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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 LOS ANGELES
 
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 SONGS OF THE MORNING
 
 PUBLISHER'S ANNOUNCEMENTS 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 Fcap. Si'o, halfparchmunt, 5s. net 
 
 THE CITY OF THE SOUL 
 
 By Alfred Douglas 
 
 Daily Telegraph : — "These are the verses 
 of a poet ... it is a work of a remarkably high 
 order, and reveals tlie temperament of a poet 
 who writes because it is in him to do so . . . 
 the verse is throughout chaste, restrained, and 
 as faultless as good poetry may be." 
 
 Fcap. Sro, half parcliwenf, 5s. net 
 
 THE FIELD FLORIDUS, AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 By Eugene Mason 
 Author of " Flamma Vestalis " 
 
 Mr. Le Gallienne in the " Star " : — " The 
 great accomplishment of this verse cannot be 
 missed. But there is much more than ac- 
 complishment. There is the true romantic 
 atmosphere, the true breath of Provencal 
 roses ; Mr. Mason, too, shows a power of 
 dramatic picture-making more vivid than we 
 are accustomed to And in such dreamy and 
 perfumed verse." 
 
 " Breviary Series " No. 2 
 
 Oi'een leatlier, gilt top, in case, 3s. Od. net 
 
 THE FLOWER OF THE MIND 
 
 A choice among the Best Poems 
 made by Alice Meynell 
 
 (Copies are ako ohtainaMe hound in buckram, 
 price 6s. .■ or in parchment, price 7s. Gd. net.) 
 
 " Breviary Series " No. 4 
 
 Green leatlier, gilt top, in case, 3s. net 
 
 A SHROPSHIRE LAD 
 
 By A. B. HousMAN 
 
 London : GRANT RICHARDS 
 
 Henrietta St., Covent Garden, W.C.
 
 SONGS 
 OF THE MOKNING 
 
 BY 
 
 NORA HOPPER 
 
 author of 
 
 ' ballads in prose,' 
 'under quicken boughs,' etc. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 GRANT RICHARDS 
 
 1900
 
 4-453 
 
 TO HUGH 
 
 THESE 
 AND MY LOVE 
 
 8G1879
 
 Thanks are here due and are here heartily given 
 to the Editors of the Morning Post, Black and 
 White, Atalanta, Leisure Hour, Girl's Own Paper, 
 Ladys Realm, St. Peters, Pall Mall Gazette, West- 
 minster Gazette, To -Day, Ludgate Monthly, the 
 North American Review, Cornish Magazine, Ever- 
 green, Household Words, the New Review, and the 
 Butterfiy, for permission to reprint certain of the 
 verses in this book.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 A Woman's Marriage-Song 
 
 The Chrysoberyl 
 
 Southernwood . 
 
 Hugh of the Hill . 
 
 A Moonstone . 
 
 Outlaws 
 
 Comrades . 
 
 Love and Death 
 
 One ^Fay of Love . 
 
 The Gate-Keeper 
 
 A Song at Sunset 
 
 If I HAD been a Rose 
 
 A Love Song 
 
 Elegy 
 
 ix 
 
 1 
 3 
 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 7 
 
 8 
 
 10 
 
 11 
 
 13 
 
 14 
 
 16 
 
 18 
 
 19 
 
 20
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 A Homing Song 
 
 Elusion .... 
 
 In the Dark o' the Day 
 
 The Kind Ghost 
 
 A Letter, in the Dark . 
 
 A Seal upon your Arm . 
 
 A Night Song . 
 
 The Pear-Tree's Shadow . 
 
 A Love Song 
 
 The World's Desire 
 
 Pearls .... 
 
 Gifts ..... 
 
 Fool's Parsi-ey . 
 
 The Widow 
 
 The Faery Fool 
 
 Rosemary for Remembrance 
 
 Gipsy Song 
 
 Life Outside 
 
 January .... 
 
 Love in Winter 
 
 The Woman in the Shadow 
 
 Beauty's Children .
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Virginia Stocks 
 
 
 
 
 
 48 
 
 March . . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 48 
 
 Two Women 
 
 
 
 
 
 49 
 
 February . 
 
 
 
 
 
 50 
 
 A Pagan . 
 
 
 
 
 
 51 
 
 A Shrove Song . 
 
 
 
 
 
 52 
 
 A Cornish Lament . 
 
 
 
 
 
 53 
 
 A Ghost . 
 
 
 
 
 
 55 
 
 Spring Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 56 
 
 Gray Eyes 
 
 
 
 
 
 57 
 
 Wind-Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 59 
 
 April 
 
 
 
 
 
 60 
 
 Easter Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 62 
 
 Pierrot's Posies 
 
 
 
 
 
 63 
 
 Robin Hood's Good-night 
 
 
 
 
 
 64 
 
 Scarlett's Song 
 
 
 
 
 
 65 
 
 The Foolish Virgin . 
 
 
 
 
 
 66 
 
 The Forgetful People 
 
 
 
 
 
 67 
 
 Joan o' the Wad 
 
 
 
 
 
 68 
 
 Ulfhada . 
 
 
 
 
 
 70 
 
 The Dead Wife 
 
 
 
 
 
 72 
 
 Raissa 
 
 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 XI
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Foster-Mother . 
 
 The Samphire Gatherer 
 
 Jenifer 
 
 The Lonely Body 
 
 The Question . 
 
 The Answer 
 
 The Rowing-Song of King Atli 
 
 The Last Viking 
 
 Beauty 
 
 May . 
 
 Richmond to the Mansion House 
 
 In Kew Gardens 
 
 June . 
 
 A June Night 
 
 Monday 
 
 Whitsun Song 
 
 July . 
 
 Two in a Field 
 
 Hail . 
 
 Tuesday 
 
 Ragged Robin 
 
 August 
 
 xu
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Brigit of the Judgments .... 109 
 
 An Irish Lullaby 
 
 • 
 
 
 . 110 
 
 Swan-AVhite 
 
 
 
 
 . Ill 
 
 September 
 
 
 
 
 . 113 
 
 Love in September . 
 
 
 
 
 . 114 
 
 Marsh Marigolds 
 
 
 
 
 . 115 
 
 A Dead Child . 
 
 
 
 
 . 116 
 
 On the Embankjient 
 
 
 
 
 . 118 
 
 Dirge for a Dead Fairy 
 
 
 
 
 . 119 
 
 Where are you Going ? 
 
 
 
 
 . 121 
 
 October . 
 
 
 
 
 . 123 
 
 All-Hallows' E'en . 
 
 
 
 
 . 124 
 
 The Pipers 
 
 
 
 
 . 126 
 
 The Blackbird . 
 
 
 
 
 . 128 
 
 Holland-Tide . 
 
 
 
 
 . 129 
 
 Nove3iber . 
 
 
 
 
 . 131 
 
 WiNCHELSEA CaSTLE . 
 
 
 
 
 . 132 
 
 Love Six Months Old 
 
 
 
 
 . 134 
 
 Finland Lament 
 
 
 
 
 . 135 
 
 A Christmas Carol . 
 
 
 
 
 . 136 
 
 Next Year's Flowers 
 
 
 
 
 . 138 
 
 Sorrow's a Bird 
 
 
 
 
 . 139 
 
 XIU
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Compensation 
 
 . 140 
 
 A Lapp Prayer .... 
 
 . 141 
 
 Hertha ...... 
 
 . 144 
 
 The Carol of Three Kings 
 
 . 14.5 
 
 A Little Creed .... 
 
 . 149 
 
 The Prince I waited for 
 
 . 150 
 
 Moonrise ...... 
 
 . 151 
 
 XIV
 
 A WOMAN'S MARRIAGE-SONG 
 
 I HAVE shed my orange-blossom : 
 
 I have put aside my veil, my head is bare. 
 
 I have doffed my snoAvy shining satin wear. 
 
 In my long straight gown of white, 
 
 With no garland in my hair, 
 Am I fair } 
 
 Am I fair enough for you, my love, to-night ? 
 
 When the music swelled to meet me did I falter } 
 But my feet kept step with your feet from the 
 
 altar. 
 And my heart with yours kept beat. 
 Now I stay my questing feet — 
 Now beside your soul mine stands, 
 And my heart is in your hands 
 
 Beating upwards like a flame, 
 And the sigil set upon it is your name. 
 
 B I
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 My veil is off : no more my laces cover 
 
 The bird that sings so loudly in my bosom : 
 
 Can you hear it now the wedding hymns are over ? 
 
 Than my veil 
 Does my hair make softer shadow for my face. 
 This shadow that with kisses you displace. 
 Till I grow a rose that came to you so pale ? 
 
 Am I sweet enough without my orange-blossom ? 
 
 I have put aside my veil and orange-blossom, 
 Unclouded, love, I enter into life 
 As gladly as the moon comes from her shadow. 
 And floods the fen with silver, and the meadow. 
 
 Now my maids are gone and musicking is over : 
 And without the door stands sorrow 
 Bidding hush the bird that's singing in my bosom ; 
 Will my music be as sweet for you to-morrow. 
 When Time has paled the kisses of your Avife r 
 Is my love so strong to keep you fast my lover 
 
 All my life ?
 
 THE CHRYSOBERYL 
 
 THE CHRYSOBERYL 
 
 Men say there is a stone shines green alway 
 Through the long hours of the indifferent day, 
 But blazes scarlet when the night draws on : 
 I and my heart are like that changing stone. 
 
 All day I hide myself in lucent gi-een. 
 
 All the long hours of the indifferent day : 
 
 But when the moon makes beautiful and clean 
 
 The working world, I thrust my sheaths away. 
 
 I cast aside my veil and bid it be, 
 
 And let Love's scarlet flood transfigure me. 
 
 I am a chrysoberyl, and the night 
 
 Is here, and I am changed. The changeless light 
 
 Has touched me and transfigured ; my own fire 
 
 Beacons me to the place of heart's desire. 
 
 I that was dark and dull am burning bright ; 
 
 I am a chrysoberyl, and 'tis night.
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 SOUTHERNWOOD 
 
 So I have harvested my womanhood 
 Into one tall green bush of southernwood ; 
 And if the leaves are green about your feet. 
 And if my fragrance on a day should meet 
 And brace your weariness, why, not in vain 
 Shall I have husbanded from sun and rain 
 My spices if you chance to find them sweet. 
 
 I have gi'own up beneath the sheltering shade 
 
 Of roses : roses' poignant scents have made 
 
 My sharp spice sweeter than 'twas wont to be. 
 
 Therefore if any vagrant gather me 
 
 And wear me in his bosom, I will give 
 
 Him dreams of roses ; he shall dream and live. 
 
 And wake to find the rose a verity. 
 
 Gather me, gather. I have dreams to sell. 
 The sea is not by any fluted shell 
 More faithfully remembered than I keep 
 My thought of roses, through beguiling sleep 
 
 4
 
 HUGH OF THE HILL 
 
 And the bewildering day. I'll give to him 
 Who gathers me more sweetness than he'd dream 
 Without me — more than any lily could ; 
 I that am flowerless^ being southernwood. 
 
 HUGH OF THE HILL 
 
 He comes from the mountains green 
 
 To the yellow shore : 
 A thousand years he's seen 
 
 And a thousand more. 
 His hair is dark as the niffht. 
 
 And gray as the sea 
 Are the wonderful eyes whose light 
 
 Grows soft for me. 
 
 Hugh of the Hill has seen 
 
 Colleens galore, 
 Barefooted on the green 
 
 Edge of the shore. 
 Now they are laid away 
 
 Under the earth, 
 Grow neither sad nor gay 
 
 For a fairy's mirth. 
 5
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Hugh of the Hill has made 
 
 Some sore hearts glad ; 
 He has bidden the strong be afraid 
 
 And the meriy sad. 
 He has given fairy gold, 
 
 To the miser's store : 
 He has kissed the warm mouth cold. 
 
 And the light heart sore. 
 
 Hugh of the Hill, I know. 
 
 Loves me to-day. 
 It is not he will go. 
 
 Grown tired, away. 
 But / shall go fi-om the hearth 
 
 That's mine no more 
 To the quiet bosom of Earth 
 
 That is cradle and door. 
 
 Hugh of the Hill, to-night 
 
 Is mine alone. 
 Kiss me, and hold me tight 
 
 Lest I be gone 
 Into a chamber dark 
 
 Where you cannot come : 
 6
 
 A MOONSTONE 
 
 Whei'e you shall call and hark 
 And I lie dumb. 
 
 Now I can hold you close 
 
 And answer and hear, 
 And kiss as a woman knows 
 
 When her heart holds fear. 
 So short is my time to flower. 
 
 So long you will 
 Seek love, and be glad but an hour, 
 
 Hugh of the Hill ! 
 
 A MOONSTONE 
 
 I AM no pearl, a seed of perfect whiteness 
 Sown out of imperfection : nor am I 
 A beryl, gathered in whose mystery 
 A hundred charms lie useless. In my brightness 
 There is no colour save the gray of tears : 
 All colour I have gathered from the years ; 
 I am a moonstone, I that was of old 
 A crystal, clear as water and as cold. 
 
 7
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I am a ntioonstonej and my heart lies deep 
 Under a weight of water, fixed in sleep — 
 But let the one hand touch me, though it were 
 Light as the flutter of a woman's hair, 
 I shall hear, feel, and know the time to grow 
 And break my heart to let my colour show. 
 Colour not dreamed of by the soul that strays 
 Seeking the moonstone many weary days. 
 
 OUTLAWS 
 
 Six good years of sweetness in the greenwood shaw. 
 Sweetness plucked and eaten, spite of God and law. 
 Six good years of loving under sun and rain — 
 Now that law has spoken and not six hours remain. 
 What have we to gird at, now the end is here ? 
 Law nor God can take from us those six years, my 
 Dear. 
 
 God indeed was kind to us, kinder than we knew. 
 For we found forbidden fruit sweetness through 
 and through.
 
 OUTLAWS 
 
 Hazel-nuts were brown for us, blackberries were 
 
 sweet, 
 Little brooks called pleasantly to our homeless feet. 
 Nought we cared though on our track hound and 
 
 bugle cried : 
 Six years long the shaw itself fought upon Love's 
 
 side. 
 
 Glad am I of every sun that we saw arise, 
 Leaves that matched your russet hair, flowers that 
 
 matched your eyes : 
 Glad am I of every sun that we watched go down. 
 Frost that made the meadows white and the king- 
 fern brown. 
 Glad am I of nights and days full of quick alarms, 
 Winds and rains that made you lie closer in my 
 arms. 
 
 Winds could never come between in the wildest 
 
 weather : 
 Desperate days and hunted nights we found sweet 
 
 together. 
 Rain and hail were good to us, and the leaping 
 
 thunder, 
 Not a sign in all the sky put our arms asunder. 
 
 9
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Now our wanderings are done, and the joy we 
 
 stole. 
 We must hence to pay for it, soul by naked soul : 
 We who laughed at law, to-day give the law its due. 
 But we go from law to God, dearest, I and you. 
 
 COMRADES 
 
 Give me the reed you lean on ; if a spear. 
 
 My hand shall bleed for't as your hand has bled ; 
 
 I will not cover up my sheltered head, 
 
 While you are houseless in the moonlight here. 
 
 I must have half your hope and half your fear. 
 
 I must go shares in all you drink and eat, 
 Though it be bread of sorrow and cup of tears ; 
 Sheaves that you gather are my harvest. Dear, 
 Because I glean beside you down the years. 
 Your shadow's never lonely at your feet. 
 
 And though all things turn ashes that were sweet. 
 In deeps below, and in the deeps above you, 
 
 lO
 
 LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 In moods that strengthen you and moods that 
 
 weaken^ 
 Perplexed hi shadow^ led by starry beacon^ 
 I go with you, my lover, and I love you. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 I HAVE seen death 
 Through my own eyes (such ignorant eyes they 
 
 were) : 
 I saw the care 
 
 Fade out of old blue eyes, and saw the pain 
 Go from pressed lips, and saAv the kind old face 
 A young man's face under its tossed gray hair ; 
 And, with no will to let the tears loose there. 
 Since he had done with suffering and scathe, 
 I left his sleeping-place. 
 
 I have seen death 
 Through your eyes, Love : I who had never seen 
 
 (Alas ! ) 
 Her living face, saw her dead face serene, 
 Darkly, as in a glass ; 
 
 II
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 My thought went after yours 
 
 Past all those quiet doors 
 Where the sick slumbered^ stepping without sound. 
 
 For it was holy ground : 
 
 And found 
 Your Mildred where she lay antiong her flowers 
 
 Dead so few hours. 
 The cup was at your lips alone to take. 
 But, Dear, my mouth was bitter for your sake. 
 
