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 DAYBREAK 
 
 FREDEGOND SHOVE 
 7 
 
 Printed and published by Leonard and Virginia Woolf 
 at The Hogarth Press, Hogarth House, Richmond. 
 
 1922 
 
 All<L
 
 TO MY SISTER 
 ERMENGARD MAITLAND 
 
 I wish that I had something better 
 
 to give you, but all that I ever 
 
 have will be less than the least of 
 
 your thoughts.
 
 ERRATA 
 
 Page 36, lines 13 and 14 should read 
 
 "The clocks in the house chime 
 On the day's steep," 
 
 Page 30, line 8, for "tremble" read "tumble.'
 
 River, river, flowing thro'' 
 
 The dim conduits of my brain ; 
 
 Deep, deep, hidden strain, 
 Memory — and forecast too — 
 River tide that won't cease — 
 
 Well, well, upspring. 
 Flood the meadows, make peace, 
 
 Make peace with each thing. 
 Speak for me, flood-tide. 
 
 Wash out the words, vain. 
 Wild, empty words ; take 
 
 All forts In this brain. 
 Storm, passion, song, sight, 
 New draughts of new light, 
 Burn, shine, flow, fill 
 
 All the bare places up : 
 
 Brim over thought's cup. 
 River, river, flow till 
 All wickedness is still.
 
 LITURGY 
 
 O deliver me, deliver me from my own self, 
 From treachery, from fear, from hate ; 
 It seems so long that I have been laid up on the shelf 
 Like a broken cup or a too, too brittle plate ; 
 
 Take me, O take me ; wash me with your beams ; 
 O good Lord, deliver me, 
 Deliver me from the horror and from the dishonour 
 
 of my dreams ; 
 Set me free. 
 
 II 
 
 At Easter Christ rose up out of the sepulchre and from 
 
 the sheet. 
 From bitterness, from hate, from death ; 
 He rose as an example of the assured, the fleet. 
 The strong and the possessor and the stainless faith. 
 Show us, O show us how the earth bore that flight ; 
 O deliver us from this — 
 F>om the tumult, the battle, from the axe and from 
 
 the night ; 
 Gloria in excelsis.
 
 Ill 
 
 Deliver us and exalt us in the teeth of the gale, 
 
 From the galleys of time, the loom and from the 
 
 yarn 
 Whereof our fear is spun, and from the forge and the 
 
 flail. 
 And from the stable, the ship and the barn. 
 
 Free us as you have freed the frail sisterhood 
 Of the windflowers where they spin their white sheaves 
 In the labyrinths of the forest 
 And in the lightening of the wood ; — 
 Make us as the leaves, — 
 
 IV 
 
 Praising and singing when the life and when the peace 
 Are begun in those nests where the eg-g-s are laid 
 
 low 
 And the cocks strut abroad and the rain comes v/ithout 
 
 cease 
 Making the grass grow: 
 Acting and desiring as the sower and as the plough 
 Going forth under the great, bare ribs of the sky ; 
 Give us the life after death, Lord, now, even now, 
 And the voice to cry:
 
 <»» 
 
 " O deliver me, deliver me, from evil and sin 
 From scorn, from absence, from hate and from lust 
 And give me the robe wherewith to come proudly in, 
 
 Not weeping with moth, not creeping with rust. 
 But confident, but splendid, — quicken'd after the shower 
 Like to a pear tree that is green with all the white : 
 
 O Lord, render my heart a fruitful bower 
 For thy delight. 
 
 VI 
 
 Deliver me, deliver me ; for my flesh is of the stuff 
 Of labour, of heaviness, of doubt and of care ; 
 But I have grieved and I have languished 
 And O I have been punished enough ; 
 Why should I despair ? 
 Take me, then, take me from the halter and from the 
 
 hook. 
 Bury my sorrow, 
 Bury my shadow and my false likeness in the brook ; 
 Give me to-morrow. 
 
 lO
 
 VII 
 
 Wherefore, I beseech you that are the beginning and 
 
 the end, 
 Show me thy splendour in the appearance of its 
 
 shape 
 And come to me at my calling by the wicket like a friend. 
 
 Giving me the vision which is the only escape ; 
 Not that I may maunder and may wonder and may dresm 
 
 But that I may give clothing and food, 
 Beauty to my descendants and water to my team, 
 In the name of all good." 
 
 II
 
 REVELATION 
 
 Near as my hand 
 The trar.sformation : (time to understand 
 
 Is long, but never far, 
 
 As things desired are :) 
 No iceberg floating at the pole ; no mark 
 Of glittering, perfect consciousness, nor dark 
 And mystic root of riddles ; death nor birth, — 
 Except of heart, when flesh is changed from earth 
 To heaven involved in it : not at all strange. 
 Not set beyond the common, human range; 
 Possible in the steep, quotidian stream. 
 
