THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 FREDERIC THOMAS BLANCHARD 
 ENDOWMENT FUND
 
 '.
 
 i 
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 W. J. DAWSON 
 
 ILontJon 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YORK 
 1893 
 
 The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved
 
 KICHARU CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED , 
 LONDON AND BUNGAY.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE SOUL'S TRIAL i 
 
 ODE AT SUNRISE 2 
 
 THE MAKING OF THE SOUL 5 
 
 TRANSMIGRATION 15 
 
 BIRD'S SONG AT MORNING 20 
 
 TRIBUTE TO THE PAST 22 
 
 To THE FRIENDLY NIGHT 24 
 
 PILATE AT VIENNE 27 
 
 AN ELEGY 36 
 
 THE EARTH'S VOICE 44 
 
 THE BARREN HOME 56 
 
 ADAM Lux TO CHARLOTTE CORDAY 53 
 
 THE PATRIOT'S RIDE 54 
 
 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 56
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MAN'S FAMILIAR 133 
 
 THE UNSUNG SONG 134 
 
 ART AND GOD 135 
 
 ASPIRATION , 136 
 
 LATE PRAISE 138 
 
 IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE 139
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 THE SOUL'S TRIAL 
 
 WHAT gladder thing than day by day to fashion 
 The verse that toils towards perfection's goal? 
 What madder thing than in slow pangs of passion 
 To drain the secret sweetness of the sottl? 
 What sadder thing than night by night to stiimble 
 Along unrestful ways of rest, and ask 
 The proud soul, now grown strangely faint and humble, 
 What guerdon hath it of the day's vain task ? 
 
 For him who strenuous falls in some lost battle 
 There is the long- desired deep grave of peace. 
 For him who lives with herding human cattle 
 There is the blind inglorious gain of ease. 
 But for the artist neither one nor other, 
 Nor self-approval, nor man 's cheerful praise ; 
 Uncomprehending eyes of friend and brother, 
 Uncomprehended aims and lonely days, 
 Till all the vext infertile toil hath end 
 In youth misused and age without a friend.
 
 ODE AT SUNRISE 
 
 FLOW on, thou fountain of ethereal fire, 
 
 Till all the vales are full of bubbling light, 
 
 And warm with slow-expanded soft desire 
 
 The world leans to thee, dewed and flower-bright ! 
 
 On silent seas ride forth uncharioted 
 
 Beneath the banners of invisible winds, 
 
 Thou Power, that needest no dawn-trampling steeds, 
 
 Nor ownest any hand that guides or binds. 
 
 All sadness dies, and death itself is dead, 
 
 Cheered each dropped eye and each disconsolate head, 
 
 Within the living joy thy presence breeds. 
 
 II 
 
 Far off the wind-bulged sails along the sea 
 Lie purple in a purpling atmosphere ; 
 The pebbles on the marge flare ruddily, 
 And like still torches distant heights burn clear. 
 There is no sound in all the empty world 
 Save the faint sobbing of the Night, who flings 
 Her hoarded dew-drops from her as she flies.
 
 A solitary bird, on silent wings, 
 
 Floats like a feather delicately curled 
 
 Above the woods where sleeping ferns are furled, 
 
 And violets only watch with wise still eyes. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The rain-filled torrents hushed and mellow flow, 
 
 The river softly glides and makes no stir ; 
 
 The runnels only hurry as they go, 
 
 And chatter to the early grasshopper. 
 
 Between the osiers comes a little cry 
 
 Of unfledged birds that feel the chill of dawn ; 
 
 And, motionless, with lifted eager ears, 
 
 The hare sits on the green dew-frosted lawn ; 
 
 And all the world in languorous ecstasy 
 
 Seems fast dissolving into air and sky, 
 
 And insubstantial as a dream appears. 
 
 IV 
 
 Around my feet, like plumes, the sunbeams play, 
 Imparting motion and desire of flight, 
 And I could wish that I were free as they, 
 And strong to travel with the travelling light. 
 Impracticable seem no more the skies, 
 Nor leaden and inert this mortal frame, 
 But something bright, and keen, and measureless, 
 Fashioned of air, and light, and living flame ! 
 Fain would I plunge with blind and joyous eyes 
 
 B 2
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Into far fountains of the dawn, and rise 
 Fresh-souled, a winged incarnate Happiness. 
 
 But ah ! the sun-washed feet are leaden still, 
 And still the world moves on the same old way ! 
 The shepherd wakes, and on the windy hill 
 Sheep bleat, and in the valley mists are gray. 
 From unseen steeples clocks proclaim the hour, 
 And shrill cries answer from each level mead. 
 The charm is past ; some signal Dawn hath given, 
 Whereat the clear-eyed Winds arise and lead 
 The huddled clouds, obedient to their power, 
 Along steep paths where grows not any flower, 
 To far-off pastures of the southern heaven. 
 
 VI 
 
 O that the world were ever bright and fair ! 
 
 Forever could I stand on this high plain 
 
 And drink long draughts of sunshine and sweet air 
 
 And feel my life in every quickened vein. 
 
 Fain would I hear the throbbing pipes of Pan, 
 
 And follow thro' these flowering woods of May, 
 
 And dance unshamed in spring-lit ways of mirth, 
 
 The natural child of one unthinking day. 
 
 O thou bright Power, who shone ere man began, 
 
 Assoil me of the sorrows of a man, 
 
 And let me, earth-born, live with this warm earth
 
 THE MAKING OF THE SOUL 
 
 Now, in this dewy hollow, jonquil-starred, 
 
 From rude eyes sheltered, branch and blossom barred, 
 
 Where Sound herself has fallen asleep on flowers, 
 
 And shod with mosses move the breathless hours, 
 
 Let me recapture, while the day's light slopes, 
 
 Those Adorations, Presences, and Hopes 
 
 That long have led me. With unfettered feet 
 
 On upward paths of splendour let me beat, 
 
 Like some faint bird, with sun-plumed wings close-furled, 
 
 That floats at ease above the rolling world, 
 
 Sustained, upheld, propelled at height immense, 
 
 By the wind's strong invis-ible violence. 
 
 II 
 
 O Lady, take these painful fruits of speech, 
 By such long labour fashioned each to each, 
 By such long leaven of the winds and earth 
 Wrought cell to cell, and brought to tedious birth 
 By such faint joys of inward quickening, 
 By such inclement hours of blossoming,
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Since 'twas for thee that all was wrought and done, 
 And thou wert inward hope and outward sun, 
 Thou the warm life that lived within my own, 
 Thine seedlike words wherewith my life was sown, 
 And thine shall be the praise for which I prayed, 
 This undelaying harvest long delayed. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Long since in youth three Spirits led my feet 
 
 In paths remote from clamourous crowd and street. 
 
 The first in storm-frayed thunder clouds was clad, 
 
 With eyes imperious, insolently sad, 
 
 Wherein moved violet shadows of the night, 
 
 And tempest-flashes, which with arrowy light 
 
 Pierced the heart's core, and through each element 
 
 Poured the keen flame of torturing discontent. 
 
 Within his hand he held instead of sword 
 
 An iron harp of strenuous clamant chord, 
 
 And on his brow a fiery splendour lit, 
 
 Which crown-wise glorified and tortured it. 
 
 I heard him sing no song of fluting bird, 
 
 But the loud dissonant eagle-scream I heard, 
 
 And through deep vales wild avalanche-thunder hurled, 
 
 And melancholy waves rolled round the world. 
 
 He startled me and drew me, height by height, 
 
 Through realms of passion and disastrous light, 
 
 And through my heart rushed like a roaring tide, 
 
 Turbid with ferment, Byron's pain and pride.
 
 THK MAKING OF THE SOUL 
 
 IV 
 
 The second Spirit came when spring was dead, 
 By Autumn winds, like winged steeds, charioted, 
 And hair blown back against the flying cloud, 
 And music shrill, and sweet, and wildly loud. 
 His full eyes shone with hope of visions immense, 
 Which no man sees or hath seen ; opulence 
 Of Life and Love breathed in each eager glance 
 Which dimmed the sunlight with its dominance. 
 Faint rainbows clothed him with a vesture bright, 
 Which altered in each hue of shifting light, 
 And Fragrances and Odours came with him, 
 Stol'n from the haunted depths of forests dim, 
 And immemorial vales, where silent streams 
 Flow onward dreaming to some land of dreams. 
 His words fell on the hushed sense like a rain 
 Of tears begot by some delicious pain, 
 Or like a music soft and measureless 
 Which dies of its own keen voluptuousness ; 
 And flush't cloud-peaks behind him hov'ring hung, 
 And the sea listened silent while he sung. 
 I heard and followed, but whene'er I strove 
 Upon that rainbowed road he kept to move, 
 In billowing mist were whelmed my heavy feet ; 
 And whensoe'er that strain I would repeat, 
 An aching numbness froze my heart with pain, 
 For Shelley's charmed string who shall touch again ?
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 V 
 
 One other Spirit calm and grave there was, 
 
 Who shadow-like stole silent thro' the grass, 
 
 Fresh from embraces of the Titan broods, 
 
 And nymphs, and fauns, that haunt deep-shadowed woods. 
 
 Unnaturally calm he was, as one 
 
 Who long since with all earthly love hath done ; 
 
 Who holds within himself, as sword in sheath, 
 
 Fore-knowledge and fore-taste of languorous death. 
 
 A faded chaplet hung about his brow, 
 
 Woven of hopes that long had lost their glow ; 
 
 His voice was low and sweet, and lingered on 
 
 Its utterance like a stream's faint fitful moan. 
 
 Yet mellow as the nightingale's it rose 
 
 When moonlight filled the wood with silver snows, 
 
 And in the shadows many an antique shape 
 
 Of god or goddess, with wide eyes agape, 
 
 Stole listening forth, and from the woodland dim 
 
 Voices of pain and rapture answered him, 
 
 Long languorous notes and mellow wind-borne cries, 
 
 From wandering, long dis-crowned divinities, 
 
 In the bewildered forest sunk from sight ; 
 
 And lo, Greece lived again, and all the light 
 
 Of all the dawns when earth was fair and young 
 
 Spanned wizard skies above me while Keats sung.
 
 THE MAKING OF THE SOUL 
 
 VI 
 
 Companionless, as some strange flower that dwells 
 
 Unnoticed in the forest's deepest dells, 
 
 I grew, and breathed a warm enchanted air, 
 
 With strength to dream, but none to act or dare. 
 
 My food was honey-dew that came unsought, 
 
 By many a golden bee of Fancy wrought, 
 
 And dropping gold, stol'n from the secret womb 
 
 Of azure fields. I broke the honey-comb 
 
 And ate unseen, and saw the suns that shone 
 
 By long-sealed wells of ancient Helicon : 
 
 I drank the magic water and I dreamed, 
 
 Till all the world like some thin vision seemed, 
 
 And men's loud-striving voices from afar 
 
 Were like the sound of some faint labouring star, 
 
 Or as the whisper of a motion heard 
 
 From the wide wings of some high-travelling bird. 
 
 Gladdened at morn I rose because I knew 
 
 A spell which gave each hour a golden hue ; 
 
 In cold hours of contempt that secret charm 
 
 Kept all the chambers of the spirit warm ; 
 
 At night faint purple wings about my bed 
 
 Were furled, and I was thrilled and comforted : 
 
 And near me unapparent glories moved, 
 
 And steeds for flight, fire-maned and fiery-hooved, 
 
 And calm, soft-sandalled splendours, who at will 
 
 Bore me to realms remote, and fair and still. 
 
 I was as one who tastes a sovran wine,
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 And hears a golden music, line on line, 
 
 Throb thro' a lucid sunset-atmosphere, 
 
 Until confused became things far and near, 
 
 And in the modulated music beat 
 
 Melodious marchings of aerial feet, 
 
 And all the show of earth and sea and sky 
 
 Dissolved in dream, and song, and fantasy ; 
 
 And Nature, and all visions that are hers, 
 
 Were lyric lines within a poet's verse. 
 
 Had death come then I had been well content 
 
 To leave life's unfamiliar element, 
 
 And pass into the veins of trees and flowers, 
 
 And move thro' silent zodiacs with the hours, 
 
 And share the freedom of the winds and rain, 
 
 Dissolved for ever with delicious pain 
 
 Into all things that grow, and coming up 
 
 Refashioned in the lily's faery cup ; 
 
 Or, if not thus, on some fair morn to cease, 
 
 On sleeping tides drawn on from peace to peace, 
 
 Unknown of men to fade away and pass, 
 
 Like dew sucked up by sun and wind and grass, 
 
 Or bubble sunk within the sunlit sea, 
 
 Dissolved and mixed in its immensity. 
 
 And so I dwelt a dreamer among men, 
 
 Far from all mortal care or human ken, 
 
 Content in crowded worlds to live apart 
 
 Counting the pulses of my own full heart.
 
 THE MAKING OF THE SOUL u 
 
 VII 
 
 O Lady, thou didst teach me that not thus 
 
 Alone shall highest visions visit us ; 
 
 Man waits the call of Love, and it was thhie 
 
 All these far- drifting elements to combine, 
 
 And out of dreams and powers past my control 
 
 Fashion in me the ordered full-orbed soul. 
 
 On my strayed life thou enteredst like a star, 
 
 Which moves where woods wide-branched and silent are, 
 
 And finds at last a solitary rift 
 
 Through which its eddies of faint light may drift, 
 
 And, entering, grows until it is a shape 
 
 Which sparkling films of wind-blown raiment drape, 
 
 And drawing nearer is a creature human, 
 
 A Star in brightness, but in brow a Woman. 
 
 And thou didst touch me and didst gently lead 
 
 By bare blown wold, and vale, and darkened mead, 
 
 And cattle huddled in the frozen marsh, 
 
 And towns where life is dissonant and harsh, 
 
 And huts where obscure mothers lie at rest 
 
 With tear-stained children gathered on the breast, 
 
 And men with tired hands fall'n slack, and stilled 
 
 With sleep, are of their long day's toil fulfilled, 
 
 To Bethlehems of world-sweet hope and woe, 
 
 Where love's fair blossoms out of sorrow grow, 
 
 And Calvaries crowned with divine eclipse, 
 
 And Christs who cry thereon with thirsting lips, 
 
 And all the great vext ever-vehement strife 
 
 Of man's laborious and unpitied life.
 
 12 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 VIII 
 
 And thou didst teach me how the heart expands 
 
 At Love's warm breath, and with thy delicate hands 
 
 Thou didst unloose the girdle of my being, 
 
 And draw forth, like a bud bright and unseeing, 
 
 From sheath and husk the folded self that lay 
 
 Concealed, and fearful of the common day. 
 
 Beneath the ice you heard the river run, 
 
 And drew it, chilled and murmuring, to the sun. 
 
 Around my spirit thou didst weave the mesh 
 
 Of love-spun sinew and inviolate flesh, 
 
 And thus we travelled through a world of blossom, 
 
 Lip laid on lip, and bosom leaned on bosom : 
 
 Or stooped by wells that stars endiadem, 
 
 Like flowers trembling on a common stem, 
 
 Each in the other imaged and transfused, 
 
 In thee my being mystically confused, 
 
 Till I knew not if I were I or thou ! 
 
 For rather should the sun's flame disavow 
 
 Its light, and flame with heat no longer mate, 
 
 Than thou and I be ever separate, 
 
 Thou Mother of my soul, thou Sister, twin 
 
 To every thought that glows or pains within, 
 
 Thou nearer and yet dearer than these are, 
 
 Thou bright Deliverer, thou impassioned Star, 
 
 Thou spring-like creature, fair, and warm, and human, 
 
 Thou Star in brightness, but in brow a Woman !
 
 THE MAKING OF THE SOUL 13 
 
 IX 
 
 And thou didst teach me that in suffering 
 Is learned the highest song that man can sing ; 
 And in drear labour through inglorious years 
 The truth that takes the world's reluctant ears, 
 And in the storm of action there is found 
 The art that triumphs with a sovran sound, 
 And in dark vales of limitless self-shame 
 Is plucked at last the fadeless flower of fame, 
 And last, by Love that suffers and is calm, 
 The land of peace and ever-flow'ring palm. 
 O thou, my Star, my Light, my other Soul, 
 Thus thou didst teach my feet to win the goal ; 
 Thou Life, thou Love, toward whom my spirit yearns, 
 Thou Fire, wherein my thought transmuted burns, 
 Thought of my thought, in whom all visions meet, 
 Lo ! thus were led my long-bewildered feet, 
 And now at last the labour is complete. 
 
 X 
 
 The labour is complete ; let us arise 
 
 And seek again youth's morn-enchanted skies. 
 
 Melt thou, and be once more my guiding Star, 
 
 And I will follow glad, and fleet, and far, 
 
 To easeful lands that green and quiet are. 
 
