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\title{The Poetry Collection of Thomas Hardy - Volume 3}
\date{}
\author{Thomas Hardy}
\subtitle{}






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\begin{document}









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  {\usekomafont{title}{\huge The Poetry Collection of Thomas Hardy - Volume 3\par}}%
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  {\usekomafont{author}{Thomas Hardy\par}}%
  
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\tableofcontents
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\chapter{MOMENTS OF VISION AND MISCELLANEOUS VERSES}

\section{CONTENTS}


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
MOMENTS OF VISION



\item\relax 
THE VOICE OF THINGS



\item\relax 
WHY BE AT PAINS?



\item\relax 
WE SAT AT THE WINDOW



\item\relax 
AT THE WICKET-GATE



\item\relax 
IN A MUSEUM



\item\relax 
APOSTROPHE TO AN OLD PSALM TUNE



\item\relax 
AT THE WORD “FAREWELL”



\item\relax 
FIRST SIGHT OF HER AND AFTER



\item\relax 
THE RIVAL



\item\relax 
HEREDITY



\item\relax 
YOU WERE THE SORT THAT MEN FORGET



\item\relax 
SHE, I, AND THEY



\item\relax 
NEAR LANIVET, 1872



\item\relax 
JOYS OF MEMORY



\item\relax 
TO THE MOON



\item\relax 
COPYING ARCHITECTURE IN AN OLD MINSTER



\item\relax 
TO SHAKESPEARE AFTER THREE HUNDRED YEARS



\item\relax 
QUID HIC AGIS?



\item\relax 
ON A MIDSUMMER EVE



\item\relax 
TIMING HER



\item\relax 
BEFORE KNOWLEDGE



\item\relax 
THE BLINDED BIRD



\item\relax 
THE WIND BLEW WORDS



\item\relax 
THE FADED FACE



\item\relax 
THE RIDDLE



\item\relax 
THE DUEL



\item\relax 
AT MAYFAIR LODGINGS



\item\relax 
TO MY FATHER’S VIOLIN



\item\relax 
THE STATUE OF LIBERTY



\item\relax 
THE BACKGROUND AND THE FIGURE



\item\relax 
THE CHANGE



\item\relax 
SITTING ON THE BRIDGE



\item\relax 
THE YOUNG CHURCHWARDEN



\item\relax 
I TRAVEL AS A PHANTOM NOW



\item\relax 
LINES TO A MOVEMENT IN MOZART’S E-FLAT SYMPHONY



\item\relax 
IN THE SEVENTIES



\item\relax 
THE PEDIGREE



\item\relax 
THIS HEART A WOMAN’S DREAM



\item\relax 
WHERE THEY LIVED



\item\relax 
THE OCCULTATION



\item\relax 
LIFE LAUGHS ONWARD



\item\relax 
THE PEACE-OFFERING



\item\relax 
SOMETHING TAPPED



\item\relax 
THE WOUND



\item\relax 
A MERRYMAKING IN QUESTION



\item\relax 
I SAID AND SANG HER EXCELLENCE



\item\relax 
A JANUARY NIGHT (1879)



\item\relax 
A KISS



\item\relax 
THE ANNOUNCEMENT



\item\relax 
THE OXEN



\item\relax 
THE TRESSES



\item\relax 
THE PHOTOGRAPH



\item\relax 
ON A HEATH



\item\relax 
AN ANNIVERSARY



\item\relax 
BY THE RUNIC STONE



\item\relax 
THE PINK FROCK



\item\relax 
TRANSFORMATIONS



\item\relax 
IN HER PRECINCTS



\item\relax 
THE LAST SIGNAL



\item\relax 
THE HOUSE OF SILENCE



\item\relax 
GREAT THINGS



\item\relax 
THE CHIMES



\item\relax 
THE FIGURE IN THE SCENE



\item\relax 
WHY DID I SKETCH



\item\relax 
CONJECTURE



\item\relax 
THE BLOW



\item\relax 
LOVE THE MONOPOLIST



\item\relax 
AT MIDDLE-FIELD GATE IN FEBRUARY



\item\relax 
THE YOUTH WHO CARRIED A LIGHT



\item\relax 
THE HEAD ABOVE THE FOG



\item\relax 
OVERLOOKING THE RIVER STOUR



\item\relax 
THE MUSICAL BOX



\item\relax 
ON STURMINSTER FOOT-BRIDGE (ONOMATOPOEIC)



\item\relax 
ROYAL SPONSORS



\item\relax 
OLD FURNITURE



\item\relax 
A THOUGHT IN TWO MOODS



\item\relax 
THE LAST PERFORMANCE



\item\relax 
YOU ON THE TOWER



\item\relax 
THE INTERLOPER



\item\relax 
LOGS ON THE HEARTH A MEMORY OF A SISTER



\item\relax 
THE SUNSHADE



\item\relax 
THE AGEING HOUSE



\item\relax 
THE CAGED GOLDFINCH



\item\relax 
AT MADAME TUSSAUD’S IN VICTORIAN YEARS



\item\relax 
THE BALLET



\item\relax 
THE FIVE STUDENTS



\item\relax 
THE WIND’S PROPHECY



\item\relax 
DURING WIND AND RAIN



\item\relax 
HE PREFERS HER EARTHLY



\item\relax 
THE DOLLS



\item\relax 
MOLLY GONE



\item\relax 
A BACKWARD SPRING



\item\relax 
LOOKING ACROSS



\item\relax 
AT A SEASIDE TOWN IN 1869



\item\relax 
THE GLIMPSE



\item\relax 
THE PEDESTRIAN AN INCIDENT OF 1883



\item\relax 
WHO’S IN THE NEXT ROOM?



\item\relax 
AT A COUNTRY FAIR



\item\relax 
THE MEMORIAL BRASS: 186-



\item\relax 
HER LOVE-BIRDS



\item\relax 
PAYING CALLS



\item\relax 
THE UPPER BIRCH-LEAVES



\item\relax 
IT NEVER LOOKS LIKE SUMMER



\item\relax 
EVERYTHING COMES



\item\relax 
THE MAN WITH A PAST



\item\relax 
HE FEARS HIS GOOD FORTUNE



\item\relax 
HE WONDERS ABOUT HIMSELF



\item\relax 
JUBILATE



\item\relax 
HE REVISITS HIS FIRST SCHOOL



\item\relax 
I THOUGHT, MY HEART



\item\relax 
FRAGMENT



\item\relax 
MIDNIGHT ON THE GREAT WESTERN



\item\relax 
HONEYMOON TIME AT AN INN



\item\relax 
THE ROBIN



\item\relax 
I ROSE AND WENT TO ROU’TOR TOWN



\item\relax 
THE NETTLES



\item\relax 
IN A WAITING-ROOM



\item\relax 
THE CLOCK-WINDER



\item\relax 
OLD EXCURSIONS



\item\relax 
THE MASKED FACE



\item\relax 
IN A WHISPERING GALLERY



\item\relax 
THE SOMETHING THAT SAVED HIM



\item\relax 
THE ENEMY’S PORTRAIT



\item\relax 
IMAGININGS



\item\relax 
ON THE DOORSTEP



\item\relax 
SIGNS AND TOKENS



\item\relax 
PATHS OF FORMER TIME



\item\relax 
THE CLOCK OF THE YEARS



\item\relax 
AT THE PIANO



\item\relax 
THE SHADOW ON THE STONE



\item\relax 
IN THE GARDEN (M. H.)



\item\relax 
THE TREE AND THE LADY



\item\relax 
AN UPBRAIDING



\item\relax 
THE YOUNG GLASS-STAINER



\item\relax 
LOOKING AT A PICTURE ON AN ANNIVERSARY



\item\relax 
THE CHOIRMASTER’S BURIAL



\item\relax 
THE MAN WHO FORGOT



\item\relax 
WHILE DRAWING IN A CHURCH-YARD



\item\relax 
FOR LIFE I HAD NEVER CARED GREATLY



\item\relax 
MEN WHO MARCH AWAY (SONG OF THE SOLDIERS)



\item\relax 
HIS COUNTRY



\item\relax 
ENGLAND TO GERMANY IN 1914



\item\relax 
ON THE BELGIAN EXPATRIATION



\item\relax 
AN APPEAL TO AMERICA ON BEHALF OF THE BELGIAN DESTITUTE



\item\relax 
THE PITY OF IT



\item\relax 
IN TIME OF WARS AND TUMULTS



\item\relax 
IN TIME OF “THE BREAKING OF NATIONS”



\item\relax 
CRY OF THE HOMELESS AFTER THE PRUSSIAN INVASION OF BELGIUM



\item\relax 
BEFORE MARCHING AND AFTER (in Memoriam F. W. G.)



\item\relax 
OFTEN WHEN WARRING



\item\relax 
THEN AND NOW



\item\relax 
A CALL TO NATIONAL SERVICE



\item\relax 
THE DEAD AND THE LIVING ONE



\item\relax 
A NEW YEAR’S EVE IN WAR TIME



\item\relax 
I MET A MAN



\item\relax 
I LOOKED UP FROM MY WRITING



\item\relax 
THE COMING OF THE END



\item\relax 
AFTERWARDS




\end{itemize}
\section{MOMENTS OF VISION}


That mirror
\forcelinebreak Which makes of men a transparency,
\forcelinebreak Who holds that mirror
\forcelinebreak And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see
\forcelinebreak Of you and me?


That mirror
\forcelinebreak Whose magic penetrates like a dart,
\forcelinebreak Who lifts that mirror
\forcelinebreak And throws our mind back on us, and our heart,
\forcelinebreak Until we start?


That mirror
\forcelinebreak Works well in these night hours of ache;
\forcelinebreak Why in that mirror
\forcelinebreak Are tincts we never see ourselves once take
\forcelinebreak When the world is awake?


That mirror
\forcelinebreak Can test each mortal when unaware;
\forcelinebreak Yea, that strange mirror
\forcelinebreak May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair,
\forcelinebreak Glassing it — where?

\section{THE VOICE OF THINGS}


Forty Augusts — aye, and several more — ago,
\forcelinebreak When I paced the headlands loosed from dull employ,
\forcelinebreak The waves huzza’d like a multitude below
\forcelinebreak In the sway of an all-including joy
\forcelinebreak Without cloy.


Blankly I walked there a double decade after,
\forcelinebreak When thwarts had flung their toils in front of me,
\forcelinebreak And I heard the waters wagging in a long ironic laughter
\forcelinebreak At the lot of men, and all the vapoury
\forcelinebreak Things that be.


Wheeling change has set me again standing where
\forcelinebreak Once I heard the waves huzza at Lammas-tide;
\forcelinebreak But they supplicate now — like a congregation there
\forcelinebreak Who murmur the Confession — I outside,
\forcelinebreak Prayer denied.

\section{WHY BE AT PAINS?}


(Wooer’s Song)


Why be at pains that I should know
\forcelinebreak You sought not me?
\forcelinebreak Do breezes, then, make features glow
\forcelinebreak So rosily?
\forcelinebreak Come, the lit port is at our back,
\forcelinebreak And the tumbling sea;
\forcelinebreak Elsewhere the lampless uphill track
\forcelinebreak To uncertainty!


O should not we two waifs join hands?
\forcelinebreak I am alone,
\forcelinebreak You would enrich me more than lands
\forcelinebreak By being my own.
\forcelinebreak Yet, though this facile moment flies,
\forcelinebreak Close is your tone,
\forcelinebreak And ere to-morrow’s dewfall dries
\forcelinebreak I plough the unknown.

\section{WE SAT AT THE WINDOW}


(Bournemouth, 1875)


We sat at the window looking out,
\forcelinebreak And the rain came down like silken strings
\forcelinebreak That Swithin’s day. Each gutter and spout
\forcelinebreak Babbled unchecked in the busy way
\forcelinebreak Of witless things:
\forcelinebreak Nothing to read, nothing to see
\forcelinebreak Seemed in that room for her and me
\forcelinebreak On Swithin’s day.


We were irked by the scene, by our own selves; yes,
\forcelinebreak For I did not know, nor did she infer
\forcelinebreak How much there was to read and guess
\forcelinebreak By her in me, and to see and crown
\forcelinebreak By me in her.
\forcelinebreak Wasted were two souls in their prime,
\forcelinebreak And great was the waste, that July time
\forcelinebreak When the rain came down.


AFTERNOON SERVICE AT MELLSTOCK
\forcelinebreak (Circa 1850)


On afternoons of drowsy calm
\forcelinebreak We stood in the panelled pew,
\forcelinebreak Singing one-voiced a Tate-and-Brady psalm
\forcelinebreak To the tune of “Cambridge New.”


We watched the elms, we watched the rooks,
\forcelinebreak The clouds upon the breeze,
\forcelinebreak Between the whiles of glancing at our books,
\forcelinebreak And swaying like the trees.


So mindless were those outpourings! -
\forcelinebreak Though I am not aware
\forcelinebreak That I have gained by subtle thought on things
\forcelinebreak Since we stood psalming there.

\section{AT THE WICKET-GATE}


There floated the sounds of church-chiming,
\forcelinebreak But no one was nigh,
\forcelinebreak Till there came, as a break in the loneness,
\forcelinebreak Her father, she, I.
\forcelinebreak And we slowly moved on to the wicket,
\forcelinebreak And downlooking stood,
\forcelinebreak Till anon people passed, and amid them
\forcelinebreak We parted for good.


Greater, wiser, may part there than we three
\forcelinebreak Who parted there then,
\forcelinebreak But never will Fates colder-featured
\forcelinebreak Hold sway there again.
\forcelinebreak Of the churchgoers through the still meadows
\forcelinebreak No single one knew
\forcelinebreak What a play was played under their eyes there
\forcelinebreak As thence we withdrew.

\section{IN A MUSEUM}

\subsection{I}


Here’s the mould of a musical bird long passed from light,
\forcelinebreak Which over the earth before man came was winging;
\forcelinebreak There’s a contralto voice I heard last night,
\forcelinebreak That lodges in me still with its sweet singing.

\subsection{II}


Such a dream is Time that the coo of this ancient bird
\forcelinebreak Has perished not, but is blent, or will be blending
\forcelinebreak Mid visionless wilds of space with the voice that I heard,
\forcelinebreak In the full-fugued song of the universe unending.


EXETER.

\section{APOSTROPHE TO AN OLD PSALM TUNE}


I met you first — ah, when did I first meet you?
\forcelinebreak When I was full of wonder, and innocent,
\forcelinebreak Standing meek-eyed with those of choric bent,
\forcelinebreak While dimming day grew dimmer
\forcelinebreak In the pulpit-glimmer.


Much riper in years I met you — in a temple
\forcelinebreak Where summer sunset streamed upon our shapes,
\forcelinebreak And you spread over me like a gauze that drapes,
\forcelinebreak And flapped from floor to rafters,
\forcelinebreak Sweet as angels’ laughters.


But you had been stripped of some of your old vesture
\forcelinebreak By Monk, or another. Now you wore no frill,
\forcelinebreak And at first you startled me. But I knew you still,
\forcelinebreak Though I missed the minim’s waver,
\forcelinebreak And the dotted quaver.


I grew accustomed to you thus. And you hailed me
\forcelinebreak Through one who evoked you often. Then at last
\forcelinebreak Your raiser was borne off, and I mourned you had passed
\forcelinebreak From my life with your late outsetter;
\forcelinebreak Till I said, “‘Tis better!”


But you waylaid me. I rose and went as a ghost goes,
\forcelinebreak And said, eyes-full “I’ll never hear it again!
\forcelinebreak It is overmuch for scathed and memoried men
\forcelinebreak When sitting among strange people
\forcelinebreak Under their steeple.”


Now, a new stirrer of tones calls you up before me
\forcelinebreak And wakes your speech, as she of Endor did
\forcelinebreak (When sought by Saul who, in disguises hid,
\forcelinebreak Fell down on the earth to hear it)
\forcelinebreak Samuel’s spirit.


So, your quired oracles beat till they make me tremble
\forcelinebreak As I discern your mien in the old attire,
\forcelinebreak Here in these turmoiled years of belligerent fire
\forcelinebreak Living still on — and onward, maybe,
\forcelinebreak Till Doom’s great day be!


Sunday, August 13, 1916.

\section{AT THE WORD “FAREWELL”}


She looked like a bird from a cloud
\forcelinebreak On the clammy lawn,
\forcelinebreak Moving alone, bare-browed
\forcelinebreak In the dim of dawn.
\forcelinebreak The candles alight in the room
\forcelinebreak For my parting meal
\forcelinebreak Made all things withoutdoors loom
\forcelinebreak Strange, ghostly, unreal.


The hour itself was a ghost,
\forcelinebreak And it seemed to me then
\forcelinebreak As of chances the chance furthermost
\forcelinebreak I should see her again.
\forcelinebreak I beheld not where all was so fleet
\forcelinebreak That a Plan of the past
\forcelinebreak Which had ruled us from birthtime to meet
\forcelinebreak Was in working at last:


No prelude did I there perceive
\forcelinebreak To a drama at all,
\forcelinebreak Or foreshadow what fortune might weave
\forcelinebreak From beginnings so small;
\forcelinebreak But I rose as if quicked by a spur
\forcelinebreak I was bound to obey,
\forcelinebreak And stepped through the casement to her
\forcelinebreak Still alone in the gray.


“I am leaving you . . . Farewell!” I said,
\forcelinebreak As I followed her on
\forcelinebreak By an alley bare boughs overspread;
\forcelinebreak ”I soon must be gone!”
\forcelinebreak Even then the scale might have been turned
\forcelinebreak Against love by a feather,
\forcelinebreak  - But crimson one cheek of hers burned
\forcelinebreak When we came in together.

\section{FIRST SIGHT OF HER AND AFTER}


A day is drawing to its fall
\forcelinebreak I had not dreamed to see;
\forcelinebreak The first of many to enthrall
\forcelinebreak My spirit, will it be?
\forcelinebreak Or is this eve the end of all
\forcelinebreak Such new delight for me?


I journey home: the pattern grows
\forcelinebreak Of moonshades on the way:
\forcelinebreak “Soon the first quarter, I suppose,”
\forcelinebreak Sky-glancing travellers say;
\forcelinebreak I realise that it, for those,
\forcelinebreak Has been a common day.

\section{THE RIVAL}


I determined to find out whose it was -
\forcelinebreak The portrait he looked at so, and sighed;
\forcelinebreak Bitterly have I rued my meanness
\forcelinebreak And wept for it since he died!


I searched his desk when he was away,
\forcelinebreak And there was the likeness — yes, my own!
\forcelinebreak Taken when I was the season’s fairest,
\forcelinebreak And time-lines all unknown.


I smiled at my image, and put it back,
\forcelinebreak And he went on cherishing it, until
\forcelinebreak I was chafed that he loved not the me then living,
\forcelinebreak But that past woman still.


Well, such was my jealousy at last,
\forcelinebreak I destroyed that face of the former me;
\forcelinebreak Could you ever have dreamed the heart of woman
\forcelinebreak Would work so foolishly!

\section{HEREDITY}


I am the family face;
\forcelinebreak Flesh perishes, I live on,
\forcelinebreak Projecting trait and trace
\forcelinebreak Through time to times anon,
\forcelinebreak And leaping from place to place
\forcelinebreak Over oblivion.


The years-heired feature that can
\forcelinebreak In curve and voice and eye
\forcelinebreak Despise the human span
\forcelinebreak Of durance — that is I;
\forcelinebreak The eternal thing in man,
\forcelinebreak That heeds no call to die.

\section{YOU WERE THE SORT THAT MEN FORGET}


You were the sort that men forget;
\forcelinebreak Though I — not yet! -
\forcelinebreak Perhaps not ever. Your slighted weakness
\forcelinebreak Adds to the strength of my regret!


You’d not the art — you never had
\forcelinebreak For good or bad -
\forcelinebreak To make men see how sweet your meaning,
\forcelinebreak Which, visible, had charmed them glad.


You would, by words inept let fall,
\forcelinebreak Offend them all,
\forcelinebreak Even if they saw your warm devotion
\forcelinebreak Would hold your life’s blood at their call.


You lacked the eye to understand
\forcelinebreak Those friends offhand
\forcelinebreak Whose mode was crude, though whose dim purport
\forcelinebreak Outpriced the courtesies of the bland.


I am now the only being who
\forcelinebreak Remembers you
\forcelinebreak It may be. What a waste that Nature
\forcelinebreak Grudged soul so dear the art its due!

\section{SHE, I, AND THEY}


I was sitting,
\forcelinebreak She was knitting,
\forcelinebreak And the portraits of our fore-folk hung around;
\forcelinebreak When there struck on us a sigh;
\forcelinebreak ”Ah — what is that?” said I:
\forcelinebreak “Was it not you?” said she. “A sigh did sound.”


I had not breathed it,
\forcelinebreak Nor the night-wind heaved it,
\forcelinebreak And how it came to us we could not guess;
\forcelinebreak And we looked up at each face
\forcelinebreak Framed and glazed there in its place,
\forcelinebreak Still hearkening; but thenceforth was silentness.


Half in dreaming,
\forcelinebreak ”Then its meaning,”
\forcelinebreak Said we, “must be surely this; that they repine
\forcelinebreak That we should be the last
\forcelinebreak Of stocks once unsurpassed,
\forcelinebreak And unable to keep up their sturdy line.”


1916

\section{NEAR LANIVET, 1872}


There was a stunted handpost just on the crest,
\forcelinebreak Only a few feet high:
\forcelinebreak She was tired, and we stopped in the twilight-time for her rest,
\forcelinebreak At the crossways close thereby.


She leant back, being so weary, against its stem,
\forcelinebreak And laid her arms on its own,
\forcelinebreak Each open palm stretched out to each end of them,
\forcelinebreak Her sad face sideways thrown.


Her white-clothed form at this dim-lit cease of day
\forcelinebreak Made her look as one crucified
\forcelinebreak In my gaze at her from the midst of the dusty way,
\forcelinebreak And hurriedly “Don’t,” I cried.


I do not think she heard. Loosing thence she said,
\forcelinebreak As she stepped forth ready to go,
\forcelinebreak “I am rested now. — Something strange came into my head;
\forcelinebreak I wish I had not leant so!”


And wordless we moved onward down from the hill
\forcelinebreak In the west cloud’s murked obscure,
\forcelinebreak And looking back we could see the handpost still
\forcelinebreak In the solitude of the moor.


“It struck her too,” I thought, for as if afraid
\forcelinebreak She heavily breathed as we trailed;
\forcelinebreak Till she said, “I did not think how ‘twould look in the shade,
\forcelinebreak When I leant there like one nailed.”


I, lightly: “There’s nothing in it. For YOU, anyhow!”
\forcelinebreak — ”O I know there is not,” said she . . .
\forcelinebreak “Yet I wonder . . . If no one is bodily crucified now,
\forcelinebreak In spirit one may be!”


And we dragged on and on, while we seemed to see
\forcelinebreak In the running of Time’s far glass
\forcelinebreak Her crucified, as she had wondered if she might be
\forcelinebreak Some day. — Alas, alas!

\section{JOYS OF MEMORY}


When the spring comes round, and a certain day
\forcelinebreak Looks out from the brume by the eastern copsetrees
\forcelinebreak And says, Remember,
\forcelinebreak I begin again, as if it were new,
\forcelinebreak A day of like date I once lived through,
\forcelinebreak Whiling it hour by hour away;
\forcelinebreak So shall I do till my December,
\forcelinebreak When spring comes round.


I take my holiday then and my rest
\forcelinebreak Away from the dun life here about me,
\forcelinebreak Old hours re-greeting
\forcelinebreak With the quiet sense that bring they must
\forcelinebreak Such throbs as at first, till I house with dust,
\forcelinebreak And in the numbness my heartsome zest
\forcelinebreak For things that were, be past repeating
\forcelinebreak When spring comes round.

\section{TO THE MOON}


”What have you looked at, Moon,
\forcelinebreak In your time,
\forcelinebreak Now long past your prime?”
\forcelinebreak “O, I have looked at, often looked at
\forcelinebreak Sweet, sublime,
\forcelinebreak Sore things, shudderful, night and noon
\forcelinebreak In my time.”


”What have you mused on, Moon,
\forcelinebreak In your day,
\forcelinebreak So aloof, so far away?”
\forcelinebreak “O, I have mused on, often mused on
\forcelinebreak Growth, decay,
\forcelinebreak Nations alive, dead, mad, aswoon,
\forcelinebreak In my day!”


”Have you much wondered, Moon,
\forcelinebreak On your rounds,
\forcelinebreak Self-wrapt, beyond Earth’s bounds?”
\forcelinebreak “Yea, I have wondered, often wondered
\forcelinebreak At the sounds
\forcelinebreak Reaching me of the human tune
\forcelinebreak On my rounds.”


”What do you think of it, Moon,
\forcelinebreak As you go?
\forcelinebreak Is Life much, or no?”
\forcelinebreak “O, I think of it, often think of it
\forcelinebreak As a show
\forcelinebreak God ought surely to shut up soon,
\forcelinebreak As I go.”

\section{COPYING ARCHITECTURE IN AN OLD MINSTER}


(Wimborne)


How smartly the quarters of the hour march by
\forcelinebreak That the jack-o’-clock never forgets;
\forcelinebreak Ding-dong; and before I have traced a cusp’s eye,
\forcelinebreak Or got the true twist of the ogee over,
\forcelinebreak A double ding-dong ricochetts.


Just so did he clang here before I came,
\forcelinebreak And so will he clang when I’m gone
\forcelinebreak Through the Minster’s cavernous hollows — the same
\forcelinebreak Tale of hours never more to be will he deliver
\forcelinebreak To the speechless midnight and dawn!


I grow to conceive it a call to ghosts,
\forcelinebreak Whose mould lies below and around.
\forcelinebreak Yes; the next “Come, come,” draws them out from their posts,
\forcelinebreak And they gather, and one shade appears, and another,
\forcelinebreak As the eve-damps creep from the ground.


See — a Courtenay stands by his quatre-foiled tomb,
\forcelinebreak And a Duke and his Duchess near;
\forcelinebreak And one Sir Edmund in columned gloom,
\forcelinebreak And a Saxon king by the presbytery chamber;
\forcelinebreak And shapes unknown in the rear.


Maybe they have met for a parle on some plan
\forcelinebreak To better ail-stricken mankind;
\forcelinebreak I catch their cheepings, though thinner than
\forcelinebreak The overhead creak of a passager’s pinion
\forcelinebreak When leaving land behind.


Or perhaps they speak to the yet unborn,
\forcelinebreak And caution them not to come
\forcelinebreak To a world so ancient and trouble-torn,
\forcelinebreak Of foiled intents, vain lovingkindness,
\forcelinebreak And ardours chilled and numb.


They waste to fog as I stir and stand,
\forcelinebreak And move from the arched recess,
\forcelinebreak And pick up the drawing that slipped from my hand,
\forcelinebreak And feel for the pencil I dropped in the cranny
\forcelinebreak In a moment’s forgetfulness.

\section{TO SHAKESPEARE AFTER THREE HUNDRED YEARS}


Bright baffling Soul, least capturable of themes,
\forcelinebreak Thou, who display’dst a life of common-place,
\forcelinebreak Leaving no intimate word or personal trace
\forcelinebreak Of high design outside the artistry
\forcelinebreak Of thy penned dreams,
\forcelinebreak Still shalt remain at heart unread eternally.


Through human orbits thy discourse to-day,
\forcelinebreak Despite thy formal pilgrimage, throbs on
\forcelinebreak In harmonies that cow Oblivion,
\forcelinebreak And, like the wind, with all-uncared effect
\forcelinebreak Maintain a sway
\forcelinebreak Not fore-desired, in tracks unchosen and unchecked.


And yet, at thy last breath, with mindless note
\forcelinebreak The borough clocks but samely tongued the hour,
\forcelinebreak The Avon just as always glassed the tower,
\forcelinebreak Thy age was published on thy passing-bell
\forcelinebreak But in due rote
\forcelinebreak With other dwellers’ deaths accorded a like knell.


And at the strokes some townsman (met, maybe,
\forcelinebreak And thereon queried by some squire’s good dame
\forcelinebreak Driving in shopward) may have given thy name,
\forcelinebreak With, “Yes, a worthy man and well-to-do;
\forcelinebreak Though, as for me,
\forcelinebreak I knew him but by just a neighbour’s nod, ‘tis true.


”I’ faith, few knew him much here, save by word,
\forcelinebreak He having elsewhere led his busier life;
\forcelinebreak Though to be sure he left with us his wife.”
\forcelinebreak — ”Ah, one of the tradesmen’s sons, I now recall . . .
\forcelinebreak Witty, I’ve heard . . .
\forcelinebreak We did not know him . . . Well, good-day. Death comes to all.”


So, like a strange bright bird we sometimes find
\forcelinebreak To mingle with the barn-door brood awhile,
\forcelinebreak Then vanish from their homely domicile -
\forcelinebreak Into man’s poesy, we wot not whence,
\forcelinebreak Flew thy strange mind,
\forcelinebreak Lodged there a radiant guest, and sped for ever thence.


1916

\section{QUID HIC AGIS?}

\subsection{I}


When I weekly knew
\forcelinebreak An ancient pew,
\forcelinebreak And murmured there
\forcelinebreak The forms of prayer
\forcelinebreak And thanks and praise
\forcelinebreak In the ancient ways,
\forcelinebreak And heard read out
\forcelinebreak During August drought
\forcelinebreak That chapter from Kings
\forcelinebreak Harvest-time brings;
\forcelinebreak  - How the prophet, broken
\forcelinebreak By griefs unspoken,
\forcelinebreak Went heavily away
\forcelinebreak To fast and to pray,
\forcelinebreak And, while waiting to die,
\forcelinebreak The Lord passed by,
\forcelinebreak And a whirlwind and fire
\forcelinebreak Drew nigher and nigher,
\forcelinebreak And a small voice anon
\forcelinebreak Bade him up and be gone, -
\forcelinebreak I did not apprehend
\forcelinebreak As I sat to the end
\forcelinebreak And watched for her smile
\forcelinebreak Across the sunned aisle,
\forcelinebreak That this tale of a seer
\forcelinebreak Which came once a year
\forcelinebreak Might, when sands were heaping,
\forcelinebreak Be like a sweat creeping,
\forcelinebreak Or in any degree
\forcelinebreak Bear on her or on me!

\subsection{II}


When later, by chance
\forcelinebreak Of circumstance,
\forcelinebreak It befel me to read
\forcelinebreak On a hot afternoon
\forcelinebreak At the lectern there
\forcelinebreak The selfsame words
\forcelinebreak As the lesson decreed,
\forcelinebreak To the gathered few
\forcelinebreak From the hamlets near -
\forcelinebreak Folk of flocks and herds
\forcelinebreak Sitting half aswoon,
\forcelinebreak Who listened thereto
\forcelinebreak As women and men
\forcelinebreak Not overmuch
\forcelinebreak Concerned at such -
\forcelinebreak So, like them then,
\forcelinebreak I did not see
\forcelinebreak What drought might be
\forcelinebreak With me, with her,
\forcelinebreak As the Kalendar
\forcelinebreak Moved on, and Time
\forcelinebreak Devoured our prime.

\subsection{III}


But now, at last,
\forcelinebreak When our glory has passed,
\forcelinebreak And there is no smile
\forcelinebreak From her in the aisle,
\forcelinebreak But where it once shone
\forcelinebreak A marble, men say,
\forcelinebreak With her name thereon
\forcelinebreak Is discerned to-day;
\forcelinebreak And spiritless
\forcelinebreak In the wilderness
\forcelinebreak I shrink from sight
\forcelinebreak And desire the night,
\forcelinebreak (Though, as in old wise,
\forcelinebreak I might still arise,
\forcelinebreak Go forth, and stand
\forcelinebreak And prophesy in the land),
\forcelinebreak I feel the shake
\forcelinebreak Of wind and earthquake,
\forcelinebreak And consuming fire
\forcelinebreak Nigher and nigher,
\forcelinebreak And the voice catch clear,
\forcelinebreak “What doest thou here?”


The Spectator 1916. During the War.

\section{ON A MIDSUMMER EVE}


I idly cut a parsley stalk,
\forcelinebreak And blew therein towards the moon;
\forcelinebreak I had not thought what ghosts would walk
\forcelinebreak With shivering footsteps to my tune.


I went, and knelt, and scooped my hand
\forcelinebreak As if to drink, into the brook,
\forcelinebreak And a faint figure seemed to stand
\forcelinebreak Above me, with the bygone look.


I lipped rough rhymes of chance, not choice,
\forcelinebreak I thought not what my words might be;
\forcelinebreak There came into my ear a voice
\forcelinebreak That turned a tenderer verse for me.

\section{TIMING HER}


(Written to an old folk-tune)


Lalage’s coming:
\forcelinebreak Where is she now, O?
\forcelinebreak Turning to bow, O,
\forcelinebreak And smile, is she,
\forcelinebreak Just at parting,
\forcelinebreak Parting, parting,
\forcelinebreak As she is starting
\forcelinebreak To come to me?


Where is she now, O,
\forcelinebreak Now, and now, O,
\forcelinebreak Shadowing a bough, O,
\forcelinebreak Of hedge or tree
\forcelinebreak As she is rushing,
\forcelinebreak Rushing, rushing,
\forcelinebreak Gossamers brushing
\forcelinebreak To come to me?


Lalage’s coming;
\forcelinebreak Where is she now, O;
\forcelinebreak Climbing the brow, O,
\forcelinebreak Of hills I see?
\forcelinebreak Yes, she is nearing,
\forcelinebreak Nearing, nearing,
\forcelinebreak Weather unfearing
\forcelinebreak To come to me.


Near is she now, O,
\forcelinebreak Now, and now, O;
\forcelinebreak Milk the rich cow, O,
\forcelinebreak Forward the tea;
\forcelinebreak Shake the down bed for her,
\forcelinebreak Linen sheets spread for her,
\forcelinebreak Drape round the head for her
\forcelinebreak Coming to me.


Lalage’s coming,
\forcelinebreak She’s nearer now, O,
\forcelinebreak End anyhow, O,
\forcelinebreak To-day’s husbandry!
\forcelinebreak Would a gilt chair were mine,
\forcelinebreak Slippers of vair were mine,
\forcelinebreak Brushes for hair were mine
\forcelinebreak Of ivory!


What will she think, O,
\forcelinebreak She who’s so comely,
\forcelinebreak Viewing how homely
\forcelinebreak A sort are we!
\forcelinebreak Nothing resplendent,
\forcelinebreak No prompt attendant,
\forcelinebreak Not one dependent
\forcelinebreak Pertaining to me!


Lalage’s coming;
\forcelinebreak Where is she now, O?
\forcelinebreak Fain I’d avow, O,
\forcelinebreak Full honestly
\forcelinebreak Nought here’s enough for her,
\forcelinebreak All is too rough for her,
\forcelinebreak Even my love for her
\forcelinebreak Poor in degree.


She’s nearer now, O,
\forcelinebreak Still nearer now, O,
\forcelinebreak She ‘tis, I vow, O,
\forcelinebreak Passing the lea.
\forcelinebreak Rush down to meet her there,
\forcelinebreak Call out and greet her there,
\forcelinebreak Never a sweeter there
\forcelinebreak Crossed to me!


Lalage’s come; aye,
\forcelinebreak Come is she now, O! . . .
\forcelinebreak Does Heaven allow, O,
\forcelinebreak A meeting to be?
\forcelinebreak Yes, she is here now,
\forcelinebreak Here now, here now,
\forcelinebreak Nothing to fear now,
\forcelinebreak Here’s Lalage!

\section{BEFORE KNOWLEDGE}


When I walked roseless tracks and wide,
\forcelinebreak Ere dawned your date for meeting me,
\forcelinebreak O why did you not cry Halloo
\forcelinebreak Across the stretch between, and say:


“We move, while years as yet divide,
\forcelinebreak On closing lines which — though it be
\forcelinebreak You know me not nor I know you -
\forcelinebreak Will intersect and join some day!”


Then well I had borne
\forcelinebreak Each scraping thorn;
\forcelinebreak But the winters froze,
\forcelinebreak And grew no rose;
\forcelinebreak No bridge bestrode
\forcelinebreak The gap at all;
\forcelinebreak No shape you showed,
\forcelinebreak And I heard no call!

\section{THE BLINDED BIRD}


So zestfully canst thou sing?
\forcelinebreak And all this indignity,
\forcelinebreak With God’s consent, on thee!
\forcelinebreak Blinded ere yet a-wing
\forcelinebreak By the red-hot needle thou,
\forcelinebreak I stand and wonder how
\forcelinebreak So zestfully thou canst sing!


Resenting not such wrong,
\forcelinebreak Thy grievous pain forgot,
\forcelinebreak Eternal dark thy lot,
\forcelinebreak Groping thy whole life long;
\forcelinebreak After that stab of fire;
\forcelinebreak Enjailed in pitiless wire;
\forcelinebreak Resenting not such wrong!


Who hath charity? This bird.
\forcelinebreak Who suffereth long and is kind,
\forcelinebreak Is not provoked, though blind
\forcelinebreak And alive ensepulchred?
\forcelinebreak Who hopeth, endureth all things?
\forcelinebreak Who thinketh no evil, but sings?
\forcelinebreak Who is divine? This bird.

\section{THE WIND BLEW WORDS}


The wind blew words along the skies,
\forcelinebreak And these it blew to me
\forcelinebreak Through the wide dusk: “Lift up your eyes,
\forcelinebreak Behold this troubled tree,
\forcelinebreak Complaining as it sways and plies;
\forcelinebreak It is a limb of thee.


“Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round -
\forcelinebreak Dumb figures, wild and tame,
\forcelinebreak Yea, too, thy fellows who abound -
\forcelinebreak Either of speech the same
\forcelinebreak Or far and strange — black, dwarfed, and browned,
\forcelinebreak They are stuff of thy own frame.”


I moved on in a surging awe
\forcelinebreak Of inarticulateness
\forcelinebreak At the pathetic Me I saw
\forcelinebreak In all his huge distress,
\forcelinebreak Making self-slaughter of the law
\forcelinebreak To kill, break, or suppress.

\section{THE FADED FACE}


How was this I did not see
\forcelinebreak Such a look as here was shown
\forcelinebreak Ere its womanhood had blown
\forcelinebreak Past its first felicity? -
\forcelinebreak That I did not know you young,
\forcelinebreak Faded Face,
\forcelinebreak Know you young!


Why did Time so ill bestead
\forcelinebreak That I heard no voice of yours
\forcelinebreak Hail from out the curved contours
\forcelinebreak Of those lips when rosy red;
\forcelinebreak Weeted not the songs they sung,
\forcelinebreak Faded Face,
\forcelinebreak Songs they sung!


By these blanchings, blooms of old,
\forcelinebreak And the relics of your voice -
\forcelinebreak Leavings rare of rich and choice
\forcelinebreak From your early tone and mould -
\forcelinebreak Let me mourn, — aye, sorrow-wrung,
\forcelinebreak Faded Face,
\forcelinebreak Sorrow-wrung!

\section{THE RIDDLE}

\subsection{I}


Stretching eyes west
\forcelinebreak Over the sea,
\forcelinebreak Wind foul or fair,
\forcelinebreak Always stood she
\forcelinebreak Prospect-impressed;
\forcelinebreak Solely out there
\forcelinebreak Did her gaze rest,
\forcelinebreak Never elsewhere
\forcelinebreak Seemed charm to be.

\subsection{II}


Always eyes east
\forcelinebreak Ponders she now -
\forcelinebreak As in devotion -
\forcelinebreak Hills of blank brow
\forcelinebreak Where no waves plough.
\forcelinebreak Never the least
\forcelinebreak Room for emotion
\forcelinebreak Drawn from the ocean
\forcelinebreak Does she allow.

\section{THE DUEL}


”I am here to time, you see;
\forcelinebreak The glade is well-screened — eh? — against alarm;
\forcelinebreak Fit place to vindicate by my arm
\forcelinebreak The honour of my spotless wife,
\forcelinebreak Who scorns your libel upon her life
\forcelinebreak In boasting intimacy!


”‘All hush-offerings you’ll spurn,
\forcelinebreak My husband. Two must come; one only go,’
\forcelinebreak She said. ‘That he’ll be you I know;
\forcelinebreak To faith like ours Heaven will be just,
\forcelinebreak And I shall abide in fullest trust
\forcelinebreak Your speedy glad return.’“


”Good. Here am also I;
\forcelinebreak And we’ll proceed without more waste of words
\forcelinebreak To warm your cockpit. Of the swords
\forcelinebreak Take you your choice. I shall thereby
\forcelinebreak Feel that on me no blame can lie,
\forcelinebreak Whatever Fate accords.”


So stripped they there, and fought,
\forcelinebreak And the swords clicked and scraped, and the onsets sped;
\forcelinebreak Till the husband fell; and his shirt was red
\forcelinebreak With streams from his heart’s hot cistern. Nought
\forcelinebreak Could save him now; and the other, wrought
\forcelinebreak Maybe to pity, said:


”Why did you urge on this?
\forcelinebreak Your wife assured you; and ‘t had better been
\forcelinebreak That you had let things pass, serene
\forcelinebreak In confidence of long-tried bliss,
\forcelinebreak Holding there could be nought amiss
\forcelinebreak In what my words might mean.”


Then, seeing nor ruth nor rage
\forcelinebreak Could move his foeman more — now Death’s deaf thrall -
\forcelinebreak He wiped his steel, and, with a call
\forcelinebreak Like turtledove to dove, swift broke
\forcelinebreak Into the copse, where under an oak
\forcelinebreak His horse cropt, held by a page.


”All’s over, Sweet,” he cried
\forcelinebreak To the wife, thus guised; for the young page was she.
\forcelinebreak ”‘Tis as we hoped and said ‘t would be.
\forcelinebreak He never guessed . . . We mount and ride
\forcelinebreak To where our love can reign uneyed.
\forcelinebreak He’s clay, and we are free.”

\section{AT MAYFAIR LODGINGS}


How could I be aware,
\forcelinebreak The opposite window eyeing
\forcelinebreak As I lay listless there,
\forcelinebreak That through its blinds was dying
\forcelinebreak One I had rated rare
\forcelinebreak Before I had set me sighing
\forcelinebreak For another more fair?


Had the house-front been glass,
\forcelinebreak My vision unobscuring,
\forcelinebreak Could aught have come to pass
\forcelinebreak More happiness-insuring
\forcelinebreak To her, loved as a lass
\forcelinebreak When spouseless, all-alluring?
\forcelinebreak I reckon not, alas!


So, the square window stood,
\forcelinebreak Steadily night-long shining
\forcelinebreak In my close neighbourhood,
\forcelinebreak Who looked forth undivining
\forcelinebreak That soon would go for good
\forcelinebreak One there in pain reclining,
\forcelinebreak Unpardoned, unadieu’d.


Silently screened from view
\forcelinebreak Her tragedy was ending
\forcelinebreak That need not have come due
\forcelinebreak Had she been less unbending.
\forcelinebreak How near, near were we two
\forcelinebreak At that last vital rending, -
\forcelinebreak And neither of us knew!

\section{TO MY FATHER’S VIOLIN}


Does he want you down there
\forcelinebreak In the Nether Glooms where
\forcelinebreak The hours may be a dragging load upon him,
\forcelinebreak As he hears the axle grind
\forcelinebreak Round and round
\forcelinebreak Of the great world, in the blind
\forcelinebreak Still profound
\forcelinebreak Of the night-time? He might liven at the sound
\forcelinebreak Of your string, revealing you had not forgone him.


In the gallery west the nave,
\forcelinebreak But a few yards from his grave,
\forcelinebreak Did you, tucked beneath his chin, to his bowing
\forcelinebreak Guide the homely harmony
\forcelinebreak Of the quire
\forcelinebreak Who for long years strenuously -
\forcelinebreak Son and sire -
\forcelinebreak Caught the strains that at his fingering low or higher
\forcelinebreak From your four thin threads and eff-holes came outflowing.


And, too, what merry tunes
\forcelinebreak He would bow at nights or noons
\forcelinebreak That chanced to find him bent to lute a measure,
\forcelinebreak When he made you speak his heart
\forcelinebreak As in dream,
\forcelinebreak Without book or music-chart,
\forcelinebreak On some theme
\forcelinebreak Elusive as a jack-o’-lanthorn’s gleam,
\forcelinebreak And the psalm of duty shelved for trill of pleasure.


Well, you can not, alas,
\forcelinebreak The barrier overpass
\forcelinebreak That screens him in those Mournful Meads hereunder,
\forcelinebreak Where no fiddling can be heard
\forcelinebreak In the glades
\forcelinebreak Of silentness, no bird
\forcelinebreak Thrills the shades;
\forcelinebreak Where no viol is touched for songs or serenades,
\forcelinebreak No bowing wakes a congregation’s wonder.


He must do without you now,
\forcelinebreak Stir you no more anyhow
\forcelinebreak To yearning concords taught you in your glory;
\forcelinebreak While, your strings a tangled wreck,
\forcelinebreak Once smart drawn,
\forcelinebreak Ten worm-wounds in your neck,
\forcelinebreak Purflings wan
\forcelinebreak With dust-hoar, here alone I sadly con
\forcelinebreak Your present dumbness, shape your olden story.


1916

\section{THE STATUE OF LIBERTY}


This statue of Liberty, busy man,
\forcelinebreak Here erect in the city square,
\forcelinebreak I have watched while your scrubbings, this early morning,
\forcelinebreak Strangely wistful,
\forcelinebreak And half tristful,
\forcelinebreak Have turned her from foul to fair;


With your bucket of water, and mop, and brush,
\forcelinebreak Bringing her out of the grime
\forcelinebreak That has smeared her during the smokes of winter
\forcelinebreak With such glumness
\forcelinebreak In her dumbness,
\forcelinebreak And aged her before her time.


You have washed her down with motherly care -
\forcelinebreak Head, shoulders, arm, and foot,
\forcelinebreak To the very hem of the robes that drape her -
\forcelinebreak All expertly
\forcelinebreak And alertly,
\forcelinebreak Till a long stream, black with soot,


Flows over the pavement to the road,
\forcelinebreak And her shape looms pure as snow:
\forcelinebreak I read you are hired by the City guardians -
\forcelinebreak May be yearly,
\forcelinebreak Or once merely -
\forcelinebreak To treat the statues so?


”Oh, I’m not hired by the Councilmen
\forcelinebreak To cleanse the statues here.
\forcelinebreak I do this one as a self-willed duty,
\forcelinebreak Not as paid to,
\forcelinebreak Or at all made to,
\forcelinebreak But because the doing is dear.”


Ah, then I hail you brother and friend!
\forcelinebreak Liberty’s knight divine.
\forcelinebreak What you have done would have been my doing,
\forcelinebreak Yea, most verily,
\forcelinebreak Well, and thoroughly,
\forcelinebreak Had but your courage been mine!


”Oh I care not for Liberty’s mould,
\forcelinebreak Liberty charms not me;
\forcelinebreak What’s Freedom but an idler’s vision,
\forcelinebreak Vain, pernicious,
\forcelinebreak Often vicious,
\forcelinebreak Of things that cannot be!


”Memory it is that brings me to this -
\forcelinebreak Of a daughter — my one sweet own.
\forcelinebreak She grew a famous carver’s model,
\forcelinebreak One of the fairest
\forcelinebreak And of the rarest:-
\forcelinebreak She sat for the figure as shown.


”But alas, she died in this distant place
\forcelinebreak Before I was warned to betake
\forcelinebreak Myself to her side! . . . And in love of my darling,
\forcelinebreak In love of the fame of her,
\forcelinebreak And the good name of her,
\forcelinebreak I do this for her sake.”


Answer I gave not. Of that form
\forcelinebreak The carver was I at his side;
\forcelinebreak His child, my model, held so saintly,
\forcelinebreak Grand in feature,
\forcelinebreak Gross in nature,
\forcelinebreak In the dens of vice had died.

\section{THE BACKGROUND AND THE FIGURE}


(Lover’s Ditty)


I think of the slope where the rabbits fed,
\forcelinebreak Of the periwinks’ rockwork lair,
\forcelinebreak Of the fuchsias ringing their bells of red -
\forcelinebreak And the something else seen there.


Between the blooms where the sod basked bright,
\forcelinebreak By the bobbing fuchsia trees,
\forcelinebreak Was another and yet more eyesome sight -
\forcelinebreak The sight that richened these.


I shall seek those beauties in the spring,
\forcelinebreak When the days are fit and fair,
\forcelinebreak But only as foils to the one more thing
\forcelinebreak That also will flower there!

\section{THE CHANGE}


Out of the past there rises a week -
\forcelinebreak Who shall read the years O! -
\forcelinebreak Out of the past there rises a week
\forcelinebreak Enringed with a purple zone.
\forcelinebreak Out of the past there rises a week
\forcelinebreak When thoughts were strung too thick to speak,
\forcelinebreak And the magic of its lineaments remains with me alone.


In that week there was heard a singing -
\forcelinebreak Who shall spell the years, the years! -
\forcelinebreak In that week there was heard a singing,
\forcelinebreak And the white owl wondered why.
\forcelinebreak In that week, yea, a voice was ringing,
\forcelinebreak And forth from the casement were candles flinging
\forcelinebreak Radiance that fell on the deodar and lit up the path thereby.


Could that song have a mocking note? -
\forcelinebreak Who shall unroll the years O! -
\forcelinebreak Could that song have a mocking note
\forcelinebreak To the white owl’s sense as it fell?
\forcelinebreak Could that song have a mocking note
\forcelinebreak As it trilled out warm from the singer’s throat,
\forcelinebreak And who was the mocker and who the mocked when two felt all was well?


In a tedious trampling crowd yet later -
\forcelinebreak Who shall bare the years, the years! -
\forcelinebreak In a tedious trampling crowd yet later,
\forcelinebreak When silvery singings were dumb;
\forcelinebreak In a crowd uncaring what time might fate her,
\forcelinebreak Mid murks of night I stood to await her,
\forcelinebreak And the twanging of iron wheels gave out the signal that she was
\forcelinebreak come.


She said with a travel-tired smile -
\forcelinebreak Who shall lift the years O! -
\forcelinebreak She said with a travel-tired smile,
\forcelinebreak Half scared by scene so strange;
\forcelinebreak She said, outworn by mile on mile,
\forcelinebreak The blurred lamps wanning her face the while,
\forcelinebreak “O Love, I am here; I am with you!” . . . Ah, that there should have
\forcelinebreak come a change!


O the doom by someone spoken -
\forcelinebreak Who shall unseal the years, the years! -
\forcelinebreak O the doom that gave no token,
\forcelinebreak When nothing of bale saw we:
\forcelinebreak O the doom by someone spoken,
\forcelinebreak O the heart by someone broken,
\forcelinebreak The heart whose sweet reverberances are all time leaves to me.


Jan.-Feb. 1913.

