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 THE HEARST CORPORATION 
 
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 ntOPEtlY OF HEA«$T CORP. 
 
 RARY / ^ 
 
FLOWERS IN THE GRASS 
 
POETICAL WORKS B V THE 
 SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE MASQUE OF 
 
 DEAD FLORENTINES. 
 
 PAN AND THE 
 
 YOUNG SHEPHERD. 
 
 ARTEMISION. 
 
 THE AGONISTS. 
 
 HELEN REDEEMED. 
 
 GAI SABER. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PLOW. 
 
 THE VILLAGE WIFE'S LAMENT. 
 
FLOWERS IN THE GRASS 
 
 (WILTSHIRE PLAINSONG) 
 
 BY 
 
 MAURICE HEWLETT 
 
 * 
 
 LONDON 
 
 CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LIMITED 
 
 1920 
 
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN 
 LONDON : THE CHISWICK PRESS, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE 
 
NOTE 
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS are due, and duly paid, 
 to the Daily Chronicle^ Westminster Gazette^ 
 New Statesinan^ Land and Water ^ Country Life^ Maple 
 Leaf, and Anglo-Ltalian Review, for the appearance in 
 this form of some of the following poems. 
 
 The ballad ^*Helgi and Sigrun,'' which I have 
 added to my Plainsong, is not a literal translation of 
 the Icelandic original, but may fairly be called a 
 rendering of it. 
 
 Broadchalke : 
 June 1919. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/flowersingrasswiOOhewlrich 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Dedication to the Dead 
 
 The Mother 
 
 GuRD : A Portrait 
 
 The Spire 
 
 Mist Mirage 
 
 Chesilbury 
 
 The Gypsy Girl 
 
 The Hawk 
 
 Lenches . 
 
 The Cedar 
 
 The Maid and the Farmer's Wife 
 
 In the Fire 
 
 Cross Fires 
 
 The Justified Maid 
 
 From Paul Fort 
 
 Hereafter 
 
 Jacob's Ladder 
 
 Daisies 
 
 Autumn Crocus 
 
 Willow-Palm . 
 
 Anemones 
 
 Night-Stock , 
 
 The Drumming Snipe 
 
 May Morning . 
 
 vii 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 4 
 
 7 
 II 
 
 13 
 15 
 17 
 
 19 
 20 
 22 
 24 
 28 
 
 31 
 
 32 
 34 
 35 
 37 
 38 
 40 
 
 41 
 42 
 
 43 
 45 
 48 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Summer Night . . . . . . . -49 
 
 On a Winter's Day 50 
 
 Soft Weather . . . . . . -51 
 
 This Maiden you seek 53 
 
 To THE Poet growing Old 54 
 
 The Empty House ....... 57 
 
 The Wren 59 
 
 The King's Highway .60 
 
 Helgi and Sigrun 62 
 
 Vlll 
 
FLOWERS IN THE GRASS 
 
 DEDICATION TO THE DEAD 
 
 IN days to come, when husht the strife, 
 And scab of rust aligns the blade 
 Wherewith, to save, you ventured life 
 And all the promise youth had made; 
 When the red roads are all relaid. 
 And a man dares to leave his wife 
 For his day's work, sure that his maid 
 And she are safe from German knife ; 
 
 When all the kings are crown'd or dead, 
 And every general made a lord ; 
 When all the thanksgivings are said. 
 Dealt every medal and award — 
 Let there be one found to record 
 Your deeds who were content to tread 
 The way of death, a nameless horde, 
 Unribbon'd and unheralded. 
 
 I think I see the bristled spills 
 That stud the field where thick you lie; 
 I 
 
DEDICATION TO THE DEAD 
 
 I know what heavy taint distils 
 From countless graves in Picardy; 
 I see the hoody crow and pie 
 Preening themselves with sated bills 
 There where a sick and leaden sky 
 Hangs like a pall upon the hills: 
 
 Then, if I stand on that gray plain 
 Where the sea-wind for ever moans 
 And low clouds fling the sheeted rain 
 Over the sand that hides your bones, 
 I think I hear your undertones 
 That say, ** Tell them there is no gain 
 To us in any churchyard stones 
 To guard the bed where we are lain. 
 
 ^* But say that what we had we gave 
 So men should hold their heads upright; 
 And if no man need be a slave 
 Henceforth, we were content to fight. 
 When the peace-beacon throws her light 
 It may not warm us in the grave: 
 Yet let them spare a thought that night 
 To us that sleep beyond the wave/' 
 
 I who have learned your simple lore 
 And gained by everything you lose, 
 Chiefest to love that country more 
 Which breeds such men for such a use, 
 
 2 
 
DEDICATION TO THE DEAD 
 
 How should I falter and refuse 
 What blood my heart has yet in store, 
 To write in it the holy dues 
 Of you who fought the Holy War? 
 
THE MOTHER 
 
 SALUTE your mother on your knee, 
 Offspring of the Iberian, 
 Who lives yet while afield go ye, 
 Wiltshire woman, Wiltshire man! 
 
 Before the Norman spear was red, 
 
 Before the Saxon galleys felt 
 The shelving sand, or Roman dread 
 
 Betrayed the knees of flaming Kelt; 
 
 Before the Druid sluiced the Stone, 
 Before the pylons of Stonehenge 
 
 Fretted the sky, the deed was done 
 For which there yet may be revenge. 
 
 Salute your mother: she was here 
 
 Ere Westbury's white horse was blazed, 
 
 While in the coombe lurkt wolf and deer. 
 When Chesilbury's ramp was raised 
 
 A slim white girl with cloud-black hair. 
 In leather smock from half her breast 
 
 To half her thigh, all else left bare. 
 Caught cowering in a gorsy nest 
 4 
 
THE MOTHER 
 
 Long, long ago when came the Kelt 
 
 And brought to Albion the fair, 
 The gleaming white, his burning pelt, 
 
 His scythe and pike; she like a hare 
 
 Had fled the havoc, and she sat 
 
 With blank wide eyes her end awaiting, 
 
 And fought it like a mountain-cat 
 Whenas it came ... a frantic mating 
 
 Then, there and breathless under sky 
 
 And wheeling hawks . . . borne like a spoil 
 
 Past effort and past carpentry. 
 Broken, with others in like toil, 
 
 To harvest duly of the sown 
 
 In her dark thought ... all nature bent 
 To the blind imp, from anguish grown, 
 
 Fiercely regarding what she spent. . . . 
 