 Fairer than were the slopes of Gilead, 
 
 Or snow-crowned Hermon, where the land is glad 
 
 With fountained gardens, and the dove makes moan 
 
 Beside the streams of cedared Lebanon ;
 
 I 4 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Fairer than are the bright unvintaged lands 
 
 O'er which morn-robed Amana silent stands, 
 
 And Senir, like a shaggy sentinel, 
 
 With purpling heights whereby the hours we tell ; 
 
 Fairer than dreamed-of Tempe, or the vale 
 
 Where eddying Usk flows thro' the moonlight pale, 
 
 And murmurs languorous tales of knightly love 
 
 To level meads, and hawthorns stooped above ; 
 
 Fairer than flower-fair islands of the sea, 
 
 Or all earth's fairest shall this region be, 
 
 Where foam-laced waves roll down a golden shore, 
 
 And all the earth's vain clamour hurts no more, 
 
 But only on the inward ear shall beat, 
 
 Like sad far music that the sea makes sweet. 
 
 And there, in strains that come we know not whence, 
 
 Shall be re-wrought each closed experience, 
 
 And from the gateways of the long-shut soul 
 
 Life's pageant shall stream forth serene and whole ; 
 
 And all past bliss for which we did compete, 
 
 In unimagined new joy made complete, 
 
 Shall reinterpret all it was to us ; 
 
 And faint and sweet o'er ocean's tremulous 
 
 Untraversed floor, by great winds borne afar, 
 
 Our song shall flood that most unhappy star 
 
 We called the earth, and men in distant days 
 
 Shall give us love who do not ask for praise. 
 
 O thou winged Music, thou veiled Happiness, 
 
 Thou Joy in whom all joy is measureless, 
 
 Arise, and let us seek, O Soul, my Star, 
 
 The easeful lands that green and quiet arel
 
 TRANSMIGRATION 
 
 FROM time to time there falls a radiance bright 
 Of reminiscence on the startled mind, 
 The soul cries, " I have seen this thing before ; " 
 And voices answer, "Thou hast guessed aright.'' 
 
 Yet even then our wit cannot unwind 
 The mystery, nor gauge the keen delight : 
 We break into this brighter consciousness, 
 And fade and falter, even while we find. 
 
 When was it we first stood beside this shore ? 
 What makes it thus familiar to the sight ? 
 Through what slow haste of centuries have we come ? 
 What were we once, lower in life or more ? 
 
 This virginal face, so sweet and passionless, 
 
 Is less than known, yet more than alien : 
 
 O, sure our brows have worn some marriage wreath 
 
 Of primal life, in some old Paradise ! 
 
 Or did I gaze upon her rapt and dumb, 
 What time she looked with Cleopatra's eyes ? 
 Or, awed, have I not bowed before the beam 
 Of those proud brows long since in Ilium ?
 
 16 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 I cannot read this riddle, how or when : 
 
 It is enough she knows me well beneath 
 
 All soil of change, all spite and spleen of death, 
 
 She, queen of women, I, her king of men. 
 
 Her eyes glow with the light of evening skies, 
 Long aeons drop no shadow on their gleam ; 
 We meet like phantoms in life's shifting dream, 
 Too little knowing, yet too sadly wise. 
 
 II 
 
 This vision haunts my footsteps everywhere ; 
 Earth whispers like a mother in my ear, 
 " Long hast thou left me, but I am the same, 
 Thou still art strong, and I, am I not fair ? 
 
 "See how on yonder peak the light burns clear, 
 Look well, till memory gives the clue long hid." 
 I look ; 'tis Sinai's jutting brow piled high ! 
 I doubtless saw it when it shook with fear. 
 
 From some poor Hebrew's eyes, what time there came 
 The first roll of God's thunderous chariot wheel, 
 On the hushed air my soul looked forth and saw 
 Those tottering crags, like mighty torches, flame. 
 
 The worn sarcophagus with carven lid, 
 The Nile's vast water, or the mummy's brow, 
 All are familiar. I, beneath the glow 
 Of such a sun, helped build the Pyramid !
 
 TRANSMIGRATION 17 
 
 The Nile gleams on me with a friendly eye, 
 A secret greeting in the air I feel ; 
 That door's low lintel, ah ! did I not kneel 
 Behind its shelter, hearing Death pass by? 
 
 I have been many, yet inexorably 
 In each myself alone : in ages gone 
 I marched with Xerxes, fell at Marathon, 
 Saw Carthage burn and Alexander die. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Inscrutable, unresting, spreads the sea 
 Of infinite life, whereon we float like beads 
 Of fragile foam, whirled in an endless game 
 Beneath the self-same sky, nor cease to be. 
 
 Nothing is new in human thought or deed, 
 Nothing is old but man ; his thought runs on 
 A differing music, but the self-same, key, 
 A changeful voice, but uttering changeless need. 
 
 The new is but the old with altered name, 
 The light in life's vast theatre is made 
 Brighter or dirnmer, but through light or shade 
 The singer and the audience are the same. 
 
 I hear the mighty instrument whereon 
 The fingers of the ages strike deep chords, 
 But one vast music peals its passion still 
 Through races living, or through races gone.
 
 i8 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 In Dante's depth of austere melody 
 Voices familiar on my spirit smite ; 
 I heard him pass me, crying to the night, 
 Long since beneath the olives and clear sky. 
 
 I turned me then from faction's clashing swords, 
 Intent to hear him ; shielded from the chill 
 Of wintry winds to day I read my fill 
 Of his stern muse, and recognise the words ! 
 
 IV 
 
 Thus then with heart serene of death I think : 
 Too oft upon its sea have I been tossed, 
 Too oft have dwelt within God's light a while, 
 To stumble when anew I touch the brink. 
 
 Shall voyagers fear the waters often crost ? 
 With natural sadness, when the hour hath come, 
 I say farewell, but in myself I know 
 That life departed is not being lost ! 
 
 Shall soldiers falter with an instinct vile, 
 
 When God's great message breaks the stagnant life ? 
 
 I pass at His command to strife or peace, 
 
 But the calm soul upon my lips shall smile ! 
 
 I know the way, the waters make me room : 
 I know the stairs that gleam up from the tide ; 
 Upon the further shore my house is set, 
 In God's great city, as my house at home.
 
 TRANSMIGRATION 19 
 
 A sworded Knight I wander to and fro 
 Upon God's errands which can never cease ; 
 I ask, nor envy, the fair bower of ease, 
 Valiant I came and valorous will I go. 
 
 And there as here, upon life's hidden side, 
 All is familiar. God and I have met, 
 I, unforgotten, even while I forget : 
 God and the soul of Man alone abide.
 
 BIRD'S SONG AT MORNING 
 
 THOU that cleavest heaven 
 With such unmastered flight, 
 To whom the fates have given 
 For sport the sky's blue height ; 
 Where cloud with cloud is meeting, 
 
 1 see thy bright wings beating, 
 And flashing and retreating 
 Against the morning light. 
 
 No toilsome task thou knowest, 
 No day with tears begun, 
 Lighthearted forth thou goest 
 At morn to meet the sun ; 
 All day thy song thou triest 
 From lowest note to highest, 
 And all unweary fliest 
 Until the day be done. 
 
 Thou knowst no toil for raiment, 
 No pain of mocked desire ; 
 The skies are thy song's payment, 
 The sun thy throne of fire.
 
 BIRD'S SONG AT MORNING 
 
 Thou askest and receivest, 
 And if perchance thou grievest, 
 At will the world thou leavest 
 On wings that never tire. 
 
 Yet we of grosser stature 
 Have in thy flight a part, 
 We share thy tameless nature, 
 We have a nobler art. 
 When thou art tired returning, 
 There mount in love and yearning 
 Toward suns of keener burning, 
 The winged thoughts of our heart. 
 
 Within our souls are folden 
 The wings thou canst not share, 
 We see a dawn more golden, 
 We breathe diviner air : 
 In sleep when toil is ended, 
 In prayer with hope attended, 
 We traverse ways more splendid, 
 And see a world more fair. 
 
 Yet oft, when day is gleaming 
 On sleepless eyes, we vow 
 We would exchange our dreaming 
 To be one hour as thou ! 
 Such discontent we borrow, 
 That we forget in sorrow 
 We have the long to-morrow, 
 Thou only hast the NOW.
 
 TRIBUTE TO THE PAST 
 
 WHAT ancestor in what old Paradise 
 
 Saw with swoll'n heart strange rose-dipped dawns arise, 
 
 And haunted nights of storm with fearful eyes, 
 
 On turbulent seas, 
 
 That these things move me to unnatural tears, 
 
 With melody and terror fill my ears, 
 
 And the tense nerves alternate thrill and freeze ? 
 
 Who was he, arrow-pierced with agony, 
 
 Who felt the movement of the winds and sky 
 
 Pass thro' him like a ceaseless torturing cry, 
 
 In infinite moan, 
 
 That all earth's cloud-winged brightness should for me 
 
 Turn to dire darkness, and so tragic be, 
 
 Immitigably dark for me alone ? 
 
 Or who was he weighed down with grosser flesh, 
 Whose spirit, futile-winged within the mesh, 
 Beat up and down with wounds that bled afresh 
 In shattering strife, 
 
 That I with angry tears should seek in vain 
 Self-conquest and self-reverence to regain, 
 And win to song this immelodious life ?
 
 TRIBUTE TO THE PAST 23 
 
 Who was he, covetous of the eagle's wings, 
 
 Who beat large-handed on primeval strings, 
 
 Or, later, stung with hopes and questionings, 
 
 Challenged his doom, 
 
 That in my veins once more the blood contends, 
 
 Until lost in pursuit of visionary ends, 
 
 His woes accumulated on me come ? 
 
 Is it some futile blind Moeonides, 
 
 Some shouting Norseman of the Northern seas, 
 
 Some ploughman Byron, impotent to please, 
 
 Incarnated 
 
 Anew in me, whose hands move round my heart, 
 
 Whose salt fires in my essence scorch and smart, 
 
 That I am but the puppet of the dead ? 
 
 Ah, ye who tried in vain to sing or soar, 
 
 Pursue me with your lust of deed no more ; 
 
 Annul, O God, who hast no thronged Before, 
 
 These ills of birth ! 
 
 Dread ancestors forbear and let me be, 
 
 That I, obscure, may perish silently, 
 
 Swept down with all the dust of all the earth !
 
 TO THE FRIENDLY NIGHT 
 
 NOT in the dawn but the dark 
 The heavens lie open and bare 
 With their cressets of infinite fire. 
 
 When we go with brows bent in despair, 
 With hearts that are sick with desire, 
 Under the midnight's arc, 
 
 Then Heaven's all eyes for us, 
 
 And the wonderful moon-crowned clouds 
 
 Seem stairs leading up to God ! 
 
 Then the light, in white-woven shrouds, 
 Covers up the weariful day, 
 And makes a peace for us thus : 
 
 An,d the pools of mire where we trod, 
 Where we slipped in the toil of the way, 
 Are gemmed and crystalline floors ; 
 
 And straight through a thousand doors 
 The spirits of peace glide down, 
 And mingle and mix with our own.
 
 TO THE FRIENDLY NIGHT ' 25 
 
 II 
 
 This is no work for the sun : 
 To the happy the day brings joy 
 On the beating of golden wings ; 
 
 And one with eager employ 
 
 Hails the light, and another one sings, 
 
 And they laugh, when the day is begun. 
 
 But night is the time for the sad, 
 When the plentiful peace of the stars, 
 Like dew on the weary is shed : 
 
 And life, with its fissures and scars, 
 Its stains and its tombs of the dead, 
 Its ghosts that are evil or mad, 
 
 Is touched with transfiguring grace, 
 And Silence, soft-footed and bright, 
 Like a nurse rocks the children to sleep. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Wherefore we hail thee, O night, 
 We who surfer and weep, 
 We of the sorrowful face : 
 
 We, who remember life's sweet 
 Long draught, and who taste no more 
 The lust and delight of the earth :
 
 26 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Nor hear the innumerous beat 
 Of the hours, as they dance along 
 On the sunbeams' quivering floor : 
 
 For whom is finished the song, 
 
 And the winepress of joy that we trod, 
 
 And the race with the swift and the strong. 
 
 We, too feeble to fight, 
 
 Too bruised with the scourge and the rod, 
 
 Too weary to struggle again : 
 
 We, forsaken of men, 
 
 We, left alone with God, 
 
 Cry " Hail to thee, friendly night ! " 
 
 Thou settest on us thy mark, 
 Thou teachest us something higher 
 Than day with his insolent glare ; 
 
 For not in the dawn but the dark 
 The heavens lie open and bare 
 With their cressets of infinite fire !
 
 PILATE AT VIENNE 
 
 PROCLA, how goes the hour ? Yet burns the light, 
 
 And outside in the shaken olive trees 
 
 The desolate wind makes its perpetual moan. 
 
 I cannot sleep ; I hear the torrent's roar 
 
 Made frightful and immense though troubled dreams ; 
 
 The lamplight hurts my eyes, all things are wrong ; 
 
 Procla, hast thou too left me in my need ? 
 
 Ah ! now I see thee, but thou answerest not ; 
 Ever thou sittest with deep eyes aflame, 
 And hand upon thy coils of gleaming hair, 
 And face like marble, with white lips drawn close, 
 As though some leech of anguish drained them dry ! 
 Procla, put out the light : it hurts my eyes, 
 I say it hurts my eyes : the curst thick glare 
 Stifles me, drives sleep hence, flickers and leaps 
 Just as I doze, so that I start and wake 
 Thinking the curtains flame, and only see 
 Thee, Procla, sitting ghost-like in the glare ! 
 
 Even now I dreamed of thee and of thy lamp, 
 An awful dream ! O'er many an ice-capped crag, 
 In the deep chasms of sleep my feet had climbed, 
 Until at last in a low vale I stopped,
 
 28 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Like that you know, where pine-trees cling in fear 
 Upon the cliff's face, and the blackened rocks 
 Bow themselves to an arch, along whose crown 
 One little strip of sky runs like a thread 
 Of crooked blue ; O miles up, miles away ! 
 No sound was there, no bird winged such grim depth, 
 No wind stirred in the pines ; so close they clung 
 With bare convulsive roots, twisted in pain, 
 They frozen seemed with age-long agony. 
 Then sudden, far away, a spark of light 
 Kindled and trembled : then I saw thy lamp, 
 And thee, with eyes which nothing saw, move on, 
 Ringed with its wavering flame, and then, ye gods ! 
 Just as I stumbled forward to thy feet 
 With cry of welcome, lo, I saw thee stand 
 And lift thy lamp, and all its light was blood, 
 And the live flame o'erflowed, one crimson stream, 
 And wet my ankles, splashed the black rocks red, 
 Lifted me from my feet, and a great voice 
 Like thunder cried, " His blood shall be on us 
 And on our children ! " Then I saw thee sink 
 With wide eyes burning, and I cried and woke ! 
 
 Procla, for old love's sake wilt thou not speak ? 
 
 Dreadful thou sittest, silent evermore, 
 
 Thy glance fixed in unalterable dismay, 
 
 Thy brows drawn down, thy mouth set fast in pain 
 
 And on thy lips, where love sat laughing once, 
 
 The blue-white ghastly stillness of the corpse ! 
 
 Hast thou a memory of the happy day
 
 HLATE AT VIENNE 29 
 
 When first we loved, when first we drank full life, 
 
 Draining each other's lips in such rich joy 
 
 Of nuptial bliss, we well had been content 
 
 If all the wide world in that hour had sunk 
 
 Like a mere wreck beneath our feet, and left 
 
 Us floating onward, upward, where who knows ? 
 
 Strained ever lip to lip in close embrace, 
 
 Alone within the naked voids of air, 
 
 Or swept like leaves across the Elysian fields ! 
 
 Ah ! to have died in such a flush of joy, 
 
 Pouring life out in one ecstatic hour, 
 
 What bliss supremer have the gods for men ? 
 
 But now we two stand close, yet far apart, 
 
 As though upon two clouds poised high in heaven, 
 
 And when I fain would clasp thee, lo ! the wind 
 
 Blows thee away, and at my feet there yawn 
 
 Infinite chasms, vast star-crowded void, 
 
 Bottomless precipices of the blue thin air 
 
 I cry and shudder, and am left alone ! 
 
 Let me think how it happened. Well I know 
 
 The fates stand near, hiding their strangling cord, 
 
 Flashing their welcome steel there in the gloom ! 
 
 Procla, rememberest thou Jerusalem ? 
 
 Sun-saturated, many-turreted, 
 
 It lay upon that morn ; the moon at full 
 
 Had scarce gone down, when with a rush of gold 
 
 The day leapt up into the wind-swept heavens, 
 
 And thou, thou wakenedst me with finger lift,
 
 i POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 And brows drawn even as now, sick with thy dream, 
 The night's foreshadowing of the day's mischance. 
 Then scarce had that passed, when within the streets 
 There swelled the noise of multitudinous feet, 
 And those I hated whom may all gods curse, 
 The priests stood howling in the outer court; 
 And with them He the Man ! 
 
