexed</div> - <div class='line'>With the sun’s heat.</div> - <div class='line'>We scanned the hooded dead:</div> - <div class='line'>At noon we sat and talked.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>How death had kissed their eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Three dread noons since,</div> - <div class='line'>How human art won</div> - <div class='line'>The dark soul to flicker</div> - <div class='line'>Till it was lost again:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And we whom chance kept whole—</div> - <div class='line'>But haggard,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>Spent—were charged</div> - <div class='line'>To make a place for them who knew</div> - <div class='line'>No pain in any place.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The good priest came to pray;</div> - <div class='line'>Our ears half heard,</div> - <div class='line'>And half we thought</div> - <div class='line'>Of alien things, irrelevant;</div> - <div class='line'>And the heat and thirst were great.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The good priest read: “I heard....”</div> - <div class='line'>Dimly my brain</div> - <div class='line'>Held words and lost....</div> - <div class='line'>Sudden my blood ran cold....</div> - <div class='line'>God! God! It could not be.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>He read my brother’s name;</div> - <div class='line'>I sank—</div> - <div class='line'>I clutched the priest.</div> - <div class='line'>They did not tell me it was he</div> - <div class='line'>Was killed three days ago.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What are the great sceptred dooms</div> - <div class='line'>To us, caught</div> - <div class='line'>In the wild wave?</div> - <div class='line'>We break ourselves on them,</div> - <div class='line'>My brother, our hearts and years.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE DEAD HEROES</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Flame out, you glorious skies,</div> - <div class='line'>Welcome our brave;</div> - <div class='line'>Kiss their exultant eyes;</div> - <div class='line'>Give what they gave.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Flash, mailed seraphim,</div> - <div class='line'>Your burning spears;</div> - <div class='line'>New days to outflame their dim</div> - <div class='line'>Heroic years.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Thrills their baptismal tread</div> - <div class='line'>The bright proud air;</div> - <div class='line'>The embattled plumes outspread</div> - <div class='line'>Burn upwards there.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Flame out, flame out, O Song!</div> - <div class='line'>Star ring to star;</div> - <div class='line'>Strong as our hurt is strong</div> - <div class='line'>Our children are.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>Their blood is England’s heart;</div> - <div class='line'>By their dead hands</div> - <div class='line'>It is their noble part</div> - <div class='line'>That England stands.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>England—Time gave them thee;</div> - <div class='line'>They gave back this</div> - <div class='line'>To win Eternity</div> - <div class='line'>And claim God’s kiss.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span> - <h2 class='c007'>FRAGMENTS OF “THE UNICORN”</h2> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span> - <h3 class='c012'>I<br /> THE AMULET</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='sc'>Lilith.</span> <span class='sc'>Saul.</span> <span class='sc'>Amak.</span> <span class='sc'>Nubian.</span></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c020'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span> <i>sits under pomegranate trees watching her -child</i> <span class='sc'>Amak</span> <i>playing with Saul his father’s -helm and spear. A light smoke is ascending -from the chimney of their hut, and through the -doorway a naked Nubian man is seen stirring -the embers.</i> <span class='sc'>Saul</span> <i>sleeps</i>.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Amak, you’ll break your father’s sleep:</div> - <div class='line'>Come here and tell me what those spices are</div> - <div class='line'>This strange man bakes our cakes with.</div> - <div class='line'>It makes the brain wild. Be still, Amak:</div> - <div class='line'>I’ll give you the strange man your father brought,</div> - <div class='line'>And he will run with you upon his back to-day.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>Come from your father or you’ll get no cake;</div> - <div class='line'>He’s been a long journey.</div> - <div class='line'>Bring me the pictured book he brought for you.</div> - <div class='line'>What! Already cut to pieces?</div> - <div class='line'>Put away that horn from your father’s ear,</div> - <div class='line'>And stay that horrid noise: come, Amak.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>Amak runs to his mother with a jade amulet, shouting.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Amak</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Look, mother, what I’ve found.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>He runs back again, making great shouts.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>It dances with my blood: when my eyes caught it first</div> - <div class='line'>I was like lost, and yearned and yearned and yearned,</div> - <div class='line'>And strained like iron to stay my head from falling</div> - <div class='line'>Upon that beggar’s breast where the jade stone hung.</div> - <div class='line'>Perhaps the spirit of Saul’s young love lies here</div> - <div class='line'>Strayed far and brought back by this stranger near.</div> - <div class='line'>Saul said his discourse was more deep than Heaven.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>For the storm trapped him ere he left the town</div> - <div class='line'>Loaded with our week’s victuals: the slime clung</div> - <div class='line'>And licked and clawed and chewed the clogged dragging wheels</div> - <div class='line'>Till they sunk right to the axle: Saul, sodden and vexed,</div> - <div class='line'>Like fury smote the mules’ mouths, pulling but sweat</div> - <div class='line'>From his drowned hair and theirs, while the thunder knocked</div> - <div class='line'>And all the air yawned water, falling water,</div> - <div class='line'>And the light cart was water, like a wrecked raft,</div> - <div class='line'>And all seemed like a forest under the ocean.</div> - <div class='line'>Sudden the lightning flashed upon a figure</div> - <div class='line'>Moving as a man moves in the slipping mud,</div> - <div class='line'>Singing, but not as a man sings, through the storm,</div> - <div class='line'>Which could not drown his sounds. Saul bawled “Hi! Hi!”</div> - <div class='line'>And the man loomed, naked, vast, and gripped the wheels;</div> - <div class='line'>Saul fiercely dug from under; he tugged the wheels;</div> - <div class='line'>The mules foamed straining, straining.</div> - <div class='line'>Suddenly they went.</div> - <div class='line'>Saul and the man leaped in: Saul, miserably sodden,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>Marvelled at the large cheer in a naked glistening man;</div> - <div class='line'>Yet soon fell in with that contented mood,</div> - <div class='line'>That when our hut’s light broke on his new mind</div> - <div class='line'>He could not credit it—too soon it seemed:</div> - <div class='line'>The stranger man’s talk was witchery.</div> - <div class='line'>I pray his baking be as magical;</div> - <div class='line'>The cakes should be nigh burnt.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>She calls the</i> <span class='sc'>Nubian</span>. <i>He answers from within.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Nubian</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They are laid by to cool, housewife.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Bring me the sherbet from the ledge and the fast-dried figs.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>The</i> <span class='sc'>Nubian</span> <i>brings sherbet, figs, and a bowl of ice, and lays them down</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>She looks curiously at him. He is an immense man with squat, mule-skinned features: his jet-black curled beard, crisp hair, glistening nude limbs, appear to her like some heathen idol of ancient stories.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'><span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>[<i>She thinks to herself.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Out of the lightning</div> - <div class='line'>In a dizzying cloven wink</div> - <div class='line'>This apparition stood up,</div> - <div class='line'>Of stricken trunk or beast’s spirit,</div> - <div class='line'>Stirred by Saul’s blasphemies;</div> - <div class='line'>So Saul’s heart feared, aghast.