THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POEMS BY DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY POEMS BY DOROTHY FRANCES GURNEY LONDON PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICES OF "COUNTRY LIFE," LTD., 2O, TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, AND BY GEORGE NEWNES, LTD., 8-II, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1913 HUDSON & KEARNS LIMITED, PRINTERS LONDON, S.E TO Mf HUSBAND. A FEW OF THESE POEMS HAVE APPEARED IN EITHER THE "ACADEMY," THE " CORNHILL MAGAZINE," "COUNTRY LIFE," "ENGLISH ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE," THE " MORNING POST," "MURRAY'S," OR THE "WINDSOR MAGAZINE," AND ARE REPRINTED BY KIND PERMISSION OF THE EDITORS. CONTENTS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS : PAGE GOD'S GARDEN . . . . . . . . . . I GARDEN THOUGHTS . . . . 2 DREAMS IN VENICE . . . . . . . . . . 3 AN OLD MAID . . . . . . . . . . 4 TO INNOCENCE . . . . . . . . . . 5 IN ABSENCE . . . . . . . . . . . . 6 THE RETURN . . . . . . . . . . . . J A REVELATION . . . . . . . . . . 8 AD INFINITUM . . . . . . . . . . 9 SERVICE . . . . . . . . . . IO DIVINE LOVE . . . . . . . . . . ..II SONGLESS ' . . . . . . . . 12 THE REVEILLE . . . . . . . . 13 TEARS . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 KIT'S ROOM . . . . . . . . . . 15 THE MAD SPINNER . . . . . . . . l6 THE THRESHOLD . . . . . . . . 1 7 THE HIGHER STOICISM . . . . . . l8 LITTLE FEET . . . . . . . . . . 19 FROM A ROMAN LOGGIA . . . . . . . . 2O VIOLETS FROM SHELLEY'S GRAVE . . . . . . 22 COMPENSATION . . 23 z. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS continued. PAGE AFTERWARDS . . . . . . . . . . 24 A MOMENT 25 A RED SUNSET . . . . . . . . . . 26 TO V. L. 27 DEVOTION . . . . . . . . . . . . 28 THE PORTRAIT . . . . . . . . . . 2Q LOVE AND PITY . . . . . . . . 30 LOVE AND SORROW . . 31 THE LITTLE CRIPPLE . . . . . . 32 THE LARK'S CALL . . . . . . . . 33 FOR PEGGY'S BIRTHDAY . . . . . . 34 THE SHADOW . . . . . . . . . . 35 A SONG OF COURAGE . . . . . . . . 36 THE CHALLENGE . . . . . . . . 38 ELLAND . . . . . . . . . . . . 40 MOTTOES FOR SEVEN OLD WARMING-PANS . . 42 BONNY MARY . . . . . . . . . . 44 LOVE DEAD . . . . . . . . . . 45 LOVE BURIED . . . . . . . . . . 46 THE EXCUSE . . . . . . . . . . . . 48 THE CALENDAR . . . . . . . . 49 SONGS FOR Music : LITTLE THINGS . . . . . . . . 53 LUCK'S LULLABY . . . . . . . . . . 54 SONG OF THE VENETIAN SAILS . . . . 55 PURPOSE . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 THE DAISY CHAIN . . . . . . . . "57 UNION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 LONGING FOR THE NORTH . . . . . . 59 WANDEREE . . . . . . . . . . . . 60 Xi. SONGS FOR Music continued. PAGE OVER THE MOOR TO TAVISTOCK . . . . . . 6l THE LITTLE MAIDS OF DEVON . . . . . . 62 SONNETS AND OTHER FORMS : TO SLEEP . . . . . . . . . . 65 A GARDEN IN VENICE . . . . . . . . 66 AUTUMN . . . . . . . . . . 67 TO DEATH . . . . . . . . . . 68 BENEDICTUS . . . . . . . . . . . . 69 A RHYMED SESTINA . . . . . . 70 THREE ROUNDELS . . . . . . . . 72 TO G. G. W. . . . . . . 74 A BALLADE OF LOVERSLAND . . . . 76 MOON-SPELL . . . . . . . . . . 78 TRIOLETS : SUB ROSA . . . . . . . . . . . . 8l APPLE-BLOSSOM . . . . . . . . 82 SHADOWS . . . . . . . . . . 83 IN THE WOODS . . . . . . . . . . 84 THE DIARY . . . . . . . . . . 85 TRANSLATIONS : THE IDEAL 89 FROM THE FRENCH OF SULLY PRUDHOMME . . 90 DOWN HERE . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 THE GOLDEN LEAVES 92 SACRED POEMS : THE WILDERNESS AND THE SOLITARY PLACE . . 95 " THE WIND BLOWETH " . . . . . . . . 96 SACRED POEMS continued. TO A SAINT 98 " AS LITTLE CHILDREN " . . . . . . . . 99 MAY DAY . . . . . . . . . . . . IOO THE ROBE . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 THE FIRST COMMUNION IO2 MATER DOLOROSA IO3 SANCTUARY . . . . . . . . . . . . 104 A DECISION . . . . . . . . . . . . 105 xiii MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. GOD'S GARDEN. The Lord God planted a garden In the first white days of the world, And He set there an angel warden In a garment of light enfurled. So near to the peace of Heaven The hawk might nest with the wren, For there in the cool of the even God walked with the first of men. And I dream that these garden closes With their glades and their sun-flecked sod And their lilies and bowers of roses Were laid by the hand of God. The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God's Heart in a garden Than anywhere else on earth. GARDEN THOUGHTS. He that is a garden's friend Groweth calm and wise, And after death shall rise and tend A plot in Paradise. Pansies, pansies, Warm as fireside fancies. Such tender graces In their baby-faces ! Thoughts from Mary's mother-lore Of the blessed Babe she bore And of His dear embraces. Pure as virgin dream The Mary-lilies gleam, And the red-hearted rose Glows and glows Warmer and more brave since he Is set against their purity. DREAMS IN VENICE. Last night as I lay on my bed and the night went through, Sleep shook a feather of dreams from his wings of the moon And it fell on my eyes, dear Heart, and I dreamed of you Of you and the stars and the peace of the still lagoon. But a light wind lifted the feather, and lo ! my dreams Lay in a garden of roses set in the heart of noon, And beyond it the beech-clad hills and the fields and streams, The rapture of thrush and merle and the cushat's croon. AN OLD MAID. God's Acre marks another stone Above its green and quiet slumber, For, sweet Miss Patience, you are gone, And Heaven another saint may number. No longer down the village street You pass and lighten half its burden ; The children run in vain to greet The smile they deemed so dear a guerdon. Ah ! we shall miss you from your place, Who held, perchance, your gentle spirit, Your quaint old-fashioned words and face, Too cheap to measure half their merit. Your strength of soul, your depth of thought, Ruled, guided, yet offended no man, For all your power was schooled and brought Within the gentlest scope of woman. But Death unveils for us to see The fulness of your ministration, The silence of your charity Your life, a simple, sweet oblation. Scoffers may hold you up to mirth, And cynics, if it please them, doubt you ; But we who knew you best on earth Felt that you carried Heaven about you. TO INNOCENCE. Could I hold, oh ! Love, your white and perfect soul Before the world has bound it with its fashion, You and I, by quiet ways and sweet control, Might learn life's meaning and love's fullest passion. Could pain of mine, even to my own heart's breaking, But spare your heart its revenue of tears, The disillusionment, despair and