 Could any tell what doom hid in that scene, 
 What awful issues those next hours should bear ? 
 Doubtless in those clear heavens, had one but seen, 
 The furies hung, their serpent-hair blown loose, 
 The lightnings knotted in their scorpion whips, 
 Their torches flaring like a comet's tail, 
 Their eyes held wide with horror and pale rage 
 But who could guess it ? Thou upbraidest me 
 With eyes like theirs ; but, Procla, think a space, 
 And pierce into the centre of my soul, 
 Until thou seest me as I see myself 
 In this dire light of an accomplished fate. 
 Now let us put it thus ; rememberest thou 
 How once we rode through the Numidian wood, 
 What time the day's heat slackened, thou and I 
 Lost in deep thought : when sudden, without sign, 
 Like a dense curtain dropped on noiseless ropes, 
 The darkness shut us down, and all the waste 
 Rang with the lion's roar. Just in advance, 
 Beyond the foremost guard, I saw thee ride 
 Alone and careless : then I heard the swish 
 Of something stealthy moving thro' the dark,
 
 PILATE AT VIENNE 31 
 
 And straight above thee, like green lightning flashed 
 
 Two fires, a lion's eyes ! Thou didst not pause ; 
 
 The topaz set within thy naked hair 
 
 Gleamed like a star, and gave the beast his mark, 
 
 Where he crouched low to leap, unseen of thee ; 
 
 When, with a rush, a dozen spears flew up, 
 
 And ere thy lips could whiten, at my feet 
 
 The brute's great length lay shuddering in quick death. 
 
 So close thou rod'st to death, and did not know, 
 So close draws on the inevitable hour 
 To all men, when a word's mere loss or gain, 
 A glance's meaning, the sheer accident 
 Of nerves t that flutter, or are knit like steel 
 At the mood's beck, seals all life's destiny ! 
 Our voices tremble off beyond the stars, 
 Our deed stands out irreparably fixed ; 
 Life's drama finished with a splash of blood, 
 Or lifted into glory of glad years ! 
 
 What was my mood that memorable morn ? 
 
 First flushed swift anger ; here cried I, breaks out 
 
 The ancient trouble ; ever at this time, 
 
 When fervour of religion hottest boils, 
 
 Come riot and disorder ; stir the mud 
 
 Of every plot and in its dangerous ooze, 
 
 At deepest bottom, there is hid a priest ! 
 
 Then mere hot rage passed like a gust of breath 
 
 And left an anger calmer and more deep, 
 
 When I beheld the man they brought to me,
 
 32 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 And looked from them to him. For there he stood, 
 
 Pushed forward in the sun, his turban fall'n, 
 
 His head quite bare, his face lift heavenward, 
 
 And smiling almost, as a god might smile 
 
 Ineffable, invincible, serene, 
 
 Even while the fiery vipers drained his heart ! 
 
 His dark eyes burned within his wasted face 
 
 As if with endless sorrow, on his lips 
 
 That strange smile flickered like a ray of gold 
 
 Caught in the thick mesh of immense still pain, 
 
 And when those eyes met mine, there ran a thrill 
 
 Of subtle warmth shame, worship, sympathy, 
 
 I knew not what, straight through each tingling nerve, 
 
 And made my heart leap. O, I knew at once, 
 
 Wherever guilt lay, it was not with him. 
 
 One's eyes made that clear ; looking from his face 
 
 To that grim press of faces, gaunt, gray, false, 
 
 That ringed him round as wolves might ring a lamb, 
 
 With deep jaws quivering, just before they leap ! 
 
 'Twixt wolves and lamb stood I, and all my heart 
 
 Leapt up that moment in the lamb's defence. 
 
 Thou smilest thy cold smile, and by thy look 
 I know thy inmost thought. Speak out thy soul, 
 Say it is false ! Recite me all the facts, 
 How thou didst breathe thy fearful dream aloud, 
 How he stood silent, how the multitude 
 Mastered their master with their tyrannous voice, 
 How I bowed at that cry, yea, bowed and fell ! 
 Do I not know it ? Have I ever slept
 
 PILATE AT VIENNK 33 
 
 These many monthsj when first of all ill dreams, 
 
 Or last, when others like thick mists have boiled 
 
 Out of the vales of sleep, there has not run 
 
 The well-remembered flash thro' all the brain, 
 
 That Jewish sunlight lighting every nook, 
 
 Jerusalem, piled high 'gainst morning's blue, 
 
 Sun-saturated, many-turreted, 
 
 And all my life has leapt to hear the cry 
 
 Of the oncoming crowd, and front that face ? 
 
 Thou canst not make me guiltier than I am, 
 
 Thou canst not add to memory's open scroll 
 
 One word not there already, bitten in 
 
 Beyond effacement with undying fire. 
 
 I bow before my fate, acknowledging 
 
 I suffer justly, being myself unjust ! 
 
 Whoso to grasp occasion's glittering prize 
 
 Throws right away, throws from him life's true gold, 
 
 And gains a handful of bright eggs, which hatched, 
 
 Shall be a breed of serpents bringing death ; 
 
 Canst thou add anything to such a fate ? 
 
 But there I stop, and, fallen from thy love, 
 
 Yet to thy pity make my last appeal. 
 
 I stand unkinged, cast down in life's mid-fight ; 
 
 In this Man, prisoner once what now who knows ? 
 
 My life's fate met me, and thereon I broke, 
 
 As full streams break upon the sudden rocks, 
 
 And life flew up in spray, and fell in foam, 
 
 Confused, dismembered, useless evermore. 
 
 But this remains; not altogether base, 
 
 D
 
 34 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Or weak, that dread hour found me. Procla, think ! 
 
 Was any friend, sharer of thought or bread, 
 
 Found with this Jesus on his day of trial ? 
 
 Did any say, " He healed me this at least 
 
 Is mine to do / witness thus and die ! " 
 
 They say he had disciples where were they ? 
 
 That he healed many what spell held them back, 
 
 That thus he came unfriended ? So then I, 
 
 Mark this, I, Pilate, h,is one friend appear ; 
 
 I judged him, yea even thrice, most innocent ! 
 
 I alone sought to snatch him from his foes, 
 
 I witnessed for him when all else were dumb, 
 
 I gave my voice against the thunder, I 
 
 Alone, of all men, strove at least to save 
 
 The Lamb from all the hungry pack, and last 
 
 Turned condemnation into sacrifice, 
 
 Stood with him, shamed before the mob's wild strength, 
 
 Acknowledged impotence by washing hands, 
 
 Both of us wronged, he sacrificed for them, 
 
 I now for him, and falling with his fall ! 
 
 Procla, the day dawns ; all the rain has passed, 
 
 And shrill the lark sings in the thick'ning light 
 
 I go beyond the light, beyond the dark ! 
 
 Life's but a game, the die thrown ill we lose, 
 
 Thrown well we gain, who knows, the Caesar's throne ? 
 
 My stake is lost, and so I leave the game, 
 
 Turn a shade paler maybe as I rise, 
 
 And feel a sharp strange tremor as I bow 
 
 Toward the veiled fates ; but have at least the strength
 
 PILATE AT VIENNE 35 
 
 To go out by the stern old Roman way. 
 What thing is this thou sayst ? That He was God ! 
 God judged of me, God slain that cannot be ! 
 Yet no more God-like ever God conceived ! 
 Who knows? It may be. This at least is clear, 
 Outside the world my spirit shall seek His, 
 Somewhere in Hades I shall see His face 
 Make light and seek Him ! Will He not, the Just, 
 Then, think you, turn, and look as one might look 
 Upon a shamed half-friend of lowlier rank, 
 Once, for a night, drawn near by sharp distress, 
 Famine, or fever, or the field's grim chance, 
 And smile free welcome, measuring out to me 
 The strong safe succour I denied to Him ? 
 
 n i
 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 So thou art dead, in the wide chase of life 
 Smitten before thy time ! Men hear the news, 
 And feel a vacant sympathy, and breathe 
 Thy name a moment ; then the rushing wind 
 Of undelaying purposes and aims, 
 Blown upwards partly from dark under-worlds 
 Of carnal prompting, part blown from above, 
 Whirls them away, and I am left alone, 
 Repeating this one phrase, So Thou art dead ! 
 
 To me, my friend, how different the words ! 
 
 I hear them tolling like a solemn knell 
 
 Thrilled through the mist, when late on autumn eves 
 
 The leaves drop like extinguished spots of fire 
 
 In the wide smoke which drifts along the hills, 
 
 Above the ruin of a summer world. 
 
 The light burns dim, the mouse runs in the floor, 
 
 The silence seems to vibrate on the ear, 
 
 And a great dread falls on me, while I sit 
 
 Close to thy shrouded feet, and think of thee, 
 
 Of what thou wert and what thou art become. 
 
 How strange that one brief instant changes all 
 For thee, for me ! For thee the arrow sped 
 Beyond all search, for me the murmuring string
 
 AN ELEGY 37 
 
 Vibrating hollowly to empty air ! 
 
 All changed as tho' a world were lost, and loosed 
 
 The golden girdle binding firmaments 
 
 Within the starry limits of God's law. 
 
 To-morrow will come sometime : morrows grow 
 
 Like flowers ever out of night's deep void, 
 
 They bloom and fade, and know not what I know, 
 
 That earth is altered, and a power has passed 
 
 Out of our vision to some final bourne, 
 
 Out of our love to realms love cannot scale. 
 
 Yet in this room, close to thy shrouded feet, 
 
 Thy soul elate meets mine, and I perceive 
 
 That thou wert greater than all things thou didst ; 
 
 All things thou didst being but bright sparks struck out 
 
 From an interior fount of heavenly fire, 
 
 The spiritual self, the very self I loved ! 
 
 I knew thee that thou wert of those great few 
 
 Who ever feel a yearning after God, 
 
 An inward need and prompting moving thee 
 
 To prayer that feels assurance of its goal 
 
 From earliest childhood thou wert sure of that ! 
 
 Yet hard it was from year to year to stand 
 
 Within the clamourous market-place of life, 
 
 And pipe to those who gave thee no regard, 
 
 To fashion that for which men had no need, 
 
 A music falling on reluctant ears. 
 
 And hard within thyself to lock thy gift, 
 
 As tho' it were a guilty secret, thou 
 
 Meanwhile beneath indifferent, callous eyes
 
 38 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Passing unrecognised, unprized, unknown, 
 
 With silence like a garment clothing thee ! 
 
 And hard to see each shining goal recede, 
 
 And summit beyond summit fold themselves 
 
 In bastions of inaccessible height, 
 
 Alluring and delusive, these still peaks 
 
 Of Art lost in unfathomable skies ! 
 
 And hard to learn how short life is, how long 
 
 The way, how poor the scant result, 
 
 Wrung from the hostile days, for him who strives 
 
 To gain perfection undesired of men. 
 
 Yet thou didst not despair ; no langour dulled 
 
 The keen upsoaring passion of thy soul ; 
 
 Even to the last thou didst toil on, content 
 
 If from the height those unheard voices called 
 
 In faint star-music, and within thyself 
 
 There thrived the growing instinct to obey. 
 
 No other like thee have I known, my friend, 
 
 So wise, so moderate, yet so finely wrought 
 
 To sacred ecstasy, so quickly touched 
 
 By all the joy and vastness of the earth. 
 
 I think thy soul flowered bravely once a year 
 
 With flowering summer ; then the odorous warmth 
 
 Of long bee-buzzing noons drew forth thy powers, 
 
 And new apparel clothed thee ; and thou seemdst 
 
 To share the earth's life and wind's liberty, 
 
 Thyself an elemental form, in whom 
 
 The elements conspired to work their will. 
 
 Nothing escaped thine eye, the osiered pool,
 
 AN ELEGY 39 
 
 The red-legged heron in the azured ooze, 
 The plover crying to the racing clouds, 
 The chattering insect-life within the grass, 
 The bubbled stream where fishes stirred and fed, 
 The lark that soared against the gusty wind, 
 Crying shrill exultation to the sun. 
 For thee no fear lurked in the final thought 
 Of mouldered flesh, rather the final joy 
 Of working earth's renewal, thou content 
 To lose thyself within the earth's wide life, 
 Hearing the heart of Nature beat below, 
 And the thick rush of jostling roots above, 
 Lifting their folded sweetness to the sun : 
 And all thou wert of flesh softly transfused, 
 Merged in the flame-core of the perfect rose, 
 Or folded in the meek husk of the corn. 
 
 And yet, too, thou didst love the City's hum, 
 Dreaded and loved. The roaring loom of Time 
 That worked therein appalled yet charmed thine ear, 
 And drew thee toward the various life of men. 
 There came the hour when in these clattering streets 
 Thou movedst, heart-weary. Day by day we saw 
 Thy foot drag slower on the stony stair, 
 And in thine eye beheld at intervals 
 A new thing brood, a silent shadow of fear. 
 What was it, O my friend, what thought was this 
 That, slowly-darkening, spread disastrous night 
 Through the thronged chambers of the spacious mind, 
 And hung with gloom the windows of the eye ?
 
 40 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Fear was it of this monstrous realm of smoke, 
 
 This congregated hungry hurrying life, 
 
 This streaming roar of avaricious tides 
 
 Beating their human foam on iron shores? 
 
 Ah, friend, this City was no place for thee ! 
 
 Here men's hearts harden into adamant 
 
 Or break untimely there's no middle course ! 
 
 Here men toil unregarded, die unmissed, 
 
 Trodden beneath the sullen ooze, wherein 
 
 Flesh buys and sells flesh for a little gold. 
 
 For thee the high gods meant another fate, 
 
 A meadowed house by quiet waters washed, 
 
 A hillside where the rocky brook-bed sang 
 
 To listening larch and birch, and, sapphire-clear 
 
 Or filmed with purest clouds, the heavens domed 
 
 O'er distant crests and crags, where Day and Night 
 
 Wrought crimson flowers, golden canopies, 
 
 And magic isles of rest along the sky. 
 
 There would thy mind have grown in height and calm, 
 
 And, at charmed intervals, we toiling men 
 
 Had heard thy voice in dropping silver notes 
 
 P'all on us from afar, had heard and paused 
 
 To gather strength, and with dewed eyes had blessed 
 
 The singer who had sped us on our way. 
 
 Ah, not for thee calm lawns and fir-plumed hills 
 And yellow sunsets, and the mellow notes 
 Of thrushes fluting in high-summered glee. 
 Nor thine the slowly-grading slope of age, 
 With purposes arriving one by one
 
 AN ELEGY 41 
 
 Victorious at their appointed goal : 
 
 Nor thine calm hours, like fairest water calm, 
 
 In which the lily-thoughts slowly emerged, 
 
 Unfolding sunward fronts immaculate : 
 
 Thine the flame-fervour of unresting life, 
 
 With thoughts struck out like stars from clashing worlds, 
 
 And passionate life half-conscious of its doom, 
 
 Working its mandate while it was to-day, 
 
 Because the night neared when it could not work. 
 
 For when we would have stayed thee, thou repliedst 
 
 " Why rest ? Eternal days within the grave 
 
 There be for rest. Let the flame work its will, 
 
 Fanned ever by the increasing wind of God, 
 
 So that it purge the dross, and at the last 
 
 Nought but the pure gold God accepts be left ? " 
 
 So, sitting at thy shrouded feet, I hear 
 
 Thy voice still murmur, and I cry " 'Tis well, 
 
 O friend, 'Tis well ! all's well if God be pleased ! " 
 
 Nor shall thou know repose in far still lands 
 
 Of dreamful ease : repose is not for thee, 
 
 But peace is thine henceforth and evermore ! 
 
 Yea, peace, and stillness, and immobile calm 
 
 Are here, and on this hushed and frozen air 
 
 Reproaches die, complaints, and even regrets. 
 
 For, marking thy dropped lids and quiet brow, 
 
 Through all my soul there slowly grows the sense 
 
 That no life wholly vain or futile is, 
 
 Or thwarted, or- deflected from that course 
 
 In which the power that framed us bade it move.
 
 42 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 When all the discords are resolved at length, 
 Music there shall be with a noble close ; 
 Something wrought out of grief that star-like shine 
 Some pearl of great price fashioned out of pain, 
 Some gracious end that justifies the mean. 
 Yea, for the lowliest also this is true, 
 Even these who neither sing, nor strive, nor shine, 
 Dull lives which blindly spin on thro' the dark, 
 As insects in the ooze of tropic seas, 
 That build their coral graves and die therein ; 
 For how should God build up His palmy reef 
 Of purposed progress in the roaring surge, 
 Where sevenfold winds, inwov'n with triple light, 
 Make music thro' deep-leaved and fruited trees, 
 But for these lives that toil unseen and bow 
 Obedient to God's architect called Death ? 
 
 So, farewell, Friend ! Upon thy brow I lay 
 
 The Mantuan laurel laurel this for praise, 
 
 Lilies for peace, for thou art now at peace, 
 
 And praised in death whom few praised in thy life. 
 
 Thou wert of Keats' kindred, Shelley's line, 
 
 Fashioned like these of air and eager flame, 
 
 Battling like these against pursuing death, 
 
 Perishing futile, yet victorious : 
 
 So shalt thou, too, be duly crowned at last. 
 
