POEMS BY KATHARINE TYNAN 
 
POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 KATHARINE TYNAN 
 
 LONDON 
 LAWRENCE AND BULLEN, LTD. 
 I BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 1901 
 
GEUmi 
 
 ^ 
 
 mswicK i-KFss : chakles wmittingham and CO, 
 
 TOOKS COUKT, CHANCERY LANF, LONDON. 
 

 TO 
 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE GEORGE WYNDHAM, M.P 
 CHIEF SECRETARY FOR IRELAND. 
 
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 Kai Keivo<; oaa x^pfiar dWoig tOijKS)' 
 Tig CIV <ppd<Tat Sin'airo. 
 
 193140 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 COUNTRY AIRS pag& 
 
 The Tree-lover 3 
 
 The Violet Farm 5 
 
 Sweet Pea 7 
 
 The Choice 9 
 
 The Hermit 11 
 
 Summer Night 13 
 
 The Pastoral Pilgrim 14 
 
 Roses 16 
 
 The Old Love 17 
 
 The Footpath Way 19 
 
 Poppy 21 
 
 The Wind in the Trees 23 
 
 In May 24 
 
 THE CHILDREN 
 
 Baby's Song 27 
 
 The Child's Call 28 
 
 Rosa Spinosa 30 
 
 The Shadow-Child 31 
 
 Blue Eyes 32 
 
 The Only Child 34 
 
 Toby's Hair 36 
 
 The Vane 37 
 
 The New Nurse 3S 
 
 His Knowledge 39 
 
 " Adveniat Regnum Tuum " 40 
 
 Shadow 41 
 
 The Nurse 42 
 
 Talisman 44 
 
 Maternity 45 
 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 MANY MOODS page 
 
 April 49 
 
 Mater Dei 51 
 
 Slow Spring 52 
 
 The Faithful Lover 54 
 
 The Weeping Babe 56 
 
 Mountain Rose 5^ 
 
 The Birds' Bargain 60 
 
 Mother-Country 62 
 
 Green Bushes 63 
 
 Immortality 65 
 
 Alice 67 
 
 The Return 68 
 
 A Prayer 69 
 
 Parenthood 70 
 
 Recall 72 
 
 The Legend of St. Austin and the Child 74 
 
 SHAMROCKS 
 
 A Child's Day 81 
 
 The Heart of a Mother S^ 
 
 Sanctuary 86 
 
 St. Francis to the Birds 89 
 
 BALLADS AND LYRICS 
 
 The Children of Lir 95 
 
 Sheep and Lambs j^g 
 
 Of an Angel loi 
 
 Cuckoo Song 103 
 
 Lux in Tenebris 105 
 
 King's Prisoners ic6 
 
 Second Sight 107 
 
 A New Old Song no 
 
 To Rose in Heaven in 
 
 Of St. Francis and the Ass n4 
 
 The Fairy Babe 117 
 
 A Day-Dreamer 119 
 
 St. Francis and the \Volf 120 
 
 viii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Fairy Foster-Mother 125 
 
 Michael the Archangel 127 
 
 Of St. Francis : His Wrath 129 
 
 The Beloved 132 
 
 The Dead Son 133 
 
 The Dream of Mary 135 
 
 Sign Manual 136 
 
 The Hiding Away of Blessed Angus 137 
 
 Votive Offering 142 
 
 In lona 144 
 
 CUCKOO SONGS 
 
 The Oak said to the Eagle 149 
 
 Singing Stars 151 
 
 The Sad Mother 153 
 
 The Wood-dove 155 
 
 The Story of Blessed Columba and the Horse 156 
 
 The Christmas Babe l6l 
 
 An Island Fisherman 162 
 
 The Widowed House 164 
 
 Brother Ronain of the Birds 1 65 
 
 The Only Daughter .170 
 
 Aspiration 171 
 
 Sky-Roses 172 
 
 A Gardener-Sage 174 
 
 God's Bird 176 
 
 Lament . 178 
 
 MIRACLE PLAYS 
 
 The Nativity I^I 
 
 The Flight into Egypt , . 191 
 
 A LOVER'S BREAST-KNOT 
 
 Love's Trouble 201 
 
 Greater Love 202 
 
 Love's Bird 203 
 
 Love's Watchfulness . 205 
 
 ix b 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love's Garden 206 
 
 Love Inconstant 208 
 
 Love in Absence 210 
 
 Home-Coming 212 
 
 The Lark in Love 213 
 
 Love's Carefulness 215 
 
 Calling the Birds 216 
 
 August Weather 218 
 
 Love at Easter 219 
 
 Of the True Marriage 220 
 
 Love Comfortless 222 
 
 The Sheepfold 223 
 
 Holy Innocents 225 
 
 Love's Thanksgiving 226 
 
 The Child in Heaven . 228 
 
 Love in Heaven 230 
 
 THE WIND IN THE TREES 
 
 St. Valentine 233 
 
 Pink Almond 234 
 
 Chestnut in April 235 
 
 Easter 237 
 
 Lambs 239 
 
 Larks 240 
 
 Leaves 241 
 
 Chanticleer 243 
 
 The Gardener 245 
 
 Sing, Cuckoo 247 
 
 The Little Red Lark 248 
 
 Spring Longing . 250 
 
 Farewell 251 
 
 Cuckoo 252 
 
 Of an Orchard 253 
 
 The Complaint 254 
 
 Drought 256 
 
 The Wind that shakes the Barley 257 
 
 The Green Fields to America 258 
 
 Mushrooms 259 
 
 Poplar 261 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Gray Mornings 262 
 
 Apples 263 
 
 The Foggy Dew 264 
 
 The Red Deer 265 
 
 An Anthem in Heat 267 
 
 Sparrow 269 
 
 Of the Apple 271 
 
 Many Waters 273 
 
 The Tree's Double 275 
 
 Modereen Rue 277 
 
COUNTRY AIRS 
 
THE TREE-LOVER 
 
 Sweet in the sweet May weather 
 Trees go airy and bright; 
 
 Winged with the gold-green feather, 
 Veiled in the deep-sea light. 
 
 Clad in the emerald silk. 
 
 All a-flutter, a-glitter ; 
 Blossoms white as the milk, 
 
 Never were roses sweeter. 
 
 Leafy shadows, all dancing, 
 Lovely in shine and shower, 
 
 Ever twinkhng and glancing, 
 Birds have built them a bower. 
 
 Lord of the leaf and tree, 
 When 'tis time for my going, 
 
 Leafing time let it be, 
 
 Neither snowing nor blowing ! 
 
 After that journey taken 
 Let me open my eyes 
 
 3 
 
THE TREE-LOVER 
 
 To woods by a May-wind shaken, 
 Full of the birds' replies ! 
 
 Paradise woods in Spring, 
 
 Scarcely than Earth's were sweeter ; 
 Every leaf 's on the wing, 
 
 All a-flutter, a-glitter. 
 
 Paradise woods in commotion. 
 Tossed in a heavenly May ; 
 
 After the bitter ocean. 
 
 Dear and homelike were they. 
 
 Lord of the world to be. 
 
 Build me no jasper palace. 
 But the young leaf on the tree. 
 
 And the young bloom on the trellis I 
 
THE VIOLET FARM 
 
 If I might choose my simple lot 
 Far from the town and quite forgot, 
 All in a sheltered nook and warm, 
 'Tis I would have a violet farm. 
 
 No daffodils should me entice, 
 
 Nor hyacinths with their breath of spice, 
 
 The tulip with her painted hood 
 
 For me should wither where she stood. 
 
 Instead of sheep upon the sward, 
 The modest violet I would herd. 
 Instead of golden heads arow. 
 Would see my violet harvest blow. 
 
 Under an arch of wild, wild cloud. 
 Below an opal mountain bowed. 
 All in a humid world and cool. 
 With winds and waters beautiful. 
 
 What airs across my farm should breathe ! 
 'Tis sweet where pinks and roses wreath : 
 But pinks and roses are not sweet 
 Beside the hidden violet. 
 5 
 
THE VIOLET FARM 
 
 No shortest day of all the year 
 Should fade without a violet's cheer, 
 Invisible sweetness hid within 
 And folded up in swathes of green. 
 
 Though white and purple babes be born 
 When Daffodil his flaming horn 
 O'er quiet hills and vales shall sound 
 And stir the sleepers underground ; 
 
 What country bliss can equal mine, 
 With violets for my flocks and kine, 
 With violets for my corn and store ? 
 What could a mortal wish for more ? 
 
 Under a mountain pansy-dark, 
 Loved of the eagle and the lark, 
 And set too low for fear or harm, 
 'Tis I would have a violet farm. 
 
SWEET PEA 
 
 Like butterflies that hover 
 The reddest rose-tree over, 
 
 Or rosy bee, 
 The rosiest rose's lover. 
 
 Or like rose-leaves caught flying 
 In loveliest flight undying. 
 The sweet, sweet pea 
 Sets all the winds to sighing. 
 
 Scarlet and rose together, 
 She takes the brilliant weather 
 
 Like humming-bird 
 That flaunts a scarlet feather. 
 
 So strong, so fine, so airy, 
 Poised like a tiptoe fairy. 
 
 That careless word 
 Sets off", or foot unwary. 
 
 Ready for flight, yet never 
 Her links with earth to sever^ 
 
 So lingers she, 
 One foot on earth for ever. 
 7 
 
SWEET PEA 
 
 But in gold air and azure, 
 
 Yet treads her heavenly measure ; 
 
 The winged sweet pea 
 Dances for her sweet pleasure. 
 
THE CHOICE 
 
 When skies are blue and days are bright 
 A kitchen-garden 's my delight, 
 Set round with rows of decent box 
 And blowsy girls of hollyhocks. 
 
 Before the lark his Lauds hath done 
 And ere the corncrake 's southward gone ; 
 Before the thrush good-night hath said 
 And the young Summer 's put to bed. 
 
 The currant-bushes' spicy smell, 
 Homely and honest, likes me well. 
 The while on strawberries I feast, 
 And raspberries the sun hath kissed. 
 
 Beans all a-blowing by a row 
 Of hives that great with honey go. 
 With mignonette and heaths to yield 
 The plundering bee his honey-field. 
 
 Sweet herbs in plenty, blue borage 
 And the delicious mint and sage, 
 Rosemary, marjoram, and rue, 
 And thyme to scent the winter through. 
 9 
 
THE CHOICE 
 
 Here are small apples growing round, 
 And apricots all golden-gowned, 
 And plums that presently will flush 
 And show their bush a Burning Bush. 
 
 Cherries in nets against the wall. 
 Where Master Thrush his madrigal 
 Sings, and makes oath a churl is he 
 Who grudges cherries for a fee. 
 
 Lavender, sweet-briar, orris. Here 
 Shall Beauty make her pomander. 
 Her sweet-balls for to lay in clothes 
 That wrap her as the leaves the rose. 
 
 Take roses red and lilies white, 
 A kitchen-garden 's my delight ; 
 Its gillyflowers and phlox and cloves, 
 And its tall cote of irised doves. 
 
 lO 
 
THE HERMIT 
 
 Who, counting human joys as vain, 
 Departeth from the ways of men, 
 And to the desert takes his road 
 Rejoicing for the love of God ; 
 
 Who dieth to the human hive 
 That he may save his soul alive, 
 Shakes from his feet the dust of sin. 
 And with much weeping is made clean ; 
 
 Him shall the desert sweetly please. 
 Sweeter than musk or ambergris ; 
 Unto his sands with song and sport 
 Companion angels shall resort. 
 
 The roseate clouds at dawn shall blow 
 Angels his way, and clouds of snow 
 Drift angels to the earth and make 
 Ladders of silver for his sake. 
 
 In his palm-tree shall angels stir 
 Skilled in the lute and dulcimer. 
 And with their golden wing-feathers 
 Shall fan him from the noontide airs. 
 II 
 
THE HERMIT 
 
 And by his well shall angels lean 
 And see the golden heads within ; 
 Their hands the date and fig shall bring 
 To make his meal at evening. 
 
 Him shall no evil beast affright 
 
 Since angels guard him day and night ; 
 
 The vultures they have fled afar 
 
 From where God's feathered people are. 
 
 Sweet his estate who in the wild, 
 No more mere mortal man exiled, 
 Looks up, from his tear- watered sod, 
 And sees in heaven the smile of God. 
 
 12 
 
SUMMER NIGHT 
 
 All in the leafy lanes 
 
 The glow-worm lights his lamp. 
 The nightingale complains 
 
 In scented dew and damp. 
 
 The nightingale her ache 
 Bares to the lonely night, 
 
 When there is none awake, 
 Nothing in vale or height. 
 
 The glow-worm lights his lamp 
 Under the blossomed may. 
 
 Hung in the dew and damp 
 His lamp lights up the way. 
 
 The nightingale complains 
 All night to field and grove ; 
 
 The glow-worm in the lanes 
 Hath lit a lamp to Love. 
 
 13 
 
THE PASTORAL PILGRIM 
 
 For me the town sets forth in vain 
 Her painted pleasures in a train. 
 For I arise and go 
 To a dehcious world I know. 
 
 There the gold-fretted fields are set 
 Like pearls within a carcanet 
 With daisies fine and fresh, 
 And kingcups tangled in a mesh. 
 
 The pastoral lands I seek where stray 
 The strawberry cattle and the gray, 
 Knee deep in dew and scent, 
 Placid, and breathing forth content. 
 
 Brave copses line each hill, and there 
 
 The pleasant habitations are 
 
 With roses to the eaves, 
 
 And nightingales amid the leaves. 
 
 When I shall wake there to the sun 
 And the birds' early antiphon, 
 And lusty bee his chant, 
 How shall I grieve, how shall I want ? 
 14 
 
THE PASTORAL PILGRIM 
 
 Sweet peas and dappled mignonette 
 Below my crystal window set, 
 Clear air and lucent skies, 
 And the dove's whispers and replies. 
 
 A garden and an orchard white 
 And pink — an orchard 's my delight. 
 Whose very name doth bring 
 Airs of the summer, joy of spring. 
 
 And having these shall I repine 
 For houses, houses in a line, 
 With other men to dwell ? 
 Give me my staff and cockle-shell. 
 
 IS 
 
ROSES 
 
 The moon hid her face to-night,. 
 
 Veiled her in roses, 
 Rose-leaves in brilliant flight 
 
 From the sun's closes. 
 
 Rose of a million leaves, 
 
 How she is scattered ! 
 Like to earth's rose that grieves,. 
 
 Dewless, unwatered. 
 
 Over the leaf-green sky 
 Rose-leaves are drifting ; 
 
 Now the wind heaps them high,. 
 Now is a sifting. 
 
 There in the midmost flare 
 
 Dian, capricious, 
 Draws the rose o'er her hair. 
 
 Scented, delicious. 
 
 There from the rosiest heaps 
 
 Dian discloses 
 Dimly her eyes and lips. 
 
 Smiling through roses. 
 i6 
 
THE OLD LOVE 
 
 Out of my door I step into 
 The country, all her scent and dew^ 
 Nor travel there by a hard road, 
 Dusty and far from my abode. 
 
 The country washes to my door 
 Green miles on miles in soft uproar, 
 The thunder of the woods, and then 
 The backwash of green surf again. 
 
 Beyond the feverfew and stocks, 
 The guelder-rose and hollyhocks ; 
 Outside my trellised porch a tree 
 Of lilac frames a sky for me. 
 
 A stretch of primrose and pale green 
 To hold the tender Hesper in ; 
 Hesper that by the moon makes pale 
 Her silver keel and silver sail. 
 
 The country silence wraps me quite, 
 Silence and song and pure delight ; 
 The country beckons all the day 
 Smiling, and but a step away. 
 17 
 
THE OLD LOVE 
 
 This is that country seen across, 
 How many a league of love and loss, 
 Prayed for and longed for, and as far 
 As fountains in the desert are. 
 
 This is that country at my door. 
 Whose fragrant airs run on before. 
 And call me when the first birds stir 
 In the green wood to walk with her. 
 
 i8 
 
THE FOOTPATH WAY 
 
 The winding road lies white and bare, 
 Heavy in dust that takes the glare, 
 The thirsty hedgerows and parched grass 
 Dream of a time when no road was. 
 
 Beyond, the fields are full in view ; 
 Heavy in herbage and in dew 
 The great-eyed kine browse thankfully ; 
 Come, take the footpath way with me ! 
 
 This stile, where country lovers tryst, 
 Where many a man and maid have kissed, 
 Invites us sweetly, and the wood 
 Beckons us to her solitude. 
 
 Leave men and lumbering wains behind. 
 And dusty roads, all blank and blind ; 
 Come, tread on velvet and on silk, 
 Damasked with daisies, white as milk. 
 
 Those dryads of the wood, that some 
 Call the wild hyacinths, now are come. 
 And hold their revels in a night 
 Of emerald flecked with candle-light. 
 19 
 
THE FOOTPATH WAY 
 
 The fountains of the meadows play, 
 This is the wild bee's holiday ; 
 When summer-snows have sweetly drest 
 The pasture like a wedding-guest, 
 
 By fields of beans that shall eclipse 
 The honey on the rose's lips, 
 With woodruff and the new hay's breath, 
 And wild thyme sweetest in her death. 
 
 Skirting the rich man's lawn and hall, 
 The footpath way is free to all ; 
 For us his pinks and roses blow : 
 Fling him thanksgiving ere we go ! 
 
 By orchards yet in rosy veils, 
 By hidden nests of nightingales. 
 Through lonesome valleys where all day 
 The rabbit people scurry and play. 
 
 The footpath sets her tender lure. 
 This is the country for the poor ; 
 The high-road seeks the crowded sea ; 
 Come, take the footpath way with me ! 
 
 20 
 
POPPY 
 
 The poppy flaunts a petticoat 
 Of airy films that fly and float ; 
 Of fairy gauzes, fairy-fine, 
 Lucent and crystalline. 
 
 Lighter than lightest gossamer, 
 Or the moth's wing at eve astir ; 
 Frills of the scarlet set arow, 
 And rosiest rose on snow. 
 
 No dancing Graces can reveal 
 Flounces like hers from knee to heel ; 
 No fairy twirl of fairy girl 
 Scatters such rose and pearl. 
 
 The fairies laundered this last night, 
 A glow-worm light for candle-light ; 
 This in the dews was washed and steeped 
 While drowsy mortals slept. 
 
 The little fairy fingers feat 
 Ironed it out so neat and sweet, 
 And set the frills with dainty skill, 
 Ruffled at the wind's will. 
 
POPPY 
 
 The poppy wears her silk and lace, 
 Clear-starched, with such a delicate grace, 
 Her silken flounces hides and shows 
 As the wind goes and blows. 
 
 22 
 
THE WIND IN THE TREES 
 
 Sound of waters in the tree 
 All new-leafed and heavenly, 
 Waters going, waters flowing 
 To some far beloved sea. 
 
 Every tree is vocal ; under 
 The clear bird-notes a soft thunder 
 Of the waters flowing, going 
 Some dim waterway of wonder. 
 
 Sound of waters hurrying past, 
 Rivers travelling, quiet, fast. 
 Many waters, flowing, growing, 
 Find the beloved sea at last. 
 
 23 
 
IN MAY 
 
 Thrushes in twilight green 
 Sing from a leafy screen ; 
 The linnet and the lark, 
 Only in deepest dark, 
 Sleep the still hours away 
 Betwixt the day and day. 
 
 The blackbird calls and calls 
 Through quiet evenfalls, 
 Breaking the heart to know 
 Such songs must pass, must go, 
 Such beauty die, alas, 
 Beauty of things that pass ! 
 
 Just for a day, an hour. 
 
 Such green in bush and bower. 
 
 Airy as things with wings 
 
 Mortal, immortal things. 
 
 Dearer because, alas. 
 
 Their hour runs in the glass ! 
 
 Good-bye, ah, sweetest sweeting. 
 Pouring that heavenly greeting ! 
 Music to-night, to-morrow 
 The world is old for sorrow. 
 Even as you sing you fly. 
 Beauty, good-night, good-bye. 
 24 
 
THE CHILDREN 
 
BABY'S SONG 
 
 The very song the blackbird sung 
 When Love and all the world were youns 
 My year-old baby sings, 
 Sweeter than anything with wings. 
 
 A little song, with catch and trill 
 
 Made of few notes and little skill, 
 
 A song for dancing feet 
 
 Of babes and birds and all things sweet. 
 
 The baby dances as he sings 
 Sweeter than anything with wings, 
 And sways his golden head — 
 To the first song the blackbird made. 
 
 27 
 
THE CHILD'S CALL 
 
 He calls with quick, insistent cry, 
 
 He calls at work or play, 
 And I must put my business by, 
 
 And all my books away. 
 
 He summons me from household cares 
 
 Back to his sunny room. 
 And up the stairs and up the stairs 
 
 In happy haste I come. 
 
 Sweeter than lark and mavis dear, 
 
 And nightingales in May, 
 The little voice so shrill and clear 
 
 That I must yet obey. 
 
 While up the stairs and to the door 
 
 My heart runs on in glee, 
 I hear a voice I knew of yore 
 
 That never calls for me. 
 
 Ever through shadow-time and sun 
 
 I hear a baby call, 
 That is not you, my precious one, 
 
 That is not you at all. 
 28 
 
THE CHILD'S CALL 
 
 Afar, where heavenly waters flow 
 
 'Mid Paradisal calms, 
 All on a sward where lilies blow 
 
 The Shepherd counts his lambs. 
 
 Afar, beyond the wintry cold 
 
 Upon the heavenly hill, 
 A little lamb a few weeks old 
 
 Bleats for his mother still. 
 
 mother's love and mother's joy ! 
 But while I come in haste, 
 
 1 hear another lovely boy 
 Cry from the lonely past. 
 
 And while I kiss your curls aside 
 And hold you to my breast, 
 
 I kiss the Uttle boy that died. 
 That will not let me rest. 
 
 29 
 
ROSA SPINOSA 
 
 Seven sad swords had ^Mary's heart, 
 Seven sad wounds to ache and smart ; 
 That young rose, her Baby, blowing, 
 Put forth thorns for her undoing : 
 Thorns to pierce the milky breast 
 Where He grew and took His rest. 
 
 O my rose of joy and grief. 
 Set with thorns in stem and leaf. 
 As her heart was pierced thorough. 
 So my heart with love and sorrow. 
 Little rose of thorns, come close 
 To the heart you stab so. Rose ! 
 
 30 
 
THE SHADOW-CHILD 
 
 He sees his own sweet shadow fall 
 At evening on the lamp-lit wall, 
 
 With shrill delighted cries.; 
 And deems another boy it is, 
 With small, uncertain feet like his. 
 
 That at his coming flies. 
 
 His own gold mop of hair so wild 
 Crowns with wild grace the shadow-child ; 
 
 His quaint, broad shape behold ! 
 His own dear bobbing gait he sees, 
 Like daisies dancing on the leas 
 
 When all the world is gold. 
 
 His smock-frock to his feet is there. 
 As smock-frocks were your only wear. 
 
 And when kind Nurse will throw 
 Live rabbits on the wall, not one 
 But two boys clap their hands for fun 
 
 And dance to see the show. 
 
 Wasteful of sweets, he leans to kiss 
 This well-beloved playmate of his. 
 
 But lo ! the boy is gone 
 Into the night, into the rain. 
 Yet see how fast he comes again. 
 
 And see how fast is flown ! 
 
 /^UNIVERSITY J 
 
 OF THE \ 
 
BLUE EYES 
 
 The little boy we might not keep 
 
 Had such great eyes of heaven, such eyes 
 
 Deeper than sapphires and more deep 
 Than any seas or skies. 
 
 Such eyes of wonder opened wide 
 
 On the strange world ; he drank his fill, 
 
 While other babies slept and cried, 
 Of wonder, wondering still. 
 
 " What is it that he sees ? '' we said. 
 And followed in the wonder's track. 
 
 But when the little one was dead 
 That wondering gaze came back. 
 
 O are you wondering, wondering still ? 
 
 For now you see such wondrous things, 
 Such angels by the field and rill, 
 
 With wondrous head and wings. 
 
 O are you wondering, wondering yet, 
 At the kind breast you He upon. 
 
 And the kind eyes that once were wet 
 For a most holy Son ? 
 32 
 
BLUE EYES 
 
 Our little boy with wondering eyes, 
 I wonder will they wonder still, 
 
 Or meet our own with no surprise 
 When we come over the hill ! 
 
 33 ^ 
 
THE ONLY CHILD 
 
 Lest he miss other children, lo ! 
 His angel is his playfellow. 
 A riotous angel two years old, 
 With wings of rose and curls of gold. 
 
 There on the nursery floor together 
 They play when it is rainy weather. 
 Building brick castles with much pain, 
 Only to knock them down again. 
 
 Two golden heads together look 
 An hour long o'er a picture-book. 
 Or, tired of being good and still, 
 They play at horses with good will. 
 
 And when the boy laughs you shall hear 
 Another laughter silver-clear. 
 Sweeter than music of the skies, 
 Or harps, or birds of Paradise. 
 
 Two golden heads one pillow press, 
 Two rosebuds shut for heaviness. 
 The wings of one are round the other 
 Lest chill befall his tender brother. 
 34 
 
THE ONLY CHILD 
 
 All day, with forethought mild and grave, 
 The little angel 's quick to save. 
 And still outruns with tender haste 
 The adventurous feet that go too fast. 
 
 From draughts, from fire, from cold and stings, 
 Wraps him within his gauzy wings ; 
 And knows his father's pride, and shares 
 His happy mother's tears and prayers. 
 
 35 
 
TOBY'S HAIR 
 
 Brown as salmon streams that hold 
 Wanton sunbeams in their snare, 
 Bronze, and powdered through with gold- 
 Toby's hair. 
 
 Swarms of dancing fireflies bright 
 
 Shed on bracken, everywhere, 
 
 Till the dark is starred with light — 
 
 Toby's hair. 
 
 Sparks upon a fire of peat 
 
 Make a delicate flight in air, 
 So with sudden life is lit 
 Toby's hair, 
 
 Silk and soft and fairy-spun. 
 
 Such gold-brown as pansies wear. 
 See, it gathers all the sun, 
 Toby's hair ! 
 
 36 
 
THE VANE 
 
 The East Wind stays and stays, 
 Unkind to man and beast ; 
 
 I had not known in the old days 
 If it was West or East. 
 
 But Love has bid me learn 
 What winds be kind, be keen, 
 
 And how the glittering vane will turn 
 The chimney-pots between. 
 
 The East Wind blows and blows, 
 Too rough for a gold head, 
 
 Harsh for a little human rose. 
 All rosy-white and red. 
 
 Pack, East Wind, and be off. 
 
 Back to your arid plain. 
 And bid the West the children love 
 
 Turn round the gilded vane ! 
 
 37 
 
THE NEW NURSE 
 
 When other children shut their eyes 
 The sick child coughs and weeps alone, 
 
 And Nanna, Nanna, Nanna, cries, 
 Because the nurse he loved is gone. 
 
 Between the coughing, with new hope 
 
 Watches the door she will not ope. 
 
 Between the coughing listens keen 
 For feet upon the nursery stair. 
 
 The nursery hearth is bright and clean, 
 The walls have pictures rich and rare. 
 
 Alas, the little luckless wight, 
 
 Whose world has gone to pieces quite ! 
 
 Alack, the dear remembered head. 
 Black on its pillow through the year ! 
 
 The terrible stranger wears instead 
 Light hair. O Nanna, Nanna dear, 
 
 Where do you hide through his alarms 
 
 Your comfortable breast and arms ? 
 
 Alone with her the long night through 
 And ill — could anything be worse ? 
 
 No goblin 's grimmer in his view 
 
 Than this cold, patient, stranger nurse. 
 
 But though he calls for Nanna still, 
 
 No Nanna comes nor ever will. 
 
 38 
 
HIS KNOWLEDGE 
 
 " No one will love you if you're naughty," said 
 
 His nurse, demure and chill. 
 The Three-years Wisdom shook his bird-bright head, 
 
 And answered, " Mother will." 
 
 He built a castle of his bricks the while, 
 
 Poised tower and bastion still ; 
 As one who suffers Folly with a smile, 
 
 He answered, " Mother will." 
 
 39 
 
'ADVENIAT REGNUM TUUM" 
 
 Thy kingdom come ! Yea, bid it come. 
 
 But when Thy kingdom first began 
 On earth, Thy kingdom was a home, 
 
 A child, a woman, and a man. 
 
 The child was in the midst thereof, 
 O, blessed Jesus, holiest One ! 
 
 The centre and the fount of love 
 Mary and Joseph's little Son. 
 
 Wherever on the earth shall be 
 A child, a woman, and a man, 
 
 Imaging that sweet trinity 
 
 Wherewith Thy kingdom first began, 
 
 Establish there Thy kingdom ! Yea, 
 
 And o'er that trinity of love 
 Send down, as in Thy appointed day, 
 
 The brooding spirit of Thy Dove ! 
 
 40 
 
SHADOW 
 
 His sunshine lies upon my path, 
 
 Its glory bathes me every place. 
 Who talked of trouble and of death 
 
 In this sweet world that knows his face ? 
 
 His shadow lies upon my heart, 
 And where I go runs on before ; 
 
 Its ghostly presence never apart 
 
 Darkens my threshold, bars my floor. 
 
 Child, what have I done, to bear 
 Such weight of Love and its annoy ? 
 
 For still the shadow shape of Fear 
 Outruns the hurrying feet of Joy. 
 
 41 
 
THE NURSE 
 
 Such innocent companionship 
 
 Is hers, whether she wake or sleep, 
 
 'Tis scarcely strange her face should wear 
 
 The young child's grave and innocent air. 
 
 All the night long she hath by her 
 The quiet breathing, the soft stir, 
 Nor knows how in that tender place 
 The children's angels veil the face. 
 
 She wakes at dawn with bird and child 
 To earth new-washed and reconciled, 
 The hour of silence and of dew, 
 When God hath made His world anew. 
 
 She sleeps at eve, about the hour 
 Of bedtime for the bird and flower. 
 When daisies, evening primroses. 
 Know that the hour of closing is. 
 
 Her daylight thoughts are all on toys 
 And games for darling girls and boys, 
 Lest they should fret, lest they should weep, 
 Strayed from their heavenly fellowship. 
 42 
 
THE NURSE 
 
 She is as pretty and as brown 
 As the wood's children far from town, 
 As bright-eyed, glancing, shy of men 
 As any squirrel, any wren. 
 
 Tender she is to beast and bird, 
 As in her breast some memory stirred 
 Of days when those were kin of hers 
 Who go in feathers and in furs. 
 
 A child, yet is the children's law, 
 And rules by love and rules by awe. 
 And, stern at times, is kind withal 
 As a girl-baby with her doll. 
 
 Outside the nursery door there lies 
 The world with all its griefs and sighs, 
 Its needs, its sins, its stains of sense : 
 Within is only innocence. 
 
 43 
 
TALISMAN 
 
 All Heaven in my arm. 
 The child for a charm 
 'Gainst fear and 'gainst sorrow, 
 To-day and to-morrow. 
 The child for a charm 
 Betwixt me and harm. 
 
 O mouth, full of kisses ! 
 Small body of blisses ! 
 Your hand on my neck 
 And your cheek to my cheek. 
 What shall hurt me or harm 
 With all Heaven in my arm ? 
 
MATERNITY 
 
 Her body, sweet to be his food, 
 Yields him his precious milk and good. 
 No body of death but life, see then 
 The sacred body of Motherhood ! 
 
 Her heart, by one sweet guest renewed, 
 Hath room for all earth's hapless brood. 
 Yea, wounds for all earth's hurt children. 
 The broken heart of Motherhood ! 
 
 45 
 
MANY MOODS 
 
APRIL 
 
 A BLACK North Wind that chills 
 New leaves and songs scarce sung ; 
 
 It was not so in Aprils 
 When I was young. 
 
 Thrush-notes and blackbird-trills 
 The blossomy boughs among ; 
 
 All in the leafy Aprils 
 When I was young. 
 
 Showers on the heavenly hills 
 
 Rainbow and silver hung ; 
 Such tears and smiles were April's 
 
 When I was young. 
 
 Small streams and babbling rills, 
 
 Green ways where gossamers swung ; 
 
 The young lambs leaped in Aprils 
 When I was young. 
 
 Daisies and daffodils, 
 
 Primroses newly sprung ; 
 Fragrant and fresh the Aprils 
 
 When I was young. 
 49 
 
APRIL 
 
 Here in this town that kills, 
 The heart for cold is wrung. 
 
 It 's O for the happy Aprils 
 When I was young ! 
 
 50 
 
MATER DEI 
 
 She looked to east, she looked to west, 
 
 Her eyes, unfathomable, mild. 
 That saw both worlds, came home to rest, — 
 
 Home to her own sweet child. 
 God's golden head was at her breast. 
 
 What need to look o'er land and sea ? 
 
 What could the winged ships bring to her ? 
 What gold or gems of price might be. 
 
 Ivory or miniver. 
 Since God Himself lay on her knee ? 
 
 What could th' intense blue heaven keep 
 To draw her eyes and thoughts so high ? 
 
 All heaven was where her Boy did leap, 
 Where her foot quietly 
 
 Went rocking the dear God asleep. 
 
 The angel folk fared up and down 
 A Jacob's Ladder hung between 
 
 Her quiet chamber and God's Town. 
 She saw unawed, serene ; 
 
 Since God Himself played by her gown. 
 
 51 
 
SLOW SPRING 
 
 As the day lengthens, the year strengthens. 
 
 Strengthen, young year ! 
 Grow strong and handsome, gallant and winsome, 
 
 Comely and dear. 
 
 Gray days shall hold you, sweet days shall fold you, 
 
 Till there shall come 
 The wind-flowers dancing, the tulips glancing, 
 
 The swallows home. 
 
 The nests not yet in the grass are set 
 
 For larks in the sky 
 To love you madly and hail you gladly, 
 
 Hail you and die. 
 
 The rose-tree shows not a trace of the rose 
 
 That shall crown your head. 
 The leaves are furled in a silent world 
 
 Till your word be said. 
 
 O year, grow slowly. Exquisite, holy. 
 
 The days go on 
 With almonds showing the pink stars blowing, 
 
 And birds in the dawn. 
 52 
 
SLOW SPRING 
 
 Grow slowly, year, like a child that is dear, 
 
 Or a lamb that is mild, 
 By little steps, and by little skips, 
 
 Like a lamb or a child. 
 
 53 
 
THE FAITHFUL LOVER 
 
 Cheer up now, my daughter, I have news for your pleasure 
 A young man, a rich man, comes seeking my treasure. 
 Now say, shall I tell him that he may come wooing ? 
 You are young, little daughter, and the past past undoing, 
 The dead sleeping quiet. 
 
 mother, little mother, do you think I'm forgetting 
 The long woe and fever, the fear and the fretting. 
 That the love of my heart still is tossing unburied. 
 At the will of the waves, by the winter winds hurried 
 
 Here and there through the riot ? 
 
 1 am not forgetting, little daughter, your lover, 
 
 The brown head, the dear head the bitter waves cover ; 
 But his soul is in glory, nor jealous nor grieving. 
 Turn round, little daughter, and think on the living : 
 You shall ride in your carriage. 
 
 I would rather be his widow than a great chieftain's lady ; 
 And 'tis, O that in shadow our one grave stood ready ! 
 With my head on his breast and my mouth for his kisses, 
 I would envy no fond, faithful lover his blisses, 
 No sweet bride her marriage. 
 54 
 
THE FAITHFUL LOVER 
 
 He has acres and crops and a mansion and cattle, 
 And a proud name well honoured on old fields of battle ; 
 With his gold locks, his blue eyes, his smile true and tender, 
 'Tis to him many a young maid her love would surrender. 
 For sunshine or shadow. 
 
 Now sleep, my sweet sorrow, as a babe with its mother 
 On the breast that shall know not the child of another. 
 Go bid my young sister, with eyes gay and fearless. 
 To comfort this young man for a cold heart and cheerless, 
 The heart of a widow. 
 
 55 
 
THE WEEPING BABE 
 
 She kneels by the cradle 
 Where Jesus doth lie ; 
 
 Singing, Lullaby, my Baby ! 
 But why dost Thou cry ? 
 
 The babes of the village 
 Smile sweetly in sleep ; 
 
 And lullaby, my Baby, 
 That ever dost weep ! 
 
 I've wrapped Thee in linen, 
 The gift of the Kings ; 
 
 And wool, soft and fleecy. 
 The kind Shepherd brings. 
 
 There 's a dove on the trellis. 
 And wings in the door, 
 
 And the gold shoes of angels 
 Are bright on our floor. 
 
 Then lullaby, my Baby ! 
 
 I've fed Thee with milk, 
 And wrapped Thee in kisses 
 
 As soft as the silk. 
 
 56 
 
THE WEEPING BABE 
 
 And here are red roses, 
 And grapes from the vine, 
 
 And a lamb trotting softly, 
 Thy playfellow fine. 
 
 Now smile, little Jesus, 
 Whom naught can defile ; 
 
 All gifts will I give Thee 
 An thou wilt but smile. 
 
 But it 's lullaby, my Baby ! 
 
 And mournful am I, 
 Thou cherished little Jesus, 
 
 That still Thou wilt cry. 
 
 57 
 
MOUNTAIN ROSE 
 
 Cold and rough the North Wind blows, 
 
 Black in the morning early. 
 Whom should I meet but Mountain Rose 
 
 Among the stubble barley ? 
 
 All the world is under snows ; 
 
 Blowing 'tis and snowing. 
 Whom should I meet but Mountain Rose 
 
 The way that I was going ? 
 
 Not a leaf on the poplar-tree, 
 
 Not a flower on the heather. 
 Mountain Rose looked shyly at me 
 
 As we stepped out together. 
 
 Mountain Rose, so airy and free, 
 
 Where are roses blowing ? 
 Rose's cheek, half-turned from me, 
 
 The rose of love was showing. 
 
 Black and cold the North Wind blows, 
 
 Never a bird is singing. 
 There 's a lilt in the voice of Rose 
 
 Sweet as the skylark ringing. 
 
 58 
 
MOUxNTAIN ROSE 
 
 Winter's black on heather and broom, 
 
 Where shall I find honey ? 
 Rose's mouth is the honeycomb, 
 
 And Rose's laugh is sunny. 
 
 Black and cold the North Wind blows. 
 
 Winter comes in fairly. 
 I keep Summer with Mountain Rose 
 
 Among the stubble barley. 
 
 59 
 
THE BIRDS' BARGAIN 
 
 " O SPARE my cherries in the net," 
 
 Brother Benignus prayed; "and I 
 Summer and winter, shine and wet. 
 
 Will pile the blackbirds' table high." 
 
 '' O spare my youngling peas," he prayed, 
 
 " That for the Abbot's table be, 
 And every blackbird shall be fed ; 
 
 Yea, they shall have their fill," said he. 
 
 His prayer, his vow, the blackbirds heard, 
 And spared his shining garden-plot. 
 
 In abstinence went every bird. 
 All the old thieving ways forgot. 
 
 He kept his promise to his friends, 
 
 And daily set them finest fare 
 Of corn and meal and manchet-ends, 
 
 With marrowy bones for winter bare. 
 
 Brother Benignus died in grace : 
 
 The brethren keep his trust, and feed 
 
 The blackbirds in this pleasant place. 
 
 Purged, as dear heaven, from strife and greed. 
 60 
 
THE BIRDS' BARGAIN 
 
 The blackbirds sing the whole year long, 
 Here where they keep their promise given, 
 
 And do the mellowing fruit no wrong. 
 Brother Benignus smiles in heaven. 
 
 6 1 
 
MOTHER-COUNTRY 
 
 She is the mother-country, she, 
 
 'Mid fields and hills and mists so gray, 
 
 That calls about her tender knee 
 Her wandering children far away. 
 
 Her voice is like a lullaby. 
 
 'Tis O, the mother's arms within 
 To close awhile the sleepy eye 
 
 And feel the time of rest begin ! 
 
 The sweetest heart, the softest breast, 
 To win her children and to keep. 
 
 There where the dream of rest is best 
 Rock us to sleep, rock us to sleep ! 
 
 62 
 
GREEN BUSHES 
 
 The green bushes when first I loved you, 
 When we met and my heart approved you, 
 Tossed the gold and the scarlet high, 
 Gold and scarlet went drifting by. 
 
 Ochone, the wind and the weather ! 
 
 Days when you and I were together ; 
 
 Much we heeded the leaf on the tree : 
 
 'Twas heart's spring-time to you and me. 
 
 The green bushes when we were married 
 White rose and the red rose carried, 
 When you drew me your threshold o'er. 
 Rose and white for our wedding floor. 
 
 Ochone, the days that are over ! 
 
 I beloved, and you my lover, 
 
 Little we cared what the world might say. 
 
 You and I on our wedding day. 
 
 The green bushes grow thin and shiver, 
 
 You^and I we are lovers ever ; 
 
 Cheek to cheek and heart to heart. 
 
 Still true lovers whom none can part. 
 Ochone, winter goes sighing. 
 Love in a world of care and dying ; 
 
 63 
 
GREEN BUSHES 
 
 Ah, forget that I made you sad, 
 Yet remember I made you glad. 
 
 The green bushes grow gray and vernal, 
 Spring comes back and Love is eternal ; 
 In your arms come kiss, forgive me : 
 Had you ever the heart to grieve me, 
 Ochone ? 
 
 64 
 
IMMORTALITY 
 
 So I have sunk my roots in earth 
 Since that my pretty boys had birth ; 
 And fear no more the grave and gloom,. 
 I, with the centuries to come. 
 
 As the tree blossoms so bloom I, 
 Flinging wild branches to the sky ; 
 Renew each year my leafy suit, 
 Strike with the years a deeper root. 
 
 Shelter a thousand birds to be, 
 A thousand herds give praise to me ; 
 And in my kind and grateful shade 
 How many a weary head be laid. 
 
 I clothe myself without a stain. 
 
 In me a child is born again, 
 
 A child that looks with innocent eyes 
 
 On a new world with glad surprise. 
 
 The old mistakes are all undone, 
 All the old sins are purged and gone. 
 Old wounds and scars have left no trace, 
 There are no lines in this young face. 
 
 65 
 
IMMORTALITY 
 
 To hear the cuckoo the first time, 
 And 'mid new roses in the prime 
 To read the poets newly. This, 
 Year after year, shall be my bliss. 
 
 Of me shall Love be born anew, 
 I shall be loved and lover too ; 
 Years after this poor body has died 
 Shall be the bridegroom and the bride 
 
 Of me shall mothers spring to know 
 The mother's bliss, the mother's woe ; 
 And children's children yet to be 
 Shall learn their prayers about my knee. 
 
 And many miUion lights of home 
 Shall light for me the time to come. 
 Unto me much shall be forgiven, 
 I that make many souls for heaven. 
 
 66 
 
ALICE 
 
 Without surcease of breath 
 Her soul hath slipped its sheath, 
 
 And walks among us, beautiful, unafraid, 
 So mortal eyes may see 
 How immortality 
 
 Transcends all beauty that must fail and fade. 
 
 Colours of air and flame, 
 The glory whence she came, 
 
 Yet float about her in our dusty sphere. 
 Silence and rapture still 
 Brought from the heavenly hill. 
 
 Whence she hath travelled to our exile drear. 
 
 Slight as a lance she is. 
 And tall as Lent lilies. 
 
 Aspiring like a flame in windless air. 
 Incense and breath of spice, 
 Kept from her Paradise, 
 
 Haunt her from slender feet to ebon hair. 
 
 Lingering and lovely voice — 
 Lutes, dulcimers, hautboys — 
 
 Her voice remembers how the music went. 
 Still holds the rise and fall, 
 The sob ecstatical. 
 
 Of some most heavenly-sweet wind instrument. 
 
 67 
 
THE RETURN 
 
 When we came back to the old beloved places, 
 Home of our dreams, we had forgotten quite 
 
 Days of our grief when new o'er little faces 
 Grass waved and dew fell in the starless night. 
 
 Leaves of green silk, laughing skies of azure. 
 Rose freshly blowing, and birds in the bowers : 
 
 So in that May the Spring spilled out her treasure, 
 Young Love went walking knee-deep in flowers. 
 
 Just for a space our hearts forgetting wholly 
 Wreckage of winter and blight in the groves ; 
 
 How Death came walking heavily and slowly 
 O'er the saddest garlands that once were Love's. 
 
 Mercy of mercies ! We were so glad returning. 
 Old griefs forgotten, old joys renewed ; 
 
 Death that was Life no longer wears the mourning, 
 Death that was Love hath raised his shadowy hood. 
 
 68 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 Now wilt me take for Jesus' sake, 
 
 Nor cast me out at all ; 
 I shall not fear the foe awake, 
 
 Saved by Thy City wall ; 
 But in the night with no affright 
 
 Shall hear him steal without, 
 Who may not scale Thy wall of might, 
 
 Thy bastion, nor redoubt. 
 
 Full well I know that to the foe 
 
 Wilt yield me not for aye, 
 Unless mine own hand should undo 
 
 The gates that are my stay ; 
 My folly and pride should open wide 
 
 Thy doors and set me free 
 'Mid tigers striped and panthers pied 
 
 Far from Thy liberty. 
 
 Unless by debt myself I set 
 
 Outside Thy loving ken, 
 And yield myself by weight of debt 
 
 Unto my fellow-men. 
 Deal with my guilt Thou as Thou wilt, 
 
 And "hold "I shall not cry, 
 So I be Thine in storm and shine. 
 
 Thine only till I die. 
 
 69 
 
PARENTHOOD 
 
 These are the years our God 
 
 Lays down, and nothing loth, 
 His sceptre and His rod 
 
 As He were tired of both. 
 Bids men and women take 
 
 His empire for a while, 
 To ban, to bless, to make 
 
 The children weep or smile. 
 
 All power be yours, He saith, 
 
 Over My little ones : 
 The power of life and death, 
 
 The power of clouds and suns. 
 The power of weal and harm 
 
 Be yours to have and hold : 
 In you they shall go warm, 
 
 In you be pinched with cold. 
 
 Just for these God-like years 
 
 Ye shall not know th' intense 
 Pang beyond prayers and tears 
 
 Of your love's impotence. 
 Be yours to make, to mar. 
 
 This lovely thing I wrought, 
 With love brought from afar, 
 
 And My eternal thought. 
 70 
 
PARENTHOOD 
 
 This fashioned I of joy, 
 
 Much hope, without a stain, 
 Pure gold without alloy 
 
 Redeemed in mine own pain. 
 For this the wine-press trod. 
 
 Ensanguined to the knee. 
 Afterwards — saith our God — 
 
 Ye will account to Me. 
 
 For every needless tear, 
 
 For all the smiles unsmiled. 
 For lonely wrong and fear 
 
 Wrought on My little child, 
 Myself will exact the fee, 
 
 A God of wrath and scorn : 
 Better that day that ye 
 
 Were dead ere ye were born.- 
 
 Contrariwise — His wrath 
 
 Our Lord God put away — 
 Your watchful love till death 
 
 I will repay, repay. 
 Lord of the skies and lands 
 
 Take pity on Thy dust. 
 Strengthen our mortal hands 
 
 Lest we betray Thy trust T 
 
 71 
 
RECALL 
 
 As the blue swallow flies, 
 
 Tracking the summer, 
 As the gray pigeon hies. 
 
 Ever a homer. 
 
 So on her sunset path 
 
 Goes my heart flying, 
 Fears not the storm-wind's wrath 
 
 Nor the sea's sighing. 
 
 Wears like the sea-swallows 
 
 Sea's tints upon her. 
 Goes as the carrier goes, 
 
 Ringed by her owner. 
 
 Westward she flieth forth, 
 And who shall bind her ? 
 
 Looks not to south or north. 
 East lies behind her. 
 
 Like a gold flash she gleams. 
 Straight to the sunset ; 
 
 Hurls her o'er seas and streams 
 With a wild onset. 
 
 72 
 
RECALL 
 
 Straight to that tender heart, 
 
 By the dim water. 
 If they might never part, 
 
 Mother and dausfhter ! 
 
 73 
 
THE LEGEND OF ST. AUSTIN AND 
 THE CHILD 
 
 St. Austin, going in thought 
 
 Along the sea-sands gray, 
 Into another world was caught, 
 
 And Carthage far away. 
 
 He saw the City of God 
 
 Hang in the saffron sky ; 
 And this was holy ground he trod, 
 
 Where mortals come not nigh. 
 
