Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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NO-BABY-LAND. |
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 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
NO-BABY-LAND.
In my travels I arrived long, long ago
And far away,
At a country yet unplaced in maps below—
But not Cathay;
Where the roses reddened not and life seemed deadened
Though in June,
And all being panted and the song birds chanted
Out of tune;
Where a cloud of sadness hung above the earth,
And dimly crost
Every face of man and beast, as with the dearth
Of something lost.
And far away,
At a country yet unplaced in maps below—
But not Cathay;
Where the roses reddened not and life seemed deadened
Though in June,
And all being panted and the song birds chanted
Out of tune;
Where a cloud of sadness hung above the earth,
And dimly crost
Every face of man and beast, as with the dearth
Of something lost.
Backs seemed burdened with a hidden heavy load
And bosoms grieved,
And the brows of brightness wandered from the road
Nor were relieved
By one splendid error, nor dismayed by terror
As they strayed;
While they vainly hearkened for the hope that darkened
And delayed;
For the foliage drooped upon the troubled tree,
And wet eyes turned
Wild with hunger for the visions that they could not see,
Although they burned.
And bosoms grieved,
And the brows of brightness wandered from the road
Nor were relieved
By one splendid error, nor dismayed by terror
As they strayed;
While they vainly hearkened for the hope that darkened
And delayed;
448
And wet eyes turned
Wild with hunger for the visions that they could not see,
Although they burned.
There the people lived and lived and never died
In weary pain,
Immortality's grim curse was to them tied
An endless chain;
So they dumbly waited in their lot belated
Through the years,
For the yearned for blessing that would fall caressing
On their ears;
But the æons dealt with Time as if a toy
And still the same,
Though they watched for that yet unexpected joy
Which never came.
In weary pain,
Immortality's grim curse was to them tied
An endless chain;
So they dumbly waited in their lot belated
Through the years,
For the yearned for blessing that would fall caressing
On their ears;
But the æons dealt with Time as if a toy
And still the same,
Though they watched for that yet unexpected joy
Which never came.
But at first I wondered how they asked for death
With every woe,
While they held that boon of everlasting breath
Their greatest foe;
How they sought with praying for the dire decaying
Of the mould,
And for doom of martyrdom would gladly barter
Gems and gold;
Why the shadow of a secret sorrow lay on all
And coldly threw
Blight of bondage on the country like a pall,
And deeper grew.
With every woe,
While they held that boon of everlasting breath
Their greatest foe;
How they sought with praying for the dire decaying
Of the mould,
And for doom of martyrdom would gladly barter
Gems and gold;
Why the shadow of a secret sorrow lay on all
And coldly threw
Blight of bondage on the country like a pall,
And deeper grew.
Then my eyes were opened and I sighed, I found
No children there,
Though I journeyed high and low and far around
And everywhere;
For I drank no purling voices, saw no curling
Yellow hair
O'er dear foreheads dancing, nor white maidens glancing
On the stair;
Ah, I heard no patter of the busy feet
That knew no rest,
Echoing for ever in the house or street—
And through my breast.
No children there,
Though I journeyed high and low and far around
And everywhere;
For I drank no purling voices, saw no curling
Yellow hair
O'er dear foreheads dancing, nor white maidens glancing
On the stair;
Ah, I heard no patter of the busy feet
That knew no rest,
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And through my breast.
Nowise there might be the touch of tiny hand
In pretty scorn,
For this was the dolorous realm No-baby-land
Where none were born;
Thus no room was furnished and no life was burnished
With their play,
And the land seemed pining for that sweet refining
Childhood's way;
Yes, a blank that only this could feed and fill
In every part,
Made a desert and opprest with untold ill
Each empty heart.
In pretty scorn,
For this was the dolorous realm No-baby-land
Where none were born;
Thus no room was furnished and no life was burnished
With their play,
And the land seemed pining for that sweet refining
Childhood's way;
Yes, a blank that only this could feed and fill
In every part,
Made a desert and opprest with untold ill
Each empty heart.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |