\ * ,/IEYNEIl, LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO THE UNIVERSITY UBRWW UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN D!W LA JOLIA CALIFORNIA COLLECTED POEMS OF ALICE MEYNELL First Impression, 1913. Ninth Thousand, 1914. a, drtuiriruj by t. J/2..X?.. New York : CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 597-599 Fifth Avenue 1914 To W. M. THE CONTENTS LATER POEMS The Shepherdess Page 13 The Two Poets 14 The Lady Poverty 15 November Blue 16 A Dead Harvest 17 The Watershed 18 The Joyous Wanderer 19 The Rainy Summer 21 The Roaring Frost 22 West Wind in Winter 23 The Fold 25 " Why wilt thou Chide?" 26 Veneration of Images 27 " I am the Way " 28 Via, et Veritas, et Vita 29 Parentage 30 The Modern Mother 31 Unto us a Son is Given 32 Veni Creator 33 Two Boyhoods 34 To Sylvia 36 Saint Catherine of Siena 38 Chimes 40 A Poet's Wife 41 Messina, 1908 42 7 The Contents The Unknown God Page 43 A General Communion 45 The Fugitive 46 In Portugal, 1912 47 The Crucifixion 48 The Newer Vainglory 49 In Manchester Square 50 Maternity 51 The First Snow 52 The Courts 53 The Launch 54 To the Body 55 The Unexpected Peril 56 Christ in the Universe 58 Beyond Knowledge 60 At Night 61 EARLY POEMS In Early Spring 65 To the Beloved 67 An Unmarked Festival 69 In Autumn 7 1 Parted 74 " Soeur Monique " 76 Regrets 80 The Visiting Sea 82 After a Parting 83 Builders of Ruins 84 8 The Contents SONNETS Thoughts in Separation Page 87 The Garden 88 Your Own Fair Youth 89 The Young Neophyte 90 Spring on the Alban Hills 91 In February 92 A Shattered Lute 93 Renouncement 94 To a Daisy 95 San Lorenzo's Mother 96 The Lover Urges the Better Thrift 98 Cradle- Song at Twilight 99 Song of the Night at Daybreak 100 A Letter from a Girl to her own Old Age 101 Advent Meditation 105 A POET'S FANCIES The Love of Narcissus 106 To Any Poet 107 To one Poem in a Silent Time 109 The Moon to the Sun no The Spring to the Summer in The Day to the Night 112 A Poet of one Mood 113 A Song of Derivations 114 Singers to Come 115 Unlinked 117 B 9 'This volume includes the author's very early verse, first published as "Preludes" and afterwards as"Poems" (ist edition, 1893; loth edition, 1911), also the "Later Poems" (issued in 1901), together with others, since com- posed, here collected for the first time. LATER POEMS Later Poems THE SHEPHERDESS SHE walks the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white; She guards them from the steep; She feeds them on the fragrant height, And folds them in for sleep. She roams maternal hills and bright, Dark valleys safe and deep. Into that tender breast at night The chastest stars may peep. She walks the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. She holds her little thoughts in sight, Though gay they run and leap. She is so circumspect and right; She has her soul to keep. She walks the lady of my delight A shepherdess of sheep. Later Poems THE TWO POETS WHOSE is the speech That moves the voices of this lonely beech ? Out of the long west did this wild wind come O strong and silent ! And the tree was dumb, Ready and dumb, until The dumb gale struck it on the darkened hill. Two memories, Two powers, two promises, two silences Closed in this cry, closed in these thousand leaves Articulate. This sudden hour retrieves The purpose of the past, Separate, apart embraced, embraced at last. " Whose is the word ? Is it I that spake ? Is it thou ? Is it I that heard ? " " Thine earth was solitary, yet I found thee! " " Thy sky was pathless, but I caught, I bound thee, Thou visitant divine." " O thou my Voice, the word was thine." " Was thine." H Later Poems THE LADY POVERTY THE Lady Poverty was fair : But she has lost her looks of late, With change of times and change of air, Ah slattern! she neglects her hair, Her gown, her shoes; she keeps no state As once when her pure feet were bare. Or almost worse, if worse can be She scolds in parlours, dusts and trims, Watches and counts. Oh, is this she Whom Francis met, whose step was free, Who with Obedience carolled hymns, In Umbria walked with Chastity? Where is her ladyhood? Not here, Not among modern kinds of men; But in the stony fields, where clear Through the thin trees the skies appear, In delicate spare soil and fen, And slender landscape and austere. Later Poems NOVEMBER BLUE The golden tint of the electric lights seems to give a complementary colour to the air in the early evening. ESSAY ON LONDON. O HEAVENLY colour, London town Has blurred it from her skies ; And, hooded in an earthly brown, Unheaven'd the city lies. No longer standard-like this hue Above the broad road flies ; Nor does the narrow street the blue Wear, slender pennon-wise. But when the gold and silver lamps Colour the London dew, And, misted by the winter damps, The shops shine bright anew Blue comes to earth, it walks the street, It dyes the wide air through ; A mimic sky about their feet, The throng go crowned with blue. 16 Later Poems A DEAD HARVEST IN KENSINGTON GARDENS A..ONG the graceless grass of town They rake the rows of red and brown,- Dead leaves, unlike the rows of hay Delicate, touched with gold and grey, Raked long ago and far away. A narrow silence in the park, Between the lights a narrow dark. One street rolls on the north; and one, Muffled, upon the south doth run; Amid the mist the work is done. A futile crop ! for it the fire Smoulders, and, for a stack, a pyre. So go the town's lives on the breeze, Even as the sheddings of the trees ; Bosom nor barn is filled with these. Later Poems THE WATERSHED Lines written between Munich and Verona B LACK mountains pricked with pointed pine A melancholy sky. Out-distanced was the German vine, The sterile fields lay high. From swarthy Alps I travelled forth Aloft; it was the north, the north; Bound for the Noon was I. I seemed to breast the streams that day; I met, opposed, withstood The northward rivers on their way, My heart against the flood My heart that pressed to rise and reach, And felt the love of altering speech, Of frontiers, in its blood. But oh the unfolding South! the burst Of summer ! Oh to see Of all the southward brooks the first ! The travelling heart went free With endless streams ; that strife was stopped ; And down a thousand vales I dropped, I flowed to Italy. 18 Later Poems THE JOYOUS WANDERER Translated from M. Catulle Mendts I GO by road, I go by street Lira, la, la ! O white high roads, ye know ray feet ! A loaf I carry and, all told, Three broad bits of lucky gold Lira, la, la ! And oh, within my flowering heart, (Sing, dear nightingale !) is my Sweet. A poor man met me and begged for bread- Lira, la, la ! " Brother, take all the loaf," I said, I shall but go with lighter cheer Lira, la, la ! And oh, within my flowering heart (Sing, sweet nightingale !) is my Dear. A thief I met on the lonely way Lira, la, la ! He took my gold; I cried to him, " Stay! And take my pocket and make an end." Lira, la, la! 19 The Joyous Wanderer And oh, within my flowering heart (Sing, soft nightingale!) is my Friend. Now on the plain I have met with death- Lira, la, la ! My bread is gone, my gold, my breath. But oh this heart is not afraid Lira, la, la ! For oh, within this lonely heart (Sing, sad nightingale !) is my Maid. 20 Later Poems THE RAINY SUMMER THERE'S much afoot in heaven and earth this year ; The winds hunt up the sun, hunt up the moon, Trouble the dubious dawn, hasten the drear Height of a threatening noon. No breath of boughs, no breath of leaves, of fronds May linger or grow warm; the trees are loud; The forest, rooted, tosses in his bonds, And strains against the cloud. No scents may pause within the garden-fold; The rifled flowers are cold as ocean-shells ; Bees, humming in the storm, carry their cold Wild honey to cold cells. 