\section{SITTING ON THE BRIDGE}


(Echo of an old song)


Sitting on the bridge
\forcelinebreak Past the barracks, town and ridge,
\forcelinebreak At once the spirit seized us
\forcelinebreak To sing a song that pleased us -
\forcelinebreak As “The Fifth” were much in rumour;
\forcelinebreak It was “Whilst I’m in the humour,
\forcelinebreak Take me, Paddy, will you now?”
\forcelinebreak And a lancer soon drew nigh,
\forcelinebreak And his Royal Irish eye
\forcelinebreak Said, “Willing, faith, am I,
\forcelinebreak O, to take you anyhow, dears,
\forcelinebreak To take you anyhow.”


But, lo! — dad walking by,
\forcelinebreak Cried, “What, you lightheels! Fie!
\forcelinebreak Is this the way you roam
\forcelinebreak And mock the sunset gleam?”
\forcelinebreak And he marched us straightway home,
\forcelinebreak Though we said, “We are only, daddy,
\forcelinebreak Singing, ‘Will you take me, Paddy?’“
\forcelinebreak — Well, we never saw from then
\forcelinebreak If we sang there anywhen,
\forcelinebreak The soldier dear again,
\forcelinebreak Except at night in dream-time,
\forcelinebreak Except at night in dream.


Perhaps that soldier’s fighting
\forcelinebreak In a land that’s far away,
\forcelinebreak Or he may be idly plighting
\forcelinebreak Some foreign hussy gay;
\forcelinebreak Or perhaps his bones are whiting
\forcelinebreak In the wind to their decay! . . .
\forcelinebreak Ah! — does he mind him how
\forcelinebreak The girls he saw that day
\forcelinebreak On the bridge, were sitting singing
\forcelinebreak At the time of curfew-ringing,
\forcelinebreak “Take me, Paddy; will you now, dear?
\forcelinebreak Paddy, will you now?”


GREY’S BRIDGE.

\section{THE YOUNG CHURCHWARDEN}


When he lit the candles there,
\forcelinebreak And the light fell on his hand,
\forcelinebreak And it trembled as he scanned
\forcelinebreak Her and me, his vanquished air
\forcelinebreak Hinted that his dream was done,
\forcelinebreak And I saw he had begun
\forcelinebreak To understand.


When Love’s viol was unstrung,
\forcelinebreak Sore I wished the hand that shook
\forcelinebreak Had been mine that shared her book
\forcelinebreak While that evening hymn was sung,
\forcelinebreak His the victor’s, as he lit
\forcelinebreak Candles where he had bidden us sit
\forcelinebreak With vanquished look.


Now her dust lies listless there,
\forcelinebreak His afar from tending hand,
\forcelinebreak What avails the victory scanned?
\forcelinebreak Does he smile from upper air:
\forcelinebreak “Ah, my friend, your dream is done;
\forcelinebreak And ‘tis YOU who have begun
\forcelinebreak To understand!

\section{I TRAVEL AS A PHANTOM NOW}


I travel as a phantom now,
\forcelinebreak For people do not wish to see
\forcelinebreak In flesh and blood so bare a bough
\forcelinebreak As Nature makes of me.


And thus I visit bodiless
\forcelinebreak Strange gloomy households often at odds,
\forcelinebreak And wonder if Man’s consciousness
\forcelinebreak Was a mistake of God’s.


And next I meet you, and I pause,
\forcelinebreak And think that if mistake it were,
\forcelinebreak As some have said, O then it was
\forcelinebreak One that I well can bear!


1915

\section{LINES TO A MOVEMENT IN MOZART’S E-FLAT SYMPHONY}


Show me again the time
\forcelinebreak When in the Junetide’s prime
\forcelinebreak We flew by meads and mountains northerly! -
\forcelinebreak Yea, to such freshness, fairness, fulness, fineness, freeness,
\forcelinebreak Love lures life on.


Show me again the day
\forcelinebreak When from the sandy bay
\forcelinebreak We looked together upon the pestered sea! -
\forcelinebreak Yea, to such surging, swaying, sighing, swelling, shrinking,
\forcelinebreak Love lures life on.


Show me again the hour
\forcelinebreak When by the pinnacled tower
\forcelinebreak We eyed each other and feared futurity! -
\forcelinebreak Yea, to such bodings, broodings, beatings, blanchings, blessings,
\forcelinebreak Love lures life on.


Show me again just this:
\forcelinebreak The moment of that kiss
\forcelinebreak Away from the prancing folk, by the strawberry-tree! -
\forcelinebreak Yea, to such rashness, ratheness, rareness, ripeness, richness,
\forcelinebreak Love lures life on.


Begun November 1898.

\section{IN THE SEVENTIES}


“Qui deridetur ab amico suo sicut ego.” — JOB.


In the seventies I was bearing in my breast,
\forcelinebreak Penned tight,
\forcelinebreak Certain starry thoughts that threw a magic light
\forcelinebreak On the worktimes and the soundless hours of rest
\forcelinebreak In the seventies; aye, I bore them in my breast
\forcelinebreak Penned tight.


In the seventies when my neighbours — even my friend -
\forcelinebreak Saw me pass,
\forcelinebreak Heads were shaken, and I heard the words, “Alas,
\forcelinebreak For his onward years and name unless he mend!”
\forcelinebreak In the seventies, when my neighbours and my friend
\forcelinebreak Saw me pass.


In the seventies those who met me did not know
\forcelinebreak Of the vision
\forcelinebreak That immuned me from the chillings of mis-prision
\forcelinebreak And the damps that choked my goings to and fro
\forcelinebreak In the seventies; yea, those nodders did not know
\forcelinebreak Of the vision.


In the seventies nought could darken or destroy it,
\forcelinebreak Locked in me,
\forcelinebreak Though as delicate as lamp-worm’s lucency;
\forcelinebreak Neither mist nor murk could weaken or alloy it
\forcelinebreak In the seventies! — could not darken or destroy it,
\forcelinebreak Locked in me.

\section{THE PEDIGREE}

\subsection{I}


I bent in the deep of night
\forcelinebreak Over a pedigree the chronicler gave
\forcelinebreak As mine; and as I bent there, half-unrobed,
\forcelinebreak The uncurtained panes of my window-square let in the watery light
\forcelinebreak Of the moon in its old age:
\forcelinebreak And green-rheumed clouds were hurrying past where mute and cold it
\forcelinebreak globed
\forcelinebreak Like a drifting dolphin’s eye seen through a lapping wave.

\subsection{II}


So, scanning my sire-sown tree,
\forcelinebreak And the hieroglyphs of this spouse tied to that,
\forcelinebreak With offspring mapped below in lineage,
\forcelinebreak Till the tangles troubled me,
\forcelinebreak The branches seemed to twist into a seared and cynic face
\forcelinebreak Which winked and tokened towards the window like a Mage
\forcelinebreak Enchanting me to gaze again thereat.

\subsection{III}


It was a mirror now,
\forcelinebreak And in it a long perspective I could trace
\forcelinebreak Of my begetters, dwindling backward each past each
\forcelinebreak All with the kindred look,
\forcelinebreak Whose names had since been inked down in their place
\forcelinebreak On the recorder’s book,
\forcelinebreak Generation and generation of my mien, and build, and brow.

\subsection{IV}


And then did I divine
\forcelinebreak That every heave and coil and move I made
\forcelinebreak Within my brain, and in my mood and speech,
\forcelinebreak Was in the glass portrayed
\forcelinebreak As long forestalled by their so making it;
\forcelinebreak The first of them, the primest fuglemen of my line,
\forcelinebreak Being fogged in far antiqueness past surmise and reason’s reach.

\subsection{V}


Said I then, sunk in tone,
\forcelinebreak ”I am merest mimicker and counterfeit! -
\forcelinebreak Though thinking, I AM I
\forcelinebreak AND WHAT I DO I DO MYSELF ALONE.”
\forcelinebreak — The cynic twist of the page thereat unknit
\forcelinebreak Back to its normal figure, having wrought its purport wry,
\forcelinebreak The Mage’s mirror left the window-square,
\forcelinebreak And the stained moon and drift retook their places there.


1916

\section{THIS HEART A WOMAN’S DREAM}


At midnight, in the room where he lay dead
\forcelinebreak Whom in his life I had never clearly read,
\forcelinebreak I thought if I could peer into that citadel
\forcelinebreak His heart, I should at last know full and well


What hereto had been known to him alone,
\forcelinebreak Despite our long sit-out of years foreflown,
\forcelinebreak “And if,” I said, “I do this for his memory’s sake,
\forcelinebreak It would not wound him, even if he could wake.”


So I bent over him. He seemed to smile
\forcelinebreak With a calm confidence the whole long while
\forcelinebreak That I, withdrawing his heart, held it and, bit by bit,
\forcelinebreak Perused the unguessed things found written on it.


It was inscribed like a terrestrial sphere
\forcelinebreak With quaint vermiculations close and clear -
\forcelinebreak His graving. Had I known, would I have risked the stroke
\forcelinebreak Its reading brought, and my own heart nigh broke!


Yes, there at last, eyes opened, did I see
\forcelinebreak His whole sincere symmetric history;
\forcelinebreak There were his truth, his simple singlemindedness,
\forcelinebreak Strained, maybe, by time’s storms, but there no less.


There were the daily deeds from sun to sun
\forcelinebreak In blindness, but good faith, that he had done;
\forcelinebreak There were regrets, at instances wherein he swerved
\forcelinebreak (As he conceived) from cherishings I had deserved.


There were old hours all figured down as bliss -
\forcelinebreak Those spent with me — (how little had I thought this!)
\forcelinebreak There those when, at my absence, whether he slept or waked,
\forcelinebreak (Though I knew not ‘twas so!) his spirit ached.


There that when we were severed, how day dulled
\forcelinebreak Till time joined us anew, was chronicled:
\forcelinebreak And arguments and battlings in defence of me
\forcelinebreak That heart recorded clearly and ruddily.


I put it back, and left him as he lay
\forcelinebreak While pierced the morning pink and then the gray
\forcelinebreak Into each dreary room and corridor around,
\forcelinebreak Where I shall wait, but his step will not sound.

\section{WHERE THEY LIVED}


Dishevelled leaves creep down
\forcelinebreak Upon that bank to-day,
\forcelinebreak Some green, some yellow, and some pale brown;
\forcelinebreak The wet bents bob and sway;
\forcelinebreak The once warm slippery turf is sodden
\forcelinebreak Where we laughingly sat or lay.


The summerhouse is gone,
\forcelinebreak Leaving a weedy space;
\forcelinebreak The bushes that veiled it once have grown
\forcelinebreak Gaunt trees that interlace,
\forcelinebreak Through whose lank limbs I see too clearly
\forcelinebreak The nakedness of the place.


And where were hills of blue,
\forcelinebreak Blind drifts of vapour blow,
\forcelinebreak And the names of former dwellers few,
\forcelinebreak If any, people know,
\forcelinebreak And instead of a voice that called, “Come in, Dears,”
\forcelinebreak Time calls, “Pass below!”

\section{THE OCCULTATION}


When the cloud shut down on the morning shine,
\forcelinebreak And darkened the sun,
\forcelinebreak I said, “So ended that joy of mine
\forcelinebreak Years back begun.”


But day continued its lustrous roll
\forcelinebreak In upper air;
\forcelinebreak And did my late irradiate soul
\forcelinebreak Live on somewhere?

\section{LIFE LAUGHS ONWARD}


Rambling I looked for an old abode
\forcelinebreak Where, years back, one had lived I knew;
\forcelinebreak Its site a dwelling duly showed,
\forcelinebreak But it was new.


I went where, not so long ago,
\forcelinebreak The sod had riven two breasts asunder;
\forcelinebreak Daisies throve gaily there, as though
\forcelinebreak No grave were under.


I walked along a terrace where
\forcelinebreak Loud children gambolled in the sun;
\forcelinebreak The figure that had once sat there
\forcelinebreak Was missed by none.


Life laughed and moved on unsubdued,
\forcelinebreak I saw that Old succumbed to Young:
\forcelinebreak ‘Twas well. My too regretful mood
\forcelinebreak Died on my tongue.

\section{THE PEACE-OFFERING}


It was but a little thing,
\forcelinebreak Yet I knew it meant to me
\forcelinebreak Ease from what had given a sting
\forcelinebreak To the very birdsinging
\forcelinebreak Latterly.


But I would not welcome it;
\forcelinebreak And for all I then declined
\forcelinebreak O the regrettings infinite
\forcelinebreak When the night-processions flit
\forcelinebreak Through the mind!

\section{SOMETHING TAPPED}


Something tapped on the pane of my room
\forcelinebreak When there was never a trace
\forcelinebreak Of wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom
\forcelinebreak My weary Beloved’s face.


“O I am tired of waiting,” she said,
\forcelinebreak ”Night, morn, noon, afternoon;
\forcelinebreak So cold it is in my lonely bed,
\forcelinebreak And I thought you would join me soon!”


I rose and neared the window-glass,
\forcelinebreak But vanished thence had she:
\forcelinebreak Only a pallid moth, alas,
\forcelinebreak Tapped at the pane for me.


August 1913.

\section{THE WOUND}


I climbed to the crest,
\forcelinebreak And, fog-festooned,
\forcelinebreak The sun lay west
\forcelinebreak Like a crimson wound:


Like that wound of mine
\forcelinebreak Of which none knew,
\forcelinebreak For I’d given no sign
\forcelinebreak That it pierced me through.

\section{A MERRYMAKING IN QUESTION}


“I will get a new string for my fiddle,
\forcelinebreak And call to the neighbours to come,
\forcelinebreak And partners shall dance down the middle
\forcelinebreak Until the old pewter-wares hum:
\forcelinebreak And we’ll sip the mead, cyder, and rum!”


From the night came the oddest of answers:
\forcelinebreak A hollow wind, like a bassoon,
\forcelinebreak And headstones all ranged up as dancers,
\forcelinebreak And cypresses droning a croon,
\forcelinebreak And gurgoyles that mouthed to the tune.

\section{I SAID AND SANG HER EXCELLENCE}


(Fickle Lover’s Song)


I said and sang her excellence:
\forcelinebreak They called it laud undue.
\forcelinebreak (Have your way, my heart, O!)
\forcelinebreak Yet what was homage far above
\forcelinebreak The plain deserts of my olden Love
\forcelinebreak Proved verity of my new.


“She moves a sylph in picture-land,
\forcelinebreak Where nothing frosts the air:”
\forcelinebreak (Have your way, my heart, O!)
\forcelinebreak “To all winged pipers overhead
\forcelinebreak She is known by shape and song,” I said,
\forcelinebreak Conscious of licence there.


I sang of her in a dim old hall
\forcelinebreak Dream-built too fancifully,
\forcelinebreak (Have your way, my heart, O!)
\forcelinebreak But lo, the ripe months chanced to lead
\forcelinebreak My feet to such a hall indeed,
\forcelinebreak Where stood the very She.


Strange, startling, was it then to learn
\forcelinebreak I had glanced down unborn time,
\forcelinebreak (Have your way, my heart, O!)
\forcelinebreak And prophesied, whereby I knew
\forcelinebreak That which the years had planned to do
\forcelinebreak In warranty of my rhyme.


BY RUSHY-POND.

\section{A JANUARY NIGHT (1879)}


The rain smites more and more,
\forcelinebreak The east wind snarls and sneezes;
\forcelinebreak Through the joints of the quivering door
\forcelinebreak The water wheezes.


The tip of each ivy-shoot
\forcelinebreak Writhes on its neighbour’s face;
\forcelinebreak There is some hid dread afoot
\forcelinebreak That we cannot trace.


Is it the spirit astray
\forcelinebreak Of the man at the house below
\forcelinebreak Whose coffin they took in to-day?
\forcelinebreak We do not know.

\section{A KISS}


By a wall the stranger now calls his,
\forcelinebreak Was born of old a particular kiss,
\forcelinebreak Without forethought in its genesis;
\forcelinebreak Which in a trice took wing on the air.
\forcelinebreak And where that spot is nothing shows:
\forcelinebreak There ivy calmly grows,
\forcelinebreak And no one knows
\forcelinebreak What a birth was there!


That kiss is gone where none can tell -
\forcelinebreak Not even those who felt its spell:
\forcelinebreak It cannot have died; that know we well.
\forcelinebreak Somewhere it pursues its flight,
\forcelinebreak One of a long procession of sounds
\forcelinebreak Travelling aethereal rounds
\forcelinebreak Far from earth’s bounds
\forcelinebreak In the infinite.

\section{THE ANNOUNCEMENT}


They came, the brothers, and took two chairs
\forcelinebreak In their usual quiet way;
\forcelinebreak And for a time we did not think
\forcelinebreak They had much to say.


And they began and talked awhile
\forcelinebreak Of ordinary things,
\forcelinebreak Till spread that silence in the room
\forcelinebreak A pent thought brings.


And then they said: “The end has come.
\forcelinebreak Yes: it has come at last.”
\forcelinebreak And we looked down, and knew that day
\forcelinebreak A spirit had passed.

\section{THE OXEN}


Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
\forcelinebreak ”Now they are all on their knees,”
\forcelinebreak An elder said as we sat in a flock
\forcelinebreak By the embers in hearthside ease.


We pictured the meek mild creatures where
\forcelinebreak They dwelt in their strawy pen,
\forcelinebreak Nor did it occur to one of us there
\forcelinebreak To doubt they were kneeling then.


So fair a fancy few would weave
\forcelinebreak In these years! Yet, I feel,
\forcelinebreak If someone said on Christmas Eve,
\forcelinebreak ”Come; see the oxen kneel


“In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
\forcelinebreak Our childhood used to know,”
\forcelinebreak I should go with him in the gloom,
\forcelinebreak Hoping it might be so.


1915

\section{THE TRESSES}


”When the air was damp
\forcelinebreak It made my curls hang slack
\forcelinebreak As they kissed my neck and back
\forcelinebreak While I footed the salt-aired track
\forcelinebreak I loved to tramp.


”When it was dry
\forcelinebreak They would roll up crisp and tight
\forcelinebreak As I went on in the light
\forcelinebreak Of the sun, which my own sprite
\forcelinebreak Seemed to outvie.


”Now I am old;
\forcelinebreak And have not one gay curl
\forcelinebreak As I had when a girl
\forcelinebreak For dampness to unfurl
\forcelinebreak Or sun uphold!”

\section{THE PHOTOGRAPH}


The flame crept up the portrait line by line
\forcelinebreak As it lay on the coals in the silence of night’s profound,
\forcelinebreak And over the arm’s incline,
\forcelinebreak And along the marge of the silkwork superfine,
\forcelinebreak And gnawed at the delicate bosom’s defenceless round.


Then I vented a cry of hurt, and averted my eyes;
\forcelinebreak The spectacle was one that I could not bear,
\forcelinebreak To my deep and sad surprise;
\forcelinebreak But, compelled to heed, I again looked furtive-wise
\forcelinebreak Till the flame had eaten her breasts, and mouth, and hair.


“Thank God, she is out of it now!” I said at last,
\forcelinebreak In a great relief of heart when the thing was done
\forcelinebreak That had set my soul aghast,
\forcelinebreak And nothing was left of the picture unsheathed from the past
\forcelinebreak But the ashen ghost of the card it had figured on.


She was a woman long hid amid packs of years,
\forcelinebreak She might have been living or dead; she was lost to my sight,
\forcelinebreak And the deed that had nigh drawn tears
\forcelinebreak Was done in a casual clearance of life’s arrears;
\forcelinebreak But I felt as if I had put her to death that night! . . .


 * * *


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Well; she knew nothing thereof did she survive,
\forcelinebreak And suffered nothing if numbered among the dead;
\forcelinebreak Yet — yet — if on earth alive
\forcelinebreak Did she feel a smart, and with vague strange anguish strive?
\forcelinebreak If in heaven, did she smile at me sadly and shake her head?




\end{itemize}
\section{ON A HEATH}


I could hear a gown-skirt rustling
\forcelinebreak Before I could see her shape,
\forcelinebreak Rustling through the heather
\forcelinebreak That wove the common’s drape,
\forcelinebreak On that evening of dark weather
\forcelinebreak When I hearkened, lips agape.


And the town-shine in the distance
\forcelinebreak Did but baffle here the sight,
\forcelinebreak And then a voice flew forward:
\forcelinebreak Dear, is’t you? I fear the night!”
\forcelinebreak And the herons flapped to norward
\forcelinebreak In the firs upon my right.


There was another looming
\forcelinebreak Whose life we did not see;
\forcelinebreak There was one stilly blooming
\forcelinebreak Full nigh to where walked we;
\forcelinebreak There was a shade entombing
\forcelinebreak All that was bright of me.

\section{AN ANNIVERSARY}


It was at the very date to which we have come,
\forcelinebreak In the month of the matching name,
\forcelinebreak When, at a like minute, the sun had upswum,
\forcelinebreak Its couch-time at night being the same.
\forcelinebreak And the same path stretched here that people now follow,
\forcelinebreak And the same stile crossed their way,
\forcelinebreak And beyond the same green hillock and hollow
\forcelinebreak The same horizon lay;
\forcelinebreak And the same man pilgrims now hereby who pilgrimed here that day.


Let so much be said of the date-day’s sameness;
\forcelinebreak But the tree that neighbours the track,
\forcelinebreak And stoops like a pedlar afflicted with lameness,
\forcelinebreak Knew of no sogged wound or windcrack.
\forcelinebreak And the joints of that wall were not enshrouded
\forcelinebreak With mosses of many tones,
\forcelinebreak And the garth up afar was not overcrowded
\forcelinebreak With a multitude of white stones,
\forcelinebreak And the man’s eyes then were not so sunk that you saw the socket-
\forcelinebreak bones.


KINGSTON-MAURWARD EWELEASE.

\section{BY THE RUNIC STONE}


(Two who became a story)


By the Runic Stone
\forcelinebreak They sat, where the grass sloped down,
\forcelinebreak And chattered, he white-hatted, she in brown,
\forcelinebreak Pink-faced, breeze-blown.


Rapt there alone
\forcelinebreak In the transport of talking so
\forcelinebreak In such a place, there was nothing to let them know
\forcelinebreak What hours had flown.


And the die thrown
\forcelinebreak By them heedlessly there, the dent
\forcelinebreak It was to cut in their encompassment,
\forcelinebreak Were, too, unknown.


It might have strown
\forcelinebreak Their zest with qualms to see,
\forcelinebreak As in a glass, Time toss their history
\forcelinebreak From zone to zone!

\section{THE PINK FROCK}


“O my pretty pink frock,
\forcelinebreak I sha’n’t be able to wear it!
\forcelinebreak Why is he dying just now?
\forcelinebreak I hardly can bear it!


“He might have contrived to live on;
\forcelinebreak But they say there’s no hope whatever:
\forcelinebreak And must I shut myself up,
\forcelinebreak And go out never?


“O my pretty pink frock,
\forcelinebreak Puff-sleeved and accordion-pleated!
\forcelinebreak He might have passed in July,
\forcelinebreak And not so cheated!”

\section{TRANSFORMATIONS}


Portion of this yew
\forcelinebreak Is a man my grandsire knew,
\forcelinebreak Bosomed here at its foot:
\forcelinebreak This branch may be his wife,
\forcelinebreak A ruddy human life
\forcelinebreak Now turned to a green shoot.


These grasses must be made
\forcelinebreak Of her who often prayed,
\forcelinebreak Last century, for repose;
\forcelinebreak And the fair girl long ago
\forcelinebreak Whom I often tried to know
\forcelinebreak May be entering this rose.


So, they are not underground,
\forcelinebreak But as nerves and veins abound
\forcelinebreak In the growths of upper air,
\forcelinebreak And they feel the sun and rain,
\forcelinebreak And the energy again
\forcelinebreak That made them what they were!

\section{IN HER PRECINCTS}


Her house looked cold from the foggy lea,
\forcelinebreak And the square of each window a dull black blur
\forcelinebreak Where showed no stir:
\forcelinebreak Yes, her gloom within at the lack of me
\forcelinebreak Seemed matching mine at the lack of her.


The black squares grew to be squares of light
\forcelinebreak As the eyeshade swathed the house and lawn,
\forcelinebreak And viols gave tone;
\forcelinebreak There was glee within. And I found that night
\forcelinebreak The gloom of severance mine alone.


KINGSTON-MAURWARD PARK.

\section{THE LAST SIGNAL}


(Oct. 11, 1886)
\forcelinebreak A MEMORY OF WILLIAM BARNES


Silently I footed by an uphill road
\forcelinebreak That led from my abode to a spot yew-boughed;
\forcelinebreak Yellowly the sun sloped low down to westward,
\forcelinebreak And dark was the east with cloud.


Then, amid the shadow of that livid sad east,
\forcelinebreak Where the light was least, and a gate stood wide,
\forcelinebreak Something flashed the fire of the sun that was facing it,
\forcelinebreak Like a brief blaze on that side.


Looking hard and harder I knew what it meant -
\forcelinebreak The sudden shine sent from the livid east scene;
\forcelinebreak It meant the west mirrored by the coffin of my friend there,
\forcelinebreak Turning to the road from his green,


To take his last journey forth — he who in his prime
\forcelinebreak Trudged so many a time from that gate athwart the land!
\forcelinebreak Thus a farewell to me he signalled on his grave-way,
\forcelinebreak As with a wave of his hand.


WINTERBORNE-CAME PATH.

\section{THE HOUSE OF SILENCE}


”That is a quiet place -
\forcelinebreak That house in the trees with the shady lawn.”
\forcelinebreak “ — If, child, you knew what there goes on
\forcelinebreak You would not call it a quiet place.
\forcelinebreak Why, a phantom abides there, the last of its race,
\forcelinebreak And a brain spins there till dawn.”


”But I see nobody there, -
\forcelinebreak Nobody moves about the green,
\forcelinebreak Or wanders the heavy trees between.”
\forcelinebreak “ — Ah, that’s because you do not bear
\forcelinebreak The visioning powers of souls who dare
\forcelinebreak To pierce the material screen.


”Morning, noon, and night,
\forcelinebreak Mid those funereal shades that seem
\forcelinebreak The uncanny scenery of a dream,
\forcelinebreak Figures dance to a mind with sight,
\forcelinebreak And music and laughter like floods of light
\forcelinebreak Make all the precincts gleam.


”It is a poet’s bower,
\forcelinebreak Through which there pass, in fleet arrays,
\forcelinebreak Long teams of all the years and days,
\forcelinebreak Of joys and sorrows, of earth and heaven,
\forcelinebreak That meet mankind in its ages seven,
\forcelinebreak An aion in an hour.”

\section{GREAT THINGS}


Sweet cyder is a great thing,
\forcelinebreak A great thing to me,
\forcelinebreak Spinning down to Weymouth town
\forcelinebreak By Ridgway thirstily,
\forcelinebreak And maid and mistress summoning
\forcelinebreak Who tend the hostelry:
\forcelinebreak O cyder is a great thing,
\forcelinebreak A great thing to me!


The dance it is a great thing,
\forcelinebreak A great thing to me,
\forcelinebreak With candles lit and partners fit
\forcelinebreak For night-long revelry;
\forcelinebreak And going home when day-dawning
\forcelinebreak Peeps pale upon the lea:
\forcelinebreak O dancing is a great thing,
\forcelinebreak A great thing to me!


Love is, yea, a great thing,
\forcelinebreak A great thing to me,
\forcelinebreak When, having drawn across the lawn
\forcelinebreak In darkness silently,
\forcelinebreak A figure flits like one a-wing
\forcelinebreak Out from the nearest tree:
\forcelinebreak O love is, yes, a great thing,
\forcelinebreak A great thing to me!


Will these be always great things,
\forcelinebreak Great things to me? . . .
\forcelinebreak Let it befall that One will call,
\forcelinebreak ”Soul, I have need of thee:”
\forcelinebreak What then? Joy-jaunts, impassioned flings,
\forcelinebreak Love, and its ecstasy,
\forcelinebreak Will always have been great things,
\forcelinebreak Great things to me!

\section{THE CHIMES}


That morning when I trod the town
\forcelinebreak The twitching chimes of long renown
\forcelinebreak Played out to me
\forcelinebreak The sweet Sicilian sailors’ tune,
\forcelinebreak And I knew not if late or soon
\forcelinebreak My day would be:


A day of sunshine beryl-bright
\forcelinebreak And windless; yea, think as I might,
\forcelinebreak I could not say,
\forcelinebreak Even to within years’ measure, when
\forcelinebreak One would be at my side who then
\forcelinebreak Was far away.


When hard utilitarian times
\forcelinebreak Had stilled the sweet Saint-Peter’s chimes
\forcelinebreak I learnt to see
\forcelinebreak That bale may spring where blisses are,
\forcelinebreak And one desired might be afar
\forcelinebreak Though near to me.

\section{THE FIGURE IN THE SCENE}


It pleased her to step in front and sit
\forcelinebreak Where the cragged slope was green,
\forcelinebreak While I stood back that I might pencil it
\forcelinebreak With her amid the scene;
\forcelinebreak Till it gloomed and rained;
\forcelinebreak But I kept on, despite the drifting wet
\forcelinebreak That fell and stained
\forcelinebreak My draught, leaving for curious quizzings yet
\forcelinebreak The blots engrained.


And thus I drew her there alone,
\forcelinebreak Seated amid the gauze
\forcelinebreak Of moisture, hooded, only her outline shown,
\forcelinebreak With rainfall marked across.
\forcelinebreak — Soon passed our stay;
\forcelinebreak Yet her rainy form is the Genius still of the spot,
\forcelinebreak Immutable, yea,
\forcelinebreak Though the place now knows her no more, and has known her not
\forcelinebreak Ever since that day.


From an old note.

\section{WHY DID I SKETCH}


Why did I sketch an upland green,
\forcelinebreak And put the figure in
\forcelinebreak Of one on the spot with me? -
\forcelinebreak For now that one has ceased to be seen
\forcelinebreak The picture waxes akin
\forcelinebreak To a wordless irony.


If you go drawing on down or cliff
\forcelinebreak Let no soft curves intrude
\forcelinebreak Of a woman’s silhouette,
\forcelinebreak But show the escarpments stark and stiff
\forcelinebreak As in utter solitude;
\forcelinebreak So shall you half forget.


Let me sooner pass from sight of the sky
\forcelinebreak Than again on a thoughtless day
\forcelinebreak Limn, laugh, and sing, and rhyme
\forcelinebreak With a woman sitting near, whom I
\forcelinebreak Paint in for love, and who may
\forcelinebreak Be called hence in my time!


From an old note.

\section{CONJECTURE}


If there were in my kalendar
\forcelinebreak No Emma, Florence, Mary,
\forcelinebreak What would be my existence now -
\forcelinebreak A hermit’s? — wanderer’s weary? -
\forcelinebreak How should I live, and how
\forcelinebreak Near would be death, or far?


Could it have been that other eyes
\forcelinebreak Might have uplit my highway?
\forcelinebreak That fond, sad, retrospective sight
\forcelinebreak Would catch from this dim byway
\forcelinebreak Prized figures different quite
\forcelinebreak From those that now arise?


With how strange aspect would there creep
\forcelinebreak The dawn, the night, the daytime,
\forcelinebreak If memory were not what it is
\forcelinebreak In song-time, toil, or pray-time. -
\forcelinebreak O were it else than this,
\forcelinebreak I’d pass to pulseless sleep!

\section{THE BLOW}


That no man schemed it is my hope -
\forcelinebreak Yea, that it fell by will and scope
\forcelinebreak Of That Which some enthrone,
\forcelinebreak And for whose meaning myriads grope.


For I would not that of my kind
\forcelinebreak There should, of his unbiassed mind,
\forcelinebreak Have been one known
\forcelinebreak Who such a stroke could have designed;


Since it would augur works and ways
\forcelinebreak Below the lowest that man assays
\forcelinebreak To have hurled that stone
\forcelinebreak Into the sunshine of our days!


And if it prove that no man did,
\forcelinebreak And that the Inscrutable, the Hid,
\forcelinebreak Was cause alone
\forcelinebreak Of this foul crash our lives amid,


I’ll go in due time, and forget
\forcelinebreak In some deep graveyard’s oubliette
\forcelinebreak The thing whereof I groan,
\forcelinebreak And cease from troubling; thankful yet


Time’s finger should have stretched to show
\forcelinebreak No aimful author’s was the blow
\forcelinebreak That swept us prone,
\forcelinebreak But the Immanent Doer’s That doth not know,


Which in some age unguessed of us
\forcelinebreak May lift Its blinding incubus,
\forcelinebreak And see, and own:
\forcelinebreak “It grieves me I did thus and thus!”

\section{LOVE THE MONOPOLIST}


(Young Lover’s Reverie)


The train draws forth from the station-yard,
\forcelinebreak And with it carries me.
\forcelinebreak I rise, and stretch out, and regard
\forcelinebreak The platform left, and see
\forcelinebreak An airy slim blue form there standing,
\forcelinebreak And know that it is she.


While with strained vision I watch on,
\forcelinebreak The figure turns round quite
\forcelinebreak To greet friends gaily; then is gone . . .
\forcelinebreak The import may be slight,
\forcelinebreak But why remained she not hard gazing
\forcelinebreak Till I was out of sight?


“O do not chat with others there,”
\forcelinebreak I brood. “They are not I.
\forcelinebreak O strain your thoughts as if they were
\forcelinebreak Gold bands between us; eye
\forcelinebreak All neighbour scenes as so much blankness
\forcelinebreak Till I again am by!


“A troubled soughing in the breeze
\forcelinebreak And the sky overhead
\forcelinebreak Let yourself feel; and shadeful trees,
\forcelinebreak Ripe corn, and apples red,
\forcelinebreak Read as things barren and distasteful
\forcelinebreak While we are separated!


“When I come back uncloak your gloom,
\forcelinebreak And let in lovely day;
\forcelinebreak Then the long dark as of the tomb
\forcelinebreak Can well be thrust away
\forcelinebreak With sweet things I shall have to practise,
\forcelinebreak And you will have to say!”


Begun 1871: finished -

\section{AT MIDDLE-FIELD GATE IN FEBRUARY}


The bars are thick with drops that show
\forcelinebreak As they gather themselves from the fog
\forcelinebreak Like silver buttons ranged in a row,
\forcelinebreak And as evenly spaced as if measured, although
\forcelinebreak They fall at the feeblest jog.


They load the leafless hedge hard by,
\forcelinebreak And the blades of last year’s grass,
\forcelinebreak While the fallow ploughland turned up nigh
\forcelinebreak In raw rolls, clammy and clogging lie -
\forcelinebreak Too clogging for feet to pass.


How dry it was on a far-back day
\forcelinebreak When straws hung the hedge and around,
\forcelinebreak When amid the sheaves in amorous play
\forcelinebreak In curtained bonnets and light array
\forcelinebreak Bloomed a bevy now underground!


BOCKHAMPTON LANE.

\section{THE YOUTH WHO CARRIED A LIGHT}


I saw him pass as the new day dawned,
\forcelinebreak Murmuring some musical phrase;
\forcelinebreak Horses were drinking and floundering in the pond,
\forcelinebreak And the tired stars thinned their gaze;
\forcelinebreak Yet these were not the spectacles at all that he conned,
\forcelinebreak But an inner one, giving out rays.


Such was the thing in his eye, walking there,
\forcelinebreak The very and visible thing,
\forcelinebreak A close light, displacing the gray of the morning air,
\forcelinebreak And the tokens that the dark was taking wing;
\forcelinebreak And was it not the radiance of a purpose rare
\forcelinebreak That might ripe to its accomplishing?


What became of that light? I wonder still its fate!
\forcelinebreak Was it quenched ere its full apogee?
\forcelinebreak Did it struggle frail and frailer to a beam emaciate?
\forcelinebreak Did it thrive till matured in verity?
\forcelinebreak Or did it travel on, to be a new young dreamer’s freight,
\forcelinebreak And thence on infinitely?


1915

\section{THE HEAD ABOVE THE FOG}


Something do I see
\forcelinebreak Above the fog that sheets the mead,
\forcelinebreak A figure like to life indeed,
\forcelinebreak Moving along with spectre-speed,
\forcelinebreak Seen by none but me.


O the vision keen! -
\forcelinebreak Tripping along to me for love
\forcelinebreak As in the flesh it used to move,
\forcelinebreak Only its hat and plume above
\forcelinebreak The evening fog-fleece seen.


In the day-fall wan,
\forcelinebreak When nighted birds break off their song,
\forcelinebreak Mere ghostly head it skims along,
\forcelinebreak Just as it did when warm and strong,
\forcelinebreak Body seeming gone.


Such it is I see
\forcelinebreak Above the fog that sheets the mead -
\forcelinebreak Yea, that which once could breathe and plead! -
\forcelinebreak Skimming along with spectre-speed
\forcelinebreak To a last tryst with me.

\section{OVERLOOKING THE RIVER STOUR}


The swallows flew in the curves of an eight
\forcelinebreak Above the river-gleam
\forcelinebreak In the wet June’s last beam:
\forcelinebreak Like little crossbows animate
\forcelinebreak The swallows flew in the curves of an eight
\forcelinebreak Above the river-gleam.


Planing up shavings of crystal spray
\forcelinebreak A moor-hen darted out
\forcelinebreak From the bank thereabout,
\forcelinebreak And through the stream-shine ripped his way;
\forcelinebreak Planing up shavings of crystal spray
\forcelinebreak A moor-hen darted out.


Closed were the kingcups; and the mead
\forcelinebreak Dripped in monotonous green,
\forcelinebreak Though the day’s morning sheen
\forcelinebreak Had shown it golden and honeybee’d;
\forcelinebreak Closed were the kingcups; and the mead
\forcelinebreak Dripped in monotonous green.


And never I turned my head, alack,
\forcelinebreak While these things met my gaze
\forcelinebreak Through the pane’s drop-drenched glaze,
\forcelinebreak To see the more behind my back . . .
\forcelinebreak O never I turned, but let, alack,
\forcelinebreak These less things hold my gaze!

\section{THE MUSICAL BOX}


Lifelong to be
\forcelinebreak Seemed the fair colour of the time;
\forcelinebreak That there was standing shadowed near
\forcelinebreak A spirit who sang to the gentle chime
\forcelinebreak Of the self-struck notes, I did not hear,
\forcelinebreak I did not see.


Thus did it sing
\forcelinebreak To the mindless lyre that played indoors
\forcelinebreak As she came to listen for me without:
\forcelinebreak “O value what the nonce outpours -
\forcelinebreak This best of life — that shines about
\forcelinebreak Your welcoming!”


I had slowed along
\forcelinebreak After the torrid hours were done,
\forcelinebreak Though still the posts and walls and road
\forcelinebreak Flung back their sense of the hot-faced sun,
\forcelinebreak And had walked by Stourside Mill, where broad
\forcelinebreak Stream-lilies throng.


And I descried
\forcelinebreak The dusky house that stood apart,
\forcelinebreak And her, white-muslined, waiting there
\forcelinebreak In the porch with high-expectant heart,
\forcelinebreak While still the thin mechanic air
\forcelinebreak Went on inside.


At whiles would flit
\forcelinebreak Swart bats, whose wings, be-webbed and tanned,
\forcelinebreak Whirred like the wheels of ancient clocks:
\forcelinebreak She laughed a hailing as she scanned
\forcelinebreak Me in the gloom, the tuneful box
\forcelinebreak Intoning it.


Lifelong to be
\forcelinebreak I thought it. That there watched hard by
\forcelinebreak A spirit who sang to the indoor tune,
\forcelinebreak “O make the most of what is nigh!”
\forcelinebreak I did not hear in my dull soul-swoon -
\forcelinebreak I did not see.

\section{ON STURMINSTER FOOT-BRIDGE (ONOMATOPOEIC)}


Reticulations creep upon the slack stream’s face
\forcelinebreak When the wind skims irritably past,
\forcelinebreak The current clucks smartly into each hollow place
\forcelinebreak That years of flood have scrabbled in the pier’s sodden base;
\forcelinebreak The floating-lily leaves rot fast.


On a roof stand the swallows ranged in wistful waiting rows,
\forcelinebreak Till they arrow off and drop like stones
\forcelinebreak Among the eyot-withies at whose foot the river flows;
\forcelinebreak And beneath the roof is she who in the dark world shows
\forcelinebreak As a lattice-gleam when midnight moans.

\section{ROYAL SPONSORS}


“The king and the queen will stand to the child;
\forcelinebreak ’Twill be handed down in song;
\forcelinebreak And it’s no more than their deserving,
\forcelinebreak With my lord so faithful at Court so long,
\forcelinebreak And so staunch and strong.


“O never before was known such a thing!
\forcelinebreak ’Twill be a grand time for all;
\forcelinebreak And the beef will be a whole-roast bullock,
\forcelinebreak And the servants will have a feast in the hall,
\forcelinebreak And the ladies a ball.


“While from Jordan’s stream by a traveller,
\forcelinebreak In a flagon of silver wrought,
\forcelinebreak And by caravan, stage-coach, wain, and waggon
\forcelinebreak A precious trickle has been brought,
\forcelinebreak Clear as when caught.”


The morning came. To the park of the peer
\forcelinebreak The royal couple bore;
\forcelinebreak And the font was filled with the Jordan water,
\forcelinebreak And the household awaited their guests before
\forcelinebreak The carpeted door.


But when they went to the silk-lined cot
\forcelinebreak The child was found to have died.
\forcelinebreak “What’s now to be done? We can disappoint not
\forcelinebreak The king and queen!” the family cried
\forcelinebreak With eyes spread wide.


“Even now they approach the chestnut-drive!
\forcelinebreak The service must be read.”
\forcelinebreak “Well, since we can’t christen the child alive,
\forcelinebreak By God we shall have to christen him dead!”
\forcelinebreak The marquis said.


Thus, breath-forsaken, a corpse was taken
\forcelinebreak To the private chapel — yea -
\forcelinebreak And the king knew not, nor the queen, God wot,
\forcelinebreak That they answered for one returned to clay
\forcelinebreak At the font that day.

\section{OLD FURNITURE}


I know not how it may be with others
\forcelinebreak Who sit amid relics of householdry
\forcelinebreak That date from the days of their mothers’ mothers,
\forcelinebreak But well I know how it is with me
\forcelinebreak Continually.


I see the hands of the generations
\forcelinebreak That owned each shiny familiar thing
\forcelinebreak In play on its knobs and indentations,
\forcelinebreak And with its ancient fashioning
\forcelinebreak Still dallying:


Hands behind hands, growing paler and paler,
\forcelinebreak As in a mirror a candle-flame
\forcelinebreak Shows images of itself, each frailer
\forcelinebreak As it recedes, though the eye may frame
\forcelinebreak Its shape the same.


On the clock’s dull dial a foggy finger,
\forcelinebreak Moving to set the minutes right
\forcelinebreak With tentative touches that lift and linger
\forcelinebreak In the wont of a moth on a summer night,
\forcelinebreak Creeps to my sight.


On this old viol, too, fingers are dancing -
\forcelinebreak As whilom — just over the strings by the nut,
\forcelinebreak The tip of a bow receding, advancing
\forcelinebreak In airy quivers, as if it would cut
\forcelinebreak The plaintive gut.


And I see a face by that box for tinder,
\forcelinebreak Glowing forth in fits from the dark,
\forcelinebreak And fading again, as the linten cinder
\forcelinebreak Kindles to red at the flinty spark,
\forcelinebreak Or goes out stark.


Well, well. It is best to be up and doing,
\forcelinebreak The world has no use for one to-day
\forcelinebreak Who eyes things thus — no aim pursuing!
\forcelinebreak He should not continue in this stay,
\forcelinebreak But sink away.

\section{A THOUGHT IN TWO MOODS}


I saw it — pink and white — revealed
\forcelinebreak Upon the white and green;
\forcelinebreak The white and green was a daisied field,
\forcelinebreak The pink and white Ethleen.


And as I looked it seemed in kind
\forcelinebreak That difference they had none;
\forcelinebreak The two fair bodiments combined
\forcelinebreak As varied miens of one.


A sense that, in some mouldering year,
\forcelinebreak As one they both would lie,
\forcelinebreak Made me move quickly on to her
\forcelinebreak To pass the pale thought by.


She laughed and said: “Out there, to me,
\forcelinebreak You looked so weather-browned,
\forcelinebreak And brown in clothes, you seemed to be
\forcelinebreak Made of the dusty ground!”

\section{THE LAST PERFORMANCE}


“I am playing my oldest tunes,” declared she,
\forcelinebreak ”All the old tunes I know, -
\forcelinebreak Those I learnt ever so long ago.”
\forcelinebreak  - Why she should think just then she’d play them
\forcelinebreak Silence cloaks like snow.


When I returned from the town at nightfall
\forcelinebreak Notes continued to pour
\forcelinebreak As when I had left two hours before:
\forcelinebreak It’s the very last time,” she said in closing;
\forcelinebreak ”From now I play no more.”


A few morns onward found her fading,
\forcelinebreak And, as her life outflew,
\forcelinebreak I thought of her playing her tunes right through;
\forcelinebreak And I felt she had known of what was coming,
\forcelinebreak And wondered how she knew.


1912

\section{YOU ON THE TOWER}

\subsection{I}


“You on the tower of my factory -
\forcelinebreak What do you see up there?
\forcelinebreak Do you see Enjoyment with wide wings
\forcelinebreak Advancing to reach me here?”
\forcelinebreak  - “Yea; I see Enjoyment with wide wings
\forcelinebreak Advancing to reach you here.”

\subsection{II}


“Good. Soon I’ll come and ask you
\forcelinebreak To tell me again thereon . . .
\forcelinebreak Well, what is he doing now? Hoi, there!”
\forcelinebreak — ”He still is flying on.”
\forcelinebreak “Ah, waiting till I have full-finished.
\forcelinebreak Good. Tell me again anon . . .

\subsection{III}


Hoi, Watchman! I’m here. When comes he?
\forcelinebreak Between my sweats I am chill.”
\forcelinebreak — ”Oh, you there, working still?
\forcelinebreak Why, surely he reached you a time back,
\forcelinebreak And took you miles from your mill?
\forcelinebreak He duly came in his winging,
\forcelinebreak And now he has passed out of view.
\forcelinebreak How can it be that you missed him?
\forcelinebreak He brushed you by as he flew.”

\section{THE INTERLOPER}


“And I saw the figure and visage of Madness seeking for a home.”


There are three folk driving in a quaint old chaise,
\forcelinebreak And the cliff-side track looks green and fair;
\forcelinebreak I view them talking in quiet glee
\forcelinebreak As they drop down towards the puffins’ lair
\forcelinebreak By the roughest of ways;
\forcelinebreak But another with the three rides on, I see,
\forcelinebreak Whom I like not to be there!


No: it’s not anybody you think of. Next
\forcelinebreak A dwelling appears by a slow sweet stream
\forcelinebreak Where two sit happy and half in the dark:
\forcelinebreak They read, helped out by a frail-wick’d gleam,
\forcelinebreak Some rhythmic text;
\forcelinebreak But one sits with them whom they don’t mark,
\forcelinebreak One I’m wishing could not be there.


No: not whom you knew and name. And now
\forcelinebreak I discern gay diners in a mansion-place,
\forcelinebreak And the guests dropping wit — pert, prim, or choice,
\forcelinebreak And the hostess’s tender and laughing face,
\forcelinebreak And the host’s bland brow;
\forcelinebreak I cannot help hearing a hollow voice,
\forcelinebreak And I’d fain not hear it there.


No: it’s not from the stranger you met once. Ah,
\forcelinebreak Yet a goodlier scene than that succeeds;
\forcelinebreak People on a lawn — quite a crowd of them. Yes,
\forcelinebreak And they chatter and ramble as fancy leads;
\forcelinebreak And they say, “Hurrah!”
\forcelinebreak To a blithe speech made; save one, mirthless,
\forcelinebreak Who ought not to be there.


Nay: it’s not the pale Form your imagings raise,
\forcelinebreak That waits on us all at a destined time,
\forcelinebreak It is not the Fourth Figure the Furnace showed,
\forcelinebreak O that it were such a shape sublime;
\forcelinebreak In these latter days!
\forcelinebreak It is that under which best lives corrode;
\forcelinebreak Would, would it could not be there!

\section{LOGS ON THE HEARTH A MEMORY OF A SISTER}


The fire advances along the log
\forcelinebreak Of the tree we felled,
\forcelinebreak Which bloomed and bore striped apples by the peck
\forcelinebreak Till its last hour of bearing knelled.


The fork that first my hand would reach
\forcelinebreak And then my foot
\forcelinebreak In climbings upward inch by inch, lies now
\forcelinebreak Sawn, sapless, darkening with soot.


Where the bark chars is where, one year,
\forcelinebreak It was pruned, and bled -
\forcelinebreak Then overgrew the wound. But now, at last,
\forcelinebreak Its growings all have stagnated.


My fellow-climber rises dim
\forcelinebreak From her chilly grave -
\forcelinebreak Just as she was, her foot near mine on the bending limb,
\forcelinebreak Laughing, her young brown hand awave.


December 1915.

\section{THE SUNSHADE}


Ah — it’s the skeleton of a lady’s sunshade,
\forcelinebreak Here at my feet in the hard rock’s chink,
\forcelinebreak Merely a naked sheaf of wires! -
\forcelinebreak Twenty years have gone with their livers and diers
\forcelinebreak Since it was silked in its white or pink.


Noonshine riddles the ribs of the sunshade,
\forcelinebreak No more a screen from the weakest ray;
\forcelinebreak Nothing to tell us the hue of its dyes,
\forcelinebreak Nothing but rusty bones as it lies
\forcelinebreak In its coffin of stone, unseen till to-day.


Where is the woman who carried that sun-shade
\forcelinebreak Up and down this seaside place? -
\forcelinebreak Little thumb standing against its stem,
\forcelinebreak Thoughts perhaps bent on a love-stratagem,
\forcelinebreak Softening yet more the already soft face!


Is the fair woman who carried that sunshade
\forcelinebreak A skeleton just as her property is,
\forcelinebreak Laid in the chink that none may scan?
\forcelinebreak And does she regret — if regret dust can -
\forcelinebreak The vain things thought when she flourished this?


SWANAGE CLIFFS.

\section{THE AGEING HOUSE}


When the walls were red
\forcelinebreak That now are seen
\forcelinebreak To be overspread
\forcelinebreak With a mouldy green,
\forcelinebreak A fresh fair head
\forcelinebreak Would often lean
\forcelinebreak From the sunny casement
\forcelinebreak And scan the scene,
\forcelinebreak While blithely spoke the wind to the little sycamore tree.


But storms have raged
\forcelinebreak Those walls about,
\forcelinebreak And the head has aged
\forcelinebreak That once looked out;
\forcelinebreak And zest is suaged
\forcelinebreak And trust is doubt,
\forcelinebreak And slow effacement
\forcelinebreak Is rife throughout,
\forcelinebreak While fiercely girds the wind at the long-limbed sycamore tree!

\section{THE CAGED GOLDFINCH}


Within a churchyard, on a recent grave,
\forcelinebreak I saw a little cage
\forcelinebreak That jailed a goldfinch. All was silence save
\forcelinebreak Its hops from stage to stage.


There was inquiry in its wistful eye,
\forcelinebreak And once it tried to sing;
\forcelinebreak Of him or her who placed it there, and why,
\forcelinebreak No one knew anything.

