DREAMS AND JOURNEYS BY FREDEGOND SHOVE Oxford Blackwell "ADVENTURERS ALL'' SERIES No. XXL DREAMS AND JOURNEYS Gmte my rrienb^.^./.Tis n^ -too Ute to seeJk. a^ newer wariJi. It nxAy he tk^^ ike gulf^ tviXL WA^k U6 icwn . •♦• It m^y 1« vi/e ^KaU tini^ tke hAppv UW IXU^sses M-msM^m TO UNA MIRRLEES X^ X %J* Page A Dream in Early Spring 7 Memory 8 Four Nights . 10 Harvest 11 In the Churchyard 12 The World . 14 The Garden in Spring 16 Autumn in the Garden 17 In a Field 18 Life and Death 19 Dreams and Journeys . 20 Song ♦ 23 Motion and Stillness ♦ 24 Man to his Creator ♦ 25 A Man Dreams that he is the Creator . 26 A Wood Cutter's Song • • . 27 A Birch Tree ♦ , , . 28 The Rainbow ♦ , ^ . 29 A Soul ♦ • 30 The Work of Ages , , , 31 The Water MiU » , 33 Page Sonnet . • . . . 35 The Cuckoo in the Orchard . . 36 The New Ghost 37 Many Things . ♦ ♦ , . 39 Fear . . • ♦ . 40 The Farmer, 1917 . 41 The Desired Place . 43 The Message of Age . 44 Waking Dreams . 45 A DREAM IN EARLY SPRING. X TOW when I sleep the thrush breaks through my dreams •*• ^ With sharp reminders of the coming day : After his call, one minute I remain Unwaked, and on the darkness which is Me There springs the image of a daffodil, Growing upon a grassy bank alone. And seeming with great joy his bell to fill With drops of golden dew, which on the lawn He shakes again, where they lie bright and chill. His head is drooped ; the shrouded winds that sing Bend him which way they will j never on earth Was there before so beautiful a ghost j Alas I he had a less than flower^birth. And like a ghost indeed must shortly glide From all but the sad cells of memory. Where he will linger, an imprisoned beam. Or fallen shadow of the golden world. Long after this and many another dream. MEMORY. ONCE I lay still within the crater earth : How long ago that was before my birth I do not know ; but I remember well What I then saw, still better how I heard The wafer leaves of March when they were stirred By stormy winds ; and how the snowflakes fell. And I remember knowing there were seas To which the ships went out on embassies To bring back gold ; and, as I lay so still That I could feel the moving earth, a song Of sailors on a vessel, clear and strong, Brought the sea near me, wide and blue and chilL The cries of lambs in meadows winter^worn. The sameness of those meadows, faintly green. With a stiff hedge of naked thorn between. Were then to me a knowledge, not a dream As in my present, waking life they seem. Much I remember of the life I led Among the roots of flowers, when I was Neither a burning creature nor a dead, MEMORY » Cold, sccd'likc corpse : I saw the white clouds pass, I knew the joys of summer and the fear That Nature feels when her first leaf turns sere. Oh nothing that is wild for spring or grief, Woods twisted with despair, nor fallen tree. The flying shadow or the falling leaf. Are new, but they have long been known to me :— I knew them when I was more infinite Than bVing man, having no shape or sight, No pain, no sorrow, joy nor self at ail- But that sweet nothingness the south wind knows When over houses in the rain it blows. And that pale calm through which the showers falL FOUR NIGHTS. OWHEN I shut my eyes in spring A choir of heaven's swans I see> They sail on lakes of blue, and sing Or shelter in a willow tree : They sing of peace in heart and mind Such as on earth you may not find. When I lie down in summer-time I still can hear the scythes that smite The ripened flowers in their prime, And still can see the meadows white. In summer-time my rest is small, If any rest I find at all. In autumn when my eyes I close I see the yellow stars ablaze Among the tangled winds that rose At sunset in a circled maze ; Like armoured knights, they ride the skies And prick the closed lids of my eyes. But when in wintertime I sleep I nothing see, nor nothing hear ; The angels in my spirit keep A silent watch and, being there, They cause my soul to He as dead— A stream enchanted in her bed. 10 HARVEST. DUST is there in the earth, of golden seed : There's coral in the wave, and pearl as well Sleep in the winds, a spirit in the shell, Motes on the light, an echo in the reed ; And there are also systems in the sky Like waxen pollen scattered wide and far Along the air in honeyed tracery j And in the river yellow pebbles arc. But these are nothing, measured by the grain Of those fine longings which in fee I keep Against that time when, out of falling