21 Later Poems A THE ROARING FROST FLOCK of winds came winging from the North, Strong birds with fighting pinions driving forth With a resounding call: Where will they close their wings and cease their cries Between what warming seas and conquering skies And fold, and fall? 22 Later Poems WEST WIND IN WINTER ATOTHER day awakes. And who Changing the world is this? He comes at whiles, the winter through, West Wind ! I would not miss His sudden tryst : the long, the new Surprises of his kiss. Vigilant, I make haste to close With him who comes my way. I go to meet him as he goes ; I know his note, his lay, His colour and his morning-rose, And I confess his day. My window waits; at dawn I hark His call; at morn I meet His haste around the tossing park And down the softened street ; The gentler light is his; the dark, The grey he turns it sweet. 23 West Wind in Winter So too, so too, do I confess My poet when he sings. He rushes on my mortal guess With his immortal things. I feel, I know him. On I press He finds me 'twixt his wings. Later Poems THE FOLD BEHOLD, The time is now ! Bring back, bring back Thy flocks of fancies, wild of whim. Oh, lead them from the mountain-track Thy frolic thoughts untold. Oh, bring them in the fields grow dim And let me be the fold! Behold, The time is now ! Call in, oh call Thy pasturing kisses gone astray For scattered sweets ; gather them all To shelter from the cold. Throng them together, close and gay, And let me be the fold ! Later Poems "WHY WILT THOU CHIDE? HY wilt thou chide, Who hast attained to be denied? Oh learn, above All price is my refusal, Love. My sacred Nay Was never cheapened by the way. Thy single sorrow crowns thee lord Of an unpurchasable word. strong, O pure ! As Yea makes happier loves secure, 1 vow thee this Unique rejection of a kiss. I guard for thee This jealous sad monopoly. I seal this honour thine ; none dare Hope for a part in thy despair. 26 Later Poems VENERATION OF IMAGES T HOU man, first-comer, whose wide arms entreat, Gather, clasp, welcome, bind, Lack, or remember; whose warm pulses beat With love of thine own kind: Unlifted for a blessing on yon sea, Unshrined on this highway, O flesh, O grief, thou too shalt have our knee, Thou rood of every day! Later Poems " I AM THE WAY ' THOU art the Way. Hadst Thou been nothing but the goal, I cannot say If Thou hadst ever met my soul. I cannot see I, child of process if there lies An end for me, Full of repose, full of replies. I'll not reproach The road that winds, my feet that err. Access, approach, Art Thou, time, way, and wayfarer. 28 Later Poems VIA, ET VERITAS, ET VITA YOU never attained to Him." " If to attain Be to abide, then that may be." " Endless the way, followed with how much pain!" "The way was He." 29 Later Poems PARENTAGE " When Augustus Caesar legislated against the un- married citizens of Rome, he declared them to be, in some sort, slayers of the people." A I no, not these ! These, who were childless, are not they who gave So many dead unto the journeying wave, The helpless nurselings of the cradling seas ; Not they who doomed by infallible decrees Unnumbered man to the innumerable grave. But those who slay Are fathers. Theirs are armies. Death is theirs ; The death of innocences and despairs; The dying of the golden and the grey. The sentence, when these speak it, has no Nay. And she who slays is she who bears, who bears. Later Poems THE MODERN MOTHER OH, what a kiss With filial passion overcharged is this ! To this misgiving breast This child runs, as a child ne'er ran to rest Upon the light heart and the unoppressed. Unhoped, unsought ! A little tenderness, this mother thought The utmost of her meed. She looked for gratitude ; content indeed With thus much that her nine years' love had bought. Nay, even with less. This mother, giver of life, death, peace, distress, Desired ah! not so much Thanks as forgiveness ; and the passing touch Expected, and the slight, the brief caress. O filial light Strong in these childish eyes,these new, these bright Intelligible stars ! their rays Are near the constant earth, guides in the maze, Natural, true, keen in this dusk of days. 31 Later Poems UNTO US A SON IS GIVEN G IVEN, not lent, And not withdrawn once sent, This Infant of mankind, this One, Is still the little welcome Son. New every year, New born and newly dear, He comes with tidings and a song, The ages long, the ages long ; Even as the cold Keen winter grows not old, As childhood is so fresh, foreseen, And spring in the familiar green. Sudden as sweet Come the expected feet. All joy is young, and new all art, And He, too, Whom we have by heart. 32 Later Poems VENI CREATOR SO humble things Thou hast borne for us, O God, Left'st Thou a path of lowliness untrod? Yes, one, till now; another Olive-Garden. For we endure the tender pain of pardon, One with another we forbear. Give heed, Look at the mournful world Thou hast decreed. The tune has come. At last we hapless men Know all our haplessness all through. Come, then, Endure undreamed humility: Lord of Heaven, Come to our ignorant hearts and be forgiven. 33 Later Poems TWO BOYHOODS CMINOUS passions reign High in the soul of man; and they are twain. Of these he hath made the poetry of earth Hath made his nobler tears, his magic mirth. Fair Love is one of these, The visiting vision of seven centuries ; And one is love of Nature love to tears The modern passion of this hundred years. Oh never to such height, Oh never to such spiritual light The light of lonely visions, and the gleam Of secret, splendid, sombre suns in dream Oh never to such long Glory in life, supremacy in song, Had either of these loves attained in joy, But for the ministration of a boy. Dante was one who bare Love in his deep heart, apprehended there When he was yet a child; and from that day The radiant love has never passed away. 34 Two Boyhoods And one was Wordsworth; he Conceived the love of Nature childishly As no adult heart might ; old poets sing That exaltation by remembering. For no divine Intelligence, or art, or fire, or wine, Is high-delirious as that rising lark The child's soul and its daybreak in the dark. And Letters keep these two Heavenly treasures safe the ages through, Safe from ignoble benison or ban These two high childhoods in the heart of man. 35 Later Poems TO SYLVIA TWO YEARS OLD CNG life to thee, long virtue, long delight, A flowering early and late ! Long beauty, grave to thought and gay to sight, A distant date! Yet, as so many poets love to sing (When young the child will die), " No autumn will destroy this lovely spring," So, Sylvia, I. I'll write thee dapper verse and touching rhyme; " Our eyes shall not behold " The commonplace shall serve for thee this time : "Never grow old." For there's another way to stop thy clock Within my cherishing heart, To carry thee unalterable, and lock Thy youth apart: To Sylvia Thy flower, for me, shall evermore be hid In this close bud of thine, Not, Sylvia, by thy death O God forbid !