aching The world will bring you with the older years ! Yet, child, I dream one golden, far-off morrow, We two shall stand in some diviner place, Where youth eternal springs from human sorrow, Perfect and white one soul before God's Face. IN ABSENCE. Lend me but dreams, Oh ! Sleep, thy visionary vassals to beguile Absence that seems Eternal ; give me my lost love a little while And I will pay Thy kindness with the sorrows of the lonely day Waste not on those Who know the waking joys of undivided love Thy spirit-shows, Love's bodiless pure presence and the bliss thereof ; Keep them for one Whose hopes may only rise at setting of the sun. THE RETURN. Oh ! perfect voice, A long cold year unheard ! Hushing all common, harsher noise Art thou returned with the joys That warmed and stirred The small throat of the happy, nesting bird ? Dead memories And all sad things that slept Beneath the spell of alien skies, At thy remembered harmonies Rose up and swept A wave of passion over heart and eyes. A REVELATION. Your arms are close around me And on my lips your kiss Ah ! how could memory wound me In such an hour as this ? Yet even while you hold me My thoughts are far away ; Your love has only told me My heart is dead to-day ! AD INFINITUM. Although our lives are set So far, do you forget The day our friendship reached its highest goal ? We tore the veil aside Of false reserves and pride And questioned with each other soul to soul. Remember too how small And impotent seemed all The arts men use to heighten lover's worth ! For we had neared the shrine And gazd on Divine And known a love beyond the love of Earth. " With time dies everything." So fools may write and sing, Not we whose ears have heard the Eternal Voice ; For ours the higher faith Triumphs o'er change and death, And Love immortal makes no second choice. SERVICE. Oh ! Love, I am too small to stand Beside you as an equal soul, And meet your gaze and touch your hand And own a common path and goal. But this at least is in my power, To mark your passing day by day, And here and there to plant a flower, Or move perhaps a stone away. 10 DIVINE LOVE. Fear not, dear Heart, to love too much, Fear rather lest thou love too little ! True Love will bear thy boldest touch, For only love of self is brittle. Shrink not, dear Heart, from passion's flame, But rather dread to be without it ! God's Spirit set thy soul aflame, And who art thou that thou should'st doubt it ? When spirit meets with spirit-love Earth's meanest use is hallowed by it ; Heaven's fire in falling from above Needs no defence to deify it. n SONGLESS. Green leaves are here, Sunlight and singing-birds ; But where ? oh ! where Are the old wing6d words ? Thought lies too deep, Joy is too high a thing ; And now I weep What once I used to sing. 12 THE REVEILLE. To-day when someone spoke your name My heart was stung to sudden flame, And every memory that awoke Stabbed through it like a sabre stroke. And yet the pain of wakened thought Was worth its anguish, since it brought The knowledge of how deep and true, How deathless is my love for you. TEARS. Sometimes when I was near you The tears would fill my eyes ; To see and feel and hear you Linked pain to ecstasies. Now you are gone the stress is That I must play my part And smile while no one guesses The tears that fill my heart. KIT'S ROOM. A small white room, whose casement shows The city river where it flows, All girt about with summer trees, And quick with summer sun and breeze. Here few might know the busy street, With all its toiling, hurrying feet, Lies hidden below its noises come Subdued to such a pleasant hum. Ah ! in how good an hour did I Sit here alone, so close the sky, That all my thoughts grew still and clear, And all my dreams drew Heaven near ! THE MAD SPINNER. Humming wheel, oh ! humming wheel, Hush, my heart, for I must not feel The wind is driving in from the sea And it drives the sound of a voice to me. Flickering flame, flickering flame ! Did you start and whisper a name ? I wait by the fire as I sit and spin For the latch to lift and the Dawn come in. Howl and crack ! howl and crack ! The waves are strewing the shore with wrack, But they hold my life and the heart of me Fast, fast, fast in the heart of the sea. Whirling wool ! whirling wool ! White, white, white, and soft and cool ! God's fingers turn in the whistling sleet And He spins and I spin for a winding sheet. Spin, spin ! I am Fate who spins, Spins till the Judgment Day begins And the great sea, shrinking, gives up her dead And my Love comes back to me out of her bed. 16 THE THRESHOLD. Lift up the latch ! Set wide the door ! I bear my bride across the floor, Past the great hearth, beneath the thatch, On to the bed-place in the wall ; Oh ! Love of mine, so white and small ! Lift up the latch ! Lift up the latch ! Set wide the door ! God's Body, though the shrine is poor, Comes in the first grey morning watch. Her mad, sweet eyes are staring wide ; The dead babe stretches at her side Lift up the latch ! Lift up the latch ! Set wide the door ! Carry them out across the moor, Out to the winds that howl and snatch, < To the lone churchyard by the sea, Body and soul and life of me ! Lift up the latch ! THE HIGHER STOICISM. If I must suffer pain, as needs I must Since Death and dole so dog the things of dust, Let me upgather all my strength and brace My soul to meet it with a cheerful face. And let no other creature's life be made The darker for my passage through the shade, But rather let the temper of my mind Glow but the brighter for the gloom behind. Let me, with Sorrow for a wholesome friend By bitter means achieve the sweeter end, As one who passing through the grave may rise To prove his own and others' Paradise. 18 LITTLE FEET. All down the valley As I walk to-day There are little footprints Where the children play. All down the valley Of my heart's retreat There are little shadows Made by small, dead feet. FROM A ROMAN LOGGIA, i. The moon was like a silver thread Up in the paling sky A small faint moon as half afraid To find herself so high. I leaned upon the loggia wall My castles in the air ! I had not any fear at all, They seemed so safe and fair. To-night the little moon has grown So large and clear and even, Her light upon the sleeping town Lies like a touch of Heaven. Oh ! moon, above the loggia wall, Your triumph mocks my pain, For one by one the castles fall Love may not build again. II. Give me a gift, oh ! love, my love, The heart you have held so dear ? "I lie in my grave and I cannot move, In my grave and I cannot hear." 20 What if I come, oh ! love, my love Down there to you and the dead ? " Death left my heart in the world above And gave me a stone instead." 21 VIOLETS FROM SHELLEY'S GRAVE. Oh ! cloistered sweetness, bending shy Your dusky petals to the dew, Love counts a dearer thing than you These flowers, whose leaves are pale and dry The spirit that to his dreaming gave Its shadow of divine regrets Still lingers in the violets That lay upon his Roman grave. 22 COMPENSATION. If I had never known you, I had had Not so much pain, perchance, As now makes sad The days that miss your wonted touch and glance. I had not known with how swift blows and keen Can Memory annoy, In thoughts that lean Too close and fondly on some buried joy. And yet, beloved, I had missed so much Beyond what hinges on Mere mortal touch, That grief is gainer by comparison. AFTERWARDS. When, spirit-like, she moved among The world's material, restless throng, He met her beauty day by day, And passed it by and went his way. But when he came and saw her dead, With the white flowers about her head, He knew left alien and alone His and the dead soul's life were one. .24 A MOMENT. Was it your voice that I heard Stealing down on the wind, Or only a bird Singing to one of its kind ? " Love ! Love ! Love ! " so it fell Soft ere the fancy fled. For a moment's spell I could forget you were dead ! A RED SUNSET. Above the shadow of the western wood I saw the heavens aglow with sudden light As though swift blushing at her warmer mood The dying day had kissed the colder night. TO V. L. The poets and the preachers say That did we give our love to worth Nor ever stoop to meaner clay Life would bring only good to birth. Fair doctrine for the chosen few Who wear our worship as a crown ! But what to such as I, if you Could never stoop a little down ? DEVOTION. There is no depth so low, Love, where you were, But that my heart would leave its rest and bow To serve you there. There is no place so high That you might fill But that my love would make it wings and fly To serve you still. 28 THE PORTRAIT. Every night beneath my pillow, Love, I lay your pictured face, And if I must wear the willow, Still I keep this little grace. Here I press again in seeming Your dear lips and half forget All my pain, and fall to dreaming- Dreaming that you love me yet. LOVE AND PITY. Love knocked softly at the gate Of your barred and guarded heart, Strove he early, strove he late, Tried in vain each tender art. Then to aid his trouble sore Swift his sister Pity came, And the portal, closed before, Opened to her holy name. Sweet, you were your own undoer, Being so to Pity kind As she crossed the threshold o'er Love himself stole in behind ! LOVE AND SORROW. Love met me late upon the way Of Fancy's frail dominions, A thousand radiances of day Throbbed on his spirit-pinions. He caught my heart this lovely thing- And held it with embraces, " Come thou and sit apart and sing With me in pleasant places ! " Alas ! the truths we hold to-day We learn anew to-morrow, And I have found that child of play Companioned close with sorrow. THE LITTLE CRIPPLE. The birds are singing on every tree, Swinging, winging from tree to tree ; But there's no more springtime for such as me. The buds are blowing out on the lea, Golden, purple and ivory ; But there's no more growing or bloom for me. My years have numbered but five times three, And here I lie like a fallen tree, And the young Spring passes and pities me. For the Hand of God stayed my growth for me. The Angel Pain took my youth from me, And the long, long years hold no sooth for me. The birds are singing on every tree, The buds are blowing out on the lea ; But there's no more springtime for such as me ! THE LARK'S CALL. My little maid, with eyes of blue, The larks are calling out to you : " Come up ! come up ! you child of spring, Into the dancing air, and sing For very joy of everything. Oh ! child, you are so wild and big ! We saw you break a budding twig ; And, as you play, beneath your tread The pretty daisies all are dead. We tremble lest your careless feet Should crush the eggs that, close and sweet, We hid among the meadow grass, But little dreaming you would pass. You would be so much safer here, A-singing in our skyey sphere ! " My little maid, with eyes of blue, The larks are calling out to you : " Come up ! come up ! you human thing, For, oh ! the joy upon the wing, Here, where the air is rarely fine, And sunshine, like a golden wine, Turns and turns within the brain, Till one must sing and sing again. Come up ! come up ! you human thing ; Take but your skirts in hand, and spring ; And you will soon be with us here, A-singing in our skyey sphere ! " 33 FOR PEGGY'S BIRTHDAY. Peggy, two years old to-day, Must I set your praises forth ? Fashion you a birthday lay, I, whose songs are little worth ? Breath of freshest mountain air, Scent of orchard blossom fine Haunt my memory with the fair, Glowing face you turn to mine. Just so deep and clear and still Are your lovely, innocent eyes As when winds have worked their will And no cloud is in the skies. The hair upon your temples grows Like the curling woodbine shoot And the colour of it shows As sunlight on the chestnut's fruit. But the swiftness of your smiles And their brightness who shall trace ? And your hundred dainty wiles Who shall sing their baby grace ? Peggy, two years old to-day, 'Tis no easy thing you ask. For a fitting birthday lay Love himself should take the task. 34 THE SHADOW. Beautiful, dainty thing, With your garments of summer blue And your eyes that dance and your gems that glance, How the sunshine smiles on you ! What is that crouched by the wall, Haggard and lean and wan, Whose ancient rags on the ashen flags You could almost touch with your fan ? Beautiful, dainty thing, With your braveries all astir, Vibrantly bright in the glowing light, Your shadow falls on her. 35 A SONG OF COURAGE. " Sing me a song ! " Life stood and cried of me, " A song not all made out of tears and sighs, Of barren woods and wet and windy skies ; Sing me a song of human bravery ! " Though skies are grey, yet somewhere shines the blue, The naked trees know green and tender leaf, High hope and promise triumph over grief, And still the false is worsted by the true. " Because the stage whereon they play is small, And trivial seems the daily sacrifice, Your thoughts disdain the world's nobilities Who never think upon themselves at all. " Sing, therefore, of the kindness of the poor, More keen than yours, who know not hunger's pain ; Sing of the nameless heroes of the plain Who fall unheralded at Glory's door ! " Sing, too, their humbler brethren of the mine Who grope in darkness for your warmth and glee ; The countless toilers on the uncertain sea Who hazard life that half a world may dine ! " For I am sick," cried Life, " of this your air Of dainty melancholy. Make for me A sterner song of human bravery, Of human patience trampling down despair ! " 37 THE CHALLENGE. Oh ! my England, oh ! my England, 'mid the nations set on high For the pointing and the question and the gaze of every eye, In what fashion dost thou now fulfil thine ancient destiny ? Oh ! my England, oh ! my England, dare we glory in thy name, When beneath the splendid surface lies the smirch and soil of shame, And for bread and games, as once in Rome, the people sell thy fame ? Oh ! my England, oh ! my England, we the offspring of thy sod, Do we tread the strenuous pathway that our great forefathers trod Who have fought and made and held thee by the grace and power of God ? Oh ! my England, oh ! my England, was their labour all in vain, Those old saints of thews and sinews of a high heroic strain, Who had noble thoughts and lived them with no selfish greed of gain ? 