r^^^ w
 
 '\ 
 
 \^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 G. GOLMORE 
 
 Author of 
 
 Poems of Love and Life 
 
 A Conspiracy of Silence 
 
 A Daughter of Music 
 
 etc. 
 
 GAY AND BIRD 
 
 22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 LONDON 
 
 1898
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty
 
 PR 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 The soliloquies collected under the title Points of 
 View, deal mostly with one particular moral offence 
 considered from the standpoints of those who sin 
 and those who sit in judgment : incidentally also, 
 they treat of the influences which go to form those 
 standpoints. The light in which people consider 
 their own conduct has always greatly interested 
 me, and I have often doubted whether sufficient 
 weight is given by the careless critic to the differ- 
 ence in the degree of moral damage, caused by 
 a difference in the standard by which conduct is 
 tested. Nothing destroys moral fibre so much as 
 conduct which a man's or a woman's own standard 
 
 942387
 
 PREFACE 
 
 condemns ; and destruction of moral character means 
 incapacity to improve : but, on the other hand, con- 
 duct which is not beneath an individual's own standard 
 — however reprehensible from the point of view of 
 the community at large — does not totally destroy 
 moral fibre; and if once that individual can be 
 induced to raise his standard, there may be sufficient 
 moral strength in him to enable him to live up to 
 it. I maintain that this view of the question is a 
 direct encouragement to those who desire to raise 
 humanity. 
 
 I hold, further, that the standard of conduct is 
 fixed for most of us by the point of view which 
 is adopted in practice by the community in which 
 we live. This again should give the moralist hope, 
 since the fact (if fact it be) affords an easier method 
 of raising the common standard, than by separate 
 appeal to each individual ; for there can be no doubt 
 
 that the attitude of the leaders of a society, as 
 
 vi
 
 PREFACE 
 
 shown by their actual treatment of oflfenders, goes 
 far to raise the standard of conduct of the less pro- 
 minent members of it. 
 
 The suffering caused by sin cannot be gauged by 
 outward observation, but that the suffering is in- 
 evitable is as true as that it is not always obvious. 
 
 I reprint two soliloquies which appeared in a 
 former volume, as they belong to the present set. 
 
 G. COLMORE. 
 
 vn
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 POINTS OF view- 
 
 
 Outcast — 
 
 
 On the Pavement .... 
 
 3 
 
 In a Workhouse .... 
 
 8 
 
 In a Cell ..... 
 
 i8 
 
 In Society — 
 
 
 In a Boudoir : First Style 
 
 53 
 
 In a Boudoir : Fifteen Years After . 
 
 . 44 
 
 In a Boudoir : Second Style . 
 
 . 56 
 
 Within the Pale — 
 
 
 On a Pinnacle .... 
 
 . 71 
 
 In a Respectable Position 
 
 . 82 
 
 In a Garden .... 
 
 . 89 
 
 IX
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Points of View, continued- 
 In a Smoking-Room . 
 
 N A Madhouse 
 
 In a Coffin . 
 
 / Ballad of Love and Death 
 
 103 
 125 
 
 159 
 149 
 
 Ub 
 
 
 The Closed Heart 
 
 . . 163 
 
 Despair and Hope 
 
 . 166 
 
 Love's Vision 
 
 . . 167 
 
 Why 
 
 . 170 
 
 Dead 
 
 • 173 
 
 The Only Way . 
 
 . . 176 
 
 Strange Sorrow . 
 
 . . 178 
 
 H. D. L 
 
 • 179 
 
 Remembrance 
 
 . 181
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 OUTCAST
 
 ON THE PAVEMENT 
 
 It comes across me now and then, 
 To wonder if ever you think at all, 
 You women who have no need to sin, 
 Of the women who fall. 
 
 I wonder, when you 're driving home, 
 All safe from the sin of the midnight street, 
 If you think of the women who line the way 
 With their lingering feet. 
 
 I daresay not, or if you do, 
 You start from the vision of such a life. 
 For the name of us merely, wakens scorn 
 In a wedded wife. 
 
 $
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And they tell me too, you 're kept so pure ; 
 The life that we hve and the thing we do, 
 Though it poisons the very air you breathe, 
 Is hidden from you. 
 
 They keep you, they who sin with us, 
 
 From the taint of the evil, shut you in 
 
 From knowledge not meet for their sisters, wives. 
 
 The knowledge of sin. 
 
 But we — ^we women — are sisters too : 
 Do they think of it ever when morning light 
 Breaks shuddering, dim, and chill and gray 
 On the hideous night ; 
 
 That we had fathers, brothers, once, 
 Were called by a wife's or a daughter's name, 
 That somebody else's sister breathes 
 In a woman of shame ? 
 
 4
 
 ON THE PAVEMENT 
 
 Degraded ? Yes ; I don't pretend 
 That we 're anything else when we fall so low : 
 And the depths that we reach only we and God 
 And the devil can know. 
 
 We 're worse and better than they think, 
 The people who labour to drag us back 
 From the galloping life we 're used to live. 
 To the desolate track 
 
 Of virtue, burdened with the weight 
 Of a grateful penitence day by day ; 
 Till the dull despair of it drives us mad, 
 And we break away. 
 
 They treat us as the whole world does, 
 They think of us, speak of us, in the mass ; 
 Till we each of us seem, not our separate selves, 
 But one of a class. 
 
 S
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 They 're wrong ; each one of us is one. 
 You women who have no need to rise, 
 If you give us a thought as you pass us by 
 With contemptuous eyes, 
 
 Don't think of * they,' but always ' she,' 
 For it 's always a separate self that sins, 
 And you never can tell where the harlot ends 
 And the woman begins. 
 
 That 's all I mean : I only claim. 
 Although we aU crowd to a common goal. 
 We 're each of us damned in a different way. 
 With a different soul. 
 
 God doesn't mix us up ; He takes 
 The trouble to punish us one by one ; 
 And He knows where the woman and harlot meet 
 In the wickedness done. 
 
 6
 
 ON THE PAVEMENT 
 
 It comes across me now and then. 
 
 To wonder if ever He thinks at all, 
 
 In the midst of His anger, a pitying thought 
 
 Of the women who fall. 
 
 It comes across me now and then, 
 To wonder if out of a shameless past, 
 A woman like me could arise and stand 
 By your side at the last. 
 
 It comes across me now and then. 
 
 Like a glimmering gleam of a distant light : 
 
 But it goes— it has gone— and I know I shall serve 
 
 The devil to-night.
 
 IN A WORKHOUSE 
 
 'E COME along one night 
 When Missus had gone to church ; 
 'Twas the evenin' wot Matilda White 
 'Ad left me in the lurch. 
 
 It 's awful dull to wait 
 For a friend wot never comes. 
 And it 's better by the area gate. 
 Than twirlin' of yer thumbs 
 
 Indoors there all alone. 
 So when tea was cleared away, 
 And time was, as they say, my own, 
 I felt I couldn't stay 
 8
 
 IN A WORKHOUSE 
 
 In the kitching any more ; 
 I wanted a breath of air ; 
 So out I goes by the area door, 
 And up the area stair, 
 
 Just for company's sake 
 To 'ave a look at the street, 
 And watch the girls and fellers take 
 To courtin' when they 'd meet. 
 
 I always thought it seemed 
 Such an 'eavingly thing, yer see. 
 That courtin', and I never dreamed 
 That it could come to me. 
 
 For foll'rers wasn't allowed, 
 
 And I 'adn't no evenin's out ; 
 
 And when yer always watched and rowed, 
 
 And asked wot yer about, 
 
 9
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Courtin' of any kind 
 
 Doesn't seem to come yer way ; 
 
 And I couldn't up and speak my mind, 
 
 And say I wouldn't stay. 
 
 Bein' a work'us one, 
 
 I was all alone to face 
 
 The world, and couldn't expect no fun, 
 
 But try to keep my place. 
 
 I knew I wasn't much. 
 And that 's 'ow it was, yer see, 
 I didn't think of love or such, 
 That evenin' after tea. 
 
 Well, I was standin' there, 
 Lookin' up and down the street. 
 And wishin' I could 'ave a share 
 Of outin' for a treat ; 
 
 lO
 
 IN A WORKHOUSE 
 
 When I see 'im come along 
 
 In the dashin' sort of way 
 
 'E always 'ad, and 'ummin' a song, 
 
 Wot I mind the tune this day. 
 
 'Ere comes a swell, thinks I, 
 
 When 'e stops in front of me, 
 
 And seemed to make me catch 'is eye : 
 
 ' Good evenin', Miss,' sez 'e. 
 
 I couldn't 'ardly speak. 
 
 But, ' Good evenin', sir,' I said. 
 
 I seemed to feel my knees quite weak, 
 
 And a buzzin' in my 'ead. 
 
 I wasn't used, yer see, 
 To civil words at all ; 
 And to think that 'e should notice me. 
 Wot was always thin and small, 
 II
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 I couldn't understand. 
 
 But in that very place, 
 
 'E told me, 'im so tall and grand, 
 
 I 'ad a pretty face. 
 
 So we begun to talk, 
 
 And after a bit, sez 'e, 
 
 * Couldn't yer come and 'ave a walk 
 
 Some day along o' me ? ' 
 
 My 'eart was beatin' so, 
 For it seemed too 'eavingly sweet, 
 To think that I could ever go 
 Beside 'im down the street. 
 
 But Missus — oh I knew 
 That she never would let me out ! 
 So there and then I told 'im true. 
 And told 'im all about 
 
 12
 
 IN A WORKHOUSE 
 
 'Ow I was work'us bred, 
 And couldn't 'ave no fun. 
 But I needn't tell yer all 'e said. 
 Nor 'ow it all begun. 
 
 But often after that, 
 
 I used to steal quite late, 
 
 Just poppin' on my cloak and 'at, 
 
 Along the street to wait 
 
 At the corner where he 'd come. 
 And meet me by and by. 
 And 'appiness ! Well, I 've 'ad some. 
 At least, before I die. 
 
 I 've 'card of stories grand 
 Of knights and ladies fair : 
 But a girl gets into fairyland 
 When she 'as learned to care. 
 
 13
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And oh I loved 'im so, 
 And never thought of the end. 
 And 'ow was I to say 'im no. 
 Wot was my only friend ? 
 
 If yer 'd never 'ad no love 
 
 Come to yer all yer life, 
 
 Yer might p'raps think as One above, 
 
 Wot let yer be a wife. 
 
 Would 'ave some pity as well, 
 Not only blame and scorn : 
 And Gawd must know 'e was a swell, 
 Just like a gentleman born. 
 
 And 'ow could such as I 
 Stand agin such as 'e? 
 I 'd never thought that one so 'igh 
 Would ever stoop to me. 
 U
 
 IN A WORKHOUSE 
 
 And I '11 tell yer this, I will, 
 
 In spite of all the pain, 
 
 I knows, and knows it sure, that stil 
 
 I 'd do the same again. 
 
 Of course yer '11 say I 'm bad, 
 And never won't understand ; 
 But the one good time I 've ever 'ad. 
 Was that time in fairyland. 
 
 The wakin' into shame 
 
 Come 'ard, I don't deny ; 
 
 And I 'm full young to end the game. 
 
 And it seems 'ard to die. 
 
 But Missus she turned me out, 
 And I didn't know wot to do. 
 And I got so tired and knocked about, 
 And 'ungry and wet through, 
 
 15
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And I think I lost my 'ead : 
 And so when my time come on, 
 The little one of course was dead, 
 And all my strength was gone. 
 
 So the doctor sez, sez 'e, 
 There ain't no 'ope at all. 
 And I can only turn, yer see, 
 My face round to the wall. 
 