- Merely by mine. 37 Later Poems SAINT CATHERINE OF SIENA Written for Strepbon, who said that a woman must lean or she should not have his chivalry. THE light young man who was to die, Stopped in his frolic by the State, Aghast, beheld the world go by; But Catherine crossed his dungeon gate. She found his lyric courage dumb, His stripling beauties strewn in wrecks, His modish bravery overcome; Small profit had he of his sex. On any old wife's level he, For once for all. But he alone Man must not fear the mystery, The pang, the passage, the unknown : Death. He did fear it, in his cell, Darkling amid the Tuscan sun ; And, weeping, at her feet he fell, The sacred, young, provincial nun. 38 Saint Catherine of Siena She prayed, she preached him innocent ; She gave him to the Sacrificed; On her courageous breast he leant, The breast where beat the heart of Christ. He left it for the block, with cries Of victory on his severed breath. That crimson head she clasped, her eyes Blind with the splendour of his death. And will the man of modern years Stern on the Vote withhold from thee, Thou prop, thou cross, erect, in tears, Catherine, the service of his knee? 39 Later Poems CHIMES BRIEF, on a flying night, From the shaken tower, A flock of bells take flight, And go with the hour. Like birds from the cote to the gales, Abrupt Ohark! A fleet of bells set sails, And go to the dark. Sudden the cold airs swing. Alone, aloud, A verse of bells takes wing And flies with the cloud. 40 Later Poems A POET'S WIFE I SAW a tract of ocean locked inland, Within a field's embrace The very sea ! afar it fled the strand, And gave the seasons chase, And met the night alone, the tempest spanned, Saw sunrise face to face. O Poet, more than ocean, lonelier ! In inaccessible rest And storm remote, thou, sea of thoughts, dost err, Scattered through east to west, Now, while thou closest with the kiss of her Who locks thee to her breast. Later Poems MESSINA, 1908 C'RD, Thou hast crushed Thy tender ones, o'er- thrown Thy strong, Thy fair ; Thy man Thou hast unmanned, Thy elaborate works unwrought,Thy deeds undone, Thy lovely sentient human plan unplanned; Destroyer, we have cowered beneath Thine own Immediate, unintelligible hand. Lord, Thou hast hastened to retrieve, to heal, To feed, to bind, to clothe, to quench the brand, To prop the ruin, to bless and to anneal ; Hast sped Thy ships by sea, Thy trains by land, Shed pity and tears ; our shattered fingers feel Thy mediate and intelligible hand. Later Poems THE UNKNOWN GOD ONE of the crowd went up, And knelt before the Paten and the Cup, Received the Lord, returned in peace, and prayed Close to my side; then in my heart I said: " O Christ, in this man's life This stranger who is Thine in all his strife, All his felicity, his good and ill, In the assaulted stronghold of his will, " I do confess Thee here, Alive within this life ; I know Thee near Within this lonely conscience, closed away Within this brother's solitary day. 4< Christ in his unknown heart, His intellect unknown this love, this art, This battle and this peace, this destiny That I shall never know, look upon me ! 43 The Unknown God "Christ in his numbered breath, Christ in his beating heart and in his death, Christ in his mystery! From that secret place And from that separate dwelling, give me grace." 44 Later Poems A GENERAL COMMUNION i SAW the throng, so deeply separate, Fed at one only board The devout people, moved, intent, elate, And the devoted Lord. Oh struck apart ! not side from human side, But soul from human soul, As each asunder absorbed the multiplied, The ever unparted whole. I saw this people as a field of flowers, Each grown at such a price The sum of unimaginable powers Did no more than suffice. A thousand single central daisies they, A thousand of the one; For each, the entire monopoly of day; For each, the whole of the devoted sun. 45 Later Poems THE FUGITIVE " Nous avons chasse ce Jesus-Christ." French Publicist YES, from the ingrate heart, the street Of garrulous tongue, the warm retreat Within the village and the town; Not from the lands where ripen brown A thousand thousand hills of wheat ; Not from the long Burgundian line, The Southward, sunward range of vine. Hunted, He never will escape The flesh, the blood, the sheaf, the grape, That feed His man the bread, the wine. Later Poems IN PORTUGAL, 1912 A" ID will they cast the altars down, Scatter the chalice, crush the bread ? In field, in village, and in town He hides an unregarded head ; Waits in the corn-lands far and near, Bright in His sun, dark in His frost, Sweet in the vine, ripe in the ear Lonely unconsecrated Host. In ambush at the merry board The Victim lurks unsacrificed ; The mill conceals the harvest's Lord, The wine-press holds the unbidden Christ. 47 THE CRUCIFIXION " A Paltry Sacrifice "Preface to a Play OH, man's capacity For spiritual sorrow, corporal pain ! Who has explored the deepmost of that sea, With heavy links of a far-fathoming chain? That melancholy lead, Let down in guilty and in innocent hold, Yea into childish hands delivered, Leaves the sequestered floor unreached, untold. One only has explored The deepmost ; but He did not die of it. Not yet, not yet He died. Man's human Lord Touched the extreme; it is not infinite. But over the abyss Of God's capacity for woe He stayed One hesitating hour; what gulf was this? Forsaken He went down, and was afraid. Later Poems THE NEWER VAINGLORY TWO men went up to pray ; and one gave thanks, Not with himself aloud, With proclamation, calling on the ranks Of an attentive crowd. "Thank God, I clap not my own humble breast, But other ruffians' backs, Imputing crime such is my tolerant haste To any man that lacks. " For I am tolerant, generous, keep no rules, And the age honours me. Thank God, I am not as these rigid fools, Even as this Pharisee." 49 Later Poems IN MANCHESTER SQUARE (iN MEMORIAM T.H.) THE paralytic man has dropped in death The crossing-sweeper's brush to which he clung, One-handed, twisted, dwarfed, scanted of breath, Although his hair was young. I saw this year the winter vines of France, Dwarfed, twisted, goblins in the frosty drouth, Gnarled, crippled, blackened little stems askance, On long hills to the South. Great green and golden hands of leaves ere long Shall proffer clusters in that vineyard wide. And oh! his might, his sweet, his wine, his song, His stature, since he died ! O Later Poems MATERNITY NE wept whose only child was dead, New-born, ten years ago. "Weep not; he is in bliss," they said. She answered, " Even so. . "Ten years ago was born in pain A child, not now forlorn. But oh, ten years ago, in vain, A mother, a mother was born.' Later Poems THE FIRST SNOW NOT yet was winter come to earth's soft floor, The tideless wave, the warm white road, the shore, The serried town whose small street tortuously Led darkling to the dazzling sea. Not yet to breathing man, not to his song, Not to his comforted heart; not to the long Close-cultivated lands beneath the hill. Summer was gently with them still. But on the Apennine mustered the cloud; The grappling storm shut down. Aloft, aloud, Ruled secret tempest one long day and night, Until another morning's light. O tender mountain-tops and delicate, Where summer-long the westering sunlight sate! Within that fastness darkened from the sun, What solitary things were done? The clouds let go, they rose, they winged away; Snow-white the altered mountains faced the day, As saints who keep their counsel sealed and fast, Their anguish over-past. 52 T Later Poems THE COURTS A FIGURE OF THE EPIPHANY HE poets' imageries are noble ways, Approaches to a plot, an open shrine. Their splendours, colours, avenues, arrays, Their courts that run with wine; Beautiful similes, "fair and flagrant things," Enriched, enamouring, raptures, metaphors Enhancing life, are paths for pilgrim kings Made free of golden doors. And yet the open heavenward plot, with dew, Ultimate poetry, enclosed, enskyed, (Albeit such ceremonies lead thereto) Stands on the yonder side. Plain, behind oracles, it is ; and past All symbols, simple ; perf eft, heavenly-wild, The song some loaded poets reach at last The kings that found a Child. 