38 Oh ! my England, oh ! my England, think ! by moor and dale and fen How they sleep, thy white-souled daughters and thy sons, all valiant men ! And rouse thine ancient fires and bear such children now as then ! 39 ELLAND. Up there in Elland In the good old days, There were silver gleams of falling streams And lovely woodland ways. Up there in Elland Down the sunny glen, They played their plays and fought their frays, The little fairy men. Up there in Elland A lass could meet her love, And sit and sigh to a high clear sky, And hear the cushat dove. Up there in Elland, Oh ! it's changed to-day ! For the devil's work of grime and murk Has driven the elves away. Up there in Elland They've felled the bonny trees, And poisoned ah 1 , river and fall, Where the lovers took their ease. Up there in Elland The sun is never clear, For the leaden clouds that rise like shrouds From end to end o' the year. 40 Up there in Elland A man that's living now, A weary slave from cot to grave, Toils in the sweat of his brow. Up there in Elland, Oh ! for heaven again ! For a flower that blows and a stream that flows Clean through the sunny plain ! MOTTOES FOR SEVEN OLD WARMING-PANS. (In the possession of the Rev. R. Hanbury-Miers. i. With this pan from toe to head Doe I warm my gueste's bed. With good loving in my hearte Doe I bid him come and part. n. As doth this pan hot coals inurn, So in my heart Love's fires doe burn. in. Let either sheet Be fine and sweet, The pillow deep, Inviting sleep. From top to toe For heartsome glow, Pass me, sweet Nan, This warming-pan. IV. Let thy love to fellow-man Glow as doth this warming-pan. 42 V. Life's a bed that's chill With every kind of ill. Love's the warming-pan Warming it to man. VI. May thy face, like this pan's dial, Shine through every daily trial. VII. This warming-pan that looks so cold The fire's hottest ash doth hold. So deepest love doth often hide Beneath a face of quiet pride. 43 BONNY MARY. Oh ! you may bid the summer wind Give strict account for each vagary, Yet never think with laws to bind The wandering steps of Bonny Mary ! And you may pierce the sunset clouds That float in golden veils and airy, But not the mystery that enshrouds The changeful schemes of Bonny Mary I And you may rob the boundless main Of all its hidden treasures chary, But you shall seek to know in vain The secret thoughts of Bonny Mary I And yet before her feet we fall Spell-bound, both foolish ones and wary And think it bliss to be in thrall To such a queen as Bonny Mary ! 44 LOVE DEAD. Sweet, no longer weep nor wail, Nor change so quick from red to pale Since love is dead that was your bale. For to have you glad and free I have slain fair Love in me, Knowing not how hard 'twould be. Now to liberty annexed You shall be no longer vexed Nor with Love's wild ways perplexed. But since you have given your fiat, Should you pine in too much quiet For Love's old delicious riot ; All in vain your best endeavour To bind again the tie you sever Love once dead is dead for ever ! 45 LOVE BURIED. I met my love upon the way Oh ! but the weather was wet and grey ! " And where is our love this many a day ? " " Do you not know, sweetheart," she said. " This love of ours, he is cold and dead ? And we two here must dig him a bed. " A bed where he may rest full fain, And never trouble our hearts again, That, seeking pleasure, have chanced on pain." I looked my sweetheart in the face Oh ! but the rain beat down apace ! " And where shall we find him a burying-place ? " " There is no room in my heart," she said, " No room for a love that is cold and dead, With the new love reigning there in his stead." " Sweetheart ! then I will give him rest, I will dig him a grave in my empty breast, That never may house a fairer guest." We dug it deep, my dear and I Oh ! but the wind swept down the sky ! And we left him with never a tear or a sigh. 46 He cannot rise from a grave so deep, But sometimes I think I can hear him weep, And stir a little down there in his sleep. 47 THE EXCUSE. If when I stole that kiss I did amiss, I still can find good reason For the love-treason ; For, sweet, believe me, Tis you that should be chid For what I did, Since 'twas your glances kind That served to blind And so deceive me ! But if you needs must tame My passion's flame, Tie up each curling tress That courts caress ! No more discover The light of love that lies Within your eyes ! Such beauties to resist Would take, I wist, A colder lover ! 48 THE CALENDAR. When Love the flight of Time records He measures it in blisses, And counts his days in honey words And all his months in kisses. Then, Love ! when I am with my dear Bid Time awhile delay, And count me out thy longest year Into his single day ! 49 SONGS FOR MUSIC. LITTLE THINGS. No one sings the little songs Now that you are dead ; The little songs you used to croon Over a cradled head. No one does the little things With your gentle grace, The little things that used to make The world a pleasant place. No one says the little name Only we two knew ! Do you use it still, dear heart, Up in Heaven's blue ? 53 LUCK'S LULLABY. Little feet, little feet, Stumbling as you play, Shall I tell you what you'll meet On the Wander- way ? Then lie you still and shut your eyes, And Luck will sing you lullabies. Lo, la, lulla ! Little dear, pretty dear, Ugly things will hide As you pass along, for fear Of your maiden pride. Then lie you still and shut your eyes, And Luck will sing you lullabies. Lo, la, lulla ! And there will come a golden child And lead you by the hand, All across a pleasant wild Into Fairy-land. So lie you still and shut your eyes, And Luck will sing you lullabies. Lo, la, lulla ! 