THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES The Hunter and other Poems The Hunter and other Poems By W. J. Turner London : Sidgwick & Jackson, Limited 3 Adam Street, Adelphi, W.C. 191 6 All tights reserved PRINTED AT THE COMPLETE PRESS WEST NORWOOD LONDON FK TO FRANCIS MEYNELL 1022435 ACKNOWLEDGMENT Some of these poems have appeared in the Neiv Statesman. I have to thank the Editor for permission to reprint them. W. J. T. Contents ROMANCE ..... PAGB 9 SPAIN II ECSTASY ..'... i6 FANTASIE i8 LE SACRE DU PRINTEMPS . 23 SHIPWRECK 25 A LAST LOVE POEM 27 INDIA 30 ODE TO THE FUTURE . 31 tJBER ALLEN GIPFELN . . 36 THE HUNTER . 38 MARAH 40 A MADONNA IN WESTMINSTER . 41 A RIDE THROUGH THE WORLD . . 46 THE SKY-SENT DEATH . . 48 AEROPLANES 51 7 PA6B IN CAMP 53 SONG: THE FAR-OFF PRINCESS . . 58 MAGIC 59 SEA-MADNESS 62 HOLLYHOCKS 64 CLAPHAM COMMON .... 67 DREAM THAT I PRESS 72 I AM A HUNTER 73 THE BODY 74 SONG 75 Romance 'HEN I was but thirteen or so I went into a golden land, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Took me by the hand. w My father died, my brother too, They passed like fleeting dreams, I stood where Popocatapetl In the sunlight gleams. I dimly heard the master's voice And boys far-off at play, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Had stolen me away. I walked in a great golden dream To and fro from school — Shining Popocatapetl The dusty streets did rule. I walked home with a gold dark boy And never a word I'd say, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi Had taken my speech away : I gazed entranced upon his face Fairer than any flower — O shining Popocatapetl It was thy magic hour : The houses, people, traffic seemed Thin fading dreams by day, Chimborazo, Cotopaxi They had stolen my soul away ! 10 Spain Morning THE orange glooms in the half-dawn. The white walls are pale glimmering dreams, Trees haunt them, stream-still, dim-illumed With round gold fruit on green boughs born. Mist-pearl the Guadalquivir lies Shimmering, dropt from the pale heaven ; Star-drunken, a god-ecstatic fool MumbHng divine, night-dwindling cries. Passionately the dim Dawn fills With purple heaps of shadows : Trees, Their vapour-sleep about their knees, Dream gem-still on the luminous hills. Green fires jewel-blazed mid milk-white walls Bloom from the pale transparent air ; The sunlight flickers on their spires. The night's dark mirage-tower falls. On a glittering plain Far away, A bony horse with an armoured knight Labours ; his squire behind Toils and sweats with his ass. II A solitary Tree, A gesture In the sunlight Mournful but determined, A song in the dark Without gaiety, A shadow in the white dust ! It is their hope, It is mirrored in their souls, In the soul of the bony horse. In the soul of the ass. Under the Tree lies the squire, His mouth is open and his soul Flutters over empty wineskins ; The knight leans against the trunk. The horse and the ass are as still As fallen branches. Noon — Siesta The lattices are shut, The house is dark and still . . . The soul can wander up and down And work its own will. Phantom after phantom chase, Glide from dream to dream. Quiet as the shadow of a hill In a slow stream. 12 Kings, Princesses, Warriors stark, All in dream array Of glittering lances, banners bright On a great highway. On the highway lit by no Sun or Stars or Moon Through curtained chambers wind their way Like a bright tune — Like a tune with many places Empty, soundless, dark ; There broods the Dove, moored in those places, The Spirit's ancient ark On the waters faintly shining High and mournful with black walls Gleams a ghost, a phantom vessel Ere the next note falls. In this stream, in this procession, Toledo, Saragossa, names Of Castile and of Aragon Leap dream-fitful flames, Arks of human life their dark Towers Gloomy in the blazing sunlight, Piercing with blood-tortured thoughts A sky serene and bright. 13 Many centuries have passed Since the Knight and the Squire lay dreaming, The one of Toledo, Saragossa, Princesses and Giants, The other of wineskins ; But they are still wandering in Spain, You may see them any day Under a tree. Evening And when night comes they will sing serenades Under the open windows, The lattices will not be shut. The Moon will wander through the houses : Spain herself with the voices of the past in her soul Will sit in the shadows, And kiss the petals of roses, And drop them warm to her lovers below. With the low thrumming of guitars, With the gold throbbing of stars. With the purple heaving of the seas. With the glimmer of fading white walls She drops her dusky hair over my soul ; Spain I am soul-drunken with thee, 1 am intoxicated with the scent of thy garments, I am a river delirious under the Moon In whose bosom forests and stars and maidens And innumerable worlds are singing. H With the low thmmming of guitars, With white arms hanging from the lattices From clouds of dim hair indistinguishable from the night The souls of the serenaders are drunken, Their voices murmer heavily like beetles Wandering in a blur of flowers : Spain is glimmering in those white arms, The flowers float up in the dim darkness, The shadows fill with her hair ; She has escaped into the palpitating night Leaving a heap of scented garments — In her dark room weeps the moonlight. The night is empty, emptier is the day. That secret loveliness has passed away ; The sun is burning and the houses lie Bare and untidy to the airless sky, The sea is glass, a smooth and glittering pane, The flies sleep in the dust. This is Spain. 15 Ecstasy I SAW a frieze on whitest marble drawn Of boys who sought for shells along the shore, Their white feet shedding pallor in the sea, The shallow sea, the spring-time sea of green That faintly creamed against the cold, smooth pebbles. The air was thin, their limbs were delicate, The wind had graven their small eager hands To feel the forests and the dark nights of Asia Behind the purple bloom of the horizon, Where sails would float and slowly melt away. Their naked, pure, and grave, unbroken silence Filled the soft air as gleaming, limpid water Fills a spring sky those days when rain is lying In shattered bright pools on the wind-dried roads. And their sweet bodies were wind-puriiied. One held a shell unto his shell-like ear And there was music carven in his face, His eyes half-closed, his lips just breaking open To catch the lulling, mazy, coralline roar Of numberless caverns filled with singing seas. i6 And all of them were hearkening as to singing Of far-off voices thin and delicate, Voices too fine for any mortal wind To blow into the whorls of mortal ears — And yet those sounds flowed from their grave, sweet faces. And as I looked I heard that delicate music, And I became as grave, as calm, as still As those carved boys. I stood upon that shore, I felt the cool sea dream around my feet, My eyes were staring at the far horizon : And the wind came and purified my limbs, And the stars came and set within my eyes. And snowy clouds rested upon my shoulders, And the blue sky shimmered deep within me, And I sang like a carven pipe of music. B 17 Fantasie SILENCE ! A great crowd sits and waits, Tier upon tier in circles strangely mute ; The air hangs limp and almost visible, Pregnant with power unuttered : A Stick is waving silently Three trembling jewels fell shining midst our thoughts Leaving a glitter from another world : Then three more fell, and then the throbbing air Awoke and sang, and stretched its rope-like throat And beat and beat against that dom^d roof : Dark wings shot out and struck to bear it up. The place was full of multitudinous striving ; I was tossed hither thither in uneasy effort As in a cloud of dreams ; but suddenly Our prison burst, and to the lidless sky We raced and raced until the soft soft blue Tore at our shoulders, ripped our aching flesh. Laid bare our soul to burn, catch fire and blaze, Exultingly suck in the azure air And fill the spacy nothingness of heaven With the distract, disruptive power of passion ; Till httle wisps of clouds did madly pluck Themselves in fragments, jangling stars did dance, i8 And a whole firmament of glass and metal Cracked up and shivered, jarring wayside stones And vitreous spangles hid in loam and clay ; Till gently glittering, trembling up and down, We shook together, filled a mobile lake With soft and shimmering waters — Flash ! We smoothly lie Unruffled to the calm and breathless sky Where nothing sails : No Cloud no Ship, no Bird — Only a thought comes winging keen and gay, A thought that will not stay To be remembered or even known When it hath passed its way. It sings itself so joyously in space Bubbhng like spirit water, frail and thin, Which eager hands may seek in vain to trace, Close, holding nothing in. Nothing, just nothing — something escapes, Something has vanished, shut wings up hke a lark, And fallen in the dust, And left a gap Where strings are faintly stirred. Where strings are stirring faint and rhythmically Like the slow beat of oars that wider sweep And wider still and though no ship there be 19 \ Yet we set sail — the currents eddy round And close above our heads. Drowned ! Drowned ! Engulfed in consciousness so vast and free We move like swaying forms within the sea, Or we are like the sea that flows through all Anemones, transparent flowers, tall And waving daughters, crowding thick tip-toe Upon a rock to see the Nautilus go Into the dim translucent worlds that wane With shadows, to light up again With a pale glow that travels — so far ! We follow, follow, follow, hunt the gleam That radiates our world, that bathes our arms, Slips round our bodies, glints within our eyes, And then withdraws — Fades ! Fades ! Fades ! And without movement dies. I can still hear the beating of the oars, I can still hear the stirring of the strings, I can still see the rhythmic swaying tide. And the pale anemones, And the Nautilus, And the Green Gleam. Who wanders there where your tall daughters stare And lifts their eyelids, spreads their streaming hair To ripple with the unwrinkled waving light 20 That runs like green blood through all plants and flowers, Or glows opaquely in some fish's side Like a dense jewel floating by ? — I ask but no one answers ; all is still ; For they are no man's daughters, no one knows How they wait ever, standing tip-toe there While all the world through their frail bodies flows. Ebbs from their finger-tips — Swells — and Sways, Hanging upon their hps, and rocks them all In rooted motion — Sea-urchins, sea-farers, in among the sea-sunflowers, In among the ox-rays, the trepang and the colander : The polyps spread their fringe of arms, the drunken algae reel around Far from the dipping guillemot — O they fade and fade And there is but a web of woven streams Where images are blurred ; dim rain-drops fall. Dim, shuddering drops of white and violet light. I hear the thunder call ; It swells, it comes, And tramping feet come with it — O beware ! These halls of quietness are not long to hold Their weeping daughters, pale, inviolate ; The Wind's tumultuous feet are at the gate, They come, they come, to break your tender stems. To wound your swaying mouths and trample down Your bleeding bodies, tear your coral veins 21 And stain the purple bottom of the sea With shrieking patterns. What ecstatic pains UpHft you now and bring that vanished gleam Flickering like June lightning ? Louder grow Those multitudinous feet ! blindly gape, Strain forth your bodies' ichor, lean to them Who come to pluck you with invisible hands ; So shall you flower and the last flying gleam Shall kiss your scattered blossoms. — The whole sea moves, its waters tumbling down In green and purple columns drown my sight ; I catch a glimpse of wan and fleeting forms Tossing a handful of dishevelled jewels, Or glittering bubbles — then thick masses dim. In semicircles ranged, opaque and dark. Emerge, and with a muffled tap of drum Move arms, show teeth, nod heads, and look like men. 22 Le Sacre du Printemps SPRING trembles on the hills and though the earth Is grey and dark with silence and dim rains Long bands of red and yellow ochre lie Like corybants enswathed in vivid sashes Under the soil that's fragrant with their presence. The Winter widow-stoled, grey and white, Leans across hill and valley pensively Weeping to leave those quiet, sober plains Where gentle melancholy drapes her robes In cloud and dripping wood. She is not mute, But all her soul is gentle ; reverie In tracts of cool rain-washed reflected light Is more delectable to her than songs Of any passion. When, dismayed, she hears That note of longing bubbling to the sky Shiv'ring she turns, retires with decent train And leaves the earth all breathless, panting hard. Quickened with such mad trembling ecstasy Those corybants arise, yellow and red, And shake their vivid sashes o'er the land ; The world holds breath a moment ; then they dance, Dance madly, whirling milHons springing up Tossing slim heads, their naked beauty bare Intoxicating the blue laughing sky To foam imagination — Cumuli, 23 Cloud-white creations frothed in empty space, So insubstantial, of such dream-like weight That if they moved they'd vanish. Then Desire That sucks a wraith-like beauty visible From nothingness, and out of ordure vile Summons bright Forms to press against the wind Their all-too-fleeting Symmetry, Wakes in the hearts of men and scatters seeds Of poignant loveliness so sweet, so rare That springing up in