rain. My naked ghost shall walk the airy steep. And, coming there, shall to her author give Those visions back by which she now doth live. U IN THE CHURCHYARD. MY skeleton one day will lie Underneath the stiff wild grass Through which the sweet breezes pass On to immortality. Carrying the seeds of men And of flowers and of bees And of animals and trees To a world beyond our ken» I shall be as dry as stone, Voiceless as the broken clock Which the windy showers mock Since they stole away its tone ; It can never sing again To the holly trees in flower, It can never tell the hour To the village on the plain : I shall never sing again To the singing world, but shall Lie beneath the grasses tall ; Has my song been all in vain ? 12 IN THE CHURCHYARD ^ To the plaint of larch and fir And the ivy in the spring Have I added anything Of my life's instinctive stir? When my skull is crumbled quite, Will my dancing ghost be free Like an elf beneath a tree In the stillness of the night ? Shall I play through twilight chill When the air is sweet with hay ? Shall I dance the dusk away In the shadow of an hill ? When the worm on me shall feed, When my shape is no more whole, Shall my disenchanted soul Shake at twilight as a reed ? Will it shiver on the brink Of the overbrimming stream ? Through it shall the north wind scream ? From it shall the wild birds drink? 13 THE WORLD. I WISH this world and its green hills were mine^ But it is not j the wandering shepherd star Is not more distant, gazing from afar On the unreapSd pastures of the sea, Than I am from the world, the world from me. At night the stars on milky way that shine Seem things one might possess, but this round green Is for the cows that rest, these and the sheep : To them the slopes and pastures offer sleep. My sleep I draw from the far fields of blue, Whence cold winds come and go among the few Bright stars we see and many more unseen. Birds sing on earth all day among the flowers. Taking no thought of any other thing But their own hearts, for out of them they sing : Their songs are kindred to the blossom heads. Faint as the petals which the blackthorn sheds. And like the earth — not alien songs as ours. 14 THE WORLD ^ To them this greenness and this island peace Are h'f e and death and happiness in one ; Nor are they separate from the white sun, Or those warm winds which nightly wash the deep, Or starlight in the valleys, or new sleep ; And from these things they ask for no release. But we can never call this world our own, Because we long for it, and yet we know That should the great winds call us, we should go ; Should they come calling out across the cold. We should rise up and leave the sheltered fold And follow the great road to the unknown. We should pass by the barns and haystacks brown. Should leave the wild pool and the nightingale $ Across the ocean we should set a sail And, coming to the world's pale brim, should fly Out to the very middle of the sky On past the moon ; nor should we once look down. 15 THE GARDEN IN SPRING. THE West has purple wings to spread Above these tulips in their bed ; The daffodils have tears to shed In angel pity for the dead. The cuckoo's voice is in the hill ; The blackbird in the garden still Calls to the wallflowers warm and sweet To blossom at his yellow feet* The daisies open wide and prink Their snowy frills with vivid pink ; The sun that now begins to sink Gives the green earth his beams for drink. The lilac bears his burden down And sweeps the grass with purple crown, Pouring his perfume on the air For bees to carry everywhere. The chestnut sheds her rosy sheaf — As queens bestow a royal grief— Upon the path where pebbles lie Like shining fragments of the sky, O world of heat I O day in spring I There is a song in each green thing. O blossoms, teach my soul to sing Before the frost has touched her wing. 16 AUTUMN IN THE GARDEN. ASMOKE is on the flowers : A haze is hung on high : The trees look tall as towers Against the spectral sky : And like a sword the morning air Strikes out the sunbeams wan and rare* The shrunken leaves, and red, Lie strewn upon the lawn : The bough above my head Snaps like a cross-bow drawn. And slowly, measuring their flight. The swallows soar to find the light. The ivy, still in bloom. Waits on with patient green For winter's frosty gloom When berries shall be seen — Purple as those which Proserpine About her brows in hell did twine. I hear the railway train ; Its voice is