</div> - <div class='line'>But lo, he touched the mischance and life ran straight!</div> - <div class='line'>Was it the storm-spirit, storm’s pilot,</div> - <div class='line'>With all the heaving débris of Noah’s sunken days</div> - <div class='line'>Dragged on his loins;</div> - <div class='line'>Law’s spirit wandering to us</div> - <div class='line'>Through Nature’s anarchy,</div> - <div class='line'>Wandering towards us when the Titans yet were young?</div> - <div class='line'>Perhaps Moses and Buddha he met.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in16'>[<i>She speaks aloud.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The shadow of these pomegranate boughs</div> - <div class='line'>Is sweet and restful; sit and ease your feet. Eat of these figs;</div> - <div class='line'>You have journeyed long.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Nubian</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>All my life, housewife.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>You have seen men and women,</div> - <div class='line'>Soaked yourself in powers and old glories,</div> - <div class='line'>In broken days and tears and glees,</div> - <div class='line'>And touched cold hands—</div> - <div class='line'>Hands shut in pitiless trances where the feast high.</div> - <div class='line'>I think there is more sorrow in the world</div> - <div class='line'>Than man can bear.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Nubian</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>None can exceed their limit, lady:</div> - <div class='line'>You either bear or break.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Can one choose to break? To bear,</div> - <div class='line'>Wearily to bear, is misery.</div> - <div class='line'>Beauty is this corroding malady.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Nubian</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Beauty is a great paradox—</div> - <div class='line'>Music’s secret soul creeping about the senses</div> - <div class='line'>To wrestle with man’s coarser nature.</div> - <div class='line'>It is hard when beauty loses.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I think beauty is a bad bargain made of life.</div> - <div class='line'>Men’s iron sinews hew them room in the world</div> - <div class='line'>And use deceits to gain them trophies:</div> - <div class='line'>O, when our beauty fails us did we not use</div> - <div class='line'>Deceits, where were our room in the world—</div> - <div class='line'>Only our room in the world?</div> - <div class='line'>Are not the songs and devices of men</div> - <div class='line'>Moulds they have made after my scarlet mouth,</div> - <div class='line'>Of cunning words and contours of bronze</div> - <div class='line'>And viols and gathered air?</div> - <div class='line'>They without song have sung me</div> - <div class='line'>Boldly and shamelessly.</div> - <div class='line'>I am no wanton, no harlot;</div> - <div class='line'>I have been pleased and smiled my pleasure,</div> - <div class='line'>I am a wife with a woman’s natural ways.</div> - <div class='line'>Yet through the shadow of the pomegranates</div> - <div class='line'>Filters a poison day by day,</div> - <div class='line'>And to a malady turns</div> - <div class='line'>The blond, the ample music of my heart:</div> - <div class='line'>Inward to eat my heart</div> - <div class='line'>My thoughts are worms that suck my softness all away.</div> - <div class='line'>I watch the dumb eyeless hours</div> - <div class='line'>Drop their tears, then shapeless moaning drop.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>Unfathomable is my mouth’s dream</div> - <div class='line'>Do not men say?</div> - <div class='line'>So secret are my far eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>Weaving for iron men profound subtleties.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Sorceress they name me;</div> - <div class='line'>And my eyes harden, and they say,</div> - <div class='line'>“How may those eyes know love</div> - <div class='line'>If God made her without a heart?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Her tears, her moaning,</div> - <div class='line'>Her sad profound gaze,</div> - <div class='line'>The dishevelled lustres of her hair</div> - <div class='line'>Moon-storm like” they say,</div> - <div class='line'>“These are her subtleties” men say.</div> - <div class='line'>My husband sleeps,</div> - <div class='line'>The ghosts of my virgin days do not trouble him:</div> - <div class='line'>His sleep can be over-long,</div> - <div class='line'>For there is that in my embers</div> - <div class='line'>Pride and blushes of fire, the outraged blood,</div> - <div class='line'>His sleep makes me remember.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Sleep, hairy hunter; sleep!</div> - <div class='line'>You are not hungry more,</div> - <div class='line'>Having fed on my deliciousness;</div> - <div class='line'>Your sleep is not adultery to me,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>For you were wed to a girl</div> - <div class='line'>And I am a woman.</div> - <div class='line'>My lonely days are not whips to my honour.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in4'>[<i>She dries her tears with her hair, then fingers the amulet at her throat.</i>]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Yours, friend.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Nubian</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>Eagerly.</i>] My amulet! My amulet!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>He speaks gravely.</i>] Small comfort is counsel to broken lives;</div> - <div class='line'>But tolerance is medicinal.</div> - <div class='line'>In all our textures are loosed</div> - <div class='line'>Pulses straining against strictness</div> - <div class='line'>Because an easy issue lies therefrom.</div> - <div class='line'>(Could they but slink past the hands holding whips</div> - <div class='line'>To hunt them from the human pale</div> - <div class='line'>Where is the accident to cover? Spite fears bias.)</div> - <div class='line'>I am justified at my heart’s plea;</div> - <div class='line'>He is justified also.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>For the eyes of vanity are sleepless—are suspicious.</div> - <div class='line'>Are mad with imaginings</div> - <div class='line'>Of secret stabs in words, in looks, in gestures.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>Man is a chimera’s eremite,</div> - <div class='line'>That lures him from the good kindness of days</div> - <div class='line'>Which only ask his willingness.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>There is a crazed shadow from no golden body</div> - <div class='line'>That poisons at the core</div> - <div class='line'>What smiles may stray:</div> - <div class='line'>It mixes with all God-ancestralled essences,</div> - <div class='line'>And twists the brain and heart.</div> - <div class='line'>This shadow sits in the texture of Saul’s being,</div> - <div class='line'>Mauling your love and beauty with its lies:</div> - <div class='line'>I hold a power like light to shrivel it—</div> - <div class='line'>There, in your throat’s hollow—that green jade.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>He snatches at it as she lets it fall. He grows white and troubled, and walks to where</i> <span class='sc'>Amak</span> <i>is playing, and sees minutely strewn pieces of paper</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>He mutters.</i>] Lost—lost.</div> - <div class='line'>The child has torn the scroll in it,</div> - <div class='line'>And half is away. It cannot be spelt now.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>God, restore me his love.</div> - <div class='line'>Ah! Well!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'>[<i>She rises.</i>]</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>I will go now; prepare our evening meal;</div> - <div class='line'>And waken my husband, my love once.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Nubian</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>Musing.</i>] The lightning of the heavens</div> - <div class='line'>Lifts an apocalypse:</div> - <div class='line'>The dumb night’s lips are scared and wide,</div> - <div class='line'>The world is reeling with sound:</div> - <div class='line'>Was I deaf before, mute, tied?</div> - <div class='line'>What shakes here from lustre-seeded pomegranates</div> - <div class='line'>Not in the great world,</div> - <div class='line'>More vast and terrible?</div> - <div class='line'>What is this ecstasy in form,</div> - <div class='line'>This lightning</div> - <div class='line'>That found the lightning in my blood,</div> - <div class='line'>Searing my spirit’s lips aghast and naked?</div> - <div class='line'>I am flung in the abyss of days,</div> - <div class='line'>And the void is filled with rushing sound</div> - <div class='line'>From pent eternities:</div> - <div class='line'>I am strewn as the cypher is strewn.