some far-distant time The world will dance in sharper ecstasy, Flowers will be taller, cities hang like blooms Upon the breast of earth, and men and women, Like Gods in dazzling beauty, arm in arm, White flesh to white flesh, bathe in sapphire seas And rapturously hunt the spirit's jewel. Green gleam of mariners that beckons far More beautiful than purple-furrowed oceans Or emerald isles — but hidden in their eyes So that they never find its dwelling-place Or cry Eureka ! resting on their oars. 24 Shipwreck HEARD a voice crying In the wilderness of night ; I saw great branches swaying, Black boughs afloat on white Intangible, thin light. I The light it never curdled Into Hps of foam, Shook no green, shivering tresses To drown seamen's caresses — The dark Ship staggering home. There came no rolling breakers, No tall waves roaring high ; But it was peaceful, peaceful, And it v/as empty, empty ; An Albatross was I. An Albatross was I, There was no sea nor sky, No dark Ship plunging, plunging, No dead men drifting by Beneath that piercing cry : 25 But all was clear and silent, Moon-empty round that thing, That grey wind-glimmering wing Drifting — 26 A Last Love Poem MANY poems have I written unto thee, good and bad, And many more have I not uttered, For the words came not. Ay, those feeble little words That leap so easily from the lips of the speaker And fall dead upon the ground, they came not : For they were fearful of the burden of my thought, And my passion shrivelled them up as leaves in a hot fire. My thoughts were like lightning playing upon the hills. They hovered about thy beauty as lightning upon the sea : Pale, cold is thy beauty, aloof from the warm arms of the earth. Sparkling like a robe of jewels laid for the ghostly moon : No one shall joy of thee, only the black headlands behold thee. Staring like blind men in the night, haunted by the lapping waves For thy movements are like waves and all waters. Mocking and stirring the senses even to where the soul dwell eth, 27 Withdrawn to forgotten recesses, forgotten of thee and the waters, Careless of all thy cold beauty, hearing the wind's soft voices, And the warmth of the old earth breathing. If in the cold dead darkness thine eyes should open and seek me, If in the dead white moonlight thou shouldst stir and awaken, If in all thy pale beauty thou shouldst stretch warm arms forth to meet me I would turn once again and love thee, forgetting the wind's soft voices, I would rise from the warm earth's bosom, shake the dust from my feet and take thee Envelop thee as in a garment and bury my face in thy hair, And kiss the blood to thy cheeks, and to thine eyes and ears. Till it danced through thy body hke music : I would grip thy pale Httle hands, hurting them ever so slowly Until thy lips parted beseeching, then would I kiss them silent. O thou soul of the world, words have I not nor music, But a wild and flaming spirit that hunts like an out- lawed robber 28 Building pillars of smoke in the lonely deserts of night, Seeking a vision of beauty, a haunting, far-off vision That came to him once as he rode with the kisses of dawn on his forehead. And sudden and swift without warning the sea stretched shining before him, Not dead but awake and living, caressing the sleeping earth With a thousand tender touches — the earth all un- conscious and sleeping : Pale was the sea as thou art, a web of shadowed opal, Soft and mysterious, quivering, with countless meshes of hght. But alive with a soft exulting, a warm and passionate greeting As I stepped down and possessed thee, Aphrodite ! my long, long loved one ! And felt thy soft, timid embraces as in my wild passion I kissed thee. And kissed thee until thou wert silent and breathed in my arms Hke a child. And the world stopped still and the Morning, In her golden chariot waiting, stood at the Eastern Portal. 29 India THEY hunt, the velvet tigers in the jungle, The spotted jungle full of shapeless patches — Sometimes they're leaves, sometimes they're hanging flowers, Sometimes they're hot gold patches of the sun : They hunt, the velvet tigers in the jungle ! What do they hunt by glimmering pools of water, By the round silver Moon, the Pool of Heaven : In the striped grass, amid the barkless trees — The Stars scattered like eyes of beasts above them ! What do they hunt, their hot breath scorching insects, Insects that blunder blindly in the way, Vividly fluttering — they also are hunting. Are glittering with a tiny ecstasy ! The grass is flaming and the trees are growing. The very mud is gurgling in the pools, Green toads are watching, crimson parrots flying, Two pairs of eyes meet one another glowing — They hunt, the velvet tigers in the jungle. 30 Ode to the Future (To be read slowly) I BEGIN with a question — What am I ? And no answer reaches me out of thy vastness, In thy abysses there is no one to heed me, To catch my far-oflr, faint little wherefores — Besides, thou knowest not. Future, wonderful, unimaginable, never to be known, What can I say unto thee that is not an imper- tinence ? This, that I am content, 1 am content never to know thee, beautiful, adorable, and gracious I am content to die in a wretched and detestable time, In a time when men are ugly to look upon. And when women are more foolish than sparrows ; When we seek but to enslave one another, To spend our days in vain competition ; When beauty is cast before swine. And love is trampled underfoot ! Dirty, and foul, and evil-smelling. We millions are an utter abomination. Penned in our slum cities like cattle, Wearing loathsome and disease-laden shoddy, 31 Eating filthy and disgusting food, We would make the Gods vomit in Heaven ! But I am content. I am content though soon I go down to the grave. My sorrows given unto worms, My joys put into a small hole. I am content to be cast away, To be flung into a handy field, A heap of decaying lumber. I am content to be finished for ever, To have vanished with the millions before me Like all the Summers that are gone. Shall no one mourn for us, the departed ? Yes, thou shalt mourn, thou, O magnanimous Future ! In pity shalt thou think of us who are past. But do not pity us. I have no need of thy pity, divine One ! majestic and uplifting Time hearken unto me ! Hearken unto this voice whispering on the edge of extinction ! 