most forlorn j It quivers in the plain Where poplars shine and com Is gathered into shocks of gold Against the quickly coming cold. 17 IN A FIELD. THE sun and moon I see Beside me in the grass : The moon, a daisy's face As pure and fine as glass ; The sun, a dandelion As golden as a pound— O what a firmament Is this which I have found ! White stars the elm tree shakes To twinkle where they lie As bright upon the earth As any in the sky» This field is heaven's glass, And gazing in I see What disembodied joys The future holds for me. 18 LIFE AND DEATH. DEATH came out of a copse and sang. With on his head a crown Of parsley twined with violets and sorrel freshly sown About the woods his accents rang, And through the world were blown. Life, sitting by a willow tree. Said, ** Teach me how to sing. For poets make no crowns for me. No waxen lights they bring. And no sweet perfumes offer me : For you they pluck the spring.'^ 19 B2 DREAMS AND JOURNEYS. THE apple trees are green with fruity In every rut blue thistles bloom, And slowly, since the days are wet, The com gets ripe and bums the gloom Of darker fields ; the blackberries Look coral pink along the hedge. The gardens blaze with sunflowers. The ponds are covered with green sedge ; It rains and rains : the little ducks. That have no feathers yet but fluff. Go paddling with their springtime cries From pool to pool, content enough j The strong black pigs enjoy their grass. The children play till dusk comes on Beset with storms ; and so we pass Day after day : the hollyhocks Are mere brown paper since the rain ; The farmers grumble in their carts : When will the sun come back again ? A little elfin boy I know, 20 DREAMS AND JOURNEYS ^ That plays in nettles all day long, Docs not remember sunny days And sings a never-ending song About the dappled cows at dusk, The happy ducks and ruined plums ; He sings this song to every one That passes by, and sometimes comes, Bringing a bunch of purple^heads. To the back door for bread and tea : How pale he is how paper^f rail ! His arms are piteous things to see j He knows each passing tramp by name And tells the stories of their lives ;— A long procession of despair,— Mad boys, wild men and jealous wives, They travel in his childish brain With shocking stealth, by secret means : His mother hears him moan at night The names of ancient gipsy queens. Horse-dealers, quacks, and foreign youths With monkey 'jacks, of idiot churls. Of misers draped in beggars' gowns. And odd, untidy harlot^girls ; Their music and the farthing dips 21 DREAMS AND JOURNEYS >» By which they light their creaking souls Along the staircase of his thoughts Disturb his slumber where he rolls Between the sheets,— a child of six With touseled hair and twisted brain : ** Oh dear/' he murmurs to himself, ** When will the angels come again ? They came one night, with pipes and drums ; They were a silver band of joys, Red cheeks they had and silver wings And trumpets fit for princely boys ; They sang and harped and played all night ; The stars came floating in to hear. And all this cobweb^crowd of tramps Began to waste and disappear.— White apples hang upon that tree Outside my room, they'll soon be pink :— It must be nearly morning now : The stars are out. It's fine I think/' 22 SONG. SPRING lights her candles everywhere, But death still hangs upon the air : The celandine through dusk is lit, The redbreasts from the holly flit. At night the violets spring to birth Out of the mute, encrusted earth. The wind has cast his winding sheet (Which is the sky) and he goes fleet Over the country in the rain. Singing how all the world is vain And how, of all things vainest, he Journeys above both land and sea. 23 MOTION AND STILLNESS. THE sea shells lie as cold as death Under the sea ; The clouds move in a wasted wreath Eternally ; The cows sleep on the tranquil slopes Above the bay ; The ships like evanescent hopes Vanish away» 24 MAN TO HIS CREATOR. THOU art a reaper and a gatherer Of wild brown nuts. Thou f urrowest the sea : Thou shapest autumn, spring and death and me : Thou knowest not Thy purpose, nor dost care : And we make songs to please and ravish Thee,— And sometimes, in the sunshine. Thou dost hean Thou makest meadows red with clover, white With ox-eyed daisies, woods the sun turns brown j Rivers all full of shells and stars new-blown ; Thou makest sleep and shadow and the night ; And Thou Thyself hast neither shape nor sight. And canst not even