THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 THEOPHANIES
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 THE GREY WORLD 
 
 THE LOST WORD 
 
 THE COLUMN OF DUST 
 
 THE MIRACLES OF OUR LADY SAINT 
 MARY 
 
 MYSTICISM: A Study in the Nature and 
 Development of Man's Spiritual Con- 
 sciousness 
 
 THE MYSTIC WAY: A Psychological 
 Study in Christian Origins 
 
 IMMANENCE: A Book of Verses 
 
 PRACTICAL MYSTICISM: A Little Book 
 for Normal People 
 
 JOHN OF RUYSBROECK
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 A BOOK OF VERSES 
 
 BY 
 
 EVELYN UNDERHILL 
 
 " Every visible and invisible creature 
 
 is a theophany or appearance of God." 
 
 John Scotus Erigena. 
 
 LONDON, PARIS ^ TORONTO 
 J. M. DENT ^ SONS LIMITED 
 NEW YORK: E. P. BUTTON ^ CO. 
 
 I 9 I 6
 
 All rights reserved
 
 -/ 
 1^ 
 
 FOR HILDA 
 
 Sweet fennel in our garden grows. 
 White lavender, and herb oj grace. 
 Cat-mint and thyme its edges close ; 
 It is a green and silver place 
 Where marjoram, basil, maudlein, cicely 
 Make scented melody. 
 
 There rosemary and balm are found 
 Wherewith the wounds of life are healed ; 
 There humble woodruf mats the ground 
 And hoards the magic of the field. 
 The holy vervein, hyssop, bergamot 
 Give blessing to the plot. 
 
 Those hasty hearts that hurry by 
 The coloured borders to applaud 
 Know not the hidden worlds that lie 
 Within these narrow cofers stored ; 
 Tet, to the gentle touch of those who seek, 
 The herbs in fragrance speak. 
 
 Then in the prudent mind's defence 
 Of welded thought, a breach is made 
 And down the alley-ways of sense 
 Strange poignant dreams the soul invade — 
 News from beyond our stubborn ramparts blown. 
 And here in perfume known.
 
 vi THEOPHANIES 
 
 Those ramparts^ they are builded tall ; 
 But we a secret gate possess 
 That opens in the outer wall 
 What time its living latch we press : 
 A little emerald gate, that sets us free 
 Within eternity.
 
 NOTE 
 
 Many of the following poems have already appeared 
 in the pages of The Quests The Nation^ The New 
 Weekly^ The Challenge^ and The Westminster 
 Gazette. " Prayer " is reprinted from the Blinded 
 Soldiers^ and Sailors^ Book, and " William Shake- 
 speare " from A Book of Homage to Shakespeare. 
 All these are now republished by kind permission 
 of the editors concerned. 
 
 vu
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Dedication 
 
 Mountain Flora 
 
 Dynamic Love 
 
 The Voice from the Cross 
 
 In the Train 
 
 Night on the Mountain 
 
 Cloudy Weather . 
 
 Safety 
 
 Fell Asleep . 
 
 Nebula and Nest . 
 
 Heaven — Purgatory — Hell 
 
 The Tree 
 
 Apocalypse 
 
 Continuous Voyage 
 
 On Reading Dostoieffsky 
 
 Lila, the Play of God . 
 
 The Day Before . 
 
 A London Flower Show 
 
 Primavera 
 
 John the Baptist . 
 
 Flooded Fields 
 
 Prayer .... 
 
 High Tide 
 
 Thoughts about Heaven 
 
 Nature .... 
 
 Philosophers . 
 
 The Summit . . 
 
 The Likeness 
 
 page 
 
 V 
 
 I 
 
 3 
 S 
 9 
 
 12 
 
 15 
 17 
 i8 
 
 19 
 23 
 
 26 
 29 
 
 31 
 33 
 34 
 37 
 39 
 41 
 44 
 46 
 48 
 SO 
 52 
 54 
 57 
 59 
 62 
 
 IX
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Beyond the Garden 
 
 In Patria 
 
 White Magic . 
 
 Forest Epiphany . 
 
 Death .... 
 
 Bond and Free 
 
 Friday Night 
 
 March Music . 
 
 A Portrait 
 
 Communion in Darkness 
 
 Divine Ignorance . 
 
 The Secret People 
 
 The Anchorite 
 
 Nihil longe Deo . 
 
 Thrushes 
 
 Thought's a Strange Land 
 
 Tramps .... 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 The Last Ignorance 
 
 The Dreamer in War-time 
 
 The Naval Reserve 
 
 England and the Soldier 
 
 Candlemas, 191 5 
 
 Any Englishwoman, May 19 
 
 The Return . 
 
 non-combatants 
 
 Invocation 
 
 page 
 64 
 66 
 67 
 70 
 
 71 
 
 72 
 
 75 
 78 
 81 
 84 
 
 85 
 86 
 90 
 93 
 94 
 95 
 98 
 100 
 103 
 
 105 
 107 
 108 
 no 
 112 
 114 
 
 "5 
 117
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 MOUNTAIN FLORA 
 
 As the plant on the smooth of the hill 
 
 That sees not the deep and the height, 
 
 That knows not the might 
 
 Of the whole — 
 
 I am rooted and grounded in him, 
 
 The small leaves of my soul 
 
 Thrust up from his will. 
 
 I know not the terrible peak, 
 
 The white and ineffable Thought, 
 
 Whence the hill-torrents flow 
 
 And my nurture is brought. 
 
 I am little and meek; 
 
 I dare not to lift 
 
 My look to his snow. 
 
 But drink, drop by drop, of its gift. 
 
 Some say, on the face 
 Of that ultimate height 
 Small plants have their place : 
 Rapt far from our sight 
 In the solitude strange
 
 2 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Where the infinite dream mounts range beyond 
 
 range 
 To the infinite sky, there they grow. 
 
 Where the intellect faints 
 
 In the silence and cold, 
 
 There, humble and glad, their petals unfold. 
 
 As the innocent bell 
 
 Of the Least Soldanella thrusts up through the 
 
 snow. 
 So the hearts of the saints 
 
 On the terrible height of the Godhead may dwell; 
 Held safe by the Will 
 As we, on the smooth of the hill.
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 DYNAMIC LOVE 
 
 Not to me 
 
 The Unmoved Mover of philosophy 
 
 And absolute still sum of all that is, 
 
 The God whom I adore — not this ! 
 
 Nay, rather a great moving wave of bliss, 
 
 A surging torrent of dynamic love 
 
 In passionate swift career, 
 
 That down the sheer 
 
 And fathomless abyss 
 
 Of Being ever pours, his ecstasy to prove. 
 
 As the glad river's Hfe 
 
 More glad becomes in music of much strife. 
 
 So does that spiritual flood 
 
 Dashed in full song, 
 
 In quick stupendous majesty of joy 
 
 The oppositions of the world among, 
 
 Come to fair crest in every breaking bud: 
 
 Yea, can the very conflict's self employ 
 
 A coloured spray of loveliness to fling 
 
 Athwart the world-wide landscape on the wing 
 
 Of every flying thing. 
 
 Dynamic love glints gay on the plume's tip 
 Of fat and restless wrens, tears at the heart 
 From the divine and vibrant bramble wreathes 
 That mesh the hedge with beauty. It out-breathes
 
 4 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Fragrance of pure surrender in the smart 
 Of sacrificial hay-fields. On the lip 
 Of frail ecstatic poppies it brims up, 
 As flaming meditations in the soul 
 Drowsed with deep passion. E'en the narrow cup 
 Of inconspicuous vervein still the strange 
 And awful tincture to fulfilment brings: 
 There doth my Dear pursue his chemic art, 
 And thence distils the magic of the whole. 
 For Love is time, succession, ardour, change; 
 It is the holy thrust of living things 
 That seek a consummation, and enlace 
 Some fragment of the All in each fecund embrace 
 Whence life again flows forth upon its endless 
 chase. 
 
 Love ever moves, yet love eternal is ; 
 
 Love ever seeks, yet seeks itself to find; 
 
 And, all-surrendered to the leman's kiss. 
 
 Doth but itself with its own passion bind. 
 
 O sacred, ceaseless flow! 
 
 O wondrous meeting 
 
 Of the unchanging and the ever-fleeting. 
 
 That still by the sad way of sorriest lust 
 
 Confers a secret glory on the teeming dust. 
 
 See! by love's loss we find ourselves indeed, 
 
 See! the world's death the world's true life doth 
 
 feed. 
 And Love dynamic to Love's rest doth go.
 
 THEOPHANIES 5 
 
 THE VOICE FROM THE CROSS 
 
 I 
 
 " Man, 'twas for thee 
 
 God hung upon the Cross and said, * I thirst.' 
 
 Yea ! he was broken of thy cruelty." 
 
 " Yet God was cruel first. 
 
 " His was the art 
 
 That wreathed the brow of life with thorns of 
 
 pain. 
 He set at his creation's very heart 
 A Lamb that shall be slain. 
 
 " Within the bosom of his thought 
 He spun the dreadful pattern of the wild; 
 Saw the small beasts within its meshes caught, 
 Said it was good — and smiled. 
 
 " His eager will 
 
 Hath taught the cat her gracious spring; 
 
 His flawless skill 
 
 Catches the blackbird on the wing, 
 
 " Contrives the parched tongue, 
 
 The gift of water long denied, 
 
 The furry field-mouse slain beside her young. 
 
 The weasel's quarry — and the way it died.
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 " He made the sea: his hand 
 Prepared the teeming horrors of the shore, 
 The gasping fish tost high upon the strand, 
 The starving gull that tore 
 
 " Its poor quick flesh. His wisdom and his power. 
 Of their all-knowing choice, all things have made 
 In living loveliness and strength to flower 
 And on the Cross be laid. 
 
 " From these, the cup 
 
 He feared to drink shall never pass away; 
 All things that live with their Creator sup. 
 All things the kiss of beauty doth betray, 
 
 " Mocking with sullied breath 
 The life it serves and presses to its doom. 
 Making of every hill a place of death. 
 Each garden plot a tomb. 
 
 " All this his love controlled. 
 This he conceived, in this he found his rest : 
 The world his everlasting arms enfold 
 Lies crushed upon his breast. 
 
 " Taught thus. 
 
 Shall he be grieved that we 
 
 Out of the freedom he hath given us 
 
 Turn upon God with his own cruelty ?
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 " Ruthless in might 
 
 We know ourselves to be his sons indeed 
 Who doth the children for the father smite, 
 Pollutes the guiltless seed, 
 
 " Sets the malignant fates 
 To play their sorry game of pleasant vice : 
 Then, with averted countenance, awaits 
 The certain issue of the loaded dice." 
 
 II 
 
 " In all that is, I dwell: 
 
 I am the Slayer, and I am the Slain. 
 
 Do thou thy deed, and all thing shall be well; 
 
 Bear thou with me my passion and my pain. 
 
 " Secure from harms 
 
 I hold embraced the living and the dead; 
 
 My generous arms 
 
 From nebula to nebula are spread. 
 
 " I am the Victim meet 
 
 Set up in every forest Calvary; 
 
 Mine is the torment of the city street. 
 
 And mine the restless sorrow of the sea. 
 
 " Yea ! not alone 
 
 In the sharp throes of man's self-conscious grief 
 
 I for the error of my world atone; 
 
 Each falling leaf 
 
 B
 
 8 THEOPHANIES 
 
 " That dying gives its virtue to the sod, 
 The anguish of each mother-bird bereaved, 
 The patient dying beast — lo! here is God, 
 In these my holy spirit is conceived. 
 
 " All growing things that seek 
 
 A harmony and peace as yet unfound 
 
 Of my long passion speak; 
 
 The pregnant ground, 
 
 " The chirping cricket and exultant star, 
 The savage tempest and the shattered pine, 
 All these the members of my body are 
 And bear by right divine 
 
 " The fruitful pangs of my eternal birth; 
 Greatest and least, they share my ceaseless 
 
 strife. 
 In them my saving will thrusts from the earth 
 Toward the risen life. 
 
 " In all my creatures' deaths I too have died; 
 My wounded hand the rosy cross unfurled; 
 I, risen again, from out my riven side 
 Feed and renew the world. 
 
 " Mine is the Voice that cries 
 
 In wood and desert, on the clouds and waves; 
 
 And mine the sacrifice 
 
 That tortures and that saves."
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 IN THE TRAIN 
 
 TRAIN full of blind eyes, rushing through the 
 
 world, 
 Fields lie on each side of you, 
 Full of life, starting with life; patient, fruitful, 
 
 creative. 
 Don't you see the divine light lying in the 
 
 furrows ? 
 Don't you feel the soft hair of the nascent corn ? 
 
 As for me, the soul spreads out from the body of 
 
 me; 
 It passes over all the field, and the field becomes 
 
 mine — 
 It and I, close-locked in passionate embrace — 
 And the moist ridged field gives itself up to me, all 
 
 the life of it, 
 
 1 am caressed by the childish touch of the corn. 
 My spirit stretches to its borders ; 
 
 I know the supple curves of resilient bramble. 
 The obstinate plait of the thicket. 
 The fringed and secret ditches with their citizens, 
 The gate of dead timbers that opens upon 
 
 mysterious roads — 
 Strange roads, crying to the pilgrim, 
 Where the feet of the soul may tread to the edge 
 
 of the world.
 
 lo THEOPHANIES 
 
 All this is mine, and more, for I have the heart of 
 
 the field; 
 I explore with tentative touch the maternal soil, 
 I know the recurring beat of the life within. 
 For me the innocent water shines in the furrow, 
 Steadfastly contemplating the infinite sky 
 As a mirror of prayer that lays itself out to the 
 
 light. 
 Life is there, new life that awaits my worship; 
 And fading life, more holy, that dies to serve the 
 
 unborn. 
 Where the long hedge leans to leeward 
 One little sharp, upstarting leaf I find; 
 And deep within the hearted curl of it, 
 Secret and strong as the wistful dream of a 
 
 virgin, 
 The bud that shall bear the immortal germ on its 
 
 way — 
 Small, humble, uncounted, 
 Pricking the path the future shall tread to the 
 
 light. 
 