53 Later Poems THE LAUNCH FORTH, to the alien gravity, Forth, to the laws of ocean, we Builders on earth by laws of land Entrust this creature of our hand Upon the calculated sea. Fast bound to shore we cling, we creep, And make our ship ready to leap Light to the flood, equipped to ride The strange conditions of the tide New weight, new force, new world : the Deep. Ah thus not thus the Dying, kissed, Cherished, exhorted, shriven, dismissed; By all the eager means we hold We, warm, prepare him for the cold, To keep the incalculable tryst. 54 Later Poems TO THE BODY THOU inmost, ultimate Council of judgment, palace of decrees, Where the high senses hold their spiritual state, Sued by earth's embassies, And sign, approve, accept, conceive, create ; Create thy senses close With the world's pleas. The random odours reach Their sweetness in the place of thy repose, Upon thy tongue the peach, And in thy nostrils breathes the breathing rose. To thee, secluded one, The dark vibrations of the sightless skies, The lovely inexplicit colours run; The light gropes for those eyes. O thou august i thou dost command the sun. Music, all dumb, hath trod Into thine ear her one effectual way; And fire and cold approach to gain thy nod, Where thou call'st up the day, Where thou awaitest the appeal of God. 55 Later Poems THE UNEXPECTED PERIL UNLIKE the youth that all men say They prize youth of abounding blood, In love with the sufficient day, And gay in growth, and strong in bud ; Unlike was mine ! Then my first slumber Nightly rehearsed my last ; each breath Knew itself one of the unknown number. But Life was urgent with me as Death. My shroud was in the flocks ; the hill Within its quarry locked my stone ; My bier grew in the woods ; and still Life spurred me where I paused alone. "Begin!" Life called. Again her shout, "Make haste while it is called to-day!" Her exhortations plucked me out, Hunted me, turned me, held me at bay. But if my youth is thus hard pressed (I thought) what of a later year ? If the end so threats this tender breast, What of the days when it draws near ? 56 The Unexpected Peril Draws near, and little done ? yet lo, Dread has forborne, and haste lies by. I was beleaguered ; now the foe Has raised the siege, I know not why. I see them troop away ; I ask Were they in sooth mine enemies Terror, the doubt, the lash, the task ? What heart has my new housemate, Ease ? How am I left, at last, alive, To make a stranger of a tear? What did I do one day to drive From me the vigilant angel, Fear? The diligent angel, Labour? Ay, The inexorable angel, Pain? Menace me, lest indeed I die, Sloth! Turn; crush, teach me fear again! H 57 Later Poems CHRIST IN THE UNIVERSE WITH this ambiguous earth His dealings have been told us. These abide: The signal to a maid, the human birth, The lesson, and the young Man crucified. But not a star of all The innumerable host of stars has heard How He administered this terrestrial ball. Our race have kept their Lord's entrusted Word. Of His earth- visiting feet None knows the secret, cherished, perilous, The terrible, shamefast, frightened, whispered, sweet, Heart-shattering secret of His way with us. No planet knows that this Our wayside planet, carrying land and wave, Love and life multiplied, and pain and bliss, Bears, as chief treasure, one forsaken grave. Christ in the Universe Nor, in our little day, May His devices with the heavens be guessed, His pilgrimage to thread the Milky Way, Or His bestowals there be manifest. But in the eternities Doubtless we shall compare together, hear A million alien Gospels, in what guise He trod the Pleiades, the Lyre, the Bear. O, be prepared, my soul ! To read the inconceivable, to scan The million forms of God those stars unroll When, in our turn, we show to them a Man. Later Poems BEYOND KNOWLEDGE " Tour sins . . . shall be white as snow." INTO the rescued world newcomer, The newly-dead stepped up, and cried, " Oh what is that, sweeter than summer Was to my heart before I died? Sir (to an angel), what is yonder More bright than the remembered skies, A lovelier light, a softer splendour Than when the moon was wont to rise? Surely no sinner wears such seeming Even the Rescued World within ? " "O the success of His redeeming! O child, it is a rescued sin ! " 60 H Later Poems AT NIGHT TotT.M. OME, home from the horizon far and clear, Hither the soft wings sweep; Flocks of the memories of the day draw near The dovecote doors of sleep. Oh, which are they that come through sweetest light Of all these homing birds ? Which with the straightest and the swiftest flight ? Your words to me, your words ! 61 EARLY POEMS Early Poems IN EARLY SPRING O SPRING, I know thee! Seek for sweet surprise In the young children's eyes. But I have learnt the years, and know the yet Leaf -folded violet. Mine ear, awake to silence, can foretell The cuckoo's fitful bell. I wander in a grey time that encloses June and the wild hedge-roses. A year's procession of the flowers doth pass My feet, along the grass. And all you wild birds silent yet, I know The notes that stir you so, Your songs yet half devised in the dim dear Beginnings of the year. In these young days you meditate your part; I have it all by heart. I know the secrets of the seeds of flowers Hidden and warm with showers, And how, in kindling Spring, the cuckoo shall Alter his interval. But not a flower or song I ponder is My own, but memory's. i 65 In Early Spring I shall be silent in those days desired Before a world inspired. O all brown birds, compose your old song- phrases, Earth, thy familiar daisies ! A poet mused upon the dusky height, Between two stars towards night, His purpose in his heart. I watched, a space, The meaning of his face : There was the secret, fled from earth and skies, Hid in his grey young eyes. My heart and all the Summer wait his choice, And wonder for his voice. Who shall foretell his songs, and who aspire But to divine his lyre ? Sweet earth, we know thy dimmest mysteries, But he is lord of his. 66 Early Poems TO THE BELOVED OH, not more subtly silence strays Amongst the winds, between the voices, Mingling alike with pensive lays, And with the music that rejoices, Than thou art present in my days. My silence, life returns to thee In all the pauses of her breath. Hush back to rest the melody That out of thee awakeneth; And thou, wake ever, wake for me ! Thou art like silence all unvexed, Though wild words part my soul from thee. Thou art like silence unperplexed, A secret and a mystery Between one footfall and the next. Most dear pause in a mellow lay! Thou art inwoven with every air. With thee the wildest tempests play, And snatches of thee everywhere Make little heavens throughout a day. To the Beloved Darkness and solitude shine, for me. For life's fair outward part are rife The silver noises ; let them be. It is the very soul of life Listens for thee, listens for thee. O pause between the sobs of cares; O thought within all thought that is ; Trance between laughters unawares : Thou art the shape of melodies, And thou the ecstasy of prayers ! 68 Early Poems AN UNMARKED FESTIVAL THERE'S a feast undated, yet Both our true lives hold it fast, Even the day when first we met. What a great day came and passed, Unknown then, but known at last. And we met : You knew not me, Mistress of your joys and fears; Held my hand that held the key Of the treasure of your years, Of the fountain of your tears. For you knew not it was I, And I knew not it was you. We have learnt, as days went by. But a flower struck root and grew Underground, and no one knew. Day of days ! Unmarked it rose, In whose hours we were to meet; And forgotten passed. Who knows, Was earth cold or sunny, Sweet, At the coming of your feet ? 