</div> - <div class='line'>A woman—a soft woman!</div> - <div class='line'>Our girls have hair</div> - <div class='line'>Like heights of night ringing with never-seen larks,</div> - <div class='line'>Or blindness dim with dreams:</div> - <div class='line'>Here is a yellow tiger gay that blinds your night.</div> - <div class='line'>Mane—Mane—Mane!</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span>Your honey spilt round that small dazzling face</div> - <div class='line'>Shakes me to golden tremors;</div> - <div class='line'>I have no life at all,</div> - <div class='line'>Only thin golden tremors.</div> - <div class='line'>Light tender beast!</div> - <div class='line'>Your fragile gleaming wrists</div> - <div class='line'>Have shaken the scaled glacier from under me,</div> - <div class='line'>And bored into my craft</div> - <div class='line'>That is now with the old dreamy Adam</div> - <div class='line'>With other things of dust.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Lilith</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>You lazy hound! See my poor child.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>[<i>He turns to see</i> <span class='sc'>Lilith</span> <i>drop the bowl and cakes and run to</i> <span class='sc'>Amak</span>—<i>who is crying, half stifled under</i> <span class='sc'>Saul’s</span> <i>huge shield</i>.]</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in12'>[<span class='sc'>Saul</span> <i>opens his eyes</i>.]</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class='c015' /> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span> - <h3 class='c012'>II<br /> THE SONG OF TEL THE NUBIAN</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Small dazzling face!</div> - <div class='line'>I shut you in my soul;</div> - <div class='line'>How can I perish now?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But thence a strange decay—</div> - <div class='line'>Your fragile gleaming wrists</div> - <div class='line'>Waver my days and shake my life</div> - <div class='line'>To golden tremors. I have no life at all,</div> - <div class='line'>Only thin golden tremors</div> - <div class='line'>That shudder over the abyss of days</div> - <div class='line'>Which hedged my spirit, my spirit your prison walls</div> - <div class='line'>That shrunk like phantasms with your vivid beauty—</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Towering and widening till</div> - <div class='line'>The sad moonless place</div> - <div class='line'>Throngs with a million torches</div> - <div class='line'>And spears of flaming wings.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span> - <h3 class='c012'>III<br /> THE TOWER OF SKULLS</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in20'><span class='sc'>Mourners</span></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>These layers of piled-up skulls,</div> - <div class='line'>These layers of gleaming horror—stark horror!</div> - <div class='line'>Ah me! Through my thin hands they touch my eyes.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Everywhere, everywhere is a pregnant birth,</div> - <div class='line'>And here in death’s land is a pregnant birth.</div> - <div class='line'>Your own crying is less mortal</div> - <div class='line'>Than the amazing soul in your body.</div> - <div class='line'>Your own crying yon parrot takes up</div> - <div class='line'>And from your empty skull cries it afterwards.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Thou whose dark activities unenchanted</div> - <div class='line'>Days from gyrating days, suspending them</div> - <div class='line'>To thrust them far from sight, from the gyrating days</div> - <div class='line'>Which have gone widening on and left us here,</div> - <div class='line'>Cast derelicts lost for ever.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>When aged flesh looks down on tender brood;</div> - <div class='line'>For he knows between his thin ribs’ walls</div> - <div class='line'>The giant universe, the interminable</div> - <div class='line'>Panorama—synods, myths and creeds,</div> - <div class='line'>He knows his dust is fire and seed.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span> - <h2 class='c007'>EARLIER POEMS</h2> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c019'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I have heard the Gods</div> - <div class='line'>In their high conference</div> - <div class='line'>As I lay outside the world</div> - <div class='line'>Quiet in sleep....</div> - <div class='line in20'><i>Fragment.</i></div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c011'>He was an artist and a dreamer—that is, one whose -delight in the beauty of life was an effective obstacle to -the achievement of the joy of living.</p> - -<div class='c017'>(<i>Circa 1913.</i>)</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span> - <h3 class='c012'>EXPRESSION</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Call—call—and bruise the air:</div> - <div class='line'>Shatter dumb space!</div> - <div class='line'>Yea! We will fling this passion everywhere;</div> - <div class='line'>Leaving no place</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>For the superb and grave</div> - <div class='line'>Magnificent throng,</div> - <div class='line'>The pregnant queens of quietness that brave</div> - <div class='line'>And edge our song</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Of wonder at the light</div> - <div class='line'>(Our life-leased home),</div> - <div class='line'>Of greeting to our housemates. And in might</div> - <div class='line'>Our song shall roam</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Life’s heart, a blossoming fire</div> - <div class='line'>Blown bright by thought,</div> - <div class='line'>While gleams and fades the infinite desire,</div> - <div class='line'>Phantasmed naught.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>Can this be caught and caged?</div> - <div class='line'>Wings can be clipt</div> - <div class='line'>Of eagles, the sun’s gaudy measure gauged,</div> - <div class='line'>But no sense dipt</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In the mystery of sense:</div> - <div class='line'>The troubled throng</div> - <div class='line'>Of words break out like smothered fire through dense</div> - <div class='line'>And smouldering wrong.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span> - <h3 class='c012'>FROM “NIGHT AND DAY”</h3> -</div> -<h4 class='c021'>I<br /> IN THE WORKSHOP</h4> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dim watery lights gleaming on gibbering faces,</div> - <div class='line'>Faces speechful, barren of soul and sordid,</div> - <div class='line'>Huddled and chewing a jest, lewd and gabbled insidious:</div> - <div class='line'>Laughter, born of its dung, flashes and floods like sunlight,</div> - <div class='line'>Filling the room with a sense of a soul lethargic and kindly,</div> - <div class='line'>Touches my soul with a pathos, a hint of a wide desolation.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h4 class='c021'>II</h4> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I saw the face of God to-day,</div> - <div class='line'>I heard the music of His smile,</div> - <div class='line'>And yet I was not far away,</div> - <div class='line'>And yet in Paradise the while.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>I lay upon the sparkling grass,</div> - <div class='line'>And God’s own mouth was kissing me,</div> - <div class='line'>And there was nothing that did pass</div> - <div class='line'>But blazed with divinity.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Divine—divine—upon my eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>Upon mine hair—divine—divine,</div> - <div class='line'>The fervour of the golden skies,</div> - <div class='line'>The ardent gaze of God on mine.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<h4 class='c021'>III</h4> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then spake I to the tree,</div> - <div class='line'>“Were ye your own desire</div> - <div class='line'>What is it ye would be?”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Answered the tree to me,</div> - <div class='line'>“I am my own desire,</div> - <div class='line'>I am what I would be.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“If you were your desire</div> - <div class='line'>Would you lie under me,</div> - <div class='line'>And see me as you see?”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I am my own desire</div> - <div class='line'>While I lie under you,</div> - <div class='line'>And that which I would be</div> - <div class='line'>Desire will sing to you.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span> - <h4 class='c021'>IV</h4> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I wander—I wander—O will she wander here</div> - <div class='line'>Where’er my footsteps carry me I know that she is near,</div> - <div class='line'>A jewelled lamp within her hand and jewels in her hair;</div> - <div class='line'>I lost her in a vision once and seek her everywhere.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My spirit whispers she is near, I look at you and you:</div> - <div class='line'>Surely she has not passed me, I sleeping as she flew.</div> - <div class='line'>I wander—I wander, and yet she is not here,</div> - <div class='line'>Although my spirit whispers to me that she is near.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span> - <h3 class='c012'>ZION<a id='r3' /><a href='#f3' class='c014'><sup>[3]</sup></a></h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>She stood—a hill-ensceptred Queen,</div> - <div class='line in2'>The glory streaming from her;</div> - <div class='line'>While Heaven flashed her rays between,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And shed eternal summer.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The gates of morning opened wide</div> - <div class='line in2'>On sunny dome and steeple;</div> - <div class='line'>Noon gleamed upon the mountain-side</div> - <div class='line in2'>Thronged with a happy people;</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And twilight’s drowsy, half closed eyes</div> - <div class='line in2'>Beheld that virgin splendour</div> - <div class='line'>Whose orbs were as her darkening skies,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And as her spirit, tender.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Girt with that strength, first-born of right,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Held fast by deeds of honour,</div> - <div class='line'>Her robe she wove with rays more bright</div> - <div class='line in2'>Than Heaven could rain upon her.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='footnote' id='f3'> -<p class='c011'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. Written at the age of sixteen.</p> -</div> -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>Where is that light—that citadel?</div> - <div class='line in2'>That robe with woof of glory?</div> - <div class='line'>She lost her virtue and she fell,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And only left her story.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span> - <h3 class='c012'>SPIRITUAL ISOLATION: A FRAGMENT</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My Maker shunneth me:</div> - <div class='line'>Even as a wretch stricken with leprosy,</div> - <div class='line'>So hold I pestilent supremacy.</div> - <div class='line'>Yea! He hath fled far as the uttermost star,</div> - <div class='line'>Beyond the unperturbed fastnesses of night</div> - <div class='line'>And dreams that bastioned are</div> - <div class='line'>By fretted towers of sleep that scare His light.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Of wisdom writ, whereto</div> - <div class='line'>My burdened feet may haste withouten rue,</div> - <div class='line'>I may not spell—and I am sore to do.</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, all (seeing my Maker hath such dread),</div> - <div class='line'>Even mine own self-love, wists not but to fly</div> - <div class='line'>To Him, and sore besped</div> - <div class='line'>Leaves me, its captain, in such mutiny.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Will, deemed incorporate</div> - <div class='line'>With me, hath flown ere love, to expiate</div> - <div class='line'>Its sinful stay where He did habitate.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>Ah me, if they had left a sepulchre;</div> - <div class='line'>But no—the light hath changed not, and in it</div> - <div class='line'>Of its same colour stir</div> - <div class='line'>Spirits I see not but phantasmed feel to flit.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Air, legioned with such, stirreth,</div> - <div class='line'>So that I seem to draw them with my breath,</div> - <div class='line'>Ghouls that devour each joy they do to death,</div> - <div class='line'>Strange glimmering griefs and sorrowing silences</div> - <div class='line'>Bearing dead flowers unseen whose charnel smell</div> - <div class='line'>Great awe to my sense is</div> - <div class='line'>Even in the rose-time when all else is well.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class='c015' /> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span> - <h3 class='c012'>FAR AWAY</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>By what pale light or moon-pale shore</div> - <div class='line'>Drifts my soul in lonely flight?</div> - <div class='line'>Regions God had floated o’er</div> - <div class='line'>Ere He touched the world with light?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Not in Heaven and not in earth</div> - <div class='line'>Is this water, is this moon;</div> - <div class='line'>For there is no starry birth,</div> - <div class='line'>And no dawning and no noon.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Far away—O far away,</div> - <div class='line'>Mist-born—dewy vapours rise</div> - <div class='line'>From the dim gates of the day</div> - <div class='line'>Far below in earthly skies.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span> - <h3 class='c012'>SPRING</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I walk and I wonder</div> - <div class='line'>To hear the birds sing;</div> - <div class='line'>Without you, my lady,</div> - <div class='line'>How can there be Spring?</div> - <div class='line'>I see the pink blossoms</div> - <div class='line'>That slept for a year,</div> - <div class='line'>But who could have waked them</div> - <div class='line'>While you were not near?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Birds sing to the blossoms,</div> - <div class='line'>Blind, dreaming your pink;</div> - <div class='line'>These blush to the songsters,</div> - <div class='line'>Your music they think:</div> - <div class='line'>So well had you taught them</div> - <div class='line'>To look and to sing,</div> - <div class='line'>Your bloom and your music,</div> - <div class='line'>The ways of the Spring.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span> - <h3 class='c012'>SONG</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A silver rose to show</div> - <div class='line'>Is your sweet face;</div> - <div class='line'>And like the heavens’ white brow,</div> - <div class='line'>Sometime God’s battle-place,</div> - <div class='line'>Your blood is quiet now.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Your body is a star</div> - <div class='line'>Unto my thought;</div> - <div class='line'>But stars are not too far,</div> - <div class='line'>And can be caught—</div> - <div class='line'>Small pools their prisons are.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span> - <h3 class='c012'>HEART’S FIRST WORD. I.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>To sweeten a swift minute so</div> - <div class='line'>With such rare fragrance of sweet speech,</div> - <div class='line'>And make the after hours go</div> - <div class='line'>In a blank yearning each on each;</div> - <div class='line'>To drain the springs till they be dry,</div> - <div class='line'>And then in anguish thirst for drink;</div> - <div class='line'>So but to glimpse her robe thirst I,</div> - <div class='line'>And my soul hungers and I sink.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>There is no word that we have said</div> - <div class='line'>Whereby the lips and heart are fire;</div> - <div class='line'>No look the linked glances read</div> - <div class='line'>That held the springs of deep desire.</div> - <div class='line'>And yet the sounds her glad lips gave</div> - <div class='line'>Are on my soul vibrating still;</div> - <div class='line'>Her eyes that swept me as a wave</div> - <div class='line'>Shine my soul’s worship to fulfil.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Her hair, her eyes, her throat and chin—</div> - <div class='line'>Sweet hair, sweet eyes, sweet throat, so sweet,</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>So fair because the ways of sin</div> - <div class='line'>Have never known her perfect feet—</div> - <div class='line'>By what far ways and marvellous</div> - <div class='line'>May I such lovely heaven reach?</div> - <div class='line'>What dread, dark seas and perilous</div> - <div class='line'>Lie ’twixt love’s silence and love’s speech?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span> - <h3 class='c012'>HEARTS FIRST WORD. II.</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And all her soft dark hair</div> - <div class='line'>Breathed for him like a prayer,</div> - <div class='line'>And her white lost face</div> - <div class='line'>Was prisoned to some far place.</div> - <div class='line'>Love was not denied—</div> - <div class='line'>Love’s ends would hide,</div> - <div class='line'>And flower and fruit and tree</div> - <div class='line'>Were under its sea.