\section{AT MADAME TUSSAUD’S IN VICTORIAN YEARS}


“That same first fiddler who leads the orchestra to-night
\forcelinebreak Here fiddled four decades of years ago;
\forcelinebreak He bears the same babe-like smile of self-centred delight,
\forcelinebreak Same trinket on watch-chain, same ring on the hand with the bow.


“But his face, if regarded, is woefully wanner, and drier,
\forcelinebreak And his once dark beard has grown straggling and gray;
\forcelinebreak Yet a blissful existence he seems to have led with his lyre,
\forcelinebreak In a trance of his own, where no wearing or tearing had sway.


“Mid these wax figures, who nothing can do, it may seem
\forcelinebreak That to do but a little thing counts a great deal;
\forcelinebreak To be watched by kings, councillors, queens, may be flattering to him
\forcelinebreak -
\forcelinebreak With their glass eyes longing they too could wake notes that appeal.”


 * * *


Ah, but he played staunchly — that fiddler — whoever he was,
\forcelinebreak With the innocent heart and the soul-touching string:
\forcelinebreak May he find the Fair Haven! For did he not smile with good cause?
\forcelinebreak Yes; gamuts that graced forty years’-flight were not a small thing!

\section{THE BALLET}


They crush together — a rustling heap of flesh -
\forcelinebreak Of more than flesh, a heap of souls; and then
\forcelinebreak They part, enmesh,
\forcelinebreak And crush together again,
\forcelinebreak Like the pink petals of a too sanguine rose
\forcelinebreak Frightened shut just when it blows.


Though all alike in their tinsel livery,
\forcelinebreak And indistinguishable at a sweeping glance,
\forcelinebreak They muster, maybe,
\forcelinebreak As lives wide in irrelevance;
\forcelinebreak A world of her own has each one underneath,
\forcelinebreak Detached as a sword from its sheath.


Daughters, wives, mistresses; honest or false, sold, bought;
\forcelinebreak Hearts of all sizes; gay, fond, gushing, or penned,
\forcelinebreak Various in thought
\forcelinebreak Of lover, rival, friend;
\forcelinebreak Links in a one-pulsed chain, all showing one smile,
\forcelinebreak Yet severed so many a mile!

\section{THE FIVE STUDENTS}


The sparrow dips in his wheel-rut bath,
\forcelinebreak The sun grows passionate-eyed,
\forcelinebreak And boils the dew to smoke by the paddock-path;
\forcelinebreak As strenuously we stride, -
\forcelinebreak Five of us; dark He, fair He, dark She, fair She, I,
\forcelinebreak All beating by.


The air is shaken, the high-road hot,
\forcelinebreak Shadowless swoons the day,
\forcelinebreak The greens are sobered and cattle at rest; but not
\forcelinebreak We on our urgent way, -
\forcelinebreak Four of us; fair She, dark She, fair He, I, are there,
\forcelinebreak But one — elsewhere.


Autumn moulds the hard fruit mellow,
\forcelinebreak And forward still we press
\forcelinebreak Through moors, briar-meshed plantations, clay-pits yellow,
\forcelinebreak As in the spring hours — yes,
\forcelinebreak Three of us: fair He, fair She, I, as heretofore,
\forcelinebreak But — fallen one more.


The leaf drops: earthworms draw it in
\forcelinebreak At night-time noiselessly,
\forcelinebreak The fingers of birch and beech are skeleton-thin,
\forcelinebreak And yet on the beat are we, -
\forcelinebreak Two of us; fair She, I. But no more left to go
\forcelinebreak The track we know.


Icicles tag the church-aisle leads,
\forcelinebreak The flag-rope gibbers hoarse,
\forcelinebreak The home-bound foot-folk wrap their snow-flaked heads,
\forcelinebreak Yet I still stalk the course, -
\forcelinebreak One of us . . . Dark and fair He, dark and fair She, gone:
\forcelinebreak The rest — anon.

\section{THE WIND’S PROPHECY}


I travel on by barren farms,
\forcelinebreak And gulls glint out like silver flecks
\forcelinebreak Against a cloud that speaks of wrecks,
\forcelinebreak And bellies down with black alarms.
\forcelinebreak I say: “Thus from my lady’s arms
\forcelinebreak I go; those arms I love the best!”
\forcelinebreak The wind replies from dip and rise,
\forcelinebreak “Nay; toward her arms thou journeyest.”


A distant verge morosely gray
\forcelinebreak Appears, while clots of flying foam
\forcelinebreak Break from its muddy monochrome,
\forcelinebreak And a light blinks up far away.
\forcelinebreak I sigh: “My eyes now as all day
\forcelinebreak Behold her ebon loops of hair!”
\forcelinebreak Like bursting bonds the wind responds,
\forcelinebreak “Nay, wait for tresses flashing fair!”


From tides the lofty coastlands screen
\forcelinebreak Come smitings like the slam of doors,
\forcelinebreak Or hammerings on hollow floors,
\forcelinebreak As the swell cleaves through caves unseen.
\forcelinebreak Say I: “Though broad this wild terrene,
\forcelinebreak Her city home is matched of none!”
\forcelinebreak From the hoarse skies the wind replies:
\forcelinebreak “Thou shouldst have said her sea-bord one.”


The all-prevailing clouds exclude
\forcelinebreak The one quick timorous transient star;
\forcelinebreak The waves outside where breakers are
\forcelinebreak Huzza like a mad multitude.
\forcelinebreak “Where the sun ups it, mist-imbued,”
\forcelinebreak I cry, “there reigns the star for me!”
\forcelinebreak The wind outshrieks from points and peaks:
\forcelinebreak “Here, westward, where it downs, mean ye!”


Yonder the headland, vulturine,
\forcelinebreak Snores like old Skrymer in his sleep,
\forcelinebreak And every chasm and every steep
\forcelinebreak Blackens as wakes each pharos-shine.
\forcelinebreak “I roam, but one is safely mine,”
\forcelinebreak I say. “God grant she stay my own!”
\forcelinebreak Low laughs the wind as if it grinned:
\forcelinebreak “Thy Love is one thou’st not yet known.”


Rewritten from an old copy.

\section{DURING WIND AND RAIN}


They sing their dearest songs -
\forcelinebreak He, she, all of them — yea,
\forcelinebreak Treble and tenor and bass,
\forcelinebreak And one to play;
\forcelinebreak With the candles mooning each face . . .
\forcelinebreak Ah, no; the years O!
\forcelinebreak How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!


They clear the creeping moss -
\forcelinebreak Elders and juniors — aye,
\forcelinebreak Making the pathways neat
\forcelinebreak And the garden gay;
\forcelinebreak And they build a shady seat . . .
\forcelinebreak Ah, no; the years, the years;
\forcelinebreak See, the white storm-birds wing across!


They are blithely breakfasting all -
\forcelinebreak Men and maidens — yea,
\forcelinebreak Under the summer tree,
\forcelinebreak With a glimpse of the bay,
\forcelinebreak While pet fowl come to the knee . . .
\forcelinebreak Ah, no; the years O!
\forcelinebreak And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.


They change to a high new house,
\forcelinebreak He, she, all of them — aye,
\forcelinebreak Clocks and carpets and chairs
\forcelinebreak On the lawn all day,
\forcelinebreak And brightest things that are theirs . . .
\forcelinebreak Ah, no; the years, the years;
\forcelinebreak Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.

\section{HE PREFERS HER EARTHLY}


This after-sunset is a sight for seeing,
\forcelinebreak Cliff-heads of craggy cloud surrounding it.
\forcelinebreak — And dwell you in that glory-show?
\forcelinebreak You may; for there are strange strange things in being,
\forcelinebreak Stranger than I know.


Yet if that chasm of splendour claim your presence
\forcelinebreak Which glows between the ash cloud and the dun,
\forcelinebreak How changed must be your mortal mould!
\forcelinebreak Changed to a firmament-riding earthless essence
\forcelinebreak From what you were of old:


All too unlike the fond and fragile creature
\forcelinebreak Then known to me . . . Well, shall I say it plain?
\forcelinebreak I would not have you thus and there,
\forcelinebreak But still would grieve on, missing you, still feature
\forcelinebreak You as the one you were.

\section{THE DOLLS}


“Whenever you dress me dolls, mammy,
\forcelinebreak Why do you dress them so,
\forcelinebreak And make them gallant soldiers,
\forcelinebreak When never a one I know;
\forcelinebreak And not as gentle ladies
\forcelinebreak With frills and frocks and curls,
\forcelinebreak As people dress the dollies
\forcelinebreak Of other little girls?”


Ah — why did she not answer:-
\forcelinebreak ”Because your mammy’s heed
\forcelinebreak Is always gallant soldiers,
\forcelinebreak As well may be, indeed.
\forcelinebreak One of them was your daddy,
\forcelinebreak His name I must not tell;
\forcelinebreak He’s not the dad who lives here,
\forcelinebreak But one I love too well.”

\section{MOLLY GONE}


No more summer for Molly and me;
\forcelinebreak There is snow on the tree,
\forcelinebreak And the blackbirds plump large as the rooks are, almost,
\forcelinebreak And the water is hard
\forcelinebreak Where they used to dip bills at the dawn ere her figure was lost
\forcelinebreak To these coasts, now my prison close-barred.


No more planting by Molly and me
\forcelinebreak Where the beds used to be
\forcelinebreak Of sweet-william; no training the clambering rose
\forcelinebreak By the framework of fir
\forcelinebreak Now bowering the pathway, whereon it swings gaily and blows
\forcelinebreak As if calling commendment from her.


No more jauntings by Molly and me
\forcelinebreak To the town by the sea,
\forcelinebreak Or along over Whitesheet to Wynyard’s green Gap,
\forcelinebreak Catching Montacute Crest
\forcelinebreak To the right against Sedgmoor, and Corton-Hill’s far-distant cap,
\forcelinebreak And Pilsdon and Lewsdon to west.


No more singing by Molly to me
\forcelinebreak In the evenings when she
\forcelinebreak Was in mood and in voice, and the candles were lit,
\forcelinebreak And past the porch-quoin
\forcelinebreak The rays would spring out on the laurels; and dumbledores hit
\forcelinebreak On the pane, as if wishing to join.


Where, then, is Molly, who’s no more with me?
\forcelinebreak — As I stand on this lea,
\forcelinebreak Thinking thus, there’s a many-flamed star in the air,
\forcelinebreak That tosses a sign
\forcelinebreak That her glance is regarding its face from her home, so that there
\forcelinebreak Her eyes may have meetings with mine.

\section{A BACKWARD SPRING}


The trees are afraid to put forth buds,
\forcelinebreak And there is timidity in the grass;
\forcelinebreak The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds,
\forcelinebreak And whether next week will pass
\forcelinebreak Free of sly sour winds is the fret of each bush
\forcelinebreak Of barberry waiting to bloom.


Yet the snowdrop’s face betrays no gloom,
\forcelinebreak And the primrose pants in its heedless push,
\forcelinebreak Though the myrtle asks if it’s worth the fight
\forcelinebreak This year with frost and rime
\forcelinebreak To venture one more time
\forcelinebreak On delicate leaves and buttons of white
\forcelinebreak From the selfsame bough as at last year’s prime,
\forcelinebreak And never to ruminate on or remember
\forcelinebreak What happened to it in mid-December.


April 1917.

\section{LOOKING ACROSS}

\subsection{I}


It is dark in the sky,
\forcelinebreak And silence is where
\forcelinebreak Our laughs rang high;
\forcelinebreak And recall do I
\forcelinebreak That One is out there.

\subsection{II}


The dawn is not nigh,
\forcelinebreak And the trees are bare,
\forcelinebreak And the waterways sigh
\forcelinebreak That a year has drawn by,
\forcelinebreak And Two are out there.

\subsection{III}


The wind drops to die
\forcelinebreak Like the phantom of Care
\forcelinebreak Too frail for a cry,
\forcelinebreak And heart brings to eye
\forcelinebreak That Three are out there.

\subsection{IV}


This Life runs dry
\forcelinebreak That once ran rare
\forcelinebreak And rosy in dye,
\forcelinebreak And fleet the days fly,
\forcelinebreak And Four are out there.

\subsection{V}


Tired, tired am I
\forcelinebreak Of this earthly air,
\forcelinebreak And my wraith asks: Why,
\forcelinebreak Since these calm lie,
\forcelinebreak Are not Five out there?


December 1915.

\section{AT A SEASIDE TOWN IN 1869}


(Young Lover’s Reverie)


I went and stood outside myself,
\forcelinebreak Spelled the dark sky
\forcelinebreak And ship-lights nigh,
\forcelinebreak And grumbling winds that passed thereby.


Then next inside myself I looked,
\forcelinebreak And there, above
\forcelinebreak All, shone my Love,
\forcelinebreak That nothing matched the image of.


Beyond myself again I ranged;
\forcelinebreak And saw the free
\forcelinebreak Life by the sea,
\forcelinebreak And folk indifferent to me.


O ‘twas a charm to draw within
\forcelinebreak Thereafter, where
\forcelinebreak But she was; care
\forcelinebreak For one thing only, her hid there!


But so it chanced, without myself
\forcelinebreak I had to look,
\forcelinebreak And then I took
\forcelinebreak More heed of what I had long forsook:


The boats, the sands, the esplanade,
\forcelinebreak The laughing crowd;
\forcelinebreak Light-hearted, loud
\forcelinebreak Greetings from some not ill-endowed;


The evening sunlit cliffs, the talk,
\forcelinebreak Hailings and halts,
\forcelinebreak The keen sea-salts,
\forcelinebreak The band, the Morgenblatter Waltz.


Still, when at night I drew inside
\forcelinebreak Forward she came,
\forcelinebreak Sad, but the same
\forcelinebreak As when I first had known her name.


Then rose a time when, as by force,
\forcelinebreak Outwardly wooed
\forcelinebreak By contacts crude,
\forcelinebreak Her image in abeyance stood . . .


At last I said: This outside life
\forcelinebreak Shall not endure;
\forcelinebreak I’ll seek the pure
\forcelinebreak Thought-world, and bask in her allure.


Myself again I crept within,
\forcelinebreak Scanned with keen care
\forcelinebreak The temple where
\forcelinebreak She’d shone, but could not find her there.


I sought and sought. But O her soul
\forcelinebreak Has not since thrown
\forcelinebreak Upon my own
\forcelinebreak One beam! Yea, she is gone, is gone.


From an old note.

\section{THE GLIMPSE}


She sped through the door
\forcelinebreak And, following in haste,
\forcelinebreak And stirred to the core,
\forcelinebreak I entered hot-faced;
\forcelinebreak But I could not find her,
\forcelinebreak No sign was behind her.
\forcelinebreak “Where is she?” I said:
\forcelinebreak  - “Who?” they asked that sat there;
\forcelinebreak “Not a soul’s come in sight.”
\forcelinebreak  - “A maid with red hair.”
\forcelinebreak  - “Ah.” They paled. “She is dead.
\forcelinebreak People see her at night,
\forcelinebreak But you are the first
\forcelinebreak On whom she has burst
\forcelinebreak In the keen common light.”


It was ages ago,
\forcelinebreak When I was quite strong:
\forcelinebreak I have waited since, — O,
\forcelinebreak I have waited so long!
\forcelinebreak  - Yea, I set me to own
\forcelinebreak The house, where now lone
\forcelinebreak I dwell in void rooms
\forcelinebreak Booming hollow as tombs!
\forcelinebreak But I never come near her,
\forcelinebreak Though nightly I hear her.
\forcelinebreak And my cheek has grown thin
\forcelinebreak And my hair has grown gray
\forcelinebreak With this waiting therein;
\forcelinebreak But she still keeps away!

\section{THE PEDESTRIAN AN INCIDENT OF 1883}


“Sir, will you let me give you a ride?
\forcelinebreak Nox Venit, and the heath is wide.”
\forcelinebreak  - My phaeton-lantern shone on one
\forcelinebreak Young, fair, even fresh,
\forcelinebreak But burdened with flesh:
\forcelinebreak A leathern satchel at his side,
\forcelinebreak His breathings short, his coat undone.


‘Twas as if his corpulent figure slopped
\forcelinebreak With the shake of his walking when he stopped,
\forcelinebreak And, though the night’s pinch grew acute,
\forcelinebreak He wore but a thin
\forcelinebreak Wind-thridded suit,
\forcelinebreak Yet well-shaped shoes for walking in,
\forcelinebreak Artistic beaver, cane gold-topped.


“Alas, my friend,” he said with a smile,
\forcelinebreak “I am daily bound to foot ten mile -
\forcelinebreak Wet, dry, or dark — before I rest.
\forcelinebreak Six months to live
\forcelinebreak My doctors give
\forcelinebreak Me as my prospect here, at best,
\forcelinebreak Unless I vamp my sturdiest!”


His voice was that of a man refined,
\forcelinebreak A man, one well could feel, of mind,
\forcelinebreak Quite winning in its musical ease;
\forcelinebreak But in mould maligned
\forcelinebreak By some disease;
\forcelinebreak And I asked again. But he shook his head;
\forcelinebreak Then, as if more were due, he said:-


“A student was I — of Schopenhauer,
\forcelinebreak Kant, Hegel, — and the fountained bower
\forcelinebreak Of the Muses, too, knew my regard:
\forcelinebreak But ah — I fear me
\forcelinebreak The grave gapes near me! . . .
\forcelinebreak Would I could this gross sheath discard,
\forcelinebreak And rise an ethereal shape, unmarred!”


How I remember him! — his short breath,
\forcelinebreak His aspect, marked for early death,
\forcelinebreak As he dropped into the night for ever;
\forcelinebreak One caught in his prime
\forcelinebreak Of high endeavour;
\forcelinebreak From all philosophies soon to sever
\forcelinebreak Through an unconscienced trick of Time!

\section{WHO’S IN THE NEXT ROOM?}


”Who’s in the next room? — who?
\forcelinebreak I seemed to see
\forcelinebreak Somebody in the dawning passing through,
\forcelinebreak Unknown to me.”
\forcelinebreak “Nay: you saw nought. He passed invisibly.”


”Who’s in the next room? — who?
\forcelinebreak I seem to hear
\forcelinebreak Somebody muttering firm in a language new
\forcelinebreak That chills the ear.”
\forcelinebreak “No: you catch not his tongue who has entered there.”


”Who’s in the next room? — who?
\forcelinebreak I seem to feel
\forcelinebreak His breath like a clammy draught, as if it drew
\forcelinebreak From the Polar Wheel.”
\forcelinebreak “No: none who breathes at all does the door conceal.”


”Who’s in the next room? — who?
\forcelinebreak A figure wan
\forcelinebreak With a message to one in there of something due?
\forcelinebreak Shall I know him anon?”
\forcelinebreak “Yea he; and he brought such; and you’ll know him anon.”

\section{AT A COUNTRY FAIR}


At a bygone Western country fair
\forcelinebreak I saw a giant led by a dwarf
\forcelinebreak With a red string like a long thin scarf;
\forcelinebreak How much he was the stronger there
\forcelinebreak The giant seemed unaware.


And then I saw that the giant was blind,
\forcelinebreak And the dwarf a shrewd-eyed little thing;
\forcelinebreak The giant, mild, timid, obeyed the string
\forcelinebreak As if he had no independent mind,
\forcelinebreak Or will of any kind.


Wherever the dwarf decided to go
\forcelinebreak At his heels the other trotted meekly,
\forcelinebreak (Perhaps — I know not — reproaching weakly)
\forcelinebreak Like one Fate bade that it must be so,
\forcelinebreak Whether he wished or no.


Various sights in various climes
\forcelinebreak I have seen, and more I may see yet,
\forcelinebreak But that sight never shall I forget,
\forcelinebreak And have thought it the sorriest of pantomimes,
\forcelinebreak If once, a hundred times!

\section{THE MEMORIAL BRASS: 186-}


”Why do you weep there, O sweet lady,
\forcelinebreak Why do you weep before that brass? -
\forcelinebreak (I’m a mere student sketching the mediaeval)
\forcelinebreak Is some late death lined there, alas? -
\forcelinebreak Your father’s? . . . Well, all pay the debt that paid he!”


”Young man, O must I tell! — My husband’s! And under
\forcelinebreak His name I set mine, and my DEATH! -
\forcelinebreak Its date left vacant till my heirs should fill it,
\forcelinebreak Stating me faithful till my last breath.”
\forcelinebreak  - “Madam, that you are a widow wakes my wonder!”


”O wait! For last month I — remarried!
\forcelinebreak And now I fear ‘twas a deed amiss.
\forcelinebreak We’ve just come home. And I am sick and saddened
\forcelinebreak At what the new one will say to this;
\forcelinebreak And will he think — think that I should have tarried?


”I may add, surely, — with no wish to harm him -
\forcelinebreak That he’s a temper — yes, I fear!
\forcelinebreak And when he comes to church next Sunday morning,
\forcelinebreak And sees that written . . . O dear, O dear!
\forcelinebreak  - “Madam, I swear your beauty will disarm him!”

\section{HER LOVE-BIRDS}


When I looked up at my love-birds
\forcelinebreak That Sunday afternoon,
\forcelinebreak There was in their tiny tune
\forcelinebreak A dying fetch like broken words,
\forcelinebreak When I looked up at my love-birds
\forcelinebreak That Sunday afternoon.


When he, too, scanned the love-birds
\forcelinebreak On entering there that day,
\forcelinebreak ’Twas as if he had nought to say
\forcelinebreak Of his long journey citywards,
\forcelinebreak When he, too, scanned the love-birds,
\forcelinebreak On entering there that day.


And billed and billed the love-birds,
\forcelinebreak As ‘twere in fond despair
\forcelinebreak At the stress of silence where
\forcelinebreak Had once been tones in tenor thirds,
\forcelinebreak And billed and billed the love-birds
\forcelinebreak As ‘twere in fond despair.


O, his speech that chilled the love-birds,
\forcelinebreak And smote like death on me,
\forcelinebreak As I learnt what was to be,
\forcelinebreak And knew my life was broke in sherds!
\forcelinebreak O, his speech that chilled the love-birds,
\forcelinebreak And smote like death on me!

\section{PAYING CALLS}


I went by footpath and by stile
\forcelinebreak Beyond where bustle ends,
\forcelinebreak Strayed here a mile and there a mile
\forcelinebreak And called upon some friends.


On certain ones I had not seen
\forcelinebreak For years past did I call,
\forcelinebreak And then on others who had been
\forcelinebreak The oldest friends of all.


It was the time of midsummer
\forcelinebreak When they had used to roam;
\forcelinebreak But now, though tempting was the air,
\forcelinebreak I found them all at home.


I spoke to one and other of them
\forcelinebreak By mound and stone and tree
\forcelinebreak Of things we had done ere days were dim,
\forcelinebreak But they spoke not to me.

\section{THE UPPER BIRCH-LEAVES}


Warm yellowy-green
\forcelinebreak In the blue serene,
\forcelinebreak How they skip and sway
\forcelinebreak On this autumn day!
\forcelinebreak They cannot know
\forcelinebreak What has happened below, -
\forcelinebreak That their boughs down there
\forcelinebreak Are already quite bare,
\forcelinebreak That their own will be
\forcelinebreak When a week has passed, -
\forcelinebreak For they jig as in glee
\forcelinebreak To this very last.


But no; there lies
\forcelinebreak At times in their tune
\forcelinebreak A note that cries
\forcelinebreak What at first I fear
\forcelinebreak I did not hear:
\forcelinebreak “O we remember
\forcelinebreak At each wind’s hollo -
\forcelinebreak Though life holds yet -
\forcelinebreak We go hence soon,
\forcelinebreak For ‘tis November;
\forcelinebreak  - But that you follow
\forcelinebreak You may forget!”

\section{IT NEVER LOOKS LIKE SUMMER}


“It never looks like summer here
\forcelinebreak On Beeny by the sea.”
\forcelinebreak But though she saw its look as drear,
\forcelinebreak Summer it seemed to me.


It never looks like summer now
\forcelinebreak Whatever weather’s there;
\forcelinebreak But ah, it cannot anyhow,
\forcelinebreak On Beeny or elsewhere!


BOSCASTLE,
\forcelinebreak March 8, 1913.

\section{EVERYTHING COMES}


“The house is bleak and cold
\forcelinebreak Built so new for me!
\forcelinebreak All the winds upon the wold
\forcelinebreak Search it through for me;
\forcelinebreak No screening trees abound,
\forcelinebreak And the curious eyes around
\forcelinebreak Keep on view for me.”


“My Love, I am planting trees
\forcelinebreak As a screen for you
\forcelinebreak Both from winds, and eyes that tease
\forcelinebreak And peer in for you.
\forcelinebreak Only wait till they have grown,
\forcelinebreak No such bower will be known
\forcelinebreak As I mean for you.”


“Then I will bear it, Love,
\forcelinebreak And will wait,” she said.
\forcelinebreak  - So, with years, there grew a grove.
\forcelinebreak ”Skill how great!” she said.
\forcelinebreak “As you wished, Dear?” — ”Yes, I see!
\forcelinebreak But — I’m dying; and for me
\forcelinebreak ’Tis too late,” she said.

\section{THE MAN WITH A PAST}


There was merry-making
\forcelinebreak When the first dart fell
\forcelinebreak As a heralding, -
\forcelinebreak Till grinned the fully bared thing,
\forcelinebreak And froze like a spell -
\forcelinebreak Like a spell.


Innocent was she,
\forcelinebreak Innocent was I,
\forcelinebreak Too simple we!
\forcelinebreak Before us we did not see,
\forcelinebreak Nearing, aught wry -
\forcelinebreak Aught wry!


I can tell it not now,
\forcelinebreak It was long ago;
\forcelinebreak And such things cow;
\forcelinebreak But that is why and how
\forcelinebreak Two lives were so -
\forcelinebreak Were so.


Yes, the years matured,
\forcelinebreak And the blows were three
\forcelinebreak That time ensured
\forcelinebreak On her, which she dumbly endured;
\forcelinebreak And one on me -
\forcelinebreak One on me.

\section{HE FEARS HIS GOOD FORTUNE}


There was a glorious time
\forcelinebreak At an epoch of my prime;
\forcelinebreak Mornings beryl-bespread,
\forcelinebreak And evenings golden-red;
\forcelinebreak Nothing gray:
\forcelinebreak And in my heart I said,
\forcelinebreak “However this chanced to be,
\forcelinebreak It is too full for me,
\forcelinebreak Too rare, too rapturous, rash,
\forcelinebreak Its spell must close with a crash
\forcelinebreak Some day!”


The radiance went on
\forcelinebreak Anon and yet anon,
\forcelinebreak And sweetness fell around
\forcelinebreak Like manna on the ground.
\forcelinebreak ”I’ve no claim,”
\forcelinebreak Said I, “to be thus crowned:
\forcelinebreak I am not worthy this:-
\forcelinebreak Must it not go amiss? -
\forcelinebreak Well . . . let the end foreseen
\forcelinebreak Come duly! — I am serene.”
\forcelinebreak — And it came.

\section{HE WONDERS ABOUT HIMSELF}


No use hoping, or feeling vext,
\forcelinebreak Tugged by a force above or under
\forcelinebreak Like some fantocine, much I wonder
\forcelinebreak What I shall find me doing next!


Shall I be rushing where bright eyes be?
\forcelinebreak Shall I be suffering sorrows seven?
\forcelinebreak Shall I be watching the stars of heaven,
\forcelinebreak Thinking one of them looks like thee?


Part is mine of the general Will, Cannot my share in the sum of sources Bend a digit the poise of forces, And a fair desire fulfil?


Nov. 1893.

\section{JUBILATE}


“The very last time I ever was here,” he said,
\forcelinebreak “I saw much less of the quick than I saw of the dead.”
\forcelinebreak  - He was a man I had met with somewhere before,
\forcelinebreak But how or when I now could recall no more.


“The hazy mazy moonlight at one in the morning
\forcelinebreak Spread out as a sea across the frozen snow,
\forcelinebreak Glazed to live sparkles like the great breastplate adorning
\forcelinebreak The priest of the Temple, with Urim and Thummim aglow.


“The yew-tree arms, glued hard to the stiff stark air,
\forcelinebreak Hung still in the village sky as theatre-scenes
\forcelinebreak When I came by the churchyard wall, and halted there
\forcelinebreak At a shut-in sound of fiddles and tambourines.


“And as I stood hearkening, dulcimers, haut-boys, and shawms,
\forcelinebreak And violoncellos, and a three-stringed double-bass,
\forcelinebreak Joined in, and were intermixed with a singing of psalms;
\forcelinebreak And I looked over at the dead men’s dwelling-place.


“Through the shine of the slippery snow I now could see,
\forcelinebreak As it were through a crystal roof, a great company
\forcelinebreak Of the dead minueting in stately step underground
\forcelinebreak To the tune of the instruments I had before heard sound.


“It was ‘Eden New,’ and dancing they sang in a chore,
\forcelinebreak ‘We are out of it all! — yea, in Little-Ease cramped no more!’
\forcelinebreak And their shrouded figures pacing with joy I could see
\forcelinebreak As you see the stage from the gallery. And they had no heed of me.


“And I lifted my head quite dazed from the churchyard wall
\forcelinebreak And I doubted not that it warned I should soon have my call.
\forcelinebreak But — ” . . . Then in the ashes he emptied the dregs of his cup,
\forcelinebreak And onward he went, and the darkness swallowed him up.

\section{HE REVISITS HIS FIRST SCHOOL}


I should not have shown in the flesh,
\forcelinebreak I ought to have gone as a ghost;
\forcelinebreak It was awkward, unseemly almost,
\forcelinebreak Standing solidly there as when fresh,
\forcelinebreak Pink, tiny, crisp-curled,
\forcelinebreak My pinions yet furled
\forcelinebreak From the winds of the world.


After waiting so many a year
\forcelinebreak To wait longer, and go as a sprite
\forcelinebreak From the tomb at the mid of some night
\forcelinebreak Was the right, radiant way to appear;
\forcelinebreak Not as one wanzing weak
\forcelinebreak From life’s roar and reek,
\forcelinebreak His rest still to seek:


Yea, beglimpsed through the quaint quarried glass
\forcelinebreak Of green moonlight, by me greener made,
\forcelinebreak When they’d cry, perhaps, “There sits his shade
\forcelinebreak In his olden haunt — just as he was
\forcelinebreak When in Walkingame he
\forcelinebreak Conned the grand Rule-of-Three
\forcelinebreak With the bent of a bee.”


But to show in the afternoon sun,
\forcelinebreak With an aspect of hollow-eyed care,
\forcelinebreak When none wished to see me come there,
\forcelinebreak Was a garish thing, better undone.
\forcelinebreak Yes; wrong was the way;
\forcelinebreak But yet, let me say,
\forcelinebreak I may right it — some day.

\section{I THOUGHT, MY HEART}


I thought, my Heart, that you had healed
\forcelinebreak Of those sore smartings of the past,
\forcelinebreak And that the summers had oversealed
\forcelinebreak All mark of them at last.
\forcelinebreak But closely scanning in the night
\forcelinebreak I saw them standing crimson-bright
\forcelinebreak Just as she made them:
\forcelinebreak Nothing could fade them;
\forcelinebreak Yea, I can swear
\forcelinebreak That there they were -
\forcelinebreak They still were there!


Then the Vision of her who cut them came,
\forcelinebreak And looking over my shoulder said,
\forcelinebreak “I am sure you deal me all the blame
\forcelinebreak For those sharp smarts and red;
\forcelinebreak But meet me, dearest, to-morrow night,
\forcelinebreak In the churchyard at the moon’s half-height,
\forcelinebreak And so strange a kiss
\forcelinebreak Shall be mine, I wis,
\forcelinebreak That you’ll cease to know
\forcelinebreak If the wounds you show
\forcelinebreak Be there or no!”

\section{FRAGMENT}


At last I entered a long dark gallery,
\forcelinebreak Catacomb-lined; and ranged at the side
\forcelinebreak Were the bodies of men from far and wide
\forcelinebreak Who, motion past, were nevertheless not dead.


“The sense of waiting here strikes strong;
\forcelinebreak Everyone’s waiting, waiting, it seems to me;
\forcelinebreak What are you waiting for so long? -
\forcelinebreak What is to happen?” I said.


“O we are waiting for one called God,” said they,
\forcelinebreak ”(Though by some the Will, or Force, or Laws;
\forcelinebreak And, vaguely, by some, the Ultimate Cause;)
\forcelinebreak Waiting for him to see us before we are clay.
\forcelinebreak Yes; waiting, waiting, for God TO KNOW IT” . . .


”To know what?” questioned I.
\forcelinebreak “To know how things have been going on earth and below it:
\forcelinebreak It is clear he must know some day.”
\forcelinebreak I thereon asked them why.


“Since he made us humble pioneers
\forcelinebreak Of himself in consciousness of Life’s tears,
\forcelinebreak It needs no mighty prophecy
\forcelinebreak To tell that what he could mindlessly show
\forcelinebreak His creatures, he himself will know.


“By some still close-cowled mystery
\forcelinebreak We have reached feeling faster than he,
\forcelinebreak But he will overtake us anon,
\forcelinebreak If the world goes on.”

\section{MIDNIGHT ON THE GREAT WESTERN}


In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy,
\forcelinebreak And the roof-lamp’s oily flame
\forcelinebreak Played down on his listless form and face,
\forcelinebreak Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going,
\forcelinebreak Or whence he came.


In the band of his hat the journeying boy
\forcelinebreak Had a ticket stuck; and a string
\forcelinebreak Around his neck bore the key of his box,
\forcelinebreak That twinkled gleams of the lamp’s sad beams
\forcelinebreak Like a living thing.


What past can be yours, O journeying boy
\forcelinebreak Towards a world unknown,
\forcelinebreak Who calmly, as if incurious quite
\forcelinebreak On all at stake, can undertake
\forcelinebreak This plunge alone?


Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy,
\forcelinebreak Our rude realms far above,
\forcelinebreak Whence with spacious vision you mark and mete
\forcelinebreak This region of sin that you find you in,
\forcelinebreak But are not of?

\section{HONEYMOON TIME AT AN INN}


At the shiver of morning, a little before the false dawn,
\forcelinebreak The moon was at the window-square,
\forcelinebreak Deedily brooding in deformed decay -
\forcelinebreak The curve hewn off her cheek as by an adze;
\forcelinebreak At the shiver of morning a little before the false dawn
\forcelinebreak So the moon looked in there.


Her speechless eyeing reached across the chamber,
\forcelinebreak Where lay two souls opprest,
\forcelinebreak One a white lady sighing, “Why am I sad!”
\forcelinebreak To him who sighed back, “Sad, my Love, am I!”
\forcelinebreak And speechlessly the old moon conned the chamber,
\forcelinebreak And these two reft of rest.


While their large-pupilled vision swept the scene there,
\forcelinebreak Nought seeming imminent,
\forcelinebreak Something fell sheer, and crashed, and from the floor
\forcelinebreak Lay glittering at the pair with a shattered gaze,
\forcelinebreak While their large-pupilled vision swept the scene there,
\forcelinebreak And the many-eyed thing outleant.


With a start they saw that it was an old-time pier-glass
\forcelinebreak Which had stood on the mantel near,
\forcelinebreak Its silvering blemished, — yes, as if worn away
\forcelinebreak By the eyes of the countless dead who had smirked at it
\forcelinebreak Ere these two ever knew that old-time pier-glass
\forcelinebreak And its vague and vacant leer.


As he looked, his bride like a moth skimmed forth, and kneeling
\forcelinebreak Quick, with quivering sighs,
\forcelinebreak Gathered the pieces under the moon’s sly ray,
\forcelinebreak Unwitting as an automaton what she did;
\forcelinebreak Till he entreated, hasting to where she was kneeling,
\forcelinebreak Let it stay where it lies!”


“Long years of sorrow this means!” breathed the lady
\forcelinebreak As they retired. “Alas!”
\forcelinebreak And she lifted one pale hand across her eyes.
\forcelinebreak ”Don’t trouble, Love; it’s nothing,” the bridegroom said.
\forcelinebreak “Long years of sorrow for us!” murmured the lady,
\forcelinebreak ”Or ever this evil pass!”


And the Spirits Ironic laughed behind the wainscot,
\forcelinebreak And the Spirits of Pity sighed.
\forcelinebreak It’s good,” said the Spirits Ironic, “to tickle their minds
\forcelinebreak With a portent of their wedlock’s after-grinds.”
\forcelinebreak And the Spirits of Pity sighed behind the wainscot,
\forcelinebreak ”It’s a portent we cannot abide!


“More, what shall happen to prove the truth of the portent?”
\forcelinebreak — ”Oh; in brief, they will fade till old,
\forcelinebreak And their loves grow numbed ere death, by the cark of care.”
\forcelinebreak  - “But nought see we that asks for portents there? -
\forcelinebreak ‘Tis the lot of all.” — ”Well, no less true is a portent
\forcelinebreak That it fits all mortal mould.”

\section{THE ROBIN}


When up aloft
\forcelinebreak I fly and fly,
\forcelinebreak I see in pools
\forcelinebreak The shining sky,
\forcelinebreak And a happy bird
\forcelinebreak Am I, am I!


When I descend
\forcelinebreak Towards their brink
\forcelinebreak I stand, and look,
\forcelinebreak And stoop, and drink,
\forcelinebreak And bathe my wings,
\forcelinebreak And chink and prink.


When winter frost
\forcelinebreak Makes earth as steel
\forcelinebreak I search and search
\forcelinebreak But find no meal,
\forcelinebreak And most unhappy
\forcelinebreak Then I feel.


But when it lasts,
\forcelinebreak And snows still fall,
\forcelinebreak I get to feel
\forcelinebreak No grief at all,
\forcelinebreak For I turn to a cold stiff
\forcelinebreak Feathery ball!

\section{I ROSE AND WENT TO ROU’TOR TOWN}


(She, alone)


I rose and went to Rou’tor Town
\forcelinebreak With gaiety and good heart,
\forcelinebreak And ardour for the start,
\forcelinebreak That morning ere the moon was down
\forcelinebreak That lit me off to Rou’tor Town
\forcelinebreak With gaiety and good heart.


When sojourn soon at Rou’tor Town
\forcelinebreak Wrote sorrows on my face,
\forcelinebreak I strove that none should trace
\forcelinebreak The pale and gray, once pink and brown,
\forcelinebreak When sojourn soon at Rou’tor Town
\forcelinebreak Wrote sorrows on my face.


The evil wrought at Rou’tor Town
\forcelinebreak On him I’d loved so true
\forcelinebreak I cannot tell anew:
\forcelinebreak But nought can quench, but nought can drown
\forcelinebreak The evil wrought at Rou’tor Town
\forcelinebreak On him I’d loved so true!

\section{THE NETTLES}


This, then, is the grave of my son,
\forcelinebreak Whose heart she won! And nettles grow
\forcelinebreak Upon his mound; and she lives just below.


How he upbraided me, and left,
\forcelinebreak And our lives were cleft, because I said
\forcelinebreak She was hard, unfeeling, caring but to wed.


Well, to see this sight I have fared these miles,
\forcelinebreak And her firelight smiles from her window there,
\forcelinebreak Whom he left his mother to cherish with tender care!


It is enough. I’ll turn and go;
\forcelinebreak Yes, nettles grow where lone lies he,
\forcelinebreak Who spurned me for seeing what he could not see.

\section{IN A WAITING-ROOM}


On a morning sick as the day of doom
\forcelinebreak With the drizzling gray
\forcelinebreak Of an English May,
\forcelinebreak There were few in the railway waiting-room.
\forcelinebreak About its walls were framed and varnished
\forcelinebreak Pictures of liners, fly-blown, tarnished.
\forcelinebreak The table bore a Testament
\forcelinebreak For travellers’ reading, if suchwise bent.


I read it on and on,
\forcelinebreak And, thronging the Gospel of Saint John,
\forcelinebreak Were figures — additions, multiplications -
\forcelinebreak By some one scrawled, with sundry emendations;
\forcelinebreak Not scoffingly designed,
\forcelinebreak But with an absent mind, -
\forcelinebreak Plainly a bagman’s counts of cost,
\forcelinebreak What he had profited, what lost;
\forcelinebreak And whilst I wondered if there could have been
\forcelinebreak Any particle of a soul
\forcelinebreak In that poor man at all,


To cypher rates of wage
\forcelinebreak Upon that printed page,
\forcelinebreak There joined in the charmless scene
\forcelinebreak And stood over me and the scribbled book
\forcelinebreak (To lend the hour’s mean hue
\forcelinebreak A smear of tragedy too)
\forcelinebreak A soldier and wife, with haggard look
\forcelinebreak Subdued to stone by strong endeavour;
\forcelinebreak And then I heard
\forcelinebreak From a casual word
\forcelinebreak They were parting as they believed for ever.


But next there came
\forcelinebreak Like the eastern flame
\forcelinebreak Of some high altar, children — a pair -
\forcelinebreak Who laughed at the fly-blown pictures there.
\forcelinebreak “Here are the lovely ships that we,
\forcelinebreak Mother, are by and by going to see!
\forcelinebreak When we get there it’s ‘most sure to be fine,
\forcelinebreak And the band will play, and the sun will shine!”


It rained on the skylight with a din
\forcelinebreak As we waited and still no train came in;
\forcelinebreak But the words of the child in the squalid room
\forcelinebreak Had spread a glory through the gloom.

\section{THE CLOCK-WINDER}


It is dark as a cave,
\forcelinebreak Or a vault in the nave
\forcelinebreak When the iron door
\forcelinebreak Is closed, and the floor
\forcelinebreak Of the church relaid
\forcelinebreak With trowel and spade.


But the parish-clerk
\forcelinebreak Cares not for the dark
\forcelinebreak As he winds in the tower
\forcelinebreak At a regular hour
\forcelinebreak The rheumatic clock,
\forcelinebreak Whose dilatory knock
\forcelinebreak You can hear when praying
\forcelinebreak At the day’s decaying,
\forcelinebreak Or at any lone while
\forcelinebreak From a pew in the aisle.


Up, up from the ground
\forcelinebreak Around and around
\forcelinebreak In the turret stair
\forcelinebreak He clambers, to where
\forcelinebreak The wheelwork is,
\forcelinebreak With its tick, click, whizz,
\forcelinebreak Reposefully measuring
\forcelinebreak Each day to its end
\forcelinebreak That mortal men spend
\forcelinebreak In sorrowing and pleasuring
\forcelinebreak Nightly thus does he climb
\forcelinebreak To the trackway of Time.


Him I followed one night
\forcelinebreak To this place without light,
\forcelinebreak And, ere I spoke, heard
\forcelinebreak Him say, word by word,
\forcelinebreak At the end of his winding,
\forcelinebreak The darkness unminding:-


“So I wipe out one more,
\forcelinebreak My Dear, of the sore
\forcelinebreak Sad days that still be,
\forcelinebreak Like a drying Dead Sea,
\forcelinebreak Between you and me!”


Who she was no man knew:
\forcelinebreak He had long borne him blind
\forcelinebreak To all womankind;
\forcelinebreak And was ever one who
\forcelinebreak Kept his past out of view.

\section{OLD EXCURSIONS}


“What’s the good of going to Ridgeway,
\forcelinebreak Cerne, or Sydling Mill,
\forcelinebreak Or to Yell’ham Hill,
\forcelinebreak Blithely bearing Casterbridge-way
\forcelinebreak As we used to do?
\forcelinebreak She will no more climb up there,
\forcelinebreak Or be visible anywhere
\forcelinebreak In those haunts we knew.”


But to-night, while walking weary,
\forcelinebreak Near me seemed her shade,
\forcelinebreak Come as ‘twere to upbraid
\forcelinebreak This my mood in deeming dreary
\forcelinebreak Scenes that used to please;
\forcelinebreak And, if she did come to me,
\forcelinebreak Still solicitous, there may be
\forcelinebreak Good in going to these.


So, I’ll care to roam to Ridgeway,
\forcelinebreak Cerne, or Sydling Mill,
\forcelinebreak Or to Yell’ham Hill,
\forcelinebreak Blithely bearing Casterbridge-way
\forcelinebreak As we used to do,
\forcelinebreak Since her phasm may flit out there,
\forcelinebreak And may greet me anywhere
\forcelinebreak In those haunts we knew.


April 1913.

\section{THE MASKED FACE}


I found me in a great surging space,
\forcelinebreak At either end a door,
\forcelinebreak And I said: “What is this giddying place,
\forcelinebreak With no firm-fixed floor,
\forcelinebreak That I knew not of before?”
\forcelinebreak ”It is Life,” said a mask-clad face.


I asked: “But how do I come here,
\forcelinebreak Who never wished to come;
\forcelinebreak Can the light and air be made more clear,
\forcelinebreak The floor more quietsome,
\forcelinebreak And the doors set wide? They numb
\forcelinebreak Fast-locked, and fill with fear.”


The mask put on a bleak smile then,
\forcelinebreak And said, “O vassal-wight,
\forcelinebreak There once complained a goosequill pen
\forcelinebreak To the scribe of the Infinite
\forcelinebreak Of the words it had to write
\forcelinebreak Because they were past its ken.”

\section{IN A WHISPERING GALLERY}


That whisper takes the voice
\forcelinebreak Of a Spirit’s compassionings
\forcelinebreak Close, but invisible,
\forcelinebreak And throws me under a spell
\forcelinebreak At the kindling vision it brings;
\forcelinebreak And for a moment I rejoice,
\forcelinebreak And believe in transcendent things
\forcelinebreak That would mould from this muddy earth
\forcelinebreak A spot for the splendid birth
\forcelinebreak Of everlasting lives,
\forcelinebreak Whereto no night arrives;
\forcelinebreak And this gaunt gray gallery
\forcelinebreak A tabernacle of worth
\forcelinebreak On this drab-aired afternoon,
\forcelinebreak When you can barely see
\forcelinebreak Across its hazed lacune
\forcelinebreak If opposite aught there be
\forcelinebreak Of fleshed humanity
\forcelinebreak Wherewith I may commune;
\forcelinebreak Or if the voice so near
\forcelinebreak Be a soul’s voice floating here.

\section{THE SOMETHING THAT SAVED HIM}


It was when
\forcelinebreak Whirls of thick waters laved me
\forcelinebreak Again and again,
\forcelinebreak That something arose and saved me;
\forcelinebreak Yea, it was then.


In that day
\forcelinebreak Unseeing the azure went I
\forcelinebreak On my way,
\forcelinebreak And to white winter bent I,
\forcelinebreak Knowing no May.


Reft of renown,
\forcelinebreak Under the night clouds beating
\forcelinebreak Up and down,
\forcelinebreak In my needfulness greeting
\forcelinebreak Cit and clown.


Long there had been
\forcelinebreak Much of a murky colour
\forcelinebreak In the scene,
\forcelinebreak Dull prospects meeting duller;
\forcelinebreak Nought between.


Last, there loomed
\forcelinebreak A closing-in blind alley,
\forcelinebreak Though there boomed
\forcelinebreak A feeble summons to rally
\forcelinebreak Where it gloomed.


The clock rang;
\forcelinebreak The hour brought a hand to deliver;
\forcelinebreak I upsprang,
\forcelinebreak And looked back at den, ditch and river,
\forcelinebreak And sang.

\section{THE ENEMY’S PORTRAIT}


He saw the portrait of his enemy, offered
\forcelinebreak At auction in a street he journeyed nigh,
\forcelinebreak That enemy, now late dead, who in his life-time
\forcelinebreak Had injured deeply him the passer-by.
\forcelinebreak “To get that picture, pleased be God, I’ll try,
\forcelinebreak And utterly destroy it; and no more
\forcelinebreak Shall be inflicted on man’s mortal eye
\forcelinebreak A countenance so sinister and sore!”


And so he bought the painting. Driving homeward,
\forcelinebreak “The frame will come in useful,” he declared,
\forcelinebreak “The rest is fuel.” On his arrival, weary,
\forcelinebreak Asked what he bore with him, and how he fared,
\forcelinebreak He said he had bid for a picture, though he cared
\forcelinebreak For the frame only: on the morrow he
\forcelinebreak Would burn the canvas, which could well be spared,
\forcelinebreak Seeing that it portrayed his enemy.


Next day some other duty found him busy;
\forcelinebreak The foe was laid his face against the wall;
\forcelinebreak But on the next he set himself to loosen
\forcelinebreak The straining-strips. And then a casual call
\forcelinebreak Prevented his proceeding therewithal;
\forcelinebreak And thus the picture waited, day by day,
\forcelinebreak Its owner’s pleasure, like a wretched thrall,
\forcelinebreak Until a month and more had slipped away.


And then upon a morn he found it shifted,
\forcelinebreak Hung in a corner by a servitor.
\forcelinebreak “Why did you take on you to hang that picture?
\forcelinebreak You know it was the frame I bought it for.”
\forcelinebreak “It stood in the way of every visitor,
\forcelinebreak And I just hitched it there.” — ”Well, it must go:
\forcelinebreak I don’t commemorate men whom I abhor.
\forcelinebreak Remind me ‘tis to do. The frame I’ll stow.”


But things become forgotten. In the shadow
\forcelinebreak Of the dark corner hung it by its string,
\forcelinebreak And there it stayed — once noticed by its owner,
\forcelinebreak Who said, “Ah me — I must destroy that thing!”
\forcelinebreak But when he died, there, none remembering,
\forcelinebreak It hung, till moved to prominence, as one sees;
\forcelinebreak And comers pause and say, examining,
\forcelinebreak “I thought they were the bitterest enemies?”

\section{IMAGININGS}


She saw herself a lady
\forcelinebreak With fifty frocks in wear,
\forcelinebreak And rolling wheels, and rooms the best,
\forcelinebreak And faithful maidens’ care,
\forcelinebreak And open lawns and shady
\forcelinebreak For weathers warm or drear.


She found herself a striver,
\forcelinebreak All liberal gifts debarred,
\forcelinebreak With days of gloom, and movements stressed,
\forcelinebreak And early visions marred,
\forcelinebreak And got no man to wive her
\forcelinebreak But one whose lot was hard.


Yet in the moony night-time
\forcelinebreak She steals to stile and lea
\forcelinebreak During his heavy slumberous rest
\forcelinebreak When homecome wearily,
\forcelinebreak And dreams of some blest bright-time
\forcelinebreak She knows can never be.

\section{ON THE DOORSTEP}


The rain imprinted the step’s wet shine
\forcelinebreak With target-circles that quivered and crossed
\forcelinebreak As I was leaving this porch of mine;
\forcelinebreak When from within there swelled and paused
\forcelinebreak A song’s sweet note;
\forcelinebreak And back I turned, and thought,
\forcelinebreak ”Here I’ll abide.”


The step shines wet beneath the rain,
\forcelinebreak Which prints its circles as heretofore;
\forcelinebreak I watch them from the porch again,
\forcelinebreak But no song-notes within the door
\forcelinebreak Now call to me
\forcelinebreak To shun the dripping lea
\forcelinebreak And forth I stride.


Jan. 1914.

\section{SIGNS AND TOKENS}


Said the red-cloaked crone
\forcelinebreak In a whispered moan:


“The dead man was limp
\forcelinebreak When laid in his chest;
\forcelinebreak Yea, limp; and why
\forcelinebreak But to signify
\forcelinebreak That the grave will crimp
\forcelinebreak Ere next year’s sun
\forcelinebreak Yet another one
\forcelinebreak Of those in that house -
\forcelinebreak It may be the best -
\forcelinebreak For its endless drowse!”