call Thy soul Thine own. Thou madest me an house of bone and gave The seeds of utterance upon my tongue : Thenceforth Thy praises I have always sung To the waste clouds and waters where they rave. And to the winds that are in heaven hung Like sheets for death— white symbols of the grave. Thou madest earth with many elms to sigh Their sad desires ; and Thou didst make the air ; And they with me their loneliness declare. Praising Thee ever sad and wearily : Thou madest all things mortal, foul or fair : But who made Thee ? O say before I die. 25 A MAN DREAMS THAT HE IS THE CREATOR. (By kind permission of the Editor of JVar and Peace.) I SAT in heaven like the sun Above a storm when winter was : I took the snowflakes one by one And turned their fragile shapes to glass : I washed the rivers blue with rain And made the meadows green again, I took the birds and touched their springs, Until they sang unearthly joys : They flew about on golden wings And glittered like an angel's toys : I filled the fields with flowers' eyes, As white as stars in Paradise* And then I looked on man and knew Him still intent on death— still proud ; Whereat into a rage I flew And turned my body to a cloud : In the dark shower of my soul The star of earth was swallowed whole. 16 A WOOD CUTTER'S SONG. A CHILD has eyes like dewberries ; a child has checks like flame ; A child feels sudden love and hate, and sudden fear and I was a child when to the woods out of the womb I came, [shame. The woods have aged, and so have I : I am as old as care ; My spirit is as dry as crust, my heart is cold and bare :— Yet have I still a child's light laugh and still a child's strange stare. 27 A BIRCH TREE. PLANT a birch tree on my grave When you bury me ; In all the wild, wet spring woods There is no sweeter tree ; She is so delicate, so rare, her body is so white, And she cries like a gentle ghost. All the long night, I love her ; she shall be my lute When I am dead ; She shall carry all the earth's tunes Into my small bed ; She will not break the stir of wings That are as fine as glass ; Neither will let the rain away On to the wild grass. When stars come out above the earth She will shake them down ; All in a shower through her hair They shall be blown ; She knows the stars, and they know her, — O what a lovely thing Is a young birch tree growing up In the green spring* 28 THE RAINBOW. I WOKE in the dawn, I woke in the snow : God sent me a shaft, God sent me a bow. A rainbow he sent, with a shaft of pure sun j And in heaven I knew that spring had begun. 29 A SOUL, IF I have a soul, It grows like a flame j It is wingless and naked And quivers with shame— With shame at the world, And with fear of the dark That sooner or later must swallow its spark. 30 THE WORK OF AGES. LEAN Misery's a little child With chilblains on his hands and feet ; Oddly enough, I think he smiled As I went by him down the street : Oh what a devil I must be If Misery can smile at me ! Ten thousand million years ago He smiled, and then I did not heed, The child went naked in the snow That I was bom to clothe and feed j And with a face as bland as stone I passed and left him all alone* If he forgets my wickedness, It shows how deep the guilt must lie. Heaped in the centuries whose press Has crushed it from his memory : Oh little child ! Oh Misery I Oh centuries I Oh Monster— Me I 31 THE WORK OF AGES >» Great brooding Love a mother wsls, Yet now her milk is all gone dry, She sits in corners and she has Her children for a rosary : Their corpses strung together deck The mother's bosom and her neck. I killed and starved the children : Yes, I'm worse than callous, since you see I am a lusty murderess ; And you are just as bad as me } Unless like love you brood and weep, Or smile like Misery, or sleep Like Freedom worn within your chains. Oh Freedom wake— get up and give The starving mother back her gains, And let the starving children live. And slay the monsters in us ail- Under whose whips we creep and crawl. 32 THE WATER MILL. T[ERE is a mill» an ancient one. Brown with rain, and dry with sun, The miller's house is joined with it And in July the swallows flit To and fro, in and out, Round the windows, all about ; The mill wheel whirrs and the waters roar Out of the dark arch by the door. The willows toss their silver heads. And the phloxes in the miller's beds Turn red, turn gray. With the time of day, And smell sweet in the rain, then die away* The miller's cat is a tabby, she Is as lean as a healthy cat can be. She plays in the loft, where the sunbeams stroke The sacks fat backs, and beetles choke In the floury dust. The wheel goes round And the miller's wife sleeps fast and sound. 