 Bondslave by day, bondslave by night. 
 Serving his needs who held her here, 
 
 An instrument of appetite, 
 A breeder of the household gear . . . 
 
 And then grown old, with nose and chin 
 At touching point, to huddle and brood, 
 
 Toothless, fierce, burnt brown and thin, 
 With cavernous eyes still unsubdued, 
 5 
 
THE MOTHER 
 
 As if a wild beast croucht therein ; 
 
 Watching her progeny hack wood, 
 Or draw the water up, or win 
 
 From soggy earth the master's food. . . . 
 
 What secret lore, what rites, what passion 
 She wove into the grain she bred, 
 
 You may still read in them you fashion. 
 Issue of the black and red ! 
 
 And last, to earth ! whereon her sires 
 Had been since sea and land were twain : 
 
 There now, releast from all her hires. 
 She and the earth are one again. 
 
 When to your daily task you fare. 
 Having her dust beneath your foot. 
 
 Think, if you have a thought to spare. 
 Of what stern mating ye are fruit. 
 
GURD: A PORTRAIT 
 
 BLACK as a sloe his close-cropt poll, 
 A dusky cloud on throat and nape 
 And forearms, whence the shirt-sleeves roll 
 As if they Ve learned their only shape; 
 
 A pondering, gray and smut-rimmed eye, 
 Regard half timid and half sulky, 
 
 A glint of laughter, mimicry 
 
 Ready to pounce; a trunk not bulky 
 
 But hefty, on a pair of shanks 
 
 Short, straight, hard-planted ; — see those feet 
 Firm upon France in ordered ranks 
 
 Rooted like swedes or sugar-beet; 
 
 Kindly, as gentle as a woman 
 To what is small or sick or sorry ; 
 
 Modest and clean, in debt to no man. 
 Too slow for wrath, too wise for worry ; 
 
 Servant not slave; a rule he has, 
 A law which doggedly he follows, 
 
 That that must be which ever was ; 
 The evil with the good he swallows, 
 
 7 
 
GURD: A PORTRAIT 
 
 Saying of sorrow, 'twas to be, 
 
 Of happiness, 'twere quite as well; 
 
 Working all day for a penny fee, 
 Judging, with never a word to tell; 
 
 He has a nose — no stoat a keener 
 For rabbit buncht upon the grass 
 
 (With ears laid back) to get his dinner — 
 You are done for if he knows you ass; 
 
 But you'll not know it; what he knows 
 You'll never learn ; unless perchance 
 
 You are yourself; then he'll disclose. 
 May be, his eye for circumstance, 
 
 His gray, slow-moving level gaze 
 Which misses nothing, handsels all. 
 
 Accepts what is, gives neither praise 
 Nor blame, and waits for Doom to fall : 
 
 This is the warrior, this is he, 
 
 Whom not the Saxon nor the Roman 
 
 Have cowed beneath long mastery. 
 
 Whom now the Germans have for foeman. 
 • ••••• 
 
 Five nations of their funded worth 
 
 Lent brawn and heartstring, brain and bone 
 To make the creature named as Gurth 
 
 To Norman blades whose work was done ; 
 8 
 
GURD: A PORTRAIT 
 
 Whom they with manners all as curt 
 As his were blunt, lacking a word 
 
 So soft between the teeth, caird Gurt: 
 To humour them, he answered, Gurd. 
 
 Square, glum and solid, sunburnt clean, 
 
 Glosst by weather to the bloom 
 Shot o'er the cheek of a nectarine 
 
 Whose gold proclaims his day of doom, 
 
 See Gurth undaunted by the sword 
 And ponder him, for he stood then 
 
 As he stood late before the horde 
 Of Teutons making dung of men — 
 
 Stood, and stood still, while shock on shock 
 Gray-crested waves heaved like a tide; 
 
 Stood, and stood still, blank as a rock. 
 Smiling and quiet and steady-eyed; 
 
 Stood, and stood still, when at his side 
 His brother hung his head and dropt. 
 
 While the shell screamed and shrapnel cried. 
 And the death-chatter never stopt ; 
 
 Stood out the dragging winter days 
 Of dark and fog and blood and mud ; 
 
 Stood thro' the green and crawling haze 
 That clung and strangled as he stood ; 
 9 
 
GURD: A PORTRAIT 
 
 Stood in advance, stood in retreat, 
 
 Slew without wrath, and met his slayer 
 
 As footballers each other greet 
 
 Before the match, then play it fair; 
 
 Stood for four years, nor turned a hair, 
 Marcht, thirsted, hungered, suffered lice, 
 
 Poison and murder, with an air 
 Of one who saw no sacrifice 
 
 In task-work plain beyond a doubt; 
 
 Needing no bolster-speech or sermon : 
 He, Gurd, was there to clean them out — 
 
 He'd kill a pig: why not a German? 
 
 lO 
 
THE SPIRE 
 
 WHERE'ER you walk about the shire, 
 If you may trust our people, 
 You'll not escape the arrowy spire 
 That beacons Sarum steeple. 
 
 Homing the way from Andover 
 
 She smites you thro' the haze; 
 You round a bluff, and she 's so fair 
 
 It fills the heart with praise — 
 
 To see her stiff as Aaron's rod, 
 
 Dark in the purple gloom, 
 Lifting on high a swelling bud 
 
 Not broken into bloom. 
 
 She stares against a thundercloud 
 
 As ghastly as a finger 
 That singles you amidst a crowd 
 
 And will not let you linger ; 
 
 Or grows up in an open down 
 
 Like a tall poplar tree: 
 You look to see her bent and thrown 
 
 As the wind flings his gree. 
 II 
 
THE SPIRE 
 
 And far away IVe seen her ghost 
 
 Across the hazy acres 
 A legionary of the host 
 
 Whose poets were their makers. 
 
 But best of all, from Harnham meads, 
 
 I see the homes of men 
 Beneath her shadow hide their heads 
 
 Like chicks below a hen. 
 
 She spreads her wings and calls them there 
 
 Safely beneath her height ; 
 They cluster, while in upper air 
 
 The great winds scream and fight. 
 
 Brave building there by men of old, 
 
 Exulting and tremendous, 
 In summer heat or winter cold 
 
 To 'monish or befriend us! 
 
 12 
 
MIST MIRAGE 
 
 SUMMER days, the golden downs 
 Change as sunlight breaks or frowns; 
 Dreaming in the night, they lie 
 Naked to the cold moon's eye. 
 