 Haste! haste! says the train, for life is movement 
 
 itself. 
 Why should we haste ? God is here. 
 He is within and without: though we grow tall, 
 
 he comes no nearer; 
 Though we make haste, the earth flies faster still. 
 Ceaselessly treading her ritual dance in the skies. 
 Yet never removed from her place on the bosom of 
 
 God.
 
 THEOPHANIES n 
 
 You shall not achieve him, train scampering 
 
 through the world; 
 You shall not achieve him, souls adventuring in 
 
 the void. 
 Under the curve of my hedge is a Hfe more lovely. 
 Not sad! not ambitious! 
 Meek, faithful, august; 
 Beautifully moving towards the bridal of death.
 
 12 THEOPHANIES 
 
 NIGHT ON THE MOUNTAIN 
 
 I 
 
 Night on the mountain. Soon I may not see 
 The sharp and spreading map, 
 The chequer-world of man's hard husbandry. 
 Comes white as wool the cloud veil that shall cap 
 The peak whereon I stand and stretch to thee. 
 
 Night on the mountain. Soft and silently 
 
 Out from their little dens the furred things creep : 
 
 They will not sleep 
 
 With valley-dwelling man, but wake to thee. 
 
 The fox from out its hole, the night bird from its 
 
 nest, 
 I with the rest. 
 
 Yet not from any dear and hearted home 
 But from long exile come. 
 
 Long exile in the puzzling world, when all 
 
 Thy veils were close and bright 
 
 And picture set; yea, as a storied pall 
 
 Concealed thy night. 
 
 Long pilgrimage within the twisting lanes, 
 
 The deep and scented lanes, that wandered slow 
 
 Athwart the sleek profusion of the plains 
 
 But dared not seek 
 
 The solitary peak 
 
 To which thy lovers go.
 
 THEOPHANIES 13 
 
 Now the old words that once were mine and thine 
 
 Come to the hps and echo in the ear, 
 
 Now the white cloud draws near 
 
 And stills the restless limbs and shuts the peering 
 
 sight 
 From all thing save thy night — 
 The caverned door of our unshuttered shrine. 
 
 II 
 
 Strange, holy night, Eternity's caress, 
 
 Most apt for happy lovers to enjoy; 
 
 Thou dost redeem the foolish dreams of men 
 
 Bewildered by the dreadful day's employ. 
 
 How the white flowers upon thy breast do burn 
 
 And tell thy dark excesses. Thou dost turn 
 
 Each candid primrose to a moon of light; 
 
 Thou dost enchant the Angers of the fern 
 
 Stretched from the woodland to assoil our sight 
 
 From the sharp day's distress. 
 
 When homely shapes put on a priestly dress. 
 
 When from the dewy fields new presences arise 
 
 And grave trees standing there 
 
 Lift up great arms in prayer; 
 
 When the dim ground 
 
 Hath soft mysterious movements of desire 
 
 And every hili converses with the skies — 
 
 'Tis then 
 
 Our little star at home in heaven is found. 
 
 And we and it are gathered to thy heart. 
 
 Then muted adoration hath its part,
 
 14 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Then comes the hush of grace and wraps us round, 
 
 Then comes the flame of love and gives us of its fire. 
 
 Then, undistracted by the heady sun. 
 
 We are with thee as once ere all began, 
 
 Made partners with the ardent worlds that run 
 
 Across thy bosom's span; 
 
 Knowing themselves to be 
 
 Radiant of love and light because they rest in thee. 
 
 Dear night, I love thee. Take me by the hand, 
 
 Make thou the ferment of my thought to cease. 
 
 Teach me thy wisdom. Let me understand 
 
 Thine unstruck music. Give my soul release 
 
 From the day's glare and din. 
 
 Lift thou the latch, that I may push the gate 
 
 And let my Darling in. 
 
 He stands without, he wearies not to wait 
 
 Before my threshold till 
 
 Thou hast made all things proper to our state 
 
 And every voice is still. 
 
 Then thou and he shall enter side by side. 
 
 Thy banner shall he set above his bride, 
 
 The curtains of thy splendour shall be spread 
 
 About our marriage bed.
 
 THEOPHANIES 15 
 
 CLOUDY WEATHER 
 
 The sky was broidered o'er with cloud to-day, 
 Wonderful to the sight : 
 Golden and grey, 
 Sombre and pale, 
 Silver and white. 
 Pinnacled fanes were there, and little flocks at 
 
 play; 
 And who should miss the heavens, when this their 
 veil 
 
 So great is, and so gay ? 
 
 But as I watched there came a little breeze, 
 And moved them to more wondrous fantasies. 
 
 And took their shapes, and hurled 
 Cloud-world incredible upon cloud-world. 
 
 And lo! a sudden rift; 
 
 And there peeped out at me 
 One little magic patch of innocence 
 Most sweet to see, 
 
 That did the heart uplift, 
 And carry thence 
 Into the unwalled solitudes of light 
 
 My sad industrious sight. 
 That was so busy with the cloud's pretence.
 
 i6 THEOPHANIES 
 
 purging wind ! 
 Blow down the skies again, 
 Scatter the clever cloud-drift of the mind, 
 The strangely sculptured vapours of the brain; 
 
 And let his blue 
 
 Peep through. 
 One little space of clear. 
 That steadfast smiles between the moving thought 
 All in grey mazes wrought : 
 
 As the deep glance 
 
 Suddenly caught 
 Of loving eyes that watch us through the dance, 
 
 Mimics his art. 
 And strikes a blessed stillness to the heart. 
 
 And says: "My Dear!"
 
 THEOPHANIES 17 
 
 SAFETY 
 
 Most wonderful, most deep security 
 
 That circles in the soul at hours of pain. 
 
 When the assaulting harms 
 
 Of death and love and treachery set on, 
 
 When we must con 
 
 The dreadful lessons of mortality; 
 
 Then do we know the pressure of thine arms! 
 
 Held to thy heart 
 
 Shall we complain 
 
 That here we find our sharpest griefs again ? 
 
 Within that wide and piteous embrace 
 
 All torment, as all rapture, finds a place. 
 
 Give me a part, 
 
 Exultant anguish cries aloud to thee. 
 
 In the sharp pangs of thy felicity — 
 
 The hard perpetual birth 
 
 Of beauty, music, mirth — 
 
 For I would share 
 
 E'en thy self-mergence in the world's despair. 
 
 Lifted with the long movement of thy breath. 
 
 That draws toward the secret sum of life 
 
 And outward rushes to the world of death, 
 
 Gladly I go 
 
 From utmost ecstasy to sorriest strife. 
 
 For well I know 
 
 It is the Heart of God that sways me so: 
 
 Thereon I rest, therewith I sweetly move, 
 
 Rocked by the rhythmic process of his love.
 
 i8 THEOPHANIES 
 
 FELL ASLEEP 
 M. C, November i6th, 191 3 
 
 He does not sleep. 
 
 How could that eager mind be stilled by death ? 
 
 How shall the heart that did such commerce keep 
 
 Cease with the body's breath 
 
 To throb with the world's joys and agonies ? 
 
 These were his life, and these 
 
 His life shall be : 
 
 The love-emblazoned robes of immortahty. 
 
 Lo ! the free soul, that once the brain did fret 
 
 With dreadful limitations, and make vain 
 
 Its upward-soaring passion, doth forget 
 
 That intellectual pain. 
 
 Joyful it spreads its wings 
 
 On the one ultimate flight toward the edge of 
 
 things ; 
 Yet does not roam 
 From the remembering heart, wherein it makes its 
 
 home.
 
 THEOPHANIES 19 
 
 NEBULA AND NEST 
 
 I 
 
 1 HAVE fled far! 
 
 I have not stayed my quest for any star 
 
 That in my pathway stood 
 
 And sang in the soul's ear, 
 
 "Behold the Good!" 
 
 But I have sought the sphere 
 
 Wherein his thought immense — 
 
 His love, his dream. 
 
 His ardent seeking sense 
 
 Of uttermost exactitudes that seem 
 
 All novelty and flow and wilful change — 
 
 Crest upward first toward creative joy: 
 
 And from the dreadful range 
 
 Of absolute and unconditioned Mind 
 
 Door of deliverance find 
 
 In sweet employ. 
 
 I stretched upon his storm my fragile wings. 
 
 And went with the great wind 
 
 That poured its music through the frame of things. 
 
 Dreadful was the embrace 
 
 To which we rushed beyond the edge of space : 
 
 For he that is all-loving would immerse 
 
 His fulhead in the Nought, 
 
 His immemorial thought
 
 20 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Utter through strife. 
 
 Yea! as melodic fire 
 
 That sought the consummation of desire 
 
 All down the exultant trumpet of the skies, 
 
 Athwart the spreaded strings 
 
 Of vibrant light, 
 
 There was our flight, 
 
 And as a speedful song was our emprize. 
 
 So have I seen the sacred stream of life 
 
 In one swift act sublime 
 
 Enter our universe; 
 
 The bridal of eternity and time. 
 
 Then in the womb of darkness there began 
 
 Soft movements of maternal energy, 
 
 And golden filaments of life that ran 
 
 Athwart the dim. 
 
 Then first was laid the plan 
 
 That builded upward to the soul of man 
 
 And bore to him 
 
 Far in the wild 
 
 A veritable child. 
 
 Yea, I have travelled far, 
 I have not stayed my quest for any star 
 Nor found in any sun the light I need: 
 Authentic converse with the unconfined 
 This might alone suffice mine avid mind, 
 This might alone my hungry spirit feed.
 
 THEOPHANIES 21 
 
 Now in and in I come, 
 
 Out of the mists of distant nebulae 
 
 Swing again home : 
 
 Entering at last, 
 
 The edgeless solitudes of God o'erpassed. 
 
 That one warm narrow place 
 
 Where mind is free 
 
 From the terrific liberties of space 
 
 And the heart best 
 
 Can make for him a nest. 
 
 And as the palmer, coming home again 
 
 From the sweet Sepulchre, 
 
 Finds Christ afield amongst his fellow men 
 
 And summed in her 
 
 Who waits him, all his portion of that grace 
 
 Which shone from Mary's face: 
 
 So the pale skies 
 
 All lucent with God's love 
 
 And the swift cloudy spirits that arise 
 
 Wistful of some unthought divine surprise 
 
 Full friendly prove 
 
 To this my quest, and heal my hungry pain. 
 
 Yet softly say, " In vain 
 
 Thy pilgrim's scrip and all thy traveller's state. 
 
 As we around the earth in pageant go 
 
 Yet to no goal attain. 
 
 Thou dost but tread the orbit of thy brain 
 
 In thine ecstatic flight 
 
 That would achieve his dread excess of bright. 
 
 Not so 
 
 The limited the Limitless may know.
 
 22 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Wait, pilgrim, wait ! 
 
 Cleanse thou thy sight. 
 
 Prepare thine ear, 
 
 To see him in his light. 
 
 The flowering of his melody to hear. 
 
 His feet are on the road : stay thou at home. 
 
 He shall appoint a meeting when he come." 
 
 HI 
 
 How still it is ! 
 
 And yet there's music here, 
 
 Music alone goes with me all the way 
 
 Divinely clear. 
 
 Thou dost beat out at me 
 
 From the leaves of the chestnut tree. 
 
 Here at my window peeping as I pray, 
 
 Thy very Self-hood's bliss 
 
 In life's rich fugue confessed; 
 
 Thy heart's dear melody 
 
 By crescent form expressed. 
 
 And I, that all the fervours of the abyss 
 
 Might not delay. 
 
 Am caught in thy bird's nest — 
 
 Meet shelter of the smallest soul that sings — 
 
 Find, nestling warm against a feathery breast, 
 
 My long-sought rest. 
 
 And fold my weary wings.
 
 THEOPHANIES 23 
 
 HEAVEN— PURGATORY— HELL 
 
 "The soul, when it departs from the body, needs not to go far: 
 for where the body lies, there is Heaven and Hell." — Jacob Boehme. 
 
 Close-ranked within my room they stand, 
 
 The holy spirits of the dead. 
 
 Some grope the air with piteous hand 
 
 Of newly blind, who would be led 
 
 They know not where, and cannot rest : 
 
 But some with seeing eyes are blest. 
 
 A solemn light enfolds them all : 
 It is a light they never knew. 
 To some it is a fiery pall 
 That burns their vision ; but a few, 
 With closed eyes, in ecstasy 
 Rejoice within the flame to be. 
 
 For these are they that eager sought 
 The love which purges earthly stain, 
 And lavenders the tainted thought 
 And brings its fragrance back again : 
 Content its anguish to endure 
 If so their vision may be pure. 
 
 Steadfast they stand : they do not fear 
 The faithful sculpture of the flame 
 That makes the holy outline clear 
 And brings to light the hidden name —
 
 24 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Long hid beneath the rust of earth — 
 Which scaled the splendour of their birth. 
 
 But some there are who cannot stay 
 And bear the burning of the fire : 
 Pursued upon their endless way 
 By onslaughts of unstilled desire 
 As by a rushing hungry wind, 
 They have no skill release to find. 
 
 On bafHing gales of passion driven 
 They sweep the peaceful ranks above; 
 As scudding clouds, by tempest riven, 
 Across the starry spaces move 
 And cast their tattered shadows down 
 On patient field and ordered town. 
 
 Sad, fevered lovers who in vain 
 
 Pursue the last consummate hour, 
 
 Some final ecstasy to drain. 
 
 Its dread sufficing sweets devour — 
 
 So, by the lust of God possessed. 
 
 The damned pursue their ceaseless quest. 
 
 Avid they are, they know not why ; 
 
 They seek, and know not what they crave; 
 
 But' stream across that homely sky 
 
 Wherefrom the blest all comfort have. 
 
 Fiercely they hunt their final bhss. 
 