</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, its abundance knelt</div> - <div class='line'>Where the nerves felt</div> - <div class='line'>The springs of feeling flow</div> - <div class='line'>And made pain grow!</div> - <div class='line'>There seemed no root or sky,</div> - <div class='line'>But a pent infinity</div> - <div class='line'>Where apparitions dim</div> - <div class='line'>Sculptured each whim</div> - <div class='line'>In flame and wandering mist</div> - <div class='line'>Of kisses to be kist.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span> - <h3 class='c012'>LADY, YOU ARE MY GOD</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Lady, you are my God—</div> - <div class='line'>Lady, you are my Heaven.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>If I am your God</i></div> - <div class='line'><i>Labour for your Heaven.</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Lady, you are my God,</div> - <div class='line'>And shall not love win Heaven?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><i>If love made me God</i></div> - <div class='line'><i>Deeds must win my Heaven.</i></div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>If my love made you God,</div> - <div class='line'>What more can I for Heaven?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span> - <h3 class='c012'>IF YOU ARE FIRE</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>If you are fire and I am fire,</div> - <div class='line'>Who blows the flame apart</div> - <div class='line'>So that desire eludes desire</div> - <div class='line'>Around one central heart?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A single root and separate bough,</div> - <div class='line'>And what blind hands between</div> - <div class='line'>That make our longing’s mutual glow</div> - <div class='line'>As if it had not been?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span> - <h3 class='c012'>IN THE UNDERWORLD</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I have lived in the underworld so long:</div> - <div class='line'>How can you, a creature of light,</div> - <div class='line'>Without terror understand the song</div> - <div class='line'>And unmoved hear what moves in night?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I am a spirit that yours has found,</div> - <div class='line'>Strange, undelightful, obscure,</div> - <div class='line'>Created by some other God, and bound</div> - <div class='line'>In terrible darkness, breathing breath impure.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Creature of light and happiness,</div> - <div class='line'>Deeper the darkness was when you,</div> - <div class='line'>With your bright terror eddying the distress,</div> - <div class='line'>Grazed the dark waves and shivering further flew.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span> - <h3 class='c012'>O, IN A WORLD OF MEN AND WOMEN</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O, in a world of men and women,</div> - <div class='line'>Where all things seemed so strange to me,</div> - <div class='line'>And speech the common world called human</div> - <div class='line'>For me was a vain mimicry,</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I thought—O, am I one in sorrow?</div> - <div class='line'>Or is the world more quick to hide</div> - <div class='line'>Their pain with raiment that they borrow</div> - <div class='line'>From pleasure in the house of pride?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O joy of mine, O longed-for stranger,</div> - <div class='line'>How I would greet you if you came:</div> - <div class='line'>In the world’s joys I’ve been a ranger,</div> - <div class='line'>In my world sorrow is their name.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span> - <h3 class='c012'>A GIRL’S THOUGHTS</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Dim apprehension of a trust</div> - <div class='line'>Comes over me this quiet hour,</div> - <div class='line'>As though the silence were a flower,</div> - <div class='line'>And this, its perfume, dark like dust.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My individual self would cling</div> - <div class='line'>Through fear, through pride, unto its fears:</div> - <div class='line'>It strives to shut out what it hears,</div> - <div class='line'>The founts of being murmuring.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O! Need, whose hauntings terrorize;</div> - <div class='line'>Whether my maiden ways would hide,</div> - <div class='line'>Or lose and to that need subside,</div> - <div class='line'>Life shrinks and instinct dreads surprise.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span> - <h3 class='c012'>A BALLAD OF WHITECHAPEL</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>God’s mercy shines;</div> - <div class='line'>And our full hearts must make record of this,</div> - <div class='line'>For grief that burst from out its dark confines</div> - <div class='line'>Into strange sunlit bliss.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I stood where glowed</div> - <div class='line'>The merry glare of golden whirring lights</div> - <div class='line'>Above the monstrous mass that seethed and flowed</div> - <div class='line'>Through one of London’s nights.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I watched the gleams</div> - <div class='line'>Of jagged warm lights on shrunk faces pale:</div> - <div class='line'>I heard mad laughter as one hears in dreams</div> - <div class='line'>Or Hell’s harsh lurid tale.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The traffic rolled,</div> - <div class='line'>A gliding chaos populous of din,</div> - <div class='line'>A steaming wail at doom the Lord had scrawled</div> - <div class='line'>For perilous loads of sin.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>And my soul thought:</div> - <div class='line'>“What fearful land have my steps wandered to?</div> - <div class='line'>God’s love is everywhere, but here is naught</div> - <div class='line'>Save love His anger slew.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And as I stood</div> - <div class='line'>Lost in promiscuous bewilderment,</div> - <div class='line'>Which to my mazèd soul was wonder-food,</div> - <div class='line'>A girl in garments rent</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Peered ’neath lids shamed</div> - <div class='line'>And spoke to me and murmured to my blood.</div> - <div class='line'>My soul stopped dead, and all my horror flamed</div> - <div class='line'>At her forgot of God.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Her hungered eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>Craving and yet so sadly spiritual,</div> - <div class='line'>Shone like the unsmirched corner of a jewel</div> - <div class='line'>Where else foul blemish lies.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I walked with her</div> - <div class='line'>Because my heart thought, “Here the soul is clean,</div> - <div class='line'>The fragrance of the frankincense and myrrh</div> - <div class='line'>Is lost in odours mean.”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>She told me how</div> - <div class='line'>The shadow of black death had newly come</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>And touched her father, mother, even now</div> - <div class='line'>Grim-hovering in her home,</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Where fevered lay</div> - <div class='line'>Her wasting brother in a cold, bleak room,</div> - <div class='line'>Which theirs would be no longer than a day,</div> - <div class='line'>And then—the streets and doom.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Lord! Lord! Dear Lord!</div> - <div class='line'>I knew that life was bitter, but my soul</div> - <div class='line'>Recoiled, as anguish-smitten by sharp sword,</div> - <div class='line'>Grieving such body’s dole.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Then grief gave place</div> - <div class='line'>To a strange pulsing rapture as she spoke;</div> - <div class='line'>For I could catch the glimpses of God’s grace,</div> - <div class='line'>And a desire awoke</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>To take this trust</div> - <div class='line'>And warm and gladden it with love’s new fires,</div> - <div class='line'>Burning the past to ashes and to dust</div> - <div class='line'>Through purified desires.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>We walked our way,</div> - <div class='line'>One way hewn for us from the birth of Time;</div> - <div class='line'>For we had wandered into Love’s strange clime</div> - <div class='line'>Through ways sin waits to slay.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>Love’s euphony,</div> - <div class='line'>In Love’s own temple that is our glad hearts,</div> - <div class='line'>Makes now long music wild deliciously;</div> - <div class='line'>Now Grief hath used his darts.