 He saw pale spires aglow, 
 
 Houses of heavenly sheen ; 
 All in a world of rose and snow, 
 
 A sea of gold and green. 
 
 There amid Paradise 
 
 The saint was rapt away 
 From unillumined sands and skies 
 
 And floor of muddy clay. 
 
 His soul took wings and flew. 
 
 Forgetting mortal stain. 
 Upon the track of that bright crew 
 
 That homed to heaven again. 
 74 
 
ST. AUSTIN AND THE CHILD 
 
 Forgetting mortal dearth 
 It seized on heavenly things, 
 
 Till it was cast again to earth, 
 Because it had not wings. 
 
 Because the Three in One 
 He could not understand, 
 
 Baffled and beaten and undone, 
 He gazed o'er sea and land. 
 
 Then by a little pool 
 
 A lovely child he saw ; 
 A harmless thing and beautiful, 
 
 And yet so full of awe. 
 
 That with a curved sea-shell. 
 
 Held in his rosy hand. 
 Had scooped himself a little well 
 
 Within the yielding sand. 
 
 And to and fro went he, 
 Between it and the wave, 
 
 Bearing his shell filled with the sea, 
 To find a sandy grave. 
 
 " What is it that you do. 
 You lovely boy and bold ? " 
 
 " I empty out the ocean blue. 
 You man so wise and old ! 
 75 
 
THE LEGEND OF 
 
 "See you how in this cup 
 I bind the great sea's girth ! " 
 
 "Ah no, the gray sands suck it up 
 Your cup is Httle worth. 
 
 " Now put your play aside, 
 
 And let the ocean be. 
 Tell me your name, O violet-eyed, 
 
 That empty out the sea ! 
 
 " What lineage high and fine 
 
 Is yours, O kingly boy. 
 That sure art sprung of royal line, 
 
 A people's hope and joy." 
 
 " Austin, as you have said, 
 A crown my Sire doth wear, 
 
 My mother was a royal maid 
 And yet went cold and bare." 
 
 He shook his golden curls, 
 A scornful laugh laughed he. 
 
 "The night that I was born, the churls, 
 They would not shelter me. 
 
 " Only the ox and ass. 
 
 The night that I was born, 
 Made me a cradle of the grass 
 
 And watched by me till morn. 
 76 
 
ST. AUSTIN AND THE CHILD 
 
 " The night that I was born 
 
 The ass and ox alone, 
 Betwixt the midnight and the morn, 
 
 Knelt down upon the stone. 
 
 " The bitter night I came. 
 Each star sang in its sphere. 
 
 Now riddle, riddle me my name. 
 My Austin tried and dear." 
 
 Austin is on his face, 
 
 Before that vision bright. 
 "My Lord, what dost Thou in this place 
 
 With such a sinful wight ? " 
 
 " I come not here in wrath. 
 
 But I come here in love, 
 My Austin, skilled in life and death, 
 
 Thy vanity to prove. 
 
 " Mortal, yet over-bold 
 
 To fly where th' eagle flies, 
 As soon this cup the sea will hold 
 
 As thou My Mysteries. 
 
 " Patience a little yet, 
 
 And thou shalt be with Me, 
 And in thy soul's small cup unmeet 
 
 Myself will pour the sea." 
 77 
 
ST. AUSTIN AND THE CHILD 
 
 When Austin raised his head 
 
 No child was there beside, 
 But in the cup the Child had made 
 
 There swelled the rising tide. 
 
 78 
 
SHAMROCKS 
 
A CHILD'S DAY 
 
 When I was a little child 
 
 It was always golden weather. 
 My days stretched out so long 
 
 From rise to set of sun, 
 I sang and danced and smiled — 
 
 My light heart like a feather — 
 From morn to even-song ; 
 
 The child's days are done. 
 
 I used to wake with the birds — 
 
 The little birds wake early, 
 For the sunshine leaps and plays 
 
 On the mother's head and wing — 
 And the clouds were white as curds. 
 
 The apple-trees stood pearly : 
 I always think of the child's days 
 
 As one unending Spring. 
 
 I knew where all flowers grew. 
 
 I used to lie in the meadow 
 Ere reaping-time and mowing-time 
 
 And carting home the hay. 
 And O the skies were blue ! 
 
 O drifting light and shadow ! 
 It was another time and clime — 
 
 The little child's sweet day. 
 8i 
 
A CHILD'S DAY 
 
 And in the long day's waning 
 
 The skies grew rose and amber, 
 And palest green and gold, 
 
 With a moon's white flame : 
 And if came wind and raining. 
 
 Gray hours I don't remember; 
 Nor how the warm year waxed cold, 
 
 And deathly Autumn came. 
 
 Only of that young time 
 
 The bright things I remember ; 
 How orchard boughs were laden red, 
 
 And blackberries so brave 
 Came ere the frost and rime — 
 
 The dreary dark November, 
 With dripping black boughs overhead, 
 
 And dead leaves on a grave. 
 
 82 
 
THE HEART OF A MOTHER 
 
 You were so far away, 
 
 Beyond all help from me ; 
 
 And so when skies were gray, 
 Or clouds lowered threateningly, 
 
 And the wailing storm-wind blew, 
 
 My heart went out to you. 
 
 I always felt afraid 
 
 You were out in the stormy weather, 
 The rain on your bonny head, 
 
 The wind and the rain together. 
 Ah me ! I never knew 
 What harm might come to you. 
 
 So many pains there are, 
 And perils by land and sea ; 
 
 And each his cross must bear, 
 And each his weird must dree j 
 
 And it might be even then 
 
 You lived your hour of pain. 
 
 My fears were unavailing : 
 
 You are so safe for aye — 
 My dear, who went a-sailing 
 
 On Death's wide sea one day ; 
 
 83 
 
THE HEART OF A MOTHER 
 
 You answer not my call 
 Across the gray sea-wall. 
 
 I follow, with wet eyes, 
 Your boat's white lonely track ; 
 
 But vex you not with sighs. 
 Nor long that you were back : 
 
 Your boat with sails of snow 
 
 Came safe to port, I know. 
 
 O is the new land fair 
 
 That you have journeyed to, 
 
 With floods of amber air, 
 And hills of marvellous hue, 
 
 And a city's shining spires 
 
 Fashioned of day-dawn's fires ? 
 
 O is it a pleasant country 
 
 That you are come unto, 
 With leaves on the greenwood tree, 
 
 And birds above in the blue, 
 And shades below the trees 
 Where the weary dream at ease, 
 
 And little children playing 
 On a green and golden mead. 
 
 And One o'er the greensward straying 
 Whose face I know indeed, — 
 
 The dead face on the rood. 
 
 The dear face, kind and good ? 
 34 
 
THE HEART OF A MOTHER 
 
 O safe for evermore, 
 
 With never a weird to dree ; 
 
 Is any burden sore 
 
 When one's beloved goes free ? 
 
 Come pain, come woe to me, 
 
 My well-beloved goes free ! 
 
 You are so far away. 
 
 And yet are come so near ; 
 
 On many a heavy day 
 I think of you, my dear, 
 
 Safe in your shelter there, 
 
 Christ's hand upon your hair. 
 
 8s 
 
SANCTUARY 
 
 " Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 Good Lord Jesus, ope to see 
 Two tired travellers at Thy gate, 
 Wan and worn and desolate, 
 Who all night have wandered 
 On Death's weary waste," she said. 
 
 " Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 
 Fair Thy lighted casements be : 
 
 Streams the rose-light through Thy door 
 
 And the song rings evermore ; 
 
 But outside the night is black, 
 
 And a foe is on our track. 
 
 " Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 
 I am weak, and weak is he ; 
 
 Icy dews are on his head — 
 
 On his hair's young gold," she said ; 
 
 " And our eyes are blind with tears, 
 
 And our hearts are cold with fears. 
 
 " Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 Many a long mile travelled we — 
 I in life, and he in death. 
 Fared by many a lonely heath, 
 86 
 
SANCTUARY 
 
 Seeking still this palace hall 
 Where Thou holdest festival. 
 
 *' Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 Stirs the tender heart in Thee ? 
 Lo ! two weary souls that stand, 
 Heart in heart, and hand in hand, 
 Where the shadow thickeneth — 
 One in life, and one in death ! 
 
 " Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! " 
 
 Still unweary pleaded she. 
 
 " Lo ! Thine own lamb, at Thy gate, 
 
 Whom didst early seek and late, 
 
 Whom didst ransom with Thy Blood ;- 
 
 Ope, Lord Jesus, dear and good ! " 
 
 Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 
 Was the Bridegroom fair to see, 
 
 Sitting at the table-head 
 
 Where His shining Supper spread ; 
 
 Fair the guests, all clad in white. 
 
 Each clear brow enaureoled bright. 
 
 Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 
 And the gold cup lifted He, 
 
 With His lovely eyes ashine, 
 
 Brake the bread, and poured the wine. 
 
 Sudden through the banquet-hall 
 
 Rang the faint insistent call. 
 
 87 
 
SANCTUARY 
 
 Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 " Lo ! is one that calleth me ! " 
 Oh, the Bridegroom goeth fast 
 With a sudden tender haste, 
 Flings the gold door open wide — 
 Midnight, and the storm outside ! 
 
 Sanctuary ! Sanctuary ! 
 
 " Thou hast tarried long," saith He ; 
 
 And His own lamb gathereth. 
 
 Weak and drenched with dews of death. 
 
 •One hath turned her round and gone 
 
 Back to earth — alone, alone. 
 
 88 
 
ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 
 
 Little sisters, the birds : 
 
 We must praise God, you and I — 
 You, with songs that fill the sky, 
 
 I, with halting words. 
 
 All things tell His praise. 
 
 Woods and waters thereof sing, 
 Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, 
 
 And the night and days. 
 
 Yea, and cold and heat. 
 
 And the sun and stars and moon, 
 Sea with her monotonous tune, 
 . Rain and hail and sleet, 
 
 And the winds of heaven. 
 And the solemn hills of blue. 
 And the brown earth and the dew, 
 
 And the thunder even, 
 
 And the flowers' sweet breath. 
 
 All things make one glorious voice ; 
 
 Life with fleeting pains and joys, 
 And our brother. Death. 
 89 
 
ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 
 
 Little flowers of air, 
 
 With your feathers soft and sleek, 
 And your bright brown eyes and meek, 
 
 He hath made you fair. 
 
 He hath taught to you 
 
 Skill to weave in tree and thatch 
 Nests where happy mothers hatch 
 
 Speckled eggs of blue. 
 
 And hath children given : 
 
 When the soft heads overbrim 
 
 The brown nests, then thank ye Him 
 
 In the clouds of heaven. 
 
 Also in your lives 
 
 Live His laws Who loveth you. 
 
 Husbands, be ye kind and true ; 
 Be home-keeping, wives — 
 
 Love not gossiping ; 
 
 Stay at home and keep the nest ; 
 
 Fly not here and there in quest 
 Of the newest thing. 
 
 Live as brethren live : 
 
 Love be in each heart and mouth ; 
 
 Be not envious, be not wroth, 
 Be not slow to give. 
 90 
 
ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 
 
 When ye build the nest, 
 
 Quarrel not o'er straw or wool ; 
 He who hath been bountiful 
 
 To the neediest. 
 
 Be not puffed nor vain 
 
 Of your beauty or your worth, 
 Of your children or your birth, 
 
 Or the praise you gain. 
 
 Eat not greedily : 
 
 Sometimes for sweet mercy's sake, 
 Worm or insect spare to take ; 
 
 Let it crawl or fly. 
 
 See ye sing not near 
 
 To our church on holy day, 
 Lest the human-folk should stray 
 
 From their prayers to hear. 
 
 Now depart in peace : 
 
 In God's name I bless each one ; 
 
 May your days be long i' the sun 
 And your joys increase. 
 
 And remember me, 
 
 Your poor brother Francis, who 
 Loves you, and gives thanks to you 
 
 For this courtesy. 
 91 
 
ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS 
 
 Sometimes when ye sing, 
 
 Name my name, that He may take 
 Pity for the dear song's sake 
 
 On my shortcoming. 
 
 92 
 
BALLADS AND LYRICS 
 
THE CHILDREN OF LIR 
 
 Out upon the sand-dunes thrive the coarse long grasses, 
 
 Herons standing knee-deep in the brackish pool, 
 Overhead the sunset fire and flame amasses, 
 
 And the moon to eastward rises pale and cool : 
 Rose and green around her, silver-gray and pearly. 
 
 Chequered with the black rooks flying home to bed ; 
 For, to wake at daybreak, birds must couch them early. 
 
 And the day 's a long one since the dawn was red. 
 
 On the chilly lakelet, in that pleasant gloaming. 
 
 See the sad swans sailing : they shall have no rest : 
 Never a voice to greet them save the bittern's booming 
 
 Where the ghostly sallows sway against the West. 
 " Sister," saith the gray swan, " Sister, I am weary," 
 
 Turning to the white swan wet, despairing eyes ; 
 " O " she saith, " my young one," " O " she saith, " my 
 dearie," 
 
 Casts her wings about him with a storm of cries. 
 
 Woe for Lir's sweet children whom their vile stepmother 
 Glamoured with her witch-spells for a thousand years ; 
 
 Died their father raving, on his throne another, 
 Blind before the end came from the burning tears. 
 95 
 
THE CHILDREN OF LIR 
 
 Long the swans have wandered over lake and river. 
 
 Gone is all the glory of the race of Lir, 
 Gone and long forgotten like a dream of fever : 
 
 But the swans remember the sweet days that were. 
 
 Hugh, the black and white swan with the beauteous feathers,, 
 
 Fiachra, the black swan with the emerald breast, 
 Conn, the youngest, dearest, sheltered in all weathers, 
 
 Him his snow-white sister loves the tenderest. 
 These her mother gave her as she lay a-dying ; 
 
 To her faithful keeping ; faithful hath she been, 
 With her wings spread o'er them when the tempest 's crying^ 
 
 And her songs so hopeful when the sky 's serene. 
 
 Other swans have nests made 'mid the reeds and rushes. 
 
 Lined with downy feathers where the cygnets sleep 
 Dreaming, if a bird dreams, till the daylight blushes. 
 
 Then they sail out swiftly on the current deep. 
 With the proud swan-father, tall, and strong, and stately, 
 
 And the mild swan-mother, grave with household cares> 
 All well-born and comely, all rejoicing greatly : 
 
 Full of honest pleasure is a life like theirs. 
 
 But alas ! for my swans, with the human nature. 
 
 Sick with human longings, starved for human ties, 
 With their hearts all human cramped to a bird's stature. 
 
 And the human weeping in the bird's soft eyes. 
 Never shall my swans build nests in some green river, 
 
 Never fly to Southward in the autumn gray. 
 Rear no tender children, love no mates for ever. 
 
 Robbed alike of bird's joys and of man's are they. 
 
 96 
 
THE CHILDREN OF LIR 
 
 Babbles Conn the youngest, " Sister, I remember 
 
 At my father's palace how I went in silk, 
 Ate the juicy deer-flesh roasted from the ember, 
 
 Drank from golden goblets my child's draught of milk. 
 Once I rode a-hunting, laughed to see the hurly, 
 
 Shouted at the ball-play, on the lake did row; 
 You had for your beauty gauds that shone so rarely." 
 
 "Peace," saith Fionnuala, "that was long ago." 
 
 "Sister," saith Fiachra, "well do I remember 
 
 How the flaming torches lit the banquet-hall, 
 And the fire leapt skyward in the mid-December, 
 
 And among the rushes slept our staghounds tall. 
 By our father's right hand you sat shyly gazing, 
 
 Smiling half and sighing, with your eyes a-glow. 
 As the bards sang loudly all your beauty praising." 
 
 "Peace," saith Fionnuala, "that was long ago." 
 
 "Sister," then saith Hugh, "most do I remember 
 
 One I called my brother, one, earth's goodliest man. 
 Strong as forest oaks are where the wild vines clamber. 
 
 First at feast or hunting, in the battle's van. 
 Angus, you were handsome, wise and true, and tender, 
 
 Loved by every comrade, feared by every foe : 
 Low, low, lies your beauty, all forgot your splendour." 
 
 " Peace," saith Fionnuala, " that was long ago." 
 
 Dews are in the clear air, and the roselight paling, 
 Over sands and sedges shines the evening star, 
 
 And the moon's disc lonely high in heaven is sailing. 
 Silvered all the spear-heads of the rushes are, — 
 
 97 H 
 
THE CHILDREN OF LIR 
 
 Housed warm are all things as the night grows colder 
 AVater-fowl and sky-fowl dreamless in the nest ; 
 
 But the swans go drifting, drooping wing and shoulder 
 Cleaving the still water where the fishes rest. 
 
 98 
 
SHEEP AND LAMBS 
 
 All in the April evening, 
 April airs were abroad ; 
 
 The sheep with their little lambs 
 Passed me by on the road. 
 
 The sheep with their little lambs 
 Passed me by on the road ; 
 
 All in the April evening 
 
 I thought on the Lamb of God. 
 
 The lambs were weary, and crying 
 With a weak, human cry. 
 
 I thought on the Lamb of God 
 Going meekly to die. 
 
 Up in the blue, blue mountains 
 Dewy pastures are sweet ; 
 
 Rest for the little bodies. 
 Rest for the little feet. 
 
 But for the Lamb of God, 
 Up on the hill-top green, 
 
 Only a Cross of shame 
 Two stark crosses between. 
 99 
 
SHEEP AND LAMBS 
 
 All in the April evening, 
 
 April airs were abroad ; 
 I saw the sheep with their lambs. 
 
 And thought on the Lamb of God. 
 
 100 
 
OF AN ANGEL 
 
 Never alone upon my way ; 
 Mine Angel 's with me every day : 
 And all night long he sits and sings, 
 Shaking the darkness off his wings. 
 
 The wavering moonlight steals and slips 
 From amber head to pinion tips, 
 Bathing him in a silver sea 
 That makes his eyes a mystery. 
 
 When I am bruised and sad and sore, 
 Have I not felt him leaning o'er, 
 Kissing the heavy lids to sleep ? 
 Yea, I have heard him weep and weep. 
 
 In the noon-sun I see him stand, 
 Rosy azaleas in his hand, 
 His sapphire gown, his aureoled curl. 
 His opal wings and mother-o'-pearl. 
 
 And while this Angel walks with me 
 I fear not all the ill I see, 
 Though in the fruit a canker grows. 
 And serpents harbour 'neath the rose. 
 
 lOI 
 
OF AN ANGEL 
 
 In noon-day gold, in moonlight snow, 
 I know the precious things I know, 
 Hidden not from my love-keen sight 
 By dazzle of day and mirk of night. 
 
 Mine Angel's praying hands and meek, 
 The pure young outline of his cheek, 
 His grave young mouth, his brow like snow,^ 
 His everlasting eyes I know. 
 
 Love lights his taper at those eyes, 
 O, stainless Bird of Paradise ! 
 Love in your heart to Love divine 
 Has built a temple and a shrine. 
 
 O lips that bless, and eyes that yearn, 
 And sometimes sad, but never stern, 
 Dearest, my friend, my gift of God, 
 Companion on my dangerous road. 
 
 Stay with me, though the day be long, 
 And Heaven is lonelier for your song ; 
 Though I be sad, and all my plea 
 Is only my sad poverty. 
 
CUCKOO SONG 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo ! 
 
 In April skies were blue, 
 
 As every hedgerow knew ; 
 
 And there was you. 
 
 In April 
 
 The cuckoo shows his bill, 
 
 With wind-flowers on vale and hill. 
 
 O, Love ! 
 Sweet was April, sweet was April ! 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo ! 
 
 In May his song was true, 
 
 And the world was new 
 
 For me and you. 
 
 /;/ May 
 
 He sings all day. 
 
 All the long night that 's sweet with hay. 
 
 O, Love ! 
 How good was May, how good was May \ 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo ! 
 Last June the roses grew 
 In many a place we knew, 
 I and you. 
 
 103 
 
CUCKOO SONG 
 
 In June 
 
 He changes his tune. 
 
 A young man's fancy changes soon. 
 
 O, Love ! 
 Fleet was June, fleet was June ! 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo ! 
 
 His notes are faint and few, 
 
 The Hly is dying too, 
 
 For the rose there is rue. 
 
 In July 
 
 Away will he fly ^ 
 
 His notes blown back from an empty sky. 
 
 O, Love ! 
 Sad was July, sad was July. 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo ! 
 
 No more we listen to 
 
 The roving note we knew, 
 
 I and you. 
 
 hi August 
 
 Go he musfj 
 
 Love and lovers will turn to dust. 
 
 O, Love ! 
 Cold is August, cold is August ! 
 
 104 
 
LUX IN TENEBRIS 
 
 At night what things will stalk abroad, 
 What veiled shapes, and eyes of dread ! 
 
 With phantoms in a lonely road 
 And visions of the dead. 
 
 The kindly room when day is here, 
 At night takes ghostly terrors on ; 
 
 And every shadow hath its fear, 
 And every wind its moan. 
 
 Lord Jesus, Day-Star of the world, 
 Rise Thou, and bid this dark depart, 
 
 And all the east, a rose uncurled, 
 Grow golden at the heart ! 
 
 Lord, in the watches of the night. 
 
 Keep Thou my soul ! a trembling thing 
 
 As any moth that in daylight 
 Will spread a rainbow wing. 
 
 105 
 
KING'S PRISONERS 
 
 Love in his net hath taken us and bound us, 
 Hath pinioned hands and feet right fast^within, 
 
 Our master's mesh of gold goes round and round us, 
 Cunningly wrought, and fairy fine and thin. 
 To hold us in. 
 
 O Love Divine, O larger Love, come take us. 
 Weave Thy sweet net outside our house of love ; 
 
 Prisoners of Love, O Love Divine, come make us. 
 Caught in thy snares, and seeking not to rove 
 Outside Thy Love. 
 
 io6 
 
SECOND SIGHT 
 
 " Sister," said blind Dara, 
 
 ''What do you behold?" 
 Round her and St. Brigid 
 
 Flowed the dawn's gold. 
 " Sister," said blind Dara, 
 
 "Would that I might see 
 Veils of gold and silver 
 
 Drawn on hill and lea ! " 
 
 Over her and Brigid 
 
 Carolled the lark, 
 Hills were heights of Heaven, 
 
 Though their feet were dark. 
 Dew in the shadow 
 
 Pearled the gossamer ; 
 Kine in the meadow 
 
 'Gan to low and stir. 
 
 Mists from the bogland 
 
 Curled like silver smoke. 
 Young birds were singing 
 
 In the spreading oak. 
 To the east and southward 
 
 Scarlet grew the world, 
 And the sun leapt upward. 
 
 As a ball is hurled. 
 107 
 
SECOND SIGHT 
 
 Brigid, lost in praying, 
 
 Touched her sister's eyes ; 
 *' O," she said, " my sister, 
 
 Dove of God, arise ! 
 Eyes no longer sightless. 
 
 See His glory spread ! " 
 Dara, with a loud cry, 
 
 Lifted up her head. 
 
 Saw the little rivers 
 
 Glide through bogland brown, 
 Where the yellow iris 
 
 Flaunted her gold gown. 
 Saw the sea of scarlet 
 
 Flush on hill and wood ; 
 Praised God's name, rejoicing 
 
 That his works were good. 
 
 " Yet," she said, " my sister. 
 
 Blind me once again. 
 Lest His presence in me 
 
 Groweth less plain. 
 Stars and dawn and sunset 
 
 Keep till Paradise, 
 Here His face sufficeth 
 
 For my sightless eyes." 
 
 '' O ! " she said, " my sister. 
 
 Night is beautiful. 
 Where His face is shining 
 
 Who was mocked as fool. 
 1 08 
 
SECOND SIGHT 
 
 More than star and meteor, 
 
 More than moon or sun, 
 Is the thorn-crowned forehead 
 
 Of the Holy One." 
 
 "Haste," she said, "and plunge me 
 
 Once again in night, 
 Lest perchance I lose Him, 
 
 Gaining my sight." 
 Brigid, lost in praying, 
 
 Touched her eyes once more, 
 And the light went fading 
 
 Off sea and shore. 
 
 All His creatures praise Him, 
 
 From daylight to dun. 
 Stars and moon and cloudland, 
 
 And Messer the Sun ; 
 Seas and hills and forests, 
 
 And the frozen waste : 
 Dara in her blindness 
 
 Praiseth him best. 
 