 Nor mark the changeless joys they miss —
 
 THEOPHANIES 25 
 
 The glad surrender of the bright 
 And sparkhng souls, that unafraid, 
 Deep drowned within the burning light 
 Are partners of its radiance made; 
 Nor know themselves, save as they shine 
 Within the heart of Love divine. 
 
 All have they found, for all they lost. 
 Nor restless sought their own to win; 
 But reckoning not the final cost 
 They plunged the healing flame within, 
 As happy swimmers bold to leap 
 And trust their bodies to the deep. 
 
 All souls within my room are met : 
 Here glows the heavenly light and fire, 
 Here is the place of cleansing set, 
 And here the hell of false desire. 
 Yea ! here is God, in whose embrace 
 Each living spirit finds its place.
 
 26 THEOPHANIES 
 
 THE TREE 
 
 Spread, delicate roots of my tree, 
 
 Feeling, clasping, thrusting, growing; 
 
 Sensitive pilgrim root tips roaming everywhere. 
 
 Into resistant earth your filaments forcing, 
 
 Down in the dark, unknown, desirous : 
 
 The strange ceaseless life of you, eating and drink- 
 ing of earth, 
 
 The corrosive secretions of you, breaking the stuff 
 of the world to your will. 
 
 Tips of my tree in the springtime bursting to 
 
 terrible beauty. 
 Folded green life, exquisite, holy, exultant; 
 I feel in you the splendour, the autumn of ripe 
 
 fulfilment, 
 Love and labour and death, the sacred pageant of 
 
 hfe. 
 In the sweet curled buds of you. 
 In the opening glory of leaves, tissues moulded of 
 
 green light; 
 Veined, cut, perfect to type. 
 Each one like a child of high lineage bearing the 
 
 sigil of race.
 
 THEOPHANIES 27 
 
 The open hands of my tree held out to the touch of 
 
 the air 
 As love that opens its arms and waits on the lover's 
 
 will; 
 The curtsey, the sway, and the toss of the spray as 
 
 it sports with the breeze; 
 Rhythmical whisper of leaves that murmur and 
 
 move in the light; 
 Crying of wind in the boughs, the beautiful music 
 
 of pain : 
 Thus do you sing and say 
 The sorrow, the effort, the sweet surrender, the joy. 
 
 Come! tented leaves of my tree; 
 
 High summer is here, the moment of passionate 
 hfe. 
 
 The hushed, the maternal hour. 
 
 Deep in the shaded green your mystery shielding. 
 
 Heir of the ancient woods and parent of forests 
 to be, 
 
 Lo! to your keeping is given the Father's life- 
 giving thought; 
 
 The thing that is dream and deed and carries the 
 gift of the past. 
 
 For this, for this, great tree. 
 
 The glory of maiden leaves, the solemn stretch of 
 the bough, 
 
 The wise persistent roots 
 
 Into the stuff of the world their filaments forcing, 
 
 Breaking the earth to their need.
 
 28 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Here is eternity's sword that pricks through the 
 scabbard of time, 
 
 Here is the virginal life that waits on the lover's 
 will. 
 
 How subtle the Spirit's path! 
 
 How silent the quickening rites ! 
 
 No anguish of frustrate desire, 
 
 No madness of impotent strife, 
 
 Refusal and terror and rapture, craving with- 
 drawal and grief. 
 
 Tall tree, your name is peace. 
 
 You are the channel of God: 
 
 His mystical sap, 
 
 EUxir of infinite love, syrup of infinite power, 
 
 SwelHng and shaping, brooding and hiding, 
 
 With out-thrust of deHcate joy, with pitiless 
 
 pageant of death. 
 Sings in your cells; 
 Its rhythmical cycle of life 
 In you is fulfilled. 
 His drama of birth and decay, his dance of renewal 
 
 and rest, 
 Simply, without reluctance, 
 These have you played. 
 His patient wintry faith, invincible 
 As the long dreams of leafless branches are. 
 The urgent hope of his eternal spring. 
 His charity, as summer charged with hfe 
 That dies into an autumn of rich deed — 
 These you proclaim.
 
 THEOPHANIES 29 
 
 APOCALYPSE 
 
 " I SAW," said John the Seer, 
 
 " New heaven and new earth." But I, each day, 
 
 Behold thy new creation that draws near 
 
 On every budding spray. 
 
 Yea, down the stream of time the thundering hoofs 
 
 I hear 
 Of horses shining white and strangely grey, 
 That bear upon their way 
 The kings of death and life, the true and faithful 
 
 kings. 
 
 " I saw," said John the Seer, 
 
 " The Mother of all life, her travailings." 
 
 But I have seen the birth of many a year, 
 
 And lovely childish things 
 
 Snatched back to God, because they are so dear 
 
 No haven can avail, save his enshrouding wings. 
 
 I've known the sudden palms of many springs 
 
 Pass, hke a fleeting sacrament of grace. 
 
 " I saw," said John the Seer, 
 
 " The Ever-living One, his awful face." 
 
 I in deep pools and clear 
 
 Have plunged my look, to trace 
 
 Faint and austere
 
 30 THEOPHANIES 
 
 In some uncharted place 
 
 Secure from flitting time, released from narrow 
 
 space, 
 The First and Last, the Beauty new and old. 
 
 " I saw," said John the Seer, 
 " The dreadful judgments of his wrath unfold." 
 I am not thus. I know not how to fear 
 That love which drew the crocus from the mould : 
 Nor, whilst the skylark's song is in mine ear. 
 Can hear a sterner voice than that which told 
 His vengeful hosts their fury to withhold 
 From green things, grass, and trees, 
 Lest hurt should fall on these; 
 And said, that when his heaven indeed was come, 
 With men his tent should be, with men his wander- 
 ing home. 
 And God should heal their griefs, and wipe away 
 each tear.
 
 THEOPHANIES 31 
 
 CONTINUOUS VOYAGE 
 
 At twilight, when I lean the gunwale o'er 
 
 And watch the water turning from the bow, 
 
 I sometimes think the best is here and now — 
 
 The voyage all, and nought the hidden shore. 
 
 Is there no help ? and must we make the land ? 
 
 Shall every sailing in some haven cease ? 
 
 And must the chain rush out, the anchor strike the 
 
 sand. 
 And is there from its fetters no release ? 
 And shall the Steersman's voice say, " Nevermore 
 The ravening gale, the soft and sullen fog. 
 No more the cunning shoal, the changeful ebb and 
 
 flow. 
 Put up the charts, and take the lead below, 
 And close the vessel's log " ? 
 
 Adventure is a seaman's life, the port 
 
 Calls but the weary and the tempest driven : 
 
 Perhaps its safety were too dearly bought 
 
 If that for this our freedom must be given. 
 
 For lo ! our Steersman is for ever young 
 
 And with much gladness sails beneath the stars; 
 
 Our ship is old, yet still her sails are hung 
 
 Like eager wings upon the steady spars. 
 
 Then tell me not of havens for the soul 
 
 Where tides can never come, nor storms molest;
 
 32 THEOPHANIES 
 
 My sailing spirit seeks no sheltered goal, 
 Nought is more sad than safety — life is best 
 When every day brings danger for delight, 
 And each new solemn night 
 Engulfs our whitening wake within the whole. 
 
 Beyond the bent horizon oceans are 
 
 Where every star 
 
 Lies like an isle upon Eternity. 
 
 There would I be 
 
 Given to his rushing wind. 
 
 No prudent course to find 
 
 For some snug corner of Infinity; 
 
 But evermore to sail 
 
 Close-reefed before the gale, 
 
 And see the steep 
 
 Great billow of his love, with threatening foam, 
 
 Come roaring home 
 
 And lift my counter in its mighty sweep.
 
 THEOPHANIES 33 
 
 ON READING DOSTOlEFFSKY 
 
 Here's a new soul unveiled, all trembling fire; 
 As fire unstable, eager, tender, fierce; 
 With sudden pains our sodden thought to pierce 
 And lights and ardours apt for all desire. 
 Here's sordid, holy man, all mind and mire, 
 Deep wells are here for storing of slow tears, 
 Grey sterile tracks down-trodden by hard years, 
 Quick saving dreams that from the slime aspire. 
 
 And as some tarnished mirror full of flaws. 
 Strange crooked faults, deep cracks that twist the 
 
 rays. 
 May catch the sunny splendour, and because 
 Of those same scars, flash back a sparkling light; 
 So, keen and fair, to mock our scornful sight. 
 This broken glass the Kingly Face displays.
 
 34 THEOPHANIES 
 
 LILA, THE PLAY OF GOD 
 
 " The whole world, says Kabir, rests in his play; yet still the 
 Player remains unknown." — Poems of Kabir. 
 
 What the sport, and what the aim. 
 Shrouded Player of the Game ? 
 
 Lord, the magic of thy play, 
 
 Ever changing, never still, 
 
 It enchants the dreaming heart, 
 
 It enslaves the restless will, 
 
 Calls it to the player's part. 
 
 All the moving scheme of creatures, 
 
 Running, iiitting, growing, dying, 
 
 Rippling moods thy changeful features 
 
 Quick reflect : the voices crying 
 
 News of anguish and delight. 
 
 Certitudes of swift decay. 
 
 O the rush of birds in flight ! 
 
 O the blazon of the may! 
 
 Holy fading of the day. 
 
 Mystery of marshes lying 
 
 Faint and still beneath the sky, 
 
 While the solemn clouds go by 
 
 And their massy shadows creep 
 
 Grey upon the ghstering sheep. 
 
 Noble sport and mighty aim. 
 Shrouded Player oj the Game.
 
 THEOPHANIES 35 
 
 Lord, the terror of thy play 
 Thrusting ruthless to its goal, 
 It affrights the seeking heart, 
 Troubles the astonished soul; 
 Warns it from the player's part. 
 Tramp of armies on their way 
 Lust of battle to fulfil, 
 Quick to maim and quick to slay. 
 Docile to the urgent will: 
 Stealthy tread of hungry beasts. 
 Strong and subtle, all their art 
 Framed to stalk and framed to kill. 
 Careless of the victim's smart. 
 Teeming life of worm and louse, 
 Guests at thine ignoble feasts; 
 Seething life of secret things; 
 Commerce of the charnel house 
 Carried upon countless wings — 
 
 Strange the sport, and dark the aim, 
 Shrouded Player of the Game. 
 
 In the town thy pieces move 
 Here and there, to serve the plan. 
 Some from off the board are swept. 
 Some in misery are kept. 
 Crushed by toil and racked by love; 
 Kept, they say, to play the man. 
 There within the netted streets. 
 Leashed and hooded, human dreams 
 Strive for light and air and peace, 
 Strive to compass their release
 
 36 THEOPHANIES 
 
 From the dreadful life that seems : 
 There thy watching mind defeats 
 Every move the captives make. 
 There for some poor folly's sake 
 Every day a piece is lost — 
 Lured by lust and joy and wealth, 
 Lost to love and peace and health — 
 Dost thou stay to count the cost ? 
 Reckoning in the mighty plan 
 All the sins and griefs of man ? 
 There the harlot's venomed breast 
 Lulls the weary lad to rest, 
 Sacring with her scented breath 
 Victims to thy dance of death: 
 Dost thou smile that wreck to see ? 
 Is the sport so gay to thee ? 
 
 Cruel sport, and dreadful aim, 
 Shrouded Player of the Game. 
 
 Lord, the horror of thy play. 
 How shall man forgive thee this ? 
 How accept his tardy bhss, 
 Purge the stain of life away ? 
 Squalor to attaint the good, 
 Soil the sweetness of his mood. 
 Foulness in his daily food, 
 Angels in his ear to cry, 
 " Thou shalt kill, or thou shalt die." 
 
 What the sport, and what the aim, 
 Shrouded Player oj the Game P
 
 THEOPHANIES 37 
 
 THE DAY BEFORE 
 
 I THOUGHT, when they said that this must be, 
 
 I should turn and cHng to thy friendship then — 
 That secret bond between me and thee — 
 Clean away from the world of men. 
 
 But now from my window I lean and pore 
 On the rich thick life that goes past the door: 
 I cannot think of the Spirit more. 
 
 I know one should live detached from things; 
 And I thought I did, till they sent me here. 
 It's strange how the tide of feeling brings 
 
 New loves and hates, as the knife draws near. 
 I love the sky. There's a moon to-night! 
 Am I going away from the heaven of sight ? 
 Can the eyeless soul apprehend the light ? 
 
 To-night to strive on my lonely bed 
 
 With the sick dismay of the frightened flesh : 
 To-morrow, perhaps, the Fisherman Dread, 
 Trawling the world, will catch in his mesh, 
 Sleeping under the surgeon's hand. 
 The growing life whose delights I planned — 
 And I ? Shall I watch and understand ?
 
 38 THEOPHANIES 
 
 What will it seem to my soul, I wonder, 
 
 The cleavage made in the woven dress ? 
 Will it feel that its home is rent asunder ? 
 
 Will it shrink and flee from the knife's caress ? 
 I think it will slip from the drowsy brain, 
 Lift the latch of the house of pain, 
 And tread the invisible tracks again. 
 
 There shall I watch while the slit is made, 
 
 The red sharp breach in the city wall. 
 
 And the secret net of its streets displayed; 
 
 Displayed to the intimate gaze of all. 
 
 Far off I shall stand, and at last shall see 
 The thing they have always confused with me. 
 What will that hour of vision be ? 
 
 But now I am safe on the homely earth. 
 Safe in the skein of things that grow. 
 I cling to my place on that wheel of birth, 
 I love its noise and its movement so. 
 Easy and light is the body's yoke — 
 See! the curve of the mounting smoke. 
 Hark! 'twas the voice of the street that spoke.
 
 THEOPHANIES 39 
 
 A LONDON FLOWER SHOW 
 
 See the faces of the flowers, 
 
 Strange and fair, 
 Watching through the weary hours 
 
 Whilst the herded humans stare. 
 