33 THE WATER MILL )» There is a clock inside the house» Very tall, and very bright, It strikes the hour when shadows drowse, Or showers make the windows white j Loud and sweet, in rain and sun, The clock strikes, and the work is done. The miller's wife and his eldest girl Clean and cook, while the mill wheels whirL The children take their meat to school. And at dusk they play by the twilit pool ; Bare^foot, bare^head, Till the day is dead. And their mother calls them in to bed. The supper stands on the dean^scrubbed board, And the miller drinks like a thirsty lord ; The young men come for his daughter's sake. But she never knows which one to take: She drives her needle, and pins her stuff. While the moon shines gold* and the lamp shines buff* 34 SONNET. SLEEP, get a dream out of your secret chest. From that long drawer where the great visions lie With folded wings* Sleep, pick me out the best j Then, as we see the moon bound in the sky By a great ring of cold on winter nights And seeming shut away, my frozen soul Shall open to the prick of northern lights. And by that guest that flies from pole to pole Of human consciousness, but is not heard Except when a great stillness lies beneath Supernal calm, my spirit shall be stirred, CaUing on what it once believed was death As to its source — and entering, O sleep, Into eternal peace, no more to weep. 35 C2 THE CUCKOO IN THE ORCHARD. THE cuckoo calls mc from the hiH I lie among the stalks of grass, I see the clouds that ride at will On heaven's pass : I feel the sweet, cold necks of flowers, Their virgin heads that shine with showers, I know the world is full of powers Remote and chilL The cuckoo speaks inside my breast. And what he asks I do not know — Am I to cast my spirit's vest ? Am I to go Over the grasses to the rim Of meadow world, in search of him That knows no city vast and dim. And no unrest ? 36 THE NEW GHOST. ** And he casting away his garment rose and came to Jesus." AND he cast it down, down, on the green grass, Over the young crocuses, where the dew was — He cast the garment of his flesh that was full of death. And like a sword his spirit showed out of the cold sheath. He went a pace or two, he went to meet his Lord, And, as I said, his spirit looked like a clean sword» And seeing him the naked trees began shivering, And all the birds cried out aloud as it were late spring. And the Lord came on. He came down, and saw That a soul was waiting there for Him, one without flaw. And they embraced in the churchyard where the robins play. And the daffodils hang down their heads, as they bum away. The Lord held his head fast, and you could see That He kissed the unsheathed ghost that was gone free- As a hot sun, on a March day, kisses the cold ground ; And the spirit answered, for he knew well that his peace was found. 37 THE NEW GHOST 1» The spirit trembled, and sprang up at the Lord's word- As on a wild, April day, springs a small bird— So the ghost's feet lifting him up, he kissed the Lord's cheek. And for the greatness of their love neither of them could speak. But the Lord went then, to show him the way, Over the young crocuses, under the green may That was not quite in flower yet— to a far^distant land ; And the ghost followed, like a naked cloud holding the sun's hand. 38 MANY THINGS. I WANT no angel in a fiery hood To show my soul the way. Nor any creed to tell me to be good ; I need not pray : The stars that prick my conscience where I stand Are what I most admire. The dawn that opens death with beauty^s hand Fills me with fire. The sea and moon, like life and death in one, Teach me to live and die. And my imagination b'ke the sun Fills all the sky. So, if I find a shell on any beach. My mortal nature seems To glorify herself and overreach Her quickest dreams. Long, long, immortal lives in one short span My soul has spent. Thanks to those riches Nature gave to Man For no intent. 