1 have conceived thee in my soul, I am not a stranger to thy wonder and thy glory, Nay, I have found thee in the bottom of my soul, Out of the mud and the garbage did I lift thee up, Thou wouldst never have been were it not for me. Therefore, O Future, be humble, 32 Be humble in the splendour of thy Beauty That so insignificant a one hath conceived thee, And that thou canst not thank thy creators. We who are working in the darkness rejoice, Rejoice that no one shall bring us thanks, No one shall shame us with gratitude. It is enough that Thou, rising in thy loveliness Art spread within the loneliness of our souls ; In the awful silence that encompasses us. Working hke Phantoms in the night. Thou art set as a lamp, as a voice that calleth over the water To the men in a dark-ringed Ship Who know not whither they are going. Who seek a Dream, a tale of Eldorado, A Legend, a Wild-flower springing in the heart : They call it Desire, Hope, I call it a Flower — Flower of the soul whence didst thou come to delight us So that we go down cheerfully into the dust, Having stretched out our hands and preserved Thee, Having cherished Thee for future generations ? 1 know not. I understand nothing. Everything is dark round about me. I could weep bitter, bitter tears. I am almost dissolved in sorrow — Not sorrow for this or for that. For love whose greeting is only a farewell, c 33 For all the Springs that will come over my ashes And the winter fires gleaming when I am gone. No, I am sad with a profounder sorrow Than that of my death and forgetting, I weep for the death and forgetting of Man, I see Man vanished, departed from the earth, A Dream, a Forgotten Avenue, A Pathway that led out of the night, That is no more remembered in the morning. But O beloved ! when thou and I are lying Deep-cradled in the dissolving earth With many, many generations Shall we mourn that we are even less than names ? Shall we mourn if the Future be not so beautiful as our Desire ? Are we not above mourning ? Are we not greater than dust ? Are we not stronger than a hope ? Beloved I have found such beauty in thee, I have found such beauty in the bottom of my soul That I laugh, exulting in everything. I exult in death and the destruction of Planets, I exult in the blotting out of Empires and in the fc« slow extinction of Suns, I exult in Thee who art to come, I go into the grave crying Hail, O Future ! Hail thou world that art to come ! Hail thou to whom man is but a mollusc ! 34 Across the aeons I raise my voice to thee, I am ready to be forgotten that thou shouldst come, Or rather that I should come again. Yes, for it is I that am coming in that far-off time, I and my beloved though we know it not. We are the Future, we are bringing the message of the Past, We are all that there is, everything depends upon us — So let us go down into the grave rejoicing, Rejoicing that they are but putting there lumps of abandoned clay, That we, we are elsewhere, We are the Future. 35 JJher alien Gipjeln WHAT lies beyond ! The Moon Hangs blood-red in the valley Where below the swift black waters flow, Roaring their unrest to the soundless snow, Turning dark heads to snap their spuming fangs Like wolves that howl as from a wood they go. And there She overhangs — So round, so red, so low. Shall I too bare my teeth at thee, Moon, Now I have climbed so high And these white Peaks are silent ? By and by Perhaps they'll speak, or is this all they say, This empty stare while the pale frozen sky Sucks out thy colour until small and gray Thy wan corpse faintly moves throughout the day ! Hast thou not lured me here with thy cold light. Washing the mountains with a waveless flood. Intangible, without a line or bubble. But yet alive, filling the straining sight With a strange brightness, filHng the empty night With a great splendour ! Pour out thy ebbing blood Into my soul else thou escape and die. My ardour lost and thou a frost-wraith white. 36 My arms close fast on nothing* Thou dost grow Paler and yet more pale. The white Peaks gleam, Shining like icy Ghosts across the snow As thou removest high, removest high, High out of reach, of thought, of hope — a Dream That called me up the valley to these peaks, To fade elusively into the sky. 37 The Hunter " But there was one land he dared not enter " BEYOND the blue, the purple seas, Beyond the thin horizon's line, Beyond Antilla, Hebrides, Jamaica, Cuba, Caribbees There lies the land of Yucatan. The land, the land of Yucatan, The low coast breaking into foam. The dim hills where my thoughts shall roam The forests of my boyhood's home. The splendid dream of Yucatan ! I met thee first long, long ago Turning a printed page, and I Stared at a world I did not know And felt my blood like fire flow At that strange name of Yucatan. O those sweet, far-off Austral days When life had a diviner glow, When hot Suns whipped my blood to know Things all unseen, then I could go Into thy heart Yucatan ! 38 I have forgotten what I saw, I have forgotten what I knew, And many lands I've set sail for To find that marvellous spell of yore, Never to set foot on thy shore haunting land of Yucatan ! But sailing I have passed thee by, And leaning on the white ship's rail Watched thy dim hills till mystery Wrapped thy far stillness close to me And I have breathed " 'tis Yucatan ! " " 'Tis Yucatan, 'tis Yucatan ! " The ship is sailing far away The coast recedes, the dim hills fade, A bubble-winding track we've made And thou'rt a Dream O Yucatan ! 39 Marah BLUE and golden was her robe of mosaic, Blue and golden the tips of her shoes, The blurred wall gathered crystal lilies round her, Green lilies, lilies of dimmed water : There was no white, no milk-white touch about her, All was lucent, was green and blue and gold. There is no white about the name Mary, Mary that is Marah — that is bitter, Mary that sounds like running water Tinkling like a host of muted bells In cavities of tinkling-atomed limestone Where, in a round clear drop of water, Hang the tiny voices, the voices of the atoms. Singing of Stalactites, of the loveliness of Mary. Mary it is they dream of in the darkness of the grotto, Mary is the vision and the song inaudible Where grow the Stalactites, And the dimmer Stalagmites ; It cannot be seen that they are growing, In the darkness there is no glint or glitter, Only the loveliness of Mary, The conception and the bones of Mary. 40 A Madonna in Westminster A GIRL before him knelt in silent prayer, A stylish hat poised on her red-brown hair Caught up behind in quite the latest mode By a coquettish comb so that it showed The warm smooth neck in shadow softly lit By light reflected from the collar round it — Pure dazzling linen, turned Medici-wise Rigid and high to please fastidious eyes. There, as she knelt in arching dark cloth shoes And silken stockings, the dim hanging air Curtained her round, incense proceeded from her As if she were a holy shrine : he trembled ; All the vast arches glimmered shadow-wise ; Vague, insubstantial shone the gleaming stone ; Life streamed in from the encirchng universe And gathered in great waves that softly swept Through the dim aisles, up and down the nave, Thundering softly like a myriad horse, A myriad horse that scour a mystic plain In muffled dreams at dawn. His soul bent down And kissed her feet : then he saw her rise, Sit for a moment, deftly try her hair. Take out a glass — content that she was fair Escaping from each movement, each svelt line Of arm and fingers. Ay the world sat there. 