 109 
 
A NEW OLD SONG 
 
 The Spring comes slowly up this way, 
 
 Slowly, slowly ! 
 A little nearer every day. 
 
 The blackbird 's trilling shrill and gay 
 
 His roundelay and virelay. 
 
 Good lack, as though the March were May ! 
 
 In kirtle all of green and gray ; 
 
 Slowly, slowly. 
 The Spring comes slowly up this way ! 
 
 She hath delicious things to say, 
 But will not answer yea or nay. 
 Nor haste her secrets to display. 
 
 The Spring comes slowly up this way, 
 
 Slowly, slowly ! 
 To make the world high holiday. 
 
 The pink is on the orchard spray. 
 The lambs put off their fears and play, 
 Gone are the snows of yesterday. 
 
 'Twere well if Spring might always stay ! 
 
 Slowly, slowly. 
 The Spring comes slowly up this way. 
 no 
 
TO ROSE IN HEAVEN 
 
 My Rose, 'twas the wild rose you were, 
 Trailing upon the hedge-top green ; 
 No narrow garden hemmed you in. 
 
 You had the dearest face, my dear, 
 Rose and white with a touch of brown, 
 Sweet as the country come to town. 
 
 The children found your goodness out, 
 The old folk and the poor and weak, 
 And the dog's instinct wise and quick. 
 
 To me, my Rose, in pain and doubt 
 
 What were you ? Ah, well, none can take 
 The empty place that is heart-break. 
 
 The bravest eyes that ever were 
 
 You had ; the honest heart and mind, 
 The tolerant judgment large and kind. 
 
 Dear, in some day of pain and care, 
 How we shall miss your eyes and face ! 
 And oh, your Heaven 's a far-off place. 
 
 HI 
 
TO ROSE IX HEAVEN 
 
 II 
 
 You need not fear again 
 
 The East Wind and the snows, 
 Nor dree your weird of pain, 
 
 Sickness and dying, Rose. 
 In God's land summer is. 
 And health and youth and bliss. 
 
 You need not go away. 
 
 When going was like death, 
 
 For leave to live your day, 
 For leave to draw your breath. 
 
 In God's land where you stray, 
 
 Sweet is the summer day. 
 
 You need not have for friend 
 House-mate and bed-fellow. 
 
 Pain that had never an end, 
 And sickness sad and slow ; 
 
 Or lie the long night through 
 
 While life ebbed out from you. 
 
 O there is no home-sickness, 
 Because it is our home ; 
 
 Nor labour nor distress. 
 Nor watching wearisome. 
 
 You need not fear the snows. 
 
 North Wind nor East Wind, Rose ! 
 
 112 
 
TO ROSE IN HEAVEN 
 
 III 
 
 I hope you will not wear in Heaven 
 A different face from that we knew, 
 
 Rose, like the rose that morn and even 
 Hath sun and dew ! 
 
 Wear no new smiles, but smile as when 
 You were our own, to heal and bless. 
 
 Drawing from heavy hearts of men 
 Their heaviness. 
 
 Be just so kind, be just so brave, 
 There in your glory infinite ! 
 
 No primrose growing on your grave 
 Is half so sweet 
 
 As you, my dear, were in the world. 
 
 You left your own place desolate. 
 The pale spring foliage is uncurled 
 
 And the birds mate 
 
 The pleasant days you loved of yore. 
 
 I think that where you are, my dear. 
 You love the things you loved before 
 
 When you were here. 
 
 Wear no new face, but keep the old. 
 Look from your glory and your grace, 
 
 From underneath the rays of gold 
 With the old face ! 
 ii3 
 
OF ST. FRANXIS AND THE ASS 
 
 Our father, ere he went 
 
 Out with his brother, Death, 
 SmiHng and well-content 
 
 As a bridegroom goeth. 
 Sweetly forgiveness prayed 
 
 From man or beast whom he 
 Had ever injured, 
 
 Or burdened needlessly. 
 
 " Verily," then said he, 
 
 " I crave before I pass, 
 Forgiveness full and free 
 
 Of my little brother, the ass. 
 Many a time and oft, 
 
 When winds and ways were hot, 
 He hath borne me cool and soft, 
 
 And service grudged me not. 
 
 "And once did it betide 
 There was, unseen of me, 
 
 A gall upon his side 
 
 That suffered grievously. 
 114 
 
OF ST. FRANCIS AND THE ASS 
 
 And once his manger was 
 Empty and bare, and brown. 
 
 (Praise God for sweet, dry grass 
 That Bethlehem folk shook down !) 
 
 " Consider, brethren," said he, 
 
 " Our little brother ; how mild, 
 How patient, he will be, 
 
 Though men are fierce and wild. 
 His coat is gray and fine. 
 
 His eyes are kind with love ; 
 This little brother of mine 
 
 Is gentle as the dove. 
 
 " Consider how such an one 
 
 Beheld our Saviour born, 
 And carried him, full-grown. 
 
 Through Eastern streets one morn. . 
 For this the Cross is laid 
 
 Upon him for a sign. 
 Greatly is honoured 
 
 This Httle brother of mine." 
 
 And even while he spake, 
 
 Down in his stable stall 
 His little ass 'gan shake 
 
 And turned its face to the wall. 
 Down fell the heavy tear ; 
 
 Its gaze so mournful was, 
 Fra Leo, standing near, 
 
 Pitied the little ass. 
 115 
 
OF ST. FRANCIS AND THE ASS 
 
 That night our father died, 
 
 All night the kine did low : 
 The ass went heavy-eyed, 
 
 With patient tears and slow. 
 The very birds on wings 
 
 Made mournful cries in the air. 
 Amen ! all living things 
 
 Our father's brethren were. 
 
 ii6 
 
THE FAIRY BABE 
 
 A LULLABY 
 
 Between the night and the gray morning, 
 When lights are out and the crickets sing, 
 The fairies stole my bud and my blossom 
 And laid this wizened thing in my bosom. 
 Hush, O ! 
 Sleep, little fairy, sleep, 
 Dream of the fields and the sheep. 
 But never a sorrowful dream may take you 
 Of the mother that could forsake you. 
 Hush, O ! 
 
 My little boy was rosy and sweet, 
 I kissed him over from head to feet ; 
 But cold hands came in the midnight lonely 
 And drew him off, O my one child only. 
 Hush, O ! 
 Sleep, little fairy, sleep, 
 Sleep while I wake and weep, 
 For it may be my little son misses 
 The mother's milk and the love and kisses. 
 Hush, O ! 
 117 
 
THE FAIRY BABE 
 
 The fairy woman, with magic skill, 
 Came full of charms to work you ill ; 
 I stood up in a sudden anger 
 And snatched you into my breast from danger. 
 Hush, O ! 
 
 Sleep, little fairy, sleep. 
 
 All that I have to keep ; 
 
 For on your face that is pinched and weary 
 
 I saw a look of my own own dearie. 
 Hush, O ! 
 
 My boy that went in the wild morning 
 Shall wear a crown and a gay gold ring. 
 Shall ride a splendid horse when he 's older, 
 With cloak of velvet upon his shoulder. 
 Hush, O ! 
 
 Sleep, little fairy, sleep, 
 
 Stars are beginning to peep, 
 
 And may your mother my wee son cherish 
 
 That so he go not milkless and perish. 
 Hush, O ! 
 
 ii8 
 
A DAY-DREAMER 
 
 Since coming from the land of dreams is lonely. 
 And the world's daylight very cold and gray, 
 
 I will return beyond the sun's rim only 
 Into the gold dusk of my yesterday, 
 
 I will return through yonder purple coppice, — 
 But O, thou love-worn nightingale, be still ! — 
 
 Into a world of silken, scarlet poppies, 
 
 Wherein who loveth dreams shall have his fill. 
 
 119 
 
ST. FRANCIS AND THE WOLF 
 
 This wolf for many a day 
 
 Had scourged and trodden down 
 The folk of Agobio town ; 
 
 Old was he, lean and gray. 
 
 Dragging a mildewed bone, 
 Down from his lair he came. 
 Saw in the sunset flame 
 
 Our father standing alone. 
 
 Dust on his threadbare gown. 
 Dust on his blessed feet. 
 Faint from long fast and heat, 
 
 His light of life died down. 
 
 This wolf laid bare his teeth, 
 And growling low there stood ; 
 His lips were black with blood. 
 
 His eyes were fires of death. 
 
 So for a spring crouched he ; 
 But the Saint raised his head — 
 " Peace, Brother Wolf," he said, 
 
 *' God made both thee and me." 
 
 120 
 
ST. FRANCIS AND THE WOLF 
 
 And with the Cross signed him : 
 
 The wolf fell back a-stare, 
 
 Sat on his haunches there, 
 Forbidding, black, and grim. 
 
 " Come nearer, in Christ's name," 
 Said Francis, and, so bid, 
 Like a small dog that 's chid, 
 
 The fierce beast fawning came, 
 
 Trotting against his side. 
 And licked the tender hand 
 That with soft touch and bland 
 
 Caressed his wicked hide. 
 
 ^' Brother," the Saint said then, 
 " Who gave thee leave to kill ? 
 Thou hast slain of thine own will 
 
 Not only beasts but men. 
 
 " And God is wroth with thee : 
 
 If thou wilt not repent 
 
 His anger shall be sent 
 To smite thee terribly. 
 
 '' See, all men hate thy name. 
 And with it mothers fright 
 The froward child by night ; 
 
 Great are thy sin and shame. 
 
ST. FRANCIS AND THE WOLF 
 
 "All true dogs thee pursue ; 
 
 Thou shouldst hang high in air, 
 
 Like a thief and murderer, 
 Hadst thou thy lawful due. 
 
 " Yet, seeing his hands have made 
 Even thee, thou wicked one, 
 I bring no malison, 
 
 But blessing bring instead. 
 
 " And I will purchase peace 
 Between this folk and thee. 
 So love for hate shall be, 
 
 And all thy sinning cease. 
 
 "Say, wilt thou have it so ? " 
 Thereat, far off, we saw 
 The beast lift up his paw 
 
 His tail a-wagging go. 
 
 Our father took the paw 
 Into his blessed hand. 
 Knelt down upon the sand 
 
 Facing the creature's jaw. 
 
 That was a sight to see : 
 Agobio's folk trooped out ; 
 They heard not all that rout. 
 
 Neither the beast nor he. 
 
 122 
 
ST. FRANCIS AND THE WOLF 
 
 For he was praying yet, 
 
 And on his illumined face 
 
 A shamed and loving gaze 
 The terrible wolf had set. 
 
 When they came through the town, 
 His hand that beast did stroke, 
 He spake unto the folk 
 
 Flocking to touch his gown. 
 
 A sweet discourse was this : 
 
 He prayed them that they make 
 Peace, for the Lord Christ's sake, 
 
 With this poor wolf of His ; 
 
 And told them of their sins, 
 How each was deadlier far 
 Than wolves or lions are, 
 
 Or sharks with sword-Hke fins. 
 
 Afterwards some came near. 
 
 Took the beast's paw and shook, 
 And answered his sad look 
 
 With words of honest cheer. 
 
 Our father, ere he went, 
 
 Bade that each one should leave 
 Some food at morn and eve 
 
 For his poor penitent. 
 123 
 
ST. FRANCIS AND THE WOLF 
 
 And so, three years or more, 
 The wolf came morn and even, 
 Yea, long forgiven and shriven. 
 
 Fed at each townsman's door ; 
 
 And grew more gray and old, 
 
 Withal so sad and mild, 
 
 Him feared no little child 
 Sitting in the sun's gold. 
 
 The women, soft of heart, 
 Trusted him and w^ere kind ; 
 Men grew of equal mind ; 
 
 None longer stepped apart. 
 
 The very dogs, 'twas said. 
 
 Would greet him courteously, 
 And pass his portion by, 
 
 Though they went on unfed. 
 
 But when three years w^ere gone 
 He came no more, but died. 
 In a cave on the hillside ; 
 
 You may count each whitening bone. 
 
 And then it came to pass 
 
 All gently of him spake. 
 
 For Francis his dear sake, 
 Whose Brother Wolf this was. 
 
 124 
 
THE FAIRY FOSTER-MOTHER 
 
 Go not into the meadow, Ailie, 
 
 Under the June moon ! 
 Fairies in the shadow, Ailie, 
 
 Croon a sad tune. 
 And their great King is sad, Aihe, 
 
 With his head into his hands. 
 For his delicate little lad, Ailie, 
 
 Far off in fairy lands. 
 
 He thinks on his dead wife, Ailie, 
 
 And heaves many a sigh. 
 She gave her babe her life, Ailie, 
 
 And never said good-bye. 
 And the little son Hke silk, Ailie, 
 
 Is dwindling every day 
 For mother's love and milk, Ailie, 
 
 Ailie, come away ! 
 
 Run home, Ailie asthore, 
 
 To your own little one ! 
 Your husband stands at the door. 
 
 And shades his eyes from the sun, 
 And calls you home from the cows. 
 
 Ailie, his pride and joy, 
 Star of the home and house. 
 
 To the fine husband and boy ! 
 125 
 
THE FAIRY FOSTER-MOTHER 
 
 Her smile was strange and still, 
 
 She held her eyelids down ; 
 She went by the ruined mill 
 
 By the ragweed yellow and brown, 
 Into the field forlorn, 
 
 With fairy rings on the ground. 
 In the gloom of the fairy thorn 
 
 Were fairies circling around. 
 
 She is gone on the fairies' horse 
 
 The ragweed, yellow and sly. 
 She will be a fairy's nurse 
 
 And wipe the tear from his eye ; 
 And her own wee troublesome lad 
 
 May pine, and she will not come : 
 Her husband be crazed and sad, 
 
 But she will never come home. 
 
 Never, never again, Ailie, 
 
 Though long we look for you, 
 Never in sun or rain, Ailie, 
 
 Never in dusk or dew. 
 With your night-black hair like silk, Ailie, 
 
 And your eyes like the sky, 
 And your skin as white as milk, Ailie, 
 
 Ailie Carroll, good-bye ! 
 
 126 
 
MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL 
 
 Not woman-faced and sweet, as look 
 The angels in the picture-book ; 
 But terrible in majesty, 
 More than an army passing by. 
 
 His hair floats not upon the wind 
 Like theirs, but curled and closely twined; 
 Wrought with his aureole, so that none 
 Shall know the gold curls from the crown. 
 
 His wings he hath put away in steel, 
 He goes mail-clad from head to heel ; 
 Never moon-silver hath outshone 
 His breast-plate and his morion. 
 
 His brows are like a battlement, 
 Beautiful, brave, and innocent ; 
 His eyes with fires of battle burn — 
 On his strong mouth the smile is stern. 
 
 His horse, the horse of Heaven, goes forth, 
 Bearing him to the South and North, 
 Neighing far off, as one that sees 
 The battle over distances. 
 127 
 
MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL 
 
 His fiery sword is never at rest, 
 His foot is in the stirrup prest ; 
 Through all the world where wrong is done 
 Michael the Soldier rideth on. 
 
 Michael, Commander ! Angels are 
 That sound the trumpet, and that bear 
 The banners by the Throne, where is 
 The King one nameth on one's knees. 
 
 Angels there are of peace and prayers. 
 And them that go with wayfarers. 
 And them that watch the house of birth. 
 And them that bring the dead from earth. 
 
 And mine own Angel. Yet I see. 
 Heading God's army gloriously, 
 Michael Archangel, like a sun, 
 Splendid beyond comparison ! 
 
 128 
 
OF ST. FRANCIS: HIS WRATH 
 
 Our father, 'spite his tenderness 
 
 For all the dear God made, 
 
 Certes, at times was not afraid 
 To ban as well as bless. 
 
 There was a young bird, ravening ; 
 
 A little lark this was ; 
 
 From a low nest in sunny grass 
 His parents rose to sing. 
 
 And in the nest as well as he 
 Four young birds soft and sweet, 
 Through dew, and dusk, and noontide heat 
 
 In love did well agree. 
 
 Thither our father often came, 
 
 Rejoicing to behold 
 
 God's little birds, with throats of gold, 
 Swelling to praise His name. 
 
 And here he often stayed and prayed, 
 
 Deriving much pleasure 
 
 From the dear anthem wild and pure 
 The larks sang overhead. 
 129 
 
OF ST. FRANCIS: HIS WRATH 
 
 And oftentimes he raised his hand 
 Blessing those little birds, 
 Who piped in answer to his words, 
 
 As they could understand. 
 
 But this young lark of whom I tell, 
 Content not with his share 
 Of worms and flies and such-like fare, 
 
 Cruel, insatiable, 
 
 Upon his little brethren set, 
 And with his beak them slew. 
 It chanced our father came thereto 
 
 While yet the blood was wet ; 
 
 And saw the parents flying round, 
 Their song all turned to moan ; 
 The murderer, careless, cold as stone 
 
 Surveyed that slaughter-ground. 
 
 Our father's wrath and pity grew 
 
 And kindled to a flame : 
 
 " Ah, thou vile bird of woe and shame, 
 111 fate will thee pursue ! 
 
 " Miserably shalt thou die," he said, 
 " Be drowned, for all thy wings ; 
 And hated by all living things. 
 
 Even when thou art dead. 
 130 
 
OF ST. FRANCIS : HIS WRATH 
 
 " The painted insect in the grass, 
 
 The frog that croaks anigh, 
 
 The firefly and the butterfly 
 Will hate thee as they pass. 
 
 '' Even the cats and dogs," he said, 
 " And carrion birds of air, 
 On thy vile carcass will not fare : 
 
 A curse be on thy head." 
 
 And even so it came to pass. 
 
 Before three days were done. 
 
 That lark was drowned in a tank of stone. 
 The peacock's looking-glass. 
 
 And there he lay in Heaven's eye. 
 Dead, and dishonoured too, 
 Till someone passing by him threw 
 
 Upon a dunghill nigh. 
 
 Of all foul things in beast or bird, 
 
 Or in men's hearts that be. 
 
 This, the foul fiend of cruelty,- 
 Our father most abhorred. 
 
THE BELOVED 
 
 Blow gently over my garden 
 
 Wind of the Southern sea, 
 In the hour that my Love cometh 
 
 And calleth me ! 
 My Love shall entreat me sweetly, 
 
 With voice like the wood-pigeon : 
 " I am here at the gate of my garden. 
 
 Here in the dawn." 
 
 Then I shall rise up swiftly 
 
 All in the rose and gray, 
 And open the gate -to my Lover 
 
 At dawning of day. 
 He hath crowns of pain on His forehead. 
 
 And wounds in His hands and feet ; 
 But here 'mid the dews of my garden 
 
 His rest shall be sweet. 
 
 Then blow not out of your forests. 
 
 Wind of the icy North ; 
 But Wind of the South that is healings 
 
 Rise and come forth ! 
 And shed your musk and your honey. 
 
 And spill your odours of spice, 
 For Him who forsook for my garden 
 
 His Paradise ! 
 
 132 
 
THE DEAD SON 
 
 The boy was in the clay ; 
 
 The mother was weeping still 
 From dawn to evening gray 
 
 When stars looked over the hill. 
 Between the dawn and dark, 
 
 The night and day between, 
 About the stillest hour of mirk 
 
 O, who is this comes in ? 
 
 He did not lift the latch, 
 
 He came without a sound. 
 He stood within a moonlit patch, 
 
 A space of holy ground. 
 His robe was to his feet. 
 
 All of the fair silk fine. 
 The gold curls were soft and sweet 
 
 That she was used to twine. 
 
 But on his hair of silk 
 
 There was a drift like rain, 
 His robe as white as milk 
 
 Did show a piteous stain. 
 ■" O mother, mother ! " he said, 
 
 " Your tears have wet me through ; 
 I am come from the blessed dead 
 
 To try and comfort you. 
 ^33 
 
THE DEAD SON 
 
 "The other children play; 
 
 But when I would rejoice, 
 O mother, I hear from far away 
 
 The crying of your voice ! 
 Your tears are heavy as lead ; 
 
 I cannot run, nor leap : 
 O mother, mother, mother," he said, 
 
 " I pray you not to weep ! " 
 
 The red cock and the black 
 
 Crew, and her lamb was gone ; 
 She rose and set the window back 
 
 And welcomed in the dawn. 
 She swept the sanded floor. 
 
 And made the fire to burn, 
 With all her weeping done and o'er. 
 
 God comfort them that mourn ! 
 
 134 
 
THE DREAM OF MARY 
 
 FROM THE WELSH 
 
 *• Mary, Mother, art thou asleep ? " 
 
 " Nay, dear Son, but waking and dreaming." 
 
 " Mary, Mother, why dost thou weep ? " 
 
 " I saw Thy dear Blood flowing and streaming.' 
 
 " Mary, Mother, tell me thy dream." 
 
 " Blessed Son, thou wert trapped and taken, 
 
 Scourged with stripes in a hall didst seem. 
 Mocked with laughter, despised, forsaken." 
 
 " Blessed Mother, thy dream tell all." 
 " Blessed Son, on a Cross wert lying. 
 
 While a black, blind knave from the hall 
 
 Pierced Thy heart that was warm from dying." 
 
 " Mary, Mother, thy dream is true ; 
 
 True thy dreaming, sad Mother Mary. 
 Whether the years be many or few 
 
 Still the hunters gain on the quarry." 
 
 Over the hill, and a cold, cold hill, 
 I saw Mary dreaming and weeping. 
 
 Making a space betwixt souls and ill, 
 Snatching men from hell and its keeping. 
 135 
 
SIGN MANUAL 
 
 This is Thy lamb, yea. Lamb of God 
 This, for whose sake Thy veins ran dry. 
 
 This, for whose sake by a hill-road 
 Thou wentest forth to die. 
 
 This is Thy lamb, though torn, defiled 
 
 By the beast's teeth. Where no stars gleam 
 
 All night, and never an angel smiled ; 
 It went in an ill dream. 
 
 So is it torn and stained so deep. 
 
 Thy lamb. Thy lamb, bruised and astray. 
 
 O the true Shepherd knoweth His sheep. 
 Though hirelings turn away. 
 
 See then below the scarlet sin. 
 
 Shaming its heat. Thine own mark, see ! 
 Thy Name in blood that hath sunk in 
 
 Dripping from Calvary Tree. 
 
 136 
 
THE HIDING AWAY OF BLESSED ANGUS 
 
 IRELAND, A.D. yjQ 
 
 Because his fame was noised abroad 
 And blown about from sea to sea, 
 
 Angus, God's singer, dear to God, 
 Ate ashes in humility. 
 
 Deeming man's praise as nothing more 
 
 Than chaff upon a winnowing floor. 
 
 But since such dust might enter in 
 And choke the soul, he fled away 
 
 One morning when the birds begin, 
 About the time of gold and gray; 
 
 And came barefoot, with tattered gown, 
 
 To Tallaght, nigh to Dublin town. 
 
 At Tallaght the great Friary stood, 
 
 A hive of busy saintly bees. 
 Their Abbot, Melruan, wise and good, 
 
 Angus besought on bended knees. 
 Some task, however hard and rough. 
 Nor drive the starving beggar off. 
 
 His face was grimed with dust and sweat, 
 
 His lips were at the threshold stone ; 
 
 137 
 
THE HIDING AWAY OF BLESSED ANGUS 
 
 His eyes with heavy tears were wet, 
 
 He beat his breast with many a moan : 
 Surely, my Lord the Abbot thought, 
 Some sinner in whom grace hath wrought. 
 
 He sent him out to tend the kiln. 
 To feed the mill and grind the corn. 
 
 Like a great clown of little skill 
 
 He bore large burdens, night and morn. 
 
 He cleaned the cattle's house and laid 
 
 The food before each grateful head. 
 
 Yet still he sang, lest God should miss 
 One voice that praised His Name for long 
 
 Perhaps, or for the singing-bliss. 
 He never sang so good a song 
 
 As that which brought the kine to hear, 
 
 And the shy hare and timid deer. 
 
 (The brother and friend of beast and bird. 
 
 Once, when an oak-bough fell on him 
 And crushed him, and his cries unheard. 
 
 He swooned, and life went low and dim. 
 The birds shrieked with such clamour and rout 
 They brought the human helpers out.) 
 
 O, but the fields stretched green and glad. 
 With stars of gold and stars of white. 
 