Said the brown-shawled dame
\forcelinebreak To confirm the same:


“And the slothful flies
\forcelinebreak On the rotting fruit
\forcelinebreak Have been seen to wear
\forcelinebreak While crawling there
\forcelinebreak Crape scarves, by eyes
\forcelinebreak That were quick and acute;
\forcelinebreak As did those that had pitched
\forcelinebreak On the cows by the pails,
\forcelinebreak And with flaps of their tails
\forcelinebreak Were far away switched.”


Said the third in plaid,
\forcelinebreak Each word being weighed:


“And trotting does
\forcelinebreak In the park, in the lane,
\forcelinebreak And just outside
\forcelinebreak The shuttered pane,
\forcelinebreak Have also been heard -
\forcelinebreak Quick feet as light
\forcelinebreak As the feet of a sprite -
\forcelinebreak And the wise mind knows
\forcelinebreak What things may betide
\forcelinebreak When such has occurred.”


Cried the black-craped fourth,
\forcelinebreak Cold faced as the north:


“O, though giving such
\forcelinebreak Some head-room, I smile
\forcelinebreak At your falterings
\forcelinebreak When noting those things
\forcelinebreak Round your domicile!
\forcelinebreak For what, what can touch
\forcelinebreak One whom, riven of all
\forcelinebreak That makes life gay,
\forcelinebreak No hints can appal
\forcelinebreak Of more takings away!”

\section{PATHS OF FORMER TIME}


No; no;
\forcelinebreak It must not be so:
\forcelinebreak They are the ways we do not go.


Still chew
\forcelinebreak The kine, and moo
\forcelinebreak In the meadows we used to wander through;


Still purl
\forcelinebreak The rivulets and curl
\forcelinebreak Towards the weirs with a musical swirl;


Haymakers
\forcelinebreak As in former years
\forcelinebreak Rake rolls into heaps that the pitchfork rears;


Wheels crack
\forcelinebreak On the turfy track
\forcelinebreak The waggon pursues with its toppling pack.


”Why then shun -
\forcelinebreak Since summer’s not done -
\forcelinebreak All this because of the lack of one?”


Had you been
\forcelinebreak Sharer of that scene
\forcelinebreak You would not ask while it bites in keen


Why it is so
\forcelinebreak We can no more go
\forcelinebreak By the summer paths we used to know!


1913

\section{THE CLOCK OF THE YEARS}


“A spirit passed before my face; the hair of my flesh stood up.”


And the Spirit said,
\forcelinebreak “I can make the clock of the years go backward,
\forcelinebreak But am loth to stop it where you will.”
\forcelinebreak And I cried, “Agreed
\forcelinebreak To that. Proceed:
\forcelinebreak It’s better than dead!”


He answered, “Peace”;
\forcelinebreak And called her up — as last before me;
\forcelinebreak Then younger, younger she freshed, to the year
\forcelinebreak I first had known
\forcelinebreak Her woman-grown,
\forcelinebreak And I cried, “Cease! -


”Thus far is good -
\forcelinebreak It is enough — let her stay thus always!”
\forcelinebreak But alas for me. He shook his head:
\forcelinebreak No stop was there;
\forcelinebreak And she waned child-fair,
\forcelinebreak And to babyhood.


Still less in mien
\forcelinebreak To my great sorrow became she slowly,
\forcelinebreak And smalled till she was nought at all
\forcelinebreak In his checkless griff;
\forcelinebreak And it was as if
\forcelinebreak She had never been.


”Better,” I plained,
\forcelinebreak “She were dead as before! The memory of her
\forcelinebreak Had lived in me; but it cannot now!”
\forcelinebreak And coldly his voice:
\forcelinebreak ”It was your choice
\forcelinebreak To mar the ordained.”


1916

\section{AT THE PIANO}


A woman was playing,
\forcelinebreak A man looking on;
\forcelinebreak And the mould of her face,
\forcelinebreak And her neck, and her hair,
\forcelinebreak Which the rays fell upon
\forcelinebreak Of the two candles there,
\forcelinebreak Sent him mentally straying
\forcelinebreak In some fancy-place
\forcelinebreak Where pain had no trace.


A cowled Apparition
\forcelinebreak Came pushing between;
\forcelinebreak And her notes seemed to sigh,
\forcelinebreak And the lights to burn pale,
\forcelinebreak As a spell numbed the scene.
\forcelinebreak But the maid saw no bale,
\forcelinebreak And the man no monition;
\forcelinebreak And Time laughed awry,
\forcelinebreak And the Phantom hid nigh.

\section{THE SHADOW ON THE STONE}


I went by the Druid stone
\forcelinebreak That broods in the garden white and lone,
\forcelinebreak And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadows
\forcelinebreak That at some moments fall thereon
\forcelinebreak From the tree hard by with a rhythmic swing,
\forcelinebreak And they shaped in my imagining
\forcelinebreak To the shade that a well-known head and shoulders
\forcelinebreak Threw there when she was gardening.


I thought her behind my back,
\forcelinebreak Yea, her I long had learned to lack,
\forcelinebreak And I said: “I am sure you are standing behind me,
\forcelinebreak Though how do you get into this old track?”
\forcelinebreak And there was no sound but the fall of a leaf
\forcelinebreak As a sad response; and to keep down grief
\forcelinebreak I would not turn my head to discover
\forcelinebreak That there was nothing in my belief.


Yet I wanted to look and see
\forcelinebreak That nobody stood at the back of me;
\forcelinebreak But I thought once more: “Nay, I’ll not unvision
\forcelinebreak A shape which, somehow, there may be.”
\forcelinebreak So I went on softly from the glade,
\forcelinebreak And left her behind me throwing her shade,
\forcelinebreak As she were indeed an apparition -
\forcelinebreak My head unturned lest my dream should fade.


Begun 1913: finished 1916.

\section{IN THE GARDEN (M. H.)}


We waited for the sun
\forcelinebreak To break its cloudy prison
\forcelinebreak (For day was not yet done,
\forcelinebreak And night still unbegun)
\forcelinebreak Leaning by the dial.


After many a trial -
\forcelinebreak We all silent there -
\forcelinebreak It burst as new-arisen,
\forcelinebreak Throwing a shade to where
\forcelinebreak Time travelled at that minute.


Little saw we in it,
\forcelinebreak But this much I know,
\forcelinebreak Of lookers on that shade,
\forcelinebreak Her towards whom it made
\forcelinebreak Soonest had to go.


1915

\section{THE TREE AND THE LADY}


I have done all I could
\forcelinebreak For that lady I knew! Through the heats I have shaded her,
\forcelinebreak Drawn to her songsters when summer has jaded her,
\forcelinebreak Home from the heath or the wood.


At the mirth-time of May,
\forcelinebreak When my shadow first lured her, I’d donned my new bravery
\forcelinebreak Of greenth: ‘twas my all. Now I shiver in slavery,
\forcelinebreak Icicles grieving me gray.


Plumed to every twig’s end
\forcelinebreak I could tempt her chair under me. Much did I treasure her
\forcelinebreak During those days she had nothing to pleasure her;
\forcelinebreak Mutely she used me as friend.


I’m a skeleton now,
\forcelinebreak And she’s gone, craving warmth. The rime sticks like a skin to me;
\forcelinebreak Through me Arcturus peers; Nor’lights shoot into me;
\forcelinebreak Gone is she, scorning my bough!

\section{AN UPBRAIDING}


Now I am dead you sing to me
\forcelinebreak The songs we used to know,
\forcelinebreak But while I lived you had no wish
\forcelinebreak Or care for doing so.


Now I am dead you come to me
\forcelinebreak In the moonlight, comfortless;
\forcelinebreak Ah, what would I have given alive
\forcelinebreak To win such tenderness!


When you are dead, and stand to me
\forcelinebreak Not differenced, as now,
\forcelinebreak But like again, will you be cold
\forcelinebreak As when we lived, or how?

\section{THE YOUNG GLASS-STAINER}


“These Gothic windows, how they wear me out
\forcelinebreak With cusp and foil, and nothing straight or square,
\forcelinebreak Crude colours, leaden borders roundabout,
\forcelinebreak And fitting in Peter here, and Matthew there!


“What a vocation! Here do I draw now
\forcelinebreak The abnormal, loving the Hellenic norm;
\forcelinebreak Martha I paint, and dream of Hera’s brow,
\forcelinebreak Mary, and think of Aphrodite’s form.”


Nov. 1893.

\section{LOOKING AT A PICTURE ON AN ANNIVERSARY}


But don’t you know it, my dear,
\forcelinebreak Don’t you know it,
\forcelinebreak That this day of the year
\forcelinebreak (What rainbow-rays embow it!)
\forcelinebreak We met, strangers confessed,
\forcelinebreak But parted — blest?


Though at this query, my dear,
\forcelinebreak There in your frame
\forcelinebreak Unmoved you still appear,
\forcelinebreak You must be thinking the same,
\forcelinebreak But keep that look demure
\forcelinebreak Just to allure.


And now at length a trace
\forcelinebreak I surely vision
\forcelinebreak Upon that wistful face
\forcelinebreak Of old-time recognition,
\forcelinebreak Smiling forth, “Yes, as you say,
\forcelinebreak It is the day.”


For this one phase of you
\forcelinebreak Now left on earth
\forcelinebreak This great date must endue
\forcelinebreak With pulsings of rebirth? -
\forcelinebreak I see them vitalise
\forcelinebreak Those two deep eyes!


But if this face I con
\forcelinebreak Does not declare
\forcelinebreak Consciousness living on
\forcelinebreak Still in it, little I care
\forcelinebreak To live myself, my dear,
\forcelinebreak Lone-labouring here!


Spring 1913.

\section{THE CHOIRMASTER’S BURIAL}


He often would ask us
\forcelinebreak That, when he died,
\forcelinebreak After playing so many
\forcelinebreak To their last rest,
\forcelinebreak If out of us any
\forcelinebreak Should here abide,
\forcelinebreak And it would not task us,
\forcelinebreak We would with our lutes
\forcelinebreak Play over him
\forcelinebreak By his grave-brim
\forcelinebreak The psalm he liked best -
\forcelinebreak The one whose sense suits
\forcelinebreak “Mount Ephraim” -
\forcelinebreak And perhaps we should seem
\forcelinebreak To him, in Death’s dream,
\forcelinebreak Like the seraphim.


As soon as I knew
\forcelinebreak That his spirit was gone
\forcelinebreak I thought this his due,
\forcelinebreak And spoke thereupon.
\forcelinebreak “I think,” said the vicar,
\forcelinebreak “A read service quicker
\forcelinebreak Than viols out-of-doors
\forcelinebreak In these frosts and hoars.
\forcelinebreak That old-fashioned way
\forcelinebreak Requires a fine day,
\forcelinebreak And it seems to me
\forcelinebreak It had better not be.”


Hence, that afternoon,
\forcelinebreak Though never knew he
\forcelinebreak That his wish could not be,
\forcelinebreak To get through it faster
\forcelinebreak They buried the master
\forcelinebreak Without any tune.


But ‘twas said that, when
\forcelinebreak At the dead of next night
\forcelinebreak The vicar looked out,
\forcelinebreak There struck on his ken
\forcelinebreak Thronged roundabout,
\forcelinebreak Where the frost was graying
\forcelinebreak The headstoned grass,
\forcelinebreak A band all in white
\forcelinebreak Like the saints in church-glass,
\forcelinebreak Singing and playing
\forcelinebreak The ancient stave
\forcelinebreak By the choirmaster’s grave.


Such the tenor man told
\forcelinebreak When he had grown old.

\section{THE MAN WHO FORGOT}


At a lonely cross where bye-roads met
\forcelinebreak I sat upon a gate;
\forcelinebreak I saw the sun decline and set,
\forcelinebreak And still was fain to wait.


A trotting boy passed up the way
\forcelinebreak And roused me from my thought;
\forcelinebreak I called to him, and showed where lay
\forcelinebreak A spot I shyly sought.


“A summer-house fair stands hidden where
\forcelinebreak You see the moonlight thrown;
\forcelinebreak Go, tell me if within it there
\forcelinebreak A lady sits alone.”


He half demurred, but took the track,
\forcelinebreak And silence held the scene;
\forcelinebreak I saw his figure rambling back;
\forcelinebreak I asked him if he had been.


“I went just where you said, but found
\forcelinebreak No summer-house was there:
\forcelinebreak Beyond the slope ‘tis all bare ground;
\forcelinebreak Nothing stands anywhere.


“A man asked what my brains were worth;
\forcelinebreak The house, he said, grew rotten,
\forcelinebreak And was pulled down before my birth,
\forcelinebreak And is almost forgotten!”


My right mind woke, and I stood dumb;
\forcelinebreak Forty years’ frost and flower
\forcelinebreak Had fleeted since I’d used to come
\forcelinebreak To meet her in that bower.

\section{WHILE DRAWING IN A CHURCH-YARD}


”It is sad that so many of worth,
\forcelinebreak Still in the flesh,” soughed the yew,
\forcelinebreak “Misjudge their lot whom kindly earth
\forcelinebreak Secludes from view.


”They ride their diurnal round
\forcelinebreak Each day-span’s sum of hours
\forcelinebreak In peerless ease, without jolt or bound
\forcelinebreak Or ache like ours.


”If the living could but hear
\forcelinebreak What is heard by my roots as they creep
\forcelinebreak Round the restful flock, and the things said there,
\forcelinebreak No one would weep.”


”‘Now set among the wise,’
\forcelinebreak They say: ‘Enlarged in scope,
\forcelinebreak That no God trumpet us to rise
\forcelinebreak We truly hope.’“


I listened to his strange tale
\forcelinebreak In the mood that stillness brings,
\forcelinebreak And I grew to accept as the day wore pale
\forcelinebreak That show of things.

\section{FOR LIFE I HAD NEVER CARED GREATLY}


For Life I had never cared greatly,
\forcelinebreak As worth a man’s while;
\forcelinebreak Peradventures unsought,
\forcelinebreak Peradventures that finished in nought,
\forcelinebreak Had kept me from youth and through manhood till lately
\forcelinebreak Unwon by its style.


In earliest years — why I know not -
\forcelinebreak I viewed it askance;
\forcelinebreak Conditions of doubt,
\forcelinebreak Conditions that leaked slowly out,
\forcelinebreak May haply have bent me to stand and to show not
\forcelinebreak Much zest for its dance.


With symphonies soft and sweet colour
\forcelinebreak It courted me then,
\forcelinebreak Till evasions seemed wrong,
\forcelinebreak Till evasions gave in to its song,
\forcelinebreak And I warmed, until living aloofly loomed duller
\forcelinebreak Than life among men.


Anew I found nought to set eyes on,
\forcelinebreak When, lifting its hand,
\forcelinebreak It uncloaked a star,
\forcelinebreak Uncloaked it from fog-damps afar,
\forcelinebreak And showed its beams burning from pole to horizon
\forcelinebreak As bright as a brand.


And so, the rough highway forgetting,
\forcelinebreak I pace hill and dale
\forcelinebreak Regarding the sky,
\forcelinebreak Regarding the vision on high,
\forcelinebreak And thus re-illumed have no humour for letting
\forcelinebreak My pilgrimage fail.

\section{MEN WHO MARCH AWAY (SONG OF THE SOLDIERS)}


What of the faith and fire within us
\forcelinebreak Men who march away
\forcelinebreak Ere the barn-cocks say
\forcelinebreak Night is growing gray,
\forcelinebreak Leaving all that here can win us;
\forcelinebreak What of the faith and fire within us
\forcelinebreak Men who march away?


Is it a purblind prank, O think you,
\forcelinebreak Friend with the musing eye,
\forcelinebreak Who watch us stepping by
\forcelinebreak With doubt and dolorous sigh?
\forcelinebreak Can much pondering so hoodwink you!
\forcelinebreak Is it a purblind prank, O think you,
\forcelinebreak Friend with the musing eye?


Nay. We well see what we are doing,
\forcelinebreak Though some may not see -
\forcelinebreak Dalliers as they be -
\forcelinebreak England’s need are we;
\forcelinebreak Her distress would leave us rueing:
\forcelinebreak Nay. We well see what we are doing,
\forcelinebreak Though some may not see!


In our heart of hearts believing
\forcelinebreak Victory crowns the just,
\forcelinebreak And that braggarts must
\forcelinebreak Surely bite the dust,
\forcelinebreak Press we to the field ungrieving,
\forcelinebreak In our heart of hearts believing
\forcelinebreak Victory crowns the just.


Hence the faith and fire within us
\forcelinebreak Men who march away
\forcelinebreak Ere the barn-cocks say
\forcelinebreak Night is growing gray,
\forcelinebreak Leaving all that here can win us;
\forcelinebreak Hence the faith and fire within us
\forcelinebreak Men who march away.


September 5, 1914.

\section{HIS COUNTRY}


[He travels southward, and looks around;]
\forcelinebreak I journeyed from my native spot
\forcelinebreak Across the south sea shine,
\forcelinebreak And found that people in hall and cot
\forcelinebreak Laboured and suffered each his lot
\forcelinebreak Even as I did mine.


[and cannot discern the boundary]
\forcelinebreak Thus noting them in meads and marts
\forcelinebreak It did not seem to me
\forcelinebreak That my dear country with its hearts,
\forcelinebreak Minds, yearnings, worse and better parts
\forcelinebreak Had ended with the sea.


[of his native country;]
\forcelinebreak I further and further went anon,
\forcelinebreak As such I still surveyed,
\forcelinebreak And further yet — yea, on and on,
\forcelinebreak And all the men I looked upon
\forcelinebreak Had heart-strings fellow-made.


[or where his duties to his fellow-creatures end;]
\forcelinebreak I traced the whole terrestrial round,
\forcelinebreak Homing the other side;
\forcelinebreak Then said I, “What is there to bound
\forcelinebreak My denizenship? It seems I have found
\forcelinebreak Its scope to be world-wide.”


[nor who are his enemies]
\forcelinebreak I asked me: “Whom have I to fight,
\forcelinebreak And whom have I to dare,
\forcelinebreak And whom to weaken, crush, and blight?
\forcelinebreak My country seems to have kept in sight
\forcelinebreak On my way everywhere.”


1913

\section{ENGLAND TO GERMANY IN 1914}


“O England, may God punish thee!”
\forcelinebreak  - Is it that Teuton genius flowers
\forcelinebreak Only to breathe malignity
\forcelinebreak Upon its friend of earlier hours?
\forcelinebreak  - We have eaten your bread, you have eaten ours,
\forcelinebreak We have loved your burgs, your pines’ green moan,
\forcelinebreak Fair Rhine-stream, and its storied towers;
\forcelinebreak Your shining souls of deathless dowers
\forcelinebreak Have won us as they were our own:


We have nursed no dreams to shed your blood,
\forcelinebreak We have matched your might not rancorously,
\forcelinebreak Save a flushed few whose blatant mood
\forcelinebreak You heard and marked as well as we
\forcelinebreak To tongue not in their country’s key;
\forcelinebreak But yet you cry with face aflame,
\forcelinebreak “O England, may God punish thee!”
\forcelinebreak And foul in onward history,
\forcelinebreak And present sight, your ancient name.


Autumn 1914.

\section{ON THE BELGIAN EXPATRIATION}


I dreamt that people from the Land of Chimes
\forcelinebreak Arrived one autumn morning with their bells,
\forcelinebreak To hoist them on the towers and citadels
\forcelinebreak Of my own country, that the musical rhymes


Rung by them into space at meted times
\forcelinebreak Amid the market’s daily stir and stress,
\forcelinebreak And the night’s empty star-lit silentness,
\forcelinebreak Might solace souls of this and kindred climes.


Then I awoke; and lo, before me stood
\forcelinebreak The visioned ones, but pale and full of fear;
\forcelinebreak From Bruges they came, and Antwerp, and Ostend,


No carillons in their train. Foes of mad mood
\forcelinebreak Had shattered these to shards amid the gear
\forcelinebreak Of ravaged roof, and smouldering gable-end.


October 18, 1914.

\section{AN APPEAL TO AMERICA ON BEHALF OF THE BELGIAN DESTITUTE}


Seven millions stand
\forcelinebreak Emaciate, in that ancient Delta-land:-
\forcelinebreak We here, full-charged with our own maimed and dead,
\forcelinebreak And coiled in throbbing conflicts slow and sore,
\forcelinebreak Can poorly soothe these ails unmerited
\forcelinebreak Of souls forlorn upon the facing shore! -
\forcelinebreak Where naked, gaunt, in endless band on band
\forcelinebreak Seven millions stand.


No man can say
\forcelinebreak To your great country that, with scant delay,
\forcelinebreak You must, perforce, ease them in their loud need:
\forcelinebreak We know that nearer first your duty lies;
\forcelinebreak But — is it much to ask that you let plead
\forcelinebreak Your lovingkindness with you — wooing-wise -
\forcelinebreak Albeit that aught you owe, and must repay,
\forcelinebreak No man can say?


December 1914.

\section{THE PITY OF IT}


I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
\forcelinebreak From rail-track and from highway, and I heard
\forcelinebreak In field and farmstead many an ancient word
\forcelinebreak Of local lineage like “Thu bist,” “Er war,”


“Ich woll,” “Er sholl,” and by-talk similar,
\forcelinebreak Nigh as they speak who in this month’s moon gird
\forcelinebreak At England’s very loins, thereunto spurred
\forcelinebreak By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters are.


Then seemed a Heart crying: “Whosoever they be
\forcelinebreak At root and bottom of this, who flung this flame
\forcelinebreak Between kin folk kin tongued even as are we,


“Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame;
\forcelinebreak May their familiars grow to shun their name,
\forcelinebreak And their brood perish everlastingly.”


April 1915.

\section{IN TIME OF WARS AND TUMULTS}


“Would that I’d not drawn breath here!” some one said,
\forcelinebreak “To stalk upon this stage of evil deeds,
\forcelinebreak Where purposelessly month by month proceeds
\forcelinebreak A play so sorely shaped and blood-bespread.”


Yet had his spark not quickened, but lain dead
\forcelinebreak To the gross spectacles of this our day,
\forcelinebreak And never put on the proffered cloak of clay,
\forcelinebreak He had but known not things now manifested;


Life would have swirled the same. Morns would have dawned
\forcelinebreak On the uprooting by the night-gun’s stroke
\forcelinebreak Of what the yester noonshine brought to flower;


Brown martial brows in dying throes have wanned
\forcelinebreak Despite his absence; hearts no fewer been broke
\forcelinebreak By Empery’s insatiate lust of power.


1915

\section{IN TIME OF “THE BREAKING OF NATIONS”}

\subsection{I}


Only a man harrowing clods
\forcelinebreak In a slow silent walk
\forcelinebreak With an old horse that stumbles and nods
\forcelinebreak Half asleep as they stalk.

\subsection{II}


Only thin smoke without flame
\forcelinebreak From the heaps of couch-grass;
\forcelinebreak Yet this will go onward the same
\forcelinebreak Though Dynasties pass.

\subsection{III}


Yonder a maid and her wight
\forcelinebreak Come whispering by:
\forcelinebreak War’s annals will cloud into night
\forcelinebreak Ere their story die.


1915

\section{CRY OF THE HOMELESS AFTER THE PRUSSIAN INVASION OF BELGIUM}


“Instigator of the ruin -
\forcelinebreak Whichsoever thou mayst be
\forcelinebreak Of the masterful of Europe
\forcelinebreak That contrived our misery -
\forcelinebreak Hear the wormwood-worded greeting
\forcelinebreak From each city, shore, and lea
\forcelinebreak Of thy victims:
\forcelinebreak ”Conqueror, all hail to thee!”


“Yea: ‘All hail!’ we grimly shout thee
\forcelinebreak That wast author, fount, and head
\forcelinebreak Of these wounds, whoever proven
\forcelinebreak When our times are throughly read.
\forcelinebreak ‘May thy loved be slighted, blighted,
\forcelinebreak And forsaken,’ be it said
\forcelinebreak By thy victims,
\forcelinebreak ’And thy children beg their bread!’


“Nay: a richer malediction! -
\forcelinebreak Rather let this thing befall
\forcelinebreak In time’s hurling and unfurling
\forcelinebreak On the night when comes thy call;
\forcelinebreak That compassion dew thy pillow
\forcelinebreak And bedrench thy senses all
\forcelinebreak For thy victims,
\forcelinebreak Till death dark thee with his pall.”


August 1915.

\section{BEFORE MARCHING AND AFTER (in Memoriam F. W. G.)}


Orion swung southward aslant
\forcelinebreak Where the starved Egdon pine-trees had thinned,
\forcelinebreak The Pleiads aloft seemed to pant
\forcelinebreak With the heather that twitched in the wind;
\forcelinebreak But he looked on indifferent to sights such as these,
\forcelinebreak Unswayed by love, friendship, home joy or home sorrow,
\forcelinebreak And wondered to what he would march on the morrow.


The crazed household-clock with its whirr
\forcelinebreak Rang midnight within as he stood,
\forcelinebreak He heard the low sighing of her
\forcelinebreak Who had striven from his birth for his good;
\forcelinebreak But he still only asked the spring starlight, the breeze,
\forcelinebreak What great thing or small thing his history would borrow
\forcelinebreak From that Game with Death he would play on the morrow.


When the heath wore the robe of late summer,
\forcelinebreak And the fuchsia-bells, hot in the sun,
\forcelinebreak Hung red by the door, a quick comer
\forcelinebreak Brought tidings that marching was done
\forcelinebreak For him who had joined in that game overseas
\forcelinebreak Where Death stood to win, though his name was to borrow
\forcelinebreak A brightness therefrom not to fade on the morrow.


September 1915.

\section{OFTEN WHEN WARRING}


Often when warring for he wist not what,
\forcelinebreak An enemy-soldier, passing by one weak,
\forcelinebreak Has tendered water, wiped the burning cheek,
\forcelinebreak And cooled the lips so black and clammed and hot;


Then gone his way, and maybe quite forgot
\forcelinebreak The deed of grace amid the roar and reek;
\forcelinebreak Yet larger vision than loud arms bespeak
\forcelinebreak He there has reached, although he has known it not.


For natural mindsight, triumphing in the act
\forcelinebreak Over the throes of artificial rage,
\forcelinebreak Has thuswise muffled victory’s peal of pride,
\forcelinebreak Rended to ribands policy’s specious page
\forcelinebreak That deals but with evasion, code, and pact,
\forcelinebreak And war’s apology wholly stultified.


1915

\section{THEN AND NOW}


When battles were fought
\forcelinebreak With a chivalrous sense of Should and Ought,
\forcelinebreak In spirit men said,
\forcelinebreak ”End we quick or dead,
\forcelinebreak Honour is some reward!
\forcelinebreak Let us fight fair — for our own best or worst;
\forcelinebreak So, Gentlemen of the Guard,
\forcelinebreak Fire first!”


In the open they stood,
\forcelinebreak Man to man in his knightlihood:
\forcelinebreak They would not deign
\forcelinebreak To profit by a stain
\forcelinebreak On the honourable rules,
\forcelinebreak Knowing that practise perfidy no man durst
\forcelinebreak Who in the heroic schools
\forcelinebreak Was nurst.


But now, behold, what
\forcelinebreak Is warfare wherein honour is not!
\forcelinebreak Rama laments
\forcelinebreak Its dead innocents:
\forcelinebreak Herod breathes: “Sly slaughter
\forcelinebreak Shall rule! Let us, by modes once called accurst,
\forcelinebreak Overhead, under water,
\forcelinebreak Stab first.”


1915

\section{A CALL TO NATIONAL SERVICE}


Up and be doing, all who have a hand
\forcelinebreak To lift, a back to bend. It must not be
\forcelinebreak In times like these that vaguely linger we
\forcelinebreak To air our vaunts and hopes; and leave our land


Untended as a wild of weeds and sand.
\forcelinebreak  - Say, then, “I come!” and go, O women and men
\forcelinebreak Of palace, ploughshare, easel, counter, pen;
\forcelinebreak That scareless, scathless, England still may stand.


Would years but let me stir as once I stirred
\forcelinebreak At many a dawn to take the forward track,
\forcelinebreak And with a stride plunged on to enterprize,


I now would speed like yester wind that whirred
\forcelinebreak Through yielding pines; and serve with never a slack,
\forcelinebreak So loud for promptness all around outcries!


March 1917.

\section{THE DEAD AND THE LIVING ONE}


The dead woman lay in her first night’s grave,
\forcelinebreak And twilight fell from the clouds’ concave,
\forcelinebreak And those she had asked to forgive forgave.


The woman passing came to a pause
\forcelinebreak By the heaped white shapes of wreath and cross,
\forcelinebreak And looked upon where the other was.


And as she mused there thus spoke she:
\forcelinebreak “Never your countenance did I see,
\forcelinebreak But you’ve been a good good friend to me!”


Rose a plaintive voice from the sod below:
\forcelinebreak “O woman whose accents I do not know,
\forcelinebreak What is it that makes you approve me so?”


“O dead one, ere my soldier went,
\forcelinebreak I heard him saying, with warm intent,
\forcelinebreak To his friend, when won by your blandishment:


“‘I would change for that lass here and now!
\forcelinebreak And if I return I may break my vow
\forcelinebreak To my present Love, and contrive somehow


“‘To call my own this new-found pearl,
\forcelinebreak Whose eyes have the light, whose lips the curl,
\forcelinebreak I always have looked for in a girl!’


“ — And this is why that by ceasing to be -
\forcelinebreak Though never your countenance did I see -
\forcelinebreak You prove you a good good friend to me;


“And I pray each hour for your soul’s repose
\forcelinebreak In gratitude for your joining those
\forcelinebreak No lover will clasp when his campaigns close.”


Away she turned, when arose to her eye
\forcelinebreak A martial phantom of gory dye,
\forcelinebreak That said, with a thin and far-off sigh:


“O sweetheart, neither shall I clasp you,
\forcelinebreak For the foe this day has pierced me through,
\forcelinebreak And sent me to where she is. Adieu! -


“And forget not when the night-wind’s whine
\forcelinebreak Calls over this turf where her limbs recline,
\forcelinebreak That it travels on to lament by mine.”


There was a cry by the white-flowered mound,
\forcelinebreak There was a laugh from underground,
\forcelinebreak There was a deeper gloom around.


1915

\section{A NEW YEAR’S EVE IN WAR TIME}

\subsection{I}


Phantasmal fears,
\forcelinebreak And the flap of the flame,
\forcelinebreak And the throb of the clock,
\forcelinebreak And a loosened slate,
\forcelinebreak And the blind night’s drone,
\forcelinebreak Which tiredly the spectral pines intone!

\subsection{II}


And the blood in my ears
\forcelinebreak Strumming always the same,
\forcelinebreak And the gable-cock
\forcelinebreak With its fitful grate,
\forcelinebreak And myself, alone.

\subsection{III}


The twelfth hour nears
\forcelinebreak Hand-hid, as in shame;
\forcelinebreak I undo the lock,
\forcelinebreak And listen, and wait
\forcelinebreak For the Young Unknown.

\subsection{IV}


In the dark there careers -
\forcelinebreak As if Death astride came
\forcelinebreak To numb all with his knock -
\forcelinebreak A horse at mad rate
\forcelinebreak Over rut and stone.

\subsection{V}


No figure appears,
\forcelinebreak No call of my name,
\forcelinebreak No sound but “Tic-toc”
\forcelinebreak Without check. Past the gate
\forcelinebreak It clatters — is gone.


VI


What rider it bears
\forcelinebreak There is none to proclaim;
\forcelinebreak And the Old Year has struck,
\forcelinebreak And, scarce animate,
\forcelinebreak The New makes moan.


VII


Maybe that “More Tears! -
\forcelinebreak More Famine and Flame -
\forcelinebreak More Severance and Shock!”
\forcelinebreak Is the order from Fate
\forcelinebreak That the Rider speeds on
\forcelinebreak To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone.


1915-1916.

\section{I MET A MAN}


I met a man when night was nigh,
\forcelinebreak Who said, with shining face and eye
\forcelinebreak Like Moses’ after Sinai:-


”I have seen the Moulder of Monarchies,
\forcelinebreak Realms, peoples, plains and hills,
\forcelinebreak Sitting upon the sunlit seas! -
\forcelinebreak And, as He sat, soliloquies
\forcelinebreak Fell from Him like an antiphonic breeze
\forcelinebreak That pricks the waves to thrills.


”Meseemed that of the maimed and dead
\forcelinebreak Mown down upon the globe, -
\forcelinebreak Their plenteous blooms of promise shed
\forcelinebreak Ere fruiting-time — His words were said,
\forcelinebreak Sitting against the western web of red
\forcelinebreak Wrapt in His crimson robe.


”And I could catch them now and then:
\forcelinebreak — ’Why let these gambling clans
\forcelinebreak Of human Cockers, pit liege men
\forcelinebreak From mart and city, dale and glen,
\forcelinebreak In death-mains, but to swell and swell again
\forcelinebreak Their swollen All-Empery plans,


”‘When a mere nod (if my malign
\forcelinebreak Compeer but passive keep)
\forcelinebreak Would mend that old mistake of mine
\forcelinebreak I made with Saul, and ever consign
\forcelinebreak All Lords of War whose sanctuaries enshrine
\forcelinebreak Liberticide, to sleep?


”‘With violence the lands are spread
\forcelinebreak Even as in Israel’s day,
\forcelinebreak And it repenteth me I bred
\forcelinebreak Chartered armipotents lust-led
\forcelinebreak To feuds . . . Yea, grieves my heart, as then I said,
\forcelinebreak To see their evil way!’


— ”The utterance grew, and flapped like flame,
\forcelinebreak And further speech I feared;
\forcelinebreak But no Celestial tongued acclaim,
\forcelinebreak And no huzzas from earthlings came,
\forcelinebreak And the heavens mutely masked as ‘twere in shame
\forcelinebreak Till daylight disappeared.”


Thus ended he as night rode high -
\forcelinebreak The man of shining face and eye,
\forcelinebreak Like Moses’ after Sinai.


1916

\section{I LOOKED UP FROM MY WRITING}


I looked up from my writing,
\forcelinebreak And gave a start to see,
\forcelinebreak As if rapt in my inditing,
\forcelinebreak The moon’s full gaze on me.


Her meditative misty head
\forcelinebreak Was spectral in its air,
\forcelinebreak And I involuntarily said,
\forcelinebreak ”What are you doing there?”


“Oh, I’ve been scanning pond and hole
\forcelinebreak And waterway hereabout
\forcelinebreak For the body of one with a sunken soul
\forcelinebreak Who has put his life-light out.


“Did you hear his frenzied tattle?
\forcelinebreak It was sorrow for his son
\forcelinebreak Who is slain in brutish battle,
\forcelinebreak Though he has injured none.


“And now I am curious to look
\forcelinebreak Into the blinkered mind
\forcelinebreak Of one who wants to write a book
\forcelinebreak In a world of such a kind.”


Her temper overwrought me,
\forcelinebreak And I edged to shun her view,
\forcelinebreak For I felt assured she thought me
\forcelinebreak One who should drown him too.

\section{THE COMING OF THE END}


How it came to an end!
\forcelinebreak The meeting afar from the crowd,
\forcelinebreak And the love-looks and laughters unpenned,
\forcelinebreak The parting when much was avowed,
\forcelinebreak How it came to an end!


It came to an end;
\forcelinebreak Yes, the outgazing over the stream,
\forcelinebreak With the sun on each serpentine bend,
\forcelinebreak Or, later, the luring moon-gleam;
\forcelinebreak It came to an end.


It came to an end,
\forcelinebreak The housebuilding, furnishing, planting,
\forcelinebreak As if there were ages to spend
\forcelinebreak In welcoming, feasting, and jaunting;
\forcelinebreak It came to an end.


It came to an end,
\forcelinebreak That journey of one day a week:
\forcelinebreak (“It always goes on,” said a friend,
\forcelinebreak “Just the same in bright weathers or bleak;”)
\forcelinebreak But it came to an end.


”HOW will come to an end
\forcelinebreak This orbit so smoothly begun,
\forcelinebreak Unless some convulsion attend?”
\forcelinebreak I often said. “What will be done
\forcelinebreak When it comes to an end?”


Well, it came to an end
\forcelinebreak Quite silently — stopped without jerk;
\forcelinebreak Better close no prevision could lend;
\forcelinebreak Working out as One planned it should work
\forcelinebreak Ere it came to an end.

\section{AFTERWARDS}


When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
\forcelinebreak And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings,
\forcelinebreak Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,
\forcelinebreak ”He was a man who used to notice such things”?


If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid’s soundless blink,
\forcelinebreak The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight
\forcelinebreak Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,
\forcelinebreak ”To him this must have been a familiar sight.”


If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,
\forcelinebreak When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,
\forcelinebreak One may say, “He strove that such innocent creatures should come to
\forcelinebreak no harm,
\forcelinebreak But he could do little for them; and now he is gone”?


If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at the
\forcelinebreak door,
\forcelinebreak Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,
\forcelinebreak Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,
\forcelinebreak ”He was one who had an eye for such mysteries”?


And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,
\forcelinebreak And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,
\forcelinebreak Till they rise again, as they were a new bell’s boom,
\forcelinebreak ”He hears it not now, but used to notice such things”?

\chapter{LATE LYRICS AND EARLIER WITH MANY OTHER VERSES
\forcelinebreak}

\subsection{CONTENTS}


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
WEATHERS



\item\relax 
THE MAID OF KEINTON MANDEVILLE



\item\relax 
SUMMER SCHEMES



\item\relax 
EPEISODIA



\item\relax 
FAINTHEART IN A RAILWAY TRAIN



\item\relax 
AT MOONRISE AND ONWARDS



\item\relax 
THE GARDEN SEAT



\item\relax 
BARTHÉLÉMON AT VAUXHALL



\item\relax 
I SOMETIMES THINK



\item\relax 
JEZREEL



\item\relax 
A JOG-TROT PAIR



\item\relax 
THE CURTAINS NOW ARE DRAWN



\item\relax 
ACCORDING TO THE MIGHTY WORKING



\item\relax 
I WAS NOT HE



\item\relax 
THE WEST-OF-WESSEX GIRL



\item\relax 
WELCOME HOME



\item\relax 
GOING AND STAYING



\item\relax 
READ BY MOONLIGHT



\item\relax 
AT A HOUSE IN HAMPSTEAD



\item\relax 
A WOMAN’S FANCY



\item\relax 
HER SONG



\item\relax 
A WET AUGUST



\item\relax 
THE DISSEMBLERS



\item\relax 
TO A LADY PLAYING AND SINGING IN THE MORNING



\item\relax 
A MAN WAS DRAWING NEAR TO ME



\item\relax 
THE STRANGE HOUSE



\item\relax 
AS ‘TWERE TO-NIGHT



\item\relax 
THE CONTRETEMPS



\item\relax 
A GENTLEMAN’S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF AND A LADY, WHO WERE BURIED TOGETHER



\item\relax 
THE OLD GOWN



\item\relax 
A NIGHT IN NOVEMBER



\item\relax 
A DUETTIST TO HER PIANOFORTE



\item\relax 
WHERE THREE ROADS JOINED



\item\relax 
AND THERE WAS A GREAT CALM



\item\relax 
HAUNTING FINGERS



\item\relax 
A PHANTASY IN A MUSEUM OF MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS



\item\relax 
THE WOMAN I MET



\item\relax 
IF IT’S EVER SPRING AGAIN



\item\relax 
THE TWO HOUSES



\item\relax 
ON STINSFORD HILL AT MIDNIGHT



\item\relax 
THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE



\item\relax 
THE SELFSAME SONG



\item\relax 
THE WANDERER



\item\relax 
A WIFE COMES BACK



\item\relax 
A YOUNG MAN’S EXHORTATION



\item\relax 
AT LULWORTH COVE A CENTURY BACK



\item\relax 
A BYGONE OCCASION



\item\relax 
TWO SERENADES



\item\relax 
THE WEDDING MORNING



\item\relax 
END OF THE YEAR 1912



\item\relax 
THE CHIMES PLAY LIFE’S A BUMPER!



\item\relax 
I WORKED NO WILE TO MEET YOU



\item\relax 
AT THE RAILWAY STATION, UPWAY



\item\relax 
SIDE BY SIDE



\item\relax 
DREAM OF THE CITY SHOPWOMAN



\item\relax 
A MAIDEN’S PLEDGE



\item\relax 
THE CHILD AND THE SAGE



\item\relax 
MISMET



\item\relax 
AN AUTUMN RAIN-SCENE



\item\relax 
MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY



\item\relax 
AN EXPERIENCE



\item\relax 
THE BEAUTY



\item\relax 
THE COLLECTOR CLEANS HIS PICTURE



\item\relax 
THE WOOD FIRE



\item\relax 
SAYING GOOD-BYE



\item\relax 
ON THE TUNE CALLED THE OLD-HUNDRED-AND-FOURTH



\item\relax 
THE OPPORTUNITY



\item\relax 
EVELYN G. OF CHRISTMINSTER



\item\relax 
THE RIFT



\item\relax 
VOICES FROM THINGS GROWING IN A CHURCHYARD



\item\relax 
ON THE WAY



\item\relax 
SHE DID NOT TURN



\item\relax 
GROWTH IN MAY



\item\relax 
THE CHILDREN AND SIR NAMELESS



\item\relax 
AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY



\item\relax 
HER TEMPLE



\item\relax 
A TWO-YEARS’ IDYLL



\item\relax 
BY HENSTRIDGE CROSS AT THE YEAR’S END



\item\relax 
PENANCE



\item\relax 
I LOOK IN HER FACE



\item\relax 
AFTER THE WAR



\item\relax 
IF YOU HAD KNOWN



\item\relax 
THE CHAPEL-ORGANIST



\item\relax 
FETCHING HER



\item\relax 
COULD I BUT WILL



\item\relax 
SHE REVISITS ALONE THE CHURCH OF HER MARRIAGE



\item\relax 
AT THE ENTERING OF THE NEW YEAR



\item\relax 
THEY WOULD NOT COME



\item\relax 
AFTER A ROMANTIC DAY



\item\relax 
THE TWO WIVES



\item\relax 
I KNEW A LADY



\item\relax 
A HOUSE WITH A HISTORY



\item\relax 
A PROCESSION OF DEAD DAYS



\item\relax 
HE FOLLOWS HIMSELF



\item\relax 
THE SINGING WOMAN



\item\relax 
WITHOUT, NOT WITHIN HER



\item\relax 
O I WON’T LEAD A HOMELY LIFE



\item\relax 
IN THE SMALL HOURS



\item\relax 
THE LITTLE OLD TABLE



\item\relax 
VAGG HOLLOW



\item\relax 
THE DREAM IS - WHICH?



\item\relax 
THE COUNTRY WEDDING



\item\relax 
FIRST OR LAST



\item\relax 
LONELY DAYS



\item\relax 
WHAT DID IT MEAN?



\item\relax 
AT THE DINNER-TABLE



\item\relax 
THE MARBLE TABLET



\item\relax 
THE MASTER AND THE LEAVES



\item\relax 
LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND



\item\relax 
A DRIZZLING EASTER MORNING



\item\relax 
ON ONE WHO LIVED AND DIED WHERE HE WAS BORN



\item\relax 
THE SECOND NIGHT



\item\relax 
SHE WHO SAW NOT



\item\relax 
THE OLD WORKMAN



\item\relax 
THE SAILOR’S MOTHER



\item\relax 
OUTSIDE THE CASEMENT



\item\relax 
THE PASSER-BY



\item\relax 
I WAS THE MIDMOST



\item\relax 
A SOUND IN THE NIGHT



\item\relax 
ON A DISCOVERED CURL OF HAIR



\item\relax 
AN OLD LIKENESS



\item\relax 
HER APOTHEOSIS



\item\relax 
SACRED TO THE MEMORY



\item\relax 
TO A WELL-NAMED DWELLING



\item\relax 
THE WHIPPER-IN



\item\relax 
A MILITARY APPOINTMENT



\item\relax 
THE MILESTONE BY THE RABBIT-BURROW



\item\relax 
THE LAMENT OF THE LOOKING-GLASS



\item\relax 
CROSS-CURRENTS



\item\relax 
THE OLD NEIGHBOUR AND THE NEW



\item\relax 
THE CHOSEN



\item\relax 
THE INSCRIPTION



\item\relax 
THE MARBLE-STREETED TOWN



\item\relax 
A WOMAN DRIVING



\item\relax 
A WOMAN’S TRUST



\item\relax 
BEST TIMES



\item\relax 
THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE



\item\relax 
INTRA SEPULCHRUM



\item\relax 
THE WHITEWASHED WALL



\item\relax 
JUST THE SAME



\item\relax 
THE LAST TIME



\item\relax 
THE SEVEN TIMES



\item\relax 
THE SUN’S LAST LOOK ON THE COUNTRY GIRL



\item\relax 
IN A LONDON FLAT



\item\relax 
DRAWING DETAILS IN AN OLD CHURCH



\item\relax 
RAKE-HELL MUSES



\item\relax 
THE COLOUR



\item\relax 
MURMURS IN THE GLOOM



\item\relax 
EPITAPH



\item\relax 
AN ANCIENT TO ANCIENTS



\item\relax 
AFTER READING PSALMS



\item\relax 
SURVIEW




\end{itemize}
\subsection{APOLOGY}


About half the verses that follow were written quite lately. The rest are older, having been held over in MS. when past volumes were published, on considering that these would contain a sufficient number of pages to offer readers at one time, more especially during the distractions of the war. The unusually far back poems to be found here are, however, but some that were overlooked in gathering previous collections. A freshness in them, now unattainable, seemed to make up for their inexperience and to justify their inclusion. A few are dated; the dates of others are not discoverable.


The launching of a volume of this kind in neo-Georgian days by one who began writing in mid-Victorian, and has published nothing to speak of for some years, may seem to call for a few words of excuse or explanation. Whether or no, readers may feel assured that a new book is submitted to them with great hesitation at so belated a date. Insistent practical reasons, however, among which were requests from some illustrious men of letters who are in sympathy with my productions, the accident that several of the poems have already seen the light, and that dozens of them have been lying about for years, compelled the course adopted, in spite of the natural disinclination of a writer whose works have been so frequently regarded askance by a pragmatic section here and there, to draw attention to them once more.


I do not know that it is necessary to say much on the contents of the book, even in deference to suggestions that will be mentioned presently. I believe that those readers who care for my poems at all - readers to whom no passport is required - will care for this new instalment of them, perhaps the last, as much as for any that have preceded them. Moreover, in the eyes of a less friendly class the pieces, though a very mixed collection indeed, contain, so far as I am able to see, little or nothing in technic or teaching that can be considered a Star-Chamber matter, or so much as agitating to a ladies’ school; even though, to use Wordsworth’s observation in his Preface to Lyrical Ballads, such readers may suppose “that by the act of writing in verse an author makes a formal engagement that he will gratify certain known habits of association: that he not only thus apprises the reader that certain classes of ideas and expressions will be found in his book, but that others will be carefully excluded.”


It is true, nevertheless, that some grave, positive, stark, delineations are interspersed among those of the passive, lighter, and traditional sort presumably nearer to stereotyped tastes. For - while I am quite aware that a thinker is not expected, and, indeed, is scarcely allowed, now more than heretofore, to state all that crosses his mind concerning existence in this universe, in his attempts to explain or excuse the presence of evil and the incongruity of penalising the irresponsible - it must be obvious to open intelligences that, without denying the beauty and faithful service of certain venerable cults, such disallowance of “obstinate questionings” and “blank misgivings” tends to a paralysed intellectual stalemate. Heine observed nearly a hundred years ago that the soul has her eternal rights; that she will not be darkened by statutes, nor lullabied by the music of bells. And what is to-day, in allusions to the present author’s pages, alleged to be “pessimism” is, in truth, only such “questionings” in the exploration of reality, and is the first step towards the soul’s betterment, and the body’s also.


If I may be forgiven for quoting my own old words, let me repeat what I printed in this relation more than twenty years ago, and wrote much earlier, in a poem entitled “In Tenebris”:


If way to the Better there be, it exacts a full look at the Worst:


that is to say, by the exploration of reality, and its frank recognition stage by stage along the survey, with an eye to the best consummation possible: briefly, evolutionary meliorism. But it is called pessimism nevertheless; under which word, expressed with condemnatory emphasis, it is regarded by many as some pernicious new thing (though so old as to underlie the Christian idea, and even to permeate the Greek drama); and the subject is charitably left to decent silence, as if further comment were needless.


Happily there are some who feel such Levitical passing-by to be, alas, by no means a permanent dismissal of the matter; that comment on where the world stands is very much the reverse of needless in these disordered years of our prematurely afflicted century: that amendment and not madness lies that way. And looking down the future these few hold fast to the same: that whether the human and kindred animal races survive till the exhaustion or destruction of the globe, or whether these races perish and are succeeded by others before that conclusion comes, pain to all upon it, tongued or dumb, shall be kept down to a minimum by lovingkindness, operating through scientific knowledge, and actuated by the modicum of free will conjecturally possessed by organic life when the mighty necessitating forces - unconscious or other - that have “the balancings of the clouds,” happen to be in equilibrium, which may or may not be often.


To conclude this question I may add that the argument of the so-called optimists is neatly summarized in a stern pronouncement against me by my friend Mr. Frederic Harrison in a late essay of his, in the words: “This view of life is not mine.” The solemn declaration does not seem to me to be so annihilating to the said “view” (really a series of fugitive impressions which I have never tried to co-ordinate) as is complacently assumed. Surely it embodies a too human fallacy quite familiar in logic. Next, a knowing reviewer, apparently a Roman Catholic young man, speaks, with some rather gross instances of the suggestio falsi in his article, of “Mr. Hardy refusing consolation,” the “dark gravity of his ideas,” and so on. When a Positivist and a Catholic agree there must be something wonderful in it, which should make a poet sit up. But . . . O that ‘twere possible!


I would not have alluded in this place or anywhere else to such casual personal criticisms - for casual and unreflecting they must be - but for the satisfaction of two or three friends in whose opinion a short answer was deemed desirable, on account of the continual repetition of these criticisms, or more precisely, quizzings. After all, the serious and truly literary inquiry in this connection is: Should a shaper of such stuff as dreams are made on disregard considerations of what is customary and expected, and apply himself to the real function of poetry, the application of ideas to life (in Matthew Arnold’s familiar phrase)? This bears more particularly on what has been called the “philosophy” of these poems - usually reproved as “queer.” Whoever the author may be that undertakes such application of ideas in this “philosophic” direction - where it is specially required - glacial judgments must inevitably fall upon him amid opinion whose arbiters largely decry individuality, to whom ideas are oddities to smile at, who are moved by a yearning the reverse of that of the Athenian inquirers on Mars Hill; and stiffen their features not only at sound of a new thing, but at a restatement of old things in new terms. Hence should anything of this sort in the following adumbrations seem “queer “ - should any of them seem to good Panglossians to embody strange and disrespectful conceptions of this best of all possible worlds, I apologize; but cannot help it.