 Like country saints brought up to town 
 
 From cloistering wood and lonely down, 
 Remote they seem ; 
 
 Wrapt in a wistful dream 
 Of upland meadows fragrant to the sun, 
 Rich with an ardent hfe for ever new-begun. 
 
 And quickening winds that go 
 With ghostly steps across the supple grass. 
 
 Shaking from all who grow 
 Music of adoration as they pass. 
 
 In this sad air, they say. 
 No plant can pray. 
 
 Here is a daffodil. 
 Six-winged, as seraphs are; 
 They took her from a Spanish hill. 
 Wild as a wind-blown star. 
 When she was born 
 The angels came 
 And showed her how her petals should be worn. 
 Now she is tame. 
 She hath a Latin name. 
 
 There, set in mimic rock — 
 As if to mock
 
 40 THEOPHANIES 
 
 The ultimate austerities of love 
 
 That must in poverty its passion prove — 
 
 A mountain hermit in his furry dress; 
 
 Brought from the creviced height where he alone 
 
 Sang from the sheltering stone 
 
 Perpetual psalm of joy, 
 And did his private ecstasy confess; 
 
 Forced to disclose 
 The secret that he whispered to the snows, 
 And sold to make a gardening woman's toy. 
 
 Yet, with their homesick eyes 
 As other saints, 
 
 So these evangelise : 
 Into our smutty streets, where beauty faints, 
 
 Bringing authentic news 
 Of Paradise. 
 
 How shall a flower refuse 
 In heathen lands her gospel to declare ? 
 
 Doth she not wear 
 The sacred sigil of the Only Fair ? 
 
 In this shut room 
 
 She may not bloom 
 With the exuberant splendour of the free, 
 Crying in coloured joy her crescent ecstasy: 
 But still. 
 
 As generous lovers will. 
 She can exult to share his saving pain : 
 
 And, exiled from the field, 
 
 Her wild sweet magic yield 
 As part of Perfect Beauty's passion to be slain.
 
 THEOPHANIES 41 
 
 PRIMAVERA 
 
 Who knows the spring? 
 He, when he lays his hands 
 On any growing thing 
 Discerns the pulse of God, and understands 
 
 How that the Father's heart 
 Thrusts forth in steady rhythm of charity 
 To every part 
 His life and energy. 
 
 Not the soft vision of the feathered dove 
 To tell of grace inshed 
 He needs, whose subtle love 
 Can pierce the secret of the copse. Instead 
 He sees the living earth renew her plumes, 
 With sudden joy outspread 
 Her wide green wing 
 And sing 
 As once again her choric office she resumes. 
 
 Lapped all in God 
 And with maternal love encompassed round 
 How shall we wonder at the teeming sod, 
 The mesh of beauty spread upon the ground ? 
 Keep rather your amaze 
 
 For sterile days 
 And silent stony stars,
 
 42 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Wherefrom the youthful Shepherd of the skies 
 Piping a song forever incomplete 
 
 Calls forth no answering lays 
 Of lesser whitethroats busy in the bough, 
 
 Nor living loveliness 
 Of melilot upspringing from the plough. 
 
 No woodruff to make sweet 
 
 The path before his feet, 
 Nor banners of the beech leaves overhead; 
 
 But foul distress 
 Of naked craters grinning to the light. 
 
 Dead forests, sapless spars 
 Whence never sudden scents redeem the night. 
 And grievous meadows where no lark can rise. 
 
 There the sequestered spirits of the dead 
 Go chattering down the windy loneliness 
 Like thin brown leaves that winter left behind; 
 They seek for evermore, and cannot find 
 
 The vernal fire 
 That lights old tissues with renewed desire. 
 
 There those who cannot love 
 
 Hell's solitude must prove, 
 What time the passionate and immortal spring 
 
 Goes forth all-conquering. 
 
 But there's another land 
 Where the green banners do eternal stand: 
 
 Where the brave seeds, 
 The dry and shrivelled seeds whereof we said 
 
 That they were surely dead. 
 
 Start from their sleep, and grow.
 
 THEOPHANIES 43 
 
 Urged of a hidden spark, they push toward the 
 light 
 
 Plumes of dehght 
 And thrust their eager roots into his night. 
 
 And so 
 Since at the heart of God it's ever spring 
 And all that lives is but the blossoming 
 Of his sweet stretching boughs, with tufted beauty 
 wrought. 
 That bud in joyful deeds 
 And flower in deathless dreams more strange than 
 thought ; 
 These, grafted on his spray. 
 Fed on his sap alway. 
 
 Are born again 
 To share his vernal reign. 
 What time the restless earth 
 Draws near to April's heart, we for an hour 
 
 Partake that mystic birth; 
 Touch the sharp vigour of eternity 
 And taste the freshness of their ecstasy 
 
 Whose love is power, 
 Whose rapture of creation, never still. 
 Is nourished of his will.
 
 44 THEOPHANIES 
 
 JOHN THE BAPTIST 
 
 Immediate light, ablaze, enfolding me ; 
 And in its mesh some slow-distilling truth 
 That comes with subtle touch to stir the mind. 
 And catch the heart to rapture. 
 
 No heaven-high dream, remote, unearthly, dread. 
 
 The glory I declare : turn, turn, and see 
 
 Adventurous love, that leaps from out the world 
 
 Served by sweet growth. 
 
 In every twig and blade 
 
 I know the advent of my Saviour-God : 
 
 His moving thought is music in the wind, 
 
 The shining sword of his ascending life 
 
 Pricks the parched earth. In the unmeasured sky, 
 
 In the uncounted planets of the sand 
 
 Whose paces tell the rhythm of his joy. 
 
 In the bird's sudden note, I savour him; 
 
 And closer still he comes — 
 
 Comes, with his subtle touch to stir the mind, 
 
 And catch the heart to rapture. 
 
 Born kindred of the earth, burned by great rays 
 Of grace, impregnate with reality — 
 Where should I go, but to the lonely wild ? 
 Far from the dreadful circle of good men 
 Who play at godliness, here will I wait
 
 THEOPHANIES 45 
 
 The Strong, the Pure, the Tameless, who shall 
 
 come. 
 His feet shall be within the ceaseless stream 
 Which sets towards the Sea. He shall endure 
 Unresting change; yet to his steadfast eyes 
 Winged life shall mediate Eternity, 
 And on his ears shall fall 
 The solemn music of creative joy. 
 He shall discern the unreal from the real. 
 He shall strike fire from out the souls of men; 
 He shall emancipate all fettered loves 
 And bring to birth the hidden Sons of God 
 Of whom Creation travails until now.
 
 46 THEOPHANIES 
 
 FLOODED FIELDS 
 
 As stilled and shining waters tell the sky, 
 
 And seem to bring celestial spaces near, 
 
 So may thy grace upon my spirit lie 
 
 To image forth the clear. 
 
 Let the floods rest which thou hast caused to be. 
 
 That those who look may there a vision find 
 
 Which I perhaps shall never come to see 
 
 Upon the troubled surface of the mind. 
 
 Deep would I have the heart's poor meadow hid, 
 
 Its sterile shame, its wreck of seasons past : 
 
 Litter of twigs, that once were living wood. 
 
 The mouldering straw of crops that withered fast, 
 
 The barren plot where wheat hath never stood. 
 
 Mat of dead leaves, where first the wind-flower 
 
 grew — 
 By these thy grateful waters I am rid 
 Of that unhappy landscape, staring to the blue. 
 
 Patient is love, mighty and unafraid. 
 
 Steadfast its waters lie upon the land: 
 
 Yet not for desolation's sake they made 
 
 Man's husbandry as nought. Where the floods 
 
 stand 
 Solemn and pale. 
 
 There in the darkness pricks the crescent blade. 
 Yea, when thou dost depart thy lustral veil —
 
 THEOPHANIES 47 
 
 Dread sacrament of mercy and new birth — 
 
 And the deep-sunken fields pass from their purging 
 
 night, 
 Then shall be cry of mirth; 
 The song of eager life, that leaps to meet the light. 
 
 Ah, not in pride they flower before thy face 
 That knew the visitations of resistless grace. 
 These shall not ask the dower of standing sheaves. 
 These may not yield the substance of thy bread; 
 But the small turf, inset with daisied leaves. 
 They give, wherewith life's simplest creatures may 
 be fed.
 
 48 THEOPHANIES 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 When the soul yields to prayer 
 
 The gate made of jacinth 
 
 Swings, stands ajar. 
 
 Scents out of heavenly places 
 
 Storm the sad air 
 
 On the gale that blows in the unmeasured spaces 
 
 Which link star to star. 
 
 Eyes shut to the landscape here where we are 
 
 Open elsewhere 
 
 When the soul yields to prayer. 
 
 The soul deep in prayer 
 
 As a hyacinth 
 
 Stretcheth forth from its pillar of bloom 
 
 Feelers of fragrance unseen 
 
 To the edge of the room. 
 
 So, held still and serene, 
 
 Of its outpouring gift unaware, 
 
 With radiance redeeming the gloom, 
 
 With sweetness assaulting the air, 
 
 Is the soul deep in prayer. 
 
 In the triumph of prayer 
 Twofold is the spell. 
 With the folding of hands 
 There's a spreading of wings.
 
 THEOPHANIES 49 
 
 And the soul's lifted up to invisible lands 
 And ineffable peace. Yet it knows, being there, 
 That it's close to the heart of all pitiful things ; 
 And it loses and finds, and it gives and demands; 
 For its life is divine, it must love, it must share 
 In the triumph of prayer. 
 
 In the anguish of prayer 
 
 It is well! it is well! 
 
 Then only the victory of love is complete, 
 
 When the soul on the cross 
 
 Dies to all save its loss. 
 
 When in utmost defeat 
 
 The light that was fair 
 
 And the friend who was sweet 
 
 Flee away, then the truth of its love is laid bare 
 
 In the anguish of prayer.
 
 so THEOPHANIES 
 
 HIGH TIDE 
 
 Flood thou my soul with thy great quietness, 
 let thy wave 
 Of silence from the deep 
 Roll in on me, the shores of sense to lave : 
 So doth thy living water softly creep 
 
 Into each cave 
 And rocky pool, where ocean creatures hide 
 Far from their home, yet nourished of thy tide. 
 Deep-sunk they wait 
 The coming of thy great 
 Inpouring stream that shall new life communicate; 
 Then, starting from beneath some shadowy ledge 
 
 Of the heart's edge, 
 Flash sudden coloured memories of the sea 
 
 Whence they were born of thee 
 Across the mirrored surface of the mind. 
 Swift rays of wondrousness 
 
 They seem; 
 And rippling thoughts arise 
 Fan-wise 
 From the quick-darting passage of the dream, 
 To spread and find 
 Each creviced narrowness 
 Where the dark waters dwell. 
 Mortally still, 
 
 Until 
 The Moon of Prayer,
 
 THEOPHANIES 51 
 
 That by the invincible sorcery of love 
 God's very self can move, 
 Draws thy life-giving flood 
 E'en there. 
 Then the great swell 
 And urge of grace 
 Refresh the weary mood; 
 Cleansing anew each sad and stagnant place 
 
 That seems shut off from thee, 
 And hardly hears the murmur of the sea.
 
 52 THEOPHANIES 
 
 THOUGHTS ABOUT HEAVEN 
 
 I 
 
 Heaven's not a place. 
 
 Where time doth race 
 
 Across the flatted fields of edgeless space 
 
 Thou shalt not hear its news, nor its retreat 
 
 discover. 
 No ! 'tis a dance 
 Where love perpetual, 
 Rhythmical, 
 Musical, 
 
 Maketh advance 
 Loved one to lover. 
 
 n 
 
 Heaven's not a rest. 
 
 No! but to battle with new zest: 
 
 Untired, with warrior-joy 
 
 The sharp clean spirit to employ 
 
 On life's new enterprise. 
 
 It's the surprise 
 
 Of keen delighted mind 
 
 That wakes to find 
 
 Old fetters gone, 
 
 Strong shining immortaHty put on.
 
 THEOPHANIES 53 
 
 III 
 
 Heaven is to be 
 
 In God at last made free, 
 
 There more and more 
 
 Strange secrets of communion to explore: 
 
 Within the mighty movements of his will 
 
 Our tangled loves fulfil: 
 
 To pluck the rosemary we cannot reach 
 
 With the mind's span, 
 
 And so at last 
 
 Breathe the rich fragrance of our hoarded past 
 
 And learn the slow unfolding of the plan. 
 
 Together to unroll 
 
 The blazoned story of the pilgrim soul; 
 
 All the long ardent pain. 
 
 The craving and the bliss at last made plain. 
 
 Sometimes to sleep 
 
 Locked each to each 
 
 Within his deep, 
 
 Or playing in his wave 
 
 The sudden splendour of the flood to brave : 
 
 Great tide of his undimmed vitality 
 
 That breaks in beauty on the world's wide beach 
 
 And draws all life again toward its heart. 
 
 Stirring to new and mutual increase 
 
 Love-quickened souls therein that have their part, 
 
 Therein that find their peace.
 
 54 THEOPHANIES 
 
 NATURE 
 
 The anguish, the lostness : my Dear, 
 Set so close to my hand, 
 Of all near things most near, 
 Murmuring within mine ear 
 
 A music that I may not understand: 
 Light of all hght, 
 Soul of enshrouding night. 
 
 The subtle joy shook out from sullen pain, 
 
 The wonder that atones for the world's wrong, 
 New splendour on the corn, 
 New freshness of the morn, 
 Secret of every wind, 
 Fragrance of every song 
 
 So nearly known, yet ever sought in vain. 
 
 II 
 
 Soft the note strikes and clear, 
 All to make plain : 
 Theme of the ceaseless melody, 
 Clue to the hidden harmony — 
 And lo ! it's gone, merged in the throstle's cry. 
 
 Again, 
 Sometimes from out the throng 
 There comes a glance, intolerably sweet, 
 
 And I, 
 All radiant in the gladness of surprise,
 
 THEOPHANIES 55 
 
 Turn swift to greet 
 
 Those all-revealing eyes, 
 
 That look, so deep, so kind, 
 
 That vision full of grace 
 
 Which I have waited long. 
 
 Ah! long and ardently — 
 Only to see 
 Thy veil, Nature, that conceals from me 
 
 The one desired face: 
 My Dear One, whom I cannot touch or find. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Thou art a priest, O Nature, and from thee 
 All who believe 
 Assuredly receive 
 Enshrined in many a changeful accident 
 The substance of the only sacrament : 
 
 Yet, as some vagrant soul 
 That comes to the Graal Castle unaware 
 May not discern within the outward sign 
 The taste of the incomparable wine 
 
 Nor know 
 That it is fed 
 Of the sufficing bread; 
 Because the proffered fragment is so fair 
 It cannot pass beyond, to find the Whole 
 Embosomed there — 
 E'en so 
 I cannot find my Dear, for he is hid 
 Within thy living symbols, that conceal 
 The simple, secret thing they promise to reveal.
 
 56 THEOPHANIES 
 
 IV 
 
 I ask not beauty, but a little space 
 Swept clear for him; 
 Some naked place, 
 Intimate, dim; 
 Some haven where the fretted mind may rest, 
 Where thy quick colour and inconstant sound 
 
 At last are steadfast found. 
 And beyond thought all in one Thought are blest. 
 Just to be rid 
 Of this bewildering light, 
 That sets the world ablaze, and dazzles my poor 
 
 sight 
 With all the teeming phantoms of thine art; 
 
 Just once between 
 The shifting splendours of the natural scene 
 
 To glimpse the faithful star. 
 For still, athwart the glamour thou dost fling 
 I hear the voice of One, the lost fair holy thing, 
 Crying to my heart — 
 Not from a distant land. 
 Nay, at my very hand — 
 " How far thou art from me: how far! how far! "
 
 THEOPHANIES 57 
 
 PHILOSOPHERS 
 
 Some with their httle taper dwell alone 
 
 Snug in a shuttered room, 
 
 Nor probe the outer gloom : 
 Some, with a searchlight quartering the unknown, 
 
 Mistake its ray 
 
 For the eternal day. 
 Some, as the alchemist amongst his jars. 
 
 Explore to find 
 
 The essence of the mind; 
 But some, like mirrors turned towards the stars 
 
 Athwart the night. 
 
 Meekly receive faint light. 
 
 These ask not sorry reason to dissect 
 
 The rays that bless 
 
 With delicate caress : 
 Simply they take and simply they reflect 
 
 Gladly, in awe. 
 
 No crooked flaw 
 Breaks the white surface of their waiting thought : 
 
 Patient they kneel, 
 
 Content to feel 
 The pricking shaft of wisdom all unsought, 
 
 That to the heart 
 
 Its magic does impart.
 
 58 THEOPHANIES 
 
 The empty freedom of uncharted space 
 
 In vain we rove; 
 
 Their quiet love 
 Is to the inshed beam abiding-place, 
 
 And gives again 
 
 To other men — 
 Being the mirror of Infinity 
 
 Wherein may shine 
 
 Its galaxies divine — 
 The image of those stars we cannot see 
 
 Who have not eyes 
 
 For that far enterprise.
 
 THEOPHANIES 59 
 
 THE SUMMIT 
 
 I WALKED alone upon the fell, 
 The upland was in solemn mood; 
 About me in their holiness, 
 As seers within a vision dwell, 
 The idle mountains stood. 
 Horned moss and sundew, as a live caress, 
 Leaned to my feet, 
 The air was sharp and sweet; 
 Even the woolly peoples of the place 
 
 Wore a transfigured face. 
 And all the landscape was of lonely hills. 
 Thus poised above the deep 
 To gaze upon his steep 
 My need, I said, fulfils : 
 Why should I climb ? 
 Seen from the height, the hills were less sublime. 
 
 There was a guide 
 Invisible, went ever at my side. 
 He said, " Poor timid thing, that cannot dare 
 To risk the upper air, 
 The hard ascent 
 And stony summits, but would ever go 
 Just high enough for beauty and too low 
 For desolation, you shall never know, 
 Thus sheltered by the ring
 
 6o THEOPHANIES 
 
 Of noble dreams and mounting thoughts, the sting 
 Of truth, the wide horizons of the real. 
 
 Turn from the fair, 
 Chmb, strive, slip, fall upon the pent 
 
 Of his steep home, 
 
 Until you come, 
 
 Breathless and spent. 
 To the bare summits that his world reveal." 
 
 So I went 
 With anguish and great toil, and came at last — 
 All joy, all hope long past — 
 To stand 
 Where the slope fell away on every hand. 
 Here was the arid rock : not any flower 
 
 Nor mosses grew, 
 A pure cold wind most terrible in power 
 Upon the summit blew. 
 A great bird started there 
 And wheeled and rose 
 And stood straight winged upon the vivid air. 
 Then said my secret guide : " Behold his view." 
 And far below 
 I saw outspread the coloured show; 
 The regiments of the trees, fields yellow with full 
 
 grain. 
 The magpie-flash that marks the moving train. 
 The shine of living water, saw I from mine height 
 
 All wrapped in sweet blue light : 
 The knotted towns in smoky dreams held close, 
 Clean roads therefrom that ran
 
 THEOPHANIES 6i 
 
 As eager thoughts from out the heart of man. 
 No squalor could I see, no murk of sin 
 Those streets within; 
 It was all soft and bright, 
 An angel's sight. 
 
 Then said my guide again, " Behold his view ! " 
 And I, all pierced with cold, 
 My purged eyes made new, 
 Was caught into the vision of that love 
 Which all thing dares behold, 
 
 And from above 
 Looks down on his great farm; 
 Holding within his span 
 Not spiritual peaks alone. 
 The naked beauty of the sinless stone 
 And feathered things 
 Therefrom that spread their wings 
 
 And soar. 
 But the great world's wide floor — 
 The good and harm. 
 Sweet flower and fruit, foul litter and decay. 
 
 Yea, more! 
 The seething herd, the clucking foolish mass 
 That grow and breed and pass 
 To feed the festering clay: 
 All known, all understood. 
 And because loved, seen to be very good.
 
 62 THEOPHANIES 
 
 THE LIKENESS 
 
 Thy children, thy wonderful children, brave, 
 
 generous, free; 
 Sent out to the edge of the world, bearing their 
 
 father's likeness everywhere. 
 Some thrust forth before they recognised thee, 
 Wandering away, ignorant of their family, their 
 
 home: 
 Yet bearing their father's likeness everywhere. 
 
 Thine undaunted daughters of the slum, 
 Faithfully dealing with hopeless intractable life; 
 Fostering their broods in the dark basement, 
 Down at heel, slattern hair, yet radiant of love and 
 
 of courage. 
 Fruitful of fresh souls, new strange disguises for 
 
 thee. 
 
 Thy fair and dehcate children, made for all glad- 
 ness and beauty, 
 
 Suddenly struck with the cruel steel of thy pain; 
 
 And lo! a spark from the fire of thee, spark of 
 high-hearted endurance. 
 
 Simply and bravely they suffer; and lit by the blow 
 of thy pain. 
 
 The hkeness appears, shining out, august, from 
 within.
 
 THEOPHANIES 63 
 
 Thy creative sons, sharp tools in the hand of the 
 
 Spirit, 
 Dreaming, making, finding, defiant of hardness and 
 
 grief; 
 Loving better than father or mother the far-off 
 
 fulfilment — 
 Seldom they speak thy name! 
 Yet these take their father's likeness everywhere. 
 
 Thy naughty ones, rebellious, cunning, adventurous. 
 
 Breaking the toys of their brothers, thrusting their 
 tortuous lives athwart the respectable web — 
 
 These too! 
 
 Do these not exhibit thy vigour, thy rude inex- 
 haustible freedom, 
 
 Correcting with flushes of passion our colourless 
 pictures of God ? 
 
 Hast thou thy favourite amongst these scattered 
 
 children ? 
 Hast thou any one of them of whom thou canst 
 
 say : This is my beloved child ? 
 Nay, I think not so. 
 Love buildeth her temple, 
 Its name is Life : 
 It hath columns strong and lovely, deep earth-set 
 
 foundations. 
 Gargoyles for the amusement of thine angels, and 
 
 pinnacles glad in the blue. 
 And the souls of thy children shall build it, thy 
 
 mark is on every one of them; 
 All hast thou made for their office. 
 All have their place in thy home.
 
 64 THEOPHANIES 
 
 BEYOND THE GARDEN 
 
 I HAVE a garden, fenced round 
 
 With thickets that no foot may pass; 
 
 All ordered joys therein are found 
 
 Of flower and fruit and daisied grass 
 
 For touch, taste, scent, and sight. Within the 
 brake 
 
 The small tame birds a homely music make. 
 
 Rich are my borders, yet beyond 
 
 I know a fiercer life must be : 
 I have a deep and secret pond. 
 
 But far away I scent the sea. 
 And through the wordless whispers of the wood 
 Guess the grave voices of the mighty flood. 
 
 A gentle mist of measured rain 
 
 Here comes the summer thirst to slake; 
 But far above the viewless plain 
 
 I see the noble tempest break 
 In love torrential, eager to invade 
 Each striving growing root, each faint upstarting 
 blade. 
 
 Of moonlit nights, I walk the ledge 
 
 Wherefrom my gateless thickets lean, 
 
 And seek to pierce that prudent hedge. 
 To thrust the plaited boughs between. 
 
 Vain! yet I suffer, poised above the steep. 
 
 The strange and stealthy onslaughts of the deep.
 
 THEOPHANIES 65 
 
 And once, there was a bird that flew 
 
 Far up the foreign clouds among; 
 The throbbing of its throat I knew, 
 
 I might not hear its song. 
 Swiftly it passed across my narrow sky, 
 The silent minstrel of Reality. 
 
 That day was anguish; thence no more 
 My garden can a pleasaunce seem. 
 
 It is a cage without a door, 
 
 That shuts me from a better dream. 
 
 My foolish twittering birds enslave an ear 
 
 That should another, wilder music hear. 
 
 The little scale my senses know 
 
 One note from out that music is; 
 In circling rhythms, above, below, 
 
 All form, all colour, and all bhss. 
 Besiege my garden ramparts, yet I strain 
 To catch those radiant melodies — in vain. 
 
 My scented borders drug the mind. 
 
 The summer woods enveil the view. 
 
 Come ! winter, with your purging wind, 
 
 When life ebbs low, when leaves are few, 
 
 Come! cut the pathway to that outer night 
 
 Of fierce and seething joys, beyond my shuttered 
 sight.
 
 66 THEOPHANIES 
 
 IN PATRIA 
 
 Thou art the all : 
 In thee to live and move 
 And knowing thee, to love — 
 This is to be. 
 So, whilst we are, from thee we cannot fall; 
 We are deep-sunk within that living sea. 
 We do not know, 
 As cutting paths we go 
 Through thy close-woven thought, that life is so. 
 We thrust and strive, our diligence to prove. 
 
 Thy frontiers to attain; 
 Yet at the journey's end we come again 
 (As seems to us) 
 To the one spot 
 Where thine unmeasured Point which changeth not 
 Is goal of every quest 
 And to all pilgrims rest. 
 Yea, though our busy dreams with childish art 
 
 Plait, turn, and cross 
 As if they only sought thy final loss; 
 
 Yet even thus. 
 Since thou art all and all desire dost bound 
 And every height and deep in thee is found, 
 We cannot miss thy heart.
 
 THEOPHANIES e^ 
 
 WHITE MAGIC 
 
 Just now, a sparrow flew across the window 
 space. 
 
 I saw keen wings, 
 I saw unpausing flight 
 Against the solemn curtains of grey Hght, 
 Against the stubborn forms of distant things : 
 And yet his vivid passage could not break 
 The timeless spell that broods upon the place 
 Where I am set to make 
 With craft and toil 
 My knitted world 
 From out the endless coil. 
 
 Some Hand 
 Has drawn a circle round me where I stand: 
 With delicate touch on the invisible air 
 He has shut out the circumambient scene 
 As by a rampart of containing thought, 
 And I 
 
 Athwart that spiritual screen 
 Look on a landscape foreign and apart. 
 The windy smoke is stretched across the sky 
 
 In long script strangely curled: 
 I know not what its hieroglyphs can mean. 
 With vacant eyes the stucco gables stare: 
 I know not what their sullen gaze would say 
 Of sad and restless souls imprisoned there.
 
 68 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Even my friendly tree seems far away; 
 
 It has no art 
 To bridge the gap that he has set between. 
 I cannot hear the whisper of the green 
 That once did reach my heart. 
 
 Within the enchanted ring 
 
 We are alone : 
 I, and that other Thing 
 Whom I have known — 
 When ? where ? 
 Ah, once when I was gazing on the stream 
 And saw the water mount against the stone 
 Smooth, solemn, strong, and irresistible. 
 And all fell from me but the unhurried dream 
 Of One that is all music and all power, 
 
 Whose will and love 
 Confers all meaning and all thing does move — 
 
 That was the hour! 
 Oft since, his sudden touch has come to me 
 
 From very far 
 And struck the hard doors of the heart ajar, 
 And fainted from me as a passing breeze 
 Made up of wild and errant melodies. 
 Now, circled in beyond the pale of speech, 
 At last 
 Other to each 
 In marriage gift sublime 
 May blest completion bring. 
 Whilst swift succession beats upon the ring 
 And darting time
 
 THEOPHANIES 69 
 
 Bird-quick across the window of the mind 
 Comes, hovers, and is past, 
 Held in this quiet I find 
 My Dear, long sought. 
 By still surrender bought. 
 
 Unheld Infinity 
 Constrained in love to me.
 
 70 THEOPHANIES 
 
 FOREST EPIPHANY 
 
 Christ comes to flower 
 
 Within my wintry wood, as once in Bethlehem : 
 The restless kings of wisdom, love, and power 
 His light yet leadeth them 
 
 Out of the narrow prison of the mind. 
 