 Possible in a dream ; 
 Achieved when all the energies are still, — 
 
 Especially the wilL 
 
 12
 
 THE SEARCH 
 
 My tears force me to fail, 
 
 Christ, finding thee ; 
 My sighs make such a gale, 
 
 Love blinding me ; 
 I wander and I wail 
 
 Lost, hiding me ; 
 And then I hear the quail 
 
 Cry, chidiiig me. 
 
 13
 
 NIGHT AND MORNING 
 
 I 
 
 The flowers of the world 
 
 Appear before my eyes, 
 They shiver and shake dew 
 
 Upon me as they rise ; 
 Perfection in them all 
 
 Shows how they are designed 
 With silken tresses on 
 
 The curtain of the wind. 
 
 II 
 
 The fishes of the sea 
 
 Surround my sleeping head ; 
 The candles in their tails 
 
 Throw shadows on the bed ; 
 Transcendently alight 
 
 They glide into my brain 
 And in among my thoughts 
 
 They set a coral train. 
 
 14
 
 Ill 
 
 But then the birds begin 
 
 To cry upon my sleep, 
 And by their wings to chase 
 
 The beauties of the deep ; 
 The loveliness of air, 
 
 The colours of the day 
 Persuade me to arise 
 
 And wash my dreams away. 
 
 15
 
 THE MIRACLE OF THE 
 FLOWERS 
 
 The flowers that have sight 
 
 Of all this world's waste 
 Blow and break and shed their light 
 
 Upon the unchaste, 
 The cruel and the coarse. 
 
 O how dare these press 
 So near earth's firmament whose source 
 
 Is fiery holiness ? 
 
 i6
 
 WINTER 
 
 How clearly winter shows 
 
 The beauty of the street ; 
 How pure, how fine he blows 
 
 The unsubstantial sheet 
 Of half transparent glass 
 
 That is the frosted sky ; 
 How pale he paints the grass 
 
 Where fallen petals lie. 
 
 17
 
 SNOWDROPS 
 
 "When did you first see snowdrops?" 
 
 "The day that I was born, 
 With candles by the cradle 
 
 And frost upon the lawn, 
 Icicles on the laurels 
 
 And npthing yet begun 
 Except the march of snowdrops 
 
 Behind the winter sun." 
 
 i8
 
 CROCUSES 
 
 But later crocuses 
 
 Came thirstily to hold 
 In smoothly pleated cups 
 
 The February gold ; 
 There were some yellow ones, 
 
 Some white, some veined with puce, 
 Some purple and some freaked 
 
 Like the pale fleur de luce. 
 
 19
 
 THE WILLOW TREE 
 
 There is a willow tree 
 
 Grows in the fountain's bed; 
 He has a sooty trunk, 
 
 He has a grizzled head. 
 The wizened snowflakes find 
 
 A shelter in his twigs 
 And at his knotted skull 
 
 The last woodpecker digs. 
 
 20
 
 DISEMBODIED 
 
 The dark wind knows no rest 
 
 (That is the night's child) ; 
 With torn and ragged vest 
 
 With sobs and manners wild 
 This spirit of distress 
 
 Questions and moans and runs 
 About the country eaves, 
 
 The saddest of God's sons. 
 
 21
 
 JOY IN PRISON 
 
 O love, look In, look In, 
 
 Before the day is done ; 
 This dusty prison Sin 
 
 Has never seen the sun, 
 This dreary cell Decay 
 
 Is foul for want of air ; 
 Haste, love, for your delay 
 
 Is captive Joy's despair. 
 
 O Joy, awake, arise. 
 
 And spread your glassy wings ; 
 When love has bathed your eyes 
 
 Behold the spirit's things 
 Subject to no quick death. 
 
 Untrammelled by desire : — 
 O hasten, Joy, Love's breath 
 
 Shall fan your evening fire. 
 
 22
 
 SEPARATION 
 
 (written for an old song tune of the i-jth. century) 
 
 "Where shall I seek my soul, oh Lord, 
 That thou didst steal from me?" 
 
 The flesh that weepeth here alone 
 Doth ask continually. 
 
 "Hast thou conveyed him to the spheres 
 
 To dwell beside the sun, 
 Or hast thou cast him into a cloud 
 
 That captainless doth run ? 
 
 "I ask it not from vanity 
 
 That doth so waste the breath, 
 
 But rather that I may not be 
 
 Quite unprepared for death." 
 