 And just lie still and wait 
 For a work'us woman's end. 
 But 'ow I longs for the area gate, 
 And to see my only friend ! 
 
 For 'owever bad I seems, 
 And 'owever much to blame, 
 It 's 'eavingly wot a woman dreams, 
 Before she comes to shame ! 
 i6
 
 IN A WORKHOUSE 
 
 And 'owever wrong I went, 
 
 And though I can't understand. 
 
 It 's a woman's best, I 'm sure, was meant 
 
 To belong to fairylaftd. 
 
 17
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 You never can know what the cry was like. 
 
 For you never heard it wail 
 All through the night, 
 Till the stars grew white. 
 
 And the frightened moon was pale. 
 
 You never can know what the cry was like. 
 For you never heard it sound. 
 When the darkness sheer 
 Was a thing of fear, 
 That held and wrapped you round. 
 i8
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 You never can know what the cry was like, 
 For you never heard it rise, 
 The whole day long, 
 Through the" sunlight strong, 
 Till it pierced the very skies. 
 
 You never can know what the cry was like, 
 Nor the little clutching hands. 
 That gripped and tore 
 At the bosoms sore. 
 That were dry as desert sands. 
 
 You never can know : but the bent bow bends 
 And bends, till at last it snaps : 
 And I did the thing 
 That a wedding ring 
 Would have saved me from perhaps, 
 19
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 When the heart in my heart was racked and rent 
 With pain that was more than pain. 
 
 I think if I 
 
 Could but still the cry, 
 I would do the thing again. 
 
 And it all began, as most bad things do, 
 In what seemed good and sweet ; 
 
 Began in gold, 
 
 Of a tale love told ; 
 And it ended in the street. 
 
 And the street is a bitter place to be 
 When the street's the only place. 
 From morn till night. 
 And from dark till light. 
 In the which to hide disgrace. 
 20
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 So they mostly went for a roof by night, 
 The pence I begged by day ; 
 
 The while I fed 
 
 On a crust of bread. 
 And scraps that were thrown away. 
 
 And I never thought but the child was safe ; 
 I didn't think or know, 
 
 That food for me 
 
 Was necessity, 
 Or the baby's food would go. 
 
 But I knew it soon, that the little mouth 
 Must cling and suck in vain ; 
 
 My breasts were dry ; 
 
 And the wailing cry 
 Pierced in and tore my brain. 
 
 21
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Then I tried to stay in the streets at night, 
 And to save the pence for food ; 
 Content was I 
 On the ground to lie ; 
 But it wasn't any good ; 
 
 For I couldn't keep moving on and on, 
 And they wouldn't let me rest : 
 
 So back I went 
 
 To the nightly rent, 
 With the child and the empty breast. 
 
 And I bought no food but the baby's food, 
 With the pence the rent left free : 
 
 The scrap and bone 
 
 In the gutter thrown. 
 Yielded food enough for me. 
 
 22
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 But it wasn't enough to still the wail ; 
 And the whole night long to lie, 
 And try in vain 
 To shut out the pain 
 Of the haunting, nagging cry — 
 
 I tell you I couldn't go on like that ; 
 
 No woman is made so strong. 
 I bore and bore, 
 Till my soul turned sore. 
 
 And God seemed the God of wrong. 
 
 But you never can know or understand. 
 For you never heard the sound, 
 That rose and fell 
 Till the flames of hell 
 Seemed to burn up through the ground. 
 23
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 You never can know or understand ; 
 
 But I, as I listened, knew, 
 To still the cry, 
 Was the thing that I 
 
 Was most surely meant to do. 
 
 It was one wild night, and the clouds were thick, 
 And they hid the moon away ; 
 
 Till out it shone, 
 
 Looking down upon 
 The child as it wailing lay. 
 
 And I saw the quivering little mouth, 
 
 And the hands that clutched the air : 
 And the sound and sight. 
 In that awful night, 
 Made a pain that I could not bear. 
 24
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 And I cried aloud in a stranger's voice : 
 * Be still, be still, be still ! ' 
 And still the wail 
 Through the rushing gale 
 Went sounding on ; until 
 
 I knelt down close to the drawn white face, 
 And I laid my hand upon 
 
 The mouth that cried 
 
 For the food, denied 
 To the bosom whose use was gone. 
 
 I held my hand very tight and firm ; 
 I thought if the cry would cease, 
 Just cease to ring, 
 That the night would bring 
 Both to me and the baby peace. 
 25
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And the cry grew less like a cry, and more 
 Like a sort of gentle moan ; 
 Then, with a sigh, 
 Seemed to break and die : 
 And the night and I were alone. 
 
 I was all alone in the blackest night, 
 For the moon was hid again, 
 
 And all I knew 
 
 Was, the thing was true, 
 I was free of the wailing pain. 
 
 So I sat quite still, and my heavy hands 
 Still pressed and pressed and pressed. 
 I said, ' At last, 
 It is surely past ; 
 I have found out the way to rest.' 
 26
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 Then all of a sudden the moon shone out 
 And filled the silent room ; 
 
 And with the Hght, 
 
 In its ghastly white, 
 Came the weight of an awful doom : 
 
 For Just as the moon with its mad white face 
 Looked down from out the sky, 
 
 Alive once more 
 
 At my brain it tore. 
 The sound of the wailing cry. 
 
 No use to press down with my heavy hands 
 On the face the moon showed plain : 
 The mouth was still, 
 But I could not kill, 
 I never had killed, the pain : 
 27
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 For the cry went on and on and on, 
 And never has ceased to sound. 
 
 It tears again 
 
 At my heart and brain, 
 Till the very walls go round : 
 
 The four white walls that are square and thick, 
 And the door that keeps me in. 
 You think I care 
 That they keep me there. 
 For the thing they call my sin ? 
 
 Not I ; for wherever I chance to be, 
 And even if I should die, 
 The moaning wail 
 Will not pause or fail : 
 I may perish, but not the cry. 
 28
 
 IN A CELL 
 
 And if you could know what the cry is like, 
 As it wails both loud and low ! 
 Ah me, ah me I 
 You would come to see — - 
 But then, you can never know I 
 
 29
 
 IN SOCIETY
 
 IN A BOUDOIR : FIRST STYLE 
 
 * I hear that the hour at which the smart women in London 
 receive their lovers is six o'clock:— Extract from a letter, 1897. 
 
 I SOMETIMES wonder if you dream, 
 You women of the toiling class, 
 What thoughts may rise when a woman's eyes 
 Meet her own eyes in the glass : 
 
 A woman born, I mean, like me. 
 To luxury and careless ease. 
 To pass her days in the subtle ways 
 Of seeking how to please. 
 
 I daresay I may seem to you 
 
 Safe from the touch of wants or fears ; 
 
 A rich man's wife, whose idle life 
 
 Floats through untroubled years. 
 «= 33
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 I daresay I may seem to you. 
 Who have no leisure in your days 
 To cherish grace of form and face, 
 Or study beauty's ways, 
 
 Happy because I 've all you lack. 
 Leisure in plenty and to spare. 
 What wealth can spend and art can lend 
 To make a woman fair. 
 
 Well, I agree : no doubt to you 
 Whose striving never ends your strife, 
 My lot must seem like a sort of dream, 
 A half-enchanted life. 
 
 Perhaps it is ; and yet I think. 
 That were I forced to toil like you. 
 Year out, year in, I should not sin 
 So easily as I do. 
 34
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIRST STYLE 
 
 Easily ! not of course that you 
 Can judge at all from outward show : 
 That does, or -may, but point the way 
 The soul was meant to grow. 
 
 Or may be conscious counterfeit, 
 False coin the owner seeks to pass, 
 But known for lies, when a woman's eyes 
 Meet her own eyes in the glass. 
 
 There are so many different sins. 
 So different in degree and kind ; 
 And what they mean can be only seen 
 When you see a woman's mind. 
 
 I may be better, worse than you. 
 More guilty than you ever feel. 
 Who only shirk or scamp your work, 
 Who drink, perhaps, or steal ; 
 35
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 While I — Not that I mean I 'd change ; 
 Oh no, I would not change with you : 
 I like my life of a rich man's wife, 
 Enjoy the things I do. 
 
 Nor does my conscience prick or sting, 
 Urge me to change, or bid me rise ; 
 These thoughts that pass when within the glass 
 I meet my mirrored eyes, 
 
 Are just the idle thoughts that feed 
 My woman's love of novelty ; 
 A love that shows in a moment's pose. 
 But not the actual me. 
 
 The actual me loves happiness, 
 Takes it, and does not weigh or think ; 
 And as my flight aims at no great height, 
 Perhaps I cannot sink : 
 36
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIRST STYLE 
 
 Not lower than I am, I mean, 
 The plane where I was born and bred, 
 Where I was meant to be content, 
 And am content to tread : 
 
 Plane of a modern woman's life, 
 Where laws of fashion stand for fate, 
 Where she is taught how to buy, be bought. 
 To marry, not to mate. 
 
 And do you know the difference. 
 You women of the toiling class ? 
 How plain it lies when a woman's eyes 
 Meet her own eyes in the glass ! 
 
 The difference ! Ah, I know it well ! 
 I 've married, and I 've mated too. 
 Marriage came first ; — there lies the worst 
 Of what we have to do. 
 37
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 For marriage means but liberty 
 
 To choose the love that suits us best ; 
 
 The gist of life to husband, wife, 
 
 Well known, though unconfessed, 
 
 Has nought to do with marriage bonds, 
 Lies quite apart from wedded bliss ; 
 The sweetest part of my woman's heart 
 Leaps to a lover's kiss. 
 
 Oh yes, I know ; I seem to hear 
 You speak and say the thing you think ; 
 It were as meet I walked the street : 
 I hear and do not shrink. 
 
 I know how it must seem to you, 
 Whose laws of virtue, rough and crude, 
 You never break for love's own sake. 
 But just for rent or food. 
 
 38
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIRST STYLE 
 
 While they, those other outcast ones, 
 The women who are hired and paid, 
 Hate us, I hear^ because they fear 
 
 That we may spoil their trade. 
 
 They see us as the working man 
 Sees traitors to his union's creed, 
 That every hand should join the band, 
 Not work for separate need. 
 
 They think we use our vantage-ground 
 To spoil their market, to encroach 
 Upon their field of special yield. 
 To trespass and to poach. 
 
 Well, I can understand, I think, 
 Though I don't care to try and prove. 
 We play the game with another aim 
 Than theirs, — for love of love. 
 
 39
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 It 's that that makes me what I am, 
 The need of nature on my part, 
 — Warped, I concede, by fashion's creed — 
 To fill my woman's heart. 
 
 And vanity ? Yes, I admit, 
 The two are very near allied. 
 And then how gray would be my day, 
 If love were put aside ! 
 
 You see I learned it all so young, 
 Intrigue, the interest that it brings ; 
 I learned to test how I looked my best 
 Amongst the earliest things. 
 
 I learned my world's philosophy, 
 I might say at my mother's knee ; 
 That love need pause for no marriage laws 
 My daughter's eyes could see 
 40 
 
 —*»: 
 ^*»*-
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIRST STYLE 
 
 When I was hardly more than child : 
 And now that I 'm a woman, wife, 
 Am I to blame, if I think the same 
 
 As my mother thought of life ? 
 
 You women of the toiling class, 
 And all you women labelled good, 
 You think it bad, or, kindlier, sad, 
 My type of womanhood. 
 
 Yet I don't feel degraded, lost ; 
 It all seems such a natural thing ; 
 The point of view makes what I do 
 Free from remorse or sting. 
 
 It just seems pleasant, interesting. 
 To know that each new gown I wear, 
 Each fashion's craze, the different ways 
 I find to dress my hair, 
 41
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Will meet with either praise or blame, 
 Be judged by critical decrees 
 Of eyes that tell when I please him well, 
 The man I want to please. 
 
