PR 6011 F838n THE NIGHT SISTER AND OTHER POEMS Charles T. Foxcroft Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE NIGHT SISTER AND OTHER POEMS THE NIGHT SISTER AND OTHER POEMS BY CHARLES T. FOXGROFT METHUEN & CO. LTD. 36 ESSEX STREET W.G. LONDON First Published in 1918. ENGLAND, 1914 '-D lolled so long in the eye of the sun. You looked to have lost your old mascu- line beauty, Ton slacked and you squabbled, and seemed to shun A man's first duty ! So they dubbed you a " Waster" and schemed to be rid Of a " Withering Race " that had ruled too long They've been fooled by that frivolous husk that hid The Soul of the Strong! ACKNOWLEDGMENTS "The First" is reprinted by permission of the Editor of the Pall Mall Gazette. " Transfigured," and " The Sale of a Poet's Love Letters " by permission of the Editor of the Bristol Times and Mirror. ''England, 1914," "A Child's Conundrum," and " Sleep," by permission of the Editor of Everyman. The author cordially thanks these gentlemen for their permission. CONTENTS THE WAR PACK ENGLAND, 1914 ....... 5 WINSCOMBE WOOD . . . . . .11 BOTH 12 RETREAT ........ 13 LEFT BEHIND . . . . . . .16 CAPTAIN CHANCE . . . : . .17 A VETERAN'S VIEW ...... 20 TRAVAIL .21 THE NIGHT SISTER ...... 23 " TRANSFIGURED " ...... 26 GORIZIA ........ 27 Si MONUMENTOM REQUIRIS ..... 29 MAN AND WOMAN "WHEN You FIRST CAME". ... -33 INFATUATION ....... 34 SELF-GOVERNMENT ...... 35 MOTH TO THE CANDLE !..... 36 WHEN ........ 37 " EVEN TO You " ...... 38 " How I'LL REMEMBER You " . . .39 " WHEN You ARE FAR " . . . .40 A MOUNTAINEER . . . . . -4' DUTY 42 A PLAIN WOMAN 43 "NOVEMBER" ....... 44 WHY ? 45 To A YOUNG ITALIAN GIRL .... 46 BESIDE LAKE NEMI ...... 47 " BECAUSE " ....... 48 TRAGEDY ........ 49 THE INDIVIDUALIST . . . . . .50 7 THE NIGHT SISTER DRAMA I THE SALE OF A POST'S LOVE LETTERS . . -53 A RENAISSANCE LOVE STORY . . . -55 DOOMED ........ 57 lr 59 CAPPED ........ 63 A BALLAD ........ 65 ALREADY ........ 67 THE VIRGIN NORTH ...... 69 A FUTURIST'S FAREWELL TO BEAUTY ... 70 SIN 72 THE GIFT 73 Tur. LAST SHALL BE FIRST ..... 74 THE SINS OF THE FATHERS ..... 75 VARIA A WANDERER'S CREED . . . . .79 THE UNKNOWN GOD ...... 80 A CHILD'S CONUNDRUM . . . . .81 CHASTITY ........ 82 Two POETS 83 THE FIRST 85 THE TEMPLE OF POSEIDON (P^STUM) ... 87 MEMORY ........ 90 FRUIT ........ 93 THE OUTCAST ....... 94 SLEEP ........ 95 THE POET'S SONG ...... 96 THE WAR WINSCOMBE WOOD I'VE known you now since I was eight years old, And never noticed, that I can remember, The Autumn mist so blue, the elms more gold Or watched a lovelier sunset in November ! I doubt if maple tints could teach Much to that blazing bunch of beech, While you're so peaceful that I almost wonder If shells can really shriek, or cannon thunder ! But I have got to start at six to-morrow For some confounded, freezing trench in Flanders To-night I own I don't aspire to borrow The fame of fifty thousand Alexanders ! Still if I'd funked and shirked my duty I think I'd hate your quiet beauty ; Now I shall always recollect the sound Of acorns softly pattering to the ground ! 11 i'2 THE WAR BOTH I SAW him first when the war was young A boy with a delicate, girlish look, A poet, dreaming his maiden book 'Tis here and 'tis nobly sung! Then he woke and cried, " 'Tis a song of sloth To write is to shirk ! Poets must fight like the other chaps To lead is a poet's work." . . . Now which was fruitful and which was vain, His book of verse or his grave by the Aisne ? Perhaps God had need of them both ! THE WAR 13 RETREAT IT was a nightmare week of thirst and dust With fairly heavy scraps at the beginning And disappointment, mixed with a queer trust That we were winning. They say one German rush stopped strangely short The Boches fell back ; their horses couldn't face Something ! when we were in a tightish place Somewhere near Agincourt ! I wasn't there and of that whole crammed week Only two little things stick in my mind ; Our battery we were rearmost, so to speak Had left me miles behind In a great field of roots there crouching tight Across those turnips casting backward glances Less than a mile behind on a low height I caught a gleam of lances ! 14 THE WAR (I'd felt that thrill in my small boy existence When Porsena of Clusium in his pride Marched upon Rome and the " wan burghers spied " His vanguard in the distance !) Behind that hill was hid a host too vast To count much too tremendous to alarm me ! These were their first and I the very last Of French's little army ! Oh yes, we'd lots of shelling, heaps of scraps They all but had us once and shot my stallion From Fez but funked a dozen Highland chaps Who tricked a whole Battalion ! One other thing I'd halted fairly beat A baking road some poplars over-arching Men simply tumbling down with thirst and heat, And crumpled up with marching. There was a weedy " Sub," who used to shy At work and drill and such-like useless trifles I Just then he passed me, limping, whistling, by Hung stiff with Tommies' rifles ! THE WAR 15 Though of that week I never want to talk I'll think of Mons, whenever I remember The valse tune that he whistled or I walk Through turnips in September ! 