 So crieth she incontinent 
 
 That so desireth to find 
 The soul, as rivers clasp the sea 
 
 And are in love enshrined. 
 
 "Just one embrace before we part 
 
 For all eternity ; 
 For I remember how at birth 
 
 Thou consecratedst me. 
 
 23
 
 And filled all my members with 
 The murmur of thy streams, 
 
 While 1 did cloud thy heavenly form 
 With sweet terrestrial dreams. 
 
 Had we together journeyed then 
 W^hat music had we made, 
 
 Creating with each other's tools 
 
 Such shapes as could not fade. 
 
 But thou didst vanish with the day 
 And left me deaf and blind. 
 
 To seek my future in the world 
 And grow another mind, — 
 
 A sense of unimportant things 
 
 And a desire for thee. 
 Whose touch alone could give me sight 
 
 And set my powers free. 
 
 Didst thou, wherever first thou wert, 
 Thus hunger for thy friend? 
 
 And dost thou think that God will let 
 Us join before the end.'* 
 
 No lover ever longed so much 
 
 As I do long to hold 
 Thy ghostly shape, and fill my cup 
 
 With thy aerial gold.
 
 Yet thou perhaps knowest not the need 
 
 Of my consoling tears, 
 And findest pearls enough for thee 
 
 To pluck among the spheres. 
 
 Or likelier thou art still asleep 
 
 In ether wrapped around. 
 Nor knowest how thy God doth choose 
 
 To keep thee spell-inbound. 
 
 And thou may'st wake in a thousand years 
 
 When I am turned to clay, 
 And rising seek for another bride 
 
 With whom thou think'st to stay." 
 
 25
 
 A COMPLAINT 
 
 Tell me what Is cruelty, 
 
 (For which no beauties can atone)? 
 Cruelty is the human heart ; 
 
 Life's kernel is a stone. 
 
 Tell me what breaks cruelty 
 
 That groans but never cracks with pain ? 
 Pity alone can break the heart 
 
 And turn the stone to rain. 
 
 O then what is this pity 
 
 (For which alone the hard heart breaks) ? 
 Pity is God in his mercy 
 
 And he died for our sakes. 
 
 26
 
 LOVE AS HE IS IN THE 
 WORLD 
 
 Poor Love has no clothes. 
 
 He cannot dress 
 To meet the winds of 
 
 Everlastingness ; 
 Naked, ashamed, he goes 
 Barefoot, on the snows ; 
 Poor Love has no clothes 
 
 For his nakedness. 
 
 II 
 
 Poor Love has no food, 
 
 He may not eat ; 
 They will give him no bread 
 
 That dine on rich meat; 
 Empty, forlorn, in chains, 
 He lies in his pains ; 
 Poor Love has no food 
 
 At all to eat. 
 
 27
 
 Ill 
 
 Poor Love has no bed 
 He gets no sleep, 
 
 While others lie and snore 
 He stays to weep ; 
 
 Love, weeping all alone, 
 
 Sits upon a stone ; 
 
 Poor Love has no bed 
 And gets no sleep. 
 
 iv 
 
 One day he shall be clothed 
 
 In Paradise, 
 The spirit of the sun 
 
 Shall wash his eyes. 
 One day he shall be fed 
 And sleep upon a bed ; 
 When he is with God 
 
 Among the skies. 
 
 28
 
 WINTER IN THE GARDEN 
 
 Sleep, sleep, sleep, 
 On sleep my heart is set. 
 
 The snow lies so deep 
 
 And I must forget, 
 "The dark mornings clear 
 
 With wind sobbing low 
 Shall bring you good cheer 
 
 That cherish sleep so." 
 
 Sleep, sleep, sleep, 
 My heart is set on rest, 
 
 The snow lies so deep 
 
 Upon the earth's breast ; 
 When dark violet 
 
 And crocus appear 
 I cannot forget 
 
 Nor be of "good cheer." 
 
 And when blackbirds sing 
 The whole twilight thro'. 
 
 My heart knows the sting 
 
 Of grief and death too ; 
 Sleep, sleep, sleep, 
 
 On sleep my heart is set ; 
 The snow lies so deep 
 
 And I must forget. 
 
 29
 
 THE HARP OF WONDER 
 
 O bleak, bleak, beyond avail 
 
 The singing of the autumn gale ; 
 O wild, wild, beyond divining 
 
 The far heights where those lights are shining ; 
 O cold, cold beyond redress 
 
 The void that cups my consciousness ; 
 O wide, wide and fatal these 
 
 The winds that tremble in the trees. 
 
 II 
 
 Where — where — can it be ? 
 