 No lovelier stars the heaven had. 
 The clear pellucid heaven at night : 
 
 The low hills tender as the dove 
 
 Girdled the bright fields round with love. 
 138 
 
THE HIDING AWAY OF BLESSED ANGUS 
 
 The hills were blue, the hills were gray, 
 The hills were rosier than the morn ; 
 
 Thin veils of gold and silver lay- 
 On emerald fields and fields of corn : 
 
 All purple on a sky of glass 
 
 A lovelier line there never was. 
 
 Down from the Vale of Thrushes came 
 That flight of carolling birds, which lit 
 
 Where Angus was, and named his name, 
 With a clear chorus after it : 
 
 And perching on his gown to sing. 
 
 They clad him like a feathered thing. 
 
 Sweety sweet I the garrulous blackbird trilled, 
 Have you not heard, have you not heard 
 
 How A?igus^ viore than mortal skilled, 
 A?id more than any singing bird^ 
 
 Toils in the trenches like a chnrl? 
 
 The Convefit dmtghill hath its pearl. 
 
 He sang it at the Abbot's ear, 
 
 Who, by his casement in the light 
 Painted a missal fair and clear 
 
 With apple-blooms of rose and white. 
 "Seldom," he murmured, " have I heard 
 So noisy and so bold a bird." 
 
 At last the secret in this wise 
 
 Came to the light. A Httle lad, 
 A schoolboy with meek, innocent eyes, 
 
 Like those the patient oxen had, 
 139 
 
THE HIDING AWAY OF BLESSED ANGUS 
 
 Long strove his difficult task to learn, 
 And failed ; and he was stung with scorn. 
 
 One morn, in very evil case. 
 
 Driven from school, he sought the byre, 
 
 And flung himself upon his face. 
 Sobbing with tearless eyes on fire. 
 
 Wishing that he were dead, alas ! 
 
 Because his world so bitter was. 
 
 And while he sobbed, one drew aside 
 
 The straw, and came so stealthily. 
 The Convent churl, most pitiful-eyed 
 
 For a child's trouble sad to see ; 
 He knelt and whispered words of cheer 
 And hope and comfort in his ear ; 
 
 And smoothed with his fingers rough 
 The tangled curls ; and touching there, 
 
 He seemed to brush the trouble off. 
 The slowness that was hard to bear ; 
 
 He smoothed some tangle of the brain, 
 
 And made the difficult lesson plain. 
 
 The child climbed out of his kind arms. 
 And hied him to the school-house door. 
 
 And free from shame and all alarms 
 He said his lesson o'er and o'er. 
 
 Henceforth, his sluggish brains would be 
 
 As clear as crystal verily. 
 140 
 
THE HIDING AWAY OF BLESSED ANGUS 
 
 And when his wonderful tale was told, 
 They knew, those foolish friars, at last, 
 
 Their Convent held the treasure of gold 
 Angus, whom for a twelvemonth past 
 
 Men sought, then deemed the search in vain. 
 
 Since God His gift had taken again. 
 
 In a procession they went out ; 
 
 The mitred Abbot at their head ; 
 And all the folk, with song and shout. 
 
 Went following down the way they led : 
 And through the haggard and the barn, 
 And past the yellowing field of corn. 
 
 They found the saint of songs and books 
 Feeding his dear kine with sweet grass. 
 
 Who turned on him their loving looks ; 
 And with his brother birds he was. 
 
 Seeing, he let the green swathes fall, 
 
 And turned his sad face to the wall. 
 
 The Abbot knelt and kissed his feet, 
 They brought him fine robes to put on, 
 
 And fair and costly things to eat, 
 A crozier like the sun that shone. 
 
 But Angus wept, and sore afeard. 
 
 Cast ashes on his hair and beard. 
 
 141 
 
VOTIVE OFFERING 
 
 Hf.arts of silver and of gold 
 Men had brought in days of old 
 To Thy shrine for offering, 
 Symbols of a holier thing. 
 
 Lord, Lord, dear, adored ! 
 Take my little candle, Lord ; 
 Through the lights in Paradise 
 Let my candle please Thine eyes. 
 
 Hearts that ache and hearts that break, 
 Hearts to shatter and remake, 
 Here before Thy feet are laid, 
 Where June's roses burn and fade. 
 
 Lord, Lord, life is light. 
 Flame a heart that burns to white ; 
 As this flame mounts steadily. 
 Draw a heart that turns from Thee. 
 
 For a cold heart all its days, 
 Let my candle tell Thy praise ; 
 For a heart that 's ignorant. 
 Let my candle one hour chant. 
 142 
 
VOTIVE OFFERING 
 
 Poor my candle is and small ; 
 Yet Thou know'st the thoughts of all ; 
 How my candle saith my prayer 
 When my feet go otherwhere. 
 
 How one thought I leave behind, 
 Though my thoughts are hard to bind ; 
 Though I go away, forget, 
 Thou one hour o'erlookest it. 
 
 143 
 
IN lONA 
 
 O 'tis pleasant in lona 
 
 Whether in shine or snow ! 
 Grand it is in lona 
 
 When the north winds blow. 
 The birds sing sweet in lona, 
 
 O very sweet and low ! 
 But sore I miss in lona 
 
 A voice I used to know. 
 
 lona hath the song-birds, 
 
 And the hum of the bees, 
 The distant bark of house-dogs, 
 
 And the wind in the trees. 
 She hath the singing cricket, 
 
 And the moan of the seas. 
 But never the low of cattle 
 
 My homesick heart to ease. 
 
 The wee black cow of Kerry 
 
 Is docile and kind ; 
 The big-framed cow of Leinster 
 
 Is much to my mind ; 
 The wild little cow of the mountains 
 
 Who shall loose or bind ? 
 Sweet is the call of the milkmaid 
 
 Borne upon the wind. 
 144 
 
IN lOxNA 
 
 Columba, he has said it : 
 
 " Wherever a cow shall be, 
 There shall be found a woman, 
 
 Her wiles and witchery. 
 And in this Holy Island, 
 
 May God forbid that she 
 Should plague with sore temptation 
 
 My holy men and me." 
 
 And since the kine are banished. 
 
 Heavy my heart doth go. 
 O sweet it is in lona 
 
 Whatever wind will blow. 
 But I, the farmer brother. 
 
 My tears are sad and slow 
 For the low of the kindly cattle, 
 
 The voice I used to know. 
 
 145 
 
CUCKOO SONGS 
 
THE OAK SAID TO THE EAGLE 
 
 The Oak said to the Eagle : 
 
 How old art thou ? 
 Clouds and the sunlight regal 
 
 Are on thy brow. 
 
 But the Eagle : Thine age, brother, 
 
 Tell it again. 
 We are old, both one and the other, 
 
 Past dreams of men. 
 
 And the Oak : Mine age hath thriven 
 
 A thousand years, 
 'Gainst the winds and the rains of heaven, 
 
 And lightning's spears. 
 
 I have seen men born and buried, 
 
 How long, how long ? 
 The race of the red deer harried, 
 
 That was so strong. 
 
 But the Eagle laughed out scornful : 
 
 Thou dost not know 
 Thou graybeard, ragged and mournful. 
 
 How youth doth go. 
 149 
 
THE OAK SAID TO THE EAGLE 
 
 As an eagle cock I knew thee 
 
 An acorn smooth, 
 When the wind from the tree-top blew thee. 
 
 Look at my youth ! 
 
 Thou that art groaning and hoary, 
 
 That time doth kill. 
 Look at me, clouds for my glory, 
 
 An eaglet still ! 
 
 150 
 
SINGING STARS 
 
 " What sawest thou, Orion, thou hunter of the star-lands. 
 On that night star-sown and azure when thou cam'st m 
 
 splendour sweeping. 
 And amid thy starry brethren from the near lands and the 
 
 far lands 
 All the night above a stable on the earth thy watch wert 
 
 keeping ? " 
 
 " O, I saw the stable surely, and the young Child and the 
 
 Mother, 
 And the placid beasts still gazing with their mild eyes full of 
 
 loving. 
 And I saw the trembling radiance of the Star, my lordliest 
 
 brother, 
 Light the earth and all the heavens as he kept his guard un- 
 
 moving. 
 
 "There were kings that came from Eastward with their ivory, 
 
 spice, and sendal. 
 With gold fillets in their dark hair, and gold-broidered robes 
 
 and stately ; 
 And the shepherds, gazing starward, over yonder hill did 
 
 wend all, 
 And the silly sheep went meekly, and the wise dog marvelled 
 
 greatly. 
 
 151 
 
SINGING STARS 
 
 ■"O, we knew, we stars, the stable held our King, His glory 
 shaded. 
 
 That His baby hands were poising all the spheres and con- 
 stellations ; 
 
 Berenice shook her hair down, Uke a shower of star-dust 
 braided, 
 
 And Arcturus, pale as silver, bent his brows in adorations. 
 
 *' The stars sang all together, sang their love-songs with the 
 
 angels, 
 With the Cherubim and Seraphim their shrilly trumpets 
 
 blended. 
 They have never sung together since that night of great 
 
 evangels, 
 And the young Child in the manger, and the time of bondage 
 
 ended." 
 
 152 
 
THE SAD MOTHER 
 
 WHEN the half-light weaves 
 Wild shadows on the floor, 
 
 How ghostly come the withered leaves 
 Stealing about my door ! 
 
 1 sit and hold my breath, 
 Lone in the lonely house ; 
 
 Naught breaks the silence still as death, 
 Only a creeping mouse. 
 
 The patter of leaves, it may be, 
 
 But liker patter of feet, 
 The small feet of my own baby 
 
 That never felt the heat. 
 
 The small feet of my son. 
 
 Cold as the graveyard sod ; 
 My little, dumb, unchristened one 
 
 That may not win to God. 
 
 ^' Come in, dear babe," I cry, 
 
 Opening the door so wide. 
 The leaves go stealing softly by ; 
 
 How dark it is outside ! 
 153 
 
THE SAD MOTHER 
 
 And though I kneel and pray 
 Long on the threshold stone, 
 
 The little feet press on their way, 
 And I am ever alone. 
 
 154 
 
THE WOOD-DOVE 
 
 The skies they were leaden, the snowflakes were faUing ; 
 No blackbird or linnet was courting or calling : 
 But the wood-dove's soft moaning was heard in the distance. 
 And her song, all of love, came with dulcet persistence. 
 
 O what though the nests were all flooded with water, 
 And the cold eggs should give them no sweet son or daughter, 
 She was dreamy with pleasure for her true love beside her. 
 And the day shone as fair as though young leaves did hide 
 her. 
 
 O Love, moaned the wood-dove, the sweet voice of Summer, 
 Twere death, it were madness, were my love a roamer. 
 But Love, true and faithful, what power has cold weather 
 To still our sweet songs. Love, since we are together ? 
 
 Then I to my true love, true love is enough. Love, 
 
 And how wise is the wood-dove who learns that lore off, 
 
 Love; 
 'Tis our charm for the winter, when wintry winds cry. Love, 
 And when in the grave on your heart I shall lie, Love. 
 
 55 
 
THE STORY OF BLESSED COLUMBA AND 
 THE HORSE 
 
 CoLUMBA was kept back 
 
 Four years from his reward, 
 The brethren's prayers, alack, 
 
 Prevailing with the Lord. 
 " O children, let me go ! " 
 
 Twas oft and oft he prayed, 
 Yet still with prayer aglow 
 
 They held him from the dead. 
 
 They held him back with might. 
 
 Kissing his habit's hem ; 
 His soul's wings set for flight 
 
 Were prisoned long by them. 
 His soul was sick for death ; 
 
 Yea, anguished long and dumb 
 To take the lonely path 
 
 Should lead the exile home. 
 
 At last one autumn day. 
 
 When woods were red and gold, 
 
 And the sea moaned alway 
 For summers dead and cold, 
 iS6 
 
BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 
 
 Columba, weary-foot, 
 
 Went out and saw the sheaves, 
 
 And flames of yellow fruit 
 Trembling among the leaves. 
 
 He saw the sheep and swine. 
 
 The oxen and the ass, 
 The drying swathes in line 
 
 Of honeyed aftergrass : 
 Opened the granary door. 
 
 And saw the brethren had 
 Of fruit and grain great store 
 
 To last through winter sad. 
 
 Upon a brother's arm 
 
 The great Columba leant ; 
 Bowed was that stately form, 
 
 The holy head down-bent. 
 Yet peace was in his eyes, 
 
 Happy and satisfied : 
 He blessed the granaries, 
 
 The beasts and pastures wide. 
 
 As slowly home they came, 
 
 There limped along the road 
 The old horse tired and lame. 
 
 That long had borne his load. 
 The horse that night and morn 
 
 Drew home the abbey milk, 
 Drew home the loads of corn, 
 
 And swathes of grass hke silk. 
 157 
 
BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 
 
 With a low whinnying neigh, 
 
 He ran full wild and fast, 
 And hid his forehead gray 
 
 Against Columba's breast, 
 And wept against his neck ; 
 
 Till any heart of stone 
 Were very like to ache. 
 
 Hearing the creature moan. 
 
 " O little horse, so kind," 
 
 The dear Columba said ; 
 " How hast thou well divined 
 
 I should so soon be dead ? 
 Thou wouldst not keep me, thou, 
 
 From glory and from grace, 
 And from Queen Mary's brow. 
 
 And from the Lord God's face ! " 
 
 But while the horse sobbed on, 
 
 Columba stroked his mane. 
 O any heart of stone 
 
 Had ached to see that pain ! 
 And still as home they went, 
 
 The horse came following yet ; 
 His head deject and bent, 
 
 His eyes still strained and wet. 
 
 The brethren they ran out. 
 
 Columba spoke them plain, 
 His tender arm about 
 
 His patient friend's gray mane. 
 158 
 
BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 
 
 " O kinder is the beast 
 
 That grieves, but lets me go, 
 Than ye who keep from rest 
 
 An old man, sad and slow ! 
 
 '* Far kinder is the horse : 
 
 He knows how pastures dim, 
 With many a water-course, 
 
 Beckon so sweet to him. 
 He too is tired and old. 
 
 And knows how sweetly call 
 The harps and hymns of gold 
 
 To me this evenfall. 
 
 " Long they have called to me. 
 
 My soul is hungered 
 The dear Lord God to see, 
 
 With glories round His head. 
 Sweet is the thought of rest, 
 
 While all the ages roll, 
 In that eternal Breast : 
 
 Yea, lovely to my soul ! " 
 
 They cried then with one voice : 
 
 "We will not keep thee back ; 
 Go, elect soul, rejoice. 
 
 Upon thy homeward track. 
 And yet forget not there 
 
 Thy little ones who go 
 Like some sad wayfarer 
 
 When heaven lets out the snow ! " 
 159 
 
BLESSED COLUMBA AND THE HORSE 
 
 They led the horse away 
 
 Unto his manger brown. 
 Three days the sorrel-gray 
 
 Let the big tears fall down. 
 Three days the horse did mourn ; 
 
 The fourth day-dawn came faint : 
 lona woke forlorn, 
 
 But Heaven received its saints 
 
 1 60 
 
THE CHRISTMAS BABE 
 
 All in the night when sleeping 
 
 I lay in slumber's chain, 
 The Christmas Babe came weeping 
 
 Outside my window-pane. 
 The Christmas Child whom faithless 
 
 Men turn from their hearthstone — 
 My dream was dumb and breathless, 
 
 The Christmas Babe made moan. 
 
 The small hands beat impatient 
 
 Upon my close-locked door. 
 The small hands they have fashioned 
 
 The world, the stars, and more. 
 He heard no sound of coming, 
 
 His cries broke wild and keen, 
 The Christmas Babe went roaming 
 
 For one to take Him in. 
 
 A burning bush of splendour 
 
 The Christmas Child doth take ; 
 Like some meek bird and tender 
 
 Caught in a golden brake. 
 I listen long to hear Him 
 
 Come crying at my door ; 
 Voices of night I fear them, 
 
 And He comes by no more. 
 
 i6i M 
 
AN ISLAND FISHERMAN 
 
 I GROAN as I put out 
 
 My nets on the say, 
 To hear the Httle girshas shout, 
 Dancin' among the spray. 
 
 Ochone, the childher pass 
 An' lave us to our grief; 
 
 The stranger took my httle lass 
 At the fall o' the leaf. 
 
 Why would you go so fast 
 With him you never knew ? 
 
 In all the throuble that is past 
 I never frowned on you. 
 
 The light of my old eyes, 
 The comfort o' my heart. 
 
 Waitin' for me your mother lies 
 In blessed Innishart. 
 
 Her lone grave I keep 
 
 From all the cold world wide ; 
 But you in life an' death will sleep 
 
 The stranger beside. 
 162 
 
AN ISLAND FISHERMAN 
 
 Ochone ! my thoughts are wild ; 
 
 But little blame I say ; 
 An ould man hungerin' for his child, 
 
 Fishin' the livelong day. 
 
 You will not run again 
 
 Laughin' to see me land. 
 O what was pain an' throuble then, 
 
 Holdin' your little hand ? 
 
 Or when your head let fall 
 Its soft curls on my breast ? 
 
 Why do the childher grow at all 
 To love the stranger best ? 
 
 163 
 
THE WIDOWED HOUSE 
 
 Within your house that 's widowed Love's nest is bitter 
 
 cold, 
 Love goes with drooping pinions, his pulses slow and old ; 
 Your baby cries all night long for you he never knew ; 
 The dust is over all things, the grave dust over you. 
 
 Drear day and night go over and yet you never come ; 
 To all that lonely weeping so obdurate and dumb. 
 'Twere liker you to hasten, putting the glory by. 
 To kiss your love's cold forehead and still your baby's cry. 
 
 Twere liker you'd come stealing, a little ghost in white, 
 To rock a tiny cradle all in the hushed moonlight, 
 To whisper to a sleeper till he should dream and wake. 
 And find the strange new comfort and lose the old heart- 
 break. 
 
 With you the years go over fleeter than words can say ; 
 And one shall lose her lover but the half length of a day ; 
 And one shall lose her baby but 'twixt a sleep and a sleep. 
 The dead are glad in Heaven, the living 'tis that weep. 
 
 164 
 
BROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS 
 
 Over the sea-mists and the foam, 
 
 The birds had built their island steady, 
 
 With many a trove of leaf and loam. 
 And sprays of coral, ripe and ruddy 
 
 They built it strong, they built it fair. 
 Moored to the rocks and time-deriding ; 
 
 Thither flocked citizens of air 
 To make a city on land abiding. 
 
 And some there settled for life because 
 Of sea and tempest they were weary. 
 
 The owl-folk made the equal laws 
 For sparrow and eagle in his eyrie. 
 
 And there tom-tit and goshawk went 
 In equal yoke, like brothers loving ; 
 
 The vulture to the robin leant 
 
 With his old tales of war and roving. 
 
 Never was such a simple land. 
 
 With such a happy buzz of building, 
 
 And twigs and moss for lime and sand, 
 And beaks for tools the masons wielding. 
 165 
 
BROTHER RONALX OF THE BIRDS 
 
 And each sang blithely at his task, 
 
 From nightingale to husky starling, 
 At the dear house wherein should bask 
 That pearl of price, his bright-eyed darling. 
 
 So all went gaily till each nest 
 
 Was built and ready for occupation ; 
 
 And one Spring morn all sang their best 
 At morning-song, as was their fashion. 
 
 Praising the Lord of sea and sky 
 
 Who kept them all the night from peril, 
 
 And gave them love and wings to fly, 
 
 And worms and grubs when earth was sterile. 
 
 When one who was a chief of birds 
 Said : " Brothers, is it meet we marry 
 
 And die like any Pagan hordes, 
 
 With never a priest to bless or bury ? " 
 
 " It is not meet ! " the birds replied : 
 
 ''And would some priest of God came fleetly 
 
 Over the sunset and the tide. 
 
 And here would bide to bless us sweetly ! " 
 
 Then spake a blackbird from the west : 
 " In Erin dear that 's over the water, 
 
 There is a cleric loves birds best, 
 
 Father and mother, son and daughter. 
 i66 
 
BROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS 
 
 " When by the sands he walks at morn 
 The flight of birds his meek head covers, 
 
 His pocket full of crumbs and corn 
 He carries for his feathered lovers. 
 
 " How many a morn have I that speak 
 Picked juicy tit-bits from his fingers ; 
 
 And fed, his thanksgiving so meek 
 To join the wildest blackbird lingers. 
 
 " He knows the bird-tongue, every word, 
 Knows well our notes of joy and grieving ; 
 
 And Ronain singing to the Lord 
 
 Would melt the hardest bird-heart living." 
 
 Thereat they counsel took, and made 
 A raft for human weight and feathered. 
 
 And sailed the wild seas undismayed. 
 Till by St. Mel's the raft was tethered. 
 
 And Ronain, reading in his book. 
 Was 'ware a cloud fell o'er the letter, 
 
 And heard the myriad wings that shook 
 And sweet " tweet-tweet " of birdly chatter. 
 
 Then all the birds swept down on him, 
 Fluttering in a wild commotion, 
 
 And prayed him for their island dim, 
 Far away in the middle ocean. 
 167 
 
BROTHER RONAIX OF THE BIRDS 
 
 What dream fell over Ronain then ? 
 
 Or did God's guiding whisper rather 
 Bid him go out from haunts of men, 
 
 Apostle to the folk of feather ? 
 
 Who knows ? The last saw Ronain's face 
 Was Brother Aiden, who beheld him 
 
 Down by the rocks, a lonely place 
 
 Where the good brothers walked but seldom. 
 
 And Aiden said a cloud of birds 
 
 Was circling round his head and habit. 
 
 Singing so sweet. " Perchance the Lord's 
 Good will hath rapt him," said the Abbot. 
 
 They searched for him among the rocks. 
 Parted the seaweed o'er the shallows. 
 
 And dived in water depths where flocks 
 Of cormorants fished the ocean fallows. 
 
 But never a relic came to light 
 
 Of him, so they at last desisted. 
 And prayed that his dear soul so white 
 
 With Christ the Lord supped joy and rested. 
 
 And Ronain, he was with his flock. 
 
 They built his house of shell and wattle 
 Against the brown lee of a rock, 
 
 That sheltered him from the wind's battle. 
 i68 
 
EROTHER RONAIN OF THE BIRDS 
 
 There he abode : but ivhen he died — 
 I know not. You shall ask some other 
 
 Who hath more learning to decide ; 
 And if the birds found a new brother 
 
 To be their priest. It well may be. 
 
 Ronain still lives, young and unfailing, 
 In that sweet island over the sea 
 
 Whence never a mariner comes saihng. 
 
 169 
 
THE ONLY DAUGHTER 
 
 O NEW love that i'm going to, 
 
 And wonderful and bold love ! 
 Yet not more tender, not more true. 
 More faithful than the old love. 
 The dear love, the old love. 
 The love as good as gold, Love, 
 Ochone, the love I leave for you ! 
 My father's hand is cold, Love. 
 
 They say a mother's love is best : 
 
 My mother died long syne, Love, 
 My father's heart hath made my rest, 
 And heavy fret is mine. Love, 
 That I, Love, must leave, Love, 
 That constant heart to grieve, Love, 
 Och wirrasthrue, Love's empty nest 
 Where spiders spin and weave, Love 1 
 
 Long will my father stand and gaze 
 
 His lonely pastures o'er. Love, 
 Ere I come gaily up the ways. 
 As many a time before, Love. 
 His head, Love, is low, Love, 
 And he is old, you know, Love. 
 Mavrone, the love of happy days ! 
 But where you go I go, Love. 
 170 
 
ASPIRATION 
 
 The rarest of honeysuckle is on the hedge-top high ; 
 
 The reddest of rose-red apples swings on the good tree's 
 
 crest ; 
 The gladdest of songs and singers are lost in the heart of the 
 
 sky. 
 Hark to the lark, and his anthem, soaring away from the 
 
 nest. 
 Go higher and higher and higher, the highest is ever the 
 
 best! 
 
 Green are the fields of the earth, holy and sweet her joys ; 
 Take and taste, and be glad — as fruit and blossom and bird, 
 But still as an exile. Soul : then hey ! with a singing voice, 
 For the stars and sun and sweet heaven, whose ultimate 
 
 height is the Lord ! 
 Ripe, lovely and glad you shall grow, in the light of His face 
 
 and His word. 
 