 Out of the scented palace of their dream, 
 
 That Face to find 
 
 Which shall the dream fulfil, the thought redeem. 
 
 Not far 
 
 To-night the journey of the seeking soul: 
 
 His beckoning star 
 
 Stands still above the goal. 
 
 He makes his nest 
 
 Within the living world, safe in its sod. 
 There, in each sudden snowdrop manifest, 
 The earth shows forth her God.
 
 THEOPHANIES 71 
 
 DEATH 
 
 This surely I know — 
 
 However I go, 
 
 Wherever it be, 
 You shall be homely to me. 
 Yea! though I be wrecked in the infinite sea, 
 And the taste of the brine 
 As I sink to my sleep 
 Be all that I know of the deep: 
 
 Still, if it be so 
 
 I am content 
 To give back the life lent. 
 To return whence I come; 
 
 And, naked and spent. 
 
 To cease in my home.
 
 72 
 
 THEOPHANIES 
 
 BOND AND FREE 
 
 When the sweet morning, like a new-bathed child, 
 
 Comes running o'er the grass 
 
 And all the wild 
 
 Leans out to see him pass : 
 
 'Tis then 
 
 The sun-kissed folk that are unseen of men, 
 
 From moon-enchanted meadows of the night 
 
 Haste to acclaim the light. 
 
 Where the smooth hill's high crest 
 
 With feathery groves is drest, 
 
 Their ancient altar stands. 
 
 Between the meshy leaves their white limbs glance 
 
 In immemorial dance; 
 
 I've ghmpsed their hands 
 
 That part the coloured boughs to make 
 
 Pale flashing patterns in the dusky brake. 
 
 Theirs is the living country of the soul : 
 
 As happy gipsies through its fruitful fields 
 
 They go. For them it yields 
 
 Sweet secrets and sharp raptures ; we, 
 
 Content in earthy hermitage to dwell 
 
 As cave-men carving deep beneath the knoll 
 
 Their twiUt citadel. 
 
 Are shut from these.
 
 THEOPHANIES 73 
 
 Their shapes we may not see, 
 Nor hear above our head 
 Their rhythmic tread 
 And chanted melodies. 
 
 We, with a bone or two beside the fire, 
 
 Have all our cramped desire; 
 
 And, coming forth to kill 
 
 Clean creatures to our need 
 
 Or rob the little patient patch we till 
 
 Of its maternal seed. 
 
 The arid ritual of our Hfe fulfil. 
 
 How should we know 
 
 The sun-kissed folk, who move — 
 
 Impelled of what wild love ? — 
 
 Upon the upland heaths and in the scented mow: 
 
 Who peer between tall trees. 
 
 And on a sudden breeze 
 
 Rush down the grey ignoring city street 
 
 With swiftly-sparkHng feet 
 
 To leave behind 
 
 The wistful murmur of an empty wind ? 
 
 Some potent charms there be 
 
 That can the prisoners of the cave set free; 
 
 Can wash their eyes 
 
 The joyous peoples of the light to see, 
 
 And make them share the gallant enterprise, 
 
 The glad and solemn feasts 
 
 Of that unnumbered throng. 
 
 The hidden song
 
 74 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Of a small blackcap in the thicket set, 
 
 Cold friendly noses of the trustful beasts 
 
 That all our ugly perfidies forget, 
 
 Strange haunting perfumes loosed upon the air: 
 
 All these our ancient heritage declare. 
 
 One leaf of marjoram at sunset pressed 
 
 Has oft revealed the country of the blessed. 
 
 Yet still, when evening falls and Hberation comes 
 
 On plumy wings 
 
 From the night-scented precinct of our homes 
 
 And all the presences of simple things, 
 
 We creep 
 
 More deep 
 
 Our fetid cave within 
 
 And draw about our Hmbs some slaughtered skin.
 
 THEOPHANIES 75 
 
 FRIDAY NIGHT 
 
 In certain convents on every Friday night, the nuns scourge 
 themselves; each kneeling in her own cell, with the door open 
 upon the corridor. A verse of the Miserere is intoned between each 
 stripe. 
 
 Must I take 
 The scourge in hand for Jesu's sake ? 
 
 Kneel, and cry 
 "Mercy, mercy! God most high!" 
 
 Lord, I quail 
 At the Miserere's wail. 
 
 Yet I know 
 Love should joy to suffer so. 
 
 Give me grace 
 And courage for a little space, 
 
 Loving thee 
 So to bear love's penalty. 
 
 For the blame 
 Of all who mock thy holy name 
 
 I would give 
 This my flesh, that they may live. 
 
 For the wrong 
 Wrought by evil wills and strong, 
 
 Take the price 
 Of my body's sacrifice.
 
 ^6 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Take my all ! 
 Hold my heart and soul in thrall! 
 
 Thou canst not 
 Take the splendour of my lot. 
 
 To the crash 
 Of the slow-descending lash 
 
 As I bow, 
 Lo ! I am thy partner now. 
 
 I am found 
 With thee at the pillar bound; 
 
 I have worn 
 Bitter crown of budding thorn. 
 
 Yea! a part 
 Of thy dread atoning art, 
 
 Never done. 
 Is the penance of the nun. 
 
 Holy pain ! 
 Smite, ah! smite me once again. 
 
 Precious blood! 
 Add my drop to thy great flood. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 — What is this ? 
 Shall I dare to seek my bliss 
 
 In the grief 
 He endures for our relief ? 
 
 Shall I dare 
 Claim the right of entrance there, 
 
 Where alone 
 God doth for his world atone ?
 
 THEOPHANIES ^^ 
 
 'Twas in pride 
 Angels from his vision died; 
 
 And shall I 
 Set my little hurt so high ? 
 
 Lo! I kneel 
 Full of wounds thy stripes shall heal. 
 
 Holy pain ! 
 Make me, make me whole again ! 
 
 First to dread, 
 Now to shame, have I been led: 
 
 Lord, I pray. 
 Purge the smears of self away. 
 
 By this smart 
 Shatter and re-make my heart; 
 
 Snatch my love 
 From the coils that pride hath wove. 
 
 Stablish me 
 In thy Spirit strong and free; 
 
 Let the voice 
 Thou hast quenched, again rejoice. 
 
 In thy sight 
 Shining with a sacred light, 
 
 Only then 
 Shall my wounds avail for men.
 
 78 THEOPHANIES 
 
 MARCH MUSIC 
 
 Impleta sunt, quae concinit 
 David fideli carmine, 
 Dicendo nationibus 
 Regnavit a ligno Deus. 
 
 All down the windy woods, along the throbbing 
 
 hedge, 
 And in the starting sedge, 
 Yea, in all choirs and places where they sing, 
 I hear its growing cadences that ring; 
 Noblest of the processionals of earth. 
 The great Vexilla Regis of the spring : 
 And topping the soft hill 
 With sudden joy of emerald fluttering, 
 Against the sky's bright edge 
 I see the mighty banners of the King. 
 
 Yet not unheralded 
 
 The hosts of life to victory are led : 
 
 Lo ! near at hand 
 
 His little band 
 
 Of harbingers a subtle music make; 
 
 Tight scrolls crisp-rolled 
 
 Pricking from out the mould 
 
 Along the margins of the dusky brake. 
 
 Come, put your ear 
 
 To the brown earth, and hear 
 
 The glad green shout
 
 THEOPHANIES 79 
 
 With which each baby leaf thrusts out 
 Toward the clear: 
 Leaps to achieve its part 
 
 In the symphonic poem that breaks from Nature's 
 heart. 
 
 Exultant, sacred mirth 
 
 That waits upon the vernal ecstasy 
 
 Of birth! 
 
 Why does she joy ? 
 
 To what supreme employ 
 
 Destines the budding spray ? 
 
 Does she, 
 
 As some proud mother, see 
 
 Entangled in her children's downy hair 
 
 Meshed glories that declare 
 
 An unguessed empery 
 
 Of Hfe to be ? 
 
 The catkins tasselled grey, 
 
 Enaureoled 
 
 In heavenly gold. 
 
 The wonder of the thorn — 
 
 Are these the earnests of a distant morn 
 
 That shall the woodland dress 
 
 With a dread fruitfulness ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! 
 
 As in old time 
 
 Joy was august, sublime. 
 
 And priests could then afford 
 
 To dance before the Lord,
 
 8o THEOPHANIES 
 
 Plaiting the patterns sweet 
 With swift enraptured feet 
 
 That worshipped in the ways of metric loveliness, 
 Then at the altar made their sacrifice complete: 
 So does the vernal play- 
 Perpetually invite 
 The deep interior sight 
 Unto the shrine 
 
 Which makes all growth divine. 
 So does the flowery mist 
 That lies upon the ground 
 Prepare a Victim's way; 
 And every forest sound 
 Proclaim a Eucharist. 
 
 Lo! on those eager branches shall be hung 
 That Life of which the woods have ever sung; 
 Making themselves soft harps for the hand o' the 
 
 rain 
 To whisper of his pain, 
 
 And, 'neath the poignant bowing of the wind 
 Subdued to move, 
 Crying to all mankind 
 The secret of the sacrament of love. 
 Yea! from a Tree 
 God shall shine out at thee; 
 For this doth Nature grow. 
 To this the kingly banners forward go.
 
 THEOPHANIES 8i 
 
 A PORTRAIT 
 
 / have a friend ; as the world understands 
 
 A thing of leisured days 
 
 And gracious ways. 
 
 She^s rare, and fine ; her very hands. 
 
 The subtle contour of the face. 
 
 The gentle manner that commands, 
 
 Declare the artistry of race. 
 
 The world approves her as she flays 
 
 With sweet, sedate, unfaltering art 
 
 Within its solemn ritual dance 
 
 Her carefully appointed part : 
 
 To circle, set to partners, or advance. 
 
 Thus seems she to the world. But I 
 
 Have seen her soul rush out on wings of prayer 
 
 Toward another sky. 
 
 As a small bird that beats toward the height 
 
 And, all-forgetting, seeks the utmost Hght, 
 
 So have I seen her gallant, eager soul 
 
 Love-driven to dare 
 
 The giddy spaces of uncharted air: 
 
 Here in the hand a little panting thing 
 
 That folds a trembling wing 
 
 Tight to the throbbing body — there, 
 
 Sharp in ascent 
 
 On great adventure bent. 
 
 One mighty craving for a mightier whole.
 
 82 THEOPHANIES 
 
 And for this secret bird-life that we share, — 
 
 Though mine the low and steadfast hovering 
 
 And hers the upward fling — 
 
 We feel and find 
 
 Strange mutual ardours, memories, fears 
 
 Which each to each shall ever bind : 
 
 For these, when baffling veils are shed, 
 
 Make the rapt friendships of the dead. 
 
 We are as those who, being bold 
 
 To lift them from the prudent ground 
 
 And trust the feathered soul, have found — 
 
 Not knowing what they sought or why they flew — 
 
 A way beyond the flowing years, 
 
 Beyond the swiftly-turning spheres. 
 
 Into the depth and height, 
 
 The length and breadth of an Unmeasured Light. 
 
 These breathed an hour the vivid air of grace, 
 
 And knew 
 
 The all-sufflcing wonder of wild space. 
 
 Thence coming back. 
 
 They never can forget the viewless track : 
 
 And though with zest 
 
 And loving industry of twig and moss 
 
 In the safe hedge they set the woven nest, 
 
 They know their loss ; 
 
 Dream of the sharp delight, 
 
 The wind that was a flame, 
 
 The wild sweet song, the passion without name, 
 
 They knew not they possest. 
 
 When the night-skies are clear 
 
 And baby birds are sleeping,
 
 THEOPHANIES 83 
 
 These, their maternal office steadfast keeping, 
 
 Sudden their sheltering wings will half unfold 
 
 In agony of longing uncontrolled. 
 
 Then whispered notes of those intemperate songs 
 
 Learned in the freedom of the upper air 
 
 The homesick heart declare: 
 
 The homesick heart that faithful is, but longs 
 
 Once more to spread the wing 
 
 And mount and sing; 
 
 Braving the height, the terror, and the pain 
 
 If so it may attain.
 
 84 THEOPHANIES 
 
 COMMUNION IN DARKNESS 
 
 I DID not know 
 That thou wast there: 
 Yet even so 
 Shall not the blind be fed ? 
 And didst thou not to these thy healthful gifts 
 declare ? 
 Because they had not light 
 To find thee out by sight, 
 Were they not led 
 By touch to find 
 The God they might not gaze on, being blind ? 
 
 And wilt thou not again 
 Reach through the dark to men ? 
 Shall not thy hand 
 Nourish those poor, who may not understand 
 The intricate machinery of grace ? 
 
 Is it not much 
 That these, who might not recognise thy face, 
 Still seek thy touch ? 
 When hast thou said 
 That only those who see, shall taste the living 
 bread ?
 
 THEOPHANIES 85 
 
 DIVINE IGNORANCE 
 
 (A Saint Speaks) 
 
 This is my prayer, that I shall never find 
 
 The secret of thy Name; 
 
 Never attain to bind 
 The zone of thought about thy formless flame. 
 
 Grant me this grace, that I may never hear 
 The one resolving chord 
 Which shall at last make clear 
 
 The deep harmonic mystery of my Lord. 
 
 Shield thou my sense, that I may never know 
 
 All that thy love can be ; 
 
 Let not my probing go 
 To the dread heart of thy divinity. 
 
 Wrapped in thy quiet, I do but ask to taste 
 The sweetness of that night; 
 Lost in thy trackless waste, 
 
 There shall the soul find fulhead of delight. 
 
 The anguish of thy sacred dark caress, 
 
 Thy love beyond our span, 
 
 Self's loss in thine excess: 
 These be the torment and the joy of man.
 