Such divergences, which, though piquant for the nonce, it would be affectation to say are not saddening and discouraging likewise, may, to be sure, arise sometimes from superficial aspect only, writer and reader seeing the same thing at different angles. But in palpable cases of divergence they arise, as already said, whenever a serious effort is made towards that which the authority I have cited - who would now be called old-fashioned, possibly even parochial - affirmed to be what no good critic could deny as the poet’s province, the application of ideas to life. One might shrewdly guess, by the by, that in such recommendation the famous writer may have overlooked the cold-shouldering results upon an enthusiastic disciple that would be pretty certain to follow his putting the high aim in practice, and have forgotten the disconcerting experience of Gil Blas with the Archbishop.


To add a few more words to what has already taken up too many, there is a contingency liable to miscellanies of verse that I have never seen mentioned, so far as I can remember; I mean the chance little shocks that may be caused over a book of various character like the present and its predecessors by the juxtaposition of unrelated, even discordant, effusions; poems perhaps years apart in the making, yet facing each other. An odd result of this has been that dramatic anecdotes of a satirical and humorous intention (such, e.g., as “Royal Sponsors”) following verse in graver voice, have been read as misfires because they raise the smile that they were intended to raise, the journalist, deaf to the sudden change of key, being unconscious that he is laughing with the author and not at him. I admit that I did not foresee such contingencies as I ought to have done, and that people might not perceive when the tone altered. But the difficulties of arranging the themes in a graduated kinship of moods would have been so great that irrelation was almost unavoidable with efforts so diverse. I must trust for right note-catching to those finely-touched spirits who can divine without half a whisper, whose intuitiveness is proof against all the accidents of inconsequence. In respect of the less alert, however, should any one’s train of thought be thrown out of gear by a consecutive piping of vocal reeds in jarring tonics, without a semiquaver’s rest between, and be led thereby to miss the writer’s aim and meaning in one out of two contiguous compositions, I shall deeply regret it.


Having at last, I think, finished with the personal points that I was recommended to notice, I will forsake the immediate object of this Preface; and, leaving Late Lyrics to whatever fate it deserves, digress for a few moments to more general considerations. The thoughts of any man of letters concerned to keep poetry alive cannot but run uncomfortably on the precarious prospects of English verse at the present day. Verily the hazards and casualties surrounding the birth and setting forth of almost every modern creation in numbers are ominously like those of one of Shelley’s paper-boats on a windy lake. And a forward conjecture scarcely permits the hope of a better time, unless men’s tendencies should change. So indeed of all art, literature, and “high thinking” nowadays. Whether owing to the barbarizing of taste in the younger minds by the dark madness of the late war, the unabashed cultivation of selfishness in all classes, the plethoric growth of knowledge simultaneously with the stunting of wisdom, “a degrading thirst after outrageous stimulation” (to quote Wordsworth again), or from any other cause, we seem threatened with a new Dark Age.


I formerly thought, like so many roughly handled writers, that so far as literature was concerned a partial cause might be impotent or mischievous criticism; the satirizing of individuality, the lack of whole-seeing in contemporary estimates of poetry and kindred work, the knowingness affected by junior reviewers, the overgrowth of meticulousness in their peerings for an opinion, as if it were a cultivated habit in them to scrutinize the tool-marks and be blind to the building, to hearken for the key-creaks and be deaf to the diapason, to judge the landscape by a nocturnal exploration with a flash-lantern. In other words, to carry on the old game of sampling the poem or drama by quoting the worst line or worst passage only, in ignorance or not of Coleridge’s proof that a versification of any length neither can be nor ought to be all poetry; of reading meanings into a book that its author never dreamt of writing there. I might go on interminably.


But I do not now think any such temporary obstructions to be the cause of the hazard, for these negligences and ignorances, though they may have stifled a few true poets in the run of generations, disperse like stricken leaves before the wind of next week, and are no more heard of again in the region of letters than their writers themselves. No: we may be convinced that something of the deeper sort mentioned must be the cause.


In any event poetry, pure literature in general, religion - I include religion because poetry and religion touch each other, or rather modulate into each other; are, indeed, often but different names for the same thing - these, I say, the visible signs of mental and emotional life, must like all other things keep moving, becoming; even though at present, when belief in witches of Endor is displacing the Darwinian theory and “the truth that shall make you free, men’s minds appear, as above noted, to be moving backwards rather than on. I speak, of course, somewhat sweepingly, and should except many isolated minds; also the minds of men in certain worthy but small bodies of various denominations, and perhaps in the homely quarter where advance might have been the very least expected a few years back - the English Church - if one reads it rightly as showing evidence of “removing those things that are shaken,” in accordance with the wise Epistolary recommendation to the Hebrews. For since the historic and once august hierarchy of Rome some generation ago lost its chance of being the religion of the future by doing otherwise, and throwing over the little band of neo-Catholics who were making a struggle for continuity by applying the principle of evolution to their own faith, joining hands with modern science, and outflanking the hesitating English instinct towards liturgical reform (a flank march which I at the time quite expected to witness, with the gathering of many millions of waiting agnostics into its fold); since then, one may ask, what other purely English establishment than the Church, of sufficient dignity and footing, and with such strength of old association, such architectural spell, is left in this country to keep the shreds of morality together?


It may be a forlorn hope, a mere dream, that of an alliance between religion, which must be retained unless the world is to perish, and complete rationality, which must come, unless also the world is to perish, by means of the interfusing effect of poetry - “the breath and finer spirit of all knowledge; the impassioned expression of science,” as it was defined by an English poet who was quite orthodox in his ideas. But if it be true, as Comte argued, that advance is never in a straight line, but in a looped orbit, we may, in the aforesaid ominous moving backward, be doing it pour mieux sauter, drawing back for a spring. I repeat that I forlornly hope so, notwithstanding the supercilious regard of hope by Schopenhauer, von Hartmann, and other philosophers down to Einstein who have my respect. But one dares not prophesy. Physical, chronological, and other contingencies keep me in these days from critical studies and literary circles


Where once we held debate, a band


Of youthful friends, on mind and art


(if one may quote Tennyson in this century of free verse). Hence I cannot know how things are going so well as I used to know them, and the aforesaid limitations must quite prevent my knowing hence-forward.


I have to thank the editors and owners of The Times, Fortnightly, Mercury, and other periodicals in which a few of the poems have appeared for kindly assenting to their being reclaimed for collected publication. T. H.


February 1922.

\section{WEATHERS}

\subsection{I}


This is the weather the cuckoo likes,
\forcelinebreak And so do I;
\forcelinebreak When showers betumble the chestnut spikes,
\forcelinebreak And nestlings fly:
\forcelinebreak And the little brown nightingale bills his best,
\forcelinebreak And they sit outside at “The Travellers’ Rest,”
\forcelinebreak And maids come forth sprig-muslin drest,
\forcelinebreak And citizens dream of the south and west,
\forcelinebreak And so do I.

\subsection{II}


This is the weather the shepherd shuns,
\forcelinebreak And so do I;
\forcelinebreak When beeches drip in browns and duns,
\forcelinebreak And thresh, and ply;
\forcelinebreak And hill-hid tides throb, throe on throe,
\forcelinebreak And meadow rivulets overflow,
\forcelinebreak And drops on gate-bars hang in a row,
\forcelinebreak And rooks in families homeward go,
\forcelinebreak And so do I.

\section{THE MAID OF KEINTON MANDEVILLE}


(A TRIBUTE TO SIR H. BISHOP)


I hear that maiden still
\forcelinebreak Of Keinton Mandeville
\forcelinebreak Singing, in flights that played
\forcelinebreak As wind-wafts through us all,
\forcelinebreak Till they made our mood a thrall
\forcelinebreak To their aery rise and fall,
\forcelinebreak ”Should he upbraid.”


Rose-necked, in sky-gray gown,
\forcelinebreak From a stage in Stower Town
\forcelinebreak Did she sing, and singing smile
\forcelinebreak As she blent that dexterous voice
\forcelinebreak With the ditty of her choice,
\forcelinebreak And banished our annoys
\forcelinebreak Thereawhile.


One with such song had power
\forcelinebreak To wing the heaviest hour
\forcelinebreak Of him who housed with her.
\forcelinebreak Who did I never knew
\forcelinebreak When her spoused estate ondrew,
\forcelinebreak And her warble flung its woo
\forcelinebreak In his ear.


Ah, she’s a beldame now,
\forcelinebreak Time-trenched on cheek and brow,
\forcelinebreak Whom I once heard as a maid
\forcelinebreak From Keinton Mandeville
\forcelinebreak Of matchless scope and skill
\forcelinebreak Sing, with smile and swell and trill,
\forcelinebreak ”Should he upbraid!”


1915 or 1916.

\section{SUMMER SCHEMES}


When friendly summer calls again,
\forcelinebreak Calls again
\forcelinebreak Her little fifers to these hills,
\forcelinebreak We’ll go - we two - to that arched fane
\forcelinebreak Of leafage where they prime their bills
\forcelinebreak Before they start to flood the plain
\forcelinebreak With quavers, minims, shakes, and trills.
\forcelinebreak ” - We’ll go,” I sing; but who shall say
\forcelinebreak What may not chance before that day!


And we shall see the waters spring,
\forcelinebreak Waters spring
\forcelinebreak From chinks the scrubby copses crown;
\forcelinebreak And we shall trace their oncreeping
\forcelinebreak To where the cascade tumbles down
\forcelinebreak And sends the bobbing growths aswing,
\forcelinebreak And ferns not quite but almost drown.
\forcelinebreak ” - We shall,” I say; but who may sing
\forcelinebreak Of what another moon will bring!

\section{EPEISODIA}

\subsection{I}


Past the hills that peep
\forcelinebreak Where the leaze is smiling,
\forcelinebreak On and on beguiling
\forcelinebreak Crisply-cropping sheep;
\forcelinebreak Under boughs of brushwood
\forcelinebreak Linking tree and tree
\forcelinebreak In a shade of lushwood,
\forcelinebreak There caressed we!

\subsection{II}


Hemmed by city walls
\forcelinebreak That outshut the sunlight,
\forcelinebreak In a foggy dun light,
\forcelinebreak Where the footstep falls
\forcelinebreak With a pit-pat wearisome
\forcelinebreak In its cadency
\forcelinebreak On the flagstones drearisome
\forcelinebreak There pressed we!

\subsection{III}


Where in wild-winged crowds
\forcelinebreak Blown birds show their whiteness
\forcelinebreak Up against the lightness
\forcelinebreak Of the clammy clouds;
\forcelinebreak By the random river
\forcelinebreak Pushing to the sea,
\forcelinebreak Under bents that quiver
\forcelinebreak There rest we.

\section{FAINTHEART IN A RAILWAY TRAIN}


At nine in the morning there passed a church,
\forcelinebreak At ten there passed me by the sea,
\forcelinebreak At twelve a town of smoke and smirch,
\forcelinebreak At two a forest of oak and birch,
\forcelinebreak And then, on a platform, she:


A radiant stranger, who saw not me.
\forcelinebreak I queried, “Get out to her do I dare?”
\forcelinebreak But I kept my seat in my search for a plea,
\forcelinebreak And the wheels moved on. O could it but be
\forcelinebreak That I had alighted there!

\section{AT MOONRISE AND ONWARDS}


I thought you a fire
\forcelinebreak On Heron-Plantation Hill,
\forcelinebreak Dealing out mischief the most dire
\forcelinebreak To the chattels of men of hire
\forcelinebreak There in their vill.


But by and by
\forcelinebreak You turned a yellow-green,
\forcelinebreak Like a large glow-worm in the sky;
\forcelinebreak And then I could descry
\forcelinebreak Your mood and mien.


How well I know
\forcelinebreak Your furtive feminine shape!
\forcelinebreak As if reluctantly you show
\forcelinebreak You nude of cloud, and but by favour throw
\forcelinebreak Aside its drape . . .


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
How many a year
\forcelinebreak Have you kept pace with me,
\forcelinebreak Wan Woman of the waste up there,
\forcelinebreak Behind a hedge, or the bare
\forcelinebreak Bough of a tree!




\end{itemize}

No novelty are you,
\forcelinebreak O Lady of all my time,
\forcelinebreak Veering unbid into my view
\forcelinebreak Whether I near Death’s mew,
\forcelinebreak Or Life’s top cyme!

\section{THE GARDEN SEAT}


Its former green is blue and thin,
\forcelinebreak And its once firm legs sink in and in;
\forcelinebreak Soon it will break down unaware,
\forcelinebreak Soon it will break down unaware.


At night when reddest flowers are black
\forcelinebreak Those who once sat thereon come back;
\forcelinebreak Quite a row of them sitting there,
\forcelinebreak Quite a row of them sitting there.


With them the seat does not break down,
\forcelinebreak Nor winter freeze them, nor floods drown,
\forcelinebreak For they are as light as upper air,
\forcelinebreak They are as light as upper air!

\section{BARTHÉLÉMON AT VAUXHALL}


François Hippolite Barthélémon, first-fiddler at Vauxhall Gardens, composed what was probably the most popular morning hymn-tune ever written. It was formerly sung, full-voiced, every Sunday in most churches, to Bishop Ken’s words, but is now seldom heard.


He said: “Awake my soul, and with the sun,” . . .
\forcelinebreak And paused upon the bridge, his eyes due east,
\forcelinebreak Where was emerging like a full-robed priest
\forcelinebreak The irradiate globe that vouched the dark as done.


It lit his face - the weary face of one
\forcelinebreak Who in the adjacent gardens charged his string,
\forcelinebreak Nightly, with many a tuneful tender thing,
\forcelinebreak Till stars were weak, and dancing hours outrun.


And then were threads of matin music spun
\forcelinebreak In trial tones as he pursued his way:
\forcelinebreak “This is a morn,” he murmured, “well begun:
\forcelinebreak This strain to Ken will count when I am clay!”


And count it did; till, caught by echoing lyres,
\forcelinebreak It spread to galleried naves and mighty quires.

\section{I SOMETIMES THINK}


(FOR F. E. H.)


I sometimes think as here I sit
\forcelinebreak Of things I have done,
\forcelinebreak Which seemed in doing not unfit
\forcelinebreak To face the sun:
\forcelinebreak Yet never a soul has paused a whit
\forcelinebreak On such - not one.


There was that eager strenuous press
\forcelinebreak To sow good seed;
\forcelinebreak There was that saving from distress
\forcelinebreak In the nick of need;
\forcelinebreak There were those words in the wilderness:
\forcelinebreak Who cared to heed?


Yet can this be full true, or no?
\forcelinebreak For one did care,
\forcelinebreak And, spiriting into my house, to, fro,
\forcelinebreak Like wind on the stair,
\forcelinebreak Cares still, heeds all, and will, even though
\forcelinebreak I may despair.

\section{JEZREEL}


ON ITS SEIZURE BY THE ENGLISH UNDER ALLENBY, SEPTEMBER 1918


Did they catch as it were in a Vision at shut of the day -
\forcelinebreak When their cavalry smote through the ancient Esdraelon Plain,
\forcelinebreak And they crossed where the Tishbite stood forth in his enemy’s way -
\forcelinebreak His gaunt mournful Shade as he bade the King haste off amain?


On war-men at this end of time - even on Englishmen’s eyes -
\forcelinebreak Who slay with their arms of new might in that long-ago place,
\forcelinebreak Flashed he who drove furiously? . . . Ah, did the phantom arise
\forcelinebreak Of that queen, of that proud Tyrian woman who painted her face?


Faintly marked they the words “Throw her down!” rise from Night eerily,
\forcelinebreak Spectre-spots of the blood of her body on some rotten wall?
\forcelinebreak And the thin note of pity that came: “A King’s daughter is she,”
\forcelinebreak As they passed where she trodden was once by the chargers’ footfall?


Could such be the hauntings of men of to-day, at the cease
\forcelinebreak Of pursuit, at the dusk-hour, ere slumber their senses could seal?
\forcelinebreak Enghosted seers, kings - one on horseback who asked “Is it peace?” . . .
\forcelinebreak Yea, strange things and spectral may men have beheld in Jezreel!


September 24, 1918.

\section{A JOG-TROT PAIR}


Who were the twain that trod this track
\forcelinebreak So many times together
\forcelinebreak Hither and back,
\forcelinebreak In spells of certain and uncertain weather?


Commonplace in conduct they
\forcelinebreak Who wandered to and fro here
\forcelinebreak Day by day:
\forcelinebreak Two that few dwellers troubled themselves to know here.


The very gravel-path was prim
\forcelinebreak That daily they would follow:
\forcelinebreak Borders trim:
\forcelinebreak Never a wayward sprout, or hump, or hollow.


Trite usages in tamest style
\forcelinebreak Had tended to their plighting.
\forcelinebreak ”It’s just worth while,
\forcelinebreak Perhaps,” they had said. “And saves much sad good-nighting.”


And petty seemed the happenings
\forcelinebreak That ministered to their joyance:
\forcelinebreak Simple things,
\forcelinebreak Onerous to satiate souls, increased their buoyance.


Who could those common people be,
\forcelinebreak Of days the plainest, barest?
\forcelinebreak They were we;
\forcelinebreak Yes; happier than the cleverest, smartest, rarest.

\section{THE CURTAINS NOW ARE DRAWN}


(SONG)

\subsection{I}


The curtains now are drawn,
\forcelinebreak And the spindrift strikes the glass,
\forcelinebreak Blown up the jagged pass
\forcelinebreak By the surly salt sou’-west,
\forcelinebreak And the sneering glare is gone
\forcelinebreak Behind the yonder crest,
\forcelinebreak While she sings to me:
\forcelinebreak “O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine,
\forcelinebreak And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine,
\forcelinebreak And death may come, but loving is divine.”

\subsection{II}


I stand here in the rain,
\forcelinebreak With its smite upon her stone,
\forcelinebreak And the grasses that have grown
\forcelinebreak Over women, children, men,
\forcelinebreak And their texts that “Life is vain”;
\forcelinebreak But I hear the notes as when
\forcelinebreak Once she sang to me:
\forcelinebreak “O the dream that thou art my Love, be it thine,
\forcelinebreak And the dream that I am thy Love, be it mine,
\forcelinebreak And death may come, but loving is divine.”


1913

\section{ACCORDING TO THE MIGHTY WORKING}

\subsection{I}


When moiling seems at cease
\forcelinebreak In the vague void of night-time,
\forcelinebreak And heaven’s wide roomage stormless
\forcelinebreak Between the dusk and light-time,
\forcelinebreak And fear at last is formless,
\forcelinebreak We call the allurement Peace.

\subsection{II}


Peace, this hid riot, Change,
\forcelinebreak This revel of quick-cued mumming,
\forcelinebreak This never truly being,
\forcelinebreak This evermore becoming,
\forcelinebreak This spinner’s wheel onfleeing
\forcelinebreak Outside perception’s range.


1917

\section{I WAS NOT HE}


(SONG)


I was not he - the man
\forcelinebreak Who used to pilgrim to your gate,
\forcelinebreak At whose smart step you grew elate,
\forcelinebreak And rosed, as maidens can,
\forcelinebreak For a brief span.


It was not I who sang
\forcelinebreak Beside the keys you touched so true
\forcelinebreak With note-bent eyes, as if with you
\forcelinebreak It counted not whence sprang
\forcelinebreak The voice that rang . . .


Yet though my destiny
\forcelinebreak It was to miss your early sweet,
\forcelinebreak You still, when turned to you my feet,
\forcelinebreak Had sweet enough to be
\forcelinebreak A prize for me!

\section{THE WEST-OF-WESSEX GIRL}


A very West-of-Wessex girl,
\forcelinebreak As blithe as blithe could be,
\forcelinebreak Was once well-known to me,
\forcelinebreak And she would laud her native town,
\forcelinebreak And hope and hope that we
\forcelinebreak Might sometime study up and down
\forcelinebreak Its charms in company.


But never I squired my Wessex girl
\forcelinebreak In jaunts to Hoe or street
\forcelinebreak When hearts were high in beat,
\forcelinebreak Nor saw her in the marbled ways
\forcelinebreak Where market-people meet
\forcelinebreak That in her bounding early days
\forcelinebreak Were friendly with her feet.


Yet now my West-of-Wessex girl,
\forcelinebreak When midnight hammers slow
\forcelinebreak From Andrew’s, blow by blow,
\forcelinebreak As phantom draws me by the hand
\forcelinebreak To the place - Plymouth Hoe -
\forcelinebreak Where side by side in life, as planned,
\forcelinebreak We never were to go!


Begun in Plymouth, March 1913.

\section{WELCOME HOME}


To my native place
\forcelinebreak Bent upon returning,
\forcelinebreak Bosom all day burning
\forcelinebreak To be where my race
\forcelinebreak Well were known, ‘twas much with me
\forcelinebreak There to dwell in amity.


Folk had sought their beds,
\forcelinebreak But I hailed: to view me
\forcelinebreak Under the moon, out to me
\forcelinebreak Several pushed their heads,
\forcelinebreak And to each I told my name,
\forcelinebreak Plans, and that therefrom I came.


”Did you? . . . Ah, ‘tis true
\forcelinebreak I once heard, back a long time,
\forcelinebreak Here had spent his young time,
\forcelinebreak Some such man as you . . .
\forcelinebreak Good-night.” The casement closed again,
\forcelinebreak And I was left in the frosty lane.

\section{GOING AND STAYING}

\subsection{I}


The moving sun-shapes on the spray,
\forcelinebreak The sparkles where the brook was flowing,
\forcelinebreak Pink faces, plightings, moonlit May,
\forcelinebreak These were the things we wished would stay;
\forcelinebreak But they were going.

\subsection{II}


Seasons of blankness as of snow,
\forcelinebreak The silent bleed of a world decaying,
\forcelinebreak The moan of multitudes in woe,
\forcelinebreak These were the things we wished would go;
\forcelinebreak But they were staying.

\subsection{III}


Then we looked closelier at Time,
\forcelinebreak And saw his ghostly arms revolving
\forcelinebreak To sweep off woeful things with prime,
\forcelinebreak Things sinister with things sublime
\forcelinebreak Alike dissolving.

\section{READ BY MOONLIGHT}


I paused to read a letter of hers
\forcelinebreak By the moon’s cold shine,
\forcelinebreak Eyeing it in the tenderest way,
\forcelinebreak And edging it up to catch each ray
\forcelinebreak Upon her light-penned line.
\forcelinebreak I did not know what years would flow
\forcelinebreak Of her life’s span and mine
\forcelinebreak Ere I read another letter of hers
\forcelinebreak By the moon’s cold shine!


I chance now on the last of hers,
\forcelinebreak By the moon’s cold shine;
\forcelinebreak It is the one remaining page
\forcelinebreak Out of the many shallow and sage
\forcelinebreak Whereto she set her sign.
\forcelinebreak Who could foresee there were to be
\forcelinebreak Such letters of pain and pine
\forcelinebreak Ere I should read this last of hers
\forcelinebreak By the moon’s cold shine!

\section{AT A HOUSE IN HAMPSTEAD}


SOMETIME THE DWELLING OF JOHN KEATS


O poet, come you haunting here
\forcelinebreak Where streets have stolen up all around,
\forcelinebreak And never a nightingale pours one
\forcelinebreak Full-throated sound?


Drawn from your drowse by the Seven famed Hills,
\forcelinebreak Thought you to find all just the same
\forcelinebreak Here shining, as in hours of old,
\forcelinebreak If you but came?


What will you do in your surprise
\forcelinebreak At seeing that changes wrought in Rome
\forcelinebreak Are wrought yet more on the misty slope
\forcelinebreak One time your home?


Will you wake wind-wafts on these stairs?
\forcelinebreak Swing the doors open noisily?
\forcelinebreak Show as an umbraged ghost beside
\forcelinebreak Your ancient tree?


Or will you, softening, the while
\forcelinebreak You further and yet further look,
\forcelinebreak Learn that a laggard few would fain
\forcelinebreak Preserve your nook? . . .


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Where the Piazza steps incline,
\forcelinebreak And catch late light at eventide,
\forcelinebreak I once stood, in that Rome, and thought,
\forcelinebreak ”‘Twas here he died.”




\end{itemize}

I drew to a violet-sprinkled spot,
\forcelinebreak Where day and night a pyramid keeps
\forcelinebreak Uplifted its white hand, and said,
\forcelinebreak ”‘Tis there he sleeps.”


Pleasanter now it is to hold
\forcelinebreak That here, where sang he, more of him
\forcelinebreak Remains than where he, tuneless, cold,
\forcelinebreak Passed to the dim.


July 1920.

\section{A WOMAN’S FANCY}


“Ah Madam; you’ve indeed come back here?
\forcelinebreak ’Twas sad - your husband’s so swift death,
\forcelinebreak And you away! You shouldn’t have left him:
\forcelinebreak It hastened his last breath.”


“Dame, I am not the lady you think me;
\forcelinebreak I know not her, nor know her name;
\forcelinebreak I’ve come to lodge here - a friendless woman;
\forcelinebreak My health my only aim.”


She came; she lodged. Wherever she rambled
\forcelinebreak They held her as no other than
\forcelinebreak The lady named; and told how her husband
\forcelinebreak Had died a forsaken man.


So often did they call her thuswise
\forcelinebreak Mistakenly, by that man’s name,
\forcelinebreak So much did they declare about him,
\forcelinebreak That his past form and fame


Grew on her, till she pitied his sorrow
\forcelinebreak As if she truly had been the cause -
\forcelinebreak Yea, his deserter; and came to wonder
\forcelinebreak What mould of man he was.


“Tell me my history!” would exclaim she;
\forcelinebreak ”Our history,” she said mournfully.
\forcelinebreak “But you know, surely, Ma’am?” they would answer,
\forcelinebreak Much in perplexity.


Curious, she crept to his grave one evening,
\forcelinebreak And a second time in the dusk of the morrow;
\forcelinebreak Then a third time, with crescent emotion
\forcelinebreak Like a bereaved wife’s sorrow.


No gravestone rose by the rounded hillock;
\forcelinebreak  - “I marvel why this is?” she said.
\forcelinebreak  - “He had no kindred, Ma’am, but you near.”
\forcelinebreak  - She set a stone at his head.


She learnt to dream of him, and told them:
\forcelinebreak ”In slumber often uprises he,
\forcelinebreak And says: ‘I am joyed that, after all, Dear,
\forcelinebreak You’ve not deserted me!”


At length died too this kinless woman,
\forcelinebreak As he had died she had grown to crave;
\forcelinebreak And at her dying she besought them
\forcelinebreak To bury her in his grave.


Such said, she had paused; until she added:
\forcelinebreak ”Call me by his name on the stone,
\forcelinebreak As I were, first to last, his dearest,
\forcelinebreak Not she who left him lone!”


And this they did. And so it became there
\forcelinebreak That, by the strength of a tender whim,
\forcelinebreak The stranger was she who bore his name there,
\forcelinebreak Not she who wedded him.

\section{HER SONG}


I sang that song on Sunday,
\forcelinebreak To witch an idle while,
\forcelinebreak I sang that song on Monday,
\forcelinebreak As fittest to beguile;
\forcelinebreak I sang it as the year outwore,
\forcelinebreak And the new slid in;
\forcelinebreak I thought not what might shape before
\forcelinebreak Another would begin.


I sang that song in summer,
\forcelinebreak All unforeknowingly,
\forcelinebreak To him as a new-comer
\forcelinebreak From regions strange to me:
\forcelinebreak I sang it when in afteryears
\forcelinebreak The shades stretched out,
\forcelinebreak And paths were faint; and flocking fears
\forcelinebreak Brought cup-eyed care and doubt.


Sings he that song on Sundays
\forcelinebreak In some dim land afar,
\forcelinebreak On Saturdays, or Mondays,
\forcelinebreak As when the evening star
\forcelinebreak Glimpsed in upon his bending face
\forcelinebreak And my hanging hair,
\forcelinebreak And time untouched me with a trace
\forcelinebreak Of soul-smart or despair?

\section{A WET AUGUST}


Nine drops of water bead the jessamine,
\forcelinebreak And nine-and-ninety smear the stones and tiles:
\forcelinebreak  - ‘Twas not so in that August - full-rayed, fine -
\forcelinebreak When we lived out-of-doors, sang songs, strode miles.


Or was there then no noted radiancy
\forcelinebreak Of summer? Were dun clouds, a dribbling bough,
\forcelinebreak Gilt over by the light I bore in me,
\forcelinebreak And was the waste world just the same as now?


It can have been so: yea, that threatenings
\forcelinebreak Of coming down-drip on the sunless gray,
\forcelinebreak By the then possibilities in things
\forcelinebreak Were wrought more bright than brightest skies to-day.


1920

\section{THE DISSEMBLERS}


“It was not you I came to please,
\forcelinebreak Only myself,” flipped she;
\forcelinebreak “I like this spot of phantasies,
\forcelinebreak And thought you far from me.”
\forcelinebreak But O, he was the secret spell
\forcelinebreak That led her to the lea!


“It was not she who shaped my ways,
\forcelinebreak Or works, or thoughts,” he said.
\forcelinebreak “I scarcely marked her living days,
\forcelinebreak Or missed her much when dead.”
\forcelinebreak But O, his joyance knew its knell
\forcelinebreak When daisies hid her head!

\section{TO A LADY PLAYING AND SINGING IN THE MORNING}


Joyful lady, sing!
\forcelinebreak And I will lurk here listening,
\forcelinebreak Though nought be done, and nought begun,
\forcelinebreak And work-hours swift are scurrying.


Sing, O lady, still!
\forcelinebreak Aye, I will wait each note you trill,
\forcelinebreak Though duties due that press to do
\forcelinebreak This whole day long I unfulfil.


” - It is an evening tune;
\forcelinebreak One not designed to waste the noon,”
\forcelinebreak You say. I know: time bids me go -
\forcelinebreak For daytide passes too, too soon!


But let indulgence be,
\forcelinebreak This once, to my rash ecstasy:
\forcelinebreak When sounds nowhere that carolled air
\forcelinebreak My idled morn may comfort me!

\section{A MAN WAS DRAWING NEAR TO ME}


On that gray night of mournful drone,
\forcelinebreak A part from aught to hear, to see,
\forcelinebreak I dreamt not that from shires unknown
\forcelinebreak In gloom, alone,
\forcelinebreak By Halworthy,
\forcelinebreak A man was drawing near to me.


I’d no concern at anything,
\forcelinebreak No sense of coming pull-heart play;
\forcelinebreak Yet, under the silent outspreading
\forcelinebreak Of even’s wing
\forcelinebreak Where Otterham lay,
\forcelinebreak A man was riding up my way.


I thought of nobody - not of one,
\forcelinebreak But only of trifles - legends, ghosts -
\forcelinebreak Though, on the moorland dim and dun
\forcelinebreak That travellers shun
\forcelinebreak About these coasts,
\forcelinebreak The man had passed Tresparret Posts.


There was no light at all inland,
\forcelinebreak Only the seaward pharos-fire,
\forcelinebreak Nothing to let me understand
\forcelinebreak That hard at hand
\forcelinebreak By Hennett Byre
\forcelinebreak The man was getting nigh and nigher.


There was a rumble at the door,
\forcelinebreak A draught disturbed the drapery,
\forcelinebreak And but a minute passed before,
\forcelinebreak With gaze that bore
\forcelinebreak My destiny,
\forcelinebreak The man revealed himself to me.

\section{THE STRANGE HOUSE}


(MAX GATE, A.D. 2000)


“I hear the piano playing -
\forcelinebreak Just as a ghost might play.”
\forcelinebreak “ - O, but what are you saying?
\forcelinebreak There’s no piano to-day;
\forcelinebreak Their old one was sold and broken;
\forcelinebreak Years past it went amiss.”
\forcelinebreak “ - I heard it, or shouldn’t have spoken:
\forcelinebreak A strange house, this!


“I catch some undertone here,
\forcelinebreak From some one out of sight.”
\forcelinebreak “ - Impossible; we are alone here,
\forcelinebreak And shall be through the night.”
\forcelinebreak “ - The parlour-door - what stirred it?”
\forcelinebreak ” - No one: no soul’s in range.”
\forcelinebreak “ - But, anyhow, I heard it,
\forcelinebreak And it seems strange!


“Seek my own room I cannot -
\forcelinebreak A figure is on the stair!”
\forcelinebreak “ - What figure? Nay, I scan not
\forcelinebreak Any one lingering there.
\forcelinebreak A bough outside is waving,
\forcelinebreak And that’s its shade by the moon.”
\forcelinebreak “ - Well, all is strange! I am craving
\forcelinebreak Strength to leave soon.”


“ - Ah, maybe you’ve some vision
\forcelinebreak Of showings beyond our sphere;
\forcelinebreak Some sight, sense, intuition
\forcelinebreak Of what once happened here?
\forcelinebreak The house is old; they’ve hinted
\forcelinebreak It once held two love-thralls,
\forcelinebreak And they may have imprinted
\forcelinebreak Their dreams on its walls?


“They were - I think ‘twas told me -
\forcelinebreak Queer in their works and ways;
\forcelinebreak The teller would often hold me
\forcelinebreak With weird tales of those days.
\forcelinebreak Some folk can not abide here,
\forcelinebreak But we - we do not care
\forcelinebreak Who loved, laughed, wept, or died here,
\forcelinebreak Knew joy, or despair.”

\section{AS ‘TWERE TO-NIGHT}


(SONG)


As ‘twere to-night, in the brief space
\forcelinebreak Of a far eventime,
\forcelinebreak My spirit rang achime
\forcelinebreak At vision of a girl of grace;
\forcelinebreak As ‘twere to-night, in the brief space
\forcelinebreak Of a far eventime.


As ‘twere at noontide of to-morrow
\forcelinebreak I airily walked and talked,
\forcelinebreak And wondered as I walked
\forcelinebreak What it could mean, this soar from sorrow;
\forcelinebreak As ‘twere at noontide of to-morrow
\forcelinebreak I airily walked and talked.


As ‘twere at waning of this week
\forcelinebreak Broke a new life on me;
\forcelinebreak Trancings of bliss to be
\forcelinebreak In some dim dear land soon to seek;
\forcelinebreak As ‘twere at waning of this week
\forcelinebreak Broke a new life on me!

\section{THE CONTRETEMPS}


A forward rush by the lamp in the gloom,
\forcelinebreak And we clasped, and almost kissed;
\forcelinebreak But she was not the woman whom
\forcelinebreak I had promised to meet in the thawing brume
\forcelinebreak On that harbour-bridge; nor was I he of her tryst.


So loosening from me swift she said:
\forcelinebreak ”O why, why feign to be
\forcelinebreak The one I had meant! - to whom I have sped
\forcelinebreak To fly with, being so sorrily wed!”
\forcelinebreak  - ‘Twas thus and thus that she upbraided me.


My assignation had struck upon
\forcelinebreak Some others’ like it, I found.
\forcelinebreak And her lover rose on the night anon;
\forcelinebreak And then her husband entered on
\forcelinebreak The lamplit, snowflaked, sloppiness around.


”Take her and welcome, man!” he cried:
\forcelinebreak ”I wash my hands of her.
\forcelinebreak I’ll find me twice as good a bride!”
\forcelinebreak  - All this to me, whom he had eyed,
\forcelinebreak Plainly, as his wife’s planned deliverer.


And next the lover: “Little I knew,
\forcelinebreak Madam, you had a third!
\forcelinebreak Kissing here in my very view!”
\forcelinebreak  - Husband and lover then withdrew.
\forcelinebreak I let them; and I told them not they erred.


Why not? Well, there faced she and I -
\forcelinebreak Two strangers who’d kissed, or near,
\forcelinebreak Chancewise. To see stand weeping by
\forcelinebreak A woman once embraced, will try
\forcelinebreak The tension of a man the most austere.


So it began; and I was young,
\forcelinebreak She pretty, by the lamp,
\forcelinebreak As flakes came waltzing down among
\forcelinebreak The waves of her clinging hair, that hung
\forcelinebreak Heavily on her temples, dark and damp.


And there alone still stood we two;
\forcelinebreak She one cast off for me,
\forcelinebreak Or so it seemed: while night ondrew,
\forcelinebreak Forcing a parley what should do
\forcelinebreak We twain hearts caught in one catastrophe.


In stranded souls a common strait
\forcelinebreak Wakes latencies unknown,
\forcelinebreak Whose impulse may precipitate
\forcelinebreak A life-long leap. The hour was late,
\forcelinebreak And there was the Jersey boat with its funnel agroan.


”Is wary walking worth much pother?”
\forcelinebreak It grunted, as still it stayed.
\forcelinebreak ”One pairing is as good as another
\forcelinebreak Where all is venture! Take each other,
\forcelinebreak And scrap the oaths that you have aforetime made.” . . .


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Of the four involved there walks but one
\forcelinebreak On earth at this late day.
\forcelinebreak And what of the chapter so begun?
\forcelinebreak In that odd complex what was done?
\forcelinebreak Well; happiness comes in full to none:
\forcelinebreak Let peace lie on lulled lips: I will not say.




\end{itemize}

WEYMOUTH.

\section{A GENTLEMAN’S EPITAPH ON HIMSELF AND A LADY, WHO WERE BURIED TOGETHER}


I dwelt in the shade of a city,
\forcelinebreak She far by the sea,
\forcelinebreak With folk perhaps good, gracious, witty;
\forcelinebreak But never with me.


Her form on the ballroom’s smooth flooring
\forcelinebreak I never once met,
\forcelinebreak To guide her with accents adoring
\forcelinebreak Through Weippert’s “First Set.”


I spent my life’s seasons with pale ones
\forcelinebreak In Vanity Fair,
\forcelinebreak And she enjoyed hers among hale ones
\forcelinebreak In salt-smelling air.


Maybe she had eyes of deep colour,
\forcelinebreak Maybe they were blue,
\forcelinebreak Maybe as she aged they got duller;
\forcelinebreak That never I knew.


She may have had lips like the coral,
\forcelinebreak But I never kissed them,
\forcelinebreak Saw pouting, nor curling in quarrel,
\forcelinebreak Nor sought for, nor missed them.


Not a word passed of love all our lifetime,
\forcelinebreak Between us, nor thrill;
\forcelinebreak We’d never a husband-and-wife time,
\forcelinebreak For good or for ill.


Yet as one dust, through bleak days and vernal,
\forcelinebreak Lie I and lies she,
\forcelinebreak This never-known lady, eternal
\forcelinebreak Companion to me!

\section{THE OLD GOWN}


(SONG)


I have seen her in gowns the brightest,
\forcelinebreak Of azure, green, and red,
\forcelinebreak And in the simplest, whitest,
\forcelinebreak Muslined from heel to head;
\forcelinebreak I have watched her walking, riding,
\forcelinebreak Shade-flecked by a leafy tree,
\forcelinebreak Or in fixed thought abiding
\forcelinebreak By the foam-fingered sea.


In woodlands I have known her,
\forcelinebreak When boughs were mourning loud,
\forcelinebreak In the rain-reek she has shown her
\forcelinebreak Wild-haired and watery-browed.
\forcelinebreak And once or twice she has cast me
\forcelinebreak As she pomped along the street
\forcelinebreak Court-clad, ere quite she had passed me,
\forcelinebreak A glance from her chariot-seat.


But in my memoried passion
\forcelinebreak For evermore stands she
\forcelinebreak In the gown of fading fashion
\forcelinebreak She wore that night when we,
\forcelinebreak Doomed long to part, assembled
\forcelinebreak In the snug small room; yea, when
\forcelinebreak She sang with lips that trembled,
\forcelinebreak ”Shall I see his face again?”

\section{A NIGHT IN NOVEMBER}


I marked when the weather changed,
\forcelinebreak And the panes began to quake,
\forcelinebreak And the winds rose up and ranged,
\forcelinebreak That night, lying half-awake.


Dead leaves blew into my room,
\forcelinebreak And alighted upon my bed,
\forcelinebreak And a tree declared to the gloom
\forcelinebreak Its sorrow that they were shed.


One leaf of them touched my hand,
\forcelinebreak And I thought that it was you
\forcelinebreak There stood as you used to stand,
\forcelinebreak And saying at last you knew!


(?) 1913.

\section{A DUETTIST TO HER PIANOFORTE}


SONG OF SILENCE
\forcelinebreak (E. L. H. - H. C. H.)


Since every sound moves memories,
\forcelinebreak How can I play you
\forcelinebreak Just as I might if you raised no scene,
\forcelinebreak By your ivory rows, of a form between
\forcelinebreak My vision and your time-worn sheen,
\forcelinebreak As when each day you
\forcelinebreak Answered our fingers with ecstasy?
\forcelinebreak So it’s hushed, hushed, hushed, you are for me!


And as I am doomed to counterchord
\forcelinebreak Her notes no more
\forcelinebreak In those old things I used to know,
\forcelinebreak In a fashion, when we practised so,
\forcelinebreak “Good-night! - Good-bye!” to your pleated show
\forcelinebreak Of silk, now hoar,
\forcelinebreak Each nodding hammer, and pedal and key,
\forcelinebreak For dead, dead, dead, you are to me!


I fain would second her, strike to her stroke,
\forcelinebreak As when she was by,
\forcelinebreak Aye, even from the ancient clamorous “Fall
\forcelinebreak Of Paris,” or “Battle of Prague” withal,
\forcelinebreak To the “Roving Minstrels,” or “Elfin Call”
\forcelinebreak Sung soft as a sigh:
\forcelinebreak But upping ghosts press achefully,
\forcelinebreak And mute, mute, mute, you are for me!


Should I fling your polyphones, plaints, and quavers
\forcelinebreak Afresh on the air,
\forcelinebreak Too quick would the small white shapes be here
\forcelinebreak Of the fellow twain of hands so dear;
\forcelinebreak And a black-tressed profile, and pale smooth ear;
\forcelinebreak  - Then how shall I bear
\forcelinebreak Such heavily-haunted harmony?
\forcelinebreak Nay: hushed, hushed, hushed you are for me!

\section{WHERE THREE ROADS JOINED}


Where three roads joined it was green and fair,
\forcelinebreak And over a gate was the sun-glazed sea,
\forcelinebreak And life laughed sweet when I halted there;
\forcelinebreak Yet there I never again would be.


I am sure those branchways are brooding now,
\forcelinebreak With a wistful blankness upon their face,
\forcelinebreak While the few mute passengers notice how
\forcelinebreak Spectre-beridden is the place;


Which nightly sighs like a laden soul,
\forcelinebreak And grieves that a pair, in bliss for a spell
\forcelinebreak Not far from thence, should have let it roll
\forcelinebreak Away from them down a plumbless well


While the phasm of him who fared starts up,
\forcelinebreak And of her who was waiting him sobs from near,
\forcelinebreak As they haunt there and drink the wormwood cup
\forcelinebreak They filled for themselves when their sky was clear.


Yes, I see those roads - now rutted and bare,
\forcelinebreak While over the gate is no sun-glazed sea;
\forcelinebreak And though life laughed when I halted there,
\forcelinebreak It is where I never again would be.

\section{AND THERE WAS A GREAT CALM}


(ON THE SIGNING OF THE ARMISTICE, Nov. 11, 1918)

\subsection{I}


There had been years of Passion - scorching, cold,
\forcelinebreak And much Despair, and Anger heaving high,
\forcelinebreak Care whitely watching, Sorrows manifold,
\forcelinebreak Among the young, among the weak and old,
\forcelinebreak And the pensive Spirit of Pity whispered, “Why?”

\subsection{II}


Men had not paused to answer. Foes distraught
\forcelinebreak Pierced the thinned peoples in a brute-like blindness,
\forcelinebreak Philosophies that sages long had taught,
\forcelinebreak And Selflessness, were as an unknown thought,
\forcelinebreak And “Hell!” and “Shell!” were yapped at Lovingkindness.

\subsection{III}


The feeble folk at home had grown full-used
\forcelinebreak To “dug-outs,” “snipers,” “Huns,” from the war-adept
\forcelinebreak In the mornings heard, and at evetides perused;
\forcelinebreak To day - dreamt men in millions, when they mused -
\forcelinebreak To nightmare-men in millions when they slept.

\subsection{IV}


Waking to wish existence timeless, null,
\forcelinebreak Sirius they watched above where armies fell;
\forcelinebreak He seemed to check his flapping when, in the lull
\forcelinebreak Of night a boom came thencewise, like the dull
\forcelinebreak Plunge of a stone dropped into some deep well.

\subsection{V}


So, when old hopes that earth was bettering slowly
\forcelinebreak Were dead and damned, there sounded “War is done!”
\forcelinebreak One morrow. Said the bereft, and meek, and lowly,
\forcelinebreak “Will men some day be given to grace? yea, wholly,
\forcelinebreak And in good sooth, as our dreams used to run?”


VI


Breathless they paused. Out there men raised their glance
\forcelinebreak To where had stood those poplars lank and lopped,
\forcelinebreak As they had raised it through the four years’ dance
\forcelinebreak Of Death in the now familiar flats of France;
\forcelinebreak And murmured, “Strange, this! How? All firing stopped?”


VII


Aye; all was hushed. The about-to-fire fired not,
\forcelinebreak The aimed-at moved away in trance-lipped song.
\forcelinebreak One checkless regiment slung a clinching shot
\forcelinebreak And turned. The Spirit of Irony smirked out, “What?
\forcelinebreak Spoil peradventures woven of Rage and Wrong?”


VIII


Thenceforth no flying fires inflamed the gray,
\forcelinebreak No hurtlings shook the dewdrop from the thorn,
\forcelinebreak No moan perplexed the mute bird on the spray;
\forcelinebreak Worn horses mused: “We are not whipped to-day”;
\forcelinebreak No weft-winged engines blurred the moon’s thin horn.

\subsection{IX}


Calm fell. From Heaven distilled a clemency;
\forcelinebreak There was peace on earth, and silence in the sky;
\forcelinebreak Some could, some could not, shake off misery:
\forcelinebreak The Sinister Spirit sneered: “It had to be!”
\forcelinebreak And again the Spirit of Pity whispered, “Why?”

\section{HAUNTING FINGERS}

\section{A PHANTASY IN A MUSEUM OF MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS}


”Are you awake,
\forcelinebreak Comrades, this silent night?
\forcelinebreak Well ‘twere if all of our glossy gluey make
\forcelinebreak Lay in the damp without, and fell to fragments quite!”


”O viol, my friend,
\forcelinebreak I watch, though Phosphor nears,
\forcelinebreak And I fain would drowse away to its utter end
\forcelinebreak This dumb dark stowage after our loud melodious years!”


And they felt past handlers clutch them,
\forcelinebreak Though none was in the room,
\forcelinebreak Old players’ dead fingers touch them,
\forcelinebreak Shrunk in the tomb.


”‘Cello, good mate,
\forcelinebreak You speak my mind as yours:
\forcelinebreak Doomed to this voiceless, crippled, corpselike state,
\forcelinebreak Who, dear to famed Amphion, trapped here, long endures?”


”Once I could thrill
\forcelinebreak The populace through and through,
\forcelinebreak Wake them to passioned pulsings past their will.” . . .
\forcelinebreak (A contra-basso spake so, and the rest sighed anew.)


And they felt old muscles travel
\forcelinebreak Over their tense contours,
\forcelinebreak And with long skill unravel
\forcelinebreak Cunningest scores.


”The tender pat
\forcelinebreak Of her aery finger-tips
\forcelinebreak Upon me daily - I rejoiced thereat!”
\forcelinebreak (Thuswise a harpsicord, as from dampered lips.)


”My keys’ white shine,
\forcelinebreak Now sallow, met a hand
\forcelinebreak Even whiter. . . . Tones of hers fell forth with mine
\forcelinebreak In sowings of sound so sweet no lover could withstand!”


And its clavier was filmed with fingers
\forcelinebreak Like tapering flames - wan, cold -
\forcelinebreak Or the nebulous light that lingers
\forcelinebreak In charnel mould.


”Gayer than most
\forcelinebreak Was I,” reverbed a drum;
\forcelinebreak ”The regiments, marchings, throngs, hurrahs! What a host
\forcelinebreak I stirred - even when crape mufflings gagged me well-nigh dumb!”


Trilled an aged viol:
\forcelinebreak ”Much tune have I set free
\forcelinebreak To spur the dance, since my first timid trial
\forcelinebreak Where I had birth - far hence, in sun-swept Italy!”


And he feels apt touches on him
\forcelinebreak From those that pressed him then;
\forcelinebreak Who seem with their glance to con him,
\forcelinebreak Saying, “Not again!”


”A holy calm,”
\forcelinebreak Mourned a shawm’s voice subdued,
\forcelinebreak ”Steeped my Cecilian rhythms when hymn and psalm
\forcelinebreak Poured from devout souls met in Sabbath sanctitude.”


”I faced the sock
\forcelinebreak Nightly,” twanged a sick lyre,
\forcelinebreak ”Over ranked lights! O charm of life in mock,
\forcelinebreak O scenes that fed love, hope, wit, rapture, mirth, desire!”


Thus they, till each past player
\forcelinebreak Stroked thinner and more thin,
\forcelinebreak And the morning sky grew grayer
\forcelinebreak And day crawled in.

\section{THE WOMAN I MET}


A stranger, I threaded sunken-hearted
\forcelinebreak A lamp-lit crowd;
\forcelinebreak And anon there passed me a soul departed,
\forcelinebreak Who mutely bowed.
\forcelinebreak In my far-off youthful years I had met her,
\forcelinebreak Full-pulsed; but now, no more life’s debtor,
\forcelinebreak Onward she slid
\forcelinebreak In a shroud that furs half-hid.


“Why do you trouble me, dead woman,
\forcelinebreak Trouble me;
\forcelinebreak You whom I knew when warm and human?
\forcelinebreak  - How it be
\forcelinebreak That you quitted earth and are yet upon it
\forcelinebreak Is, to any who ponder on it,
\forcelinebreak Past being read!”
\forcelinebreak ”Still, it is so,” she said.


“These were my haunts in my olden sprightly
\forcelinebreak Hours of breath;
\forcelinebreak Here I went tempting frail youth nightly
\forcelinebreak To their death;
\forcelinebreak But you deemed me chaste - me, a tinselled sinner!
\forcelinebreak How thought you one with pureness in her
\forcelinebreak Could pace this street
\forcelinebreak Eyeing some man to greet?


“Well; your very simplicity made me love you
\forcelinebreak Mid such town dross,
\forcelinebreak Till I set not Heaven itself above you,
\forcelinebreak Who grew my Cross;
\forcelinebreak For you’d only nod, despite how I sighed for you;
\forcelinebreak So you tortured me, who fain would have died for you!
\forcelinebreak  - What I suffered then
\forcelinebreak Would have paid for the sins of ten!


“Thus went the days. I feared you despised me
\forcelinebreak To fling me a nod
\forcelinebreak Each time, no more: till love chastised me
\forcelinebreak As with a rod
\forcelinebreak That a fresh bland boy of no assurance
\forcelinebreak Should fire me with passion beyond endurance,
\forcelinebreak While others all
\forcelinebreak I hated, and loathed their call.