54 SONG OF THE VENETIAN SAILS. Brown sails for toiling For the city's needs, For the sweat and soiling Honest labour breeds. Golden sails for moving Over a golden sea To a golden loving Just of you and me. White sails for drifting Under the starry skies, To watch the angels lifting The veil of Paradise. 55 PURPOSE. My heart was like a swallow, Restless and light of wing. That went with every winter And came with every spring. My life was like an echo That, answering every call, Held each a little moment, Only to lose them all. But you have tamed the swallow That nevermore may rove, And you have tuned the echo To one long note of love ! THE DAISY CHAIN. Bring me no more Your roses red Those globes of fire Wherein desire Lurks to restore A passion dead ! Lest sight and scent shall wake again The memory of an ancient pain. But prithee get Me daisies white, That I may so Forget my woe, And dream me yet A little sprite, Who binds her joys with daisy chain, Nor ever lets them loose again ! 57 UNION. You take that road And I take this road Across Life's plain ; But whichever road we go Curves inward to a bow And we meet again. You sing that song And I sing this song Of love or pain ; But whichever song we sing Rounds to a perfect ring In the same refrain. You love that way And I love this way For loss or gain ; But our loves, or weak or strong, Through the ages all along, In God's Heart have lain. LONGING FOR THE NORTH. Oh ! I may walk in Southern ways By the lovely river-land, And watch the soft wind as it plays With the corn on either hand ; By honeysuckle and wild rose lane, And flowery, fairy dells, But my heart goes out with a kind of pain For a sight of the Northern Fells. Oh ! I may live where the Western sky Lifts over the open moor, And watch the great ships steaming by Through the stately harbour door ; But soft is the air of moor and sea Breathing of slumber spells, And wild, wild, wild is the heart of me For the cold of the Northern Fells. Oh ! to stand where the great hills close Round the tarn at even-fall, While the brown, brown bracken grows to a rose And the wild-fowl wheel and call ! And through the gloom and the glamouring You can hear the light sheep-bells, Ah ! never the South and the West for me With my heart on the Northern Fells. 59 WANDERER. King Wanderee has come over the sea And nobody knows what he said to me, He came in the trade-wind down from the hill, He crept in my bones and I can't keep still ; For there's never a harbour, a maid or a wife Can keep a man from the old sea life, When Wanderee comes over the sea We sailors up and we goes with he ! King Wanderee has come over the sea And he whispered low in the heart of me, And I saw the fair wind blow to the West And a great ship sliding from crest to crest ; And who am I to be stayed by fears Or turned about by a maiden's tears ? When Wanderee comes over the sea It's kiss your lass and along with he ! King Wanderee has come over the sea And he calls my mates by two and by three, Calls and calls till he stirreth the blood And a man wakes up to his hardihood. Then it's good-bye, wife, and it's good-bye, maid, Good-bye to port and we'll not be stayed ; For Wanderee has come over the sea And we sailors all are away with he ! 60 OVER THE MOOR TO TAVISTOCK. It's May in the West of England now, And the tasselled larch is green With a living green against the show Of the dark firs set between ; And the gorse bush burns, a flaming thing Above the boulders grey, And you hear the lark's song shivering All down the skies of May, And it's nothing but sand, sand, sand, In this weary and foreign land, And oh ! to be walking by wood and rock Over the moor to Tavistock ! It's May in the land of stream and tor And my girl looking out, Shading her eyes, at the farmstead door, From her bright hair blown about ; Watching the old man climb the hill, While the mother stands behind With a face that the peace of God keeps still, And the love of God makes kind. And here in the changeless sand Of this dreary foreign land I dream I'm walking by wood and rock Over the moor to Tavistock ! 61 THE LITTLE MAIDS OF DEVON. Oh ! the little maids of Devon They've a rose in either cheek And their eyes like bits of heaven Meet your own with glances meek, But within them there are little imps That play at hide and seek. Oh ! the little maids of Devon They have skins of milk and cream Just as pure and clear and even As a pool on Dartmoor Stream, But who looks at them is holden With the magic of a dream. Oh ! the little maids of Devon They have honey-coloured hair Where the sun has worked like leaven Turning russet tones to fair, And they hold you by the strands of it And drive you to despair. Oh ! the little maids of Devon They have voices like a dove And Jacob's years of seven One would serve to have their love, But their hearts are things of mystery A man may never prove. 62 SONNETS AND OTHER FORMS. TO SLEEP. SONNET. There is a land where none are called kings, Where high and low and rich and poor are one, Naked and equal in the oblivion That falls upon the face of waking things ; Where thought may rest her overwearied wings And fancy all his wildest plumage don Clipped by no limit or comparison, And where the voice of Hope eternal sings. Ah ! lovely land of Sleep, whose borders glad I trod at will till Love had driven me hence And cursed my days and nights with blind unrest ! In vain I beat upon thy portals blest That bar me from the joys which once I had And make a mockery of my impotence ! A GARDEN IN VENICE. SONNET. There is a garden in a vineyard set Beneath the spell of Adriatic skies, A lovely place of dreams and ecstasies, Of colour tangled in a verdant net, The shimmer of the low lagoon whose fret Washes the garden's length and rose that vies With rose, pomegranate and tall flowers that rise Above their fellows in one glory met. And there I think in the still summer night, When all the world is sleeping save the moon And the blest nightingale who shuns the noon, The closed flowers open out of sheer delight And the white lilies bow their slender stalks, For through them, 'neath the vines, Madonna walks. 