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<i faithfulness consorts, 
 I render all my troth, my strength, my deeds, 
 But not my thoughts ! 
 
 You've won far heights love plants, or hatred 
 
 strips ; 
 
 Yours the dim depths where passion smoul- 
 dering lies ; 
 
 For you alone the allegiance of my lips 
 But mine alone, my, still rebellious, eyes \
 
 36 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 MOTH TO THE CANDLE 
 
 FOR you I have yearned 
 With my flame-maddened brain, 
 To you I've returned 
 Again and again. 
 From the garden's cool gloom 
 
 I deliberate came, 
 
 Lured by your beckoning, torturing treasure 
 Toward my fierce pang of pleasure 
 
 Which others call pain 
 Singeing my wings of their delicate bloom 
 In your dazzling room, 
 To my pitiful shame. 
 
 And I shall return (spite of all I have learned 
 
 Spite of all you have spurned) 
 As I've always returned 
 
 To the fire of your fierce fascination again. 
 
 A moth I'll remain 
 Till I'm shrivelled and burned.
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 37 
 
 WHEN 
 
 HOW much do you love me ? Dare you 
 or I 
 Gauge love by its language, its kisses, its 
 
 charms ? 
 
 I'll riot fathom its depth till you motionless lie 
 Like a dead thing in my arms.
 
 38 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 " EVEN TO YOU " 
 
 I GIVE myself my honour all my life, 
 My passion, and a deeper love 
 By which I hope to prove 
 
 Worthy to be your wife ! 
 Now while you hold my hand 
 
 And feel my kiss, 
 I think you understand 
 What your rare strength has won, how fast you 
 
 hold my heart, 
 And you will pardon this 
 That there is one thing, call it what you will, 
 
 One sanctuary still ; 
 
 A maiden shrine far gleaming 'gainst the blue 
 
 Something in me which still must dwell apart 
 
 Something which stands upon a holy hill, 
 
 A place untrod 
 Which still belongs to God, 
 And which, long as I live 
 
 I cannot give 
 Even to you !
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 39 
 
 "HOW I'LL REMEMBER YOU" 
 
 YOU asked me once how I'd remember you. 
 Round your dark head for me no halo 
 
 gleams. 
 
 I'll but remember as historians do, 
 Some doubts, no dreams. 
 Your dignity ! your grace, 
 Your, sometimes, almost ugly face 
 With its swift conquering smile 
 Gay thoughts that skim across wise depths of 
 
 blue, 
 
 And all the while 
 I must confess 
 I simply love to find 
 Sly-peeping, all Eve's old elusiveness 
 The blue behind ! 
 And for the rest 
 
 A soul that can soar above the clay, 
 A stubborn will, whose yielding strangely charms, 
 
 A voice that's music all the way, 
 A heart that can its cool brain disobey, 
 The strength beneath your fickleness, 
 The sweetness of your long caress, 
 The pressure of your strong white arms, 
 
 Your body in that dim dark dress 
 These I'll remember, to my dying day !
 
 40 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 " WHEN YOU ARE FAR " 
 
 HEN you are near 
 
 I thank God I'm a woman 
 
 and would spurn 
 
 All that with my true sex could interfere 
 When you are near. 
 
 When you are far, love leaves me stern and 
 
 strange, 
 
 And all life's old allurements disappear, 
 Myself, my sex, yes, even my body I'd exchange, 
 Nor be a woman, dear, again till you return.
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 41 
 
 A MOUNTAINEER 
 (CAMALDOLI) 
 
 WHY did I bless you when your eyes met 
 mine ? 
 
 'Twas not so much your body or your brain, 
 But because last night you brought to my life 
 
 again 
 
 Something beyond the poppied dower, 
 The sun-drenched days, the rose-twined bower, 
 The heat -quivering veil round the purpling vine 
 
 Of my present hour. 
 
 You bring back the breath of high chestnut 
 woods where they mount toward the 
 dauntless pine, 
 Bare, blinding thoughts from the soul of huge 
 
 storm-scarred heights, 
 Draughts far more sweet than the juice of my 
 
 lowland wine, 
 
 From clear frost -kissed nights, 
 And rock -born flowers, 
 
 And the great, cold drops of Alpine showers, 
 As you stand, in your mountaineer's disdain, 
 So far above the scents and sights, 
 The pliant will, the soft delights, 
 The fevered noons, the languorous nights 
 Of the plain !
 
 42 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 DUTY 
 
 '' I MS done and yonder envious veil of dust 
 A (Which rose to hide him from me) 
 
 sinks at last, 
 I see the void, white bend, where all I trust, 
 
 All that I worship turned and galloped past ! 
 'Tis done mad longing mastered, faced at 
 
 length 
 
 The wrench of voiceless parting : I have won ! 
 
 Now I can weep ; thank God the day is done, 
 
 The day I deemed beyond my woman's 
 
 strength 
 
 Yet, God the long, dull, aching night has 
 scarce begun.
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 43 
 
 A PLAIN WOMAN 
 
 HER mind more beautiful God did create 
 Than most which dwell in dazzling 
 
 bodies here, 
 Her Soul's house the world's highway standeth 
 
 near, 
 
 And many gladly parley at her gate. 
 For she is kind to grief grown desolate, 
 
 Sets Hope's bright shield athwart the paths of 
 
 Fear, 
 
 Brings sympathy's swift balsam to the tear, 
 Wields rapier wit 'gainst pride disconsolate. 
 Yet sometimes when a traveller doth dis- 
 appear 
 
 After long, twilit conference intimate, 
 When love for the whole world seems lain in 
 
 wait, 
 Sometimes her guardian angel's heart doth 
 
 hear 
 
 Her sigh, and say half ruefully to Fate : 
 " So many pause, none enters at the gate ? "
 
 44 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 " NOVEMBER " 
 
 FOR You, Time breathes no whisper of decay, 
 Your age is fair, as when the late birds 
 
 sing 
 Through the charmed stillness of some autumn 
 
 day, 
 And deem November Spring !
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 45 
 
 WHY? 
 
 WHY ? You're not beautiful, as beauty 
 goes ! 
 
 The critics ere they talk to you can tell 
 Grave faults of feature, form and pose ; 
 And mind as well ! 
 
 Why ? For you've never said a single word 
 
 Which, to my waking sense, can surely prove 
 Wisdom or wit and I have never heard 
 
 From you one hint of Love ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 It is because sometimes our eyes 
 
 (As 'twere outside the brain's control) 
 Meet on that mystic borderland which lies 
 
 'Twixt soul and soul ! 
 
 One lightning instant, lingering loth to part, 
 Glance clings to glance heart almost yields to 
 heart !
 
 46 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 TO A YOUNG ITALIAN GIRL 
 
 SOME day, 'neath large-limbed elms at home, 
 I'll gaze with memory's wistful eyes 
 Where proud and straight o'er starlit Rome 
 A single cypress pricks the skies, 
 
 Soaring superb where fireflies flash, 
 
 Where in cascades red roses fall, 
 While silver-throated fountains plash 
 
 Beside a pale pilastered wall ! 
 
 And wonder if, come weal come ill, 
 You'll walk life's sweet insidious way 
 As proud and straight as you walk to-day 
 
 I think, somehow you always will !
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 47 
 
 BESIDE LAKE NEMI 
 
 YES, I have ceased to care, 
 And you, I think, 
 
 Will nevermore gaze backward toward the brink, 
 Or catch one errant sunbeam lingering there. 
 I'll never seek the lake again in Spring 
 But Autumn's dying pageantry at last 
 Across the bosom of the pool has cast 
 The wistful glory of her golden wing ! 
 And I have dreamed again of everything 
 And almost thought I heard the thrushes sing !
 
 48 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 " BECAUSE " 
 
 YOU loved me not ! Why do you love me 
 now ? 
 
 I think you've caught the slakeless thirst 
 The blest infection Shall I whisper how ? 
 Because / loved you first \
 
 MAN AND WOMAN 49 
 
 TRAGEDY 
 
 I WONDER what demon power above 
 Created you tactless, ridiculous, plain, 
 And then tossed you down, as he grinned 
 
 again, 
 That quenchless craving for love !
 
 50 MAN AND WOMAN 
 
 THE INDIVIDUALIST 
 
 " "\T T^HAT would you crave from Immor- 
 VV tality ? 
 That Heaven our * Individual Life ' should 
 
 end? 
 
 In one great Soul each Spirit, selfless, blend ? 
 Man's Being merged in God's Infinity ? " 
 
 Nay though Heaven offered, soaring through 
 
 the mist, 
 
 Unending ^Eons as our deathless due 
 Could I desire immortal, to exist, 
 
 Were I not I ; were you not always Ton ?
 
 DRAMA
 
 THE SALE OF A POET'S LOVE LETTERS 
 
 How ONE PURCHASED THEM WHO HAD NEVER 
 KNOWN THE POET 
 
 THEY'RE merry at the Mart to-day; 
 Round yonder brazier's fiery bowl 
 Flit ladies fair, while gallants gay 
 Jostle with merchants sleek and grey, 
 And fat-jowled priest (scarce formed to say 
 
 Prayers for a Poet's soul). 
 For Genoa's noblest, knightliest names 
 
 Burn that love-quivering scroll to win 
 Rare prize, which Genoa's proudest dames 
 
 Would pawn their souls to peep within ! 
 
 Now bids fly fierce ! now smiles are past ; 
 
 And now in cold, patrician eyes 
 The tawny fires are gathering fast. 
 " Three thousand ducats " was the last ! 
 E'en Doria's princes pause aghast, 
 
 Their banter, whispering, dies ! 
 " Five thousand ducats and 'tis mine ! 
 
 God ! will the hammer never fall ? " 
 A hush ; a sob ; a desperate sign 
 
 " Ten thousand " echoes through the hall ! 
 53
 
 54 DRAMA 
 
 Dazzling, despised, at bay she stands ! 
 
 Need Genoa's lifted brows proclaim 
 The secret of her jewelled hands, 
 This light-o'-love from foreign lands ? 
 Each gem upon her bosom brands 
 
 Her beauty with her shame ! 
 Her princely lover scowls surprise ; 
 
 What if he grudge this ruthless toll ? 
 Heaven yet may guard the Poet's soul 
 
 From yonder pair of brazen eyes ! 
 