 Winter's grass is starven white, 
 Stiffened by the sheep's close bite; 
 And the wrinkl'd darks declare 
 The faltering footfalls of the hare. 
 
 Dewy are the coombes and green 
 Where the rabbits bunch and preen : 
 Softfoot there you walk, and tread 
 On the vanisht ocean's bed. 
 
 But when the soft, wet south-east wind 
 Drives the mist that shrouds them blind. 
 Then do the antic hills retake 
 The semblance of their pristine make. 
 
 Then they rise in cliff and wall, 
 Then you may hear the sea-birds call, 
 Hear far below waves break and crash, 
 And spending waters run awash; 
 13 
 
MIST MIRAGE 
 
 Hear the shingles, when the wave 
 Sucks them backwards, harshly rave : 
 Where you walkt on loamy sward 
 The hungry sea is overlord. 
 
 H 
 
CHESILBURY 
 
 TO THOMAS HARDY 
 
 THE turf girdles Chesilbury 
 On the dead folks' wall, 
 The plow drives in Chesilbury 
 
 Where cattle used to stall ; 
 And there 's no crying there now 
 Except the lapwing's call. 
 
 What people had a home here 
 
 Long and long ago? 
 What man used to come here 
 
 With his yew bow? 
 What women used to roam here 
 
 When the light was low? 
 
 There's no fear of foeman now, 
 
 Nor of Druid's knife, 
 Nor man to love woman now, 
 
 Nor life to ask life: 
 Dust is the bowman now. 
 
 And dust is his wife. 
 15 
 
CHESILBURY 
 
 Now the wind o'er Chesilbury 
 
 Sings day and night, 
 The rain chides, the moon rides. 
 
 The flints gleam bright: 
 And they saw Chesilbury 
 
 When its walls were white. 
 
 i6 
 
THE GYPSY GIRL 
 
 FROM Harnham Down to Whitesheet Hill, 
 Barefoot in dewy grass, 
 On summer mornings clear and still 
 The gypsy folk do pass. 
 
 By Compton Hut and Chesilbury, 
 
 By gorse and fern and brake, 
 With none but shepherds there to see, 
 
 Their loitering way they take. 
 
 Just there beside my feeding flock 
 
 I stray'd, a stripling youth ; 
 The light told me 'twas four o'clock 
 
 As I tell you the truth. 
 
 The sweet grave light that casts no shade 
 
 Show'd me a vision there, 
 A solitary gypsy maid 
 
 With dark, braided hair. 
 
 Just there beside the empty house 
 
 That stands on Compton Down 
 She was, with mayflower in her blouse. 
 
 And tatter'd skirt of brown. 
 
 17 c 
 
THE GYPSY GIRL 
 
 Herself a tann'd and hardy slip, 
 
 Her eyes were of green ; 
 Her lips were crimson as the hip, 
 
 And white her teeth between. 
 
 But tho' her scarlet blouse so gay 
 Was draggled like her skirt. 
 
 Her neck was whiter than the may, 
 And royal she wore her dirt. 
 
 She lookt at me and wove a spell, 
 I lookt, and could not stir: 
 
 I Mow a fire was laid in Hell 
 When I lay down with her. 
 
 i8 
 
THE HAWK 
 
 BROWN hills and bare, blue fields of air, 
 That fold me with my love, 
 There in the sun make us two one, 
 Yon hawk on guard above. 
 
 With keen bright eye he'll watch us lie 
 
 Lapt in the golden weather. 
 And spread his wings o'er two poor things 
 
 Whom love has knit together. 
 
 With wings spread wide he'll slant and glide 
 
 From windy height to height, 
 And while he hovers keep for two lovers 
 
 A wary eye and bright. 
 
 19 
 
LENCHES 
 
 UNDERNEATH these folded downs, 
 Outposts of the long-spent wave, 
 Men are lying, and their towns, 
 All one dust, and in one grave. 
 
 'Tis by law of give and take 
 
 This thymy turf that cuts as short 
 As a wedge of wedding-cake 
 Rounds us up and our resort. 
 
 Here 's a borstal, like a furrow. 
 Where they cower'd from the beast ; 
 
 There 's a hearth, in that green burrow, 
 And the ashes of a feast. 
 
 Stand upon this narrow edge: 
 Here one wrought his husbandry 
 
 Under the same privilege 
 
 Of sun and shower as you and me. 
 
 Here he hackt the crumbling soil, 
 With his wife hard on his heel, 
 
 Sowing instant on his toil 
 Millet from an osier creel. 
 
 20 
 
LENCHES 
 
 And say his mattock was a tine, 
 And his spade a shaven flint; 
 
 Say his rule of Mine and Thine 
 Rested on a timely dint — 
 
 Harvest came and harvest moon, 
 As they visit me and you : 
 
 Wife and child, and rest at noon- 
 Nothing better yet in view. 
 
 21 
 
THE CEDAR 
 
 IN Vernditch Bottom stands a tree, 
 Lord of an open place, 
 The like of which you might not see 
 The length of Cranborne Chase. 
 
 O'er hazel brake and sapling oak 
 
 He lifts his lofty head 
 Like some old sea-bird on a rock 
 
 With lonely wings outspread. 
 
 His floating vans do call a hush 
 
 Over the quiet hollow: 
 It is as if the gorse and brush 
 
 Markt him but durst not follow; 
 
 As if they guess'd where he began 
 
 To open to the sun. 
 He and his kindred of the clan 
 
 Sighing on Lebanon. 
 
 A great old house stood hereabouts, 
 The Warden of the Walk, 
 
 Where now of all its ins and outs 
 Remains a grassy balk. 
 
 22 
 
THE CEDAR 
 
 About him once a velvet lawn 
 Show'd many a good tree growing; 
 
 But he was first to hail the dawn, 
 And last to see day going. 
 
 Now all his pleasantness and peace 
 
 Are ended like a story; 
 The woodland creeps about his knees 
 
 But cannot hide his glory. 
 
 23 
 
A NEW BALLAD OF THE MAID AND 
 THE FARMER^S WIFE 
 
 SUSANNA was a bonny girl, 
 A fine girl and tall ; 
 She left her home and people, 
 At the plow's call, 
 To wear the saucy breeches 
 And white over-all. 
 
 She had not been upon the farm 
 A month more than three. 
 The farmer up and spoke to her, 
 Would have her on his knee. 
 
 But she was high in scorn of him : 
 ** And what should I do there, 
 If your good wife should come along, 
 And me in that chair?" 
 