 It just seems natural and sweet 
 To love, be loved. No, I don't see 
 For all you say, any other way 
 For women bred like me. 
 
 Better be happy than be soured ; 
 At least that 's what I feel and think ; 
 But then no doubt, as I pointed out, 
 I cannot rise or sink. 
 
 As higher natures can, perhaps, 
 Of different mould and nobler class ; 
 Though doubts may rise when my careless eyes 
 Meet their fellows in the glass. 
 42
 
 IN A BOUDOIR : FIRST STYLE 
 
 Doubts that are only born to die : 
 
 For me life means to be alive : 
 
 And, fault or crime, I 've no more time, 
 
 — For it 's almost half-past five, — 
 
 No time to brood. So, eyes, good-bye ! 
 I turn me from your vague unrest, 
 And doubtful gaze, back to the ways 
 Which suit my nature best. 
 
 I '11 use my utmost charm to-night, 
 If but to make the questions pass, 
 And help to set the thoughts I met 
 In my own eyes in the glass 
 
 Safely apart ; and I know well 
 When they no longer chide or mock. 
 What thoughts will rise when my woman's eyes 
 Meet his at six o'clock. 
 43
 
 IN A BOUDOIR : FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 I SIT, and wait by the fire, 
 And I wonder as I wait. 
 If a woman is given her heart's desire 
 Just to be mocked by fate. 
 
 Is the joy that comes at first, 
 But part of the mocking game ? 
 Must the glorious best always end in worst ? 
 Failure make sport of fame ? 
 
 Must bitterness come with time, 
 And the lilt of life's refrain 
 Be changed from a measure of careless rhyme 
 Into a wail of pain ? 
 44
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 Time ? Oh, how I hate the word ! 
 For it means defeat, disgrace ; 
 It means that her lover can look unstirred 
 Upon a woman's face. 
 
 It means just the end of all 
 To a woman bred like me. 
 They may talk as they please of a woman's fall, 
 But the shame and misery 
 
 That they say a woman knows. 
 When her virtue's strength gives way, 
 Is no more than the fitful breeze that blows 
 On a sunny summer's day. 
 
 «» 
 
 Compared with this winter blast, 
 Bringing ruin in its train : 
 For I don't desire to undo the past, 
 Want but to sin again. 
 4S
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And wanting, find that the day 
 Is gone, when the sin of love 
 Was an easy thing, and an easy way 
 My woman's charm to prove. 
 
 For now ? Now I sit and wait. 
 And I ask me, Will he come ? 
 I had answered once, but the years I hate 
 Make doubts that hold me dumb. 
 
 Doubts that are strong to rise. 
 And that will not fade or pass, 
 But grow when my eyes meet their fellow eyes, 
 Questioning in the glass. 
 
 And if he comes — ? Good God ! 
 If an angry God there be, 
 He knows all too well just the sort of rod 
 For a woman bred Hke me : 
 46
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 A woman whose aim in life 
 Is to find the way to please. 
 Oh I know I have been a faithless wife, 
 But amongst many keys, 
 
 There's but one will open wide 
 The doors of a woman's heart ; 
 And a marriage where love is put aside, 
 Serves but to hold apart 
 
 The man and the woman bound 
 By convention's legal strings ; 
 And you seek your happiness on the ground 
 When fashion cUps your wings. 
 
 I» So I sought all mine below. 
 
 Not high in the planes above, 
 Where they say that the truer pleasures grow. 
 Of nobler kind than love, 
 
 47
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Well it may be so ; but yet 
 The thought of my reckless past, 
 Is a thought that carries but one regret, 
 This — that it cannot last. 
 
 Oh, all you women who live 
 Your lives in a virtuous way, 
 Has virtue, I wonder, the power to give 
 Strength in the evil day, 
 
 When time that knows no remorse. 
 That will not tarry nor pause, 
 Brushes love aside and exacts perforce 
 Obedience to marriage laws ? 
 
 Good women who count me lost. 
 Standing safe on virtue's hill. 
 It isn't the spending degrades me most. 
 But the paying of the bill. 
 48
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 All you who have won the crown, 
 That I never tried to win, 
 It isn't the sinning most drags me down. 
 But the ceasing from the sin. 
 
 The passion that now is rife. 
 Ne'er had waked, my soul to rend 
 And debase to its worst, had I lived my life 
 Of love to the very end. 
 
 Oh, I seem to see your scorn. 
 But how should you understand. 
 When the joy you had when a child was born. 
 Was just another strand 
 
 In the rope that bound you fast 
 To the life you wished to lead ? 
 And never could change and become at last 
 A bitterness indeed ; 
 D 49
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 The truest, veriest scourge. 
 That an angry God could plan : 
 A pitiless God, for what use to urge 
 That a woman loves a man ? 
 
 That however it may seem, 
 It isn't the same always ? 
 That even a harlot may sometimes dream 
 Of more than a harlot's ways ? 
 
 No use at all, for the past 
 Gets punishment all the same : 
 But I 'm damned I say, not by first, but last. 
 The punishment, not the shame. 
 
 A punishment of a kind 
 Best fitted to pierce and tear 
 My heart. Had it been I was forced to fiqd 
 Just that he 'd ceased to care, 
 SO
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 I could have borne, I think. 
 The knowing I 'd failed to please ; 
 For my pride had been spared the need to drink 
 Fate's cup to its very lees. 
 
 But now ? Now to see his eyes 
 Rest on her instead of me ! 
 And the subtle pang when the thought will rise, 
 * She 's like what I used to be ' ! 
 
 A compliment that 's cursed 
 With an irony of pain ; 
 She charms with a charm that was mine at first, 
 And lives in her again. 
 
 Mine when he came my way 
 But a few short years ago, 
 When the seeds of a love of the kind to stay. 
 Were the seeds I meant to sow. 
 SI
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 For I wasn't a fool, and knew 
 That a day must dawn at length, 
 When the wisest thing a woman can do 
 Is to trust to habit's strength. 
 
 And I thought that I had won 
 For myself a resting-place. 
 That custom had done what couldn't be done 
 Any longer by my face. 
 
 I thought I had made him mine, 
 And even when I was old 
 That the sun would never quite cease to shine 
 And leave me out in the cold ; 
 
 That the other women's eyes 
 Would not wear the look I 've seen, 
 A look which means that their hearts despise 
 A beggar who once was queen. 
 52
 
 IN A BOUDOIR : FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 I sit and wait by the fire, 
 And I wonder as I wait, 
 If a woman is given her heart's desire 
 Just to be mocked by fate. 
 
 For if he comes, I know 
 That his eyes will seek the while 
 The door, and he '11 watch if she come to show 
 
 Her face with its baby smile. 
 
 She will not come, for I 've made 
 This evening my very own. 
 But to see his interest fail and fade 
 When he finds me all alone. 
 
 Is to make of motherhood 
 A horror, not blessed, but cursed. 
 A mother should think of her children's good. 
 But I am a woman first ; 
 S3
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And I will not, will not give 
 The love that is mine of right. 
 She has all the day in the which to live, 
 And I am so near my night ! 
 
 Will he come ? I ask in fear. 
 For the hands upon the clock 
 Have passed by the hour that should bring him here. 
 And I listen for his knock 
 
 In vain, in vain, in vain ! 
 And when I think of the days 
 Of my easy triumphs, when I was fain 
 To mock at a lover's ways. 
 
 All the memories that rise. 
 And that may not die nor pass. 
 Are like mocking ghosts in my wistful eyes 
 As I meet them in the glass. 
 54
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER 
 
 Hark ! Listen I Was that a knock ? 
 No, nothing. A far-ofF chime 
 Gives voice to the tale of the silent clock, 
 — Half an hour behind his time ! 
 
 Oh, what can I do or say? 
 And if he still come, I know 
 He will come for the face that is hers to-day. 
 Though mine in the long ago. 
 
 I can only sit by the fire. 
 And feel as I sit and wait, 
 That a woman is given her heart's desire 
 Just to be mocked by fate. 
 
 55
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: SECOND STYLE 
 
 I SOMETIMES wonder when I see 
 The way the world gives blame or praise. 
 What judgment it would pass on me, 
 Were I to yield it up the key 
 To me and all my ways. 
 
 I wonder would the world concede 
 The logic of my point of view, 
 And grant me that the life I lead 
 Is, knowing both my dearth and need. 
 The wisest thing to do. 
 56
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: SECOND STYLE 
 
 I scarcely think it, for I know 
 The world is hard on womankind, 
 Guards jealously the way we go, 
 And judges by the outward show, 
 And not the inward mind. 
 
 And rightly ; for I know quite well, 
 That action is the only test. 
 Amidst the intricate pell-mell 
 Of motives unrevealed, to tell 
 What 's worst and what is best. 
 
 Though, if the world should judge of me 
 By what the world just sees and knows, 
 And should, in giving its decree. 
 In justice make it to agree 
 
 With what my conduct shows ; 
 S7
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 The worth that it would give my soul, 
 And credit to my hidden heart, 
 Would be as far as pole from pole 
 From that which, could it know the whole, 
 Instead of just a part 
 
 Of all the several things I do, 
 I should have meted out to me. 
 So, from mere action's point of view, 
 The more or less than just my due, 
 Is what the world would see. 
 
 Nay, there is but a single way 
 Of justice, with the power to give 
 My fellow-men the right to say 
 What penalty I ought to pay 
 For living as I live. 
 58
 
 IN A BOUDOIR : SECOND STYLE 
 
 And that 's to know the mind that lies 
 And works behind the outward things ; 
 To see with understanding eyes, 
 Whence every motive takes its rise, 
 And every action springs. 
 
 So^ if you judge me, let me show 
 The whole of me, reveal to you. 
 Not just the things that all may know. 
 But actions, motives, hid below 
 What 's open to your view. 
 
 The things would soften judgment's mood. 
 In judging of my daily life, 
 Are things the world counts very good ; 
 I show a tender motherhood. 
 Appear a loyal wife. 
 
 59
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And really am what I appear ; 
 I do not merely play a part : 
 I hold my children very dear ; 
 No other love lies quite so near 
 As theirs does to my heart. 
 
 And truly too, I seek to do 
 What best may help and most may please 
 My husband, give him what is due 
 From me to him, ne'er lose from view 
 His comfort, interest, ease. 
 
 So far, so good : but hid behind 
 The Hfe the world can know and see, 
 Lies much to which the world is blind. 
 And which, were it to be divined, 
 Would change its thought of me. 
 60
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: SECOND STYLE 
 
 For while I give the care I owe 
 To husband, children, still I find 
 That, underneath my duty's show. 
 Are needs, desires, that rise and grow 
 Within my heart and mind. 
 
 Needs I have sought to quench in vain 
 And banish from my stunted life, 
 A fellowship of heart and brain. 
 That I could never hope to gain 
 Within my role of wife. 
 
 A r6le that I no longer play ; 
 The empty name is all I hold. 
 My husband — well, he 's had his day. 
 His spring has bloomed and passed away ; 
 I 'm young while he is old. 
 6i
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 I give him tenderness and care, 
 Consider well his every bent, 
 Flavour his matrimonial fare 
 With happiness I cannot share, 
 And keep him well content. 
 
 He is contented, while for me 
 A blank remains, or would remain, 
 Did I and conscience not agree 
 That duty compassed leaves me free 
 A fuller life to gain. 
 
 I gain it in the same old way 
 Of woman's weakness, through a man, 
 Who adds an interest to my day, 
 Who offers all he dare and may, 
 And gives me all he can. 
 62
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: SECOND STYLE 
 
 Wrong, you will say. Well, I concede 
 It is so from one point of view ; 
 A point I understand and heed, 
 Yet, understanding, don't accede 
 To what it bids me do. 
 
