THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES DATES AND DAYS IN EUROPE DATES AND DAYS IN EUROPE By an American resident in London (1914-1915) MRS. F. PURDY PALMER AUTHOR OF "CALIFORNIA AND OTHER SONNETS," "OF THE VALLEY AND THF. SEA," ETC. LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & Co. LTD. NEW YORK: E. P. BUTTON & CO. 1915 PRINTED BY WM. BRENDON AND SOU, LTD., PLYMOUTH, ENGLAND 3s: B I INTRODUCTION ARRIVING in England during February, 1914, I stopped for a month in Dover and from there came up to London. I recall the early warmth and charm of that Spring and Summer which now seem very far away, and, with them, that sense of repose to which one who has lived as have I a rather long and busy life, feels, for some unexplained reason, entitled. Then, one August morning, there appeared a brief headline in the newspaper whose import every startled reader understood at a glance. There were only five words : " Britain will not desert France," but they seemed to alter the aspect of the universe. Henceforth ease and repose, for the mind or for the body, might be suited to the inhabitants of some other planet, not, certainly, to those of our own. A year has elapsed, and on this anniversary of 5 860S30 6 INTRODUCTION the beginning of the War I am dwelling, in common with the multitude whose interests I have shared from day to day, on emotions which have touched the foundations of feeling, and on sentiments, hitherto undreamed of in our philosophies, which have now become a permanent part of them. And when I ask myself what are the qualities which I shall for ever associate with the England of the year just ended, I think of her sustained and self- forgetful hospitality to the refugees from a despoiled country, of the faith and charity with which occa sions have been met, and of that imaginative outlook that has already given birth to the new type of courage. F. P. P. LONDON, August 4//i, 1915. CONTENTS PAGE INTRODUCTION ..... 5 CONTENTS ..... 7 INDEX OF TITLES .... 9 HORIZONS GREY . . . .11 NOON IN "THE WHITE GARDEN" . . 33 THE MARCH OF THE WOMEN . . .47 ON THE PINCIAN . . . -55 INDEX OF FIRST LINES . . -63 INDEX OF TITLES PAGE Horizons Grey . . . . . -13 War . . . . . . .17 The Bringing of the Sword . . . 19 London . . . . . . .20 A Game of Chess . . . . .21 France . . . . . . -23 Russia . . . . . . .24 England . . . . . . 25 England's Dead . . . . .27 Soul to Body . . . . . .28 Europe . . . . . . .29 Dante's " Paradise " . . . . . 31 Noon in " The White Garden " . . -35 Snow . . . . . . -37 A Garden Escape . . . . -39 Possession . . . . . . 42 Two Songs . . . . . . 44 In an Old Square . . . . -45 Feminism . . . . . -49 Fanny's First Play . . . . -5 Women . . . . . . .51 To a Bust of Womanhood . . -S3 On the Pincian . . . . . -57 A Faun . . . . . . -59 Ruins in the Campagna . . . .60 The Bay of Spezzia . . . . .62 9 HORIZONS GREY 1914-1915 HORIZONS GREY I SAW white doves across the scene go by ; Our emblematic doves most arrogant In their white innocence that summer day When, with proud steps and soft bright eyes askant O'er an horizon grey They passed, with Peace, away, when suddenly Came War, which does not stay Its havoc-dealing hand for such as they ! ii The flutter of their wings put out the light ; No lights were left old thoroughfares to mark ; Nor might the moon the silver river show Since War had plunged the world into the dark, 13 14 HORIZONS GREY Confounding friend with foe, While all besought the shelter of a night Wherein they might not know The worst that death and loss can still bestow. in Yet since 'tis War again that rules the race, Idle to hide, and base indeed to shrink ! For when the world is peopled by the slain Some super-courage we must gain, to think While Earth, and Air, and Main, Their riddles dark propound for us to face Of how we shall explain Ourselves, and all that follows in our train. IV Of Modern Thought has come the Modern 111 ; This mintage of unreasoned discontent, With expectations which we coin into The semblances of lofty sentiment ; Mingling of false and true Whose broods within our breasts the need instil To grasp what all pursue, However poor our gifts or virtues few. HORIZONS GREY 15 v Weavers awhile we work upon life's plan, Tracing and