 The farmer was a coaxing man. 
 And so came a day, 
 Out in the field so early 
 She could not say him nay. 
 Beside the growing barley 
 He had his own way. 
 24 
 
THE MAID AND THE FARMER'S WIFE 
 
 So kindly as he kist her, 
 
 ^^ My pretty one,*' said he, 
 
 ^* So God me use as you shall choose 
 
 For what you've done for me." 
 
 Susanna rose up silent 
 
 And followed in the furrow; 
 
 She neither pray'd a prayer, 
 
 Nor sat still with sorrow; 
 
 Said, ** Let me do the more to-day 
 
 As I may none to-morrow." 
 
 All day long, late and early, ^ 
 She went about the farm. 
 Thro' hay-time and harvest. 
 Thro' rain and cold and warm. 
 
 Her thoughts were in her own keeping. 
 She askt advice of none, 
 But oftentimes went blindly weeping 
 To her cold bed alone. 
 
 But when the time was fully come 
 Too heavy was her load. 
 She went up to the gypsy folk 
 Upon the green road. 
 
 ** Is any here will have pity 
 Upon my poor estate? 
 25 
 
THE MAID AND THE FARMER'S WIFE 
 
 For I must be a mother, it seems, 
 Before I have a mate.'' 
 
 And there the hours of travail 
 Were satisfied and done ; 
 The gypsy woman held her up 
 Her new-born son. 
 
 Said Susan to the gypsy woman, 
 
 ^^ This kindness more do me; 
 
 Take him down to the farmer's house 
 
 For his good wife to see. 
 
 Say you to her, * I have brought him in 
 
 To lie upon your knee.' 
 
 ^^ But if the dame should cry on you, 
 And bid you both begone, 
 Say you then, * Mistress, I bring you here 
 Your own husband's son.' " 
 
 Now that good wife the farmer had. 
 She was a barren woman. 
 Cried, '* How dare you bring me the child 
 Of my husband's leman ! 
 
 *^ But and this baby might be mine 
 I would give my head." 
 Answer'd her the gypsy woman, 
 *^ The girl, she is dead." 
 26 
 
THE MAID AND THE FARMER'S WIFE 
 
 ** And how am I to rear a child 
 Now that I am old, 
 With my breasts so thin and hard, 
 And milk gone cold? *' 
 
 *^ There is a girl out in your field, 
 With breasts like silk, 
 And well I reckon by her build 
 They are full of milk." 
 
 ^^ Go call her up and fetch her in, 
 And set her down by me; 
 And she shall nurse the child I have 
 That wails on my knee.'' 
 
 Susanna came in from the field. 
 And sat down in her place ; 
 She offer'd to the child the breast, 
 A frown upon her face. 
 
 She offer'd him her beauteous pap. 
 And frown'd upon the child, 
 But as his thirsty lips caught fast 
 Her face grew mild; 
 Anon she lookt at the farmer's wife, 
 And nodded and smiled. 
 
 27 
 
IN THE FIRE 
 
 THE fire burns low; 
 Now the dying embers 
 Twinkle and glow 
 Like village lights, 
 Seen from the heights 
 In dark Decembers. 
 
 There 's the foggy gleam 
 From the Horse and Groom, 
 
 Where topers dream 
 
 In front of their liquor, 
 
 And candles flicker 
 As pipes allume. 
 
 Mark you there 
 
 That throbbing star — 
 It 's just the glare 
 That floods the smithy 
 Where on the stithy 
 
 Men hammer the bar. 
 
 Yonder 's a steading 
 
 In a snug gap: 
 One is reading, 
 28 
 
IN THE FIRE 
 
 And one sits still, 
 Dreaming her fill, 
 Her hands on her lap. 
 
 There glimmers a blind; it 
 Is like amber silk; 
 
 Hiding behind it 
 
 Four rosy girls, 
 
 Stooping their curls 
 Over bread and milk. 
 
 And far and soft 
 
 A candle flame 
 Burns in the loft 
 Where a poet sits, 
 Nursing his wits 
 
 To build him a name. 
 
 Now slowly, slowly, 
 
 Spark by spark. 
 Wink by wink. 
 It vanishes wholly. 
 The toilers sink 
 
 To the restful dark. 
 
 One only 
 
 Is left to burn ; 
 All night lonely 
 29 
 
IN THE FIRE 
 
 It will show light 
 For one who might 
 Even now return. 
 
 Now the fire 's cold, 
 And its village dead. 
 All the dream 's told- 
 Come we to bed. 
 
 30 
 
CROSS FIRES 
 
 AS I was coming down the hill, 
 The white thorn all in bloom, 
 I past a couple standing still, 
 A maiden and her groom. 
 
 The light was falling to the dark. 
 
 But not too dark to catch 
 The glowing of a brighter spark 
 
 Than fired by any match. 
 
 I saw her kind eyes beam and burn, 
 
 I saw her colour glad. 
 She lookt most beautiful to learn 
 
 What great desire he had. 
 
 Yet other learning had a grip. 
 
 Got in her mother's college: 
 She bent her head and bit her lip 
 
 Lest he should know her knowledge. 
 
 I past and suddenly felt older. 
 But when I turn'd, her cheek 
 
 Was pressing close against his shoulder. 
 As if to make it speak. 
 31 
 
THE JUSTIFIED MAID 
 
 IN Swallowcliffe where I was bred 
 I won so many glances, 
 The grudging said 'twas I that led, 
 But I say, circumstances. 
 
 For if a young man meets a girl 
 
 A-crossing of a meadow, 
 How 's she to know a straying curl 
 
 Should turn him to her shadow? 
 
 Or if it chance that after dark 
 You go to post your letters, 
 
 Is '*Good night, Lucy,'* from a spark 
 To lay your tongue in fetters? 
 
 'Tis so acquaintances begin. 
 To wink at that is blindness; 
 
 And sure I am a walk 's no sin 
 If done in loving-kindness. 
 
 When I went out and took a place 
 'Twas just that same thing over; 
 
 A chap need only see my face 
 To vow himself my lover; 
 32 
 
THE JUSTIFIED MAID 
 
 And all Pd had to do with it 
 
 Was just to say, **Good morning." 
 
 Is it my fault my gown's a fit, 
 Or must my eyes wear mourning? 
 
 But some there be who can't do right 
 In other people's judgment; 
 
 Go you to church as white as white 
 Some dust will find a lodgment. 
 
 They always say, who use me worst, 
 I kiss'd the second gardener; 
 
 But if a girl has kiss'd the first 
 How else will t'other pardon her? 
 