“I said: ‘It is his mother’s spirit
\forcelinebreak Hovering around
\forcelinebreak To shield him, maybe!’ I used to fear it,
\forcelinebreak As still I found
\forcelinebreak My beauty left no least impression,
\forcelinebreak And remnants of pride withheld confession
\forcelinebreak Of my true trade
\forcelinebreak By speaking; so I delayed.


“I said: ‘Perhaps with a costly flower
\forcelinebreak He’ll be beguiled.’
\forcelinebreak I held it, in passing you one late hour,
\forcelinebreak To your face: you smiled,
\forcelinebreak Keeping step with the throng; though you did not see there
\forcelinebreak A single one that rivalled me there! . . .
\forcelinebreak Well: it’s all past.
\forcelinebreak I died in the Lock at last.”


So walked the dead and I together
\forcelinebreak The quick among,
\forcelinebreak Elbowing our kind of every feather
\forcelinebreak Slowly and long;
\forcelinebreak Yea, long and slowly. That a phantom should stalk there
\forcelinebreak With me seemed nothing strange, and talk there
\forcelinebreak That winter night
\forcelinebreak By flaming jets of light.


She showed me Juans who feared their call-time,
\forcelinebreak Guessing their lot;
\forcelinebreak She showed me her sort that cursed their fall-time,
\forcelinebreak And that did not.
\forcelinebreak Till suddenly murmured she: “Now, tell me,
\forcelinebreak Why asked you never, ere death befell me,
\forcelinebreak To have my love,
\forcelinebreak Much as I dreamt thereof?”


I could not answer. And she, well weeting
\forcelinebreak All in my heart,
\forcelinebreak Said: “God your guardian kept our fleeting
\forcelinebreak Forms apart!”
\forcelinebreak Sighing and drawing her furs around her
\forcelinebreak Over the shroud that tightly bound her,
\forcelinebreak With wafts as from clay
\forcelinebreak She turned and thinned away.


LONDON, 1918.

\section{IF IT’S EVER SPRING AGAIN}


(SONG)


If it’s ever spring again,
\forcelinebreak Spring again,
\forcelinebreak I shall go where went I when
\forcelinebreak Down the moor-cock splashed, and hen,
\forcelinebreak Seeing me not, amid their flounder,
\forcelinebreak Standing with my arm around her;
\forcelinebreak If it’s ever spring again,
\forcelinebreak Spring again,
\forcelinebreak I shall go where went I then.


If it’s ever summer-time,
\forcelinebreak Summer-time,
\forcelinebreak With the hay crop at the prime,
\forcelinebreak And the cuckoos - two - in rhyme,
\forcelinebreak As they used to be, or seemed to,
\forcelinebreak We shall do as long we’ve dreamed to,
\forcelinebreak If it’s ever summer-time,
\forcelinebreak Summer-time,
\forcelinebreak With the hay, and bees achime.

\section{THE TWO HOUSES}


In the heart of night,
\forcelinebreak When farers were not near,
\forcelinebreak The left house said to the house on the right,
\forcelinebreak “I have marked your rise, O smart newcomer here.”


Said the right, cold-eyed:
\forcelinebreak ”Newcomer here I am,
\forcelinebreak Hence haler than you with your cracked old hide,
\forcelinebreak Loose casements, wormy beams, and doors that jam.


”Modern my wood,
\forcelinebreak My hangings fair of hue;
\forcelinebreak While my windows open as they should,
\forcelinebreak And water-pipes thread all my chambers through.


”Your gear is gray,
\forcelinebreak Your face wears furrows untold.”
\forcelinebreak ” - Yours might,” mourned the other, “if you held, brother,
\forcelinebreak The Presences from aforetime that I hold.


”You have not known
\forcelinebreak Men’s lives, deaths, toils, and teens;
\forcelinebreak You are but a heap of stick and stone:
\forcelinebreak A new house has no sense of the have-beens.


”Void as a drum
\forcelinebreak You stand: I am packed with these,
\forcelinebreak Though, strangely, living dwellers who come
\forcelinebreak See not the phantoms all my substance sees!


”Visible in the morning
\forcelinebreak Stand they, when dawn drags in;
\forcelinebreak Visible at night; yet hint or warning
\forcelinebreak Of these thin elbowers few of the inmates win.


”Babes new-brought-forth
\forcelinebreak Obsess my rooms; straight-stretched
\forcelinebreak Lank corpses, ere outborne to earth;
\forcelinebreak Yea, throng they as when first from the ‘Byss upfetched.


”Dancers and singers
\forcelinebreak Throb in me now as once;
\forcelinebreak Rich-noted throats and gossamered fingers
\forcelinebreak Of heels; the learned in love-lore and the dunce.


”Note here within
\forcelinebreak The bridegroom and the bride,
\forcelinebreak Who smile and greet their friends and kin,
\forcelinebreak And down my stairs depart for tracks untried.


”Where such inbe,
\forcelinebreak A dwelling’s character
\forcelinebreak Takes theirs, and a vague semblancy
\forcelinebreak To them in all its limbs, and light, and atmosphere.


”Yet the blind folk
\forcelinebreak My tenants, who come and go
\forcelinebreak In the flesh mid these, with souls unwoke,
\forcelinebreak Of such sylph-like surrounders do not know.”


” - Will the day come,”
\forcelinebreak Said the new one, awestruck, faint,
\forcelinebreak ”When I shall lodge shades dim and dumb -
\forcelinebreak And with such spectral guests become acquaint?”


” - That will it, boy;
\forcelinebreak Such shades will people thee,
\forcelinebreak Each in his misery, irk, or joy,
\forcelinebreak And print on thee their presences as on me.”

\section{ON STINSFORD HILL AT MIDNIGHT}


I glimpsed a woman’s muslined form
\forcelinebreak Sing-songing airily
\forcelinebreak Against the moon; and still she sang,
\forcelinebreak And took no heed of me.


Another trice, and I beheld
\forcelinebreak What first I had not scanned,
\forcelinebreak That now and then she tapped and shook
\forcelinebreak A timbrel in her hand.


So late the hour, so white her drape,
\forcelinebreak So strange the look it lent
\forcelinebreak To that blank hill, I could not guess
\forcelinebreak What phantastry it meant.


Then burst I forth: “Why such from you?
\forcelinebreak Are you so happy now?”
\forcelinebreak Her voice swam on; nor did she show
\forcelinebreak Thought of me anyhow.


I called again: “Come nearer; much
\forcelinebreak That kind of note I need!”
\forcelinebreak The song kept softening, loudening on,
\forcelinebreak In placid calm unheed.


“What home is yours now?” then I said;
\forcelinebreak ”You seem to have no care.”
\forcelinebreak But the wild wavering tune went forth
\forcelinebreak As if I had not been there.


“This world is dark, and where you are,”
\forcelinebreak I said, “I cannot be!”
\forcelinebreak But still the happy one sang on,
\forcelinebreak And had no heed of me.

\section{THE FALLOW DEER AT THE LONELY HOUSE}


One without looks in to-night
\forcelinebreak Through the curtain-chink
\forcelinebreak From the sheet of glistening white;
\forcelinebreak One without looks in to-night
\forcelinebreak As we sit and think
\forcelinebreak By the fender-brink.


We do not discern those eyes
\forcelinebreak Watching in the snow;
\forcelinebreak Lit by lamps of rosy dyes
\forcelinebreak We do not discern those eyes
\forcelinebreak Wondering, aglow,
\forcelinebreak Fourfooted, tiptoe.

\section{THE SELFSAME SONG}


A bird bills the selfsame song,
\forcelinebreak With never a fault in its flow,
\forcelinebreak That we listened to here those long
\forcelinebreak Long years ago.


A pleasing marvel is how
\forcelinebreak A strain of such rapturous rote
\forcelinebreak Should have gone on thus till now
\forcelinebreak Unchanged in a note!


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
But it’s not the selfsame bird. -
\forcelinebreak No: perished to dust is he . . .
\forcelinebreak As also are those who heard
\forcelinebreak That song with me.




\end{itemize}
\section{THE WANDERER}


There is nobody on the road
\forcelinebreak But I,
\forcelinebreak And no beseeming abode
\forcelinebreak I can try
\forcelinebreak For shelter, so abroad
\forcelinebreak I must lie.


The stars feel not far up,
\forcelinebreak And to be
\forcelinebreak The lights by which I sup
\forcelinebreak Glimmeringly,
\forcelinebreak Set out in a hollow cup
\forcelinebreak Over me.


They wag as though they were
\forcelinebreak Panting for joy
\forcelinebreak Where they shine, above all care,
\forcelinebreak And annoy,
\forcelinebreak And demons of despair -
\forcelinebreak Life’s alloy.


Sometimes outside the fence
\forcelinebreak Feet swing past,
\forcelinebreak Clock-like, and then go hence,
\forcelinebreak Till at last
\forcelinebreak There is a silence, dense,
\forcelinebreak Deep, and vast.


A wanderer, witch-drawn
\forcelinebreak To and fro,
\forcelinebreak To-morrow, at the dawn,
\forcelinebreak On I go,
\forcelinebreak And where I rest anon
\forcelinebreak Do not know!


Yet it’s meet - this bed of hay
\forcelinebreak And roofless plight;
\forcelinebreak For there’s a house of clay,
\forcelinebreak My own, quite,
\forcelinebreak To roof me soon, all day
\forcelinebreak And all night.

\section{A WIFE COMES BACK}


This is the story a man told me
\forcelinebreak Of his life’s one day of dreamery.


A woman came into his room
\forcelinebreak Between the dawn and the creeping day:
\forcelinebreak She was the years-wed wife from whom
\forcelinebreak He had parted, and who lived far away,
\forcelinebreak As if strangers they.


He wondered, and as she stood
\forcelinebreak She put on youth in her look and air,
\forcelinebreak And more was he wonderstruck as he viewed
\forcelinebreak Her form and flesh bloom yet more fair
\forcelinebreak While he watched her there;


Till she freshed to the pink and brown
\forcelinebreak That were hers on the night when first they met,
\forcelinebreak When she was the charm of the idle town
\forcelinebreak And he the pick of the club-fire set . . .
\forcelinebreak His eyes grew wet,


And he stretched his arms: “Stay - rest! - “
\forcelinebreak He cried. “Abide with me so, my own!”
\forcelinebreak But his arms closed in on his hard bare breast;
\forcelinebreak She had vanished with all he had looked upon
\forcelinebreak Of her beauty: gone.


He clothed, and drew downstairs,
\forcelinebreak But she was not in the house, he found;
\forcelinebreak And he passed out under the leafy pairs
\forcelinebreak Of the avenue elms, and searched around
\forcelinebreak To the park-pale bound.


He mounted, and rode till night
\forcelinebreak To the city to which she had long withdrawn,
\forcelinebreak The vision he bore all day in his sight
\forcelinebreak Being her young self as pondered on
\forcelinebreak In the dim of dawn.


” - The lady here long ago -
\forcelinebreak Is she now here? - young - or such age as she is?”
\forcelinebreak “ - She is still here.” - “Thank God. Let her know;
\forcelinebreak She’ll pardon a comer so late as this
\forcelinebreak Whom she’d fain not miss.”


She received him - an ancient dame,
\forcelinebreak Who hemmed, with features frozen and numb,
\forcelinebreak “How strange! - I’d almost forgotten your name! -
\forcelinebreak A call just now - is troublesome;
\forcelinebreak Why did you come?”

\section{A YOUNG MAN’S EXHORTATION}


Call off your eyes from care
\forcelinebreak By some determined deftness; put forth joys
\forcelinebreak Dear as excess without the core that cloys,
\forcelinebreak And charm Life’s lourings fair.


Exalt and crown the hour
\forcelinebreak That girdles us, and fill it full with glee,
\forcelinebreak Blind glee, excelling aught could ever be
\forcelinebreak Were heedfulness in power.


Send up such touching strains
\forcelinebreak That limitless recruits from Fancy’s pack
\forcelinebreak Shall rush upon your tongue, and tender back
\forcelinebreak All that your soul contains.


For what do we know best?
\forcelinebreak That a fresh love-leaf crumpled soon will dry,
\forcelinebreak And that men moment after moment die,
\forcelinebreak Of all scope dispossest.


If I have seen one thing
\forcelinebreak It is the passing preciousness of dreams;
\forcelinebreak That aspects are within us; and who seems
\forcelinebreak Most kingly is the King.


1867: WESTBOURNE PARK VILLAS.

\section{AT LULWORTH COVE A CENTURY BACK}


Had I but lived a hundred years ago
\forcelinebreak I might have gone, as I have gone this year,
\forcelinebreak By Warmwell Cross on to a Cove I know,
\forcelinebreak And Time have placed his finger on me there:


“You see that man?” - I might have looked, and said,
\forcelinebreak “O yes: I see him. One that boat has brought
\forcelinebreak Which dropped down Channel round Saint Alban’s Head.
\forcelinebreak So commonplace a youth calls not my thought.”


“You see that man?” - “Why yes; I told you; yes:
\forcelinebreak Of an idling town-sort; thin; hair brown in hue;
\forcelinebreak And as the evening light scants less and less
\forcelinebreak He looks up at a star, as many do.”


“You see that man?” - “Nay, leave me!” then I plead,
\forcelinebreak “I have fifteen miles to vamp across the lea,
\forcelinebreak And it grows dark, and I am weary-kneed:
\forcelinebreak I have said the third time; yes, that man I see!


“Good. That man goes to Rome - to death, despair;
\forcelinebreak And no one notes him now but you and I:
\forcelinebreak A hundred years, and the world will follow him there,
\forcelinebreak And bend with reverence where his ashes lie.”


September 1920.


Note. - In September 1820 Keats, on his way to Rome, landed one day on the Dorset coast, and composed the sonnet, “Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art.” The spot of his landing is judged to have been Lulworth Cove.

\section{A BYGONE OCCASION}


(SONG)
\forcelinebreak 


That night, that night,
\forcelinebreak That song, that song!
\forcelinebreak Will such again be evened quite
\forcelinebreak Through lifetimes long?


No mirth was shown
\forcelinebreak To outer seers,
\forcelinebreak But mood to match has not been known
\forcelinebreak In modern years.


O eyes that smiled,
\forcelinebreak O lips that lured;
\forcelinebreak That such would last was one beguiled
\forcelinebreak To think ensured!


That night, that night,
\forcelinebreak That song, that song;
\forcelinebreak O drink to its recalled delight,
\forcelinebreak Though tears may throng!

\section{TWO SERENADES}

\subsection{I - On Christmas Eve}


Late on Christmas Eve, in the street alone,
\forcelinebreak Outside a house, on the pavement-stone,
\forcelinebreak I sang to her, as we’d sung together
\forcelinebreak On former eves ere I felt her tether. -
\forcelinebreak Above the door of green by me
\forcelinebreak Was she, her casement seen by me;
\forcelinebreak But she would not heed
\forcelinebreak What I melodied
\forcelinebreak In my soul’s sore need -
\forcelinebreak She would not heed.


Cassiopeia overhead,
\forcelinebreak And the Seven of the Wain, heard what I said
\forcelinebreak As I bent me there, and voiced, and fingered
\forcelinebreak Upon the strings. . . . Long, long I lingered:
\forcelinebreak Only the curtains hid from her
\forcelinebreak One whom caprice had bid from her;
\forcelinebreak But she did not come,
\forcelinebreak And my heart grew numb
\forcelinebreak And dull my strum;
\forcelinebreak She did not come.

\subsection{II - A Year Later}


I skimmed the strings; I sang quite low;
\forcelinebreak I hoped she would not come or know
\forcelinebreak That the house next door was the one now dittied,
\forcelinebreak Not hers, as when I had played unpitied;
\forcelinebreak  - Next door, where dwelt a heart fresh stirred,
\forcelinebreak My new Love, of good will to me,
\forcelinebreak Unlike my old Love chill to me,
\forcelinebreak Who had not cared for my notes when heard:
\forcelinebreak Yet that old Love came
\forcelinebreak To the other’s name
\forcelinebreak As hers were the claim;
\forcelinebreak Yea, the old Love came


My viol sank mute, my tongue stood still,
\forcelinebreak I tried to sing on, but vain my will:
\forcelinebreak I prayed she would guess of the later, and leave me;
\forcelinebreak She stayed, as though, were she slain by the smart,
\forcelinebreak She would bear love’s burn for a newer heart.
\forcelinebreak The tense-drawn moment wrought to bereave me
\forcelinebreak Of voice, and I turned in a dumb despair
\forcelinebreak At her finding I’d come to another there.
\forcelinebreak Sick I withdrew
\forcelinebreak At love’s grim hue
\forcelinebreak Ere my last Love knew;
\forcelinebreak Sick I withdrew.


From an old copy.

\section{THE WEDDING MORNING}


Tabitha dressed for her wedding:-
\forcelinebreak ”Tabby, why look so sad?”
\forcelinebreak “ - O I feel a great gloominess spreading, spreading,
\forcelinebreak Instead of supremely glad! . . .


”I called on Carry last night,
\forcelinebreak And he came whilst I was there,
\forcelinebreak Not knowing I’d called. So I kept out of sight,
\forcelinebreak And I heard what he said to her:


”‘ - Ah, I’d far liefer marry
\forcelinebreak You, Dear, to-morrow!’ he said,
\forcelinebreak ‘But that cannot be.’ - O I’d give him to Carry,
\forcelinebreak And willingly see them wed,


”But how can I do it when
\forcelinebreak His baby will soon be born?
\forcelinebreak After that I hope I may die. And then
\forcelinebreak She can have him. I shall not mourn!’

\section{END OF THE YEAR 1912}


You were here at his young beginning,
\forcelinebreak You are not here at his agèd end;
\forcelinebreak Off he coaxed you from Life’s mad spinning,
\forcelinebreak Lest you should see his form extend
\forcelinebreak Shivering, sighing,
\forcelinebreak Slowly dying,
\forcelinebreak And a tear on him expend.


So it comes that we stand lonely
\forcelinebreak In the star-lit avenue,
\forcelinebreak Dropping broken lipwords only,
\forcelinebreak For we hear no songs from you,
\forcelinebreak Such as flew here
\forcelinebreak For the new year
\forcelinebreak Once, while six bells swung thereto.

\section{THE CHIMES PLAY LIFE’S A BUMPER!}


“Awake! I’m off to cities far away,”
\forcelinebreak I said; and rose, on peradventures bent.
\forcelinebreak The chimes played “Life’s a Bumper!” on that day
\forcelinebreak To the measure of my walking as I went:
\forcelinebreak Their sweetness frisked and floated on the lea,
\forcelinebreak As they played out “Life’s a Bumper!” there to me.


“Awake!” I said. “I go to take a bride!”
\forcelinebreak  - The sun arose behind me ruby-red
\forcelinebreak As I journeyed townwards from the countryside,
\forcelinebreak The chiming bells saluting near ahead.
\forcelinebreak Their sweetness swelled in tripping tings of glee
\forcelinebreak As they played out “Life’s a Bumper!” there to me.


“Again arise.” I seek a turfy slope,
\forcelinebreak And go forth slowly on an autumn noon,
\forcelinebreak And there I lay her who has been my hope,
\forcelinebreak And think, “O may I follow hither soon!”
\forcelinebreak While on the wind the chimes come cheerily,
\forcelinebreak Playing out “Life’s a Bumper!” there to me.


1913

\section{I WORKED NO WILE TO MEET YOU}


(SONG)


I worked no wile to meet you,
\forcelinebreak My sight was set elsewhere,
\forcelinebreak I sheered about to shun you,
\forcelinebreak And lent your life no care.
\forcelinebreak I was unprimed to greet you
\forcelinebreak At such a date and place,
\forcelinebreak Constraint alone had won you
\forcelinebreak Vision of my strange face!


You did not seek to see me
\forcelinebreak Then or at all, you said,
\forcelinebreak  - Meant passing when you neared me,
\forcelinebreak But stumblingblocks forbade.
\forcelinebreak You even had thought to flee me,
\forcelinebreak By other mindings moved;
\forcelinebreak No influent star endeared me,
\forcelinebreak Unknown, unrecked, unproved!


What, then, was there to tell us
\forcelinebreak The flux of flustering hours
\forcelinebreak Of their own tide would bring us
\forcelinebreak By no device of ours
\forcelinebreak To where the daysprings well us
\forcelinebreak Heart-hydromels that cheer,
\forcelinebreak Till Time enearth and swing us
\forcelinebreak Round with the turning sphere.

\section{AT THE RAILWAY STATION, UPWAY}


”There is not much that I can do,
\forcelinebreak For I’ve no money that’s quite my own!”
\forcelinebreak Spoke up the pitying child -
\forcelinebreak A little boy with a violin
\forcelinebreak At the station before the train came in, -
\forcelinebreak “But I can play my fiddle to you,
\forcelinebreak And a nice one ‘tis, and good in tone!”


The man in the handcuffs smiled;
\forcelinebreak The constable looked, and he smiled, too,
\forcelinebreak As the fiddle began to twang;
\forcelinebreak And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
\forcelinebreak Uproariously:
\forcelinebreak ”This life so free
\forcelinebreak Is the thing for me!”
\forcelinebreak And the constable smiled, and said no word,
\forcelinebreak As if unconscious of what he heard;
\forcelinebreak And so they went on till the train came in -
\forcelinebreak The convict, and boy with the violin.

\section{SIDE BY SIDE}


So there sat they,
\forcelinebreak The estranged two,
\forcelinebreak Thrust in one pew
\forcelinebreak By chance that day;
\forcelinebreak Placed so, breath-nigh,
\forcelinebreak Each comer unwitting
\forcelinebreak Who was to be sitting
\forcelinebreak In touch close by.


Thus side by side
\forcelinebreak Blindly alighted,
\forcelinebreak They seemed united
\forcelinebreak As groom and bride,
\forcelinebreak Who’d not communed
\forcelinebreak For many years -
\forcelinebreak Lives from twain spheres
\forcelinebreak With hearts distuned.


Her fringes brushed
\forcelinebreak His garment’s hem
\forcelinebreak As the harmonies rushed
\forcelinebreak Through each of them:
\forcelinebreak Her lips could be heard
\forcelinebreak In the creed and psalms,
\forcelinebreak And their fingers neared
\forcelinebreak At the giving of alms.


And women and men,
\forcelinebreak The matins ended,
\forcelinebreak By looks commended
\forcelinebreak Them, joined again.
\forcelinebreak Quickly said she,
\forcelinebreak “Don’t undeceive them -
\forcelinebreak Better thus leave them:”
\forcelinebreak “Quite so,” said he.


Slight words! - the last
\forcelinebreak Between them said,
\forcelinebreak Those two, once wed,
\forcelinebreak Who had not stood fast.
\forcelinebreak Diverse their ways
\forcelinebreak From the western door,
\forcelinebreak To meet no more
\forcelinebreak In their span of days.

\section{DREAM OF THE CITY SHOPWOMAN}


‘Twere sweet to have a comrade here,
\forcelinebreak Who’d vow to love this garreteer,
\forcelinebreak By city people’s snap and sneer
\forcelinebreak Tried oft and hard!


We’d rove a truant cock and hen
\forcelinebreak To some snug solitary glen,
\forcelinebreak And never be seen to haunt again
\forcelinebreak This teeming yard.


Within a cot of thatch and clay
\forcelinebreak We’d list the flitting pipers play,
\forcelinebreak Our lives a twine of good and gay
\forcelinebreak Enwreathed discreetly;


Our blithest deeds so neighbouring wise
\forcelinebreak That doves should coo in soft surprise,
\forcelinebreak “These must belong to Paradise
\forcelinebreak Who live so sweetly.”


Our clock should be the closing flowers,
\forcelinebreak Our sprinkle-bath the passing showers,
\forcelinebreak Our church the alleyed willow bowers,
\forcelinebreak The truth our theme;


And infant shapes might soon abound:
\forcelinebreak Their shining heads would dot us round
\forcelinebreak Like mushroom balls on grassy ground . . .
\forcelinebreak  - But all is dream!


O God, that creatures framed to feel
\forcelinebreak A yearning nature’s strong appeal
\forcelinebreak Should writhe on this eternal wheel
\forcelinebreak In rayless grime;


And vainly note, with wan regret,
\forcelinebreak Each star of early promise set;
\forcelinebreak Till Death relieves, and they forget
\forcelinebreak Their one Life’s time!


WESTBOURNE PARK VILLAS, 1866.

\section{A MAIDEN’S PLEDGE}


(SONG)


I do not wish to win your vow
\forcelinebreak To take me soon or late as bride,
\forcelinebreak And lift me from the nook where now
\forcelinebreak I tarry your farings to my side.
\forcelinebreak I am blissful ever to abide
\forcelinebreak In this green labyrinth - let all be,
\forcelinebreak If but, whatever may betide,
\forcelinebreak You do not leave off loving me!


Your comet-comings I will wait
\forcelinebreak With patience time shall not wear through;
\forcelinebreak The yellowing years will not abate
\forcelinebreak My largened love and truth to you,
\forcelinebreak Nor drive me to complaint undue
\forcelinebreak Of absence, much as I may pine,
\forcelinebreak If never another ‘twixt us two
\forcelinebreak Shall come, and you stand wholly mine.

\section{THE CHILD AND THE SAGE}


You say, O Sage, when weather-checked,
\forcelinebreak ”I have been favoured so
\forcelinebreak With cloudless skies, I must expect
\forcelinebreak This dash of rain or snow.”


“Since health has been my lot,” you say,
\forcelinebreak ”So many months of late,
\forcelinebreak I must not chafe that one short day
\forcelinebreak Of sickness mars my state.”


You say, “Such bliss has been my share
\forcelinebreak From Love’s unbroken smile,
\forcelinebreak It is but reason I should bear
\forcelinebreak A cross therein awhile.”


And thus you do not count upon
\forcelinebreak Continuance of joy;
\forcelinebreak But, when at ease, expect anon
\forcelinebreak A burden of annoy.


But, Sage - this Earth - why not a place
\forcelinebreak Where no reprisals reign,
\forcelinebreak Where never a spell of pleasantness
\forcelinebreak Makes reasonable a pain?


December 21, 1908.

\section{MISMET}

\subsection{I}


He was leaning by a face,
\forcelinebreak He was looking into eyes,
\forcelinebreak And he knew a trysting-place,
\forcelinebreak And he heard seductive sighs;
\forcelinebreak But the face,
\forcelinebreak And the eyes,
\forcelinebreak And the place,
\forcelinebreak And the sighs,
\forcelinebreak Were not, alas, the right ones - the ones meet for him -
\forcelinebreak Though fine and sweet the features, and the feelings all abrim.

\subsection{II}


She was looking at a form,
\forcelinebreak She was listening for a tread,
\forcelinebreak She could feel a waft of charm
\forcelinebreak When a certain name was said;
\forcelinebreak But the form,
\forcelinebreak And the tread,
\forcelinebreak And the charm
\forcelinebreak Of name said,
\forcelinebreak Were the wrong ones for her, and ever would be so,
\forcelinebreak While the heritor of the right it would have saved her soul to know!

\section{AN AUTUMN RAIN-SCENE}


There trudges one to a merry-making
\forcelinebreak With a sturdy swing,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


To fetch the saving medicament
\forcelinebreak Is another bent,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


One slowly drives his herd to the stall
\forcelinebreak Ere ill befall,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


This bears his missives of life and death
\forcelinebreak With quickening breath,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


One watches for signals of wreck or war
\forcelinebreak From the hill afar,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


No care if he gain a shelter or none,
\forcelinebreak Unhired moves one,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


And another knows nought of its chilling fall
\forcelinebreak Upon him at all,
\forcelinebreak On whom the rain comes down.


October 1904.

\section{MEDITATIONS ON A HOLIDAY}


(A NEW THEME TO AN OLD FOLK-JINGLE)


‘Tis May morning,
\forcelinebreak All-adorning,
\forcelinebreak No cloud warning
\forcelinebreak Of rain to-day.
\forcelinebreak Where shall I go to,
\forcelinebreak Go to, go to? -
\forcelinebreak Can I say No to
\forcelinebreak Lyonnesse-way?


Well - what reason
\forcelinebreak Now at this season
\forcelinebreak Is there for treason
\forcelinebreak To other shrines?
\forcelinebreak Tristram is not there,
\forcelinebreak Isolt forgot there,
\forcelinebreak New eras blot there
\forcelinebreak Sought-for signs!


Stratford-on-Avon -
\forcelinebreak Poesy-paven -
\forcelinebreak I’ll find a haven
\forcelinebreak There, somehow! -
\forcelinebreak Nay - I’m but caught of
\forcelinebreak Dreams long thought of,
\forcelinebreak The Swan knows nought of
\forcelinebreak His Avon now!


What shall it be, then,
\forcelinebreak I go to see, then,
\forcelinebreak Under the plea, then,
\forcelinebreak Of votary?
\forcelinebreak I’ll go to Lakeland,
\forcelinebreak Lakeland, Lakeland,
\forcelinebreak Certainly Lakeland
\forcelinebreak Let it be.


But - why to that place,
\forcelinebreak That place, that place,
\forcelinebreak Such a hard come-at place
\forcelinebreak Need I fare?
\forcelinebreak When its bard cheers no more,
\forcelinebreak Loves no more, fears no more,
\forcelinebreak Sees no more, hears no more
\forcelinebreak Anything there!


Ah, there is Scotland,
\forcelinebreak Burns’s Scotland,
\forcelinebreak And Waverley’s. To what land
\forcelinebreak Better can I hie? -
\forcelinebreak Yet - if no whit now
\forcelinebreak Feel those of it now -
\forcelinebreak Care not a bit now
\forcelinebreak For it - why I?


I’ll seek a town street,
\forcelinebreak Aye, a brick-brown street,
\forcelinebreak Quite a tumbledown street,
\forcelinebreak Drawing no eyes.
\forcelinebreak For a Mary dwelt there,
\forcelinebreak And a Percy felt there
\forcelinebreak Heart of him melt there,
\forcelinebreak A Claire likewise.


Why incline to that city,
\forcelinebreak Such a city, that city,
\forcelinebreak Now a mud-bespat city! -
\forcelinebreak Care the lovers who
\forcelinebreak Now live and walk there,
\forcelinebreak Sit there and talk there,
\forcelinebreak Buy there, or hawk there,
\forcelinebreak Or wed, or woo?


Laughters in a volley
\forcelinebreak Greet so fond a folly
\forcelinebreak As nursing melancholy
\forcelinebreak In this and that spot,
\forcelinebreak Which, with most endeavour,
\forcelinebreak Those can visit never,
\forcelinebreak But for ever and ever
\forcelinebreak Will now know not!


If, on lawns Elysian,
\forcelinebreak With a broadened vision
\forcelinebreak And a faint derision
\forcelinebreak Conscious be they,
\forcelinebreak How they might reprove me
\forcelinebreak That these fancies move me,
\forcelinebreak Think they ill behoove me,
\forcelinebreak Smile, and say:


“What! - our hoar old houses,
\forcelinebreak Where the past dead-drowses,
\forcelinebreak Nor a child nor spouse is
\forcelinebreak Of our name at all?
\forcelinebreak Such abodes to care for,
\forcelinebreak Inquire about and bear for,
\forcelinebreak And suffer wear and tear for -
\forcelinebreak How weak of you and small!”


May 1921.

\section{AN EXPERIENCE}


Wit, weight, or wealth there was not
\forcelinebreak In anything that was said,
\forcelinebreak In anything that was done;
\forcelinebreak All was of scope to cause not
\forcelinebreak A triumph, dazzle, or dread
\forcelinebreak To even the subtlest one,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak To even the subtlest one.


But there was a new afflation -
\forcelinebreak An aura zephyring round,
\forcelinebreak That care infected not:
\forcelinebreak It came as a salutation,
\forcelinebreak And, in my sweet astound,
\forcelinebreak I scarcely witted what
\forcelinebreak Might pend,
\forcelinebreak I scarcely witted what.


The hills in samewise to me
\forcelinebreak Spoke, as they grayly gazed,
\forcelinebreak  - First hills to speak so yet!
\forcelinebreak The thin-edged breezes blew me
\forcelinebreak What I, though cobwebbed, crazed,
\forcelinebreak Was never to forget,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak Was never to forget!

\section{THE BEAUTY}


O do not praise my beauty more,
\forcelinebreak In such word-wild degree,
\forcelinebreak And say I am one all eyes adore;
\forcelinebreak For these things harass me!


But do for ever softly say:
\forcelinebreak ”From now unto the end
\forcelinebreak Come weal, come wanzing, come what may,
\forcelinebreak Dear, I will be your friend.”


I hate my beauty in the glass:
\forcelinebreak My beauty is not I:
\forcelinebreak I wear it: none cares whether, alas,
\forcelinebreak Its wearer live or die!


The inner I O care for, then,
\forcelinebreak Yea, me and what I am,
\forcelinebreak And shall be at the gray hour when
\forcelinebreak My cheek begins to clam.


Note. - “The Regent Street beauty, Miss Verrey, the Swiss confectioner’s daughter, whose personal attractions have been so mischievously exaggerated, died of fever on Monday evening, brought on by the annoyance she had been for some time subject to.” - London paper, October 1828.

\section{THE COLLECTOR CLEANS HIS PICTURE}


Fili hominis, ecce ego tollo a te desiderabile oculorum tuorom in plaga. - EZECH. xxiv. 16.


How I remember cleaning that strange picture!
\forcelinebreak I had been deep in duty for my sick neighbour -
\forcelinebreak His besides my own - over several Sundays,
\forcelinebreak Often, too, in the week; so with parish pressures,
\forcelinebreak Baptisms, burials, doctorings, conjugal counsel -
\forcelinebreak All the whatnots asked of a rural parson -
\forcelinebreak Faith, I was well-nigh broken, should have been fully
\forcelinebreak Saving for one small secret relaxation,
\forcelinebreak One that in mounting manhood had grown my hobby.


This was to delve at whiles for easel-lumber,
\forcelinebreak Stowed in the backmost slums of a soon-reached city,
\forcelinebreak Merely on chance to uncloak some worthy canvas,
\forcelinebreak Panel, or plaque, blacked blind by uncouth adventure,
\forcelinebreak Yet under all concealing a precious art-feat.
\forcelinebreak Such I had found not yet. My latest capture
\forcelinebreak Came from the rooms of a trader in ancient house-gear
\forcelinebreak Who had no scent of beauty or soul for brushcraft.
\forcelinebreak Only a tittle cost it - murked with grime-films,
\forcelinebreak Gatherings of slow years, thick-varnished over,
\forcelinebreak Never a feature manifest of man’s painting.


So, one Saturday, time ticking hard on midnight
\forcelinebreak Ere an hour subserved, I set me upon it.
\forcelinebreak Long with coiled-up sleeves I cleaned and yet cleaned,
\forcelinebreak Till a first fresh spot, a high light, looked forth,
\forcelinebreak Then another, like fair flesh, and another;
\forcelinebreak Then a curve, a nostril, and next a finger,
\forcelinebreak Tapering, shapely, significantly pointing slantwise.
\forcelinebreak “Flemish?” I said. “Nay, Spanish . . . But, nay, Italian!”
\forcelinebreak  - Then meseemed it the guise of the ranker Venus,
\forcelinebreak Named of some Astarte, of some Cotytto.
\forcelinebreak Down I knelt before it and kissed the panel,
\forcelinebreak Drunk with the lure of love’s inhibited dreamings.


Till the dawn I rubbed, when there gazed up at me
\forcelinebreak A hag, that had slowly emerged from under my hands there,
\forcelinebreak Pointing the slanted finger towards a bosom
\forcelinebreak Eaten away of a rot from the lusts of a lifetime . . .
\forcelinebreak  - I could have ended myself in heart-shook horror.
\forcelinebreak Stunned I sat till roused by a clear-voiced bell-chime,
\forcelinebreak Fresh and sweet as the dew-fleece under my luthern.
\forcelinebreak It was the matin service calling to me
\forcelinebreak From the adjacent steeple.

\section{THE WOOD FIRE}


(A FRAGMENT)


“This is a brightsome blaze you’ve lit good friend, to-night!”
\forcelinebreak “ - Aye, it has been the bleakest spring I have felt for years,
\forcelinebreak And nought compares with cloven logs to keep alight:
\forcelinebreak I buy them bargain-cheap of the executioners,
\forcelinebreak As I dwell near; and they wanted the crosses out of sight
\forcelinebreak By Passover, not to affront the eyes of visitors.


“Yes, they’re from the crucifixions last week-ending
\forcelinebreak At Kranion. We can sometimes use the poles again,
\forcelinebreak But they get split by the nails, and ‘tis quicker work than mending
\forcelinebreak To knock together new; though the uprights now and then
\forcelinebreak Serve twice when they’re let stand. But if a feast’s impending,
\forcelinebreak As lately, you’ve to tidy up for the corners’ ken.


“Though only three were impaled, you may know it didn’t pass off
\forcelinebreak So quietly as was wont? That Galilee carpenter’s son
\forcelinebreak Who boasted he was king, incensed the rabble to scoff:
\forcelinebreak I heard the noise from my garden. This piece is the one he was on . . .
\forcelinebreak Yes, it blazes up well if lit with a few dry chips and shroff;
\forcelinebreak And it’s worthless for much else, what with cuts and stains thereon.”

\section{SAYING GOOD-BYE}


(SONG)


We are always saying
\forcelinebreak ”Good-bye, good-bye!”
\forcelinebreak In work, in playing,
\forcelinebreak In gloom, in gaying:
\forcelinebreak At many a stage
\forcelinebreak Of pilgrimage
\forcelinebreak From youth to age
\forcelinebreak We say, “Good-bye,
\forcelinebreak Good-bye!”


We are undiscerning
\forcelinebreak Which go to sigh,
\forcelinebreak Which will be yearning
\forcelinebreak For soon returning;
\forcelinebreak And which no more
\forcelinebreak Will dark our door,
\forcelinebreak Or tread our shore,
\forcelinebreak But go to die,
\forcelinebreak To die.


Some come from roaming
\forcelinebreak With joy again;
\forcelinebreak Some, who come homing
\forcelinebreak By stealth at gloaming,
\forcelinebreak Had better have stopped
\forcelinebreak Till death, and dropped
\forcelinebreak By strange hands propped,
\forcelinebreak Than come so fain,
\forcelinebreak So fain.


So, with this saying,
\forcelinebreak ”Good-bye, good-bye,”
\forcelinebreak We speed their waying
\forcelinebreak Without betraying
\forcelinebreak Our grief, our fear
\forcelinebreak No more to hear
\forcelinebreak From them, close, clear,
\forcelinebreak Again: “Good-bye,
\forcelinebreak Good-bye!”

\section{ON THE TUNE CALLED THE OLD-HUNDRED-AND-FOURTH}


We never sang together
\forcelinebreak Ravenscroft’s terse old tune
\forcelinebreak On Sundays or on weekdays,
\forcelinebreak In sharp or summer weather,
\forcelinebreak At night-time or at noon.


Why did we never sing it,
\forcelinebreak Why never so incline
\forcelinebreak On Sundays or on weekdays,
\forcelinebreak Even when soft wafts would wing it
\forcelinebreak From your far floor to mine?


Shall we that tune, then, never
\forcelinebreak Stand voicing side by side
\forcelinebreak On Sundays or on weekdays? . . .
\forcelinebreak Or shall we, when for ever
\forcelinebreak In Sheol we abide,


Sing it in desolation,
\forcelinebreak As we might long have done
\forcelinebreak On Sundays or on weekdays
\forcelinebreak With love and exultation
\forcelinebreak Before our sands had run?

\section{THE OPPORTUNITY}


(FOR H. P.)


Forty springs back, I recall,
\forcelinebreak We met at this phase of the Maytime:
\forcelinebreak We might have clung close through all,
\forcelinebreak But we parted when died that daytime.


We parted with smallest regret;
\forcelinebreak Perhaps should have cared but slightly,
\forcelinebreak Just then, if we never had met:
\forcelinebreak Strange, strange that we lived so lightly!


Had we mused a little space
\forcelinebreak At that critical date in the Maytime,
\forcelinebreak One life had been ours, one place,
\forcelinebreak Perhaps, till our long cold daytime.


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
This is a bitter thing
\forcelinebreak For thee, O man: what ails it?
\forcelinebreak The tide of chance may bring
\forcelinebreak Its offer; but nought avails it!




\end{itemize}
\section{EVELYN G. OF CHRISTMINSTER}


I can see the towers
\forcelinebreak In mind quite clear
\forcelinebreak Not many hours’
\forcelinebreak Faring from here;
\forcelinebreak But how up and go,
\forcelinebreak And briskly bear
\forcelinebreak Thither, and know
\forcelinebreak That are not there?


Though the birds sing small,
\forcelinebreak And apple and pear
\forcelinebreak On your trees by the wall
\forcelinebreak Are ripe and rare,
\forcelinebreak Though none excel them,
\forcelinebreak I have no care
\forcelinebreak To taste them or smell them
\forcelinebreak And you not there.


Though the College stones
\forcelinebreak Are smit with the sun,
\forcelinebreak And the graduates and Dons
\forcelinebreak Who held you as one
\forcelinebreak Of brightest brow
\forcelinebreak Still think as they did,
\forcelinebreak Why haunt with them now
\forcelinebreak Your candle is hid?


Towards the river
\forcelinebreak A pealing swells:
\forcelinebreak They cost me a quiver -
\forcelinebreak Those prayerful bells!
\forcelinebreak How go to God,
\forcelinebreak Who can reprove
\forcelinebreak With so heavy a rod
\forcelinebreak As your swift remove!


The chorded keys
\forcelinebreak Wait all in a row,
\forcelinebreak And the bellows wheeze
\forcelinebreak As long ago.
\forcelinebreak And the psalter lingers,
\forcelinebreak And organist’s chair;
\forcelinebreak But where are your fingers
\forcelinebreak That once wagged there?


Shall I then seek
\forcelinebreak That desert place
\forcelinebreak This or next week,
\forcelinebreak And those tracks trace
\forcelinebreak That fill me with cark
\forcelinebreak And cloy; nowhere
\forcelinebreak Being movement or mark
\forcelinebreak Of you now there!

\section{THE RIFT}


(SONG: Minor Mode)


‘Twas just at gnat and cobweb-time,
\forcelinebreak When yellow begins to show in the leaf,
\forcelinebreak That your old gamut changed its chime
\forcelinebreak From those true tones - of span so brief! -
\forcelinebreak That met my beats of joy, of grief,
\forcelinebreak As rhyme meets rhyme.


So sank I from my high sublime!
\forcelinebreak We faced but chancewise after that,
\forcelinebreak And never I knew or guessed my crime. . .
\forcelinebreak Yes; ‘twas the date - or nigh thereat -
\forcelinebreak Of the yellowing leaf; at moth and gnat
\forcelinebreak And cobweb-time.

\section{VOICES FROM THINGS GROWING IN A CHURCHYARD}


These flowers are I, poor Fanny Hurd,
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam,
\forcelinebreak A little girl here sepultured.
\forcelinebreak Once I flit-fluttered like a bird
\forcelinebreak Above the grass, as now I wave
\forcelinebreak In daisy shapes above my grave,
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
I am one Bachelor Bowring, “Gent,”
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam;
\forcelinebreak In shingled oak my bones were pent;
\forcelinebreak Hence more than a hundred years I spent
\forcelinebreak In my feat of change from a coffin-thrall
\forcelinebreak To a dancer in green as leaves on a wall.
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!



\item\relax 
I, these berries of juice and gloss,
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam,
\forcelinebreak Am clean forgotten as Thomas Voss;
\forcelinebreak Thin-urned, I have burrowed away from the moss
\forcelinebreak That covers my sod, and have entered this yew,
\forcelinebreak And turned to clusters ruddy of view,
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!



\item\relax 
The Lady Gertrude, proud, high-bred,
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam,
\forcelinebreak Am I - this laurel that shades your head;
\forcelinebreak Into its veins I have stilly sped,
\forcelinebreak And made them of me; and my leaves now shine,
\forcelinebreak As did my satins superfine,
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!



\item\relax 
I, who as innocent withwind climb,
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam.
\forcelinebreak Am one Eve Greensleeves, in olden time
\forcelinebreak Kissed by men from many a clime,
\forcelinebreak Beneath sun, stars, in blaze, in breeze,
\forcelinebreak As now by glowworms and by bees,
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!



\item\relax 
I’m old Squire Audeley Grey, who grew,
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam,
\forcelinebreak Aweary of life, and in scorn withdrew;
\forcelinebreak Till anon I clambered up anew
\forcelinebreak As ivy-green, when my ache was stayed,
\forcelinebreak And in that attire I have longtime gayed
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!



\item\relax 
And so they breathe, these masks, to each
\forcelinebreak Sir or Madam
\forcelinebreak Who lingers there, and their lively speech
\forcelinebreak Affords an interpreter much to teach,
\forcelinebreak As their murmurous accents seem to come
\forcelinebreak Thence hitheraround in a radiant hum,
\forcelinebreak All day cheerily,
\forcelinebreak All night eerily!




\end{itemize}
\section{ON THE WAY}


The trees fret fitfully and twist,
\forcelinebreak Shutters rattle and carpets heave,
\forcelinebreak Slime is the dust of yestereve,
\forcelinebreak And in the streaming mist
\forcelinebreak Fishes might seem to fin a passage if they list.


But to his feet,
\forcelinebreak Drawing nigh and nigher
\forcelinebreak A hidden seat,
\forcelinebreak The fog is sweet
\forcelinebreak And the wind a lyre.


A vacant sameness grays the sky,
\forcelinebreak A moisture gathers on each knop
\forcelinebreak Of the bramble, rounding to a drop,
\forcelinebreak That greets the goer-by
\forcelinebreak With the cold listless lustre of a dead man’s eye.


But to her sight,
\forcelinebreak Drawing nigh and nigher
\forcelinebreak Its deep delight,
\forcelinebreak The fog is bright
\forcelinebreak And the wind a lyre.

\section{SHE DID NOT TURN}


She did not turn,
\forcelinebreak But passed foot-faint with averted head
\forcelinebreak In her gown of green, by the bobbing fern,
\forcelinebreak Though I leaned over the gate that led
\forcelinebreak From where we waited with table spread;
\forcelinebreak But she did not turn:
\forcelinebreak Why was she near there if love had fled?


She did not turn,
\forcelinebreak Though the gate was whence I had often sped
\forcelinebreak In the mists of morning to meet her, and learn
\forcelinebreak Her heart, when its moving moods I read
\forcelinebreak As a book - she mine, as she sometimes said;
\forcelinebreak But she did not turn,
\forcelinebreak And passed foot-faint with averted head.

\section{GROWTH IN MAY}


I enter a daisy-and-buttercup land,
\forcelinebreak And thence thread a jungle of grass:
\forcelinebreak Hurdles and stiles scarce visible stand
\forcelinebreak Above the lush stems as I pass.


Hedges peer over, and try to be seen,
\forcelinebreak And seem to reveal a dim sense
\forcelinebreak That amid such ambitious and elbow-high green
\forcelinebreak They make a mean show as a fence.


Elsewhere the mead is possessed of the neats,
\forcelinebreak That range not greatly above
\forcelinebreak The rich rank thicket which brushes their teats,
\forcelinebreak And her gown, as she waits for her Love.


NEAR CHARD.

\section{THE CHILDREN AND SIR NAMELESS}


Sir Nameless, once of Athelhall, declared:
\forcelinebreak “These wretched children romping in my park
\forcelinebreak Trample the herbage till the soil is bared,
\forcelinebreak And yap and yell from early morn till dark!
\forcelinebreak Go keep them harnessed to their set routines:
\forcelinebreak Thank God I’ve none to hasten my decay;
\forcelinebreak For green remembrance there are better means
\forcelinebreak Than offspring, who but wish their sires away.”


Sir Nameless of that mansion said anon:
\forcelinebreak “To be perpetuate for my mightiness
\forcelinebreak Sculpture must image me when I am gone.”
\forcelinebreak  - He forthwith summoned carvers there express
\forcelinebreak To shape a figure stretching seven-odd feet
\forcelinebreak (For he was tall) in alabaster stone,
\forcelinebreak With shield, and crest, and casque, and word complete:
\forcelinebreak When done a statelier work was never known.


Three hundred years hied; Church-restorers came,
\forcelinebreak And, no one of his lineage being traced,
\forcelinebreak They thought an effigy so large in frame
\forcelinebreak Best fitted for the floor. There it was placed,
\forcelinebreak Under the seats for schoolchildren. And they
\forcelinebreak Kicked out his name, and hobnailed off his nose;
\forcelinebreak And, as they yawn through sermon-time, they say,
\forcelinebreak “Who was this old stone man beneath our toes?”

\section{AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY}


These summer landscapes - clump, and copse, and croft -
\forcelinebreak Woodland and meadowland - here hung aloft,
\forcelinebreak Gay with limp grass and leafery new and soft,


Seem caught from the immediate season’s yield
\forcelinebreak I saw last noonday shining over the field,
\forcelinebreak By rapid snatch, while still are uncongealed


The saps that in their live originals climb;
\forcelinebreak Yester’s quick greenage here set forth in mime
\forcelinebreak Just as it stands, now, at our breathing-time.


But these young foils so fresh upon each tree,
\forcelinebreak Soft verdures spread in sprouting novelty,
\forcelinebreak Are not this summer’s, though they feign to be.


Last year their May to Michaelmas term was run,
\forcelinebreak Last autumn browned and buried every one,
\forcelinebreak And no more know they sight of any sun.

\section{HER TEMPLE}


Dear, think not that they will forget you:
\forcelinebreak  - If craftsmanly art should be mine
\forcelinebreak I will build up a temple, and set you
\forcelinebreak Therein as its shrine.


They may say: “Why a woman such honour?”
\forcelinebreak  - Be told, “O, so sweet was her fame,
\forcelinebreak That a man heaped this splendour upon her;
\forcelinebreak None now knows his name.”

\section{A TWO-YEARS’ IDYLL}


Yes; such it was;
\forcelinebreak Just those two seasons unsought,
\forcelinebreak Sweeping like summertide wind on our ways;
\forcelinebreak Moving, as straws,
\forcelinebreak Hearts quick as ours in those days;
\forcelinebreak Going like wind, too, and rated as nought
\forcelinebreak Save as the prelude to plays
\forcelinebreak Soon to come - larger, life-fraught:
\forcelinebreak Yes; such it was.


”Nought” it was called,
\forcelinebreak Even by ourselves - that which springs
\forcelinebreak Out of the years for all flesh, first or last,
\forcelinebreak Commonplace, scrawled
\forcelinebreak Dully on days that go past.
\forcelinebreak Yet, all the while, it upbore us like wings
\forcelinebreak Even in hours overcast:
\forcelinebreak Aye, though this best thing of things,
\forcelinebreak ”Nought” it was called!


What seems it now?
\forcelinebreak Lost: such beginning was all;
\forcelinebreak Nothing came after: romance straight forsook
\forcelinebreak Quickly somehow
\forcelinebreak Life when we sped from our nook,
\forcelinebreak Primed for new scenes with designs smart and tall . . .
\forcelinebreak  - A preface without any book,
\forcelinebreak A trumpet uplipped, but no call;
\forcelinebreak That seems it now.