 O Spirits twain, who shared melodious life 
 
 In immelodious, evil, rancourous days, 
 
 Fire-winged and footed, moving angel-wtse 
 
 Along the roads of unfamiliar worlds,
 
 AN ELEGY 43 
 
 And caught into the cloud while yet vain men 
 Discussed the strange gleam of your flying feet, 
 The music of your too-soon silenced lips, 
 Take him I sing of to your comradeship, 
 And help me, mournful, while I sing his dirge. 
 Cover his face ! 
 
 Let us leave the dead lips lying dumb, 
 
 And remember the power he was, 
 
 Not the shadow that he has become. 
 All flesh is as grass : 
 
 But something remains when alTs done, 
 
 The song when the singer is gone, 
 
 His passion, his glory, his grace ! 
 
 Back from the bier ! 
 Blank nothingness only is there ! 
 But, listen, the sky is alive 
 With music, the sky and the air ! 
 
 In vain doth Death strive 
 To silence the sound ; it overflows 
 The grave's brink, and reaches its close 
 As of old, triumphant and clear. 
 
 1 Cover his face ! 
 His art has completed its round : 
 He had learned all earth had to teach, 
 And had pierced to the soul of its sound. 
 
 A point yet to reach 
 Lay beyond, and impatient of age 
 He sought it beyond the lark's cage 
 The Heavens' free height and bright space.
 
 THE EARTH'S VOICE 
 
 ACROSS the still far-folding hills I roved, 
 
 And through the woods, strewn deep with shattered gold, 
 
 Where Autumn seemed to stand, of gods beloved, 
 
 Leaning against an oak, with finger cold 
 
 Laid on her lips ; the faint sweet air that moved 
 
 Was like the rustle of her raiment heard 
 
 Within some depth invisible, and clear 
 
 There fluttered down the song of one lone bird 
 
 Across the ruined woodland, blank and sere, 
 
 Singing beside the cradle of the year 
 
 The weary world to sleep. 
 
 Then in the silence deep 
 I heard the voice of the old Earth awake, 
 And the dim Spirit of the world drew nigh, 
 Filling the solitude with sound, and spake. 
 
 i 
 
 What would ye with me ? sighed, or seemed to sigh, 
 That ancient Voice. Afar I hear the roar 
 Of great vexed cities, and my dreams wax dark. 
 Men come not now with joy as heretofore 
 To press my vintage ; few there be who mark 
 My shrine upon the mountains ; they who come 
 Are pale with speed, and stricken by strange care ;
 
 THE EARTH'S VOICE 45 
 
 v 
 
 They walk abstracted in some dream of doom, 
 
 Or fall, and sleep ; they pass on unaware 
 
 When I stretch forth in ancient tenderness 
 
 My hands to bless them ; they are faint, distraught, 
 
 Weighed on by some consuming vain distress 
 
 Old not with years, nor wealth of wisdom sought. 
 
 Sometimes beneath my whispering oaks there pass 
 
 The immemorial lovers still ; they stand 
 
 And pluck in idleness the tufted grass, 
 
 Or take the daisy for an omen bland, 
 
 And know a Presence with them, Whose bright hand 
 
 Unseen is lift to bless them. In that hour 
 
 Infinity flows round them, and a power 
 
 The heart, but not the mind, doth understand 
 
 Floods with a light divine the darkened land. 
 
 And still the little children come and fling 
 
 The russet leaves in sport, and fill with glee 
 
 The quiet haunts where fairies make their ring ; 
 
 The wood's true fairies these, I oft-times see 
 
 With tired feet troop home on summer nights, 
 
 And bless them as they go, when dim and sweet 
 
 The woods brood desolate, and I weave the woof 
 
 Of the world's slumber, after day's bright heat, 
 
 And all the starry height of earth's blue roof 
 
 Is full of broken scents and broken lights. 
 
 Two passed but yesterday who spake strange speech 
 About new times, and altered laws, and much 
 I could not comprehend ; they felt no touch
 
 46 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 A 
 
 Of my old magic ; far as sight could reach 
 There spread the still flame of the reddening beech, 
 And in the blue hills, like a silver thread 
 Dropped carelessly, the river's tangled gleam. 
 But ever, as they walked, each bent his head, 
 And each seemed lost within some hateful dream. 
 There have been, who have passed this way before, 
 With solemn brows and heads bent low in thought, 
 But well I know they loved me yet the more 
 Because they seemed to see not, and I wrought 
 Within their spirits such fine ecstasy 
 Their life became a song. Such was the man 
 Who turned from Florence, with slow doubtful feet, 
 And tearless eyes, and wasted face and wan ; 
 I touched your Dante, and he sang of me, 
 And lo, his bitter lips smiled and were sweet ! 
 And he who in the latter days walked free 
 By stony pass and tarn on English hills, 
 With brow in contemplation stooped, and ear 
 Drinking the lark's song, while unconsciously 
 Wind-voices pierced him, and, as dew distils 
 In sunlight till its last fine drop hangs clear, 
 A very diamond, so his thought was shaped 
 By natural magic into perfect song : 
 He gave me reverence, and I made him strong. 
 
 But these, my latest children, all are blind, 
 
 And deaf, and dumb, and maimed or dwarfed in heart 
 
 Children I bear, but of distorted mind 
 
 Who do not know their Mother ; they depart
 
 THE EARTH'S VOICE 47 
 
 And hear not when I call : they stand behind, 
 And mock with foolish mouths when I prepare 
 The spells which all my wisest sought to know ; 
 They have no joy in me that I am fair, 
 They make my thresholds filthy, stooping low 
 To search the slime for glittering bits of gold ; 
 And oft within my heart great anger burns, 
 And were it not the idiot from of old 
 Hath ever been held sacred, I would rise 
 And smite these insolent, whose folly spurns 
 The Mother, in whose love wise men are wise ! 
 
 Ah ! blind and stubborn, am I then less fair 
 
 Than in old days, or is the loathsome stench 
 
 Of cities so much better than the air 
 
 Which the sun quickens, and the odours drench 
 
 With life and sweetness in far glades withdrawn, 
 
 Where the leaves wake, and whisper in their sleep, 
 
 And all the bright clouds pass with news of dawn ? 
 
 Is the dulled gold you gather fairer then, 
 
 Or sweeter city streets, and that hoarse, deep, 
 
 Incessant roar of vexed and wasted men 
 
 Wherein you struggle, than the peace I keep 
 
 In my still temples, and the wealth I hoard 
 
 In secret places, strewn with golden light, 
 
 Where the birds sing and all the earth is floored 
 
 With yellow daffodils, inwoven bright 
 
 With dew-washed sunbeams, where all living things 
 
 Toil not, nor spin, and yet are clothed and decked 
 
 With raiment finer than the robes of kings ?
 
 48 I'OEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 But ye know nothing, dull-brained and stiff-necked, 
 
 Callous of heart, and glorying in your shame ; 
 
 But ye know nothing, ye despise my name ! 
 
 Too well I know ye have no ear to hear, 
 
 Nor soul to know, nor lips to sing or smile ; 
 
 Ye stand within the shadow of base fear, 
 
 And feed upon vile hopes, for ye are vile, 
 
 And pure things know not, having eyes made dull 
 
 With lust's thick wine, and heart with avarice full ! 
 
 Wherefore I wait, and time there yet shall come 
 
 When each shall slay the other ; this your fate 
 
 That life grown viler breeds its own vile doom, 
 
 And Death and I at last shall hold calm state 
 
 In peace immense, divine, inviolate ! 
 
 O slow of heart what of the man remains 
 
 When calm of soul is lost ? Man is his mind : 
 
 But if the man know only sordid pains, 
 
 If he seek only what 'twere shame to find, 
 
 Then in him dies the one man worthy life. 
 
 What is he but a beast, a thing of naught, 
 
 Unclean in passion, ignoble in strife, 
 
 But for an aim of higher mischief wrought ? 
 
 What boots his gain of strength, or wealth, or speed, 
 
 If all he win be hours of stagnant ease, 
 
 If in him perish sense of higher need, 
 
 And he reject the things that are his peace ? 
 
 Wherefore I wait, for Death and I remain, 
 But all else passes ; and we two sweet balm 
 Shall pour into the earth's wide wounds of pain,
 
 THE EARTH'S VOICE 49 
 
 And bring again the ancient joy and calm. 
 O pass swift centuries, till there shall rise 
 Out of thy ageless light new hope, and then 
 New shapes of life, and in some paradise, 
 At last, new fathers of diviner men !
 
 THE BARREN HOME 
 
 O LET me see her once before I die, 
 O let me tread the English earth once more, 
 And watch the tossing elms, the rooks tossed high 
 Against the driving clouds, and hear the roar 
 Of the sea's numerous thunder ; let me see 
 The steep red gables burn among the trees, 
 Like homely beacons to home-loving men, 
 And taste the freshness of the soft west breeze, 
 And see her face, and hear her voice again ! 
 
 O let me see her once before I die ! 
 
 For here the salt marsh steams, the hours go by 
 
 With leaden feet, the dungeon walls are high 
 
 And no sound breaks the deadness of the air, 
 
 The dumbness of this aching life in death. 
 
 The sun stares with insufferable glare, 
 
 The sultry dreamful nights breathe heavy breath ; 
 
 No sound, no change, save the despairing cry 
 
 O let me see her once before I die ! 
 
 At last the prison doors are open wide, 
 A secret sail glides on the twilit tide,
 
 THE BARREN HOME 51 
 
 An anchor heaves, a mighty wind has risen, 
 
 And all the green-lit splendour of the sea 
 
 Plashes exultant on the captive's vision, 
 
 And rolls between him and his ancient prison. 
 
 Who counts past years if he at last shall be 
 
 In some still haven of the heart's desire ? 
 
 Bright is the water, green is every tree, 
 
 Tipped with the fair spring morning's tender fire ; 
 
 The white clouds move along the windy sky 
 
 With conscious freedom, and his voice thrills higher, 
 
 In keener passion, as he nearer comes 
 
 To groves where love and memory have their homes, 
 
 O let me see her once before I die ! 
 
 He pauses with a pulse grown tremulous, 
 
 He looks, he trembles. Is this then the place 
 
 His dreams arrayed in unapparent glories ? 
 
 O scarcely thus the meeting, scarcely thus 
 
 The dream he followed when in headlong race 
 
 The ship plunged past surf-whitened promontories, 
 
 And scarcely thus her smile, her voice, her face ! 
 
 Lo ! all is changed, and she changed most of all : 
 
 The skein of love, from listless hands let fall, 
 
 Lies all unravelled, and she seeks in vain 
 
 The art to knit its golden threads again. 
 
 Her voice sounds strange, and far, and unaware ; 
 
 She is to him a hollow shape of air, 
 
 A ghost of friendship lost, indifferent now 
 
 To any heat of human love, unmoved, 
 
 Unthawed, and half-afraid before love's glow, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 As though her lips had never kissed and loved. 
 
 Then bowed the man with pulse more tremulous, 
 
 And cried in anguish, " Dear God, pity us ! 
 
 I asked to see her lo, I see too well ! 
 
 I asked for heaven, and Thou hast given me hell ! 
 
 My dream is over, let my end be nigh : 
 
 Lo, I have seen her ; now, Lord, let me die ! "
 
 ADAM LUX TO CHARLOTTE CORDAY 
 
 RED is the garb thou wearest, red is the deed thou hast 
 
 done, 
 And red on a land of blood rises the morning sun. 
 
 Kings have ridden this road, conquerors mailed in gold, 
 But none in such red triumph as this that we behold. 
 
 Rose, thro' a rose-red dawn, go to thy valourous fate, 
 Queen of all roses thou, splendid and passionate. 
 
 And lo ! at thy feet I fling, here, in the gallows-cart, 
 Passionate even as thine, the rose-flower of my heart. 
 
 Turn but a moment toward me, stoop in thy raiment red, 
 I answer thee look for look, I am warmed and comforted. 
 
 Twins are we of one womb, fated sister and brother, 
 Nursed on the bare bruised breasts of Freedom our great 
 Mother ! 
 
 Thou, whom none could master, proud and glorious head, 
 Come, O Rose, to my bosom, come when thou art dead ! 
 
 They have shorn the beautiful hair, they have bound the 
 
 strong fair hands, 
 Signal me with your eyes that love still understands ! 
 
 Signal, and I will follow : I dwell where thou must dwell, 
 I shall know thy blood-red raiment either in heaven or 
 hell! 
 
 Lo ! at thy feet I fling, here, in the gallows-cart, 
 Passionate even as thine, the red rose of my heart !
 
 THE PATRIOT'S RIDE 
 
 WE have struck the brave stroke 'tis enough 
 
 Does any regret it ? Not I. 
 The weapons of freedom are rough, 
 
 But its glory will come by and by. 
 
 Let us ride, while the moon has not risen, 
 By the way of the moor and the wave : 
 
 To-morrow we sleep in a prison, 
 
 A week hence we sleep in the grave. 
 
 There are hearts that will leap when they hear 
 They'll deem not the weapons too rough, 
 
 There are tyrants who'll tremble and fear, 
 They'll tremble, and that is enough. 
 
 Let us ride : not again on the earth 
 
 Shall we taste the salt breath of the sea, 
 
 Let us ride in a rapture of mirth, 
 For at last there's one city is free ! 
 
 An infinite clapping of hands 
 
 I hear through the dawn, and behold 
 
 At the place where the black gallows stands, 
 The day breaks in crimson and gold.
 
 THE PATRIOT'S RIDE 55 
 
 We have struck for the poor and the weak, 
 Who says that the blow was not just ? 
 
 Hope like a bright flower shall break 
 
 From the blood-stains that redden the dust. 
 
 When God made no sign, and the woe 
 
 Of His people was direful to bear, 
 We took up His task : He will know 
 
 That faith wrought the blow of despair ! 
 
 Let us ride, let us ride far and fleet, 
 
 There's a fierce new music of hope 
 That rings in the galloping feet, 
 
 And echoes from valley and slope. 
 
 We have done the brave deed : 'tis enough ! 
 
 Does any regret it ? Not I. 
 The weapons of Freedom are rough, 
 
 But its glory will come by and by.
 
 THE DAY AFTER TO-MORROW 
 
 THE fog's on the world to day, 
 
 It will be on the world to-morrow ; 
 
 Not all the strength of the sun 
 
 Can drive his bright spears thorough. 
 
 Yesterday and to-day 
 
 Have been heavy with labour and sorrow : 
 I should faint if I did not see 
 
 The day that is after to-morrow. 
 
 Hope in the world there is none, 
 Nor from yesterday can I borrow, 
 
 But I think that I feel the wind 
 
 Of the dawn that comes after to-morrow. 
 
 The cause of the peoples I serve 
 To-day in impatience and sorrow 
 
 Once more is defeated and yet 
 'Twill be won the day after to-morrow. 
 
 And for me, with spirit elate 
 
 The mire and the fog I press thorough 
 For Heaven shines under the cloud 
 
 Of the day that is after to-morrow.
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND 
 
 " I WOULD the day were done," she said, 
 
 " So weary is the day ; 
 The misty rain doth fall and fall 
 
 Albeit the year's at May, 
 And underneath my heart there moves 
 The worm of pain alway. 
 
 " Aloof, alone, I sit as one 
 
 Shut in some weed-sealed shell 
 That lies upon deep ocean floors 
 
 At depth unfathomable, 
 And all around I hear the pulse 
 Of waters sink and swell. 
 
 " Aloof, alone, in the world's heart, 
 Far from the earth's steep rim 
 
 I sit, and now the very sun 
 
 Shines on me dwarfed and dim, 
 
 And every thought runs to one thought 
 And all thought is of him.
 
 58 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 " Upon the lute I play his songs, 
 But weep, so that I tire : 
 
 The daisy's fringe I pluck, and bare 
 Its heart of golden fire : 
 
 He cometh not : He comes, I cry, 
 But still he conies not nigher. 
 
 " God keep him, whereso'er he be, 
 And whom He loves is kept ; 
 
 For me all days until he come 
 Are dreams, and if I slept 
 
 The pain and dream would still run on ! " 
 She bowed her head and wept. 
 
 Far off the dove made moan among 
 The green depths of the wood ; 
 
 The careless sparrows chattered loud 
 As though they understood, 
 
 And mocked among themselves, the weight 
 Of her near motherhood. 
 
 Her eyes were like clear lakes wherein 
 The dawn lies, and her face. 
 
 Was lifted, like the face of one 
 Who prays within her place, 
 
 And listens for the winged feet 
 Of angels bearing grace.
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND 59 
 
 " O lonely is the unbeloved, 
 
 But still more lone," saith she, 
 
 " Her heart within its silken gown 
 
 That aches so wearily, 
 Because instead of Hope she hath 
 But this Hope's memory. 
 
 " Ah me, to bear the child's sweet life 
 And yet to dwell alone ; 
 
 No voice within the dripping wood 
 That is not voice of moan, 
 
 No voice so clear that it shall reach 
 The King's ear on his throne. 
 