 86 THEOPHANIES 
 
 THE SECRET PEOPLE 
 
 There is a Hidden Thing 
 
 Whom all the worlds declare 
 
 But none disclose : 
 
 Who lights the rose 
 
 And breathes upon the air 
 
 Magical scents of thyme and southernwood, 
 
 To whose design 
 
 The tiger moth conforms his feathered wing, 
 
 Who makes the linnet's sudden note divine 
 
 And folds the arum's hood. 
 
 All who are touched of its white flame, 
 
 Swayed by its sudden wind — 
 
 These have the Sparkhng Stone and the New Name; 
 
 And, since their secret passion is the same. 
 
 They are made parts of the adoring mind 
 
 That cries in every eager growing thing, 
 
 " My Dear, my God, my King. 
 
 5) 
 
 These, where the swelling downs by inward dream 
 
 Uplifted are toward the fields of space. 
 
 Discern the foreign gleam 
 
 That lights their face 
 
 With a shy grace. 
 
 They are the friends of loveliness, and know 
 
 Its holy rapture and its hidden pain : 
 
 The anguished stretch of waters to the moon,
 
 THEOPHANIES 87 
 
 The gay meek kindly rain, 
 
 The fragile splendour of the budding sloe, 
 
 The stone-pine's slow and difficult increase, 
 
 The breathless expectation of high noon 
 
 And benediction of the dusk — all these 
 
 Moods of the living earth, emblems of love, 
 
 Wherewith she may her mighty Husband move 
 
 To fruitful new delight, fresh impulse of desire, 
 
 Stir in their ardent souls. The vernal fire 
 
 Burns them to exaltation. They would thrust 
 
 Young shoots from out the dust, 
 
 New subtle forms unfold. 
 
 New patterns weave 
 
 Upon the curious cloth of life, and leave — 
 
 The petals of their passion fallen down 
 
 To help the faithful mould, 
 
 The noble crown 
 
 Of swift-forgotten deeds 
 
 Blown in light plumy seeds — 
 
 Some hving germ of loveliness to raise 
 
 Fresh children to his praise. 
 
 They move within a vivid universe 
 Quick with a crescent life that cannot die; 
 Their friendships stretch beyond the aeon's edge 
 And touch the powdered fringes of the sky 
 Where radiant Powers rehearse 
 New dramas of creation. They are given 
 Of loveliness to come the secret pledge; 
 For them the veils of the abyss are riven. 
 They know the bed 
 
 G
 
 88 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Whereon the stars bring forth fresh births subhme, 
 
 And hear the solemn tread 
 
 Of worlds to be 
 
 That crowd the pathways of Eternity 
 
 And shake the doors of Time. 
 
 The shining dead — 
 
 The eager dead, who are alone alive — 
 
 Throng in the cloistered chambers of their brain, 
 
 In all their efforts strive. 
 
 Think in their thoughts, invade 
 
 Their coloured and unconquerable dreams. 
 
 So these, yet mortal, are immortal made; 
 
 They are aware 
 
 Of sudden intimations, quickening streams 
 
 Of energy untainted of the flesh, 
 
 And in their deeds attain 
 
 New splendour of fulfilment. Through the mesh 
 
 Of baffling sense, sometimes upon the hair 
 
 They know a hand in benediction laid. 
 
 And feel a Presence there. 
 
 None mark them as they go, 
 
 Nor guess the secret converse that they hold 
 
 With all their kindred : how the dawns and dews 
 
 To them are visitations of new power, 
 
 How their unresting blood 
 
 Beats to the measure of the mighty flood 
 
 And thrills to the sharp passage of the hour. 
 
 Only their brethren know 
 
 That glad and friendly presence. From the mow
 
 THEOPHANIES 89 
 
 See how the ox-eye hfts her peopled flower 
 
 To greet them as they pass, 
 
 And the wise hedgehog parts the tufted grass 
 
 To tell them of his news. 
 
 Each woolly fold 
 
 Cries to their heart 
 
 Its immemorial language understood; 
 
 They have immediate speech 
 
 With the young emerald beech 
 
 And are made part 
 
 Of the authentic nations of the wood. 
 
 Whilst others walk with prudent sturdy feet 
 
 And careful eyes 
 
 Upon the planet's crust, 
 
 Each in his narrow body all complete, 
 
 These have thrown down the barriers that enspan 
 
 The cramped sad world of man 
 
 And keep him in 
 
 Safe-sheltered from his kin. 
 
 Yea, these being wise 
 
 The murmurous runes of loveHness to trust, 
 
 Have plunged within the mighty rhythm of life; 
 
 So have they gained the freedom of the skies. 
 
 Surrendered to the strife 
 
 Have found the primal peace. 
 
 These from their narrow body have release; 
 
 Being made part of the adoring mind 
 
 Which cries in every living growing thing, 
 
 " My Dear, my God, my King."
 
 90 THEOPHANIES 
 
 THE ANCHORITE 
 
 " Wherefore, my dere Sisteres, luv your windows as lyttill as ye 
 may, and see they be smalle. ... Ye clothe on them shalle be 
 twofoldc: blacke clothe, ye crosse wite." — The Ancren Riwle. 
 
 Old Covenant 
 
 How shall I dare, best-loved, to lift mine eyes 
 
 So high to thee; 
 Risk the effulgence of those ardent skies, 
 
 Aspire to see 
 The radiant clouds of joy and pain that rise 
 About the fourfold wheels of swift Reality? 
 
 Not thus shall fettered souls communion make, 
 
 Nor shall they come 
 At thy fierce torrent's brink their thirst to slake : 
 
 Where the white foam 
 Catches the Uncreated Light, to break 
 In coloured beauty, there they may not build their 
 home. 
 
 But as the love-enclosed anchorite 
 
 Upon his window sets 
 A dusky veil that checks the flooding light, 
 
 And likewise lets 
 The freedom of his all-adventuring sight ; 
 (Lest, drunk with noontide splendour, he forgets —
 
 THEOPHANIES 91 
 
 Like a poor brand made radiant of thy flame — 
 
 His impotence 
 And the shut ceil accepted in love's name) 
 
 So I, for my defence 
 Against the pride that wars upon thy claim, 
 Set between me and thee the close-wove web of 
 sense. 
 
 New Covenant 
 
 I hung the curtain when the worlds began, 
 
 When as a spark 
 Of spirit-stuff obedient to thy plan, 
 
 I sought this dark. 
 Glad novice, to the cloistered earth I ran. 
 And on mine anchor-hold I set thy mark. 
 
 Within the twilit room of self confined 
 
 Long did I bide, 
 The twofold cloth upon the heart and mind 
 
 Thy face to hide : 
 To the bright wonder of thy love made blind 
 That filled the world upon the farther side. 
 
 I did not know that love had tried to win 
 
 Within my dream, 
 Against the sheeted black of sense and sin 
 
 Pressing a poignant beam. 
 Sudden I saw fair hght that filtered in 
 And laid upon the floor a narrow gleam.
 
 92 THEOPHANIES 
 
 I saw the holy ray, the sHt that went 
 
 From depth to height, 
 Yet left on either side my senses pent 
 
 In deeper night : 
 I thrust an eager hand into the rent, 
 And tore the tissues that withstood thy light. 
 
 Crosswise the wound : crosswise the radiance spread 
 
 My cell to fill. 
 Blessed daring! and oh, courtesy most dread 
 
 That my poor skill 
 Could thus accept, and with man's cunning wed 
 The awful operations of the Will. 
 
 Fourfold thy Name; fourfold the primal spell 
 Our love did then rehearse. 
 
 Achieving heaven and piercing deepest hell. 
 Pure, generous, fierce. 
 
 Wide-armed it stands, embracing all; to tell 
 
 The perfect number of thy universe.
 
 THEOPHANIES 93 
 
 NIHIL LONGE DEO 
 
 As sleeping infants in their dream despair 
 We range, and grope thy breast : 
 
 But wake to find that haven everywhere 
 And we already blest.
 
 94 THEOPHANIES 
 
 i 
 THRUSHES 
 
 I THINK the thrush's voice is more like God's 
 
 Than many a preacher's telHng of the Word ; 
 
 I think the mother-thrush, who turns the sods 
 
 To find fat earth-worms for her baby bird — 
 
 And, worn by her maternal toil, 
 
 With busy eye and mild 
 
 That marks each subtle movement of the soil 
 
 Patiently tends upon her greedy child — 
 She is the feathery image of that grace 
 Which spends itself to feed our thankless race.
 
 THEOPHANIES 95 
 
 THOUGHT'S A STRANGE LAND 
 
 Thought's a strange land. 
 
 Some dig its fields with diligence, 
 
 Some pass through it steadfastly as pilgrims to 
 
 the Sepulchre, 
 Some haste in dust and heat — toward what goal ? 
 Some cHmb its difficult hills and clouds receive 
 
 them from our sight. 
 Some take a neat villa, and plant geraniums in 
 
 their borders. 
 And test the drains and trim the wandering roses, 
 And set up a paling to hide the restless road. 
 
 I'm a gipsy therein. 
 
 I go leisurely upon the highways, 
 
 I try the lanes and trespass in the copses; 
 
 I love the soft edge of the straight-driven road, 
 
 The bramble and nuts, the comfrey and wild carrot. 
 
 The campion and crane's-bill deep in the tufted 
 
 grass. 
 Mine are the wild strawberries : 
 I can spare others the turnips. 
 There's always a rabbit for my pot. 
 
 Thought's a strange land. 
 
 It has square, fenced fields for honest farmers —
 
 96 THEOPHANIES 
 
 To each his own field: they never look over the 
 
 hedge to see what their neighbours are growing. 
 It has gardens enclosed, full of fragrant and 
 
 coloured things. 
 I love the wild places best. 
 Others may grow admirable cauliflowers, 
 Crisp chrysanthemums in pots, 
 Plump calceolarias if they have a mind to them. 
 Dahlias full of earwigs, 
 Fuchsias full of sensibility. 
 (Thought's a strange land !) 
 But I'm the one that hears the gossip of the 
 
 waters, 
 The mysterious whisper of the dew : 
 I prefer the voices of the aspen to the clack of the 
 
 threshing machine. 
 
 Thought's a strange land. 
 
 It's full of small dehcate plants, of lonely and 
 
 solemn spaces 
 Where the sky is wide and the earth turns under 
 
 the stars. 
 It's there I would be. 
 Touching with love the exquisite blossoms of 
 
 dream. 
 There's many an old pasture where I pitch my tent 
 
 at twilight, 
 Where the fairy rings are written and the daisies 
 
 start to my hand : 
 There's many a lonely fell and rocky valley, 
 And drink for the gipsy in every enchanted stream.
 
 THEOPHANIES 97 
 
 Thought's a strange land. 
 
 Far off, a long day's journey, there's a marsh that 
 
 stretches to the sea. 
 (The sea ! the sea !) 
 It's a place of mystery and danger, the earth shakes 
 
 beneath the feet; 
 I leave my old horse behind when I venture there. 
 What do they know of it, who till the fields and 
 
 herd within the houses: 
 Of the strange grey plants, the sudden pools, the 
 
 wide, the white horizons, 
 The narrow saltings, where the secret waters come 
 Creeping between the banks, bringing the solemn 
 
 impulse of the ocean, 
 The stretching fingers of the deep, 
 Into the very heart of the measured land ? 
 Tall birds breed there : 
 They nest between the rushes, 
 And hunt the silent edges of the shore. 
 And go on their occasions to the sea. 
 
 There's news to be had in the marshes — 
 
 A salted wind, sharp taste of the hidden wave : 
 
 There on the fringes of thought when the night is 
 
 falHng 
 I'll wait the invading tide.
 
 98 THEOPHANIES 
 
 TRAMPS 
 
 See ! the trees on the highway margin 
 Lift their limbs to the watchful sky. 
 Still they stand; and the road runs ever. 
 Still they stand; and the tramps go by. 
 
 Down the way which the mind has driven 
 All the wilds of the world between, 
 Life goes by on her ceaseless journey; 
 Steadfast set to an end unseen. 
 
 Shameless past and a nameless future, 
 Tramping, tramping the roads along — 
 Life, that burns in a vagrant body; 
 Life, that goes to a vagrant's song. 
 
 Upward thrust from the shades of spirit. 
 Outward thrust from the womb of things, 
 Vile and battered, august and holy: 
 Life, invincible life, that sings. 
 
 Sings a song of a great becoming. 
 Sings a song of unceasing strife : 
 Seething thought and creative passion 
 Taking form in a vagrant life.
 
 THEOPHANIES 99 
 
 Blindly cutting a path to freedom, 
 Steadfast set to a shrouded goal; 
 Urgent life in a wastrel body, 
 Ardent life in a wastrel soul. 
 
 See! the trees on the highway margin 
 Lift their limbs to the watchful sky. 
 Still they stand; and the road runs ever. 
 Still they stand; and the tramps go by.
 
 loo THEOPHANIES 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 
 Died April 23, 1616 
 
 And then — the rest ? 
 
 What did he find 
 In the unfettered universe of mind, 
 To whom one fragment of our star revealed, 
 
 Complete and unconcealed, 
 The maze of various man, in coloured music 
 wrought : 
 
 God's rich creative thought 
 Of ardour, grief, and laughter all compact. 
 Yea ! more, beyond the patch of fenced fact, 
 Where at the edge of dream the air's alive with 
 
 wings, 
 Showed him the hidden world of delicate fair things ? 
 
 With what new zest. 
 
 His inward vision healed 
 Of rheumy time, and from the clipping zone 
 
 Of space set free. 
 He roamed those meadows of eternity 
 Where the storm blows that comes from the 
 
 unknown 
 To shake the crazy windows of the soul 
 
 With gusts of strange desire! 
 
 Thrust by that favouring gale
 
 THEOPHANIES loi 
 
 Did he set out, as Prospero, to sail 
 
 The lonely splendours of the Nameless Sea ? 
 
 Where did he make the land ? 
 Upon what coasts, what sudden magic isles ? 
 And what quick spirits met he on the strand ? 
 What new mysterious loves swifter than fire 
 Streaming from out the Love that ever smiles, 
 What musical sweet shapes, what things grotesque 
 and dear 
 
 We know not here. 
 What starry songs of what exultant quire 
 
 Now fill the span 
 Of his wide-open thought, who grasped the heart 
 of man ? 
 
 Saints have confessed 
 That by deep gazing they achieve to know 
 The hiddenness of God, his rich delight; 
 
 And so 
 There's a keen love some poets have possessed 
 
 Sharper than sight 
 To prick the dark that wraps our spirits round 
 And, beyond time, see men in its own light. 
 
 Those look upon his face, 
 
 These in a glass have found 
 The moving pageant of his eager will: 
 All the nobility and naughtiness. 
 
 Simplicity and skill 
 Of living souls, that do our dusk redeem 
 With flaming deed and strangely-smouldering 
 dream.
 
 I02 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Great contemplator of humanity! 
 'Twas thus you saw, and showed to us again 
 The one divine immortal comedy: 
 Horror and tears, laughter and loveliness, 
 
 All rapture and all pain 
 Held in one unity's immense embrace, 
 
 Set in one narrow place. 
 Now, in the unwalled playhouse of the True 
 You know the life from which that drama drew.
 
 THEOPHANIES 103 
 
 THE LAST IGNORANCE 
 
 If I knew! 
 The world's full of women to-day 
 Who have nothing else to say, 
 Only one question to ask. 
 Does death devour or release ? 
 Is it a perilous thing ? 
 
 What does it bring — 
 New battles, or passionless peace ? 
 Is beauty the terrible mask 
 Of a God that loves death and decay ? 
 What of the soul ? does he save ? does he slay ? 
 If I knew! 
 
 the dark and the empty strangeness ! 
 The in-pressing wonder and dread! 
 What does it mean to be dead ? 
 
 My own, my dear, 
 Whither has life consigned you ? 
 What are the fetters that bind you ? 
 Perhaps you are near 
 Yet holden of speech — 
 Too near for my reach 
 As I stretch my soul out through the desolate air. 
 And then, are you busy there ? 
 (If I knew!) 
 The hands full of skill 
 To interpret your will, 
 
 H
 
 104 THEOPHANIES 
 
 The eyes glad and keen 
 For the wonderful scene; 
 Do you miss them now, or is all made new ? 
 (How one gropes for a clue !) 
 
 What's it hke to be dead ? 
 Fresh colour, fresh song ? 
 A soul fully fed ? 
 A forgetting of wrong ? 
 
 for a word, an assurance of you! 
 I sit and I dream 
 And I stare at the sky 
 
 Just before dusk, when it's clear and we seem 
 To look beyond sight 
 To the sources of light. 
 Then, one can descry 
 (The sunshine all spent) 
 A path love may tread 
 To the world's outer rim, 
 And illumine the dead 
 Though here it be dim. 
 Should my love reach to you 
 
 Pressing through — 
 Though never a gleam 
 My darkness redeem — 
 Still I were content. 
 If I knew.
 
 THEOPHANIES 105 
 
 THE DREAMER IN WAR-TIME 
 
 As I went out by Vision-gate 
 
 The timid said to me, 
 " Too late you come! too late — too late! 
 
 The hght has left the sea, 
 The torrent of the night's in spate. 
 
 The wolves of fear are free." 
 
 I left the gate, I went my way 
 Where faint the pathway showed ; 
 
 Though black and harsh the shadows lay. 
 And fierce the darkness flowed, 
 
 Though Horror in the night held sway, 
 I kept the dreamer's road. 
 
 For there were hosts who went before 
 And cried, " O dull and Wind! 
 
 Ye loiterers at the Vision-door, 
 Your goal is here to find : 
 
 All that your hungry hearts adore, 
 And all your hopes divined. 
 
 " Long time you went in dust and heat 
 
 Along the sunny track 
 Your old accustomed dream to greet; 
 
 And turned and hastened back. 
 Because the wolves of fear were fleet. 
 
 Because the night grew black.
 
 io6 THEOPHANIES 
 
 " But those who come through Vision-gate 
 
 This angry dark to face, 
 They run to greet their spirit's mate, 
 
 They go to love's embrace; 
 For them, the wicket opens straight 
 
 Upon the wayless place. 
 
 " It gives upon no sheltered lane, 
 
 It gives upon the Whole; | 
 
 The sacred web of joy and pain, 
 
 The vast unfinished scroll 
 Where dying hands have written plain 
 
 The passion of the soul."
 
 THEOPHANIES 107 
 
 THE NAVAL RESERVE 
 
 August 4, 1914 
 
 From the undiscovered deep 
 
 Where the blessed lie at ease — 
 Since the ancient navies keep 
 Empire of the heavenly seas — 
 
 Back they come, the mighty dead, 
 Quick to serve where they have led. 
 
 Rushing on the homeward gale, 
 
 Swift they come, to seek their place 
 Where the grey flotillas sail, 
 
 Where the children of their race 
 Now against the foe maintain 
 All they gave their lives to gain. 
 
 Rank on rank, the admirals 
 
 Rally to their old commands : 
 Where the crash of battle falls. 
 There the one-armed hero stands. 
 Loud upon his phantom mast 
 Speak the signals of the past. 
 
 Where upon the friendly wave 
 
 Stand our squadrons as of old. 
 Where the lonely deed and brave 
 Shall the ancient torch uphold. 
 Strive for England, side by side, 
 Those who hve and those who died.
 
 io8 THEOPHANIES 
 
 ENGLAND AND THE SOLDIER 
 
 What are the thoughts that England sends to her 
 
 soldier ? 
 Patient and proud they are, eager and stern to 
 
 endure : 
 Faith in the cause, hope for the end, love maternal 
 
 and glad — 
 These shape her thoughts for the soldier. 
 
 All the peace of England waiting to caress him, 
 Homely texture of roads, fragrance of autumn 
 
 gardens — 
 'i'he dahha flaunting its standard, the aster starring 
 
 the sod — 
 Whisper of falling leaves in the golden coppice, 
 Evening mist white on the solemn fells; 
 With these does she refresh her soldier's mind. 
 
 England, folded in the twihght. 
 
 Gazing with shrouded eyes across her encircling sea : 
 
 England, holding on her bosom 
 
 Many a village street with infrequent windows 
 
 shining,- 
 Theatre of sober tasks, of gentle seasonal change. 
 England wakeful in the night, 
 Ghtter of streets and clang of the coloured tram : 
 Work and rest and home, the ordered days as of old. 
 Now seen through the mist of war, impossibly dear.
 
 THEOPHANIES 109 
 
 All this, says England to her soldier, 
 All this is yours and mine, for it we fight and endure; 
 For it we offer our lives, side by side on the field, 
 Suffer the anguish and thirst and the terrible 
 
 hospital train. 
 Or bitter of heart are led to exile in alien lands. 
 
 Never alone, my soldier. 
 Your wounds are England's wounds, 
 Your labour and gain are hers, 
 With you I thrust forth to battle. 
 With you are my frontiers found. 
 I am there in the horror and pain, the effort, the 
 
 splendour, the joy; 
 And, falling in the fight, England receives her child.
 
 no THEOPHANIES 
 
 CANDLEMAS, 191 5 
 
 In Roman Catholic churches on February 2, candles are blessed 
 and distributed to the congregation, and the Nunc Dimittis is 
 sung. 
 
 In the past years, 
 We joyed to play the mystery of old; 
 
 Strange poem, and sweet 
 Conclusion of Incarnate Love that told 
 How a new light was to the Gentiles brought, 
 A clean and holy light, to pierce the glooms of 
 
 thought. 
 We lit our candles to enray the dim. 
 Gave each to each the flame that figured him : 
 Yet, in that distant day, the darkness held no fears. 
 
 But now all's changed : we, tempest-driven, 
 To the great night are given. 
 Beneath our feet 
 The puzzled world is reeling to despair, 
 And on its black horizon there's a glare 
 That mocks our little light. 
 Dare we, in such a day, 
 Through all the drifting cohorts of our dead, 
 And across fields wherefrom the lovely life has fled. 
 Carry the torch of faith upon its way,
 
 THEOPHANIES in 
 
 Fulfil the ancient rite ? 
 
 As sudden lightning mars 
 The kindly radiance of eternal stars, 
 So does the splendour of his fury shame 
 
 That small, dear flame. 
 
 Yet, when the storm is done, 
 And ere the promised rising of the sun 
 
 Makes all thing new. 
 There comes a black and stilly hour, when all 
 The quiet stars shine out perpetual 
 And every homely lamp that seemed to cease 
 Burns with young beauty in the empty place. 
 Because the lights are few. 
 Then, perchance, one 
 Raising his anguished face, 
 His poor grey face, from those swept fields of pain. 
 And peering in the dark before the day. 
 
 Most glad shall greet 
 Our humble light again. 
 And say, 
 " Mine eyes have seen, and I depart in peace."
 
 112 THEOPHANIES 
 
 ANY ENGLISHWOMAN 
 May 1915 
 
 England's in flower. 
 On every tree speared canopies unfold, 
 And sacred beauty crowns the lowliest weeds 
 Lifting their eager faces from the mould : 
 
 Even in this hour 
 The unrelented pressure of the spring 
 Thrusts out new lovely life, unfaltering — 
 
 Toward what deeds ? 
 What dreadful blossoming ? 
 
 Ah, the red spines upon the curving briar, 
 They tear the heart 
 Great with desire 
 And sick with sleepless pain 
 For one that comes not again. 
 There's horror in the fragrance of the air, 
 Torment in this intolerable art. 
 White petals on the pear! 
 Yet, peering there, 
 I see beyond the rapture of young green 
 
 And passion of pale fire 
 The glutton Death, who smiles upon the scene.
 
 THEOPHANIES 113 
 
 Last night there was a sudden wind that blew 
 
 My joyful branches through. 
 Yesterday a rich blossom on the spray, 
 
 To-day 
 All the sweet promise of life is vanished away : 
 Yea, of its ardent petals just a few 
 White on the ground 
 I found. 
 Bury them quick — I must not see them decay. 
 
 Others may know the triumph of the year 
 
 And coming of the clear 
 Still days of autumn to redeem our grief. 
 For them the coloured bough, the noble sheaf: 
 
 But I shall see 
 The petals that fell too soon from the blossoming 
 tree. 
 
 And the stain 
 There on the path, where they rest in the sorrowful 
 rain.
 
 114 THEOPHANIES 
 
 THE RETURN 
 
 Our dead are coming home again : 
 Softly they come, on silent feet. 
 Even as with joy we gave our men, 
 So their return is sweet. 
 
 Together they went forth. Now one by one 
 They slip into the ancient place; 
 And we, that thought ourselves alone, 
 
 Glimpse the remembered face — 
 
 Meet in the shattered homestead of the heart 
 The old familiar touch, the faithful ways, 
 The dear known hands, that still possess the art 
 To mend our broken days.
 
 THEOPHANIES 115 
 
 NON-COMBATANTS 
 
 Never of us be said 
 
 That we reluctant stood 
 
 As sullen children, and refused to dance 
 
 To the keen pipe that sounds across the fields of 
 
 France. 
 Though shrill the note and wild, 
 Though hard the steps and slow, 
 The dancing floor defiled, 
 The measure full of woe, 
 And dread 
 
 The solemn figure that the dancers tread. 
 We faltered not. Of us, this word shall not be said. 
 
 Never of us be said 
 
 We had no war to wage, 
 
 Because our womanhood. 
 
 Because the weight of age, 
 
 Held us in servitude. 
 
 None sees us fight, 
 
 Yet we in the long night 
 
 Battle to give release 
 
 To all whom we must send to seek and die for peace. 
 
 When they have gone, we in a twilit place 
 
 Meet Terror face to face. 
 
 And strive 
 
 With him, that we may save our fortitude aHve.
 
 ii6 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Theirs be the hard, but ours the lonely bed. 
 Nought were we spared — of us, this word shall not 
 be said. 
 
 Never of us be said 
 
 We failed to give God-speed to our adventurous 
 
 dead. 
 Not in self-pitying mood 
 We saw them go. 
 
 When they set forth upon the wings of pain : 
 So glad, so young, 
 
 As birds whose fairest lays are yet unsung 
 Dart to the height 
 
 And thence pour down their passion of delight, 
 Their passing into melody was turned. 
 So were our hearts uplifted from the low. 
 Our griefs to rapture burned; 
 And, mounting with the music of that throng. 
 Cutting a path athwart infinity, 
 Our puzzled eyes 
 Achieved the healing skies 
 To find again 
 
 Each winged spirit as a speck of song 
 Embosomed in thy deep eternity. 
 Though from our homely fields that feathered joy 
 
 has fled 
 We murmur not. Of us, this word shall not be said.
 
 THEOPHANIES 117 
 
 INVOCATION 
 
 Thou source of all who seek to sing, 
 
 Forgive me that my verses fail, 
 Forgive my clumsy words that cling 
 About thine all-revealing veil 
 
 Woven of sound, that should impart 
 The vision of the poet's heart. 
 
 I too have heard thy ceaseless song, 
 I have discerned thy radiant feet 
 That flash in rhythmic dance among 
 The squalors of the city street : 
 And in its gutters every day 
 Have seen thy ragged angels play. 
 
 For deep the secret world within, 
 
 I feel thy stirring soft and strange. 
 And know all growing things my kin 
 In this, thy nursery of change : 
 In every kitten's fluffy dress 
 Our Father's cunning I confess. 
 
 How shall I tell what I have known ? 
 
 For thy great pipe my breath is faint; • 
 With generous hand thy love hath sown, 
 Its harvest fields I may not paint. 
 
 Though every sense cry out thy Name, 
 My song may not declare the same.
 
 ii8 THEOPHANIES 
 
 Yet since the humble lover can 
 
 Ask all things, as thy seers have told, 
 Within thy mighty metric span 
 My faltering song do thou enfold : 
 That in thy symphony of grace 
 The note of failure find its place. 
 
 The C>9 
 
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