41 The ancient world, the modern, very wise, Sat in that mighty church and subtly drew Its subtle fingers o'er the chords of life, Drew melody from all the carven stones That played like harps about her, From the great heavy arches langvior drew. And glitter from the jewels of her that stood Within the blue and gold mosaicked niche Above the altar, drew from those great domes A murmur as of droves of doves descending, Whirl upon whirl, a cloud of fluttering feet Filling invisibly the empty chairs — His soul rose up and very swiftly swept Through the dim nave, up and down the aisles Like a great eagle filled with harmony Of earth and sky and lifting in its rhythm The little streams, the hum of rustling trees. The tinkling waterfalls, the march of clouds, The soundless ripples wrinkling flat-faced lakes Expressionlessly set in shadowy rims. The blue and hollow laughter of the sky. The swift green flash of the rotating earth And the mad tumbling waters of the sea. Crystalline green and shattered, splintered white, All, all caught up in one great throb of life, k^ And he beheld her soft, firm moulded arm Closely ensheathed adjust a truant curl From the warm profile, then their eyes did meet 42 And her blood quickened so that once again She took her mirror and with conscious poise Of head and shoulders told him that she knew How fair she was and how his blood was stirred Just at the sight of her disdainful fingers. Then she arose, passed to the centre aisle And genuflected ; he watched her walk away Proud and self-conscious of her exceeding beauty. He followed to the porch and saw her step Into a waiting car ; her dark eyes glowed To feel his admiration though she showed No sign she saw him save to loose her fur Back from her slender, warm, and delicate throat. She drove away and all was faded then. The swift car dwindled and at once was gone ; The street was empty, little heaps of rubbish Sat vanishing by the side of empty gutters — Dry, incoherent, dwindhng back to space In unobservant silence. Was it a Dream That some few streets away the roaring traffic Of Hving millions streamed incessantly ? No, he could hear its hum, remote and dim, Just like flies buzzing in that empty street, Buzzing against the doors and the closed windows. Not one door opened, no one ever came Out of those buildings, those high blocks of flats Of yellow bricks and dark bricks and cement. 43 He was alone, watching the dry dust dwindle, Watching the crumbling shell of life departed. Life that had gone and left the hollow sunshine, The dust-heaps and the row of blistered doors. Still he stood there and all was quiet about him. Remote how remote the long street seemed ! His heart stirred in him and a scrap of paper Whirled in a corner, turning helplessly : He felt as if thrust in some fourth dimension, As if he'd accidentally uplifted A back-cloth corner of the world's set stage And looking behind the scenes had found no bustle. No throng and tumult, no directing hand. Only a httle scrap of whirhng paper. And he himself, intense, and breathing hard. Fixed, listening to his own heart's palpitation. It was a moment only, one brief moment, And then there glided, rumbling heavily, A Dream from the other world, a Pickford van, A coalescence of strange creaks and noises That drew across his mind ; the Driver sat A limp, bent figure with an open mouth, A two-days beard and grime-ringed, vacant eyes. Suspended o'er a ragged, ambling horse, 44 Rocked to the music of the jingling harness ; While the wheels turning with a different motion And the straps flapping, and the swaying Driver All gave the semblance of a Dream, that faded — Round the next corner — all was still again. 45 A Ride Through the World NTO a wood ride I, Swathed in grey dreams. Flickering around are beams Strayed from the hidden sky. I Through that still wood I ride, Hearing the silence-song, Feeling the Shadows throng Close to my very side. Shadows and I we race Through the dim trees, Faintly the breeze Shakes down the fine dusk-lace. Softer than hair it falls On branch and bole. Netting my soul With dwarf and giant thralls : In its net drags my soul With the dead leaves, In eddied sheaves Down the dim paths they roll. 46 Swifter the leaves I blow Through the long avenues, Through the dark avenues Like a dry wind I go. 47 The Sky-sent Death " A German aeroplane flew over Greek territory dropping a bomb whicli killed a shepherd " ^ITTING 071 a stone a Shepherd, ^^ Stone and Shepherd sleeping. Under the high blue Attic sky ; Along the green monotony Grey sheep creeping, creeping. Deep down on the hill and valley, At the bottom of the sunshine, Like great Ships in clearest water, Water holding anchored Shadows, Water without wave or ripple, Sunshine deep and clear and heavy. Sunshine like a booming bell Made of purest golden metal, White Ships heavy in the sky Sleep with anchored shadow. Pipe a song in that still air And the song would be of crystal Snapped in silence, or a bronze vase Smooth and graceful, curved and shining. 48 Tell an old tale or a history ; It would seem a slow Procession Full of gestures : limbs and torso White and rounded in the sunlight. Sitting on a stone a Shepherd, Stone and Shepherd sleeping, Like a fragment of old marble Dug up from the hillside shadow. In the sunshine deep and soundless Came a faint metallic humming ; In the sunshine clear and heavy Came a speck, a speck of shadow — Shepherd hft your head and hsten, Listen to that humming Shadow ! Sitting on a stone the Shepherd, Stone and Shepherd sleeping In a sleep dreamless as water. Water in a white glass heaker. Clear, pellucid, without shadow ; Underneath a sky-blue crystal Sees his grey sheep creeping. In the sunshine clear and heavy Shadow-fled a dark hand downward : In the sunshine deep and soundless D 49 Burst a star-dropt thing of thunder — Smoked the burnt blue air's torn veihng Drooping softly round the hillside. Boomed the silence in returning To the crater in the hillside, To the red earth fresh and bleeding, To the mangled heap remaining : Far away that humming Shadow Vanished in the azure distance. Sitting on a stone no Shepherd, Stone and Shepherd sleeping. But across the hill and valley Grey sheep creeping, creeping. Standing carven on the sky-line, Scattering in the open distance. Free, in no man's keeping. 