66 AUTUMN. SONNET. The wind-swept sky is very clear and still ; There is a gleam scarce earthly in the blue That melts in delicate sunlight out of view Where, fold on fold, hill rises over hill. Autumn has touched the summer with her chill, Ethereal hand, and shivered through and through The dull green woodlands, till in every hue, From gold to red, they answer to the thrill. Even so the autumn closes in my life Towards its wintry end, and I feel Death Dear and familiar Angel lay his hand Gently on mine, and draw me from the strife Into a haven where, with quiet breath And a great hope, I wait his last command. TO DEATH. SONNET. I, who have lived as if the blessed light Were such a thing as needs must last alway, And so have left the thoughts I had to say Until my mood and they were tuned aright, Yet sometimes feel a pang of strange affright Lest, all unheralded by twilight grey Or slow, sweet fading of the pleasant day, Death should drop suddenly the veil of night. Oh ! Death, bethink thee that my years are young, And in my soul is still the breath of Spring, That the fair speech which trembles on my tongue Must die with me, a fruitless, still-born thing ; Think of the many songs as yet unsung, And all a world of wonder still to sing ! Florence. Nov. 29, 1885. 68 BENEDICTUS. SONNET. A February morning, whose first flush Lights the few faithful peasants kneeling by And the lone figure in the Sanctuary Blessing the lifted Bread and Wine. A hush Falls for a moment, then a sudden rush Of delicate bird voices, cry on cry. The sparrow's, linnet's, the lark's ecstasy, The blackbird's croon, the sobbing of the thrush. Here is no mighty organ choiring fair, To hail God's coming, bid the heart rejoice, A poor small church, the priest's low reverent voice, But a faint murmur in the heart of prayer, Yet, lest God miss His music to the words, Spring wakes the Benedictus of the Birds. 69 A RHYMED SESTINA. If Love would bring me where my lady is We having been so great a while apart All the sweet songs and speech I made of this My longing for her great within my heart, Being so swiftly to her presence come Would die for joy and leave me cold and dumb. And I should envy even the ground, the dumb Green ground she treads on and the grass that is So close about her feet, the winds that come And stir her hair this way and that apart, But most of all the myrtle at her heart Love were well paid with less a prize than this ! Oh ! nights, long wakeful nights, fair even as this I dream in all the world asleep and dumb That knew our fancied meeting heart to heart ! Chill dawns that told how cold the waking is To find our loves are still as far apart And days of weary waiting yet to come ! I lie and watch the moonlight go and come, Pale shadow of a purer world than this, And hear where down the ilex grove apart Sings Philomel who all the day was dumb, With so divine a note that sure it is The rise and falling of Love's very heart. 70 Oh ! Love, the heart of night is in my heart And with the moon strange moonlit fancies come And I forget that any world there is, Or any other singing bird but this ; So sweet it is for lips that erst were dumb To break in song the prison bonds apart ! Ah ! now it is not hard to sit apart And sing Love's praises. Yet within my heart There grows a doubt the day may find me dumb When with my fairest songs I fain would come Before her face, who have no way but this To show how very sweet her service is. Gentle my master ! speak, that there may come A spirit of song to dwell within my heart When thou dost bring me where my lady is ! Rome. Feb. 25, 1886. THREE ROUNDELS. i. My lips refuse to take farewell of bliss, Sweet Love, so sweet and cold I can but choose To leave thee, only parting word and kiss My lips refuse. Fancy wears livery of a thousand hues ! So love in idleness may come to this And I must bring the thought to common use. That ever save in memory I shall miss Thy short-lived tendernesses, ever lose All that has taught how dear a thing it is My lips refuse ! n. Other lips than yours intreat Those I vowed in vanished hours Never Fate should force to greet Other lips than yours. Memory dulls perchance and sours What was once so strangely sweet Being ours and only ours ? All the life and heart and heat, All the soul that Love outpours Die upon the lips that meet Other lips than yours. 72 III. Love, though I die and dying lave My soul in Lethe endlessly, Losing all else I still would save Love, though I die Thy living presence, touch and sigh, All that the golden moments gave To vanished hours of ecstasy. Then make thou great and wide my grave, So wide we two therein may lie ; For sense of thee my soul will crave Love, though I die ! To G. G. W. BALLADE. So as of old the wandering Greek A new Odysseus from the sea You come, and I shall hear you speak Of our enchantress, Italy, Of breezes blown from Araby, Scents borne upon an Indian gale ; But you will never paint for me A fairer place than Rydal Vale: You've climbed the Himalayan peak And sailed perchance by Tahiti, You've watched the golden morning break O'er lands that rival Arcady ; From Oregon to Albany By many a soft New England dale You've wandered, yet you scarce could see A fairer place than Rydal Vale. Oh ! stream of winding curve and creek Whose waters dance in harmony And skirt with many a fret and freak The meadow of the rowan-tree, Where in the summer evenings we Have watched the flying ball or bail Say ! can you find to wander free A fairer place than Rydal Vale ? 74 ENVOI. Friend, 'tis a question of degree. For me your larger wonders pale I cannot hold in memory A fairer place than Rydal Vale. July, 1890. 75 A BALLADE OF LOVERSLAND. In Loversland the skies are blue, Or barred with rosy clouds between, The flowers are fairer far of hue Than ever flowers of earth are seen, And all day long through meadows green, Beside the river, hand in hand, Walk youths and maids of gentle mien In Loversland, in Loversland. And some there are that lightly strew With roses all the way serene, And some that pleasant odours brew From elderflower and eglantine, And others still in dell and dene, With brows the kindly sun has tanned, Who sow the seed and harvest glean In Loversland, in Loversland. Dan Cupid schools a merry crew Beneath the beeches' leafy screen, And bids each ardent swain construe The glances from his mistress' eyn ; No harder task than this, I ween, Was ever there for scholar planned To sing and serve his fancy's queen In Loversland, in Loversland. 76 ENVOI. Ah I can it be that we have been, Sweetheart, on that enchanted strand? That we too know what life may mean In Loversland, in Loversland ? 77 MOON-SPELL. ROUNDEL. Slow mounts the moon where yonder hills are met ; While the spent noon Fades in pale lines of flame to westward yet, Slow mounts the moon. Faint gusts of wind among the rushes croon ; The bay is set, A silver cup where Love may drink and swoon. Forgetting all the toil and vain regret, The vanished boon, Since overhead Sleep's mystic amulet Slow mounts the moon. 78 TRIOLETS. SUB ROSA. Love hid in the rose My love gathered for me ; And by all the sweet throes Love hid in the rose To peril repose, I fear lest you see Love, hid in the rose My love gathered for me ! 