39 FEAR. FEAR'S like a worm that lies curled Asleep at the root of the world j Gnawing away in the night- Sleeping again when it's light. ** Give me a charm against fear Light me a torch as you go/' Says the world to each person in turn When he is dying, but— No ; Love is the root of the world And fear like a cobra lies curled Gnawing and sucking the bark Of this heavenly root in the dark. 40 THE FARMER, 1917. I SEE a farmer walking by himself In the ploughed field, returning like the day To his dark nest. The plovers circle round In the gray sky ; the blackbird calls ; the thrush Still sings — but all the rest have gone to sleep. I see the farmer coming up the field, Where the new com is sown, but not yet sprung ; He seems to be the only man alive And thinking through the twilight of this world. I know that there is war behind those hills, And I surmise, but cannot see the dead. And cannot see the living in their midst — So awfully and madly knit with death. I cannot feel, but know that there is war. And has been now for three eternal years, Behind the subtle cinctures of those hills. I see the farmer coming up the field. And as I look, imagination lifts The sullen veil of alternating cloud, 41 THE FARMER, 1917 )» And I am stunned by what I sec behind His solemn and uncompromising form : Wide hosts of men who once could walk like him In freedom^ quite alone with night and day, Uncounted shapes of living flesh and bone. Worn dull, quenched dry, gone blind and sick, with war ; And they are him and he is one with them ; They see him as he travels up the field. O God, how lonely freedom seems to-day I O single farmer walking through the world. They bless the seed in you that earth shall reap, When they, their countless lives, and all their thoughts, Lie scattered by the storm : when peace shall come With stillness, and long shivers, after death. 42 THE DESIRED PLACE. (By kind permission of the Editor of War and Peace.) THE rivers in the moon To golden ice are turned, Mountains are made of glass Where formerly they burned ; May it come quick and soon The time when earth shall freeze. To make another moon With frozen hills and trees. 43 THE MESSAGE OF AGE. (By kind permission of the Editor of The Nation.) I COME to you to sing of happiness, Which many years I sought for in my soul As though it were some philosophic goal : I found it not, but only emptiness. And then I sought for pleasure in the press Of those delights no creeds or thoughts control. The beat of cymbals, and the foaming bowl, And, living madly, knew content still less. Yet happiness was here at hand for me. In cool and even contours of my room — With light just flowing from the sober north — And on the wharves where solemn steamers loom, In all their mystery of going forth To taste the sullen splendor of the sea. 44 WAKING DREAMS. How have I used my eyes and ears ? Oh have I really seen the spring? Men live and die, and barely slip Out of the world, remembering What earth was like ; preoccupied With furniture, each one allied By some frayed cobweb^chain of thought To something in infinity. Men live and die* But I remember how earth looks Throughout the yean There come to me Pictures of air, of soil and sun, Or quite new visions of the sea, Just in that darkened slit of time That slides between the lids of sleep And sundown. In the mornings, too. When leaves upon my lattice weep Their languid joys ; on daffodils I wonder then ; and in dark hills Where streams are bom, my fancies go Purged of all flesh, as white as snow ; They brush the long^eaved daffodils. 45 WAKING DREAMS )» Or if I wake in full midnight, I think on shepherds in the moon, Sitting in clusters, on lean peaks. Each piping some archaic tune To flocks of rams with yellow horns, That wander in and out of sight Beside the stream whose face is bright. Whose mind is dead ; or in the grass That shines as pale as polished glass. I think of these things in the night* Sometimes I trace my childhood's path Through Gloucestershire. The Cotswolds grey And round and rough I travel through. Stooping to pick wild harebells ; they Shake like thin lyrics, beautiful Translucent heads, and make the sound Of spirits talking underground Rise on the wind. And then I find Those strange crisp stones. Forked by the wind, — Fossils, each traced with delicate Long, fan^shaped marks the hand of death Cannot erase. Are they dead stars 46 WAKING DREAMS «^ Come down, come down, sent hurtling through The midnight cold, and bearing still The print of their substantial being That was as earth's ? shall we fall too ? Dumb wizened stars whose glory's done I used to hold them in my hand. And think about this universe Which is too big to understand. Now let me shut thought's wings : then fall Down through the sea until I reach The strata of that bottom^beach From whose depth there is no recall. And sitting there what miracles Of shelly^branch shall I behold. What tree^trunks lifting misty arms Embracing the sepulchral cold Of chasms where recumbent giants Wallow, encompassed by green foam ? Through what huge chambers shall I roam ? And what dull traffic shall I hear Of ships above me everywhere } In such a waking^dream I would Pass from existence if I could. 