 " The apple-tree bursts into bloom, 
 The primrose fires the lawn, 
 
 The blue-bells, like an azure sea, 
 Toss in deep dells withdrawn, 
 
 The world hath wakened from her sleep 
 And kissed the fair May-dawn. 
 
 " But round me like a winding snake, 
 In folds of deathly green, 
 
 The wall of yew is built so high 
 No summer burns between : 
 
 New summers shine beyond, but here 
 The summer that hath been.
 
 60 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 " Like one who on the judgment-dawn 
 Hears not God's trumpets blow, 
 
 For, straining o'er God's wall, he sees 
 The world he used to know, 
 
 Like a great ship that burns at sea, 
 Drift past him, moving slow : 
 
 " So, when stars kindle, I lean out 
 Athwart my prison-bars ; 
 
 I hear not God, nor thunder roll 
 Of His great judgment-cars : 
 
 It is my old glad world I watch 
 
 Drop, darkened, thro' the stars. 
 
 "The vision glimmers far and faint : 
 
 The narrow gabled street, 
 The crowd that cries, the King that comes, 
 
 The ring of mailed feet, 
 The King's face slowly turned on mine, 
 
 The vision is complete. 
 
 "For like a sun the King's face turned 
 And drank the soul of mine ; 
 
 As from the lily's cup the sun 
 Sucks up the virgin wine : 
 
 I felt my soul go forth to him, 
 I saw its swift wings shine.
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND 61 
 
 "If God looked forth at all between 
 
 The angry cherubim, 
 If God looked forth and frowned, what time 
 
 The fields of heaven grew dim, 
 Mine be the blame, if there were blame, 
 
 But God will pardon him. 
 
 " I loved as flowers love a star, 
 
 Or moths that love the flame ; 
 I set my face to meet his eyes 
 
 Without one thought of shame ; 
 I only wished to die within 
 
 His light : this was my blame. 
 
 " Whose hand shall bind the lover's feet 
 
 To hold them back from flight, 
 When, in the deep new dawn, strange steps 
 
 Draw near amid strange light, 
 And the Beloved's cry is heard 
 Out of the dying night ? 
 
 " The voice of my Beloved cried, 
 
 ' Arise, the dawn is fair ! 
 My hand is on the latch, the dew 
 
 Of night is on my hair, 
 Unto love's vineyards let us go '- 
 I went to meet him there.
 
 62 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 " I cared not how my life was poured 
 So it did sweeten his : 
 
 No long-debating fear I knew, 
 Nor had one thought amiss, 
 
 For all thought died between our lips 
 In love's divine first kiss. 
 
 " O King, my King, for love of thee 
 My life wastes down to death ! 
 
 Within this well o' the world I sit, 
 Where life is one hushed breath : 
 
 I cry for feet that never come, 
 And no voice answereth ! " 
 
 In Woodstock tower the Angelus 
 
 Rang out the eventide : 
 The wind had dropped, and not a leaf 
 
 Moved in the forest wide : 
 A wan, low glare thro' the thick trees 
 
 Showed where the day had died. 
 
 She stood within her bower-door 
 
 With folded hands and prayed : 
 
 Out of her hair a subtle light 
 Like to a crown was rayed, 
 
 And the roses of her bower bent down 
 And heard the words she said
 
 FAIR ROSAMOND 63 
 
 " God keep him whereso'er he be, 
 
 And whom God loves is kept ; 
 But I will watch and wait for him 
 
 (For it was while they slept 
 The Bridegroom came, the Gospel saith)." 
 
 She bowed her head and wept. 
 
 "And God shall grant my prayer," she said, 
 
 " For God the Son shall cleanse 
 The lips that pray, and His soul knew 
 
 The love and pain of men's : 
 Yea, Christ shall grant my prayer," she said 
 " For He heard Magdalen's." 
 
 She stops : a foot sounds thro' the wood, 
 
 Far off the doves complain. 
 The owl hoots loud, the leaves bend down 
 
 And shiver in the rain : 
 The foe frowns at the bower-door, 
 
 And that night she was slain !
 
 THE NATURE HERMIT 
 
 THERE is a spot roofed with blue solitude, 
 
 Where many a pine-tree hoar, like a brown column 
 
 Springs from the turf, and all the turf is strewed 
 
 With violets and lilies like a woof 
 
 Of beauty and of softness, woven for 
 
 The dance of spirits, when most fair and solemn 
 
 The light falls broken from the cloudless roof, 
 
 And sheds itself upon the odorous floor ; 
 
 There is a spot, where, close beside a pool, 
 
 Fringed with wild grasses, where the spider hides 
 
 And spins unvext his noiseless silken spool, 
 
 And the high swallow like a shadow slides 
 
 Across the tree-tops and the water's face, 
 
 Where ancient Silence sits and dreams her dream. 
 
 No motion fills the solitary place, 
 Nor sound, nor life, save an invisible stream 
 Which like a pulse beats underneath the grass, 
 Winding a secret course ; the long days pass, 
 The horned moon like a silver boat sails high, 
 And hangs entangled in the pine-wood's maze ; 
 The stars bloom forth and darken in the sky,
 
 THE NATURE HERMIT 65 
 
 Nipt by the wind of morn : the dawn's clear rays 
 Burn through the eastern ramparts of the woods 
 With unconsuming splendour, and the moofls 
 Of the world wax and change, yet motionless, 
 Remote, like one who bows beneath the weight 
 Of an immeasurable consciousness 
 Of thought or sorrow, ancient Silence broods, 
 Caught fast within the iron web of fate. 
 
 Her form is insubstantial as the air, 
 The shadow of God, and His infinity : 
 Her brow is large with dreams, and graven there 
 Are furrows drifted deep with memory, 
 And hope, and vision, and purposes sublime ; 
 Her eyes loom like far smouldering fires beneath 
 The deep brows rusted with the rains of time, 
 And the hushed palpitation of her breath 
 Stirs the wide forest like a wandering wind. 
 One knee is gathered in her mighty hands, 
 Whereon the brow, with its great weight of mind 
 Made heavy, rests ; within her robes the sands 
 Blown from Egyptian deserts long ago, 
 What time beside the finished pyramid 
 She stood, lie undisturbed ; her lips are hid, 
 But purer far than marble there doth show 
 Her chin, half shadowed by her heavy hair. 
 Around her feet the wild flowers mix and grow 
 And dumb things breed and gambol unaware, 
 And all her raiment, spun upon the looms 
 Of the most ancient gods, whose hyaline floors 
 
 F
 
 66 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Hang ruined in the heavens, roofless, bare 
 To the winds' fury and the tempest-glooms, 
 And storm-clouds, drifted 'through the broken doors- 
 All her bright raiment dipped in wells of light, 
 And woven of sunbeams, like a floating mist 
 Floats round her feet, and the wild grasses weave 
 Their tangled ribbons in its texture bright, 
 And bright-eyed lizards the green shadows leave, 
 And sport within the folded amethyst. 
 
 mother of all births and motions, hear, 
 Twin-sister thou of Peace and Solitude ! 
 
 Hear, while the day breaks, and while yet the clear 
 Call of the mother-thrush thrills the deep wood, 
 And like the smile of God, the sacred light. 
 Bathes the round world ; I stand and call on thee ! 
 Blind impulses there be which stir the blood 
 As though God's fingers pressed upon the tight 
 Tense strings of being, and there came to be 
 A truer music rolling through the soul. 
 Towards Him I yearn. O Silence, thou who art 
 His first-born daughter, help me towards my goal ! 
 Lay cool strong fingers on my breaking heart, 
 Of thy dear charity set free my soul ! 
 
 1 see far off the strong hills prop the slope 
 
 Of heaven's blue splendour ; on the utmost brim 
 The light boils like a surf, and then is hurled 
 In cataracts down the steep sides of the world, 
 And springs in eddies backward to heaven's cope, 
 Rebounding like a wave against the rim
 
 THE NATURE HERMIT 67 
 
 Of ageless rocks set fast in ocean's tide. 
 
 O mother, in those azure roadways wide, 
 
 Tell me, what path of paths shall lead to Him ? 
 
 At no star will I pause ; I will not grasp 
 The shadow while the substance waits my touch ; 
 I push on till I press the golden hasp 
 Upon His doorway, yea, His secret house, 
 Whose beams are laid upon the thunder's flood, 
 And fastened with thick lightnings. Over-much 
 I dare ? So far I trespass, that at last I rouse 
 His anger? Nay, hath He not understood 
 The yearning of love's hope ? No lesser gain 
 Than this contents me. Mother, ease my pain, 
 Touch with thine all-enfranchising caress, 
 Draw forth my spirit, for. I mean no less 
 Than this, that whatsoever path be trod, 
 I will push on, and on, and get to God ! 
 
 Ah, thou awakest ! Slow thy heavy brow 
 Is lifted, and thy face, thy face fronts mine ! 
 Thy solemn eyes shed darkness on the air, 
 A new strange atmosphere begins to grow 
 About me ; all the heaven lies clear and bare, 
 But earth seems swooning ! Is this then the wine 
 Of death I drink, which stings each higher sense 
 To keener joy, and dulls each grosser need ? 
 Where art thou, mother? Something near indeed, 
 An awful presence, come I know not whence, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Is clasping me, and folds my very soul ! 
 
 Nothing I see but thy deep eyes which drink 
 
 My inmost essence, and I feel thy lips 
 
 Near mine ! Ah, now the light breaks from eclipse, 
 
 Billow on billow the vast splendours roll 
 
 Intense, and in the wells of darkness sink ! 
 
 The flame sucks forth my soul, my body slips 
 
 Like a soiled vesture from me ; higher, higher, 
 
 I climb the flaming ridges of this fire ! 
 
 Like a small feather by a mighty wind 
 
 Borne through strange places, so the living force 
 
 Of an invisible Power before, behind, 
 
 Girds me, and sweeps me on an endless course, 
 
 Compasses all my weakness with its might, 
 
 Lifts me and sways me, till made fair and fleet 
 
 With strength and splendour, on these waves of light 
 
 Securely move my winged and flame-shod feet ! 
 
 mother, where art thou ? Higher and higher, 
 
 1 climb towards God, nor faint, nor fall, nor tire ! 
 Alas ! speed fails me ; heart and soul and brain 
 Are swallowed up in this delicious pain, 
 
 I faint for joy : I triumph, I expire !
 
 THE WIND'S DAUGHTER 
 
 I AM the Spirit of earth and air, 
 My sire the Light, my mother the Wind ; 
 
 I dwell in the heart of the world and there 
 My magic I fashion and unbind. 
 
 My garments are woven of golden mist, 
 My hair is bound with a rainbow beam, 
 
 And for ornament upon my wrist 
 The knotted lightnings quiver and gleam. 
 
 I travel the pathless fields of space, 
 I am here, and there, and everywhere, 
 
 With the sun and the wind I love to race, 
 For I am the Spirit of earth and air. 
 
 I hold in my hand the seed of stars 
 And sow the barren wastes as I go ; 
 
 As far as the Heaven's crystal bars 
 The seed that shall grow to worlds I sow. 
 
 I hide myself in the setting sun, 
 And bathe in his splendour unconsumed, 
 
 And-I love to traverse when day's begun 
 The yellow meadows with flowers perfumed.
 
 70 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 And through the cloven valleys of cloud 
 I hunt the Thunder into his lair, 
 
 And hold in my hand, while I shout aloud, 
 
 The lightning stream of his bright fierce hair. 
 
 I ride in the wake of the waves that break 
 In snow at the sides of the flying ships, 
 
 And the Tritons blow their horns and speak 
 My mirth in the mirth of their golden lips. 
 
 I sit on the cope of the storm-cloud dark 
 When it spreads its wings over land and sea, 
 
 And across the world, like a labouring ark, 
 It carries in triumph the Rain and me ! 
 And in the stillness of summer weather, 
 
 All night through blue vast gulfs profound 
 The moon and I go forth together, 
 
 And sail in silence the wide world round. 
 
 My face is seen in the dazzling sheen 
 And pools of the tumbling waterfall ; 
 
 I love to rest where the grass grows green 
 Under the pine-trees hoar and tall. 
 
 My voice is heard in the song of the bird 
 And the thunder of seas upon the shore, 
 
 The storm, like a harper cloaked and furred 
 In clouds, makes music my march before : 
 Till high in the heavens the calm stars listen, 
 
 And brighten with delicate delight, 
 And the Wind and I behold them glisten 
 
 Like silver fruit on the boughs of night.
 
 THE WIND'S DAUGHTER 71 
 
 There is no place where I am not found, 
 No joy of the earth that I do not share, 
 
 No dawn nor night, no shadow nor sound, 
 No depth nor height that I make not fair. 
 
 I flash on the grey still pools of water, 
 I cover the sea with jewels of light, 
 
 For I am the Light's own living daughter, 
 Born in the joy of a summer night. 
 I dream of neither before nor after, 
 
 What the day hath lost or the morrow may find, 
 I am the spirit of Joy and Laughter 
 
 My sire the Light, my mother the Wind !
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN DELIRIUM 
 
 I HAVE been sick, I cannot tell 
 
 Even now if I am ill or we'll. 
 
 I may be dead, I do not know, 
 
 So weak I lie, so faint, so low ! 
 
 I seem to smell a graveyard smell, 
 
 A bitter taste is in my mouth, 
 
 My tongue is parched with feverish drouth, 
 
 My eyes are shut, and for the gift 
 
 Of worlds their lids I cannot lift. 
 
 I cannot even weep, so dry 
 
 Beneath their lids my eyeballs lie ; 
 
 My limbs lie straight, I feel my head 
 
 Is bandaged, and I cannot move 
 
 My hand or foot for wealth or love. 
 
 Perhaps my eyes are even now 
 
 The holes where churchyard roses grow, 
 
 And this dull pain that in them shoots 
 
 Is but the spreading of rose-roots. 
 
 Rose-roots ! I will not grudge them room, 
 
 Perchance when they have pierced this gloom
 
 . LINES WRITTEN IN DELIRIUM 73 
 
 And reached the light, through their bright eyes 
 I may once more behold the skies. 
 
 And yet, if I am dead, how's this ? 
 
 The facecloth from my face I miss, 
 
 And on my brow I seem to feel 
 
 A light, a waft of breathing steal ! 
 
 Perhaps I lie in Charon's boat, 
 
 Upon the Stygian tide afloat, 
 
 And death's warm wind upon me fell, 
 
 Blown from the fields of asphodel ! 
 
 But no, that's all a myth, and I 
 
 Doubtless in English grave-mould lie; 
 
 This smell of flowers no doubt must be 
 
 The rotting wreaths that cover me. 
 
 I wonder how long I've been here, 
 
 Is it a day, a month, a year ? 
 
 I know the vault, or used to know, 
 
 Close by the chancel, where the glow 
 
 Of sunshine lay all day ; it was 
 
 A flower-oasis in the grass. 
 
 My mother, she was buried there, 
 
 My father, my two babies fair. 
 
 It's a strange feeling I suppose 
 
 I lie with them, but yet who knows ? 
 
 We're all dead now, and there's no fear 
 
 Of taint from one another here. 
 
 I would so like to kiss again 
 
 My mother's lips : but this is vain !
 
 74 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 I am so tired of lying dumb, 
 
 I wish the Judgment Day would come ! 
 
 And yet how sweet it is to know 
 A man is quiet here below. 
 No business, bank, or mart to seek, 
 Only to be quite still and meek ; 
 To let the world fulfil its year 
 Without one thrill of hope or fear, 
 Indifferent, motionless, at ease, 
 No aim to seek, no hope to please, 
 No time to count by, no new day 
 To mark another passed away. 
 
 What faint sensations are there still ? 
 
 Well, once or twice there seemed to thrill 
 
 A nameless tremor round my head, 
 
 A sound subdued, yet not of dread, 
 
 The earth's own movement safe and deep, 
 
 A cradle rocking me to sleep. 
 
 And I can hear a curious sound 
 
 Of moving things that move around : 
 
 Small raindrops trickling slowly down, 
 
 Whereby earth's weather may be known ; 
 
 Soft worms that wind a tedious way, 
 
 Small engineers in graveyard clay ; 
 
 And sometimes, just above my brow, 
 
 I seem to hear the daisies grow, 
 
 And through their roots vibrating clear 
 
 The lark's shrill singing I can hear,
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN DELIRIUM 75 
 
 And underneath, with lulling sweet, 
 
 The muffled heart of Nature beat, 
 
 Like the long surge that slowly falls 
 
 Monotonous on ocean's walls, 
 
 Or like the mother's breath, the child 
 
 Hears, lying on her bosom mild. 
 
 I wish I were asleep ! but this 
 
 Is just the bitter in my bliss ; 
 
 My brain is bright as fire, so bright 
 
 Sometimes the grave seems all alight ; 
 
 I am so tired of lying dumb 
 
 I wish the Judgment Day would come ! 
 