 Yet scornfully she scans the hall, 
 
 This shameless wanton, self-confess't ; 
 She hardly heeds the hammer's fall, 
 Nor deigns her lover to recall, 
 But for the price, before them all, 
 
 She strips the jewels from her breast ! 
 Then with deep reverence in her eyes 
 
 Trembling she clasps the priceless scroll ; 
 And then the secret of the Poet's soul 
 
 A flame-licked fragment 'mid the brazier dies
 
 DRAMA 55 
 
 A RENAISSANCE LOVE STORY 
 
 -MORROW,' you say, is our wed- 
 ding-day ! ' 
 ' Do I forget that we are married ? ' 
 ' Do I regret it,' did you say ? 
 Smile those idle fears away ! 
 To-morrow, I vow, your couch shall be carried 
 
 Into a garden gay 
 
 A garden where Summer has tenderly tarried 
 Where you shall grow young as yesterday ! " 
 
 She paused ; and slowly turned to go 
 And her childish face looked old and grey ! 
 He tottered forward a step or so 
 She caught him gently and laid him low, 
 And silently taking a silken sheet, 
 Wound it warm round his ice-cold feet, 
 Mixed him a potion (so they say), 
 And eagerly glanced down the shadowed street 
 (For she saw no sun in that garden gay !) 
 
 But he half rising from his place 
 Fiercely craved something, whispering weak, 
 While she stood shudd'ring for a space ; 
 She almost seemed to pray 
 Then bending over 
 (He'd sold his soul for her girlish grace)
 
 56 DRAMA 
 
 She closed her eyes and touched his cheek, 
 As one might kiss a marble face ; 
 
 Not as women kiss men 
 
 And then 
 She went forth swiftly to her lover !
 
 DRAMA 57 
 
 DOOMED 
 
 THE butler bowing at the door ; 
 Outside the headlines of the war, 
 The very sights I used to know, 
 The actual sounds I heard before 
 That sentence ripped a chasm between 
 Me and the old world that had been 
 Mine less than half an hour ago. 
 Taxis standing in a row, 
 Lurching buses, set-faced people, 
 Soldiers marching down a street 
 Into a sunset's watery gleam, 
 Piccadilly sickly yellow, 
 The painted Yankee Harridan 
 (With the kind smile and gold-tipped teeth), 
 Turning and muttering " poor fellow " ; 
 A hearse with a gigantic arum wreath, 
 The grinning humpback beggar-man 
 And now the club, the chaffing friends I meet, 
 My own words answering as they greet, 
 All real yet all quite unsubstantial seem, 
 Silhouettes upon a sheet, 
 Voices piping through a dream, 
 
 away from all that matters now !
 
 58 DRAMA 
 
 What matters God or Time or Space 
 Or Heaven above or Hell beneath ? 
 Nothing, but me the Doctor's sphinxlike face 
 And Death !
 
 DRAMA 59 
 
 IF 
 
 YES, that's his photograph large as life. 
 I live in his Flat but I'm not his wife ! 
 Why don't I stick to him ? I suppose 
 I wasn't built for a plaister saint 
 It doesn't hurt him ! He never knows 
 (Oh ! Most of it's real, just a little is paint !) 
 Of course he's kind though he's rather quaint ! 
 But I'm extravagant and it grows 
 To my twelve-guinea hat, from my three- 
 guinea toes ; 
 It's hardly a fault, it's a chronic complaint ! 
 
 Just look at those ! 
 They're French ; just look at them, rows and 
 
 rows, 
 And when you've counted them, dream of the 
 
 prices ! 
 
 No, Creme de Menthe isn't one of my vices 
 But I'm sure I could sell my Soul for clothes ! 
 Oh ! the money I've spent 
 On dresses and scent 
 I simply love scent ! 
 It's genuine, straight from the importer, 
 I leave the " creepy " smells alone ! 
 But I love a bath, I frankly own, 
 Of " Attar of Roses " or Eau de Cologne 
 (Mixed of course with a little water ! ! !)
 
 60 DRAMA 
 
 You've asked that twice ! Yes, he pays my rent, 
 
 But then there's " Monte " and motors and 
 dinners, 
 
 And flying ! Oh ! no, he never goes 
 
 When I'm soaring at Hendon, he's snoring in 
 Kent !- 
 
 It's a ghastly pun but it's kindly meant ! 
 
 So if I sometimes circumvent 
 
 My portly " Pillar of the nation " 
 
 By an occasional flirtation 
 
 (You men are such attractive sinners !) 
 
 You surely couldn't quite consent 
 
 To my deliberate damnation ! 
 Just smell that rose 
 
 Oh ! dear ! you still turn up your nose. 
 This is a curious conversation ! 
 
 Now, honestly, could you propose 
 
 That I should stifle in this Flat, 
 (Sitting where his deceased wife sat) 
 Strumming the ancient tunes he knows, 
 And gradually growing fat, 
 (I wonder what you're laughing at !) 
 In impossible clothes, 
 Which no " virtue " excuses, 
 And more awful than those 
 Perhaps hats which he chooses ! ! 
 