 For this is what I think of life 
 — Here stands my conduct's creed confessed ;- 
 To minimise its storm and strife. 
 Avoid all warfare to the knife, 
 Is what is wisest, best. 
 
 To make a compromise with fate. 
 Enjoy if we must still endure. 
 Make life agreeable if not great. 
 And do our best to mitigate 
 The ills we cannot cure. 
 63
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And meaning this, I do not mean 
 This best is best for me alone : 
 The other lives I guard and screen, 
 I, who must stand that they may lean, 
 Gain if I shape my own 
 
 To satisfy my feeling heart 
 And satisfy my thinking brain, 
 Gain if I cultivate the art 
 Of living, learn to play my part 
 With joy instead of pain. 
 
 So I am justified, I deem, 
 In choosing out the surest way 
 My life from failure to redeem, 
 By touching with a golden gleam 
 The common light of day. 
 64
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: SECOND STYLE 
 
 You see I 'm nearer being good 
 By nourishing my nature's needs, 
 Than if I fed on virtue's food, 
 As virtue's mostly understood 
 By formulated creeds. 
 
 So judge me, world, if judge you dare, 
 Not merely by the acts you know. 
 But by the hidden acts that share 
 My hfe, and by the soul laid bare, 
 From which the actions grow. 
 
 Meanwhile I 've no more time to stay 
 And prove your wrong is right for me. 
 The nursery 's en fete to-day ; 
 A birthday, and I must away 
 To join the nursery tea. 
 E 6^
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And later on I said I 'd go 
 And fetch my husband from his club, 
 And drive him to a flower show, 
 To see some bulbs he wants to grow, 
 And some new foreign shrub. 
 
 He dines at home, so I must wait 
 Till slumber comes his pipe to end, 
 Ere I am free — if not too late — 
 To substitute, for duty's state, 
 A theatre and my friend. 
 
 I do the duty first, you see, 
 And then I listen to the voice 
 Of that most inward part of me. 
 That claims, when duty sets me free. 
 To live and to rejoice. 
 66
 
 IN A BOUDOIR: SECOND STYLE 
 
 What sentence do you give me ? Well, 
 No doubt much blame and little praise : 
 And yet — Ah, there 's the nursery bell ! 
 It 's time for tea ; and so farewell 
 To me and all my ways. 
 
 67
 
 WITHIN THE PALE
 
 ON A PINNACLE 
 
 ' Lady 's gown was of pale pink brocade, beautifully 
 
 trimmed with an exquisite pearl embroidery.' 
 
 Extract from Court Journal. 
 
 You go to Court, oh yes. 
 You have a titled name. 
 
 Your shameless feet 
 
 That scorn the street, 
 But never scorn the shame, 
 
 May lead you where they will 
 Amongst the so-called great ; 
 
 For virtue's ways 
 
 In these new days. 
 No longer carry weight. 
 
 71 
 
 "J
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Beauty and rank and wealth, 
 And beauty most of all, 
 
 Blot out again 
 
 The deepest stain 
 Of woman's deepest fall. 
 
 The fashion of the time 
 Leaves vice to blossom free 
 
 Excuse to win 
 
 For wanton sin. 
 And call it charity, 
 
 That is the careless creed 
 Of those who have no care 
 
 For that high good 
 
 Of womanhood, 
 The laws of God declare. 
 72
 
 ON A PINNACLE 
 
 But sin is always sin, 
 And mire is always mire 
 And all in vain 
 To give the rein 
 To bodily desire, 
 
 And talk of nature's needs, 
 And call them nature's right. 
 The body's needs 
 But spring from seeds 
 Sown by the devil's might ; 
 
 'Tares that must rooted be 
 From out the field of wheat. 
 
 No use to plead 
 
 The body's need 
 Before the judgment-seat ! 
 73
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Temptation ? Oh, I know 
 It 's quite enough to say, 
 
 That passion's strife 
 
 And lust of life 
 Caused you to fall away. 
 
 Where scorn was once held due 
 Comes pity, prone to greet 
 
 Both wanton dames 
 
 Of noble names, 
 And harlots in the street. 
 
 Temptation ! That 's enough 
 To hold you free from blame. 
 
 You loved, so fell ; 
 
 And passion's spell 
 Absolves you from your shame. 
 74
 
 ON A PINNACLE 
 
 The women of the town 
 Plead hunger's petty plea ; 
 
 For warmth and food 
 
 And liveHhood, 
 Barter their purity. 
 
 But even poor-paid drabs, 
 Who ply their nightly trade, 
 
 Content to win 
 
 The bread of sin, 
 Touch not the deeper shade 
 
 Of shamelessness, that reach 
 The women born to ease ; 
 
 Who choose to live 
 
 Dishonoured, give 
 Their all that they may please ; 
 
 75
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 May please the men who throng 
 The wanton way they take ; 
 
 And please the pride, 
 
 Whose boastful tide 
 Flows for its own poor sake. 
 
 Temptation ! Some have more 
 Than others, do you say ? 
 
 But I reply. 
 
 Temptations lie 
 About a woman's way, 
 
 According to the course 
 
 She may elect to steer : 
 
 If she but choose, 
 
 She may refuse 
 
 To let temptation near. 
 
 76
 
 ON A PINNACLE 
 
 Besides, temptation means 
 
 No licensing of sin. 
 To fight the foe 
 Would lay her low, 
 
 To conquer and to win. 
 
 That is a woman's part ; 
 Not to give way and yield ; 
 
 But stand upright 
 
 In virtue's might, 
 Shielded by virtue's shield. 
 
 Right must be always right, 
 And wrong is always wrong. 
 
 To talk of chance 
 
 And circumstance. 
 Of natures weak and strong, 
 77
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 According to the blood 
 
 Inherited at birth, 
 Is to declare 
 We have no share 
 
 In anything but earth. 
 
 Is not the spirh given, 
 To strive in virtue's cause, 
 
 Till flesh be slain, 
 
 And so maintain 
 The balance of God's laws ? 
 
 Yea, and though flesh be strong, 
 A woman still can win. 
 
 If towards grace 
 
 She set her face. 
 And turn her back on sin. 
 78
 
 'J 
 
 ON A PINNACLE 
 
 Away with pardoning vice 
 In paltry pity's name ! 
 And whoso strays 
 From virtue's ways, 
 Let her endure the shame ! 
 
 Let sin be counted sin, 
 And set without the pale ; 
 
 Not veiled from sight. 
 
 Or painted white. 
 On plea that flesh was frail. 
 
 So I maintain and say, 
 The times are out of joint ; 
 
 And if God stay 
 
 Upon His way. 
 While scornful fingers point 
 
 79
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 To vice in places high, 
 Which flourishes and grows ; 
 
 Nevertheless 
 
 God's righteousness 
 Still watches, notes, and knows. 
 
 And death will set a seal, 
 That cannot be undone : 
 
 For those who fell 
 
 Temptation's spell 
 Beneath, and those who won. 
 
 Must stand to meet their fate. 
 Not judged by fashion's plea, 
 
 That flesh was frail ; 
 
 But, shorn of veil, 
 Woven of sophistry, 
 80
 
 ON A PINNACLE 
 
 Must meet the sentence given 
 To sin, that shall be shown 
 Naked at last, 
 When, fashion past, 
 God shall declare His own ! 
 
 So go to Court, and win 
 The sort of fame you prize ; 
 And heed no whit 
 What scorn may sit 
 In honest women's eyes. 
 
 Wear pearls upon your gown ; 
 Bedeck your easy vice : 
 
 But when your day 
 
 Has passed away, 
 Your soul shall pay the price ! 
 8i
 
 IN A RESPECTABLE POSITION 
 
 ' Would you mind calling on the M s ? They are living 
 
 quite near you.' — Extract from letter. 
 
 I couldn't know a woman of that sort ; 
 It wouldn't do, you see, I couldn't know 
 About her past ! My husband says I ought 
 My innocence to guard and cherish so. 
 
 That I should nothing know about the life 
 Which flows beneath the surface that one sees. 
 Such knowledge is not suited to a wife ; 
 When wine 's to hand, one need not drink the lees. 
 
 82
 
 IN A RESPECTABLE POSITION 
 
 It seems to be, from what I sometimes hear, 
 The fashion nowadays no more to show 
 The sort of timid shrinking back in fear 
 From knowing of the things one need not know. 
 
 For women now know many dreadful things 
 There is no need to know of; or at least 
 That /don't know of; and such knowledge brings 
 A boldness, showing modesty 's decreased. 
 
 Of course when one is married, one may learn 
 A little something of the under ways 
 A man 's allowed to walk in, if he turn 
 His back upon them ere his wedded days. 
 
 Or even after marriage, so I 've heard. 
 Sometimes — But here I turn me from the tree 
 Of evil knowledge, stated or inferred. 
 From sights which purity ought not to see. 
 
 83
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 To know about the wretched life that beats 
 Beneath the life one hves, to know of vice, 
 And of the horrid women on the streets. 
 And things like that, I don't consider nice. 
 
 Or necessary either, for although 
 My husband says such things have always been, 
 And have to be, there is no need to know 
 More than their bare existence, since between 
 
 Me and the life they represent, I find 
 Nothing in common ; and besides, to me. 
 To know about a person of that kind, 
 — The kind of person that one doesn't see — 
 
 Is of no interest. I know, of course. 
 All going wrong is not of equal blame ; 
 For sometimes, even after her divorce. 
 One still can know a woman all the same. 
 
 84
 
 IN A RESPECTABLE POSITION 
 
 But that 's a different thing, and though one would 
 Be careful not to have her for a friend, 
 It 's not the same as what is understood 
 By the half world, and does not put an end 
 
 To owning her acquaintance. What I mean 
 Is, that one cannot know, or even greet. 
 In any way, a woman who has been 
 Connected with the world one does not meet. 
 
 To know a woman of that kind implies 
 One knows and understands about her past ; 
 And, as I 've said before, such knowing lies 
 Without the modest line drawn hard and fast 
 
 Round innocence. Such tlmigs, my husband says. 
 Make knowledge that no woman should desire. 
 If she intends to walk in virtue's ways. 
 It 's better that she should not play with fire. 
 
 8s
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 What nowadays I cannot understand, 
 
 Is women meddling with their fallen kind. 
 
 To do the duty ready to one's hand, 
 
 Care for one's household, cultivate one's mind 
 
 Sufficiently to fit the wifely state, 
 
 And give one's children due and proper care. 
 
 Is far more womanly, at any rate, 
 
 Than daring, as so many women dare, 
 
 To overstep the boundaries and laws. 
 Which fence respectability from vice. 
 By talking of, and seeking for, the cause, 
 The circumstances, motives, and the price 
 
 Of that degraded, outcast womanhood, 
 Whose presence it were better to ignore. 
 A woman with a mind that 's pure and good, 
 Should do her best to keep a fast shut door 
 86
 
 IN A RESPECTABLE POSITION 
 
 Between the wretched creatures, who infest 
 Society's base purlieus and herself; 
 If life must have its seamy side, it 's best 
 To turn one's glances from the secret shelf 
 
 Whereon such side can best be kept apart. 
 The women in that other, hidden life. 
 Depraved in mind and tainted at the heart, 
 What can they have in common with a wife. 
 
 That women duly wedded can expect. 
 Or even want, to understand their ways ? 
 I do not care, for my part, to infect 
 My inward self by letting in the rays 
 
 Of such a Ivnowledge. Keep — this is my creed- 
 Yourself from evil, if you want to be 
 The sort of wife most husbands like and need ; 
 One who fulfils their type of purity, 
 
 87
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 By keeping free of contact with the things 
 They hold back from their womenkind. And so 
 That 's why the women without wedding rings, 
 Are women of a kind I cannot know. 
 