 The spirit that I used to see ? 
 How, how can I know aught 
 
 When all is with such wonder fraught ? 
 Extreme cold, and extreme heat. 
 
 Seas, and clouds and worlds, a fleet 
 A fleet of worlds, a galaxy 
 
 Of quiet globes spinning in the sky. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Nothing, no rail, nothing sure. 
 
 But dangerous all, "All air is pure, 
 
 All water free, all light divine" — 
 Stop ; these are only words of mine : 
 
 30
 
 Think, think of death ; hear how they drown 
 
 Scant voices rising from the town ; 
 Know — know — we know nothing — 
 
 Faith makes such a blessed glo.w, 
 Fires spring and genius burns, 
 
 Trees, bushes, fen, ferns 
 Glitter wildly ; is this right ? 
 
 Shall I follow this man's light, 
 Or fall, fall, fall alone. 
 
 Fall to weeping on that stone ? 
 
 IV 
 
 High, high, above my head 
 
 Shine the spirits of the dead; 
 Sweet, sweet and holy-clear 
 
 Shake thin ether's lyre and spear. 
 Too far above the sky 
 
 For mortals to descry. 
 Hope burns her white ring; 
 
 Hope is such a perfect thing ; — 
 Yes, now I must believe. 
 
 Only the dull-sighted grieve. 
 
 V 
 
 See, see how they whirl with fate 
 
 The dead leaves from their oaken gate ; 
 
 O torn, torn past belief 
 Typifying human grief, 
 
 31
 
 While I speak of hope they fall 
 
 And are swept beyond recall. 
 So sometimes a world slips down, 
 
 A sick planet, neck and crown, 
 Down, down, it tumbles fast 
 
 Thro' the silences so vast : 
 No, Hope is too gaily said 
 
 With book-lore my brain is fed, 
 With flesh-faith my spirit stirred : 
 
 Spirit is a lovely word. 
 Yet once I come, come, 
 
 Shame turns my heart dumb. 
 Dumb things know best if they 
 
 Show faith the right of way ; 
 Fear never, never can 
 
 Take the truth away from man. 
 Only silent, only still 
 
 Can we touch it, feel, thrill. 
 Answer, know, hold truth 
 
 To our ghosts and have ruth, 
 Pity, peace, knowledge, love. 
 
 Drop to us from up above. 
 
 32
 
 THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN 
 
 Thou liest within me as a shell 
 
 Lies in a pool. 
 Or as milk-wort were in Hell, 
 
 So fresh, so cool — 
 Or as an icicle all clear 
 
 And straight within — 
 Mirror of holiness and sheer 
 
 Contempt of sin. 
 And round about thee 1 have built 
 
 A fortress-yard, 
 A castle whose thick walls are guilt, 
 
 So proud, so hard ; 
 And many chambers where I walk 
 
 So hard, so proud, 
 And many parlours where I talk 
 
 So much, so loud. 
 But when these crumble in Hell's flame, 
 
 So swift, so strong. 
 
 33
 
 There will be left my heart, the same. 
 
 My heart, a song ; 
 I shall be gone and all my deeds, 
 
 Myself — my year, 
 My hates, my angers and their seeds 
 
 Will disappear. 
 Thou liest within the storm and art 
 
 So safe, so still, 
 O Jesus of the human heart, 
 
 Whom none can kill. 
 
 34
 
 SUNSET 
 
 Heaven has diamond window-panes 
 
 Lit between flames of day and night ; 
 They shine, my soul ; look in, my soul, 
 
 God's palace is alight ! 
 Here in the streets they hawk and yell ; 
 
 None see the rose of evening 
 Nor none the green October stars ; 
 
 No song-bells ring. 
 
 The earth has murky window-panes ; 
 
 The earth is sick ; O fevered earth, 
 To be so mad with marketing 
 
 When air is ity with holy mirth. 
 
 ZS
 
 SOPS OF LIGHT 
 
 Stop still on the stair, 
 
 (Draw in your breath) : 
 Love is the whole air, 
 
 There is no death : 
 Set the jug aside 
 
 For beams to fill : 
 Peace is the housetide ; 
 
 Then be still. 
 
 Let the window stand 
 
 Open to tree ; 
 Light is the whole land 
 
 And the whole sea : 
 The clocks in the house chime 
 
 0'the day 's steep, 
 But the soul knows no time 
 
 Nor any sleep. 
 
 36
 
 MORNING IN NOVEMBER 
 
 A lovely woven cloud 
 
 Lies along the east, 
 The sun shut In this shroud 
 
 Sheds upon the least 
 Squat morning chimneys of the town, 
 The grey, the red, the mauve, the brown. 
 
 Such November beams 
 
 As crown childhood's dreams. 
 
 The voices of the trains 
 
 Sound forlorn and far 
 From the fens and plains 
 
 Where the rushes are ; 
 They bring remembrance of time 
 
 To this silver ring of rhyme. 
 And from the attic high 
 
 Looking down I see 
 The postman coming gently by ; 
 
 Has he one for me ? 
 A dream with a lio-ht scarlet seal, 
 
 What is this forecast that I feel ? 
 
 The shops begin to stir 
 
 The baker's dog to bark, 
 What silver harbinger 
 
 Has risen from the dark 
 
 37
 
 Washing of the ocean's bed 
 
 What lovely stricken triton's head ? 
 
 All night long the stars 
 
 Snowed among my dreams, 
 
 Through my spirit's prison bars 
 Flowed new tidal streams ; 
 
 I am, I was, and I shall be ; 
 What arc these lights 1 see ? 
 
 Morning you are fine, 
 
 A pure harp of gold, 
 Happiness divine 
 
 Mystery untold — 
 Lie in the unbroken shell 
 
 Of the world I know so well. 
 
 38
 
 TWILIGHT IN NOVEMBER 
 
 Rich chrysanthemums that drip 
 
 Among the rusty palings. Brown 
 
 Burnished sheaf the frost must nip. 
 Frost's a beggar to this town. 
 
 Sky that's as an eggshell green 
 
 Merely glimmeringly known, 
 
 Since too lustrous to be seen 
 Hidden like a jewel-stone. 
 
 Air as faint and pure as silk 
 
 Lovelily and strangely freaked 
 
 All with mulberries in milk 
 
 Stained and with fine orange streaked. 
 
 Bells the disembodied breath 
 
 Of our fear and our belief, 
 Flying, flying after death, 
 
 Dying with the sapless leaf. 
 
 Voices fading on the peace, 
 
 Children's voices hoarse with zest, 
 A moon cut out of candle grease 
 
 Waxing in the sunset's breast. 
 
 39
 
 All so shimmering and pale, 
 
 All so fire-evoked and soft, 
 
 A fan painted by a gale, 
 
 A bat's dream in an apple-loft. 
 
 Let them stay, O let them stay 
 
 The jewelled embers of the day 1 
 
 40
 
 HOOPS AT DUSK 
 
 The west is changing, green succeeds on gold. 
 White stars begin to mount the bitter air, 
 
 Slow dusk is coming on, 
 
 Its velvet Detals close 
 About the dying gardens and the roofs 
 Of sleepy cottages, with ivied eaves. 
 
 These dahlias feel the dusk, 
 
 Michaelmas daisies blue. 
 And marigolds hang down their coronals. 
 Rich with the last rays of the dying sun 
 
 That has withdrawn its soul 
 
 From the world's hollow cup — 
 Leaving this upland village to the care 
 Of candles and of fragrant autumn winds. 
 
 But children are about ; 
 They fill the air with screams. 
 And madly drive their iron hoops abroad — 
 The music of the hoops is wild as bells 
 Sprinkled upon a storm. 
 
 Or frantic as the tune 
 Of harp and pipe and concertina played 
 
 In company by frenzied spirits were. 
 
 41
 
 The common vales and hills 
 
 This elfin madness fills, 
 And scatters ringing splinters on the field 
 Among the breathing sheep in their dark fold ; 
 
 And yet the sound is sweet, 
 
 As sweet as echoes are. 
 
 The sound is purer, keener, than we dream 
 The voices of the stars in spring to be, 
 
 Keener and merrier 
 Than tune of scythes by night. 
 Sharpened among the virgin moon-daisies 
 
 Amid the shadows of a waving field ; 
 
 By its shrill alchemy 
 A ghost might well be called 
 Out of a stalk, and naked bid to weep 
 For hours on the still, forgetful grass ; 
 
 Or the green fairies might 
 
 Transcend their hidden cells 
 To lean on mushrooms in a frozen trance, 
 Bewitched by the cold magic of these hoops. 
 
 And now the light is done — 
 
 Its apple-coloured hue 
 Has faded from the kingdom of the sky, 
 
 Also the flowers in the garden shed 
 
 Their white and scarlet sheaves 
 
 Before the rising wind ; 
 
 42
 
 Now children will be vanishing like moths, 
 Leaving a tide of echoes in their wake, 
 
 And I shall dream all night 
 
 Of tunes they played to me. 
 Of hills and valleys where the glow-worms wink 
 Among the serried shapes of the gay leaves ; 
 
 And I shall think on elves 
 
 In their enchanted towns. 
 
 43
 
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