\section{BY HENSTRIDGE CROSS AT THE YEAR’S END}


(From this centuries-old cross-road the highway leads east to London, north to Bristol and Bath, west to Exeter and the Land’s End, and south to the Channel coast.)


Why go the east road now? . . .
\forcelinebreak That way a youth went on a morrow
\forcelinebreak After mirth, and he brought back sorrow
\forcelinebreak Painted upon his brow
\forcelinebreak Why go the east road now?


Why go the north road now?
\forcelinebreak Torn, leaf-strewn, as if scoured by foemen,
\forcelinebreak Once edging fiefs of my forefolk yeomen,
\forcelinebreak Fallows fat to the plough:
\forcelinebreak Why go the north road now?


Why go the west road now?
\forcelinebreak Thence to us came she, bosom-burning,
\forcelinebreak Welcome with joyousness returning . . .
\forcelinebreak  - She sleeps under the bough:
\forcelinebreak Why go the west road now?


Why go the south road now?
\forcelinebreak That way marched they some are forgetting,
\forcelinebreak Stark to the moon left, past regretting
\forcelinebreak Loves who have falsed their vow . . .
\forcelinebreak Why go the south road now?


Why go any road now?
\forcelinebreak White stands the handpost for brisk on-bearers,
\forcelinebreak “Halt!” is the word for wan-cheeked farers
\forcelinebreak Musing on Whither, and How . . .
\forcelinebreak Why go any road now?


”Yea: we want new feet now”
\forcelinebreak Answer the stones. “Want chit-chat, laughter:
\forcelinebreak Plenty of such to go hereafter
\forcelinebreak By our tracks, we trow!
\forcelinebreak We are for new feet now.


During the War.

\section{PENANCE}


“Why do you sit, O pale thin man,
\forcelinebreak At the end of the room
\forcelinebreak By that harpsichord, built on the quaint old plan?
\forcelinebreak  - It is cold as a tomb,
\forcelinebreak And there’s not a spark within the grate;
\forcelinebreak And the jingling wires
\forcelinebreak Are as vain desires
\forcelinebreak That have lagged too late.”


“Why do I? Alas, far times ago
\forcelinebreak A woman lyred here
\forcelinebreak In the evenfall; one who fain did so
\forcelinebreak From year to year;
\forcelinebreak And, in loneliness bending wistfully,
\forcelinebreak Would wake each note
\forcelinebreak In sick sad rote,
\forcelinebreak None to listen or see!


“I would not join. I would not stay,
\forcelinebreak But drew away,
\forcelinebreak Though the winter fire beamed brightly . . . Aye!
\forcelinebreak I do to-day
\forcelinebreak What I would not then; and the chill old keys,
\forcelinebreak Like a skull’s brown teeth
\forcelinebreak Loose in their sheath,
\forcelinebreak Freeze my touch; yes, freeze.”

\section{I LOOK IN HER FACE}


(SONG: Minor)


I look in her face and say,
\forcelinebreak “Sing as you used to sing
\forcelinebreak About Love’s blossoming”;
\forcelinebreak But she hints not Yea or Nay.


“Sing, then, that Love’s a pain,
\forcelinebreak If, Dear, you think it so,
\forcelinebreak Whether it be or no;”
\forcelinebreak But dumb her lips remain.


I go to a far-off room,
\forcelinebreak A faint song ghosts my ear;
\forcelinebreak Which song I cannot hear,
\forcelinebreak But it seems to come from a tomb.

\section{AFTER THE WAR}


Last Post sounded
\forcelinebreak Across the mead
\forcelinebreak To where he loitered
\forcelinebreak With absent heed.
\forcelinebreak Five years before
\forcelinebreak In the evening there
\forcelinebreak Had flown that call
\forcelinebreak To him and his Dear.
\forcelinebreak “You’ll never come back;
\forcelinebreak Good-bye!” she had said;
\forcelinebreak “Here I’ll be living,
\forcelinebreak And my Love dead!”


Those closing minims
\forcelinebreak Had been as shafts darting
\forcelinebreak Through him and her pressed
\forcelinebreak In that last parting;
\forcelinebreak They thrilled him not now,
\forcelinebreak In the selfsame place
\forcelinebreak With the selfsame sun
\forcelinebreak On his war-seamed face.
\forcelinebreak “Lurks a god’s laughter
\forcelinebreak In this?” he said,
\forcelinebreak “That I am the living
\forcelinebreak And she the dead!”

\section{IF YOU HAD KNOWN}


If you had known
\forcelinebreak When listening with her to the far-down moan
\forcelinebreak Of the white-selvaged and empurpled sea,
\forcelinebreak And rain came on that did not hinder talk,
\forcelinebreak Or damp your flashing facile gaiety
\forcelinebreak In turning home, despite the slow wet walk
\forcelinebreak By crooked ways, and over stiles of stone;
\forcelinebreak If you had known


You would lay roses,
\forcelinebreak Fifty years thence, on her monument, that discloses
\forcelinebreak Its graying shape upon the luxuriant green;
\forcelinebreak Fifty years thence to an hour, by chance led there,
\forcelinebreak What might have moved you? - yea, had you foreseen
\forcelinebreak That on the tomb of the selfsame one, gone where
\forcelinebreak The dawn of every day is as the close is,
\forcelinebreak You would lay roses!


1920

\section{THE CHAPEL-ORGANIST}


(A.D. 185-)


I’ve been thinking it through, as I play here to-night, to play never again,
\forcelinebreak By the light of that lowering sun peering in at the window-pane,
\forcelinebreak And over the back-street roofs, throwing shades from the boys of the chore
\forcelinebreak In the gallery, right upon me, sitting up to these keys once more . . .


How I used to hear tongues ask, as I sat here when I was new:
\forcelinebreak “Who is she playing the organ? She touches it mightily true!”
\forcelinebreak “She travels from Havenpool Town,” the deacon would softly speak,
\forcelinebreak “The stipend can hardly cover her fare hither twice in the week.”
\forcelinebreak (It fell far short of doing, indeed; but I never told,
\forcelinebreak For I have craved minstrelsy more than lovers, or beauty, or gold.)


‘Twas so he answered at first, but the story grew different later:
\forcelinebreak “It cannot go on much longer, from what we hear of her now!”
\forcelinebreak At the meaning wheeze in the words the inquirer would shift his place
\forcelinebreak Till he could see round the curtain that screened me from people below.
\forcelinebreak “A handsome girl,” he would murmur, upstaring, (and so I am).
\forcelinebreak “But - too much sex in her build; fine eyes, but eyelids too heavy;
\forcelinebreak A bosom too full for her age; in her lips too voluptuous a look.”
\forcelinebreak (It may be. But who put it there? Assuredly it was not I.)


I went on playing and singing when this I had heard, and more,
\forcelinebreak Though tears half-blinded me; yes, I remained going on and on,
\forcelinebreak Just as I used me to chord and to sing at the selfsame time! . . .
\forcelinebreak For it’s a contralto - my voice is; they’ll hear it again here to-night
\forcelinebreak In the psalmody notes that I love more than world or than flesh or than life.


Well, the deacon, in fact, that day had learnt new tidings about me;
\forcelinebreak They troubled his mind not a little, for he was a worthy man.
\forcelinebreak (He trades as a chemist in High Street, and during the week he had sought
\forcelinebreak His fellow-deacon, who throve as a book-binder over the way.)
\forcelinebreak “These are strange rumours,” he said. “We must guard the good name of the chapel.
\forcelinebreak If, sooth, she’s of evil report, what else can we do but dismiss her?”
\forcelinebreak “ - But get such another to play here we cannot for double the price!”
\forcelinebreak It settled the point for the time, and I triumphed awhile in their strait,
\forcelinebreak And my much-beloved grand semibreves went living on under my fingers.


At length in the congregation more head-shakes and murmurs were rife,
\forcelinebreak And my dismissal was ruled, though I was not warned of it then.
\forcelinebreak But a day came when they declared it. The news entered me as a sword;
\forcelinebreak I was broken; so pallid of face that they thought I should faint, they said.
\forcelinebreak I rallied. “O, rather than go, I will play you for nothing!” said I.
\forcelinebreak ‘Twas in much desperation I spoke it, for bring me to forfeit I could not
\forcelinebreak Those melodies chorded so richly for which I had laboured and lived.
\forcelinebreak They paused. And for nothing I played at the chapel through Sundays anon,
\forcelinebreak Upheld by that art which I loved more than blandishments lavished of men.


But it fell that murmurs again from the flock broke the pastor’s peace.
\forcelinebreak Some member had seen me at Havenpool, comrading close a sea-captain.
\forcelinebreak (Yes; I was thereto constrained, lacking means for the fare to and fro.)
\forcelinebreak Yet God knows, if aught He knows ever, I loved the Old-Hundredth, Saint Stephen’s,
\forcelinebreak Mount Zion, New Sabbath, Miles-Lane, Holy Rest, and Arabia, and Eaton,
\forcelinebreak Above all embraces of body by wooers who sought me and won! . . .
\forcelinebreak Next week ‘twas declared I was seen coming home with a lover at dawn.
\forcelinebreak The deacons insisted then, strong; and forgiveness I did not implore.
\forcelinebreak I saw all was lost for me, quite, but I made a last bid in my throbs.
\forcelinebreak High love had been beaten by lust; and the senses had conquered the soul,
\forcelinebreak But the soul should die game, if I knew it! I turned to my masters and said:
\forcelinebreak “I yield, Gentlemen, without parlance. But - let me just hymn you once more!
\forcelinebreak It’s a little thing, Sirs, that I ask; and a passion is music with me!”
\forcelinebreak They saw that consent would cost nothing, and show as good grace, as knew I,
\forcelinebreak Though tremble I did, and feel sick, as I paused thereat, dumb for their words.
\forcelinebreak They gloomily nodded assent, saying, “Yes, if you care to. Once more,
\forcelinebreak And only once more, understand.” To that with a bend I agreed.
\forcelinebreak  - “You’ve a fixed and a far-reaching look,” spoke one who had eyed me awhile.
\forcelinebreak “I’ve a fixed and a far-reaching plan, and my look only showed it,” said I.


This evening of Sunday is come - the last of my functioning here.
\forcelinebreak “She plays as if she were possessed!” they exclaim, glancing upward and round.
\forcelinebreak “Such harmonies I never dreamt the old instrument capable of!”
\forcelinebreak Meantime the sun lowers and goes; shades deepen; the lights are turned up,
\forcelinebreak And the people voice out the last singing: tune Tallis: the Evening Hymn.
\forcelinebreak (I wonder Dissenters sing Ken: it shows them more liberal in spirit
\forcelinebreak At this little chapel down here than at certain new others I know.)
\forcelinebreak I sing as I play. Murmurs some one: “No woman’s throat richer than hers!”
\forcelinebreak “True: in these parts, at least,” ponder I. “But, my man, you will hear it no more.”
\forcelinebreak And I sing with them onward: “The grave dread as little do I as my bed.”


I lift up my feet from the pedals; and then, while my eyes are still wet
\forcelinebreak From the symphonies born of my fingers, I do that whereon I am set,
\forcelinebreak And draw from my “full round bosom,” (their words; how can I help its heave?)
\forcelinebreak A bottle blue-coloured and fluted - a vinaigrette, they may conceive -
\forcelinebreak And before the choir measures my meaning, reads aught in my moves to and fro,
\forcelinebreak I drink from the phial at a draught, and they think it a pick-me-up; so.
\forcelinebreak Then I gather my books as to leave, bend over the keys as to pray.
\forcelinebreak When they come to me motionless, stooping, quick death will have whisked me away.


“Sure, nobody meant her to poison herself in her haste, after all!”
\forcelinebreak The deacons will say as they carry me down and the night shadows fall,
\forcelinebreak “Though the charges were true,” they will add. “It’s a case red as scarlet withal!”
\forcelinebreak I have never once minced it. Lived chaste I have not. Heaven knows it above! . . .
\forcelinebreak But past all the heavings of passion - it’s music has been my life-love! . . .
\forcelinebreak That tune did go well - this last playing! . . . I reckon they’ll bury me here . . .
\forcelinebreak Not a soul from the seaport my birthplace - will come, or bestow me . . . a tear.

\section{FETCHING HER}


An hour before the dawn,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak You lit your waiting bedside-lamp,
\forcelinebreak Your breakfast-fire anon,
\forcelinebreak And outing into the dark and damp
\forcelinebreak You saddled, and set on.


Thuswise, before the day,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak You sought her on her surfy shore,
\forcelinebreak To fetch her thence away
\forcelinebreak Unto your own new-builded door
\forcelinebreak For a staunch lifelong stay.


You said: “It seems to be,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak That I were bringing to my place
\forcelinebreak The pure brine breeze, the sea,
\forcelinebreak The mews - all her old sky and space,
\forcelinebreak In bringing her with me!”


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
But time is prompt to expugn,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak Such magic-minted conjurings:
\forcelinebreak The brought breeze fainted soon,
\forcelinebreak And then the sense of seamews’ wings,
\forcelinebreak And the shore’s sibilant tune.




\end{itemize}

So, it had been more due,
\forcelinebreak My friend,
\forcelinebreak Perhaps, had you not pulled this flower
\forcelinebreak From the craggy nook it knew,
\forcelinebreak And set it in an alien bower;
\forcelinebreak But left it where it grew!

\section{COULD I BUT WILL}


(SONG: Verses 1, 3, key major; verse 2, key minor)


Could I but will,
\forcelinebreak Will to my bent,
\forcelinebreak I’d have afar ones near me still,
\forcelinebreak And music of rare ravishment,
\forcelinebreak In strains that move the toes and heels!
\forcelinebreak And when the sweethearts sat for rest
\forcelinebreak The unbetrothed should foot with zest
\forcelinebreak Ecstatic reels.


Could I be head,
\forcelinebreak Head-god, “Come, now,
\forcelinebreak Dear girl,” I’d say, “whose flame is fled,
\forcelinebreak Who liest with linen-banded brow,
\forcelinebreak Stirred but by shakes from Earth’s deep core - “
\forcelinebreak I’d say to her: “Unshroud and meet
\forcelinebreak That Love who kissed and called thee Sweet! -
\forcelinebreak Yea, come once more!”


Even half-god power
\forcelinebreak In spinning dooms
\forcelinebreak Had I, this frozen scene should flower,
\forcelinebreak And sand-swept plains and Arctic glooms
\forcelinebreak Should green them gay with waving leaves,
\forcelinebreak Mid which old friends and I would walk
\forcelinebreak With weightless feet and magic talk
\forcelinebreak Uncounted eves.

\section{SHE REVISITS ALONE THE CHURCH OF HER MARRIAGE}


I have come to the church and chancel,
\forcelinebreak Where all’s the same!
\forcelinebreak  - Brighter and larger in my dreams
\forcelinebreak Truly it shaped than now, meseems,
\forcelinebreak Is its substantial frame.
\forcelinebreak But, anyhow, I made my vow,
\forcelinebreak Whether for praise or blame,
\forcelinebreak Here in this church and chancel
\forcelinebreak Where all’s the same.


Where touched the check-floored chancel
\forcelinebreak My knees and his?
\forcelinebreak The step looks shyly at the sun,
\forcelinebreak And says, “‘Twas here the thing was done,
\forcelinebreak For bale or else for bliss!”
\forcelinebreak Of all those there I least was ware
\forcelinebreak Would it be that or this
\forcelinebreak When touched the check-floored chancel
\forcelinebreak My knees and his!


Here in this fateful chancel
\forcelinebreak Where all’s the same,
\forcelinebreak I thought the culminant crest of life
\forcelinebreak Was reached when I went forth the wife
\forcelinebreak I was not when I came.
\forcelinebreak Each commonplace one of my race,
\forcelinebreak Some say, has such an aim -
\forcelinebreak To go from a fateful chancel
\forcelinebreak As not the same.


Here, through this hoary chancel
\forcelinebreak Where all’s the same,
\forcelinebreak A thrill, a gaiety even, ranged
\forcelinebreak That morning when it seemed I changed
\forcelinebreak My nature with my name.
\forcelinebreak Though now not fair, though gray my hair,
\forcelinebreak He loved me, past proclaim,
\forcelinebreak Here in this hoary chancel,
\forcelinebreak Where all’s the same.

\section{AT THE ENTERING OF THE NEW YEAR}

\subsection{I (OLD STYLE)}


Our songs went up and out the chimney,
\forcelinebreak And roused the home-gone husbandmen;
\forcelinebreak Our allemands, our heys, poussettings,
\forcelinebreak Our hands-across and back again,
\forcelinebreak Sent rhythmic throbbings through the casements
\forcelinebreak On to the white highway,
\forcelinebreak Where nighted farers paused and muttered,
\forcelinebreak ”Keep it up well, do they!”


The contrabasso’s measured booming
\forcelinebreak Sped at each bar to the parish bounds,
\forcelinebreak To shepherds at their midnight lambings,
\forcelinebreak To stealthy poachers on their rounds;
\forcelinebreak And everybody caught full duly
\forcelinebreak The notes of our delight,
\forcelinebreak As Time unrobed the Youth of Promise
\forcelinebreak Hailed by our sanguine sight.

\subsection{II (NEW STYLE)}


We stand in the dusk of a pine-tree limb,
\forcelinebreak As if to give ear to the muffled peal,
\forcelinebreak Brought or withheld at the breeze’s whim;
\forcelinebreak But our truest heed is to words that steal
\forcelinebreak From the mantled ghost that looms in the gray,
\forcelinebreak And seems, so far as our sense can see,
\forcelinebreak To feature bereaved Humanity,
\forcelinebreak As it sighs to the imminent year its say:-


”O stay without, O stay without,
\forcelinebreak Calm comely Youth, untasked, untired;
\forcelinebreak Though stars irradiate thee about
\forcelinebreak Thy entrance here is undesired.
\forcelinebreak Open the gate not, mystic one;
\forcelinebreak Must we avow what we would close confine?
\forcelinebreak With thee, good friend, we would have converse none,
\forcelinebreak Albeit the fault may not be thine.”


December 31. During the War.

\section{THEY WOULD NOT COME}


I travelled to where in her lifetime
\forcelinebreak She’d knelt at morning prayer,
\forcelinebreak To call her up as if there;
\forcelinebreak But she paid no heed to my suing,
\forcelinebreak As though her old haunt could win not
\forcelinebreak A thought from her spirit, or care.


I went where my friend had lectioned
\forcelinebreak The prophets in high declaim,
\forcelinebreak That my soul’s ear the same
\forcelinebreak Full tones should catch as aforetime;
\forcelinebreak But silenced by gear of the Present
\forcelinebreak Was the voice that once there came!


Where the ocean had sprayed our banquet
\forcelinebreak I stood, to recall it as then:
\forcelinebreak The same eluding again!
\forcelinebreak No vision. Shows contingent
\forcelinebreak Affrighted it further from me
\forcelinebreak Even than from my home-den.


When I found them no responders,
\forcelinebreak But fugitives prone to flee
\forcelinebreak From where they had used to be,
\forcelinebreak It vouched I had been led hither
\forcelinebreak As by night wisps in bogland,
\forcelinebreak And bruised the heart of me!

\section{AFTER A ROMANTIC DAY}


The railway bore him through
\forcelinebreak An earthen cutting out from a city:
\forcelinebreak There was no scope for view,
\forcelinebreak Though the frail light shed by a slim young moon
\forcelinebreak Fell like a friendly tune.


Fell like a liquid ditty,
\forcelinebreak And the blank lack of any charm
\forcelinebreak Of landscape did no harm.
\forcelinebreak The bald steep cutting, rigid, rough,
\forcelinebreak And moon-lit, was enough
\forcelinebreak For poetry of place: its weathered face
\forcelinebreak Formed a convenient sheet whereon
\forcelinebreak The visions of his mind were drawn.

\section{THE TWO WIVES}


(SMOKER’S CLUB-STORY)


I waited at home all the while they were boating together -
\forcelinebreak My wife and my near neighbour’s wife:
\forcelinebreak Till there entered a woman I loved more than life,
\forcelinebreak And we sat and sat on, and beheld the uprising dark weather,
\forcelinebreak With a sense that some mischief was rife.


Tidings came that the boat had capsized, and that one of the ladies
\forcelinebreak Was drowned - which of them was unknown:
\forcelinebreak And I marvelled - my friend’s wife? - or was it my own
\forcelinebreak Who had gone in such wise to the land where the sun as the shade is?
\forcelinebreak  - We learnt it was his had so gone.


Then I cried in unrest: “He is free! But no good is releasing
\forcelinebreak To him as it would be to me!”
\forcelinebreak ” - But it is,” said the woman I loved, quietly.
\forcelinebreak “How?” I asked her. “ - Because he has long loved me too without ceasing,
\forcelinebreak And it’s just the same thing, don’t you see.”

\section{I KNEW A LADY}


(CLUB SONG)


I knew a lady when the days
\forcelinebreak Grew long, and evenings goldened;
\forcelinebreak But I was not emboldened
\forcelinebreak By her prompt eyes and winning ways.


And when old Winter nipt the haws,
\forcelinebreak ”Another’s wife I’ll be,
\forcelinebreak And then you’ll care for me,”
\forcelinebreak She said, “and think how sweet I was!”


And soon she shone as another’s wife:
\forcelinebreak As such I often met her,
\forcelinebreak And sighed, “How I regret her!
\forcelinebreak My folly cuts me like a knife!”


And then, to-day, her husband came,
\forcelinebreak And moaned, “Why did you flout her?
\forcelinebreak Well could I do without her!
\forcelinebreak For both our burdens you are to blame!”

\section{A HOUSE WITH A HISTORY}


There is a house in a city street
\forcelinebreak Some past ones made their own;
\forcelinebreak Its floors were criss-crossed by their feet,
\forcelinebreak And their babblings beat
\forcelinebreak From ceiling to white hearth-stone.


And who are peopling its parlours now?
\forcelinebreak Who talk across its floor?
\forcelinebreak Mere freshlings are they, blank of brow,
\forcelinebreak Who read not how
\forcelinebreak Its prime had passed before


Their raw equipments, scenes, and says
\forcelinebreak Afflicted its memoried face,
\forcelinebreak That had seen every larger phase
\forcelinebreak Of human ways
\forcelinebreak Before these filled the place.


To them that house’s tale is theirs,
\forcelinebreak No former voices call
\forcelinebreak Aloud therein. Its aspect bears
\forcelinebreak Their joys and cares
\forcelinebreak Alone, from wall to wall.

\section{A PROCESSION OF DEAD DAYS}


I see the ghost of a perished day;
\forcelinebreak I know his face, and the feel of his dawn:
\forcelinebreak ‘Twas he who took me far away
\forcelinebreak To a spot strange and gray:
\forcelinebreak Look at me, Day, and then pass on,
\forcelinebreak But come again: yes, come anon!


Enters another into view;
\forcelinebreak His features are not cold or white,
\forcelinebreak But rosy as a vein seen through:
\forcelinebreak Too soon he smiles adieu.
\forcelinebreak Adieu, O ghost-day of delight;
\forcelinebreak But come and grace my dying sight.


Enters the day that brought the kiss:
\forcelinebreak He brought it in his foggy hand
\forcelinebreak To where the mumbling river is,
\forcelinebreak And the high clematis;
\forcelinebreak It lent new colour to the land,
\forcelinebreak And all the boy within me manned.


Ah, this one. Yes, I know his name,
\forcelinebreak He is the day that wrought a shine
\forcelinebreak Even on a precinct common and tame,
\forcelinebreak As ‘twere of purposed aim.
\forcelinebreak He shows him as a rainbow sign
\forcelinebreak Of promise made to me and mine.


The next stands forth in his morning clothes,
\forcelinebreak And yet, despite their misty blue,
\forcelinebreak They mark no sombre custom-growths
\forcelinebreak That joyous living loathes,
\forcelinebreak But a meteor act, that left in its queue
\forcelinebreak A train of sparks my lifetime through.


I almost tremble at his nod -
\forcelinebreak This next in train - who looks at me
\forcelinebreak As I were slave, and he were god
\forcelinebreak Wielding an iron rod.
\forcelinebreak I close my eyes; yet still is he
\forcelinebreak In front there, looking mastery.


In the similitude of a nurse
\forcelinebreak The phantom of the next one comes:
\forcelinebreak I did not know what better or worse
\forcelinebreak Chancings might bless or curse
\forcelinebreak When his original glossed the thrums
\forcelinebreak Of ivy, bringing that which numbs.


Yes; trees were turning in their sleep
\forcelinebreak Upon their windy pillows of gray
\forcelinebreak When he stole in. Silent his creep
\forcelinebreak On the grassed eastern steep . . .
\forcelinebreak I shall not soon forget that day,
\forcelinebreak And what his third hour took away!

\section{HE FOLLOWS HIMSELF}


In a heavy time I dogged myself
\forcelinebreak Along a louring way,
\forcelinebreak Till my leading self to my following self
\forcelinebreak Said: “Why do you hang on me
\forcelinebreak So harassingly?”


“I have watched you, Heart of mine,” I cried,
\forcelinebreak ”So often going astray
\forcelinebreak And leaving me, that I have pursued,
\forcelinebreak Feeling such truancy
\forcelinebreak Ought not to be.”


He said no more, and I dogged him on
\forcelinebreak From noon to the dun of day
\forcelinebreak By prowling paths, until anew
\forcelinebreak He begged: “Please turn and flee! -
\forcelinebreak What do you see?”


“Methinks I see a man,” said I,
\forcelinebreak ”Dimming his hours to gray.
\forcelinebreak I will not leave him while I know
\forcelinebreak Part of myself is he
\forcelinebreak Who dreams such dree!”


“I go to my old friend’s house,” he urged,
\forcelinebreak ”So do not watch me, pray!”
\forcelinebreak “Well, I will leave you in peace,” said I,
\forcelinebreak ”Though of this poignancy
\forcelinebreak You should fight free:


“Your friend, O other me, is dead;
\forcelinebreak You know not what you say.”
\forcelinebreak  - “That do I! And at his green-grassed door
\forcelinebreak By night’s bright galaxy
\forcelinebreak I bend a knee.”


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
The yew-plumes moved like mockers’ beards,
\forcelinebreak Though only boughs were they,
\forcelinebreak And I seemed to go; yet still was there,
\forcelinebreak And am, and there haunt we
\forcelinebreak Thus bootlessly.




\end{itemize}
\section{THE SINGING WOMAN}


There was a singing woman
\forcelinebreak Came riding across the mead
\forcelinebreak At the time of the mild May weather,
\forcelinebreak Tameless, tireless;
\forcelinebreak This song she sung: “I am fair, I am young!”
\forcelinebreak And many turned to heed.


And the same singing woman
\forcelinebreak Sat crooning in her need
\forcelinebreak At the time of the winter weather;
\forcelinebreak Friendless, fireless,
\forcelinebreak She sang this song: “Life, thou’rt too long!”
\forcelinebreak And there was none to heed.

\section{WITHOUT, NOT WITHIN HER}


It was what you bore with you, Woman,
\forcelinebreak Not inly were,
\forcelinebreak That throned you from all else human,
\forcelinebreak However fair!


It was that strange freshness you carried
\forcelinebreak Into a soul
\forcelinebreak Whereon no thought of yours tarried
\forcelinebreak Two moments at all.


And out from his spirit flew death,
\forcelinebreak And bale, and ban,
\forcelinebreak Like the corn-chaff under the breath
\forcelinebreak Of the winnowing-fan.

\section{O I WON’T LEAD A HOMELY LIFE}


(To an old air)


“O I won’t lead a homely life
\forcelinebreak As father’s Jack and mother’s Jill,
\forcelinebreak But I will be a fiddler’s wife,
\forcelinebreak With music mine at will!
\forcelinebreak Just a little tune,
\forcelinebreak Another one soon,
\forcelinebreak As I merrily fling my fill!”


And she became a fiddler’s Dear,
\forcelinebreak And merry all day she strove to be;
\forcelinebreak And he played and played afar and near,
\forcelinebreak But never at home played he
\forcelinebreak Any little tune
\forcelinebreak Or late or soon;
\forcelinebreak And sunk and sad was she!

\section{IN THE SMALL HOURS}


I lay in my bed and fiddled
\forcelinebreak With a dreamland viol and bow,
\forcelinebreak And the tunes flew back to my fingers
\forcelinebreak I had melodied years ago.
\forcelinebreak It was two or three in the morning
\forcelinebreak When I fancy-fiddled so
\forcelinebreak Long reels and country-dances,
\forcelinebreak And hornpipes swift and slow.


And soon anon came crossing
\forcelinebreak The chamber in the gray
\forcelinebreak Figures of jigging fieldfolk -
\forcelinebreak Saviours of corn and hay -
\forcelinebreak To the air of “Haste to the Wedding,”
\forcelinebreak As after a wedding-day;
\forcelinebreak Yea, up and down the middle
\forcelinebreak In windless whirls went they!


There danced the bride and bridegroom,
\forcelinebreak And couples in a train,
\forcelinebreak Gay partners time and travail
\forcelinebreak Had longwhiles stilled amain! . . .
\forcelinebreak It seemed a thing for weeping
\forcelinebreak To find, at slumber’s wane
\forcelinebreak And morning’s sly increeping,
\forcelinebreak That Now, not Then, held reign.

\section{THE LITTLE OLD TABLE}


Creak, little wood thing, creak,
\forcelinebreak When I touch you with elbow or knee;
\forcelinebreak That is the way you speak
\forcelinebreak Of one who gave you to me!


You, little table, she brought -
\forcelinebreak Brought me with her own hand,
\forcelinebreak As she looked at me with a thought
\forcelinebreak That I did not understand.


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Whoever owns it anon,
\forcelinebreak And hears it, will never know
\forcelinebreak What a history hangs upon
\forcelinebreak This creak from long ago.




\end{itemize}
\section{VAGG HOLLOW}


Vagg Hollow is a marshy spot on the old Roman Road near Ilchester, where “things” are seen. Merchandise was formerly fetched inland from the canal-boats at Load-Bridge by waggons this way.


“What do you see in Vagg Hollow,
\forcelinebreak Little boy, when you go
\forcelinebreak In the morning at five on your lonely drive?”
\forcelinebreak “ - I see men’s souls, who follow
\forcelinebreak Till we’ve passed where the road lies low,
\forcelinebreak When they vanish at our creaking!


“They are like white faces speaking
\forcelinebreak Beside and behind the waggon -
\forcelinebreak One just as father’s was when here.
\forcelinebreak The waggoner drinks from his flagon,
\forcelinebreak (Or he’d flinch when the Hollow is near)
\forcelinebreak But he does not give me any.


“Sometimes the faces are many;
\forcelinebreak But I walk along by the horses,
\forcelinebreak He asleep on the straw as we jog;
\forcelinebreak And I hear the loud water-courses,
\forcelinebreak And the drops from the trees in the fog,
\forcelinebreak And watch till the day is breaking.


“And the wind out by Tintinhull waking;
\forcelinebreak I hear in it father’s call
\forcelinebreak As he called when I saw him dying,
\forcelinebreak And he sat by the fire last Fall,
\forcelinebreak And mother stood by sighing;
\forcelinebreak But I’m not afraid at all!”

\section{THE DREAM IS - WHICH?}


I am laughing by the brook with her,
\forcelinebreak Splashed in its tumbling stir;
\forcelinebreak And then it is a blankness looms
\forcelinebreak As if I walked not there,
\forcelinebreak Nor she, but found me in haggard rooms,
\forcelinebreak And treading a lonely stair.


With radiant cheeks and rapid eyes
\forcelinebreak We sit where none espies;
\forcelinebreak Till a harsh change comes edging in
\forcelinebreak As no such scene were there,
\forcelinebreak But winter, and I were bent and thin,
\forcelinebreak And cinder-gray my hair.


We dance in heys around the hall,
\forcelinebreak Weightless as thistleball;
\forcelinebreak And then a curtain drops between,
\forcelinebreak As if I danced not there,
\forcelinebreak But wandered through a mounded green
\forcelinebreak To find her, I knew where.


March 1913.

\section{THE COUNTRY WEDDING}


(A FIDDLER’S STORY)


Little fogs were gathered in every hollow,
\forcelinebreak But the purple hillocks enjoyed fine weather
\forcelinebreak As we marched with our fiddles over the heather
\forcelinebreak  - How it comes back! - to their wedding that day.


Our getting there brought our neighbours and all, O!
\forcelinebreak Till, two and two, the couples stood ready.
\forcelinebreak And her father said: “Souls, for God’s sake, be steady!”
\forcelinebreak And we strung up our fiddles, and sounded out “A.”


The groomsman he stared, and said, “You must follow!”
\forcelinebreak But we’d gone to fiddle in front of the party,
\forcelinebreak (Our feelings as friends being true and hearty)
\forcelinebreak And fiddle in front we did - all the way.


Yes, from their door by Mill-tail-Shallow,
\forcelinebreak And up Styles-Lane, and by Front-Street houses,
\forcelinebreak Where stood maids, bachelors, and spouses,
\forcelinebreak Who cheered the songs that we knew how to play.


I bowed the treble before her father,
\forcelinebreak Michael the tenor in front of the lady,
\forcelinebreak The bass-viol Reub - and right well played he! -
\forcelinebreak The serpent Jim; ay, to church and back.


I thought the bridegroom was flurried rather,
\forcelinebreak As we kept up the tune outside the chancel,
\forcelinebreak While they were swearing things none can cancel
\forcelinebreak Inside the walls to our drumstick’s whack.


“Too gay!” she pleaded. “Clouds may gather,
\forcelinebreak And sorrow come.” But she gave in, laughing,
\forcelinebreak And by supper-time when we’d got to the quaffing
\forcelinebreak Her fears were forgot, and her smiles weren’t slack.


A grand wedding ‘twas! And what would follow
\forcelinebreak We never thought. Or that we should have buried her
\forcelinebreak On the same day with the man that married her,
\forcelinebreak A day like the first, half hazy, half clear.


Yes: little fogs were in every hollow,
\forcelinebreak Though the purple hillocks enjoyed fine weather,
\forcelinebreak When we went to play ‘em to church together,
\forcelinebreak And carried ‘em there in an after year.

\section{FIRST OR LAST}


(SONG)


If grief come early
\forcelinebreak Joy comes late,
\forcelinebreak If joy come early
\forcelinebreak Grief will wait;
\forcelinebreak Aye, my dear and tender!


Wise ones joy them early
\forcelinebreak While the cheeks are red,
\forcelinebreak Banish grief till surly
\forcelinebreak Time has dulled their dread.


And joy being ours
\forcelinebreak Ere youth has flown,
\forcelinebreak The later hours
\forcelinebreak May find us gone;
\forcelinebreak Aye, my dear and tender!

\section{LONELY DAYS}


Lonely her fate was,
\forcelinebreak Environed from sight
\forcelinebreak In the house where the gate was
\forcelinebreak Past finding at night.
\forcelinebreak None there to share it,
\forcelinebreak No one to tell:
\forcelinebreak Long she’d to bear it,
\forcelinebreak And bore it well.


Elsewhere just so she
\forcelinebreak Spent many a day;
\forcelinebreak Wishing to go she
\forcelinebreak Continued to stay.
\forcelinebreak And people without
\forcelinebreak Basked warm in the air,
\forcelinebreak But none sought her out,
\forcelinebreak Or knew she was there.
\forcelinebreak Even birthdays were passed so,
\forcelinebreak Sunny and shady:
\forcelinebreak Years did it last so
\forcelinebreak For this sad lady.
\forcelinebreak Never declaring it,
\forcelinebreak No one to tell,
\forcelinebreak Still she kept bearing it -
\forcelinebreak Bore it well.


The days grew chillier,
\forcelinebreak And then she went
\forcelinebreak To a city, familiar
\forcelinebreak In years forespent,
\forcelinebreak When she walked gaily
\forcelinebreak Far to and fro,
\forcelinebreak But now, moving frailly,
\forcelinebreak Could nowhere go.
\forcelinebreak The cheerful colour
\forcelinebreak Of houses she’d known
\forcelinebreak Had died to a duller
\forcelinebreak And dingier tone.
\forcelinebreak Streets were now noisy
\forcelinebreak Where once had rolled
\forcelinebreak A few quiet coaches,
\forcelinebreak Or citizens strolled.
\forcelinebreak Through the party-wall
\forcelinebreak Of the memoried spot
\forcelinebreak They danced at a ball
\forcelinebreak Who recalled her not.
\forcelinebreak Tramlines lay crossing
\forcelinebreak Once gravelled slopes,
\forcelinebreak Metal rods clanked,
\forcelinebreak And electric ropes.
\forcelinebreak So she endured it all,
\forcelinebreak Thin, thinner wrought,
\forcelinebreak Until time cured it all,
\forcelinebreak And she knew nought.


Versified from a Diary.


Versified from a Diary.

\section{WHAT DID IT MEAN?}


What did it mean that noontide, when
\forcelinebreak You bade me pluck the flower
\forcelinebreak Within the other woman’s bower,
\forcelinebreak Whom I knew nought of then?


I thought the flower blushed deeplier - aye,
\forcelinebreak And as I drew its stalk to me
\forcelinebreak It seemed to breathe: “I am, I see,
\forcelinebreak Made use of in a human play.”


And while I plucked, upstarted sheer
\forcelinebreak As phantom from the pane thereby
\forcelinebreak A corpse-like countenance, with eye
\forcelinebreak That iced me by its baleful peer -
\forcelinebreak Silent, as from a bier . . .


When I came back your face had changed,
\forcelinebreak It was no face for me;
\forcelinebreak O did it speak of hearts estranged,
\forcelinebreak And deadly rivalry


In times before
\forcelinebreak I darked your door,
\forcelinebreak To seise me of
\forcelinebreak Mere second love,
\forcelinebreak Which still the haunting first deranged?

\section{AT THE DINNER-TABLE}


I sat at dinner in my prime,
\forcelinebreak And glimpsed my face in the sideboard-glass,
\forcelinebreak And started as if I had seen a crime,
\forcelinebreak And prayed the ghastly show might pass.


Wrenched wrinkled features met my sight,
\forcelinebreak Grinning back to me as my own;
\forcelinebreak I well-nigh fainted with affright
\forcelinebreak At finding me a haggard crone.


My husband laughed. He had slily set
\forcelinebreak A warping mirror there, in whim
\forcelinebreak To startle me. My eyes grew wet;
\forcelinebreak I spoke not all the eve to him.


He was sorry, he said, for what he had done,
\forcelinebreak And took away the distorting glass,
\forcelinebreak Uncovering the accustomed one;
\forcelinebreak And so it ended? No, alas,


Fifty years later, when he died,
\forcelinebreak I sat me in the selfsame chair,
\forcelinebreak Thinking of him. Till, weary-eyed,
\forcelinebreak I saw the sideboard facing there;


And from its mirror looked the lean
\forcelinebreak Thing I’d become, each wrinkle and score
\forcelinebreak The image of me that I had seen
\forcelinebreak In jest there fifty years before.

\section{THE MARBLE TABLET}


There it stands, though alas, what a little of her
\forcelinebreak Shows in its cold white look!
\forcelinebreak Not her glance, glide, or smile; not a tittle of her
\forcelinebreak Voice like the purl of a brook;
\forcelinebreak Not her thoughts, that you read like a book.


It may stand for her once in November
\forcelinebreak When first she breathed, witless of all;
\forcelinebreak Or in heavy years she would remember
\forcelinebreak When circumstance held her in thrall;
\forcelinebreak Or at last, when she answered her call!


Nothing more. The still marble, date-graven,
\forcelinebreak Gives all that it can, tersely lined;
\forcelinebreak That one has at length found the haven
\forcelinebreak Which every one other will find;
\forcelinebreak With silence on what shone behind.


St. Juliot: September 8, 1916.

\section{THE MASTER AND THE LEAVES}

\subsection{I}


We are budding, Master, budding,
\forcelinebreak We of your favourite tree;
\forcelinebreak March drought and April flooding
\forcelinebreak Arouse us merrily,
\forcelinebreak Our stemlets newly studding;
\forcelinebreak And yet you do not see!

\subsection{II}


We are fully woven for summer
\forcelinebreak In stuff of limpest green,
\forcelinebreak The twitterer and the hummer
\forcelinebreak Here rest of nights, unseen,
\forcelinebreak While like a long-roll drummer
\forcelinebreak The nightjar thrills the treen.

\subsection{III}


We are turning yellow, Master,
\forcelinebreak And next we are turning red,
\forcelinebreak And faster then and faster
\forcelinebreak Shall seek our rooty bed,
\forcelinebreak All wasted in disaster!
\forcelinebreak But you lift not your head.

\subsection{IV}


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
“I mark your early going,
\forcelinebreak And that you’ll soon be clay,
\forcelinebreak I have seen your summer showing
\forcelinebreak As in my youthful day;
\forcelinebreak But why I seem unknowing
\forcelinebreak Is too sunk in to say!”




\end{itemize}

1917

\section{LAST WORDS TO A DUMB FRIEND}


Pet was never mourned as you,
\forcelinebreak Purrer of the spotless hue,
\forcelinebreak Plumy tail, and wistful gaze
\forcelinebreak While you humoured our queer ways,
\forcelinebreak Or outshrilled your morning call
\forcelinebreak Up the stairs and through the hall -
\forcelinebreak Foot suspended in its fall -
\forcelinebreak While, expectant, you would stand
\forcelinebreak Arched, to meet the stroking hand;
\forcelinebreak Till your way you chose to wend
\forcelinebreak Yonder, to your tragic end.


Never another pet for me!
\forcelinebreak Let your place all vacant be;
\forcelinebreak Better blankness day by day
\forcelinebreak Than companion torn away.
\forcelinebreak Better bid his memory fade,
\forcelinebreak Better blot each mark he made,
\forcelinebreak Selfishly escape distress
\forcelinebreak By contrived forgetfulness,
\forcelinebreak Than preserve his prints to make
\forcelinebreak Every morn and eve an ache.


From the chair whereon he sat
\forcelinebreak Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat;
\forcelinebreak Rake his little pathways out
\forcelinebreak Mid the bushes roundabout;
\forcelinebreak Smooth away his talons’ mark
\forcelinebreak From the claw-worn pine-tree bark,
\forcelinebreak Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,
\forcelinebreak Waiting us who loitered round.


Strange it is this speechless thing,
\forcelinebreak Subject to our mastering,
\forcelinebreak Subject for his life and food
\forcelinebreak To our gift, and time, and mood;
\forcelinebreak Timid pensioner of us Powers,
\forcelinebreak His existence ruled by ours,
\forcelinebreak Should - by crossing at a breath
\forcelinebreak Into safe and shielded death,
\forcelinebreak By the merely taking hence
\forcelinebreak Of his insignificance -
\forcelinebreak Loom as largened to the sense,
\forcelinebreak Shape as part, above man’s will,
\forcelinebreak Of the Imperturbable.


As a prisoner, flight debarred,
\forcelinebreak Exercising in a yard,
\forcelinebreak Still retain I, troubled, shaken,
\forcelinebreak Mean estate, by him forsaken;
\forcelinebreak And this home, which scarcely took
\forcelinebreak Impress from his little look,
\forcelinebreak By his faring to the Dim
\forcelinebreak Grows all eloquent of him.


Housemate, I can think you still
\forcelinebreak Bounding to the window-sill,
\forcelinebreak Over which I vaguely see
\forcelinebreak Your small mound beneath the tree,
\forcelinebreak Showing in the autumn shade
\forcelinebreak That you moulder where you played.


October 2, 1904.

\section{A DRIZZLING EASTER MORNING}


And he is risen? Well, be it so . . .
\forcelinebreak And still the pensive lands complain,
\forcelinebreak And dead men wait as long ago,
\forcelinebreak As if, much doubting, they would know
\forcelinebreak What they are ransomed from, before
\forcelinebreak They pass again their sheltering door.


I stand amid them in the rain,
\forcelinebreak While blusters vex the yew and vane;
\forcelinebreak And on the road the weary wain
\forcelinebreak Plods forward, laden heavily;
\forcelinebreak And toilers with their aches are fain
\forcelinebreak For endless rest - though risen is he.

\section{ON ONE WHO LIVED AND DIED WHERE HE WAS BORN}


When a night in November
\forcelinebreak Blew forth its bleared airs
\forcelinebreak An infant descended
\forcelinebreak His birth-chamber stairs
\forcelinebreak For the very first time,
\forcelinebreak At the still, midnight chime;
\forcelinebreak All unapprehended
\forcelinebreak His mission, his aim. -
\forcelinebreak Thus, first, one November,
\forcelinebreak An infant descended
\forcelinebreak The stairs.


On a night in November
\forcelinebreak Of weariful cares,
\forcelinebreak A frail aged figure
\forcelinebreak Ascended those stairs
\forcelinebreak For the very last time:
\forcelinebreak All gone his life’s prime,
\forcelinebreak All vanished his vigour,
\forcelinebreak And fine, forceful frame:
\forcelinebreak Thus, last, one November
\forcelinebreak Ascended that figure
\forcelinebreak Upstairs.


On those nights in November -
\forcelinebreak Apart eighty years -
\forcelinebreak The babe and the bent one
\forcelinebreak Who traversed those stairs
\forcelinebreak From the early first time
\forcelinebreak To the last feeble climb -
\forcelinebreak That fresh and that spent one -
\forcelinebreak Were even the same:
\forcelinebreak Yea, who passed in November
\forcelinebreak As infant, as bent one,
\forcelinebreak Those stairs.


Wise child of November!
\forcelinebreak From birth to blanched hairs
\forcelinebreak Descending, ascending,
\forcelinebreak Wealth-wantless, those stairs;
\forcelinebreak Who saw quick in time
\forcelinebreak As a vain pantomime
\forcelinebreak Life’s tending, its ending,
\forcelinebreak The worth of its fame.
\forcelinebreak Wise child of November,
\forcelinebreak Descending, ascending
\forcelinebreak Those stairs!

\section{THE SECOND NIGHT}


(BALLAD)


I missed one night, but the next I went;
\forcelinebreak It was gusty above, and clear;
\forcelinebreak She was there, with the look of one ill-content,
\forcelinebreak And said: “Do not come near!”


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
“I am sorry last night to have failed you here,
\forcelinebreak And now I have travelled all day;
\forcelinebreak And it’s long rowing back to the West-Hoe Pier,
\forcelinebreak So brief must be my stay.”



\item\relax 
“O man of mystery, why not say
\forcelinebreak Out plain to me all you mean?
\forcelinebreak Why you missed last night, and must now away
\forcelinebreak Is - another has come between!”



\item\relax 
“ O woman so mocking in mood and mien,
\forcelinebreak So be it!” I replied:
\forcelinebreak “And if I am due at a differing scene
\forcelinebreak Before the dark has died,




\end{itemize}

“‘Tis that, unresting, to wander wide
\forcelinebreak Has ever been my plight,
\forcelinebreak And at least I have met you at Cremyll side
\forcelinebreak If not last eve, to-night.”


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
“You get small rest - that read I quite;
\forcelinebreak And so do I, maybe;
\forcelinebreak Though there’s a rest hid safe from sight
\forcelinebreak Elsewhere awaiting me!”




\end{itemize}

A mad star crossed the sky to the sea,
\forcelinebreak Wasting in sparks as it streamed,
\forcelinebreak And when I looked to where stood she
\forcelinebreak She had changed, much changed, it seemed:


The sparks of the star in her pupils gleamed,
\forcelinebreak She was vague as a vapour now,
\forcelinebreak And ere of its meaning I had dreamed
\forcelinebreak She’d vanished - I knew not how.


I stood on, long; each cliff-top bough,
\forcelinebreak Like a cynic nodding there,
\forcelinebreak Moved up and down, though no man’s brow
\forcelinebreak But mine met the wayward air.


Still stood I, wholly unaware
\forcelinebreak Of what had come to pass,
\forcelinebreak Or had brought the secret of my new Fair
\forcelinebreak To my old Love, alas!


I went down then by crag and grass
\forcelinebreak To the boat wherein I had come.
\forcelinebreak Said the man with the oars: “This news of the lass
\forcelinebreak Of Edgcumbe, is sharp for some!


“Yes: found this daybreak, stiff and numb
\forcelinebreak On the shore here, whither she’d sped
\forcelinebreak To meet her lover last night in the glum,
\forcelinebreak And he came not, ‘tis said.


“And she leapt down, heart-hit. Pity she’s dead:
\forcelinebreak So much for the faithful-bent!” . . .
\forcelinebreak I looked, and again a star overhead
\forcelinebreak Shot through the firmament.

\section{SHE WHO SAW NOT}


”Did you see something within the house
\forcelinebreak That made me call you before the red sunsetting?
\forcelinebreak Something that all this common scene endows
\forcelinebreak With a richened impress there can be no forgetting?”


” - I have found nothing to see therein,
\forcelinebreak O Sage, that should have made you urge me to enter,
\forcelinebreak Nothing to fire the soul, or the sense to win:
\forcelinebreak I rate you as a rare misrepresenter!”


” - Go anew, Lady, - in by the right . . .
\forcelinebreak Well: why does your face not shine like the face of Moses?”
\forcelinebreak “ - I found no moving thing there save the light
\forcelinebreak And shadow flung on the wall by the outside roses.”


” - Go yet once more, pray. Look on a seat.”
\forcelinebreak “ - I go . . . O Sage, it’s only a man that sits there
\forcelinebreak With eyes on the sun. Mute, - average head to feet.”
\forcelinebreak “ - No more?” - “No more. Just one the place befits there,


”As the rays reach in through the open door,
\forcelinebreak And he looks at his hand, and the sun glows through his fingers,
\forcelinebreak While he’s thinking thoughts whose tenour is no more
\forcelinebreak To me than the swaying rose-tree shade that lingers.”


No more. And years drew on and on
\forcelinebreak Till no sun came, dank fogs the house enfolding;
\forcelinebreak And she saw inside, when the form in the flesh had gone,
\forcelinebreak As a vision what she had missed when the real beholding.

\section{THE OLD WORKMAN}


“Why are you so bent down before your time,
\forcelinebreak Old mason? Many have not left their prime
\forcelinebreak So far behind at your age, and can still
\forcelinebreak Stand full upright at will.”


He pointed to the mansion-front hard by,
\forcelinebreak And to the stones of the quoin against the sky;
\forcelinebreak “Those upper blocks,” he said, “that there you see,
\forcelinebreak It was that ruined me.”


There stood in the air up to the parapet
\forcelinebreak Crowning the corner height, the stones as set
\forcelinebreak By him - ashlar whereon the gales might drum
\forcelinebreak For centuries to come.


“I carried them up,” he said, “by a ladder there;
\forcelinebreak The last was as big a load as I could bear;
\forcelinebreak But on I heaved; and something in my back
\forcelinebreak Moved, as ‘twere with a crack.


“So I got crookt. I never lost that sprain;
\forcelinebreak And those who live there, walled from wind and rain
\forcelinebreak By freestone that I lifted, do not know
\forcelinebreak That my life’s ache came so.


“They don’t know me, or even know my name,
\forcelinebreak But good I think it, somehow, all the same
\forcelinebreak To have kept ‘em safe from harm, and right and tight,
\forcelinebreak Though it has broke me quite.