 171 
 
SKY-ROSES 
 
 Roses in the sky, 
 
 Roses in the sea ; 
 Bowers of scarlet sky-roses, 
 
 Take my heart and me. 
 
 God was good to make. 
 This December weather, 
 
 All His sky a rose-garden, 
 Rose and fire together. 
 
 To the East are burning 
 
 Roses in a garden, 
 Roses in a rosy field, 
 
 Hesper for their warden. 
 
 Yonder to the West 
 
 Roses all a-fire. 
 Mirror now some rare splendid 
 
 Rose of their desire. 
 
 Pulsing deeper, deeper. 
 Waves of fire throb on. 
 
 Never were such roses 
 At sunset or dawn. 
 172 
 
SKY-ROSES 
 
 Roses on the hills, 
 
 Roses in the hollow, 
 Roses on the wet hedges. 
 
 In the shining fallow. 
 
 West Wind, blow and blow ! 
 
 That has blown ajar 
 Gates of God's great rose-garden 
 
 Where His angels are, 
 
 Gathering up the rose-leaves 
 
 For a shower of roses 
 On the night the Lord Babe 
 
 His sweet eye uncloses. 
 
 All the sky is scarlet, 
 
 Flaming on the azure. 
 O, there 's fire in heaven ! 
 
 Roses for a treasure. 
 
 Leagues of rose and scarlet, 
 
 Roses red as blood : 
 All the world 's a rose-garden. 
 
 God is good, is good. 
 
 173 
 
A GARDENER-SAGE 
 
 Here in the garden-bed, 
 
 Hoeing the celery, 
 Wonders the Lord has made 
 
 Pass ever before me. 
 I saw the young birds build, 
 
 And swallows come and go, 
 And summer grow and gild, 
 
 And winter die in snow. 
 
 Many a thing I note. 
 
 And store it in my mind, 
 For all my ragged coat 
 
 That scarce will stop the wind. 
 I light my pipe and draw, 
 
 And, leaning on my spade, 
 I marvel with much awe 
 
 O'er all the Lord hath made. 
 
 Now, here 's a curious thing : 
 Upon the first of March 
 
 The crow goes house-building 
 In the elm and in the larch. 
 
 And be it shine or snow, 
 
 Though many winds carouse, 
 174 
 
A GARDENER-SAGE 
 
 That day the artful crow 
 Begins to build his house. 
 
 But then — the wonder 's big ! — 
 
 If Sunday fell that day, 
 Nor straiv, nor scraiv, nor twig. 
 
 Till Monday would he lay. 
 His black wings to his side, 
 
 He'd drone upon his perch, 
 Subdued and holy-eyed 
 
 As though he were at church. 
 
 The crow 's a gentleman 
 
 Not greatly to my mind, 
 He'll steal what seeds he can, 
 
 And all you hide he'll find. 
 Yet though he 's bully and sneak. 
 
 To small birds bird of prey, 
 He counts the days of the week, 
 
 And keeps the Sabbath Day. 
 
 175 
 
GOD'S BIRD 
 
 Nay, not Thine eagle, Lord ; 
 
 No golden eagle I, 
 That creep half-fainting on the sward 
 
 And have not wings to fly. 
 
 Nor yet Thy swallow dear. 
 That, faring home to Thee, 
 
 Looks on the storm and hath no fear 
 And broods above the sea. 
 
 Nor yet Thy tender dove, 
 
 Meek as Thyself, Thou Lamb ! 
 
 I would I were the dove, Thy love, 
 And not the thing I am ! 
 
 But take me in Thy hand 
 To be Thy sparrow, then ; 
 
 Were two sparrows in Holy Land, 
 One farthing bought the twain. 
 
 Make me Thy sparrow, then. 
 That trembles in Thy hold ; 
 
 And who shall pluck me out again 
 And cast me in the cold ? 
 176 
 
GOD'S BIRD 
 
 But if I fall at last, 
 
 A thing of little price, 
 If Thou one thought on me hast cast, 
 
 Lo, then my Paradise ! 
 
 177 N 
 
LAMENT 
 
 You were like a light 
 
 In your place ; 
 Fires of love burned bright 
 
 In your face, 
 
 Full of grace. 
 You were like a light in your place. 
 
 Like a light put out, 
 
 You are flown ; 
 Night is dark about, 
 
 Ullagone ! 
 
 Cold as stone. 
 Like a light put out you are flown. 
 
 178 
 
MIRACLE PLAYS 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Scene I. — Shepherds oti a hillside^ watching their flocks by 
 7iight. 
 
 First Shepherd. 
 
 The frost is crackling in the grass ; 
 'Tvvere well the flock warm-housed was. 
 How merrily now the time would pass 
 Were I by mine own fire. 
 
 Second Shepherd. 
 
 Ay, neighbour, sad the shepherd's lot. 
 Whether the wind be cold or not. 
 He must away from wife and cot, 
 To frozen field and byre. 
 
 First Shepherd. 
 Where 's Jacob ? 
 
 Second Shepherd. 
 
 See ! he cometh now 
 Yonder, over the wheatfield brow ; 
 And in his arms he hath, I trow, 
 A young lamb, newly born. 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Let 's heap the fire ; the wind brings snow ; 
 And feed the Httle Hfe that's low; 
 Lamb's life and babe's life flickering go 
 In this gray hour ere morn. 
 
 Third Shepherd {e?iteri?ig, a lavib in his ar??is). 
 
 Brothers, a little lamb I bring, 
 A curled and soft and helpless thing ; 
 Its mother died at birth-giving ; 
 And see the blood upon 
 
 The fleece, as though one marked it thus 
 For sacrifice most piteous. 
 There 's room enough for this with us, 
 Beside my little son. 
 
 First Shepherd. 
 
 Brothers, the night grows still and fair. 
 What balmy warmth is in the air ? 
 Look ye, whence comes that splendid Star, 
 Travelling to Bethlehem ? 
 
 Third Shepherd. 
 
 To-night some marvels we shall see. 
 Golden-clad folk went down by me, 
 All shimmering from the head to knee, 
 And with a diadem. 
 
 Second Shepherd. 
 
 Peace now ! For see above our hill 
 The heavens are opening wide, until 
 182 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 The golden glory bids us kneel 
 And praise God in the night. 
 
 See, rows on rows of shining ones, 
 All chanting, in their silver tones, 
 Matins and Lauds and orisons, 
 In one long golden flight ! 
 
 The Angels {singing). 
 
 Gloria in Excelsis Deo^ 
 Et in terra pax hominibics 
 Bo?iae voluntatis I 
 
 First Shepherd. 
 
 Lo, they are hushed ! but flutes begin 
 A silver music, soft and thin. 
 In one long trail the stars move in 
 And lean above the town. 
 
 'Tis the stars singing that we hear. 
 Like silver trumpets ringing clear. 
 How purely floats each silver sphere ! 
 We too will travel down. 
 
 All. 
 
 Come up, come up, black fleece and white. 
 Wether and ewe, and lamb so light, 
 And you, the wean was born to-night, 
 Come, follow the Star's track ! 
 
 183 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 It beckons us the way it goes ; 
 And Tib, our dog, the creature knows : 
 He too, in bitter frosts and snow^s, 
 Saw Gates of Heaven rolled back. 
 \They gather up their belo?igi?igs, a fid all go out. 
 
 Scene II.— The stable. Mary sitteth i7i the grass of the 
 manger, the Babe 07i her knee. Joseph kneeleth by her. 
 The Ox atid the Ass mildly gaze upon her Son. 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Sweet Son, and is it thus you come 
 To such a poor, unworthy home ? 
 Better than this was Mary's womb. 
 Unworthy though it were. 
 
 Nine months have I desired you, sweet. 
 To kiss your prisoned hands and feet ; 
 But never dreamt your face to greet 
 In a sad stable, bare. 
 
 Sleep, little one, sleep sweet, mine own ! 
 Mother shall rock her dearest one. 
 To-night He is her own, her Son, 
 Whatever the years bring. 
 
 In Nazareth she hath laid by 
 Great store of baby napery. 
 With lavender sweet, and rosemary. 
 All for her Baby King. 
 184 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Joseph. 
 Mary, give me His feet to kiss. 
 Alack, that in such place as this 
 The Child is born, Whom on my knees 
 Most humbly I adore. 
 
 Thou knowest how through this cold-heart town, 
 Weary I travelled up and down. 
 Praying a shelter for mine own. 
 All in her need so sore. 
 
 There was no woman, sweet, to come 
 And take thy hand, and lead thee home. 
 And find the hours not wearisome. 
 To watch by thee till morn ; 
 
 And with a woman's art to soothe 
 The Holy Babe, and wash and clothe. 
 Great glory they have lost, in truth. 
 By their cold hearts of scorn. 
 
 Mary. 
 Come hither, little ox and ass. 
 That gave my Son your scented grass ; 
 His hands shall o'er your foreheads pass 
 In love and thanksgiving. 
 
 What would we do, both He and I, 
 Had ye the world's cold cruelty. 
 Shelter and cradle to deny 
 To this most Holy Thing ? 
 
 \_The Ass and the Ox kneel down. 
 i8S 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Now bless them, little Baby Son, 
 Thy wrath for their oppression ; 
 Thy blessing where there 's kindness done 
 To these who gave Thee bed. 
 
 Yea, blessed these so wistful-eyed 
 That watched thy bed of birth beside, 
 And heard Thee when Thy dear voice cried, 
 And saw Thee clothed and fed. 
 
 little ass and ox, in truth 
 Great glory shall accrue to both. 
 For when the cold world lay in sloth 
 
 Ye kept the watch with joy ; 
 
 And by your breath the frosts were thawed, 
 Your kind brown eyes saw and were awed ; 
 King of the world, the angels' God, 
 And mine own new-born Boy. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Now, by the golden light of stars, 
 And the great crown each angel wears, 
 
 1 see a throng of wayfarers. 
 Coming across the moor 
 
 Are shepherd men, and men like kings ; 
 And every one his present brings ; 
 The sheep, the shepherds' shepherdings, 
 And dog, are at our door. 
 
 \_Ktngs and Shepherds enter ajid kneeL 
 i86 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Melchior. 
 We are three kings from farthest Ind, 
 Travelled these many weeks to find 
 The greatest King of all mankind. 
 And since the Star hath shown 
 
 That this most precious Babe is He, 
 We worship Him on bended knee, 
 With silk and spice of Araby, 
 And gold to build His throne. 
 
 I, Melchior am, old beyond man. 
 Ages ago my reign began ; 
 Now to this Babe of scarce a span 
 I kneel, and kiss His feet. 
 
 Dear King, Thou sweet and tender One, 
 Linen I bring Thee finely spun. 
 And cloth of gold for Mary's Son, 
 To be His garb unmeet. 
 
 Caspar. 
 
 Widowed of love, I frozen-eyed, 
 Since the black grave had snatched my bride,. 
 Watching one night pavilions wide 
 Of stars in a dark field, 
 
 Saw one Star ruddier than a rose ; 
 And by my palace casement close 
 Heard a great voice : The way it goes 
 Follow : thy wounds are healed. 
 187 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Yea, we have followed patiently. 
 Thou gentle Babe, now take from me 
 Sendal and spice from oversea. 
 And frankincense and myrrh. 
 
 And I, too, kiss Thy tender feet. 
 Where the red blood doth pulse and beat, 
 Making a stain both dark and sweet, 
 As though a nail went there. 
 
 Balthazar. 
 
 I young, with all the world before, 
 -Glory, and love, and power in store, 
 KneeUng most humbly, I adore 
 The Babe in swaddling clothes. 
 
 The Star to me sang clear how was. 
 Here in the manger and the grass, 
 A King whose greatness did surpass 
 All that a mortal knows. 
 
 Sweet little Child, the gold I bring 
 Is an unworthy offering. 
 But would that for my kingliest King 
 A palace I might build. 
 
 With hall, and tower, and shining stair 
 All of the gold and ivory fair. 
 And million windows in the air 
 That the late sunsets gild. 
 1 88 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 First Shepherd. 
 
 Hail Thou, Whom the Star heralded, 
 Comely and tender in Thy bed ! 
 Lady, I bring to His Godhead, 
 Being but a little Child, 
 
 A bunch of cherries, smooth and ripe. 
 Likewise a shepherd's oaten pipe. 
 He laughs, whilst thou the tears dost wipe,. 
 To see my cherries wild. 
 
 Second Shepherd. 
 
 Hail, Sovereign Saviour, Who hast sought 
 Us, by Thy seeking brought to naught ! 
 Wilt take a little bird I caught. 
 That hath a tuneful throat ? 
 
 Sweetest of sweetings, happy this 
 That thou shouldst greet it with a kiss. 
 And in Thy sweet hand make its bliss,. 
 And chirrup to its note. 
 
 Third Shepherd. 
 
 Hail, dearest dear, full of Godhead, 
 Be with me in mine utmost need ! 
 Alack, to see Thee in such weed. 
 Of pleasant things forlorn ! 
 
 Behold I bring thee but a ball. 
 The which a child finds good withal. 
 189 
 
THE NATIVITY 
 
 Hail, Holy King, asleep in stall, 
 Of Whom the world hath scorn ! 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Kind gentlefolk, who came to seek 
 My little Son, new-born and weak ; 
 I thank you, since He cannot speak, 
 And hft His hand to bless. 
 
 At in-going and out-coming 
 And on your homeward wayfaring, 
 And wife and wean and everything 
 Ye hold in tenderness. 
 
 Be free from woe where'er ye go, 
 Kind gentlefolk, that honour so 
 The Babe that came in frost and snow. 
 He bids ye go in peace. 
 
 To kings and kindly shepherd men, 
 And dog, and sheep that turn again, 
 Of His sweet countenance full fain, 
 Be health and full increase. 
 
 The Angels {singi?ig). 
 
 Laudamus te, benedicimus te^ adoramus te^ 
 Glorificamus te. Gratias agimus tibi 
 Propter magnavi gloriam ttia?n. 
 
 190 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Scene I. — Joseph sleepeth in a room white with moonlight. 
 Outside^ Bethlehem lieth still in the moon. Joseph dreameth 
 a?id uttereth aloud his dream. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Are they not safe ? I heard, methought, 
 The crying of women sore distraught, 
 And through that lonely sound I caught 
 The shriek of babes, and then 
 
 Clashing of swords, and oaths, and fierce 
 Wild laughter rang against mine ears. 
 Mine eyes beheld the dripping spears 
 In hands of wicked men. 
 
 'Twas night in Bethlehem did seem 
 All through the horror of my dream. 
 And " Woe ! " and " Woe to Bethlehem ! " 
 I heard a voice cry on. 
 
 And yet I know the small town lies 
 Soothed by the sweetest lullabies, 
 Watched by a million starry eyes 
 That gaze until the dawn. 
 191 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 I know the babies lie at rest, 
 Each rosy on its mother's breast, 
 Wherein love makes the tenderest nest. 
 O hard-heart little town, 
 
 That bade my dearest in her need 
 Take refuge in the cattle-shed, 
 And gave her sweetest Son for bed 
 The cattle's manger brown. 
 
 Nevertheless sleep well, and far 
 Away from thee those cries of war ! 
 Sleep sweetly under the Birthnight Star 
 Until the cock shall crow. 
 
 The while I hear, as soft as love. 
 The tender breathing of my dove. 
 And the dear Babe her heart above 
 Breathing so soft and low. 
 [A radiance floateth in his dream, in the midst 
 of which appeareth the Angel of the 
 Lord. 
 
 The Angel. 
 
 Joseph, arise ! no time for sleep. 
 If thou thy trust with God wouldst keep. 
 Leave Bethlehem town to wail and weep, 
 But thou, up and away ! 
 
 Take Mother and Child, and ride in haste 
 Across the desert still and vast. 
 192 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Saddle thine ass and ride thee fast. 
 Be far ere break of day. 
 
 Herod now seeks the Child to kill. 
 Up and away with a good will. 
 Soon will the winds of dawn blow chill, 
 The day of blood be red. 
 
 Save thou the Child ! Here will be moan, 
 Weeping and lamentation lone. 
 The voice of Rachel for her son 
 
 Mourning uncomforted. 
 
 [Joseph waketh a?id peereth in the moonlight. He 
 then ariseth hastily and wakeneth Mary. 
 
 Joseph. 
 
 Dearest, rise up and take the Child. 
 We must away ere yon star mild 
 Wanes in the day. While yet He smiled 
 In sleep, a vision rose, 
 
 And warned of danger dark and death. 
 Wrap thee right warm. The morning breath 
 Is cold, and cold the night bloweth 
 The way our journey goes. 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Alas, and is it so soon they seek 
 To slay my Babe new-born and weak ? 
 This little one so soft and meek, 
 No wild beast would Him harm. 
 
 193 o 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Saddle the ass. We two will be 
 Ready by then to ride with thee. 
 My sweet shall take no chill with me : 
 My veil and cloak are warm. 
 
 Come, little one, now leave behind 
 The town where we no roof could find 
 The night that Thou wast born. Unkind 
 The desert need not prove 
 
 For Thee to whom the world is ill : 
 Yea, raveneth like a wild beast still, 
 My white and innocent lamb to kill. 
 
 Come, tender little dove ! 
 
 [^T/iey pass out info the darkness^ where Joseph 
 holdeth the stirrup-rein of the ass. 
 
 Scene II. — In a robber's cave in the desert. Mary laveth 
 the little Jesus in clear water ^ while by her side Leah, the 
 robbers wife^ suckleth her babe. 
 
 Leah {singeth). 
 
 Sleep sweety my baby^ 
 
 Whiter than snows^ 
 Rose of the desert 
 
 That in the ?iight blows. 
 Round my wan rosebud 
 
 Floweth my veil^ 
 Screening my white rose^ 
 
 Tender and pale. 
 194 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Little white rosebud^ 
 
 Be not in haste 
 Yet to uncover 
 
 To the hot blast. 
 WorWs breath will scorn thee^ 
 
 Cruel wi?ids blow^ 
 Ravage my rosebud 
 
 Whiter than S7iow. 
 
 Lullaby, my rosebud, 
 
 Grow not a rose. 
 Round thee to shield thee 
 
 Mother's veil flows. 
 Rose of her darkness, 
 
 Make her heart glad — 
 The saddest poor another 
 
 That ever earth had. 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Why then, my sister, dost thou sing 
 So sad a cradle song to wing 
 Thy baby into slumbering ? 
 Nay then, thine eyes be dried. 
 
 Kiss his soft feet and feel but this, 
 Thou art a mother, with that bliss 
 Turning all carking care that is 
 To happy joy and pride. 
 
 We take the joy and grief in one, 
 We mothers who have borne a son, 
 195 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 And would not wish our lot undone 
 If it were else all woes. 
 
 But hold my Jesus, and let me 
 Thy pretty baby on my knee 
 Nurse for a little. I would see 
 The face thou boldest so close. 
 
 Leah (weepetK). 
 
 Lady, ah now you touch my wound. 
 Where is a sadder mother found 
 All the sad earth o'er and around ? 
 O lady, see my child, 
 
 White with the leprosy ! I dare 
 Not touch your boy's sweet face and hair, 
 Lest that my finger-tips should bear 
 Those seeds rank and defiled. 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Alas, poor mother, was this why 
 Didst lay thy precious baby by, 
 And wouldst not let my gaze come nigh 
 His piteous little form ? 
 
 Nay, give him me, and take my sweet. 
 That is all sound from head to feet. 
 The evil thing I fear not it ; 
 It cannot do Him harm. 
 196 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Give me thy son. I will him bathe 
 Here where my one Son bathed hath. 
 Great virtue hath He evil scathe 
 And taint away to take. 
 
 \Holdeth the babe, swiftly unclothing him. 
 
 Now in the water I thee lay. 
 My Baby's Father, take away 
 This baby's leprosy, I pray. 
 
 Even for Thy sweet Son's sake ! 
 \^She raiseth the babe from the water, wholly cleansed^ 
 and layeth him rosy in his mothet^s lap. 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Here is thy Dimas. Lift thine eyes ! 
 See how he sweet and rosy lies 
 That piteous was and food for sighs. 
 Now, sister, praise the Lord ! 
 
 Leah {falleth down), 
 
 I praise His Name, and thee He sent, 
 His angel and His instrument, 
 To work on me His good intent, 
 And on my babe and bird. 
 
 Mary. 
 
 Praise me not. But if thou wilt, praise 
 My Baby through thy length of days, 
 And praise His Father who had grace 
 And pity for thy need. 
 197 
 
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 
 
 Thou, little Dimas, who art clean, 
 I have a vision of thy sin. 
 And of thy sorrow that wins in 
 At last to Heaven indeed. 
 
 little Dimas, round and smooth, 
 
 1 see thee in thy lusty youth 
 
 Brought down to death and shame in truth ; 
 I see thee keeping tryst 
 
 In a most bitter day and hour 
 When men are mad and hell hath power, 
 High where the awful crosses tower, 
 Keeping thy tryst with Christ. 
 
 Little Dimas, when all is done, 
 Side by side with my little Son, 
 Thou winnest in when Heaven is won, 
 O happy little child ! 
 
 Now sleep. And sleep, my Jesus small, 
 For little birds are sleeping all. 
 And shadows lengthen on the wall. 
 And fades the daylight mild. 
 
 198 
 
A LOVER'S BREAST-KNOT 
 
LOVE'S TROUBLE 
 
 For you I fear the stabbing rain, 
 The wounding wind ; 
 
 wandering love, return again, 
 Turn, and be kind ! 
 
 The distant thunder in the hills 
 I fear for you ; 
 
 1 fear the lightning's spear that kills. 
 Wavering, blue. 
 
 For you the noonday sun I dread. 
 
 O noonday sun, 
 Rest quietly on his dear head, 
 
 My dearest one ! 
 For you all evil beasts I fear. 
 
 All foul affrights, 
 With winged shadows that creep anear 
 
 In lonely nights. 
 
 Dear angels, guard him where he goes, 
 
 In day and dark ! 
 Lest nigh his path, in lily and rose, 
 
 The serpent lurk. 
 O, sleepless eyes of blessed ones. 
 
 Watch o'er my love ; 
 And wings that shame th' eternal suns 
 
 Winnow above ! 
 
 20I 
 
GREATER LOVE 
 
 There is but one sweet Love, one Love unroving, 
 
 Truer than mine may be ; 
 One constant Love beyond all mortal loving, 
 
 Greater than yours for me. 
 
 Therefore unto that Love I do commend you, 
 
 So that when mine shall fail 
 That love unfailing may wrap round, befriend you, 
 
 That sea of love prevail. 
 
 So that when my poor love is but remembered 
 
 As some sweet thing foregone. 
 That love may fill you full with sweets unnumbered, 
 
 And leave you not alone. 
 
 O Love eternal. Love supernal, keep him 
 
 If haply I should go ; 
 In all Love's raptures, Love's rewardings, steep him. 
 
 Yea, pay him all I owe ! 
 
 202 
 
LOVE'S BIRD 
 
 When thrushes rest the weary head, 
 And linnets he in gold and green, 
 
 When blackbirds on a downy bed 
 Are silvered with a moony sheen, 
 
 What voice awakes the emerald house ? 
 
 What love incarnate flies on wings ? 
 What passion shakes the trembling boughs ? 
 
 It is the Bird of Love that sings ? 
 
 It is the Bird of Love that sings. 
 Stabbing our silence like a sword ; 
 
 And Love himself that flies on wings, 
 God and enchanter and no bird. 
 
 Our moon of honey, our marriage moon 
 Rides in the heaven for our delight. 
 
 The silver world grows golden soon. 
 Honey and gold spilled in the night. 
 
 The Bird of Love, the Bird of Pain, 
 He sings our marriage moon away ; 
 
 Filling the night with golden rain. 
 Betwixt the darkness and the day. 
 203 
 
LOVE'S BIRD 
 
 Closer and closer, hold me close : 
 For is it Love or Death he sings ? 
 
 And is it Love or Death that goes 
 
 Through the sweet night with rustling wings ? 
 
 204 
 
LOVE'S WATCHFULNESS 
 
 When you awake I wake, 
 And when you sleep I sleep. 
 
 Your lightest sigh will break 
 My sweetest dreams and deep. 
 
 My heart watches aware 
 Whether I wake or sleep. 
 
 Though far in dreams I fare, 
 Call, and my heart will leap. 
 
 The grave is not so low, 
 
 The way to Heaven so steep, 
 
 But I should surely know 
 If my love stirred in sleep. 
 