81 APPLE-BLOSSOM. Clear against the rainy sky, Pink and white of apple bloom Spreads its clusters low and high. Clear against the rainy sky Of my tears can Love descry Your lost face and through the gloom, Clear against the rainy sky, Pink and white of apple bloom. 82 SHADOWS. The shadows lie Across the mere ; Across the sky The shadows lie, And Love and I Are drifting where The shadows lie Across the mere. IN THE WOODS. Down the woods at Godalming All the ways are green ; Thrush and tit and blackbird sing Down the woods at Godalming, For where Love is wandering And where Spring has been, Down the woods at Godalming All the ways are green. 84 THE DIARY. Within these leaves I keep, For memory's sake, Tokens that fade and sleep Within these leaves. I keep Thoughts here too light and deep, And laughter and heartache Within these leaves I keep, For memory's sake. TRANSLATIONS. THE IDEAL. The moon is large, the heaven fair And full of stars, the earth is spent ; All the world's soul is in the air : Of one great star magnificent I dream, of one I may not see And yet whose light must, travelling, gauge The eternal space and come to me The glory of another age. When at the last it shines above, Fairest and farthest star in space, Then let it know it had my love, Oh ! latest of the human race. From the French of Sully Prudhomtne. FROM THE FRENCH OF SULLY PRUDHOMME. When she your best beloved dies Farewells for you are swift and sore, They bear her hence with closed eyes And she is gone for evermore. But I behold my best beloved Who smiles and is no more for me Even as a shade, but livelier moved, More present than a memory. I lose her thus my whole life through In one farewell that never dies Oh ! Death ! how ill they buried you Who have forgot to close your eyes. 90 DOWN HERE. Down here fast fade the lilac bowers, The song of birds is short, nor stays I dream of summers that are ours Always. Down here Love's lips, like fragile flowers, Scarce leave a memory of their grace I dream of kisses that are ours Always. Down here men mourn lost friendship's hours, Or the dead loves of younger days I dream of lovers who are ours Always. From the French of Sully Prudhomtne. THE GOLDEN LEAVES. The leaves of gold, the leaves of death, All the summer leaves are falling Into the wind's imperious breath, Into the wind that summoneth With an eternal calling, calling. Across the shivering mist of rain, Towards the scent of winter's track They wing their flight, a scattered train, While the frail branches seem in vain To long and long to hold them back. And all the summer goes with them, And all the lovely hope of spring, For as the tempests scourge their stem, The bare trees mourn their diadem, And bow their heads remembering. Oh ! barren trees, oh ! hearts that weep, The song-time of your youth recalling, While in the wind's relentless sweep The golden leaves you could not keep The summer leaves are falling, falling. From " Le Silence des Heures," by Henry Spiess. 92 SACRED POEMS. THE WILDERNESS AND THE SOLITARY PLACE. Lord, for my sinful pride my moan I make ; My eyes are wet, my head is bowed and worn. " Child of My love and wounding, I have borne The Crown of Agony for thy dear sake And for thy joy in every bush and brake I have made white the thorn." Lord, for my days of idle vanity I scarce dare lift my hands up to Thy Face. " Child of My love and wounding, for thy grace My Hands were nailed upon the Cross. For thee I bade the swift and tender briony Star the deserted space." Lord, for my wandering and my waywardness I falter lest my feet should go astray. " Child of My love and wounding, all that day My Feet were bruised and broken, thine to bless, So with these flowers that thou mayst stray the less I have bestrewn thy way." Lord, for my cold forgetfulness, ah ! see My heart is broken and I faint for fear. " Child of My love and wounding, child most dear ! My Heart was pierced thy Hiding Place to be, And I have brought from It to comfort thee The sweets of all the year." 95 "THE WIND BLOWETH." The wind's way, the wind's way ! Coming down the wind's way I saw a myriad phantoms pass, The spirits of the meadow grass ; Little fragile, fluttering things With their green and delicate wings Coming down the wind's way. The wind's way, the wind's way ! Coming down the wind's way I saw the spirits of the flowers Floating out to the fields and bowers ; Every shape and every hue With wild sweet eyes of heaven's blue Coming down the wind's way. The wind's way, the wind's way ! Coming down the wind's way I saw those ancient dignities, The spirits of the forest trees, Each in his order and his kind, Trailing their splendid robes behind, Coming down the wind's way. The wind's way, the wind's way ! Coming down the wind's way, Where the soul of the world had gone, There came One, silent and alone, 96 Whose Visage marred I dared not meet. I knelt to kiss the wounded Feet And knew, 'mid love's bewildering, The dear, dread Master of the Spring Coming down the Wind's Way. 97 TO A SAINT. You go your way serene and calm And in your hand a burning star, I follow you from very far, A glow-worm in my trembling palm. Yet stoop from your diviner height Out of your star-illumined way, For though it casts so small a ray That which I bear is still the Light. 98 "AS LITTLE CHILDREN." Why do you blame me that I keep My child-heart still in older years ? Too soon we cease to laugh or weep With the old tender hopes and fears. Ah ! rather should we joy to find We have not lost so fair a good, The straight simplicity of mind Of which Love said in reverent mood : " To such as these in heart are given The kingdom and the ways of Heaven ! " 99 MAY DAY (1907). May Day, Mary's Day, When all should be green and glad ; But the rain fell fast from the dawning, Chilly and grey and sad. Raindrops on Mary's Day They were Mary's tears that fell Over the sick and the sorrowful And the souls that run towards hell. May Day, Mary's Day, Chilly and grey and sad ; But the sun shone after the noontide And the world grew warm and glad. Sunlight on Mary's Day 'Twas the joy in Mary's eyes As she thought of her Son, Lord Jesu's love And the bliss of Paradise. 