50 r Aeroplanes '^RON birds floating in the sky Prey remorselessly On the tiny, obscure dot That is some great city. Below, men-insects rend and tear, Women wring hands of pity. I have flown a hundred miles Over the blurred plain, Dropping devastation and death, Blotting men's nerves with pain — Their miserable cries were as tiny as insects' Calling their God in vain. The sounds of their oaths and lamentations Could not even reach up to me. The clouds were at peace, no tribulation Disturbed the sky-harmony. Only my buzzing engine clanged And my heart beat dreadfully. I laughed as I silently tossed blind Death Down on that insect people. Dreadful it was in the peaceful sky To murder that insect people, And never to hear a sound or cry Or a bell toll in a steeple. 51 I laughed when my last bloody bomb had gone, I shrieked high up in a cloud, I wanted to fly in the face of their God And spit my disdain aloud, I ripped through the terrified whistling air And burst through the earth's damp shroud. Ah ! it was blue there, wide and clear. Dancing alive in the sun. And millions of bright, sweet cymbals rang Praising the deeds I had done, And millions of angels cheering stood Deep-columned around the Sun. And then I stood erect and cheered, Ay ! shouted into the sky, I filled the vast semicircle round There was only the Sun and I, The round, red, glittering, blazing Sun And a fluttering human fly. 52 In Camp SOME months of training filled his tall spare form. Hardened his muscles, bronzed his face a warm And healthy brown down to his lissom neck ; And many a girl her wandering feet would check Turning to look at him, but he went by Ruled tyrant-wise by his fastidious eye : A loosened strand of hair, a clumsy shoe, An eager voice, too many or too few Of all those cunning attributes of art Which rouse the lolling hunter stopped his heart From any quicker beating, froze his veins : And walking in those silent country lanes Close to his camp and nearer to the Moon, Hanging up there like a great red balloon Come from another world, he felt so fit That he could almost put his arms around it And drag it down to kick it from the ground Bouncing through space. If he like Jacob found An Angel in his way, he'd rejoice, Fall on him without warning, grip him round, And crush delirious life in his white arms ! (If only he came, beautiful and vast. Towering beneath the sky, like a ship's mast, With face averted, filling the night with awe And silent worship ! ) 53 A deepening ecstasy Of infinite power moved in that lampless road, From him upsoaring silently it flowed Vainly athwart the sky, it could not find Any resistance, aught that it might bind Of m^an or spirit. O how he could crush The pigmy world between his knuckles, push Mountains into the sea ! — And then he sees A little wood, goes in among the trees, Puts his arms round one giant beechwood trunk And leans his cheek against its ^mooth face, sunk In a sudden pit of sorrow so that his tears Run slowly down, until at length he hears The ever-gentle shaking of the leaves Patient above him. " you little leaves That I would slowly kiss, ay, one by one. For joy of your sweet ministering that's done So gently, so remotely, so thought-free — Only a trembling summer ecstasy, A faint delight to find itself astir. Rapt awe of its own freedom — if I err In thinking of a beauty less than yours Return into my soul as water pours Into a waiting pool, your image there Unveil and I from lesser dreams shall wake, Shall bathe my body in cold water pure And find again the chaste and fleeting lure Of Beauty inexpressible, that dies 54 About the sunset, and at morning flies Across the hill-tops, hovers in the eyes Of maidens innocent but wild as stars Caught in the mesh of great celestial wars." The mood had passed, he walked back to the camp, On either side Trees waved great arms about him, Vague Shapes enmeshed his path, and distant cries From bird and beast went to and fro i' the night. The wind played with the shadows, danced around, Flapped in his face, flew out of the sky And left a ragged, hushed monotony Of cloud, and hedge, and hill-top ; then it crept Secretly round his feet, and sighed and moaned, And shook the flowers that slept in all the ditches, Ruffled the dreamy pools that lay fatigued White shining faces dead-beat on the road, Pale straggling soldiers from some weary army Whose countenances lit up by the Moon Will haunt for long the swaying, moaning landscape Rocked with its stones through dreams of endless marches, Marches towards other ghost-like, marching faces, Assaults and bivouacs, and myriad bayonets Spectrally gleaming in the light of Moons And flaming Suns come out of heaven to watch them, To watch their battles with those hosts of shadow That fade and quiver in a dream-like scene, 55 Striking their glimmering tents before the dawn And gliding out of the world, away from Time Into the lap of unresisting seas, Like a vast snowflake-fading population. Ay, how that wind that idly flapped in space Emptied the earth of life, and left him rigid Like a gaunt Tree whose leaves are blown to tatters Writhing and twisting on a sapless scarecrow, While swallow-thoughts are darting in his brain As though they were the fallen leaves of Summer Scattered, wind-gathered from the floor of forests, To fill a distant sky with fluttering curves. A cloud slips by the Moon, the creaking boughs Wave over him as out his shadow jumps Hunch-backed i;pon the road, and goes with him Unto the door of his now dim-seen hut Leaving him to the darkness and the breathing Of outstretched Forms as of some strange com- panions Projecting in that moon-wliite, windy world. The Cattle lying in a grass dim meadow Have ceased to ruminate, their dark heads sculp- tured Can only be imagined in the darkness. Solid, unblinking, like a hundred Hathors Dreaming above the scented fields of Ur — Their senses drowned with smell of many harvests 56 Ere Pharaoh or the forefathers of Abraham — What misty visions stream along their veins Of luscious river-banks and swishing tails, Man drawing rudely with a pointed stone Their shape on cave-walls, or in drilled battalions Trampling the Sussex meadows, still in need Of those unwieldy, massive Shapes that body All the lush, fruitful pouring of the Sun, All the strong sweetness of earth's rippling waters, Vast carcases of mottled sun and shadow- Sucked out of mud like flowers and toppling trees To move to each vibration of the Dawn And know the Evening and the rush of stars. And wait like carven statues from the past, Set in the fields, the patient slaves of men. Who couching in a thousand mushroom huts Lie strewn around and go on bleak adventures Through lands of sleep lit by no travelling Moon ! 