47 WAKING DREAMS >i^ Still dreaming underneath the sesu To fumble with the cosmic key That turns the lock between one world And the next, would that not be luck, While all around me waves conspired To pull me back — to squeeze, and suck My spirit in ? my spirit still Should turn, and try, nor could be stayed Till from the sea's unstable heart Into eternity she strayed ; Into the star of thought — of mind So dean, so perfect, so divined Never to touch the gross balloon, The sensual world that hangs beneath In ulcerous imitation of That visionary world where death Is not ; neither deceit, — the tick That tortures the unhappy quick Of death's foul mind To ugly, ugly counterfeit Of life— pure life that I have known To shine so radiant thro' a stone The light has almost struck me blind, 48 WAKING DREAMS ^ . How long — how long before I die And into understanding fly. To live and breathe eternally In what I now divine to be Hidden beneath the bulk of things. As under heavy^mantled hills One can divine the secret springs Whose essence is invisible ? How long before the sensual world That gives such signs of fire beneath Is opened to us all ? How long Before we conquer ancient death ? In dreams 1 know it sometimes and Rush through all heavens to the last And fieriest ; then (being consumed) Am thrown back on the grinning past. Among the sepulchres of snails, The spokes of old crustaceae. The bones of ships, the bowels of whales All the vast lumber of the sea Encumbers me* Then dreams recede and morning pipes Sound on the lonely downs again, 4r WAKING DREAMS >» And my soul that was almost drowned Looks out of her dark window-'pane And sees the sun whose reedy beams Suck up the vapour of her dreams. From the days back she springs— and goes Flying to the celestial snows Of visionary happiness, That every living mind must bless, Must welcome— as the one escape From Hfe's half strangled outer shape. So will she fly till it is time (Even in a million centuries) To realise those waking dreams Which are but pin^pricks in the skies And promise how the soul shall gaze On heaven's unreflected blaze When she has done with nights and days, Terrors and Joys, Journeys and Dreams. 50 DVENTURERS ALL M^ A SERIES OF YOUNG POETS UNKNOWN TO FAME J9^ UNIFORM VOLUMES IN DOLPHIN OLD STYLE TYPE, IN ART WRAPPERS ^ TWO SHILLINGS AND SIXPENCE NET EACH, CI, " Beautiful little books . . . containing poetry, real poetry/' — The New IVitness. U IL, HI. and IV. lOut of print], V. THE IRON AGE ^ BY FRANK BETTS. WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GILBERT MURRAY. VL THE TWO WORLDS ^ BY SHERARD VINES. VIL THE BURNING WHEEL ^ BY A. L HUXLEY VIIL A VAGABOND'S WALLET >^ BY STEPHEN REID.HEYMAN. IX. OP. I. ^ BY DOROTHY L. S AYERS. iOut of print], X. LYRICAL POEMS ^ BY DOROTHY PLOWMAN. XI. THE WITCHES' SABBATH » BY E. H. W. MEYERSTEIN. XII. A SCALLOP SHELL OF QUIET ^ POEMS BY FOUR WOMEN. INTRODUCED BY MAR. CARET L WOODS. XIII. AT A VENTURE ^ POEMS BY EIGHT WRITERS. XIV. ALDEBARAN >» BY M. ST. CLARE BYRNE. XV. LIADAIN AND CURITHIR ^ BY MOIREEN FOX. XVL LINNETS IN THE SLUMS « BY MARION PRYCE. XVII. OUT OF THE EAST ^ BY VERA AND MAR. CARET LARMINIE. XVIII. DUNCH ^ BY SUSAN MILES. XIX. DEMETER AND OTHER POEMS ^ BY ELEA. NOR HILL. XX. CARGO ^ BY S. BARRINGTON GATES. XXI. DREAMS AND JOURNEYS ^ BY FREDEGOND SHOVE. XXIL THE PEOPLE'S PALACE ^ BY SACHEVERELL SITWELL. XXIII. GALLEYS LADEN « POEMS BY FOUR WRITERS. OXFORD % B. H. BLACKWELL, BROAD ST. NITIATES % A SERIES OF POETRY BY PROVED HANDS % UNIFORM VOLUMES IN DOLPHIN OLD STYLE TYPE % ART BOARDS, THREE SHILLINGS NET. L IN THE VALLEY OF VISION ^ BY GEOFFREY FABER, AUTHOR OF 'INTERFLOW/' II, SONNETS AND POEMS ^ By ELEANOR FAR-. JEON, AUTHOR OF ** NURSERY RHYMES OF LONDON TOWN/' IlL THE DEFEAT OF YOUTH, AND OTHER POEMS ^BY ALDOUS HUXLEY, AUTHOR OF "THE BURNING WHEEL/' FORTHCOMING ^ IV. SONGS FOR SALE ^ AN ANTHOLOGY OF VERSE, EDITED BY R B. O JONES FROM BOOKS ISSUED RECENTLY BY B. H. BLACKWELL V. CLOWNS^ HOUSES >^ BY EDITH SITWELL, EDITOR OF "WHEELS/'