 She has one now, oh yes, but it 's too late; 
 The ring should come at first and not at last. 
 I keep my own place ; she must meet her fate ; 
 She '11 always be a woman with a past. 
 
 And so I couldn't know her, for, you see, 
 My husband likes to keep me very pure. 
 And, knowing what I 've always tried to be. 
 You '11 understand, and think me right, I 'm sure. 
 
 88
 
 IN A GARDEN 
 
 I SOMETIMES sit and wonder 
 In the quiet twilight-time, 
 Looking down the valley yonder, 
 Whence the night begins to climb, 
 What the other women feel like. 
 Who are born to sin or crime. 
 
 I wonder if they find it. 
 
 This world, at all as sweet 
 
 As I? or if they mind it, 
 
 The mire about their feet ? 
 
 If their hearts beat just like my heart, 
 
 Or with a sadder beat ? 
 
 89
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 If their lives at the beginning 
 Were like mine when mine began ? 
 Or if the way to sinning 
 Started forth beneath a ban, 
 Through a wilder, wearier country 
 Than where my pathway ran ? 
 
 I sometimes think it may be 
 That circumstance or fate, 
 While as yet life's doubtful day be 
 Scarce arisen, may await 
 Each new soul, define its nature, 
 Lay down its course and state. 
 
 I sometimes think it may be 
 That there 's nought in outward show. 
 That the many things that stay me 
 From the ways the others go 
 Make my virtue like a conquest 
 In a fight without a foe. 
 9°
 
 IN A GARDEN 
 
 No poverty to grind me 
 Into hopelessness of good, 
 No cruel need behind me, 
 Just for shelter or for food 
 For myself or for my children, 
 To sell my womanhood. 
 
 No loneliness or longing 
 That the many women feel, 
 Due to fate or fashion's wronging 
 Of their natures, that they steal 
 Love and happiness, denied them 
 By a turn of fortune's wheel. 
 
 None of these things ; and I question 
 If fate leaves a woman free. 
 If sin spring from soul's suggestion, 
 Or if no temptation be 
 Just the thing that makes the difference 
 In the lives of them and me. 
 91
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And I wonder and I wonder 
 If the love that comes with shame 
 Be the love I know, and ponder 
 If a woman feel the same 
 Kind of love towards her lover, 
 When she bears her lover's name. 
 
 For there are those who 've told me 
 That I 'm ignorant of life, 
 That the knowledge would unfold me, 
 And a lawless passion's strife 
 Would reveal a love undreamed of 
 By an ordinary wife. 
 
 They say it means I 'm narrow. 
 That no wild, forbidden things 
 Come surging in to harrow 
 The happiness that sings 
 In my heart ; that love 's a tame thing 
 When it comes with angel's wings. 
 92
 
 r 
 
 IN A GARDEN 
 
 Well, it is true I love him, 
 Be it truth for praise or jeer; 
 There 's no man I put above him. 
 And I dare to hold him dear. 
 Though he chance to be my husband, 
 And I 've no divorce to fear. 
 
 Uninteresting? It may be; 
 It must seem so, I suppose. 
 If the fashionable way be. 
 Like the fashionable pose. 
 To find love's enchantment only 
 Where love forbidden goes. 
 
 Is love then only loving. 
 And a worthy thing to win, 
 When the measure of his proving 
 Is a measurement of sin ? 
 Must you dip his wings in darkness. 
 Ere his raptures can begin ? 
 95
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 So I wonder and I wonder. 
 
 And the answer will not come ; 
 
 While beyond the hillside yonder 
 
 The pale moon, arising dumb. 
 
 Gives no help, and throws no brightness 
 
 On the depths I cannot plumb. 
 
 And the others ? outcast, ragged, 
 Who tread a weary beat 
 Through a life as hard and jagged 
 As the stones beneath their feet ; 
 Drunkards, thieves, and those who barter 
 Themselves upon the street ? 
 
 What is their soul's complexion ? 
 What their standard, point of view ? 
 If a keen-knifed soul dissection 
 Could reveal a vision true. 
 Of the whence and why and wherefore 
 Of the several things they do ; 
 94
 
 IN A GARDEN 
 
 Would it show to us the growing 
 
 Of a flower or a weed, 
 
 Springing upward from the sowing 
 
 Of a different kind of seed ? 
 
 Or would all just mean the longing 
 
 Of a common human need. 
 
 That is bound to make this living, 
 Which is ours we know not why, 
 Yield us all the getting, giving. 
 That its passing may supply 
 To the body needs and heart needs 
 Which compel us till we die ? 
 
 So the triumph, if there 's any, 
 May be triumph that is due 
 To the striving of the many. 
 Not the conquest of the few ; 
 For the struggling and the heartache 
 May best stamp the things we do. 
 95
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Is all fate then ? And the craving 
 
 After happiness that 's pure, 
 And the sinning and the saving, 
 All we fail in or endure, 
 But caprice of our surroundings ? 
 Good a chance, and nothing sure? 
 
 Nay, it can't be so, if even 
 Fate should fix the outer show ; 
 For the clouds that cover heaven. 
 Screening sky from earth below, 
 Cannot keep the sun from shining, 
 Though they hide the sunlight glow. 
 
 Good is sure then : and so thinking, 
 As I watch the evening fade. 
 As I see the daylight sinking 
 In the deepening of the shade, 
 There 's a whisper in my heart says, 
 ' Love 's the sweetest thing God made.' 
 96
 
 IN A GARDEN 
 
 Ay, though even sometimes sorrow 
 
 Should elect to bear love's train, 
 
 And though lust should dare to borrow 
 
 Love's pure lustre, ne'er again 
 
 To repay, save in the coinage 
 
 Of satiety or pain : 
 
 Yet to love is still the treasure 
 That a woman's heart most needs. 
 And the thing the world calls pleasure. 
 Is a thing the world just breeds 
 To fill up the empty longing. 
 That is made by worldly creeds. 
 
 But my thoughts still circle, wheel-like, 
 
 Ij Round the thing I want to know. 
 
 What the other women feel like, 
 
 When the paths they follow go 
 
 From the sunlight of the hillside 
 
 To the valley down below. 
 G 97
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 They must either tread the valley, 
 
 Hardly knowing what they do, 
 
 As the dweller in an alley, 
 
 Where the sun scarce pierces through, 
 
 Never dreams of all the sky space 
 
 That is hidden from his view : 
 
 Or they hate the way they 've taken, 
 And they tread the path they tread. 
 With a heart by hope forsaken, 
 And a recklessness of dread, 
 And their niirthfulness is mated 
 To a weight of tears unshed. 
 
 While I? I have my lover. 
 Who so loves the wife called Me, 
 That he puts no one above her. 
 Though the other women be. 
 Many cleverer, wittier, sweeter, 
 
 Many fairer far to see. 
 98
 
 IN A GARDEN 
 
 Is there any merit in me 
 
 If I stand'6pon the hill ? 
 
 If the valley were to win me, 
 
 Were my ill not ten times ill ? 
 
 Would the others be as I am, 
 
 Had they love their lives to fill ? 
 
 Yes, I think it and I feel it 
 As I watch the growing night, 
 ' That they do but try to steal it, 
 What is mine by law and right ; 
 Wealth and ease and joy and loving. 
 All that makes my pathway bright. 
 
 And I think— the moon still risinsf, 
 / Casting light upon the vale, 
 
 Seems to brighten my surmising — 
 And I think that those who fail 
 From not knowing and not seeing, 
 Will not stand without the pale. 
 99
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And the others ? Well, it may be 
 At the end all will be even, 
 And the anguish by the way be 
 Just the whole lump's saving leaven 
 And perhaps to hate your hell is 
 A step to gaining heaven. 
 
 So I leave it, all the wonder. 
 Go and stand beside the gate, 
 Listen through the silence yonder 
 For the one whom I await. 
 I may love him, and I glory 
 In the safety of my fate. 
 
 I GO
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 f
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 She looked very well to-night, 
 The woman I used to love, 
 And knew it : she gave me to understand 
 By the very touch of her well-made hand, 
 Clad in its well-made glove. 
 
 That she wasn't changed a whit, 
 
 Had still the power to hold. 
 To attract and hold 'neath her woman's sway 
 The hearts of men, in the selfsame way 
 
 She held my heart of old. 
 103
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 My heart — or my senses? — or both? 
 
 It 's difficult to tell 
 With most of us men where they each begin, 
 Where the senses stop and the heart comes in ; 
 
 And perhaps it 's just as well 
 
 Not to analyse too much, 
 
 To question or to prove ; 
 Lest much of the stuff that is called romance 
 Should crumble, and show too plain, perchance, 
 
 What often stands for love. 
 
 Be that as it may, she held 
 
 A something, a part of me. 
 That made the whole man of me feel her slave ; 
 And whatever I gave her, the thing I gave, 
 
 I gave her honestly. 
 104
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 She took it, or seemed to take 
 The love I laid at her feet, 
 Took it and raised it up to her heart, 
 Of herself, it seemed to me, made it part. 
 So made it good and sweet. 
 
 Made me, too, seem almost good, 
 Or good enough, let us say. 
 To wish to be better, desire to kill 
 My past man's Ufe, start a clean new bill. 
 Had I but known the way. 
 
 But it 's not an easy thing 
 
 To kill, or even to mend, 
 The bits of one's past where women come in. 
 Damnably easy they are to begin, 
 
 Damnably hard to end ! 
 
 IDS
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 I — well I never set up 
 
 To be better than other folk : 
 And it 's easy, pleasant, the love called free, 
 Though the thing may change, as it did vi^ith me, 
 
 Become a sort of yoke. 
 
 But Nell was so pretty then. 
 Such a wistful sort of face ; 
 A look as if she were meant to be good, 
 Of the kind that, given a certain mood 
 Touches the softest place 
 
 In what a man calls his heart : 
 So it seemed less wrong than right 
 To make her my own ; and besides it 's true 
 That I thought I should treat her better too, 
 Than other fellows might. 
 1 06
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 So I gave her a sort of home, 
 
 With a sort of love thrown in. 
 She wasn't so good as her wistful face, 
 But the devil's touch 'midst the woman's grace. 
 
 Gave piquancy to sin. 
 
 She suited me well enough, 
 Prim face and the devil's ways ; 
 And we went on together, she and I, 
 In the usual fashion, till, by and by, 
 Years grew out of the days. 
 
 Years that brought me to her, 
 Whom I met and passed just now ; 
 And then I knew, or thought that I knew, 
 How love might make of the pure and true, 
 Fit crown for a woman's brow. 
 107
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Crown she was willing to wear, 
 With wealth that she deigned to take ; 
 The crown that she set on her shapely head, 
 The goods that were good to her, so she said, 
 Just for the giver's sake. 
 
 The present seemed gold to me, 
 The past was like sounding brass. 
 I wanted to kill it, but there it was. 
 And had to be reckoned with, because 
 Past will not always pass. 
 
 To say good-bye! It seems 
 
 Such an easy thing to do. 
 Yet when a woman has been your mate 
 For a couple of years, there 's a sort of fate 
 
 Binds her, somehow, to you. 
 io8
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 And she didn't want to part : 
 That 's where the deuce came in. 
 A virtuous Hfe may be good and sweet, 
 But to drive a woman on to the street 
 Before you can begin — 
 
 Well, it seems a doubtful way — 
 But it comes to this, I suppose ; 
 A man shouldn't think of taking a wife, 
 Till he 's cut himself clean away from the life 
 Of mating under the rose. 
 