57 Song : The Far-off Princess LITTLE silkworm is spinning A robe for a far-off Princess, A foaming wave of yellow 'Mid the wood's green nakedness : A It is her hair it is spinning As fine as a morning mist That washes the pale gold sunshine From mountains of amethyst. The far-off Princess she is lying With only a greenwood dress, By the side of a fallen Fountain — The Fountain of All-when-ness : It is deep in the greenwood forest, It is close by a greenwood tree, Far-off gleam the amethyst mountains And the amethystine sea. 58 I Magic LOVE a still conservatory That's full of giant, breathless palms, Azaleas, clematis and vines, Whose quietness great Trees becalms Filling the air with foliage, A curved and dreamy statuary. I like to hear a cold, pure rill Of water trickling low, afar With sudden little jerks and purls Into a tank or stoneware jar, The song of a tiny sleeping bird Held hke a shadow in its trill, I love the mossy quietness That grows upon the great stone flags, The dark tree-ferns, the staghorn ferns. The prehistoric, antlered stags That carven stand and stare among The silent, ferny wilderness. And are they birds or souls that flit Among the trees so silently, And are they fish or ghosts that haunt The still pools of the rockery ! — For I am but a sculptured rock As in that magic place I sit. 59 Still as a great jewel is the air With boughs and leaves smooth-carved in it, And rocks and trees and giant ferns, And blooms with inner radiance lit. And naked water like a nymph That dances tireless slim and bare. I watch a white Nyanza float Upon a green, untroubled pool, A fairyland Ophelia, she Has cast herself in water cool. And lies while fairy cymbals ring Drowned in her fairy castle moat. The goldfish sing a winding song Below her pale and waxen face, The water-nymph is dancing by Lifting smooth arms with mournful grace, A stainless white dream she floats on While fairies beat a fairy gong. Silent the Cattleyas blaze And thin red orchid shapes of Death Peer savagely with twisted lips Sucking an eerie, phantom breath With that bright, spotted, fever'd lust That watches lonely travellers craze. 60 Gigantic, mauve and hairy leaves Hang like obliterated faces Full of dim unattained expression Such as haunts virgin forest places When Silence leaps among the trees And the echoing heart deceives. 6i Sea-madness 62 THE glimmering voice of the sea Is caught in the shadowed land, A bird netted ; mournfully It flutters in vain to be free, It is fluttering hopelessly Along the edge of sand. The silver shells of the sea Agape and hollow roar, Devils cast up by the sea. Blinking and silvery In a moon-white ecstasy They lie and bellow and roar : They roar at the glimmering Moon, They roar for ever afraid Of the hollow empty world Where they have been suddenly hurled Out of the full peace furled In the dim sea where they were laid. And the Stranger that walks by the sea Watching the bright waves curled With songs of sweet ecstasy, With harping and minstrelsy, With clouds riding silently Will wander out of the world : Alone the Moon will hover Above the glimmering shore, His soul will be hollowed under To a conch dinned thin with thunder And his body lying asunder W'here the silver shells roar : His body silvered over By the Moon and the flowing tide, And his hair with sea-weed streaming. And the whites of his eyeballs gleaming, And a smooth sea sleepily dreaming, Lapping against his side. 63 Hollyhocks (The Hollyhock is the holy mallow, brought by Crusaders from the Holy Land) I LIE in bed and count the stars Through a window in the wall, They are far away and small, Lilliputian, folk-tale stars. Where I am it is quite still, O and it is far and far Where those dreaming stars are, Out beyond the window-sill. But the garden warm with rain Blows into my hollow room. Great boughs slip dew-loads of gloom. To sparkle jubilant again. Trees and shrubs and plants and flowers Drink the glimmering spirit-rain, Sing unto the stars that wane Through the wet, delirious hours ; 64 Roses red, star-drunken reel Over trim white garden paths, White roses in the trellis laths Glowing bosoms half reveal ; Naiad-blue, frail, dancing bells Ring a jingle-jingle rhyme Faint upon the edge of thyme, And the proud, plump lily swells. Iris like a goddess bold Purple drapes her beauty so That her magic men may know From her still pool rising cold ; Scarlet Salvias swoon and drift Heavy with their maddening bloom, Silver sanctuaries of gloom Their heads the dew-sheathed peonies lift. These drunken Pagans sing all night, All but an enchanted row Of hollyhocks that grow and grow By the house-wall out of sight. Not a sound or note they make. But they're growing, growing fast, Skywards they are marching, past Pinks and foxgloves in their wake. E 65 Pilgrim soldiers you I fear In the midnight deep and still As you mount the dark blue hill Of the steep sky shining clear : Your marching is an aweful hymn In the garden of delight, In the mad, delirious night, Giant and lonely Cherubim ! When the Sun comes you shall show Great white wings and nimbus gold, And your glory we'll behold From the garden far below. 66 Clapham Common (Or " The Cap of Liberty ") SEE the cock on one leg standing With his diamond eye Underneath his red cap hanging Sidewards jauntily, See him strut and pause surveying Life monarchically. What is it his eye discovers, What horizon fills That round gaze so bright, so burnished, What communication thrills All the fiery red and blackness Blooming on his quills ? Not a tiger, not a lion. Not an eastern potentate. Not a prophet out of Zion, Not a western magnate Gazed with such an agate vision Outward upon fate ! 67 68 Watch him slowly put his foot down ; Such deliberation, The like of it was never found In councils of a nation — No emperor had such a mien At his coronation. Broods he there on ancient glory By the holy river, When he perched among the tree-tops And the silver shiver Of the moonlight falhng stirred that Jewelled bird aquiver ? Beadily the Moon reflected That round staring eye. Watching all the forest murder — Spotted tigers drifting by. Hooded serpents, elephants Sharpening curves of ivory. Dim and wonderful that forest In the moonlight melody. All its dream leaf-cymbals ringing As in whitest ecstasy Glides the river, a moon-spirit Through the forest shadowy. Perched up high within the branches, Black as night without a star, Red as pools of blood in moonlight, Silent as great flowers are Dreamed the violent, clanging sun-birds Lustrous and bizarre. Still he hears the glimmering river Bubbling from the Moon, And the insane, glittering forest Shriek like a baboon Dancing in a ring of white flowers In the sky aswoon : The white, the dim, tranced flowers of heaven Naked, houri-pale they drift, In the forest sleep their shadows. Ghosts