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Love infinite,</div> - <div class='line'>Chastened by sorrow, hallowed by pure flame—</div> - <div class='line'>Not all the surging world can compass it.</div> - <div class='line'>Love—Love—O tremulous name!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>God’s mercy shines;</div> - <div class='line'>And my full heart hath made record of this,</div> - <div class='line'>Of grief that burst from out its dark confines</div> - <div class='line'>Into strange sunlit bliss.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span> - <h3 class='c012'>TESS</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The free fair life that has never been mine, the glory that might have been,</div> - <div class='line'>If I were what you seem to be and what I may not be!</div> - <div class='line'>I know I walk upon the earth, but a dreadful wall between</div> - <div class='line'>My spirit and your spirit lies, your joy and my misery.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The angels that lie watching us, the little human play,</div> - <div class='line'>What deem they of the laughter and the tears that flow apart?</div> - <div class='line'>When a word of man is a woman’s doom do they turn and wonder and say,</div> - <div class='line'>“Ah! Why has God made love so great that love must burst her heart?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE NUN</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>So thy soul’s meekness shrinks,</div> - <div class='line'>Too loth to show her face—</div> - <div class='line'>Why should she shun the world?</div> - <div class='line'>It is a holy place.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Concealèd to itself</div> - <div class='line'>If the flower kept its scent,</div> - <div class='line'>Of itself amorous,</div> - <div class='line'>Less rich its ornament.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Use—utmost in each kind—</div> - <div class='line'>Is beauty, truth in one,</div> - <div class='line'>While soul rays light to soul</div> - <div class='line'>In one God-linkèd sun.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span> - <h3 class='c012'>IN PICCADILLY</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Lamp-lit faces, to you</div> - <div class='line'>What is your starry dew?</div> - <div class='line'>Gold flowers of the night blue!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Deep in wet pavement’s slime</div> - <div class='line'>Mud-rooted is your fierce prime,</div> - <div class='line'>To bloom in lust’s coloured clime.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The sheen of eyes that lust,</div> - <div class='line'>Which dew-time made your trust,</div> - <div class='line'>Lights your passionless dust.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span> - <h3 class='c012'>A MOOD</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>You are so light and gay,</div> - <div class='line'>So slight, sweet maid—</div> - <div class='line'>Your limbs like leaves in play,</div> - <div class='line'>Or beams that grasses braid;</div> - <div class='line'>O! Joys whose jewels pray</div> - <div class='line'>My breast to be inlaid.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Frail fairy of the streets;</div> - <div class='line'>Strong, dainty lure;</div> - <div class='line'>For all men’s eyes the sweets</div> - <div class='line'>Whose lack makes hearts so poor;</div> - <div class='line'>While your heart loveless beats,</div> - <div class='line'>Light, laughing, and impure.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O! Fragrant waft of flesh,</div> - <div class='line'>Float through me so—</div> - <div class='line'>My limbs are in your mesh,</div> - <div class='line'>My blood forgets to flow;</div> - <div class='line'>Ah! Lilied meadows fresh,</div> - <div class='line'>It knows where it would go.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span> - <h3 class='c012'>FIRST FRUIT</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I did not pluck at all,</div> - <div class='line'>And I am sorry now:</div> - <div class='line'>The garden is not barred</div> - <div class='line'>But the boughs are heavy with snow,</div> - <div class='line'>The flake-blossoms thickly fall</div> - <div class='line'>And the hid roots sigh, “How long will our flowers be marred?”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Strange as a bird were dumb,</div> - <div class='line'>Strange as a hueless leaf.</div> - <div class='line'>As one deaf hungers to hear,</div> - <div class='line'>Or gazes without belief,</div> - <div class='line'>The fruit yearned “Fingers, come!”</div> - <div class='line'>O, shut hands, be empty another year.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span> - <h3 class='c012'>A CARELESS HEART</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A little breath can make a prayer,</div> - <div class='line'>A little wind can take it</div> - <div class='line'>And turn it back again to air:</div> - <div class='line'>Then say, why should you make it?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>An ardent thought can make a word,</div> - <div class='line'>A little ear can hear it,</div> - <div class='line'>A careless heart forget it heard:</div> - <div class='line'>Then why keep ever near it?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span> - <h3 class='c012'>DAWN</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O tender first cold flush of rose,</div> - <div class='line'>O budded dawn, wake dreamily;</div> - <div class='line'>Your dim lips as your lids unclose</div> - <div class='line'>Murmur your own sad threnody.</div> - <div class='line'>O as the soft and frail lights break</div> - <div class='line'>Upon your eyelids, and your eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Wider and wider grow and wake,</div> - <div class='line'>The old pale glory dies.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And then, as sleep lies down to sleep</div> - <div class='line'>And all her dreams lie somewhere dead,</div> - <div class='line'>The iron shepherd leads his sheep</div> - <div class='line'>To pastures parched whose green is shed.</div> - <div class='line'>Still, O frail dawn, still in your hair</div> - <div class='line'>And your cold eyes and sad sweet lips,</div> - <div class='line'>The ghosts of all the dreams are there,</div> - <div class='line'>To fade like passing ships.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span> - <h3 class='c012'>AT NIGHT</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Crazed shadows, from no golden body</div> - <div class='line'>That I can see, embrace me warm;</div> - <div class='line'>All is purple and closed</div> - <div class='line'>Round by night’s arm.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A brilliance wings from dark-lit voices,</div> - <div class='line'>Wild lost voices of shadows white:</div> - <div class='line'>See the long houses lean</div> - <div class='line'>To the weird flight.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Star-amorous things that wake at sleep-time</div> - <div class='line'>(Because the sun spreads wide like a tree</div> - <div class='line'>With no good fruit for them)</div> - <div class='line'>Thrill secrecy.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Pale horses ride before the morning,</div> - <div class='line'>The secret roots of the sun to tread,</div> - <div class='line'>With hoofs shod with venom</div> - <div class='line'>And ageless dread;</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>To breathe on burning emerald grasses</div> - <div class='line'>And opalescent dews of the day,</div> - <div class='line'>And poison at the core</div> - <div class='line'>What smiles may stray.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span> - <h3 class='c012'>CREATION</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>As the pregnant womb of night</div> - <div class='line'>Thrills with imprisoned light,</div> - <div class='line'>Misty, nebulous-born,</div> - <div class='line'>Growing deeper into her morn,</div> - <div class='line'>So man, with no sudden stride,</div> - <div class='line'>Bloomed into pride.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In the womb of the All-spirit</div> - <div class='line'>The universe lay; the will</div> - <div class='line'>Blind, an atom, lay still.</div> - <div class='line'>The pulse of matter</div> - <div class='line'>Obeyed in awe</div> - <div class='line'>And strove to flatter</div> - <div class='line'>The rhythmic law.</div> - <div class='line'>But the will grew; nature feared,</div> - <div class='line'>And cast off the child she reared,</div> - <div class='line'>Now her rival, instinct-led,</div> - <div class='line'>With her own powers impregnated.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Brain and heart, blood-fervid flowers,</div> - <div class='line'>Creation is each act of yours.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span>Your roots are God, the pauseless cause,</div> - <div class='line'>But your boughs sway to self-windy laws.