filling patterns in the sun, Even to-day 'mid clouds that show no rift, The memories of some things he has done Man's courage still may lift ; While Melting Pot and world-wide Winnowing Fan Consume, and bruise, and sift, To leave at last more gold grains as their gift. VI Not dreaming but awake ! A thought has spread That through the beast in Man comes love of strife, And lusts which he so little has refined That " Pourquoi suis-je venu ? " he asks of life. Unto the clearer mind Consciousness unto consciousness hath said, Tis for thyself to find Whereby the Virtues reproduce their kind. VII We'll give to Nature scrutiny with love. Nor bind too close our joys and griefs to Earth Lest she these griefs and joys shall dominate. Of sense and spirit also, we, by birth, 16 HORIZONS GREY And who may deprecate The spirit's lonely flights when it would move 'Mid forces that create, To seek for human hopes a better fate ! VIII Again again on far horizons grey Some barque we speak that sends a faint reply : Strange prow she has and unfamiliar sail With those on board who Wherefore know, and Why. Eager, aloud we hail ! Then, fall to mean disquietudes a prey. Messages cross, and fail : The barque sails on, and other winds prevail. August, 1914. WAR i Now, through the night, no more in pride advanc ing, On downward curve we spin ; Perceiving, by some gift our sight enhancing, What souls we bear within ! II Come of an Age whose intrigues mar and deaden The simple sense of right, What part is ours to play at Armageddon, Advantaging the Fight ? HI If this the hour foreseen when Good and Evil Should close for once and all, The force assigned for our Mistakes' retrieval Were crowded to the wall ! B 17 i8 WAR IV Where is the road beyond the vague To-morrows Whose coming still we trust ? It lies where we resign, through many sorrows, Our greed, injustice, lust. August, 1915. THE BRINGING OF THE SWORD To lives at peace, enamoured of content While prosperous tides break on a sheltered shore, The world seems changeless, and men's aims ignore Its spinning pace. But when an Age is rent By storms of acquiescence and dissent, By wild emotions never felt before, By swift destructions mate with mate at war And by alarm, and wonder, and lament Then, as from strings responsive to no hand, Which chord or discord yield as we elect, There sounds a strain whence souls at birth are stirred ; And from this rhythm hard to understand, And from these measures idle to reject Life to the Law adds its compulsive word. September, 1914. LONDON HIGH qualities thou hast to spare From all that make thee fair and great, And fortitude to lift and bear Like Caryatid at the gate. Still dotes the eye on old design Of sky-line, and of thoroughfare, But now beyond all these 'tis mine Thine urgencies of Thought to share. Detached from the too literal view This Thought, and winnowed to inform- With all its shining residue The spirit that invests thy form. June, 1915. 20 A GAME OF CHESS WITH knights and pawns the lords again rehearse Their practised game, when of its studied scheme A seismic jar within the universe Alters the angles of things as they seem. ii The players smile : to them, astute and deft, The incident means but a brief delay. Restored with care each to the place he'd left, Nor knight, nor pawn would know he'd slid astray. in But, strange to tell, the pieces thus replaced Some new expressions wore. Each carven spear As if that cosmic jolt its past effaced Lurched forward, as for actual combat near. 21 22 A GAME OF CHESS IV Their ivory eyes beneath their helmets glow ; Their foes, their friends, upon the board they scan. And then they speak, in new-found voices low : " These players never understood our plan ! " FRANCE THOUGH she swerve from the shock of strife ; Though she die 'mid the blows of War ; She shall rise, as she rose before, To the quest of truth, which is Life. In songs of the sorrows she bore ; In laughter with mockery rife ; By wit which may probe as a knife, She'll bring to the world One Word More ! For, ever the meaning of Man Through the ways obscure of the Plan, Hers, singly, it is to explore ! Ironic, in realms of the Real ; Diviner, in Realms ideal ; She rests upon Earth but to soar. May, 1915. RUSSIA SHE squanders