69 An Unmarked Festival One mere day, we thought ; the measure Of such days the year fulfils. Now, how dearly would we treasure Something from its fields, its rills, And its memorable hills. 70 Early Poems IN AUTUMN THE leaves are many under my feet, And drift one way. Their scent of death is weary and sweet. A flight of them is in the grey Where sky and forest meet. The low winds moan for dead sweet years ; The birds sing all for pain, Of a common thing, to weary ears, Only a summer's fate of rain, And a woman's fate of tears. I walk to love and life alone Over these mournful places, Across the summer overthrown, The dead joys of these silent faces, To claim my own. I know his heart has beat to bright Sweet loves gone by. I know the leaves that die to-night Once budded to the sky, And I shall die from his delight. 71 In Autumn O leaves, so quietly ending now, You heard the cuckoos sing. And I will grow upon my bough If only for a Spring, And fall when the rain is on my brow. tell me, tell me ere you die, Is it worth the pain ? You bloomed so fair, you waved so high ; Now that the sad days wane, Are you repenting where you lie ? 1 lie amongst you, and I kiss Your fragrance mouldering. O dead delights, is it such bliss, That tuneful Spring ? Is love so sweet, that comes to this ? Kiss me again as I kiss you ; Kiss me again, For all your tuneful nights of dew, In this your time of rain, For all your kisses when Spring was new. You will not, broken hearts ; let be. I pass across your death To a golden summer you shall not see, And in your dying breath There is no benison for me. 72 In Autumn There is an autumn yet to wane, There are leaves yet to fall, Which, when I kiss, may kiss again. And, pitied, pity me all for all, And love me in mist and rain. 73 Early Poems PARTED FAREWELL to one now silenced quite, Sent out of hearing, out of sight, My friend of friends, whom I shall miss. He is not banished, though, for this, Nor he, nor sadness, nor delight. Though I shall talk with him no more, A low voice sounds upon the shore. He must not watch my resting-place, But who shall drive a mournful face From the sad winds about my door ? I shall not hear his voice complain, But who shall stop the patient rain ? His tears must not disturb my heart, But who shall change the years, and part The world from every thought of pain ? Although my life is left so dim, The morning crowns the mountain-rim ; Joy is not gone from summer skies, Nor innocence from children's eyes, And all these things are part of him. 74 Parted He is not banished, for the showers Yet wake this green warm earth of ours. How can the summer but be sweet ? I shall not have him at my feet, And yet my feet are on the flowers. 75 Q Early Poems " SCEUR MONIQUE " A Rondeau by Couperin UIET form of silent nun, What has given you to my inward eyes ? What has marked you, unknown one, In the throngs of centuries That mine ears do listen through ? This old master's melody That expresses you, This admired simplicity, Tender, with a serious wit, And two words, the name of it, " Sceur Monique." And if sad the music is, It is sad with mysteries Of a small immortal thing That the passing ages sing, Simple music making mirth Of the dying and the birth Of the people of the earth. No, not sad; we are beguiled, Sad with living as we are; Ours the sorrow, outpouring Sad self on a selfless thing, As our eyes and hearts are mild With our sympathy for Spring, " Soeur Monique ' With a pity sweet and wild For the innocent and far, With our sadness in a star, Or our sadness in a child. But two words, and this sweet air. Sceur Monique, Had he more, who set you there ? Was his music-dream of you Of some perfect nun he knew, Or of some ideal, as true ? And I see you where you stand With your life held in your hand As a rosary of days. And your thoughts in calm arrays, And your innocent prayers are told On your rosary of days. And the young days and the old With their quiet prayers did meet When the chaplet was complete. Did it vex you, the surmise Of this wind of words, this storm of cries, Though you kept the silence so In the storms of long ago, And you keep it, like a star ? Of the evils triumphing, Strong, for all your perfect conquering, Silenced conqueror that you are ? 77 Early Poems And I wonder at your peace, I wonder. Would it trouble you to know, Tender soul, the world and sin By your calm feet trodden under Long ago, Living now, mighty to win ? And your feet are vanished like the snow. Vanished ; but the poet, he In whose dream your face appears, He who ranges unknown years With your music in his heart, Speaks to you familiarly Where you keep apart, And invents you as you were. And your picture, O my nun ! Is a strangely easy one, For the holy weed you wear, For your hidden eyes and hidden hair, And in picturing you I may Scarcely go astray. O the vague reality, The mysterious certainty! O strange truth of these my guesses In the wide thought-wildernesses! Truth of one divined of many flowers ; Of one raindrop in the showers Of the long-ago swift rain ; Of one tear of many tears 78 " Sceur Monique " In some world-renowned pain; Of one daisy 'mid the centuries of sun ; Of a little living nun In the garden of the years. Yes, I am not far astray ; But I guess you as might one Pausing when young March is grey, In a violet-peopled day; All his thoughts go out to places that he knew, To his child-home in the sun, To the fields of his regret, To one place i' the innocent March air, By one olive, and invent The familiar form and scent Safely; a white violet Certainly is there. Soeur Monique, remember me. 'Tis not in the past alone I am picturing you to be ; But my little friend, my own, In my moment, pray for me. For another dream is mine, And another dream is true, Sweeter even, Of the little ones that shine Lost within the light divine, Of some meekest flower, or you, In the fields of Heaven. 79 A s Early Poems REGRETS S, when the seaward ebbing tide doth pour Out by the low sand spaces, The parting waves slip back to clasp the shore With lingering embraces, So in the tide of life that carries me From where thy true heart dwells, Waves of my thoughts and memories turn to thee With lessening farewells ; Waving of hands ; dreams, when the day forgets ; A care half lost in cares ; The saddest of my verses ; dim regrets ; Thy name among my prayers. I would the day might come, so waited for, So patiently besought, When I, returning, should fill up once more Thy desolated thought ; And fill thy loneliness that lies apart In still, persistent pain. Shall I content thee, O thou broken heart, As the tide comes again, 80 Regrets And brims the little sea-shore lakes, and sets Seaweeds afloat, and fills The silent pools, rivers and rivulets Among the inland hills ? 81 Early Poems THE VISITING SEA AS the inhastening tide doth roll L\ Home from the deep, along the whole Wide shining strand, and floods the caves, Your love comes filling with happy waves The open sea-shore of my soul. But inland from the seaward spaces, None knows, not even you, the places Brimmed, at your coming, out of sight, The little solitudes of delight This tide constrains in dim embraces. You see the happy shore, wave-rimmed, But know not of the quiet dimmed Rivers your coming floods and fills, The little pools 'mid happier hills, My silent rivulets, over-brimmed. What, I have secrets from you ? Yes. But, visiting Sea, your love doth press And reach in further than you know, And fills all these ; and, when you go, There's loneliness in loneliness. 