 What do I want ? Well, as you ask it 
 
 Smell them don't crush them in the basket
 
 DRAMA 61 
 
 Money I want ! He's not quite rich enough 
 
 Why do I want it ? Now you've made me think 
 
 Most furiously (for both of our enlightment) 
 
 I want excitement as my cook wants drink 
 
 I want the money just to buy " excitement " 
 
 Of course, I know it's rather rough 
 
 But one's got to live, and keep the cat ! 
 
 Oh ! I'm glad you like my Paris hat ! 
 
 Oh no, it's not an ostrich feather 
 
 Do you suppose a woman wastes 
 
 Real ostrich plumes outside her Flat 
 
 In this abominable weather ! 
 
 At least come, pull yourself together 
 
 Not one of my 'penurious tastes ! ! 
 
 I wonder why " Your Highness " hastes 
 
 You think the cocks are almost crowing, 
 
 And so you're going ! 
 
 What ! you mean if a woman was really in love 
 With a man as poor as Charity, 
 That she that in the end she'd prove 
 (So you really think so badly of me ?) 
 Well, as you say, there's never any knowing 
 Still, I'm sure if she loved him, though she 
 
 might find hilm 
 
 As poverty-poor as you propose 
 She'd not think of the thorns if she loved the 
 
 rose 
 She'd have no wish, no need to blind him
 
 62 DRAMA 
 
 For I know yes, and every woman knows 
 
 If she could have the man she chose, 
 
 She'd cook ! She'd scrub ! She'd make her 
 
 clothes ! 
 And never never go behind him !
 
 DRAMA 63 
 
 CAPPED 
 
 WHAT will he do ? My God ! what will 
 he say ? 
 
 I dread it more even than yesterday, 
 When I lay 
 
 Through the devilish night 
 Thinking of whether I'd write, or speak, 
 And of his calm face grown suddenly white, 
 And his strong hands clenched cruelly tight, 
 When I tell him and tell him it's Charlie de 
 
 Grey ! 
 
 I almost pray 
 He may curse me and kill me outright ! 
 
 But that's not his way 
 He'll be kind and quite 
 
 Collected and never a sign betray 
 Till he's out of sight 
 
 And I'm out of the way. 
 And I dread his contempt even more than his 
 
 sorrow 
 But I'll telegraph and tell him to-morrow. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Next day they meet in her darkened room, 
 Two cigarette sparks in a sea of gloom 
 (One redly burning alone hints whom 
 Fierce agitation grips as prey) ;
 
 64 DRAMA 
 
 But she tells him steadily : then she seeks 
 To stab the stillness with her eyes 
 
 The dozen seconds seem like weeks 
 
 Until he speaks 
 
 Then suddenly the red spark dies 
 
 And the dim grey profile turns to stone 
 As he replies 
 
 " Thanks, Kit, but it's only fair to own 
 
 By a curious chance you've saved me a horrible 
 letter 
 
 Confessing to you, there's another woman whom 
 I like better ! "
 
 DRAMA 65 
 
 A BALLAD 
 
 THE foam round his stallion's flanks gleamed 
 white, 
 The flints 'neath his stallion's hoofs flashed 
 
 fire, 
 
 As he galloped forth through the inky night 
 On the whirlwind quest of his wild desire. 
 
 Full many a shuddering, night-capped head 
 Peered down at the sparks as he thundered 
 
 past ; 
 Or startled, sighed from its cosy bed, 
 
 " He'll gallop to grief if he gallops so fast ! " 
 ***** 
 
 And there she lay stark on that ice-gripped 
 
 ground, 
 And at dawn, of her fate there shone terrible 
 
 proof, 
 
 For deep in her milk-white breast they found 
 The crimson dint of a stallion's hoof ! 
 # # * * * 
 
 If a lad woos a maiden too hotly to-day, 
 
 If a gallant spurs gallivanting past, 
 The Gossips shake their heads and say : 
 
 " He slaughters his sweetheart who gallops 
 too fast." 
 5
 
 66 DRAMA 
 
 Though 'tis forty years since they bore her so 
 
 fair f 
 
 Through the gaunt grey park from the grim 
 
 road-side, 
 
 Forty years since he galloped, God knows where, 
 On the awful quest of his hurricane ride, 
 
 Forty years since, men say that he disappeared 
 Yet oft in the dusk round the glimmering park, 
 
 A madman mutters in his beard, 
 
 " I may have missed her, in the dark."
 
 DRAMA 67 
 
 ALREADY 
 
 YOU said last night you spoke in fierce 
 revolt, 
 " Rebellion scarce a treacherous guide can 
 
 prove, 
 
 God may be master of the thunderbolt, 
 He is no Lord of justice or of love ! 
 God yesterday a princely house did build, 
 
 A mansion nobly lit 
 With Heaven -pierced oriels, with rare beauty 
 
 filled, 
 
 Which shed delight on all who entered it 
 Thus the All-good, the All-mighty, did direct ; 
 
 Thus He began. 
 Fair Form, pure Soul, cloud -piercing Intellect 
 
 And then 
 Ere half His victim's span 
 
 This God, whose love earth's rapt choirs 
 
 ceaseless hymn, 
 
 Whose Justice mercy doth reflect 
 This Lord whose ' Power ' 'twere impious to 
 
 suspect ! 
 