faith ; she squanders love ; She pities those whom others taunt And all her worth she'ld spend to prove How to assuage her Soul's fierce want. Ever and more her wonder grows, So far desire exceeds her reach. Mere life she scorns, for spirit flows Where life has ebbed, and fills the breach. Her errors to the light she turns, Condemning what she craves the most. And Insincerity she spurns As sin against the Holy Ghost. May, 1915. ENGLAND ENGLAND, what may I say of thee ? Thou hast set thy hand to a ploughing Whose furrow will scar the century, Yet thou look'st not back on thy vowing. Backward look was never for thee, And, as ever, thy faith is sowing The seed of thy continuity Where the winds and the waves are flowing. But England, England, what may be ! At thy feet are some fragments lying, And difficult parts are writ for thee Yet thy mettle must bear their trying ! * * * Long is the watch of winter-night Wherein memory stores its learning, And long till the Solstice nears that height Which shall mellow this world-upturning. 25 26 ENGLAND Coming harvests eye may not see, But the reapers are here, denuding Us of outworn conformity As they swing their sickles intruding. June, 1915. ENGLAND'S DEAD BRAVE young hearts whose readiness gave all That fortune promised into War's vast sum Of sacrifice, more than the calling drum Your ears have heard ! And now this ancient Hall That stands in shadow, and that garden wall Familiar scenes to which no more you come Hold heavy memories which the heart benumb, And sorrows, lesser sorrows to forestall. The last on earth you looked from Asian shore ; And from the baffling clouds that shared your flight. Kind were the dawns that brought an end to strife, And the grey waves which to their altars bore Through nameless passage ways, your forms from sight Those passage ways whereby Death led young Life. June, 1915. 27 SOUL TO BODY Our of the Soul hath sorrow sprung ; Out of the Soul comes bliss : Out of the Soul consent is wrung To the deeds we do amiss. Mated by Birth : severed by Death : Coursing no more together, Unto the stars this wild Soul saith, " What of our broken tether ? " 28 EUROPE So long a learning : yet so little learned ! One time th' empiric finger at her wrist To Europe said : Be rights innate dismissed, And power bestowed so that more power is earned. Then Europe builded. Armed, or on her knees, She builded, in a fury of delight At the discovery that Might is Right, And died, embattled for her dynasties. From age to age the old entrenchments strong Held out against dissuasion and assault ; And wisdom learned the folly of revolt Wherein the fine, the frail, survived not long. Yet ever and anon a thought came nigh To chosen souls whom solitudes surround Of Choice and Destiny this plaint profound What we have builded does not satisfy ! 29 30 EUROPE And here's an hour which may indeed disclose The clue ! Through suffering because of it Making the sacrifice which quickens wit What Europe would not learn, to-day she knows. Enlightened, death confronted yet alive And conscious that she does not live in vain, Her soul she now invokes no less her brain. When half-gods go the gods themselves arrive. July, 1915. DANTE'S "PARADISE" AN INTERPRETATION LAST night, in a quiet room To some souls who asked, There shone a light, through the gloom Of a faith o'ertasked. And there, for an hour sublime, Were we face to face With airs of a heavenly clime Out of Time and Space. Filled full was our thought within From the Thought without : We listened, and grew akin To the Host devout. And, free from the Preconceived With its ken so small, We wondered to have believed That Soul was not All ! November loth, 1912. NOON IN "THE WHITE GARDEN " NOON IN "THE WHITE GARDEN" A FORMAL garden filled with sun and May, Whereon no shadow save the dial's lies. The air is flaked by pear-tree blooms to-day, And tenanted by two white butterflies. Where by its pencilled vines the wall is lined The plumed spiraea spreads a feathery screen ; And, round the garden-archways close entwined, Clematis sets its stars 'mid tender green. White saxifrage, unchangeable, unchanged Taking no hue save that she always wore Lies at my feet, by gardeners' arts arranged In border mats to cover earth's brown floor. And tulips tall, their gaudy tints put by, Obedient to the power which here controls, On carpets of white pansies far and nigh Stand firm, and upward lift their unstained bowls. 