“Yes; that I fixed it firm up there I am proud,
\forcelinebreak Facing the hail and snow and sun and cloud,
\forcelinebreak And to stand storms for ages, beating round
\forcelinebreak When I lie underground.”

\section{THE SAILOR’S MOTHER}


”O whence do you come,
\forcelinebreak Figure in the night-fog that chills me numb?”


“I come to you across from my house up there,
\forcelinebreak And I don’t mind the brine-mist clinging to me
\forcelinebreak That blows from the quay,
\forcelinebreak For I heard him in my chamber, and thought you unaware.”


”But what did you hear,
\forcelinebreak That brought you blindly knocking in this middle-watch so drear?”


“My sailor son’s voice as ‘twere calling at your door,
\forcelinebreak And I don’t mind my bare feet clammy on the stones,
\forcelinebreak And the blight to my bones,
\forcelinebreak For he only knows of this house I lived in before.”


”Nobody’s nigh,
\forcelinebreak Woman like a skeleton, with socket-sunk eye.”


“Ah - nobody’s nigh! And my life is drearisome,
\forcelinebreak And this is the old home we loved in many a day
\forcelinebreak Before he went away;
\forcelinebreak And the salt fog mops me. And nobody’s come!”


From “To Please his Wife.”

\section{OUTSIDE THE CASEMENT}


(A REMINISCENCE OF THE WAR)


We sat in the room
\forcelinebreak And praised her whom
\forcelinebreak We saw in the portico-shade outside:
\forcelinebreak She could not hear
\forcelinebreak What was said of her,
\forcelinebreak But smiled, for its purport we did not hide.


Then in was brought
\forcelinebreak That message, fraught
\forcelinebreak With evil fortune for her out there,
\forcelinebreak Whom we loved that day
\forcelinebreak More than any could say,
\forcelinebreak And would fain have fenced from a waft of care.


And the question pressed
\forcelinebreak Like lead on each breast,
\forcelinebreak Should we cloak the tidings, or call her and tell?
\forcelinebreak It was too intense
\forcelinebreak A choice for our sense,
\forcelinebreak As we pondered and watched her we loved so well.


Yea, spirit failed us
\forcelinebreak At what assailed us;
\forcelinebreak How long, while seeing what soon must come,
\forcelinebreak Should we counterfeit
\forcelinebreak No knowledge of it,
\forcelinebreak And stay the stroke that would blanch and numb?


And thus, before
\forcelinebreak For evermore
\forcelinebreak Joy left her, we practised to beguile
\forcelinebreak Her innocence when
\forcelinebreak She now and again
\forcelinebreak Looked in, and smiled us another smile.

\section{THE PASSER-BY}


(L. H. RECALLS HER ROMANCE)


He used to pass, well-trimmed and brushed,
\forcelinebreak My window every day,
\forcelinebreak And when I smiled on him he blushed,
\forcelinebreak That youth, quite as a girl might; aye,
\forcelinebreak In the shyest way.


Thus often did he pass hereby,
\forcelinebreak That youth of bounding gait,
\forcelinebreak Until the one who blushed was I,
\forcelinebreak And he became, as here I sate,
\forcelinebreak My joy, my fate.


And now he passes by no more,
\forcelinebreak That youth I loved too true!
\forcelinebreak I grieve should he, as here of yore,
\forcelinebreak Pass elsewhere, seated in his view,
\forcelinebreak Some maiden new!


If such should be, alas for her!
\forcelinebreak He’ll make her feel him dear,
\forcelinebreak Become her daily comforter,
\forcelinebreak Then tire him of her beauteous gear,
\forcelinebreak And disappear!

\section{I WAS THE MIDMOST}


I was the midmost of my world
\forcelinebreak When first I frisked me free,
\forcelinebreak For though within its circuit gleamed
\forcelinebreak But a small company,
\forcelinebreak And I was immature, they seemed
\forcelinebreak To bend their looks on me.


She was the midmost of my world
\forcelinebreak When I went further forth,
\forcelinebreak And hence it was that, whether I turned
\forcelinebreak To south, east, west, or north,
\forcelinebreak Beams of an all-day Polestar burned
\forcelinebreak From that new axe of earth.


Where now is midmost in my world?
\forcelinebreak I trace it not at all:
\forcelinebreak No midmost shows it here, or there,
\forcelinebreak When wistful voices call
\forcelinebreak “We are fain! We are fain!” from everywhere
\forcelinebreak On Earth’s bewildering ball!

\section{A SOUND IN THE NIGHT}


(WOODSFORD CASTLE: 17-)


“What do I catch upon the night-wind, husband? -
\forcelinebreak What is it sounds in this house so eerily?
\forcelinebreak It seems to be a woman’s voice: each little while I hear it,
\forcelinebreak And it much troubles me!”


“‘Tis but the eaves dripping down upon the plinth-slopes:
\forcelinebreak Letting fancies worry thee! - sure ‘tis a foolish thing,
\forcelinebreak When we were on’y coupled half-an-hour before the noontide,
\forcelinebreak And now it’s but evening.”


“Yet seems it still a woman’s voice outside the castle, husband,
\forcelinebreak And ‘tis cold to-night, and rain beats, and this is a lonely place.
\forcelinebreak Didst thou fathom much of womankind in travel or adventure
\forcelinebreak Ere ever thou sawest my face?”


“It may be a tree, bride, that rubs his arms acrosswise,
\forcelinebreak If it is not the eaves-drip upon the lower slopes,
\forcelinebreak Or the river at the bend, where it whirls about the hatches
\forcelinebreak Like a creature that sighs and mopes.”


“Yet it still seems to me like the crying of a woman,
\forcelinebreak And it saddens me much that so piteous a sound
\forcelinebreak On this my bridal night when I would get agone from sorrow
\forcelinebreak Should so ghost-like wander round!”


“To satisfy thee, Love, I will strike the flint-and-steel, then,
\forcelinebreak And set the rush-candle up, and undo the door,
\forcelinebreak And take the new horn-lantern that we bought upon our journey,
\forcelinebreak And throw the light over the moor.”


He struck a light, and breeched and booted in the further chamber,
\forcelinebreak And lit the new horn-lantern and went from her sight,
\forcelinebreak And vanished down the turret; and she heard him pass the postern,
\forcelinebreak And go out into the night.


She listened as she lay, till she heard his step returning,
\forcelinebreak And his voice as he unclothed him: “‘Twas nothing, as I said,
\forcelinebreak But the nor’-west wind a-blowing from the moor ath’art the river,
\forcelinebreak And the tree that taps the gurgoyle-head.”


“Nay, husband, you perplex me; for if the noise I heard here,
\forcelinebreak Awaking me from sleep so, were but as you avow,
\forcelinebreak The rain-fall, and the wind, and the tree-bough, and the river,
\forcelinebreak Why is it silent now?


“And why is thy hand and thy clasping arm so shaking,
\forcelinebreak And thy sleeve and tags of hair so muddy and so wet,
\forcelinebreak And why feel I thy heart a-thumping every time thou kissest me,
\forcelinebreak And thy breath as if hard to get?”


He lay there in silence for a while, still quickly breathing,
\forcelinebreak Then started up and walked about the room resentfully:
\forcelinebreak “O woman, witch, whom I, in sooth, against my will have wedded,
\forcelinebreak Why castedst thou thy spells on me?


“There was one I loved once: the cry you heard was her cry:
\forcelinebreak She came to me to-night, and her plight was passing sore,
\forcelinebreak As no woman . . . Yea, and it was e’en the cry you heard, wife,
\forcelinebreak But she will cry no more!


“And now I can’t abide thee: this place, it hath a curse on’t,
\forcelinebreak This farmstead once a castle: I’ll get me straight away!”
\forcelinebreak He dressed this time in darkness, unspeaking, as she listened,
\forcelinebreak And went ere the dawn turned day.


They found a woman’s body at a spot called Rocky Shallow,
\forcelinebreak Where the Froom stream curves amid the moorland, washed aground,
\forcelinebreak And they searched about for him, the yeoman, who had darkly known her,
\forcelinebreak But he could not be found.


And the bride left for good-and-all the farmstead once a castle,
\forcelinebreak And in a county far away lives, mourns, and sleeps alone,
\forcelinebreak And thinks in windy weather that she hears a woman crying,
\forcelinebreak And sometimes an infant’s moan.

\section{ON A DISCOVERED CURL OF HAIR}


When your soft welcomings were said,
\forcelinebreak This curl was waving on your head,
\forcelinebreak And when we walked where breakers dinned
\forcelinebreak It sported in the sun and wind,
\forcelinebreak And when I had won your words of grace
\forcelinebreak It brushed and clung about my face.
\forcelinebreak Then, to abate the misery
\forcelinebreak Of absentness, you gave it me.


Where are its fellows now? Ah, they
\forcelinebreak For brightest brown have donned a gray,
\forcelinebreak And gone into a caverned ark,
\forcelinebreak Ever unopened, always dark!


Yet this one curl, untouched of time,
\forcelinebreak Beams with live brown as in its prime,
\forcelinebreak So that it seems I even could now
\forcelinebreak Restore it to the living brow
\forcelinebreak By bearing down the western road
\forcelinebreak Till I had reached your old abode.


February 1913.

\section{AN OLD LIKENESS}


(RECALLING R. T.)


Who would have thought
\forcelinebreak That, not having missed her
\forcelinebreak Talks, tears, laughter
\forcelinebreak In absence, or sought
\forcelinebreak To recall for so long
\forcelinebreak Her gamut of song;
\forcelinebreak Or ever to waft her
\forcelinebreak Signal of aught
\forcelinebreak That she, fancy-fanned,
\forcelinebreak Would well understand,
\forcelinebreak I should have kissed her
\forcelinebreak Picture when scanned
\forcelinebreak Yawning years after!


Yet, seeing her poor
\forcelinebreak Dim-outlined form
\forcelinebreak Chancewise at night-time,
\forcelinebreak Some old allure
\forcelinebreak Came on me, warm,
\forcelinebreak Fresh, pleadful, pure,
\forcelinebreak As in that bright time
\forcelinebreak At a far season
\forcelinebreak Of love and unreason,
\forcelinebreak And took me by storm
\forcelinebreak Here in this blight-time!


And thus it arose
\forcelinebreak That, yawning years after
\forcelinebreak Our early flows
\forcelinebreak Of wit and laughter,
\forcelinebreak And framing of rhymes
\forcelinebreak At idle times,
\forcelinebreak At sight of her painting,
\forcelinebreak Though she lies cold
\forcelinebreak In churchyard mould,
\forcelinebreak I took its feinting
\forcelinebreak As real, and kissed it,
\forcelinebreak As if I had wist it
\forcelinebreak Herself of old.

\section{HER APOTHEOSIS}


“Secretum meum mihi”


(FADED WOMAN’S SONG)


There was a spell of leisure,
\forcelinebreak No record vouches when;
\forcelinebreak With honours, praises, pleasure
\forcelinebreak To womankind from men.


But no such lures bewitched me,
\forcelinebreak No hand was stretched to raise,
\forcelinebreak No gracious gifts enriched me,
\forcelinebreak No voices sang my praise.


Yet an iris at that season
\forcelinebreak Amid the accustomed slight
\forcelinebreak From denseness, dull unreason,
\forcelinebreak Ringed me with living light.

\section{SACRED TO THE MEMORY}


(MARY H.)


That “Sacred to the Memory”
\forcelinebreak Is clearly carven there I own,
\forcelinebreak And all may think that on the stone
\forcelinebreak The words have been inscribed by me
\forcelinebreak In bare conventionality.


They know not and will never know
\forcelinebreak That my full script is not confined
\forcelinebreak To that stone space, but stands deep lined
\forcelinebreak Upon the landscape high and low
\forcelinebreak Wherein she made such worthy show.

\section{TO A WELL-NAMED DWELLING}


Glad old house of lichened stonework,
\forcelinebreak What I owed you in my lone work,
\forcelinebreak Noon and night!
\forcelinebreak Whensoever faint or ailing,
\forcelinebreak Letting go my grasp and failing,
\forcelinebreak You lent light.


How by that fair title came you?
\forcelinebreak Did some forward eye so name you
\forcelinebreak Knowing that one,
\forcelinebreak Sauntering down his century blindly,
\forcelinebreak Would remark your sound, so kindly,
\forcelinebreak And be won?


Smile in sunlight, sleep in moonlight,
\forcelinebreak Bask in April, May, and June-light,
\forcelinebreak Zephyr-fanned;
\forcelinebreak Let your chambers show no sorrow,
\forcelinebreak Blanching day, or stuporing morrow,
\forcelinebreak While they stand.

\section{THE WHIPPER-IN}


My father was the whipper-in, -
\forcelinebreak Is still - if I’m not misled?
\forcelinebreak And now I see, where the hedge is thin,
\forcelinebreak A little spot of red;
\forcelinebreak Surely it is my father
\forcelinebreak Going to the kennel-shed!


“I cursed and fought my father - aye,
\forcelinebreak And sailed to a foreign land;
\forcelinebreak And feeling sorry, I’m back, to stay,
\forcelinebreak Please God, as his helping hand.
\forcelinebreak Surely it is my father
\forcelinebreak Near where the kennels stand?”


“ - True. Whipper-in he used to be
\forcelinebreak For twenty years or more;
\forcelinebreak And you did go away to sea
\forcelinebreak As youths have done before.
\forcelinebreak Yes, oddly enough that red there
\forcelinebreak Is the very coat he wore.


“But he - he’s dead; was thrown somehow,
\forcelinebreak And gave his back a crick,
\forcelinebreak And though that is his coat, ‘tis now
\forcelinebreak The scarecrow of a rick;
\forcelinebreak You’ll see when you get nearer -
\forcelinebreak ’Tis spread out on a stick.


“You see, when all had settled down
\forcelinebreak Your mother’s things were sold,
\forcelinebreak And she went back to her own town,
\forcelinebreak And the coat, ate out with mould,
\forcelinebreak Is now used by the farmer
\forcelinebreak For scaring, as ‘tis old.”

\section{A MILITARY APPOINTMENT}


(SCHERZANDO)


“So back you have come from the town, Nan, dear!
\forcelinebreak And have you seen him there, or near -
\forcelinebreak That soldier of mine -
\forcelinebreak Who long since promised to meet me here?”


“ - O yes, Nell: from the town I come,
\forcelinebreak And have seen your lover on sick-leave home -
\forcelinebreak That soldier of yours -
\forcelinebreak Who swore to meet you, or Strike-him-dumb;


“But has kept himself of late away;
\forcelinebreak Yet, - in short, he’s coming, I heard him say -
\forcelinebreak That lover of yours -
\forcelinebreak To this very spot on this very day.”


“ - Then I’ll wait, I’ll wait, through wet or dry!
\forcelinebreak I’ll give him a goblet brimming high -
\forcelinebreak This lover of mine -
\forcelinebreak And not of complaint one word or sigh!”


“ - Nell, him I have chanced so much to see,
\forcelinebreak That - he has grown the lover of me! -
\forcelinebreak That lover of yours -
\forcelinebreak And it’s here our meeting is planned to be.”

\section{THE MILESTONE BY THE RABBIT-BURROW}


(ON YELL’HAM HILL)


In my loamy nook
\forcelinebreak As I dig my hole
\forcelinebreak I observe men look
\forcelinebreak At a stone, and sigh
\forcelinebreak As they pass it by
\forcelinebreak To some far goal.


Something it says
\forcelinebreak To their glancing eyes
\forcelinebreak That must distress
\forcelinebreak The frail and lame,
\forcelinebreak And the strong of frame
\forcelinebreak Gladden or surprise.


Do signs on its face
\forcelinebreak Declare how far
\forcelinebreak Feet have to trace
\forcelinebreak Before they gain
\forcelinebreak Some blest champaign
\forcelinebreak Where no gins are?

\section{THE LAMENT OF THE LOOKING-GLASS}


Words from the mirror softly pass
\forcelinebreak To the curtains with a sigh:
\forcelinebreak “Why should I trouble again to glass
\forcelinebreak These smileless things hard by,
\forcelinebreak Since she I pleasured once, alas,
\forcelinebreak Is now no longer nigh!”


“I’ve imaged shadows of coursing cloud,
\forcelinebreak And of the plying limb
\forcelinebreak On the pensive pine when the air is loud
\forcelinebreak With its aerial hymn;
\forcelinebreak But never do they make me proud
\forcelinebreak To catch them within my rim!


“I flash back phantoms of the night
\forcelinebreak That sometimes flit by me,
\forcelinebreak I echo roses red and white -
\forcelinebreak The loveliest blooms that be -
\forcelinebreak But now I never hold to sight
\forcelinebreak So sweet a flower as she.”

\section{CROSS-CURRENTS}


They parted - a pallid, trembling I pair,
\forcelinebreak And rushing down the lane
\forcelinebreak He left her lonely near me there;
\forcelinebreak  - I asked her of their pain.


“It is for ever,” at length she said,
\forcelinebreak ”His friends have schemed it so,
\forcelinebreak That the long-purposed day to wed
\forcelinebreak Never shall we two know.”


“In such a cruel case,” said I,
\forcelinebreak ”Love will contrive a course?”
\forcelinebreak “ - Well, no . . . A thing may underlie,
\forcelinebreak Which robs that of its force;


“A thing I could not tell him of,
\forcelinebreak Though all the year I have tried;
\forcelinebreak This: never could I have given him love,
\forcelinebreak Even had I been his bride.


“So, when his kinsfolk stop the way
\forcelinebreak Point-blank, there could not be
\forcelinebreak A happening in the world to-day
\forcelinebreak More opportune for me!


“Yet hear - no doubt to your surprise -
\forcelinebreak I am sorry, for his sake,
\forcelinebreak That I have escaped the sacrifice
\forcelinebreak I was prepared to make!”

\section{THE OLD NEIGHBOUR AND THE NEW}


‘Twas to greet the new rector I called I here,
\forcelinebreak But in the arm-chair I see
\forcelinebreak My old friend, for long years installed here,
\forcelinebreak Who palely nods to me.


The new man explains what he’s planning
\forcelinebreak In a smart and cheerful tone,
\forcelinebreak And I listen, the while that I’m scanning
\forcelinebreak The figure behind his own.


The newcomer urges things on me;
\forcelinebreak I return a vague smile thereto,
\forcelinebreak The olden face gazing upon me
\forcelinebreak Just as it used to do!


And on leaving I scarcely remember
\forcelinebreak Which neighbour to-day I have seen,
\forcelinebreak The one carried out in September,
\forcelinebreak Or him who but entered yestreen.

\section{THE CHOSEN}


“‘Ä¹Å± µÃÄ¹Å ±»»·³¿Á¿Å¼µ½±


“A woman for whom great gods might strive!”
\forcelinebreak I said, and kissed her there:
\forcelinebreak And then I thought of the other five,
\forcelinebreak And of how charms outwear.


I thought of the first with her eating eyes,
\forcelinebreak And I thought of the second with hers, green-gray,
\forcelinebreak And I thought of the third, experienced, wise,
\forcelinebreak And I thought of the fourth who sang all day.


And I thought of the fifth, whom I’d called a jade,
\forcelinebreak And I thought of them all, tear-fraught;
\forcelinebreak And that each had shown her a passable maid,
\forcelinebreak Yet not of the favour sought.


So I traced these words on the bark of a beech,
\forcelinebreak Just at the falling of the mast:
\forcelinebreak “After scanning five; yes, each and each,
\forcelinebreak I’ve found the woman desired - at last!”


“ - I feel a strange benumbing spell,
\forcelinebreak As one ill-wished!” said she.
\forcelinebreak And soon it seemed that something fell
\forcelinebreak Was starving her love for me.


“I feel some curse. O, five were there?”
\forcelinebreak And wanly she swerved, and went away.
\forcelinebreak I followed sick: night numbed the air,
\forcelinebreak And dark the mournful moorland lay.


I cried: “O darling, turn your head!”
\forcelinebreak But never her face I viewed;
\forcelinebreak “O turn, O turn!” again I said,
\forcelinebreak And miserably pursued.


At length I came to a Christ-cross stone
\forcelinebreak Which she had passed without discern;
\forcelinebreak And I knelt upon the leaves there strown,
\forcelinebreak And prayed aloud that she might turn.


I rose, and looked; and turn she did;
\forcelinebreak I cried, “My heart revives!”
\forcelinebreak “Look more,” she said. I looked as bid;
\forcelinebreak Her face was all the five’s.


All the five women, clear come back,
\forcelinebreak I saw in her - with her made one,
\forcelinebreak The while she drooped upon the track,
\forcelinebreak And her frail term seemed well-nigh run.


She’d half forgot me in her change;
\forcelinebreak ”Who are you? Won’t you say
\forcelinebreak Who you may be, you man so strange,
\forcelinebreak Following since yesterday?”


I took the composite form she was,
\forcelinebreak And carried her to an arbour small,
\forcelinebreak Not passion-moved, but even because
\forcelinebreak In one I could atone to all.


And there she lies, and there I tend,
\forcelinebreak Till my life’s threads unwind,
\forcelinebreak A various womanhood in blend -
\forcelinebreak Not one, but all combined.

\section{THE INSCRIPTION}


(A TALE)


Sir John was entombed, and the crypt was closed, and she,
\forcelinebreak Like a soul that could meet no more the sight of the sun,
\forcelinebreak Inclined her in weepings and prayings continually,
\forcelinebreak As his widowed one.


And to pleasure her in her sorrow, and fix his name
\forcelinebreak As a memory Time’s fierce frost should never kill,
\forcelinebreak She caused to be richly chased a brass to his fame,
\forcelinebreak Which should link them still;


For she bonded her name with his own on the brazen page,
\forcelinebreak As if dead and interred there with him, and cold, and numb,
\forcelinebreak (Omitting the day of her dying and year of her age
\forcelinebreak Till her end should come;)


And implored good people to pray “Of their Charytie
\forcelinebreak For these twaine Soules,” - yea, she who did last remain
\forcelinebreak Forgoing Heaven’s bliss if ever with spouse should she
\forcelinebreak Again have lain.


Even there, as it first was set, you may see it now,
\forcelinebreak Writ in quaint Church text, with the date of her death left bare,
\forcelinebreak In the aged Estminster aisle, where the folk yet bow
\forcelinebreak Themselves in prayer.


Thereafter some years slid, till there came a day
\forcelinebreak When it slowly began to be marked of the standers-by
\forcelinebreak That she would regard the brass, and would bend away
\forcelinebreak With a drooping sigh.


Now the lady was fair as any the eye might scan
\forcelinebreak Through a summer day of roving - a type at whose lip
\forcelinebreak Despite her maturing seasons, no meet man
\forcelinebreak Would be loth to sip.


And her heart was stirred with a lightning love to its pith
\forcelinebreak For a newcomer who, while less in years, was one
\forcelinebreak Full eager and able to make her his own forthwith,
\forcelinebreak Restrained of none.


But she answered Nay, death-white; and still as he urged
\forcelinebreak She adversely spake, overmuch as she loved the while,
\forcelinebreak Till he pressed for why, and she led with the face of one scourged
\forcelinebreak To the neighbouring aisle,


And showed him the words, ever gleaming upon her pew,
\forcelinebreak Memorizing her there as the knight’s eternal wife,
\forcelinebreak Or falsing such, debarred inheritance due
\forcelinebreak Of celestial life.


He blenched, and reproached her that one yet undeceased
\forcelinebreak Should bury her future - that future which none can spell;
\forcelinebreak And she wept, and purposed anon to inquire of the priest
\forcelinebreak If the price were hell


Of her wedding in face of the record. Her lover agreed,
\forcelinebreak And they parted before the brass with a shudderful kiss,
\forcelinebreak For it seemed to flash out on their impulse of passionate need,
\forcelinebreak ”Mock ye not this!”


Well, the priest, whom more perceptions moved than one,
\forcelinebreak Said she erred at the first to have written as if she were dead
\forcelinebreak Her name and adjuration; but since it was done
\forcelinebreak Nought could be said


Save that she must abide by the pledge, for the peace of her soul,
\forcelinebreak And so, by her life, maintain the apostrophe good,
\forcelinebreak If she wished anon to reach the coveted goal
\forcelinebreak Of beatitude.


To erase from the consecrate text her prayer as there prayed
\forcelinebreak Would aver that, since earth’s joys most drew her, past doubt,
\forcelinebreak Friends’ prayers for her joy above by Jesu’s aid
\forcelinebreak Could be done without.


Moreover she thought of the laughter, the shrug, the jibe
\forcelinebreak That would rise at her back in the nave when she should pass
\forcelinebreak As another’s avowed by the words she had chosen to inscribe
\forcelinebreak On the changeless brass.


And so for months she replied to her Love: “No, no”;
\forcelinebreak While sorrow was gnawing her beauties ever and more,
\forcelinebreak Till he, long-suffering and weary, grew to show
\forcelinebreak Less warmth than before.


And, after an absence, wrote words absolute:
\forcelinebreak That he gave her till Midsummer morn to make her mind clear;
\forcelinebreak And that if, by then, she had not said Yea to his suit,
\forcelinebreak He should wed elsewhere.


Thence on, at unwonted times through the lengthening days
\forcelinebreak She was seen in the church - at dawn, or when the sun dipt
\forcelinebreak And the moon rose, standing with hands joined, blank of gaze,
\forcelinebreak Before the script.


She thinned as he came not; shrank like a creature that cowers
\forcelinebreak As summer drew nearer; but still had not promised to wed,
\forcelinebreak When, just at the zenith of June, in the still night hours,
\forcelinebreak She was missed from her bed.


“The church!” they whispered with qualms; “where often she sits.”
\forcelinebreak They found her: facing the brass there, else seeing none,
\forcelinebreak But feeling the words with her finger, gibbering in fits;
\forcelinebreak And she knew them not one.


And so she remained, in her handmaids’ charge; late, soon,
\forcelinebreak Tracing words in the air with her finger, as seen that night -
\forcelinebreak Those incised on the brass - till at length unwatched one noon,
\forcelinebreak She vanished from sight.


And, as talebearers tell, thence on to her last-taken breath
\forcelinebreak Was unseen, save as wraith that in front of the brass made moan;
\forcelinebreak So that ever the way of her life and the time of her death
\forcelinebreak Remained unknown.


And hence, as indited above, you may read even now
\forcelinebreak The quaint church-text, with the date of her death left bare,
\forcelinebreak In the aged Estminster aisle, where folk yet bow
\forcelinebreak Themselves in prayer.


October 30, 1907.

\section{THE MARBLE-STREETED TOWN}


I reach the marble-streeted town,
\forcelinebreak Whose “Sound” outbreathes its air
\forcelinebreak Of sharp sea-salts;
\forcelinebreak I see the movement up and down
\forcelinebreak As when she was there.
\forcelinebreak Ships of all countries come and go,
\forcelinebreak The bandsmen boom in the sun
\forcelinebreak A throbbing waltz;
\forcelinebreak The schoolgirls laugh along the Hoe
\forcelinebreak As when she was one.


I move away as the music rolls:
\forcelinebreak The place seems not to mind
\forcelinebreak That she - of old
\forcelinebreak The brightest of its native souls -
\forcelinebreak Left it behind!
\forcelinebreak Over this green aforedays she
\forcelinebreak On light treads went and came,
\forcelinebreak Yea, times untold;
\forcelinebreak Yet none here knows her history -
\forcelinebreak Has heard her name.


PLYMOUTH (1914?).

\section{A WOMAN DRIVING}


How she held up the horses’ heads,
\forcelinebreak Firm-lipped, with steady rein,
\forcelinebreak Down that grim steep the coastguard treads,
\forcelinebreak Till all was safe again!


With form erect and keen contour
\forcelinebreak She passed against the sea,
\forcelinebreak And, dipping into the chine’s obscure,
\forcelinebreak Was seen no more by me.


To others she appeared anew
\forcelinebreak At times of dusky light,
\forcelinebreak But always, so they told, withdrew
\forcelinebreak From close and curious sight.


Some said her silent wheels would roll
\forcelinebreak Rutless on softest loam,
\forcelinebreak And even that her steeds’ footfall
\forcelinebreak Sank not upon the foam.


Where drives she now? It may be where
\forcelinebreak No mortal horses are,
\forcelinebreak But in a chariot of the air
\forcelinebreak Towards some radiant star.

\section{A WOMAN’S TRUST}


If he should live a thousand years
\forcelinebreak He’d find it not again
\forcelinebreak That scorn of him by men
\forcelinebreak Could less disturb a woman’s trust
\forcelinebreak In him as a steadfast star which must
\forcelinebreak Rise scathless from the nether spheres:
\forcelinebreak If he should live a thousand years
\forcelinebreak He’d find it not again.


She waited like a little child,
\forcelinebreak Unchilled by damps of doubt,
\forcelinebreak While from her eyes looked out
\forcelinebreak A confidence sublime as Spring’s
\forcelinebreak When stressed by Winter’s loiterings.
\forcelinebreak Thus, howsoever the wicked wiled,
\forcelinebreak She waited like a little child
\forcelinebreak Unchilled by damps of doubt.


Through cruel years and crueller
\forcelinebreak Thus she believed in him
\forcelinebreak And his aurore, so dim;
\forcelinebreak That, after fenweeds, flowers would blow;
\forcelinebreak And above all things did she show
\forcelinebreak Her faith in his good faith with her;
\forcelinebreak Through cruel years and crueller
\forcelinebreak Thus she believed in him!

\section{BEST TIMES}


We went a day’s excursion to the stream,
\forcelinebreak Basked by the bank, and bent to the ripple-gleam,
\forcelinebreak And I did not know
\forcelinebreak That life would show,
\forcelinebreak However it might flower, no finer glow.


I walked in the Sunday sunshine by the road
\forcelinebreak That wound towards the wicket of your abode,
\forcelinebreak And I did not think
\forcelinebreak That life would shrink
\forcelinebreak To nothing ere it shed a rosier pink.


Unlooked for I arrived on a rainy night,
\forcelinebreak And you hailed me at the door by the swaying light,
\forcelinebreak And I full forgot
\forcelinebreak That life might not
\forcelinebreak Again be touching that ecstatic height.


And that calm eve when you walked up the stair,
\forcelinebreak After a gaiety prolonged and rare,
\forcelinebreak No thought soever
\forcelinebreak That you might never
\forcelinebreak Walk down again, struck me as I stood there.


Rewritten from an old draft.

\section{THE CASUAL ACQUAINTANCE}


While he was here in breath and bone,
\forcelinebreak To speak to and to see,
\forcelinebreak Would I had known - more clearly known -
\forcelinebreak What that man did for me


When the wind scraped a minor lay,
\forcelinebreak And the spent west from white
\forcelinebreak To gray turned tiredly, and from gray
\forcelinebreak To broadest bands of night!


But I saw not, and he saw not
\forcelinebreak What shining life-tides flowed
\forcelinebreak To me-ward from his casual jot
\forcelinebreak Of service on that road.


He would have said: “‘Twas nothing new;
\forcelinebreak We all do what we can;
\forcelinebreak ‘Twas only what one man would do
\forcelinebreak For any other man.”


Now that I gauge his goodliness
\forcelinebreak He’s slipped from human eyes;
\forcelinebreak And when he passed there’s none can guess,
\forcelinebreak Or point out where he lies.

\section{INTRA SEPULCHRUM}


What curious things we said,
\forcelinebreak What curious things we did
\forcelinebreak Up there in the world we walked till dead
\forcelinebreak Our kith and kin amid!


How we played at love,
\forcelinebreak And its wildness, weakness, woe;
\forcelinebreak Yes, played thereat far more than enough
\forcelinebreak As it turned out, I trow!


Played at believing in gods
\forcelinebreak And observing the ordinances,
\forcelinebreak I for your sake in impossible codes
\forcelinebreak Right ready to acquiesce.


Thinking our lives unique,
\forcelinebreak Quite quainter than usual kinds,
\forcelinebreak We held that we could not abide a week
\forcelinebreak The tether of typic minds.


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Yet people who day by day
\forcelinebreak Pass by and look at us
\forcelinebreak From over the wall in a casual way
\forcelinebreak Are of this unconscious.




\end{itemize}

And feel, if anything,
\forcelinebreak That none can be buried here
\forcelinebreak Removed from commonest fashioning,
\forcelinebreak Or lending note to a bier:


No twain who in heart-heaves proved
\forcelinebreak Themselves at all adept,
\forcelinebreak Who more than many laughed and loved,
\forcelinebreak Who more than many wept,


Or were as sprites or elves
\forcelinebreak Into blind matter hurled,
\forcelinebreak Or ever could have been to themselves
\forcelinebreak The centre of the world.

\section{THE WHITEWASHED WALL}


Why does she turn in that shy soft way
\forcelinebreak Whenever she stirs the fire,
\forcelinebreak And kiss to the chimney-corner wall,
\forcelinebreak As if entranced to admire
\forcelinebreak Its whitewashed bareness more than the sight
\forcelinebreak Of a rose in richest green?
\forcelinebreak I have known her long, but this raptured rite
\forcelinebreak I never before have seen.


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Well, once when her son cast his shadow there,
\forcelinebreak A friend took a pencil and drew him
\forcelinebreak Upon that flame-lit wall. And the lines
\forcelinebreak Had a lifelike semblance to him.
\forcelinebreak And there long stayed his familiar look;
\forcelinebreak But one day, ere she knew,
\forcelinebreak The whitener came to cleanse the nook,
\forcelinebreak And covered the face from view.




\end{itemize}

“Yes,” he said: “My brush goes on with a rush,
\forcelinebreak And the draught is buried under;
\forcelinebreak When you have to whiten old cots and brighten,
\forcelinebreak What else can you do, I wonder?”
\forcelinebreak But she knows he’s there. And when she yearns
\forcelinebreak For him, deep in the labouring night,
\forcelinebreak She sees him as close at hand, and turns
\forcelinebreak To him under his sheet of white.

\section{JUST THE SAME}


I sat. It all was past;
\forcelinebreak Hope never would hail again;
\forcelinebreak Fair days had ceased at a blast,
\forcelinebreak The world was a darkened den.


The beauty and dream were gone,
\forcelinebreak And the halo in which I had hied
\forcelinebreak So gaily gallantly on
\forcelinebreak Had suffered blot and died!


I went forth, heedless whither,
\forcelinebreak In a cloud too black for name:
\forcelinebreak  - People frisked hither and thither;
\forcelinebreak The world was just the same.

\section{THE LAST TIME}


The kiss had been given and taken,
\forcelinebreak And gathered to many past:
\forcelinebreak It never could reawaken;
\forcelinebreak But you heard none say: “It’s the last!”


The clock showed the hour and the minute,
\forcelinebreak But you did not turn and look:
\forcelinebreak You read no finis in it,
\forcelinebreak As at closing of a book.


But you read it all too rightly
\forcelinebreak When, at a time anon,
\forcelinebreak A figure lay stretched out whitely,
\forcelinebreak And you stood looking thereon.

\section{THE SEVEN TIMES}


The dark was thick. A boy he seemed at that time
\forcelinebreak Who trotted by me with uncertain air;
\forcelinebreak “I’ll tell my tale,” he murmured, “for I fancy
\forcelinebreak A friend goes there? . . . “


Then thus he told. “I reached - ‘twas for the first time -
\forcelinebreak A dwelling. Life was clogged in me with care;
\forcelinebreak I thought not I should meet an eyesome maiden,
\forcelinebreak But found one there.


“I entered on the precincts for the second time -
\forcelinebreak ’Twas an adventure fit and fresh and fair -
\forcelinebreak I slackened in my footsteps at the porchway,
\forcelinebreak And found her there.


“I rose and travelled thither for the third time,
\forcelinebreak The hope-hues growing gayer and yet gayer
\forcelinebreak As I hastened round the boscage of the outskirts,
\forcelinebreak And found her there.


“I journeyed to the place again the fourth time
\forcelinebreak (The best and rarest visit of the rare,
\forcelinebreak As it seemed to me, engrossed about these goings),
\forcelinebreak And found her there.


“When I bent me to my pilgrimage the fifth time
\forcelinebreak (Soft-thinking as I journeyed I would dare
\forcelinebreak A certain word at token of good auspice),
\forcelinebreak I found her there.


“That landscape did I traverse for the sixth time,
\forcelinebreak And dreamed on what we purposed to prepare;
\forcelinebreak I reached a tryst before my journey’s end came,
\forcelinebreak And found her there.


“I went again - long after - aye, the seventh time;
\forcelinebreak The look of things was sinister and bare
\forcelinebreak As I caught no customed signal, heard no voice call,
\forcelinebreak Nor found her there.


“And now I gad the globe - day, night, and any time,
\forcelinebreak To light upon her hiding unaware,
\forcelinebreak And, maybe, I shall nigh me to some nymph-niche,
\forcelinebreak And find her there!”


“ But how,” said I, “has your so little lifetime
\forcelinebreak Given roomage for such loving, loss, despair?
\forcelinebreak A boy so young!” Forthwith I turned my lantern
\forcelinebreak Upon him there.


His head was white. His small form, fine aforetime,
\forcelinebreak Was shrunken with old age and battering wear,
\forcelinebreak An eighty-years long plodder saw I pacing
\forcelinebreak Beside me there.

\section{THE SUN’S LAST LOOK ON THE COUNTRY GIRL}


(M. H.)


The sun threw down a radiant spot
\forcelinebreak On the face in the winding-sheet -
\forcelinebreak The face it had lit when a babe’s in its cot;
\forcelinebreak And the sun knew not, and the face knew not
\forcelinebreak That soon they would no more meet.


Now that the grave has shut its door,
\forcelinebreak And lets not in one ray,
\forcelinebreak Do they wonder that they meet no more -
\forcelinebreak That face and its beaming visitor -
\forcelinebreak That met so many a day?


December 1915.

\section{IN A LONDON FLAT}

\subsection{I}


“You look like a widower,” she said
\forcelinebreak Through the folding-doors with a laugh from the bed,
\forcelinebreak As he sat by the fire in the outer room,
\forcelinebreak Reading late on a night of gloom,
\forcelinebreak And a cab-hack’s wheeze, and the clap of its feet
\forcelinebreak In its breathless pace on the smooth wet street,
\forcelinebreak Were all that came to them now and then . . .
\forcelinebreak “You really do!” she quizzed again.

\subsection{II}


And the Spirits behind the curtains heard,
\forcelinebreak And also laughed, amused at her word,
\forcelinebreak And at her light-hearted view of him.
\forcelinebreak “Let’s get him made so - just for a whim!”
\forcelinebreak Said the Phantom Ironic. “‘Twould serve her right
\forcelinebreak If we coaxed the Will to do it some night.”
\forcelinebreak “O pray not!” pleaded the younger one,
\forcelinebreak The Sprite of the Pities. “She said it in fun!”

\subsection{III}


But so it befell, whatever the cause,
\forcelinebreak That what she had called him he next year was;
\forcelinebreak And on such a night, when she lay elsewhere,
\forcelinebreak He, watched by those Phantoms, again sat there,
\forcelinebreak And gazed, as if gazing on far faint shores,
\forcelinebreak At the empty bed through the folding-doors
\forcelinebreak As he remembered her words; and wept
\forcelinebreak That she had forgotten them where she slept.

\section{DRAWING DETAILS IN AN OLD CHURCH}


I hear the bell-rope sawing,
\forcelinebreak And the oil-less axle grind,
\forcelinebreak As I sit alone here drawing
\forcelinebreak What some Gothic brain designed;
\forcelinebreak And I catch the toll that follows
\forcelinebreak From the lagging bell,
\forcelinebreak Ere it spreads to hills and hollows
\forcelinebreak Where the parish people dwell.


I ask not whom it tolls for,
\forcelinebreak Incurious who he be;
\forcelinebreak So, some morrow, when those knolls for
\forcelinebreak One unguessed, sound out for me,
\forcelinebreak A stranger, loitering under
\forcelinebreak In nave or choir,
\forcelinebreak May think, too, “Whose, I wonder?”
\forcelinebreak But care not to inquire.

\section{RAKE-HELL MUSES}


Yes; since she knows not need,
\forcelinebreak Nor walks in blindness,
\forcelinebreak I may without unkindness
\forcelinebreak A true thing tell:


Which would be truth, indeed,
\forcelinebreak Though worse in speaking,
\forcelinebreak Were her poor footsteps seeking
\forcelinebreak A pauper’s cell.


I judge, then, better far
\forcelinebreak She now have sorrow,
\forcelinebreak Than gladness that to-morrow
\forcelinebreak Might know its knell. -


It may be men there are
\forcelinebreak Could make of union
\forcelinebreak A lifelong sweet communion -
\forcelinebreak A passioned spell;


But I, to save her name
\forcelinebreak And bring salvation
\forcelinebreak By altar-affirmation
\forcelinebreak And bridal bell;


I, by whose rash unshame
\forcelinebreak These tears come to her:-
\forcelinebreak My faith would more undo her
\forcelinebreak Than my farewell!


Chained to me, year by year
\forcelinebreak My moody madness
\forcelinebreak Would wither her old gladness
\forcelinebreak Like famine fell.


She’ll take the ill that’s near,
\forcelinebreak And bear the blaming.
\forcelinebreak ‘Twill pass. Full soon her shaming
\forcelinebreak They’ll cease to yell.


Our unborn, first her moan,
\forcelinebreak Will grow her guerdon,
\forcelinebreak Until from blot and burden
\forcelinebreak A joyance swell;


In that therein she’ll own
\forcelinebreak My good part wholly,
\forcelinebreak My evil staining solely
\forcelinebreak My own vile vell.


Of the disgrace, may be
\forcelinebreak ”He shunned to share it,
\forcelinebreak Being false,” they’ll say. I’ll bear it;
\forcelinebreak Time will dispel


The calumny, and prove
\forcelinebreak This much about me,
\forcelinebreak That she lives best without me
\forcelinebreak Who would live well.


That, this once, not self-love
\forcelinebreak But good intention
\forcelinebreak Pleads that against convention
\forcelinebreak We two rebel.


For, is one moonlight dance,
\forcelinebreak One midnight passion,
\forcelinebreak A rock whereon to fashion
\forcelinebreak Life’s citadel?


Prove they their power to prance
\forcelinebreak Life’s miles together
\forcelinebreak From upper slope to nether
\forcelinebreak Who trip an ell?


\begin{itemize}
\item\relax 
Years hence, or now apace,
\forcelinebreak May tongues be calling
\forcelinebreak News of my further falling
\forcelinebreak Sinward pell-mell:




\end{itemize}

Then this great good will grace
\forcelinebreak Our lives’ division,
\forcelinebreak She’s saved from more misprision
\forcelinebreak Though I plumb hell.


189-

\section{THE COLOUR}


(The following lines are partly made up, partly remembered from a Wessex folk-rhyme)


“What shall I bring you?
\forcelinebreak Please will white do
\forcelinebreak Best for your wearing
\forcelinebreak The long day through?”
\forcelinebreak “ - White is for weddings,
\forcelinebreak Weddings, weddings,
\forcelinebreak White is for weddings,
\forcelinebreak And that won’t do.”


“What shall I bring you?
\forcelinebreak Please will red do
\forcelinebreak Best for your wearing
\forcelinebreak The long day through?”
\forcelinebreak “ - Red is for soldiers,
\forcelinebreak Soldiers, soldiers,
\forcelinebreak Red is for soldiers,
\forcelinebreak And that won’t do.”


“What shall I bring you?
\forcelinebreak Please will blue do
\forcelinebreak Best for your wearing
\forcelinebreak The long day through?”
\forcelinebreak “ - Blue is for sailors,
\forcelinebreak Sailors, sailors,
\forcelinebreak Blue is for sailors,
\forcelinebreak And that won’t do.


“What shall I bring you?
\forcelinebreak Please will green do
\forcelinebreak Best for your wearing
\forcelinebreak The long day through?”
\forcelinebreak “ - Green is for mayings,
\forcelinebreak Mayings, mayings,
\forcelinebreak Green is for mayings,
\forcelinebreak And that won’t do.”


“What shall I bring you
\forcelinebreak Then? Will black do
\forcelinebreak Best for your wearing
\forcelinebreak The long day through?”
\forcelinebreak “ - Black is for mourning,
\forcelinebreak Mourning, mourning,
\forcelinebreak Black is for mourning,
\forcelinebreak And black will do.”

\section{MURMURS IN THE GLOOM}


(NOCTURNE)


I wayfared at the nadir of the sun
\forcelinebreak Where populations meet, though seen of none;
\forcelinebreak And millions seemed to sigh around
\forcelinebreak As though their haunts were nigh around,
\forcelinebreak And unknown throngs to cry around
\forcelinebreak Of things late done.


“O Seers, who well might high ensample show”
\forcelinebreak (Came throbbing past in plainsong small and slow),
\forcelinebreak ”Leaders who lead us aimlessly,
\forcelinebreak Teachers who train us shamelessly,
\forcelinebreak Why let ye smoulder flamelessly
\forcelinebreak The truths ye trow?


“Ye scribes, that urge the old medicament,
\forcelinebreak Whose fusty vials have long dried impotent,
\forcelinebreak Why prop ye meretricious things,
\forcelinebreak Denounce the sane as vicious things,
\forcelinebreak And call outworn factitious things
\forcelinebreak Expedient?


“O Dynasties that sway and shake us so,
\forcelinebreak Why rank your magnanimities so low
\forcelinebreak That grace can smooth no waters yet,
\forcelinebreak But breathing threats and slaughters yet
\forcelinebreak Ye grieve Earth’s sons and daughters yet
\forcelinebreak As long ago?


“Live there no heedful ones of searching sight,
\forcelinebreak Whose accents might be oracles that smite
\forcelinebreak To hinder those who frowardly
\forcelinebreak Conduct us, and untowardly;
\forcelinebreak To lead the nations vawardly
\forcelinebreak From gloom to light?”


September 22, 1899.

\section{EPITAPH}


I never cared for Life: Life cared for me,
\forcelinebreak And hence I owed it some fidelity.
\forcelinebreak It now says, “Cease; at length thou hast learnt to grind
\forcelinebreak Sufficient toll for an unwilling mind,
\forcelinebreak And I dismiss thee - not without regard
\forcelinebreak That thou didst ask no ill-advised reward,
\forcelinebreak Nor sought in me much more than thou couldst find.”

\section{AN ANCIENT TO ANCIENTS}


Where once we danced, where once sang,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak The floors are sunken, cobwebs hang,
\forcelinebreak And cracks creep; worms have fed upon
\forcelinebreak The doors. Yea, sprightlier times were then
\forcelinebreak Than now, with harps and tabrets gone,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen!


Where once we rowed, where once we sailed,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak And damsels took the tiller, veiled
\forcelinebreak Against too strong a stare (God wot
\forcelinebreak Their fancy, then or anywhen!)
\forcelinebreak Upon that shore we are clean forgot,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen!


We have lost somewhat, afar and near,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak The thinning of our ranks each year
\forcelinebreak Affords a hint we are nigh undone,
\forcelinebreak That we shall not be ever again
\forcelinebreak The marked of many, loved of one,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen.


In dance the polka hit our wish,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak The paced quadrille, the spry schottische,
\forcelinebreak “Sir Roger.” - And in opera spheres
\forcelinebreak The “Girl” (the famed “Bohemian”),
\forcelinebreak And “Trovatore,” held the ears,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen.


This season’s paintings do not please,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak Like Etty, Mulready, Maclise;
\forcelinebreak Throbbing romance has waned and wanned;
\forcelinebreak No wizard wields the witching pen
\forcelinebreak Of Bulwer, Scott, Dumas, and Sand,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen.


The bower we shrined to Tennyson,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak Is roof-wrecked; damps there drip upon
\forcelinebreak Sagged seats, the creeper-nails are rust,
\forcelinebreak The spider is sole denizen;
\forcelinebreak Even she who read those rhymes is dust,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen!


We who met sunrise sanguine-souled,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak Are wearing weary. We are old;
\forcelinebreak These younger press; we feel our rout
\forcelinebreak Is imminent to Aïdes’ den, -
\forcelinebreak That evening’s shades are stretching out,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen!


And yet, though ours be failing frames,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak So were some others’ history names,
\forcelinebreak Who trode their track light-limbed and fast
\forcelinebreak As these youth, and not alien
\forcelinebreak From enterprise, to their long last,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen.


Sophocles, Plato, Socrates,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen,
\forcelinebreak Pythagoras, Thucydides,
\forcelinebreak Herodotus, and Homer, - yea,
\forcelinebreak Clement, Augustin, Origen,
\forcelinebreak Burnt brightlier towards their setting-day,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen.


And ye, red-lipped and smooth-browed; list,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen;
\forcelinebreak Much is there waits you we have missed;
\forcelinebreak Much lore we leave you worth the knowing,
\forcelinebreak Much, much has lain outside our ken:
\forcelinebreak Nay, rush not: time serves: we are going,
\forcelinebreak Gentlemen.

\section{AFTER READING PSALMS}

\subsection{XXXIX., XL., ETC.}


Simple was I and was young;
\forcelinebreak Kept no gallant tryst, I;
\forcelinebreak Even from good words held my tongue,
\forcelinebreak Quoniam Tu fecisti!


Through my youth I stirred me not,
\forcelinebreak High adventure missed I,
\forcelinebreak Left the shining shrines unsought;
\forcelinebreak Yet - me deduxisti!


At my start by Helicon
\forcelinebreak Love-lore little wist I,
\forcelinebreak Worldly less; but footed on;
\forcelinebreak Why? Me suscepisti!


When I failed at fervid rhymes,
\forcelinebreak ”Shall,” I said, “persist I?”
\forcelinebreak “Dies” (I would add at times)
\forcelinebreak ”Meos posuisti!”


So I have fared through many suns;
\forcelinebreak Sadly little grist I
\forcelinebreak Bring my mill, or any one’s,
\forcelinebreak Domine, Tu scisti!


And at dead of night I call:
\forcelinebreak ”Though to prophets list I,
\forcelinebreak Which hath understood at all?
\forcelinebreak Yea: Quem elegisti?”


187-

\section{SURVIEW}


“Cogitavi vias meas”


A cry from the green-grained sticks of the fire
\forcelinebreak Made me gaze where it seemed to be:
\forcelinebreak ‘Twas my own voice talking therefrom to me
\forcelinebreak On how I had walked when my sun was higher -
\forcelinebreak My heart in its arrogancy.


“You held not to whatsoever was true,”
\forcelinebreak Said my own voice talking to me:
\forcelinebreak “Whatsoever was just you were slack to see;
\forcelinebreak Kept not things lovely and pure in view,”
\forcelinebreak Said my own voice talking to me.


“You slighted her that endureth all,”
\forcelinebreak Said my own voice talking to me;
\forcelinebreak “Vaunteth not, trusteth hopefully;
\forcelinebreak That suffereth long and is kind withal,”
\forcelinebreak Said my own voice talking to me.


“You taught not that which you set about,”
\forcelinebreak Said my own voice talking to me;
\forcelinebreak “That the greatest of things is Charity. . . “
\forcelinebreak  - And the sticks burnt low, and the fire went out,
\forcelinebreak And my voice ceased talking to me.









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Thomas Hardy

The Poetry Collection of Thomas Hardy - Volume 3






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