 This one, All-wise, All-mighty Architect 
 Fired by a fiend-like whim 
 (Part of His world-old Plan) 
 Shatters His fair creation, spurns it, reason- 
 
 wreckt, 
 A mocked, a mindless ruin of a Man ! "
 
 68 DRAMA 
 
 I blame you not ; tear-blinded eyes deceive ; 
 
 I too (how proudly fond), 
 Even while I watch, I, too, rebellious grieve, 
 Nor hardly can a pitying God conceive, 
 The hateful scene almost forbids me to believe ; 
 
 Yet on my knees I seem to see beyond. 
 I see a mind in its splendid prime 
 Past those that slow through Death's Stairway 
 
 climb 
 Soar to Eternity straight from Time. 
 
 While still the husk lies clinging to the sod 
 While the slow flesh yet lags dim leagues behind, 
 
 Already, dear, the deep designs of God 
 Have called to some sublimer task that noble 
 mind !
 
 DRAMA 69 
 
 THE VIRGIN NORTH 
 
 HE sought Her first through dazzling frost 
 O'er soundless fields of space, 
 When scarce the shade of a cloudlet cross't 
 The calm of her virgin face. 
 
 He sought Her last when hope was lost, 
 
 When she leapt with the shrieking wind, 
 When the smothering flakes whirled, blizzard- 
 toss't, 
 
 When Death skulked, sure, behind ; 
 When he staggered, starving and almost blind, 
 
 When his dauntless spirit broke 
 As his last dog dropped, and wistful whined, 
 
 And he just had strength to bend 
 With an unchecked sob and feebly stroke 
 
 The coat of his dying friend. 
 
 ***** 
 
 She clasps them both 'neath her hand of frost 
 
 In silent, cold embrace, 
 And scarce the ghost of a cloud has cross't 
 
 The calm of her virgin face.
 
 70 DRAMA 
 
 A FUTURIST'S FAREWELL TO BEAUTY * 
 
 WAN witch whose spells are dream and 
 death ! 
 
 You drugged us deep, you gripped us fast 
 And carved a glittering tomb, beneath 
 Whose weight we slept, till dazed and dumb 
 We struggle to the light at last, 
 Toward the Strength which alone ^hall over- 
 come ; 
 
 Whose eyes are the foundries' quenchless glare, 
 Whose gleaming limbs are tempered steel, 
 Whose heart is the trade-thronged thoroughfare, 
 Whose brain and breath and blood we feel 
 In piston's pulse, in dynamo's throb, 
 In the whirr of the million -handed loom, 
 In the circling saw's remorseless rip, 
 In the sledge-hammer's kiss on the anvil's lip, 
 
 In the sigh and sob 
 
 Of the engine-room ! 
 Farewell, pale temptress of the past, 
 (Whose offspring is a fruitless flower) 
 Who sapped our strength, who stole our breath, 
 Who locked us in a dreaming death, 
 
 1 " Futurism " born in Italy, and from which Futurist 
 " art " is but an offshoot worships Power and belittles 
 Beauty as a baleful mistress under whose spell we have too 
 long slept.
 
 DRAMA 71 
 
 Whose lifeless, unsubstantial dower 
 Are fresco faint and bloodless cast ! 
 Farewell ! To-day 'mid the furnace blast 
 We forge our panting poem of Power ! 
 And we'll wring from the womb of the unborn 
 
 hour 
 The quivering limbs of Life at last ! !
 
 72 DRAMA 
 
 SIN 
 
 IF this be sin, then surely God forgives ! 
 Love shall outsoar sin's fevered breath 
 Past the grim barrier-continent of death. 
 
 Love like to theirs, eternal, lives ! 
 In his strong arms with deep content she lies 
 
 Fierce passion lulled an hour to rest 
 Low whispered vows, scarce breathed replies, 
 One last long kiss which never dies 
 Till each lives in the other's eyes 
 
 If this be sin then almost sin were blest ! 
 
 Once more June mates them 'mid the meadow- 
 sweet ; 
 
 A rapturous word a swift embrace 
 But ere again their lips in kisses meet, 
 
 Each silent scans the other's face 
 Then as wan reveller at grey dawn descries 
 
 Dead embers of his festal fire 
 Each shuddering marks what ghastly lies 
 Within once passion -blazing eyes 
 Even howsoe'er blanched lips denies 
 
 The ashen dust of dead Desire !
 
 DRAMA 73 
 
 THE GIFT 
 
 GOD assigned him a Seer's part 
 He could sing as the prophets sing; 
 He had felt the calm at the hurricane's heart 
 
 And the ache round the bosom of Spring. 
 He could trace the deep mind 'neath the wave- 
 lets' dance ; 
 And the roads where Sin and its Reckoning 
 
 meet, 
 And the changeless laws men label " Chance," 
 
 He had scanned from his vantage seat. 
 He had seen God gaze through a wanton's glance, 
 He had caught 'mid the din of the squalid 
 
 street 
 
 Across the sordid circumstance 
 The echo of the angels' feet. 
 God had furled the mists, and the worlds out- 
 spread 
 God had given him power to see, and said, 
 
 " Advance ! " 
 
 . . . He chose to drift 
 And therefore God took back " the Gift."
 