 'Twas only what might fall to you 
 If sure there was no one by: 
 
 I always learn'd that you should do 
 According as you're done by. 
 
 Try all my life from end to end 
 You'll find it open dealing; 
 
 I love my kind and stand a friend 
 To any fellow-feeling. 
 
 And how 's a girl to deal with love 
 When she is short of twenty? 
 
 If what I had was good enough 
 What I gave back was plenty. 
 
 33 
 
FROM PAUL FORT 
 
 THE girl, she died; she died in her love-delight; 
 They laid her down in the grave, in the grave so 
 
 soon as 'twas light. 
 All alone, just as she was, they laid her under cover; 
 All alone she lay in her coffin, without a lover ; 
 And back they came, laughing and talking at break of 
 
 day, 
 Laughing and singing: My turn next, as we say. 
 *^ That girl, she died, died in her love-delight'' — 
 And so to work in the fields, in the fields from morning 
 
 to night. 
 
 34 
 
HEREAFTER 
 
 WHERE are we going? 
 Ah, if we knew— 
 As surely as knowing 
 Part will be dust — 
 Would it help us win thro' 
 When go we must? 
 
 Shall we haunt the green places 
 We have loved so dearly? 
 Watch the faces 
 That love us to day, 
 Watch them nearly. 
 And then slip away? 
 
 No — no — 
 
 If they have forgotten 
 We will let them go. 
 And turn to the dust. 
 And rot with the rotten, 
 And sleep, we trust. 
 35 
 
HEREAFTER 
 
 But for me if, hereafter 
 Some girl to her lover 
 Betwixt sob and laughter 
 Say, How could he know it? 
 Then let earth cover 
 The rest of the poet. 
 
JACOB'S LADDER 
 
 LIGHT-FINGER^D Jacob, as he swun^ 
 His eye aloft from rung to rung 
 That vista where the angels clomb, 
 Saw over-archt the purple dome, 
 And burning deep therein and far. 
 The home of God, one golden star. 
 
 And if the crown of your degrees 
 Report no such immensities, 
 Your stairway green no angel freight 
 Convoy to no celestial gate. 
 The earth-bound eye demurely dwells 
 Upon your little peal of bells, 
 Violet each, with golden eye, 
 Heav'n in a pretty mimicry; — 
 Nay, if to some each may disclose 
 The pivot of the Mystic Rose, 
 Happy are you, the hierophants 
 Of Prtmum Mobile to ants. 
 
 37 
 
DAISIES 
 
 THERE are who see your face 
 As innocently bold 
 In this our world of chace 
 As any twelve-year-old, 
 Safe in the apron lace, 
 Nor yet in kissing case. 
 
 Or when your blood runs free 
 One singles for his praise 
 
 Your golden axle-tree 
 
 Whirling a thousand rays. 
 
 I see what he can see — 
 
 'Tis there, but not for me. 
 
 One says, A spur dis-heeled. 
 The rowels dight in red ; 
 
 Another sees a shield, 
 'Oju0aXo€(Tcra, dread 
 
 Of Hector when the steel'd 
 
 Peleides took the field. 
 
 For me, at evening's close 
 Whenas I pace the sward, 
 
 38 
 
DAISIES 
 
 Your fires remember those 
 
 Which make the Heavens adored, 
 And, as the Latin goes. 
 On stars I set my toes. 
 
 My careful feet I steer 
 
 Among the Pleiades ; 
 Aldebaran is here. 
 
 And here the Wain ; and these 
 The Pointer Pair; and near 
 Is Venus shining clear. 
 
 Now Saturn, fiery Mars; 
 
 That cloud 's the Galaxy: 
 Avoid it, those are stars 
 
 Fragile as filigree: 
 Foot not, less footprint jars 
 The filmy dust, or scars. 
 
 So be you bold, and white, 
 
 And all that poets say, 
 Fond lover of the light, 
 
 The golden eye of day- 
 Give me for my delight 
 To walk your stars at night. 
 
 39 
 
AUTUMN CROCUS 
 
 LAX and wan from Pluto's kiss, 
 Proserpine is frail like this, 
 Offering to who will sup 
 Her wine in such a hectic cup: 
 Winter's warning, summer's keening, - 
 Spring's palinode, and autumn's gleaning. 
 Love, where her mute lips have kist. 
 Stains the chalice amethyst. 
 And the stream of frozen breath 
 That stirs the bever comes from death. 
 
 Moment's wonder of unthrift. 
 
 Gone so soon as you're uplift; 
 
 Like a wet dawn's accolade. 
 
 Like the rainbow, bent to fade; 
 
 Like love that follows love's excess 
 
 And but suspires old loveliness; 
 
 Hierodule whose service vain 
 
 Is to give and never gain — 
 
 You glow an hour, and pale, and pass, 
 
 A flush upon the dying grass. 
 
 40 
 
WILLOW-PALM 
 
 WHEN wintry peewits wail and dip, 
 Sport of the blustVing wind, 
 And lambkins nose with tremulous lip 
 
 Half-frozen turnip-rind; 
 Before the primrose galaxy 
 
 Breaks thro' the southward sods, 
 You hold up to the bitter sky 
 Your sheaf of budded rods. 
 
 Was Aaron such an optimist. 
 
 Like you, as undismayed? 
 First of our prophets at the tryst. 
 
 Like him you shall be paid. 
 Tho' piping east the wind may veer 
 
 The girls shall give you vails 
 When to a withered land and sere 
 
 You fling your rabbits' tails. 
 
 They'll hunt the ditches up and down. 
 
 The ingles of the copse. 
 Warm with their own your fingers brown, 
 
 And kiss your silver knops ; 
 And Margery with eyes alight 
 
 Across the flood where some is. 
 Will strain, with Moll to hold her tight. 
 
 To reach the buds of promise. 
 41 
 
ANEMONES 
 
 ANEMONES, which droop their eyes 
 Earthward before they dare arise 
 To flush the border, question not 
 The urgency which them begot, 
 Nor ask nor care to know what rite 
 Procured them in the warm wet night; 
 But being young to light and love 
 Dread their great Soldan up above. 
 
 So the beloved hangs her head 
 To know herself encompassed, 
 And burning hotly, shuns to view 
 What next the hardy one may do ; 
 But when the throbbing of the fire 
 Thrills her like music in a wire. 
 Stiff as a stalk that feels the shower. 
 She lifts her flaming face to flower. 
 
 42 
 
NIGHT-STOCK 
 
 NIGHT falls, 
 Husht earth lies; 
 In the thicket 
 No bird calls; 
 The first bat flickers, 
 The last swift flies, 
 The wind in the tree 
 Falters and sighs. 
 
 Without leaf or stalk, 
 Afloat on the night, 
 Smouldering disks 
 Lamp a catafalque. 
 The trees are the plumes 
 About the dead, 
 And they the tapers 
 At feet and head. 
 
 What waft comes thronging 
 Thick on the wind? 
 Hot and faint 
 With a burden of longing 
 43 
 
NIGHT-STOCK 
 
 As a young man's mind; 
 Sharp with the taint 
 Of death in the air 
 From autumn behind. 
 
 'Tis the night-flower 
 Calling her lover, 
 The moth, to kiss her 
 In fragrant bower; 
 With his wings, to cover 
 Her well of bliss. 
 To quench her drouth 
 With the balm of his. 
 
 44 
 
THE DRUMMING SNIPE 
 
 SPEED you, drummer, 
 Herald of summer! 
 Was e'er such a lover, 
 With business to cry 
 Thro' each wing-cover, 
 Beating the sky? 
 
 You at your questing. 
 
 Fleeting of air. 
 And she a-nesting 
 
 For all her affair — 
 The poet you are, 
 Moth after a star ! 
 
 Husband and lover — 
 
 How to discover 
 
 What she makes of you? 
 
 If coursing and drumming 
 Stir her to love you. 
 
 To thrill for your coming? 
 
 She, with no glory- 
 In musical feathers 
 45 
 
THE DRUMMING SNIPE 
 
 To bleat out her story 
 
 In all sorts of weathers, 
 Ruffles her breast, 
 One eye for the nest. 
 
 No doubt but she misses 
 Poetical blisses, 
 The frenzy of rapture 
 
 That drives you to madness, 
 Quest, pursuit, capture. 
 
 All poured out in gladness — 
 
 Rather, her fancy 
 
 Is laying an Qgg down. 
 
 And not aeromancy 
 Will tempt her tuckt leg down; 
 
 Her heart ^s where her thought is, 
 
 And a poet's wife nought is. 
 
 You, quiring the sun. 
 Dreamer, have done ! 
 How is she the fairer 
 
 For your passage adoring; 
 How can she prepare her 
 
 For your heart's outpouring? 
 
 She knows no good fortune 
 When with one eye 
 
 46 
 
THE DRUMMING SNIPE 
 
 She sees you importune 
 
 The breadth of the sky, 
 Bleating and bleating — - 
 And she sitting and sitting. 
 
 Artist unstaying, 
 
 Who sing night in, day in ! 
 
 Brave minnesinger. 
 
 With pinions for harp, 
 Whence the wind's finger 
 
 Plucks melody sharp. 
 
 Wring your heart's song out, 
 
 Then drop and say 
 Love, IVe been long out. 
 
 Bid me and I stay! 
 Perorate, and away — 
 She'll not say you nay. 
 
 47 
 
MAY MORNING 
 
 FAIR are the pastures 
 Where sunlight lies 
 And the elms dip their high heads 
 In blue skies. 
 
 Lovely is the young corn 
 
 White in the wind, 
 And sweet the mayflower 
 
 That stirs the mind. 
 
 Happy pipes the blackbird 
 In the flusht apple tree; 
 
 And the wren in the quickset, 
 Happy is he. 
 
 48 
 
SUMMER NIGHT 
 
 THIS hot summer night the day so slowly dies 
 That the dark is an image of death pacing 
 stealthily on ; 
 So very slow, like a windless tide 
 That invades the shore largely and wide, 
 Yet point by point possesses our sanctuaries, 
 And point after point is brimm'd, floated over, and 
 gone. 
 
 A moment ago and I saw the little brown owl 
 A-perch on the barn, and read his rapt wise face; 
 I could see the light thro' his blunt spread wings 
 As he saird noiselessly down on hidden things 
 Droning about the elm — but now he can prowl 
 Unseen in a garden one inky vast of space. 
 
 A moment ago and the sky was green and gray. 
 And the sweet cool air was like a balmy sleep. 
 Turning the mind to gentle and fragrant themes. 
 To times of old, mother's love, childish dreams; 
 But now the dark blue flood of night has washt all 
 
 away, 
 And a frozen moon rides out upon the deep. 
 
 49 
 
ON A WINTER^S DAY 
 
 ON a winter's day 
 When the air is a-chill 
 And the north-west wind is crying over the hill, 
 I hug myself, and I say, 
 Let come what will ; 
 Let the rain drive. 
 
 Let night-birds ruffle to keep them alive. 
 What matter to me so long as I thrive? 
 
 For she is at home, waiting for me 
 
 By the light of the fire; 
 
 The children are fed, and Peace like a tree 
 
 Sheltereth homestead, garth and byre, 
 
 Where steadfastly 
 
 She awaits my homing heart and my long desire. 
 
 50 
 
SOFT WEATHER 
 
 THE wind blows mild 
 Out of the west, 
 Soft as the lips of a child 
 On a woman's breast; 
 
 And the gray earth 
 
 Stirs in her deeps, 
 In all her intimate valleys 
 
 Where the wind creeps, 
 
 Sighing in the bents. 
 
 Crying beyond. 
 Ruffling with soft laments 
 
 The still dew-pond. 
 
 The shepherds are telling 
 
 Of open weather 
 When the ewes and they in the shealing 
 
 Must labour together. 
 
 Come Christmas soon. 
 
 With an earth-sigh, 
 With a blurr'd ring to the moon, 
 
 And a mackerel sky ; 
 51 
 
SOFT WEATHER 
 
 And Christmas mirth 
 Stream over the hill, 
 
 And peace be yet upon earth 
 For men of good will ! 
 
 52 
 
THIS MAIDEN YOU SEEK 
 
 THIS maiden you seek, 
 What makes her so fair, 
 With bloom on her cheek. 
 With soft shining eyes. 
 With light in her hair. 
 With pure lips and wise? 
 
 And you, instant wooer. 
 As blythe as the morning. 
 Wherein are you sure 
 Of yourself, taking pride 
 In your body's adorning 
 To walk at her side? 
 
 **'Tis hers to be courted, 
 
 And mine to commend me. 
 
 That her beauty reported 
 
 In my gallant seeming . 
 
 May draw her attend me 
 
 To the heights of my dreaming/' 
 
TO THE POET GROWING OLD 
 
 CONTENT you, son of man, 
 Nor hunt beyond your gate; 
 Keep fill'd your porridge pan. 
 
 And ask no other fate 
 O' the Sacristan, 
 
 Death, but come not too late. 
 
 If the gods grant you this, 
 To work while lasts the light. 
 
 Having your true love's kiss 
 For balm upon the night. 
 
 Guerdon that is 
 
 Any man to requite. 
 
 Contentment and good health 
 
 You had to serve your wit, 
 A woman sweet for wealth, 
 
 Children to add to it: 
 So rich by stealth, 
 
 You and the world were quit. 
 
 You rang your batch of rhyme, 
 With love for underflow ; 
 54 
 
TO THE POET GROWING OLD 
 
 A time to grow, a time 
 You had to make to grow; 
 
 An hour at prime; 
 
 Soon 'twill be time to go. 
 
 What more need you to bind 
 
 Or hoard upon a shelf? 
 The gods gave you the mind 
 
 To forage for yourself, 
 And seeking, find 
 
 More ponderable pelf. 
 
 You had the uxorious eye 
 Which woos the universe, 
 
 To make a marriage-tie 
 For better or for worse. 
 
 Whose progeny 
 Your heart received to nurse. 
 
 You held him for a clod 
 Who saw not every bell 
 
 Of crocus breaking sod 
 As past the tongue to tell. 
 
 Which only God 
 
 Knew for no miracle; 
 
 And thought him worse than dark 
 Who with dull ears and eyes 
 55 
 
TO THE POET GROWING OLD 
 
 Could heed the soaring lark 
 Spray with clear song the skies, 
 
 Or watch to his arc 
 The golden sun arise. 
 
 So past your round of days 
 From morn to shut of eve 
 
 That you found much to praise 
 And had some to receive : 
 
 Now few delays 
 Before you take your leave! 
 
 What then? To fold the hands, 
 Your work-hour over and done, 
 
 Knowing you leave your lands 
 The better for your son, 
 
 Thankful he stands 
 To reap what you have won. 
 
 56 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 THE gate is padlockt, and the blinds 
 Close-drawn, the chimney's task is o'er; 
 Pity the traveller who finds 
 
 His journey's ending at this door. 
 
 How still, how watchful! Like a grave, 
 
 It keeps a secret in its hold; 
 The very tree-tops fear to. wave. 
 
 The very shadows are a-cold. 
 
 Come in the garden. Cabbage-stalks 
 Withered and bleacht in sorry rows; 
 
 But arabis aligns the walks, 
 And still the golden wallflower blows; 
 
 And tangled o'er the apple-stump 
 A budding Gloire or Maiden Blush; 
 
 And there's a thriving lily-clump. 
 And ribes still a burning bush. 
 
 Tread lightly, for this place is haunted ; 
 
 Who knows what guarded eyes might peer 
 Between those curtain-folds enchanted? 
 
 The ghost of Love inhabits here. 
 57 
 
THE EMPTY HOUSE 
 
 Those curtains, poor and yet discreet, 
 I know not how they hold the air 
 
 Of hearts w^hich must have loved and beat, 
 And drawn each other up the stair. 
 
 Pass lightly, lest the dead should waken ; 
 
 Ask no more questions, lest the dumb 
 Should tell of love forsworn, forsaken : 
 
 Respect this house of shadows — come. 
 
 58 
 
THE WREN 
 
 ON topmost twig the happy wren 
 Pipes high his news to God and men, 
 Pufft as a herald and as shrill, 
 As full in throat and charged in bill : 
 ''Oyez, oyez! It is the case, 
 My wife being in a state of grace. 
 Four perfect eggs reward her care ; 
 The which her increase to declare, 
 Not hesitating to disturb ye, 
 I now relate orbi et urbi ! '* 
 
 59 
 
THE KING'S HIGHWAY 
 
 A CHILD I had, a pretty chit 
 No higher than my knee; 
 In summer when the days did fit 
 
 She'd go about with me. 
 Sing Hey, my pretty! 
 
 Now come along with me. 
 
 When she grew to be a maid, 
 And wore the linen gown. 
 
 She had no call to be afraid. 
 But kept her apron down — 
 
 With Hey, my pretty ! 
 Your kisses are your own. 
 
 The likely lads of our village 
 Were after her like bees; 
 
 She told them she was still of age 
 When she herself could please — 
 
 With Hey, my pretty ! 
 The men are but a tease. 
 
 About the flowering of the gorse, 
 Before the eglantine, 
 60 
 
THE KING'S HIGHWAY 
 
 The King came riding on his horse 
 Where she was keeping swine — 
 
 With Hey, my pretty! 
 
 I would that you were mine. 
 
 She had no will with his to meet, 
 
 Nor wit him to gainsay ; 
 He took her up to his high seat, 
 
 And taught her how to play. 
 Alack, my pretty! 
 
 A King must have his way. 
 
 He kept her by him as his leman. 
 And gave her what she bore: 
 
 Vd rather she had ne'er been woman 
 Than woman made a whore. 
 
 Farewell, my pretty ! 
 
 We'll meet again no more. 
 
 6i 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 (from the Icelandic) 
 
 THE eagles they were screaming 
 (It was in days of old), 
 The waterfloods were streaming 
 
 From Heaven's high threshold, 
 The day Borghild brought forth the child 
 Helgi in dark Braehold. 
 
 About the house in whispers 
 
 The busy bondmaids run. 
 About the bed the Nornir 
 
 The strands of fate have spun, 
 Each hooded wife to rede the life 
 
 Of Sigmund's splendid son. 
 
 Midmost the moon's high bower 
 The golden woof they spread ; 
 
 By east, by west, with power 
 They strain the golden thread; 
 
 They knot the twine to mark the time 
 When Helgi shall be dead. 
 
 Says raven unto raven. 
 Swaying upon the thorn, 
 62 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 ** News, news for who goes hungry, 
 I bring thee news this morn. 
 
 A babe stands hale in coat of mail 
 Who overnight was born.'' 
 
 So lordly as an elm-tree 
 He grew in sun and shade, 
 
 Nor spared the red gold's plenty, 
 Nor harbour'd long his blade ; 
 
 Or ever he told fifteen year old 
 Hunding in death he laid. 
 
 Then claim'd the sons of Hunding 
 
 Riches and rings galore, 
 But little weregild got they 
 
 Of Helgi's golden store. 
 He gave them tryst with spear in fist 
 
 To fight on Lowfell Moor. 
 
 And there the peace of Frodi 
 Was broke betwixt the twain. 
 
 There reiv'd the hounds of Odin 
 The harvest of red rain ; 
 
 Of his sons four went out to war. 
 But none came back again. 
 
 Now sits the hero Helgi ^ 
 
 Beneath the Eagle-Rock, 
 ^3 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 Now overhead the lightnings 
 Leap from the thunder-shock ; 
 
 High in the air the War-maids fair 
 Come riding in a flock. 
 
 They rode on fairy horses, 
 
 Their breasts wore gleaming mail ; 
 The light upon their spear-points 
 
 Made the sun's beams show pale; 
 In the green wood the king's son stood 
 
 And cried the War-maids hail. 
 
 Then spake King Hogni's daughter, 
 Sitting her good gray steed, 
 
 ** We drink the reek of slaughter 
 But quaff with Kings no mead; 
 
 Yet of thee. Lord, I ask thy sword 
 To help me in my need. 
 
 ** My father hath me plighted 
 
 To Grani's surly son 
 Unless thou have me righted 
 
 And win my freedom soon. 
 Unless, O peer, thou serve with spear 
 
 The Battle-maid Sigrun.'' 
 
 Quoth Helgi, '^Fear not. Maiden, 
 Sigrun of Seva-fell, 
 
 64 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 The sea shall soon be laden 
 With ships and hosts in mail, 
 
 So by my side thou lie a bride, 
 Content with me to dwell." 
 
 Three times he kiss'd that fairy 
 
 Under the greenwood tall. 
 And three times claspt her fairly 
 
 About her middle small: 
 There was no heed for Hodbrord's meed 
 
 After her first downfall. 
 
 King Helgi calls his liegemen 
 
 To tryst at Hedinseye; 
 The ships are lined with shieldmen, 
 
 The shields look dangerously ; 
 With creaming wake their ways they take 
 
 Across the yeasty sea. 
 
 Said Godmund, Hodbrord's porter, 
 ^* Now who are these come here? 
 
 Whose war-standard is golden? 
 Who standeth up to steer? 
 
 No shields of peace, the like of these. 
 But war is in their gear." 
 
 Said Hodbrord, ** Bit my horses. 
 And spur them east and west; 
 
 65 F 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 Call Hogni and his sons up, 
 
 Call Atli and his best. 
 Let no man stand, for close at hand 
 
 I see the Volsung crest." 
 
 With sounding shock the spears met, 
 Now sword met fallow sword, 
 
 Foremost of all rode Helgi 
 To break the Niflung horde; 
 
 High overhead the Maids of Dread 
 Cried him with arrowy word. 
 
 Sigrun, that wing'd war-fairy, 
 Cried, **Hail, of Yngwi's race. 
 
 Thou who hast brought a King down. 
 To thee belongs his grace. 
 
 The fairy head to joy thy bed 
 And light thy dwelling-place." 
 
 But Helgi's brow was heavy. 
 
 He spake her heavily, 
 ** Alas the day's endeavour, 
 
 Alas for me and thee. 
 For in that strife thy father's life 
 
 Was taken, and by me." 
 
 Now stands by Sigrun's bedside 
 Her rueful brother Gray: 
 66 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 ** Haro upon thee, Sigrun, 
 
 Woe worth the thing I say. 
 There met my bolt at Fetterholt 
 
 A King as bright as day." 
 
 ^* May the ship beneath thee right not 
 
 When the eager wave lips over! 
 May the sword thou wieldest bite not 
 
 When the foeman breaks from cover ! 
 May thy good horse abate his force, 
 
 Since thou hast slain my lover! " 
 
 Deep in her darkening chamber 
 
 The lady sits alone — 
 ^^ Now had he chosen for me 
 
 Here had been Sigmund's son. 
 But the eagles drowse on the high ash-boughs, 
 
 And outgait have I none." 
 
 Forth of the guarded casement. 
 
 To see the mirk night fall. 
 There stood a maid abiding 
 
 Her lady's beck and call. 
 She saw a corse rode on a horse 
 
 A little west the hall. 
 
 ** What ghost is this rides hither. 
 Or is the Doom's day come? 
 
 67 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 Shall dead men cross the river, 
 Shall they ride forth the tomb? 
 
 Ho, thou pale head of mortal dread, 
 Who gives thee leave for home? '^ 
 
 A dead man gives the answer — 
 
 ** Alack, it is no ghost 
 Comes this way, nor the Judgment, 
 
 What though the flood be crost. 
 What though the gold spurs find a hold 
 
 On heels as white as frost." 
 
 He has rein'd him up and halloa'd — 
 
 **Sigrun of Seva-fell, 
 Come out thy maiden bower 
 
 With thy dead love to dwell ; 
 For e'er the cock call up the stock 
 
 I must be back in Hell. 
 
 *^ Or e'er be red the highways. 
 
 Or e'er the gray cock shrill, 
 My horse must fare the sky-ways 
 
 And I be o'er the hill ; 
 There is no gree for thee and me 
 
 Unless I have my will." 
 
 Sigrun stands on the threshold. 
 The doors are open wide ; 
 68 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 ^* Go not, O Hogni's daughter, 
 
 With that dead man to bide.*' 
 But she has past the ford in haste 
 
 And stands by Helgi's side. 
 
 With her two hands she holdeth 
 
 His wounded face and wan. 
 In her close arms enfoldeth 
 
 That woeful stricken man ; 
 With mouth she clips his clay-cold lips 
 
 As tho' his red blood ran. 
 
 ' ' As glad I am to meet thee 
 
 As hawks to find the slain ! 
 Behold, O King, I greet thee 
 
 With lips as soft as rain ! 
 With my quick breath I staunch thy death 
 
 Which was my brother's bane.*' 
 
 Dead Helgi lift his head high — 
 
 ^* Now death is no more dree. 
 Let no man raise the lykewake 
 
 Altho' my wounds he see. 
 For light falls doom upon my tomb 
 
 Now Sigrun lies with me." 
 
 ^* Here is our bed made, Helgi, 
 And here the bride undrest; 
 
 69 
 
HELGI AND SIGRUN 
 
 Soft shall our bridal bed be, 
 
 And sweet our after rest; 
 For we shall sleep and slumber deep, 
 
 Thy dead face on my breast/' 
 
 Never a marvel greater 
 
 Did Seva-fell behold, 
 Nor magic ever whiter 
 
 By Nornir was enscrolFd. 
 That living child of Hogni's smiled, 
 
 Fast in a dead man's hold. 
 
 70 
 
LONDON : PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE 
 

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