</div> - <div class='line'>Perception is no dreamy birth</div> - <div class='line'>And magnifies transfigured earth.</div> - <div class='line'>With each new light, our eyes receive</div> - <div class='line'>A larger power to perceive.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>If we could unveil our eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>Become as wise as the All-wise,</div> - <div class='line'>No love would be, no mystery:</div> - <div class='line'>Love and joy dwell in infinity.</div> - <div class='line'>Love begets love; reaching highest</div> - <div class='line'>We find a higher still, unseen</div> - <div class='line'>From where we stood to reach the first;</div> - <div class='line'>Moses must die to live in Christ,</div> - <div class='line'>The seed be buried to live to green.</div> - <div class='line'>Perfection must begin from worst.</div> - <div class='line'>Christ perceives a larger reachless love,</div> - <div class='line'>More full, and grows to reach thereof.</div> - <div class='line'>The green plant yearns for its yellow fruit.</div> - <div class='line'>Perfection always is a root,</div> - <div class='line'>And joy a motion that doth feed</div> - <div class='line'>Itself on light of its own speed,</div> - <div class='line'>And round its radiant circle runs,</div> - <div class='line'>Creating and devouring suns.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span> - <h3 class='c012'>OF ANY OLD MAN</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wreck not the ageing heart of quietness</div> - <div class='line'>With alien uproar and rude jolly cries,</div> - <div class='line'>Which (satyr-like to a mild maiden’s pride)</div> - <div class='line'>Ripen not wisdom but a large recoil;</div> - <div class='line'>Give them their withered peace, their trial grave,</div> - <div class='line'>Their past youth’s three-scored shadowy effigy.</div> - <div class='line'>Mock them not with your ripened turbulence,</div> - <div class='line'>Their frost-mailed petulance with your torrid wrath,</div> - <div class='line'>When, edging your boisterous thunders, shivers one word</div> - <div class='line'>(Pap to their senile sneering, drug to truth,</div> - <div class='line'>The feigned rampart of bleak ignorance)</div> - <div class='line'>“Experience”—crown of naked majesties,</div> - <div class='line'>That tells us naught we know not, but confirms.</div> - <div class='line'>O think, you reverend shadowy austere,</div> - <div class='line'>Your Christ’s youth was not ended when he died.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE ONE LOST</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I mingle with your bones;</div> - <div class='line'>You steal in subtle noose</div> - <div class='line'>This lighted dust Jehovah loans</div> - <div class='line'>And now I lose.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What will the Lender say</div> - <div class='line'>When I shall not be found,</div> - <div class='line'>Safe-sheltered at the Judgment Day,</div> - <div class='line'>Being in you bound?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>He’ll hunt through wards of Heaven,</div> - <div class='line'>Call to uncoffined earth</div> - <div class='line'>“Where is this soul, unjudged, not given</div> - <div class='line'>Dole for good’s dearth?”</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And I, lying so safe</div> - <div class='line'>Within you, hearing all,</div> - <div class='line'>To have cheated God shall laugh,</div> - <div class='line'>Freed by your thrall.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span> - <h3 class='c012'>WEDDED</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>They leave their love-lorn haunts,</div> - <div class='line'>Their sigh-warm floating Eden;</div> - <div class='line'>And they are mute at once,</div> - <div class='line'>Mortals by God unheeden,</div> - <div class='line'>By their past kisses chidden.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But they have kist and known</div> - <div class='line'>Clear things we dim by guesses—</div> - <div class='line'>Spirit to spirit grown:</div> - <div class='line'>Heaven, born in hand-caresses.</div> - <div class='line'>Love, fall from sheltering tresses.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And they are dumb and strange:</div> - <div class='line'>Bared trees bowed from each other.</div> - <div class='line'>Their last green interchange</div> - <div class='line'>What lost dreams shall discover?</div> - <div class='line'>Dead, strayed, to love-strange lover.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span> - <h3 class='c012'>DON JUAN’S SONG</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The moon is in an ecstasy,</div> - <div class='line'>It wanes not nor can grow;</div> - <div class='line'>The heavens are in a mist of love,</div> - <div class='line'>And deepest knowledge know:</div> - <div class='line'>What things in nature seem to move</div> - <div class='line'>Bear love as I bear love?</div> - <div class='line'>And bear my pleasures so?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I bear my love as streams that bear</div> - <div class='line'>The sky still flow or shake:</div> - <div class='line'>Though deep within, too far on high.</div> - <div class='line'>Light blossoms kiss and wake</div> - <div class='line'>The waters sooner than the sky;</div> - <div class='line'>And if they kiss and die</div> - <div class='line'>God made them frail to break.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span> - <h3 class='c012'>ON A LADY SINGING</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>She bade us listen to the singing lark</div> - <div class='line'>In tones far sweeter than its own:</div> - <div class='line'>For fear that she should cease and leave us dark</div> - <div class='line'>We built the bird a feignèd throne,</div> - <div class='line'>Shrined in her gracious glory-giving ways</div> - <div class='line'>From sceptred hands of starred humility—</div> - <div class='line'>Praising herself the more in giving praise</div> - <div class='line'>To music less than she.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span> - <h3 class='c012'>BEAUTY</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>As a sword in the sun—</div> - <div class='line'>A glory calling a glory—</div> - <div class='line'>Our eyes, seeing it run,</div> - <div class='line'>Capture its gleam for our story.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Singer, marvellous gleam</div> - <div class='line'>Dancing in splendid light,</div> - <div class='line'>Here you have brought us our dream—</div> - <div class='line'>Ah, but its stay is its flight!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span> - <h3 class='c012'>A QUESTION</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>What if you shut your eyes and look,</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, look with all the spirit’s eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>While mystic unrevealèd skies</div> - <div class='line'>Unfold like pages of a book</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Wherein new scenes of wonder rare</div> - <div class='line'>Are imaged, till the sense deceives</div> - <div class='line'>Itself, and what it sees believes—</div> - <div class='line'>Even what the soul has pictured there?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span> - <h3 class='c012'>CHAGRIN</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Caught still as Absalom,</div> - <div class='line'>Surely the air hangs</div> - <div class='line'>From the swayless cloud-boughs</div> - <div class='line'>Like hair of Absalom</div> - <div class='line'>Caught and hanging still.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>From the imagined weight</div> - <div class='line'>Of spaces in a sky</div> - <div class='line'>Of mute chagrin my thoughts</div> - <div class='line'>Hang like branch-clung hair</div> - <div class='line'>To trunks of silence swung,</div> - <div class='line'>With the choked soul weighing down</div> - <div class='line'>Into thick emptiness.</div> - <div class='line'>Christ, end this hanging death,</div> - <div class='line'>For endlessness hangs therefrom!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Invisibly branches break</div> - <div class='line'>From invisible trees:</div> - <div class='line'>The cloud-woods where we rush</div> - <div class='line'>(Our eyes holding so much),</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>Which we must ride dim ages round</div> - <div class='line'>Ere the hands (we dream) can touch,</div> - <div class='line'>We ride, we ride—before the morning</div> - <div class='line'>The secret roots of the sun to tread—</div> - <div class='line'>And suddenly</div> - <div class='line'>We are lifted of all we know,</div> - <div class='line'>And hang from implacable boughs.