82 Early Poems AFTER A PARTING FAREWELL has long been said ; I have forgone thee; I never name thee even. But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee ? For thou art so near Heaven That heavenward meditations pause upon thee. Thou dost beset the path to every shrine; My trembling thoughts discern Thy goodness in the good for which I pine ; And if I turn from but one sin, I turn Unto a smile of thine. How shall I thrust thee apart Since all my growth tends to thee night and day To thee faith, hope, and art ? Swift are the currents setting all one way; They draw my life, my life, out of my heart. Early Poems W BUILDERS OF RUINS E build with strength the deep tower wall That shall be shattered thus and thus. And fair and great are court and hall, But how fair this is not for us, Who know the lack that lurks in all. We know, we know how all too bright The hues are that our painting wears, And how the marble gleams too white ; We speak in unknown tongues, the years Interpret everything aright, And crown with weeds our pride of towers, And warm our marble through with sun, And break our pavements through with flowers, With an Amen when all is done, Knowing these perfect things of ours. O days, we ponder, left alone, Like children in their lonely hour, And in our secrets keep your own, As seeds the colour of the flower. To-day they are not all unknown, Builders of Ruins The stars that 'twixt the rise and fall, Like relic-seers, shall one by one Stand musing o'er our empty hall; And setting moons shall brood upon The frescoes of our inward wall. And when some midsummer shall be, Hither will come some little one (Dusty with bloom of flowers is he), Sit on a ruin i' the late long sun, And think, one foot upon his knee. And where they wrought, these lives of ours, So many-worded, many-souled, A North-west wind will take the towers, And dark with colour, sunny and cold, Will range alone among the flowers. And here or there, at our desire, The little clamorous owl shall sit Through her still time; and we aspire To make a law (and know not it) Unto the life of a wild briar. Our purpose is distinct and dear, Though from our open eyes 'tis hidden. Thou, Time to come, shalt make it clear, Undoing our work ; we are children chidden With pity and smiles of many a year. 85 Builders of Ruins Who shall allot the praise, and guess What part is yours and what is ours ? O years that certainly will bless Our flowers with fruits, our seeds with flowers, With ruin all our perfectness. Be patient, Time, of our delays, Too happy hopes, and wasted fears, Our faithful ways, our wilful ways ; Solace our labours, O our seers The seasons, and our bards the days ; And make our pause and silence brim With the shrill children's play, and sweets Of those pathetic flowers and dim, Of those eternal flowers my Keats Dying felt growing over him ! 86 Sonnets THOUGHTS IN SEPARATION WE never meet ; yet we meet day by day Upon those hills of lif e,dim and immense The good we love, and sleep, our innocence. O hills of life, high hills ! And, higher than they, Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play. Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense, Above the summits of our souls, far hence, An angel meets an angel on the way. Beyond all good I ever believed of thee, Or thou of me, these always love and live. And though I fail of thy ideal of me, My angel falls not short. They greet each other. Who knows,they may exchange the kiss we give, Thou to thy crucifix, I to my mother. Sonnets THE GARDEN MY heart shall be thy garden. Come, my own, Into thy garden; thine be happy hours Among my fairest thoughts, my tallest flowers, From root to crowning petal thine alone. Thine is the place from where the seeds are sown Up to the sky enclosed, with all its showers. But ah, the birds, the birds ! Who shall build bowers To keep these thine ? Ofriend,the birds have flown. For as these come and go, and quit our pine To follow the sweet season, or, new-comers, Sing one song only from our alder-trees, My heart has thoughts, which, though thine eyes hold mine, Flit to the silent world and other summers, With wings that dip beyond the silver seas. 88 Sonnets YOUR OWN FAIR YOUTH YOUR own fair youth, you care so little for it, Smiling towards Heaven, you would not stay the advances Of time and change upon your happiest fancies. I keep your golden hour, and will restore it. If ever, in time to come, you would explore it Your old self, whose thoughts went like last year's pansies, Look unto me ; no mirror keeps its glances ; In my unfailing praises now I store it. To guard all j oy s of yours from Time's estranging, I shall be then a treasury where your gay, Happy, and pensive past unaltered is. I shall be then a garden charmed from changing, In which your June has never passed away. Walk there awhile among my memories. M 89 Sonnets THE YOUNG NEOPHYTE WHO knows what days I answer for to-day? Giving the bud I give the flower. I bow This yet unfaded and a faded brow; Bending these knees and feeble knees, I pray. Thoughts yet unripe in me I bend one way, Give one repose to pain I know not now, One check to joy that comes, I guess not how. I dedicate my fields when Spring is grey. rash! (I smile) to pledge my hidden wheat. I fold to-day at altars far apart Hands trembling with what toils ? In their retreat I seal my love to-be, my folded art. 1 light the tapers at my head and feet, And lay the crucifix on this silent heart. 90 Sonnets SPRING ON THE ALBAN HILLS O'ER the Campagna it is dim warm weather; The Spring comes with a full heart silently, And many thoughts ; a faint flash of the sea Divides two mists ; straight falls the falling feather. With wild Spring meanings hill and plain together Grow pale, or just flush with a dust of flowers. Rome in the ages, dimmed with all her towers, Floats in the midst, a little cloud at tether. I fain would put my hands about thy face, Thou with thy thoughts, who art another Spring, And draw thee to me like a mournful child. Thou lookest on me from another place ; I touch not this day's secret, nor the thing That in the silence makes thy soft eyes wild. Sonnets IN FEBRUARY RICH meanings of the prophet-Spring adorn, Unseen, this colourless sky of folded showers, And folded winds; no blossom in the bowers; A poet's face asleep is this grey morn. Now in the midst of the old world forlorn A mystic child is set in these still hours. I keep this time, even before the flowers, Sacred to all the young and the unborn; To all the miles and miles of unsprung wheat, And to the Spring waiting beyond the portal, And to the future of my own young art, And, among all these things, to you, my sweet, My friend, to your calm face and the immortal Child tarrying all your life-time in your heart. 92 Sonnets A SHATTERED LUTE I TOUCHED the heart that loved me as a player Touches a lyre. Content with my poor skill, No touch save mine knew my beloved (and still I thought at times : Is there no sweet lost air Old loves could wake in him, I cannot share?) O he alone, alone could so fulfil My thoughts in sound to the measure of my will. He is gone, and silence takes me unaware. The songs I knew not he resumes, set free From my constraining love, alas for me! His part in our tune goes with him ; my part Is locked in me for ever ; I stand as mute As one with vigorous music in his heart Whose fingers stray upon a shattered lute. 93 Sonnets RENOUNCEMENT I MUST not think of thee ; and, tired yet strong, I shun the thought that lurks in all delight The thought of thee and in the blue Heaven's height, And in the sweetest passage of a song. Oh, just beyond the fairest thoughts that throng This breast, the thought of thee waits, hidden yet bright ; But it must never, never come in sight ; I must stop short of thee the whole day long. But when sleep comes to close each difficult day, When night gives pause to the long watch I keep, And all my bonds I needs must loose apart, Must doff my will as raiment laid away, With the first dream that comes with the first sleep I run, I run, I am gathered to thy heart. 