 74 DRAMA 
 
 THE LAST SHALL BE FIRST 
 (Ax THE DEATHBED OF THE VILLAGE FOOL) 
 
 POOR fool ! in life with mind but dimly lit, 
 The proper butt of every village wit, 
 
 His dull replies 
 
 Quickened the cunning question into birth, 
 And mingled wondering pity with the mirth 
 In rustic eyes. 
 
 Yet, Problems still unsolved by yearning Sage, 
 Deep Revelation which from age to age 
 
 Evades our sight ; 
 Knowledge which science ne'er has reached 
 
 below, 
 
 Which Shakespeare lacked, and Plato longed to 
 know, 
 
 Are his to-night.
 
 DRAMA 75 
 
 THE SINS OF THE FATHERS 
 
 I KNOW I'm a brute ! If Father knew ! 
 But I thought of that before I came, 
 And still I slipped in all the same ; 
 So I needn't pretend that the Devil's to blame ! 
 And Mother ! but I'm a funk to mind 
 To-night I've left all that behind. 
 If I'm going to the Devil I'd better begin 
 But I wish I wasn't so shy with sin. 
 By Gad ! I envy that fellow who's laughing, 
 And those women with him, joking and chaffing, 
 While I feel like a shamefaced fool 
 I can't even walk as I walked at school ! 
 Now she's coming this way, that pretty girl 
 With the big grey eyes and the wavy curl 
 
 She's like ! How shall I meet her after this ? 
 
 I'll have another drink, perhaps 
 
 'Twill make me buck up like other chaps 
 
 And help me to Oh, what a lovely face 
 
 Too beautiful far for this tawdry place 
 And she's only smiled at that fellow who's trod 
 On her dress ! Now she's beckoning back with a 
 
 nod 
 
 To a man behind I can't see his face 
 He's a lucky dog, for he's making the pace
 
 76 DRAMA 
 
 Now she's pointing up at her diamond star- 
 Now he's bringing her here to this drinking 
 
 bar 
 Now he's . . . ! I can't breathe I must get 
 
 outside ! 
 
 (Thanks, I'm all right, sir, 'twas stuffy rather) 
 What's happened to me ! To the world ! and to 
 
 God- 
 
 Ifs my Father ! ! "
 
 VARIA
 
 A WANDERER'S CREED 
 
 (Written off Arabia, 1914) 
 
 GOD calls, from far, to wistful city faces ; 
 His heavenly calm the tranquil moonbeam 
 
 traces 
 
 O'er slumbering street ; 
 But I sometimes think God walks in the wide 
 
 waste spaces 
 Where the Dawn and the Desert meet ! 
 
 79
 
 80 VARIA 
 
 THE UNKNOWN GOD 
 
 LESS than a man ! from human-kind apart 
 No priestly creed his callous mind can 
 
 move, 
 He loves no woman as a man should love, 
 
 A churl without a heart ! 
 Yet watch him when the earliest buds appear, 
 When Spring's bird-music falls upon the ear ; 
 Or when some crisp December day shall die, 
 When through the liquid crimson of the west 
 Night's newborn star pale swims, 
 Watch till yon gorgeous sky 
 Soars into sapphire-hued Infinity ! 
 Then you and I, 
 And all the rest 
 May leave one worshipper to his calm, creedless 
 
 quest, 
 Alone where dogma and where distance die !
 
 VARIA 81 
 
 A CHILD'S CONUNDRUM 
 
 DAD says God reigns on His throne above 
 Beyond the gold of the sunset skies ; 
 Dad says God's name is the Lord of Love, 
 
 He's sorry even when baby cries ! 
 And as He sits in His heavenly House 
 . He sees the whole world which beneath Him 
 
 lies 
 
 I wonder whether He shut His eyes 
 When Topsy worried that mouse !
 
 82 VARIA 
 
 CHASTITY 
 
 PAINT me no pale ecstatic saint, 
 No rapt Madonna fenced from sin, 
 Whom earthborn love despairs to win, 
 
 W horn Perugino loved to paint ; 
 Picture no soul serene from storm, 
 
 No Innocence which, slumbering, lies, 
 Or waking, shrinks with fearful eyes 
 From foul Temptation's fiend-like form ! 
 
 Paint me some fond, fierce-tempted maid ! 
 (Why steal earth's models from the sky ?) 
 Did'st hear that low half yielding cry ? 
 
 Dost see yon woman passion-swayed, 
 Dost mark Temptation, fair and strong, 
 
 Godlike, in dazzling youth arrayed, 
 Singing Apollo's rapturous song, 
 
 Dowered with Apollo's glorious strength ? 
 So strong so fair none else is nigh 
 These two alone 'twixt earth and sky 
 
 Paint me that woman conqueror at length, 
 Iben call your picture " Chastity."
 