 What world, what starry sphere 
 My heart in dreams could keep, 
 
 If you wanted me, dear. 
 
 If you should wake and weep ? 
 
 205 
 
LOVE'S GARDEN 
 
 A LITTLE garden, great enough 
 
 To hold Love's wings. 
 Yea, and the sacred Bird of Love, 
 
 Hark, how he sings ! 
 
 The ardent Flower of Love, likewise, 
 
 Burns in the brake. 
 Love's wings are set with myriad eyes, 
 
 Ever awake. 
 
 Heavy with honey flies the bee 
 
 From rose to rose ; 
 Powdered with gold dust to the knee, 
 
 He comes and goes. 
 
 The secret song the nightingale 
 
 Sang to the moon, 
 It shall be hidden by Love's veil. 
 
 Now it is noon. 
 
 The secret thing the golden bee 
 
 Said to the rose, 
 Though it be known to thee and me, 
 
 Shall we disclose ? 
 206 
 
LOVE'S GARDExN 
 
 Ah no ! Love's secrets let us keep, 
 
 Lest the winged god, 
 Angered, go seeking, while we sleep. 
 
 Some new abode. 
 
 207 
 
LOVE INCONSTANT 
 
 After April months and May 
 Love of birds will fly away. 
 After June light loves grown chilly 
 Part, though tarry rose and lily. 
 O alas ! such loves should sunder, 
 They who made the world a wonder, 
 Raining from their honey throats 
 Golden notes and silver notes ! 
 
 O in April what unrest 
 Stirs the swallow's sea-born breast ? 
 For some love of old and golden, 
 Where pale orchards bloom unfolden : 
 For some silent heartstring stirred, 
 Some lost heaven remembered. 
 And the old dream calls him home, 
 Home by trackless skies and foam. 
 
 O alas, such things should be ! 
 Cold as stone are he and she. 
 Empty gapes the nest and wide 
 They two planned with such sweet pride 
 The sweet nestlings flown as far 
 As the light-winged lost loves are. 
 208 
 
LOVE INCONSTANT 
 
 Love, whose love endures, see then 
 How sweet Love is wronged again ! 
 
 How these birds, from lark to sparrow... 
 Snap his bow and blunt his arrow ! 
 
 209 
 
LOVE IN ABSENCE 
 
 I 
 
 LOVE IMPATIENT 
 
 Come while the sweet Spring stays, O come ! 
 Come ere the nightingale be dumb ; 
 While on her eggs his mate doth sit, 
 And all the chestnut lamps are lit. 
 
 Come ere the baby leaves grow old. 
 Crumpled and soft, these keep the fold 
 Of tight enswathed buds, O come ! 
 While yet the swallow is new to home. 
 
 Come while our orchard like a bride 
 Blushes through white, and evening-tide 
 Hangs all the pear-trees with such white, 
 Spun from the moon-rays for delight. 
 
 Come while the yellow moon still shows, 
 A moon of honey, a golden rose ; 
 And while all night in rapt content 
 Our garden of Eden spills its scent. 
 
 Come ere the cuckoo's song is over. 
 Come in the day of every lover. 
 When every lover still wings for home ; 
 Come ere the nightingale be dumb ! 
 
II 
 
 LOVE CONTENT 
 
 I WOULD not shorten if I might 
 
 By one sweet hour the hours that stand 
 Betwixt me and my heart's delight. 
 
 May and the Hlac in the land, 
 
 All rapturous sounds, and scents at night, 
 The days spill out their golden sand. 
 
 Sweet is the garden, white with bloom, 
 
 Heavy with honey, drenched with scent, 
 Wherein a bride awaits her groom. 
 
 In a most measureless content. 
 
 With gold and white day fills the loom, 
 And soon the moon-gold nights are spent. 
 
 I would not shorten by an hour 
 
 The hours wherein I wait for you 
 With Love and all the world in flower. 
 
 So sweet, so sweet in sun and dew. 
 
 It is the hour of Love's full power, 
 Yet come, and make my world anew ! 
 
 211 
 
HOME-COMING 
 
 O PASSIONATE pilgrim, was the way 
 So long then, was the day so long 
 
 From the blue matin till 'twas gray ? 
 From morning till the evening-song ? 
 
 Was it so long, Love, while you came 
 Nearer each minute ? lead-foot, slow, 
 
 Did the day round to evening-flame ? 
 And was the daylight slow to go ? 
 
 And did your eager eyes look far 
 
 To see the crescent moon rise bright ? 
 
 And Hesper, your home-coming star. 
 Did Hesper tarry long that night ? 
 
 At last the moon rained gold, and lest 
 The moon-gold were too cold, there fell 
 
 Drifting of bloom about your nest ; 
 That night the nightingale sang well. 
 
 O sweet day full of scent and song. 
 Sweetly it wore from dawn to even ; 
 
 And yet the sweet day did us wrong, 
 
 Since evening brought the lover's heaven. 
 
 212 
 
THE LARK IN LOVE 
 
 The lark that 's climbing stair on stair 
 His ladder of light that swings in air 
 Hath a new note for every rung : 
 The lark 's in love and young. 
 
 But soon the clouds allure no more, 
 No more the silver-damasked floor ; 
 In spirals was his outward track, 
 But headlong comes he back. 
 
 He falls, shot through the burning heart, 
 Yea, through the heart by Love's own dart 
 Too well the cunning archer knew 
 The arrow he sent was true. 
 
 But, lark, what wisdom dost thou prove 
 Whose wings, still tethered by thy love, 
 Carry thy song to Paradise : 
 Yet sweeter are her eyes. 
 
 That was her praise, thy song that poured, 
 And his of wedded lovers, the lord. 
 lo Hymen ! Thou happy boy, 
 Drunken with love and joy. 
 213 
 
THE LARK IN LOVE 
 
 lo Hymen I O, speckled breast, 
 Minstrel of thine own wedding-feast, 
 Lover and bridegroom, singing still 
 How Love shall have his will ! 
 
 214 
 
LOVE'S CAREFULNESS 
 
 Unto myself I am grown dear, 
 
 Being dear to you ; 
 And fearful with a double fear 
 
 In all I do, 
 Lest that some evil chance should prove 
 Ruin of that poor thing you love. 
 
 this woman will love her girl, 
 
 And that her boy ! 
 
 1 keep not even the golden curl 
 
 Of our dead joy ; 
 Now both my loves in one are given 
 Ever to you who make my heaven. 
 
 If all our palaces were dust 
 
 Blown on the wind, 
 I might some other woman trust 
 
 To be as kind. 
 To love as well as I — but then 
 What love could bid you love again ? 
 
 generous giver, who hast given 
 
 Once and for aye. 
 For life and death, for earth and heaven, 
 As for to-day, 
 
 1 love myself because you hold 
 Every hair of my head as gold. 
 
 215 
 
CALLING THE BIRDS 
 
 Who close beside our window-pane 
 
 Whistles thrice at the dawn of day, 
 And listens, for his answer fain ? 
 Toujours gai. 
 
 Who bids the merry din resound, 
 
 While oaten pipes are silvery gray, 
 Ere chanticleer first turns him round ? 
 Toujours gai. 
 
 AVho bids the corncrake, shrill and blithe. 
 
 Wake up on his sweet couch of hay, 
 And whirr against the mower's scythe ? 
 Toujours gai. 
 
 Who hales the finch from dreams of love, 
 
 And linnet to his roundelay. 
 And from Love's arms the wooing dove ? 
 Toujours gai. 
 
 Who calls the robin and the starling, 
 
 And bids the blackbird's flute to play. 
 The thrush to sing : O darling, darling ? 
 Toujours gai. 
 216 
 
CALLING THE BIRDS 
 
 Who is it wakes the sparrows' wall, 
 
 And sets a-tremble every spray, 
 With flutter, and chatter, and trill, and call ? 
 Toujour s gat. 
 
 This whistling thing at sweet o' the year, 
 
 O is he bird, or boy, or fay ? 
 Mayhap, some fairy chanticleer. 
 Tonjours gat. 
 
 May he be fed on honey and kisses, 
 And where the undying roses stay 
 Wake the sweet world to newer blisses 
 Tonjours gat. 
 
 217 
 
AUGUST WEATHER 
 
 Dead heat and windless air, 
 
 And silence over all ; 
 Never a leaf astir, 
 
 But the ripe apples fall ; 
 Plums are purple-red, 
 
 Pears amber and brown ; 
 Thud ! in the garden-bed 
 
 Ripe apples fall down. 
 
 Air like a cider-press 
 
 With the bruised apples' scent ; 
 Low whistles express 
 
 Some sleepy bird's content ; 
 Still world and windless sky, 
 
 A mist of heat o'er all ; 
 Peace like a lullaby, 
 
 And the ripe apples fall. 
 
 218 
 
LOVE AT EASTER 
 
 Smg to the Lord a new song I 
 
 Because the Spring comes newly. 
 And every slender sapling 
 
 Has budded green and red. 
 Sing to the Lord a ?iew song ! 
 
 The skylark sings it truly, 
 Since all in dewy April 
 
 His love and he are wed. 
 
 Si7ig to the Lord a new soitg I 
 
 For every bird 's a lover, 
 And o'er the purple furrows 
 
 The green spears nod and wave. 
 Si7tg to the Lord a new song I 
 
 Since Lenten fasts are over. 
 And Easter 's gone in glory. 
 
 And Christ has left the grave. 
 
 Sing to the Lord a 7iew so7ig I 
 
 A song of love and wedding, 
 For every bird is building 
 
 His nest in bower and tree. 
 Sing to the Lord a new S07ig ! 
 
 The tufts of soft wool spreading 
 Where a brown wife and babies 
 
 This April-tide shall be. 
 219 
 
OF THE TRUE MARRIAGE 
 
 Unto His servant on a day 
 
 The Lord revealed His hidden way. 
 
 He said : " Within this city great, 
 
 Where sin still slays the Lamb of God, 
 
 What dost thou think I contemplate 
 For comfort when I look abroad ? " 
 
 His servant answered : " Yonder church 
 
 Crowded at Mass-time to the porch." 
 
 The Lord replied : " Not so " ; and then, 
 His servant guessed to make Him glad 
 
 The priest where he sat shriving men ; 
 The wounded healed ; the orphan clad ; 
 
 The widow's tears wiped off ; the poor 
 
 Fed from another's little store. 
 
 And then he guessed the saint who died 
 
 Last night ; Fra Leo, vigil-pale. 
 Painting the wings of Heaven ; Christ's bride 
 
 New-wed, beneath her shadowy veil ; 
 The gray cross in the market-place 
 With children playing at its base. 
 
 220 
 
OF THE TRUE MARRIAGE 
 
 And many things of earth and heaven : 
 The Convent garden and the doves ; 
 
 The western sky aflame at even ; 
 
 The mountains and the orange groves ; 
 
 The sea that moaned ahvay and prayed : 
 
 And yet the Lord God shook His head. 
 
 He said : " Lo, in thy city I see 
 A wife and husband, full of love, 
 
 Whose lives in loving harmony 
 
 Are set all death and change above. 
 
 I see : and leaning from my place, 
 
 I bless them in their hidden grace. 
 
 " Whose love and peace and sweet accord 
 Comfort Me greatly," saith the Lord. 
 
LOVE COMFORTLESS 
 
 The child is in the night and rain 
 
 On whom no tenderest wind might blow, 
 And out alone in a hurricane. 
 
 Ah^ nOy 
 The child is safe in Paradise ! 
 
 The snow is on his gentle head, 
 His little feet are in the snow, 
 Oj very cold is his small bed ! 
 
 Ah^ 7W, 
 Lift up your heart, lift up your eyes ! 
 
 Over the fields and out of sight, 
 Beside the lonely river's flow, 
 Lieth the child this bitter night. 
 Ah, no, 
 The child sleeps under Marfs eyes ! 
 
 What wandering lamb cries sore distressed, 
 
 Whilst I with fire and comfort go ? 
 O, let me warm him in my breast ! 
 
 Ah, no, 
 'Tis warm in God^s lit nurseries ! 
 
 222 
 
THE SHEEPFOLD 
 
 The Shepherd of the sheepfold leant 
 Upon his crook, and saw within 
 
 The fold his milky ewes content, 
 His white lambs innocent of sin. 
 
 The milky mothers giving suck 
 He saw, and merry lambs at play ; 
 
 Yet, leaning on his shepherd's crook, 
 His eyes, his heart, were turned away. 
 
 His tender thoughts were turned apart 
 To where his orphaned lambs cried on ; 
 
 Their cries lay heavy on his heart — 
 Poor milkless lambkins and undone. 
 
 With tears he saw the milky dams 
 Go dropping milk upon the grass ; 
 
 These were the mothers of dead lambs, 
 The mothers of dead lambs, alas ! 
 
 O little lambs that would not live, 
 Your milk runs all to bitter waste. 
 
 Your milk that makes the Shepherd grieve, 
 Runs out like tears so hot and fast. 
 223 
 
THE SHEEPFOLD 
 
 O comfort, comfort then those sheep, 
 Whose little lovely lambs are dead. 
 
 The milk that makes the Shepherd weep 
 Runs out like tears, and none is fed. 
 
 224 
 
HOLY INNOCENTS 
 
 Gold on gold, snow on snow, 
 Height on height, row on row ; 
 Greater in number these 
 Than the sands of the seas. 
 
 Yea, past all counting far. 
 Flower on flower, star on star, 
 Dimpled shoulder, cheek of peach. 
 As they lean each to each. 
 
 Golden heads, brows of pearl, 
 O many a boy and girl, 
 O many a girl and boy, 
 Mother's grief, mother's joy. 
 
 But amid snow and gold. 
 Gathered warm from the cold, 
 Fairer than gold, more fine, 
 Should be two that are mine. 
 
 225 
 
LOVE'S THANKSGIVING 
 
 O HOW good God is that He sends 
 Stores of unfailing love to me, 
 
 And work and prayer and praise of friends, 
 Blackbirds and thrushes in the tree, 
 
 And sheep-bells in the fields, and roses 
 And all the sweets of May and June, 
 
 And lavender and dew and posies. 
 And sun and moon. 
 
 O how good God is that He sends 
 
 Bean-rows in blossom, bees i' the hive, 
 
 Gray dawns and golden evening-ends, 
 And a glad heart to be alive ; 
 
 A grateful mind and quiet fancies, 
 
 Shade from the sun, and sleep at night, 
 
 And clumps of brown and golden pansies, 
 And lilies white. 
 
 O how good God is that He sends 
 
 A little child to be all ours, 
 Mine and my dearest Love's, and tends 
 Our blossom in the sun and showers. 
 And bids His angels still keep near him 
 
 Lest that the little feet should miss. 
 And wings of angels still to bear him 
 Ever in bliss. 
 226 
 
LOVE'S THANKSGIVING 
 
 O how good God is that He keeps 
 The child for ever and ever well, 
 
 Above the tempests and the deeps, 
 In joy no tongue can tell. 
 
 Our little lamb of God goes straying, 
 
 By daisied meadows, 'neath dappled skies ; 
 
 Our little lamb of God goes playing 
 Under God's eyes. 
 
 227 
 
THE CHILD IN HEAVEN 
 
 The nursery windows were cold and black, 
 
 The nursery hearth it was gray and sad ; 
 She moaned for the child that would never come back, 
 
 Her heart was broken for her little lad. 
 She had folded his garments and put them away, 
 
 She had hidden his cradle quite out of sight : 
 But the child was glad in the light of day, 
 
 While she was caught in the bitter night. 
 
 He thi7iks of his mother through all that cheer ; 
 He would never forget in a hundred year. 
 
 The silence ached for the baby's cry. 
 
 O silence, silence and loneliness ! 
 And the thought of the empty nursery 
 
 Cried at her heart with a keen distress — 
 Knocked at her heart like a ghost of the night, 
 
 Followed her ever or near or far : 
 But her little boy he is clad in white. 
 
 In the land that is over the morning star. 
 
 He thinks of his 7nother through all that cheer; 
 He would never forget i7i a Imndred year. 
 228 
 
THE CHILD IN HEAVEN 
 
 His bed was soft as a nest of roses, 
 
 His robes were all of the linen spun, 
 He had taken naught but a handful of posies 
 
 When he went out on his way alone — 
 When he went out where she might not follow, 
 
 And left her stricken and cold and bare, 
 His radiant journey by hill and hollow, 
 
 To the dear God's House in the glittering air 
 
 He thinks of his mother through all that cheer 
 He would never forget in a hundred year. 
 
 She will come one day to God's nursery. 
 
 Where His little babies are safe and warm 
 And lift the little one to her knee, 
 
 And lose the ache of the empty arm, 
 And lose the ache of the empty heart. 
 
 And fashion newly Love's empty nest. 
 And kiss his brows and his lips apart. 
 
 And give him milk from her lonely breast. 
 
 He thinks of his mother through all that cheer; 
 He would never forget in a hundred year. 
 
 229 
 
LOVE IN HEAVEN 
 
 The child is rocked on Mary's knees, 
 
 Her lullaby stills his alarms, 
 Love's cradle gives him happy ease, 
 
 Love's nest of love within her arms : 
 " Lullaby," she singeth, " pretty babe of sorrow, 
 Thy mother comes to stay with thee to-morrow." 
 
 One angel holds his basin, one 
 
 His ewer of golden water sweet, 
 And one his robe to put him on. 
 
 And one his pillow and his sheet. 
 " O mystery," they cry, " of love and sorrow. 
 Sleep sweet, dear babe, thy mother comes to-morrow." 
 
 Immortal angels standing by, 
 
 Kiss that sweet babe on Mary's knee. 
 " Blessed the woman is," they sigh, 
 
 " Whose motherhood hath given her thee. 
 Happy her lot in mortal joy and sorrow 
 Who lost thee yesterday but finds to-morrow." 
 
 230 
 
THE WIND IN THE TREES 
 
ST. VALENTINE 
 
 The West Wind blew so sweet and cold, 
 
 The country wind and dear, 
 From fields and woods and gardens old 
 
 In the morning of the year. 
 The pleasant sparrows, rooks, and daws 
 
 Drank up that wind like wine, 
 And hailed the day with loud applause 
 
 And chatterings gay and fine, 
 Because 
 
 It was St. Valentine. 
 
 The larks were fleeting near the earth, 
 
 And fluttering high and low ; 
 The blackbird joined his golden mirth 
 
 To Spring's triumphal show. 
 The thrush was gathering twigs and straws 
 
 All day in that sweet shine, 
 And feathers from the briars and haws 
 
 Some bed of love to line, 
 Because 
 
 It was St. Valentine. 
 
 233 
 
PINK ALMOND 
 
 So delicate, so airy, 
 
 The almond on the tree. 
 
 Pink stars that some good fairy 
 Has made for you and me. 
 
 A little cloud of roses. 
 All in a world of gray, 
 
 The almond flower uncloses 
 Upon the wild March day. 
 
 A mist of roses blowing 
 The way of fog and sleet, 
 
 A dust of roses showing 
 For gray dust in the street. 
 
 Pink snow upon the branches, 
 Pink snowflakes falling down 
 
 In rosy avalanches 
 
 Upon the dreary town. 
 
 A rain, a shower of roses, 
 All in a roseless day ; 
 
 The almond-tree uncloses 
 Her roses on the gray. 
 234 
 
CHESTNUT IN APRIL 
 
 The chestnut is a candlestick 
 Of arching clusters, rosy and thick, 
 And branches branching wide and high 
 Toward the smiling sky. 
 
 Closed are the sweet-lip buds that hide 
 A flame of mother-o'-pearl inside. 
 Open, open, O rosy mouth ! 
 The wind is from the south. 
 
 O wind, from Spring's own country blow, 
 Till all the candles lit arow. 
 And all the candles lit a-ring, 
 Make Christmas-trees for Spring. 
 
 The little candle-cups are made 
 Of silver, rosy pearl, and jade. 
 Each cup shall hold its light aloft, 
 Moon-pale in wood and croft. 
 
 Not finer in the sky above 
 The heavenly candlestick, whereof 
 The candles are the stars that keep 
 Light while the sun 's asleep. 
 235 
 
CHESTNUT IN APRIL 
 
 O chestnut, light your million lamps 
 In fairy camps, in dew and damps. 
 And draws the moths at eve to play 
 Around their glimmering ray. 
 
 O chestnut, light your lamps all pale, 
 The nights are for the nightingale. 
 Amid your lamps Love's bower is made : 
 Love's litanies are prayed. 
 
 Too soon, too soon on hill and lawn, 
 Like him who quenches lamps at dawn 
 Shall one blow out your lights and leave 
 The woods to dusky eve. 
 
 236 
 
EASTER 
 
 Bring flowers to strew His way, 
 Yea, sing, make holiday; 
 Bid young lambs leap, 
 And earth laugh after sleep. 
 
 For now He cometh forth 
 Winter flies to the north, 
 Folds wings and cries 
 Amid the bergs and ice. 
 
 Bring no sad palms like those 
 That led Him to His foes, 
 Bring wind-flower, daffodil. 
 From many a vernal hill. 
 
 Let there be naught but bloom 
 To light Him from the tomb 
 Who late hath slain 
 Death, and his glory ta'en. 
 
 Yea, Death, great Death is dead, 
 And Life reigns in his stead ; 
 Cometh the Athlete 
 New from dead Death's defeat. 
 237 
 
EASTER 
 
 Cometh the Wrestler, 
 But Death he makes no stir, 
 Utterly spent and done, 
 And all his kingdom gone. 
 
 Bring flowers, make holiday. 
 
 In His triumphal way. 
 
 Salve ye with kisses 
 
 His hurts that make your blisses. 
 
 Bring flowers, make holiday, 
 For His triumphal way : 
 Yea, fling before Him 
 Hearts of men that adore Him. 
 
 238 
 
LAMBS 
 
 He sleeps as a lamb sleeps, 
 
 Beside his mother. 
 Somewhere in yon blue deeps 
 
 His tender brother 
 Sleeps like a lamb and leaps. 
 
 He feeds as a lamb might, 
 
 Beside his mother. 
 Somewhere in fields of light 
 
 A lamb, his brother. 
 Feeds, and is clothed in white. 
 
 239 
 
LARKS 
 
 All day in exquisite air 
 The song clomb an invisible stair, 
 Flight on flight, story on story, 
 Into the dazzling glory. 
 
 There was no bird, only a singing. 
 Up in the glory, climbing and ringing, 
 Like a small golden cloud at even. 
 Trembling 'twixt earth and heaven. 
 
 I saw no staircase winding, winding, 
 Up in the dazzle, sapphire and blinding 
 Yet round by round, in exquisite air, 
 The song went up the stair. 
 
 240 
 
^ OF THE A 
 
 UNIVERSITY ) 
 
 i*^>^LlFOV 
 
 LEAVES 
 
 Myriads and myriads plumed their glistening wings, 
 As fine as any bird that soars and sings, 
 As bright as fireflies or the dragon-flies, 
 Or birds of paradise. 
 
 Myriads and myriads waved their sheeny fans, 
 Soft as the dove's breast, or the pelican's ; 
 And some were gold, and some were green, and some 
 Pink-lipped, like apple-bloom. 
 
 A low wind tossed the plumage all one way, 
 Rippled the gold feathers, and green and gray, — 
 A low wind that in moving sang one song 
 All day and all night long. 
 
 Sweet honey in the leafage, and cool dew, 
 A roof of stars, a tent of gold and blue ; 
 Silence and sound at once, and dim green light, 
 To turn the gold day night. 
 
 Some trees hung lanterns out, and some had stars, 
 Silver as Hesper, and rose-red as Mars ; 
 A low wind flung the lanterns low and high, — 
 A low wind like a sigh. 
 
 '241 R 
 
LEAVES 
 
 Myriads and myriads, more in number than 
 The sea's sands, or its drops of water wan. 
 Sang one Name in the rapture that is May, 
 With faces turned one way. 
 
 242 
 
CHANTICLEER 
 
 Of all the birds from East to West 
 
 That tuneful are and dear, 
 I love that farmyard bird the best, 
 
 They call him Chanticleer. 
 
 Gold plume and copper plume ^ 
 
 Comb of scarlet gay ; 
 ^Tis he that scatters night afid gloom^ 
 
 And whistles back the day I 
 
 He is the sun's brave herald 
 Who, ringing his blithe horn, 
 
 Calls round a world dew-pearled 
 The heavenly airs of morn. 
 