35 36 NOON IN "THE WHITE GARDEN" The air is warm, and all is white around ; Columbine, candytuft, and peony. Petunias, in a fragrant space, surround With lavish grace the royal fleur-de-lys. And if some spirit in this garden dwells For which its fairest flower a form provides, A sentiment like incense near me tells That in these white-belled hyacinths she hides ! May nth. SNOW THE snow falls thick and the street is still. We'll rouse the fire and read, with a will, Wells, or Bennett, their good and their ill To know. Two sparrows have hidden behind the blind For warmth and shelter are hard to find But these two sparrows do not mind ! Ono! There's a dotted trail through the morning snow. Some one's climbed over that fence below ! I think it's Somebody that I know ! Quite so. 37 38 SNOW Out of his habitat taking a view And much preoccupied : steely blue That is the blue- jay seeing it through ! Heigh-ho ! O the wind is wearing away the snow ! The wind may come, if it likes, and blow In my heart, and wear away its snow And go ! A GARDEN ESCAPE ONCE upon a time within a garden Rose on slender stem a chosen flower, Somewhat pallid under skies that harden To a blossom's need of sun and shower. Shrewish winds blew sometimes in this garden, And the Aprils were not always kind, Still it prospered, for here dwelt a warden To his garden's welfare never blind. Seek no annuals in this stately garden " Pretty creatures, but not always true One mislikes vagaries one must pardon/' Quoth the gardener, clipping close his Yew. Then this chosen blossom brooded, brooded, As the nights grew long and chill the dew ; Wondrous longings upon thought intruded Of perfections she might never view. 39 40 A GARDEN ESCAPE Something held her spirit from expanding, Something seemed to press upon her heart ; Little rootlets querulous demanding Scope for freedom in a larger part. Till one day a sprite came down the pathway, Trolling to the borders : " I am Fate ! If you'll trust me I'll transplant you straightway ! Trust me ! ere my summons comes too late ! " Copper Beech and Rose of Sharon wondered, As they watched this freakish Fate go by, Lifting, with a touch that seldom blundered, Slender stems and tender roots on high. Other skies anon, with sun and shower ; Other soil where rootlets throve apace, And our alien blossom's perfect flower Lifted to the sky a fearless face. Bells and globes the woods and banks adorning, Lilies, Roses, for each gay parterre ; A GARDEN ESCAPE 41 Fringed and winged creatures of the morning To the sun their passion laying bare ! But once more our alien changeling brooded ; Self-completion had fulfilled her prayer. Yet, as memories on her thoughts intruded, " This/' she sighed, " is not my native air ! " POSSESSION VINE on the wall of my English home, March hath brought thee a draught of wine ! Drink of the cup, with its beaded foam, To the day of thy life, Vine ! ii The wall is high and its stones are cold To the touch of thy crimson tips ; And ever the new supplants the old When the sun to the northward dips. in Swinging to feel where the west winds go ; Swaying to follow the blackbird's call ; Everything tells thee the world to know Is the world outside of thy wall ! 42 POSSESSION 43 IV Yet still to its stones thy buds are pressed, And thy heart holds never a doubt That constancy to thy wall is best, Though the rest have not found this out ! v And by and by when the roses fall, And the teller of secrets is mute, Content art thou to adorn this wall With a glory of leaves and fruit. VI While the narrow gateway's breadth and length Will be clamped around and about With rivets, wrought of thine own brave strength, And closed to the world without ! 