 VARIA 83 
 
 E 
 
 TWO POETS 
 
 (THE CARSO, June, 1917) 
 ACH owns a seer's sight, 
 
 A patriot's heart ! 
 But there they part 
 
 1 He glories in God's air and light, 
 In the kiss of the sea, in the call of the height ; 
 
 A virile brain 
 
 Whose eagle glance and masterful might, 
 As he scans the world in his fearless flight, 
 Reveal the blackness of the night, 
 
 But to guide men back to the light again ! 
 While he ! 2 like some exquisite surgeon's knife 
 Gropes glittering steel-like through the gloom 
 Zestfully probing the innermost part, 
 Exposing each sacred recess of the heart, 
 Baring the balefullest secrets of life, 
 Tearing aside sin's last sheltering curtain, 
 Beautiful, horrible, dexterous, certain, 
 Abnormal, cruel, sans rest, sans ruth, 
 Remorseless to sex and relentless to youth 
 
 Yet these shall meet 
 
 On the Seers' Seat 
 
 1 Kipling, then visiting the Carso. 
 
 2 D'Annunzio, then fighting on the Carso.
 
 84 VARIA 
 
 When the End shall crown for either soul 
 Though seemingly sundered as pole from pok 
 Is certainly seeking the self-same goal 
 The ultimate Truth.
 
 VARIA 85 
 
 THE FIRST 
 To THE SPIRIT OF THE SUMMIT 
 
 OFT have I gazed on thy sovereign peak, 
 Queen of a world of snow, 
 With the flush of the lingering alpen-glow 
 Just tinging thine ageless cheek, 
 And I've sworn that no lover e'er has wooed 
 
 Mistress compared with thee, 
 Wrapped in thy mystic maidenhood, 
 Throned on a spellbound sea. 
 
 In visions I soared to thy crimsoned crest 
 
 In the wake of the sun-god's car, 
 And watched with the eyes of the evening star 
 
 Which hangs o'er thy moonlit breast ; 
 Yet long was the labour, and stern the strife, 
 
 And wide gleamed the jaws of death, 
 Ere I touched thy lips and tasted life 
 
 As I drank of thy glacier breath. 
 
 I stood where azure empires meet 
 
 Realms of eternal snow 
 
 And thy pale cheek flushed with a tender glow, 
 Thy crown at my conquering feet : 
 Yet now as I greet thee with upturned gaze 
 
 Methinks thou glancest down 
 With a mocking smile and thy silver haze 
 
 Grows black with a threatening frown.
 
 86 VARIA 
 
 Frown on, proud lady-love, frown on ! 
 
 And bid my rivals climb 
 The glacier-guard of thy crest sublime 
 
 By steps my feet have won : 
 Yet honey's the prize of the wandering bee 
 
 Who first the snow -flower sips : 
 And thou art mine, for I conquered thee 
 
 And touched thy maiden lips.
 
 VARIA 87 
 
 THE TEMPLE OF POSEIDON (P^STUM) 
 
 WHERE wine-dark capes rough clasp 
 Ausonian seas, 
 Where soar proud snows o'er ringed volcanic 
 
 thrones, 
 
 A vast plain sleeps dim brakes, grey olive trees, 
 Gaunt heaps of Titan stones. 
 
 Roman and Christian, war, long lust for gain, 
 Have wrenched fierce toll ; the slow white 
 
 oxen plough 
 
 Fair sites of cities, o'er whose ruin now 
 Rolls the waste stone-strewn plain. 
 
 One glorious Temple, stately as of yore, 
 
 Monarch unbending 'mid prone troops of 
 
 slaves, 
 
 Reared for Poseidon, on that stricken shore, 
 Still fronts Poseidon's waves. 
 
 Nought spans its age-worn columns, save the 
 
 blue 
 Of Heaven ; where radiant mounts a circling 
 
 crowd 
 
 Of rooks and seagulls, glancing into view, 
 Half bronze, half silver cloud.
 
 88 VARIA 
 
 
 
 The darting lizard suns himself to sleep, 
 
 Shadows alone his jewelled glances scare, 
 The wild acanthus plants unchallenged creep 
 Across the sacred stair. 
 
 And he who planned ? Of him no tale survives, 
 Some nameless wanderer from fair isles of 
 
 Gr-eece ! 
 
 What boots his name ! his soaring soul yet lives 
 Shrined in his Masterpiece. 
 
 Oft would he gaze past corn and byre and 
 
 vine, 
 Where yon cragged headland toward the gulf 
 
 escapes, 
 
 Oft would he weave round bay and barrier line 
 Dreams of dim Dorian capes, 
 
 Capes which jut forth, grey children of the 
 
 sea, 
 From snow-crowned steeps, deep bowered 
 
 in verdant vales 
 
 And world-old shades, and bold explorers' sails, 
 And quenchless Liberty. 
 
 
 
 His name unknown but his supreme design 
 Speaks of rare mind, that with deep reverence 
 mates :
 
 VARIA 89 
 
 Not Genius' self e'er builds a perfect shrine 
 Till worship consecrates ! 
 