16 THE WAR LEFT BEHIND (To THE 2/4 SOMERSET L.I.) A FEW cheers ! Now the train's just per- ceptibly starting, The Band's " Auld Lang Syne" echoes wail- ing and dying ; All the women are smiling ; though many are crying Just eight months ago I endured this same parting, Creeping out through the dark and the driz- zling rain Toward a shivering dawn how I'd loathe it again ! And whenever I've mused o'er that moment before, & These three thoughts have instinctively rushed through my mind ^ " How I hated that night, and the ' Huns ' and the War ! " Yet now as I turn toward the dim station door I know well that there's one thing I hate even more And that's being left behind ! THE WAR 17 CAPTAIN CHANCE TROOPING last April from " somewhere " to France Sailed Major O'Brien and Captain Chance The Major's wife was unusually charming, And though he didn't seem to see it (I saw it at a single glance), Chance was smitten to such a degree, it Was becoming truly alarming Well, we sailed without mishap to Mar. eilles But while we were hurriedly scanning our " mails," Chance unexpectedly suddenly found That he and his " Garrison-Gunner details " Were to stick to the " Trooper " homeward- bound And crawl the whole way coasting ! round To Havre ; She was due at an elderly cousin's in Wales ! I heard the clink of the Major's spur As up to Chance he quietly came, " Well, old chap, it's a rotten shame Some blundering War Office blighter's to blame, 2 18 THE WAR But it's luck for somebody all the same : 'Tis rough on you only Poor Moira'll be lonely" Here he spoke with his soft little Irish " burr "- " And I'm sure, old chap, you'll be kind to her ! " The Major had vanished a good Irish mile ; Chance smiled on a curious, pondering smile ! How Chance " looked after her " you'll have heard, How somebody's big grey eyes grew dim How some one's slim waist seemed a thought more slim Yet after what had already occurred For mortals made like her and him " 'Twas the only way," sighed the wise little bird ! So while all the passengers wondered why None knew the truth save the bird and I ! Though he drank a good deal of champagne, I fear, And gambled a bit and lo;t, I hear, Though the sea was like glass, and Spring was near THE WAR 19 And the moon shone clear in a cloudless sky To her again and you can't deny (You may call it sublime, you may deem it absurd) He never spoke a single word Except at Havre to say Good-bye ! 20 THE WAR A VETERAN'S VIEW " "V7"OU want to fight if you've the chance ? JL You must be mad ! You must be drunk ! Romance ! ! ! War's run By a crew of damned clerks, on a set of damned stools ! War's won By a lot of damned fools In a damned funk ! ! " THE WAR 21 TRAVAIL A GHASTLY something there where feasts a glittering swarm of flies, A slow, hot breeze, a curious sickening stench, A bloated rat, some nameless filth, charred rags ! behind the trench Unending orderlies With sun-baked forms on stretchers ; what's that tiger-tearing crunch ? Dropped from its rosy whisp of cloud of which a sunset might be proud Their shrapnel's ripped right through that bunch Of mules and motors ! How they pound The white road past the lakes ! That's shrapnel swish that's " big stuff " where the ground Swells up in sootlike snakes ! Now glance again Toward those wrecked tanglements no bodies now, (Gad, there's a thud, Nineteen inch guns) But you can see, where yesterday 'Twas much too hard to plough, 22 THE WAR To-day and not a single drop of rain For half a mile across the grey, parched plain, A swamp of red-brown mud ! ***** Yet wan-faced women whisper, while they pray, " We know this, and yet knowing, send our sons ! " THE WAR 23 THE NIGHT SISTER BOMBAY BASE HOSPITAL, 1914 I CAN picture you sometimes standing there where the arched veranda stands, Pausing an instant, looking towards the west, In your crimson cloak, with a lantern in one of your hands, Perhaps thinking of me a moment among the rest ; With your mocking smile, and your pale face cameo white, Thinking of one of the passing ships which have sailed through your hospital night. The last kite has swooped through the pearly dusk, and below in the half-distinct bay, The opal wavelets sleep with the rose-red rocks ; The monotonous Hindoo music is dying away, While round the glimmering Banyan the flying fox Has ceased to flap with the cry of a squealing ghost, And the British bugles an hour ago have rung out their shrill " Last Post." 24 THE WAR I am watching the sweep of the searchlight now, where it cleaves the velvet dark, With its magical curving blade of Damascus blue, While clear-cut jewel from coaster and anchored barque, Emerald and ruby, seem set in the blade, and you D'you still say it's the Prince at the genii's command Stepping forth from the old Enchanter's tale with his scimitar in his hand ? The wards must be almost motionless now as you glide on your midnight round, While the Southern Cross, like a queen, towards her zenith slants ; The regular swing of your lamp is the only sound, Save the toneless chirp the cicala ceaselessly chants Where the mighty starlit Silences still meet A rapt continent around you, and an ocean at your feet ! I like to think of you often thus, but I like to remember you best Across the veranda there, in the dim-lit space, THE WAR 25 By that cot where the terrible wound was brought to be dressed, So sure, so swift, so gentle ! I can't see your face, You're bending low where the ghastly wreck- age lies, But I'd rather think of you thus, than dream of the love -light in your eyes ! Now the wan night swoons towards the birth of the day. Hark ! the first muffled scream of the kite Through the mystical heralding hush, ere the daylight is born ! Now Venus alone burns on with her cresset white 'Gainst the tremulous daffodil of an Indian dawn ; And once more in the cold half-light, your form beside me stands ; Pale Sister, with the mocking eyes ; and those wondrous gentle hands ! 26 THE WAR "TRANSFIGURED" (To ITALY, 1917) WHEN I gaze east past Gotthard's granite doors, Where pant parched Lombard plains 'twixt haze and heat, Whence Appenine, dark chestnut -cloaked, cool soars To watch twin seas caress your fevered feet ; While you reel, lashed 'neath leaden thunder shower From the red Carso to Alp's white-wreathed range, As the slow fruit upswells within the flower So in your face I mark a fateful change ! Still your brave Smile but stirring underneath The " Child of Nature " there aspires at length One who looks full between the eyes of death, One who stakes all ; who flinchless finds her strength ! Sweeter your smile ! Fairer your sunborn grace ; High Purpose holds the mastery in your face ! THE WAR 27 GORIZIA (June 4, 1917) I LUNCHED at one of her hotels Of twelve the sole remaining now With a soliloquizing sow, Close to a disembowelled mule, Served by a surly sort of ghoul And I'm fastidious as a rule With an accompaniment of smells And Austrian shells, Which most indubitably spells The voluntary luncher as a fool*! Yet there are Englishwomen there, Crossing that desolate, shell-pocked square Whence proud Franz Josef Street its grass crop grows, Where that hag ferret-like pokes out her nose, And where Grins that shell-bared mosaic. They're here because they nobly chose Duty which calls them close to those Who bleed for Italy. (This sounds like prose ! But war's prosaic ! ! !) Well the bill wouldn't make the Carlton scoff Though my table-mate prefers her trough ! Who'd guess, my glum Gorizia toff, How lucrative your trade is ? 28 THE WAR Yet one more glass of your best I'll quaff (This damned shell dust does make one cough) As I " take " my shrapnel helmet " off " To two brave English ladies ! THE WAR SI MONUMENTUM REQUIRIS " (LORD KITCHENER) IF death must claim him, let the North Sea wave Hold him ; though tombless he shall sleep content ; Proud, o'er the mists that cloak her Great Man's grave England, transfigured, stands his Monument. MAN AND WOMAN "WHEN YOU FIRST CAME" WHEN you first came did I desire to know you ? Though I admired your face and loved your voice, Had I been given my choice We'd scarce have met ! ! Why was joy shadowed by that strange regret ? Was it because I felt so far below you, Or was it that I did not dare to know you ? That with prophetic sense, I gazed, beyond, And knew that day when first we met When we were simply strangers yet, That I must grow too fond ! 33 34 MAN AND WOMAN INFATUATION IF I could snatch your soul from out your body, See you to-night, as God your soul has seen, Would you still shine, magnificent, serene ? Or would you seem perhaps a trifle shoddy And mean ? You're probably one of the fairest creatures God ever formed to madden human brain ! Therefore God knows ! the experiment were vain ! Promptly I'd set that soul within those features Again ! MAN AND WOMAN 35 SELF-GOVERNMENT ALL that true part of me which Honour breeds, All power that with trie