 I think I dream sometimes, such strange 
 
 Shapes move around in endless change. 
 
 A little while ago, to wit, 
 
 I seemed to see a narrow slit 
 
 Which led to daylight, and afar 
 
 A strip of sky and one still star. 
 
 And then I heard two voices speak. 
 
 One said, " He has been dead a week, 
 
 When he's been dead a year, you know 
 
 She's sure to marry. Long ago 
 
 He wanted her." The other said, 
 
 " For shame ! and he but seven days dead ! " 
 
 And then I heard small hurrying feet, 
 
 And heard a little voice say sweet, 
 
 " You know he is not really dead, 
 
 I saw him lying on the bed
 
 76 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 With lovely flowers, fast asleep ! 
 I went as near as I could creep, 
 And called him, then I was afraid, 
 And ran away again and played. 
 I went out quietly for fear 
 That I should waken father dear, 
 And make him cross with me, you know, 
 When his poor head was aching so ! 
 But I don't think he's dead, do you ? " 
 " No," said the other, "it's not true ; 
 To be made well he's gone away, 
 And will come home again some day. 
 Nurse told me that, and do you know 
 (Now don't you tell) I saw him go ! 
 Such funny carriages, all black, 
 With people standing at the back, 
 And horses, too, all black, with things 
 Upon their heads that shook like wings. 
 And such a box ! So long and bright, 
 And big, with flowers covered quite. 
 And handles round it all in rows 
 That was the luggage, I suppose ! 
 
 look ! there is a butterfly 
 
 With wings quite blue, just like the sky, 
 He must have touched it with his wings 
 In one of his chance flutterings." 
 Away they ran : I heard them shout 
 With laughter, then the light died out, 
 And on my soul fell doubled gloom ; 
 
 1 think I wept within my tomb !
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN DELIRIUM 77 
 
 I heard what those small children said, 
 
 And thought how ill 'twas to be dead ! 
 
 As if to kiss them my dry lips 
 
 I shaped, then thought of death's eclipse. 
 
 No doubt my eyes have fallen in, 
 
 My face is foul from brow to chin, 
 
 I am become so base a thing, 
 
 A shape of shame and shuddering ; 
 
 And this I cannot alter, though 
 
 My thought runs nimbly to and fro, 
 
 And love and tenderness remain, 
 
 Untouched by death, unquenched by pain. 
 
 " The earthen vessel perisheth, 
 The spirit lives," some prophet saith. 
 And here then is the wrong of wrongs 
 Which unto human death belongs, 
 That I am bound in cerements foul 
 Who yet am left a living soul ; 
 My spirit eager as of old, 
 My body shrunk, and foul, and cold, 
 My purpose strong, my will unspent, 
 But cut off from accomplishment ; 
 In fact, though dead, I must avow, 
 Never more full of life than now ! 
 
 Well, let me sleep, it is not wise 
 Too much to question or surmise. 
 Dear children, not too far away 
 Run in your laughter-loving play !
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Sometimes at least a daisy gather 
 
 From this green mould, and if your father 
 
 Has no lips left wherewith to kiss, 
 
 The daisies shall be lips of his, 
 
 And hidden in their heart of gold 
 
 His heart shall meet you as of old. 
 
 Ah me, young limbs that bound and run 
 And mine so straight with journey done ! 
 I am so tired of lying dumb, 
 I wish the Judgment Day would come !
 
 IN SIGHT OF GREECE 
 
 THROUGH these fair isles where Sappho sung 
 At last I move. How far away 
 The world where I have lived so long, 
 Dim London wrapped in smoke-cloud gray, 
 Whose roaring tumult, like a strong 
 Deep music, through my days hath rung. 
 
 Beneath the blue, upon the blue, 
 Like green leaves scattered by a god 
 In some old Bacchanal feast they lie : 
 How bright this laughing sea, and broad ! 
 How deep this summer-shedding sky, 
 This daybreak making all things new ! 
 
 in 
 
 Yet here, where peaceful Nature lies 
 In deep incalculable trance, 
 Wearied by her own ecstasy, 
 A human anguish doth advance, 
 The calm is broken by a sigh, 
 A living woe that wails and cries.
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 IV 
 
 Dead poet ! vast indeed thy skill ! 
 The keen vibrations of thy speech 
 Infect this wholesome world with pain 
 Little thou hast to hope or teach, 
 Yet something holds us in thy strain, 
 Some force of suffering or of will. 
 
 A splendid fragment, incomplete, 
 Thy work stands for the critic's scorn. 
 What matters it ? At least we say 
 This spirit like our own was torn 
 By doubt, and anguish, and dismay, 
 Here a live human heart doth beat ! 
 
 VI 
 
 Upon thy page we mark the stain, 
 Imperious scorn of gentler lives, 
 And ignorant anger wildly hurled. 
 Yet something of thee still survives ; 
 Once 'twas thy genius ruled the world, 
 To-day thy sceptre is thy pain. 
 
 VII 
 
 O strange and sad ! within the dawn 
 Of dreadful days we see thee stand ; 
 Thy song rolls past us like a storm
 
 IN SIGHT OF GREECE 81 
 
 That darkens heaven and shakes the land, 
 And then, while yet we watch thy form 
 Move in the gloom, it is withdrawn ! 
 
 VIII 
 
 Wherever Nature is most fair 
 
 With flowers and sunlight thou didst come, 
 
 With slow feet, moving wearily : 
 
 But nowhere was there rest or home, 
 
 Her calm thou couldst not take with thee, 
 
 But thou didst leave her thy despair. 
 
 IX 
 
 The shadow of thy love, thy hate, 
 Fell on each scene as falls a blight, 
 And mocked thy wild and casual choice ; 
 The olive-gardens, and the might 
 Of glaciered mountains heard thy voice, 
 Angry, forlorn, and passionate. 
 
 No hush fell on thee where the light 
 Of snow-capped peaks in solitude 
 Taught greater souls serenity. 
 Ah, vain his flight who flies from good ! 
 Until man from himself can fly, 
 What ease comes to him in his flight ?
 
 82 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 XI 
 
 The hungry sea, the shattered peak, 
 The avalanche and the hurricane, 
 Thou badst thy stormy woe declare. 
 Too well they served thee : now in vain 
 We hear and see : for everywhere 
 Not they, but thou in them dost speak. 
 
 XII 
 
 And in our times we hear again, 
 But mightier, clearer than of old, 
 The cry of rage that filled thy life ; 
 Loud on the spirit's ear is rolled 
 The clangour of an endless strife, 
 A people's anger and their pain. 
 
 XIII 
 
 And so to-day while leagues of wave 
 Flash on these sunny isles of Greece, 
 I seem to hear thy spirit wail, 
 I hear thee moving on the seas ; 
 I see thee dying, proud and pale, 
 I see not Greece, but Byron's grave !
 
 A RECOLLECTION OF OMAR 
 
 I AM as one who tarries at an Inn 
 Till wealth is spent and welcome is worn thin ; 
 Outside the door I hear the storm beat past, 
 And cling more closely to the warmth within, 
 
 Moreover at the door I know there wait 
 Two Shapes who hate me with a deadly hate, 
 Death, lean and vigilant, and with him Night, 
 And each I fear with cowardice consummate. 
 
 What have I done that I should go with these, 
 That this warm life in me should ebb and cease ? 
 That I should crave for goal of all my toil 
 This cold unconsciousness which fools call peace ? 
 
 Through ages long, hungry for life and bliss, 
 Tortured lest I my fated hour should miss, 
 I waited to be born. Ah God ! I ask 
 Was it worth waiting to be born for this ? 
 
 G 2
 
 84 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 What gain have I in wasting so much breath, 
 To learn the clue of things above, beneath, 
 Art, science, scholarship, if I be mocked 
 At last by this grim insolence of Death ? 
 
 That was no wind that on the doorway beat, 
 It was no rattle on the panes of sleet ; 
 The Shapes grow angry and they shake the door, 
 And cry " Come forth, O tired, reluctant feet ! " 
 
 The wind drives through the crannies streaks of snow 
 The fire dies down, the candles flicker low, 
 The cup is empty and the board is bare, 
 I rise at last and yet I dare not go. 
 
 I press my eyes against the window-pane, 
 And seem to see across the glimmering plain 
 The ghosts of men and women whom I knew 
 Glide wailing, and afraid I turn again. 
 
 Life, thin and bent, with lowered eyelids stands 
 Beside the failing hearth and spreads his hands, 
 And cries, " O fool, why stay when joy hath gone? 
 Follow and find her in some ether lands ! " 
 
 But I reply, " Who knows where she hath fled ? 
 Doth Joy wear cere-clothes bound about her head ? 
 Can Joy's bright wings be folded in the grave ? 
 And doth Joy live among the joyless dead ? "
 
 A RECOLLECTION OF OMAR 85 
 
 Then Life cries scornful, " Cease vain argument ! 
 Thy purse is empty and thine all is spent ; 
 The hour is late : no more contend or strive, 
 Learn courage if thou canst not learn content ! " 
 
 Life rises up with brow of angry gloom, 
 Puts out the last light in the desolate room, 
 Stamps down the fire, and opening wide the door, 
 Leaves me alone to grapple with my doom.
 
 HUMAN CONTRADICTIONS 
 
 NOT in the deepest midnight hides, 
 
 The sorest foe ; 
 
 On brightest days the saddest tides 
 Moan round the soul, and upward slides, 
 With black-apparelled head, the ghost 
 
 Of buried woe. 
 
 For when the birds are full of song, 
 
 And spring-winds blow, 
 We hear the moaning martyr-throng, 
 And cry with them, " O Lord, how long ? " 
 The whole world shudd'ring in the gloom 
 
 Of our own woe. 
 
 Within the crowded streets we see 
 
 Our sins of youth ; 
 Our pale ideals pass silently, 
 And look on us, and seem to sigh, 
 " How vast the change, O souls that have 
 
 Betrayed the truth ! "
 
 HUMAN CONTRADICTIONS 87 
 
 And in the summer woods we meet 
 
 Our loved and dead ; 
 They follow us with soundless feet, 
 And warm leaf-chequered glories beat 
 On each faint form, and waver round 
 
 Each uplift head. 
 
 And we remember then and there 
 
 The last farewell ; 
 We see no sunshine broad and fair, 
 We hear upon the hushed warm air 
 No murmuring leaves, no mirth of birds, 
 
 We hear the knell ! 
 
 Forlorner hearts beat in the breath 
 
 Of kindling spring, 
 
 Than in earth's dreariest time of death ; 
 More gloomy is the cypress wreath 
 When buds are fresh, and we most weep 
 
 When others sing. 
 
 But in long nights of pain our eyes 
 
 See holiest things ; 
 
 The great world with its clamourous cries 
 Spins far away, and we despise 
 Its narrow strifes in that great hush 
 
 The darkness brings.
 
 88 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 In restless nights God's heaven is near, 
 
 And we discern 
 
 Thro' quickened senses how the clear 
 Sky shows His wisdom, sphere on sphere 
 And how far round earth's silent camp 
 
 God's watchfires burn. 
 
 And all our meagre misery 
 
 Is shamed and dumb ; 
 We hear the world's great travail-cry, 
 And see, as one who stands on high, 
 Above the blinding battle-smoke 
 
 God's Kingdom come !
 
 SALUTAMUS MORITURI 
 
 AT last the hour when empty fall 
 The hands that held bright gold, or wine of love, 
 That in the foremost battle eager strove, 
 Or parried blows, or snatched the prize from all, 
 At last they fall ! 
 
 One voice when all the tumult dies 
 Asks, Hast thou plea to live ? Alas, there's none ! 
 We, vanquished, hasten only to be gone, 
 We, wearied, ask alone to close our eyes : 
 He sleeps who dies ! 
 
 in 
 
 Alas, 'tis but the common doom. 
 We stay too late ; the feast of life was sweet, 
 But eager generations thrust our feet 
 Aside, and we are weak ; we give them room, 
 And bow to doom.
 
 90 TOEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 IV 
 
 For young desire hath died, and even despair 
 Hath sobbed its lonely anguish into sleep. 
 We are too sick to strive, too dull to weep ; 
 O let us die ! We have no other prayer, 
 We who despair ! 
 
 If thou art merciful, O death, be quick, 
 For surely nothing worse than life can come. 
 The whole great world turns down the fatal thumb ; 
 None love or bid us live ! Our heart is sick, 
 O death, be quick ! 
 
 VI 
 
 Did we not always know, O brooding heart, 
 This world for hands that strive and fail no place ? 
 The game's chance goes against us ; but with face 
 All unafraid, and firm, let us depart, 
 O heavy heart ! 
 
 VII 
 
 Sad change is this, and great ; O shame, my soul ! 
 That thou who didst love Life, and from her lips 
 Drank love, art fallen so low in dim eclipse, 
 Thou wilt kiss Death, whose face and mouth are foul, 
 O sad, my soul !
 
 SALUTAMUS MORITURI ! 91 
 
 VIII 
 
 Yet even so. The long-vexed, brooding heart 
 At last, when Hope hath nothing more to spend, 
 Is thankful this vain life itself hath end. 
 The play is over ! When the guests depart, 
 O break, my heart !
 
 TO A DESOLATE FRIEND 
 
 FRIEND, like some cold wind to-day 
 Your message came, and chilled the light ; 
 Your house so dark, and mine so bright,- 
 
 1 could not weep, I could not pray ! 
 
 My wife and I had kissed at morn, 
 My children's lips were full of song; 
 O friend, it seemed such cruel wrong, 
 My life so full, and yours forlorn ! 
 
 We slept last night clasped hand in hand, 
 Secure and calm and never knew 
 How fared the lonely hours with you, 
 What time those dying lips you fanned. 
 
 We dreamed of love, and did not see 
 The shadow pass across our dream ; 
 We heard the murmur of a stream, 
 Not death's, for it ran bright and free. * 
 
 And in the dark her gentle soul 
 Passed out, but oh ! we knew it not ! 
 My babe slept fast within her cot, 
 While yours woke to the slow bell's toll.
 
 TO A DESOLATE FRIEND 93 
 
 She paused a moment, who can tell ? 
 Before our windows, but we lay 
 So deep in sleep she went away, 
 And only smiled a sad farewell ! 
 
 It would be like her ; well we know 
 How oft she waked while others slept 
 She never woke us when she wept, 
 It would be like her thus to go ! 
 
 Ah, friend ! you let her stray too far 
 Within the shadow-haunted wood, 
 Where deep thoughts never understood 
 Breathe on us, and like anguish are. 
 
 One day within that gloom there shone 
 A heavenly dawn, and with wide eyes 
 She saw God's city crown the skies, 
 Since when she hasted to be gone. 
 
 Too much you yielded to her grace ; 
 Renouncing self, she thus became 
 An angel with a human name, 
 And angels coveted her face. 
 
 Earth's door you set so wide, alack 
 She saw God's gardens, and she went 
 A moment forth to look ; she meant 
 No wrong, but O ! she came not back !
 
 94 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Dear friend, what can I say or sing, 
 But this, that she is happy there ? 
 We will not grudge those gardens fair 
 Where her light feet are wandering. 
 
 The child at play is ignorant 
 Of tedious hours-, the years for you 
 To her are moments : and you too 
 Will join her ere she feels your want. 
 
 The path she wends we cannot track : 
 And yet some instinct makes us know 
 Hers is the joy, and ours the woe, - 
 We dare not wish her to come back !
 
 DE PROFUNDIS 
 
 So long against the foe to stand, 
 To set the eager face like steel, 
 To bear the fire on every hand 
 And still stand firm where others reel ; 
 Now who is fool, and who is wise ? 
 
 And what is truth ? And who shall show 
 The good we sought with such strained eyes ? 
 
 The fight is over ; let us go. 
 
 So long around our heart we drew 
 
 The flaming line of hope that kept 
 
 Despair at bay, and held it true 
 
 That Christ watched while the great world slept. 
 
 And now our creed breaks like a star, 
 
 And falls in fire, and ends in night ; 
 The heaven we sought is all too far, 
 
 Our hearts are tired, we have no light. 
 
 We drew the sword, we struck at wrong, 
 We fought to mould a better world ; 
 Now all we held as right so long 
 Lies at our feet in ruin hurled.
 
 96 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 We learn the bitter speech of scorn, 
 
 11 Their wrong was right, our right was wrong 
 
 We tear the flag in conquest borne, 
 
 And bow our necks beneath the strong. 
 
 Yet not so ; if a splendid dream 
 We served, we will not perish thus. 
 Some Easter-glory yet may gleam 
 Beyond " God has forsaken us ! " 
 Gird on the sword, the flag raise high ! 
 
 Once more against the spears of hell 
 We hurl ourselves, and if we die 
 
 We fall as all God's worthiest fell !
 
 THE VAIN REGRET 
 
 I HEAR to-day that thou art dead, 
 Dead these long years ! 
 The earth lies heavy on thy head, 
 Upon the mouth that breathed between 
 Voluptuous lips a life so keen, 
 The tender flesh, the clinging hands, 
 The thick hair, coiled in shining bands. 
 All gone it seems not possible ! 
 And ended, too, the love and tears, 
 The tears that all too often fell ; 
 I hear to-day that thou art dead, 
 And amply I am punished. 
 