 I have seen love : 
 Beautiful, Dear, and strange all dreams above. 
 I saw him two years since and heard his name, 
 And walking in his shadow. Dear, you came. 
 You came and took my hands, and kissed, and drew 
 Me to your world from mine that waited you. 
 
 I have seen love ; 
 His eyes of unimagined laughter and tears : 
 Like weeds about his lovely loitering feet 
 I've seen the growing fears, 
 I've seen the hopes stand tall as meadow sweet. 
 And I will gather all into a sheaf — 
 His quick- grown flowers of joy heart-high that 
 grow, 
 
 12
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE 
 
 His pansies with their purple heads bent low, 
 His crowns-imperial of fear and grief. 
 
 I have seen love : 
 And shall not lose the vision till I die ; 
 I have seen love and love you utterly. 
 I put beneath your feet 
 My love to blossom out in violets sweet. 
 I put it on your arm 
 To be a token to you, and a charm, 
 I put it on your breast — 
 A talisman that shall not ever change 
 Though my moods range. 
 The roof of my heart's house shall alter so. 
 The walls expand and grow, 
 But no change touch the Love that is my guest. 
 
 ONE WAY OF LOVE 
 
 How do I love you. Dear ? 
 I love you as the moonlight loves the mere 
 That all the day waits for it, and keeps close 
 Its beauty from the bold eyes of the sun. 
 
 13
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 But when the day-flower shuts and night's begun 
 Under the moonlight wakes the dreaming mere. 
 
 Drinks the soft lights and draws its beauty in ; 
 
 Opens and beats and glows — 
 A Avhite rose made of water^ yea^ a rose. 
 
 Yours is a subtler music than my ear 
 Can follow into silence when I hear. 
 Yours is a rarer colour than one traces 
 On a dove's breast^ or in the windflowers' faces. 
 More strange of scent is this your water-rose 
 And deeper-hearted than the moonlight knows 
 Perhaps. But in your dark moods and your clear. 
 Your sweetness and your sorrow and your sin, 
 Your doubt, your toil, your idleness, your fear, 
 I see them all ; and love you always. Dear. 
 
 THE GATE-KEEPER 
 
 Rough gown, stuff gown, my love hath noble 
 
 raiment. 
 Silk robes and scarlet robes, pearls of great price : 
 If a man kiss her gown, death is his payment — 
 
 14
 
 THE GATE-KEEPER 
 
 " Nay : but I keep the gates of Paradise." 
 
 Chained hand, stained hand, my love has fingers 
 
 whiter 
 Than any Hly that rocks upon the lake : 
 If a man kiss her hand death falls the lighter — 
 
 " She sends thee sleeping fast ? I hid thee wake." 
 
 Bare head, fair head, my love's head on her pillow- 
 Black as a bird's wing lies, circled with gold : 
 If a man touch it, he swings from a willow — 
 
 " Doth her love burn thee so ? My breast is cold." 
 
 Torn wings, shorn wings, my love goeth wingless : 
 She is wind and water, fire that upward springs. 
 Ere I died praising her I left my harp all stringless. 
 
 '( From my stripped pinions my children make them 
 wings." 
 
 Grave eyes, brave eyes, wert thou fain to bear 
 
 them ? 
 Once my love in childbed lay, and cried for pain. 
 
 15
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I too bore dreams with tears, and the four wmds 
 tare them. 
 
 " Mij children are thy dreams warm with life agai7i." 
 
 End me or mend me : heavj^ is my burden ! 
 Yeai's ago we died, and I claim her sins for mine. 
 So she walks heaven's paths hell shall be my 
 ffuerdon — 
 
 " / who ope the gate to thee was once that love of thine." 
 
 A SONG AT SUNSET 
 
 Drags the day over you, heavy and long for you ? 
 Here at the end are my arms for your rest : 
 Here on my lips is a comforting song for you. 
 Here is the green place where ceases your quest — 
 Where all the day Love desires you for guest ; 
 Here is your pillow, and that is my breast. 
 
 Weariful daytime to twilight is wearing ; 
 Soft is the wind that blew hot in your face. 
 
 i6
 
 A SONG AT SUNSET 
 
 Beauty is brooding on things that were base. 
 Wheels drop their droning that all day kept pace 
 With time that hurried and labour at chase. 
 Now all the feet to their quiet are faring. 
 
 Now the wheels drone down, the clatter is ending — 
 Home to me, dearest : rest here and be still. 
 Here are love's hands and love's heart for amending 
 Chords that the day struck all jangled and shrill. 
 Here is sweet water, and borage for blending 
 Comfort and courage to drink to your fill. 
 
 Come to me, Love : I have quiet and healing 
 Here in my hands and my bosom for you : 
 Hopes that are flagging and bitter with rue, 
 Dreams that are homesick I'll sweeten anew. 
 Here are no bells that shall vex you with pealing ; 
 Here are no stings on your solitude stealing ; 
 Only love dropping as softly as dew. 
 
 17
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 IF I HAD BEEN A ROSE 
 
 If I had been a rose 
 
 And not a woman, would your feet have stayed 
 
 A moment in their passing, and in shade 
 
 That meeting boughs of Hme and lilac made 
 
 Would you have stood, and softly touched my 
 
 flower, 
 Making me redder, and breathed in my doAver 
 Of sweetness ? Would you gather me, I wonder. 
 Or pass without a word, and leave me under 
 My shading leaves to watch my bloom grow dry ? 
 Ah, would you be unkind, and pass me by 
 If I had been a rose ? 
 
 If I had been a rose, 
 
 You had been kinder than to leave me there. 
 Spilling my sweetness out, half in despair, 
 And half because remembering is so rare. 
 'Tis easy withering roses, even in June ! 
 Too rough a wind-touch, or too bright a noon. 
 The red leaves drop and show the gold heart under 
 Past dream or daring, past desire or wonder. 
 
 i8
 
 A LOVE SONG 
 
 Ah, yet be gentle though no rose am I ! 
 My tears are in my heart — my heart were dry, 
 If I had been a rose. 
 
 A LOVE SONG 
 
 What shall I make of my life, Dear ? what shall I 
 
 bring to you, 
 Flower of fair colour, song of tremulous sweep ? 
 Bird that o'er waters of tears on a faithful winsr to 
 
 you 
 Finds out her way, with a rose-leaf for you to keep ? 
 Shell in whose chamber remembered waves shall 
 
 sing to you 
 Chimes of sleep ? 
 
 Bird that homes to you, song that shall sigh and 
 
 sing to you. 
 Flower that knoweth its passion, and knoweth not 
 
 doubt. 
 Shell that whispers a musical memoiy out ? 
 Nay, I will make of my life a more lovely thing to 
 
 you. 
 
 19
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Passionate hands, my Heart, that shall clasp you 
 and cling to you. 
 
 Daylight and dreaming, living and dying through- 
 out. 
 
 ELEGY 
 
 She had as many loves as she had follies. 
 And all her light loves lightly sang her praises. 
 But now, laid low beneath sharp-leaved sea-hollies 
 
 And pale sea-daisies. 
 Here at the limit of the hollow shore 
 Folly and praise are covered meetly o'er. 
 
 We will not tell her beads of beauty over : 
 
 All that we say, and all we leave unsaid 
 
 Be buried with her. There's no lightest lover 
 
 But scatters on her bed, 
 Pansies for thoughts, and woodruff white as she. 
 And, for remembrance, quiet rosemary. 
 
 Here is the end of laugliter : quenched together 
 Are grief and mirth ; here, dancing feet fall still, 
 
 20
 
 A HOMING SONG 
 
 Here, whei-e wild thyme and sea-pinks brave wild 
 weather 
 And die at the wind's will. 
 Bring her no dreams here to her quiet home 
 Thou Sea, her sister ! bring her weeds and foam. 
 
 A HOMING SONG 
 
 Turn your eyes to me, turn your heart to me, 
 
 Out of the trouble of daily things ! 
 Out of your labour your love-thoughts start to me 
 
 Homing surely as if they had wings. 
 Out of the grimy and garrulous mart to me 
 
 Birds that home to my heart that sings. 
 
 Birds that home through the world of cages 
 To the free sweet heaven where love is light, 
 
 Come through the crowd that clamours for wages. 
 Kestrel and pyat and crow and kite — 
 
 Here is the place by the huriying ages 
 
 Sought and missed, between day and night. 
 
 Winds are wild Avhen they're loosed from tether. 
 But the wind that blows you to me is kind, 
 
 21
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Home to me through the rougher weather 
 Tossed with storm or with rain made bhnd. 
 
 Home to my heart and there together 
 Nestle, my birds, and be glad of night 
 
 That sets the wrongs of the long day right. 
 
 ELUSION 
 
 What would you do if I should give you roses 
 Who gave you only lilies yesterday ? 
 If I should leave my idle pretty play 
 Among my shaded sheltered lily-closes, 
 And give you roses ? 
 
 If in an hour I changed from girl to woman 
 And gave you back your kisses, each for each — 
 And chose, instead of music, passionate speech ? 
 Nay, but I Avill not, seeing Love's but human, 
 Unveil the Avoman. 
 
 I'll keep my mystery and keep my lover ; 
 You who have hung Avith praise and dream my 
 name, 
 
 22
 
 IN THE DARK O' THE DAY 
 
 Being mere man, would find your praise half 
 
 blame. 
 If in my soul full measure, running over, 
 You saw ray love for you — not flowers but flame. 
 
 IN THE DARK O' THE DAY 
 
 In the dark o' the day 
 
 He shall come to my door, 
 He that died far away 
 
 From the Irish shore. 
 I'll make to him the bed, 
 And tire my widowed head, 
 When he comes from the dead 
 In the dark o' the day. 
 
 My hands shall drop with myrrh 
 On doorlatch and handle, 
 
 My sleeping fire I'll stir 
 
 And quench my watchful candle. 
 
 I shall be fair and young. 
 
 And in my mouth a song. 
 
 Oh, 'tis long, long, long. 
 Till the dark o' the day. 
 23
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 In the dark o' the day 
 
 He will come to my door. 
 No greeting will he say. 
 
 But cross my threshold o'er. 
 My groping hands he'll take, 
 My heart, long like to break, 
 With full delight he'll slake 
 In the dark o' the day. 
 
 In the dark o' the day 
 
 We shall lie down to sleep ; 
 
 I will not see the gray 
 
 Dawn through the window creep. 
 
 I'll hold him to my breast 
 
 So close, so dearly pressed. 
 
 My life shall be his guest 
 In the dark o' the day. 
 
 My life shall be his guest, 
 And mine his death shall be. 
 
 And lying on his breast 
 
 Death shall come sweet to me. 
 
 But now I dare not die 
 
 Because November's nieli. 
 
 And my dear may yet come by 
 In the dark o' the day. 
 24
 
 THE KIND GHOST 
 
 THE KIND GHOST 
 
 OcHONEj asthore^ and it's strange you've grown 
 
 In the year you've left me to lie my lone : 
 
 Kind are your eyes that were cold and gray 
 
 As the winter dawn when you sailed away. 
 
 I look deep down and I see in your eyes, 
 
 No thought of the other woman rise ; 
 
 And the other woman's scorn was clear 
 
 In your eyes when I looked in them last, my Dear. 
 
 Cold were your eyes and your hands were cold, 
 
 When you lifted me and you loosed my hold : 
 
 And said you w^ould surely come again 
 
 Ere I set my candle beside the pane. 
 
 With lips that were cold you kissed good-bye 
 
 And when you were gone and no one nigh 
 
 I lay and made moan on my weaiy bed, 
 
 From the sorrowful daylight I covered my head. 
 
 I was naught to you then ; but now I have won 
 Some good out of my watchings done. 
 For your ghost has come through the driving storm, 
 And your eyes are kind and your hands are warm. 
 
 25
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 The other woman is smooth and fair. 
 Waiting for you has not blanched her hair ; 
 Your lonely sleep has not spoiled her own ; 
 Oh, pulse of my heart, it's strange you've grown. 
 
 I never thought I should lift my head 
 And see you tender to me, my dead, 
 Who, living, slept by me strange and cold — 
 With a listless hand for my hand to hold. 
 But the listless hand it held my heart 
 And never a sea in the world might part 
 Your soul and mine, though our bodies lay 
 Far asunder as night and day. 
 
 Living I thwarted and hurt you, my man ! 
 And parting pathways our feet began. 
 And bitter my bread was and sore my lot. 
 That you lay at my side and you loved me not. 
 Living you hurt me, but now you're dead 
 The sea gives you back to me. Dear Black Head ! 
 She thrusts the dead man away from her breast. 
 But / liold fast : sure, I love you best. 
 
 26
 
 A LETTER IN THE DARK 
 
 A LETTER IN THE DARK 
 
 Love, being blind, I loved you. When light's shed 
 On these eyes and kindred think me dead 
 I shall love you better. Blind, I knew you 
 By the w^ay that grief and gloom flowed to you. 
 One took comfort from you and one gave it ; 
 Then the blind importuned you to save it 
 From the outer dark. 
 
 Yet is there fear 
 For the man that you have loved, my Dear } 
 Nay, no fear on earth — no doubting, even — 
 Sure of yours, I trust the heart of heaven. 
 
 A SEAL UPON YOUR ARM. 
 
 I PUT my love a seal upon your arm, 
 I put my love for sandals on your feet. 
 That they may never weary, when for heat 
 The noonday ways of life are dry and sore. 
 
 27
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I put my love about your neck, my own : 
 
 I put my love your maiden bosom o'er. 
 
 Your bosom that is beating with my thought — 
 
 The sweetest pillow that love ever v/rought 
 
 For lover's tired head to rest upon. 
 
 For life and death and all between, a charm, 
 
 I set my love a seal upon your arm. 
 
 I set my love a seal upon your arm, 
 
 I set my love a seal upon your mouth, 
 
 I set my love east, west, and north, and south. 
 
 That you may see it shining everywhere. 
 
 When you are glad of heart, or ill at ease, 
 
 Clear shining after rain my love shall be, 
 
 A sky that broods above you, shedding peace. 
 
 If I must first into the silence fare 
 
 You shall lift up your weeping eyes, and see 
 
 My love ; upon her dying bed my sweet 
 
 Shall feel my love a warmth upon her feet. 
 
 Shall feel my love a seal upon her arm. 
 
 28
 
 A NIGHT SONG 
 
 A NIGHT SONG 
 
 The night is here, and now I take no shame 
 To waken in my heai-t my lovei-'s name, 
 With rush of love that hfts above all flame. 
 
 My love is deep as water. It shall keep 
 You safe in storm, in sunshine and in sleep. 
 Even when the great deep meets the greater deep 
 
 Even as the great sea takes and makes all pure. 
 My love shall keep all lesser sweets secure. 
 My love shall make all ancient kindness sure ; 
 
 And give me strength that may not else be won 
 Agamst the wayward shining of the sun. 
 Against the wilful blowing of the wind. 
 Against all things that creep and clutch and blind. 
 That trip one up or stab one from behind — 
 Till snares be overpassed and all storms done. 
 
 29
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 THE PEAR-TREE'S SHADOW 
 
 The pear-tree's shadow on the wall. 
 The naked pear-tree fair and tall — 
 This is my love, and that shall be 
 An image for your thought of me. 
 
 The pear-tree's shadow comes and goes. 
 The sunshine flows as water flows 
 Spilled from a vessel on the floor — 
 It comes and goes and trickles o'er. 
 
 So I am in your thought, my own, 
 Like the tree's shadow, lightly thrown 
 Upon the brown breast of the wall. 
 The shadow does not always fall, 
 The tree itself is always nigh ; 
 Even so, my Dear, my heart and I. 
 
 30
 
 A LOVE SONG 
 
 A LOVE SONG 
 
 Are you in the moonlight ? No more mine eyes 
 
 are holden : 
 I see the hght that lightens you, the air you 
 
 breathe I know. 
 The spring is green beneath you and above you 
 
 all is golden, 
 And while the moon is clear for you I cannot 
 
 darkling go. 
 
 Are you in the darkness where voices cry about 
 
 you.? 
 Your darkness makes my pathway blind, your pain 
 
 is sharp in me. 
 I can hear the tones that trouble you and lure you 
 
 and flout you — 
 My grief is round about your grief as round a ship 
 
 the sea. 
 
 I'm yours and I love you in dreams and out of 
 
 dreaming ; 
 I am yours when you forget me and yours when 
 
 you recall. 
 
 ".I
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 When you are at your weariest, the ravens round 
 
 you screaming. 
 Am I not close beside you, Dear ? I see and hear 
 
 it all. 
 
 Am I yours as you're mine ? For you cannot put 
 
 away 
 My faithful soul from your soul, if my body lets 
 
 it go. 
 My joy is yours, your sorrow mine : and your gloom 
 
 is on my day, 
 And my light in your night shall be a star for you 
 
 to know. 
 
 THE WORLD'S DESIRE 
 
 There was born to the world last night 
 A woman-child for the world's delight. 
 Her mouth was small as a rosebud is 
 Before the bee and the blossom kiss ; 
 Her hair was a cloud and her eyes Avere fire. 
 Her hands were full of delight and desire. 
 Her cheek was a rose full blossoming. 
 Her voice was honey, her tongue a sting. 
 
 32
 
 PEARLS 
 
 Before the night took thought of the day 
 The child was born — with a caul, they say . 
 The caul shall serve her in place of a charm, 
 That water and fire shall not do her harm. 
 The child was born to bring all men grief. 
 Hunger and thirsting beyond relief. 
 An ill star shone on the bitter morn 
 When the mother died and the child was bom. 
 
 She shall be christened with water of tears. 
 With doubtful pleasure and trembling fears ; 
 We Avill name her Helen, that she shall be 
 A warning, a wonder 'twixt sea and sea. 
 Though the waves o'erwhelm her, she shall not 
 
 drown. 
 She shall not burn in the burning town : 
 Except she burn of her own white fire. 
 The woi'ld's disaster, the world's desire. 
 
 PEARLS 
 
 I AM the happiest woman in this chamber 
 Filled full of happy women, though I know 
 D 33
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I gave my pearls for a pale string of amber 
 That has forgot the sea that loved it so. 
 I do not grudge my pearls — they would grow duller 
 Left in my keeping ; now they are most fair^ 
 Sea-changes shall not dim their moonlight colour 
 Although they grace another woman's hair. 
 
 I gave my pearls — if careless grow the keeping, 
 In after years the fault Avere surely mine : 
 And I shall mourn it ere I fall to sleeping. 
 To-night I drink delight poured out like wine ; 
 To-night my heart is light as any feather, 
 I Avear no pearls, I have no tears to shed, 
 To-night I wear heart's-ease and joy together. 
 May my pearls bring fcAv tears — Avhen I am dead ! 
 
 GIFTS 
 
 What shall I give you noAv your giving's over- 
 Blossom, or Avindfall or one golden ear 
 Of wheat, to wither softly with you here .'' 
 What shall I give who never Avas your lover. 
 Who knew not yesterday I loved you, Dear ^ 
 
 34
 
 FOOL'S PARSLEY 
 
 Your hands were always full of patient courage, 
 Your heart brimmed over with the golden wine 
 Of earthly tenderness and hope divine, 
 And so, dear heart, I Avill not bring you borage. 
 And so I dare not bring you columbine. 
 
 Shall I bring snow-in-summer to you sleeping, 
 Whose going falls like snow upon my Avay ? 
 I dared not bring you roses yesterday ; 
 So, Dear, I put my heart into your keeping, 
 And if it be a weed not worth the reaping. 
 The dead are kind and turn no gifts away. 
 
 FOOL'S PARSLEY 
 
 Fool's parsley stands, defiant, on the ridge 
 Where the grass ends, and only chalk dips sheer 
 For bank on either side ; and near the bridge 
 Shadowing a little river crystal clear. 
 Fool's parsley holds its own, and keeps in fear 
 All pushing daisies that would peep and peer. 
 
 35
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 There is no place for any rival here — 
 No space for daisies that would foothold find 
 Amid the stones, and match their gold and white 
 Against this glistening flower that fears no wind, 
 And will not fold itself against the night. 
 And, overmatched in beauty, still will fight. 
 
 THE WIDOW 
 
 Out of the wind and out of the rain, 
 
 Owen, come to nay heart again ; 
 
 Close though your grave-clothes wrap you round. 
 
 Come from your chamber underground. 
 
 Over your grave I lean and cry 
 
 " Waken, beloved, and come. 'Tis I ! 
 
 The one free day for the dead is here. 
 
 Wake for me, call to me, come to me, Dear." 
 
 Near your head though the rose-root grows 
 Out in the free air lifts the rose. 
 Breathing sweetness that's like a pain — 
 Owen, come to me once again. 
 
 36
 
 THE WIDOW 
 
 Only one rose has borne for you 
 Fervent sunlight and frosty dew ; 
 My son'ow has blossomed in leaves of red 
 When the other roses are shrunk and dead. 
 
 Deep is your grave, and dark and warm ? 
 
 Come to me, love, through the night of storm, 
 
 I'm here in the dark, I'm here in the rain, 
 
 Owen, come to me once again. 
 
 The widow's curch fronti my yellow hair 
 
 I've put aside, and my head is bare. 
 
 I have set a flower m my breast-knots white, 
 
 A flower with a thorn like all delight. 
 
 There is no light in our quiet room 
 Save the fire that mingles a gleam with a gloom, 
 A posy of furze by the bed I've set — 
 That you may i-emember and I forget- 
 That you may remember the golden day 
 When we kissed 'mid the gorse in the heart of May, 
 That I may forget in your arms, my Dear, 
 The empty grave and the day di'awing near. 
 
 My doors stand open towards the night, 
 The red fire calls you with leajnng light : 
 
 37
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Your old place waits of your coming fain : 
 
 Owen, come to your wife again. 
 
 Or if you are weaiy, and warm you lie, 
 
 Let your door stand open to let me by 
 
 And close in your arms, for our great love's sake, 
 
 Let me lie and slumber and never wake. 
 
 THE FAERY FOOL 
 
 If I'm the faery fool, Dalua — 
 
 Ay me, the faery fool ! 
 How do I knoAv Avhat the rushes sa}'. 
 Sighing and shivering night and day 
 
 Over their shadowy pool .'' 
 How do I know what the North wind cries. 
 
 Counting his beads of snow : 
 The menace that lies in the Hunter's eyes 
 
 How do I know } 
 
 If I'm the faery fool, Dalua — 
 
 Ay me, the faery fool ! 
 I cry to those that sent me here. 
 To laugh and jest, to geek and fleer. 
 
 To scorn at law and rule. 
 38
 
 ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE 
 
 " Why did ye also give to me 
 Beauty and peace to know ? 
 
 The ears to hear and the eyes to see 
 And the hands that let all go ? " 
 
 I cry to them that bade me jest 
 
 " Why made ye me so slight, 
 Yet put a heart within my breast. 
 An evil gift; an evil guest, 
 
 To spoil me for delight ? 
 Made for mere laughtei", answer why 
 
 Must I have eyes for dool ? 
 Take from me tears, or let me die, 
 For I am sick of wisdom, I 
 
 Dalua, the faery fool . " 
 
 ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE 
 
 You have forgotten me, but I forget not. 
 How kind you were before another shadow 
 Fell beside yours in garth and garden-closes. 
 And on the sweet grass of the water-meadow, 
 Her shadow close to yours among the roses : 
 
 39
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 The grace that summer yields her, I regret not 
 
 You have forgotten me, but I forget not. 
 
 You have forgotten me, but I remember : 
 I bide my time, dear heart ; I bide my time. 
 You have no need of me now lilies blow. 
 And bees are busy in the murmuring lime. 
 But when the lilies lose themselves in snow. 
 Love, you will cry on me in mid-December ; 
 You have forgotten me, but I remember. 
 
 Forget me now you're glad, but when you're 
 
 gi'ieving 
 Turn home to me for comfort ; there's no rue 
 Grown in my garden for my Dear to gather : 
 Only kind rosemary grows green for you. 
 And I have honey sucked from highland heather. 
 And dreams for you of mine own faithful weaving ; 
 Be glad with her to-day ! / wait your grieving. 
 
 GIPSY SONG 
 
 You are the safe and firelit room, 
 
 I am the open wold ; 
 
 You are the city, and this your doom- 
 
 40
 
 GIPSY SONG 
 
 Never to feel the outer cold, 
 Never to fear the inner dark : 
 Never to strain the ears, and hark 
 For any foot but the foot of Time ; 
 Never to know a loss worth gain 
 Or soul that's worth the birthing-pain ; 
 Never to find hill worth the climb 
 Or joy that may be worth the tear — 
 My Dear ! 
 
 You are shut in from snow and sleet, 
 I am out in the wind ; 
 My feet are strange to the trodden street 
 As you are strange to the winds that beat. 
 The mists that hover and blind. 
 I cannot stay, you cannot bind — 
 My hands unclasp and let you go, 
 As if you Avere no more than snow 
 That shps away from me in rain. 
 I love you, yet our souls are twain. 
 For I am knowledge, you are fear. 
 My Dear. 
 
 41
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 LIFE OUTSIDE 
 
 Life stands and cries outside my door, 
 
 A homeless beggar-maid 
 That casts no shadow on the floor ; 
 To bid her cross my threshold o'er 
 
 Almost I am afraid. 
 
 Almost I think I know her eyes : 
 
 I stand, a grudging host, 
 And wait and wonder and surmise, 
 While Life outside my window cries, 
 
 A cold and homeless ghost. 
 
 Wearing for jewels in her hair 
 
 Rain and the desert sands. 
 My dead youth that was once so fair 
 Stands in my doorway, knocking there 
 
 W^ith cold, beseeching hands. 
 
 42
 
 JANUARY 
 
 JANUARY 
 
 I HEAP the drifts against the dooi\ 
 Close pent I keep the patient flocks : 
 
 Because of me 
 Goes free across the frosty moor 
 
 The Httle red fox. 
 
 Where now my snows stand hard and high 
 Violets will purple all the way ; 
 
 But now men see 
 Only my presage red or gray 
 
 Of a stormy day. 
 
 My path is strewn with tapestry 
 Of naked branches blue on white : 
 I heap the snowdrifts^ but I grow 
 The winter aconite to show 
 My heavy hand can yet be light. 
 
 My fairest flowers are in the sky. 
 Wild red at morn. No dainask rose 
 More redly blows. 
 
 Against my clear blue match who can 
 June's gentian. 
 
 43
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I heap the drifts against the door, 
 
 I bid you let in sunlight o'er 
 
 The dreams of yester-year. 
 
 I bid your youth renew, rejoice 
 
 Through all the year with a strenuous voice ; 
 
 Rejoice, and have no fear. 
 
 LOVE IN WINTER 
 
 My love is over you and under you ; 
 
 A moonbeam o'er your head to make your way 
 
 Lovely as well as light : beneath your feet 
 
 Thyme that for all your bruising smells more sweet. 
 
 And a vague breath of wallflowers in the dew. 
 
 Come to me when you're weary, and I'll rest you 
 
 Warm in my arms and quiet on my bosom. 
 
 There shall you find against the cares that test you. 
 
 Your borage-blossom — 
 
 Borage for courage in the rainy day. 
 
 Since you have given me orange - flowers for 
 
 wearing, 
 I'll find you other flowers for work and leisure : 
 
 44
 
 THE WOMAN IN THE SHADOW 
 
 Lavender grave and gray. 
 
 Green spikes of southernwood that overbearing 
 Winter can spoil not of its wholesome spice — 
 And from remembered roses, beyond price, 
 I'll wring out store of attar for your pleasure. 
 
 These flowers for your hands, my very Dearest ; 
 This attar for your feet keeping step with mine. 
 But for your breast, to lie and love you, nearest 
 Your heart that loves me, not a flower for sign 
 Of love fulfilled, but this black head of mine. 
 
 THE WOMAN IN THE SHADOW 
 
 " Sweet, sweet, sweet," says the greenfinch in the 
 
 meadow, 
 " Sweet " sings the willow- wren as he seeks his 
 
 mate ; 
 " Sweet, sweet, sweet," but the woman in the 
 shadow 
 
 Whispers « Wait ! " 
 45
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 " Sweet, sweet, sweet ! " cries the south wind at 
 
 his fleetest, 
 Bending down the buttercups in their golden 
 
 state — 
 " Sweet ! " but a softer voice than his at sweetest. 
 Answers " Wait." 
 
 The bleak wind, the north wind has breathed on 
 
 the lilies. 
 Harried is the wren's nest, wounded goes his mate. 
 Where we dreamed of Love himself a veiled shape 
 
 still is. 
 
 But she's Fate. 
 
 Where's the use of keening ? what help in 
 
 weeping 
 When the fair thing, the rare thing lies coffined 
 
 at our feet. 
 But the woman in the shadow from the other side 
 
 of sleeping 
 
 Whispers " Sweet ! " 
 
 46
 
 BEAUTY'S CHILDREN 
 
 BEAUTY'S CHILDREN 
 
 Beauty bore unto Time last night 
 Three fair children — wonderful, white . 
 Wonder, TeiTor, and World's Delight. 
 
 Wonder's eyes were gray as the sea, 
 
 And a mii-ror was where her heart should be 
 
 Plait upon plait of brown her hair 
 Shadowed her eyes and her forehead fair. 
 
 Bramble scarlet and blossom-white 
 Sun and shadow was World's Delight. 
 
 Terror was first to face the day — 
 
 He shall not be drowned or cast away, 
 
 Age shall not weaken him nor Death slay. 
 
 47
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 VIRGINIA STOCKS 
 
 Lilac and lavender and hoarfrost white, 
 My border waves its colour to the sun. 
 Virginia stocks grow low, but everyone 
 Gives all her colour to the questing light. 
 
 Not one that finds the day's demand ainiss 
 For gold or silver that she has to spend. 
 The white spreads all her white : her rosier friend 
 Shows even the petal where the canker is. 
 
 The lily's ignorant white is glad of cheer. 
 But these are high of courage, glad are these 
 Against all changes of the changing year, 
 Untempered sun or overshadowing trees. 
 
 MARCH 
 
 I GO beneath triumphal arches 
 Of linden-yellow and ash-green : 
 I hang upon the elms and larches 
 The colours of my May, the queen. 
 48
 
 TWO WOMEN 
 
 Before me goes the first wild swallow, 
 For me the daffodils delay : 
 After my feet the flagflowers follow, 
 And gorse grows gold about my way. 
 
 Two wings are pinions at my shoulder, 
 Two wings are plumes upon my feet : 
 The earth that drowsed grows younger, bolder. 
 And with warm mouth my kiss doth meet. 
 
 TWO WOMEN 
 
 You are a snowdrop, sweet ; but will 
 You look upon this daffodil 
 That in a careless hand has lain 
 So long, it cannot drink the rain 
 And be renewed, or by the sun 
 Find that unkindly grasp undone ? 
 
 You are a snowdrop : put your white 
 By this spoiled gold, dear heart, to-night 
 Touch leaves with this less happy flower 
 Undone by some too happy hour. 
 You might have been the daffodil 
 If I had kissed your prudence still. 
 E 49
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 FEBRUARY 
 
 I PURIFY 
 
 With my clear rain the sombre sky ; 
 I wake the snowdrops from their sleep 
 In the earth's bosom brown and deep : 
 I am the stained world's lavender. 
 
 Because of me 
 
 The birds make love from tree to tree : 
 
 I whisper to the daffodil 
 
 Her hidden cup with gold to fill 
 
 Since March is on his way to her. 
 
 I bid the drooping boughs and bare 
 
 A crown of almond blossoms wear. 
 
 I call to Earth, 
 
 Asleep beside her fireless hearth. 
 
 To rise and come into the air, 
 
 And shake the snow from feet and hair. 
 
 What time the new lives in her stir 
 
 And sap runs sweet in larch and fir. 
 
 5°
 
 A PAGAN 
 
 A PAGAN 
 
 There is more light than I prayed for. I loved 
 
 the dark 
 And the glow-worm lighting my feet with her 
 
 friendly shine. 
 And yonder far on the hills the fading spark 
 Of a fire that I lighted for unknown gods of mine. 
 
 The mound is emptied of bones, of its urns the 
 
 barrow 
 Because of the daylight the oak is forlorn of its 
 
 god: 
 The way of a bird in the air, the fall of a sparrow 
 Is barren of wonder ; and barren of grass the clod. 
 
 Sad sobs the sea forsaken of Aphrodite ; 
 
 Hellas and Helen are not, and the slow sands fall, 
 
 Gods that were gracious and lovely, gods that were 
 
 mighty. 
 Sky and sea and silence resume them all. 
 
 Hid are they all in the sky that no one can scale, 
 Lost is the voice of the sunset that uttered our sorrow : 
 
 51
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Sweetest for me is the rose that is tattered and 
 pale, 
 
 And what to me is the rose that shall blossom to- 
 morrow ? 
 
 A SHROVE SONG 
 
 Heard you not that knocking ? 
 
 Lent is at the door, 
 
 She bears a maund with daffodils 
 
 Binmming o'er. 
 
 She wears a hood upon her head. 
 
 Because her hair's so bright, ('tis said,) 
 
 Who came to pray would stay to stare 
 
 Did they but see her shining hair. 
 
 She crieth not, " Repent, repent," 
 But " Ere your human wealth be spent. 
 Give gold," she says, "of charity. 
 Silver of patient courtesy. 
 Your sister 's shivering in the storm 
 While you sup richly and lie warm. 
 Give her your hand and bring her in, 
 The mire 's more plain on her than sm. 
 52
 
 A CORNISH LAMENT 
 
 Your brother in the market-place 
 
 Lies, and the rain is on his face. 
 
 Your fires are huge, your house is great. 
 
 On him doth but one angel wait." 
 
 Rise up, forget your Fastern, 
 
 For folly's o'er : 
 
 Heard you not that knocking ? 
 
 Lent is at the door. 
 
 A CORNISH LAMENT 
 
 Fair head, come home to me. 
 Home from the jealous sea, 
 Long weeks I've watched for you. 
 My door unlatched for you. 
 Door and heart open be — 
 Fair head, come home to me ! 
 
 Lad, when you sailed away 
 Gulls cried the livelong day — 
 Meg wept where all might see, 
 "Fair head, come home to me." 
 I found no words to say. 
 Watching you sail away. 
 S3
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Meg cried, " Shame on the sea, 
 Fair head, come home to me ! " 
 Nay, but I made no moan 
 When the sea took my own. 
 No moan where men could see 
 For lover lost to me. 
 
 Only, when star to star 
 
 Gleams where the rock-pools are — 
 
 Only, when lights at sea 
 
 Show boats not dear to me. 
 
 Then am I free to cry. 
 
 Up to the watching sky. 
 
 Then to the sea I lean — 
 
 Dipping my hands therein. 
 
 Whispering as now I do. 
 
 Low to the sea — and you, 
 
 " Drowned and dead though you be. 
 
 Fair head, come home to me ! " 
 
 54
 
 A GHOST 
 
 A GHOST 
 
 Now come and haunt my quiet room 
 With hght and shade and red-rose bloom : 
 Light of your heahng eyes and shade 
 Of dark hair free from knot and braid. 
 Like lips with some sweet word that part 
 A red rose opens on your heart. 
 
 II 
 
 Out of your peace be manifest. 
 Into the dulness of my rest. 
 I shall not win at all my heaven 
 If no least glimmer of you leaven 
 My loneliness. Come to me, Dear, 
 Lest I should grow contented here. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Brighten again my dusty books 
 With kindness of your gracious looks 
 Renew the youth of my dim air 
 With your deep smile, that is aware 
 
 55
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Of patience (borage in life's wine), 
 And stronger love than this of mme. 
 
 IV 
 
 Ay, stronger love that would descend 
 Into the pit to save a friend. 
 Or serve, not saving ; love that cleaves 
 Even when faith no more believes. 
 I love till death, past judgment you — 
 Is He not kind that made you true ? 
 
 SPRING SONG 
 
 The Spring is at the door : 
 
 She beai-s a golden store. 
 
 Her maund with yellow daffodils runneth o'er. 
 
 Her rosy feet are bare, 
 
 The wind is in her hair. 
 
 And O her eyes are April eyes, very fair. 
 
 After her footsteps follow 
 The mullein and the mallow ; 
 She scatters golden powder on the sallow 
 
 56
 
 GRAY EYES 
 
 She brings the crocus white. 
 
 And golden aconite : 
 
 She brings desire and doubting and dehght. 
 
 GRAY EYES 
 
 Gray eyes and gold hair, 
 Who remembers you were fair. 
 When on middle earth you were 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 You were half a fairy then : 
 Are you claimed of them again, 
 Now you've gone beyond my ken, 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 Sailing over perilous seas, 
 Dreaming under rowan-trees ; 
 Quiet heart and quiet hand, 
 Are you back in Fairyland, 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 57
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 You were cold as winter snow 
 To the soul that sought to know, 
 Creed and whimsy old and new, 
 Heights and deeps and dreams of you, 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 Are you kinder now my feet 
 Lose your track in lane and street, 
 For all time, O cold and sweet 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 Do you wish that you could set 
 Me the lesson to forget 
 That our souls had ever met. 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 Much I sowed and naught I reap. 
 Come and give me dreams to keep — 
 Be not as of old you were. 
 Cold as death, as void of care. 
 Gray Eyes ? 
 
 Nay, but come without the change, 
 I should find the warm heart strange. 
 Come to me, as cold as snow — 
 For I loved you thus, you know. 
 Gray Eyes. 
 
 58
 
 WIND-SONG 
 
 WIND-SONG 
 
 Blow, blow, winds blow, braggart winds and merry — 
 Blow down the almond snow, toss the flowering 
 ^ cherry. 
 
 Daffodils ablow, arow mingle in their dances. 
 Shake the purple flags that grow tall amid their 
 
 lances. 
 Blow, O winds blow, striji the Avinter-berry ! 
 
 Far and near, push and peer, here's a nest a- 
 
 growing — 
 Winds meriy, winds dear, hush here your blowing ! 
 Trouble not the mother-wren when she comes and 
 
 goes. 
 Dreaming of the wings and songs that her secret 
 
 knows — 
 Soft here, winds dear, where the nests are showing. 
 
 Blow, blow loud and low, wild winds and merry. 
 Hurtling down upon our heads bring a snow of 
 cheny. 
 
 59
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Bring the yellow kingcups out in the flowerless 
 
 places^ 
 Set the naked woods aflush with the wind-flowers' 
 
 faces. 
 Make the old briar run with sap ready for the 
 
 bei*ry, 
 Bring the swallows, April follows, wild winds and 
 
 merry. 
 
 APRIL 
 
 I FLOOD with gold the gorses, 
 With rain the water-courses, 
 
 And I restrain 
 
 With silver rein 
 The wild sea-horses. 
 
 I am the blackbird singing, 
 I am the grasses swinging ; 
 
 I am the spur 
 
 Sets reeds astir 
 And bluebells ringing. 
 60
 
 APRIL 
 
 I quicken in their graves 
 Seeds that the winter saves : 
 
 Flags for me stay ; 
 
 The budding May 
 My coming craves. 
 
 I open all kept close, 
 I quicken the red rose ; 
 The cloud that towers 
 Big with its showers 
 My message knows. 
 
 I am the hawk that hovers. 
 The vnld life in the covers : 
 
 No lark so high 
 
 Dare soai', as I 
 That sing to lovers. 
 
 I flood with gold the gorses, 
 With rain the water-courses, 
 
 And I restrain 
 
 With silver rein 
 The wild sea-horses. 
 
 6i
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 EASTER SONG 
 
 I AM the dream of April, I am the soul of May, 
 The sallows scatter, the sallows splatter their gold 
 
 upon my way : 
 The gorses swing censers of spring to honour 
 
 Easter Day. 
 
 I am the baby April, the woman May will be : 
 I set the berry and hang the cheny on briar and 
 
 cornel-tree ; 
 Mine's the shut rose, the apple-blows, the rainbow 
 
 on the sea. 
 
 My tears are all of April, my laughter is of May, 
 My sorrow's all a cowslip-ball, so light to toss 
 
 away : 
 My heart is bright with Easter light, my face is 
 
 fair to see. 
 Because God's risen, and out of prison the whole 
 
 round world goes free. 
 
 62
 
 PIERROT'S POSIES 
 
 PIERROT'S POSIES 
 
 I MADE a posy for PieiTot 
 
 To give his wilful Columbine, 
 
 Of satin-flowers as soft as snow 
 
 And bluebells fine. 
 
 She sent them back with laugh and fleer. 
 
 And Pierrot never knew, I wis, 
 
 That in the posy lay a tear 
 
 That was not his. 
 
 I made a posy for Pierrot 
 
 All white and green and yellow ; 
 
 And sweeter posy ne'er, I know. 
 
 Graced any pretty fellow. 
 
 'Twas gold and white for Love's delight 
 
 With roses brave to see : 
 
 But there for grief we laid a leaf 
 
 Of rosemaiy. 
 
 I made a posy for Pierrot, 
 The last of all my posies : 
 'Twas thick with lilies cold as snow, 
 And pallid Christmas roses. 
 We set white hyacinth a-row 
 63
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Through feathery cypress peeping, 
 And Columbine and I — heigho ! 
 Threw it with heavy weeping 
 Into a grave, that it might go 
 Wither with Pierrot sleeping. 
 
 ROBIN HOOD'S GOOD-NIGHT 
 
 Good-night, good-night, Heart's Dearest. The 
 
 Hunter holds the sky. 
 There wakes no soul in Sherwood save Little John 
 
 and I. 
 'Twixt thee and me the grasses grow thick and 
 
 soft and green. 
 And falls a drift of hawthorn above thee for a 
 
 screen — 
 'Twixt thee and me. Heart's Dearest, the grass is 
 
 green. 
 
 Shall I not soon. Heart's Dearest, good-morrow to 
 
 thee say. 
 And kiss thy lips of kisses forlorn for many a day ? 
 Shall I bid thee good-morrow, good-night to Little 
 
 John, 
 
 64
 
 SCARLETT'S SONG 
 
 And lay me down beside thee to slumber sweetly 
 
 on — 
 Noi- dream of lonely Sherwood^ nor Little John ? 
 
 Shall we go seek. Heart's Dearest, that land of 
 
 afternoon, 
 Where lovers to their lasses pipe out a sleepy 
 
 tune ? 
 Where care may never enter, and love grow never 
 
 cold — 
 Where Allan walks, a-harping a tune we knew of 
 
 old? 
 Shall we not journey thither, O heart of gold ? 
 
 SCARLETT'S SONG 
 
 Sing a song of scarlet poppies in the corn, 
 Sing a song of rosy blossoms on the thorn ; 
 Sing a song of robins chirping all the day 
 When the nests are empty and the skies are gray. 
 
 Sing a song of scarlet hips upon the brier, 
 Sing a song of dead boughs reddening in the fire : 
 F 65
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Sing a song of red suns^ frost, and tingling blood, 
 Sing a song of autumn flushing all the wood. 
 
 Sing a song of Scarlett when the frosts begin. 
 Heaping on the camp-fire store of prickly whin. 
 Sing a song of Marian laughing through the wood. 
 Sing a song of roses grown for Robin Hood. 
 
 THE FOOLISH VIRGIN 
 
 I WAS a maid was never wise ; 
 I showed my heart to all men's eyes. 
 That they might take or they might leave, 
 I wore my heart upon my sleeve. 
 
 I bade the fluttering thing lie doAvn, 
 And served it on my Avedding gown ; 
 I sewed it with a thread of silk, 
 'Mid wedding laces white as milk. 
 
 But for my heart Avoe's me ! woe's me 
 That such sore grief could ever be ! 
 For thieves (on them may Fortune frown !) 
 Broke in and stole my wedding gown. 
 66
 
 THE FORGETFUL PEOPLE 
 
 They stole the white thing and the red- 
 My heart and gown ; and left instead 
 Only a bitter dream to keep 
 The open ivory gates of sleep. 
 
 THE FORGETFUL PEOPLE 
 
 Be still, be still, Folk of the Hill, 
 And cry not through our dreams, 
 
 For years have had of us their will. 
 And only firelight streams 
 
 Upon our hands that are empty, 
 And we forget our dreams. 
 
 Shade, sun, and wind to you are kind. 
 But Ave have chosen the fire 
 
 To flicker and fade in eyes half blind. 
 And no more dear desire 
 
 There is in our souls grown shrivelled 
 That sleep beside the fire. 
 
 We fain would keep an endless sleep. 
 For naught is left to dream ; 
 67
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 We would not hear j^ou when you weep 
 Though sweet your voices seem. 
 
 We are more sad than dreams are 
 Forgetting how to dream. 
 
 JOAN O' THE WAD 
 
 (A PisKY Song) 
 
 Joan o' the Wad from her own folk oroes 
 
 With a garland woven of gipsy-rose ; 
 
 The palms of her hands and the palms of her 
 
 feet 
 Are dark with the stain of bitter-sweet. 
 Here and there in her tresses brown 
 Tosses a feather of thistle-down : 
 About her waist for a girdle green 
 She has threaded buds of the argentine. 
 
 Between her breasts for a posy fair. 
 She has set a handful of maidenhair ; 
 About her neck for a torque of gold 
 A chain of buttercups, fold on fold 
 
 68
 
 JOAN O' THE WAD 
 
 She has bound and wound ; and she looks like 
 
 spring — 
 Joan o' the Wad gone wandering 
 From the wild brown moor to the deep-walled 
 
 town, 
 Joan o' the Wad in her lime-green gown. 
 
 The apple-bird on the apple-bough 
 
 Whistles with no one to fret him now, 
 
 With cry and chirrup more shrill and clear 
 
 Than his own love-song in the spring o' the year. 
 
 The laden bees going back to the hive 
 
 Joan o' the Wad no more will drive : 
 
 The peach grows red and the pear grows dun, 
 
 With none to cover them up from the sun. 
 
 She has left the cattle unmilked in chall ; 
 And the miners laugh as they go to bal. 
 No more afraid of her pisky eyes 
 Where life like the lightning comes and dies — 
 And sorrow moves like a leaf, astir 
 In a pool where the wind has drowned her ; 
 And laughter leaps as the bubbles come 
 On Ashless ponds covered thick with scum. 
 
 69
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 But lads at twilight are fain to hear 
 A soft word said in their listening ear ; 
 And fain to see what they see no more — 
 A green gown gleam by the stable-door. 
 For towns are many and towns are full ; 
 But here in the country the water's cool, 
 And honey's sweet and the hearts are deep. 
 And the Pisky-loves are the loves to keep. 
 
 ULFHADA 
 
 Ulfhada dwells on the mnd-worn down ; 
 Her feet are bare and her hands are brown ; 
 Her sunburnt bosom and throat are bare 
 Under the cloud of her dusky hair. 
 She goes as light as a withered leaf 
 That has not tasted of joy or grief, 
 Her heart is wild as a wandering bird 
 Come overseas at the blithe spring's word. 
 
 None may take her with net or lime ; 
 She goes as free as the breath of thyme : 
 She will not sing and she will not nest, 
 She will not perch like a tamed wood-quest. 
 
 70
 
 ULFHADA 
 
 How shall we take her ? who shall tame 
 This woman that bears the gray wolf's name ? 
 .Shall we take her by forces or by treason win 
 Her to the cage we would have her in ? 
 
 The cage has wires of the beaten gold. 
 Walls of glass that she lie not cold — 
 Seed in a vessel of ciystal clear — 
 Hither Ulf hada ! the nets are here. 
 Nay, I'll ha' none of your crystal and gold. 
 Empty-handed I'll seek and hold : 
 You're wild, Ulfhada, and wild am I, 
 Stay for me, turn to me, answer my cry ! 
 
 I mil give you pleasure and give }'Ou pain : 
 
 You shall go unsheltered through storm and 
 
 rain. 
 You shall thole scorn for me, you shall feel fear : 
 I shall hurt }ou and love you and cleave to you. 
 
 Dear. 
 Does not mj^ blood to your warm blood speak ? 
 My breast to your breast, and my lips to your 
 
 cheek ? 
 I hold you not, but you are not free. 
 For my soul to your soul says " Follow me." 
 
 71
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 And your soul to my soul answers and says : 
 " I am yours to hold through the nights and days ; 
 The days for labour, the nights for love : 
 The dusk underfoot, and the lights above." 
 Who shall hold shadow, and who shall bind 
 The wandering water, the wandei'ing wind ? 
 Who shall lay hands on the homeless flame ? 
 Ulfhada and I, we know his name. 
 
 THE DEAD WIFE 
 
 Can you not hear me knocking at midnight on your 
 
 door ? 
 Can you not see my shadow cast on your moonlit 
 
 floor .> 
 To fair and mass and pattern with you I come and 
 
 go. 
 I scarcely leave you in your dreams and yet you 
 never know. 
 
 The blind old dog I used to stroke has keener ears 
 to hear. 
 
 He whines with Avistful pleasure to hear my foot- 
 fall near. 
 
 72
 
 THE DEAD WIFE 
 
 Woman or ghost, all's one to him : his faith knows 
 
 naught of change, 
 And if you saw and heard me, Dear, would you not 
 
 find me strange ? 
 
 Could you look deep into my eyes and feel no whit 
 
 afraid 
 Of wisdom that must come with death to any man 
 
 or maid ? 
 My grief, I think my eyes would blind the gazing 
 
 soul of you. 
 And you would never find again the colleen that 
 
 you knew. 
 
 Call me no more from out my place, you see not 
 
 when I come. 
 More faithful to my memory is the poor dog that's 
 
 dumb. 
 Sleep soundly, Ulick, every night : wake gladly 
 
 every day 
 Because between your soul and mine the links are 
 
 snapt away. 
 
 And you shall find a wife more kind, and she shall 
 
 love you long, 
 But at your passing, Ulick, when I can do no wrong 
 
 73
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 To any timid hope of hers, you'll turn your eyes 
 
 to me 
 To guide you to the Quiet Place beyond the 
 
 utmost sea. 
 
 RAISSA 
 
 I TOOK a rose to my bosom, 
 
 A rose to my bridal-bed : 
 I bound her fast ^vdth solemn oaths, 
 
 With a silver ring I wed. 
 " O fool, and blind, misguided " — 
 
 My friends and lovers cried, 
 " How wilt thou keep her faithful 
 
 When autumn calls thy bride ?" 
 Alas, alas, Ralssa, 
 My rose ! 
 
 My rose lay sweet on my bosom, 
 Though all the world gainsaid : 
 
 I watched her change to a Avoman 
 With Avreath and girdle red. 
 
 Upon her ripening beauty 
 My pride and worship fed. 
 74
 
 RAISSA 
 
 I gave her a silken pillow 
 
 Fringed deep with golden thread. 
 Alas^ alas, Raissa, 
 ISIy rose ! 
 
 Was never so fair a woman 
 
 And never so red a rose ; 
 My love grew tall as a lily 
 
 Whose cup with dew o'erflows. 
 Her hair was black as a bird's wing, 
 
 Her bosom shamed the snows, 
 I sang her songs far sweeter 
 
 Than any the hill-wind knows. 
 Alas, alas, Ralssa, 
 My rose ! 
 
 Cold autumn from the garden 
 Called every rose but she : 
 Set guards upon the rose-bush 
 That flowerless it might be : 
 Raissa murmured in her sleep 
 And sickened for her tree : 
 Raissa moaned upon my breast, 
 And would not smile at me. 
 Alas, alas, Raissa 
 My rose ! 
 
 75
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Upon my bed of scarlet 
 
 She lies that cannot die, 
 Among her kindred roses. 
 
 And endless is her ciy. 
 And I whose arms are round her. 
 
 Heavy and sad am I — 
 Life from my hand she has taken 
 
 And cannot put it by. 
 Alas, alas, Ra^ssa, 
 My rose ! 
 
 THE FOSTER-MOTHER 
 
 Oh, hush, my Dear, baloo, my Dear — 
 
 Lie still and sleep a wee : 
 The restless wind ye cannot hear, 
 
 Nor yet the soughing sea ; 
 Thy mither is a saulless thing 
 
 And will not bide wi' ye. 
 
 Thy mither is a fei'ly fine, 
 
 Can neither greet nor pray. 
 Her thochts are licht as down the win' 
 
 Blaws up and blaws away ; 
 
 76
 
 THE FOSTER-MOTHER 
 
 Thy daddy is a crowned king, 
 Rules 't-wixt the night and day. 
 
 Thy mither's eyes are gray as glass 
 
 Aneath her gowden hair; 
 The howlet is her waiting-lass, 
 
 The grasshopper doth bear 
 Her banner through the rushen ring 
 
 Between the gowans fair. 
 
 Thy mither has no saul to lose 
 
 Nor any luve to gie ; 
 She jaloused not to see ye choose 
 
 The human breist o' me. 
 My fosterling, sae close ye cling 
 
 Ye'U never set me free. 
 
 Ye'U never set me free, my bairn, 
 
 To suckle those my ain : 
 The fairy gowd and gear I airn 
 
 I'll give your kin again"; 
 For you, my fairy fosterling, 
 
 I've bocht wi' dool and pain. 
 
 Lie still, my Dear, baloo, my Dear— 
 I winna let ye gae : 
 
 77
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I've nursed you at my breist a year^ 
 
 And will not turn away ; 
 And see the door o' Elflan' swing 
 
 Between you and the day. 
 
 THE SAMPHIRE GATHERER 
 
 The samphire gatherer to the difF-face chngs 
 Halfway 'twixt sky and sea : 
 She has but youth and courage for her wings. 
 And always Death about her labour sings. 
 And fain would loosen steady hand or knee. 
 And cast her down among life's broken things. 
 But danger shakes with fitful murmurings 
 No such brave heart as she. 
 
 The gulls are crying in her heedless ears 
 That strength is made a mock 
 At grips with the great sea. She has no fears. 
 But treads with naked feet the stair of rock 
 That has but known for years on weary years 
 The touch of sea-gulls' Avings, the sea that rears 
 Her waves against it with recurrent shock, 
 The sun that burns and sears. 
 
 78
 
 JENIFER 
 
 She has no fears because her daily bread 
 
 She sees made manifest 
 
 Here in the pendulous weed that tempts her tread 
 
 Upon so wild and dangerous a quest. 
 
 The samphire sways and dangles overhead 
 
 And home is far below ; and in that nest 
 
 Are little hungry mouths that must be fed, 
 
 Though Danger be her neighbour and her guest. 
 
 Night brings her little children to her knee 
 
 For daily bread to pray ; 
 
 Their father tosses on the open sea, 
 
 Where flashing shoals of silver dolphins play. 
 
 But hungry mouths must feed while he 's aAvay, 
 
 So the brave mother clambers day by day. 
 
 And pulls the samphire trails, and knows not she 
 
 Is of that school of saints that wear no bay. 
 
 But do God's work the still and splendid way. 
 
 JENIFER 
 
 Fate met me as a cottage-girl, 
 Her hair hung in one long black curl. 
 On shoulders dimpled, bare, and kissed 
 79
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 By morning suns : the evening mist 
 Gloomed in her eyes to amethyst. 
 
 Her lips were red as strawben'ies, 
 Bare feet and brown sowed jealousies 
 Among the grasses that would fain 
 Unto a kiss of them attain — 
 And havinff kissed would kiss again. 
 
 "^fe 
 
 Eyes dark as death and soft as sleep 
 Over her lips close watch did keep, 
 Forbidding and alluring both ; 
 Till I that met them was not loth 
 In them to drown myself and troth. 
 
 From the dark cottage came the girl 
 As from the rough shell slips the pearl, 
 And passed me light as wind goes by, 
 That has not strength enough to diy 
 The dew that shines on roses nigh. 
 
 She passed me, making no delay. 
 Into the quiet churchyard-hay. 
 Her body fair in russet clad, 
 Her hair the only black she had ; 
 Jenifer trysting with her lad. 
 80
 
 THE LONELY BODY 
 
 THE LONELY BODY 
 
 It's far away in London I am dwelling now^, 
 
 I hear no more the wind that blows the green 
 
 leaves on the bough ; 
 My cup is strange and bitter with the homeless 
 
 tears I shed, 
 And bitter in my mouth is the stranger's bread. 
 
 But about the well I dipped from, in the fields 
 
 where I played, 
 There cries a voice so like my voice my own folk 
 
 are afraid — 
 A voice of tears and laughter, a voice that climbs 
 
 and thrills 
 In the hazel boughs and on the distant hills. 
 
 'Tis nothing but my body that dwells in London 
 
 here, 
 And walks among the endless streets, with neither 
 
 hope nor fear 
 To quicken in the listless feet or in the sullen face 
 Some kindling of desire towards the ended race. 
 
 8i
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 We care not much who win or lose, not shining is 
 
 our goal. 
 It's bread to eat is all our quest ; if hungry goes 
 
 the soul, 
 The body's hunger keener is, and in the city 
 
 street 
 Pale women strive beside the men for bread 
 
 to eat. 
 
 Above our heads the chimneys reek, and if the wet 
 
 wind blow 
 No labour stops, no eyes look up to watch the 
 
 i-ainbow grow : 
 The river turns from gray to black, the stars come 
 
 out and fade. 
 Beneath the flaring gas-lamps we ply our trade. 
 
 'Tis nothing but my body that is so weary now. 
 And eats and drinks and sleeps in spite of hopes 
 
 that tempt and cow ; 
 'Tis nothing but my body that earns the wage you 
 
 dole. 
 But far away in Ireland is my free soul. 
 
 82
 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 Far away in Ireland, and would that I were there. 
 
 To feel the wet wind bloAving the grayness from 
 my hair : 
 
 To hear the kind sea calling the gulls that rock- 
 ward go, 
 
 And the men to their drowning with its '• hush, 
 hush O ! " 
 
 Far away in Ireland, my soul is far away 
 From these your streets that roar by night as rest- 
 less as by day ; 
 It is my lonely body that on the bed I made 
 Lies down to rest, and does not rest, and dreams 
 
 that it is dead 
 And buried deep in Irish earth with a gray stone 
 overhead. 
 
 THE QUESTION 
 
 You on the hills, I in the valley dwell. 
 You seek the highest peaks ; from time to time. 
 Baffled and wounded, to our quiet dell 
 You come to gather strength anew to climb 
 Past shimmering crevasse and icy fell. 
 
 83
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 And I am happy, though myself I tell 
 That saying Welcome I have said Farewell. 
 
 You will not cease from climbing till you die. 
 Valleys are kind and green and full of peace 
 And hei*e there are no echoes to bid cease. 
 Because they mock your laughter or your cry. 
 And yet the valley fi'iendships you put by 
 For the white hills whose heads behold God nigh. 
 The hills are cold ; and hot of heart am I. 
 
 But I am of the valleys, and I know 
 That you are of the mountains. Though perchance 
 You drink of shallow brooks when sunbeams dance. 
 We cannot quench your drouth for yonder snow. 
 Whose avalanches drown my Yes with No, 
 That, having held, will never let you go. 
 Although 3^ou be above it or below. 
 
 I am a gentian. But a little way 
 Beyond the reach of timid hands I grow ; 
 Your hands might pluck me, dearest, but I blow. 
 And wither for myself day after day, 
 And watch my fair blue petals growing gray. 
 If I were edelweiss, love, would you stay 
 To win and wear me, and then cast away ? 
 
 84
 
 THE ANSWER 
 
 THE ANSWER 
 
 Love and you in the valley. 
 Time and I on the hill : 
 
 Peace, my Dear, and content you I 
 Still, my Dear — be you still ! 
 
 Brow and breast of you over 
 
 Gentians at last shall cover. 
 Me, the snows Avill. 
 
 Peace ; for surely I loved you, 
 This only thing stands sure, 
 
 A rood for my hands to cling to 
 If nothing else endure. 
 
 Surely I love, and leave you. 
 
 And if my going grieve you, 
 This Time shall cure. 
 
 This only grief I give you. 
 
 Bitterer griefs for giving. 
 Surely I keep in my own hand 
 
 Darker webs for your weaving. 
 85
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 If I grow rue for you 
 Still, it keeps dew for you — 
 Dry is imf grieving ! 
 
 Rue in 3^our own green garden 
 Goodly and tall shall grow. 
 
 Scarcely that it is bitter 
 
 And harsh of leaf you'll know. 
 
 I might have given you nettle. 
 
 Foxglove, or poppy-petal, 
 Berry of sloe — ? 
 
 Be you content, heart's dearest, 
 You that I will not win — 
 
 Silence and snow and starlight. 
 Keep from my soul this sin — - 
 
 Sin of touching with shadow. 
 
 You in your island-meadow 
 Calling the cattle in. 
 
 86
 
 THE ROWING-SONG OF KING ATLI 
 
 THE ROWING-SONG OF KING ATLI 
 
 Row, row through the darkhng sea, 
 One king's daughter is waiting me : 
 Her hair is unbound till I come to land, 
 And gather her hair in my conqueror's hand ; 
 And set my crown on her shining head. 
 And bear her, crowned, to our wedding-bed. 
 
 Row, I'ow under skies of gray, 
 
 Two kings' sisters I carried away. 
 
 They sleep in my byre and they milk my kine. 
 
 And the dreams they dream are servants of mine. 
 
 Row, row through the threshing waves — 
 Red cocks crow over three kings' graves. 
 Their wives at my vdll they saw and knew. 
 Then my mercy sjjoke and my henchmen slew. 
 
 Row, row while the oar-blades hold — 
 Four kings' children I bought and sold : 
 Two that had sucked at the same kind breast 
 I sundered as far as East from West. 
 
 87
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 One that had cursed me I clothed in gold. 
 And into the hand of a sultan sold ; 
 One that had silently ta'en iny yoke 
 I gave for a slave to my fisher-folk. 
 
 RoWj row through the sea-fires' flare, 
 Five kings' women gave me their hair ; 
 Soft was the flaxen hair, long the brown. 
 Worthy the black hair to bear a crown. 
 But Gudrun's gold hair shines them all down 
 
 Row, row while the wind holds fair, 
 
 Six kings' brothers my banner bear : 
 
 On a golden field black swoops the raven 
 
 With fear on its wings from haven to haven. 
 
 Row, row while the shore-winds blow ! 
 Seven queens Math my herd-girls go : 
 Fierce and shy are my cattle all. 
 Far must my herds go, long must they call. 
 
 Row, row, lest the good winds fail ! 
 Eight queens shall pour me my wedding-ale. 
 Light the torches and smoothly spread 
 The covers of sendal sewn with red. 
 
 88
 
 THE LAST VIKING 
 
 Row, row, for the shore is nigh ; 
 
 Nine kings I've made ; and the tenth am I, 
 
 And I am httle and swart to see, 
 
 And white is the woman that waits for me. 
 
 AtH the Hun, I come a-land 
 
 With the strength of ten kings in my hand ; 
 
 And she that I seek is deadly fair 
 
 With the beauty of ten in her eyes and hair. 
 
 THE LAST VIKING 
 
 Row ye well ; for my purpose stands. 
 And I am weary of meadowlands. 
 I'm sick of sowing and reaping folk. 
 Of arled herdsmen and beasts in yoke. 
 
 My arms are rusty, my silken gear 
 I've bartered for kisses not warm or dear ; 
 The kisses fail me, my gold being spent. 
 And I go on the path the old gods went. 
 89
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Oh, fair arc the women of stead and town. 
 But softer heai't 'neath a vadmal gown 
 Has beaten for me, and eyes more fair 
 Have smiled for me under unbound hair. 
 
 But it comes to me, as it comes to all. 
 That I am weary of folk in hall. 
 That laughter of women falls on my ear 
 As cold as the splatter of water clear. 
 
 It comes to me from the board to rise 
 
 As the old gods did, with unloving eyes. 
 
 When they sat at the feast and they drank brown 
 
 ale. 
 And they heard the wind through a flapping sail. 
 
 And gold though the trees of Glasir stood, 
 And bold though the vaunt of the giant brood, 
 They passed from fray and they passed from feast. 
 And all the tale of their greatness ceased. 
 
 They were gods, but they knew what the strong 
 
 sea says. 
 To men grown weary of easy days ; 
 They were gods, and answered a dearer call 
 Than the voices of folk that loved them all. 
 
 90
 
 THE LAST VIKING 
 
 What signs were set in the Norland sky 
 
 1 know not. They followed, and so will I, 
 
 For portent above or for sign below 
 
 There 's none will pause when the sea-winds blow. 
 
 We '11 out and away on the calling sea, 
 And the wind shall take us where we would be. 
 Till we lose all knowledge of star or breeze. 
 And push our helm into shoreless seas. 
 
 Where the sleeping girth of the Midgards-orm 
 Lies round the earth, till the last great storm 
 Breaks on the homesteads, and faring-folk. 
 And the world grows dim towards Ragnarok. 
 
 Till the Twilight come, and our oar-blades fail. 
 On the outland seas we will set our sail. 
 And talk with the gods that we chance to meet 
 Of the voice that called to their wayward feet. 
 
 Though we met no gods and we saw no star, 
 And drifted, alive, where the dead seas are. 
 Yet our path were safer, our guide more kind 
 Than paths and voices we leave behind. 
 
 We are well away, and content were I 
 
 i^er 
 91 
 
 To sail for ever, and never die !
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 BEAUTY 
 
 Beauty was born of the world's desire 
 
 For the wandering water, the wandering fire. 
 
 Under the arch of her hurrying feet 
 
 She has trodden a world full of bittersweet. 
 
 The blood of the violet is in her veins, 
 Her pulse has the passion of April rains. 
 Out of the heart of a satin flower 
 God made her eyelids in one sweet hour. 
 
 Out of the wind He made her feet 
 
 That they might be lovely, and luring, and fleet. 
 
 Out of a cloud He wove her hair 
 
 Heavy and black with the rain held there. 
 
 What is her name } There's none that knows— 
 Mother-o'-mischief, or Mouth-o'-rose. 
 What is her pathway ? None may tell. 
 But it climbs to heaven and it dips to hell. 
 
 The gannent on her is mist and fire, 
 
 and sorrow and ] 
 
 92 
 
 Anger and sorrow and heart's desire.
 
 MAY 
 
 Her forehead-jewel's an amethyst, 
 The garland to her is love-in-a-mist. 
 
 Her girdle is of the beryl-stone, 
 And one dark rose for her flower has grown. 
 Filled to the brim with the strength o' the sun, 
 A passionate rose, and only one. 
 
 The bird in her breast sings all day long 
 A wonderful, A\dstful, whispering song : 
 The song that is of all passing things. 
 None knows it — wingless or born with wings. 
 
 MAY 
 
 O May is in the waters, and May is in the wind, 
 She is the hope that hurries on, the fear that lags 
 
 behind. 
 She is the pulse that hastens the milkmaid to her 
 
 lad. 
 The vision long remembered, the goad that drives 
 
 men mad. 
 She is the growing beauty, the warmth that's in 
 
 the air — 
 
 93
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 She reddens in the ma3rflo\ver, she whitens in the 
 pear. 
 
 Where lovers go a-trysting May's heard and is not 
 
 seen. 
 She laughs among the lasses that romp upon the 
 
 green. 
 She is the soul of laughter, she is the heart of 
 
 tears, 
 She sows the seed of sorrow, she gathers fruit of 
 
 fears. 
 She sets both bud and canker to ripen with the 
 
 rose- 
 She has no mind to harvest, but endlessly she sows. 
 
 RICHMOND TO THE MANSION HOUSE 
 
 A WHITE-STEMMED birch among a huddle of larches, 
 A gleam of steel in the sky, a shudder of light ; 
 
 The loud trains hurrying on over thunderous arches, 
 These, from my window leaning, I see to-night. 
 
 The promise of May writ plain in a foam of cherrj-. 
 Tree after tree awaiting the promise of June : 
 
 94
 
 IN KEW GARDENS 
 
 A clamour of children's voices belated, merry, 
 And yonder, sailing the sky, the crescent moon. 
 
 The lighted stations grow thicker with unknown 
 faces. 
 The loud trains pass and repass : there are fewer 
 trees 
 Where high in the boughs the smoke wreaths 
 hang like laces 
 And the tense wires quiver and thrum with a 
 sound of bees. 
 
 The rails are crossed and re-crossed, and no sky 
 bends over, 
 Only a hollow darkness beneath the street : 
 And no more stars or moon but red lamps discover 
 The crowded platforms Avhere London and Rich- 
 mond meet. 
 
 IN KEW GARDENS 
 
 The lake is blue, the lake is gray. 
 Around the lake tall flag-leaves sway 
 And swither in the gentle wind. 
 The sun is strong enough to blind 
 95
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Weak eyes that love a shaded room. 
 The tulips break in scarlet bloom. 
 Blood-red, wine-red, the peonies stand 
 Like purfled flames on either hand. 
 
 The peacocks spread their splendid fans 
 And flaunt before the pelicans. 
 Wisht doves in yonder elm-trees try 
 To mock the cuckoo's wandering cry, 
 With drawling voices sad and soft, 
 Half lost among the leaves aloft. 
 The white moth with the brown moth flies 
 In shadowy silken companies. 
 
 Blue into amber fades away, 
 The furthest trees are hazy gray ; 
 The purple clouds grow tender green, 
 The rosy clouds mass soft between. 
 The wild-fowl by the water-side 
 Cry as if man's first day had died 
 And Adam, naked, stood alone 
 'Neath the first darkness he had known. 
 
 96
 
 JUNE 
 
 JUNE 
 
 Dark red roses in a honeyed wind swinging. 
 Silk-soft hollyhock, coloured like the moon ; 
 Larks high overhead lost in light, and singing ; 
 That's the way of June. 
 
 Dark red roses in the warm wind falling. 
 Velvet leaf by velvet leaf, all the breathless noon ; 
 Far-off sea- waves calling, calling, calling ; 
 That's the way of June. 
 
 Sweet as scarlet strawberry under wet leaves 
 
 hidden, 
 Honeyed as the damask rose, lavish as the moon. 
 Shedding lovely light on things forgotten, hope 
 
 forbidden — 
 
 That's the way of June. 
 
 H 97
 
 SONGS OF THE iMORNING 
 
 A JUNE NIGHT 
 
 The moon is a vampire to-night. She has sucked 
 
 from the stars 
 Their splendour of silver : they lean to us weary 
 
 and white 
 Like prisoners' faces pressed pale against window 
 
 bars, 
 And the wind is full of whispering dust to-night. 
 
 The roads are spread thickly with velvet that no 
 
 one may hear 
 Coming or going of June : shattered topaz and 
 
 pearl 
 Of the chestnuts are shed underfoot, and disappear 
 In dust that follows men's feet and the wheels 
 
 that whirl. 
 
 There's a ghost by the hedge that by day is a 
 
 blossoming elder : 
 
 A dusty and breathless scent is blown down to me 
 
 Out of the laurustinus. The sun smitten guelder 
 
 Drops her last snowball, and droops as a barren 
 
 tree. 
 
 98
 
 MONDAY 
 
 MONDAY 
 
 Oh, fair of face stands Monday 
 
 At threshold of the week, 
 A Hly in her breastknots, 
 
 A I'ose upon her cheek. 
 In kilted gown of russet 
 
 Her daily bread to seek. 
 She passes o'er the threshold, 
 
 Smiling, and does not speak. 
 
 She bears across her shoulder 
 
 A bough of blossomed may : 
 Still in her ears are ringing 
 
 Church-bells of yesterday. 
 She is as glad to labour 
 
 As Sunday was to pray — 
 But why she goes a-smiling 
 
 She will not ever say. 
 
 99
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 WHITSUN SONG 
 
 Now, maidens all, in white array 
 
 Do honour meet to Whitsun Day. 
 
 Come Avith your maunds and aprons full 
 
 Of fair brown rushes, ivies pull, 
 
 And strew the church with beech-leaves green. 
 
 With thorny boughs aflush with may, 
 
 And opening buds of iris cool 
 
 Brought hither from some forest-pool. 
 
 This day of days the idlest quean 
 
 Stays not abed, but goes to strew 
 
 God's house with green leaves fresh and new ; 
 
 Puts off her homely duffel gown 
 
 And lays her winter mantle down. 
 
 And in white garments new and clean 
 
 Goes to the holy place to pray 
 
 God's blessing on her humble way. 
 
 Lambs in the meadows are at play. 
 The sun danced when it rose to-day, 
 And every bush of gorse around 
 Burns, for God's world is holy ground. 
 
 lOO
 
 JULY 
 
 The lilies in the garden gay- 
 Look upj and Alleluia say 
 To Him who made the lily white, 
 And made the lane for weeds' delight. 
 
 The thorns shake down their white and red 
 On every passing maiden's head, 
 The yellow dandelions spread 
 Their little suns about the way — 
 Glad because fieiy tongues once lay 
 On heads of humble men, that they 
 Might tell God's love, and carry it 
 To peoples that in darkness sit. 
 
 JULY 
 
 In July 
 
 The cuckoo has an altered cry, 
 
 The peaches on the orchard wall 
 
 Glow as the roses did in June. 
 
 The orchard shadow's green and boon, 
 
 And gold, not silver, is the moon. 
 
 The cuckoo has another call 
 
 In July. 
 
 lOI
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 As one great sapphire glows the sky 
 Above the fields of yellowing grain, 
 Sunburnt and shrunk the blossomed elder 
 Stands in the noon that once beheld her 
 Whiter than snowballs of the guelder. 
 Fierce is the sun, his kisses stain 
 In July. 
 
 The rose remembers she must die 
 Before the SAvallows quit the eaves ; 
 And that she may not be forgot 
 When winds are cold that now blow hot, 
 She sheds her sweets and grudges not 
 The falling of her velvet leaves 
 In July. 
 
 Well were it, love, that you and I 
 Should take example by the rose ; 
 Sweet all her blossom-time, and sweet 
 When her heart opens to the fleet 
 June rain, and last, beneath our feet, 
 Sweet to the last, as when she glows 
 In July. , 
 
 I02
 
 TWO IN A FIELD 
 
 TWO IN A FIELD 
 
 We have bowed down the grasses for a place for 
 
 us to nest in ; 
 Lower than the grasses He our heads as we dreain 
 That all the world's as gentle as to-night its 
 
 creatures seem. 
 There was never softer couch for a man or maid 
 
 to rest in ; 
 And the grasses move about us like the cresses in 
 
 a stream. 
 
 The fairest and tallest of the grasses stand about 
 
 us 
 Whispei'ing together of the lovely life they 
 
 share : 
 Stand dreaming and bending in the warm June air. 
 The swallow does not fear us, the hedge-wren 
 
 does not flout us, 
 Nor does the white moth shun us lest we take 
 
 her unaware. 
 
 103
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 It's twilight is the moth-time : then the air is full 
 of humming 
 
 Soft little voices, the beat of filmy wings 
 
 That have no doubt of cobwebs, no fear of nettle- 
 stings. 
 
 The feather-grasses waver with the going and 
 coming 
 
 Of those that fear the daylight, the least of 
 wingbd things. 
 
 The swallows seek their food so low they bend 
 
 the feather-grasses, 
 With the breath of their wings as they bent 'neath 
 
 April showers. 
 The elder-trees that edge the field are full of 
 
 glimmering floAvers. 
 The sky is nigh as full of song as of gray cloud 
 
 that passes, 
 The blackbird sings against the wren, and all their 
 
 music's ours. 
 
 104
 
 TUESDAY 
 
 HAIL 
 
 Whispering and white of leaf the poplars foretell it, 
 Lashing and long with flickers of fire between — 
 Fire in the opening sky through the clouds that 
 
 swell it 
 Black as judgment, or livid as secret sin. 
 
 Shuddering shoulders of cloud that the live light 
 
 shivers. 
 Cloud - breasts cloven with lightning as swords 
 
 cleave shields — 
 Under the shaken darkness, the light that quivers. 
 Lambs and their dams crouch low in the sodden 
 
 fields. 
 
 TUESDAY 
 
 Helmed Tuesday, ^vith a face of care 
 Under the shadow of his hair ; 
 A lion's skin his shoulders bear. 
 105
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 He slew the beast, and wears the scars ; 
 Not scathless comes he from his wars 
 Against the cold opposing stars. 
 
 The gentler gods all mortal be : 
 Last of his kin alone goes he. 
 Bowed down with immortality. 
 
 RAGGED ROBIN 
 
 Campion to Ragged Robin said — 
 " Lift up, lift up thy gracious head : 
 Thou art the fairest beggar-maid 
 That ever stood before the King. 
 
 " Thy tattered gown's of finer stuff 
 Than this my robe that's white enough 
 By thee, my graces all are rough. 
 And soiTy are the gifts I bring. 
 
 " I sit beside the King's highway : 
 My cloak is white, my beard is gray ; 
 Justice I dole the livelong day 
 Between the hedgeweed and the King. 
 io6
 
 RAGGED ROBIN 
 
 " Thou art a weed and yet, I ween, 
 Rose-campion by thee set and seen. 
 Would lose the purples of the Queen, 
 And yield to thee both crown and ring. 
 
 " Thou art a weed, but fair to see 
 As never garden-flower could be. 
 Sweet, wilt thou stay for love of me 
 Beneath the shadow of the King ? 
 
 " I cannot give thee mirth, my sweet ; 
 But I can give thy naked feet 
 Soft grass instead of dust to meet — 
 And minstrel- wrens thy name to sing. 
 
 " Sweet, wilt forget and put aAvay 
 Thy memories of the dusty day ? 
 Weed, wilt thou change thy fate, and stay 
 To be a flower before the King r " 
 
 But Ragged Robin laughed, and said — 
 " I will not stay ; thou mayst not wed. 
 Bethink thee of the Queen's fair head. 
 And let me go a-gipsying. 
 107
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 " I am not of thy blood/' said she : 
 " Thy sheltered weird were ill to dree. 
 There is a beggar loveth me^ 
 And I have crowned him for my King." 
 
 AUGUST 
 
 Red blossoms to the rosy earth I bring : 
 The sharp-thorned briar for me is all aflush, 
 I set red hollyhocks a-blossoming, 
 Rosier than ever hawthorn flowered in spring. 
 And every bush of mine's a burning bush. 
 
 'Mid sworded leaves the gladioli push 
 Scarlet and crimson, damask roses fling 
 Red leaves upon my pathway. Musicking 
 Before my pageant goes the enamoured thrush. 
 There is no pause of beauty, of song no hush. 
 Red admirals fly about me, light of wing, 
 And love-lies-bleeding for my garland grows 
 With spicy southernwood and gipsy-rose. 
 
 1 08
 
 BRIGIT OF THE JUDGMENTS 
 
 BRIGIT OF THE JUDGMENTS 
 
 I AM Brigit — Wisdom, Light : yea, I am Bride, 
 
 I loosen all the knots that wrong has tied, 
 
 I knot all threads that should be woven in one. 
 
 I am the giver of laws ; all evil done 
 
 Is on my heart until I may unravel 
 
 Its web with heavy tears and bitter travail. 
 
 My hair is coloured like the heather honey, 
 
 My brows are cloudy and my eyes are sunny. 
 
 Judgment I hold in one hand, in the other 
 
 Pity ; I am both maiden and a mother. 
 
 I am the judgment giver ; but I give 
 Compassion to all burdened things that live. 
 Struggle, and prey, and so are preyed upon. 
 Because the work-girl's hollow cheeks are wan. 
 Mine are so pale. Because the red ant dies 
 Under a careless foot my deathless eyes 
 Ai'e dark -with dool. Because the red fox went 
 Snarling to death, the lilies have no scent 
 That are amid my breast-knots tied, to show 
 I am the mother of all that fade and grow. 
 
 109
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 One man may call me Wisdom who has heard 
 Some darkling midnight stabbed through with my 
 
 word. 
 One man will call me Light who, ere he dies, 
 Grasps at my hand and looks me in the eyes. 
 I am no Lianan-sidhe ; I will not follow 
 The soul that seeks me even in the hollow 
 Lands where the moon is not, nor any sun : 
 No travail ended and no quest begun. 
 I slay the man who called me Law, and strove 
 To slay me, but one name of mine is Love. 
 
 AN IRISH LULLABY 
 
 HusHO, husho, winds are wild in the willows, 
 Birds are warm in downy nests, every bird but 
 
 you. 
 King's children wake and toss on silken pillows 
 You have but a broken roof to keep you from the 
 dew. 
 
 Husho ! 
 
 I to
 
 SWAN WHITE 
 
 Husho, husho, rain falls cold in the city, 
 Hei-e rain falls kindly, falls warm on sleepy eyes. 
 Husho, husho ! even the clouds take pity 
 On my vourneen deelish O and leave you silver 
 skies — 
 
 Husho ! 
 
 Husho, husho, silver skies to sail in. 
 In a boat of amber, warm as any nest : 
 Ah, but can my cushla find no place to wail in 
 But the warmest place on earth, and that her 
 mother's breast ? 
 Husho ! 
 
 SWAN- WHITE 
 
 W^HiTE of bosom and brown of hair. 
 Her footfall wakens the sleepy air, 
 And suddenly sweet and strange it grows 
 With scents of lilac and thyme and rose. 
 Forest-leaves they are all astir, 
 Following fitfully after her : 
 And gold 's forsaking the prickly whin, 
 Though not for a month comes Autumn in. 
 Ill
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Under the touch of her wandering feet 
 Grass is not soft nor woodruff sweet : 
 Under the cloud of her fallen hair, 
 The rose in her bosom is scarcely fair. 
 Lilies ai-e Avhite, the wood-folk say. 
 Only before she comes that way : 
 Not a flag-flower keeps its grace. 
 All things fade when they see her face. 
 
 Brown of hair and white of skin. 
 
 Forest-ways she goes wandering in, 
 
 And nuts grow ripe ere the gathering time. 
 
 And the bees come back to the yellow lime. 
 
 Forest-shadows are all astir 
 
 With wild things crowding to look at her. 
 
 Rabbits scuttle and glow-worms crawl. 
 
 And the stonecrop stirs on the broken wall. 
 
 What is her kindred and whence comes she. 
 
 From the middle earth or the middle sea ? 
 
 Is she born of water or wind or fire. 
 
 To be a wonder, a woi'ld's desire .^ 
 
 For the soul's asleep in her eyes that make 
 
 The Spring come back for her beauty's sake, 
 
 112
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 And though she carries no sword nor spear, 
 A curse it is that has fallen here. 
 
 A curse that Swan-White knows nothing of- 
 The curse of beauty, the curse of love. 
 
 SEPTEMBER 
 
 I AM of many moods and many shapes, 
 
 I strip the chestnut and I tread the grapes. 
 
 The pulse of life runs high Avithin my veins. 
 My hands and lips are red with beiTy stains. 
 
 I bid the leaves from all their dances cease 
 And die a golden death. And I release 
 
 The spell of summer, so that all remember 
 Winter and death at beck of me, September. 
 
 113
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 LOVE IN SEPTEMBER 
 
 In days to come, Dear, will not two remember 
 This year of years, and all its twilight hours. 
 When red skies darkened like a dying ember. 
 And yom- calm garden deepened to September 
 
 In all its flowers ? 
 The twilight garden. Dear, we will remember 
 
 Who made it om's. 
 
 Sunflowers and marigolds and mint beset us. 
 Moths, white as stitchwort that had left its stem ; 
 Dear, though the garden and its folk forget us 
 
 We will remember them. 
 Loyal as sunflowers are, we will not swerve us. 
 From any faith sweet for remembering, 
 We'll make the mint's remembered spices serve us. 
 
 For autumn as in spring. 
 
 There 's other sweetness, too, shall not be driven 
 
 Away by any frosts that touch our hair : 
 
 Sweet breaths of southernwood in evening air — 
 
 Sweet breaths of southeniAvood that you have given 
 
 114
 
 MARSH MARIGOLDS 
 
 For a green breastknot to my dove-gray gown. 
 Sweet southernwood that followed me at even. 
 Me in your arms lifted so near to heaven 
 That never homespun day can drag me down. 
 
 MARSH MARIGOLDS 
 
 Here in the water-meadows 
 
 Marsh marigolds ablaze 
 Brighten the elder shadows 
 
 Lost in an autumn haze. 
 Drunkards of sun and summer 
 
 They keep their colours clear, 
 Flaming among the inarshes 
 
 At waning of the year. 
 
 Thicker than bee-swung clovers 
 
 They crowd the meadow-space ; 
 Each to the mist that hovers 
 
 Lifts an undaunted face. 
 Time, that has stripped the sunflower. 
 
 And driven the bees away, 
 Hath on these golden gipsies 
 
 No power to dismay. 
 115
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Marsh marigolds together 
 
 Then* ragged banners hft 
 Against the darkening Aveather, 
 
 Long rains and frozen drift : 
 They take the lessening sunshine 
 
 Home to their hearts to keep 
 Against the days of darkness, 
 
 Against the time of sleep. 
 
 A DEAD CHILD 
 
 Not star or flower, but lovelier than these. 
 The child came to us out of mysteries. 
 
 And to the Giver 
 We prayed that He should lay upon His gift 
 Wisdom and health and sweetness, that his days 
 Might flow like some fair river. 
 Might go as bright and lightly as the ways 
 Of a bird's wing in the blue summer lift. 
 
 Now all the stars and all the flowers are his 
 Near and dear neighbours ; but our portion is 
 Sorrow and discontent, 
 
 ii6
 
 A DEAD CHILD 
 
 Because so little way the child's feet went 
 In this our twisting pathway, that they kneAv 
 Only that grass was soft and speedAvell blue. 
 Not breath or touch of failure, little Hugh ! 
 
 And I, the stranger, make a song for him. 
 The little child, run truant into dim 
 Countries of dreams fulfilled. 
 
 More dear and fair 
 Perhaps than here our visions for him were. 
 And I, who knew his love not, share his lack — 
 And fain would help his kindred call him back. 
 But, being helpless, stand and see him pass 
 Heavenwards again ere dew dries off the grass. 
 Or glow is off the dream-house we did build. 
 
 I that would speak of comfort give no more 
 
 Than foolish tears on handles of a door 
 
 Fast bolted, that drop down like bitter myrrh : 
 
 My hand is on the latch I dare not move, 
 
 I stand outside the room of death and love — 
 
 The mother's sacred room of love and grief. 
 
 Here comfort withers like an autumn leaf, 
 
 And hope's swxet eyes are dim : 
 
 And none save she may seek to comfort him, 
 
 And none, save God, may pass and pity her — 
 
 117
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Save God the Giver 
 Who has the lambs in charge, and having given 
 Bori'ov/s — but takes not back, and in His heaven 
 Gives the child a long life — yea, for ever and ever I 
 
 ON THE EMBANKMENT 
 
 The bridge's loops were full of stars : 
 Across the bridge there went and came 
 A thousand wandering eyes of flame, 
 And then the rattle of the cars. 
 
 A stain of orange in the smoke 
 Rose and turned brown and passed away 
 A breath of music tossed like spray 
 Against the river-wall, and broke. 
 
 A new moon looked through rags of cloud, 
 A pigeon mourned among the trees ; 
 And what was yesterday a breeze 
 Made the lamps quiver, and grew loud. 
 ii8
 
 DIRGE FOR A DEAD FAIRY 
 
 Invisible the river was : 
 
 We heard it, but we could not see. 
 
 However foul its path may be 
 
 It might have been through river grass. 
 
 Of gifts it makes to days and nights 
 I took three memories away : 
 The scent of leaves that rotting lay, 
 The pigeon's call, the wandering lights. 
 
 DIRGE FOR A DEAD FAIRY 
 
 White and golden here she lies, 
 
 Mouth -of- Rose was she : 
 Violets hide her sleeping eyes ; 
 
 Leaves of rosemary. 
 Keep her from the rainy skies. 
 Winter's cold or spring's surprise, 
 
 Brawling summer bee. 
 
 White and golden floAvers we bring, 
 
 Gipsy-rose and broom ; 
 Spider shall not snare her wing, 
 119
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Yellow wasp not dare to sting 
 What we cover while we sing 
 
 Under drifts of bloom. 
 But bees bring her, murmuring, 
 
 Honey and perfume. 
 
 Oh, my grief, her yellow hair 
 
 Tempts no wind to-day. 
 Folded round her forehead fair 
 
 All her tresses stay. 
 Stealing from the summer air 
 
 Half its gold away — 
 Takes their gold and leaves them bai'e, 
 BeecliAvoods that so shining were 
 
 In the moon of May. 
 
 She will never rise again, 
 
 Woman o' the Shee. 
 In the moonlight fair and fain 
 
 She will never be. 
 Poppies red and bearded grain 
 Bending, bowing in the rain, 
 Sunrise-gold and sunset-stain 
 
 She will never see. 
 For her ears all songs are vain. 
 
 Tossed from tree to tree. 
 
 I20
 
 WHERE ARE YOU GOING? 
 
 'Tis my grief that we must go 
 (Thus our doom is said ! — ) 
 Dancing light as falhng snow. 
 Or as autumn leaves that blow 
 Lightly, lightly to and fro, 
 
 With no tears to shed. 
 Though we loved her yellow head. 
 Though her yellow head is low 
 Where the tattered ragweeds grow, 
 Though the veiy squirrels know 
 Aoine 's dead. 
 
 WHERE ARE YOU GOING .> 
 
 Where are yoxi going 
 midniean , muirnean ? 
 Beyond all snowing. 
 Beyond all reach 
 Of tenderest speech. 
 Or waves that break 
 Upon any beach ; 
 Or wind's rough blowing 
 On linn or lake — 
 It's there is going 
 Your muirnean O. 
 
 121
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Where are you going, 
 
 muiniean, muiniean ? 
 Love is not k7iowing 
 Why you fell weaiy, 
 Why you found dreary 
 
 The way all feet in the world are going. 
 Stay with us, deane — 
 Ah, muirnean ! 
 
 1 must be going ; 
 Though you stand nearest 
 Of all, and dearest. 
 
 You cannot keep me, for I must go. 
 
 Though my heart 's breaking 
 
 That I'm forsaking 
 
 The faces kent and the ways I know : 
 
 I'll not be staying 
 
 For all your praying, 
 
 For all the gifts in kind Love's bestowing. 
 
 I must not stay though you hold me so, 
 
 Ah no, no, no ! 
 
 My bird's the raven ; 
 The doves no more 
 Will I be heeding. 
 Will I be feeding 
 
 122
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 Here at my door. 
 Crooning together 
 As once of old. 
 My bed 's the heather, 
 My bed is green, 
 And it is not cold. 
 To the quiet haven 
 
 My boat is going, 
 Where no wind 's blowing 
 
 Or storm has been. 
 
 The Ninth Wave's creeping 
 
 About my feet : 
 
 Let me go. Sweet — 
 
 I'm to my sleeping 
 
 And fain to go. 
 
 muirnemi, muirnean, 
 
 My muirnean ! 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 I'm shod with mist and crowned with fire, 
 
 I wear the opal of desire. 
 
 As gray as water is my gown, 
 
 That rustles over leaves grown brown. 
 
 12^
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Above my head the kestrels hang, 
 The wild geese go with whirr and clang 
 Of passing wings, the plovers ciy 
 Above me in a yellow sky. 
 
 I have the scorpion for my star. 
 And all fair things my kindred are ; 
 All dreams too sweet for man to bear, 
 All visions builded of despair. 
 
 I am a queen, yet govern none 
 That laughs or weeps beneath the sun. 
 I wear the opal and I wear 
 The desert sands amid my hair. 
 
 ALL-HALLOWS' E'EN 
 
 The summer daAvn I cannot see. 
 The roses are not sweet to me : 
 Dewfall from rain I cannot tell ; 
 Nor can I hear the passing bell. 
 Although I lie so near the gate 
 Where coffins and their bearers wait. 
 124
 
 ALL-HALLOWS' E'EN 
 
 But, let my lover pass, I know 
 His footstep in my grave below 
 The rose he planted, and the old 
 Delight in this my breast grown cold, 
 Stirs and awakes ; I lie aglow — 
 I, buried near a year ago, 
 
 A year ago — a heavy year 
 I've lain outside your arms, my Dear. 
 But now October's frosty dew 
 Is on the branches of the yew ; 
 And when the frosty dew falls thick 
 The dead may rise and seek the quick, 
 And blow the ashes of old fires. 
 And drop hot tears on dead desires, 
 That haply they may bloom again. 
 Dead faces through the window-pane 
 Look wistfully towards the hearth ; 
 Men break off sharply in their mirth, 
 Because old laughter that they knew 
 Answers their jest, and slays it too. 
 
 Mourners that find a year not long 
 Enough to turn their moan to song, 
 Feel hands familiar on the heads 
 That restlessly on widowed beds 
 125
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Turn, seeking comfort. Lovers find 
 
 No shrieking sorrow in the wind. 
 
 For passionate arms are round them thrown 
 
 And what's to them the gray headstone. 
 
 The carven cross, the Avritten woe ? 
 
 Dead love is here is all they know. 
 
 Love, I am hurrying to thy bi-east. 
 
 Open thine arms that I may rest. 
 
 Love, I am here, and anguish past, 
 
 Like an old garment rent and cast — 
 
 All-Hallows' E'en has come at last. 
 
 THE PIPERS 
 
 I HEARD the fairy pipers complaining all night long. 
 They quenched the stars and made the wind grow 
 
 wistful with their song. 
 I heard the fairy pipers complaining far away, 
 And my heart was stirred like a mateless bird in 
 
 the dawning o' the day. 
 
 The pipes played high upon the hills, the pipes 
 
 own 
 126 
 
 went wandering down
 
 THE PIPERS 
 
 Where the dawn-wind at the sea-edge niffles the 
 
 sea-wrack brown. 
 I heard the fairy pipers while the rose grew out o' 
 
 the gray, 
 And my heart beat high as they went by in the 
 
 dawning o' the day. 
 
 There's dew upon the hillsides no piper's foot may 
 
 spill, 
 They cast no shadow, those who pipe the dreams 
 
 of morning still. 
 Their passing will not rustle the least leaf on the 
 
 spray. 
 But life beats low as they come and go in the 
 
 dawning o' the day. 
 
 O shrill and sweet for faiiy feet the fairy pipers 
 
 blow. 
 But O not dear it is to hear the fairy music go ; 
 And fain were I from all I love to rise and steal 
 
 away. 
 For my soul, maATone ! they made their own in 
 
 the dawning o' the day. 
 
 127
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD 
 
 The blackbird has a mouth of gold, though sombre 
 
 be his feathers, 
 The lark is for the summer noon, the blackbird for 
 
 all weathers ; 
 The lark he sets his heart above all things that are 
 
 on earth, 
 But the blackbird in the cherry-tree finds rest and 
 
 food and mirth. 
 
 The blackbird is a bonny bird despite his mourning 
 colour, 
 
 He sings but all the merrier when earth and skies 
 grow duller. 
 
 He whistles and he sings the while he swings 
 from tree to tree. 
 
 For a rare mate and a fair mate in the cherry- 
 boughs has he. 
 
 Of all the trees in the orchard the cherry-tree's 
 
 the best. 
 For deep amid its branches, like a blithe heart in 
 
 its breast, 
 
 128
 
 HOLLAND-TIDE 
 
 There lilts a hidden blackbird and he's singing to 
 
 his dear, 
 And who would grudge their cherries so sweet a 
 
 song to hear ? 
 
 Oh, who would grudge their whitehearts to pay 
 for such a song ? 
 
 God love the meny blackbird who lifts the year 
 along : 
 
 God shield the blackbird's nestlings and the black- 
 bird's brooding ^vife, 
 
 And fill up with sweets full measure the days of 
 the blackbird's life. 
 
 HOLLAND-TIDE 
 
 Lay down your work, take up your dream ; 
 Fiddles, make music wild and dim. 
 
 Cry, changeling, at the door. 
 The rich man's gold is withered leaves. 
 The empty nests beneath the eaves 
 
 With song are bi-imming o'er. 
 
 K 129
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 The holy time is here again : 
 
 Small hands beat on the window-pane, 
 
 Old ashes glow and stir. 
 The dreamer dreameth not that he 
 Has seen and lost the Lianan-shee/ 
 
 But holds and kisses her. 
 
 He kisses her, all unafraid, 
 Like any loving, living maid. 
 
 Ghosts to the warm hearth-place 
 Come back again, and find no fear 
 In any heart where they were dear — 
 
 No change in any face. 
 
 The dead wife takes upon her breast 
 Her husband's tired head to rest ; 
 
 Lost love comes to its own. 
 And in the quiet-breathing night 
 Frustrated hope finds full delight. 
 
 And widows lie not lone. 
 
 The buried mother from her sleep 
 Rises, her loving watch to keep 
 
 Her restless babe beside. 
 Dead maids so sweet and tender seem 
 
 ^ Fairy mistress. 
 130
 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 Their living lovers dare to dream 
 That they have never died. 
 
 But the sweet night is all too brief. 
 Hands close upon a withered leaf, 
 
 And not beloved hair. 
 The pillow in the morning light 
 Shows but a little print, and slight, 
 
 Of the dear sleeper there. 
 
 The widow, shuddering, turns her face 
 From the swept, empty, garnished place, 
 
 The new day's ruddy sun. 
 The ashes on the hearth are gray : 
 The wistful ghosts have stolen away, 
 
 And Holland-tide is done. 
 
 NOVEMBER 
 
 Few love me and but few I love, 
 
 Yet I am fair ; 
 Tui'quoise my broad skies bend above. 
 In rose and opal fair to see 
 My sunsets die in freezing air. 
 131
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 I hush the birds, and last year's nest 
 
 I fill abrim with frosty rain. 
 
 I make upon the window-pane 
 
 A wonder of white tracery. 
 
 The stream is dumb at my behest. 
 
 I am the bringer of the snow, 
 
 I lay the old year's splendour low. 
 
 Yet none of them 
 Whose feet I clog forget that I 
 
 Bring Advent nigh, 
 And the dear Babe of Bethlehem. 
 
 WINCHELSEA CASTLE 
 
 The ivy round the crumbling keep 
 Clings where the banner used to sweep, 
 A blaze of crimson and of gold — 
 Lions and leopards, fold on fold. 
 A spiny stem of bugloss flowers 
 Deep blue upon the outer towers ; 
 Through the great gate unchallenged pass 
 Sheep, seeking out the untrimmed grass. 
 132
 
 WINCHELSEA CASTLE 
 
 Out of the tower-ivies fly 
 Clouds of shy swallows ; in the sky, 
 White against blue the sea-gulls sweep. 
 The shadow of the broken keep 
 Lies dark, the sunlit pause is stirred 
 By the soft chatter of a bird : 
 Robin to robin calls and sings, 
 The ivy's full of robins' wings. 
 
 There, where the haAvthorn tops the wall, 
 
 Robins to robins cry and call, 
 
 With plaintive notes that drop and die 
 
 Like singing water plashing by. 
 
 The haws are reddening on the bough. 
 
 And there the redbreast flashes now. 
 
 And here and there and everywhere 
 
 The robin's song is in the air. 
 
 The ivy drops her diamonds down, 
 The rain-cloud leaves the red-roofed town 
 Sparkling and gleaming in the sun : 
 And now the rain is past and done. 
 The birds sing out in triumph new 
 As if the first rain Eden through 
 Had blown and freshened, ere red clay 
 Stood up, a man, to meet the day. 
 133
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 LOVE SIX MONTHS OLD 
 
 Six months strong this seed of our sowing, 
 Six months tall this flower of our growing, 
 Six months sweet this Love of our knowing, 
 Six months long since our love was new, 
 Shy and strange in the hearts it drew 
 One to another. Night and day. 
 Love in our hearts knows now the way. 
 
 Love in our hearts is glad to remember 
 What June found strange, in late December 
 Is grown so sweet, so sure a thing — 
 Surer than sorrow, sweet as spring, 
 Sweeter than spring, for all the year, 
 Rose-red July and dim November, 
 Have helped to grace our love, my Dear. 
 
 It breathes of rose and southernwood. 
 It dreams of southernwood and rose : 
 This happy homely love of ours. 
 Not fostered upon alien flowers — 
 But salt of sudden tears it knows, 
 134
 
 FINLAND LAMENT 
 
 And change of tune and interlude. 
 And sweeter by all these it grows. 
 
 And it is red with beating blood, 
 And quick with hurrying breath, and beat 
 Of pulses leaping when there meet 
 Bosom and cheek. Ah, love me, Dear — 
 Though skies grow dull that now are clear, 
 Up to the height of this good year. 
 
 FINLAND LAxMENT 
 
 Deep amid the thorny brakes 
 Robin tries his farewell song : 
 Ice is chaining up the lakes. 
 And my lover me forsakes. 
 But I will not lack love long. 
 Blind love, stay far for me : 
 Kind love, thy star for me 
 Light, for I scarce can see 
 My darkling road to thee, 
 Nurmi-Tomas ! ^ 
 
 '^ Tom o' the Grass, i.e. Death. 
 135
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Swallows sing, but will not stay 
 In their yearly wandering. 
 Robin pipes a faltering lay. 
 But, throughout the winter day, 
 Robin stays who will not sing. 
 Blind love, stay far for me : 
 Kind love, thy star for me 
 Quench, for I cannot stay 
 Here in the darkling day. 
 Heal me thine own swift way, 
 Nurmi-Tomas ! 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Baby Christ in the manner 
 
 Lay, with kine around. 
 Softer than the woven silk. 
 Warm as love, and white as milk 
 
 Mary's arms He found ; 
 Snowflakes through the broken roof 
 Made strewings for the ground. 
 
 Little Christ in the garden 
 
 Lay, and laughed to greet 
 136
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Roses of a hundred leaves, 
 Red as skies on frosty eves. 
 
 Damask-red, and sweet. 
 It was but a dying rose 
 Made strewings for His feet. 
 
 Man Christ into the city 
 
 Through Hosannas rode : 
 Gray old mothers prayed for Him, 
 Tall centurions stayed for Him, 
 
 Herds forgot the goad ; 
 Man and babe and maid for Him 
 Green palm-branches strowed. 
 
 Thus have I wrought my carol 
 
 Out of drifted snow, 
 Strewings of red rose-leaves fair, 
 Strewings of the Maudlin's hair. 
 
 Palms that greenly grow. 
 Let us make to-night for Thee 
 Cold hearths kind and bright for Thee, 
 Wash our stained hearts white for Thee 
 Lattices make light for Thee, 
 
 Child, and man, and Saviour, 
 
 As of long ago. 
 
 137
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 NEXT YEAR'S FLOWERS 
 
 Under the snow so deep, so deep, 
 Next year's flowers talked in their sleep 
 Of buds to come and of trysts to keep. 
 
 Next year's rose said soft and clear — 
 
 " When I come to the waiting year. 
 
 Shall the long day be as the short night. Dear ? 
 
 Next year's lily breathed beloAV 
 Veil and amice of silken snow. 
 Cold and fine as a fountain's flow. 
 
 Next year's lily whispered faint, 
 
 " Let me not die of my long restraint, 
 
 Maiy, take me to thee, my Saint. 
 
 Though I grow low as thy garment's hem, 
 Lesser than daisies, lost in them, 
 Mind'st thou the lilies of Bethlehem } " 
 
 " Winter and spring run lightly by," 
 Said the flower of the strawbeny : 
 " Dance, dear Hours, till ye bring July." 
 
 138
 
 SORROW'S A BIRD 
 
 « Grow we as God wills, slow or swift, 
 Or never pierce through the piled drift." 
 This is the song that the grasses lift. 
 
 This is the song that I heard them say, 
 Flowers of the next year ; hidden away 
   Under the snow on Christmas Day, 
 On Christmas Day in the morning. 
 
 SORROW'S A BIRD 
 
 Sorrow's a bird with a black wing over 
 The half of life, but one wing's of gold : 
 And the dusky feathers are good to cover 
 Nestlings away from the dark and cold. 
 
 Sorrow's a bird, and we may not take it 
 In any net that is woven here : 
 No gin so cunning it will not break it. 
 No lure so sweet it will think it dear. 
 
 Sorrow's a bird, and no wit can measure 
 The strength of its flight, and for no one's word 
 Will it stay its wings in the deeps of azure. 
 Yet a nest it has, and a mate for pleasure. 
 And a song in April, for Sorrow's a bird. 
 139
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 COMPENSATION 
 
 Kiss me with the kisses of thy mouth — 
 
 I lie alone and wakeful all night long. 
 
 Cool bright north wind, keen star in the south, 
 
 Coolness is a pain — brightness a wrong. 
 
 I lie alone and wakeful all night long. 
 
 Heart of me, dost dream of me to-night ? 
 In the dax-k my hands to thee out-reach. 
 Turn thy dream to me and make mine bright. 
 Thou whose silence is to me like speech. 
 Take the hands through dark to thee that reach. 
 
 Nay, but sleep thy fill, not vexed like me 
 With light hopes and little buzzing fears : 
 From my restlessness thou art set free 
 By the trouble of thy daylight years. 
 'Tis in twilight women find their tears. 
 
 Yet in stress of tears or bitter drouth, 
 I shall find my comfort on thy breast. 
 Kiss me with the kisses of thy mouth ! 
 
 T40
 
 A LAPP PRAYER 
 
 Lift me outwards, upwards from my rest 
 To the toil, the trouble, and the quest. 
 I am thine ; and womanhood is best — 
 Kiss m.e with the kisses of thy mouth. 
 
 A LAPP PRAYER 
 
 The day beginning the holy seven 
 We give great thanks to the King of Heaven : 
 We, who are sinned against and sinning, 
 We, grown weary of losing and winning 
 
 The things of little worth : 
 We that are strong, we that are weak. 
 
 Thy quiet places seek. 
 And lift unto Thy holy hills our earth — 
 
 The day beginning 
 The seven. 
 
 Lord, who didst light the fixed stars in heaven, 
 And gave the marsh-fire to us for a fear. 
 And bade the sun be beautiful and dear — 
 We thank Thee for Thy giving : for the seven 
 
 Days for our daily bread ; 
 We thank Thee for Thy wandering angels here. 
 
 And Thy fixed stars o'erhead. 
 141
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 We praise Thee for the strait path and the byway, 
 We praise Thee for the thorns that fend the rose : 
 We praise Thee for the weeds upon the highway, 
 And for the hhes in the garden-close : 
 We praise in our way who would praise in Thy 
 
 way, 
 If like the stars we did not sing but shine, 
 Nor in the growing daylight faint and dwine. 
 
 We praise Thee, God, for all strong things that 
 be ; 
 
 The glorious sea 
 Filled full of creatures that Thy hand hath made 
 Fulfilled of joy, for no man made afraid. 
 For oaks that lift their great arms to the sky. 
 For oaks that fall beneath the axe, and die. 
 We praise Thee, God, for all weak things that go 
 
 Thy loving eyes below : 
 Coney and mouse and squirrel-folk that flee 
 When none pursueth : every timid thing 
 That opes wild eyes or lifts a frightened wing. 
 We thank Thee for the willow-weed and mallow 
 
 As for the forest tree ; 
 
 We praise Thee for the puddle, and the shallow 
 
 Brooklet as for the sea. 
 
 142
 
 A LAPP PRAYER 
 
 Thou giv'st the reindeer moss : and in Thy 
 
 keeping 
 Are all the sands and snows. 
 Thou seest the bird's fall and the gray wolf's 
 
 leaping ; 
 The wind's way as it goes 
 Is shaped by Thee : Thy hands the leaves are 
 
 heaping 
 When the nor' wester blows. 
 
 The hunter's shouts : the drops the quarry bled, 
 The hidden heavy tears of women's weeping, 
 
 Hast Thou not numbered ? 
 And all the shadoAvy fears upon us creeping 
 About us for a curtain to our bed : 
 Hast Thou not seen them when Thy friends were 
 
 keeping 
 111 watch, when bitter sorrow crowned Thy head ? 
 Even dreams that come to vex the troubled 
 
 sleeping 
 Of quick men ; and the light sleep of the dead, 
 For this and these, and all Thy ways and days ; 
 
 We give Thee praise — 
 Even so, we give Thee praise. 
 
 143
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 HERTHA 
 
 Hertha goes through the heaving crowd. 
 
 And the sound of the sea in men's ears grows loud. 
 
 Hertha blossoms the lily-stem 
 
 That women may dream back to Bethlehem. 
 
 Hertha strews in the trodden mud 
 
 Here a ruby and there a bud. 
 
 Hertha hides 'neath her fallen hair 
 Dreams too sweet for the world to bear. 
 Hertha' s blind, but she knows and hears 
 The groAvth of grass and the droj3ping of tears. 
 Hertha's home there is no man knows : 
 Depth of the sea or heart of the rose. 
 
 Every pulse is a pulse of hers : 
 Rush of rain and the sap that stirs, 
 Desire of goodness, desire of sin. 
 Dreams that go when the day comes in — 
 Thrill of the thrush ere her songs begun. 
 Scents that the whin-bush yields the sun. 
 
 144
 
 THE CAROL OF THREE KINGS 
 
 Alike in the speedwell and the skies 
 
 She has bidden the colour of faith arise : 
 
 Crocus and comet alike she knows, 
 
 And the riddling doubt with its ebbs and flows. 
 
 She has bidden the rose go down to death 
 
 With the sweetness of life in her latest breath. 
 
 From her eyes that see not is nothing hidden. 
 
 Lawful pleasure or joy foi-bidden. 
 
 The new grass quickening down in the sod, 
 
 And the morning star singing up to God ; 
 
 The stir of the lengthening iris-spears. 
 
 And the voice of the four winds Hertha hears — 
 
 But Hertha hears, through the laughter of men. 
 The broken sob of the Magdalen. 
 
 THE CAROL OF THREE KINGS 
 
 Out of the East we have followed a star, 
 Gaspar, Melchioi-, Balthazar. 
 I who am Melchior, bent and gray. 
 Bear not lightly the toilsome way ; 
 L 145
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Bear not gladly the shivering wind, 
 Leagues before us and leagues behind. 
 Crown and orb will not keep from the cold- 
 I was a king, but now I am old. 
 
 Many a battle and many a scar 
 Marked out my cousin Balthazar : 
 Of Gaspar the boy no harpers sing — 
 Of a flowerless country the deedless king. 
 But age and youth in the quest have met. 
 And journeys come to the good end set; 
 And lighting down by a stable-door 
 I bring the homage of Melchior. 
 
 " I bring and give to the Holy Child 
 Snowy pearls for the Undefiled. 
 Rose-red rubies that put to shame 
 Flower of sunset or flower of flame. 
 Jasper, jacinth, and selenite. 
 Sea-green beryl and malachite, 
 Milky fires that in opals shine ; 
 Take, little King, for they all are Thine." 
 But mine-brought jewel or sea- wrought gem. 
 The fair Child heeded not one of them. 
 146
 
 THE CAROL OF THREE KINGS 
 
 Then knelt and greeted Him Balthazar, 
 
 Swart and scarred from 1 is last wild war. 
 
 " Here, little King, is homage free — 
 
 He knows not Herod who kneels to Thee. 
 
 Gums I have brought Thee, sweet with spice, 
 
 As winds that blow out of Paradise : 
 
 A lump of amber that fishers drew 
 
 Up where the green sea meets the blue ; 
 
 A silver casket, a bag of musk. 
 
 And a dagger cai-ved from a wild beast's tusk." 
 
 But the young Child turned fi-om the spice and 
 
 gums. 
 And now 'tis Gaspar who greeting comes. 
 " My country lies near the sunrise : thence 
 I have brought but a handful of frankincense. 
 And a little flasket of bitter myrrh. 
 Poor is my land and the king of her, 
 And out of our poortith at Thy feet 
 We wring a love-gift bitter and sweet ; 
 And out of our poortith thus I bring 
 Gifts for a slave, not gifts for a King." 
 
 But deep in the young Child's quiet eyes 
 We saw a flickering smile arise, 
 
 147
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 And the little hands that were all too frail 
 To grasp red ruby or silver pale. 
 They closed and clung over Gaspar's gift — 
 And we went forth in the blinding drift. 
 
 The Child Avas scarce to a lad's height grown, 
 When over my grave they laid the stone, 
 With many a royal and wizard rite, 
 And torches scaring afar the night. 
 He had broken the seals on Lazarus set 
 When Balthazar and his death-hour met. 
 Gaspar wept over Him when he died. 
 Kneeling and mourning the Cross beside. 
 When the veil of the Temple was torn in twain. 
 And the earth was rocking in travail-pain. 
 
 We are dead and dust, and our realms forget 
 That ever such kings by a stable met ; 
 Yet we remember and rise and ride. 
 Ghosts though we be, each Christmas tide. 
 But the cock crows soon, and it well may be 
 We shall ride Time down to Eternity. 
 The clouds are heavy with more than rain. 
 But we ride, for the Christ is come again ; 
 And we must meet Him, as once of old. 
 With gifts of frankincense, myrrh, and gold. 
 
 148
 
 A LITTLE CREED 
 
 A LITTLE CREED 
 
 Life is a scroll whereon the soul must wiite 
 
 Its tale of peace or sorrow or delight. 
 
 No man may leave it white. 
 
 But write true words thereon, though these were 
 
 only 
 " / lived," " I /oved," " I hoped," or " / ?vas lonely." 
 
 The one false word of life is Ichabod, 
 
 The glory is not departed : 
 
 They lie who say it, being heavy-hearted. 
 
 The glory was here ; the gloiy is hid with God. 
 
 All glories that we lose, or we forego 
 
 Some day shall find us, this I surely know. 
 
 All lost and lovely things of long ago. 
 
 Whose living fire grew cold 
 
 Upon the altars that we built of old. 
 
 Shall come and warm again 
 
 The gray and empty places of our pain ; 
 
 Visible gods and fair 
 
 Breathing immortal promise in the air 
 
 That, being past sunset, lets all colours go. 
 
 149
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Gladness and sadness that we put away. 
 And every dim belief of yesterday 
 For which we do not pray. 
 Grown old and cold and tired with long desire- 
 Grown stiff with kneeling in a winter's night 
 In the ghost-ridden place of old delight, 
 Blowing the ashes gray 
 Of youth's extinguished fii-e ; 
 Grace that we dare not hope for. 
 Good that we blindly grope for — 
 
 A sweet and piteous host 
 
 Of lovelinesses lost. 
 
 When we are tired of seeking, and are still — 
 Broken, not in desire, but in our will. 
 Our heart's desire shall come to us, and kiss 
 The lips that lost their colour, seeking this. 
 
 THE PRINCE I WAITED FOR 
 
 Indeed, I had no thought of love. 
 Had seen no Prince worth dreaming of. 
 Until the little folk in green 
 150
 
 MOONRISE 
 
 With faery ointment touched my eyes, 
 And I beheld with strange surprise 
 Stars shilling where the dust liad been. 
 The woi'ld about me Avas made new, 
 And then, dear heart, I looked on you ! 
 
 Oh, trust me then, my clearer eyes 
 Looked past your every-day disguise. 
 And saw your restless soul shine through 
 Grave mouth and sombre eyes, and laid 
 My pride aside that you might tread 
 Upon it, for at last I knew 
 Whatever hodden cloak you wore. 
 The very Prince I waited for. 
 
 MOONRISE 
 
 I ROSE in the night and the moon in the night was 
 
 rising, 
 A full-blown bubble of silver, a ghostly fii-e 
 White without heat, like beauty without desire 
 The moon was rising. 
 151
 
 SONGS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Gray clouds gave back before her, the wind dropped 
 
 wingless, 
 The light that shone from her hair was white and 
 
 cold. 
 Before her the stars were darkened, as gods were 
 
 of old, 
 
 The frost was stingless. 
 
 Was one star dared to follow her, one star only, 
 A star without name of my knowing, a small star 
 
 lonely. 
 That never would win her, and never would tarry 
 
 or tire — 
 The streets were empty of feet and the hearths of 
 
 fire. 
 
 The moon was rising. 
 
 THE END 
 
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