100 THE ROBE. I saw Thy Robe, my God, the other day ; Over the earth It lay, A very miracle of light, Whiter than moon upon a winter night, Or snow new-fallen on a height, And yet shot through with every splendid hue, Gold, green and rose and amethyst and blue And the deep purple of the distant woods Where silence broods Against the soft Spring sky. And all my heart was one great cry, One longing just to touch It and so die. Alas, my hands ! my hands were soiled and smeared With handling of earth's pleasures and I feared, I feared too much The Holy Thing Sudden I heard a Voice Whose ring Smote tender, yet with accents of a King : " Fear not, O ! my beloved, kneel and touch ! " In sheer delight I bowed me to Its high commands, And lo ! my hands Against that perfect Whiteness were made white. 101 THE FIRST COMMUNION. I am a little plate Which God doth consecrate To hold the blessed Bread ; I must keep very white Lest I should do despite To Food so dear and dread. I am a little cup Wherein God filleth up The Wine of priceless treasure ; So I am very still For fear lest I should spill Aught of the holy Measure. 102 MATER DOLOROSA. Fair and most fair ! With the Child on thy knee, Look down on me, And my despair ! Oh, empty arms ! Oh, aching smart ! The little feet pass over my heart. Star of the sea ! I can see him stand On the shining sand, And shout his glee. And to and fro, as the swallows dart, The little feet pass over my heart. Mother of God ! The nights grow chill, I can hear them still Down the frozen road ; On the air they rise, and they fall and start, The little feet pass over my heart. " Oh ! dark despair, He comes to thee, The Child from my knee, Fair and Most Fair. He shall fill thine arms, He shall heal thy smart, His pierced Feet shall rest on thy heart." 103 SANCTUARY. I know a little maid, Humble and pure of heart, Who never knew an hour of ease, But lives another's will to please, In her still world apart, Half dumb and all afraid. She is so frail and slight ! When she nears Paradise May God's dear Mother, of Her grace, In some green, lovely, lonely place Lesson her timid eyes To meet the Saint's in light ! 104 A DECISION. I have determined what to do At morning and at evening too ; I will find out a song to sing Though it be but a little thing, Twill serve to hearten up my days, To tune my pipe and give God praise ! There is the sun and the sunny sward, And the moon that lights it afterward, And birds and flowers and winds and brooks, And children with their pretty looks. Here's stuff to make a thousand lays, To tune my pipe and give God praise ! There's beauty in the greyest sky, And in the wild wind mystery ; There's magic in the falling rain, A joy within the heart of pain. These all shall furnish me with ways To tune my pipe and give God praise ! So am I settled what to do At evening and at morning too ; I'll find some simple song to sing, Some little fond imagining, To cheer the dullest of my days, To tune my pipe and give God praise ! 105 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. PAGE the shadow of the western wood . . 26 A February morning, whose first flush . . . . 69 All down the valley . . . . . . . . . . 19 Although our lives are set . . . . . . . . 9 A small white room, whose casement shows.. .. 15 Beautiful, dainty thing . . . . . . . . 35 Bring me no more . . . . . . . . 57 Brown sails for toiling . . . . . . . . 55 Clear against the rainy sky . . . . . . . . 82 Could I hold, oh ! Love, your white and perfect soul 5 Down here fast fade the lilac bowers . . . . 91 Down the woods at Godalming . . . . . . 84 Every night beneath my pillow . . . . . . 29 Fair and most fair ! . . . . . . . . . . 103 Fear not, dear Heart, to love too much . . . . 1 1 God's Acre marks another stone . . . . . . 4 Green leaves are here . . . . . . . . 12 107 PAGE He that is a garden's friend . . . . . . . . 2 Humming wheel, oh ! humming wheel . . . . 16 I am a little plate . . . . . . . . . . 102 If I had never known you . . . . . . 23 If I must suffer pain . . . . . . . . 18 If Love would bring me where my lady is . . . . 70 If when I stole that kiss . . . . . . . . 48 I have determined what to do . . . . . . 105 I know a little maid . . . . . . . . . . 104 I met my love upon the way . . . . . . . . 46 In Loversland the skies are blue . . . . 76 I saw Thy Robe, my God . . . . . . . . 101 It's May in the West of England now . . . . 61 I, who have lived as if the blessed light . . . . 68 King Wanderee has come . . . . . . . . 60 Last night as I lay on my bed . . . . . . 3 Lend me but dreams . . . . . . . . . . 6 Lift up the latch ! Set wide the door ! . . . . 17 Little feet, little feet 54 Lord ! for my sinful pride . . . . . . 95 Love hid in the rose . . . . . . . . 81 Love knocked softly at the gate . . . . 30 Love met me late upon the way . . . . 31 May Day, Mary's Day . . . . . . . . . . 100 My heart was like a swallow . . . . . . . . 56 My lips refuse to take farewell of bliss . . 72 My little maid, with eyes of blue . . . . . . 33 108 PAGE No one sings the little songs . . . . . . . . 53 Oh Oh .. .Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh cloistered sweetness . . . . . . . . 22 I may walk in Southern ways . . .'. 59 Love, I am too small to stand . . . . . . 10 my England, oh ! my England . . 38 perfect voice . . . . . . . . . . 7 the little maids of Devon . . . . 62 you may bid the summer wind . . 44 Peggy, two years old to-day . . . . . . . . 34 " Sing me a song ! " . . . . . . . . . . 36 Slow mounts the moon . . . . . . . . . . 78 So as of old the wandering Greek . . . . 74 Sometimes when I was near you . . . . . . 14 Sweet, no longer weep nor wail . . . . . . 45 The birds are singing on every tree . . . . . . 32 ._ _The leaves of gold, the leaves of death .. ..92 The Lord God planted a garden . . . . . . i The moon is large, the heaven fair . . . . 89 The moon was like a silver thread . . . . . . 20 The poets and the preachers say . . . . . . 27 There is a garden in a vineyard set . . . . 66 There is a land where none are called Kings . . 65 There is no depth so low . . . . . . . . 28 The shadows lie . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 The wind's way, the wind's way . . . . 96 109 PAGE The wind-swept sky is very clear . . . . . . 67 To-day when someone spoke your name . . . . 13 Up there in Elland . . . . . . . . . . 40 Was it your voice that I heard . . . . --25 When Love the flight of Time records . . 49 When she your best beloved dies . . . . . . 90 When, spirit-like, she moved among . . . . 24 Why do you blame me . . . . . . - 99 Within these leaves I keep . . . . . . . . 85 With this pan from toe to head . . . . 42 You go your way serene and calm . . . . . . 98 Your arms are close around me . . . . . . 8 You take that road . . . . . . . . . . 58 IIO An illustrated Catalogue of all the books in the " Country Life " Library will be sent post free on receipt of a card. Ill UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 PR 6013 G9617A1? 1913 Gurney - Poems PR 6013 G9617A1? 1913