 II 
 
 No word, no sign you ever gave 
 Through all those years, 
 However much the heart might crave 
 Some answer how it fared with me ! 
 Between us rolled a sullen sea,
 
 98 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Which broader grew as life grew less 
 Too broad for whispered messages, 
 And which we were too proud to cross. 
 To-day I hear, and not with tears, 
 That thou art dead ! O this is loss, 
 That I have scorned whom I could save 
 And blamed thee lying in thy grave ! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Beside this gray dividing sea, 
 Through all these years, 
 My thoughts have wandered fitfully. 
 I wondered where you were, and what 
 The space and limit of your lot ; 
 I wondered why you gave no sign, 
 And anger filled my heart like wine, 
 And moved me with a vain remorse. 
 And now I know too late for tears 
 I fought with one who had no force. 
 I called thee proud, who far from me 
 Wert clothed in death's humility. 
 
 IV 
 
 What hour thy spirit passed away, 
 In these lost years, 
 I fain would know, if know I may. 
 When was it ? Was it day or night ? 
 Perhaps that hour my mood was light,
 
 THE VAIN REGRET 99 
 
 I danced or jested. Let me know, 
 That some vain sacrament of woe 
 My spirit yet may share with thee, 
 For whom my eyes refused the tears. 
 Yet no unknown it still shall be, 
 That I may learn to mourn and pray 
 Through every hour of every day !
 
 LAST WORDS 
 
 WHEN the gray light thickens, when the wind is still, 
 When the town is sleeping underneath the hill, 
 I shall feel a movement like another will 
 Draw me, wake me, hold me ; and shall rise and go 
 Weeping through the shadows to thy resting place. 
 Wilt thou stir to meet me, wilt thou thrill and know ? 
 Will the wind's breath be thy kiss upon my face ? 
 Will thy mouth stir smiling in the dark below ? 
 
 / shall neither hear nor know, 
 There is neither love nor laughter here below. 
 
 But I shall stoop and listen, with my ear set close, 
 I shall speak the dear name not another knows, 
 I shall whisper softly our old marriage vows, 
 And the rose-roots, and the violets, with their fibres deep 
 Then will stir vibrating like a wire the wind plays on, 
 And the music surely then will flutter through your sleep, 
 And the lids will slowly lift with weight of sorrow gone, 
 From your dim eyes that brighten toward my dim eyes that 
 weep ! 
 
 I shall neither smile nor weep, 
 There is neither sound nor smiling in that sleep.
 
 LAST WORDS 101 
 
 But I will bring the children, I will bid them sing, 
 
 Like small angels shadowed by the darkness of death's 
 
 wing, 
 
 Like sweet music softened by some deeper wondering. 
 They will stand above thee at the ebb of day, 
 I will sob the words, and they will sing the hymn ! 
 Those thin voices rising will flood the stars they say ; 
 Will they not sink downward to thy prison dim, 
 Wilt thou know not then, that Willy sings, and May ? 
 
 I shall hear not what they say, 
 No music pierces here, nor love, nor light of day. 
 
 Then will I cast irie down above thy buried head, 
 I will let my heart break, and not be comforted, 
 I will weep the night out, and day shall find me dead ! 
 Wilt thou not feel my tears fall on thy frozen brow ? 
 Wilt thou not feel my heart break through all barriers ? 
 Wilt thou not feel my breathing warm thy house below ? 
 Wilt thou not stir and ponder " This sweet touch is hers ? ' 
 When I lie dead above thee, then wilt thou not know ? 
 
 Perchance I then shall know 
 When thy brow touches mine in the dark below !
 
 FANCIES FOR CEL1A 
 
 ; 
 
 I'. THE SILENCE 
 
 WHEN the lamp's lit on winter nights, 
 And you above your task are bent, 
 
 I love to dream of old delights,- 
 And watch you with a grave content. 
 
 No sound runs through the room, unless 
 The crackle of the fire, the sweet 
 
 Uncertain rustle of your dress, 
 The echo of the rainy street. 
 
 Tis then I dream of what you are, 
 
 And might have been, or might have done 
 
 A thousand memories, near and far, 
 Your face stirs in me, dearest one ! 
 
 We seldom talk on such a night, 
 We are so conscious each of each, 
 
 That we dare not disturb delight 
 With wanton sacrilege of speech.
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 103 
 
 II. A DREAM OF DUTY 
 
 A SOBER thought is mine to-night ; 
 
 I have a vision quick and bright 
 
 Of what thy spirit is, a gleam 
 
 Sufficient to light up my dream. 
 
 For in the round of toil and bliss 
 
 The calm, habitual glance or kiss, 
 
 The genuine soul which dwells apart, 
 
 And moves the mind or prompts the heart, 
 
 We seldom see ; 'tis only thus 
 
 At intervals it shines on us. 
 
 Put then the test of this old scene, 
 Dream of the tragic might-have-been. 
 
 You are a Christian in the time 
 
 When earth's fair tree of faith was young, 
 Before its branches, smeared with grime, 
 ^ A world of mockers overhung. 
 
 Vour thoughts brood on a heavenly home, 
 You are the Heaven's mystic bride : 
 
 You walk the streets of ancient Rome, 
 And dream of Him the Crucified
 
 104 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 You love me too, and yet it is 
 Love in such delicate control, 
 
 It seems to yield intenser bliss : 
 You love as soul may love a soul. 
 
 Its limitations are a power 
 
 That makes the sum of love no less, 
 Its reticence is as a flower 
 
 That daily yields new fragrances. 
 
 At last the tragic hour arrives, 
 Wilt thou be faithful to thy soul, 
 
 And live the only life that lives, 
 Or that which mortals call the whole ? 
 
 A little grain of incense flung 
 
 Upon the threat'ning fires of Jove ; 
 
 So small a thing, and thou so young, 
 So small a price for life and love ! 
 
 I see thee stand, in nowise shamed, 
 Nor trembling, nor disconsolate. 
 
 How wilt thou answer ? Art thou framed 
 To grapple with so dire a fate ? 
 
 I think I know what thou wilt say : 
 
 Thine ears are full of some sweet psalm. 
 
 Thou smilest, and I turn away 
 Broken before thy dreadful calm.
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 105 
 
 For no light earthly thing art thou, 
 
 Nor could I love thy beauty thus ; 
 Thou hast a sovereign space of brow, 
 
 And eyes less keen than serious. 
 
 In thee, behind all smiles and mirth, 
 
 There lurks in being's inmost cell 
 A Power, a something not of earth, 
 
 Steadfast, serene, unconquerable. 
 
 Thou recognisest life and death, 
 
 Thou movest in thy right of Will, 
 Subdued by love, yet with free breath, 
 
 Obeying higher promptings still. 
 
 This is the Power I cannot touch, 
 Which flashes on me unsubdued ; 
 
 Nor should I love thee half so much, 
 Nor love so deeply, if I could. 
 
 That thou art mine is partly true, 
 With me thou art content to dwell ; 
 
 A closer vision tells me, too, 
 
 That thou art wholly God's as well !
 
 106 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 III. A RIVER DREAM 
 
 As I float, as I float, 
 My life dissolves in dreams : 
 A Shape of Air is my boat 
 And the Milky Way my river, 
 
 Flowing on, on for ever, 
 To the music of my dreams, 
 As I float. 
 
 Through all sorts of happy weather 
 We go floating on together, 
 Venus you shall I be Mars ? 
 But instead of elms and larches, 
 Gardens full of earthly roses, 
 Lilies with their pale reposes, 
 Willows stooped o'er verdant closes, 
 Poplars straight, like prison-bars, 
 Drawn across the sky's blue arches, 
 Over us the heaven marches 
 And the army of the stars. 
 
 We have floated past Orion, 
 Past the Scorpion and the Lion, 
 Past the clustered Pleiades, 
 
 And the little crescent moon ! 
 O waken, dear, and listen ! 
 
 There is music on the breeze, 
 And the star-shores nearer glisten 
 
 In the golden afternoon.
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 107 
 
 1 wonder what the year is, 
 Why the heart no longer wearies, 
 How long is it since we started, 
 Dull with work and heavy-hearted : 
 Do you think that we have come 
 
 To our home ? 
 Have we floated quite away 
 
 From the earth and its care ? 
 Have we, in this noon of May, 
 
 Come on Heaven unaware ? 
 
 IV. IDEAL MEMORY 
 
 IF in the years that come such thing should be 
 That we should part, with tears or deadly strife, 
 That we should cease to share a common life, 
 Or walk estranged in voiceless misery, 
 Then by this night of love remember me. 
 
 For tired hearts at last an end shall be, 
 For tired feet the pit-fall grave doth wait : 
 Can we escape this common trick of fate ? 
 More fortunate than all beside are we ? 
 Wherefore by this nighfs love remember me, 
 
 Not by my worst, when dull or bitterly 
 The mind moved, and the evil in my blood
 
 io8 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Worked words of anger thy meek will withstood, 
 Not by the hours I sinned 'gainst love and thee, 
 O not by these, dear love, remember me. 
 
 First in our mind live things that perfect be, 
 All shapes of joy or beauty, day's low light 
 Dying along the seaward edge of night, 
 The first sweet violet, music's ecstasy, 
 Making the heart leap, so remember me. 
 
 For I would have thy mind and memory 
 A chamber of sweet sounds and fragrances. 
 Let the ill pass : its power to hurt was less 
 Than joy's to bless us. I remember thee 
 By thy first kiss ; O thus remember me ! 
 
 There was an hour wherein a god's degree 
 And stature seemed to clothe me, and I stood 
 Supremely strong, and high, and great, and good 
 O by that hour, when all I aimed to be 
 / did appear, by that remember me ! 
 
 V. LOVE AND TIME 
 
 To others thou appear'st I know not 
 
 Like flowers faded, which bloom not again ; 
 
 Like skies from which has ebbed the morning-glow, 
 Like music whereof men no more are fain. 
 
 What matters it ? If such defects there be, 
 
 These are the flaws which true love cannot see ; 
 Thou art the same to me.
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 109 
 
 To others it may be thy mind is dull, 
 
 Thy thought a stream that ripples in the shade ; 
 
 But I have heard the stream when it was full, 
 And still I hear the music that it made. 
 
 I would not that the world should follow thee, 
 
 I am sole audience of thy melody ; 
 Thou art the same to me. 
 
 To others thou art one amongst a crowd, 
 
 A hieroglyphic face they cannot read ; 
 For me thine inmost self stands disavowed, 
 
 Thou art God's answer to my deepest need. 
 I find in thee a joy, a sober glee, 
 Which like a charm works on me silently ; 
 
 Thou art the same to me. 
 
 How many years since all my blood was thrilled 
 By those dear touches of thy tender hands 
 
 I cannot count ; my life was then fulfilled, 
 
 And at that hour the clock of Time still stands. 
 
 I see thee as I saw thee then, when we 
 
 First kissed beneath the conscious linden tree ; 
 Thou art the same to me. 
 
 I know not whether Time hath marred thy face, 
 Or if thy charm be still unvexed and whole ; 
 
 I see in thee thy true interior grace, 
 I love thee as Soul loves a living Soul. 
 
 Let Time do what he will ; it cannot be 
 
 That he shall wither this best part of thee ; 
 Thou art the same to me.
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 VI. GROWING OLD TOGETHER 
 
 OF all good wishes that I have, 
 The best my heart can fashion 
 Is age that carries to the grave 
 A heart still young in passion. 
 The wish that you and I may go 
 Through all the world's wild weather 
 Unparted, and that we may grow, 
 God willing, old together. 
 
 The lindens by the garden gate 
 Were young when I was younger, 
 Their branches had begun to mate 
 When I turned ballad-monger ; 
 To-day their branches interlace 
 And mock the wind and weather, 
 Each summer brings them added grace 
 As they grow old together. 
 
 The trusty settles by the fire 
 Were fashioned by my father ; 
 With pride he often would admire 
 Their newness ; I the rather
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA in 
 
 Observe the gracious stain of years ; 
 The grain, like grain in leather, 
 More beautiful and plain appears 
 As they grow old together. 
 
 The sickle that my father plied 
 
 Hangs yonder in the ceiling, 
 
 His fowling piece hangs by its side 
 
 To memory mute appealing ; 
 
 No longer common steel they seem, 
 
 As when he trod the heather, 
 
 They change to silver, while they dream 
 
 Of growing old together. 
 
 The sickle glancing toward the gun 
 Is whispering like a lover 
 "Your surface flashes like the sun 
 When clouds have all blown over. 
 You were not half so bright and gay 
 When, in forgotten weather, 
 The same hand handled us all day 
 When we were young together ! " 
 
 The gun with scintillations bright 
 Replies : "Your form is finer, 
 You quiver with a purer light 
 Than when you were a minor.
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Thin and bent double like the moon 
 Seen in clear harvest weather, 
 Most lovely then, so you'll be soon 
 The moon's peer altogether ! " 
 
 The lindens too last June I heard 
 
 Discoursing in like fashion, 
 
 While in their boughs the lover's bird 
 
 Poured out his song of passion. 
 
 Said they : " Our leaves should closer move, 
 
 Like feather laid on feather 
 
 Upon this pilgrim bird of love, 
 
 As we grow old together. 
 
 " For years we've trembled each toward each, 
 
 For years have loved each other : 
 
 Where onc'e we just could touch and reach 
 
 We now clasp one another. 
 
 And soon the falling year will bring 
 
 The wild wan autumn weather ; 
 
 O closer, closer let us cling 
 
 As we grow old together ! " 
 
 Thus may my heart in gladness move 
 To love's great consummation, 
 Be rich in hope and rich in love 
 And in love's revelation.
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 113 
 
 Sweetheart, when summers from us slip 
 And leave life's autumn weather, 
 We'll share diviner fellowship 
 As we grow old together. 
 
 VII. A CHILD'S DREAM 
 
 THE child looked upward from her play 
 
 And stopped, with air beguiling : 
 
 " I was in heaven yesterday," 
 
 She said : " Why are you smiling ? " 
 
 She's three years old : a tiny elf, 
 With blue eyes and mysterious, 
 Already she explores herself, 
 And life is getting serious. 
 
 " You were in heaven ? What did you see ? 
 The little face smiled purely, 
 " I saw God busy making me, 
 And angels watched Him, surely. 
 
 " I saw Him make my hands and feet, 
 And just as I was going, 
 Who should I see but Jesus sweet, 
 And He was busy sewing ! "
 
 114 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 " But what did Jesus sew ? You see 
 That part I can't unravel." 
 " O, He was making clothes for me, 
 In which I was to travel ! " 
 
 " When all was done" her laugh broke low- 
 " And angels all were praying, 
 Why then I ran away you know, 
 And now I'm down here playing ! " 
 
 Dear child, I know thy speech was true, 
 For in those eyes beguiling 
 I saw just then heaven's light break through, 
 And in their depths God smiling ! 
 
 I scarce dare touch thee, lest I spoil 
 This fruit for heaven's vintage ; 
 I shrink from thee, lest I should soil 
 This new gold of God's mintage. 
 
 I look at thee, and O the pain, 
 
 I see the days before thee ! 
 
 How oft God's coin comes back again 
 
 Defaced and dulled in glory ! 
 
 God hold thee, darling, in His hands, 
 And grant thee usage tender ! 
 An angel now behind thee stands, 
 And says, " I will defend her ! "
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 115 
 
 The garden-gate of heaven stands wide, 
 Young angels cry, " We've missed her ! " 
 Some day, no doubt, they'll leave God's side, 
 And seek their truant sister. 
 
 Till then we keep thee ; but, sweet child, 
 Love's guerdon and repayment, 
 We know who made thy spirit mild, 
 And what hands wove thy raiment. 
 
 And He thou sawest yesternight 
 Is still in toil right earnest, 
 To make thee raiment pure and bright 
 To wear when thou returnest. 
 
 VIII. THE LITTLE BOY'S PROGRAMME 
 
 I AM so very young and small, 
 That when big people pass me by, 
 I sometimes think they are so high 
 I'll never grow a man at all. 
 
 And yet I want to be a man 
 Because so much I want to do, 
 I want to buy fine things for you, 
 And be a soldier if I can. 
 
 i 2
 
 n6 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 When I'm a man I will not let 
 Poor little children starve, or be 
 Ill-used, or stand to beg of me, 
 With naked feet out in the wet. 
 
 But I shall think of some fine plan 
 To give them all new clothes and food, 
 And everybody will be good 
 And happy when I am a man. 
 
 And lovely gardens I shall plant 
 With flowers and fountains everywhere, 
 And I shall bring sick children there 
 And give them everything they want. 
 
 Or what is better, if I can 
 Find out where Jesus lives, I shall 
 Tell Him to come and heal them all : 
 All this will be when I'm a man ! 
 