 O clear gold, shrill and bold, 
 He calls through creeping mist 
 
 The mountains from the night and cold 
 To rose and amethyst. 
 
 He sets the birds to singing, 
 And calls the flowers to rise ; 
 
 The morning cometh, bringing 
 Sweet sleep to heavy eyes. 
 243 
 
CHANTICLEER 
 
 Gold plu7ne and silver plume ^ 
 
 Comb of coral gay ; 
 ^Tis he packs off the ?ttght and gloom. 
 
 And su77imons ho7?ie the day ! 
 
 Black fear he sends it flying, 
 Black care he drives afar ; 
 
 And creeping shadows sighing 
 Before the morning star. 
 
 (Tis O, and woe, the lone ghost 
 That glides before his call, 
 
 And huddles in its grave, so lost, 
 Below the churchyard wall !) 
 
 The birds of all the forest 
 
 Have dear and pleasant cheer. 
 
 But yet I hold the rarest 
 The farmyard Chanticleer. 
 
 Red cock or black cock, 
 
 Gold cock or white, 
 The flower of all the feathered flocky 
 
 He whistles back the light ! 
 
 244 
 
THE GARDENER 
 
 For the light heart or heavy heart 
 Medicine. Set thou a time apart, 
 And to thy garden thee betake 
 With hoe and spade and pot and rake. 
 
 Mark thou thy garden, — and not spare 
 Thyself as honest labourer. 
 Break thou the earth and turn withal, 
 So the live airs thereon shall fall. 
 
 Then set thy little seeds in rows, 
 
 With the kind earth for swaddling clothes ; 
 
 And these shall presently awake, 
 
 And into life and praise shall break. 
 
 Hoe, thin, and water then, that these 
 May spread their growing limbs at ease ; 
 And prune the vaulting boughs lest they 
 Should dwindle for the warmth of day. 
 
 Soon shall the sweet Spring trumpets ring, 
 And all the world sing songs for Spring ; 
 Then from the wormy bed shall rise 
 Creatures that wear the peacock's eyes. 
 245 
 
THE GARDENER 
 
 No man shall childless go who hath 
 Raised these sweet babies out of death. 
 O peachy cheeks and goldilocks, 
 And maids in rose and scarlet frocks ! 
 
 Here shall resort the butterfly, 
 The birds set up their loves hereby. 
 The mealy-mouthed bee shall come 
 For honey for his queen at home. 
 
 Brown shall the man grow, being wooed 
 With the sun's kisses, brave and good, 
 Shall be an-hungered, and, being fed, 
 Shall find his bed a golden bed. 
 
 Squirrels and hares and gamesome things, 
 And all sweet folk that go on wings. 
 Shall sit with him when he shall eat, 
 And ask a blessing on his meat. 
 
 The wonders of the skies for him 
 Shall open, nor his eyes be dim ; 
 And seeing the first leaf unfold. 
 He shall praise God an hundredfold. 
 
 Yea, he shall learn from his employ 
 How God turns mourning into joy. 
 And from earth's graves calls up at last 
 His flowers when all the Winter 's past. 
 
 246 
 
SING, CUCKOO 
 
 Cuckoo calls in the heavenly weather, 
 
 Cuckoo ! 
 I, my Love, and the Spring together. 
 
 Soft are dreams of clear waters falling, 
 
 Cuckoo / 
 Softer yet is the Cuckoo calling. 
 
 Veils of distance cover and hide him, 
 
 Cuckoo ! 
 Cuckoo comes and the Spring beside him. 
 
 Cuckoo utters the one call only, 
 
 Cuckoo ! 
 Lacking Cuckoo the Spring were lonely. 
 
 247 
 
THE LITTLE RED LARK 
 
 The little red lark is shaking his wings, 
 Straight from the breast of his love he springs ; 
 Listen the lilt of the song he sings, 
 All in the morning early, O. 
 
 The sea is rocking a cradle, hark ! 
 To a hushing-song, and the fields are dark. 
 And would I were there with the little red lark. 
 All in the morning early, O. 
 
 The beard of barley is old-man's-gray. 
 All green and silver the new-mown hay. 
 The dew from his wings he has shaken away, 
 All in the morning early, O. 
 
 The little red lark is high in the sky. 
 No eagle soars where the lark may fly. 
 Where are you going to, high, so high ? 
 All in the morning early, O. 
 
 His wings and feathers are sunrise red ; 
 He hails the sun and his golden head : 
 Good-morrow, sun, you are long abed. 
 All in the morning early, O. 
 248 
 
THE LITTLE RED LARK 
 
 I would I were where the little red lark, 
 Up in the dawn like a rose-red spark, 
 Sheds the day on the fields so dark, 
 All in the morning early, O. 
 
 249 
 
SPRING LONGING 
 
 Often I wish that I might be, 
 This gay and golden weather, 
 
 Among my father's fields, ah, me ! 
 And he and I together. 
 
 Below the mountains, fair and dim, 
 My father's fields are spreading. 
 
 I'd rather tread the sward with him 
 Than I would dance at a wedding. 
 
 O green and fresh your English sod 
 With daisies sprinkled over ; 
 
 But greener far were the fields I trod,. 
 And the honeyed Irish clover. 
 
 O, well your skylark cleaves the blue 
 To bid the sun good-morrow ; 
 
 He has not the bonny song I knew 
 High over an Irish furrow. 
 
 And often, often, Fm longing still, 
 This gay and golden weather. 
 
 For my father's face by an Irish hill, 
 And he and I together. 
 250 
 
FAREWELL 
 
 Not soon shall I forget — a sheet 
 Of golden water, cold and sweet, 
 The young moon with her head in veils 
 Of silver, and the nightingales. 
 
 A wain of hay came up the lane — 
 
 fields I shall not walk again, 
 And trees I shall not see, so still 
 Against a sky of daffodil ! 
 
 Fields where my happy heart had rest, 
 And where my heart was heaviest, 
 
 1 shall remember them at peace 
 Drenched in moon-silver like a fleece. 
 
 The golden water sweet and cold, 
 The moon of silver and of gold. 
 The dew upon the gray grass-spears 
 I shall remember them with tears. 
 
 251 
 
CUCKOO 
 
 His voice runs before me ; I follow, it flies : 
 It is now in the meadow, and now in the skies ; 
 So blithesome, so lightsome, now distant, now here, 
 And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near. 
 
 He calls back the roses, red roses that went 
 At the first blast of winter, so sad and forspent, 
 With the dew in their bosoms, young roses and dear, 
 And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near. 
 
 I would twine him a gold cage, but what would he do 
 For his world of the emerald, his bath in the blue. 
 And his wee feathered comrades to make him good cheer? 
 And when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is near. 
 
 Now, blackbird, give over your harping of gold ! 
 Brown thrush and green linnet, your music withhold ! 
 The flutes of the forest are silver and clear, 
 But when he calls Cuckoo, the summer is here. 
 
 252 
 
OF AN ORCHARD 
 
 Good is an Orchard, the Saint saith, 
 To meditate on life and death, 
 With a cool well, a hive of bees, 
 A hermit's grot below the trees. 
 
 Good is an Orchard : very good. 
 Though one should wear no monkish hood. 
 Right good, when Spring awakes her flute, 
 And good in yellowing time of fruit. 
 
 Very good in the grass to lie, 
 
 And see the network 'gainst the sky, 
 
 A living lace of blue and green, 
 
 And boughs that let the gold between. 
 
 The bees are types of souls that dwell 
 With honey in a quiet cell ; 
 The ripe fruit figures goldenly 
 The soul's perfection in God's eye. 
 
 Prayer and praise in a country home, 
 Honey and fruit : a man might come, 
 Fed on such meats, to walk abroad. 
 And in his Orchard talk with God. 
 253 
 
THE COMPLAINT 
 
 The first sound that I hear at morn 
 In the low house where I was born 
 Is plaint of the wood-dove forlorn, 
 Leaning her breast upon a thorn. 
 
 All day in orchard coppices 
 The low moan of the wood-dove is. 
 Song-birds all singing give less bliss 
 Than she who mourns Love's little ease. 
 
 Crickets in sunny grass a-whir, 
 And many a bronze-winged trumpeter, 
 All the blithe country shine and stir. 
 And from all these I turn to her. 
 
 All noon, in the gold shade and sun, 
 Love's litany she doth intone. 
 Joining two lovers' names in one, 
 That shall not join till time be done. 
 
 All the gold afternoon again 
 She makes sweet music of her pain — 
 Love's captive, that yet hugs her chain 
 And of Love's whip and scourge is fain. 
 254 
 
THE COMPLAINT 
 
 At night, when all the linnets keep 
 Silence, and bats and owlets creep. 
 Ere ever I fall to honeyed sleep, 
 I hear the wood-dove weep and weep. 
 
 255 
 
DROUGHT 
 
 The sky is grayer than doves, 
 Hardly a zephyr moves, 
 Little voices complain ; 
 The leaves rustle before the rain. 
 
 No thrush is singing now, 
 
 All is still in the heart o' the bough ; 
 
 Only the trembling cry 
 
 Of young leaves murmuring thirstily. 
 
 Only the moan and stir 
 
 Of little hands in the boughs I hear. 
 
 Beckoning the rain to come 
 
 Out of the evening, out of the gloom. 
 
 The wind's wings are still ; 
 Nothing stirs but the singing rill 
 And hearts that complain. 
 The leaves rustle before the rain. 
 
 256 
 
THE WIx\D THAT SHAKES THE BARLEY 
 
 There 's music in my heart all day, 
 
 I hear it late and early, 
 It comes from fields are far away, 
 
 The wind that shakes the barley. 
 Ochone ! 
 
 Above the uplands drenched with dew 
 
 The sky hangs soft and pearly ; 
 An emerald world is listening to 
 
 The wind that shakes the barley. 
 Ochone ! 
 
 Above the bluest mountain-crest 
 
 The lark is singing rarely. 
 It rocks the singer into rest. 
 
 The wind that shakes the barley. 
 Ochone ! 
 
 O, still through summers and through springs 
 
 It calls me late and early. 
 Come home, come home, come home, it sings, 
 The wind that shakes the barley. 
 Ochone ! 
 
 257 ^ 
 
THE GREEN FIELDS TO AMERICA 
 
 The green fields to America make my heart sore, 
 The green fields to America that I have travelled o'er ; 
 Oh, many and many a mile they stretch so wide and free, 
 The green fields to America betwixt my love and me ! 
 
 There 's a pretty bird, a birdeen gray, he swings on high. 
 Nor fears at all the pathless main, the trackless sky ; 
 Oh, if I had that birdeen's wings, 'tis I would take 
 The green fields from America, for my love's sake. 
 
 Oh, what to me were wastes of storm and miles of sea ? 
 The compass in my heart points straight to my countree ; 
 To where my love sits quietly beside the sands 
 Of the green fields to America with his head in his hands. 
 
 The little fields we once did roam were gold and green, 
 And here are but the washing waves and white foam between; 
 Above the little fields at home the hills are blue : 
 God bless the kindly fields at home, the fond love I knew. 
 
 May God and Mary strengthen me to take that way, 
 The green fields from America some lucky day ; 
 And God and Mary bring m.e safe, to stray no more 
 From the little fields I knew of old and kind love of yore ! 
 
MUSHROOMS 
 
 These be the mushroom days, and lo ! 
 The mushroom rings so darkly grow, 
 Round as a wedding-ring, and set 
 With pearls like any carcanet. 
 
 Who made the rings so fine and round 
 Twined in and out by hollow and mound ? 
 And who hath summoned mushrooms hither. 
 Here where the fairies dance together ? 
 
 Here are the tracks of feet that went 
 Before the day, in dew and scent. 
 Before the dew was dried, and trod 
 The mushroom-strewn and emerald sod. 
 
 Who were the early risers, who 
 That in the gray dusk and the dew 
 Brushed with their cloaks the gossamer. 
 And set the shivering grass astir ? 
 
 The owl his counsel well doth keep ; 
 The wood-dove she was fast asleep ; 
 The lark was up too late to see 
 The mushrooms gather on hill and lea. 
 259 
 
MUSHROOMS 
 
 The earth-bound corncake, she might know^ 
 But that she went a month ago 
 To Egypt, where she lieth hid 
 Sand-deep beside a pyramid, 
 
 Nursing her honey-voice. Well then 
 The mystery, mystery must remain ; 
 Since eyes of birds nor human eyes 
 No fairy secret shall surprise ; 
 
 Of who in dew and dawn did fashion 
 The fairy rings in sweet rotation, 
 And set the mushrooms in the ring, 
 And who came hither mushrooming. 
 
 260 
 
POPLAR 
 
 The blinding sky 's unkind, 
 
 The day has dust and glare, 
 The poplar keeps the wind 
 
 In her cage of light and air, 
 Makes of her leaves a snare 
 
 To keep the wind confined ; 
 All in the breathless glare 
 
 The poplar holds the wind. 
 
 O cool and beautiful 
 
 Her leaves of silver-gray 
 Hang in the wind so cool 
 
 In the blind and breathless day, 
 Turn in the wind at play. 
 
 Fresh as a little pool 
 That in the forest gray 
 
 Holds silver fins and cool. 
 
 All other trees are still, 
 
 The oak, the elm, and the beech. 
 But the poplar hath her fill 
 
 Of soft and gracious speech. 
 The winds are out of reach 
 
 Beyond the sea and the hill 
 For the oak, and elm, and beech, 
 
 But the poplar hath her fill. 
 261 
 
THE GRAY MORNINGS 
 
 The gray mornings I well remember, 
 The gray mountains new-waked from slumber. 
 The gray dews on the trees and hedges, 
 And in gray distance the gray sea's edges. 
 
 Cool it was, sweet beyond telling, 
 
 The gray-green hay in the pastures smelling, 
 
 The gray meadows wet as a river, 
 
 The gray dew where the grass-blades quiver. 
 
 Gray gulls and the sea-gray swallow 
 Take the track that my heart would follow. 
 Home from the heat and the cruel weather, 
 That I and my heart might fare together ! 
 
 Purple-gray are the wild hills showing, 
 Silver-gray is the west wind blowing. 
 O gray fields and gray hills behind you. 
 Would my feet might follow and find you I 
 
 262 
 
APPLES 
 
 All day in a green bower I sit, 
 Ripe apples drop about my feet, 
 Ripe apples drop about my head, 
 And in my very lap are shed. 
 
 Hither is blown no city chime, 
 The falling apples mark the time, 
 For every minute one falls down. 
 Thud I — there 's another minute flown. 
 
 The rosy, smiling, sunburnt faces. 
 They have their bed in the sweet grasses. 
 Like children's heads that sisterly 
 Upon the same soft pillow lie. 
 
 Here are Heartsease and Honesty, 
 And Honeysuckle for the bee. 
 And Love-in-Idleness to stand 
 And keep the gates on either hand. 
 
 The air is rich with apple-scent ; 
 Yet since no mortal lot 's content, 
 The apple-loving wasp is given 
 To trouble my terrestrial heaven. 
 263 
 
THE FOGGY DEW 
 
 A SPLENDID place is London, with golden store 
 For them that have the heart and hope and youth galore ; 
 But mournful are its streets to me, I tell you true, 
 For Fm longing sore for Ireland in the foggy dew. 
 
 The sun he shines all day here, so fierce and fine, 
 With never a wisp of mist at all to dim his shine ; 
 The sun he shines all day here from skies of blue. 
 He hides his face in Ireland in the foggy dew. 
 
 The maids go out to milking in the pastures gray. 
 The sky is green and golden at dawn of the day ; 
 And in the deep-drenched meadows the hay lies new, 
 And the corn is turning yellow in the foggy dew. 
 
 Mavrone ! if I might feel now the dew on my face, 
 And the wind from the mountains in that remembered place, 
 I'd give the wealth of London, if mine it were to do. 
 And I'd travel home to Ireland and the foggy dew. 
 
 264 
 
THE RED DEER 
 
 AT KILLARNEY 
 
 There are lords of the forest, 
 
 And lords of the glen, 
 And lords of the waters, 
 
 And lords over men. 
 The birds of the blue air, 
 
 The fish of the mere. 
 All, all have their masters 
 
 Except the red deer. 
 
 From the heights of the mountain 
 
 Where no man shall tread. 
 Where in furze and in bracken 
 
 The deer hath his bed, 
 He will swim the fair waters. 
 
 From heaven to heaven ; 
 He is this man's at morning. 
 
 And that man's at even. 
 
 No ! free as the west wind 
 That comes from the ocean 
 
 And tosses the bright woods 
 And waves to commotion — 
 265 
 
THE RED DEER 
 
 No ! free as the stars are, 
 The sun 's not more free : 
 
 He is free as the waters 
 Escaped to the sea. 
 
 All ye who would claim him, 
 
 Be silent at last ! 
 Ye are gone like the bright leaves 
 
 Blown high on the blast. 
 With your castles and abbeys, 
 
 Through time he remaineth 
 The red deer of freedom 
 
 Whom no man enchaineth. 
 
 266 
 
AN ANTHEM IN HEAT 
 
 Now praise the Lord, both moon and sun^ 
 
 And praise Him all ye nights and days, 
 And golden harvests every one, 
 
 And all ye hidden waterways. 
 With cattle standing to the knees 
 
 Safe from the bitter gadfly's sting ; 
 But praise Him most, O little breeze 
 
 That walks abroad at evening. 
 
 O praise Him, all ye orchards nov\', 
 
 And all ye gardens deep in green, . 
 Ripe apples on the yellowing bough, 
 
 And golden plum and nectarine, 
 And peaches ruddier than the rose. 
 
 And pears against the southern wall ; 
 But most the little wind that blows 
 
 The blessed wind at evenfall. 
 
 O praise Him, hoary dews again, 
 
 Drenching the meadows 'neath the moon,. 
 And praise Him, hidden founts of rain, 
 
 And amber brooks singing a tune, 
 And icy deeps of well-water, 
 
 And each pellucid stream and spring ; 
 267 
 
AN ANTHEM IN HEAT 
 
 But praise Him most, O wind astir, 
 O blessed wind at evening 
 
 O praise Him now, ye burning days 
 
 Of golden summer, hot and spent ; 
 Planets and stars, see that His praise 
 
 Be blown about the firmament. 
 Yet praise Him best, O little wind 
 
 That out of heaven will blow and call, 
 Because, because our God is kind 
 
 And bids us live at evenfall. 
 
 268 
 
SPARROW 
 
 When August hangs the bough with plums, 
 The dusty city sparrow comes 
 For sojourn in the country sweet, 
 To taste the barley and the wheat. 
 
 Like any country bird he walks 
 Down the gold aisles of bearded stalks, 
 Pecks juicy grains in ear, and takes 
 His pleasure in the barley-brakes. 
 
 He bathes in dew at morn, and preens 
 His sooty coat to mock the sheens 
 Of swallow, fieldfare, finch and wren 
 That hate the dusty ways of men. 
 
 His cynic wit, his mocking eye, 
 The innocent country ways decry ; 
 Though dews may wash his feathers clean 
 He keeps the urchin's heart within. 
 
 The gossip his of chimney-stacks ; 
 Wherefore the pleasant country lacks 
 Something, his ear the silence tires 
 Who nests amid the city spires. 
 269 
 
SPARROW 
 
 To the perpetual green and gold 
 In dusk and dew his eyes are cold ; 
 For his untravelled heart yet turns 
 Home where the smoky city burns. 
 
 A little while for health he stays 
 Where Flora paints the country ways, 
 But holds that still the town is best 
 For men and birds of wit and taste. 
 
 270 
 
OF THE APPLE 
 
 The apples in the garden bed 
 
 Turned ripe and rosy to the South ; 
 
 The youngest novice shook her head, 
 And eyed them with a watering mouth. 
 
 She said : " Our Mother Eve wrought woe 
 Once with the deadly apple's bite : 
 
 God keeps mine eyes from following so 
 After my evil appetite." 
 
 Down came the saint, and gathered then 
 
 Of all the ripest, sweetest one. 
 Clear amber-cheeked, with ruddy stain, 
 
 From the hot kisses of the sun. 
 
 She ate, and praised God as she ate, 
 That He made apples very good. 
 
 "He might," she said, "have given the date, 
 The fig, the orange, for our food ; 
 
 " Nor yet made apples, to delight 
 The eye, the smell, the palate fine : 
 
 For these my grateful appetite 
 Praises the Giver kind, divine. 
 271 
 
OF THE APPLE 
 
 "Sister," she said, "come, pluck and eat, 
 And thank with me the Lord, Who made 
 
 For us such flavours, cool and sweet, 
 
 Wherewith the world abounds," she said. 
 
 272 
 
MANY WATERS 
 
 There were live waters racing down ; 
 
 The air was full of exquisite sound ; 
 Rainbows of spray wove them a crown, 
 
 For pools wherein the sun lay drowned. 
 
 Streams from the heights of Mangerton, 
 And from the crest of Tore, sweet streams, 
 
 Golden and brown, came singing on : 
 I hear the music in my dreams. 
 
 Drip, drip, from every rock there fell 
 
 A fringe of golden water fine, 
 Sweet as dew in the lily-bell. 
 
 Golden as honey, clear as wine. 
 
 The streams ran in the roads, the streams 
 Danced through the bracken and the fern, 
 
 Played hide-and-seek till there were gleams 
 Of gold water at every turn. 
 
 The mountains they were still in the sky, 
 The red deer never stirred in the woods, 
 
 The eagle kept his eyrie high : 
 These were the loveliest solitudes. 
 273 
 
MANY WATERS 
 
 The roar of the Tore Waterfall 
 
 Was dreamy, all the lakes lay still ; 
 
 There was no bird singing at all : 
 My heart of music had her fill. 
 
 274 
 
THE TREE'S DOUBLE 
 
 How beautiful the tree shadows he on 
 
 The paler green o' the grasses ! 
 
 October wind stirs them a little and passes, 
 Cloud-shadows sail above them and are gone. 
 
 The trees are like a golden fountain's spray, 
 
 Like golden waters raining. 
 
 When the October skies and ways are waning. 
 The trees alone have the heart to be gay. 
 
 Yet there 's a blue sky, and the sun is gold, 
 
 A gold tree and a bird in it, 
 
 A Jenny Wren or a belated linnet, 
 Singing away though all the nests are cold. 
 
 The tree upon the grass has a bird's shadow, 
 
 As the live tree its bird, 
 
 Shadow and substance joyfully praise the Lord 
 As well as when the world was all a meadow. 
 
 And when the living tree rocks at its pleasure 
 
 Its bird in frolic glee, 
 
 The shadow bird within the shadow-tree 
 Dances upon the grass to the same measure. 
 275 
 
MODEREEN RUE^ 
 
 OcH, Modereen Rue, you little red rover, 
 By the glint of the moon you stole out of your cover, 
 And now there is never an egg to be got, 
 Nor a handsome fat chicken to put in the pot. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 With your nose to the earth and your ear on the listen, 
 You slunk through the stubble with frost-drops a-glisten, 
 With my lovely fat drake in your teeth as you went, 
 That your red roguish children should breakfast content. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 Och, Modereen Rue, hear the horn for a warning, 
 They are looking for red roguish foxes this morning ; 
 But let them come my way, you little red rogue, 
 'Tis I will betray you to huntsman and dog. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 The little red rogue, he 's the colour of bracken. 
 O'er mountains, o'er valleys, his pace will not slacken. 
 Tantara ! tantara ! he is off now, and, faith ! 
 'Tis a race 'twixt the little red rogue and his death. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 ^ /.£>., the little red rogue — the fox. 
 276 
 
MODEREEN RUE 
 
 Och, Modereen Rue, I've no cause to be grieving 
 For little red rogues, with their tricks and their thieving. 
 The hounds they give tongue, and the quarry 's in sight, 
 The hens on the roost may sleep easy to-night. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 But my blessing be on him ! He made the hounds follow 
 Through the woods, through the dales, over hill, over hollow. 
 It was Modereen Rue led them fast, led them far, 
 From the glint of the morning till eve's silver star. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 And he saved his red brush for his own future wearing, 
 He slipped into a drain, and he left the hounds swearing. 
 Good luck, my fine fellow, and long may you show 
 Such a clean pair of heels to the hounds as they go. 
 Och, Modereen Rue ! 
 
 277 
 
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 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. 
 
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