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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/7848-h.zip b/7848-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b665b5a --- /dev/null +++ b/7848-h.zip diff --git a/7848-h/7848-h.htm b/7848-h/7848-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9385950 --- /dev/null +++ b/7848-h/7848-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2050 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!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" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Last Poems, by A. E. Housman + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. E. Housman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere 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 + + +Title: Last Poems + +Author: A. E. Housman + +Release Date: August 3, 2009 [EBook #7848] +Last Updated: February 4, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by A. P. Saulters, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + LAST POEMS + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By A. E. Housman + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + I publish these poems, few though they are, because it is not likely that + I shall ever be impelled to write much more. I can no longer expect to be + revisited by the continuous excitement under which in the early months of + 1895 I wrote the greater part of my first book, nor indeed could I well + sustain it if it came; and it is best that what I have written should be + printed while I am here to see it through the press and control its + spelling and punctuation. About a quarter of this matter belongs to the + April of the present year, but most of it to dates between 1895 and 1910. + </p> + <p> + September 1922 + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We'll to the woods no more, + The laurels are all cut, + The bowers are bare of bay + That once the Muses wore; + The year draws in the day + And soon will evening shut: + The laurels all are cut, + We'll to the woods no more. + Oh we'll no more, no more + To the leafy woods away, + To the high wild woods of laurel + And the bowers of bay no more. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> I. </a> THE WEST <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> II. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0003"> III. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0004"> IV. </a> ILLIC JACET <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0005"> V. </a> GRENADIER <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0006"> VI. </a> LANCER <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0007"> VII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0008"> VIII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0009"> IX. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0010"> X. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0011"> XI. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0012"> XII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0013"> XIII. </a> THE DESERTER <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0014"> XIV. </a> THE CULPRIT <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0015"> XV. </a> EIGHT O'CLOCK <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0016"> XVI. </a> SPRING MORNING <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0017"> XVII. </a> ASTRONOMY <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0018"> XVIII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0019"> XIX. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0020"> XX. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0021"> XXI. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0022"> XXII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0023"> XXIII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0024"> XXIV. </a> EPITHALAMIUM <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0025"> XXV. </a> THE ORACLES <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0026"> XXVI. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0027"> XXVII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0028"> XXVIII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0029"> XXIX. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0030"> XXX. </a> SINNER'S RUE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0031"> XXXI. </a> HELL'S GATE <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0032"> XXXII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0033"> XXXIII. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0034"> XXXIV. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXXV. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXXVI. </a> REVOLUTION <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXXVII. </a> EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF + MERCENARIES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXXVIII. </a> + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> XXXIX. </a> <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> XL. </a> <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0041"> XLI. </a> FANCY'S KNELL <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + I. THE WEST + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Beyond the moor and the mountain crest + —Comrade, look not on the west— + The sun is down and drinks away + From air and land the lees of day. + + The long cloud and the single pine + Sentinel the ending line, + And out beyond it, clear and wan, + Reach the gulfs of evening on. + + The son of woman turns his brow + West from forty countries now, + And, as the edge of heaven he eyes, + Thinks eternal thoughts, and sighs. + + Oh wide's the world, to rest or roam, + With change abroad and cheer at home, + Fights and furloughs, talk and tale, + Company and beef and ale. + + But if I front the evening sky + Silent on the west look I, + And my comrade, stride for stride, + Paces silent at my side, + + Comrade, look not on the west: + 'Twill have the heart out of your breast; + 'Twill take your thoughts and sink them far, + Leagues beyond the sunset bar. + + Oh lad, I fear that yon's the sea + Where they fished for you and me, + And there, from whence we both were ta'en, + You and I shall drown again. + + Send not on your soul before + To dive from that beguiling shore, + And let not yet the swimmer leave + His clothes upon the sands of eve. + + Too fast to yonder strand forlorn + We journey, to the sunken bourn, + To flush the fading tinges eyed + By other lads at eventide. + + Wide is the world, to rest or roam, + And early 'tis for turning home: + Plant your heel on earth and stand, + And let's forget our native land. + + When you and I are split on air + Long we shall be strangers there; + Friends of flesh and bone are best; + Comrade, look not on the west. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + As I gird on for fighting + My sword upon my thigh, + I think on old ill fortunes + Of better men than I. + + Think I, the round world over, + What golden lads are low + With hurts not mine to mourn for + And shames I shall not know. + + What evil luck soever + For me remains in store, + 'Tis sure much finer fellows + Have fared much worse before. + + So here are things to think on + That ought to make me brave, + As I strap on for fighting + My sword that will not save. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Her strong enchantments failing, + Her towers of fear in wreck, + Her limbecks dried of poisons + And the knife at her neck, + + The Queen of air and darkness + Begins to shrill and cry, + 'O young man, O my slayer, + To-morrow you shall die.' + + O Queen of air and darkness, + I think 'tis truth you say, + And I shall die to-morrow; + But you will die to-day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. ILLIC JACET + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh hard is the bed they have made him, + And common the blanket and cheap; + But there he will lie as they laid him: + Where else could you trust him to sleep? + + To sleep when the bugle is crying + And cravens have heard and are brave, + When mothers and sweethearts are sighing + And lads are in love with the grave. + + Oh dark is the chamber and lonely, + And lights and companions depart; + But lief will he lose them and only + Behold the desire of his heart. + + And low is the roof, but it covers + A sleeper content to repose; + And far from his friends and his lovers + He lies with the sweetheart he chose. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. GRENADIER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Queen she sent to look for me, + The sergeant he did say, + 'Young man, a soldier will you be + For thirteen pence a day?' + + For thirteen pence a day did I + Take off the things I wore, + And I have marched to where I lie, + And I shall march no more. + + My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet, + My blood runs all away, + So now I shall not die in debt + For thirteen pence a day. + + To-morrow after new young men + The sergeant he must see, + For things will all be over then + Between the Queen and me. + + And I shall have to bate my price, + For in the grave, they say, + Is neither knowledge nor device + Nor thirteen pence a day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. LANCER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I 'listed at home for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + I 'listed at home for a lancer + To ride on a horse to my grave. + + And over the seas we were bidden + A country to take and to keep; + And far with the brave I have ridden, + And now with the brave I shall sleep. + + For round me the men will be lying + That learned me the way to behave. + And showed me my business of dying: + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + They ask and there is not an answer; + Says I, I will 'list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + And I with the brave shall be sleeping + At ease on my mattress of loam, + When back from their taking and keeping + The squadron is riding home. + + The wind with the plumes will be playing, + The girls will stand watching them wave, + And eyeing my comrades and saying + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + They ask and there is not an answer; + Says you, I will 'list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In valleys green and still + Where lovers wander maying + They hear from over hill + A music playing. + + Behind the drum and fife, + Past hawthornwood and hollow, + Through earth and out of life + The soldiers follow. + + The soldier's is the trade: + In any wind or weather + He steals the heart of maid + And man together. + + The lover and his lass + Beneath the hawthorn lying + Have heard the soldiers pass, + And both are sighing. + + And down the distance they + With dying note and swelling + Walk the resounding way + To the still dwelling. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Soldier from the wars returning, + Spoiler of the taken town, + Here is ease that asks not earning; + Turn you in and sit you down. + + Peace is come and wars are over, + Welcome you and welcome all, + While the charger crops the clover + And his bridle hangs in stall. + + Now no more of winters biting, + Filth in trench from fall to spring, + Summers full of sweat and fighting + For the Kesar or the King. + + Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle; + Kings and kesars, keep your pay; + Soldier, sit you down and idle + At the inn of night for aye. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers + Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, + The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers. + Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May. + + There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot, + One season ruined of our little store. + May will be fine next year as like as not: + Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four. + + We for a certainty are not the first + Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled + Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed + Whatever brute and blackguard made the world. + + It is in truth iniquity on high + To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave, + And mar the merriment as you and I + Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave. + + Iniquity it is; but pass the can. + My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore; + Our only portion is the estate of man: + We want the moon, but we shall get no more. + + If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours + To-morrow it will hie on far behests; + The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours + Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts. + + The troubles of our proud and angry dust + Are from eternity, and shall not fail. + Bear them we can, and if we can we must. + Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Could man be drunk for ever + With liquor, love, or fights, + Lief should I rouse at morning + And lief lie down of nights. + + But men at whiles are sober + And think by fits and starts, + And if they think, they fasten + Their hands upon their hearts. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yonder see the morning blink: + The sun is up, and up must I, + To wash and dress and eat and drink + And look at things and talk and think + And work, and God knows why. + + Oh often have I washed and dressed + And what's to show for all my pain? + Let me lie abed and rest: + Ten thousand times I've done my best + And all's to do again. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The laws of God, the laws of man, + He may keep that will and can; + Not I: let God and man decree + Laws for themselves and not for me; + And if my ways are not as theirs + Let them mind their own affairs. + Their deeds I judge and much condemn, + Yet when did I make laws for them? + Please yourselves, say I, and they + Need only look the other way. + But no, they will not; they must still + Wrest their neighbour to their will, + And make me dance as they desire + With jail and gallows and hell-fire. + And how am I to face the odds + Of man's bedevilment and God's? + I, a stranger and afraid + In a world I never made. + They will be master, right or wrong; + Though both are foolish, both are strong, + And since, my soul, we cannot fly + To Saturn or Mercury, + Keep we must, if keep we can, + These foreign laws of God and man. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. THE DESERTER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "What sound awakened me, I wonder, + For now 'tis dumb." + "Wheels on the road most like, or thunder: + Lie down; 'twas not the drum.: + + "Toil at sea and two in haven + And trouble far: + Fly, crow, away, and follow, raven, + And all that croaks for war." + + "Hark, I heard the bugle crying, + And where am I? + My friends are up and dressed and dying, + And I will dress and die." + + "Oh love is rare and trouble plenty + And carrion cheap, + And daylight dear at four-and-twenty: + Lie down again and sleep." + + "Reach me my belt and leave your prattle: + Your hour is gone; + But my day is the day of battle, + And that comes dawning on. + + "They mow the field of man in season: + Farewell, my fair, + And, call it truth or call it treason, + Farewell the vows that were." + + "Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly: + 'Tis like the brave. + They find no bed to joy in rightly + Before they find the grave. + + "Their love is for their own undoing. + And east and west + They scour about the world a-wooing + The bullet in their breast. + + "Sail away the ocean over, + Oh sail away, + And lie there with your leaden lover + For ever and a day." +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. THE CULPRIT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The night my father got me + His mind was not on me; + He did not plague his fancy + To muse if I should be + The son you see. + + The day my mother bore me + She was a fool and glad, + For all the pain I cost her, + That she had borne the lad + That borne she had. + + My mother and my father + Out of the light they lie; + The warrant would not find them, + And here 'tis only I + Shall hang so high. + + Oh let not man remember + The soul that God forgot, + But fetch the county kerchief + And noose me in the knot, + And I will rot. + + For so the game is ended + That should not have begun. + My father and my mother + They had a likely son, + And I have none. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. EIGHT O'CLOCK + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He stood, and heard the steeple + Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. + One, two, three, four, to market-place and people + It tossed them down. + + Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, + He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; + And then the clock collected in the tower + Its strength, and struck. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. SPRING MORNING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Star and coronal and bell + April underfoot renews, + And the hope of man as well + Flowers among the morning dews. + + Now the old come out to look, + Winter past and winter's pains. + How the sky in pool and brook + Glitters on the grassy plains. + + Easily the gentle air + Wafts the turning season on; + Things to comfort them are there, + Though 'tis true the best are gone. + + Now the scorned unlucky lad + Rousing from his pillow gnawn + Mans his heart and deep and glad + Drinks the valiant air of dawn. + + Half the night he longed to die, + Now are sown on hill and plain + Pleasures worth his while to try + Ere he longs to die again. + + Blue the sky from east to west + Arches, and the world is wide, + Though the girl he loves the best + Rouses from another's side. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. ASTRONOMY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Wain upon the northern steep + Descends and lifts away. + Oh I will sit me down and weep + For bones in Africa. + + For pay and medals, name and rank, + Things that he has not found, + He hove the Cross to heaven and sank + The pole-star underground. + + And now he does not even see + Signs of the nadir roll + At night over the ground where he + Is buried with the pole. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The rain, it streams on stone and hillock, + The boot clings to the clay. + Since all is done that's due and right + Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night, + For I must turn away. + + Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal; + No league of ours, for sure. + Tomorrow I shall miss you less, + And ache of heart and heaviness + Are things that time should cure. + + Over the hill the highway marches + And what's beyond is wide: + Oh soon enough will pine to nought + Remembrance and the faithful thought + That sits the grave beside. + + The skies, they are not always raining + Nor grey the twelvemonth through; + And I shall meet good days and mirth, + And range the lovely lands of earth + With friends no worse than you. + + But oh, my man, the house is fallen + That none can build again; + My man, how full of joy and woe + Your mother bore you years ago + To-night to lie in the rain. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In midnights of November, + When Dead Man's Fair is nigh, + And danger in the valley, + And anger in the sky, + + Around the huddling homesteads + The leafless timber roars, + And the dead call the dying + And finger at the doors. + + Oh, yonder faltering fingers + Are hands I used to hold; + Their false companion drowses + And leaves them in the cold. + + Oh, to the bed of ocean, + To Africk and to Ind, + I will arise and follow + Along the rainy wind. + + The night goes out and under + With all its train forlorn; + Hues in the east assemble + And cocks crow up the morn. + + The living are the living + And dead the dead will stay, + And I will sort with comrades + That face the beam of day. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The night is freezing fast, + To-morrow comes December; + And winterfalls of old + Are with me from the past; + And chiefly I remember + How Dick would hate the cold. + + Fall, winter, fall; for he, + Prompt hand and headpiece clever, + Has woven a winter robe, + And made of earth and sea + His overcoat for ever, + And wears the turning globe. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The fairies break their dances + And leave the printed lawn, + And up from India glances + The silver sail of dawn. + + The candles burn their sockets, + The blinds let through the day, + The young man feels his pockets + And wonders what's to pay. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The sloe was lost in flower, + The April elm was dim; + That was the lover's hour, + The hour for lies and him. + + If thorns are all the bower, + If north winds freeze the fir, + Why, 'tis another's hour, + The hour for truth and her. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the morning, in the morning, + In the happy field of hay, + Oh they looked at one another + By the light of day. + + In the blue and silver morning + On the haycock as they lay, + Oh they looked at one another + And they looked away. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. EPITHALAMIUM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He is here, Urania's son, + Hymen come from Helicon; + God that glads the lover's heart, + He is here to join and part. + So the groomsman quits your side + And the bridegroom seeks the bride: + Friend and comrade yield you o'er + To her that hardly loves you more. + + Now the sun his skyward beam + Has tilted from the Ocean stream. + Light the Indies, laggard sun: + Happy bridegroom, day is done, + And the star from OEta's steep + Calls to bed but not to sleep. + + Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings + All desired and timely things. + All whom morning sends to roam, + Hesper loves to lead them home. + Home return who him behold, + Child to mother, sheep to fold, + Bird to nest from wandering wide: + Happy bridegroom, seek your bride. + + Pour it out, the golden cup + Given and guarded, brimming up, + Safe through jostling markets borne + And the thicket of the thorn; + Folly spurned and danger past, + Pour it to the god at last. + + Now, to smother noise and light, + Is stolen abroad the wildering night, + And the blotting shades confuse + Path and meadow full of dews; + And the high heavens, that all control, + Turn in silence round the pole. + Catch the starry beams they shed + Prospering the marriage bed, + And breed the land that reared your prime + Sons to stay the rot of time. + All is quiet, no alarms; + Nothing fear of nightly harms. + Safe you sleep on guarded ground, + And in silent circle round + The thoughts of friends keep watch and ward, + Harnessed angels, hand on sword. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. THE ORACLES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Tis mute, the word they went to hear on high Dodona mountain + When winds were in the oakenshaws and all the cauldrons tolled, + And mute's the midland navel-stone beside the singing fountain, + And echoes list to silence now where gods told lies of old. + + I took my question to the shrine that has not ceased from speaking, + The heart within, that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain; + And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking + That she and I should surely die and never live again. + + Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it; + But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth your mouth no more. + 'Tis true there's better boose than brine, but he that drowns must drink it; + And oh, my lass, the news is news that men have heard before. + + The King with half the East at heel is marched from lands of morning; + Their fighters drink the rivers up, their shafts benight the air. + And he that stands will die for nought, and home there's no returning. + The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVI. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The half-moon westers low, my love, + And the wind brings up the rain; + And wide apart lie we, my love, + And seas between the twain. + + I know not if it rains, my love, + In the land where you do lie; + And oh, so sound you sleep, my love, + You know no more than I. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The sigh that heaves the grasses + Whence thou wilt never rise + Is of the air that passes + And knows not if it sighs. + + The diamond tears adorning + Thy low mound on the lea, + Those are the tears of morning, + That weeps, but not for thee. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXVIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now dreary dawns the eastern light, + And fall of eve is drear, + And cold the poor man lies at night, + And so goes out the year. + + Little is the luck I've had, + And oh, 'tis comfort small + To think that many another lad + Has had no luck at all. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Wake not for the world-heard thunder + Nor the chime that earthquakes toll. + Star may plot in heaven with planet, + Lightning rive the rock of granite, + Tempest tread the oakwood under: + Fear not you for flesh nor soul. + Marching, fighting, victory past, + Stretch your limbs in peace at last. + + Stir not for the soldiers drilling + Nor the fever nothing cures: + Throb of drum and timbal's rattle + Call but man alive to battle, + And the fife with death-notes filling + Screams for blood but not for yours. + Times enough you bled your best; + Sleep on now, and take your rest. + + Sleep, my lad; the French are landed, + London's burning, Windsor's down; + Clasp your cloak of earth about you, + We must man the ditch without you, + March unled and fight short-handed, + Charge to fall and swim to drown. + Duty, friendship, bravery o'er, + Sleep away, lad; wake no more. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXX. SINNER'S RUE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I walked alone and thinking, + And faint the nightwind blew + And stirred on mounds at crossways + The flower of sinner's rue. + + Where the roads part they bury + Him that his own hand slays, + And so the weed of sorrow + Springs at the four cross ways. + + By night I plucked it hueless, + When morning broke 'twas blue: + Blue at my breast I fastened + The flower of sinner's rue. + + It seemed a herb of healing, + A balsam and a sign, + Flower of a heart whose trouble + Must have been worse than mine. + + Dead clay that did me kindness, + I can do none to you, + But only wear for breastknot + The flower of sinner's rue. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXI. HELL'S GATE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Onward led the road again + Through the sad uncoloured plain + Under twilight brooding dim, + And along the utmost rim + Wall and rampart risen to sight + Cast a shadow not of night, + And beyond them seemed to glow + Bonfires lighted long ago. + And my dark conductor broke + Silence at my side and spoke, + Saying, "You conjecture well: + Yonder is the gate of hell." + + Ill as yet the eye could see + The eternal masonry, + But beneath it on the dark + To and fro there stirred a spark. + And again the sombre guide + Knew my question, and replied: + "At hell gate the damned in turn + Pace for sentinel and burn." + + Dully at the leaden sky + Staring, and with idle eye + Measuring the listless plain, + I began to think again. + Many things I thought of then, + Battle, and the loves of men, + Cities entered, oceans crossed, + Knowledge gained and virtue lost, + Cureless folly done and said, + And the lovely way that led + To the slimepit and the mire + And the everlasting fire. + And against a smoulder dun + And a dawn without a sun + Did the nearing bastion loom, + And across the gate of gloom + Still one saw the sentry go, + Trim and burning, to and fro, + One for women to admire + In his finery of fire. + Something, as I watched him pace, + Minded me of time and place, + Soldiers of another corps + And a sentry known before. + + Ever darker hell on high + Reared its strength upon the sky, + And our footfall on the track + Fetched the daunting echo back. + But the soldier pacing still + The insuperable sill, + Nursing his tormented pride, + Turned his head to neither side, + Sunk into himself apart + And the hell-fire of his heart. + But against our entering in + From the drawbridge Death and Sin + Rose to render key and sword + To their father and their lord. + And the portress foul to see + Lifted up her eyes on me + Smiling, and I made reply: + "Met again, my lass," said I. + Then the sentry turned his head, + Looked, and knew me, and was Ned. + + Once he looked, and halted straight, + Set his back against the gate, + Caught his musket to his chin, + While the hive of hell within + Sent abroad a seething hum + As of towns whose king is come + Leading conquest home from far + And the captives of his war, + And the car of triumph waits, + And they open wide the gates. + But across the entry barred + Straddled the revolted guard, + Weaponed and accoutred well + From the arsenals of hell; + And beside him, sick and white, + Sin to left and Death to right + Turned a countenance of fear + On the flaming mutineer. + Over us the darkness bowed, + And the anger in the cloud + Clenched the lightning for the stroke; + But the traitor musket spoke. + + And the hollowness of hell + Sounded as its master fell, + And the mourning echo rolled + Ruin through his kingdom old. + Tyranny and terror flown + Left a pair of friends alone, + And beneath the nether sky + All that stirred was he and I. + + Silent, nothing found to say, + We began the backward way; + And the ebbing luster died + From the soldier at my side, + As in all his spruce attire + Failed the everlasting fire. + Midmost of the homeward track + Once we listened and looked back; + But the city, dusk and mute, + Slept, and there was no pursuit. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When I would muse in boyhood + The wild green woods among, + And nurse resolves and fancies + Because the world was young, + It was not foes to conquer, + Nor sweethearts to be kind, + But it was friends to die for + That I would seek and find. + + I sought them far and found them, + The sure, the straight, the brave, + The hearts I lost my own to, + The souls I could not save. + They braced their belts about them, + They crossed in ships the sea, + They sought and found six feet of ground, + And there they died for me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the eye of day is shut, + And the stars deny their beams, + And about the forest hut + Blows the roaring wood of dreams, + + From deep clay, from desert rock, + From the sunk sands of the main, + Come not at my door to knock, + Hearts that loved me not again. + + Sleep, be still, turn to your rest + In the lands where you are laid; + In far lodgings east and west + Lie down on the beds you made. + + In gross marl, in blowing dust, + In the drowned ooze of the sea, + Where you would not, lie you must, + Lie you must, and not with me. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THE FIRST OF MAY +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The orchards half the way + From home to Ludlow fair + Flowered on the first of May + In Mays when I was there; + And seen from stile or turning + The plume of smoke would show + Where fires were burning + That went out long ago. + + The plum broke forth in green, + The pear stood high and snowed, + My friends and I between + Would take the Ludlow road; + Dressed to the nines and drinking + And light in heart and limb, + And each chap thinking + The fair was held for him. + + Between the trees in flower + New friends at fairtime tread + The way where Ludlow tower + Stands planted on the dead. + Our thoughts, a long while after, + They think, our words they say; + Theirs now's the laughter, + The fair, the first of May. + + Ay, yonder lads are yet + The fools that we were then; + For oh, the sons we get + Are still the sons of men. + The sumless tale of sorrow + Is all unrolled in vain: + May comes to-morrow + And Ludlow fair again. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXV. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When first my way to fair I took + Few pence in purse had I, + And long I used to stand and look + At things I could not buy. + + Now times are altered: if I care + To buy a thing, I can; + The pence are here and here's the fair, + But where's the lost young man? + + —To think that two and two are four + And neither five nor three + The heart of man has long been sore + And long 'tis like to be. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVI. REVOLUTION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + West and away the wheels of darkness roll, + Day's beamy banner up the east is borne, + Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal, + Drown in the golden deluge of the morn. + + But over sea and continent from sight + Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed + The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night, + Her towering foolscap of eternal shade. + + See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark, + The belfries tingle to the noonday chime. + 'Tis silent, and the subterranean dark + Has crossed the nadir, and begins to climb. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVII. EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + These, in the day when heaven was falling, + The hour when earth's foundations fled, + Followed their mercenary calling + And took their wages and are dead. + + Their shoulders held the sky suspended; + They stood, and earth's foundations stay; + What God abandoned, these defended, + And saved the sum of things for pay. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXVIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough + The land and not the sea, + And leave the soldiers at their drill, + And all about the idle hill + Shepherd your sheep with me. + + Oh stay with company and mirth + And daylight and the air; + Too full already is the grave + Of fellows that were good and brave + And died because they were. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXXIX. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When summer's end is nighing + And skies at evening cloud, + I muse on change and fortune + And all the feats I vowed + When I was young and proud. + + The weathercock at sunset + Would lose the slanted ray, + And I would climb the beacon + That looked to Wales away + And saw the last of day. + + From hill and cloud and heaven + The hues of evening died; + Night welled through lane and hollow + And hushed the countryside, + But I had youth and pride. + + And I with earth and nightfall + In converse high would stand, + Late, till the west was ashen + And darkness hard at hand, + And the eye lost the land. + + The year might age, and cloudy + The lessening day might close, + But air of other summers + Breathed from beyond the snows, + And I had hope of those. + + They came and were and are not + And come no more anew; + And all the years and seasons + That ever can ensue + Must now be worse and few. + + So here's an end of roaming + On eves when autumn nighs: + The ear too fondly listens + For summer's parting sighs, + And then the heart replies. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XL. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Tell me not here, it needs not saying, + What tune the enchantress plays + In aftermaths of soft September + Or under blanching mays, + For she and I were long acquainted + And I knew all her ways. + + On russet floors, by waters idle, + The pine lets fall its cone; + The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing + In leafy dells alone; + And traveler's joy beguiles in autumn + Hearts that have lost their own. + + On acres of the seeded grasses + The changing burnish heaves; + Or marshalled under moons of harvest + Stand still all night the sheaves; + Or beeches strip in storms for winter + And stain the wind with leaves. + + Possess, as I possessed a season, + The countries I resign, + Where over elmy plains the highway + Would mount the hills and shine, + And full of shade the pillared forest + Would murmur and be mine. + + For nature, heartless, witless nature, + Will neither care nor know + What stranger's feet may find the meadow + And trespass there and go, + Nor ask amid the dews of morning + If they are mine or no. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XLI. FANCY'S KNELL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When lads were home from labour + At Abdon under Clee, + A man would call his neighbor + And both would send for me. + And where the light in lances + Across the mead was laid, + There to the dances + I fetched my flute and played. + + Ours were idle pleasures, + Yet oh, content we were, + The young to wind the measures, + The old to heed the air; + And I to lift with playing + From tree and tower and steep + The light delaying, + And flute the sun to sleep. + + The youth toward his fancy + Would turn his brow of tan, + And Tom would pair with Nancy + And Dick step off with Fan; + The girl would lift her glances + To his, and both be mute: + Well went the dances + At evening to the flute. + + Wenlock Edge was umbered, + And bright was Abdon Burf, + And warm between them slumbered + The smooth green miles of turf; + Until from grass and clover + The upshot beam would fade, + And England over + Advanced the lofty shade. + + The lofty shade advances, + I fetch my flute and play: + Come, lads, and learn the dances + And praise the tune to-day. + To-morrow, more's the pity, + Away we both must hie, + To air the ditty, + And to earth I. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. 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Housman + +Release Date: January 28, 2007 [EBook #7848] +Posting Date: August 3, 2009 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by A. P. Saulters + + + + + + + + +LAST POEMS + +By A. E. Housman + + +I publish these poems, few though they are, because it is not likely +that I shall ever be impelled to write much more. I can no longer +expect to be revisited by the continuous excitement under which in +the early months of 1895 I wrote the greater part of my first book, +nor indeed could I well sustain it if it came; and it is best that what +I have written should be printed while I am here to see it through +the press and control its spelling and punctuation. About a quarter +of this matter belongs to the April of the present year, but most of +it to dates between 1895 and 1910. + + +September 1922 + + + + We'll to the woods no more, + The laurels are all cut, + The bowers are bare of bay + That once the Muses wore; + The year draws in the day + And soon will evening shut: + The laurels all are cut, + We'll to the woods no more. + Oh we'll no more, no more + To the leafy woods away, + To the high wild woods of laurel + And the bowers of bay no more. + + + + + +I. THE WEST + + + Beyond the moor and the mountain crest + --Comrade, look not on the west-- + The sun is down and drinks away + From air and land the lees of day. + + The long cloud and the single pine + Sentinel the ending line, + And out beyond it, clear and wan, + Reach the gulfs of evening on. + + The son of woman turns his brow + West from forty countries now, + And, as the edge of heaven he eyes, + Thinks eternal thoughts, and sighs. + + Oh wide's the world, to rest or roam, + With change abroad and cheer at home, + Fights and furloughs, talk and tale, + Company and beef and ale. + + But if I front the evening sky + Silent on the west look I, + And my comrade, stride for stride, + Paces silent at my side, + + Comrade, look not on the west: + 'Twill have the heart out of your breast; + 'Twill take your thoughts and sink them far, + Leagues beyond the sunset bar. + + Oh lad, I fear that yon's the sea + Where they fished for you and me, + And there, from whence we both were ta'en, + You and I shall drown again. + + Send not on your soul before + To dive from that beguiling shore, + And let not yet the swimmer leave + His clothes upon the sands of eve. + + Too fast to yonder strand forlorn + We journey, to the sunken bourn, + To flush the fading tinges eyed + By other lads at eventide. + + Wide is the world, to rest or roam, + And early 'tis for turning home: + Plant your heel on earth and stand, + And let's forget our native land. + + When you and I are split on air + Long we shall be strangers there; + Friends of flesh and bone are best; + Comrade, look not on the west. + + + + + +II. + + + As I gird on for fighting + My sword upon my thigh, + I think on old ill fortunes + Of better men than I. + + Think I, the round world over, + What golden lads are low + With hurts not mine to mourn for + And shames I shall not know. + + What evil luck soever + For me remains in store, + 'Tis sure much finer fellows + Have fared much worse before. + + So here are things to think on + That ought to make me brave, + As I strap on for fighting + My sword that will not save. + + + + + +III. + + + Her strong enchantments failing, + Her towers of fear in wreck, + Her limbecks dried of poisons + And the knife at her neck, + + The Queen of air and darkness + Begins to shrill and cry, + 'O young man, O my slayer, + To-morrow you shall die.' + + O Queen of air and darkness, + I think 'tis truth you say, + And I shall die to-morrow; + But you will die to-day. + + + + + +IV. ILLIC JACET + + + Oh hard is the bed they have made him, + And common the blanket and cheap; + But there he will lie as they laid him: + Where else could you trust him to sleep? + + To sleep when the bugle is crying + And cravens have heard and are brave, + When mothers and sweethearts are sighing + And lads are in love with the grave. + + Oh dark is the chamber and lonely, + And lights and companions depart; + But lief will he lose them and only + Behold the desire of his heart. + + And low is the roof, but it covers + A sleeper content to repose; + And far from his friends and his lovers + He lies with the sweetheart he chose. + + + + + +V. GRENADIER + + + The Queen she sent to look for me, + The sergeant he did say, + 'Young man, a soldier will you be + For thirteen pence a day?' + + For thirteen pence a day did I + Take off the things I wore, + And I have marched to where I lie, + And I shall march no more. + + My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet, + My blood runs all away, + So now I shall not die in debt + For thirteen pence a day. + + To-morrow after new young men + The sergeant he must see, + For things will all be over then + Between the Queen and me. + + And I shall have to bate my price, + For in the grave, they say, + Is neither knowledge nor device + Nor thirteen pence a day. + + + + + +VI. LANCER + + + I 'listed at home for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + I 'listed at home for a lancer + To ride on a horse to my grave. + + And over the seas we were bidden + A country to take and to keep; + And far with the brave I have ridden, + And now with the brave I shall sleep. + + For round me the men will be lying + That learned me the way to behave. + And showed me my business of dying: + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + They ask and there is not an answer; + Says I, I will 'list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + And I with the brave shall be sleeping + At ease on my mattress of loam, + When back from their taking and keeping + The squadron is riding home. + + The wind with the plumes will be playing, + The girls will stand watching them wave, + And eyeing my comrades and saying + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + They ask and there is not an answer; + Says you, I will 'list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + + + + +VII. + + + In valleys green and still + Where lovers wander maying + They hear from over hill + A music playing. + + Behind the drum and fife, + Past hawthornwood and hollow, + Through earth and out of life + The soldiers follow. + + The soldier's is the trade: + In any wind or weather + He steals the heart of maid + And man together. + + The lover and his lass + Beneath the hawthorn lying + Have heard the soldiers pass, + And both are sighing. + + And down the distance they + With dying note and swelling + Walk the resounding way + To the still dwelling. + + + + + +VIII. + + + Soldier from the wars returning, + Spoiler of the taken town, + Here is ease that asks not earning; + Turn you in and sit you down. + + Peace is come and wars are over, + Welcome you and welcome all, + While the charger crops the clover + And his bridle hangs in stall. + + Now no more of winters biting, + Filth in trench from fall to spring, + Summers full of sweat and fighting + For the Kesar or the King. + + Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle; + Kings and kesars, keep your pay; + Soldier, sit you down and idle + At the inn of night for aye. + + + + + +IX. + + + The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers + Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, + The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers. + Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May. + + There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot, + One season ruined of our little store. + May will be fine next year as like as not: + Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four. + + We for a certainty are not the first + Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled + Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed + Whatever brute and blackguard made the world. + + It is in truth iniquity on high + To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave, + And mar the merriment as you and I + Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave. + + Iniquity it is; but pass the can. + My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore; + Our only portion is the estate of man: + We want the moon, but we shall get no more. + + If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours + To-morrow it will hie on far behests; + The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours + Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts. + + The troubles of our proud and angry dust + Are from eternity, and shall not fail. + Bear them we can, and if we can we must. + Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale. + + + + + +X. + + + Could man be drunk for ever + With liquor, love, or fights, + Lief should I rouse at morning + And lief lie down of nights. + + But men at whiles are sober + And think by fits and starts, + And if they think, they fasten + Their hands upon their hearts. + + + + + +XI. + + + Yonder see the morning blink: + The sun is up, and up must I, + To wash and dress and eat and drink + And look at things and talk and think + And work, and God knows why. + + Oh often have I washed and dressed + And what's to show for all my pain? + Let me lie abed and rest: + Ten thousand times I've done my best + And all's to do again. + + + + + +XII. + + + The laws of God, the laws of man, + He may keep that will and can; + Not I: let God and man decree + Laws for themselves and not for me; + And if my ways are not as theirs + Let them mind their own affairs. + Their deeds I judge and much condemn, + Yet when did I make laws for them? + Please yourselves, say I, and they + Need only look the other way. + But no, they will not; they must still + Wrest their neighbour to their will, + And make me dance as they desire + With jail and gallows and hell-fire. + And how am I to face the odds + Of man's bedevilment and God's? + I, a stranger and afraid + In a world I never made. + They will be master, right or wrong; + Though both are foolish, both are strong, + And since, my soul, we cannot fly + To Saturn or Mercury, + Keep we must, if keep we can, + These foreign laws of God and man. + + + + + +XIII. THE DESERTER + + + "What sound awakened me, I wonder, + For now 'tis dumb." + "Wheels on the road most like, or thunder: + Lie down; 'twas not the drum.: + + "Toil at sea and two in haven + And trouble far: + Fly, crow, away, and follow, raven, + And all that croaks for war." + + "Hark, I heard the bugle crying, + And where am I? + My friends are up and dressed and dying, + And I will dress and die." + + "Oh love is rare and trouble plenty + And carrion cheap, + And daylight dear at four-and-twenty: + Lie down again and sleep." + + "Reach me my belt and leave your prattle: + Your hour is gone; + But my day is the day of battle, + And that comes dawning on. + + "They mow the field of man in season: + Farewell, my fair, + And, call it truth or call it treason, + Farewell the vows that were." + + "Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly: + 'Tis like the brave. + They find no bed to joy in rightly + Before they find the grave. + + "Their love is for their own undoing. + And east and west + They scour about the world a-wooing + The bullet in their breast. + + "Sail away the ocean over, + Oh sail away, + And lie there with your leaden lover + For ever and a day." + + + + + +XIV. THE CULPRIT + + + The night my father got me + His mind was not on me; + He did not plague his fancy + To muse if I should be + The son you see. + + The day my mother bore me + She was a fool and glad, + For all the pain I cost her, + That she had borne the lad + That borne she had. + + My mother and my father + Out of the light they lie; + The warrant would not find them, + And here 'tis only I + Shall hang so high. + + Oh let not man remember + The soul that God forgot, + But fetch the county kerchief + And noose me in the knot, + And I will rot. + + For so the game is ended + That should not have begun. + My father and my mother + They had a likely son, + And I have none. + + + + + +XV. EIGHT O'CLOCK + + + He stood, and heard the steeple + Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. + One, two, three, four, to market-place and people + It tossed them down. + + Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, + He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; + And then the clock collected in the tower + Its strength, and struck. + + + + + +XVI. SPRING MORNING + + + Star and coronal and bell + April underfoot renews, + And the hope of man as well + Flowers among the morning dews. + + Now the old come out to look, + Winter past and winter's pains. + How the sky in pool and brook + Glitters on the grassy plains. + + Easily the gentle air + Wafts the turning season on; + Things to comfort them are there, + Though 'tis true the best are gone. + + Now the scorned unlucky lad + Rousing from his pillow gnawn + Mans his heart and deep and glad + Drinks the valiant air of dawn. + + Half the night he longed to die, + Now are sown on hill and plain + Pleasures worth his while to try + Ere he longs to die again. + + Blue the sky from east to west + Arches, and the world is wide, + Though the girl he loves the best + Rouses from another's side. + + + + + +XVII. ASTRONOMY + + + The Wain upon the northern steep + Descends and lifts away. + Oh I will sit me down and weep + For bones in Africa. + + For pay and medals, name and rank, + Things that he has not found, + He hove the Cross to heaven and sank + The pole-star underground. + + And now he does not even see + Signs of the nadir roll + At night over the ground where he + Is buried with the pole. + + + + + +XVIII. + + + The rain, it streams on stone and hillock, + The boot clings to the clay. + Since all is done that's due and right + Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night, + For I must turn away. + + Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal; + No league of ours, for sure. + Tomorrow I shall miss you less, + And ache of heart and heaviness + Are things that time should cure. + + Over the hill the highway marches + And what's beyond is wide: + Oh soon enough will pine to nought + Remembrance and the faithful thought + That sits the grave beside. + + The skies, they are not always raining + Nor grey the twelvemonth through; + And I shall meet good days and mirth, + And range the lovely lands of earth + With friends no worse than you. + + But oh, my man, the house is fallen + That none can build again; + My man, how full of joy and woe + Your mother bore you years ago + To-night to lie in the rain. + + + + + +XIX. + + + In midnights of November, + When Dead Man's Fair is nigh, + And danger in the valley, + And anger in the sky, + + Around the huddling homesteads + The leafless timber roars, + And the dead call the dying + And finger at the doors. + + Oh, yonder faltering fingers + Are hands I used to hold; + Their false companion drowses + And leaves them in the cold. + + Oh, to the bed of ocean, + To Africk and to Ind, + I will arise and follow + Along the rainy wind. + + The night goes out and under + With all its train forlorn; + Hues in the east assemble + And cocks crow up the morn. + + The living are the living + And dead the dead will stay, + And I will sort with comrades + That face the beam of day. + + + + + +XX. + + + The night is freezing fast, + To-morrow comes December; + And winterfalls of old + Are with me from the past; + And chiefly I remember + How Dick would hate the cold. + + Fall, winter, fall; for he, + Prompt hand and headpiece clever, + Has woven a winter robe, + And made of earth and sea + His overcoat for ever, + And wears the turning globe. + + + + + +XXI. + + + The fairies break their dances + And leave the printed lawn, + And up from India glances + The silver sail of dawn. + + The candles burn their sockets, + The blinds let through the day, + The young man feels his pockets + And wonders what's to pay. + + + + + +XXII. + + + The sloe was lost in flower, + The April elm was dim; + That was the lover's hour, + The hour for lies and him. + + If thorns are all the bower, + If north winds freeze the fir, + Why, 'tis another's hour, + The hour for truth and her. + + + + + +XXIII. + + + In the morning, in the morning, + In the happy field of hay, + Oh they looked at one another + By the light of day. + + In the blue and silver morning + On the haycock as they lay, + Oh they looked at one another + And they looked away. + + + + + +XXIV. EPITHALAMIUM + + + He is here, Urania's son, + Hymen come from Helicon; + God that glads the lover's heart, + He is here to join and part. + So the groomsman quits your side + And the bridegroom seeks the bride: + Friend and comrade yield you o'er + To her that hardly loves you more. + + Now the sun his skyward beam + Has tilted from the Ocean stream. + Light the Indies, laggard sun: + Happy bridegroom, day is done, + And the star from OEta's steep + Calls to bed but not to sleep. + + Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings + All desired and timely things. + All whom morning sends to roam, + Hesper loves to lead them home. + Home return who him behold, + Child to mother, sheep to fold, + Bird to nest from wandering wide: + Happy bridegroom, seek your bride. + + Pour it out, the golden cup + Given and guarded, brimming up, + Safe through jostling markets borne + And the thicket of the thorn; + Folly spurned and danger past, + Pour it to the god at last. + + Now, to smother noise and light, + Is stolen abroad the wildering night, + And the blotting shades confuse + Path and meadow full of dews; + And the high heavens, that all control, + Turn in silence round the pole. + Catch the starry beams they shed + Prospering the marriage bed, + And breed the land that reared your prime + Sons to stay the rot of time. + All is quiet, no alarms; + Nothing fear of nightly harms. + Safe you sleep on guarded ground, + And in silent circle round + The thoughts of friends keep watch and ward, + Harnessed angels, hand on sword. + + + + + +XXV. THE ORACLES + + + 'Tis mute, the word they went to hear on high Dodona mountain + When winds were in the oakenshaws and all the cauldrons tolled, + And mute's the midland navel-stone beside the singing fountain, + And echoes list to silence now where gods told lies of old. + + I took my question to the shrine that has not ceased from speaking, + The heart within, that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain; + And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking + That she and I should surely die and never live again. + + Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it; + But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth your mouth no more. + 'Tis true there's better boose than brine, but he that drowns must drink it; + And oh, my lass, the news is news that men have heard before. + + The King with half the East at heel is marched from lands of morning; + Their fighters drink the rivers up, their shafts benight the air. + And he that stands will die for nought, and home there's no returning. + The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair. + + + + + +XXVI. + + + The half-moon westers low, my love, + And the wind brings up the rain; + And wide apart lie we, my love, + And seas between the twain. + + I know not if it rains, my love, + In the land where you do lie; + And oh, so sound you sleep, my love, + You know no more than I. + + + + + +XXVII. + + + The sigh that heaves the grasses + Whence thou wilt never rise + Is of the air that passes + And knows not if it sighs. + + The diamond tears adorning + Thy low mound on the lea, + Those are the tears of morning, + That weeps, but not for thee. + + + + + +XXVIII. + + + Now dreary dawns the eastern light, + And fall of eve is drear, + And cold the poor man lies at night, + And so goes out the year. + + Little is the luck I've had, + And oh, 'tis comfort small + To think that many another lad + Has had no luck at all. + + + + + +XXIX. + + + Wake not for the world-heard thunder + Nor the chime that earthquakes toll. + Star may plot in heaven with planet, + Lightning rive the rock of granite, + Tempest tread the oakwood under: + Fear not you for flesh nor soul. + Marching, fighting, victory past, + Stretch your limbs in peace at last. + + Stir not for the soldiers drilling + Nor the fever nothing cures: + Throb of drum and timbal's rattle + Call but man alive to battle, + And the fife with death-notes filling + Screams for blood but not for yours. + Times enough you bled your best; + Sleep on now, and take your rest. + + Sleep, my lad; the French are landed, + London's burning, Windsor's down; + Clasp your cloak of earth about you, + We must man the ditch without you, + March unled and fight short-handed, + Charge to fall and swim to drown. + Duty, friendship, bravery o'er, + Sleep away, lad; wake no more. + + + + + +XXX. SINNER'S RUE + + + I walked alone and thinking, + And faint the nightwind blew + And stirred on mounds at crossways + The flower of sinner's rue. + + Where the roads part they bury + Him that his own hand slays, + And so the weed of sorrow + Springs at the four cross ways. + + By night I plucked it hueless, + When morning broke 'twas blue: + Blue at my breast I fastened + The flower of sinner's rue. + + It seemed a herb of healing, + A balsam and a sign, + Flower of a heart whose trouble + Must have been worse than mine. + + Dead clay that did me kindness, + I can do none to you, + But only wear for breastknot + The flower of sinner's rue. + + + + + +XXXI. HELL'S GATE + + + Onward led the road again + Through the sad uncoloured plain + Under twilight brooding dim, + And along the utmost rim + Wall and rampart risen to sight + Cast a shadow not of night, + And beyond them seemed to glow + Bonfires lighted long ago. + And my dark conductor broke + Silence at my side and spoke, + Saying, "You conjecture well: + Yonder is the gate of hell." + + Ill as yet the eye could see + The eternal masonry, + But beneath it on the dark + To and fro there stirred a spark. + And again the sombre guide + Knew my question, and replied: + "At hell gate the damned in turn + Pace for sentinel and burn." + + Dully at the leaden sky + Staring, and with idle eye + Measuring the listless plain, + I began to think again. + Many things I thought of then, + Battle, and the loves of men, + Cities entered, oceans crossed, + Knowledge gained and virtue lost, + Cureless folly done and said, + And the lovely way that led + To the slimepit and the mire + And the everlasting fire. + And against a smoulder dun + And a dawn without a sun + Did the nearing bastion loom, + And across the gate of gloom + Still one saw the sentry go, + Trim and burning, to and fro, + One for women to admire + In his finery of fire. + Something, as I watched him pace, + Minded me of time and place, + Soldiers of another corps + And a sentry known before. + + Ever darker hell on high + Reared its strength upon the sky, + And our footfall on the track + Fetched the daunting echo back. + But the soldier pacing still + The insuperable sill, + Nursing his tormented pride, + Turned his head to neither side, + Sunk into himself apart + And the hell-fire of his heart. + But against our entering in + From the drawbridge Death and Sin + Rose to render key and sword + To their father and their lord. + And the portress foul to see + Lifted up her eyes on me + Smiling, and I made reply: + "Met again, my lass," said I. + Then the sentry turned his head, + Looked, and knew me, and was Ned. + + Once he looked, and halted straight, + Set his back against the gate, + Caught his musket to his chin, + While the hive of hell within + Sent abroad a seething hum + As of towns whose king is come + Leading conquest home from far + And the captives of his war, + And the car of triumph waits, + And they open wide the gates. + But across the entry barred + Straddled the revolted guard, + Weaponed and accoutred well + From the arsenals of hell; + And beside him, sick and white, + Sin to left and Death to right + Turned a countenance of fear + On the flaming mutineer. + Over us the darkness bowed, + And the anger in the cloud + Clenched the lightning for the stroke; + But the traitor musket spoke. + + And the hollowness of hell + Sounded as its master fell, + And the mourning echo rolled + Ruin through his kingdom old. + Tyranny and terror flown + Left a pair of friends alone, + And beneath the nether sky + All that stirred was he and I. + + Silent, nothing found to say, + We began the backward way; + And the ebbing luster died + From the soldier at my side, + As in all his spruce attire + Failed the everlasting fire. + Midmost of the homeward track + Once we listened and looked back; + But the city, dusk and mute, + Slept, and there was no pursuit. + + + + + +XXXII. + + + When I would muse in boyhood + The wild green woods among, + And nurse resolves and fancies + Because the world was young, + It was not foes to conquer, + Nor sweethearts to be kind, + But it was friends to die for + That I would seek and find. + + I sought them far and found them, + The sure, the straight, the brave, + The hearts I lost my own to, + The souls I could not save. + They braced their belts about them, + They crossed in ships the sea, + They sought and found six feet of ground, + And there they died for me. + + + + + +XXXIII. + + + When the eye of day is shut, + And the stars deny their beams, + And about the forest hut + Blows the roaring wood of dreams, + + From deep clay, from desert rock, + From the sunk sands of the main, + Come not at my door to knock, + Hearts that loved me not again. + + Sleep, be still, turn to your rest + In the lands where you are laid; + In far lodgings east and west + Lie down on the beds you made. + + In gross marl, in blowing dust, + In the drowned ooze of the sea, + Where you would not, lie you must, + Lie you must, and not with me. + + + + + +XXXIV. + + THE FIRST OF MAY + + + The orchards half the way + From home to Ludlow fair + Flowered on the first of May + In Mays when I was there; + And seen from stile or turning + The plume of smoke would show + Where fires were burning + That went out long ago. + + The plum broke forth in green, + The pear stood high and snowed, + My friends and I between + Would take the Ludlow road; + Dressed to the nines and drinking + And light in heart and limb, + And each chap thinking + The fair was held for him. + + Between the trees in flower + New friends at fairtime tread + The way where Ludlow tower + Stands planted on the dead. + Our thoughts, a long while after, + They think, our words they say; + Theirs now's the laughter, + The fair, the first of May. + + Ay, yonder lads are yet + The fools that we were then; + For oh, the sons we get + Are still the sons of men. + The sumless tale of sorrow + Is all unrolled in vain: + May comes to-morrow + And Ludlow fair again. + + + + + +XXXV. + + + When first my way to fair I took + Few pence in purse had I, + And long I used to stand and look + At things I could not buy. + + Now times are altered: if I care + To buy a thing, I can; + The pence are here and here's the fair, + But where's the lost young man? + + --To think that two and two are four + And neither five nor three + The heart of man has long been sore + And long 'tis like to be. + + + + + +XXXVI. REVOLUTION + + + West and away the wheels of darkness roll, + Day's beamy banner up the east is borne, + Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal, + Drown in the golden deluge of the morn. + + But over sea and continent from sight + Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed + The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night, + Her towering foolscap of eternal shade. + + See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark, + The belfries tingle to the noonday chime. + 'Tis silent, and the subterranean dark + Has crossed the nadir, and begins to climb. + + + + + +XXXVII. EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES + + + These, in the day when heaven was falling, + The hour when earth's foundations fled, + Followed their mercenary calling + And took their wages and are dead. + + Their shoulders held the sky suspended; + They stood, and earth's foundations stay; + What God abandoned, these defended, + And saved the sum of things for pay. + + + + + +XXXVIII. + + + Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough + The land and not the sea, + And leave the soldiers at their drill, + And all about the idle hill + Shepherd your sheep with me. + + Oh stay with company and mirth + And daylight and the air; + Too full already is the grave + Of fellows that were good and brave + And died because they were. + + + + + +XXXIX. + + + When summer's end is nighing + And skies at evening cloud, + I muse on change and fortune + And all the feats I vowed + When I was young and proud. + + The weathercock at sunset + Would lose the slanted ray, + And I would climb the beacon + That looked to Wales away + And saw the last of day. + + From hill and cloud and heaven + The hues of evening died; + Night welled through lane and hollow + And hushed the countryside, + But I had youth and pride. + + And I with earth and nightfall + In converse high would stand, + Late, till the west was ashen + And darkness hard at hand, + And the eye lost the land. + + The year might age, and cloudy + The lessening day might close, + But air of other summers + Breathed from beyond the snows, + And I had hope of those. + + They came and were and are not + And come no more anew; + And all the years and seasons + That ever can ensue + Must now be worse and few. + + So here's an end of roaming + On eves when autumn nighs: + The ear too fondly listens + For summer's parting sighs, + And then the heart replies. + + + + + +XL. + + + Tell me not here, it needs not saying, + What tune the enchantress plays + In aftermaths of soft September + Or under blanching mays, + For she and I were long acquainted + And I knew all her ways. + + On russet floors, by waters idle, + The pine lets fall its cone; + The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing + In leafy dells alone; + And traveler's joy beguiles in autumn + Hearts that have lost their own. + + On acres of the seeded grasses + The changing burnish heaves; + Or marshalled under moons of harvest + Stand still all night the sheaves; + Or beeches strip in storms for winter + And stain the wind with leaves. + + Possess, as I possessed a season, + The countries I resign, + Where over elmy plains the highway + Would mount the hills and shine, + And full of shade the pillared forest + Would murmur and be mine. + + For nature, heartless, witless nature, + Will neither care nor know + What stranger's feet may find the meadow + And trespass there and go, + Nor ask amid the dews of morning + If they are mine or no. + + + + + +XLI. FANCY'S KNELL + + + When lads were home from labour + At Abdon under Clee, + A man would call his neighbor + And both would send for me. + And where the light in lances + Across the mead was laid, + There to the dances + I fetched my flute and played. + + Ours were idle pleasures, + Yet oh, content we were, + The young to wind the measures, + The old to heed the air; + And I to lift with playing + From tree and tower and steep + The light delaying, + And flute the sun to sleep. + + The youth toward his fancy + Would turn his brow of tan, + And Tom would pair with Nancy + And Dick step off with Fan; + The girl would lift her glances + To his, and both be mute: + Well went the dances + At evening to the flute. + + Wenlock Edge was umbered, + And bright was Abdon Burf, + And warm between them slumbered + The smooth green miles of turf; + Until from grass and clover + The upshot beam would fade, + And England over + Advanced the lofty shade. + + The lofty shade advances, + I fetch my flute and play: + Come, lads, and learn the dances + And praise the tune to-day. + To-morrow, more's the pity, + Away we both must hie, + To air the ditty, + And to earth I. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Last Poems + +Author: A. E. Housman + +Release Date: April, 2005 [EBook #7848] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on May 22, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by A. P. Saulters + + + + + +LAST POEMS + +By A. E. Housman + + +I publish these poems, few though they are, because it is not likely +that I shall ever be impelled to write much more. I can no longer +expect to be revisited by the continuous excitement under which in +the early months of 1895 I wrote the greater part of my first book, +nor indeed could I well sustain it if it came; and it is best that what +I have written should be printed while I am here to see it through +the press and control its spelling and punctuation. About a quarter +of this matter belongs to the April of the present year, but most of +it to dates between 1895 and 1910. + +September 1922 + + + +/We'll to the weeds no more, +The laurels are all cut, +The bowers are bare of bay +That once the Muses wore; +The year draws in the day +And soon will evening shut: +The laurels all are cut, +We'll to the woods no more. +Oh we'll no more, no more +To the leafy woods away, +To the high wild woods of laurel +And the bowers of bay no more./ + + + + +I + +THE WEST + +Beyond the moor and the mountain crest +--Comrade, look not on the west-- +The sun is down and drinks away +From air and land the lees of day. + +The long cloud and the single pine +Sentinel the ending line, +And out beyond it, clear and wan, +Reach the gulfs of evening on. + +The son of woman turns his brow +West from forty countries now, +And, as the edge of heaven he eyes, +Thinks eternal thoughts, and sighs. + +Oh wide's the world, to rest or roam, +With change abroad and cheer at home, +Fights and furloughs, talk and tale, +Company and beef and ale. + +But if I front the evening sky +Silent on the west look I, +And my comrade, stride for stride, +Paces silent at my side, + +Comrade, look not on the west: +'Twill have the heart out of your breast; +'Twill take your thoughts and sink them far, +Leagues beyond the sunset bar. + +Oh lad, I fear that yon's the sea +Where they fished for you and me, +And there, from whence we both were ta'en, +You and I shall drown again. + +Send not on your soul before +To dive from that beguiling shore, +And let not yet the swimmer leave +His clothes upon the sands of eve. + +Too fast to yonder strand forlorn +We journey, to the sunken bourn, +To flush the fading tinges eyed +By other lads at eventide. + +Wide is the world, to rest or roam, +And early 'tis for turning home: +Plant your heel on earth and stand, +And let's forget our native land. + +When you and I are split on air +Long we shall be strangers there; +Friends of flesh and bone are best; +Comrade, look not on the west. + + + + +II + +As I gird on for fighting + My sword upon my thigh, +I think on old ill fortunes + Of better men than I. + +Think I, the round world over, + What golden lads are low +With hurts not mine to mourn for + And shames I shall not know. + +What evil luck soever + For me remains in store, +'Tis sure much finer fellows + Have fared much worse before. + +So here are things to think on + That ought to make me brave, +As I strap on for fighting + My sword that will not save. + + + + +III + +Her strong enchantments failing, + Her towers of fear in wreck, +Her limbecks dried of poisons + And the knife at her neck, + +The Queen of air and darkness + Begins to shrill and cry, +'O young man, O my slayer, + To-morrow you shall die.' + +O Queen of air and darkness, + I think 'tis truth you say, +And I shall die to-morrow; + But you will die to-day. + + + + +IV + +ILLIC JACET + +Oh hard is the bed they have made him, + And common the blanket and cheap; +But there he will lie as they laid him: + Where else could you trust him to sleep? + +To sleep when the bugle is crying + And cravens have heard and are brave, +When mothers and sweethearts are sighing + And lads are in love with the grave. + +Oh dark is the chamber and lonely, + And lights and companions depart; +But lief will he lose them and only + Behold the desire of his heart. + +And low is the roof, but it covers + A sleeper content to repose; +And far from his friends and his lovers + He lies with the sweetheart he chose. + + + + +V + +GRENADIER + +The Queen she sent to look for me, + The sergeant he did say, +'Young man, a soldier will you be + For thirteen pence a day?' + +For thirteen pence a day did I + Take off the things I wore, +And I have marched to where I lie, + And I shall march no more. + +My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet, + My blood runs all away, +So now I shall not die in debt + For thirteen pence a day. + +To-morrow after new young men + The sergeant he must see, +For things will all be over then + Between the Queen and me. + +And I shall have to bate my price, + For in the grave, they say, +Is neither knowledge nor device + Nor thirteen pence a day. + + + + +VI + +LANCER + +I 'listed at home for a lancer, + /Oh who would not sleep with the brave?/ +I 'listed at home for a lancer + To ride on a horse to my grave. + +And over the seas we were bidden + A country to take and to keep; +And far with the brave I have ridden, + And now with the brave I shall sleep. + +For round me the men will be lying + That learned me the way to behave. +And showed me my business of dying: + /Oh who would not sleep with the brave?/ + +They ask and there is not an answer; +Says I, I will 'list for a lancer, + /Oh who would not sleep with the brave?/ + +And I with the brave shall be sleeping + At ease on my mattress of loam, +When back from their taking and keeping + The squadron is riding home. + +The wind with the plumes will be playing, + The girls will stand watching them wave, +And eyeing my comrades and saying + /Oh who would not sleep with the brave?/ + +They ask and there is not an answer; +Says you, I will 'list for a lancer, + /Oh who would not sleep with the brave?/ + + + + +VII + +In valleys green and still + Where lovers wander maying +They hear from over hill + A music playing. + +Behind the drum and fife, + Past hawthornwood and hollow, +Through earth and out of life + The soldiers follow. + +The soldier's is the trade: + In any wind or weather +He steals the heart of maid + And man together. + +The lover and his lass + Beneath the hawthorn lying +Have heard the soldiers pass, + And both are sighing. + +And down the distance they + With dying note and swelling +Walk the resounding way + To the still dwelling. + + + + +VIII + +Soldier from the wars returning, + Spoiler of the taken town, +Here is ease that asks not earning; + Turn you in and sit you down. + +Peace is come and wars are over, + Welcome you and welcome all, +While the charger crops the clover + And his bridle hangs in stall. + +Now no more of winters biting, + Filth in trench from fall to spring, +Summers full of sweat and fighting + For the Kesar or the King. + +Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle; + Kings and kesars, keep your pay; +Soldier, sit you down and idle + At the inn of night for aye. + + + + +IX + +The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers + Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, +The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers. + Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May. + +There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot, + One season ruined of our little store. +May will be fine next year as like as not: + Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four. + +We for a certainty are not the first + Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled +Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed + Whatever brute and blackguard made the world. + +It is in truth iniquity on high + To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave, +And mar the merriment as you and I + Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave. + +Iniquity it is; but pass the can. + My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore; +Our only portion is the estate of man: + We want the moon, but we shall get no more. + +If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours + To-morrow it will hie on far behests; +The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours + Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts. + +The troubles of our proud and angry dust + Are from eternity, and shall not fail. +Bear them we can, and if we can we must. + Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale. + + + + +X + +Could man be drunk for ever + With liquor, love, or fights, +Lief should I rouse at morning + And lief lie down of nights. + +But men at whiles are sober + And think by fits and starts, +And if they think, they fasten + Their hands upon their hearts. + + + + +XI + +Yonder see the morning blink: + The sun is up, and up must I, +To wash and dress and eat and drink +And look at things and talk and think + And work, and God knows why. + +Oh often have I washed and dressed + And what's to show for all my pain? +Let me lie abed and rest: +Ten thousand times I've done my best + And all's to do again. + + + + +XII + + The laws of God, the laws of man, +He may keep that will and can; +Now I: let God and man decree +Laws for themselves and not for me; +And if my ways are not as theirs +Let them mind their own affairs. +Their deeds I judge and much condemn, +Yet when did I make laws for them? +Please yourselves, say I, and they +Need only look the other way. +But no, they will not; they must still +Wrest their neighbour to their will, +And make me dance as they desire +With jail and gallows and hell-fire. +And how am I to face the odds +Of man's bedevilment and God's? +I, a stranger and afraid +In a world I never made. +They will be master, right or wrong; +Though both are foolish, both are strong, +And since, my soul, we cannot fly +To Saturn or Mercury, +Keep we must, if keep we can, +These foreign laws of God and man. + + + + +XIII + +THE DESERTER + +"What sound awakened me, I wonder, + For now 'tis dumb." +"Wheels on the road most like, or thunder: + Lie down; 'twas not the drum.: + +"Toil at sea and two in haven + And trouble far: +Fly, crow, away, and follow, raven, + And all that croaks for war." + +"Hark, I heard the bugle crying, + And where am I? +My friends are up and dressed and dying, + And I will dress and die." + +"Oh love is rare and trouble plenty + And carrion cheap, +And daylight dear at four-and-twenty: + Lie down again and sleep." + +"Reach me my belt and leave your prattle: + Your hour is gone; +But my day is the day of battle, + And that comes dawning on. + +"They mow the field of man in season: + Farewell, my fair, +And, call it truth or call it treason, + Farewell the vows that were." + +"Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly: + 'Tis like the brave. +They find no bed to joy in rightly + Before they find the grave. + +"Their love is for their own undoing. + And east and west +They scour about the world a-wooing + The bullet in their breast. + +"Sail away the ocean over, + Oh sail away, +And lie there with your leaden lover + For ever and a day." + + + + +XIV + +THE CULPRIT + +The night my father got me + His mind was not on me; +He did not plague his fancy + To muse if I should be + The son you see. + +The day my mother bore me + She was a fool and glad, +For all the pain I cost her, + That she had borne the lad + That borne she had. + +My mother and my father + Out of the light they lie; +The warrant would not find them, + And here 'tis only I + Shall hang so high. + +Oh let not man remember + The soul that God forgot, +But fetch the county kerchief + And noose me in the knot, + And I will rot. + +For so the game is ended + That should not have begun. +My father and my mother + They had a likely son, + And I have none. + + + + +XV + +EIGHT O'CLOCK + +He stood, and heard the steeple + Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. +One, two, three, four, to market-place and people + It tossed them down. + +Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, + He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; +And then the clock collected in the tower + Its strength, and struck. + + + + +XVI + +SPRING MORNING + +Star and coronal and bell + April underfoot renews, +And the hope of man as well + Flowers among the morning dews. + +Now the old come out to look, + Winter past and winter's pains. +How the sky in pool and brook + Glitters on the grassy plains. + +Easily the gentle air + Wafts the turning season on; +Things to comfort them are there, + Though 'tis true the best are gone. + +Now the scorned unlucky lad + Rousing from his pillow gnawn +Mans his heart and deep and glad + Drinks the valiant air of dawn. + +Half the night he longed to die, + Now are sown on hill and plain +Pleasures worth his while to try + Ere he longs to die again. + +Blue the sky from east to west + Arches, and the world is wide, +Though the girl he loves the best + Rouses from another's side. + + + + +XVII + +ASTRONOMY + +The Wain upon the northern steep + Descends and lifts away. +Oh I will sit me down and weep + For bones in Africa. + +For pay and medals, name and rank, + Things that he has not found, +He hove the Cross to heaven and sank + The pole-star underground. + +And now he does not even see + Signs of the nadir roll +At night over the ground where he + Is buried with the pole. + + + + +XVIII + +The rain, it streams on stone and hillock, + The boot clings to the clay. +Since all is done that's due and right +Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night, + For I must turn away. + +Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal; + No league of ours, for sure. +Tomorrow I shall miss you less, +And ache of heart and heaviness + Are things that time should cure. + +Over the hill the highway marches + And what's beyond is wide: +Oh soon enough will pine to nought +Remembrance and the faithful thought + That sits the grave beside. + +The skies, they are not always raining + Nor grey the twelvemonth through; +And I shall meet good days and mirth, +And range the lovely lands of earth + With friends no worse than you. + +But oh, my man, the house is fallen + That none can build again; +My man, how full of joy and woe +Your mother bore you years ago + To-night to lie in the rain. + + + + +XIX + +In midnights of November, + When Dead Man's Fair is nigh, +And danger in the valley, + And anger in the sky, + +Around the huddling homesteads + The leafless timber roars, +And the dead call the dying + And finger at the doors. + +Oh, yonder faltering fingers + Are hands I used to hold; +Their false companion drowses + And leaves them in the cold. + +Oh, to the bed of ocean, + To Africk and to Ind, +I will arise and follow + Along the rainy wind. + +The night goes out and under + With all its train forlorn; +Hues in the east assemble + And cocks crow up the morn. + +The living are the living + And dead the dead will stay, +And I will sort with comrades + That face the beam of day. + + + + +XX + +The night is freezing fast, + To-morrow comes December; + And winterfalls of old +Are with me from the past; + And chiefly I remember + How Dick would hate the cold. + +Fall, winter, fall; for he, + Prompt hand and headpiece clever, + Has woven a winter robe, +And made of earth and sea + His overcoat for ever, + And wears the turning globe. + + + + +XXI + +The fairies break their dances + And leave the printed lawn, +And up from India glances + The silver sail of dawn. + +The candles burn their sockets, + The blinds let through the day, +The young man feels his pockets + And wonders what's to pay. + + + + +XXII + +The sloe was lost in flower, + The April elm was dim; +That was the lover's hour, + The hour for lies and him. + +If thorns are all the bower, + If north winds freeze the fir, +Why, 'tis another's hour, + The hour for truth and her. + + + + +XXIII + +In the morning, in the morning, + In the happy field of hay, +Oh they looked at one another + By the light of day. + +In the blue and silver morning + On the haycock as they lay, +Oh they looked at one another + And they looked away. + + + + +XXIV + +EPITHALAMIUM + + He is here, Urania's son, +Hymen come from Helicon; +God that glads the lover's heart, +He is here to join and part. +So the groomsman quits your side +And the bridegroom seeks the bride: +Friend and comrade yield you o'er +To her that hardly loves you more. + + Now the sun his skyward beam +Has tilted from the Ocean stream. +Light the Indies, laggard sun: +Happy bridegroom, day is done, +And the star from Ota's steep +Calls to bed but not to sleep. + + Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings +All desired and timely things. +All whom morning sends to roam, +Hesper loves to lead them home. +Home return who him behold, +Child to mother, sheep to fold, +Bird to nest from wandering wide: +Happy bridegroom, seek your bride. + + Pour it out, the golden cup +Given and guarded, brimming up, +Safe through jostling markets borne +And the thicket of the thorn; +Folly spurned and danger past, +Pour it to the god at last. + + Now, to smother noise and light, +Is stolen abroad the wildering night, +And the blotting shades confuse +Path and meadow full of dews; +And the high heavens, that all control, +Turn in silence round the pole. +Catch the starry beams they shed +Prospering the marriage bed, +And breed the land that reared your prime +Sons to stay the rot of time. +All is quiet, no alarms; +Nothing fear of nightly harms. +Safe you sleep on guarded ground, +And in silent circle round +The thoughts of friends keep watch and ward, +Harnessed angels, hand on sword. + + + + +XXV + +THE ORACLES + +'Tis mute, the word they went to hear on high Dodona mountain + When winds were in the oakenshaws and all the cauldrons tolled, +And mute's the midland navel-stone beside the singing fountain, + And echoes list to silence now where gods told lies of old. + +I took my question to the shrine that has not ceased from speaking, + The heart within, that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain; +And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking + That she and I should surely die and never live again. + +Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it; + But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth your mouth no more. +'Tis true there's better boose than brine, but he that drowns must drink it; + And oh, my lass, the news is news that men have heard before. + +/The King with half the East at heel is marched from lands of morning; + Their fighters drink the rivers up, their shafts benight the air. +And he that stands will die for nought, and home there's no returning./ + The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair. + + + + +XXVI + +The half-moon westers low, my love, + And the wind brings up the rain; +And wide apart lie we, my love, + And seas between the twain. + +I know not if it rains, my love, + In the land where you do lie; +And oh, so sound you sleep, my love, + You know no more than I. + + + + +XXVII + +The sigh that heaves the grasses + Whence thou wilt never rise +Is of the air that passes + And knows not if it sighs. + +The diamond tears adorning + Thy low mound on the lea, +Those are the tears of morning, + That weeps, but not for thee. + + + + +XXVIII + +Now dreary dawns the eastern light, + And fall of eve is drear, +And cold the poor man lies at night, + And so goes out the year. + +Little is the luck I've had, + And oh, 'tis comfort small +To think that many another lad + Has had no luck at all. + + + + +XXIX + +Wake not for the world-heard thunder + Nor the chime that earthquakes toll. +Star may plot in heaven with planet, +Lightning rive the rock of granite, +Tempest tread the oakwood under: + Fear not you for flesh nor soul. +Marching, fighting, victory past, +Stretch your limbs in peace at last. + +Stir not for the soldiers drilling + Nor the fever nothing cures: +Throb of drum and timbal's rattle +Call but man alive to battle, +And the fife with death-notes filling + Screams for blood but not for yours. +Times enough you bled your best; +Sleep on now, and take your rest. + +Sleep, my lad; the French are landed, + London's burning, Windsor's down; +Clasp your cloak of earth about you, +We must man the ditch without you, +March unled and fight short-handed, + Charge to fall and swim to drown. +Duty, friendship, bravery o'er, +Sleep away, lad; wake no more. + + + + +XXX + +SINNER'S RUE + +I walked alone and thinking, + And faint the nightwind blew +And stirred on mounds at crossways + The flower of sinner's rue. + +Where the roads part they bury + Him that his own hand slays, +And so the weed of sorrow + Springs at the four cross ways. + +By night I plucked it hueless, + When morning broke 'twas blue: +Blue at my breast I fastened + The flower of sinner's rue. + +It seemed a herb of healing, + A balsam and a sign, +Flower of a heart whose trouble + Must have been worse than mine. + +Dead clay that did me kindness, + I can do none to you, +But only wear for breastknot + The flower of sinner's rue. + + + + +XXXI + +HELL'S GATE + + Onward led the road again +Through the sad uncoloured plain +Under twilight brooding dim, +And along the utmost rim +Wall and rampart risen to sight +Cast a shadow not of night, +And beyond them seemed to glow +Bonfires lighted long ago. +And my dark conductor broke +Silence at my side and spoke, +Saying, "You conjecture well: +Yonder is the gate of hell." + + Ill as yet the eye could see +The eternal masonry, +But beneath it on the dark +To and fro there stirred a spark. +And again the sombre guide +Knew my question, and replied: +"At hell gate the damned in turn +Pace for sentinel and burn." + + Dully at the leaden sky +Staring, and with idle eye +Measuring the listless plain, +I began to think again. +Many things I thought of then, +Battle, and the loves of men, +Cities entered, oceans crossed, +Knowledge gained and virtue lost, +Cureless folly done and said, +And the lovely way that led +To the slimepit and the mire +And the everlasting fire. +And against a smoulder dun +And a dawn without a sun +Did the nearing bastion loom, +And across the gate of gloom +Still one saw the sentry go, +Trim and burning, to and fro, +One for women to admire +In his finery of fire. +Something, as I watched him pace, +Minded me of time and place, +Soldiers of another corps +And a sentry known before. + + Ever darker hell on high +Reared its strength upon the sky, +And our football on the track +Fetched the daunting echo back. +But the soldier pacing still +The insuperable sill, +Nursing his tormented pride, +Turned his head to neither side, +Sunk into himself apart +And the hell-fire of his heart. +But against our entering in +From the drawbridge Death and Sin +Rose to render key and sword +To their father and their lord. +And the portress foul to see +Lifted up her eyes on me +Smiling, and I made reply: +"Met again, my lass," said I. +Then the sentry turned his head, +Looked, and knew me, and was Ned. + + Once he looked, and halted straight, +Set his back against the gate, +Caught his musket to his chin, +While the hive of hell within +Sent abroad a seething hum +As of towns whose king is come +Leading conquest home from far +And the captives of his war, +And the car of triumph waits, +And they open wide the gates. +But across the entry barred +Straddled the revolted guard, +Weaponed and accoutred well +From the arsenals of hell; +And beside him, sick and white, +Sin to left and Death to right +Turned a countenance of fear +On the flaming mutineer. +Over us the darkness bowed, +And the anger in the cloud +Clenched the lightning for the stroke; +But the traitor musket spoke. + + And the hollowness of hell +Sounded as its master fell, +And the mourning echo rolled +Ruin through his kingdom old. +Tyranny and terror flown +Left a pair of friends alone, +And beneath the nether sky +All that stirred was he and I. + + Silent, nothing found to say, +We began the backward way; +And the ebbing luster died +From the soldier at my side, +As in all his spruce attire +Failed the everlasting fire. +Midmost of the homeward track +Once we listened and looked back; +But the city, dusk and mute, +Slept, and there was no pursuit. + + + + +XXXII + +When I would muse in boyhood + The wild green woods among, +And nurse resolves and fancies + Because the world was young, +It was not foes to conquer, + Nor sweethearts to be kind, +But it was friends to die for + That I would seek and find. + +I sought them far and found them, + The sure, the straight, the brave, +The hearts I lost my own to, + The souls I could not save. +They braced their belts about them, + They crossed in ships the sea, +They sought and found six feet of ground, + And there they died for me. + + + + +XXXIII + +When the eye of day is shut, + And the stars deny their beams, +And about the forest hut + Blows the roaring wood of dreams, + +From deep clay, from desert rock, + From the sunk sands of the main, +Come not at my door to knock, + Hearts that loved me not again. + +Sleep, be still, turn to your rest + In the lands where you are laid; +In far lodgings east and west + Lie down on the beds you made. + +In gross marl, in blowing dust, + In the drowned ooze of the sea, +Where you would not, lie you must, + Lie you must, and not with me. + + + + +XXXIV + +THE FIRST OF MAY + +The orchards half the way + From home to Ludlow fair +Flowered on the first of May + In Mays when I was there; +And seen from stile or turning + The plume of smoke would show +Where fires were burning + That went out long ago. + +The plum broke forth in green, + The pear stood high and snowed, +My friends and I between + Would take the Ludlow road; +Dressed to the nines and drinking + And light in heart and limb, +And each chap thinking + The fair was held for him. + +Between the trees in flower + New friends at fairtime tread +The way where Ludlow tower + Stands planted on the dead. +Our thoughts, a long while after, + They think, our words they say; +Theirs now's the laughter, + The fair, the first of May. + +Ay, yonder lads are yet + The fools that we were then; +For oh, the sons we get + Are still the sons of men. +The sumless tale of sorrow + Is all unrolled in vain: +May comes to-morrow + And Ludlow fair again. + + + + +XXXV + +When first my way to fair I took + Few pence in purse had I, +And long I used to stand and look + At things I could not buy. + +Now times are altered: if I care + To buy a thing, I can; +The pence are here and here's the fair, + But where's the lost young man? + +--To think that two and two are four + And neither five nor three +The heart of man has long been sore + And long 'tis like to be. + + + + +XXXVI + +REVOLUTION + +West and away the wheels of darkness roll, + Day's beamy banner up the east is borne, +Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal, + Drown in the golden deluge of the morn. + +But over sea and continent from sight + Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed +The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night, + Her towering foolscap of eternal shade. + +See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark, + The belfries tingle to the noonday chime. +'Tis silent, and the subterranean dark + Has crossed the nadir, and begins to climb. + + + + +XXXVII + +EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES + +These, in the day when heaven was falling, + The hour when earth's foundations fled, +Followed their mercenary calling + And took their wages and are dead. + +Their shoulders held the sky suspended; + They stood, and earth's foundations stay; +What God abandoned, these defended, + And saved the sum of things for pay. + + + + +XXXVIII + +Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough + The land and not the sea, +And leave the soldiers at their drill, +And all about the idle hill + Shepherd your sheep with me. + +Oh stay with company and mirth + And daylight and the air; +Too full already is the grave +Of fellows that were good and brave + And died because they were. + + + + +XXXIX + +When summer's end is nighing + And skies at evening cloud, +I muse on change and fortune + And all the feats I vowed + When I was young and proud. + +The weathercock at sunset + Would lose the slanted ray, +And I would climb the beacon + That looked to Wales away + And saw the last of day. + +From hill and cloud and heaven + The hues of evening died; +Night welled through lane and hollow + And hushed the countryside, + But I had youth and pride. + +And I with earth and nightfall + In converse high would stand, +Late, till the west was ashen + And darkness hard at hand, + And the eye lost the land. + +The year might age, and cloudy + The lessening day might close, +But air of other summers + Breathed from beyond the snows, + And I had hope of those. + +They came and were and are not + And come no more anew; +And all the years and seasons + That ever can ensue + Must now be worse and few. + +So here's an end of roaming + On eves when autumn nighs: +The ear too fondly listens + For summer's parting sighs, + And then the heart replies. + + + + +XL + +Tell me not here, it needs not saying, + What tune the enchantress plays +In aftermaths of soft September + Or under blanching mays, +For she and I were long acquainted + And I knew all her ways. + +On russet floors, by waters idle, + The pine lets fall its cone; +The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing + In leafy dells alone; +And traveler's joy beguiles in autumn + Hearts that have lost their own. + +On acres of the seeded grasses + The changing burnish heaves; +Or marshalled under moons of harvest + Stand still all night the sheaves; +Or beeches strip in storms for winter + And stain the wind with leaves. + +Possess, as I possessed a season, + The countries I resign, +Where over elmy plains the highway + Would mount the hills and shine, +And full of shade the pillared forest + Would murmur and be mine. + +For nature, heartless, witless nature, + Will neither care nor know +What stranger's feet may find the meadow + And trespass there and go, +Nor ask amid the dews of morning + If they are mine or no. + + + + +XLI + +FANCY'S KNELL + +When lads were home from labour + At Abdon under Clee, +A man would call his neighbor + And both would send for me. +And where the light in lances + Across the mead was laid, +There to the dances + I fetched my flute and played. + +Ours were idle pleasures, + Yet oh, content we were, +The young to wind the measures, + The old to heed the air; +And I to lift with playing + From tree and tower and steep +The light delaying, + And flute the sun to sleep. + +The youth toward his fancy + Would turn his brow of tan, +And Tom would pair with Nancy + And Dick step off with Fan; +The girl would lift her glances + To his, and both be mute: +Well went the dances + At evening to the flute. + +Wenlock Edge was umbered, + And bright was Abdon Burf, +And warm between them slumbered + The smooth green miles of turf; +Until from grass and clover + The upshot beam would fade, +And England over + Advanced the lofty shade. + +The lofty shade advances, + I fetch my flute and play: +Come, lads, and learn the dances + And praise the tune to-day. +To-morrow, more's the pity, + Away we both must hie, +To air the ditty, + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. 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Housman + +Release Date: January 28, 2007 [EBook #7848] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted in etext05 as 7lspm10.txt on May 22, 2003] +[Date last updated: April, 2005] + +Edition: 11 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** +******This file should be named 7lspm11.txt or ltbor11.zip******* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, 7lspm12.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7lspm10a.txt. + + + + + + +Produced by A. P. Saulters + + + + +LAST POEMS + +By A. E. Housman + + +I publish these poems, few though they are, because it is not likely +that I shall ever be impelled to write much more. I can no longer +expect to be revisited by the continuous excitement under which in +the early months of 1895 I wrote the greater part of my first book, +nor indeed could I well sustain it if it came; and it is best that what +I have written should be printed while I am here to see it through +the press and control its spelling and punctuation. About a quarter +of this matter belongs to the April of the present year, but most of +it to dates between 1895 and 1910. + + +September 1922 + +We'll to the weeds no more, +The laurels are all cut, +The bowers are bare of bay +That once the Muses wore; +The year draws in the day +And soon will evening shut: +The laurels all are cut, +We'll to the woods no more. +Oh we'll no more, no more +To the leafy woods away, +To the high wild woods of laurel +And the bowers of bay no more. + + + + +I + +THE WEST + + +Beyond the moor and the mountain crest +--Comrade, look not on the west-- +The sun is down and drinks away +From air and land the lees of day. + +The long cloud and the single pine +Sentinel the ending line, +And out beyond it, clear and wan, +Reach the gulfs of evening on. + +The son of woman turns his brow +West from forty countries now, +And, as the edge of heaven he eyes, +Thinks eternal thoughts, and sighs. + +Oh wide's the world, to rest or roam, +With change abroad and cheer at home, +Fights and furloughs, talk and tale, +Company and beef and ale. + +But if I front the evening sky +Silent on the west look I, +And my comrade, stride for stride, +Paces silent at my side, + +Comrade, look not on the west: +'Twill have the heart out of your breast; +'Twill take your thoughts and sink them far, +Leagues beyond the sunset bar. + +Oh lad, I fear that yon's the sea +Where they fished for you and me, +And there, from whence we both were ta'en, +You and I shall drown again. + +Send not on your soul before +To dive from that beguiling shore, +And let not yet the swimmer leave +His clothes upon the sands of eve. + +Too fast to yonder strand forlorn +We journey, to the sunken bourn, +To flush the fading tinges eyed +By other lads at eventide. + +Wide is the world, to rest or roam, +And early 'tis for turning home: +Plant your heel on earth and stand, +And let's forget our native land. + +When you and I are split on air +Long we shall be strangers there; +Friends of flesh and bone are best; +Comrade, look not on the west. + + + + +II + + +As I gird on for fighting + My sword upon my thigh, +I think on old ill fortunes + Of better men than I. + +Think I, the round world over, + What golden lads are low +With hurts not mine to mourn for + And shames I shall not know. + +What evil luck soever + For me remains in store, +'Tis sure much finer fellows + Have fared much worse before. + +So here are things to think on + That ought to make me brave, +As I strap on for fighting + My sword that will not save. + + + + +III + + +Her strong enchantments failing, + Her towers of fear in wreck, +Her limbecks dried of poisons + And the knife at her neck, + +The Queen of air and darkness + Begins to shrill and cry, +'O young man, O my slayer, + To-morrow you shall die.' + +O Queen of air and darkness, + I think 'tis truth you say, +And I shall die to-morrow; + But you will die to-day. + + + + +IV + +ILLIC JACET + + +Oh hard is the bed they have made him, + And common the blanket and cheap; +But there he will lie as they laid him: + Where else could you trust him to sleep? + +To sleep when the bugle is crying + And cravens have heard and are brave, +When mothers and sweethearts are sighing + And lads are in love with the grave. + +Oh dark is the chamber and lonely, + And lights and companions depart; +But lief will he lose them and only + Behold the desire of his heart. + +And low is the roof, but it covers + A sleeper content to repose; +And far from his friends and his lovers + He lies with the sweetheart he chose. + + + + +V + +GRENADIER + + +The Queen she sent to look for me, + The sergeant he did say, +'Young man, a soldier will you be + For thirteen pence a day?' + +For thirteen pence a day did I + Take off the things I wore, +And I have marched to where I lie, + And I shall march no more. + +My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet, + My blood runs all away, +So now I shall not die in debt + For thirteen pence a day. + +To-morrow after new young men + The sergeant he must see, +For things will all be over then + Between the Queen and me. + +And I shall have to bate my price, + For in the grave, they say, +Is neither knowledge nor device + Nor thirteen pence a day. + + + + +VI + +LANCER + + +I 'listed at home for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? +I 'listed at home for a lancer + To ride on a horse to my grave. + +And over the seas we were bidden + A country to take and to keep; +And far with the brave I have ridden, + And now with the brave I shall sleep. + +For round me the men will be lying + That learned me the way to behave. +And showed me my business of dying: + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + +They ask and there is not an answer; +Says I, I will 'list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + +And I with the brave shall be sleeping + At ease on my mattress of loam, +When back from their taking and keeping + The squadron is riding home. + +The wind with the plumes will be playing, + The girls will stand watching them wave, +And eyeing my comrades and saying + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + +They ask and there is not an answer; +Says you, I will 'list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + + + +VII + + +In valleys green and still + Where lovers wander maying +They hear from over hill + A music playing. + +Behind the drum and fife, + Past hawthornwood and hollow, +Through earth and out of life + The soldiers follow. + +The soldier's is the trade: + In any wind or weather +He steals the heart of maid + And man together. + +The lover and his lass + Beneath the hawthorn lying +Have heard the soldiers pass, + And both are sighing. + +And down the distance they + With dying note and swelling +Walk the resounding way + To the still dwelling. + + + + +VIII + + +Soldier from the wars returning, + Spoiler of the taken town, +Here is ease that asks not earning; + Turn you in and sit you down. + +Peace is come and wars are over, + Welcome you and welcome all, +While the charger crops the clover + And his bridle hangs in stall. + +Now no more of winters biting, + Filth in trench from fall to spring, +Summers full of sweat and fighting + For the Kesar or the King. + +Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle; + Kings and kesars, keep your pay; +Soldier, sit you down and idle + At the inn of night for aye. + + + + +IX + + +The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers + Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, +The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers. + Pass me the can, lad; there's an end of May. + +There's one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot, + One season ruined of our little store. +May will be fine next year as like as not: + Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four. + +We for a certainty are not the first + Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled +Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed + Whatever brute and blackguard made the world. + +It is in truth iniquity on high + To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave, +And mar the merriment as you and I + Fare on our long fool's-errand to the grave. + +Iniquity it is; but pass the can. + My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore; +Our only portion is the estate of man: + We want the moon, but we shall get no more. + +If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours + To-morrow it will hie on far behests; +The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours + Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts. + +The troubles of our proud and angry dust + Are from eternity, and shall not fail. +Bear them we can, and if we can we must. + Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale. + + + + +X + + +Could man be drunk for ever + With liquor, love, or fights, +Lief should I rouse at morning + And lief lie down of nights. + +But men at whiles are sober + And think by fits and starts, +And if they think, they fasten + Their hands upon their hearts. + + + + +XI + + +Yonder see the morning blink: + The sun is up, and up must I, +To wash and dress and eat and drink +And look at things and talk and think + And work, and God knows why. + +Oh often have I washed and dressed + And what's to show for all my pain? +Let me lie abed and rest: +Ten thousand times I've done my best + And all's to do again. + + + + +XII + + + The laws of God, the laws of man, +He may keep that will and can; +Now I: let God and man decree +Laws for themselves and not for me; +And if my ways are not as theirs +Let them mind their own affairs. +Their deeds I judge and much condemn, +Yet when did I make laws for them? +Please yourselves, say I, and they +Need only look the other way. +But no, they will not; they must still +Wrest their neighbour to their will, +And make me dance as they desire +With jail and gallows and hell-fire. +And how am I to face the odds +Of man's bedevilment and God's? +I, a stranger and afraid +In a world I never made. +They will be master, right or wrong; +Though both are foolish, both are strong, +And since, my soul, we cannot fly +To Saturn or Mercury, +Keep we must, if keep we can, +These foreign laws of God and man. + + + + +XIII + +THE DESERTER + + +"What sound awakened me, I wonder, + For now 'tis dumb." +"Wheels on the road most like, or thunder: + Lie down; 'twas not the drum.: + +"Toil at sea and two in haven + And trouble far: +Fly, crow, away, and follow, raven, + And all that croaks for war." + +"Hark, I heard the bugle crying, + And where am I? +My friends are up and dressed and dying, + And I will dress and die." + +"Oh love is rare and trouble plenty + And carrion cheap, +And daylight dear at four-and-twenty: + Lie down again and sleep." + +"Reach me my belt and leave your prattle: + Your hour is gone; +But my day is the day of battle, + And that comes dawning on. + +"They mow the field of man in season: + Farewell, my fair, +And, call it truth or call it treason, + Farewell the vows that were." + +"Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly: + 'Tis like the brave. +They find no bed to joy in rightly + Before they find the grave. + +"Their love is for their own undoing. + And east and west +They scour about the world a-wooing + The bullet in their breast. + +"Sail away the ocean over, + Oh sail away, +And lie there with your leaden lover + For ever and a day." + + + + +XIV + +THE CULPRIT + + +The night my father got me + His mind was not on me; +He did not plague his fancy + To muse if I should be + The son you see. + +The day my mother bore me + She was a fool and glad, +For all the pain I cost her, + That she had borne the lad + That borne she had. + +My mother and my father + Out of the light they lie; +The warrant would not find them, + And here 'tis only I + Shall hang so high. + +Oh let not man remember + The soul that God forgot, +But fetch the county kerchief + And noose me in the knot, + And I will rot. + +For so the game is ended + That should not have begun. +My father and my mother + They had a likely son, + And I have none. + + + + +XV + +EIGHT O'CLOCK + + +He stood, and heard the steeple + Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. +One, two, three, four, to market-place and people + It tossed them down. + +Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, + He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; +And then the clock collected in the tower + Its strength, and struck. + + + + +XVI + +SPRING MORNING + + +Star and coronal and bell + April underfoot renews, +And the hope of man as well + Flowers among the morning dews. + +Now the old come out to look, + Winter past and winter's pains. +How the sky in pool and brook + Glitters on the grassy plains. + +Easily the gentle air + Wafts the turning season on; +Things to comfort them are there, + Though 'tis true the best are gone. + +Now the scorned unlucky lad + Rousing from his pillow gnawn +Mans his heart and deep and glad + Drinks the valiant air of dawn. + +Half the night he longed to die, + Now are sown on hill and plain +Pleasures worth his while to try + Ere he longs to die again. + +Blue the sky from east to west + Arches, and the world is wide, +Though the girl he loves the best + Rouses from another's side. + + + + +XVII + +ASTRONOMY + + +The Wain upon the northern steep + Descends and lifts away. +Oh I will sit me down and weep + For bones in Africa. + +For pay and medals, name and rank, + Things that he has not found, +He hove the Cross to heaven and sank + The pole-star underground. + +And now he does not even see + Signs of the nadir roll +At night over the ground where he + Is buried with the pole. + + + + +XVIII + + +The rain, it streams on stone and hillock, + The boot clings to the clay. +Since all is done that's due and right +Let's home; and now, my lad, good-night, + For I must turn away. + +Good-night, my lad, for nought's eternal; + No league of ours, for sure. +Tomorrow I shall miss you less, +And ache of heart and heaviness + Are things that time should cure. + +Over the hill the highway marches + And what's beyond is wide: +Oh soon enough will pine to nought +Remembrance and the faithful thought + That sits the grave beside. + +The skies, they are not always raining + Nor grey the twelvemonth through; +And I shall meet good days and mirth, +And range the lovely lands of earth + With friends no worse than you. + +But oh, my man, the house is fallen + That none can build again; +My man, how full of joy and woe +Your mother bore you years ago + To-night to lie in the rain. + + + + +XIX + + +In midnights of November, + When Dead Man's Fair is nigh, +And danger in the valley, + And anger in the sky, + +Around the huddling homesteads + The leafless timber roars, +And the dead call the dying + And finger at the doors. + +Oh, yonder faltering fingers + Are hands I used to hold; +Their false companion drowses + And leaves them in the cold. + +Oh, to the bed of ocean, + To Africk and to Ind, +I will arise and follow + Along the rainy wind. + +The night goes out and under + With all its train forlorn; +Hues in the east assemble + And cocks crow up the morn. + +The living are the living + And dead the dead will stay, +And I will sort with comrades + That face the beam of day. + + + + +XX + + +The night is freezing fast, + To-morrow comes December; + And winterfalls of old +Are with me from the past; + And chiefly I remember + How Dick would hate the cold. + +Fall, winter, fall; for he, + Prompt hand and headpiece clever, + Has woven a winter robe, +And made of earth and sea + His overcoat for ever, + And wears the turning globe. + + + + +XXI + + +The fairies break their dances + And leave the printed lawn, +And up from India glances + The silver sail of dawn. + +The candles burn their sockets, + The blinds let through the day, +The young man feels his pockets + And wonders what's to pay. + + + + +XXII + + +The sloe was lost in flower, + The April elm was dim; +That was the lover's hour, + The hour for lies and him. + +If thorns are all the bower, + If north winds freeze the fir, +Why, 'tis another's hour, + The hour for truth and her. + + + + +XXIII + + +In the morning, in the morning, + In the happy field of hay, +Oh they looked at one another + By the light of day. + +In the blue and silver morning + On the haycock as they lay, +Oh they looked at one another + And they looked away. + + + + +XXIV + +EPITHALAMIUM + + + He is here, Urania's son, +Hymen come from Helicon; +God that glads the lover's heart, +He is here to join and part. +So the groomsman quits your side +And the bridegroom seeks the bride: +Friend and comrade yield you o'er +To her that hardly loves you more. + + Now the sun his skyward beam +Has tilted from the Ocean stream. +Light the Indies, laggard sun: +Happy bridegroom, day is done, +And the star from Ota's steep +Calls to bed but not to sleep. + + Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings +All desired and timely things. +All whom morning sends to roam, +Hesper loves to lead them home. +Home return who him behold, +Child to mother, sheep to fold, +Bird to nest from wandering wide: +Happy bridegroom, seek your bride. + + Pour it out, the golden cup +Given and guarded, brimming up, +Safe through jostling markets borne +And the thicket of the thorn; +Folly spurned and danger past, +Pour it to the god at last. + + Now, to smother noise and light, +Is stolen abroad the wildering night, +And the blotting shades confuse +Path and meadow full of dews; +And the high heavens, that all control, +Turn in silence round the pole. +Catch the starry beams they shed +Prospering the marriage bed, +And breed the land that reared your prime +Sons to stay the rot of time. +All is quiet, no alarms; +Nothing fear of nightly harms. +Safe you sleep on guarded ground, +And in silent circle round +The thoughts of friends keep watch and ward, +Harnessed angels, hand on sword. + + + + +XXV + +THE ORACLES + + +'Tis mute, the word they went to hear on high Dodona mountain + When winds were in the oakenshaws and all the cauldrons tolled, +And mute's the midland navel-stone beside the singing fountain, + And echoes list to silence now where gods told lies of old. + +I took my question to the shrine that has not ceased from speaking, + The heart within, that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain; +And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking + That she and I should surely die and never live again. + +Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it; + But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth your mouth no more. +'Tis true there's better boose than brine, but he that drowns must drink it; + And oh, my lass, the news is news that men have heard before. + +The King with half the East at heel is marched from lands of morning; + Their fighters drink the rivers up, their shafts benight the air. +And he that stands will die for nought, and home there's no returning. + The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair. + + + + +XXVI + + +The half-moon westers low, my love, + And the wind brings up the rain; +And wide apart lie we, my love, + And seas between the twain. + +I know not if it rains, my love, + In the land where you do lie; +And oh, so sound you sleep, my love, + You know no more than I. + + + + +XXVII + + +The sigh that heaves the grasses + Whence thou wilt never rise +Is of the air that passes + And knows not if it sighs. + +The diamond tears adorning + Thy low mound on the lea, +Those are the tears of morning, + That weeps, but not for thee. + + + + +XXVIII + + +Now dreary dawns the eastern light, + And fall of eve is drear, +And cold the poor man lies at night, + And so goes out the year. + +Little is the luck I've had, + And oh, 'tis comfort small +To think that many another lad + Has had no luck at all. + + + + +XXIX + + +Wake not for the world-heard thunder + Nor the chime that earthquakes toll. +Star may plot in heaven with planet, +Lightning rive the rock of granite, +Tempest tread the oakwood under: + Fear not you for flesh nor soul. +Marching, fighting, victory past, +Stretch your limbs in peace at last. + +Stir not for the soldiers drilling + Nor the fever nothing cures: +Throb of drum and timbal's rattle +Call but man alive to battle, +And the fife with death-notes filling + Screams for blood but not for yours. +Times enough you bled your best; +Sleep on now, and take your rest. + +Sleep, my lad; the French are landed, + London's burning, Windsor's down; +Clasp your cloak of earth about you, +We must man the ditch without you, +March unled and fight short-handed, + Charge to fall and swim to drown. +Duty, friendship, bravery o'er, +Sleep away, lad; wake no more. + + + + +XXX + +SINNER'S RUE + + +I walked alone and thinking, + And faint the nightwind blew +And stirred on mounds at crossways + The flower of sinner's rue. + +Where the roads part they bury + Him that his own hand slays, +And so the weed of sorrow + Springs at the four cross ways. + +By night I plucked it hueless, + When morning broke 'twas blue: +Blue at my breast I fastened + The flower of sinner's rue. + +It seemed a herb of healing, + A balsam and a sign, +Flower of a heart whose trouble + Must have been worse than mine. + +Dead clay that did me kindness, + I can do none to you, +But only wear for breastknot + The flower of sinner's rue. + + + + +XXXI + +HELL'S GATE + + + Onward led the road again +Through the sad uncoloured plain +Under twilight brooding dim, +And along the utmost rim +Wall and rampart risen to sight +Cast a shadow not of night, +And beyond them seemed to glow +Bonfires lighted long ago. +And my dark conductor broke +Silence at my side and spoke, +Saying, "You conjecture well: +Yonder is the gate of hell." + + Ill as yet the eye could see +The eternal masonry, +But beneath it on the dark +To and fro there stirred a spark. +And again the sombre guide +Knew my question, and replied: +"At hell gate the damned in turn +Pace