94 Sonnets TO A DAISY SLIGHT as them art, them art enough to hide Like all created things, secrets from me, And stand a barrier to eternity. And I, how can I praise thee well and wide From where I dwell upon the hither side ? Thou little veil for so great mystery. When shall I penetrate all things and thee, And then look back ? For this I must abide, Till thou shalt grow and fold and be unfurled Literally between me and the world. Then I shall drink from in beneath a spring, And from a poet's side shall read his book. O daisy mine, what will it be to look From God's side even of such a simple thing ? 95 Early Poems SAN LORENZO'S MOTHER I HAD not seen my son's dear face (He chose the cloister by God's grace) Since it had come to full flower-time. I hardly guessed at its perfect prime, That folded flower of his dear face. Mine eyes were veiled by mists of tears When on a day in many years One of his Order came. I thrilled, Facing, I thought, that face fulfilled. I doubted, for my mists of tears. His blessing be with me for ever ! My hope and doubt were hard to sever. That altered face, those holy weeds. I filled his wallet and kissed his beads, And lost his echoing feet for ever. If to my son my alms were given I know not, and I wait for Heaven. He did not plead for child of mine, But for another Child divine, And unto Him it was surely given. There is One alone who cannot change ; Dreams are we, shadows, visions strange; And all I give is given to One. I might mistake my dearest son, But never the Son who cannot change. N Early Poems THE LOVER URGES THE BETTER THRIFT MY Fair, no beauty of thine will last Save in my love's eternity. Thy smiles, that light thee fitfully, Are lost for ever their moment past Except the few thou givest to me. Thy sweet words vanish day by day, As all breath of mortality ; Thy laughter, done, must cease to be, And all thy dear tones pass away, Except the few that sing to me. Hide then within my heart, oh, hide All thou art loth should go from thee. Be kinder to thyself and me. My cupful from this river's tide Shall never reach the long sad sea. Early Poems CRADLE-SONG AT TWILIGHT T HE child not yet is lulled to rest. Too young a nurse, the slender Night So laxly holds him to her breast That throbs with flight. He plays with her, and will not sleep. For other playfellows she sighs ; An unmaternal fondness keep Her alien eyes. 99 Early Poems SONG OF THE NIGHT AT DAYBREAK L LL my stars forsake me, And the dawn-winds shake me. "Where shall I betake me ? Whither shall I run Till the set of sun, Till the day be done ? To the mountain-mine, To the boughs o' the pine, To the blind man's eyne, To a brow that is Bowed upon the knees, Sick with memories. 100 Early Poems A LETTER FROM A GIRL TO HER OWN OLD AGE C1TEN, and when thy hand this paper presses, O time-worn woman, think of her who blesses What thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses. O mother, for the weight of years that break thee ! O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee, And from the changes of my heart must make thee. O fainting traveller, morn is grey in heaven. Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven ? And are they calm about the fall of even ? Pause near the ending of thy long migration, For this one sudden hour of desolation Appeals to one hour of thy meditation. Suffer, O silent one, that I remind thee Of the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee, Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee. 101 Early Poems Know that the mournful plain where thou must wander Is but a grey and silent world, but ponder The misty mountains of the morning yonder. Listen : the mountain winds with rain were fretting, And sudden gleams the mountain-tops besetting. I cannot let thee fade to death, forgetting. What part of this wild heart of mine I know not Will follow with thee where the great winds blow not, And where the young flowers of the mountain grow not. Yet let my letter with thy lost thoughts in it Tell what the way was when thou didst begin it, And win with thee the goal when thou shalt win it. Oh, in some hour of thine my thoughts shall guide thee. Suddenly, though time, darkness, silence, hide thee, This wind from thy lost country flits beside thee, 102 From a Girl to her own Old Age Telling thee : all thy memories moved the maiden, With thy regrets was morning over-shaden, With sorrow, thou hast left, her life was laden. But whither shall my thoughts turn to pursue thee ? Life changes, and the years and days renew thee. Oh, Nature brings my straying heart unto thee. Her winds will join us, with their constant kisses Upon the evening as the morning tresses, Her summers breathe the same unchanging blisses. And we, so altered in our shifting phases, Track one another 'mid the many mazes By the eternal child-breath of the daisies. I have not writ this letter of divining To make a glory of thy silent pining, A triumph of thy mute and strange declining. Only one youth, and the bright life was shrouded. Only one morning, and the day was clouded. And one old age with all regrets is crowded. 103 From a Girl to her own Old Age Oh hush, oh hush ! Thy tears my words are steeping. Oh, hush, hush, hush ! So full, the fount of weeping ? Poor eyes, so quickly moved, so near to sleeping? Pardon the girl; such strange desires beset her. Poor woman, lay aside the mournful letter That breaks thy heart ; the one who wrote, forget her: The one who now thy faded features guesses, With filial fingers thy grey hair caresses, With morning tears thy mournful twilight blesses. 104 Early Poems ADVENT MEDITATION Ror ate Cceli desuper, et nubes pluantjustum. Aperiatur Terra, et germinet Salvatorem. NO sudden thing of glory and fear Was the Lord's coming ; but the dear Slow Nature's days followed each other To form the Saviour from His Mother One of the children of the year. The earth, the rain, received the trust, The sun and dews, to frame the Just. He drew His daily life from these, According to His own decrees Who makes man from the fertile dust. Sweet summer and the winter wild, These brought Him forth, the Undefiled. The happy Springs renewed again His daily bread, the growing grain, The food and raiment of the Child. 105 A POET'S FANCIES THE LOVE OF NARCISSUS CLE him who met his own eyes in the river, The poet trembles at his own long gaze That meets him through the changing nights and days From out great Nature ; all her waters quiver With his fair image facing him for ever; The music that he listens to betrays His own heart to his ears ; by trackless ways His wild thoughts tend to him in long endeavour. His jdreams are far among the silent hills; His vague voice calls him from the darkened plain With winds at night ; strange recognition thrills His lonely heart with piercing love and pain ; He knows again his mirth in mountain rills, His weary tears that touch him with the rain. 106 A Poet's Fancies II TO ANY POET THOU who singest through the earth, All the earth's wild creatures fly thee; Everywhere thou marrest mirth, Dumbly they defy thee ; There is something they deny thee. Pines thy fallen nature ever For the unfallen Nature sweet. But she shuns thy long endeavour, Though her flowers and wheat Throng and press thy pausing feet. Though thou tame a bird to love thee, Press thy face to grass and flowers, All these things reserve above thee Secrets in the bowers, Secrets in the sun and showers. Sing thy sorrow, sing thy gladness, In thy songs must wind and tree Bear the fictions of thy sadness, Thy humanity. For their truth is not for thee. 107 Early Poems Wait, and many a secret nest, Many a hoarded winter-store Will be hidden on thy breast. Things thou longest for Will not fear or shun thee more. Thou shalt intimately lie In the roots of flowers that thrust Upwards from thee to the sky, With no more distrust, When they blossom from thy dust. Silent labours of the rain Shall be near thee, reconciled ; Little lives of leaves and grain, All things shy and wild, Tell thee secrets, quiet child. Earth, set free from thy fair fancies And the art thou shalt resign, Will bring forth her rue and pansies Unto more divine Thoughts than any thoughts of thine. Nought will fear thee, humbled creature. There will lie thy mortal burden Pressed unto the heart of Nature, Songless in a garden, With a long embrace of pardon. 