 It was done, somehow, at last, 
 
 Was over, and I was free. 
 She wouldn't take what I wanted to give ; 
 She could live, she said, as she meant to live, 
 
 Without any help from me. 
 109
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Free ! And I soon forgot 
 — For how could I but forget? — 
 The little, old love in the new, great love 
 Of the woman, who seemed so far above 
 Aught I had dreamed of yet. 
 
 So for a while I lived — 
 Well, but it 's no good now. 
 To think of the follies I did and thought. 
 Trying to make the love that I brought. 
 Worthy to crown her brow. 
 
 For — How it stands out clear. 
 
 Fate's next ironical move ! 
 The smash, and the talk, and my name in print ; 
 And the jar and shame ; — and the heart of flint 
 
 I 'd thought was the home of love. 
 
 I lO
 
 ■^ 
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 Love ? She could never have loved, 
 Or she couldn't.have looked unstirred, 
 
 By pity, at least, upon my shame, 
 
 Have turned from my love and my tarnished name 
 Without so much as a word. 
 
 I knew it would have to end, 
 
 For nobody likes disgrace ; 
 But I thought perhaps she might just have — Well, 
 It 's all over now, and no need to dwell 
 
 On the scorn upon her face. 
 
 And of course the thing looked bad, 
 And she was quite right, I know. 
 But she took the heart clean out of my breast, 
 And the strength to fight ; and I felt the rest 
 Might go to Jericho. 
 1 1 1
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And I 'd take the devil's road, 
 
 Didn't care, or feel inclined, 
 To struggle with life and to fight with fate ; 
 And the road to the devil is short and straight. 
 
 An easy one to find. 
 
 I would follow it, I thought, 
 
 By way of a foreign land. 
 Far out in the West there was room, I knew, 
 For Eastern rubbish, and plenty to do 
 
 For a not too careful hand. 
 
 And then came a curious thing ; 
 
 For just at the very start, 
 I chanced, or was fated, it seemed, to meet 
 What one sometimes finds in the devil's street, 
 
 A woman with a heart. 
 
 I 12
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 A woman with mingled ways 
 
 Of grace and devilry ; 
 Who 'd sought me and found me, because, she said, 
 She had partly heard and had partly read 
 
 What had befallen me. 
 
 Her life had been — Never mind ! 
 
 She was rich ; that was the end ; 
 Had all she wanted and nothing to fear, 
 And that was the reason that brought her here 
 
 To see her former friend. 
 
 Well, it just came to this — 
 
 She laid it all at my feet, 
 The weahh that she owed to the wistful face 
 Which had raised her soon to an easy place. 
 
 Lifted her out of the street. 
 H 113
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Shamefaced enough I stood. 
 
 ' Why should you do this, Nell? ' 
 And she said — and her face, and her voice — (Oh 
 
 damn 
 This lump in my throat ! What a fool I am !) 
 
 ' Once you treated me well.' 
 
 Good God ! How are women made ? 
 
 m 
 
 God, who made them, knows perhaps. 
 But I 've heard it somewhere, that somebody said, 
 —No, I read it, I think, in a book I read, 
 
 By one of those poet chaps — 
 
 That women are heaven or hell. 
 While men are but heaven or earth ; 
 And I 'm more than inclined to believe it 's true, 
 When I think of the things that women do, 
 Their virtue and virtue's dearth. 
 114
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 And this one wanted but this, 
 
 That she, the jalk of the town. 
 Should leave all the splendour to which she was 
 
 sold, 
 To come to me, back to me, as of old, 
 
 Just because I was down. 
 
 What did it matter, she said, 
 
 That I had a tarnished name ? 
 It wasn't my name she wanted to share ; 
 And honoured, dishonoured, she didn't care. 
 
 She loved me all the same. 
 
 She only wanted to share 
 
 The broken bit of my life ; 
 And she wouldn't burden me with her past ; 
 If she came, she would come to me first and last, 
 
 As my mistress, not my wife ; 
 "5
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 My servant, my what you will, 
 My comrade, even my slave. 
 
 I tried hard to tell her it couldn't be ; 
 
 But my heart was sore, and the soul of me 
 Longed for the love she gave. 
 
 And hers was the nobler heart, 
 So she had her woman's way. 
 And we set out together, I and she. 
 For the new land lying beyond the sea ; 
 And again, day following day, 
 
 Made weeks, then months, then years, 
 
 Like those other earlier days. 
 And she never flinched from her chosen place. 
 And always she showed me her wistful face, 
 
 And sometimes her devil's ways. 
 ii6
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 Ay, they seem good to me now, 
 Those years of the broken past ! 
 And because she had given me heart again, 
 I could strive with a strife not all in vain, 
 That brought success at last. 
 
 Then, when success was sure, 
 — I can see the face of her now! — 
 At last I could do the thing that was meet, 
 I brought it and laid it down at her feet, 
 A crown for her woman's brow. 
 
 Crown she must deign to wear, 
 Set firm by a wedding ring ; 
 Be my wife in name who in deed was wife. 
 And join on the past to the coming life. 
 But there is a cruel thing, 
 117
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 That comes with pitiless tread, 
 
 And never will step aside ; 
 And the end — (I 'm a fool, of course, I know, 
 To mind, when it happened so long ago) 
 
 The end was just that — she died. 
 
 And when I stood and looked 
 At that which had once been Nell, 
 Who had lived so gaily and now was dead, 
 And remembered the way she had looked and said 
 ' Once you treated me well ' ; 
 
 I couldn't make it all out. 
 What women can see or find 
 In men, who must surely be brutes at best, 
 Or I couldn't have wakened, on just this test, 
 That I was carelessly kind, 
 ii8
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 The love that had beat for me 
 
 In her wayward, faithful heart. 
 
 They may talk of women being heaven or hell, 
 
 But I think both met in the soul of Nell, 
 
 Each grudged the other a part. 
 
 But heaven had the biggest share, 
 
 Or I can't believe in heaven. 
 Goodness ? Why surely the highest 's in this. 
 That a soul should crave as its utmost bliss 
 
 To give all that may be given ! 
 
 L Well it 's all over now : 
 
 That part of my life is done. 
 It was like her to stay with me through the worst. 
 And to go away when she saw the first 
 Promise of good had begun. 
 119
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 But Nell of the outcast world, 
 
 And Nell of the downcast days, 
 Though the wife I've married has wit and grace, 
 How often I long for her wistful face, 
 
 And long for her devil's ways ! 
 
 And the woman who touched to-night 
 My hand with her well-made glove? 
 Well, a woman, it seems, may be good and pure, 
 But virtue, somehow, doesn't make it sure, 
 That she knows the way to love. 
 
 I don't understand it all. 
 
 And I don't set up to lay 
 Down laws about virtue, vice, and the rest. 
 Society knows its own laws best. 
 
 So let it go its way. 
 
 I20
 
 IN A SMOKING-ROOM 
 
 But only this I know ; 
 
 I had almost lost the whole 
 Of my strength and hope ; and the true and good 
 That is said to dwell in pure womanhood, 
 
 Was a mockery to my soul. 
 
 And she who gave hope again, 
 
 Stood by me, turned my feet 
 From the devil's way that goes down and down. 
 Was an outcast, a woman of the town, 
 
 Who once had walked the street. 
 
 -f What the moral of it is 
 
 I don't pretend to state. 
 Thank God ! I 'm not called on to judge or weigh 
 I 've nothing to do with the Judgment Day, 
 Nothing but just to wait. 
 
 121
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 But Nell of the outcast world, 
 And Nell of the downcast days ! 
 I think when God fashioned your wistful face. 
 He thought He had given you too much grace, 
 So gave you your devil's ways. 
 
 And I sometimes think I 'd lose 
 
 The present to find the past ; 
 The present that — Gad, but this cork 's in tight ! 
 And my pipe that 's dreamed with me half the night 
 
 Has come to an end at last ! 
 
 122
 
 IN A MADHOUSE
 
 IN A MADHOUSE 
 
 Do you ever dream, I wonder, all you women who 
 
 are free. 
 What the window bars must seem like, what the 
 
 guarded doors must be, 
 When they crush and bind the longing that consumes 
 
 the heart of me ? 
 
 You, the women who have lovers, you, I know, will 
 
 '.* understand, 
 
 What it feels like to be prisoned, when my heart and 
 
 soul demand 
 I should seek him, as he seeks me, through the length 
 
 of all the land. 
 
 125
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 All the day I sit and wonder where his footsteps fall 
 
 to-day, 
 If he draw a little nearer, or if fate point out a way 
 To his loneliness and longing, that will lead him still 
 
 astray. 
 
 And they keep me, will not let me forth to seek him 
 
 and to find ; 
 Women who will not believe me, women who are 
 
 deaf and blind, 
 Though he beckons in the moonlight, though he calls 
 
 me in the wind ! 
 
 Listen ! I will tell you something, something I must 
 
 whisper low : 
 I was mad once — oh, I know it, though it happened 
 
 long ago. 
 I remember it was springtide, at the time the violets 
 
 blow. 
 
 126
 
 IN A MADHOUSE 
 
 And the faint, sweet smell of violets filled the room 
 
 in which he lay, "^ 
 For I brought them, freshly gathered, to his bedside 
 
 every day. 
 When the madness hid him from me, still their 
 
 perfume seemed to stay. 
 
 That is why I love the violets, for I always think, you 
 
 see, 
 That it was the violets' perfume helped to bring him 
 
 back to me. 
 Drove away the cloud of horror, set my mind and 
 
 spirit free. 
 
 For the fancy that possessed me, chilled my heart and 
 
 ruled my brain, 
 Was this strange one, that, instead of coming back to 
 
 life again 
 
 When the long, slow days were over of the weariness 
 
 and pain, 
 
 127
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 He would neither speak nor heed me, answer anything 
 
 I said, 
 But lay still, and white, and silent, like a statue in his 
 
 bed: 
 And I thought a voice spoke near me, telling me that 
 
 he was dead. 
 
 And I thought — (Oh, I can laugh now, as I tell you 
 
 of my fear ; 
 But it all seemed then so real, all so cruelly sure and 
 
 clear ; 
 Though of course it was but fancy, since I never shed 
 
 a tear.) 
 
 But I thought they brought a coffin, black and narrow, 
 
 that he lay 
 Shrouded in it, that I sat and watched beside him all 
 
 the day, 
 
 Till they came and took him from me, tore my very 
 
 soul away. 
 
 128
 
 IN A MADHOUSE 
 
 And I thought, the while the sunlight slanting inward 
 
 from the west, 
 Made his face a glory to me, that a smile broke 
 
 through its rest 
 For an instant, as I, stooping, laid my portrait on his 
 
 breast. 
 
 Then they hid him wholly from me, robbed me of my 
 
 very own, 
 Set a new-made grave to keep us, him alone and me 
 
 alone, 
 Till the year had reached its fulness, springtime into 
 
 summer grown. 
 
 Sometimes all my prison's silence shrinks before a 
 
 rending scream, 
 And the memory of that madness must have sprung 
 
 to life, I deem. 
 
 Then I laugh, to show those women, that I know it 
 
 was a dream. 
 
 1 129
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Only just a dream — I know it ; for when June had 
 
 reached its prime, 
 All the curtain of my darkness parted, and the truth 
 
 sublime 
 Shone upon my shadowed reason, sang the joy of 
 
 summer-time. 
 
 No more violets shed their fragrance, breathing 
 
 through the twilight air ; 
 Only roses bloomed around me on that evening calm 
 
 and fair. 
 As I sat and watched the sunset. Yet the violets' 
 
 scent, I swear, 
 
 Floated to me, sweet and potent, stirred ray heart, and 
 touched my brain, 
 
 With a wondrous touch that woke me from the night- 
 mare of my pain, 
 
 Told me that my love was living, gave him back to 
 me again. 
 
 130
 
 IN A MADHOUSE 
 
 And I smiled. Oh, I remember all the fulness of the 
 
 peace. 
 All the joy that swept my being, all the triumph of 
 
 release, 
 As the glorious sun of reason bade the night of 
 
 madness cease. 
 
 Yes, I laughed out in my triumph, and, ' O foolish 
 
 heart ! ' I said, 
 * Knowing that thou wast not broken, thou hadst 
 
 known he was not dead, 
 Hadst thou not with foolish fancies fostered all thy 
 
 inmost dread ! ' 
 
 Then I rose up, strong with courage, for I understood 
 
 straightway, 
 Enemies had lured him from me, and I must no longer 
 
 stay. 
 But must seek until I found him, pausing neither night 
 
 nor day.
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 So I wandered through the country, asking, as I went 
 
 along, 
 Tidings of the love I longed for, singing low the violet 
 
 song, 
 Song that told how scent of violets turned to right a 
 
 world of wrong. 
 
 The cypress tree grows dark and strong, 
 Where love can dare forget ; 
 But memory sings a ceaseless song, 
 Where blooms the violet. 
 
 The summer roses shrink with fear 
 When autumn winds are met ; 
 But all the winds of all the year 
 Harm not the violet. 
 I 32
 
 IN A MADHOUSE 
 
 The flowers that grow above the dead 
 With careless rains are wet ; 
 But only tears by sorrow shed 
 Water the violet. 
 
 And so the violets ever blow, 
 And breathe with perfumed breath, 
 A charm of life that layeth low 
 The darksome dream of death. 
 
 •So I wandered, ever seeking, sometimes catching, as 
 
 I went, 
 Sounds as of a whispered message on the floating 
 
 breezes sent. 
 Or a far-off form that beckoned when the day was 
 
 almost spent. 
 
 133
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And I knew the time of parting and of pain would 
 
 soon be past, 
 That he sought me as I sought him, that our love had 
 
 power to cast 
 Low the barriers of distance, and that we must meet 
 
 at last. 
 
 Ay, and I had surely found him, one more day had 
 
 surely brought 
 To my longing all I longed for, to my seeking all I 
 
 sought ; 
 But the wicked people found me, set my happiness at 
 
 nought ; 
 
 Would not listen to my pleading, brought me to this 
 
 place you see, 
 Will not let me forth to seek him, will not heed me, 
 
 set me free. 
 Though the anguish of the longing breaks and tears 
 
 the heart of me. 
 
 134
 
 IN A MADHOUSE 
 
 And they talk, too (I can hear them, though they 
 
 whisper very low). 
 Saying I am mad with grieving. But all that was 
 
 long ago. 
 I remember it was springtide, at the time the violets 
 
 blow. 
 
 And it was the scent of violets stealing through the 
 
 evening air. 
 Woke me from the dream of terror, freed me from the 
 
 load of care. 
 Filled my heart and mind with courage, made me 
 
 strona: to do and dare. 
 
 •"& 
 
 ,^ut they keep me, will not let me forth to seek him 
 
 and to find. 
 Though he 's longing with my longing, though, while 
 
 they are deaf and blind. 
 Still I see him in the moonlight, still I hear him in the 
 wind. 
 
 13s
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 I can hear his voice that calls me by the name of long 
 
 ago, 
 I can see his arms outstretching in the way I used to 
 
 know, 
 And each day the spreading distance must a little 
 shorter grow. 
 
 For I know he never wearies, never wearies nor 
 
 forgets. 
 And the secret sign will guide him surely through the 
 
 jars and frets, 
 And he '11 know he 's drawing near me by the scent of 
 
 violets. 
 
 O my love, come quickly, quickly! for the time is 
 
 very long. 
 And they keep me here and guard me, and the prison 
 
 bars are strong. 
 But I sing, to keep my heart up, every day, the violet 
 
 song. 
 
 I 36
 
 IN A COFFIN
 
 IN A COFFIN 
 
 It is all so still, so still! 
 The whirling world has fled. 
 It is somewhere yet, I suppose, 
 With its pulses and its throes. 
 But I am very still, 
 For I am dead. 
 
 Such a narrow little space 
 
 Holds such a misty me ; 
 
 Just awake enough to know, 
 
 That the light is very low 
 
 Within this little space : 
 
 I cannot see. 
 139
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 And some one shut, I think, 
 My eyes when I was dead. 
 I was tired, and never tried 
 To shut them before I died. 
 But some one came, I think, 
 Close to my bed. 
 
 It is all so dim, so dim ! 
 I can't be sure or know ; 
 But I seem to be aware 
 Of shadows in the air, 
 Forms that are very dim. 
 That come and go. 
 
 The people I used to love, 
 
 I think that they must be : 
 
 And sometimes I seem to hear 
 
 A whisper, or feel a tear, 
 
 Perhaps because of love 
 
 Given to me. 
 140
 
 IN A COFFIN 
 
 At the very, very first, 
 When death first took my hand. 
 It was all so cold and dark, 
 No light, no tiniest spark. 
 I was afraid at first, 
 Didn't understand. 
 
 Then a little light crept in ; 
 The dark was changed to gray ; 
 And I knew that I was laid. 
 Till my cofBn should be made, 
 Where, before death crept in, 
 I always lay. 
 
 And I began to be glad. 
 Laid still upon my bed. 
 For I knew that life was past. 
 That I had escaped at last. 
 Oh, I was very glad 
 That I was dead. 
 
 141 
 
 ' w
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 Then, after a little while, 
 The coffin's narrow space. 
 With the smell of the new wood. 
 And I 'm content I should 
 Just wait here for a while. 
 In this dim place. 
 
 I shall lie thus, I suppose, 
 A little longer yet, 
 Till they close the coffin lid ; 
 Then the world will be quite hid ; 
 And after, I suppose, 
 I shall forget. 
 
 I wonder, will it be long 
 
 Then, till my soul shall break 
 
 Through forgetfulness, and know 
 
 Where the dumb dead people go. 
 
 Perhaps not very long 
 
 Till I awake. 
 142
 
 IN A COFFIN 
 
 I think when I first wake 
 Out of the mist and gray, 
 There will still be much to gain, 
 For I shall not see God plain ; 
 But only, when I wake. 
 Be on the way. 
 
 But I shall not be afraid. 
 Though all be strange and new, 
 I shall not fear nor mind. 
 For I know that I shall find. 
 Ere I can be afraid. 
 
 The self called You. 
 
 I shall find perhaps again 
 All I have wanted so. 
 But it will not be just yet, 
 Because first I must forget, 
 Before I wake again 
 To see and know. 
 H3
 
 POINTS OF VIEW 
 
 My soul is laid to rest 
 Amidst the mist and gray. 
 But now — now the shadow grows ! 
 There 's light — but it goes — all goes. 
 I pass into my rest, 
 Away — away ! 
 
 144
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 

 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 A WOMAN Stood on a star-lit hill, 
 
 (There was no moon in the sky) 
 
 Her falling hair fell straight and still, 
 
 Though the whistling wind was high. 
 
 The wind was the wind of Life, whose breath 
 Has power to move 
 To both hate and love : 
 
 But the woman's name was Death. 
 
 She looked along the wind's swift way, 
 (Her eyes were hollow and deep) 
 
 But all the air about her lay 
 As motionless as sleep. 
 149
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 The wind came on with a roar and rush, 
 But paused in fear 
 As it passed her near, 
 And sighed itself to a hush. 
 
 The woman spake from the star-lit hill : 
 (Her voice had a whispering sound) 
 
 ' I will go forth, nor rest until 
 
 I am crowned as I must be crowned. 
 
 I will journey forth,' she said, ' O wind. 
 Nor spare my strength. 
 Till I win at length 
 
 A power that no force can bind. 
 
 * The power that I mean to win,' she cried, 
 
 (Her laugh ran out Hke a moan) 
 
 * Is power as wide as life is wide ; 
 
 I will reign and reign alone. 
 150
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 So wind, that art wAnt to beat and blow, 
 To claim my due, 
 Without ruth or rue, 
 Where thou goest, I will go.' 
 
 The woman stepped from the star-lit hill, 
 (She trod with a noiseless grace) 
 
 And as she moved the wind stood still, 
 Ere it fled before her face. 
 
 The wind rose up with a sob and fled : 
 And all the while, 
 With a slow drawn smile. 
 
 She followed with noiseless tread. 
 
 Away from the star-lit hill, away 
 
 (The moon hung low in the sky) 
 
 To where the night bowed down to day 
 And the sun was clear and high. 
 
 MI
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 Away, away went the rushing wind : 
 And as it went, 
 With her strength unspent, 
 The woman strode on behind. 
 
 The wind swept through the world and sang ; 
 
 (Its voice held an eager song) 
 It filled the heart of youth, and rang 
 With a hope that youth made strong. 
 It floated and sang and looked not back, 
 Nor breathed a word 
 
 Of the steps unheard, 
 That followed upon its track. 
 
 The woman passed where the wind had swept : 
 
 (And swift were her silent feet) 
 A sound arose of those who wept, 
 Where the wind had whistled sweet. 
 
 152
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 A sound rose up like^^a cry of pain, 
 And waxed and spread ; 
 And the woman said : 
 ' I have journeyed, not in vain.' 
 
 The wind swept through the world, and bore 
 (Wide spread were its beating wings) 
 
 The song of life from shore to shore, 
 Drawn out from sweetest strings. 
 
 The lust of flesh and the pride of eye 
 Grew keen and strong 
 As it passed along, 
 
 And laughed as it floated by. 
 
 The woman trod where the wind had flown : 
 (Like ice was her stagnant breath) 
 
 The song of life fled with a moan^ 
 At the wail of the chant of death. 
 153
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 The lust of life passed as morning dew ; 
 And the woman said : 
 ' I, who rule the dead, 
 Am queen of the living too.' 
 
 The wind swept ever on and on, 
 (Fear hung on its pinions fleet) 
 
 And still the woman, gaunt and wan, 
 Never stayed her silent feet. 
 
 She failed nor flagged, and her hollow eyes 
 Grew wide and keen, 
 As men hailed her queen 
 
 In a wail of despairing cries. 
 
 The swift wind paused in its onward rush, 
 (The twilight was soft and pale) 
 
 And rested in a gentle hush, 
 In a dim rose-scented vale. 
 154
 
 . A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 Lingering, it drew the roses' scent, 
 And breathed a sigh 
 Like a lullaby, 
 And sank in a sweet content. 
 
 The woman came on with her stealthy tread ; 
 
 (Her eyes held a mocking light) 
 She raised aloft her bended head, 
 
 As the wind paused in its flight. 
 She raised with a smile her bended head : 
 ' O wind, whose breath 
 
 Is the slave of death. 
 Do I hold you at last ? ' she said. 
 
 The wind stirred with a gentle sigh : 
 (Rose-sweet was the twilight air) 
 
 ' O queen of death, though men may die, 
 And foul may conquer fair, 
 
 155
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 O queen of death, without ruth or rue, 
 I have no fear 
 While I sheUer here, 
 Of the power that dwells with you. 
 
 ' The power that dwells with you, O Death,' 
 (Like music the wind's voice played) 
 
 ' Is a power that grimly followeth 
 To mar what I have made. 
 
 Yet here my strength will the stronger prove ; 
 I fearless stand 
 While I hold Love's hand ; 
 
 And this is the grove of Love.' 
 
 The woman paused on her onward way, 
 (Her feet dragged heavy and slow) 
 
 ' O wind,' she breathed, ' do you say me nay 
 To my world-wide right of woe ? 
 156
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 O wind,' she cried, '.what is love to me? 
 If I but pass. 
 Like to mown down grass. 
 It will wither utterly.' 
 
 The wind sank till it hardly stirred ; 
 
 (All hushed was the twilight grove) 
 Its whispering voice could scarce be heard, 
 
 As it called to the soul of Love. 
 And the soul of Love, through the twilight air, 
 Stole, pale and sweet. 
 
 To the woman's feet, 
 And lifted her falling hair. 
 
 Love stood and looked in the woman's face ; 
 
 (There was no fear in his eyes) 
 ' Your power may reign in every place. 
 
 Save where my star doth rise. 
 157
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 My passion flies out on the wind's swift breath ; 
 My soul waits pale 
 In the twilight vale, 
 Where I meet with, and conquer, death.' 
 
 The woman turned from the gaze of Love : 
 (Her eyes were hollow and wide) 
 
 She raised her hands her brows above. 
 And thrust her hair aside. 
 
 ' My hair that I may not bind,' she said, 
 * Till I have shown, 
 I am queen alone, 
 
 Of the living and the dead.' 
 
 The wind breathed soft through the twilight vale 
 
 (It spoke with a lingering sigh) 
 ' In all the world I must break and fail. 
 
 Must sink at the last and die : 
 158
 
 A BALLAD OF LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 In all the world, till ia Love's pure soul 
 I find at length, 
 An immortal strength, 
 And reach an immortal goal.' 
 
 A woman stood on a star-lit hill, 
 
 (There was no moon in the sky) 
 
 Her falling hair fell straight and still, 
 
 Though the whistling wind was high. 
 
 The wind was the wind of Life, whose breath 
 May win Love's soul. 
 Though the flesh pay toll 
 
 To the woman's realm of Death. 
 
 IS9
 
 LYRICS
 
 THE CLOSED HEART 
 
 The door is shut. 
 Go far away and leave me all alone ! 
 
 Ay, I have made my moan. 
 And let you see 
 The anguish and the misery of me. 
 But now go far away, leave me alone ! 
 
 The door is shut. 
 
 I bind and close 
 The heart that sorrow burst and opened wide, 
 So that it could not hide, 
 Just for a space, 
 
 M ^ 163
 
 LYRICS 
 
 The secret wound in its most secret place. 
 But pain can grip what sorrow opened wide. 
 I bind and close. 
 
 Shut close, my heart, 
 And lock and seal secure the narrow door. 
 
 That never any more, 
 To human eye, 
 Shall show the death that will not let you die. 
 Turn well the key within the narrow door ! 
 
 Shut close, my heart ! 
 
 Be still, my heart. 
 Be very still, and let no feeble cry 
 
 Give your dumb strength the lie! 
 No sound must tell 
 Of all the closing door shall hide so well. 
 Let your deep sobs be silent, make no cry ! 
 Be still, my heart ! 
 164
 
 THE CLOSED HEART 
 
 The doo'r is shut. 
 Get gone with pity, leave me all alone ! 
 
 What if I make my moan ? 
 No eye shall see 
 The anguish and the misery of me. 
 I dose my heart and hold my grief alone. 
 
 The door is shut. 
 
 i6s 
 I
 
 DESPAIR AND HOPE 
 
 Hope led me all the way, 
 With eyes of promise fair, 
 And waving golden hair ; 
 But at the threshold paused and would not stay. 
 Within, dim-eyed and gray, 
 In Love's own kingdom lay 
 Despair. 
 
 Pain met me face to face, 
 And would not yield nor move. 
 But raised strong arms above. 
 And clasped and held my heart in fierce embrace. 
 Yet in Pain's darkest place. 
 Crowned with a pallid grace. 
 Stood Love. 
 1 66
 
 LOVE'S VISION 
 
 My love came to me as I knew him once, 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 My love came to me on a summer night, 
 Made of the stars, the moonlight, and the dew. 
 So sweet and strange, my blinded mortal sight 
 Had known him not, but that my spirit knew. 
 My love came to me as I knew him once, 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 My love came to me, though the empty air 
 Yielded no space in which his form might stand 
 But all about my brow and through my hair 
 
 167
 
 LYRICS 
 
 I felt the touch and wonder of his hand. 
 My love came to me as I knew him once, 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 My love came to me, though my searching eyes 
 Met not the eyes that answered mine of old ; 
 But yet the moonbeams, in some tender wise, 
 Showed me the lovelight that they used to hold. 
 My love came to me as I knew him once, 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 My love came to me, though in vain I sought 
 
 His outward self ; but from the star-filled space 
 
 His voice stole whispering, and the night breeze 
 
 brought 
 And dropped his kisses on my waiting face. 
 My love came to me as I knew him once, 
 In days of long ago. 
 1 68
 
 LOVE'S VISION 
 
 My love came to me ^ a summer night, 
 
 Made of the stars, the moonlight and the dew. 
 
 And though I knew him not with mortal sight, 
 
 I knew the comfort of his presence, knew 
 
 That though my love was numbered with the dead, 
 
 He still was mine ; and I was comforted. 
 
 My love came to me as I knew him once. 
 In days of long ago. 
 
 169
 
 WHY 
 
 God, who madest love in making man. 
 
 Wherefore the pain ? 
 Wherefore hath love's delight so short a span, 
 Sorrow so long to trample on love's gain ? 
 Why must the fairest sky be swept by storm, and torn 
 by rain ? 
 
 1 call and call to Thee : all my soul is a cry. 
 
 Answer me, God ! tell me why ! 
 
 O God, who madest pain in making me, 
 
 Wherefore the love ? 
 If I must toss amid the desolate sea, 
 Why set a beauty in the sky above, 
 
 170 
 
 /
 
 WHY 
 
 To fill my craving heatt, and then my heart's despair 
 
 to prove? 
 I call and call to Thee : all my soul is a cry. 
 Answer me, God ! tell me why ! 
 
 God, I had been content to live and bear 
 
 All life might bring, 
 If love had been less sweet and full and fair. 
 Or passing, had but brushed me with his wing. 
 Weeping, I still had been content, had I not learned to 
 
 sing. 
 Why both the love and pain ? This is my soul's sore 
 cry. 
 
 Answer me, God ! tell me why ! 
 
 God, whisper to me ! Is the pain which moves 
 
 My lonely soul 
 To anguish, one with that which also loves ? 
 
 171
 
 LYRICS 
 
 And must love always pay such bitter toll ? 
 
 Is pain the very path which climbs towards love's 
 
 perfect whole ? 
 I call and call to Thee : yet in my calling, know 
 Within my heart, it is so. 
 
 172
 
 I 
 
 DEAD 
 
 SOUL, my soul cries out for thee, 
 That wast the very inmost part of me ! 
 Soul of my lost soul, lost indeed alone, 
 
 Now that sweet thing that was thy life is gone. 
 But cry thou not, thou inward part of me. 
 For this is all that may be said : 
 Thy soul is dead, thy soul is dead ! 
 '' What is the meaning of death ? Nay, can 1 know ? 
 Nay, nothing ; only just that it is so. 
 
 1 only know that I am left alone. 
 
 And that sweet thing that was my life is gone. 
 I thought it was my very own. 
 But it is gone, it is gone ! 
 
 173 
 
 I
 
 LYRICS 
 
 soul, my soul cries out for thee, 
 Though thou wilt call no answer back to me ! 
 
 1 have cried so often, and I know 
 
 Thou wilt not, nay, for all the tears that flow. 
 
 But is it thou art dead ? or is it I, 
 
 This empty husk, that knows what it is to die ? 
 
 Is it I, soul, is it I ? 
 
 Surely thou art alive, thou very inmost soul, 
 
 For thou art the essence, the whole ; 
 
 And I am dead, I, the weak, outer part. 
 
 Thou couldst not stay, O soul, with my poor heart, 
 
 For that it is too small. 
 
 And could not hold thee all. 
 
 But now that thou art gone, the empty space, 
 
 Is a big place, such a big place ! 
 
 O soul, my soul cries out to thee ! 
 My blind soul cries and asks if this can be 
 Some far-off likeness of the Trinity : 
 
 174
 
 DEAD 
 
 ■V 
 
 A self — a soul — and soul's soul — all in one. 
 So that if one is gone, then all is gone, 
 And death means just that each is left alone, 
 And life the joining of the three ? 
 It may be, ay, it may be. 
 
 I7S
 
 THE ONLY WAY 
 
 Because I 've been unhappy all the day, 
 
 I call a little to you in the night : 
 
 Qiiite softly, so I should not hurt your rest, 
 
 And not with any cry of sorrow, lest 
 
 My darkness should break in upon your light. 
 
 Yet I call sadly, for my heart is sad : 
 But then I think, you are so far away. 
 So very far, that as my voice draws near. 
 The sorrow will be lost, and you will hear 
 Just murmurings, not the sad things hat I say. 
 
 176
 
 THE ONLY WAY 
 
 I speak so softly, yet I long, I long 
 
 To let my heart forth, tell you all my pain ! 
 
 And now the passionate tears begin to flow, 
 
 And sobs come — Nay, sorrow 's too strong, and so 
 
 The only way is to be quiet again. 
 
 177
 
 STRANGE SORROW 
 
 I SAID unto my heart : ' O heart of mine ! 
 Now pray thee tell me quick, for pity's sake, 
 What is it makes thee seem so strange to me ? ' 
 My heart made answer wearily : ' I ache.' 
 
 I said unto my heart : * O heart of mine ! 
 
 Now pray thee tell me quickly once again. 
 
 What makes thee feel thus heavy, weighs thee down ? ' 
 
 My heart made answer sadly : ' It is pain.' 
 
 I said unto my heart : ' O heart of mine ! 
 Now pray thee say, how long wilt thou so ache ? 
 How long be weighed down with this heavy pain ? ' 
 My heart sighed soft and deep : ' Until 1 break.' 
 
 178
 
 H. D. L. 
 
 Because you passed into the outer ways, 
 Shall it be said 
 That you are wholly dead, 
 And wholly vanished from our later days ? 
 
 Nay, you are dead in this, we shall not hear 
 Your voice again ; 
 Always the silent pain 
 That silent cries, must yearn with empty ear. 
 
 And you are dead in this, we shall not see 
 Ever your face ; 
 Always the empty place 
 Severs our time from your eternity. 
 N 179
 
 LYRICS 
 
 But yet death hath not all ; although you tread 
 The outer ways, 
 Hid from our longing gaze, 
 Dumb to our call, you are not wholly dead. 
 
 Nay, for you live in this, you breathe and move 
 In all we do, 
 And our strong love of you 
 Holds you immortal by the life of love. 
 
 i8o
 
 REMEMBRANCE 
 
 Forgotten ? No, dear heart, there is no place 
 Where I could lay your memory and forget. 
 
 Because your star is set, 
 The whole world wears the likeness of your face. 
 
 When that the tide of love and life ran high, 
 My upward glance saw but one point of light : 
 
 Now, all the stars of night 
 Paint me your portrait in the midnight sky. 
 
 Once the wide world was hidden from my view, 
 Save the one space when you were wont to tread 
 
 But now that you are dead. 
 All that is living breathes to me of you. 
 
 i8i
 
 LYRICS 
 
 The trees and flowers are you, the beating sea 
 Beats with a throb of love that loves me yet. 
 
 How could my heart forget, 
 When all creation shows you forth to me ? 
 
 Because I seek to fill the empty days. 
 Shall it be said, I give my love the lie ? 
 
 Ah, sweetheart, you and I 
 Know well, and understand, each other's ways : 
 
 Know well, whate'er I do, or may do yet, 
 
 And though I searched the world's remotest space. 
 
 There is no loneliest place 
 Where I could lay your memory and forget. 
 
 Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to Her Majesty 
 at the Edinburgh University Press
 
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