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Moments Of Vision
By
Thomas Hardy
Contents
"WHY
BE AT PAINS?" (Wooer's Song).
"WE
SAT AT THE WINDOW" (Bournemouth, 1875).
AFTERNOON
SERVICE AT MELLSTOCK (Circa 1850).
APOSTROPHE
TO AN OLD PSALM TUNE
"YOU
WERE THE SORT THAT MEN FORGET".
COPYING
ARCHITECTURE IN AN OLD MINSTER (Wimborne).
TO
SHAKESPEARE AFTER THREE HUNDRED YEARS.
TIMING
HER (Written to an old folk-tune).
THE
BACKGROUND AND THE FIGURE (Lover's Ditty).
SITTING
ON THE BRIDGE (Echo of an old song).
LINES
TO A MOVEMENT IN MOZART'S E-FLAT SYMPHONY.
"I
SAID AND SANG HER EXCELLENCE" (Fickle Lover's Song).
"BY
THE RUNIC STONE" (Two who became a story).
THE
LAST SIGNAL (Oct. 11, 1886) A MEMORY OF WILLIAM BARNES.
LOVE
THE MONOPOLIST (Young Lover's Reverie).
AT
MIDDLE-FIELD GATE IN FEBRUARY
ON
STURMINSTER FOOT-BRIDGE (ONOMATOPOEIC).
AT
MADAME TUSSAUD'S IN VICTORIAN YEARS.
AT A
SEASIDE TOWN IN 1869 (Young Lover's Reverie).
THE
PEDESTRIAN AN INCIDENT OF 1883
LOOKING
AT A PICTURE ON AN ANNIVERSARY
WHILE
DRAWING IN A CHURCH-YARD
"FOR
LIFE I HAD NEVER CARED GREATLY".
"MEN
WHO MARCH AWAY" (SONG OF THE SOLDIERS).
AN
APPEAL TO AMERICA ON BEHALF OF THE BELGIAN DESTITUTE.
IN
TIME OF "THE BREAKING OF NATIONS" {1}.
CRY
OF THE HOMELESS AFTER THE PRUSSIAN INVASION OF BELGIUM...
BEFORE
MARCHING AND AFTER (in Memoriam F. W. G.).
That mirro=
r Which makes of men a
transparency, Who h=
olds
that mirror And bids us such a breast-bare spectacle see Of yo=
u and
me?
That mirro=
r Whose magic penetrates =
like a
dart, Who l=
ifts
that mirror And throws our mind back on us, and our heart, Until=
we
start?
That mirro=
r Works well in these nig=
ht
hours of ache; Why i=
n that
mirror Are tincts we never see ourselves once take When =
the
world is awake?
That mirro=
r Can test each mortal wh=
en
unaware; Yea, =
that
strange mirror May catch his last thoughts, whole life foul or fair, Glass=
ing
it--where?
Forty Augusts--aye, and several more--ago,
Blankly I walked there a double decade after, =
When thwarts had flung =
their
toils in front of me, And I heard the waters wagging in a long ironic laugh=
ter At the lot of men, and =
all
the vapoury Thing=
s that
be.
Wheeling change has set me again standing wher=
e Once I heard the waves =
huzza
at Lammas-tide; But they supplicate now--like a congregation there Who murmur the Confessi=
on--I outside,
Prayer
denied.
Why be at pains that I should know You sought not me? Do
breezes, then, make features glow So rosily? Come, the li=
t port
is at our back, A=
nd the
tumbling sea; Elsewhere the lampless uphill track To uncertainty!
O should not we two waifs join hands? I am alone, You would e=
nrich
me more than lands By
being my own. Yet, though this facile moment flies, Close is your tone, And=
ere
to-morrow's dewfall dries I plough the unknown.
We sat at the window looking out, And the rain
came down like silken strings That Swithin's day. Each gutter and spout Babbled unch=
ecked
in the busy way Of
witless things: Nothing to read, nothing to see Seemed in that room for her=
and
me On Swithin's d=
ay.
We were irked by the scene, by our own selves;
yes, For I did not know, nor did she infer How much there was to read and g=
uess
By her in me, and to see and crown By me in her. Wasted we=
re two
souls in their prime, And great was the waste, that July time When the rain came down=
.
On afternoons of drowsy calm We st=
ood in
the panelled pew, Singing one-voiced a Tate-and-Brady psalm To the tune=
of
"Cambridge New."
We watched the elms, we watched the rooks, The c=
louds
upon the breeze, Between the whiles of glancing at our books, And s=
waying
like the trees.
So mindless were those outpourings! - Thoug=
h I am
not aware That I have gained by subtle thought on things Since=
we
stood psalming there.
There floated the sounds of church-chiming, But no one was nigh, Ti=
ll
there came, as a break in the loneness, Her father, she, I. And=
we
slowly moved on to the wicket, And downlooking stood, =
Till
anon people passed, and amid them We parted for good.
Greater, wiser, may part there than we three <= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Who parted there then, = But never will Fates colder-featured Hold sway there again. = Of the churchgoers through the still meadows No single one knew What= a play was played under their eyes there As thence we withdrew.<= o:p>
I
Here's the mould of a musical bird long passed
from light, Which over the earth before man came was winging; There's a
contralto voice I heard last night, That lodges in me still with its sweet
singing.
II
Such a dream is Time that the coo of this anci=
ent
bird Has perished not, but is blent, or will be blending Mid visionless wil=
ds
of space with the voice that I heard, In the full-fugued song of the univer=
se
unending.
EXETER.
I met you first--ah, when did I first meet you=
? When
I was full of wonder, and innocent, Standing meek-eyed with those of choric
bent, While dimmi=
ng day
grew dimmer In the
pulpit-glimmer.
Much riper in years I met you--in a temple Whe=
re
summer sunset streamed upon our shapes, And you spread over me like a gauze
that drapes, And
flapped from floor to rafters, Sweet=
as angels'
laughters.
But you had been stripped of some of your old
vesture By Monk, or another. =
Now
you wore no frill, And at first you startled me. But I knew you still, Though I missed the min=
im's
waver, And t=
he
dotted quaver.
I grew accustomed to you thus. And you hailed me Through one who =
evoked
you often. Then at last Your =
raiser
was borne off, and I mourned you had passed From my life with your =
late
outsetter; Till I
said, "'Tis better!"
But you waylaid me. I rose and went as a ghost goes, A=
nd
said, eyes-full "I'll never hear it again! It is overmuch for scathed =
and
memoried men When
sitting among strange people Under=
their
steeple."
Now, a new stirrer of tones calls you up befor=
e me
And wakes your speech, as she of Endor did (When sought by Saul who, in
disguises hid, Fe=
ll
down on the earth to hear it) Samue=
l's
spirit.
So, your quired oracles beat till they make me
tremble As I discern your mien in the old attire, Here in these turmoiled y=
ears
of belligerent fire Living still on--and on=
ward,
maybe, Till =
Doom's
great day be!
Sunday, August 13, 1916.
She looked like a bird from a cloud On the clammy lawn, Mov=
ing
alone, bare-browed In
the dim of dawn. The candles alight in the room For my parting meal Mad=
e all
things withoutdoors loom Strange, ghostly, unrea=
l.
The hour itself was a ghost, And it seemed to me the=
n As
of chances the chance furthermost I should see her again.=
I
beheld not where all was so fleet =
span> That a Plan of the past Which=
had
ruled us from birthtime to meet Was in working at last:=
No prelude did I there perceive To a drama at all, Or
foreshadow what fortune might weave From beginnings so smal=
l; But
I rose as if quicked by a spur I was bound to obey, And
stepped through the casement to her Still alone in the gray=
.
"I am leaving you . . . Farewell!" I
said, As I follow=
ed her
on By an alley bare boughs overspread; "I soon must be
gone!" Even then the scale might have been turned Against love by a feath=
er, -
But crimson one cheek of hers burned When we came in togethe=
r.
A day is drawing to its fall I had not dreamed to se=
e; The
first of many to enthrall My spirit, will it be? =
Or is
this eve the end of all Such new delight for me=
?
I journey home: the pattern grows Of moonshades on the wa= y: "Soon the first quarter, I suppose," Sky-glancing travellers= say; I realize that it, for those, Has been a common day.<= o:p>
I determined to find out whose it was - The portrait he looked =
at so,
and sighed; Bitterly have I rued my meanness And w=
ept
for it since he died!
I searched his desk when he was away, And there was the
likeness--yes, my own! Taken when I was the season's fairest, And
time-lines all unknown.
I smiled at my image, and put it back, And he went on cherishi=
ng it,
until I was chafed that he loved not the me then living, But t=
hat
past woman still.
Well, such was my jealousy at last, I destroyed that face o=
f the
former me; Could you ever have dreamed the heart of woman Would=
work
so foolishly!
I am the family face; Flesh perishes, I live o=
n, Projecting
trait and trace Through time to times anon, And leaping from place to place=
Over
oblivion.
The years-heired feature that can In curve and
voice and eye Despise the human span Of durance--that is I; The eternal thi=
ng
in man, That heeds no call to die.
You were the sort that men forget; Though
I--not yet! - Perhaps not ever.
Your slighted weakness Adds to the strength of=
my
regret!
You'd not the art--you never had For g=
ood or
bad - To make men see how sweet your meaning, Which, visible, had cha=
rmed
them glad.
You would, by words inept let fall, Offen=
d them
all, Even if they saw your warm devotion Would hold your life's =
blood
at their call.
You lacked the eye to understand Those
friends offhand Whose mode was crude, though whose dim purport Outpriced the courtesie=
s of
the bland.
I am now the only being who Remem=
bers
you It may be. What a waste t=
hat
Nature Grudged so=
ul so
dear the art its due!
I was sitt=
ing, She w=
as knitting,
And the portraits of our fore-folk hung around; When there struck on us=
a
sigh; "Ah--w=
hat is
that?" said I: "Was it not you?" said she. "A sigh did sound."
I had not
breathed it, Nor t=
he
night-wind heaved it, And how it came to us we could not guess; And we looked up at eac=
h face
Framed and glazed=
there
in its place, Still hearkening; but thenceforth was silentness.
Half in
dreaming, "=
;Then
its meaning," Said we, "must be surely this; that they repine
1916.
There was a stunted handpost just on the crest=
, Only a few feet high: S=
he was
tired, and we stopped in the twilight-time for her rest, At the crossways close
thereby.
She leant back, being so weary, against its st=
em, And laid her arms on it=
s own,
Each open palm stretched out to each end of them, Her sad face sideways t=
hrown.
Her white-clothed form at this dim-lit cease o=
f day
Made her look as =
one
crucified In my gaze at her from the midst of the dusty way, And hurriedly
"Don't," I cried.
I do not think she heard. Loosing thence she said, As she stepped forth re=
ady to
go, "I am rested now.--Something strange came into my head; I wish I had not leant
so!"
And wordless we moved onward down from the hil=
l In the west cloud's mur=
ked
obscure, And looking back we could see the handpost still In the solitude of the =
moor.
"It struck her too," I thought, for =
as
if afraid She hea=
vily
breathed as we trailed; Till she said, "I did not think how 'twould lo=
ok
in the shade, Whe=
n I
leant there like one nailed."
I, lightly:&n=
bsp;
"There's nothing in it.
For YOU, anyhow!" --"O I know there is
not," said she . . . "Yet I wonder . .=
. If no one is bodily crucified now, In spirit one may be!&q=
uot;
And we dragged on and on, while we seemed to s= ee In the running of Time'= s far glass Her crucified, as she had wondered if she might be Some day.--Alas, alas!<= o:p>
When the spring comes round, and a certain day Looks out from the br=
ume
by the eastern copsetrees =
And
says, Remember, I beg=
in
again, as if it were new, A day=
of
like date I once lived through, Whili=
ng it
hour by hour away; =
So
shall I do till my December, =
When
spring comes round.
I take my holiday then and my rest Away from the dun life here about=
me,
=
Old
hours re-greeting With =
the
quiet sense that bring they must Such =
throbs
as at first, till I house with dust, And i=
n the
numbness my heartsome zest =
For
things that were, be past repeating =
When
spring comes round.
"What have you looked at, Moon, In yo=
ur
time, Now long pa=
st your
prime?" "O, I have looked at, often looked at Sweet,
sublime, Sore things, shudderful, night and noon In my
time."
"What have you mused on, Moon, In yo=
ur
day, So aloof, so=
far
away?" "O, I have mused on, often mused on Growt=
h,
decay, Nations alive, dead, mad, aswoon, In my
day!"
"Have you much wondered, Moon, On yo=
ur
rounds, Self-wrap=
t,
beyond Earth's bounds?" "Yea, I have wondered, often wondered
"What do you think of it, Moon, As yo=
u go? Is Life much, or no?&qu=
ot; "O,
I think of it, often think of it As a =
show God
ought surely to shut up soon, As I
go."
How smartly the quarters of the hour march by That =
the
jack-o'-clock never forgets; Ding-dong; and before I=
have
traced a cusp's eye, Or got the true twist of the ogee over, =
A
double ding-dong ricochetts.
Just so did he clang here before I came, And s=
o will
he clang when I'm gone Through the Minster's
cavernous hollows--the same Tale of hours never more to be will he deliver =
To the
speechless midnight and dawn!
I grow to conceive it a call to ghosts, Whose=
mould
lies below and around. Yes; the next "Com=
e,
come," draws them out from their posts, And they gather, and one shade
appears, and another, As the
eve-damps creep from the ground.
See--a Courtenay stands by his quatre-foiled tomb, And a=
Duke
and his Duchess near; And one Sir Edmund in
columned gloom, And a Saxon king by the presbytery chamber; And s=
hapes
unknown in the rear.
Maybe they have met for a parle on some plan To be=
tter
ail-stricken mankind; =
span>I
catch their cheepings, though thinner than The overhead creak of a passager=
's
pinion When
leaving land behind.
Or perhaps they speak to the yet unborn, And c=
aution
them not to come =
To a
world so ancient and trouble-torn, Of foiled intents, vain lovingkindness, =
And a=
rdours
chilled and numb.
They waste to fog as I stir and stand, And m=
ove
from the arched recess, And pick up the drawing=
that
slipped from my hand, And feel for the pencil I dropped in the cranny In a
moment's forgetfulness.
Bright baffling Soul, least capturable of themes, Thou, who display'dst a=
life
of common-place, Leaving no intimate wor=
d or
personal trace Of=
high
design outside the artistry Of th=
y penned
dreams, Still shalt remain at heart unread eternally.
Through human orbits thy discourse to-day, Despite thy formal
pilgrimage, throbs on In harmonies that cow
Oblivion, And, li=
ke the
wind, with all-uncared effect Maint=
ain a
sway Not fore-desired, in tracks unchosen and unchecked.
And yet, at thy last breath, with mindless note The borough clocks but =
samely
tongued the hour, The
Avon just as always glassed the tower, Thy age was published o=
n thy
passing-bell But i=
n due
rote With other dwellers' deaths accorded a like knell.
And at the strokes some townsman (met, maybe, And thereon queried by =
some
squire's good dame Driving in shopward) ma=
y have
given thy name, W=
ith,
"Yes, a worthy man and well-to-do; Though, as for me, I knew him=
but
by just a neighbour's nod, 'tis true.
"I' faith, few knew him much here, save by word, He having elsewhere led=
his
busier life; Thou=
gh to
be sure he left with us his wife." --"Ah, one of the trades=
men's
sons, I now recall . . . Witty=
, I've
heard . . . We did not know him . . . Well, good-day. Death comes to all."
So, like a strange bright bird we sometimes find To mingle with the barn=
-door
brood awhile, Then
vanish from their homely domicile - Into man's poesy, we wo=
t not
whence, Flew =
thy
strange mind, Lodged there a radiant guest, and sped for ever thence.
1916.
I
When I weekly knew An ancient pew, And murmured
there The forms of prayer And thanks and praise In the ancient ways, And he=
ard
read out During August drought That chapter from Kings Harvest-time brings;=
-
How the prophet, broken By griefs unspoken, Went heavily away To fast and to
pray, And, while waiting to die, The Lord passed by, And a whirlwind and fi=
re Drew
nigher and nigher, And a small voice anon Bade him up and be gone, - I did =
not
apprehend As I sat to the end And watched for her smile Across the sunned
aisle, That this tale of a seer Which came once a year Might, when sands we=
re
heaping, Be like a sweat creeping, Or in any degree Bear on her or on me!
II
When later, by chance Of circumstance, It befe=
l me
to read On a hot afternoon At the lectern there The selfsame words As the
lesson decreed, To the gathered few From the hamlets near - Folk of flocks =
and
herds Sitting half aswoon, Who listened thereto As women and men Not overmu=
ch Concerned
at such - So, like them then, I did not see What drought might be With me, =
with
her, As the Kalendar Moved on, and Time Devoured our prime.
III
But now, at last, When our glory has passed, A=
nd
there is no smile From her in the aisle, But where it once shone A marble, =
men
say, With her name thereon Is discerned to-day; And spiritless In the
wilderness I shrink from sight And desire the night, (Though, as in old wis=
e, I
might still arise, Go forth, and stand And prophesy in the land), I feel the
shake Of wind and earthquake, And consuming fire Nigher and nigher, And the
voice catch clear, "What doest thou here?"
The Spectator 1916. During the War.
I idly cut a parsley stalk, And blew therein
towards the moon; I had not thought what ghosts would walk With shivering
footsteps to my tune.
I went, and knelt, and scooped my hand As if to
drink, into the brook, And a faint figure seemed to stand Above me, with the
bygone look.
I lipped rough rhymes of chance, not choice, I
thought not what my words might be; There came into my ear a voice That tur=
ned
a tenderer verse for me.
Lalage's coming: Where is she now, O? Turning =
to
bow, O, And smile, is she, Just at parting, Parting, parting, As she is
starting To come to me?
Where is she now, O, Now, and now, O, Shadowin=
g a
bough, O, Of hedge or tree As she is rushing, Rushing, rushing, Gossamers
brushing To come to me?
Lalage's coming; Where is she now, O; Climbing=
the
brow, O, Of hills I see? Yes, she is nearing, Nearing, nearing, Weather
unfearing To come to me.
Near is she now, O, Now, and now, O; Milk the =
rich
cow, O, Forward the tea; Shake the down bed for her, Linen sheets spread for
her, Drape round the head for her Coming to me.
Lalage's coming, She's nearer now, O, End anyh=
ow,
O, To-day's husbandry! Would a gilt chair were mine, Slippers of vair were
mine, Brushes for hair were mine Of ivory!
What will she think, O, She who's so comely, V=
iewing
how homely A sort are we! Nothing resplendent, No prompt attendant, Not one
dependent Pertaining to me!
Lalage's coming; Where is she now, O? Fain I'd
avow, O, Full honestly Nought here's enough for her, All is too rough for h=
er, Even
my love for her Poor in degree.
She's nearer now, O, Still nearer now, O, She
'tis, I vow, O, Passing the lea. Rush down to meet her there, Call out and
greet her there, Never a sweeter there Crossed to me!
Lalage's come; aye, Come is she now, O! . . . =
Does
Heaven allow, O, A meeting to be? Yes, she is here now, Here now, here now,=
Nothing
to fear now, Here's Lalage!
When I walked roseless tracks and wide, Ere da=
wned
your date for meeting me, O why did you not cry Halloo Across the stretch
between, and say:
"We move, while years as yet divide, On
closing lines which--though it be You know me not nor I know you - Will
intersect and join some day!"
Then well I had borne Each scraping thorn; But the winters froze, =
And grew no rose; No bridge bestrode The gap at all; No shape you showed, And I heard no call!
So zestfully canst thou sing? And all this
indignity, With God's consent, on thee! Blinded ere yet a-wing By the red-h=
ot
needle thou, I stand and wonder how So zestfully thou canst sing!
Resenting not such wrong, Thy grievous pain
forgot, Eternal dark thy lot, Groping thy whole life long; After that stab =
of
fire; Enjailed in pitiless wire; Resenting not such wrong!
Who hath charity? This bird. Who suffereth long and =
is
kind, Is not provoked, though blind And alive ensepulchred? Who hopeth,
endureth all things? Who thinketh no evil, but sings? Who is divine? This bird.
The wind blew words along the skies, And these it blew to me=
Through
the wide dusk: "Lift up =
your
eyes, Behold this
troubled tree, Complaining as it sways and plies; It is a limb of thee.
"Yea, too, the creatures sheltering round=
- Dumb figures, wild and =
tame, Yea,
too, thy fellows who abound - Either of speech the sa=
me Or
far and strange--black, dwarfed, and browned, They are stuff of thy o=
wn
frame."
I moved on in a surging awe Of inarticulateness At =
the
pathetic Me I saw In
all his huge distress, Making self-slaughter of the law To kill, break, or supp=
ress.
How was this I did not see Such a look as here=
was
shown Ere its womanhood had blown Past its first felicity? - That I did not
know you young, F=
aded
Face, Know you young!
Why did Time so ill bestead That I heard no vo=
ice
of yours Hail from out the curved contours Of those lips when rosy red; Wee=
ted
not the songs they sung, Faded Face, Songs=
they
sung!
By these blanchings, blooms of old, And the re=
lics
of your voice - Leavings rare of rich and choice From your early tone and m=
ould
- Let me mourn,--aye, sorrow-wrung, Faded Face, Sorro=
w-wrung!
I
Stretching eyes west Over the sea, Wind foul or
fair, Always stood she Prospect-impressed; Solely out there Did her gaze re=
st, Never
elsewhere Seemed charm to be.
II
Always eyes east Ponders she now - As in devot=
ion
- Hills of blank brow Where no waves plough. Never the least Room for emoti=
on Drawn
from the ocean Does she allow.
"I am=
here
to time, you see; The glade is well-screened--eh?--against alarm; Fit place to vindicate =
by my
arm The honour of=
my
spotless wife, Who
scorns your libel upon her life In bo=
asting
intimacy!
"'All
hush-offerings you'll spurn, My husband.&n=
bsp;
Two must come; one only go,' She said. 'That he'll be you I know; To faith like ours Heav=
en
will be just, And=
I
shall abide in fullest trust Your =
speedy
glad return.'"
"Good. Here am al=
so I; And
we'll proceed without more waste of words To warm your cockpit. Of the swords Take you your choice. I shall thereby Feel that on me no blam=
e can
lie, Whate=
ver
Fate accords."
So stripped they there, and fought, And the swords clicked and scrap=
ed,
and the onsets sped; Till the husband fell; =
and
his shirt was red With
streams from his heart's hot cistern.
Nought Cou=
ld
save him now; and the other, wrought Maybe=
to
pity, said:
"Why did you urge on this? Your wife assured you; and 't had be=
tter
been That you had=
let
things pass, serene In
confidence of long-tried bliss, Holding there could be =
nought
amiss In wh=
at my
words might mean."
Then, seeing nor ruth nor rage Could move his foeman more--now Death=
's
deaf thrall - He =
wiped
his steel, and, with a call Like turtledove to dove,
swift broke Into =
the
copse, where under an oak His h=
orse
cropt, held by a page.
"All's over, Sweet," he cried To the wife, thus guised; for
the young page was she. "'Tis as we hoped =
and
said 't would be. He
never guessed . . . We mount and ride To where our love can r=
eign
uneyed. He's =
clay,
and we are free."
How could I be aware, The opposite window eyei=
ng As
I lay listless there, That through its blinds was dying One I had rated rar=
e Before
I had set me sighing For another more fair?
Had the house-front been glass, My vision
unobscuring, Could aught have come to pass More happiness-insuring To her,
loved as a lass When spouseless, all-alluring? I reckon not, alas!
So, the square window stood, Steadily night-lo=
ng
shining In my close neighbourhood, Who looked forth undivining That soon wo=
uld
go for good One there in pain reclining, Unpardoned, unadieu'd.
Silently screened from view Her tragedy was en=
ding
That need not have come due Had she been less unbending. How near, near wer=
e we
two At that last vital rending, - And neither of us knew!
Does he want you down there In the Nether Glooms wh=
ere The
hours may be a dragging load upon him, As he hears the axle gr=
ind Round=
and
round Of the great
world, in the blind Still
profound Of the night-time? He
might liven at the sound Of your string, revealing you had not forgone him.=
In the gallery west the nave, But a few yards from his
grave, Did you, tucked beneath his chin, to his bowing Guide the homely harmon=
y Of the
quire Who for long
years strenuously - Son a=
nd
sire - Caught the strains that at his fingering low or higher From your four
thin threads and eff-holes came outflowing.
And, too, what merry tunes He would bow at nights =
or
noons That chanced to find him bent to lute a measure, When he made you speak =
his
heart As in
dream, Without bo=
ok or
music-chart, On so=
me
theme Elusive as a jack-o'-lanthorn's gleam, And the psalm of duty shelved =
for
trill of pleasure.
Well, you can not, alas, The barrier overpass Th=
at
screens him in those Mournful Meads hereunder, Where no fiddling can be
heard In the
glades Of silentn=
ess,
no bird Thril=
ls the
shades; Where no viol is touched for songs or serenades, No bowing wakes a
congregation's wonder.
He must do without you now, Stir you no more anyhow=
To
yearning concords taught you in your glory; While, your strings a t=
angled
wreck, Once =
smart
drawn, Ten worm-w=
ounds
in your neck, Purfl=
ings
wan With dust-hoar, here alone I sadly con Your present dumbness, shape your
olden story.
1916.
This statue of Liberty, busy man, Here =
erect
in the city square, I have watched while your scrubbings, this early mornin=
g, =
Strangely
wistful, =
And
half tristful, Have =
turned
her from foul to fair;
With your bucket of water, and mop, and brush, Bring=
ing
her out of the grime That has smeared her during the smokes of winter =
With
such glumness =
In
her dumbness, And a=
ged
her before her time.
You have washed her down with motherly care - Head, shoulders, arm, and foo=
t, To
the very hem of the robes that drape her - =
All
expertly =
And
alertly, Till =
a long
stream, black with soot,
Flows over the pavement to the road, And h=
er
shape looms pure as snow: I read you are hired by the City guardians - =
May
be yearly, =
Or
once merely - To tr=
eat
the statues so?
"Oh, I'm not hired by the Councilmen To cl=
eanse
the statues here. I do this one as a self-willed duty, =
Not
as paid to, =
Or
at all made to, But b=
ecause
the doing is dear."
Ah, then I hail you brother and friend! Liber=
ty's
knight divine. What you have done would have been my doing, =
Yea,
most verily, =
Well,
and thoroughly, Had b=
ut
your courage been mine!
"Oh I care not for Liberty's mould, Liber=
ty
charms not me; What's Freedom but an idler's vision, =
Vain,
pernicious, =
Often
vicious, Of th=
ings
that cannot be!
"Memory it is that brings me to this - Of a
daughter--my one sweet own. She grew a famous carver's model, =
One
of the fairest =
And
of the rarest:- She s=
at for
the figure as shown.
"But alas, she died in this distant place Befor=
e I
was warned to betake Myself to her side! . . . And in love of my darling, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> =
In
love of the fame of her, =
And
the good name of her, I do =
this
for her sake."
Answer I gave not. Of =
that
form The c=
arver
was I at his side; His child, my model, held so saintly, =
Grand
in feature, =
Gross
in nature, In th=
e dens
of vice had died.
I think of the slope where the rabbits fed, Of the periwinks' rockw=
ork
lair, Of the fuchsias ringing their bells of red - And the something else =
seen
there.
Between the blooms where the sod basked bright=
, By the bobbing fuchsia =
trees,
Was another and yet more eyesome sight - The sight that richened
these.
I shall seek those beauties in the spring,
Out of the past there rises a week - Who s=
hall
read the years O! - Out
of the past there rises a week Enrin=
ged
with a purple zone. Out
of the past there rises a week When thoughts were stru=
ng too
thick to speak, And the magic of its lineaments remains with me alone.
In that week there was heard a singing - Who s=
hall
spell the years, the years! - In that week there was =
heard
a singing, And t=
he
white owl wondered why. In that week, yea, a vo=
ice
was ringing, And =
forth
from the casement were candles flinging Radiance that fell on the deodar and
lit up the path thereby.
Could that song have a mocking note? - Who s=
hall
unroll the years O! - Could that song have a
mocking note To the
white owl's sense as it fell? Could that song have a
mocking note As it
trilled out warm from the singer's throat, And who was the mocker and who t=
he
mocked when two felt all was well?
In a tedious trampling crowd yet later - Who s=
hall
bare the years, the years! - In a tedious trampling =
crowd
yet later, When
silvery singings were dumb; In a crowd uncaring wha=
t time
might fate her, M=
id
murks of night I stood to await her, And the twanging of iron wheels gave o=
ut
the signal that she was come.
She said with a travel-tired smile - Who s=
hall
lift the years O! - She
said with a travel-tired smile, Half =
scared
by scene so strange; She said, outworn by mi=
le on
mile, The blurred=
lamps
wanning her face the while, "O Love, I am here; I am with you!" .=
. .
Ah, that there should have come a change!
O the doom by someone spoken - Who s=
hall
unseal the years, the years! - O the doom that gave no
token, When
nothing of bale saw we: O the doom by someone s=
poken,
O the heart by so=
meone
broken, The heart whose sweet reverberances are all time leaves to me.
Jan.-Feb.&nbs=
p;
1913.
Sitting on the bridge Past the barracks, town=
and
ridge, At once the spirit seized us To sing a song that pleased us - As
"The Fifth" were much in rumour; It was "Whilst I'm in the
humour, Take me, =
Paddy,
will you now?" And
a lancer soon drew nigh, And his Royal Irish eye=
Said, "Willing, fa=
ith,
am I, O, to take you anyhow, dears, To take you anyhow.&quo=
t;
But, lo!--dad walking by, Cried, "What, you
lightheels! Fie! Is this the way you roa=
m And mock the sunset
gleam?" And =
he
marched us straightway home, Though we said, "We are only, daddy, Sing=
ing,
'Will you take me, Paddy?'" --Well, we never saw from the=
n If we sang there anywhe=
n, The soldier dear again,=
Except
at night in dream-time, Except at night in dream.
Perhaps that soldier's fighting In a land that's far aw=
ay, Or
he may be idly plighting Some foreign hussy gay;=
Or
perhaps his bones are whiting In the wind to their de=
cay! .
. . Ah!--does he =
mind
him how The girls=
he
saw that day On the bridge, were sitting singing At the time of curfew-ring=
ing,
"Take me, Paddy; will you now, dear? Paddy, will you now?&qu=
ot;
GREY'S BRIDGE.
When he lit the candles there, And the light f=
ell
on his hand, And it trembled as he scanned Her and me, his vanquished air H=
inted
that his dream was done, And I saw he had begun To understand.
When Love's viol was unstrung, Sore I wished t=
he
hand that shook Had been mine that shared her book While that evening hymn =
was
sung, His the victor's, as he lit Candles where he had bidden us sit With vanquished look.
Now her dust lies listless there, His afar from
tending hand, What avails the victory scanned? Does he smile from upper air=
: "Ah,
my friend, your dream is done; And 'tis YOU who have begun To understand!
I travel as a phantom now, For people do not w= ish to see In flesh and blood so bare a bough As Nature makes of me.<= o:p>
And thus I visit bodiless Strange gloomy
households often at odds, And wonder if Man's consciousness Was a mistake of God's.=
And next I meet you, and I pause, And think th=
at
if mistake it were, As some have said, O then it was One that I well can bea=
r!
1915.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>LINES TO A MOVEMENT IN MOZART'S E-FLAT SYMPHONY<=
span
class=3DHeading1Char>
Show me ag=
ain
the time When =
in the
Junetide's prime =
We
flew by meads and mountains northerly! - Yea, to such freshness, fairness,
fulness, fineness, freeness, Love =
lures
life on.
Show me ag=
ain
the day When =
from the
sandy bay We look=
ed
together upon the pestered sea! - Yea, to such surging, swaying, sighing,
swelling, shrinking, Love =
lures
life on.
Show me ag=
ain
the hour When =
by the
pinnacled tower W=
e eyed
each other and feared futurity! - Yea, to such bodings, broodings, beatings,
blanchings, blessings, Love =
lures
life on.
Show me ag=
ain
just this: The m=
oment
of that kiss Away=
from
the prancing folk, by the strawberry-tree! - Yea, to such rashness, rathene=
ss,
rareness, ripeness, richness, Love =
lures
life on.
Begun November 1898.
"Qui deridetur ab amico suo sicut
ego."--JOB.
In the seventies I was bearing in my breast, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> =
Penned
tight, Certain starry thoughts that threw a magic light On the worktimes and
the soundless hours of rest In the seventies; aye, I bore them in my breast=
=
Penned
tight.
In the seventies when my neighbours--even my
friend - =
Saw
me pass, Heads were shaken, and I heard the words, "Alas, For his onwa=
rd
years and name unless he mend!" In the seventies, when my neighbours a=
nd
my friend Saw me
pass.
In the seventies those who met me did not know=
Of the
vision That immuned me from the chillings of mis-prision And the damps that
choked my goings to and fro In the seventies; yea, those nodders did not kn=
ow Of the
vision.
In the seventies nought could darken or destroy
it, Locke=
d in
me, Though as delicate as lamp-worm's lucency; Neither mist nor murk could
weaken or alloy it In the seventies!--could not darken or destroy it, Locke=
d in
me.
I
I bent in the deep of night Over a
pedigree the chronicler gave As mi=
ne;
and as I bent there, half-unrobed, The uncurtained panes of my window-square
let in the watery light =
Of
the moon in its old age: And green-rheumed clouds were hurrying past where =
mute
and cold it globed Like
a drifting dolphin's eye seen through a lapping wave.
II
So, scanning my sire-sown tree, And t=
he
hieroglyphs of this spouse tied to that, =
With
offspring mapped below in lineage, =
Till
the tangles troubled me, The branches seemed to twist into a seared and cyn=
ic
face Which winked=
and
tokened towards the window like a Mage Encha=
nting
me to gaze again thereat.
III
It was a mirror now, And i=
n it a
long perspective I could trace Of my begetters, dwindl=
ing
backward each past each =
All
with the kindred look, Whose=
names
had since been inked down in their place =
On
the recorder's book, Generation and generation of my mien, and build, and b=
row.
IV
And then did I divine That =
every
heave and coil and move I made Withi=
n my
brain, and in my mood and speech, =
Was
in the glass portrayed As lo=
ng
forestalled by their so making it; The first of them, the
primest fuglemen of my line, Being fogged in far antiqueness past surmise a=
nd
reason's reach.
V
Said I then, sunk in tone, "I am merest mimic=
ker
and counterfeit! - =
Though
thinking, I AM I =
AND
WHAT I DO I DO MYSELF ALONE." --The cynic twist of the page
thereat unknit Back to its normal figure, having wrought its purport wry, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The Mage's mirror left =
the
window-square, And the stained moon and drift retook their places there.
1916.
At midnight, in the room where he lay dead Whom in his life I had =
never
clearly read, I thought if I could peer into that citadel His heart, I should at =
last
know full and well
What hereto had been known to him alone, Despite our long sit-ou=
t of
years foreflown, "And if," I said, "I do this for his memory=
's
sake, It would not
wound him, even if he could wake."
So I bent over him. He
seemed to smile W=
ith a
calm confidence the whole long while That I, withdrawing his heart, held it
and, bit by bit, Perused the unguessed t=
hings
found written on it.
It was inscribed like a terrestrial sphere With quaint vermiculati=
ons
close and clear - His graving. Had
I known, would I have risked the stroke Its reading brought, an=
d my
own heart nigh broke!
Yes, there at last, eyes opened, did I see His whole sincere symme=
tric
history; There were his truth, his simple singlemindedness, Strained, maybe, by tim=
e's
storms, but there no less.
There were the daily deeds from sun to sun In blindness, but good =
faith,
that he had done; There were regrets, at instances wherein he swerved (As he conceived) from
cherishings I had deserved.
There were old hours all figured down as bliss - Those spent with me--(h=
ow
little had I thought this!) There those when, at my absence, whether he sle=
pt
or waked, (Though=
I
knew not 'twas so!) his spirit ached.
There that when we were severed, how day dulled Till time joined us ane=
w, was
chronicled: And arguments and battlings in defence of me That heart recorded cle=
arly
and ruddily.
I put it back, and left him as he lay While pierced the morni=
ng
pink and then the gray Into each dreary room and corridor around, Where I shall wait, but=
his
step will not sound.
Dishevelled leaves creep down Upon that bank to-day, =
Some
green, some yellow, and some pale brown; The wet bents bob and s=
way; The
once warm slippery turf is sodden Where we laughingly sat=
or
lay.
The summerhouse is gone, Leaving a weedy space; =
The
bushes that veiled it once have grown Gaunt trees that interl=
ace, Through
whose lank limbs I see too clearly The nakedness of the pl=
ace.
And where were hills of blue, Blind drifts of vapour =
blow, And
the names of former dwellers few, If any, people know, And
instead of a voice that called, "Come in, Dears," Time calls, "Pass
below!"
When the cloud shut down on the morning shine,=
And darkened the sun, I=
said,
"So ended that joy of mine Years back begun."=
But day continued its lustrous roll In upper air; And did m=
y late
irradiate soul Li=
ve on
somewhere?
Rambling I looked for an old abode Where, years
back, one had lived I knew; Its site a dwelling duly showed, But it was new.
I went where, not so long ago, The sod had riv=
en
two breasts asunder; Daisies throve gaily there, as though No grave were under.
I walked along a terrace where Loud children
gambolled in the sun; The figure that had once sat there Was missed by none.
Life laughed and moved on unsubdued, I saw that
Old succumbed to Young: 'Twas well.
My too regretful mood Died on my tongue.
It was but a little thing, Yet I knew it meant=
to
me Ease from what had given a sting To the very birdsinging Latterly.
But I would not welcome it; And for all I then
declined O the regrettings infinite When the night-processions flit Through the mind!
Something tapped on the pane of my room When there was never a =
trace Of
wind or rain, and I saw in the gloom My weary Beloved's face=
.
"O I am tired of waiting," she said,=
"Night, morn, noon,
afternoon; So cold it is in my lonely bed, And I thought you would=
join
me soon!"
I rose and neared the window-glass, But vanished thence had=
she: Only
a pallid moth, alas, Tapped at the pane for =
me.
August 1913.
I climbed to the crest, And, fog-festooned, The=
sun
lay west Like a c=
rimson
wound:
Like that wound of mine Of which none knew, For=
I'd
given no sign Tha=
t it
pierced me through.
"I will get a new string for my fiddle, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And call to the neighbo=
urs to
come, And partners shall dance down the middle Until the old pewter-wa=
res
hum: And we'll si=
p the
mead, cyder, and rum!"
From the night came the oddest of answers:
I said and sang her excellence: They called it laud und=
ue. (Have=
your
way, my heart, O!) Yet what was homage far above The plain deserts of my ol=
den
Love Proved verit=
y of
my new.
"She moves a sylph in picture-land, Where nothing frosts the
air:" (Have=
your
way, my heart, O!) "To all winged pipers overhead She is known by shape
and song," I said, Conscious of licence th=
ere.
I sang of her in a dim old hall Dream-built too fancifu=
lly, (Have=
your
way, my heart, O!) But lo, the ripe months chanced to lead My feet to such a
hall indeed, Where
stood the very She.
Strange, startling, was it then to learn I had glanced down unbo=
rn
time, (Have=
your
way, my heart, O!) And prophesied, whereby I knew That which the years had
planned to do In
warranty of my rhyme.
BY RUSHY-POND.
The rain smites more and more, The east wind s=
narls
and sneezes; Through the joints of the quivering door The water wheezes.
The tip of each ivy-shoot Writhes on its
neighbour's face; There is some hid dread afoot That we cannot trace.
Is it the spirit astray Of the man at the house
below Whose coffin they took in to-day? We do not know.
By a wall the stranger now calls his, Was born=
of
old a particular kiss, Without forethought in its genesis; Which in a trice
took wing on the air. And where that spot is nothing shows: There ivy calmly grows,=
And no one knows What a birth was there!=
That kiss is gone where none can tell - Not ev=
en
those who felt its spell: It cannot have died; that know we well. Somewhere=
it
pursues its flight, One of a long procession of sounds Travelling aethereal ro=
unds Far from earth's bounds=
In the infinite.
They came, the brothers, and took two chairs <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> In their usual quiet wa=
y; And
for a time we did not think They =
had
much to say.
And they began and talked awhile Of ordinary things, Till
spread that silence in the room A pent
thought brings.
And then they said: "The end has come. Yes: it has come at last." And we =
looked
down, and knew that day A spi=
rit
had passed.
Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock. "Now they are all =
on
their knees," An elder said as we sat in a flock By the embers in hearth=
side
ease.
We pictured the meek mild creatures where They dwelt in their str=
awy
pen, Nor did it occur to one of us there To doubt they were knee=
ling
then.
So fair a fancy few would weave In these years! Yet, I feel, If someone said on
Christmas Eve, "Come; see the oxen
kneel
"In the lonely barton by yonder coomb
1915.
"When the air was damp It made my curls hang slack As they kiss=
ed
my neck and back While I footed the salt-aired track I loved to tramp.
"When it was dry They would roll up crisp and tight As I went o=
n in
the light Of the sun, which my own sprite Seemed to outvie.
"Now I am old; And have not one gay curl As I had when a girl F=
or
dampness to unfurl Or
sun uphold!"
The flame crept up the portrait line by line A=
s it
lay on the coals in the silence of night's profound, And over the arm's incl=
ine, And
along the marge of the silkwork superfine, And gnawed at the delicate bosom=
's
defenceless round.
Then I vented a cry of hurt, and averted my ey=
es; The
spectacle was one that I could not bear, To my deep and sad surp=
rise; But,
compelled to heed, I again looked furtive-wise Till the flame had eaten her
breasts, and mouth, and hair.
"Thank God, she is out of it now!" I
said at last, In a great relief of heart when the thing was done That had set my soul ag=
hast, And
nothing was left of the picture unsheathed from the past But the ashen ghos=
t of
the card it had figured on.
She was a woman long hid amid packs of years, =
She
might have been living or dead; she was lost to my sight, And the deed that had n=
igh
drawn tears Was done in a casual clearance of life's arrears; But I felt as=
if
I had put her to death that night! . . .
* * *
- Well; she knew nothing thereof did she survi=
ve, And
suffered nothing if numbered among the dead; Yet--yet--if on earth a=
live Did
she feel a smart, and with vague strange anguish strive? If in heaven, did =
she
smile at me sadly and shake her head?
I could hear a gown-skirt rustling Before I could see her =
shape,
Rustling through the heather That wove the common's =
drape,
On that evening of dark weather When I hearkened, lips =
agape.
And the town-shine in the distance Did but baffle here the
sight, And then a voice flew forward: Dear, is't you? I fear the night!" And the he=
rons
flapped to norward In
the firs upon my right.
There was another looming Whose life we did not s=
ee; There
was one stilly blooming Full nigh to where walk=
ed we;
There was a shade entombing All that was bright of =
me.
It was at the very date to which we have come,=
In the month of the mat=
ching
name, When, at a like minute, the sun had upswum, Its couch-time at night=
being
the same. And the same path stretched here that people now follow, And the same stile cros=
sed
their way, And beyond the same green hillock and hollow The same horizon lay; A=
nd the
same man pilgrims now hereby who pilgrimed here that day.
Let so much be said of the date-day's sameness=
; But the tree that neigh=
bours
the track, And stoops like a pedlar afflicted with lameness, Knew of no sogged wound=
or
windcrack. And the joints of that wall were not enshrouded With mosses of many ton=
es, And
the garth up afar was not overcrowded With a multitude of whi=
te
stones, And the man's eyes then were not so sunk that you saw the socket- b=
ones.
KINGSTON-MAURWARD EWELEASE.
By the Run=
ic
Stone They sat, w=
here
the grass sloped down, And chattered, he white-hatted, she in brown, Pink-=
faced,
breeze-blown.
Rapt there=
alone
In the transport =
of
talking so In such a place, there was nothing to let them know What =
hours
had flown.
And the die
thrown By them
heedlessly there, the dent It was to cut in their encompassment, Were,=
too,
unknown.
It might h=
ave
strown Their zest=
with
qualms to see, As in a glass, Time toss their history From =
zone
to zone!
"O my pretty pink frock, I sha'n't be abl=
e to
wear it! Why is he dying just now? I hardly can bear it!
"He might have contrived to live on; But =
they
say there's no hope whatever: And must I shut myself up, And go out never?
"O my pretty pink frock, Puff-sleeved and
accordion-pleated! He might have passed in July, And not so cheated!&quo=
t;
Portion of this yew Is a man my grandsire knew=
, Bosomed
here at its foot: This branch may be his wife, A ruddy human life Now turne=
d to
a green shoot.
These grasses must be made Of her who often
prayed, Last century, for repose; And the fair girl long ago Whom I often t=
ried
to know May be entering this rose.
So, they are not underground, But as nerves and
veins abound In the growths of upper air, And they feel the sun and rain, A=
nd
the energy again That made them what they were!
Her house looked cold from the foggy lea, And =
the
square of each window a dull black blur Where
showed no stir: Yes, her gloom within at the lack of me Seemed matching min=
e at
the lack of her.
The black squares grew to be squares of light =
As
the eyeshade swathed the house and lawn, And v=
iols
gave tone; There was glee within.
And I found that night The gloom of severance mine alone.
KINGSTON-MAURWARD PARK.
Silently I footed by an uphill road That led from my abode =
to a
spot yew-boughed; Yellowly the sun sloped low down to westward, And d=
ark
was the east with cloud.
Then, amid the shadow of that livid sad east, Where the light was lea=
st,
and a gate stood wide, Something flashed the fire of the sun that was facing
it, Like a
brief blaze on that side.
Looking hard and harder I knew what it meant - The sudden shine sent f=
rom
the livid east scene; It meant the west mirrored by the coffin of my friend
there, Turni=
ng to
the road from his green,
To take his last journey forth--he who in his prime Trudged so many a time =
from
that gate athwart the land! Thus a farewell to me he signalled on his
grave-way, As with a w=
ave of
his hand.
WINTERBORNE-CAME PATH.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>THE HOUSE OF SILENCE<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
"That is a quiet place - That house in the trees with the shady
lawn." "--If, child, you knew what there goes on You would not ca=
ll
it a quiet place. Why, a phantom abides there, the last of its race, And a brain spins there=
till
dawn."
"But I see nobody there, - Nobody moves about the green, Or wan=
ders
the heavy trees between." "--Ah, that's because you do not bear T=
he
visioning powers of souls who dare To pierce the material
screen.
"Morning, noon, and night, Mid those funereal shades that seem =
The
uncanny scenery of a dream, Figures dance to a mind with sight, And music a=
nd
laughter like floods of light Make all the precincts =
gleam.
"It is a poet's bower, Through which there pass, in fleet array=
s, Long
teams of all the years and days, Of joys and sorrows, of earth and heaven, =
That
meet mankind in its ages seven, An aion in an hour.&quo=
t;
Sweet cyder is a great thing, A great thing to me, Sp=
inning
down to Weymouth town By Ridgway thirstily, A=
nd
maid and mistress summoning Who tend the hostelry: O
cyder is a great thing, A great thing to me!
The dance it is a great thing, A great thing to me, Wi=
th
candles lit and partners fit For night-long revelry;=
And
going home when day-dawning Peeps pale upon the lea=
: O
dancing is a great thing, A great thing to me!
Love is, yea, a great thing, A great thing to me, Wh=
en,
having drawn across the lawn In darkness silently, A
figure flits like one a-wing Out from the nearest tr=
ee: O
love is, yes, a great thing, A great thing to me!
Will these be always great things, Great things to me? . .=
. Let
it befall that One will call, "Soul, I have need=
of
thee:" What then? Joy-ja=
unts,
impassioned flings, Love, and its ecstasy, =
Will
always have been great things, Great things to me!
That morning when I trod the town The twitching
chimes of long renown Played out to me The sw=
eet
Sicilian sailors' tune, And I knew not if late or soon My day would be:
A day of sunshine beryl-bright And windless; y=
ea,
think as I might, I
could not say, Even to within years' measure, when One would be at my side =
who
then Was far away=
.
When hard utilitarian times Had stilled the sw=
eet
Saint-Peter's chimes I
learnt to see That bale may spring where blisses are, And one desired might=
be
afar Though near =
to me.
It pleased her to step in front and sit Where=
the
cragged slope was green, While I stood back that I might pencil it With =
her
amid the scene; =
Till
it gloomed and rained; But I kept on, despite the drifting wet =
That
fell and stained My draught, leaving for curious quizzings yet =
The
blots engrained.
And thus I drew her there alone, Seate=
d amid
the gauze Of moisture, hooded, only her outline shown, With
rainfall marked across. =
--Soon
passed our stay; Yet her rainy form is the Genius still of the spot, =
Immutable,
yea, Though the place now knows her no more, and has known her not =
Ever
since that day.
From an old note.
Why did I sketch an upland green, And put the figure in <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Of one on the spot with=
me? -
For now that one has ceased to be seen The picture waxes akin =
To a wordless irony.
If you go drawing on down or cliff Let no soft curves intr=
ude Of a woman's silhouette=
, But
show the escarpments stark and stiff As in utter solitude; <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> So shall you half forge=
t.
Let me sooner pass from sight of the sky Than again on a thought=
less
day Limn, laugh, =
and
sing, and rhyme With a woman sitting near, whom I Paint in for love, and =
who
may Be called hen=
ce in
my time!
From an old note.
If there were in my kalendar No Emma, Florence, Mary=
, What
would be my existence now - A hermit's?--wanderer's
weary? - How s=
hould
I live, and how Near =
would
be death, or far?
Could it have been that other eyes Might have uplit my hig=
hway? That
fond, sad, retrospective sight Would catch from this d=
im
byway Prized
figures different quite From =
those
that now arise?
With how strange aspect would there creep The dawn, the night, the
daytime, If memory were not what it is In song-time, toil, or pray-t=
ime. -
O
were it else than this, I'd p=
ass to
pulseless sleep!
That no man schemed it is my hope - Yea, that =
it
fell by will and scope Of That Which some enth=
rone, And
for whose meaning myriads grope.
For I would not that of my kind There should, =
of
his unbiassed mind, Have been one known Who=
such
a stroke could have designed;
Since it would augur works and ways Below the
lowest that man assays To have hurled that sto=
ne Into
the sunshine of our days!
And if it prove that no man did, And that the
Inscrutable, the Hid, Was cause alone Of this=
foul
crash our lives amid,
I'll go in due time, and forget In some deep
graveyard's oubliette The thing whereof I gro=
an, And
cease from troubling; thankful yet
Time's finger should have stretched to show No
aimful author's was the blow That swept us prone, Bu=
t the
Immanent Doer's That doth not know,
Which in some age unguessed of us May lift Its
blinding incubus, And
see, and own: "It grieves me I did thus and thus!"
The train draws forth from the station-yard, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And with it carries me.=
I
rise, and stretch out, and regard The platform left, and =
see An
airy slim blue form there standing, And know that it is she=
.
While with strained vision I watch on, The figure turns round =
quite To
greet friends gaily; then is gone . . . The import may be sligh=
t, But
why remained she not hard gazing Till I was out of sight=
?
"O do not chat with others there," <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I brood. "They are not I. O strain your
thoughts as if they were Gold bands between us; =
eye All
neighbour scenes as so much blankness Till I again am by!
"A troubled soughing in the breeze And the sky overhead Let
yourself feel; and shadeful trees, Ripe corn, and apples r=
ed, Read
as things barren and distasteful While we are separated!=
"When I come back uncloak your gloom,
Begun 1871:&n=
bsp;
finished -
The bars are thick with drops that show As they gather themselv=
es
from the fog Like silver buttons ranged in a row, And as evenly spaced as if
measured, although They
fall at the feeblest jog.
They load the leafless hedge hard by, And the blades of last =
year's
grass, While the fallow ploughland turned up nigh In raw rolls, clammy and
clogging lie - Too
clogging for feet to pass.
How dry it was on a far-back day When straws hung the he=
dge
and around, When amid the sheaves in amorous play In curtained bonnets and
light array Bloom=
ed a
bevy now underground!
BOCKHAMPTON LANE.
I saw him pass as the new day dawned, Murmuring some musical
phrase; Horses were drinking and floundering in the pond, And the tired stars thi=
nned
their gaze; Yet these were not the spectacles at all that he conned, But an inner one, givin=
g out
rays.
Such was the thing in his eye, walking there, =
The very and visible th=
ing, A
close light, displacing the gray of the morning air, And the tokens that the=
dark
was taking wing; And was it not the radiance of a purpose rare That might ripe to its
accomplishing?
What became of that light? I wonder still its fate! Was it quenched ere its=
full
apogee? Did it struggle frail and frailer to a beam emaciate? Did it thrive till matu=
red in
verity? Or did it travel on, to be a new young dreamer's freight, And thence on infinitely?
1915.
Something do I see Above the fog that sheets the mead, A figure like=
to
life indeed, Moving along with spectre-speed, Seen by none but me.
O the vision keen! - Tripping along to me for love As in the flesh it
used to move, Only its hat and plume above The evening fog-fleece =
seen.
In the day-fall wan, When nighted birds break off their song, Mere
ghostly head it skims along, Just as it did when warm and strong, Body seeming gone.
Such it is I see Above the fog that sheets the mead - Yea, that which
once could breathe and plead! - Skimming along with spectre-speed To a last tryst with me=
.
The swallows flew in the curves of an eight Above the river-gleam <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> In the wet June's last =
beam: Like
little crossbows animate The swallows flew in the curves of an eight Above the river-gleam.<=
o:p>
Planing up shavings of crystal spray A moor-hen darted out <= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> From the bank thereabou= t, And through the stream-shine ripped his way; Planing up shavings of crystal spr= ay A moor-hen darted out.<= o:p>
Closed were the kingcups; and the mead Dripped in monotonous g=
reen, Though the day's morning
sheen Had shown it golden and honeybee'd; Closed were the kingcups; and the
mead Dripped in
monotonous green.
And never I turned my head, alack, While these things met =
my
gaze Through the =
pane's
drop-drenched glaze, To see the more behind my back . . . O never I turned,=
but
let, alack, These=
less
things hold my gaze!
Lifelong to be Seemed the fair colour of the time; That there was
standing shadowed near A spirit who sang to the gentle chime Of the self-st=
ruck
notes, I did not hear, I did not see.
Thus did it sing To the mindless lyre that played indoors As she cam=
e to
listen for me without: "O value what the nonce outpours - This best of
life--that shines about Your welcoming!"
I had slowed along After the torrid hours were done, Though still the
posts and walls and road Flung back their sense of the hot-faced sun, And h=
ad
walked by Stourside Mill, where broad Stream-lilies throng.
And I descried The dusky house that stood apart, And her,
white-muslined, waiting there In the porch with high-expectant heart, While
still the thin mechanic air Went on inside.
At whiles would flit Swart bats, whose wings, be-webbed and tanned, =
Whirred
like the wheels of ancient clocks: She laughed a hailing as she scanned Me =
in
the gloom, the tuneful box Intoning it.
Lifelong to be I thought it.
That there watched hard by A spirit who sang to the indoor tune, &qu=
ot;O
make the most of what is nigh!" I did not hear in my dull soul-swoon -=
I did not see.
Reticulations creep upon the slack stream's fa=
ce When the wind skims irr=
itably
past, The current clucks smartly into each hollow place That years of flood
have scrabbled in the pier's sodden base; The floating-lily leave=
s rot
fast.
On a roof stand the swallows ranged in wistful
waiting rows, Til=
l they
arrow off and drop like stones Among the eyot-withies at whose foot the riv=
er
flows; And beneath the roof is she who in the dark world shows As a lattice-gleam when
midnight moans.
"The king and the queen will stand to the
child; 'Twill be =
handed
down in song; And it's no more than their deserving, With my lord so faithf=
ul
at Court so long, And so
staunch and strong.
"O never before was known such a thing! <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> 'Twill be a grand time =
for
all; And the beef will be a whole-roast bullock, And the servants will have=
a
feast in the hall, And t=
he
ladies a ball.
"While from Jordan's stream by a travelle=
r, In a flagon of silver
wrought, And by caravan, stage-coach, wain, and waggon A precious trickle h=
as
been brought, Clear=
as
when caught."
The morning came. To the park of the peer The royal couple bore; =
And
the font was filled with the Jordan water, And the household awaited their
guests before The
carpeted door.
But when they went to the silk-lined cot The child was found to =
have
died. "What's now to be done?
We can disappoint not The king and queen!" the family cried
"Even now they approach the chestnut-driv=
e! The service must be
read." "Well, since we can't christen the child alive, By God we
shall have to christen him dead!" The m=
arquis
said.
Thus, breath-forsaken, a corpse was taken To the private chapel--=
yea - And
the king knew not, nor the queen, God wot, That they answered for one retur=
ned
to clay At th=
e font
that day.
I know not how it may be with others Who sit amid relics of
householdry That date from the days of their mothers' mothers, But well I know how it =
is
with me Conti=
nually.
I see the hands of the generations That owned each shiny
familiar thing In play on its knobs and indentations, And with its ancient
fashioning Still
dallying:
Hands behind hands, growing paler and paler, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> As in a mirror a candle=
-flame
Shows images of itself, each frailer As it recedes, though t=
he eye
may frame Its s=
hape
the same.
On the clock's dull dial a foggy finger, Moving to set the minut=
es
right With tentative touches that lift and linger In the wont of a moth o=
n a
summer night, Creep=
s to
my sight.
On this old viol, too, fingers are dancing - <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> As whilom--just over the
strings by the nut, The tip of a bow receding, advancing In airy quivers, as if =
it
would cut The
plaintive gut.
And I see a face by that box for tinder, Glowing forth in fits f=
rom
the dark, And fading again, as the linten cinder Kindles to red at the f=
linty
spark, Or go=
es out
stark.
Well, well.&n=
bsp;
It is best to be up and doing, The world has no use fo=
r one
to-day Who eyes things thus--no aim pursuing! He should not continue =
in
this stay, But s=
ink
away.
I saw it--pink and white--revealed Upon the white and gree=
n; The
white and green was a daisied field, The pink and white Ethl=
een.
And as I looked it seemed in kind That difference they had
none; The two fair bodiments combined As varied miens of one.=
A sense that, in some mouldering year, As one they both would =
lie, Made
me move quickly on to her To pass the pale though=
t by.
She laughed and said: "Out there, to me, You looked so
weather-browned, And brown in clothes, you seemed to be Made of the dusty
ground!"
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>THE LAST PERFORMANCE<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
"I am playing my oldest tunes," decl=
ared
she, "All th=
e old
tunes I know, - Those I learnt ever so long ago." - Why she should thi=
nk
just then she'd play them Silence cloaks like sno=
w.
When I returned from the town at nightfall
A few morns onward found her fading, And, as her life outfle=
w, I
thought of her playing her tunes right through; And I felt she had known of
what was coming, =
And
wondered how she knew.
1912.
I
"You on the tower of my factory - What do you see up ther=
e? Do
you see Enjoyment with wide wings Advancing to reach me
here?" - "Yea; I see Enjoyment with wide wings Advancing to reach you
here."
II
"Good.&n=
bsp;
Soon I'll come and ask you To tell me again thereo=
n . .
. Well, what is he doing now? Hoi,
there!" --"He=
still
is flying on." "Ah, waiting till I have full-finished. Good. Tell me again anon . . .
III
Hoi, Watchman! I'm here. When comes he? Between my sweats I am
chill." --"Oh, you there, working stil=
l? Why,
surely he reached you a time back, And took you miles from=
your
mill? He duly came in his winging, And now he has passed o=
ut of
view. How can it be that you missed him? He brushed you by as he
flew."
THE INTERLOPER
"And I saw the figure and visage of Madne=
ss
seeking for a home."
There are three folk driving in a quaint old
chaise, And the cliff-side track looks green and fair; I view them talking =
in
quiet glee As they drop down towards the puffins' lair By the roughest of w=
ays;
But another with the three rides on, I see, Whom I like not to be t=
here!
No:
it's not anybody you think of.
Next A dwelling appears by a slow sweet stream Where two sit happy a=
nd
half in the dark: They read, helped out by a frail-wick'd gleam, Some rhyth=
mic
text; But one sits with them whom they don't mark, One I'm wishing could n=
ot be
there.
No:
not whom you knew and name.
And now I discern gay diners in a mansion-place, And the guests drop=
ping
wit--pert, prim, or choice, And the hostess's tender and laughing face, And=
the
host's bland brow; I cannot help hearing a hollow voice, And I'd fain not hear it
there.
No:
it's not from the stranger you met once. Ah, Yet a goodlier scene than that
succeeds; People on a lawn--quite a crowd of them. Yes, And they chatter and ramble as
fancy leads; And they say, "Hurrah!" To a blithe speech made; save
one, mirthless, W=
ho
ought not to be there.
Nay:
it's not the pale Form your imagings raise, That waits on us all at a
destined time, It is not the Fourth Figure the Furnace showed, O that it we=
re
such a shape sublime; In these latter days! It is that under which best liv=
es
corrode; Would, w=
ould
it could not be there!
LOGS ON THE HEARTH A MEMORY OF A SISTER
The fire advances along the log Of th=
e tree
we felled, Which bloomed and bore striped apples by the peck Till its last hour of b=
earing
knelled.
The fork that first my hand would reach And t=
hen my
foot In climbings upward inch by inch, lies now Sawn, sapless, darkening with soot.=
Where the bark chars is where, one year, It was
pruned, and bled - Then overgrew the wound. But now, at last, Its growings all have
stagnated.
My fellow-climber rises dim From =
her
chilly grave - Just as she was, her foot near mine on the bending limb,
December 1915.
Ah--it's the skeleton of a lady's sunshade, Here at my feet in the =
hard
rock's chink, Mer=
ely a
naked sheaf of wires! - Twenty years have gone =
with
their livers and diers Since it was silked in =
its
white or pink.
Noonshine riddles the ribs of the sunshade, No more a screen from t=
he
weakest ray; Noth=
ing to
tell us the hue of its dyes, Nothing but rusty bones=
as it
lies In its coffi=
n of
stone, unseen till to-day.
Where is the woman who carried that sun-shade =
Up and down this seaside
place? - Little t=
humb
standing against its stem, Thoughts perhaps bent o=
n a
love-stratagem, Softening yet more the
already soft face!
Is the fair woman who carried that sunshade A skeleton just as her
property is, Laid=
in
the chink that none may scan? And does she regret--if
regret dust can - The
vain things thought when she flourished this?
SWANAGE CLIFFS.
When the walls were red That now are seen To be overspread With a mouldy green, A fresh fair head Would often lean From the sunny casement=
And scan the scene, Whi=
le
blithely spoke the wind to the little sycamore tree.
But storms have raged Those walls about, And the head has aged <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> That once looked out; <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And zest is suaged And trust is doubt,
Within a churchyard, on a recent grave, I saw a little cage That
jailed a goldfinch. All was s=
ilence
save Its hops from
stage to stage.
There was inquiry in its wistful eye, And once it tried to si=
ng; Of
him or her who placed it there, and why, No one knew anything.
"That same first fiddler who leads the
orchestra to-night Here
fiddled four decades of years ago; He bears the same babe-like smile of
self-centred delight, Same trinket on watch-chain, same ring on the hand wi=
th
the bow.
"But his face, if regarded, is woefully
wanner, and drier, And
his once dark beard has grown straggling and gray; Yet a blissful existence=
he
seems to have led with his lyre, In a trance of his own, where no wearing or
tearing had sway.
"Mid these wax figures, who nothing can d=
o,
it may seem That =
to do
but a little thing counts a great deal; To be watched by kings, councillors,
queens, may be flattering to him - With their glass eyes longing they too c=
ould
wake notes that appeal."
* * *
Ah, but he played staunchly--that fiddler--who=
ever
he was, With the
innocent heart and the soul-touching string: May he find the Fair Haven!
They crush together--a rustling heap of flesh =
- Of
more than flesh, a heap of souls; and then They =
part,
enmesh, And crush
together again, Like the pink petals of a too sanguine rose Frightened shut just wh=
en it
blows.
Though all alike in their tinsel livery, And
indistinguishable at a sweeping glance, They
muster, maybe, As=
lives
wide in irrelevance; A world of her own has each one underneath, Detached as a sword fro=
m its
sheath.
Daughters, wives, mistresses; honest or false,
sold, bought; Hearts of all sizes; gay, fond, gushing, or penned, Vario=
us in
thought Of lo=
ver,
rival, friend; Links in a one-pulsed chain, all showing one smile, Yet severed so many a m=
ile!
The sparro=
w dips
in his wheel-rut bath, =
The
sun grows passionate-eyed, And boils the dew to sm=
oke by
the paddock-path; =
As
strenuously we stride, - Five of us; dark He, fair He, dark She, fair She, =
I, =
All
beating by.
The air is
shaken, the high-road hot, =
Shadowless
swoons the day, T=
he
greens are sobered and cattle at rest; but not =
We
on our urgent way, - Four of us; fair She, dark She, fair He, I, are there,=
=
But
one--elsewhere.
Autumn mou=
lds
the hard fruit mellow, =
And
forward still we press Through moors, briar-me=
shed
plantations, clay-pits yellow, =
As
in the spring hours--yes, Three of us:&nbs=
p;
fair He, fair She, I, as heretofore, =
But--fallen
one more.
The leaf
drops: earthworms draw it in =
=
At
night-time noiselessly, The fingers of birch and
beech are skeleton-thin, =
And
yet on the beat are we, - Two of us; fair She, I. But no more left to go =
The
track we know.
Icicles ta=
g the
church-aisle leads, =
The
flag-rope gibbers hoarse, The home-bound foot-fol=
k wrap
their snow-flaked heads, =
Yet
I still stalk the course, - One of us . . . Dark and fair He, dark and fair
She, gone: =
The
rest--anon.
I travel on by barren farms, And gulls glint o=
ut
like silver flecks Against a cloud that speaks of wrecks, And bellies down =
with
black alarms. I say: "Th=
us
from my lady's arms I go; those arms I love the best!" The wind replies
from dip and rise, "Nay; toward her arms thou journeyest."
A distant verge morosely gray Appears, while c=
lots
of flying foam Break from its muddy monochrome, And a light blinks up far a=
way.
I sigh: "My eyes now as =
all
day Behold her ebon loops of hair!" Like bursting bonds the wind respo=
nds,
"Nay, wait for tresses flashing fair!"
From tides the lofty coastlands screen Come
smitings like the slam of doors, Or hammerings on hollow floors, As the swe=
ll
cleaves through caves unseen. Say I:
"Though broad this wild terrene, Her city home is matched of
none!" From the hoarse skies the wind replies: "Thou shouldst have
said her sea-bord one."
The all-prevailing clouds exclude The one quick
timorous transient star; The waves outside where breakers are Huzza like a =
mad
multitude. "Where the sun ups it, mist-imbued," I cry, "there
reigns the star for me!" The wind outshrieks from points and peaks: &q=
uot;Here,
westward, where it downs, mean ye!"
Yonder the headland, vulturine, Snores like old
Skrymer in his sleep, And every chasm and every steep Blackens as wakes each
pharos-shine. "I roam, but one is safely mine," I say. "God grant she stay my own!&q=
uot; Low
laughs the wind as if it grinned: "Thy Love is one thou'st not yet
known."
Rewritten from an old copy.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>DURING WIND AND RAIN<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
They sing their dearest songs - He, she, all of them--y=
ea, Treble and tenor and ba=
ss, And o=
ne to
play; With the ca=
ndles
mooning each face . . . Ah, n=
o; the
years O! How the sick leaves reel down in throngs!
They clear the creeping moss - Elders and juniors--aye=
, Making the pathways nea=
t And t=
he
garden gay; And t=
hey
build a shady seat . . . Ah, n=
o; the
years, the years; See, the white storm-birds wing across!
They are blithely breakfasting all - Men and maidens--yea, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Under the summer tree, =
With a
glimpse of the bay, While pet fowl come to =
the
knee . . . Ah, n=
o; the
years O! And the rotten rose is ript from the wall.
They change to a high new house, He, she, all of them--a=
ye, Clocks and carpets and =
chairs
On
the lawn all day, And
brightest things that are theirs . . . Ah, n=
o; the
years, the years; Down their carved names the rain-drop ploughs.
This after-sunset is a sight for seeing, Cliff=
-heads
of craggy cloud surrounding it. --And dwell you in that glory=
-show?
You may; for there are strange strange things in being, Stran=
ger
than I know.
Yet if that chasm of splendour claim your pres=
ence
Which glows between the ash cloud and the dun, How changed must be your
mortal mould! Changed to a firmament-riding earthless essence From =
what
you were of old:
All too unlike the fond and fragile creature T=
hen
known to me . . . Well, shall I say it plain? I would not have you th=
us and
there, But still would grieve on, missing you, still feature You a=
s the
one you were.
"Whenever you dress me dolls, mammy, Why do you dress them s=
o, And
make them gallant soldiers, When never a one I know=
; And
not as gentle ladies With frills and frocks =
and
curls, As people dress the dollies Of other little girls?&=
quot;
Ah--why did she not answer:- "Because your mamm=
y's
heed Is always gallant soldiers, As well may be, indeed.=
One
of them was your daddy, His name I must not tel=
l; He's
not the dad who lives here, But one I love too
well."
No more summer for Molly and me; There=
is
snow on the tree, And
the blackbirds plump large as the rooks are, almost, And t=
he
water is hard Where they used to dip bills at the dawn ere her figure was l=
ost To th=
ese
coasts, now my prison close-barred.
No more planting by Molly and me Where=
the
beds used to be Of
sweet-william; no training the clambering rose By the
framework of fir Now bowering the pathway, whereon it swings gaily and blow=
s As if
calling commendment from her.
No more jauntings by Molly and me To th=
e town
by the sea, Or al=
ong
over Whitesheet to Wynyard's green Gap, Catch=
ing
Montacute Crest To the right against Sedgmoor, and Corton-Hill's far-distant
cap, And P=
ilsdon
and Lewsdon to west.
No more singing by Molly to me In the
evenings when she Was in mood and in voice, and the c=
andles
were lit, And p=
ast
the porch-quoin The rays would spring out on the laurels; and dumbledores h=
it On the
pane, as if wishing to join.
Where, then, is Molly, who's no more with me? --As I stan=
d on
this lea, Thinking
thus, there's a many-flamed star in the air, That =
tosses
a sign That her glance is regarding its face from her home, so that there <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Her e=
yes
may have meetings with mine.
The trees are afraid to put forth buds, And th=
ere
is timidity in the grass; The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds, And whether next week w=
ill
pass Free of sly sour winds is the fret of each bush Of barberry waiting to =
bloom.
Yet the snowdrop's face betrays no gloom, And =
the
primrose pants in its heedless push, Though the myrtle asks if it's worth t=
he
fight This year w=
ith
frost and rime To
venture one more time On delicate leaves and buttons of white From the self=
same
bough as at last year's prime, And never to ruminate on or remember What
happened to it in mid-December.
April 1917.
I
It is dark in the sky, And silence is where Our
laughs rang high; And recall do I That One is out there.
II
The dawn is not nigh, And the trees are bare, =
And
the waterways sigh That a year has drawn by, And Two are out there.
III
The wind drops to die Like the phantom of Care=
Too
frail for a cry, And heart brings to eye That Three are out there.
IV
This Life runs dry That once ran rare And rosy=
in
dye, And fleet the days fly, And Four are out there.
V
Tired, tired am I Of this earthly air, And my
wraith asks: Why, Since these=
calm
lie, Are not Five out there?
December 1915.
I went and stood outside myself, Spelled the dark sky And ship-lights nigh, A=
nd
grumbling winds that passed thereby.
Then next inside myself I looked, And there, above All, shone my Love, That
nothing matched the image of.
Beyond myself again I ranged; And saw the free Life by the sea, And folk
indifferent to me.
O 'twas a charm to draw within Thereafter, where But she was; care For o=
ne
thing only, her hid there!
But so it chanced, without myself I had to look, And then I took More he=
ed of
what I had long forsook:
The boats, the sands, the esplanade, The laughing crowd;
The evening sunlit cliffs, the talk, Hailings and halts,
Still, when at night I drew inside Forward she came, Sad, but the same As wh=
en I
first had known her name.
Then rose a time when, as by force, Outwardly wooed By contacts crude, Her =
image
in abeyance stood . . .
At last I said: This outside life Shall not endure; I'll seek the pure Thou=
ght-world,
and bask in her allure.
Myself again I crept within, Scanned with keen care =
The temple where She'd =
shone,
but could not find her there.
I sought and sought. But O her soul Has not since thrown Upon my own One beam! Yea, she is gone, is gone.
From an old note.
She sped through the door And, following in ha=
ste,
And stirred to the core, I entered hot-faced; But I could not find her, No =
sign
was behind her. "Where is she?" I said: - "Who?" they a=
sked
that sat there; "Not a soul's come in sight." - "A maid with=
red
hair." - "Ah." They
paled. "She is dead. Peo=
ple
see her at night, But you are the first On whom she has burst In the keen
common light."
It was ages ago, When I was quite strong: I ha=
ve
waited since,--O, I have waited so long! - Yea, I set me to own The house,
where now lone I dwell in void rooms Booming hollow as tombs! But I never c=
ome
near her, Though nightly I hear her. And my cheek has grown thin And my hair
has grown gray With this waiting therein; But she still keeps away!
"Sir, will you let me give you a ride? Nox
Venit, and the heath is wide." - My phaeton-lantern shone on one Young, fair, even fresh=
, But burdened with flesh=
: A
leathern satchel at his side, His breathings short, his coat undone.
'Twas as if his corpulent figure slopped With =
the
shake of his walking when he stopped, And, though the night's pinch grew ac=
ute,
He wore but a thi=
n Wind-thridded suit, Yet
well-shaped shoes for walking in, Artistic beaver, cane gold-topped.
"Alas, my friend," he said with a sm=
ile,
"I am daily bound to foot ten mile - Wet, dry, or dark--before I rest.=
Six months to live My doctors give Me as my
prospect here, at best, Unless I vamp my sturdiest!"
His voice was that of a man refined, A man, one
well could feel, of mind, Quite winning in its musical ease; But in mould maligned <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> By some disease; And I =
asked
again. But he shook his head;=
Then,
as if more were due, he said:-
"A student was I--of Schopenhauer, Kant,
Hegel,--and the fountained bower Of the Muses, too, knew my regard: But ah--I fear me The grave gapes near me=
! . .
. Would I could this gross sheath discard, And rise an ethereal shape,
unmarred!"
How I remember him!--his short breath, His asp=
ect,
marked for early death, As he dropped into the night for ever; One caught in his prime=
Of high endeavour; From=
all
philosophies soon to sever Through an unconscienced trick of Time!
"Who's in the next room?--who? I see=
med to
see Somebody in the dawning passing through, Unkno=
wn to
me." "Nay: you saw
nought. He passed invisibly.&=
quot;
"Who's in the next room?--who? I see=
m to
hear Somebody muttering firm in a language new That =
chills
the ear." "No: you =
catch
not his tongue who has entered there."
"Who's in the next room?--who? I see=
m to
feel His breath like a clammy draught, as if it drew From =
the
Polar Wheel." "No: =
none
who breathes at all does the door conceal."
"Who's in the next room?--who? A fig=
ure
wan With a message to one in there of something due? Shall=
I
know him anon?" "Yea he; and he brought such; and you'll know him
anon."
At a bygone Western country fair I saw a giant=
led
by a dwarf With a red string like a long thin scarf; How much he was the
stronger there The
giant seemed unaware.
And then I saw that the giant was blind, And t=
he
dwarf a shrewd-eyed little thing; The giant, mild, timid, obeyed the string=
As
if he had no independent mind, Or will of any kind.
Wherever the dwarf decided to go At his heels =
the
other trotted meekly, (Perhaps--I know not--reproaching weakly) Like one Fa=
te
bade that it must be so, Whether he wished or no=
.
Various sights in various climes I have seen, =
and
more I may see yet, But that sight never shall I forget, And have thought it
the sorriest of pantomimes, If once, a hundred time=
s!
"Why do you weep there, O sweet lady, Why do you weep before =
that
brass? - (I'm a mere student sketching the mediaeval) Is some late death lined
there, alas? - Your father's? . . . Well, all pay the debt that paid he!&qu=
ot;
"Young man, O must I tell!--My husband's! And under His name I set mine, an=
d my
DEATH! - Its date left vacant till my heirs should fill it, Stating me faithful til=
l my
last breath." - "Madam, that you are a widow wakes my wonder!&quo=
t;
"O wait! For last=
month
I--remarried! And=
now I
fear 'twas a deed amiss. We've just come home. And I am sick and saddened At what the new one wil=
l say
to this; And will he think--think that I should have tarried?
"I may add, surely,--with no wish to harm him - That he's a temper--yes=
, I
fear! And when he comes to church next Sunday morning, And sees that written .=
. . O
dear, O dear! - "Madam, I swear your beauty will disarm him!"
When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon, = There was in their tiny= tune A dying fetch like broken words, When I looked up at my love-birds That Sunday afternoon.<= o:p>
When he, too, scanned the love-birds On entering there that =
day, 'Twas as if he had noug=
ht to
say Of his long journey citywards, When he, too, scanned the love-birds, On entering there that =
day.
And billed and billed the love-birds, As 'twere in fond despa=
ir At the stress of silence
where Had once been tones in tenor thirds, And billed and billed the love-b=
irds
As 'twere in fond
despair.
O, his speech that chilled the love-birds,
I went by footpath and by stile Beyond where bustle end=
s, Strayed
here a mile and there a mile And called upon some fr=
iends.
On certain ones I had not seen For years past did I ca=
ll, And
then on others who had been The oldest friends of a=
ll.
It was the time of midsummer When they had used to r=
oam; But
now, though tempting was the air, I found them all at hom=
e.
I spoke to one and other of them By mound and stone and =
tree Of
things we had done ere days were dim, But they spoke not to m=
e.
Warm yellowy-green In the blue serene, How they
skip and sway On this autumn day! They cannot know What has happened below,=
- That
their boughs down there Are already quite bare, That their own will be When=
a
week has passed, - For they jig as in glee To this very last.
But no; there lies At times in their tune A no=
te
that cries What at first I fear I did not hear: "O we remember At each
wind's hollo - Though life holds yet - We go hence soon, For 'tis November;=
-
But that you follow You may forget!"
"It never looks like summer here On Beeny by the sea.&qu=
ot; But
though she saw its look as drear, Summer it seemed to me.=
It never looks like summer now Whatever weather's ther= e; But ah, it cannot anyhow, On Beeny or elsewhere!<= o:p>
BOSCASTLE, March 8, 1913.
"The house is bleak and cold Built so new for me! Al=
l the
winds upon the wold Search it through for m=
e; No
screening trees abound, And the curious eyes around Keep on view for me.&qu=
ot;
"My Love, I am planting trees As a screen for you Bot=
h from
winds, and eyes that tease And peer in for you. On=
ly
wait till they have grown, No such bower will be known As I mean for you."=
;
"Then I will bear it, Love, And will wait," she
said. - So, with years, there grew a grove. "Skill how great!&=
quot;
she said. "As you wished, Dear?"--"Yes, I see! But--I'm dyin=
g;
and for me 'Tis t=
oo
late," she said.
There was merry-making When the first dart fel=
l As a heralding, - Till
grinned the fully bared thing, And froze like a spell =
- Like a
spell.
Innocent was she, Innocent was I, Too simple we! Before u=
s we
did not see, Near=
ing,
aught wry - Aught=
wry!
I can tell it not now, It was long ago; And such things cow; Bu=
t that
is why and how Two
lives were so - Were =
so.
Yes, the years matured, And the blows were thre=
e That time ensured On he=
r,
which she dumbly endured; And one on me - One o=
n me.
There was a glorious time At an epoch of my pr=
ime;
Mornings beryl-bespread, And evenings golden-red; Nothing gray: And in my=
heart
I said, "However this chanced to be, It is too full for me, Too rare, =
too
rapturous, rash, Its spell must close with a crash Some day!"
The radiance went on Anon and yet anon, And
sweetness fell around Like manna on the ground. "I've no claim,&qu=
ot; Said
I, "to be thus crowned: I am not worthy this:- Must it not go amiss? -=
Well
. . . let the end foreseen Come duly!--I am serene." --And it came.
No use hoping, or feeling vext, Tugged by a fo=
rce
above or under Like some fantocine, much I wonder What I shall find me doing
next!
Shall I be rushing where bright eyes be? Shall=
I be
suffering sorrows seven? Shall I be watching the stars of heaven, Thinking =
one
of them looks like thee?
Part is mine of the general Will, Cannot my sh=
are
in the sum of sources Bend a digit the poise of forces, And a fair desire
fulfil?
Nov. 1893.
"The very last time I ever was here,"=
; he
said, "I saw much less of the quick than I saw of the dead." - He=
was
a man I had met with somewhere before, But how or when I now could recall no
more.
"The hazy mazy moonlight at one in the
morning Spread out as a sea across the frozen snow, Glazed to live sparkles
like the great breastplate adorning The priest of the Temple, with Urim and
Thummim aglow.
"The yew-tree arms, glued hard to the sti=
ff
stark air, Hung still in the village sky as theatre-scenes When I came by t=
he
churchyard wall, and halted there At a shut-in sound of fiddles and
tambourines.
"And as I stood hearkening, dulcimers,
haut-boys, and shawms, And violoncellos, and a three-stringed double-bass, =
Joined
in, and were intermixed with a singing of psalms; And I looked over at the =
dead
men's dwelling-place.
"Through the shine of the slippery snow I=
now
could see, As it were through a crystal roof, a great company Of the dead
minueting in stately step underground To the tune of the instruments I had
before heard sound.
"It was 'Eden New,' and dancing they sang=
in
a chore, 'We are out of it all!--yea, in Little-Ease cramped no more!' And
their shrouded figures pacing with joy I could see As you see the stage from
the gallery. And they had no =
heed
of me.
"And I lifted my head quite dazed from the
churchyard wall And I doubted not that it warned I should soon have my call=
. But--"
. . . Then in the ashes he emptied the dregs of his cup, And onward he went,
and the darkness swallowed him up.
I should not have shown in the flesh, I ought =
to
have gone as a ghost; It was awkward, unseemly almost, Standing solidly the=
re
as when fresh, Pi=
nk,
tiny, crisp-curled, My
pinions yet furled From
the winds of the world.
After waiting so many a year To wait longer, a=
nd
go as a sprite From the tomb at the mid of some night Was the right, radiant
way to appear; No=
t as
one wanzing weak =
From
life's roar and reek, His rest still to seek:=
Yea, beglimpsed through the quaint quarried gl=
ass Of
green moonlight, by me greener made, When they'd cry, perhaps, "There =
sits
his shade In his olden haunt--just as he was When in Walkingame he <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Conned the grand
Rule-of-Three Wit=
h the
bent of a bee."
But to show in the afternoon sun, With an aspe=
ct
of hollow-eyed care, When none wished to see me come there, Was a garish th=
ing,
better undone. Ye=
s;
wrong was the way; But
yet, let me say, =
I may
right it--some day.
I thought, my Heart, that you had healed Of th=
ose
sore smartings of the past, And that the summers had oversealed All mark of them at las=
t. But
closely scanning in the night I saw them standing crimson-bright Just =
as she
made them: Nothi=
ng
could fade them; Yea, =
I can
swear That =
there
they were - They =
still
were there!
Then the Vision of her who cut them came, And
looking over my shoulder said, "I am sure you deal me all the blame For those sharp smarts =
and
red; But meet me, dearest, to-morrow night, In the churchyard at the moon's
half-height, And so
strange a kiss Shall=
be
mine, I wis, That =
you'll
cease to know If the
wounds you show Be th=
ere or
no!"
At last I entered a long dark gallery, Catacomb-lined; and ran=
ged at
the side Were the
bodies of men from far and wide Who, motion past, were nevertheless not dea=
d.
"The sense of waiting here strikes strong=
; Everyone's waiting, wai=
ting,
it seems to me; W=
hat
are you waiting for so long? - What is to happen?" I said.
"O we are waiting for one called God,&quo=
t;
said they, "(Though by some t=
he
Will, or Force, or Laws; And, vaguely, by some, =
the
Ultimate Cause;) Waiting for him to see us before we are clay. Yes; waiting,
waiting, for God TO KNOW IT" . . .
"To know what?" questioned I. "To know how things have
been going on earth and below it: It is clear he must kno=
w some
day." I ther=
eon
asked them why.
"Since he made us humble pioneers Of hims=
elf
in consciousness of Life's tears, It needs no mighty prophecy To tell that =
what
he could mindlessly show His creatures, he himself will know.
"By some still close-cowled mystery We ha=
ve
reached feeling faster than he, But he will overtake us anon, If the world goes on.&q=
uot;
In the third-class seat sat the journeying boy=
, And the roof-lamp's oily
flame Played down on his listless form and face, Bewrapt past knowing to wh=
at
he was going, Or wh=
ence
he came.
In the band of his hat the journeying boy Had a ticket stuck; and=
a
string Around his neck bore the key of his box, That twinkled gleams of the
lamp's sad beams Like a
living thing.
What past can be yours, O journeying boy Towards a world unknown=
, Who
calmly, as if incurious quite On all at stake, can undertake This =
plunge
alone?
Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy, Our rude realms far abo=
ve, Whence
with spacious vision you mark and mete This region of sin that you find you=
in,
But
are not of?
At the shiver of morning, a little before the
false dawn, The m=
oon
was at the window-square, Deedily brooding in def=
ormed
decay - The curve=
hewn
off her cheek as by an adze; At the shiver of morning a little before the f=
alse
dawn So the moon =
looked
in there.
Her speechless eyeing reached across the chamb=
er, Where=
lay
two souls opprest, One
a white lady sighing, "Why am I sad!" To him who sighed back,
"Sad, my Love, am I!" And speechlessly the old moon conned the
chamber, And thes=
e two
reft of rest.
While their large-pupilled vision swept the sc=
ene
there, Nought
seeming imminent, Something fell sheer, a=
nd
crashed, and from the floor Lay glittering at the p=
air
with a shattered gaze, While their large-pupilled vision swept the scene th=
ere,
And the many-eyed=
thing
outleant.
With a start they saw that it was an old-time
pier-glass Which=
had
stood on the mantel near, Its silvering
blemished,--yes, as if worn away By the eyes of the coun=
tless
dead who had smirked at it Ere these two ever knew that old-time pier-glass=
And its vague and vacant
leer.
As he looked, his bride like a moth skimmed fo=
rth,
and kneeling Quick=
, with
quivering sighs, Gathered the pieces und=
er the
moon's sly ray, U=
nwitting
as an automaton what she did; Till he entreated, hasting to where she was
kneeling, Let it =
stay
where it lies!"
"Long years of sorrow this means!"
breathed the lady As th=
ey
retired. "Alas!" And she lifted one pale=
hand
across her eyes. "Don't trouble, Lo=
ve;
it's nothing," the bridegroom said. "Long years of sorrow for
us!" murmured the lady, "Or ever this evil
pass!"
And the Spirits Ironic laughed behind the
wainscot, And t=
he
Spirits of Pity sighed. It's good," said t=
he Spirits
Ironic, "to tickle their minds With a portent of their
wedlock's after-grinds." And the Spirits of Pity sighed behind the
wainscot, "I=
t's a
portent we cannot abide!
"More, what shall happen to prove the tru=
th
of the portent?" --"Oh;=
in brief,
they will fade till old, And their loves grow nu=
mbed
ere death, by the cark of care." - "But nought see we that asks f=
or
portents there? - 'Tis the lot of all."--"Well, no less true is a
portent That it f=
its
all mortal mould."
When up aloft I fly and fly, I see in pools The
shining sky, And a happy bird Am I, am I!
When I descend Towards their brink I stand, and
look, And stoop, and drink, And bathe my wings, And chink and prink.
When winter frost Makes earth as steel I searc=
h and
search But find no meal, And most unhappy Then I feel.
But when it lasts, And snows still fall, I get=
to
feel No grief at all, For I turn to a cold stiff Feathery ball!
"I ROSE AND WENT TO ROU'TOR TOWN" (S=
he,
alone)
I rose and went to Rou'tor Town With gaiety and good he=
art, And ardour for the star=
t, That
morning ere the moon was down That lit me off to Rou'tor Town With gaiety and good he=
art.
When sojourn soon at Rou'tor Town Wrote sorrows on my fac=
e, I strove that none shou=
ld trace
The pale and gray, once pink and brown, When sojourn soon at Rou'tor Town <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Wrote sorrows on my fac=
e.
The evil wrought at Rou'tor Town On him I'd loved so tru=
e I cannot tell anew: But
nought can quench, but nought can drown The evil wrought at Rou'tor Town On him I'd loved so tru=
e!
This, then, is the grave of my son, Whose heart she won!
How he upbraided me, and left, And our lives were clef=
t,
because I said She was hard, unfeeling, caring but to wed.
Well, to see this sight I have fared these miles, And her firelight smile=
s from
her window there, Whom he left his mother to cherish with tender care!
It is enough. I'll tur=
n and
go; Yes, nettles =
grow
where lone lies he, Who spurned me for seeing what he could not see.
On a morning sick as the day of doom With the drizzling gray=
Of an English May, Ther=
e were
few in the railway waiting-room. About its walls were framed and varnished =
Pictures
of liners, fly-blown, tarnished. The table bore a Testament For travellers'
reading, if suchwise bent.
I read it =
on and
on, And, throngin=
g the
Gospel of Saint John, Were figures--additions,
multiplications - By some one scrawled, with sundry emendations; Not
scoffingly designed, But w=
ith an
absent mind, - Pl=
ainly
a bagman's counts of cost, What he had profited, w=
hat
lost; And whilst I wondered if there could have been Any
particle of a soul In that poor man at all,
To cypher rates of wage Upon that printed page,=
There joined in the cha=
rmless
scene And stood over me and the scribbled book (To lend the hour's mea=
n hue A smear of tragedy too)=
A
soldier and wife, with haggard look Subdued to stone by strong endeavour; <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And then I heard From a casual word They=
were
parting as they believed for ever.
But next there came Like the eastern flame =
Of
some high altar, children--a pair - Who laughed at the fly-blown pictures t=
here.
"Here are the lovely ships that we, Mother, are by and by going to see=
! When
we get there it's 'most sure to be fine, And the band will play, and the sun
will shine!"
It rained on the skylight with a din As we wai=
ted
and still no train came in; But the words of the child in the squalid room =
Had
spread a glory through the gloom.
It is dark as a cave, Or a vault in the nave W=
hen
the iron door Is closed, and the floor Of the church relaid With trowel and
spade.
But the parish-clerk Cares not for the dark As=
he
winds in the tower At a regular hour The rheumatic clock, Whose dilatory kn=
ock You
can hear when praying At the day's decaying, Or at any lone while From a pe=
w in
the aisle.
Up, up from the ground Around and around In the
turret stair He clambers, to where The wheelwork is, With its tick, click,
whizz, Reposefully measuring Each day to its end That mortal men spend In
sorrowing and pleasuring Nightly thus does he climb To the trackway of Time=
.
Him I followed one night To this place without
light, And, ere I spoke, heard Him say, word by word, At the end of his
winding, The darkness unminding:-
"So I wipe out one more, My Dear, of the =
sore
Sad days that still be, Like a drying Dead Sea, Between you and me!"
Who she was no man knew: He had long borne him
blind To all womankind; And was ever one who Kept his past out of view.
"What's the good of going to Ridgeway, Cerne, or Sydling Mill,=
Or to Yell'ham Hill, Bl=
ithely
bearing Casterbridge-way As we used to do? She w=
ill no
more climb up there, Or be visible anywhere In those haunts we
knew."
But to-night, while walking weary, Near me seemed her shad=
e, Come as 'twere to upbra=
id This
my mood in deeming dreary Scenes that used to ple=
ase; And,
if she did come to me, Still solicitous, there may be Good in going to these.=
So, I'll care to roam to Ridgeway, Cerne, or Sydling Mill,=
Or to Yell'ham Hill, Bl=
ithely
bearing Casterbridge-way As we used to do, Since=
her
phasm may flit out there, And may greet me anywhere In those haunts we knew=
.
April 1913.
I found me in a great surging space, At either end a door, A=
nd I
said: "What is this gidd=
ying
place, With no
firm-fixed floor, That
I knew not of before?" "It is Life,"=
said
a mask-clad face.
I asked:
"But how do I come here, Who never wished to com=
e; Can
the light and air be made more clear, The floor more quietsom=
e, And the doors set wide?=
They numb Fast-locked, and fill w=
ith
fear."
The mask put on a bleak smile then, And said, "O
vassal-wight, There once complained a goosequill pen To the scribe of the In=
finite
Of the words it h=
ad to
write Because the=
y were
past its ken."
That whisper takes the voice Of a Spirit's
compassionings Close, but invisible, And throws me under a spell At the
kindling vision it brings; And for a moment I rejoice, And believe in
transcendent things That would mould from this muddy earth A spot for the
splendid birth Of everlasting lives, Whereto no night arrives; And this gau=
nt
gray gallery A tabernacle of worth On this drab-aired afternoon, When you c=
an
barely see Across its hazed lacune If opposite aught there be Of fleshed
humanity Wherewith I may commune; Or if the voice so near Be a soul's voice
floating here.
It was when Whirls of thick waters laved me Again and again, That
something arose and saved me; Yea, it was then.
In that day Unseeing the azure went I On my way, And to white
winter bent I, Kn=
owing
no May.
Reft of renown, Under the night clouds beating Up and down, In my
needfulness greeting Cit and clown.
Long there had been Much of a murky colour In the scene, Dull pros=
pects
meeting duller; N=
ought
between.
Last, there loomed A closing-in blind alley, Though there boomed A f=
eeble
summons to rally =
Where
it gloomed.
The clock rang; The hour brought a hand to deliver; I upsprang, And looked =
back
at den, ditch and river, And sang.
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>THE ENEMY'S PORTRAIT<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
He saw the portrait of his enemy, offered At
auction in a street he journeyed nigh, That enemy, now late dead, who in his
life-time Had injured deeply him the passer-by. "To get that picture,
pleased be God, I'll try, And utterly destroy it; and no more Shall be
inflicted on man's mortal eye A countenance so sinister and sore!"
And so he bought the painting. Driving homeward, "The frame =
will
come in useful," he declared, "The rest is fuel." On his arrival, weary, Asked what =
he
bore with him, and how he fared, He said he had bid for a picture, though he
cared For the frame only: on =
the
morrow he Would burn the canvas, which could well be spared, Seeing that it
portrayed his enemy.
Next day some other duty found him busy; The f=
oe
was laid his face against the wall; But on the next he set himself to loose=
n The
straining-strips. And then a =
casual
call Prevented his proceeding therewithal; And thus the picture waited, day=
by
day, Its owner's pleasure, like a wretched thrall, Until a month and more h=
ad
slipped away.
And then upon a morn he found it shifted, Hung=
in
a corner by a servitor. "Why did you take on you to hang that picture?=
You
know it was the frame I bought it for." "It stood in the way of e=
very
visitor, And I just hitched it there."--"Well, it must go: I don't
commemorate men whom I abhor. Remind me 'tis to do. The frame I'll stow."
But things become forgotten. In the shadow Of the dark corner h= ung it by its string, And there it stayed--once noticed by its owner, Who said, "Ah me--I must destroy that thing!" But when he died, there, none remembering, It hung, till moved to prominence, as one sees; And comers pau= se and say, examining, "I thought they were the bitterest enemies?"<= o:p>
She saw herself a lady With =
fifty
frocks in wear, And rolling wheels, and rooms the best, And
faithful maidens' care, And open lawns and shad=
y For
weathers warm or drear.
She found herself a striver, All l=
iberal
gifts debarred, With days of gloom, and movements stressed, And e=
arly
visions marred, A=
nd got
no man to wive her But o=
ne
whose lot was hard.
Yet in the moony night-time She s=
teals
to stile and lea During his heavy slumberous rest When
homecome wearily, And
dreams of some blest bright-time She k=
nows
can never be.
The rain imprinted the step's wet shine With
target-circles that quivered and crossed As I was leaving this porch of min=
e; When
from within there swelled and paused A song's sweet note; And back I turned, and
thought, "=
;Here
I'll abide."
The step shines wet beneath the rain, Which pr=
ints
its circles as heretofore; I watch them from the porch again, But no song-n=
otes
within the door Now c=
all to
me To shun the dr=
ipping
lea And f=
orth I
stride.
Jan. 1914.
Said the red-cloaked crone In a whispered moan=
:
"The dead man was limp When laid in his
chest; Yea, limp; and why But to signify That the grave will crimp Ere next
year's sun Yet another one Of those in that house - It may be the best - For
its endless drowse!"
Said the brown-shawled dame To confirm the sam=
e:
"And the slothful flies On the rotting fr=
uit Have
been seen to wear While crawling there Crape scarves, by eyes That were qui=
ck
and acute; As did those that had pitched On the cows by the pails, And with
flaps of their tails Were far away switched."
Said the third in plaid, Each word being weigh=
ed:
"And trotting does In the park, in the la=
ne, And
just outside The shuttered pane, Have also been heard - Quick feet as light=
As
the feet of a sprite - And the wise mind knows What things may betide When =
such
has occurred."
Cried the black-craped fourth, Cold faced as t=
he
north:
"O, though giving such Some head-room, I =
smile
At your falterings When noting those things Round your domicile! For what, =
what
can touch One whom, riven of all That makes life gay, No hints can appal Of
more takings away!"
<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>PATHS OF FORMER TIME<=
span
style=3D'font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-fa=
reast-font-family:
Calibri'>
No; no; It must not be so: They=
are
the ways we do not go.
Still chew=
The kine, and moo In the
meadows we used to wander through;
Still purl=
The rivulets and curl T=
owards
the weirs with a musical swirl;
Haymakers =
As in former years Rake=
rolls
into heaps that the pitchfork rears;
Wheels cra=
ck On the turfy track The =
waggon
pursues with its toppling pack.
"Why =
then
shun - Since summ=
er's
not done - All this because of the lack of one?"
Had you be=
en Sharer of that scene You
would not ask while it bites in keen
Why it is =
so We can no more go By the
summer paths we used to know!
1913.
"A spirit passed before my face; the hair=
of
my flesh stood up."
And the Spirit said, "I can make the clock of the years go
backward, But am loth to stop it where you will." And I cried, "Agre=
ed To that. Proceed: It's better than dead!&=
quot;
He answered, "Peace"; And called her up--as last before me=
; Then
younger, younger she freshed, to the year I first had known Her woman-grown, And I cried, "Ceas=
e! -
"Thus far is good - It is enough--let her stay thus always!&quo=
t; But
alas for me. He shook his hea=
d: No stop was there; And she waned child-fai=
r, And to babyhood.
Still less in mien To my great sorrow became she slowly, And smalled
till she was nought at all In his checkless griff;=
And it was as if She had never been.
"Better," I plained, "She were dead as before! The memory of her Had lived in me;=
but
it cannot now!" And coldly his voice: <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> "It was your choic=
e To mar the ordained.&qu=
ot;
1916.
A woman was playing, A man looking on; And the mould of her fa=
ce, And her neck, and her h=
air, Which the rays fell upo=
n Of the two candles ther=
e, Sent
him mentally straying In some fancy-place
A cowled Apparition Came pushing between; <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And her notes seemed to=
sigh,
And the lights to=
burn
pale, As a spell =
numbed
the scene. But th=
e maid
saw no bale, And the man no monition; And Time laughed awry, =
And the Phantom hid nig=
h.
I went by =
the
Druid stone That =
broods
in the garden white and lone, And I stopped and looked at the shifting shad=
ows That at some moments fa=
ll
thereon From the tree hard by with a rhythm=
ic
swing, And they s=
haped
in my imagining To the shade that a well-known head and shoulders Threw there when she was
gardening.
I thought =
her
behind my back, Y=
ea,
her I long had learned to lack, And I said: "I am sure you are standing b=
ehind
me, Though how do=
you
get into this old track?" And there was no sound =
but
the fall of a leaf As a
sad response; and to keep down grief I would not turn my head to discover <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> That there was nothing =
in my
belief.
Yet I want=
ed to
look and see That
nobody stood at the back of me; But I thought once more: "Nay, I'll not unvision A shape which, somehow,=
there
may be." So =
I went
on softly from the glade, And left her behind me
throwing her shade, As she were indeed an apparition - My head unturned lest my
dream should fade.
Begun 1913:&n=
bsp;
finished 1916.
We waited for the sun To break its cloudy pris=
on (For
day was not yet done, And night still unbegun) Leaning by the dial.
After many a trial - We all silent there - It
burst as new-arisen, Throwing a shade to where Time travelled at that minut=
e.
Little saw we in it, But this much I know, Of
lookers on that shade, Her towards whom it made Soonest had to go.
1915.
I have don=
e all
I could For that lady I knew!
Through the heats I have shaded her, Drawn to her songsters when sum=
mer
has jaded her, Ho=
me
from the heath or the wood.
At the
mirth-time of May, When my shadow first lured her, I'd donned my new braver=
y Of
greenth: 'twas my all. Now I shiver in slavery, Icicles grieving me gra=
y.
Plumed to =
every
twig's end I could tempt her chair under me. Much did I treasure her During tho=
se
days she had nothing to pleasure her; Mutely she used me as f=
riend.
I'm a skel=
eton
now, And she's gone, craving warmth.
The rime sticks like a skin to me; Through me Arcturus peers; Nor'li=
ghts
shoot into me; Go=
ne is
she, scorning my bough!
Now I am dead you sing to me The songs we used to kn=
ow, But
while I lived you had no wish Or care for doing so.
Now I am dead you come to me In the moonlight,
comfortless; Ah, what would I have given alive To win such tenderness!=
When you are dead, and stand to me Not differenced, as now=
, But
like again, will you be cold As when we lived, or ho=
w?
=
"These
Gothic windows, how they wear me out With cusp and foil, and nothing straig=
ht
or square, Crude colours, leaden borders roundabout, And fitting in Peter h=
ere,
and Matthew there!
"What a vocation! Here do I draw now The abnormal, l=
oving
the Hellenic norm; Martha I paint, and dream of Hera's brow, Mary, and thin=
k of
Aphrodite's form."
Nov. 1893.
But don't you know it, my dear, Don't you know it, That=
this
day of the year (What rainbow-rays embow it!) We met, strangers confessed, =
But parted--blest?
Though at this query, my dear, There in your frame Unm=
oved
you still appear, You must be thinking the same, But keep that look demure =
Just to allure.
And now at length a trace I surely vision Upon th=
at
wistful face Of old-time recognition, Smiling forth, "Yes, as you say,=
It is the day."
For this one phase of you Now left on earth This =
great
date must endue With pulsings of rebirth? - I see them vitalize Those two deep eyes!
But if this face I con Does not declare Consci=
ousness
living on Still in it, little I care To live myself, my dear, Lone-labouring here!
Spring 1913.
He often would ask us That, when he died, After
playing so many To their last rest, If out of us any Should here abide, And=
it
would not task us, We would with our lutes Play over him By his grave-brim =
The
psalm he liked best - The one whose sense suits "Mount Ephraim" -=
And
perhaps we should seem To him, in Death's dream, Like the seraphim.
As soon as I knew That his spirit was gone I
thought this his due, And spoke thereupon. "I think," said the vi=
car,
"A read service quicker Than viols out-of-doors In these frosts and ho=
ars.
That old-fashioned way Requires a fine day, And it seems to me It had better
not be."
Hence, that afternoon, Though never knew he Th=
at
his wish could not be, To get through it faster They buried the master With=
out
any tune.
But 'twas said that, when At the dead of next
night The vicar looked out, There struck on his ken Thronged roundabout, Wh=
ere
the frost was graying The headstoned grass, A band all in white Like the sa=
ints
in church-glass, Singing and playing The ancient stave By the choirmaster's
grave.
Such the tenor man told When he had grown old.=
At a lonely cross where bye-roads met I sat upon a gate; I sa=
w the
sun decline and set, And still was fain to w=
ait.
A trotting boy passed up the way And roused me from my thought; I called to him, and showed where lay A spot I shyly sought.<= o:p>
"A summer-house fair stands hidden where =
You see the moonlight t=
hrown;
Go, tell me if within it there A lady sits alone."=
;
He half demurred, but took the track, And silence held the sc=
ene; I
saw his figure rambling back; I asked him if he had b=
een.
"I went just where you said, but found No summer-house was the=
re: Beyond
the slope 'tis all bare ground; Nothing stands anywhere=
.
"A man asked what my brains were worth; <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The house, he said, grew
rotten, And was pulled down before my birth, And is almost
forgotten!"
My right mind woke, and I stood dumb; Forty years' frost and =
flower
Had fleeted since I'd used to come To meet her in that bow=
er.
"It is sad that so many of worth, Still in the flesh,&quo=
t;
soughed the yew, "Misjudge their lot whom kindly earth Seclu=
des
from view.
"They ride their diurnal round Each day-span's sum of =
hours In
peerless ease, without jolt or bound Or ac=
he
like ours.
"If the living could but hear What is heard by my roo=
ts as
they creep Round the restful flock, and the things said there, No one
would weep."
"'Now set among the wise,' They say: 'Enlarged in scope, That no God tr=
umpet
us to rise We tr=
uly
hope.'"
I listened to his strange tale In the mood that stilln=
ess
brings, And I grew to accept as the day wore pale That =
show
of things.
For Life I had never cared greatly, As wo=
rth a
man's while; Perad=
ventures
unsought, Peradve=
ntures
that finished in nought, Had kept me from youth and through manhood till la=
tely
Unwon
by its style.
In earliest years--why I know not - I vie=
wed it
askance; Condi=
tions
of doubt, Conditi=
ons
that leaked slowly out, May haply have bent me to stand and to show not
With symphonies soft and sweet colour It co=
urted
me then, Till
evasions seemed wrong, Till evasions gave in t=
o its
song, And I warmed, until living aloofly loomed duller Than =
life
among men.
Anew I found nought to set eyes on, When,
lifting its hand, It uncloake=
d a
star, Uncloaked i=
t from
fog-damps afar, And showed its beams burning from pole to horizon As br=
ight
as a brand.
And so, the rough highway forgetting, I pac=
e hill
and dale Regar=
ding
the sky, Regardin=
g the
vision on high, And thus re-illumed have no humour for letting My
pilgrimage fail.
What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn-cocks say =
Night is growing gray, =
Leaving
all that here can win us; What of the faith and fire within us Men who march away?
Is it a purblind prank, O think you, Friend with the musing =
eye, Who watch us stepping b=
y With doubt and dolorous=
sigh?
Can much pondering so hoodwink you! Is it a purblind prank, O think you, Friend with the musing =
eye?
Nay.
We well see what we are doing, Though some may not see=
- Dalliers as they be - <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> England's need are we; =
Her
distress would leave us rueing: Nay.
We well see what we are doing, Though some may not see=
!
In our heart of hearts believing Victory crowns the just=
, And that braggarts must=
Surely bite the dust, P=
ress
we to the field ungrieving, In our heart of hearts believing Victory crowns the just=
.
Hence the faith and fire within us Men who march away Ere the barn-cocks say =
Night is growing gray, =
Leaving
all that here can win us; Hence the faith and fire within us Men who march away.
September 5, 1914.
[He travels southward, and looks around;] I
journeyed from my native spot Across the south sea sh=
ine, And
found that people in hall and cot Laboured and suffered each his lot Even as I did mine.
[and cannot discern the boundary] Thus noting =
them
in meads and marts It
did not seem to me That my dear country with its hearts, Minds, yearnings,
worse and better parts Had ended with the sea.=
[of his native country;] I further and further
went anon, As suc=
h I
still surveyed, And further yet--yea, on and on, And all the men I looked u=
pon Had heart-strings
fellow-made.
[or where his duties to his fellow-creatures e=
nd;]
I traced the whole terrestrial round, Homing the other side; =
Then
said I, "What is there to bound My denizenship? It seems I have found Its scope to be world-w=
ide."
[nor who are his enemies] I asked me: "Whom have I to fight, And whom have I to dare=
, And
whom to weaken, crush, and blight? My country seems to have kept in sight <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> On my way everywhere.&q=
uot;
1913.
"O England, may God punish thee!" - =
Is
it that Teuton genius flowers Only to breathe malignity Upon its friend of
earlier hours? - We have eaten your bread, you have eaten ours, We have lov=
ed
your burgs, your pines' green moan, Fair Rhine-stream, and its storied towe=
rs; Your
shining souls of deathless dowers Have won us as they were our own:
We have nursed no dreams to shed your blood, We
have matched your might not rancorously, Save a flushed few whose blatant m=
ood You
heard and marked as well as we To tongue not in their country's key; But yet
you cry with face aflame, "O England, may God punish thee!" And f=
oul
in onward history, And present sight, your ancient name.
Autumn 1914.
I dreamt that people from the Land of Chimes A=
rrived
one autumn morning with their bells, To hoist them on the towers and citade=
ls Of
my own country, that the musical rhymes
Rung by them into space at meted times Amid the
market's daily stir and stress, And the night's empty star-lit silentness, =
Might
solace souls of this and kindred climes.
Then I awoke; and lo, before me stood The visi=
oned
ones, but pale and full of fear; From Bruges they came, and Antwerp, and
Ostend,
No carillons in their train. Foes of mad mood Had shattered the=
se to
shards amid the gear Of ravaged roof, and smouldering gable-end.
October 18, 1914.
Seven millions stand Emaciate, in that ancient Delta-land:- We here,
full-charged with our own maimed and dead, And coiled in throbbing conflicts
slow and sore, Can poorly soothe these ails unmerited Of souls forlorn upon=
the
facing shore! - Where naked, gaunt, in endless band on band Seven millions stand.
No man can say To your great country that, with scant delay, You mus=
t, perforce,
ease them in their loud need: We know that nearer first your duty lies; But=
--is
it much to ask that you let plead Your lovingkindness with you--wooing-wise=
- Albeit
that aught you owe, and must repay, No man can say?
December 1914.
I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar From
rail-track and from highway, and I heard In field and farmstead many an anc=
ient
word Of local lineage like "Thu bist," "Er war,"
"Ich woll," "Er sholl," and
by-talk similar, Nigh as they speak who in this month's moon gird At Englan=
d's
very loins, thereunto spurred By gangs whose glory threats and slaughters a=
re.
Then seemed a Heart crying: "Whosoever they be At root and
bottom of this, who flung this flame Between kin folk kin tongued even as a=
re
we,
"Sinister, ugly, lurid, be their fame; May
their familiars grow to shun their name, And their brood perish
everlastingly."
April 1915.
"Would that I'd not drawn breath here!&qu=
ot;
some one said, "To stalk upon this stage of evil deeds, Where
purposelessly month by month proceeds A play so sorely shaped and
blood-bespread."
Yet had his spark not quickened, but lain dead=
To
the gross spectacles of this our day, And never put on the proffered cloak =
of
clay, He had but known not things now manifested;
Life would have swirled the same. Morns would have dawned On the upr=
ooting
by the night-gun's stroke Of what the yester noonshine brought to flower;
Brown martial brows in dying throes have wanne=
d Despite
his absence; hearts no fewer been broke By Empery's insatiate lust of power=
.
1915.
I
Only a man harrowing clods In a slow silent walk W=
ith an
old horse that stumbles and nods Half asleep as they sta=
lk.
II
Only thin smoke without flame From the heaps of couch-grass; Yet this will go onward the same Though Dynasties pass.<= o:p>
III
Yonder a maid and her wight Come whispering by: War=
's
annals will cloud into night Ere their story die.
1915.
"Instigator of the ruin - Whichsoever thou mayst =
be Of
the masterful of Europe That contrived our mise=
ry - Hear
the wormwood-worded greeting From each city, shore, =
and
lea Of thy
victims: "Conqueror, all ha=
il to
thee!"
"Yea:&nb=
sp;
'All hail!' we grimly shout thee That wast author, fount=
, and
head Of these wounds, whoever proven When our times are thro=
ughly
read. 'May thy loved be slighted, blighted, And forsaken,' be it sa=
id By thy
victims, 'And thy
children beg their bread!'
"Nay:&nb=
sp;
a richer malediction! - Rather let this thing b=
efall In
time's hurling and unfurling On the night when comes=
thy
call; That compassion dew thy pillow And bedrench thy senses=
all For t=
hy
victims, Till dea=
th
dark thee with his pall."
August 1915.
Orion swung southward aslant Where the starved Egdon
pine-trees had thinned, The Pleiads aloft seeme=
d to
pant With the hea=
ther
that twitched in the wind; But he looked on indifferent to sights such as
these, Unswayed by love, friendship, home joy or home sorrow, And wondered =
to
what he would march on the morrow.
The crazed household-clock with its whirr Rang midnight within as=
he
stood, He heard t=
he low
sighing of her Wh=
o had
striven from his birth for his good; But he still only asked the spring
starlight, the breeze, What great thing or small thing his history would bo=
rrow
From that Game with Death he would play on the morrow.
When the heath wore the robe of late
summer, And the
fuchsia-bells, hot in the sun, Hung red by the door, a=
quick
comer Brought tid=
ings
that marching was done For him who had joined in that game overseas Where D=
eath
stood to win, though his name was to borrow A brightness therefrom not to f=
ade
on the morrow.
September 1915.
Often when warring for he wist not what, An
enemy-soldier, passing by one weak, Has tendered water, wiped the burning
cheek, And cooled the lips so black and clammed and hot;
Then gone his way, and maybe quite forgot The =
deed
of grace amid the roar and reek; Yet larger vision than loud arms bespeak He
there has reached, although he has known it not.
For natural mindsight, triumphing in the act O=
ver
the throes of artificial rage, Has thuswise muffled victory's peal of pride=
, Rended
to ribands policy's specious page That deals but with evasion, code, and pa=
ct, And
war's apology wholly stultified.
1915.
When battles were fought With a chivalrous sense of Should and Ought=
, In spirit men said,
In the open they stood, Man to man in his knightlihood: They would not deign To profit by a stain On the honourable rules=
, Knowing
that practise perfidy no man durst Who in the heroic schoo=
ls Was n=
urst.
But now, behold, what Is warfare wherein honour is not! Rama laments Its dead innocents:
1915.
Up and be doing, all who have a hand To lift, a
back to bend. It must not be =
In
times like these that vaguely linger we To air our vaunts and hopes; and le=
ave
our land
Untended as a wild of weeds and sand. - Say, t=
hen,
"I come!" and go, O women and men Of palace, ploughshare, easel,
counter, pen; That scareless, scathless, England still may stand.
Would years but let me stir as once I stirred =
At
many a dawn to take the forward track, And with a stride plunged on to
enterprize,
I now would speed like yester wind that whirre=
d Through
yielding pines; and serve with never a slack, So loud for promptness all ar=
ound
outcries!
March 1917.
The dead woman lay in her first night's grave,=
And
twilight fell from the clouds' concave, And those she had asked to forgive
forgave.
The woman passing came to a pause By the heaped
white shapes of wreath and cross, And looked upon where the other was.
And as she mused there thus spoke she: "N=
ever
your countenance did I see, But you've been a good good friend to me!"=
Rose a plaintive voice from the sod below: &qu=
ot;O
woman whose accents I do not know, What is it that makes you approve me
so?"
"O dead one, ere my soldier went, I heard=
him
saying, with warm intent, To his friend, when won by your blandishment:
"'I would change for that lass here and n=
ow! And
if I return I may break my vow To my present Love, and contrive somehow
"'To call my own this new-found pearl, Wh=
ose
eyes have the light, whose lips the curl, I always have looked for in a gir=
l!'
"--And this is why that by ceasing to be = - Though never your countenance did I see - You prove you a good good friend to me;<= o:p>
"And I pray each hour for your soul's rep=
ose In
gratitude for your joining those No lover will clasp when his campaigns
close."
Away she turned, when arose to her eye A marti=
al
phantom of gory dye, That said, with a thin and far-off sigh:
"O sweetheart, neither shall I clasp you,=
For
the foe this day has pierced me through, And sent me to where she is. Adieu! -
"And forget not when the night-wind's whi=
ne Calls
over this turf where her limbs recline, That it travels on to lament by
mine."
There was a cry by the white-flowered mound, T=
here
was a laugh from underground, There was a deeper gloom around.
1915.
I
Phantasmal fears, And the flap of the fla=
me, And the throb of the cl=
ock, And a loosened slate, <=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And the blind night's d=
rone, Which
tiredly the spectral pines intone!
II
And the blood in my ears Strumming always the
same, And the gable-cock With its fitful grate, And myself, alone.
III
The twelfth hour nears Hand-hid, as in shame; I
undo the lock, And listen, and wait For the Young Unknown.
IV
In the dark there careers - As if Death astride
came To numb all with his knock - A horse at mad rate Over rut and stone.
V
No figure appears, No call of my name, No sound
but "Tic-toc" Without check.&nbs=
p;
Past the gate It clatters--is gone.
VI
What rider it bears There is none to proclaim;=
And
the Old Year has struck, And, scarce animate, The New makes moan.
VII
Maybe that "More Tears! - More Famine and Flame -=
More Severance and
Shock!" Is t=
he
order from Fate T=
hat
the Rider speeds on To pale Europe; and tiredly the pines intone.
1915-1916.
I met a man when night was nigh, Who said, with shining =
face
and eye Like Mose=
s'
after Sinai:-
"I have seen the Moulder of Monarchies, Realm=
s,
peoples, plains and hills, Sitting upon the sunlit=
seas!
- And, as He sat,
soliloquies Fell from Him like an antiphonic breeze That =
pricks
the waves to thrills.
"Meseemed that of the maimed and dead Mown =
down
upon the globe, - Their
plenteous blooms of promise shed Ere fruiting-time--His =
words
were said, Sitting against the western web of red Wrapt=
in
His crimson robe.
"And I could catch them now and then: --'Why let =
these
gambling clans Of=
human
Cockers, pit liege men From mart and city, dal=
e and
glen, In death-mains, but to swell and swell again Their
swollen All-Empery plans,
"'When a mere nod (if my malign Compe=
er but
passive keep) Wou=
ld
mend that old mistake of mine I made with Saul, and e=
ver
consign All Lords of War whose sanctuaries enshrine Liber=
ticide,
to sleep?
"'With violence the lands are spread Even =
as in
Israel's day, And=
it
repenteth me I bred Chartered armipotents
lust-led To feuds . . . Yea, grieves my heart, as then I said, To see
their evil way!'
--"The utterance grew, and flapped like flame, And f=
urther
speech I feared; =
But no
Celestial tongued acclaim, And no huzzas from eart=
hlings
came, And the heavens mutely masked as 'twere in shame Till
daylight disappeared."
Thus ended he as night rode high - The man of
shining face and eye, Like Moses' after Sinai.
1916.
I looked up from my writing, And gave a start to see=
, As
if rapt in my inditing, The moon's full gaze on=
me.
Her meditative misty head Was spectral in its air=
, And
I involuntarily said, "What are you doing
there?"
"Oh, I've been scanning pond and hole
"Did you hear his frenzied tattle? It was sorrow for his s=
on Who
is slain in brutish battle, Though he has injured n=
one.
"And now I am curious to look Into the blinkered mind=
Of
one who wants to write a book In a world of such a
kind."
Her temper overwrought me, And I edged to shun her=
view,
For I felt assured she thought me One who should drown hi=
m too.
How it came to an end! The meeting afar from the crowd, And the love-looks and laughters unpenned, The parting when much was avowed, How it came to an end!<= o:p>
It came to an end; Yes, the outgazing over the stream, With the sun =
on
each serpentine bend, Or, later, the luring moon-gleam; It came to an end.
It came to an end, The housebuilding, furnishing, planting, As if th=
ere
were ages to spend In welcoming, feasting, and jaunting; It came to an end.
It came to an end, That journey of one day a week: ("It always =
goes
on," said a friend, "Just the same in bright weathers or
bleak;") But=
it
came to an end.
"HOW will come to an end This orbit so smoothly begun, Unless s=
ome
convulsion attend?" I often said.&nbs=
p;
"What will be done When it comes to an
end?"
Well, it came to an end Quite silently--stopped without jerk; Better
close no prevision could lend; Working out as One planned it should work Ere it came to an end.<=
o:p>
When the Present has latched its postern behin=
d my
tremulous stay, A=
nd the
May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings, Delicate-filmed as new-sp=
un
silk, will the neighbours say, "He was a man who =
used
to notice such things"?
If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid's
soundless blink, =
The
dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight Upon the wind-warped upland
thorn, a gazer may think, "To him this must =
have
been a familiar sight."
If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mot=
hy
and warm, When the
hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn, One may say, "He strove that
such innocent creatures should come to no harm, But he could do little =
for
them; and now he is gone"?
If, when hearing that I have been stilled at l=
ast,
they stand at the door, Watching the full-starr=
ed
heavens that winter sees, Will this thought rise on those who will meet my =
face
no more, "He=
was
one who had an eye for such mysteries"?
And will any say when my bell of quittance is
heard in the gloom, And
a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings, Till they rise again, as
they were a new bell's boom, "He hears it not n=
ow,
but used to notice such things"?