1 08 A Poet's Fancies Then the truth all creatures tell, And His will Whom thou entreatest, Shall absorb thee ; there shall dwell Silence, the completest Of thy poems, last, and sweetest. Ill TO ONE POEM IN A SILENT TIME WHO looked for thee, thou little song of mine ? This winter of a silent poet's heart Is suddenly sweet with thee, but what thou art, Mid-winter flower, I would I could divine. Art thou a last one, orphan of thy line ? Did the dead summer's last warmth foster thee ? Or is Spring folded up unguessed in me, And stirring out of sight, and thou the sign ? Where shall I look backwards or to the morrow For others of thy fragrance, secret child ? Who knows if last things or if first things claim thee ? Whether thou be the last smile of my sorrow, Or else a joy too sweet, a joy too wild ? How, my December violet, shall I name thee ? 109 Early Poems IV THE MOON TO THE SUN The Poet sings to her Poet A the full moon shining there To the sun that lighteth her Am I unto thee for ever, O my secret glory-giver ! O my light, I am dark but fair, Black but fair. Shine, Earth loves thee ! And then shine And be loved through thoughts of mine. All thy secrets that I treasure I translate them at my pleasure. I am crowned with glory of thine, Thine, not thine. I make pensive thy delight, And thy strong gold silver-white. Though all beauty of mine thou makest, Yet to earth which thou forsakest I have made thee fair all night, Day all night. no A Poet's Fancies V THE SPRING TO THE SUMMER The Poet sings to her Poet OPOET of the time to be, My conqueror, I began for thee. Enter into thy poet's pain, And take the riches of the rain, And make the perfect year for me. Thou unto whom my lyre shall fall, Whene'er thou comest, hear my call. Oh, keep the promise of my lays, Take thou the parable of my days ; I trust thee with the aim of all. And if thy thoughts unfold from me, Know that I too have hints of thee, Dim hopes that come across my mind In the rare days of warmer wind, And tones of summer in the sea. And I have set thy paths, I guide Thy blossoms on the wild hillside. And I, thy bygone poet, share The flowers that throng thy feet where'er I led thy feet before I died. ill Early Poems VI THE DAY TO THE NIGHT The Poet sings to his Poet FROM dawn to dusk, and from dusk to dawn, We two are sundered always, Sweet. A few stars shake o'er the high lawn And the cold sea-shore when we meet. The twilight comes with thy shadowy feet. We are not day and night, my Fair, But one. It is an hour of hours. And thoughts that are not otherwhere Are thought here 'mid the blown sea-flowers, This meeting and this dusk of ours. Delight has taken Pain to her heart, And there is dusk and stars for these. Oh, linger, linger ! They would not part ; And the wild wind comes from over-seas With a new song to the olive trees. And when we meet by the sounding pine Sleep draws near to his dreamless brother. And when thy sweet eyes answer mine, Peace nestles close to her mournful mother, And Hope and Weariness kiss each other. 112 A Poet's Fancies VII A POET OF ONE MOOD A POET of one mood in all my lays, Ranging all life to sing one only love, Like a west wind across the world I move, Sweeping my harp of floods mine own wild ways. The countries change, but not the west-wind days Which are my songs. My soft skies shine above, And on all seas the colours of a dove, And on all fields a flash of silver greys. I make the whole world answer to my art And sweet monotonous meanings. In your ears I change not ever, bearing, for my part, One thought that is the treasure of my years, A small cloud full of rain upon my heart And in mine arms, clasped, like a child in tears. 113 Early Poems VIII A SONG OF DERIVATIONS I COME from nothing ; but from where Come the undying thoughts I bear ? Down, through long links of death and birth, From the past poets of the earth. My immortality is there. I am like the blossom of an hour. But long, long vanished sun and shower Awoke my breath i' the young world's air. I track the past back everywhere Through seed and flower and seed and flower. Or I am like a stream that flows Full of the cold springs that arose In morning lands, in distant hills ; And down the plain my channel fills With melting of forgotten snows. Voices, I have not heard, possessed My own fresh songs ; my thoughts are blessed With relics of the far unknown. And mixed with memories not my own The sweet streams throng into my breast. 114 A Poet's Fancies Before this life began to be, The happy songs that wake in me Woke long ago and far apart. Heavily on this little heart Presses this immortality. IX SINGERS TO COME NO new delights to our desire The singers of the past can yield. I lift mine eyes to hill and field, And see in them your yet dumb lyre, Poets unborn and unrevealed. Singers to come, what thoughts will start To song ? what words of yours be sent Through man's soul, and with earth be blent ? These worlds of nature and the heart Await you like an instrument. Who knows what musical flocks of words Upon these pine-tree tops will light, And crown these towers in circling flight, And cross these seas tike summer birds, And give a voice to the day and night ? "5 Early Poems Something of you already is ours; Some mystic part of you belongs To us whose dreams your future throngs, Who look on hills, and trees, and flowers, Which will mean so much in your songs. I wonder, like the maid who found, And knelt to lift, the lyre supreme Of Orpheus from the Thracian stream. She dreams on its sealed past profound ; On a deep future sealed I dream. She bears it in her wanderings Within her arms, and has not pressed Her unskilled fingers, but her breast Upon those silent sacred strings; I, too, clasp mystic strings at rest. For I, i' the world of lands and seas, The sky of wind and rain and fire, And in man's world of long desire In all that is yet dumb in these Have found a more mysterious lyre. 116 A Poet's Fancies x UNLINKED IF I should quit thee, sacrifice, forswear, To what, my art, shall I give thee in keeping? To the long winds of heaven ? Shall these come sweeping My songs forgone against my face and hair ? Or shall the mountain streams my lost joys bear, My past poetic pain in rain be weeping ? No, I shall live a poet waking, sleeping, And I shall die a poet unaware. From me, my art, thou canst not pass away; And I, a singer though I cease to sing, Shall own thee without joy in thee or woe. Through my indifferent words of every day, Scattered and all unlinked the rhymes shall ring, And make my poem ; and I shall not know. 117 Printed in England at the Anchor Press UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY