THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 VERSES
 
 VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 HERBERT KENNEDY 
 
 A. C. CURTIS 
 GUILDFORD 
 MDCCCCXI
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 (1909). PAGE 
 
 1 The Flower of Love i 
 
 2 A Tree in Winter 2 
 
 3 Pulvis et Umbra Sumus ... ... ... ... 4 
 
 4 Daffodils 6 
 
 5 An Autumn Storm ... ... ... 9 
 
 6 Golden Days 13 
 
 7 Tom-Tit 15 
 
 8 June Music 16 
 
 9 Songe d'Automne ... ... ... .,. ... 17 
 
 10 Dartmoor ... ... ... ... ... ... 20 
 
 11 The Pyramids 23 
 
 12 Mary of England 26 
 
 (1910). 
 
 13 On the Cliffs 34 
 
 14 Buttermere 35 
 
 15 A la belle Etoile 37 
 
 16 The Road 39 
 
 17 To Sis in the Happy Valley 41 
 
 18 The Wooing of Signy 43 
 
 19 Wake, Love, mine own ! ... ... ... ... 49 
 
 20 If Love were all ... ... ... ... 50 
 
 21 If thou wert mine 51 
 
 22 On the River 52 
 
 23 The Dream City 53 
 
 24 After the Duel 54 
 
 25 The Land Baby 55 
 
 26 In a Church 58 
 
 27 The First of June 60 
 
 28 The Invalid's Prayer 62
 
 PAGE 
 
 29 In Memoriam (King Edward VII.) 64 
 
 30 Yearning 65 
 
 31 A Prayer ... ... ... ... ... ... 67 
 
 32 Sunset Dreams 68 
 
 33 To U.K. 70 
 
 34 Paola and Francesca ... ... ... 73 
 
 35 La Belle Dame Sans Merci 75 
 
 36 The Rejected Lover ... ... ... ... ... 76 
 
 37 The Call of the Mountains , 77 
 
 38 TheMillwheel 78 
 
 39 The Twilight Land 80 
 
 40 Grasmere 89 
 
 41 Evening at the Ferry 91 
 
 42 To Amaryllis ... ... ... ... ... ... 94 
 
 43 The Garden 96
 
 PREFACE 
 
 HERBERT LENNARD GOODRICH KENNEDY died at 
 Charterhouse, November 7, 1910. Although he 
 was only eighteen, he had for several years been 
 writing verses, of which even the earliest showed a 
 mind of rare quality. 
 
 The poems in this volume are the work of his 
 last two years and have been collected by the 
 Charterhouse Poetry Society in remembrance of 
 a loved friend and a true poet. 
 
 With one or two exceptions, we give them here 
 in the order in which they were written. 
 
 CHARTERHOUSE, 1911.
 
 Pft 
 
 THE FLOWER OF LOVE. 
 APRIL, 1909. 
 
 Love is the pale pure blossom white that blows 
 In this world's tangled garden, herb divine 
 That in high Heaven with holy radiance glows, 
 
 Shedding pure fragrance round the throne of 
 God ; 
 
 Ne'er gathered save on angels' breasts to shine, 
 From their bright hands down fall'n, whene'er 
 they trod 
 
 The starry depths and viewed the loveless lands 
 Of this sad world. And so the floweret grows, 
 Soft-shadowed by the whiteness of their wings, 
 And nurtured tenderly by heavenly hands 
 To be the comfort and the balm of things 
 Strong to wake hope within the hearts of those 
 Who seek to find throughout their fleeting hour 
 Light 'mid the darkness of Life's stormy sea, 
 Yet seek in vain, until one little flower 
 Smiles upward on their sad souls gloriously 
 
 Blessed, by that Heaven from which all sweet- 
 ness flows, 
 
 With immortality ; 
 
 For if the world lies not true love is Heaven, 
 And Heaven can never die. 
 
 881853
 
 A TREE IN WINTER. 
 
 1909. 
 
 Old tree, the snowqueen passed thee in the night 
 And thrilled thee with the magic of her hand ; 
 For now at dawn thy trembling arms rise white 
 Above a world new-turned to fairyland. 
 
 The gleaming fretwork of the frosted leaves 
 Stretches a silver web from bough to bough ; 
 
 Bright threads the snow-sprite's shining shuttle 
 weaves, 
 
 White-hung by fairy fingers high and low. 
 
 Perchance, bowed down beneath thy load of snow, 
 Unconscious of thy beauty, thou hast dreams 
 Of summer, and hast sighed for winds that blow 
 More softly and the song of sunlit streams. 
 
 Old friend, thou would 'st not sigh could 'st thou 
 but guess 
 
 That to one heart at least thy beauty now 
 Hath brought more joy of perfect loveliness 
 Than e'er it did in summer's golden glow.
 
 Perchance when thou hast kissed the lips of 
 Spring, 
 
 And in thine arms the blossom slowly swells 
 To sunlit life, some hidden thought may bring 
 A far off memory in thy heart that dwells : 
 And mingled with the thrush's song shall ring 
 The clear cold music of the Christmas bells.
 
 PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS. 
 1909. 
 
 We are but dust and shadow, we who dwell 
 Within this world of changing dust and shade ; 
 
 And comes the question Wherefore were we 
 made? 
 
 Wherefore was it created? who can tell? 
 
 Something there is to do. 'Twas not for nought 
 God breathed into this dust the light of life ; 
 Some perfect peace to follow after strife ; 
 Some joy e'en though by bitter anguish bought. 
 
 Some strength to strive and conquer in the fight ; 
 Some far off glory after triumph won ; 
 Some flash of angel wings to guide us on, 
 Yearning through darkness upward to the light. 
 
 May it be ours to open wide the door 
 
 Of pity, and to others' hopes and fears 
 
 Bear comfort sweet ; and in a vale of tears 
 
 To leave some joy where sorrow reigned before.
 
 May it be ours to soothe the couch of pain ; 
 To give some little gladness every day 
 To all our brothers on life's hard highway, 
 For surely so we have not lived in vain ; 
 
 To face in radiant scorn a world of lies ; 
 Passing unstained of heart and pure of soul, 
 On, ever onward to the promised goal ; 
 To turn bright faces upward to the skies. 
 
 With eyes far fixed upon the distant crown, 
 Girt in the power of truth without, within, 
 Cleave a white pathway through the mists of sin, 
 And with strong arm to strike the tempter down. 
 
 That we, though others fail, may stand alone, 
 The steadfast banner of our faith unfurled ; 
 To send some flash of light across the world, 
 Ere we pass back into the Great unknown.
 
 DAFFODILS. 
 
 APRIL, 1909. 
 
 Blow, blow your golden trumpets, 
 
 Ye dancing daffodils ! 
 Blow, blow your golden trumpets ! 
 
 For Spring is on the hills. 
 
 High on the hills she gleameth, 
 
 Dancing with fairy feet, 
 While the waiting world low dreameth 
 
 Of the touch of her fingers sweet; 
 
 Of the sound of a voice whose gladness 
 
 Only the flowers can know, 
 Awaked from the gloom and sadness 
 
 Of Winter's frost and snow; 
 
 Of a flower-sweet face that gazeth 
 Bright o'er the dreaming earth ; 
 
 Of a tender hand that raiseth 
 From death to a brighter birth. 
 
 O ring it o'er the meadow, 
 
 In sunshine and in shadow, 
 
 O ring it out, ye golden bells, 
 
 The end of Winter's reign ! 
 
 O ring it to the flowers 
 
 And the sunlight and the showers ; 
 
 O ring it out across the world 
 
 That Spring has come again.
 
 Blow, blow your golden trumpets, 
 
 Ye dancing daffodils ! 
 Blow, blow your golden trumpets ! 
 
 For Spring has left the hills. 
 
 Low in the vale she lingers, 
 
 And all her path along 
 The touch of her magic fingers 
 
 Thrills all to life and song. 
 
 Pure at her breast there shineth 
 The snowdrop's radiance fair ; 
 
 The primrose her feet entwineth, 
 The violet laughs in her hair. 
 
 The hawthorn buds are paling 
 As snow-white flowers unfold ; 
 
 The berberis is trailing 
 Its glowing arms of gold. 
 
 The lily bells are ringing, 
 
 The tulips burst apart, 
 And a nightingale is singing 
 
 In the cherry blossom's heart. 
 
 Faint pansies lowly smile, and higher 
 
 The purple lilacs glow ; 
 Laburnums droop their golden fire 
 
 To kiss the earth below.
 
 8 
 
 The almond flings its rosy showers 
 
 Above the western wall. 
 Oh all the world's a field of flowers 
 
 And thou art queen of all, 
 My love, 
 
 And thou art queen of all ! 
 
 Oh earth below and Heaven above 
 Are decked in April's sheen, 
 
 For all the world's a world of love, 
 And thou art April's queen, 
 
 My love, 
 And thou art April's queen ! 
 
 O ring it to the valleys 
 And the hawthorn scented alleys ; 
 O ring it out ye golden bells 
 In sunshine or in rain ; 
 O ring it out ye daffodils, 
 Ye dainty, dancing daffodils; 
 O ring it out across the world 
 That Spring has come again.
 
 9 
 
 AN AUTUMN STORM. 
 AUGUST, 1908. 
 
 Far away, 
 Like the first faint strain of music from a song of 
 
 long ago, 
 
 Which in my heart awaketh suddenly, 
 Stirred to new life by some sweet memory 
 Of a long past and long forgotten day, 
 
 Soft-sighing through the boughs the wind doth 
 blow. 
 
 Murmuring, 
 
 Soft, soft through the rustling tree-tops where 
 asleep lie the moonbeams bright, 
 
 As when 'midst orange blossom's golden glow 
 Slow stealing 'neath the stars it whispers low 
 In the glad ears of lovers, wandering 
 Through the still beauty of a Southern night. 
 
 Gone is the whisper ; and there seems to be 
 A deathly stillness over all the world ; 
 Then distant murmurs, as of breakers hurled 
 Swift shorewards by the ever restless sea. 
 
 Nearer and swifter now the storm-winds blow, 
 And loud in sullen anger roar the waves 
 Filling with hollow crash the echoing caves, 
 White-foaming on the rugged rocks below.
 
 10 
 
 Ever louder, ever nearer, whirling all things from 
 
 its path, 
 Ever swifter rolling onwards in the tempest of its 
 
 wrath, 
 With an ever deepening murmur, on it rushes 
 
 from afar, 
 
 Like the tramp of arm^d thousands meeting in 
 
 the clash of war. 
 And the strains of spirit music 'mid the rolling 
 
 tumult play, 
 Sweetly rising, sweetly falling, as it sweepeth on 
 
 its way. 
 
 Tis here : and the air is filled with the sound of 
 its battle-song, 
 
 As it rolleth on triumphant the moonlit fields 
 along, 
 
 And the waving grasses quiver and bend 'neath 
 the icy blast, 
 
 And the dying leaves of Autumn from the boughs 
 fall thick and fast. 
 
 The human voice may stay not, no human hand 
 may bind ; 
 
 Away ! away ! O wild and free ! Roll on, roll 
 on, O wind ! 
 
 Thou art the voice of the groaning of earth in her 
 anguish : 
 
 Thou art the sweep of the wings of the angels of 
 night : 
 
 Thou art the spirit of infinite, desolate sadness : 
 
 Thou art the breath of the whisper of God in His 
 might.
 
 II 
 
 Nought on the shrinking earth thy passage bars, 
 Who scorn'st the puny might of men and kings, 
 Now wailing love songs to the shivering stars, 
 Now flashing earthward borne on eagle's wings. 
 
 And the dead leaves fly before thee 
 
 And the nodding trees adore thee 
 As thou sweepest on thy way through the night. 
 Thus for a moment, then again 
 Thou risest to the. darkening height 
 Of Heaven, 'mid the coming rain 
 That hisses threatening in thy wake, 
 And all at once the howling storm doth break 
 Upon the trembling world, and up on high 
 Thou shrillest forth thy song of victory, 
 
 As merciless thou lashest down 
 The stinging drops upon the shivering leaves, 
 
 Which parched and brown 
 Are stricken from the dripping boughs and fall 
 Slow fluttering to the ground and fading die ; 
 And over them the earth, rain-watered, weaves 
 Of clinging mud a melancholy pall, 
 As though it would have said 
 That summer now is dead 
 
 And winter nigh. 
 
 Then tiring of thy sport, 
 
 Swifter than thought, 
 
 Beneath thy wings the clouds thou gatherest 
 Soft pillowed on thy swelling breast,
 
 12 
 
 And bear'st them swift away, and fainter now 
 The echo of thy voice moans dismally 
 Afar, as on thy way thou fliest, 
 Like some lost soul in utterest agony. 
 Then of a sudden softer doth it grow 
 And filled with wondrous music, e'en as though 
 The angels to the dying stars did play, 
 Which fading, ever fading, slowly dieth 
 In the distance away.
 
 13 
 
 GOLDEN DAYS. 
 1909. 
 
 Men say that our love is but madness, 
 
 And life but a vale of tears, 
 Yet hours there are whose gladness 
 
 Shines bright amid hopes and fears, 
 Starlike through a mist of sadness 
 
 On the breast of the flying years. 
 
 Days when the heart of the world is beating with 
 
 joy unbidden and unbeholden, 
 When the voice of gladness awakes and shrilleth 
 
 to fling wide arms to the wondrous sky, 
 
 When filled is the rose of our life with fragrance, 
 and earth seems air and the air seems golden, 
 
 And man's wild heart in its prison beateth, and 
 singeth of glory, it knows not why. 
 
 Morn of peace, when the soul is hushed at the 
 birth of day, and the red dawn breaketh ; 
 
 Hours of storm and of thunder echo as the shriek- 
 ing sea-wave smites the land ; 
 
 Calm of even when God is nearest each in turn in 
 our hearts awaketh 
 
 An infinite yearning for far off things that we 
 scarce can understand. 
 
 Wondrous nights when the world's white beauty 
 sinks on the soul with the scent of flowers, 
 
 Stars that tremble and winds that wander, nightin- 
 gales on the hawthorn spray
 
 4 
 
 Thrilling afar, from the perfumed mist of the 
 faintly shimmering silver showers, 
 
 With the breath of the love of their moonlight 
 music, the languorous nights of May. 
 
 Joy there is in a dear one's laughter, in crumpled 
 leaf or in faded flower, 
 
 Just an echo of tender music faintly stealing from 
 long ago ; 
 
 Sad, sweet smile of a vanished presence 
 memories hushed of the wondrous hour 
 
 In joy of love in a friend's eyes waking, that only 
 one who has loved can know. 
 
 Joy of the white world's winter glory; Christmas 
 bells ere the tired year closes ; 
 
 Dear delight of the water's laughter, blossom and 
 breath of the wondrous spring ; 
 
 Kiss of autumn, the mellow-golden and, oh ! for 
 the scent of the summer roses ; 
 
 Ah ! who dare say, if he be not dead to beauty, that 
 life is a sunless thing? 
 
 Men may say that our love is but madness, 
 That laughter with tears shall meet, 
 
 But life was not made for sadness 
 Nor the world for faltering feet, 
 
 And though few be our hours of gladness, 
 Yet, oh ! they are sweet, sweet, sweet !
 
 TOM-TIT. 
 1909. 
 
 Bright through the veil of the dancing snow 
 To a wide, white world and cold 
 From the wood where the Christmas roses blow 
 Forth 'neath the grey o' the sky behold ! 
 
 Flashing fairily blue, 
 
 Little friend, is it you 
 In your armour of azure and gold? 
 And now on the silvering bough you sit, 
 Good-morrow, good-morrow, my little Tom-Tit. 
 
 The birds have taken their winter flight; 
 From summer and them did I part 
 In sorrow ; and now o'er the cocoa-nut white 
 Like an echo of summer you dart 
 
 You dear little fellow 
 
 In gay blue and yellow, 
 And sunshine you bring to my heart. 
 A flash and a flutter and home you flit, 
 Good-bye till to-morrow, my little Tom-Tit
 
 i6 
 
 JUNE MUSIC. 
 1909. 
 
 Only the song of the leaves that sigh 
 
 Of love to the lingering breeze, 
 Only the sob of a violin 
 
 Heard 'neath the dreaming trees. 
 Sweet as the sound of an angel's voice; 
 
 Sad as a sinner's sigh ; 
 Exquisite pleasure, exquisite pain 
 
 Woke as it passed me by. 
 Woke and leapt and lived in my heart, 
 
 And faded not soon away, 
 But stayed as I lay with face to the sky 
 
 And watched the leaves at play. 
 Stayed to lighten the world and me 
 
 In the glare of the golden noon : 
 Sad as the song of the dead, yet sweet 
 
 As the first red rose in June. 
 
 Only the song of the leaves that sigh 
 Of love to the lingering breeze, 
 
 Only the sob of a violin 
 
 Heard 'neath the dreaming trees. 
 
 Yet half the joy in the world is born 
 Of memories such as these !
 
 '7 
 
 SONGE D'AUTOMNE. 
 
 1909. 
 
 I. 
 
 There's a song I would be ever singing, 
 There's a strain that is for ever ringing 
 Sweet and low and lovely 
 
 In my heart. 
 
 'Tis the song of Autumn upward sweeping, 
 Whispering to Summer sunlit sleeping 
 That she from her children 
 Soon must part. 
 
 Yet to me it brings no touch of sorrow, 
 Sadly singing of the dark to-morrow, 
 And the vanished beauty 
 
 Of to-day. 
 
 Dawn of love with dawn of Autumn breaketh, 
 Music sweet within my heart awaketh 
 Faint as fairy minstrels 
 Far away. 
 
 Locks of gold a fair flower-face enshrining, 
 Eyes in which the light of Spring is shining 
 
 Ever forth in perfect 
 
 Loveliness. 
 
 And a memory in my heart that lingers 
 Of the sweet, sweet touch of little fingers, 
 
 All unconscious of their 
 
 Soft caress. 
 
 2
 
 i8 
 II. 
 
 'Tis the song of Autumn blossoms crying 
 O'er the rose-blown couch of Summer; sighing 
 For their lovely Mother 
 
 Passed away. 
 
 'Tis the sound of Autumn breezes singing 
 To the weeping flowers at even ; bringing 
 Comfort at the quiet 
 Close of day. 
 
 Lo ! the trees have earthward shed their glory ; 
 And the drear wind whispers Winter's story, 
 Through the barren branches 
 
 Creeping cold. 
 
 Yet for me joy lives though all be dying. 
 For the leaves, in lowly splendour lying, 
 Memories breathe of sun-kissed 
 Locks of gold. 
 
 Now, earth-fragrant in the slowly dawning 
 Shadows of the blue November morning, 
 Little breezes sobbing 
 
 Come and go. 
 
 As they wander, whisper, sigh and shiver, 
 Love's low music sets the soul aquiver, 
 Stealing from the happy 
 Long ago.
 
 19 
 
 Thus the thought of Autumn bringeth gladness 
 To my heart. Ah ! not for me the sadness 
 Born of fading beauty, 
 
 Rain-swept skies ; 
 
 For the dead world's music brings me never 
 Aught save Spring's sweet sunshine, smiling ever 
 From the grey-blue Heaven 
 Of Her sweet eyes.
 
 2O 
 
 DARTMOOR. 
 
 1909. 
 
 Moorland, ever rolling moorland, 
 Where the wandering winds of Heaven wake free 
 
 Hail to thee thou home of freedom, 
 Land of light and life and liberty ! 
 
 Wide sweet earth and wide sweet Heaven 
 Heath and hill and golden-scented gorse : 
 
 And o'er all, majestic, silent, 
 Sleeps the spirit of the eternal tors. 
 
 Ever beautiful thou seemest, 
 Wondrous whatsoever be thy guise. 
 
 Whether Spring's bright spirit call thee 
 Hovering rainbow-winged above thine eyes, 
 
 Whether late September sunshine 
 Turn the rustling bracken frond to gold : 
 
 Or the dazzling snowflake hide thee 
 Falling ever, pitiless and cold. 
 
 Brown streams babbling mid the bracken, 
 Sheepbells' plaintive music far away, 
 
 Lonely land of silence, peopled 
 By pale ghosts of a forgotten day.
 
 21 
 
 Where the all-wise hand of nature 
 Rules unfettered by the hand of man 
 
 Still untouched adown the ages 
 Yet unchanged since first the world began. 
 
 Wind-swept stones amid the heather 
 Tombs of many a hero yet unsung ; 
 
 Grey huts where the skin-clad Briton 
 Fought and loved while yet the world was young. 
 
 Thou hast seen upon the waters, 
 Snow-white sail 'neath crimson cliff unfurled ; 
 
 Gazed upon the Roman Caesar 
 He whose conquering footstep shook the world. 
 
 Yea, e'en now the memory haunts thee 
 Gleaming helm and spear in battle lined, 
 
 Standards flaunting, legions tramping, 
 Warring note of trumpets on the wind. 
 
 Mother of a hundred rivers, 
 Spirit of a thousand rippling rills ! 
 
 On thy bosom brood for ever 
 Shadows of the everlasting hills. 
 
 Where of old the white-robed Druid 
 High in wild barbaric triumph stood, 
 
 Far aloft the knife uplifting, 
 Crimson, dripping with the victim's blood ;
 
 22 
 
 Chanting in the golden sunset 
 On the craggy hill top wild and lone, 
 
 Worship, prayer and adoration 
 To his deities of wood and stone. 
 
 Moorland, golden purple moorland, 
 From my thoughts thou canst not fade away. 
 
 In thy beauty, in thy grandeur 
 I will keep thee in my heart for aye.
 
 23 
 
 THE PYRAMIDS. 
 
 (A Vision of Cleopatra.) 
 
 1909. 
 
 I stood alone amid the desert lands 
 
 And watched the changeless river onward roll 
 
 For ever. Silence sank into my soul 
 
 Pressed by the shadowy weight of unseen hands. 
 
 There, 'mid a silent world of shifting sands, 
 
 I stood alone 'twixt earth and Heaven, and gazed 
 
 To where afar, athwart the midnight sky, 
 
 The Pyramids in silent splendour raised 
 
 Their towers of moonlit mystery. 
 
 Bright as a golden lily, ripple-driven, 
 Floating beneath the hawthorn flowers of June ; 
 So, stargirt, in the purple pool of Heaven 
 Swam the low glory of the desert moon. 
 And all the earth lay trembling in a swoon 
 Of slumbering loveliness ; until my brain 
 Thrilled through with joy and the desire to weep, 
 A perfect pleasure blent with perfect pain : 
 And earth sank from me into sleep. 
 
 Sweet music sounded ; ghostly hands upraised 
 My head, slow stealing from the shadowy vast ; 
 And through the moon-kissed veils of sleep I gazed 
 Down the dim aisles of the forgotten past.
 
 24 
 
 There 'neath the sliding galley's gilded mast, 
 The changing charm and soul-seducing smile 
 Of her whose perfumed pageant cleft the wave, 
 When, golden-throned, she floated down the Nile 
 To welcome home her warrior slave. 
 
 She on whose breast the Roman Antony 
 
 Lay lapped in languorous love ; deep draining 
 down 
 
 The rose-crowned cup of passion's ecstacy ; 
 Heaven in her smile and Hell beneath her frown. 
 O white, broad brow beneath Uraeus' crown ! 
 O beauty as of roses dew-empearled 
 All tears and smiles swift changing as the wind ! 
 Ah glimmering lodestar of the lovesick world ! 
 White-armed enchantress of mankind ! 
 
 Thou Cleopatra, Egypt's goddess queen, 
 Siren, upon whose lips men hung and died ! 
 When shall another such as thou be seen? 
 Never perchance, though earth and sea be wide ! 
 Such fatal loveliness, such perfect pride ! 
 
 Pride that, though pierced by conquest's pitiless 
 dart, 
 
 Could show to those who would have taken thee 
 The crawling horror hid beneath thy heart, 
 That set the imperial spirit free.
 
 35 
 
 So men and mortal glory pass away. 
 
 Ye through the changing centuries alone 
 
 Rise ever, smiling scorn at Time's decay, 
 
 Imperishable monuments of stone ! 
 
 For men fulfil, throughout their little day, 
 
 Their destiny ; then at their Maker's will 
 
 Pass back to darkness whence they came. While 
 
 ye 
 Face, all majestic and unchanging still, 
 
 The million years that yet may be.
 
 26 
 
 MARY OF ENGLAND. 
 November 1909. 
 
 Silence. The laggard hours crept slow : and day 
 Died darkling in the west. The sun's last gleam 
 Pierced a red pathway through the hall, as though 
 A finger, crimsoned with her people's blood, 
 
 Stretched forth to stab the heart of England's 
 Queen : 
 
 All motionless she sat. One trembling hand 
 Pressed her pale cheek ; the other at her side 
 Hung limply as a broken flower ; her robe 
 Flung back the sunset splendour. Her dull eyes 
 Stared through the shadows of the amber gloom 
 Hopeless, unseeing ; and the wan white face 
 Shone, through the mist of twilight, terrible 
 As some lost soul in utterest agony. 
 
 " Calais hath fall'n," she moaned, " hath fall'n ! 
 the last, 
 
 Last bitter drop within my cup of shame. 
 Oh God, that I were dead ! " and then again 
 " Calais hath fall'n ! Calais hath fall'n ! " and so 
 Fell silent. From the shadowed window-seat 
 Stole forth a little maid, who with light step 
 Crossed the dim floor, and kneeling by the throne, 
 
 Kissed the cold hand. " Dear Lady, grieve no 
 more, ' ' 
 
 She whispered, " Come, let me but sing to thee
 
 2 7 
 
 And strive to charm away thy sadness." " Child," 
 She murmured gently, " I cannot forget. 
 This is the end ! Nothing is left me now 
 Save the dark message of the barren years 
 Telling of shame, shame, shame ! ah, what is left 
 For such as me? I have fought the fight in vain, 
 I have toiled and striven and loved ah loved ! and 
 he 
 
 Has left me. And for all reward I have 
 Hate ! ah, my God ! 'tis true. The world, yea all 
 Hate me ! My people hate me ! Philip hates me ! 
 Sometimes I think that God must hate me too ! 
 
 What think you child? We are taught God 
 cannot hate, 
 
 And yet ah no I am mad ! mad ! did you speak? 
 Sing then ! Sing ! 
 
 So. Thou hast a sweet voice, child 
 Most sweet ah no ! not that, some other song, 
 Not that ! Ah, Philip, dost remember now 
 That night? How long ago? How long ago? 
 I sang to you that song. Do you remember? 
 'Twas in the garden that I sang to you 
 
 One night in June. 'Twas then you said you loved 
 
 me, 
 And kissed me 'mid the roses ; and my heart 
 
 Laughed and the flowers laughed and the whole 
 
 wide world 
 
 Sang and the stars sang too ! Ah Philip ! Philip ! 
 You have forgot but I can ne'er forget.
 
 28 
 
 Naught has been spared me. I have striven long 
 
 To turn my people to the one true faith, 
 
 Striven and toiled and slain and sinned in vain ! 
 
 Alas ! to me I deemed 'twas given to be 
 
 An instrument within the hand of God 
 
 To work my land's salvation. And behold ! 
 
 For guerdon I have won a nation's scorn ; 
 
 I have called hatred down upon my head ; 
 
 I have made red my hands with innocent blood, 
 
 My power a mockery and my name a curse ! 
 
 My life a broken thing ! My royalty 
 
 A rag for knaves to scoff at ! What is life 
 
 To such as me? And yet I must live on, 
 
 Live on and smile and suffer. I am England's 
 queen, 
 
 And queens must smile to hide their broken hearts. 
 I am weary, oh ! so weary. When will peace 
 Come back to me ? Ah ! never, never again. 
 There is no peace for such as me. 
 
 Ah me ! 
 
 My heart is yearning for the cloister walls ; 
 My soul is sighing for the quiet lawns 
 Of shadowed convents calm. There, only there, 
 Lies in this world the way of peace for me. 
 Yet 'tis the way of peace that lies through tears, 
 Through sorrow and forgetf ulness of all 
 That made the world so fair ; sad road to rest 
 For weary travellers, whose faltering feet
 
 Have trod too long the rough ways of the world." 
 She paused. 
 
 The light lay dead ; and the wan moon 
 Shone through the shadows shimmering into 
 
 pearl. 
 
 The little maid crept closer ; and again, 
 Faint as a spirit moaning far away, 
 Stole through the dark the murmur of the queen. 
 " I had dreamed a child's soft hand would smooth 
 
 away 
 
 All bitterness. Ah ! Philip, did you think 
 I cared not ? Oh ! each night upon my knees 
 I send up prayers from my poor hungering heart 
 Heartbroken prayers to the calm heavens above 
 That look unpitying down, for but one child 
 One little child that I may call my own. 
 I have prayed : there is no answer to my prayer. 
 I have knelt in anguish at God's throne and He 
 Is silent Not for me, oh ! not for me 
 The touch of tiny hands, the joy unknown 
 Of clinging arms, warm cheeks and dear delight 
 Of childish feet : the little lisping love 
 Of baby lips ! Not mine, ah not for me ! 
 Here then all ends. 
 
 Dear God ! And I have dreamed 
 Of one whom Thou in pity should 'st send to be 
 A star to light the path of my lone life ; 
 The one white flower in all my barren world.
 
 3 
 
 And he should win me back my people's love ! 
 
 And he in after years, when I lie low 
 
 In the quiet grave at rest, should reign, and spread 
 
 God's faith from shore to shore, from sea to sea ! 
 
 Oh ! he should be the second Prince of Peace 
 
 Light of salvation to the darkened earth 
 
 Low groping through the mists of sin ; his hand 
 
 Stretch forth to save ; his smile shine forth to bear 
 
 All comfort ; and his voice to lead mankind 
 
 Upward to lie before God's golden throne 
 
 In faith and fear and love He ! my one joy ! 
 
 My hope ! my star ! my world ! my prince ! my 
 son 
 
 My little son ! 
 
 Where are my dreams to-day ? 
 To-day? " She rose o' the sudden, 
 
 "Ah God! " she cried, 
 " I cannot bear it Oh ! I cannot bear 
 The shame, the hate, the scorn, the bitterness 
 That are my portion. I can turn to none 
 For pity. There is no pity in all my world. 
 My people's hate is as a knife that stabs ! 
 They wish me dead ; and every hour, that falls 
 Into the arms of Time, draws nearer now 
 Their heart's desire. Shall all my toil be vain? 
 Yea vain ! for she " 
 
 Her hands clenched and her face 
 Blazed into passion ! " She, Elizabeth,
 
 Anne Boleyn's daughter, sister? no sister of 
 
 mine 
 
 Never ! This woman God help me She I say 
 Shall set her hand where mine shall rest no more ; 
 Shall sweep away what I have wrought in tears ; 
 Uproot the seed I sowed in agony ; 
 
 Crush all for which I have drenched my soul in 
 blood. 
 
 All that has been shall be not ; all that was 
 
 Be as it was before : save only I ! 
 
 And I shall lie pent up in the narrow grave 
 
 All powerless to save what once was mine. 
 
 Powerless this voice for the black mould stifles it. 
 
 Powerless this hand for it hath fallen to dust ! 
 
 Powerless these lips for the blind worms feed on 
 them. 
 
 My day is night now, and my night a Hell 
 
 Through whose cold hours pale shadows crawl 
 and creep 
 
 Around me ; I feel their chill upon my heart, 
 The touch of clammy fingers at my breast ; 
 The shudder of their breath steals through my hair 
 In silence terrible. Then pale, passionless eyes 
 
 Search out my soul ; the grey gloom shivers with 
 hands, 
 
 And ghostly voices tremble through the dark, 
 
 Whispering ' 'Tis time ! We died by thee, and 
 thou 
 
 Shalt more than die ! ' And horror chains me 
 down
 
 Till with the dawn the wailing whispers die 
 And all is still again I shall go mad ! 
 'Tis pain to live and yet I dare not die ! 
 'Tis pain to love and yet I must love on ! 
 I am as 'twere a shadow, dwelling apart 
 
 In a land of shadows shunned by the world at 
 last. 
 
 Left lonely now to love in vain ; alone 
 To weep ; alone to live ; alone to die !" 
 Down on her knees she sank, raising her eyes 
 Wet with the merciful tears. 
 
 On the dim wall 
 
 An image gleamed and the moonbeams kissed her 
 
 face, 
 The pale, pure Mother of Him who died to save. 
 
 Then the sad queen stretched forth her arms and 
 prayed. 
 
 " O Mother of all pity, power and love ! 
 Bend down a little from thy golden throne 
 To pity thy child's sorrow. 
 
 Grant me power 
 
 Of love to win my loved one back to me : 
 Sweet Mary Mother, give me back his heart ; 
 Give back to me once more my people's love. 
 Or, if there be no pardon for such as me, 
 Grant thou me strength to bear my punishment, 
 
 Grant me that peace which heeds not thoughts of 
 earth, 
 
 But lights the soul toward Heaven.
 
 33 
 
 Ah ! pity me ! 
 
 Mother ! I am thy child, and I have strayed 
 Far from the path. Oh guide me back again. 
 And through the coming years, if any there be 
 Left to me still, look down and comfort me. 
 So through my loveless life I yet shall live 
 For nought save love, until, in God's good time, 
 I pass from sorrowing to thy perfect peace !"
 
 34 
 
 ON THE CLIFFS. 
 1910. 
 
 White foam flying, 
 
 Grey gulls crying, 
 Wild waves rolling far across the sobbing sea, 
 
 Wet winds wailing, 
 
 Cold clouds sailing, 
 
 And all the wide world empty, dear, save just for 
 you and me. 
 
 Blue wave breaking, 
 Soft winds waking 
 
 A million merry ripples on the smiling summer sea, 
 Red cliffs glowing, 
 Wild rose blowing, 
 
 And all the wide world empty, dear, save just for 
 you and me. 
 
 White sails gleaming, 
 Two hearts dreaming, 
 
 As love's low whisper wandereth across the silent 
 sea 
 
 In rain or sunny weather 
 So long as we're together, 
 
 What matters all the world, my dear, for you're 
 the world to me.
 
 35 
 
 BUTTERMERE. (A Picture.) 
 1910. 
 
 We have climbed the topmost ridge, this cairn of 
 
 stone 
 
 Fronting the open sky, unchallenged, tells 
 Our goal is won. Here let us rest awhile, 
 Here, where the music of the winds is blown 
 Soft towards us through the silence, and the smile 
 Of sunset deepens on the distant fells. 
 
 Here, for one moment sweet, we may forget 
 All thoughts of life and self, and only know 
 That God has made His world most beautiful 
 Down gazing from the grey rock-parapet 
 To where the wood's dim twilight, green and cool, 
 Shadows the calm of the blue lake below. 
 
 Thou art a jewel for the world's delight. 
 The murmur of the fall's deep laughter fills 
 The valley peace with music for thy dreams : 
 Dreams when the magic of the moon sleeps white 
 Upon thy waters, or the sunlight gleams 
 Through purple shadows on thy windy hills.
 
 36 
 
 A star laughed in the sunset as day died 
 Low at our feet, and the faint moon climbs slow 
 Above the silent crags, the wind grows cold, 
 And light lies crimson on the dark hillside. 
 Night's feet are on the mountains as of old. 
 Come, we have had our moment, let us go.
 
 37 
 A LA BELLE ETOILE. 
 
 (After reading Stevenson's " With a donkey in the 
 Cevennes.") 
 
 1910. 
 
 Bells through the darkness calling 
 
 Over the land ! 
 Shadows of night are falling 
 
 Here where I stand. 
 Here, where the pineboughs dreaming 
 
 Whisper on high, 
 And the white stars are gleaming 
 
 Over the sky. 
 Through the warm darkness ringing, 
 
 What is't your music tells? 
 What is the song ye are singing, 
 
 Beautiful bells? 
 
 Bells through the darkness calling 
 
 Tender and low ! 
 Shadows of night are falling 
 
 Soft as I go. 
 Here, where the world lies sleeping, 
 
 Onward I pass, 
 Kissed by the wild wind sweeping 
 
 Over the grass. 
 Through the night-silence ringing, 
 
 What is't your music tells?
 
 38 
 
 What is the song ye are singing, 
 Wonderful bells? 
 
 Bells through the darkness calling 
 
 Under the sky ! 
 Shadows of night are falling 
 
 Here where I lie 
 Low in the fields that love me 
 
 Under the stars : 
 Here, where no roof above me 
 
 Blackens and bars. 
 O'er the dark hedgerows ringing, 
 
 What is't your music tells? 
 What is the song ye are singing, 
 
 Heavenly bells? 
 
 Bells through the darkness calling 
 
 From far away ! 
 Shadows of night were falling 
 
 O'er me to-day. 
 Dark seemed the way before me, 
 
 Joyless the night. 
 Now, with the white stars o'er me, 
 
 I dream of delight. 
 Through the dim woodlands ringing, 
 
 Gladness your music tells, 
 Joy is the song ye are singing, 
 
 Beautiful bells !
 
 39 
 
 THE ROAD. 
 1910. 
 
 On either hand the meadows lie 
 
 Golden and grey and green, 
 And far away to the edge o' the sky 
 
 The white road runs between. 
 The meadows lie on either hand 
 
 Golden and green and grey : 
 And the road runs on to a magic land, 
 
 Wonderful, far away. 
 If some good fairy would give me wings 
 
 And teach me the way to fly, 
 I would go to look for beautiful things 
 
 Where the white road meets the sky. 
 
 I often want to start away 
 
 On the road, and I always said 
 That if I walked the whole of the day 
 
 I'd be back in time for bed. 
 But mother says it is much too far, 
 
 And if ever I wish to go 
 To see the land where the fairies are 
 
 I must wait till I'm big, you know. 
 Yet somehow I don't quite understand, 
 
 And I often wonder why 
 It should take so long to reach the land 
 
 Where the white road meets the sky.
 
 4 o 
 
 I look at the fields and the road all day, 
 
 And when I'm in bed at night 
 I dream I'm ever so far away 
 
 On the road by candlelight. 
 And I see all sorts of wonderful things, 
 
 Castles and crystal streams, 
 Beautiful ladies and queens and kings 
 
 But then it is only dreams. 
 Yet dragons and giants and princes tall, 
 
 Witches and rugs that fly 
 I'm quite, quite sure we should find them all 
 
 Where the white road meets the sky. 
 
 Someone must know there are lots of men 
 
 Who start on the road, I've seen 
 They go, but they never come back again 
 
 To tell me where they've been. 
 So I must wait till I'm big, you see 
 
 And then at last, some day, 
 We'll go together, just you and me, 
 
 Along the road and away 
 Away by the fields where the skylark sings 
 
 And the breeze-blown grasses sigh 
 Away to look for beautiful things 
 
 Where the white road meets the sky.
 
 TO SIS IN THE HAPPY VALLEY. 
 1910. 
 
 Spring- in the Happy valley, 
 And the wind was strong and sweet. 
 
 The primrose stars shone faint and fair 
 In the grasses at our feet. 
 
 And we picked them 'neath the treetops 
 That whisper to and fro, 
 
 There in the Happy valley, 
 One April year ago. 
 
 Sun in the Happy valley, 
 As we wandered hand in hand 
 
 To where the edge of the woodland fronts 
 The smiling summer land. 
 
 And we lay in the dark green hollow, 
 Where the pine trees murmur low, 
 
 There in the Happy valley, 
 One August year ago. 
 
 Leaves in the Happy valley, 
 Crimson and brown and gold : 
 
 And the earth rain-scented softly sang 
 The song of the year grown old. 
 
 But the world was a mist of glory 
 As we stood in the sunset's glow, 
 
 There in the Happy valley, 
 One Autumn year ago.
 
 42 
 
 Winds in the Happy valley, 
 Wailing and dark and drear : 
 
 And the leafless trees were weeping 
 O'er the grave of the dying year. 
 
 But green was the pine-treed hollow 
 As we wandered soft and slow, 
 
 There in the Happy valley, 
 One Winter year ago. 
 
 Since then we have learnt life's sadness, 
 We have known the need of tears ; 
 
 And sorrow must sometimes darken 
 The sunshine in after years. 
 
 But beauty and gladness ever 
 Will welcome us, dear, I know, 
 
 There in the Happy valley, 
 Where we wandered long ago.
 
 43 
 
 THE WOOING OF SIGNY. 
 MAY, 1910. 
 
 Signy, King Atli's daughter, 
 Dreamed in her windswept tower ; 
 Dreamed with her face love-pillowed 
 In the grey of the twilight hour ; 
 Dreamed of the lips of heroes 
 And the light of the years to be 
 In the arms of the blue-eyed Sigurd, 
 As the sunlight left the sea. 
 
 Red as dawn was the curve of her lips, 
 
 Deep as the sea her eyes ; 
 
 And her hair shone bright as a golden cloud 
 
 Caught from the sunset skies. 
 
 She sighed, and the world hung trembling ; 
 
 She sang, and it smiled again ; 
 
 For her voice was the wide earth's music, 
 
 And her laughter maddened men. 
 
 Knelt at her feet, love-shaken, 
 Sigurd Sigurd the fair ; 
 And the arms of his love were round her 
 And his lips were on her hair. 
 Long in her ear he whispered, 
 Tender his voice and sweet;
 
 44 
 
 But never a word she answered 
 Till he knelt and lay at her feet, 
 
 Murmuring " Tell ah, tell me ! " 
 And she answered soft and low : 
 ' 'Even to-day I love thee 
 As I loved thee long ago. 
 But yet to-day I do swear it, 
 Yea now as I swore it then 
 I will wed with none save a hero, 
 A Lord of the lords of men ! " 
 
 Swift as a star that falleth, 
 
 The flash of his blade's white fire 
 
 Mirrored the moon : and his eyes were mad 
 
 With the flame of his heart's desire. 
 
 And he cried and he said " I love thee ! 
 
 Yet never a man was born 
 
 To lie at the foot of a woman 
 
 And hear her words of scorn. 
 
 I go ! and the deeps of the ocean 
 Shall know the voice of their lord ! 
 The kings of the earth shall tremble 
 At the sweep of my swinging sword ! 
 The stars shall sing of my glory ! 
 Yea, love, if it needs must be, 
 I will make the world the beacon torch 
 That guides me back to thee ! "
 
 45 
 
 And she watched his ship sail out, sail out, 
 
 To the wild waves' trembling tune, 
 
 Till it sank from sight o'er the edge of the world, 
 
 Under a silver moon. 
 
 White-armed and lily slender, 
 
 Ah fair and proud was she 
 
 Signy, King Atli's daughter, 
 
 The rose of the Northern sea. 
 
 II. 
 
 Signy, King Atli's daughter, 
 
 Dreamed in her windswept tower ; 
 
 Dreamed with her face arm-pillowed 
 
 In the grey of the twilight hour. 
 
 And low to the winds she whispered, 
 
 'Mid the song of the sobbing sea 
 
 " Ah ! love, I have waited so long, so long ! 
 
 Wilt thou never come back to me? 
 
 I cry, as I see to westward 
 
 Strange sails of shadowy ships, 
 
 'Twas the pride of my heart that uttered 
 
 The words that rose to my lips. 
 
 The years leap forth from the darkness 
 
 To pass to the dark again. 
 
 Yet ever thy white sail lingers, 
 
 And ever I watch in vain.
 
 4 6 
 
 Soft from the shores of the sunset 
 The silent ships steal home ; 
 And the white sails faintly follow 
 Shadowing the twilight foam. 
 And I hear their low love-laughter 
 Who never again shall part : 
 For them joy waits in the morning 
 And for me? My broken heart ! 
 
 Oh ! my eyes wax dim with weeping, 
 And my heart grows old with pain, 
 For the rose of my youth is withered, 
 And the dawn of my love lies slain. 
 I call ah God ! and my answer 
 The moan of the endless sea ! 
 Ah ! love, I have waited so long, so long ! 
 Wilt thou never come back to me ? " 
 
 III. 
 
 The heart of the world lay dreaming 
 
 Of the wild waves' trembling tune, 
 
 And a ship sailed up o'er the edge of the world, 
 
 Under a silver moon. 
 
 And there on her deck lay Sigurd 
 
 Sigurd, lord of the sea 
 
 For the waves of the wide world knew not 
 
 A mightier man than he.
 
 47 
 
 And lo ! the deeps of the ocean 
 Had heard the voice of their lord ; 
 The kings of the earth had trembled 
 At the sweep of his swinging sword- 
 The stars sang anew of his glory, 
 And, crushed 'neath the victor's frown, 
 Red with the blood of their thousands, 
 The nations bowed them down. 
 
 Wan 'mid the whitening waters 
 The hissing keel fled fast, 
 But low on the deck lay Sigurd 
 And clung to the shrieking mast. 
 White was Kis face and wasted 
 His eyes were wild and wide 
 The moonlight flashed on a spearhilt, 
 And the spear was in his side. 
 
 And he stretched his arms to the darkness 
 And the wailing winds on high, 
 Crying, " Dear love, I conquer 
 But I conquer but to die ! 
 There, in the last long battle, 
 The foeman struck the blow ! 
 For the gods on high have called me 
 And I do not fear to go. 
 
 I have lived my life, and the darkness 
 Must close about my way
 
 48 
 
 But, borne on the winds, my glory 
 Rings round the world to-day. 
 Love ! I have kept my promise ! 
 Signy, flower of my heart ! 
 E'en now, if the gods have heard me, 
 I shall kiss thee ere we part ! " 
 
 High in her tower he saw her, 
 
 As the rolling ship rushed by : 
 
 Dying, his arms stretched upward 
 
 Trembling 'twixt sea and sky. 
 
 Low in the ship she saw him 
 
 And stretched wild arms in vain ! 
 
 Then Nought save the cold sea singing, 
 
 And the rushing of the rain !
 
 49 
 
 WAKE, LOVE, MINE OWN ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1910. 
 Wake, love, mine own ! 
 
 Wake, for warm light through wind-kissed leaves 
 is gleaming ; 
 
 Soft on the air the scent of roses blown ! 
 
 Ah ! sweet, of thee my morning heart is 
 dreaming ! 
 
 Wake, love, mine own ! 
 
 Laugh, love, mine own ! 
 
 Laugh out, my sweet, and set the flowerbells 
 
 ringing 
 
 Perchance some fairy echo, faintly thrown, 
 May oharm my way and in my heart rest singing, 
 Laugh, love mine own ! 
 
 Weep, love, mine own ! 
 
 Weep for a love that needs must die to-morrow ! 
 Yet not for grief, but joy of loves unknown, 
 
 Weep. Thy young heart as yet has known not 
 sorrow 
 
 Weep, love, mine own ! 
 
 Sleep, love, mine own ! 
 Sleep, till the spirit of my love to greet thee 
 Adown the poppied ways of sleep hath flown ! 
 
 There, if not here, sweet, in my dreams I'll meet 
 thee ! 
 
 Sleep, love, mine own !
 
 IF LOVE WERE ALL. 
 SONG. 
 1910. 
 
 If love were all and life were free 
 Of sorrow, sin and misery ; 
 Could the dull cares of every day, 
 The toils and tumults, pass away 
 And leave but love for you and me 1 
 
 Then, sweet, I'd sit and sing to thee 
 Old shepherd songs of Arcady 
 From dawn until the vales grew grey ! 
 If love were all ! 
 
 But love's a golden argosy 
 Adrift on life's tempestuous sea : 
 Scarce may we gather, as we stay, 
 One jewel on our crowded way ! 
 Ah ! sweet, how fair this world might be 
 If love were all !
 
 5 
 
 IF THOU WERT MINE. 
 SONG. 
 1910. 
 
 If thou wert mine to love and fold 
 Within my arms, and all the gold 
 And glory of thy gleaming hair 
 Were mine to clasp and kiss, and there 
 Close to my heart of hearts to hold : 
 
 Then all the joy that e'er was told 
 Of love in distant days of old 
 Should light our way, my lady fair, 
 If thou wert mine ! 
 
 Dear, though the envious world were cold. 
 
 And grief's grey waves about us rolled, 
 
 I'd laugh at every little care 
 
 And bring to thee, my sweet, to wear 
 
 The flower of love made manifold, 
 
 If thou wert mine !
 
 52 
 
 ON THE RIVER. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 1910. 
 
 (Written after canoeing on the Cam.) 
 
 O sweet Spring days ! 
 Upon the shining reaches of the river, 
 When April dances down the flowery ways 
 Above the fens where scented breezes shiver : 
 
 O sweet Spring days ! 
 
 Dream-golden days ! 
 
 When on soft banks faint hawthorns pale and 
 
 quiver, 
 
 And drowsy sweet, the slow bough softly sways 
 Above the silent reaches of the river : 
 Dream-golden days ! 
 
 Dear far off days ! 
 Adown the rippling reaches of the river, 
 
 Deep in my wandering heart their sweetness 
 
 stays : 
 
 Ah ! fade ye may, but ye can leave me never, 
 Dear far off days ! 
 
 Through golden days 
 
 Could we, adown the reaches of life's river, 
 Glide on, dear love, to parting of the ways, 
 Then kiss farewell and meet to see for ever 
 
 Heaven's golden days !
 
 53 
 
 THE DREAM CITY. 
 SONG. 
 1910. 
 
 The low wave whispers at our feet 
 And white stars softly shine; 
 So kiss me on the lips, my sweet, 
 And lay your hand in mine, 
 That we may tread the path that lies 
 Where bright the moonlight gleams, 
 And pass beyond the silent skies 
 To seek the land of Dreams, 
 
 My sweet, 
 To seek the land of Dreams ! 
 
 Perchance that path o'er waters grey 
 May lead, for you and me, 
 To that Dream City far away 
 Across the starlit sea. 
 So, sweet, when we have softly passed 
 The long night journey through, 
 Pray that our feet may find at last 
 The land where Dreams come true, 
 
 Dear heart, 
 The land where Dreams come true !
 
 54 
 
 AFTER THE DUEL. 
 SONG. 
 1910. 
 
 " One kiss, the last ! while yet the glow 
 
 Of life burns dimly, ere I go 
 
 To that lone land where little feet 
 
 No more my listening heart shall greet 
 
 With music where the roses blow ! 
 
 I fought for thee. Thou canst not know 
 Why. But my life was thine. And so 
 Yea, even though thou hast scorned me, sweet- 
 One kiss the last ! " 
 
 The proud lips trembled, sighing slow 
 And tender " I have sinned, and lo ! 
 True heart, for sake of summer sweet, 
 Wild woodlands where we used to meet 
 In dear, dead days of long ago 
 One kiss the last! "
 
 55 
 
 THE LAND-BABY. 
 
 1910. 
 
 (After seeing Collier's picture in last year's 
 Academy.) 
 
 A mermaid sat by the silver sea, 
 (Oh ! but the wind sighed soft in the foam !) 
 And she sang to herself, as she idled there 
 By the blue of the waves in the sunlight fair, 
 
 Dreamily, drowsily, dreamily, 
 As she combed the strands of her gleaming hair, 
 Her golden hair with a pearly comb, 
 A sad sweet song of strange things to be, 
 There by the side of the silver sea, 
 When the wind was soft in the foam ! 
 
 A little land-baby crept down to the sea, 
 (Ah ! but the wind sang sweet in the spray !) 
 And there, 'neath the seacliff worn and wild, 
 Stretched tiny hands to the sea and smiled, 
 
 Happily, wonderingly, happily. 
 And the mermaid longed for the little child, 
 To take him and love him and tenderly play 
 In the caves of pearl, till his childish gle 
 Made music sweet in the depths of the sea, 
 When the wind was sweet in the spray.
 
 56 
 
 " Little land-baby, hither, come hither ! 
 Little soft flovter of the wondrous world ! 
 Fear not, but follow me, follow me, whither, 
 Over the wave-kissed rocks rainbow-empearled, 
 We, the band of the sea's bright daughters, 
 Flash in the foam-drift and sing in the spray, 
 Lulled in the lap of the whispering waters : 
 Little laad-baby, away, come away!" 
 
 And wonder dawned in the childish eyes, 
 (Oh ! but the wind sighed soft in the foam !) 
 As the mermaid sang of far lands unknown, 
 Where soft waves whisper in caverns lone, 
 
 Lingering sea-sweet lullabies ; 
 And the sea-king sifs on a sapphire throne, 
 Of coral caves, and her wondrous home 
 In the land where the twilight never dies, 
 And the mermen utter sweet melodies, 
 While the wind sighs soft in the foam. 
 
 The little land-baby ran down to the sea, 
 (Ah ! but the wind sang shrill in the spray !) 
 Ran the darkening sands along, 
 And stretched his arms to the magic song, 
 
 Longingly, lovingly, longingly ! 
 But the sunlight died and the wind blew strong, 
 And the child's heart feared and he fled away, 
 Far from the wild waves' cruelty,
 
 57 
 
 And the mermaid sobbed with the sobbing sea, 
 While the stormwind sang in the spray. 
 " Little land-baby, hither, come hither ! 
 Little soft flower of the wondrous world ! 
 Fear not but follow me, follow me, whither, 
 Over the wave-kissed rocks rainbow-empearled, 
 We, the band of the sea's bright daughters, 
 Flash in the foam-drift and sing in the spray, 
 Lulled in the lap of the whispering waters : 
 Little land-baby, away, come away ! "
 
 58 
 
 IN A CHURCH. 
 
 1910. 
 
 I. 
 
 Cold was the church and grey : 
 
 Cold the dim arches in the tremulous gloom : 
 
 Outside on pavements where the sun had lain 
 
 Shuddering from far away, 
 Like dead, white fingers tapping on a tomb, 
 The pitiless song of the cold Autumn rain ! 
 
 Dark ! not a movement stirs 
 
 The silent throng of worshippers ! 
 
 Slow, solemn voices steal across the dark, 
 
 Sullenly thrills the organ's trembling tone : 
 
 There on the altar a lamp burns, one spark 
 
 Twinkling uncertainly afar. 
 Dark : and my soul feels deadened and alone 
 Lost in the night without one guiding star. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then up aloft, one voice, a boy's clear singing 
 Singing his soul out up and out and away 
 Far from this earth, on wings of Angels, bringing 
 Tears to my eyes, peace to my heart, and joy 
 Perfect amid this life's imperfect day : 
 Freeing my soul of a chain
 
 59 
 
 Out from the gloom and the darkness again, 
 
 Outward and upward to God, and only the voice 
 of a boy. 
 
 Beautiful voice, sing on ! 
 
 Bring me not back too soon 
 
 From the gates of Heaven ! 
 
 To-day to my heart 'tis given 
 
 To hear the Angels' golden tune 
 
 Only to-day, sweet voice, only to-day 
 
 Sing to me, guide me and gladden me, stay with 
 me, stay ! 
 
 But 'tis gone ah my heart it is gone ! 
 
 Yet not in vain ; for one moment sweet 
 
 I have dwelt beyond the skies, 
 
 And have heard soft sounds of the joyous feet 
 
 Of those who were parted, again to meet 
 
 Where loveliness never dies. 
 
 Ah me ! one hour have I walked with God, 
 
 And seen with unclouded eyes ; 
 
 Yea ! passed the gateway of pearl, and trod 
 
 The gardens of Paradise !
 
 6o 
 
 THE FIRST OF JUNE. 
 1910. 
 
 Sweetly smiles the sunset, through dark boughs 
 golden gleaming, 
 
 Tenderly to westward, faint and far away. 
 
 Up into the glory of the sky my heart drifts dream- 
 ing, 
 
 Dreaming in Earth's wonder hour at closing of the 
 day. 
 
 Sadly sighs the sunset, as lost winds wander 
 
 weeping, 
 Weeping with the nightingales for the morns of 
 
 May, 
 May, whose fragrant loveliness in the grave is 
 
 sleeping, 
 
 Sleeping in that Heaven of dead, sweet things 
 that cannot stay. 
 
 Red amid her roses, royal June is ringing 
 
 Joy through waking woodlands, where her white 
 steps stray, 
 
 Glories of the chestnut low their lamps are 
 
 swinging, 
 Swinging in the sweetness of the silver-scented 
 
 spray. 
 
 Softly sinks the sunset : twilight bells are pealing 
 Low adown the valley, where the children play : 
 Now to magic music little feet are stealing, 
 Stealing on to fairyland along the golden way.
 
 6i 
 
 Dim and dark the sunset : the birds have ceased 
 their singing, 
 
 Splendour of the radiant rose fades to green and 
 grey: 
 
 Shadowed in the mists of pearl, fairy forms are 
 winging, 
 
 Winging through a starry vql to steal my soul 
 away. 
 
 Dead and gone the sunset : and, as night is 
 falling, 
 
 Faint with June's first sweetness, when the lilacs 
 sway, 
 
 Dim with far sweet memories, the voice of May is 
 calling 
 
 Sadly to my twilight heart at closing of the day.
 
 62 
 
 THE INVALID'S PRAYER. 
 1910. 
 
 Let me not die in spring : I could not bear 
 To leave the meadows where the breezes wake 
 On wild March mornings : or the cowslips break 
 About the feet of April frail and fair, 
 
 The young year's maiden love : for whose sweet 
 
 sake 
 
 The primrose stars with tears of joy are wet, 
 And daffodils their golden music shake 
 To greet the winds that wake the violet. 
 
 Let me not in the summer pass away, 
 
 When skies are warm, and all the world is sweet 
 
 With scent of roses round about my feet, 
 
 And glory of the jasmine's trailing spray 
 
 Above, as in the shadowed window seat 
 
 I lie and watch the swift-winged swallows dart 
 
 Through blue, bright air, till sunset shadows meet 
 
 To weave their web of peace about my heart. 
 
 Let me not in the autumn close my eyes 
 To all the wealth and wonder of the gold 
 And crimson splendour of the year grown old, 
 And clear blue sweetness of October skies. 
 Ah God ! I would not lie alone and cold 
 In the dark earth, while yet the world is fair,
 
 63 
 
 While yet life's loveliness may softly fold 
 
 Mine eyes, and warm winds wander through my 
 hair. 
 
 But when above the dead year's grave shriek shrill 
 The winter storms, and o'er the white world, slow 
 And shining, softly sinks the silver snow : 
 Then, when my cold, sad heart is silent, fill 
 My quiet hands with sweet, white flowers : and so 
 Kiss me farewell and fold them on my breast, 
 Gently. Weep not, nor sorrow. For I go 
 Glad-eyed in Heaven's all-perfect Spring to rest.
 
 6 4 
 
 IN MEMORIAM KING EDWARD VII. 
 igio. 
 
 Peace ! he is resting with the quiet dead ; 
 He has passed into the everlasting sleep ; 
 Peace ! for to-day the hushed world bows her head, 
 And Earth's sad nations weep. 
 
 And thou, his England, thou for whose dear sake 
 He still had loved and striven to the end, 
 
 Weep merciful tears, lest thy sad heart should 
 break 
 
 For him, thy King and friend. 
 
 For though adown the ever flying years 
 The changing world rolls on from day to day, 
 Though grief is silent, and his people's tears 
 Have fallen and passed away, 
 
 Yet shall his memory live, and reverently 
 On unborn lips hereafter shall not cease 
 To sound his name, the star of chivalry 
 His reign the star of peace.
 
 YEARNING. 
 1910. 
 
 The night is cold about me as I stand 
 Beside my window, sighing for the day 
 The dead, sweet day, asleep in that dim land 
 Of glories that have been and passed away, 
 To light perchance some other world than ours, 
 Beyond the cloudy gateway of the west. 
 
 And sad winds, wandering in search of rest, 
 Sob onward softly through the silent flowers 
 Sob on and lightly falter, fade and die. 
 
 The scent of earth, made sweet with summer rain, 
 Drifts slow across my face ; the cold grey sky 
 Darkens. And in my heart a nameless pain 
 Throbs ; and my eyes are wet with burning tears, 
 Unshed, yet bitter as the vanished years 
 That were and are not. 
 
 And I stretch wild hands 
 Out to the greyness of the sky, and call 
 Shrill to the pitiless silence, till there stands 
 A vision wrapt in gloom ; and, slowly, all 
 
 5
 
 66 
 
 The dark unfolds about the magic feet 
 
 Of her whose beauty I have loved and known 
 
 In other worlds, untrodden and alone, 
 
 Beyond the shores where dawn and darkness meet. 
 
 And as I gaze, all sense of time and space 
 
 Falls from me in that moment of delight, 
 
 Beyond all dreams of Heaven. Until her face 
 
 Fades, and her feet pass onward through the 
 night ; 
 
 Pass on and leave me lonely ; and again, 
 Deep in my heart, throbs on that nameless pain ! 
 * * * 
 
 Love, love ; my love ! I sigh for thee to-day, 
 Faint as a dream and distant as a star, 
 Love, love, my love ! Oh why art thou so far, 
 So far, unutterably far away ?
 
 A PRAYER. 
 1910. 
 
 Give me one hour of life ! 
 
 Life lived through each swift moment : life aflame 
 With leaping fires that burn, and lights that glow 
 
 Through the soul's darkness, till the tingling 
 frame 
 
 The height and depth of grief and joy shall know 
 In one all-splendid moment ! and so creep 
 Through darkness back to sleep ! 
 
 Give me one hour of love ! 
 Love all triumphant, love that bursts apart 
 Life's barrier to flood the world and fold 
 The stars with glory ; till the trembling heart 
 Learn all that Heaven and all that Hell can hold 
 Of joy and pain eternal ! and so meet 
 
 Death's kiss and find it sweet !
 
 68 
 SUNSET DREAMS 
 
 1910. 
 
 The world is hushed and the shadows fall 
 
 Soft from the rosy sky : 
 A sunflush sleeps on the western wall, 
 
 And the sweet bird-voices die. 
 
 Ah, love ! the work of the day is done 
 
 And the evening hour is sweet ; 
 So now when the dawn and the dark are one, 
 
 Ere the pulse of the night's slow feet 
 
 Summon the stars, and the sunlight die 
 
 On the laughing lips of day, 
 Kiss me and come where the low winds sigh 
 
 To the sunset far away ! 
 
 Oh come ! we will sail to a magic shore 
 That our souls have known of old, 
 
 In a rainbow skiff from the angels' store, 
 O'er the cloud-world ocean's gold ; 
 
 When wavelets, rosily sunset-kissed, 
 
 Ripple and crisp and curl, 
 Past isles of Heaven's own amethyst, 
 
 Afloat in a sea of pearl ;
 
 69 
 
 Onward, to anchor hand in hand, 
 At the cloud-built gate that bars 
 
 The golden path to the fairyland 
 That lies beyond the stars. 
 
 For there the hours their vigil keep 
 And the dim veils drift apart, 
 
 Where Beauty's self lies soft asleep 
 On the sunset flower's heart. 
 
 And pearly palace and tower and dome 
 Tremble through mists that glide 
 
 O'er lands that lie in the floating foam 
 Of the twilight's tender tide. 
 
 And there I pray we may wander, sweet, 
 
 By the far off mystic sea, 
 Till the God of the sunset guide our feet 
 
 In the way of Eternity.
 
 TO U.K. 
 1910. 
 
 You asked me once if I had ever seen 
 The fairies, and I sadly answered, " No," 
 And smiled. Yet in my heart a voice sighed low 
 And murmured of the magic Might-Have-Been. 
 
 But you in triumph sweetly laughed, and all 
 Your dark curls danced behind you as you passed 
 Across the room towards me, till at last, 
 With cheeks divinely dimpled and a small 
 
 White hand against your lips, you whispered : " I 
 Have seen them dancing with the fairy queen 
 Upon the bluebells in the woodland green ; 
 Perhaps you, too, shall see them bye and bye."
 
 Ah ! little questioner, with eyes as blue 
 
 As those bell-flowers on which your fairies dance ! 
 
 I spoke too hastily, for I perchance 
 
 Long years ago have seen the fairies too. 
 
 On winter mornings, ere the world was light, 
 
 I woke and read of islands far away, 
 
 Of magic lands and castles old and grey, 
 
 Of captive princess, king and squire and knight. 
 
 Then 'twas I strayed by the enchanted stream, 
 While ever close, my wandering feet to guide, 
 The fairies floated singing at my side ; 
 And now the end and waking from the dream ! 
 
 I may not see them now. Mine eyes are cold : 
 Yet still far echoes trembling down the years 
 Wake in my heart, with laughter and with tears, 
 The breath of joy and wonder as of old. 
 
 For when the glad thrush early wakes and sings 
 And all the world lies laughing to the dawn 
 Faint music through the listening flowers is borne, 
 And on the air the whisper of their wings. 
 
 And sometimes while the twilight shadows fall 
 And glories deepen in the splendid west, 
 When all my heart is quiet and at rest, 
 I hear the fairy voices softly call.
 
 72 
 
 Ah ! child, if still you build your magic towers 
 And make your palace garden bright and fair, 
 Soon shall you find a fairy singing there 
 Or dancing lightly with the dancing flowers. 
 
 And she shall gently take you by the hand 
 
 And lead you through the dim, sweet fields of 
 sleep, 
 
 Where bluebells glimmer in the dreamwoods deep, 
 To dance with her in moonlit fairyland.
 
 73 
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA. 
 
 (From the picture by G. F. Watts.) 
 
 1910. 
 
 I dreamed that as I flashed through veils of space 
 Last night, two spirits passed me on the wind : 
 A man and woman whom before, behind, 
 White raiment girt in ghastly folds ; his face 
 Burned as he clasped her in a wild embrace, 
 And in his eyes desire like a flame 
 Shone red, till 'neath the ghastly winding sheet 
 
 From hot, parched lips, the broken whisper 
 came 
 
 " My death was bitter, but my love was sweet ! " 
 
 The woman raised her head and from her hair 
 The white robe fell, baring her face to sight 
 A face of beauty, pale, and wondrous fair, 
 With sad eyes gazing upward, wide and bright, 
 To seek his lips ; and softly through the night 
 Came her slow murmur, " Kiss me once again. 
 Bend down and hold me closer. Keep my feet 
 From falling, for my eyes are dim with pain, 
 And death is bitter, though our love was sweet."
 
 74 
 
 Then, as the soft, sad whispers died away, 
 Deep in my heart there dawned a memory slow 
 Of two bright, passionate souls, who long ago 
 Loved, sinned and died in one swift summer's day. 
 And so I woke and deemed it sweet to pray 
 
 For two, though young, with sorrow sore 
 oppressed, 
 
 That hoping oft hereafter they should meet 
 
 With pity and so pass at last to rest. 
 
 For death is bitter, and their love was sweet.
 
 75 
 
 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI. 
 1910. 
 
 I looked on you ; and the flowers 
 
 Laughed under my feet. 
 You looked on me ; and the hours 
 
 On God's earth were sweet. 
 
 You looked on me ; and a light 
 
 Was on land and sea. 
 I looked on you ; and the night 
 
 Rent the soul of me. 
 
 I looked on you ; and I trod 
 
 Love's heaven on high. 
 You looked from me ; and, ah God ! 
 
 It is hard to die.
 
 76 
 
 THE REJECTED LOVER. 
 1910. 
 
 I do not ask for love, I only pray 
 This : that of all the smiles that day by day 
 Make sweet thy face, one, only one may be 
 A star to light my feet upon their way. 
 One smile enough for me ! 
 
 'Tis little that I ask. When thou art gone 
 My world will darken, and the sun that shone 
 Grow dim. Till then where'er thou art, to be 
 Still, still, unseen, unknown, to love thee on 
 Enough, enough for me !
 
 77 
 
 THE CALL OF THE MOUNTAINS. 
 JULY, 1910. 
 
 Oh ! my heart is dead on the plainland and deaf to 
 
 the drowsy singing 
 Of the still slow streams that wander where the 
 
 fields lie warm and wide 
 For the voice of the wind hath whispers of hills 
 
 where the mists are clinging, 
 
 And the white fall leaps in laughter from the wild, 
 wet mountain side ! 
 
 Oh ! sweet are the morning meadows and the clear, 
 bright moorland spaces, 
 
 And the warm world sunlit sleeping beneath the 
 golden noon 
 
 But mine is the silent splendour of the rain-swept 
 desert places, 
 
 Of the mountains' deathless wonder, and the 
 winds' eternal tune ! 
 
 Ah ! the Southland fields may fold me, and the 
 Southland breezes sighing 
 
 Through dreams to quiet waters, may soothe me 
 soft and low. 
 
 But swift on the wings of the morning my soul is 
 Northward flying, 
 
 For I hear the mountains calling and my heart 
 must break or go.
 
 78 
 THE MILLWHEEL. 
 
 AUGUST 21, 1910. 
 
 Flashing millwheel, turning, ever turning, 
 
 Waters brown that wander singing night and 
 day ! 
 
 Swiftly to the sunlight leap the white drops, 
 burning 
 
 Outward into beauty, upward into spray. 
 
 Flashing millwheel, singing, ever singing, 
 
 To the waves that whisper of their woodland 
 home ! 
 
 Borne aloft, their laughter, to your bright breast 
 clinging, 
 
 Echoes into music, flutters into foam. 
 
 Flashing millwheel, gleaming, ever gleaming ! 
 
 Swift above their slumber, swept you to 
 destroy 
 
 Bent and caught the waters from their woodland 
 dreaming, 
 
 Bent and caught and kissed and flung them forth 
 to joy ! 
 
 Flashing millwheel, turning, ever turning ! 
 
 In my heart dark waters strangely ebb and 
 flow 
 
 Passions deep a-tremble, and the tides of yearning 
 Set from love's far ocean, fierce as long ago.
 
 79 
 
 Flashing millwheel, glowing, ever glowing, 
 Golden through the glory of my golden dream ! 
 
 Could but love's loud waters, from my faint heart 
 flowing, 
 
 Sink at last to silence in your sunlit stream. 
 
 Flashing millwheel, sweeping, ever sweeping ! 
 
 Kiss my heart's wild waters sweetly as your 
 own 
 
 Catch them, kiss them, fling them upward from 
 their weeping 
 
 Spray to float where yearning dies before Love's 
 throne !
 
 8o 
 
 THE TWILIGHT LAND. 
 1910. 
 
 1 ' That good and sweet affection which thou sometimes 
 feelest, is the effect of Grace present and a sort of fore- 
 taste of thy native land of Heaven." 
 
 THOMAS A KEMPIS. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 How the wind moans ! 
 
 The shadows leap and dance 
 About my head, now stretching giant arms 
 To crush me down, and plunge me in a gloom 
 Of quivering shapes and sinuous hands that glide 
 Along the dim, dark walls ; then, swooping, fold 
 Swift serpent fingers o'er mine eyes. 
 
 The fire 
 Dies flickering down and the red embers fall. 
 
 How the wind moans ! 
 
 The leafless branches lash 
 The shivering panes, and slow, sure, pitiless, 
 On the wan, winter world patters the rain. 
 Was it a dream ah God ! only a dream? 
 
 Through folds of deadening darkness all my soul 
 Cries out, cries ever ever ! yet still in vain. 
 Vain ! and the demon shadows shiver and shake 
 With peals of shuddering laughter, and the rain 
 Sobs on !
 
 8i 
 
 Ah ! golden glory of my dream ! 
 White wonder of the waiting world's desire ! 
 I call to thee. The shadows crush my heart. 
 I am a wanderer in the twilight land, 
 Poor pilgrim on the perfect path that leads 
 
 To that white throne where sleeps the Soul's 
 Desire ! 
 
 Guide thou my feet. 'Tis dark. I have but seen 
 One dawning smile upon the perfect lips ! 
 One wakening glory of the perfect eyes ! 
 One lightning splendour of the perfect face ! 
 
 Was it a dream ah God ! only a dream? 
 
 My faith grows faint lost, lost, as soon as seen 
 
 And in the gloom a voice ; and in that voice 
 
 Doubt, disbelief, despair. Was it all a lie, 
 
 A lie? My heart grows cold. Was it false then? 
 
 No! 
 No ! all my soul thrills true true true ! 
 
 My God ! 
 
 If 'tis a lie then, all the world is lies, 
 And Heaven a lie, and God's sweet faith a lie, 
 And Death the end of all ! 
 
 Yea, true ! 
 
 For lo ! 
 
 The voice of Her who stilled my soul of old, 
 Low from the valleys of the twilight land 
 
 Makes music 'mid the shadows 
 
 6
 
 82 
 
 " Child of earth ! 
 
 I am the spirit of the World's Desire. 
 For me the world was made, and still through me 
 Gropes its dark way to meet the perfect light 
 Of God. In itself the world is dark. But life 
 Is the light of the world. Love is the light of life. 
 And life and love together look to me 
 To mould for all mankind the perfect dream. 
 I am the World's Ideal !" 
 
 And my arms 
 Stretched out to clasp. I fell. And the black 
 
 night 
 Shut out her face. 
 
 Truth, yet a dream ! Can a dream 
 Ever be true? 'Tis dark. 
 
 How the wind moans ! 
 
 Why will these dead doubts haunt my thoughts 
 to-night ? 
 
 Doubts I deemed crushed beneath the weight of 
 years 
 
 Of perfect understanding. I would sleep. 
 But horror broods above me, and I stand 
 Dim in the graveyard of forgotten things. 
 The low white tombs gape open at my feet 
 And from the crumbling earth old ghosts arise. 
 Old fears, old griefs, old long-ings for the flash, 
 Half seen, yet vanishing, of an angel's wings. 
 I see the quivering arms of dead desires
 
 83 
 
 Writhe upwards from the grave to drag me down, 
 
 To their soul-deadening darkness : in mine ears 
 
 Hiss tongues of serpent slander, and Despair 
 
 Lays her sad head to sleep upon my heart. 
 
 Ah myriad mocking shadows, laugh on ! laugh on ! 
 
 All my wild soul laughs with you. Laugh ! for I, 
 
 Dreamer of dreams, wanderer in twilight lands, 
 
 I, who for one majestic moment deemed 
 
 My soul above the souls of lesser men, 
 
 Lie in the dust, bowed down with querulous fears 
 
 That lesser men would scoff at. 
 
 I would sleep ! 
 
 Oh ! I am weary of this ceaseless strife 
 Of soul against the doubts that rack mankind. 
 And as before, one evening long ago, 
 One evening such as this, I whispered on 
 Low to myself the story of my dream, 
 Until perforce my tired heart, when slow 
 And solemn from my lips the sweet words fell 
 Of Her who sits upon the snow-white throne, 
 Believed again, and sighed, and slept in peace ; 
 So now again, in this mine anguish, I 
 Will whisper to the darkness all the joy 
 And wonder of my dream, and so perchance 
 When all is finished, my sad soul shall rest !
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 God's hour is in the twilight. 
 
 So I dreamed 
 
 One evening, leaning from the scented height 
 Of sun-flushed casements, where the roses swayed 
 In tremulous, clinging sprays of white and gold, 
 Beneath me in the stillness. 
 
 Thus I wove 
 
 Strange fantasies, and dreamed, with half a smile 
 At my hushed heart's enchantment, magic dreams 
 Of how, when making of the world was done, 
 God rested on His golden throne and gazed 
 Across the hills of time, to where afar 
 Moved the dim pageant of the years to be ; 
 Then murmured softly, " This My work is good. 
 Yet, in that long Hereafter, shall there come 
 A time when men no longer seek My Face. 
 
 Then shall they seek strange gods, and madly 
 strive, 
 
 Through mists of sin, to the dark end of all." 
 And so in pity He breathed on every soul 
 The breath of longing for those higher things 
 That lead us back to His high throne at last. 
 And then again He murmured " I have given 
 One day for rest and worshipping of Me. 
 Now will I grant that every day that wakes, 
 At touch of angels' fingers, o'er the earth
 
 85 
 
 Shall have its little hour of prayer and praise ; 
 
 So shall man reach, through prayer, to Heaven at 
 
 last." 
 
 And so God gave the twilight. In that hour, 
 At the dim gateways of the sunset, Day 
 Kisses her sister Night, and side by side 
 They lift together suppliant hands in prayer 
 To Him Who is the King : and the low earth 
 Lies faintly breathing in a silver sleep, 
 Till far in Heaven the angel whispers die, 
 And silent, slow, God's benediction falls, 
 Through the blue veils of twilight, to the world. 
 
 Thus 'twas I dreamed, while the slow roses 
 
 swayed 
 
 And little breezes whispered past my cheek, 
 Whispered and wept and died : a nightingale 
 Sang, till the night boughs trembled at her song, 
 
 And sobbed themselves to sleep. The daylight 
 died, 
 
 Grey-green and tender, o'er the distant fields, 
 And o'er the dreaming tree-tops sweetly swept 
 The slender sickle of the maiden moon. 
 God's hour is in the twilight. 
 
 In my soul 
 
 A faint far-yearning woke, and cried, and caught 
 At my hushed heart with clinging baby hands. 
 
 And then the light clasp tightened, and sure and 
 slow, 
 
 Swelling and deepening, as an ocean wave
 
 86 
 
 Ere it shall break in thunder, pitiless, 
 Forth in my soul there burst a surging sea 
 Of passionate longing, till my labouring heart 
 Leapt to my throat, my breath died, and the world 
 Flashed in my eyes, with myriad fiery sparks 
 Of flickering flame, as though the winking stars 
 
 Had fallen from Heaven to crush me down : my 
 arms 
 
 Shot outward, upward, tingling, suppliant, vain 
 Appealing. Then the veil fell from my eyes : 
 My soul was silent and my heart was cold ; 
 Those suppliant hands fell slow and in my eyes 
 The roses glimmered through a mist of tears. 
 
 Gone ! Gathered into the grave of dead sweet 
 things ! 
 