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE BLIND GOD</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Streaked with immortal blasphemies,</div> - <div class='line'>Betwixt His twin eternities</div> - <div class='line'>The Shaper of mortal destinies</div> - <div class='line'>Sits in that limbo of dreamless sleep,</div> - <div class='line'>Some nothing that hath shadows deep.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The world is only a small pool</div> - <div class='line'>In the meadows of Eternity,</div> - <div class='line'>And men like fishes lying cool;</div> - <div class='line'>And the wise man and the fool</div> - <div class='line'>In its depths like fishes lie.</div> - <div class='line'>When an angel drops a rod</div> - <div class='line'>And he draws you to the sky</div> - <div class='line'>Will you bear to meet your God</div> - <div class='line'>You have streaked with blasphemy?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span> - <h3 class='c012'>THE FEMALE GOD</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>We curl into your eyes—</div> - <div class='line'>They drink our fires and have never drained;</div> - <div class='line'>In the fierce forest of your hair</div> - <div class='line'>Our desires beat blindly for their treasure.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In your eyes’ subtle pit,</div> - <div class='line'>Far down, glimmer our souls;</div> - <div class='line'>And your hair like massive forest trees</div> - <div class='line'>Shadows our pulses, overtired and dumb.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Like a candle lost in an electric glare</div> - <div class='line'>Our spirits tread your eyes’ infinities;</div> - <div class='line'>In the wrecking waves of your tumultuous locks</div> - <div class='line'>Do you not hear the moaning of our pulses?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Queen! Goddess! Animal!</div> - <div class='line'>In sleep do your dreams battle with our souls?</div> - <div class='line'>When your hair is spread like a lover on the pillow</div> - <div class='line'>Do not our jealous pulses wake between?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>You have dethroned the ancient God,</div> - <div class='line'>You have usurped his Sabbath, his common days;</div> - <div class='line'>Yea, every moment is delivered to you,</div> - <div class='line'>Our Temple, our Eternal, our one God!</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Our souls have passed into your eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>Our days into your hair;</div> - <div class='line'>And you, our rose-deaf prison, are very pleased with the world,</div> - <div class='line'>Your world.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span> - <h3 class='c012'>GOD</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>In his malodorous brain what slugs and mire,</div> - <div class='line'>Lanthorned in his oblique eyes, guttering burned!</div> - <div class='line'>His body lodged a rat where men nursed souls:</div> - <div class='line'>The world flashed grape-green eyes of a foiled cat</div> - <div class='line'>To him. On fragments of an old shrunk power,</div> - <div class='line'>On shy and maimed, on women wrung awry,</div> - <div class='line'>He lay—a bullying hulk—to crush them more;</div> - <div class='line'>But when one fearless turned and clawed like bronze,</div> - <div class='line'>Cringing was easy to blunt these stern paws,</div> - <div class='line'>And he would weigh the heavier on those after.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Who rests in God’s mean flattery now? Your wealth</div> - <div class='line'>Is but his cunning to make death more hard,</div> - <div class='line'>Your iron sinews take more pain in breaking;</div> - <div class='line'>And he has made the market for your beauty</div> - <div class='line'>Too poor to buy although you die to sell.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>Only that he has never heard of sleep,</div> - <div class='line'>And when the cats come out the rats are sly,</div> - <div class='line'>Here we are safe till he slinks in at dawn.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>But he has gnawed a fibre from strange roots,</div> - <div class='line'>And in the morning some pale wonder ceases.</div> - <div class='line'>Things are not strange; and strange things are forgetful.</div> - <div class='line'>Ah! If the day were arid, somehow lost</div> - <div class='line'>Out of us; but it is as hair of us,</div> - <div class='line'>And only in the hush no wind stirs it,</div> - <div class='line'>And in the light vague trouble lifts and breathes,</div> - <div class='line'>And restlessness still shadows the lost ways.</div> - <div class='line'>The fingers shut on voices that pass through</div> - <div class='line'>Where blind farewells are taken easily.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Ah, this miasma of a rotting God!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span> - <h3 class='c012'>SLEEP</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Godhead’s lip hangs</div> - <div class='line'>When our pulses have no golden tremors,</div> - <div class='line'>And his whips are flicked by mice</div> - <div class='line'>And all star-amorous things.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Drops, drops of shivering quiet</div> - <div class='line'>Filter under my lids.</div> - <div class='line'>Now only am I powerful.</div> - <div class='line'>What though the cunning gods outwit us here</div> - <div class='line'>In daytime and in playtime,</div> - <div class='line'>Surely they feel the gyves we lay on them</div> - <div class='line'>In our sleep.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>O, subtle gods lying hidden!</div> - <div class='line'>O, gods with your oblique eyes!</div> - <div class='line'>Your elbows in the dawn, and wrists</div> - <div class='line'>Bright with the afternoon,</div> - <div class='line'>Do you not shake when a mortal slides</div> - <div class='line'>Into your own unvexed peace?</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>When a moving stillness breaks over your knees</div> - <div class='line'>(An emanation of piled æons’ pressures),</div> - <div class='line'>From our bodies flat and straight,</div> - <div class='line'>And your limbs are locked,</div> - <div class='line'>Futilely gods,</div> - <div class='line'>And shut your sinister essences?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span> - <h3 class='c012'>MY DAYS</h3> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-b c016'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>My days are but the tombs of buried hours;</div> - <div class='line'>Which tombs are hidden in the pilèd years;</div> - <div class='line'>But from the mounds there spring up many flowers,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose beauty well repays their cost of tears.</div> - <div class='line'>Time, like a sexton, pileth mould on mould,</div> - <div class='line'>Minutes on minutes till the tombs are high;</div> - <div class='line'>But from the dust there fall some grains of gold,</div> - <div class='line'>And the dead corpse leaves what will never die—</div> - <div class='line'>It may be but a thought, the nursling seed</div> - <div class='line'>Of many thoughts, of many a high desire;</div> - <div class='line'>Some little act that stirs a noble deed,</div> - <div class='line'>Like breath rekindling a smouldering fire:</div> - <div class='line'>They only live who have not lived in vain,</div> - <div class='line'>For in their works their life returns again.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c004'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY</div> - <div>BILLING AND SONS, LIMITED,</div> - <div>GUILDFORD AND ESHER</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='pbb'> - <hr class='pb c005' /> -</div> -<div class='tnotes x-ebookmaker'> - -<div class='chapter ph2'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES</div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - - <ol class='ol_1 c004'> - <li>Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in spelling. - - </li> - <li>Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed. - </li> - </ol> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS BY ISAAC ROSENBERG ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> -<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> diff --git a/old/66889-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/66889-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ab8e1b7..0000000 --- a/old/66889-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66889-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg b/old/66889-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 690eef6..0000000 --- a/old/66889-h/images/i_frontispiece.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/66889-h/images/i_title.jpg b/old/66889-h/images/i_title.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index b3add53..0000000 --- a/old/66889-h/images/i_title.jpg +++ /dev/null |