 Grand, pure-souled Greek thy pagan path well 
 
 trod 
 
 Though power has slipped from strong Posei- 
 don's hand, 
 
 Perchance thy worship and thy Temple stand, 
 Thy mute oblation to a greater God !
 
 90 VARIA 
 
 MEMORY 
 
 lEFORE me lies an ancient Avenue 
 
 'Neath whose deep architrave I seem 
 
 to trace 
 The sunbeams shyly stealing into view 
 
 Like the rare smile that lights a serious face. 
 That long, dim aisle a retrospect of life 
 
 For centuries a nesting-place for doves, 
 Its mossgrown sward a tourney-ground for 
 
 strife 
 
 Where stags still battle for their lady-loves ! 
 Those giant branches yearly taught to climb 
 
 Long generations of a rustic race, 
 Beneath their canopy in Summer time, 
 Forgotten lovers made their trysting-place. 
 
 Beyond I see a lily-laden mere 
 
 Bathed in the sunshine, whence a streamlet 
 
 flows 
 
 Through shadowy lawns, and gardens which 
 appear 
 
 A wilderness of tangled briar-rose. 
 Here an old Manor-house sequestered lies 
 
 Asleep while all the world has hurried by, 
 
 Fond echoing in its deep-drawn reverie, 
 With footfalls from long-vanished centuries,
 
 VARIA 91 
 
 Lulled by the music of the cushat's wings, 
 The murmur of the bees among the flowers, 
 
 Whilst yellow-haired laburnum droops and flings 
 Her tresses to the ground in golden showers. 
 
 When June fond-whispering through those half- 
 closed doors 
 
 Steals o'er grey pavements fringed with 
 
 scented musk, 
 White-starred Syringa fragrantly outpours 
 
 Her dew-born kisses to the lingering dusk 
 Here yews stand clipped in antiquated shapes, 
 
 And hollyhocks hold undisputed sway, 
 Where the wild vine gives promise of her grapes, 
 
 While Summer slowly dreams herself away. 
 
 What boots it ! Time and I have changed the 
 
 scene, 
 
 The moss-grown pathway of Romance is past ; 
 Who treads the highway of the World 
 
 should cast 
 No backward glances toward " what might have 
 
 been " ! 
 Yet hours will come when waste the road 
 
 appears, 
 
 When footsore wayfarers must pause awhile, 
 When love's lost music echoing down the 
 
 years 
 
 Haunts the lone heart and wakes the world- 
 worn smile ;
 
 92 VARIA 
 
 Moments when twilight steals across the sky, 
 
 And travel-stained ambition looks behind, 
 And memory's tear-drop trembles in an eye 
 
 Which brazen-lidded stares upon mankind ! 
 When through the stifling fever of the town, 
 
 Above the heartless clatter of the street, 
 Come sheep -bells wafted faintly from the 
 down 
 
 On breezes laden with the " meadow-sweet." 
 Once more the grass grows heavy with the 
 dew, 
 
 And deer in dappled companies repose : 
 Lovers still haunt the ancient Avenue 
 
 And steal their blushes from the briar-rose !
 
 VARIA 93 
 
 FRUIT 
 
 THE sun whose lips devour the lingering 
 dew 
 And sear each fragile flower on which they 
 
 feed | 
 Moulds beauty, virgin petal never knew, 
 
 In the ripe fruit and in the deathless 
 seed !
 
 94 VARIA 
 
 THE OUTCAST 
 
 (BOMBAY, 1914) 
 
 THE brazen Noon marched toward the 
 breathless Night, 
 
 Lithe swifts and dolorous ravens flew 
 Ebon against the burnished blue 
 Just paling towards a tenderer hue 
 
 Than azure ever knew. 
 Through tranced lagoons of turquoise bathed in 
 
 gold, 
 Long primrose-fingered sunbeams drew 
 
 A rosy timorous cloud or two ; 
 While the great Lord of the tremendous ray 
 Who gilds the golden eagles in their flight, 
 He whom the Himalayan snows obey 
 Prince of To-morrow, Sire of Yesterday 
 Touched, as it paused foul hovering o'er its prey, 
 Even the spurned pinion of the Carrion Kite !
 
 VARIA 95 
 
 SLEEP 
 
 COME from thine unknown dwelling-place, 
 With thy mysterious unseen face, 
 Thine infinitely calm caress, 
 
 Come and entwine 
 
 Thy tranquil arms around this soul of mine 
 This weary wide-eyed soul of mine 
 And bless me with a night's forgetfulness. 
 Come ! Slowly draw me, fold me in thy won- 
 derful embrace, 
 
 And kiss me with thine unseen, angel face. 
 Come Sleep ! Ah ! dreamless Sleep !
 
 96 VARIA 
 
 THE POET'S SON'G 
 
 UNSEEN, unsought, 
 The poet's song 
 Lives in the land where dreams belong ; 
 
 Nor differs aught 
 
 From the song of the bird, 
 
 Nor dwells apart 
 
 From the love-lorn " Herd " : 
 Only a loftier tongue he's taught, 
 Only a deeper harmony he hears 
 
 Within man's Heart, 
 
 Beyond man's Word, 
 
 Above man's Thought, 
 
 Behind man's Tears. 
 
 Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner, Frame and London.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
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