 My moment's mad, sweet yearning ! Can it be? 
 Gone, when but now the breath of so much joy 
 That still my faint heart trembles, shook my soul 
 To the inmost depths. O sudden, swift delight, 
 Vanished as soon as seen ! What art thou ? Say ! 
 Speak to me, answer me ! will there be ever a time 
 That I may have thee for mine own? Ah sweet, 
 Sweet hour, thou fliest so fast. Is it that God 
 Thus slowly draws us nearer? Can it be 
 A flash of that Ideal of which I dreamed, 
 Whose self is life made perfect? 
 
 If 'tis so, 
 Take me for I am weary Spirit of Love
 
 87 
 
 Oh 1 take me with thee to the twilight land, 
 That I may look upon the World's Desire. 
 
 A silence fell. The roses slept, and night 
 
 Frowned o'er the mists of pearl. 
 
 And then a voice 
 
 Stole to my ears, so soft, so sweet, I dreamed 
 'Twas but the sighing of the sad night-wind 
 Above me, then it deepened and a hand 
 
 Crept o'er my own, and, pressed against my 
 cheek, 
 
 Lay shadowy lips of one whose starry eyes 
 Drew out my soul, and all her streaming hair 
 Sighed out behind her to the stars, and so 
 Melted in moonlight. So her voice again 
 Breathed in the silence : " I have heard thy prayer. 
 I am a shadow from the twilight land, 
 Sent from the throne of Her whom here on earth 
 
 Men know but in their dreams. Thou hast thy 
 
 choice. 
 
 Choose ! Wilt thou sorrow still for fleeting joys 
 Thou understandest not, or wilt thou be 
 A wanderer within the twilight land, 
 Poor pilgrim on the perfect path that leads 
 To that white thjpne on high?" 
 
 And, gazing still 
 
 Into her eyes, I answered, trembling, " I 
 Would be a wanderer in the twilight land."
 
 88 
 
 And as I spake the star eyes drew me down, 
 
 The shadowy lips pressed closer, and the air 
 
 Was filled with floating fragrance, e'en as though 
 
 The breath of all the roses in the world 
 
 Stole upward to my brain, and through a mist 
 
 Of moonlit glory still the starry eyes 
 
 Shone ever, till my tired heart slipped away 
 
 Into an utter silence, and a voice 
 
 Murmured through mists of dreamland, "It is 
 well, 
 
 Pass, child of Earth, to seek the Soul's Desire." 
 (Unfinished.)
 
 GRASMERE. 
 1910. 
 
 The hills grew dark above me, as I stood 
 
 Dreaming. Around me breathed the drowsy 
 sweep 
 
 Of winds that lulled the twilight of the wood 
 
 To sleep. 
 
 White waves flung back the sunset : one fair star 
 Flashed ; and the magic mountains silent lay 
 And hushed, till Night's low voice made music far 
 
 Away. 
 
 Then as Day's lips at parting kissed to birth 
 The darkness, all the world thrilled in a sigh ; 
 And lo ! new wonder stole across the earth 
 
 And sky. 
 
 The woods slept purple-shadowed ; half awake, 
 
 Leaves whispered ; white stars laughed from hill to 
 hill: 
 
 Light shone in silver splendour where the lake 
 
 Lay still.
 
 go 
 
 Was it a dream ? By woodland ways he strayed 
 Some spirit angel, tender-eyed and sweet, 
 Moving in mists of twilight. Then he stayed 
 
 His feet 
 
 Lightly : and lifted to rrty lips the cup 
 Of Beauty, till my soul's dazed footsteps trod 
 Heavenward ; and something in my heart rose up 
 
 To God.
 
 EVENING AT THE FERRY, WINDERMERE. 
 1910. 
 
 Wild grasses whisper, and the woodlands fall 
 To the lake's brink beautiful ! The mystery 
 Of mountains sleeping mist-majestical 
 Grows dim. But here the grey waves sing to me, 
 Waves from afar, where distance dies and all 
 The hills slope softly to the western sea. 
 
 The winds hang silent, hearkening to the sweep 
 Of Night's slow fingers o'er the silver lyre 
 Of slumber music that the mountains keep 
 For ever : and agleam with tremulous fire 
 Far off the white lake waters fade in sleep 
 
 To that dream-land where dwells my heart's 
 desire. 
 
 My heart's desire? Oh ! whisper in mine ears, 
 Lake waters, shall I know that dear delight, 
 Too deep for laughter and too sweet for tears? 
 Oh if love's pity lead thee to my sight, 
 
 Drawn slowly towards me through the vanished 
 years, 
 
 'Twill be in such an hour as this to-night !
 
 9 2 
 
 An hour to dream beneath a tender sky, 
 
 When lights are golden, and the long lake shines 
 
 About the twilit isles of mystery, 
 
 Or pause where tired winds haunt their woodland 
 
 shrines, 
 
 To hear the waves' low-whispered lullaby, 
 And catch the message of the sunset pines. 
 
 Oh, there are dreams whose splendour cannot die ! 
 Dreams when life's loveliness has burst the bars 
 That bind the soul, and it may upward fly, 
 Mounting awhile above the mist that mars 
 
 God's earth yea, soaring, seek His Heaven on 
 high, 
 
 And wander lonely, singing to the stars. 
 
 To-night high yearning touched me by the hand, 
 Burst through the bars, and swept my soul away ; 
 And I in spirit have trod to that dream-land, 
 And known that joy beyond what lips can say, 
 Or hope can dream, or heart can understand ; 
 Joy that shall live until God's Judgment Day ! 
 
 I have trod upward through the gates of gold 
 To valleys where the voice of yearning thrills 
 Grey woodlands ; and the flowers of faith unfold. 
 Yea, learnt at last the ancient grief that fills 
 The sea, and secrets that the winds of old 
 Sang ever sadly to the silent hills.
 
 93 
 
 Lo ! I have stood where night's dark angels meet 
 
 Above the music of the midnight sea, 
 
 And all my soul's far journeyings have been 
 
 sweet ; 
 
 And all things fair have gracious been to me ; 
 For Beauty trod the path before my feet, 
 And Love, even Love, has borne me company ; 
 
 Love, the bright bird that in life's morning sings, 
 And sweet at even, loveless souls to save ; 
 Love lighting darkness with his silver wings, 
 The last best gift our guardian angels gave ; 
 Love that alone, I think, of earthly things 
 Lives on to gladden us beyond the grave.
 
 94 
 
 TO AMARYLLIS. 
 1910. 
 
 Oh who would be, Oh who would be 
 A shepherd boy in Arcady? 
 Clear piping where the hilltops dream 
 And lightly laughs the mountain stream, 
 Or stretched along the gleaming grass 
 To watch the grey cloud-shadows pass, 
 And not a care the livelong day 
 From dawn of gold to twilight grey. 
 Oh I would be, Oh I would be 
 A shepherd boy in Arcady. 
 
 Oh who would be, Oh who would be 
 
 A shepherd maid in Arcady? 
 
 To tend the flocks and softly sing 
 
 By woodland waters wandering : 
 
 Or garlands weave of woodland flowers 
 
 To crown her in the moonlit hours, 
 
 When from the sleeping hills above 
 
 Dance feet that she has learnt to love. 
 
 Oh thou should'st be, Oh thou should'st be 
 
 A shepherd maid in Arcady.
 
 95 
 
 Oh who would see, Oh who would see 
 The golden vales of Arcady ? 
 Some seek that lovely land in vain, 
 And some the fields of gladness gain : 
 Yet grief there is, though love be sweet, 
 And many a mile for weary feet : 
 And Death to dim life's Paradise, 
 And cloud with tears, until our eyes 
 Shall never see, shall never see 
 Dream-haunted hills in Arcady. 
 
 Yet it may be, yet it may be 
 We, too, shall come to Arcady ! 
 Some say the gods are dead : but still 
 They dream, I think, by vale and hill 
 In that bright land. And love it seems 
 Dies not, but lives in all our dreams. 
 So we in Sleep's dim wonderland 
 May meet and wander hand in hand, 
 Until we see, until we see 
 Love light the vales of Arcadj.
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 OCTOBER 23, 1910. 
 
 I know a quiet garden 
 
 Where April violets blow, 
 
 Where daffodils are golden, 
 
 And blossoms burst in snow, 
 
 Where summer brings her roses, 
 
 And lilacs laugh in May, 
 
 While chestnut boughs are lighting 
 
 Their lamps along the way ; 
 
 Paths where the lips of Autumn 
 
 Have kissed the leaves to gold, 
 
 And Christmas roses brighten 
 
 In dim December's cold ; 
 
 When sweetly sings the robin 
 
 On leafless boughs above, 
 
 Ere the chill wind wake the twilight 
 
 In the garden that I love.
 
 97 
 
 Oh ! the dawn and oh ! the sunset 
 
 In the garden that I love ! 
 
 When still the flowers are dreaming 
 
 And little breezes move, 
 
 And sing to sleepy shadows 
 
 Over the grasses drawn, 
 
 Where the clear-voiced thrush is calling 
 
 From the laurels o'er the lawn ; 
 
 When shadows grey come creeping 
 
 Out of the western sky, 
 
 When the fairies wake and wander 
 
 And the garden whispers die, 
 
 And the first star leaps to beauty 
 
 In a splendour far away, 
 
 That glows o'er fields far golden 
 
 At closing of the day. 
 
 Oh the echoes and the voices 
 In the garden that I love ! 
 For from flower and lawn and pathway, 
 Grass below and boughs above, 
 Comes the sound of childish voices 
 That are trembling down the years, 
 And that wake my lips to laughter 
 While they dim my eyes with tears.
 
 9 8 
 
 Oh ! they thrill my heart with longing 
 And they pierce my heart with pain 
 For the little childish voices 
 That shall never sound again, 
 For the garden and the pathways 
 That are listening as of yore, 
 For the little laughing footsteps 
 That shall come again no more. 
 
 But childish feet still echo 
 
 Beneath the fir-trees tall, 
 
 Along the fence that wanders 
 
 To meet the garden wall. 
 
 The tool-shed roof has voices, 
 
 And yet the ivy clings 
 
 Where childish lips have whispered 
 
 Of far-off childish things. 
 
 The apple tree ; our gardens ; 
 
 The wonder of the dell ; 
 
 Mirabelles white that shadow 
 
 The pit we loved so well. 
 
 All have their whispered voices 
 
 That call me soft and low 
 
 In the garden, loved as ever 
 
 I loved it long ago.
 
 99 
 
 Gone are the childish voices 
 And fled the childish feet; 
 Yet still the paths are golden, 
 And still the lawns are sweet. 
 If ever the way be weary, 
 If ever my heart be sad, 
 There are thoughts to banish sorrow : 
 There are dreams to make me glad : 
 Fair dreams of a quiet garden 
 Where slow the walnut sways, 
 Dear dreams of the tender faces 
 That haunt those garden ways. 
 Oh ! I pray that when all is ended 
 I may leave that land above 
 Sometimes to walk through the twilight 
 In the garden that I love !
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBP 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 THK LlI!!?AKr 
 
 BMIVERSITY OF CALLFOKjHIJI 
 JLOS ANGELES
 
 j '"" i ii mil mil in n in || in ) || 
 
 PR 
 
 6021 
 
 K36v