of gold the tigers lift Their great heads by the cool moonbeam Running through the forest swift. Lilies, lilies, dreams of lilies, Spectral orchids faint and dim. Globular bright fruits hang ghostly From his round eye's reddened rim. In that tiny, glittering circle Stars and Moon and Forest swim. 69 Gone is all that pageant beauty, Gone the forest's lyric song, The Hosannas of the lotus, Trumpetings of mammoths strong, And the crying of the tigers The dense banks of the Moon along ! Gone the panting, silent madness Of love hunting magical. Gone the soft and dreamy singing Of still boughs fantastical. Gone the slim white running rivers In the gloom monastical ! Gone the spirits dark and chattering FHtting through the countless trees. Trooping slim, grotesque and agile Hand in hand in companies ; Gone the distant, mournful tom-tom Of some village mysteries ! Now a poor, bedraggled prisoner With a proud and mournful mien, Living on a far-off memory. Magnificence he ne'er has seen. Two things only still remaining Of the glory that has been : 70 The Moon that climbs o'er miles of houses White and pitiful, Floods the narrow green with splendour ; He stands sorrowful, Lonely in the hollow circle Of that vision wonderful. Slowly in the east arises Like a Dream the ancient Sun, From within him bubbles upward That loud hymn which once begun Made blood-bright the dusky forest, Golden all its rivers run. Now the battled blood-red ruin, Now the clouds of agony, All earth's chanting, all earth's dying Flame in that red eye Underneath its scarlet hanging Cap of liberty. And he chants forgotten splendours. Chants of glory come again. All the Mountains round him singing, Ringing cymbals Sky and Plain Blaring to omnipotent tyrants Their omnipotent disdain. 71 Dream that I press . . . DREAM that I press against my bosom, stay ! Fade not again into the thinning air Leaving my arms about thy counterfeit fair, Thy human sister warm, with tumbling hair. And lips that cling to mine already grey — Grey with the whitening ashes of despair. Whom no red curving harps can touch to joy ; Passive as marble, as a carved Greek boy Cold in the tender sunlight, cold to the coy Witchery of warm arms and bosom bare. My eyes into the empty distance stare. Drinking the lingering brightness, ray by ray, The glimmering memory on a summer day Of a bright Fountain ; soon it fades away, Vanishing in the still, invisible air. Thou art before me shrunk to common day. I kiss thee humbly, fearful lest I wrong Thy delicate spirit ; but the enchanted song Of my heart's vision departing leaves along My aching soul a singing pilgrim way. 72 / am a Hunter I AM a hunter after wayward words That I may press them into service meet For their rare beauty. I would have them greet My lady proudly, flashing like white swords Drawn in the dark of silence. Also I seek Among the shadows of the syllables, Among sweet ringing vowels, that spell of spells Which gravely said will bring unto her cheek The crimson heart's blood. Even, dumb night. Do I desire to capture thy deep sounds. Those that in darkness wander, long, black hounds Chasing the stars their quarry, dead to sight. With baying dead to keenest mortal ears. Softer than voices stilled or the quiet splash of tears. 73 The Body THE body is a fragile Tree That blooms by the highway, The wind of life blows sorrowfully, The mortal Trees decay. But there is always a frail Tree Blooming beside the way. Old bodies are old gnarled Trees That Time has gashed and bent. They have a wrinkled countenance, Their vigour has been spent. And you may see from bough and twig The way the spirit went. Young bodies they are saplings straight, They gleam as columned fire, As torches in the mournful wind. The dark wind of desire, They glimmer in the gloom of Death, They are Life's trembling pyre. And Love is a strange shadow bright Of an immortal Tree, A gleaming on the dark, red wind. The wind of ecstasy Blowing upon the great highway With gloomy minstrelsy. 74 Song THE days pass and no one knoweth their beauty, Silently they slip away : In the darkness they are born, cradled by the crumbling hills, Breathing a fragrance into the sky and awaking the tiny heart of a bird, A bird hidden away somewhere in a wood, A bird swallowed in a deep darkness : A shadow among shadows. Sing tiny heart, sing a song of gladness. Rejoice for the loveliness of dawn ! I have been asleep when the days came, The beautiful days, the days that are no more ; I have not seen them crowd the sky with a pale loveliness — Their shy grey feet touching the crumbling hills ; I have not felt their quiet and tender fragrance ; I did not know their peace and their gentleness. But I have watched them departing sorrowfully in the west. Yes, I have watched them but their faces were turned from me, 75 And the glory of them has stunned me, I have been amazed at my loss, I never knew they were with me, I had not thought they were so lovely — O that I could bring them back ! Alas ! Alas I The days pass and no one knoweth their beauty. Silently they slip away. 76 PRINTED AT THE COMPI.ETE PRESS WEST NORWOOD I,ONDON RECENT VOLUMES OF POETRY published by Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd. Rupert Brooke 1 914 and Other Poems. With a Photogravure Portrait by Sherril Schell. Fourteenth Impression. 2s. 6d. net Poems. (Originally issued in 191 1.) Twelfth Impression. 2s. 6d. net *,* Over 70,000 copies of these volumes have been sold since June 19 15. John Drinkwater Swords and Ploughshares. 2s. 6d. net " Those who care for modern poetry keep a lookout for the work of John Drinkwater. Some of the best poems he has yet written appear in his latest volume." — The Observer. 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Elinor Jenkins Poems. 2s. 6d. net " The spirit of the time breathes through one and all, and in more than one of them the author has expressed with rare inspiration the secret thoughts of thousands of women bereaved or in the throes of parting." — Ladies' Field. Edward Shanks Poems. 2S. 6d. net "Mr. Edward Shanks ranges widely . . . the most varied in mood and manner, the most wilful and the most vivid in the surprises of loveliness and wonder which he gives us." — Observer. Katharine Tynan Flower of Youth : Poems in War-Time. Second Impression. 3s. 6d. net The Holy War. 3s. 6d. net Herbert Asquith The Volunteer and Other Poems. Second Impression. is. net Elizabeth Kirby The Bridegroom. With a Portrait by Sherril Schell. 2s. 6d. net A Gloucestershire Lad, at Home and Abroad. By F. W. Harvey. is. 6d. net Sidgwick & Jackson Ltd., 3 Adam Street, London, W.C. "THE HUNTER *• OTHER POEMS BY W.J. TURNER siDGwrcr AND JACKSON LTD. 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