 Now don't you laugh ! The father kissed 
 The little serious mouth, and said, 
 " You've almost made me cry instead, 
 You blessed little optimist ! "
 
 FANCIES FOR CELIA 117 
 
 IX. OTHER AND ONE 
 
 SOMEWHERE in other worlds we met, 
 
 And we shall meet again, 
 One earlier freed, one longer held 
 
 In the grim hands of pain. 
 
 Somewhere the One shall watch the stream 
 
 Of spirits rushing by, 
 Until some signal through the dark 
 
 Proclaims the Other nigh. 
 
 " And is it Thou ? " The folded arm 
 
 Drops from the hidden brow, 
 The shadowy raiment stirs, the lips 
 
 Sigh back, " And is it Thou? " 
 
 Somewhere, sometime, we thus shall meet, 
 
 Somewhere beyond the Sun : 
 Nor can we guess who later comes, 
 
 The Other or the One. 
 
 X. THE ANGEL AT THE FORD 
 
 I SOUGHT to hold her, but within her eyes 
 I read a new strange meaning ; faint they prayed, 
 " O let me pass and taste the great surprise 
 Behold me, not reluctant nor afraid ! "
 
 u8 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 " Nay, I will strive with God for this ! " I cried 
 " As man with man, like Jacob at the brook, 
 Only be thou, dear heart, upon my side ! " 
 " Be still " she answered, " very still, and look ! 
 
 And straightway I discerned with inward dread 
 The multitudinous passing of white souls, 
 Who paused, each one with sad averted head, 
 And flashing of indignant aureoles.
 
 THE TERROR BY NIGHT 
 
 LIKE the waves of a dreary sea, 
 
 Multitudinous, black, devouring, 
 
 The hours of the night encompass me, 
 All thought and will o'er-powering. 
 
 Steep rises each awful slope, 
 
 A mountainous wall impending, 
 
 Each treacherous wave I climb without hope 
 In a torture of toil unending. 
 
 And the waves are full of eyes, 
 
 Dull, piteous, mocking, scowling : 
 
 Dead faces written with lust and lies, 
 Mad lips profanely howling. 
 
 And ever a drowning girl 
 
 Glides past me, help imploring, 
 
 Till her hair is caught in a maelstrom whirl, 
 And her voice stilled in its roaring. 
 
 Thro' the sounding wells of the sea, 
 Sucked down, in stifling spasms, 
 
 Her face for ever accompanies me, 
 And follows thro' glassy chasms.
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 Aloft on the foaming ridge, 
 
 Deaf with the ocean's thunder, 
 
 I spin in the surge like a drowning midge 
 And then sink league-deep under. 
 
 Then sudden as thought the whole 
 Vast sea with blood is reddened, 
 
 I am shamed and stained to my very soul, 
 And each live pulse is deadened. 
 
 I am lost, and know I am lost; 
 
 Impassive, numb, unhearing, 
 Like a weed of the sea I am beaten and tossed, 
 
 Too weak for strife or fearing. 
 
 Then the sea rolls back at last, 
 
 And I sigh between dreams and waking, 
 Thank God, the terror of night is past, 
 
 And the dear fresh dawn is breaking !
 
 HISTORY 
 
 WHEN first they met there was no speech 
 Could say what each would be to each ; 
 It was the budding time of May, 
 When Love and Youth made holiday. 
 
 When they had lived a year together 
 There came a time of cloudy weather, 
 When Love grew weak and hollow-eyed, 
 Grew frail and slight then slowly died. 
 
 No woman fails to hold a man 
 If she can but adjust her plan, 
 And touch the chords of every day 
 With that first tenderness of May. 
 
 But she grew callous by degrees 
 And cared no more to win or please, 
 Or he to ask what she denied, 
 And so they lived on side by side.
 
 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 At last he died, and then she knew 
 That true love endlessly is true ; 
 Her heart unlocked its gate once more 
 When no one knocked against the door. 
 
 For all the sky was cold and gray, 
 It was no more the time of May, 
 It was the grim month of December, 
 When life's sole work is to remember.
 
 HAUNTED 
 
 THE towers rise stark against the sky, 
 
 The tarn lies black below the towers ; 
 Like trembling witnesses close by 
 
 Three poplars shiver in the mist and showers. 
 
 And it is a haunted place, 
 
 In each window a dreary face, 
 
 A whisper in every room, 
 
 And over the house a doom. 
 
 The terraces are green with slime, 
 
 The fish are dead, the pond is dry, 
 
 The trees have rotted in their prime, 
 
 And voices are heard to moan and sigh ; 
 For a ghost is in every room, 
 Whose fingers amid the gloom 
 Cast the shuttles of love and hate, 
 And spin the web of a fate. 
 
 The tarn lies black below the tower, 
 
 'Twas there his body splashed and sank ; 
 
 A cry rang through the mist and shower, 
 And a woman wailed upon the bank.
 
 124 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 And a hoof rang over the hill, 
 The murderer fled, and all was still ; 
 Small cause had he to wave his sword, 
 He was drowned that night at the ford. 
 
 The towers rise black against the sky, 
 The windows yawn, the turrets fall, 
 
 The birds drop if too near they fly, 
 
 And a ghost is stooping in the hall ; 
 But he cannot cleanse the stain, 
 And he cannot heal his pain, 
 For a voice is in every room, 
 And over the house a doom.
 
 WIND SONGS 
 
 I. MORNING WIND 
 
 THERE'S a Wind of the Morn I love ; 
 When the silver of dawn is bright, 
 And the stars faint out above, 
 It comes, like a sleeper's sigh, 
 The breath of the Day and the Night 
 Who kiss as they say good-bye. 
 
 And the leaves thrill over my head, 
 And the clouds grow bright with hope, 
 For the terror of night is dead ; 
 
 joy, I am free at last, 
 
 1 have climbed the haunted slope 
 Of the Hours, and the night is past ! 
 
 II. AUTUMN WIND 
 
 THE sky is gray like a vault of stone, 
 
 The wind of trouble is blowing : 
 Under the eaves I hear it moan, 
 Yesterday I said summer was going, 
 Now I know it is gone.
 
 126 POEMS AND LYRICS 
 
 A troubled wind and a troubled mind 
 
 The one to the other crying ! 
 I had rather the thunder with flame behind 
 Than this drear day with its sighing, sighing, 
 For something it cannot find. 
 
 Gray and desolate, hard and drear, 
 
 And the wind of trouble is blowing ! 
 The whole Earth bows to a phantom fear, 
 And tiptoe Summer, as she is going, 
 Cries curses in her ear. 
 
 III. WIND AT SEA 
 
 A WIND blew over the sea, 
 
 And the clouds like banners that hung 
 
 Becalmed to a mast, all suddenly 
 
 Flung out their folds, and the surges sung, 
 
 And the world rolled merrily. 
 
 And faster the great wind blew 
 Till the ship ran a furious race, 
 And swifter the wild seamew 
 Plunged eastward in eager chase, 
 And the sun sank down in hue 
 All fiery, and all men knew 
 The night would be evil at sea.
 
 WIND SONGS 127 
 
 And all the wild night through 
 The great wind shattered and roared, 
 And swept down the steep sea-board, 
 Like a reaper who reaps for death : 
 And it died with the break of day, 
 Leaping further inland, 
 And leaving but eddies of breath. 
 
 But there on the trampled sand, 
 Mid spume and sea-weed and spray, 
 The corpses lay many and chill : 
 Yet the day rose fair and still.
 
 AFTER RAIN 
 
 O WAKE and 'behold and rejoice 
 
 For at last after many days 
 
 A mighty wind gives voice, 
 
 And utters God's power and His praise ! 
 
 O see what a sky there is, 
 
 Fathomless, infinite, blue, 
 
 From whose zenith there falls the bliss 
 
 Of the lark : and all looks new, 
 
 Rain-washed, pellucid, refresht ; 
 
 And the air quivers through and through 
 
 With the sense of life, and the zest 
 
 Of joy, and of power, and of hope. 
 
 Not a cloud ! From base to cope 
 
 Clear hewn is the sapphire wall ; 
 
 Not a sound ; but along the slope 
 
 Of the wood the cuckoo's call, 
 
 And the laughter of children at play, 
 
 For the world keeps holiday ! 
 
 God wakens and works anew, 
 
 And we see the light of His track 
 
 As He vanishes out of view, 
 
 And smiles for a moment back ! 
 
 O Love ! rejoice, for at last 
 
 The wind's great trumpets are blown, 
 
 The rain is over and past, 
 
 God visits again His own.
 
 A SONG OF REBUKE 
 
 FULL blithely o'er the lea he sped, 
 O the sun was shining ! 
 He knew not that his love lay dead, 
 Lily-white hands on a lily-white bed, 
 O the sun was shining ! 
 
 A mavis sung in the alder tree, 
 
 All the birds were singing ! 
 
 Not one made wail, for none could see 
 
 The shadow of human misery : 
 
 O the birds were singing ! 
 
 A summer wind blew down the glade, 
 Free the wind was blowing ! 
 It blew thro' sunshine and thro' shade, 
 But never a single moan it made : 
 O the wind was blowing ! 
 
 * 
 
 And wind and bird and sunlight said, 
 " O happy day that's breaking ! " 
 None whispered that his love lay dead 
 Lily-white hands on a lily-white bed, 
 Asleep beyond all waking !
 
 LIFE AND REGRET 
 
 I HAD a curious dream last night : 
 Around me rose the hills of sleep, 
 Like clouds, along whose summits steep 
 The stumbling moon spills waning light, 
 In the hushed middle of the night. 
 
 The mystic hills of sleep I saw, 
 
 And where their ridge rose bent and clear, 
 
 I saw a troubled light appear, 
 
 And flash, and wander, and withdraw, 
 
 I know not what it was I saw. 
 
 And then, upon these hills of sleep, 
 I saw a little naked child 
 Run with a lamp in searchings wild 
 For something lost : and he did weep, 
 And wake me from my pleasant sleep. 
 
 Regret the child who runs behind 
 The steps of Life, in search alway 
 Of that which Life has cast away, 
 Of that which none can ever find, 
 Wail as they will, and pant behind.
 
 BUDDHISM 
 
 TEN thousand years, bound on the wheel of life, 
 
 Ten thousand thousand, whirled thro' endless light, 
 
 Thro' gulfs of gloom, and ever-barren strife ; 
 
 Like the wind homeless, like the sea made bright 
 
 With suns that flash and darken, like the wave 
 
 Lifted and sunken : like the foam-bell tossed 
 
 Upon the roaring surge that is its grave, 
 
 A moment gleaming, shattered then and lost 
 
 Only to reappear even so am I ! 
 
 The vast wheel spins : now on its outer edge, 
 
 Now on its inner circle, low or high, 
 
 I hasten onward, and like wind-swept sedge 
 
 I see the world' stooped in Fate's hurricane. 
 
 I shall not rest until the sea be dry, 
 
 Until the wheel falls broken into dust 
 
 Before His feet who is the Great and Just, 
 
 Until the world ends and begins again : 
 
 To hope, to pray, or to complain is vain.
 
 MYSTERY AND EGOISM 
 
 INFINITE distance, depth, and height 
 
 Surround me ! 
 
 Infinite darkness, shadow, and light 
 
 Astound me ! 
 
 Like a woven web the universe 
 
 Spreads out before me, 
 
 Trembling to every movement slight 
 
 Which passes o'er me. 
 
 God is awakened if I speak, 
 
 And listens : 
 
 The last star feels the sound-wave break 
 
 And glistens. 
 
 In God's ear my small whisper weak 
 
 Echoes like thunder : 
 
 And thus stand I, and with my hand 
 
 Touch worlds above and under, 
 
 I myself in wonder stand 
 
 In a universe of wonder.
 
 MAN'S FAMILIAR 
 
 THRO' the wide ways of an unboundaried Hell 
 Two Shapes move ever, stride for stride, 
 
 Each naked, shuddering, restless, hollow-eyed, 
 Each loathing each with hate unutterable, 
 Thro' the ways waste and wide. 
 
 One is a Man, the other bloody-hued 
 His Conscience ; and since Hell began, 
 
 These two are here : and behold neither can 
 Shake off the other, following and pursued, 
 The Conscience and the Man.
 
 THE UNSUNG SONG 
 
 I HAVE had many a vision, 
 Freedom and great delight, 
 Thought in full vigour and flight ; 
 Yet, at last, a wall dense as night 
 Has met me, and thrust me back, 
 My joy has felt its own lack, 
 And the world but a prison. 
 
 Silent I sit and ponder, 
 Is the sky high enough for the lark ? 
 Does thought ever find its mark ? 
 Is there light without limit of dark ? 
 Is there song that was ever fulfilled, 
 Or desire that was wholly stilled ? 
 I weary "and wonder. 
 
 O flesh, thou burden and fetter, 
 Songs I have made that I keep, 
 Sweeter than love or sleep ; 
 But another there is more deep, 
 That I never can bind in my sheaf; 
 It aches in my heart like a grief, 
 And is sweeter and better.
 
 ART AND GOD 
 
 As slowly dawns on dying eyes 
 A great light thro' the gates of death, 
 And lo ! the sudden face of Faith 
 Shines like a splendour in dark skies : 
 
 So they, who in the awful quest 
 
 Thro' Life's dim woods, with feet that tire 
 
 Grope on, led by the flying fire 
 
 Of Art, the world's great stranger-guest : 
 
 At last, when all the morning smites 
 Far down the wastes of tangled brake, 
 And high in half-dark skies awake 
 The lark's notes, faint thro' fluttering lights 
 
 Perchance in Death's great dawn of bliss 
 Art's long-averted face shall turn 
 Its star-like calm on these who yearn, 
 And what was Art Jehovah is.
 
 ASPIRATION 
 
 THERE'S a pain in the search for the high, 
 
 There's an ache in the heart of the bird 
 Who seeks the top reach of the sky, 
 
 By defeat undeterred. 
 Is it better to fail on the way 
 
 To the highest, or live in the dust 
 With the reptile whose one holiday 
 
 Is sunshine and lust ? 
 
 There's a thirst in the heart of the tree 
 
 When it lifts bridal arms to the Spring, 
 And covets to wear in its glee 
 
 The sun's self for ring. 
 Is it better in vain to aspire 
 
 For the thing that never can be, 
 Or grovel with hemlock and briar 
 
 That feel not nor see ? 
 
 What matter that such things are not ? 
 
 That we follow the glance and the gleam 
 Of a dream that no ending has got ? 
 
 Still, I say, let me dream.
 
 ASPIRATION 137 
 
 I will dream of the nightingale's song, 
 
 All the lyrical passion and rush, 
 And at last, when my yearning is strong, 
 
 I may sing like the thrush. 
 
 I will search for what never was found, 
 
 For the height and the light and the glow 
 Of impossible things I am bound, 
 
 For glory comes so. 
 If I miss them, at least there's a bliss 
 
 Which within me is silently wrought : 
 I am better and nobler by this, 
 
 O Soul, that I sought !
 
 LATE PRAISE 
 
 I STOOD within the market-place of life 
 
 And sung, and power was with me in my song. 
 
 I strove for praise, for praise seemed worth my strife, 
 
 I strove for love, for love in me was strong. 
 
 None listened or regarded, so at last 
 
 The music broke within my brain ; 
 
 I turned from men, and into silence pass't, 
 
 Silence, forgetfulness, and pain. 
 
 But something lived within that early song, 
 And from afar men found the echoes sweet. 
 To-day they call me, but no longer strong 
 Nor young I come with slow and halting feet. 
 Years of dispraise have dulled what power I had ; 
 My song is now an instrument 
 Long thrust aside disused, and I am sad 
 And old, with hope and vigour spent. 
 
 Men praise me now : but praise has come too late. 
 They throng me, but my solitude seems best. 
 Too late the sun has pierced the clouds of fate, 
 I shiver, and am old, and cry for rest. 
 When I deserved reward men stood aloof, 
 Against my best scorn's lip was curled : 
 To-day my meanest wins me no reproof : 
 Alas, poor fame ! Poor song ! Poor world !
 
 IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE 
 
 Once I said r 
 
 O kindly friends, have care when I am dead 
 To bury me where softest dews are shed 
 On silent pastures, far from human feet, 
 That my last sleep may be serene and sweet. 
 Let meek familiar flowers grow at my head, 
 And herbs and grasses .wherewith flocks are fed ; 
 And, if I dream, let fa r-ojf bubbling streams 
 And whispering leaves be woven in my dreams, 
 For thus I shall be calmed and comforted 
 
 When I am dead f 
 
 But to-day 
 
 Another and more common boon I pray ; 
 Let me be buried in this City gray, 
 Beneath the pavements of the noisiest street, 
 Most thronged by labour's tired processional feet, 
 And all the vast gigantic disarray 
 Of roaring wheels and men in endless fray. 
 Let me still feel the earth's undying pain, 
 And let my bones be jarred by action's strain, 
 I, who inactive, share thd 1 far away 
 
 Man's strenuous day !
 
 RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 LONDON AND BUNGAY.
 
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