1914. TWO SONGS WELL I remember the wild-bird's song That was of this scene a part When lawns were green, and the days grew long : " 'Twas Youth that sang in thy heart I " Ah, but I love to recall those joys Those notes, and my pulses' start " Put them aside I They are broken toys That Love once left in thy heart I " How strange this song, that I thought I knew ! It has lost its old-time art ! " Wings for a flight, and a tree-top new Keep hope alive in the heart 1 " 44 IN AN OLD SQUARE COMING and going ; blurred against the rain, Absorbing as they pass the early gloom, I see the people, through my window-pane See when the firelight falters in the room, The posts and lintels dim that frame the Square Clad in the vague grey dominoes they wear. Holdings, all these, of tenantry who stirred To bygone dreams and deeds within this street Whose silent trees and stones have ministered To heavy hearts and undecided feet : The fog commemorates the multitude That struggled here of old for fame for food. With reticence it speaks of that which moved Their destinies : It lingers by the grate To make me know where brush and pen have proved 45 46 IN AN OLD SQUARE Their quality of flame infatuate The flame which thrusts a paler glow aside When the soul's purpose and the world's, divide. Some played perchance an unapplauded part ; Some bore the stings and arrows which refine ; Bold dreamers learned the treacheries of Art, Yet through attrition struck some sparks divine ! Comes from the street a singing voice its own ! All the street's pathos sung in baritone. November, 1912. THE MARCH OF THE WOMEN FEMINISM WOMAN of the neolithic name- Tragedienne of the mire and the mist- It may not be imputed to thy shame That once thou wast considered, and dismissed. Impetuous huntress ! swift beside thy mate, Nor taunted that his strength thy strength sur passed, At least you never learned to fear, or hate, Each other in that union of the Past. Woman of the modern human Play, What, if within the struggle of the Prime Your first estate was better than this last ! Prepared, but not assigned, you stand at bay Confronted in an equalizing time By Man's imperious signature of Caste I D 49 FANNY'S FIRST PLAY I SAW a scene : The world was in revolt Against its own creations ! Central stood The author of the mischief. Silken snood Of white she wore prepared for the assault The world makes on that unforgiven fault Of probing its conventions ! Why she should This beauty-nurtured flower of womanhood Such surgery essay, made wonder halt ! The curtain fell. The lights were down. The throng, Absorbed and heedless, sped the Strand along. Through April mist the citadels of State Still in their keeping kept the toss of fate. Its Bridges, still the ruffled river spanned, And I, at length, began to understand. WOMEN FADED women, toiling at their house-tasks, Wearying for hours that never come ; Smiling little smiles for fear the world asks : " Are you tired of children and of home ? " Other women, with their painted pleasures ; Helpless women with their sickly sins ; Women with the consciousness that measures All things from the point where Self begins. Timid women, pondering Opinion ; Finger-tips devoted to some Cause Quite within their feminine dominion For the petty good which brings applause ! Shabby women, see them passing passing While the whistles hiss against the rain : See them gather early for amassing What is ever for another's gain ! 52 WOMEN Working women, old and sharp and wary ; Younger women who have known no youth ; Dark-browed women, revolutionary Haggard faces blurting out the truth ! Happier women, who have gained a vision, Put their self-condolences aside, Learned that this old world will bear revision Seeing each the other woman's side. Women who can count some dear-bought conquest, Every debt of honour reckoned twice ; And, for those ideals which lead them farthest, Paying calmly the Rialto's price. Hero-spirits on the edge of morning, Bearing torches, joining hand with hand ! Dulled to them the mocking and the warning : They are marching by their Lord's command TO A BUST OF WOMANHOOD i GIVE us more passion, women, in your cries, And less compression of your guarded lips : And bravely lift those introspective eyes To view the passing of your own eclipse. You are thinking you are speaking, As in terms misunderstood ! You are blinded for the seeking Of the key to womanhood ! ii You were not formed creative to endure The waste of self-repression. Think ! and try Yourselves, with difficulty, to inure To freedom with the freedom to deny ! For you're living for you're speaking In false terms misunderstood, And they hinder all your seeking For the key to womanhood ! 53 54 TO A BUST OF WOMANHOOD in Now let the sorrows you have hid so long Blare forth their story of the ways you've trod So shall you lose that burning sense of wrong, And in your last estate upbraid not God. Then no longer thinking, speaking, In false terms misunderstood, You shall find what you are seeking With the key to Womanhood. ON THE PINCIAN ON THE PINCIAN THE leaves lie deep, but the rose never dies Where Messalina perished. White and blue The city of my thoughts lies spread to view Under the argent of December skies, Tablet of human sorrows, there it lies. When from this height a Tarquin on his throne The Roman's rights denied they flung from here Into the flood his harvests of the year ; And to the swollen Tiber made it known That thus, to Mars they rendered back his own. Who holds the title now to this domain ? The lofty cypress, or the nameless bust, The strolling stranger, or the crumbled dust Of those who haunt these groves to seek in vain The zest of old adventure once again ? 57 58 ON THE PINCIAN Time holds the title for these ghosts harassed Who cast no shadow on their native sod, And to his realms he relegates their god : But when Time strips the Present from the Past This field to Mars he'll render up, at last. December, 1913. A FAUN HE danced for joy because the world was fair And rhythm caught his footsteps unaware. Too wise, too indiscreet his only care Was, that the fruits of mischief fell elsewhere ! Airy escape from brooding Nature's plan ; A promise still to be redeemed to Man : His loves so light we'll not too closely scan Those loves wherewith Love's troubles all began. ROME, January, 1914. 59 RUINS IN THE CAMPAGNA THEY spell their story still, with letters broken, To eyes that read them not. 'Twere all the same the words remained unspoken, The famous deeds forgot. Under autumnal skies when sunsets redden Tufa with sullen stains, They rise, unmeaning, menacing, and deaden The Age they hold in chains. Standing gigantic, voiceless, unassenting To fate whose die is cast, The wide Campagna hears their hushed lamenting For Present and for Past. Like blinded captives, blameless and unwilling, They keep no count of Time. Their mute restraint like the enforced fulfilling Of punishment for crime. 60 RUINS IN THE CAMPAGNA 61 Yet are they Roman ! They must hold their stations Panels, and patterned floors : And heaven's light bathes them in the undulations From its eternal shores. January, 1914. THE BAY OF SPEZZIA OVER the waves with threatening skies Our boat a wind-scared sea-bird flies Across the foam to Lerici, Whose sombre heights ahead I see, Grave with the gravity of Italy. The jealous shore, the lonely quay, Are reached. And there, on upward way, Was Shelley's home. Once more I'm sure That, of our visions, some endure. Forgotten here to-night La Cote d'Azur. February i$th, 1914. 62 INDEX OF FIRST LINES PAGE A formal garden filled with sun and May . . 35 Coming and going ; blurred against the rain . . 45 England, what may I say of thee ? . . -25 Faded women, toiling at their house-tasks . . 51 Give us more passion, women, in your cries . . 53 He danced for joy because the world was fair . . 59 High qualities thou hast to spare . . .20 I saw a scene : The world was in revolt . . 50 I saw white doves across the scene go by . 13 Last night, in a quiet room . . . 31 Now, through the night, no more in pride advancing . 17 O brave young hearts whose readiness gave all . 27 Once upon a time within a garden . . -39 Out of the Soul hath sorrow sprung . . .28 Over the waves with threatening skies . . 62 O Woman of the neolithic name . . .49 She squanders faith ; she squanders love . . 24 So long a learning : yet so little learned ! .29 The leaves lie deep, but the rose never dies . -57 The snow falls thick and the street is still . . 37 They spell their story still, with letters broken . 60 Though she swerve from the shock of strife . . 23 To lives at peace, enamoured of content . .19 Vine on the wall of my English home . . 42 Well I remember the wild-bird's song . . -44 With knights and pawns the lords again rehearse . 21 63 Quantity Kate UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 A 000 928 031 4 PS 3531