for sentinel and burn." + + Dully at the leaden sky +Staring, and with idle eye +Measuring the listless plain, +I began to think again. +Many things I thought of then, +Battle, and the loves of men, +Cities entered, oceans crossed, +Knowledge gained and virtue lost, +Cureless folly done and said, +And the lovely way that led +To the slimepit and the mire +And the everlasting fire. +And against a smoulder dun +And a dawn without a sun +Did the nearing bastion loom, +And across the gate of gloom +Still one saw the sentry go, +Trim and burning, to and fro, +One for women to admire +In his finery of fire. +Something, as I watched him pace, +Minded me of time and place, +Soldiers of another corps +And a sentry known before. + + Ever darker hell on high +Reared its strength upon the sky, +And our football on the track +Fetched the daunting echo back. +But the soldier pacing still +The insuperable sill, +Nursing his tormented pride, +Turned his head to neither side, +Sunk into himself apart +And the hell-fire of his heart. +But against our entering in +From the drawbridge Death and Sin +Rose to render key and sword +To their father and their lord. +And the portress foul to see +Lifted up her eyes on me +Smiling, and I made reply: +"Met again, my lass," said I. +Then the sentry turned his head, +Looked, and knew me, and was Ned. + + Once he looked, and halted straight, +Set his back against the gate, +Caught his musket to his chin, +While the hive of hell within +Sent abroad a seething hum +As of towns whose king is come +Leading conquest home from far +And the captives of his war, +And the car of triumph waits, +And they open wide the gates. +But across the entry barred +Straddled the revolted guard, +Weaponed and accoutred well +From the arsenals of hell; +And beside him, sick and white, +Sin to left and Death to right +Turned a countenance of fear +On the flaming mutineer. +Over us the darkness bowed, +And the anger in the cloud +Clenched the lightning for the stroke; +But the traitor musket spoke. + + And the hollowness of hell +Sounded as its master fell, +And the mourning echo rolled +Ruin through his kingdom old. +Tyranny and terror flown +Left a pair of friends alone, +And beneath the nether sky +All that stirred was he and I. + + Silent, nothing found to say, +We began the backward way; +And the ebbing luster died +From the soldier at my side, +As in all his spruce attire +Failed the everlasting fire. +Midmost of the homeward track +Once we listened and looked back; +But the city, dusk and mute, +Slept, and there was no pursuit. + + + + +XXXII + + +When I would muse in boyhood + The wild green woods among, +And nurse resolves and fancies + Because the world was young, +It was not foes to conquer, + Nor sweethearts to be kind, +But it was friends to die for + That I would seek and find. + +I sought them far and found them, + The sure, the straight, the brave, +The hearts I lost my own to, + The souls I could not save. +They braced their belts about them, + They crossed in ships the sea, +They sought and found six feet of ground, + And there they died for me. + + + + +XXXIII + + +When the eye of day is shut, + And the stars deny their beams, +And about the forest hut + Blows the roaring wood of dreams, + +From deep clay, from desert rock, + From the sunk sands of the main, +Come not at my door to knock, + Hearts that loved me not again. + +Sleep, be still, turn to your rest + In the lands where you are laid; +In far lodgings east and west + Lie down on the beds you made. + +In gross marl, in blowing dust, + In the drowned ooze of the sea, +Where you would not, lie you must, + Lie you must, and not with me. + + + + +XXXIV + +THE FIRST OF MAY + + +The orchards half the way + From home to Ludlow fair +Flowered on the first of May + In Mays when I was there; +And seen from stile or turning + The plume of smoke would show +Where fires were burning + That went out long ago. + +The plum broke forth in green, + The pear stood high and snowed, +My friends and I between + Would take the Ludlow road; +Dressed to the nines and drinking + And light in heart and limb, +And each chap thinking + The fair was held for him. + +Between the trees in flower + New friends at fairtime tread +The way where Ludlow tower + Stands planted on the dead. +Our thoughts, a long while after, + They think, our words they say; +Theirs now's the laughter, + The fair, the first of May. + +Ay, yonder lads are yet + The fools that we were then; +For oh, the sons we get + Are still the sons of men. +The sumless tale of sorrow + Is all unrolled in vain: +May comes to-morrow + And Ludlow fair again. + + + + +XXXV + + +When first my way to fair I took + Few pence in purse had I, +And long I used to stand and look + At things I could not buy. + +Now times are altered: if I care + To buy a thing, I can; +The pence are here and here's the fair, + But where's the lost young man? + +--To think that two and two are four + And neither five nor three +The heart of man has long been sore + And long 'tis like to be. + + + + +XXXVI + +REVOLUTION + + +West and away the wheels of darkness roll, + Day's beamy banner up the east is borne, +Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal, + Drown in the golden deluge of the morn. + +But over sea and continent from sight + Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed +The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night, + Her towering foolscap of eternal shade. + +See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark, + The belfries tingle to the noonday chime. +'Tis silent, and the subterranean dark + Has crossed the nadir, and begins to climb. + + + + +XXXVII + +EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES + + +These, in the day when heaven was falling, + The hour when earth's foundations fled, +Followed their mercenary calling + And took their wages and are dead. + +Their shoulders held the sky suspended; + They stood, and earth's foundations stay; +What God abandoned, these defended, + And saved the sum of things for pay. + + + + +XXXVIII + + +Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough + The land and not the sea, +And leave the soldiers at their drill, +And all about the idle hill + Shepherd your sheep with me. + +Oh stay with company and mirth + And daylight and the air; +Too full already is the grave +Of fellows that were good and brave + And died because they were. + + + + +XXXIX + + +When summer's end is nighing + And skies at evening cloud, +I muse on change and fortune + And all the feats I vowed + When I was young and proud. + +The weathercock at sunset + Would lose the slanted ray, +And I would climb the beacon + That looked to Wales away + And saw the last of day. + +From hill and cloud and heaven + The hues of evening died; +Night welled through lane and hollow + And hushed the countryside, + But I had youth and pride. + +And I with earth and nightfall + In converse high would stand, +Late, till the west was ashen + And darkness hard at hand, + And the eye lost the land. + +The year might age, and cloudy + The lessening day might close, +But air of other summers + Breathed from beyond the snows, + And I had hope of those. + +They came and were and are not + And come no more anew; +And all the years and seasons + That ever can ensue + Must now be worse and few. + +So here's an end of roaming + On eves when autumn nighs: +The ear too fondly listens + For summer's parting sighs, + And then the heart replies. + + + + +XL + + +Tell me not here, it needs not saying, + What tune the enchantress plays +In aftermaths of soft September + Or under blanching mays, +For she and I were long acquainted + And I knew all her ways. + +On russet floors, by waters idle, + The pine lets fall its cone; +The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing + In leafy dells alone; +And traveler's joy beguiles in autumn + Hearts that have lost their own. + +On acres of the seeded grasses + The changing burnish heaves; +Or marshalled under moons of harvest + Stand still all night the sheaves; +Or beeches strip in storms for winter + And stain the wind with leaves. + +Possess, as I possessed a season, + The countries I resign, +Where over elmy plains the highway + Would mount the hills and shine, +And full of shade the pillared forest + Would murmur and be mine. + +For nature, heartless, witless nature, + Will neither care nor know +What stranger's feet may find the meadow + And trespass there and go, +Nor ask amid the dews of morning + If they are mine or no. + + + + +XLI + +FANCY'S KNELL + + +When lads were home from labour + At Abdon under Clee, +A man would call his neighbor + And both would send for me. +And where the light in lances + Across the mead was laid, +There to the dances + I fetched my flute and played. + +Ours were idle pleasures, + Yet oh, content we were, +The young to wind the measures, + The old to heed the air; +And I to lift with playing + From tree and tower and steep +The light delaying, + And flute the sun to sleep. + +The youth toward his fancy + Would turn his brow of tan, +And Tom would pair with Nancy + And Dick step off with Fan; +The girl would lift her glances + To his, and both be mute: +Well went the dances + At evening to the flute. + +Wenlock Edge was umbered, + And bright was Abdon Burf, +And warm between them slumbered + The smooth green miles of turf; +Until from grass and clover + The upshot beam would fade, +And England over + Advanced the lofty shade. + +The lofty shade advances, + I fetch my flute and play: +Come, lads, and learn the dances + And praise the tune to-day. +To-morrow, more's the pity, + Away we both must hie, +To air the ditty, + And to earth I. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. 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Housman + +Release Date: January 28, 2007 [EBook #7848] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted in etext05 as 8lspm10.txt on May 22, 2003] +[Date last updated: April, 2005] + +Edition: 11 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-Latin-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAST POEMS *** + +******This file should be named 8lspm11.txt or 8lspm11.zip******* + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, 8lspm12.txt. +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8lspm10a.txt. + + + + + + +Produced by A. P. Saulters + + + + +LAST POEMS + +By A. E. Housman + + +I publish these poems, few though they are, because it is not likely +that I shall ever be impelled to write much more. I can no longer +expect to be revisited by the continuous excitement under which in +the early months of 1895 I wrote the greater part of my first book, +nor indeed could I well sustain it if it came; and it is best that what +I have written should be printed while I am here to see it through +the press and control its spelling and punctuation. About a quarter +of this matter belongs to the April of the present year, but most of +it to dates between 1895 and 1910. + + +September 1922 + +We’ll to the weeds no more, +The laurels are all cut, +The bowers are bare of bay +That once the Muses wore; +The year draws in the day +And soon will evening shut: +The laurels all are cut, +We’ll to the woods no more. +Oh we’ll no more, no more +To the leafy woods away, +To the high wild woods of laurel +And the bowers of bay no more. + + + + +I + +THE WEST + + +Beyond the moor and the mountain crest +--Comrade, look not on the west-- +The sun is down and drinks away +From air and land the lees of day. + +The long cloud and the single pine +Sentinel the ending line, +And out beyond it, clear and wan, +Reach the gulfs of evening on. + +The son of woman turns his brow +West from forty countries now, +And, as the edge of heaven he eyes, +Thinks eternal thoughts, and sighs. + +Oh wide’s the world, to rest or roam, +With change abroad and cheer at home, +Fights and furloughs, talk and tale, +Company and beef and ale. + +But if I front the evening sky +Silent on the west look I, +And my comrade, stride for stride, +Paces silent at my side, + +Comrade, look not on the west: +‘Twill have the heart out of your breast; +‘Twill take your thoughts and sink them far, +Leagues beyond the sunset bar. + +Oh lad, I fear that yon’s the sea +Where they fished for you and me, +And there, from whence we both were ta’en, +You and I shall drown again. + +Send not on your soul before +To dive from that beguiling shore, +And let not yet the swimmer leave +His clothes upon the sands of eve. + +Too fast to yonder strand forlorn +We journey, to the sunken bourn, +To flush the fading tinges eyed +By other lads at eventide. + +Wide is the world, to rest or roam, +And early ‘tis for turning home: +Plant your heel on earth and stand, +And let’s forget our native land. + +When you and I are split on air +Long we shall be strangers there; +Friends of flesh and bone are best; +Comrade, look not on the west. + + + + +II + + +As I gird on for fighting + My sword upon my thigh, +I think on old ill fortunes + Of better men than I. + +Think I, the round world over, + What golden lads are low +With hurts not mine to mourn for + And shames I shall not know. + +What evil luck soever + For me remains in store, +‘Tis sure much finer fellows + Have fared much worse before. + +So here are things to think on + That ought to make me brave, +As I strap on for fighting + My sword that will not save. + + + + +III + + +Her strong enchantments failing, + Her towers of fear in wreck, +Her limbecks dried of poisons + And the knife at her neck, + +The Queen of air and darkness + Begins to shrill and cry, +‘O young man, O my slayer, + To-morrow you shall die.’ + +O Queen of air and darkness, + I think ‘tis truth you say, +And I shall die to-morrow; + But you will die to-day. + + + + +IV + +ILLIC JACET + + +Oh hard is the bed they have made him, + And common the blanket and cheap; +But there he will lie as they laid him: + Where else could you trust him to sleep? + +To sleep when the bugle is crying + And cravens have heard and are brave, +When mothers and sweethearts are sighing + And lads are in love with the grave. + +Oh dark is the chamber and lonely, + And lights and companions depart; +But lief will he lose them and only + Behold the desire of his heart. + +And low is the roof, but it covers + A sleeper content to repose; +And far from his friends and his lovers + He lies with the sweetheart he chose. + + + + +V + +GRENADIER + + +The Queen she sent to look for me, + The sergeant he did say, +‘Young man, a soldier will you be + For thirteen pence a day?’ + +For thirteen pence a day did I + Take off the things I wore, +And I have marched to where I lie, + And I shall march no more. + +My mouth is dry, my shirt is wet, + My blood runs all away, +So now I shall not die in debt + For thirteen pence a day. + +To-morrow after new young men + The sergeant he must see, +For things will all be over then + Between the Queen and me. + +And I shall have to bate my price, + For in the grave, they say, +Is neither knowledge nor device + Nor thirteen pence a day. + + + + +VI + +LANCER + + +I ‘listed at home for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? +I ‘listed at home for a lancer + To ride on a horse to my grave. + +And over the seas we were bidden + A country to take and to keep; +And far with the brave I have ridden, + And now with the brave I shall sleep. + +For round me the men will be lying + That learned me the way to behave. +And showed me my business of dying: + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + +They ask and there is not an answer; +Says I, I will ‘list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + +And I with the brave shall be sleeping + At ease on my mattress of loam, +When back from their taking and keeping + The squadron is riding home. + +The wind with the plumes will be playing, + The girls will stand watching them wave, +And eyeing my comrades and saying + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + +They ask and there is not an answer; +Says you, I will ‘list for a lancer, + Oh who would not sleep with the brave? + + + + +VII + + +In valleys green and still + Where lovers wander maying +They hear from over hill + A music playing. + +Behind the drum and fife, + Past hawthornwood and hollow, +Through earth and out of life + The soldiers follow. + +The soldier’s is the trade: + In any wind or weather +He steals the heart of maid + And man together. + +The lover and his lass + Beneath the hawthorn lying +Have heard the soldiers pass, + And both are sighing. + +And down the distance they + With dying note and swelling +Walk the resounding way + To the still dwelling. + + + + +VIII + + +Soldier from the wars returning, + Spoiler of the taken town, +Here is ease that asks not earning; + Turn you in and sit you down. + +Peace is come and wars are over, + Welcome you and welcome all, +While the charger crops the clover + And his bridle hangs in stall. + +Now no more of winters biting, + Filth in trench from fall to spring, +Summers full of sweat and fighting + For the Kesar or the King. + +Rest you, charger, rust you, bridle; + Kings and kesars, keep your pay; +Soldier, sit you down and idle + At the inn of night for aye. + + + + +IX + + +The chestnut casts his flambeaux, and the flowers + Stream from the hawthorn on the wind away, +The doors clap to, the pane is blind with showers. + Pass me the can, lad; there’s an end of May. + +There’s one spoilt spring to scant our mortal lot, + One season ruined of our little store. +May will be fine next year as like as not: + Oh ay, but then we shall be twenty-four. + +We for a certainty are not the first + Have sat in taverns while the tempest hurled +Their hopeful plans to emptiness, and cursed + Whatever brute and blackguard made the world. + +It is in truth iniquity on high + To cheat our sentenced souls of aught they crave, +And mar the merriment as you and I + Fare on our long fool’s-errand to the grave. + +Iniquity it is; but pass the can. + My lad, no pair of kings our mothers bore; +Our only portion is the estate of man: + We want the moon, but we shall get no more. + +If here to-day the cloud of thunder lours + To-morrow it will hie on far behests; +The flesh will grieve on other bones than ours + Soon, and the soul will mourn in other breasts. + +The troubles of our proud and angry dust + Are from eternity, and shall not fail. +Bear them we can, and if we can we must. + Shoulder the sky, my lad, and drink your ale. + + + + +X + + +Could man be drunk for ever + With liquor, love, or fights, +Lief should I rouse at morning + And lief lie down of nights. + +But men at whiles are sober + And think by fits and starts, +And if they think, they fasten + Their hands upon their hearts. + + + + +XI + + +Yonder see the morning blink: + The sun is up, and up must I, +To wash and dress and eat and drink +And look at things and talk and think + And work, and God knows why. + +Oh often have I washed and dressed + And what’s to show for all my pain? +Let me lie abed and rest: +Ten thousand times I’ve done my best + And all’s to do again. + + + + +XII + + + The laws of God, the laws of man, +He may keep that will and can; +Now I: let God and man decree +Laws for themselves and not for me; +And if my ways are not as theirs +Let them mind their own affairs. +Their deeds I judge and much condemn, +Yet when did I make laws for them? +Please yourselves, say I, and they +Need only look the other way. +But no, they will not; they must still +Wrest their neighbour to their will, +And make me dance as they desire +With jail and gallows and hell-fire. +And how am I to face the odds +Of man’s bedevilment and God’s? +I, a stranger and afraid +In a world I never made. +They will be master, right or wrong; +Though both are foolish, both are strong, +And since, my soul, we cannot fly +To Saturn or Mercury, +Keep we must, if keep we can, +These foreign laws of God and man. + + + + +XIII + +THE DESERTER + + +"What sound awakened me, I wonder, + For now ‘tis dumb." +"Wheels on the road most like, or thunder: + Lie down; ‘twas not the drum.: + +"Toil at sea and two in haven + And trouble far: +Fly, crow, away, and follow, raven, + And all that croaks for war." + +"Hark, I heard the bugle crying, + And where am I? +My friends are up and dressed and dying, + And I will dress and die." + +"Oh love is rare and trouble plenty + And carrion cheap, +And daylight dear at four-and-twenty: + Lie down again and sleep." + +"Reach me my belt and leave your prattle: + Your hour is gone; +But my day is the day of battle, + And that comes dawning on. + +"They mow the field of man in season: + Farewell, my fair, +And, call it truth or call it treason, + Farewell the vows that were." + +"Ay, false heart, forsake me lightly: + ‘Tis like the brave. +They find no bed to joy in rightly + Before they find the grave. + +"Their love is for their own undoing. + And east and west +They scour about the world a-wooing + The bullet in their breast. + +"Sail away the ocean over, + Oh sail away, +And lie there with your leaden lover + For ever and a day." + + + + +XIV + +THE CULPRIT + + +The night my father got me + His mind was not on me; +He did not plague his fancy + To muse if I should be + The son you see. + +The day my mother bore me + She was a fool and glad, +For all the pain I cost her, + That she had borne the lad + That borne she had. + +My mother and my father + Out of the light they lie; +The warrant would not find them, + And here ‘tis only I + Shall hang so high. + +Oh let not man remember + The soul that God forgot, +But fetch the county kerchief + And noose me in the knot, + And I will rot. + +For so the game is ended + That should not have begun. +My father and my mother + They had a likely son, + And I have none. + + + + +XV + +EIGHT O’CLOCK + + +He stood, and heard the steeple + Sprinkle the quarters on the morning town. +One, two, three, four, to market-place and people + It tossed them down. + +Strapped, noosed, nighing his hour, + He stood and counted them and cursed his luck; +And then the clock collected in the tower + Its strength, and struck. + + + + +XVI + +SPRING MORNING + + +Star and coronal and bell + April underfoot renews, +And the hope of man as well + Flowers among the morning dews. + +Now the old come out to look, + Winter past and winter’s pains. +How the sky in pool and brook + Glitters on the grassy plains. + +Easily the gentle air + Wafts the turning season on; +Things to comfort them are there, + Though ‘tis true the best are gone. + +Now the scorned unlucky lad + Rousing from his pillow gnawn +Mans his heart and deep and glad + Drinks the valiant air of dawn. + +Half the night he longed to die, + Now are sown on hill and plain +Pleasures worth his while to try + Ere he longs to die again. + +Blue the sky from east to west + Arches, and the world is wide, +Though the girl he loves the best + Rouses from another’s side. + + + + +XVII + +ASTRONOMY + + +The Wain upon the northern steep + Descends and lifts away. +Oh I will sit me down and weep + For bones in Africa. + +For pay and medals, name and rank, + Things that he has not found, +He hove the Cross to heaven and sank + The pole-star underground. + +And now he does not even see + Signs of the nadir roll +At night over the ground where he + Is buried with the pole. + + + + +XVIII + + +The rain, it streams on stone and hillock, + The boot clings to the clay. +Since all is done that’s due and right +Let’s home; and now, my lad, good-night, + For I must turn away. + +Good-night, my lad, for nought’s eternal; + No league of ours, for sure. +Tomorrow I shall miss you less, +And ache of heart and heaviness + Are things that time should cure. + +Over the hill the highway marches + And what’s beyond is wide: +Oh soon enough will pine to nought +Remembrance and the faithful thought + That sits the grave beside. + +The skies, they are not always raining + Nor grey the twelvemonth through; +And I shall meet good days and mirth, +And range the lovely lands of earth + With friends no worse than you. + +But oh, my man, the house is fallen + That none can build again; +My man, how full of joy and woe +Your mother bore you years ago + To-night to lie in the rain. + + + + +XIX + + +In midnights of November, + When Dead Man’s Fair is nigh, +And danger in the valley, + And anger in the sky, + +Around the huddling homesteads + The leafless timber roars, +And the dead call the dying + And finger at the doors. + +Oh, yonder faltering fingers + Are hands I used to hold; +Their false companion drowses + And leaves them in the cold. + +Oh, to the bed of ocean, + To Africk and to Ind, +I will arise and follow + Along the rainy wind. + +The night goes out and under + With all its train forlorn; +Hues in the east assemble + And cocks crow up the morn. + +The living are the living + And dead the dead will stay, +And I will sort with comrades + That face the beam of day. + + + + +XX + + +The night is freezing fast, + To-morrow comes December; + And winterfalls of old +Are with me from the past; + And chiefly I remember + How Dick would hate the cold. + +Fall, winter, fall; for he, + Prompt hand and headpiece clever, + Has woven a winter robe, +And made of earth and sea + His overcoat for ever, + And wears the turning globe. + + + + +XXI + + +The fairies break their dances + And leave the printed lawn, +And up from India glances + The silver sail of dawn. + +The candles burn their sockets, + The blinds let through the day, +The young man feels his pockets + And wonders what’s to pay. + + + + +XXII + + +The sloe was lost in flower, + The April elm was dim; +That was the lover’s hour, + The hour for lies and him. + +If thorns are all the bower, + If north winds freeze the fir, +Why, ‘tis another’s hour, + The hour for truth and her. + + + + +XXIII + + +In the morning, in the morning, + In the happy field of hay, +Oh they looked at one another + By the light of day. + +In the blue and silver morning + On the haycock as they lay, +Oh they looked at one another + And they looked away. + + + + +XXIV + +EPITHALAMIUM + + + He is here, Urania’s son, +Hymen come from Helicon; +God that glads the lover’s heart, +He is here to join and part. +So the groomsman quits your side +And the bridegroom seeks the bride: +Friend and comrade yield you o’er +To her that hardly loves you more. + + Now the sun his skyward beam +Has tilted from the Ocean stream. +Light the Indies, laggard sun: +Happy bridegroom, day is done, +And the star from Œta’s steep +Calls to bed but not to sleep. + + Happy bridegroom, Hesper brings +All desired and timely things. +All whom morning sends to roam, +Hesper loves to lead them home. +Home return who him behold, +Child to mother, sheep to fold, +Bird to nest from wandering wide: +Happy bridegroom, seek your bride. + + Pour it out, the golden cup +Given and guarded, brimming up, +Safe through jostling markets borne +And the thicket of the thorn; +Folly spurned and danger past, +Pour it to the god at last. + + Now, to smother noise and light, +Is stolen abroad the wildering night, +And the blotting shades confuse +Path and meadow full of dews; +And the high heavens, that all control, +Turn in silence round the pole. +Catch the starry beams they shed +Prospering the marriage bed, +And breed the land that reared your prime +Sons to stay the rot of time. +All is quiet, no alarms; +Nothing fear of nightly harms. +Safe you sleep on guarded ground, +And in silent circle round +The thoughts of friends keep watch and ward, +Harnessed angels, hand on sword. + + + + +XXV + +THE ORACLES + + +‘Tis mute, the word they went to hear on high Dodona mountain + When winds were in the oakenshaws and all the cauldrons tolled, +And mute’s the midland navel-stone beside the singing fountain, + And echoes list to silence now where gods told lies of old. + +I took my question to the shrine that has not ceased from speaking, + The heart within, that tells the truth and tells it twice as plain; +And from the cave of oracles I heard the priestess shrieking + That she and I should surely die and never live again. + +Oh priestess, what you cry is clear, and sound good sense I think it; + But let the screaming echoes rest, and froth your mouth no more. +‘Tis true there’s better boose than brine, but he that drowns must drink it; + And oh, my lass, the news is news that men have heard before. + +The King with half the East at heel is marched from lands of morning; + Their fighters drink the rivers up, their shafts benight the air. +And he that stands will die for nought, and home there’s no returning. + The Spartans on the sea-wet rock sat down and combed their hair. + + + + +XXVI + + +The half-moon westers low, my love, + And the wind brings up the rain; +And wide apart lie we, my love, + And seas between the twain. + +I know not if it rains, my love, + In the land where you do lie; +And oh, so sound you sleep, my love, + You know no more than I. + + + + +XXVII + + +The sigh that heaves the grasses + Whence thou wilt never rise +Is of the air that passes + And knows not if it sighs. + +The diamond tears adorning + Thy low mound on the lea, +Those are the tears of morning, + That weeps, but not for thee. + + + + +XXVIII + + +Now dreary dawns the eastern light, + And fall of eve is drear, +And cold the poor man lies at night, + And so goes out the year. + +Little is the luck I’ve had, + And oh, ‘tis comfort small +To think that many another lad + Has had no luck at all. + + + + +XXIX + + +Wake not for the world-heard thunder + Nor the chime that earthquakes toll. +Star may plot in heaven with planet, +Lightning rive the rock of granite, +Tempest tread the oakwood under: + Fear not you for flesh nor soul. +Marching, fighting, victory past, +Stretch your limbs in peace at last. + +Stir not for the soldiers drilling + Nor the fever nothing cures: +Throb of drum and timbal’s rattle +Call but man alive to battle, +And the fife with death-notes filling + Screams for blood but not for yours. +Times enough you bled your best; +Sleep on now, and take your rest. + +Sleep, my lad; the French are landed, + London’s burning, Windsor’s down; +Clasp your cloak of earth about you, +We must man the ditch without you, +March unled and fight short-handed, + Charge to fall and swim to drown. +Duty, friendship, bravery o’er, +Sleep away, lad; wake no more. + + + + +XXX + +SINNER’S RUE + + +I walked alone and thinking, + And faint the nightwind blew +And stirred on mounds at crossways + The flower of sinner’s rue. + +Where the roads part they bury + Him that his own hand slays, +And so the weed of sorrow + Springs at the four cross ways. + +By night I plucked it hueless, + When morning broke ‘twas blue: +Blue at my breast I fastened + The flower of sinner’s rue. + +It seemed a herb of healing, + A balsam and a sign, +Flower of a heart whose trouble + Must have been worse than mine. + +Dead clay that did me kindness, + I can do none to you, +But only wear for breastknot + The flower of sinner’s rue. + + + + +XXXI + +HELL’S GATE + + + Onward led the road again +Through the sad uncoloured plain +Under twilight brooding dim, +And along the utmost rim +Wall and rampart risen to sight +Cast a shadow not of night, +And beyond them seemed to glow +Bonfires lighted long ago. +And my dark conductor broke +Silence at my side and spoke, +Saying, "You conjecture well: +Yonder is the gate of hell." + + Ill as yet the eye could see +The eternal masonry, +But beneath it on the dark +To and fro there stirred a spark. +And again the sombre guide +Knew my question, and replied: +"At hell gate the damned in turn +Pace for sentinel and burn." + + Dully at the leaden sky +Staring, and with idle eye +Measuring the listless plain, +I began to think again. +Many things I thought of then, +Battle, and the loves of men, +Cities entered, oceans crossed, +Knowledge gained and virtue lost, +Cureless folly done and said, +And the lovely way that led +To the slimepit and the mire +And the everlasting fire. +And against a smoulder dun +And a dawn without a sun +Did the nearing bastion loom, +And across the gate of gloom +Still one saw the sentry go, +Trim and burning, to and fro, +One for women to admire +In his finery of fire. +Something, as I watched him pace, +Minded me of time and place, +Soldiers of another corps +And a sentry known before. + + Ever darker hell on high +Reared its strength upon the sky, +And our football on the track +Fetched the daunting echo back. +But the soldier pacing still +The insuperable sill, +Nursing his tormented pride, +Turned his head to neither side, +Sunk into himself apart +And the hell-fire of his heart. +But against our entering in +From the drawbridge Death and Sin +Rose to render key and sword +To their father and their lord. +And the portress foul to see +Lifted up her eyes on me +Smiling, and I made reply: +"Met again, my lass," said I. +Then the sentry turned his head, +Looked, and knew me, and was Ned. + + Once he looked, and halted straight, +Set his back against the gate, +Caught his musket to his chin, +While the hive of hell within +Sent abroad a seething hum +As of towns whose king is come +Leading conquest home from far +And the captives of his war, +And the car of triumph waits, +And they open wide the gates. +But across the entry barred +Straddled the revolted guard, +Weaponed and accoutred well +From the arsenals of hell; +And beside him, sick and white, +Sin to left and Death to right +Turned a countenance of fear +On the flaming mutineer. +Over us the darkness bowed, +And the anger in the cloud +Clenched the lightning for the stroke; +But the traitor musket spoke. + + And the hollowness of hell +Sounded as its master fell, +And the mourning echo rolled +Ruin through his kingdom old. +Tyranny and terror flown +Left a pair of friends alone, +And beneath the nether sky +All that stirred was he and I. + + Silent, nothing found to say, +We began the backward way; +And the ebbing luster died +From the soldier at my side, +As in all his spruce attire +Failed the everlasting fire. +Midmost of the homeward track +Once we listened and looked back; +But the city, dusk and mute, +Slept, and there was no pursuit. + + + + +XXXII + + +When I would muse in boyhood + The wild green woods among, +And nurse resolves and fancies + Because the world was young, +It was not foes to conquer, + Nor sweethearts to be kind, +But it was friends to die for + That I would seek and find. + +I sought them far and found them, + The sure, the straight, the brave, +The hearts I lost my own to, + The souls I could not save. +They braced their belts about them, + They crossed in ships the sea, +They sought and found six feet of ground, + And there they died for me. + + + + +XXXIII + + +When the eye of day is shut, + And the stars deny their beams, +And about the forest hut + Blows the roaring wood of dreams, + +From deep clay, from desert rock, + From the sunk sands of the main, +Come not at my door to knock, + Hearts that loved me not again. + +Sleep, be still, turn to your rest + In the lands where you are laid; +In far lodgings east and west + Lie down on the beds you made. + +In gross marl, in blowing dust, + In the drowned ooze of the sea, +Where you would not, lie you must, + Lie you must, and not with me. + + + + +XXXIV + +THE FIRST OF MAY + + +The orchards half the way + From home to Ludlow fair +Flowered on the first of May + In Mays when I was there; +And seen from stile or turning + The plume of smoke would show +Where fires were burning + That went out long ago. + +The plum broke forth in green, + The pear stood high and snowed, +My friends and I between + Would take the Ludlow road; +Dressed to the nines and drinking + And light in heart and limb, +And each chap thinking + The fair was held for him. + +Between the trees in flower + New friends at fairtime tread +The way where Ludlow tower + Stands planted on the dead. +Our thoughts, a long while after, + They think, our words they say; +Theirs now’s the laughter, + The fair, the first of May. + +Ay, yonder lads are yet + The fools that we were then; +For oh, the sons we get + Are still the sons of men. +The sumless tale of sorrow + Is all unrolled in vain: +May comes to-morrow + And Ludlow fair again. + + + + +XXXV + + +When first my way to fair I took + Few pence in purse had I, +And long I used to stand and look + At things I could not buy. + +Now times are altered: if I care + To buy a thing, I can; +The pence are here and here’s the fair, + But where’s the lost young man? + +--To think that two and two are four + And neither five nor three +The heart of man has long been sore + And long ‘tis like to be. + + + + +XXXVI + +REVOLUTION + + +West and away the wheels of darkness roll, + Day’s beamy banner up the east is borne, +Spectres and fears, the nightmare and her foal, + Drown in the golden deluge of the morn. + +But over sea and continent from sight + Safe to the Indies has the earth conveyed +The vast and moon-eclipsing cone of night, + Her towering foolscap of eternal shade. + +See, in mid heaven the sun is mounted; hark, + The belfries tingle to the noonday chime. +‘Tis silent, and the subterranean dark + Has crossed the nadir, and begins to climb. + + + + +XXXVII + +EPITAPH ON AN ARMY OF MERCENARIES + + +These, in the day when heaven was falling, + The hour when earth’s foundations fled, +Followed their mercenary calling + And took their wages and are dead. + +Their shoulders held the sky suspended; + They stood, and earth’s foundations stay; +What God abandoned, these defended, + And saved the sum of things for pay. + + + + +XXXVIII + + +Oh stay at home, my lad, and plough + The land and not the sea, +And leave the soldiers at their drill, +And all about the idle hill + Shepherd your sheep with me. + +Oh stay with company and mirth + And daylight and the air; +Too full already is the grave +Of fellows that were good and brave + And died because they were. + + + + +XXXIX + + +When summer’s end is nighing + And skies at evening cloud, +I muse on change and fortune + And all the feats I vowed + When I was young and proud. + +The weathercock at sunset + Would lose the slanted ray, +And I would climb the beacon + That looked to Wales away + And saw the last of day. + +From hill and cloud and heaven + The hues of evening died; +Night welled through lane and hollow + And hushed the countryside, + But I had youth and pride. + +And I with earth and nightfall + In converse high would stand, +Late, till the west was ashen + And darkness hard at hand, + And the eye lost the land. + +The year might age, and cloudy + The lessening day might close, +But air of other summers + Breathed from beyond the snows, + And I had hope of those. + +They came and were and are not + And come no more anew; +And all the years and seasons + That ever can ensue + Must now be worse and few. + +So here’s an end of roaming + On eves when autumn nighs: +The ear too fondly listens + For summer’s parting sighs, + And then the heart replies. + + + + +XL + + +Tell me not here, it needs not saying, + What tune the enchantress plays +In aftermaths of soft September + Or under blanching mays, +For she and I were long acquainted + And I knew all her ways. + +On russet floors, by waters idle, + The pine lets fall its cone; +The cuckoo shouts all day at nothing + In leafy dells alone; +And traveler’s joy beguiles in autumn + Hearts that have lost their own. + +On acres of the seeded grasses + The changing burnish heaves; +Or marshalled under moons of harvest + Stand still all night the sheaves; +Or beeches strip in storms for winter + And stain the wind with leaves. + +Possess, as I possessed a season, + The countries I resign, +Where over elmy plains the highway + Would mount the hills and shine, +And full of shade the pillared forest + Would murmur and be mine. + +For nature, heartless, witless nature, + Will neither care nor know +What stranger’s feet may find the meadow + And trespass there and go, +Nor ask amid the dews of morning + If they are mine or no. + + + + +XLI + +FANCY’S KNELL + + +When lads were home from labour + At Abdon under Clee, +A man would call his neighbor + And both would send for me. +And where the light in lances + Across the mead was laid, +There to the dances + I fetched my flute and played. + +Ours were idle pleasures, + Yet oh, content we were, +The young to wind the measures, + The old to heed the air; +And I to lift with playing + From tree and tower and steep +The light delaying, + And flute the sun to sleep. + +The youth toward his fancy + Would turn his brow of tan, +And Tom would pair with Nancy + And Dick step off with Fan; +The girl would lift her glances + To his, and both be mute: +Well went the dances + At evening to the flute. + +Wenlock Edge was umbered, + And bright was Abdon Burf, +And warm between them slumbered + The smooth green miles of turf; +Until from grass and clover + The upshot beam would fade, +And England over + Advanced the lofty shade. + +The lofty shade advances, + I fetch my flute and play: +Come, lads, and learn the dances + And praise the tune to-day. +To-morrow, more’s the pity, + Away we both must hie, +To air the ditty, + And to earth I. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Last Poems, by A. 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