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INTRODUCTION

[Fragments of verse extracted from the Introduction and not printed elsewhere.]

[THE EARTHLY PARADISE]

[MARCH]

[Lines not used in the final version.]

[_]

Discarded fragment from “The Man born to be King.”

That same damozel bent low
Her knee in the white snow,
Lightly at the Queen's command
To that gold shoe she set her hand;
Right so some steel pin
In the Queen's gown, smote therein;
The red blood fell from her hand,
There as the Queen did stand.
The Queen regarded pensively
The red blood on the snow lie
And her gold shoe that was nigh.
She sighed and said: “Yellow as gold,
White as the snow upon the mold,
I would my child might be so;
Red as blood and white as snow,
And yellow as gold mote she be,
Great joy this would be to me.”
xvij

[OMITTED]
In that same night that she was born
There was a small house poor and forlorn
Beside a river lay alone;
[OMITTED]
He sold his skins and feathers of herne,
And unto him they gave in turn
Nets and wood-axes and such gear,
Coats of frieze for him to wear,
Flanders cloth for his mother,
Shoes and hats of Caudebec...
[OMITTED]
I trow a right fat man was he,
He had a brown face and eyen white;
His red hair in the sun shone bright;
He was as fierce as any knight.
I trow that in the town council
Always for hanging spoke he well,
If men debated on some thief.
xij

[AUGUST]

[Stanza not used in the final version.]

[_]

In the draft there are four stanzas, of which the last three were selected.

In this sweet field high raised above the Thames
Beneath the trenched hill of Sinodun
Amidst sweet dreams of disembodied names
Abide the setting of the August sun,
xiij

Here where this long ridge tells of days now done;
This moveless wave wherewith the meadow heaves
Beneath its clover and its barley-sheaves.
xxiij

[OCTOBER.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

[_]

The first two verses from a song from “Acontius and Cydippe.”

Weary heart and weary feet,
Is the land of love so sweet
That thou fearest not to meet
All (On) the horror of the wild.
Mayest thou not come back again
And lie long in bitter pain
Till thou diest because in vain
Thou of joy hast been beguiled.

[SEPTEMBER.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

[_]

Lines from “The Land East of the Sun and West of the Moon”, originally called “The Palace East of the Sun and West of the Moon.”

In Norway in old time did dwell
A certain carle who lived full well
And with him were three sons living
And thereof two were stout enow
Betwixt the handles of the plough.
[OMITTED]
So twain are one and all is bliss,
For lo, an idle dream is this.
xxv

[OCTOBER.]

[Lines not used in the final version.]

[_]

Discarded fragment from “The Man who never laughed again.”

And still amid the gurgle of the stream
He heard that music beating round the hill,
And went well pleased, for surely did he deem
In such a land that sound forbode no ill,
And to his heart there gathered great good will
Unto the singers, whoso they might be,
For in his soul grew up felicity.
But now they ceased, the happy notes of men:
The reed-chat's warble and the late bee's drone
The chuckle of the light-foot water-hen
But made the lonely river yet more lone
When the sweet cheery music was all done;
Then faster still he hastened, till he saw
That backward from the stream the hill 'gan draw.
xxvj

But now again, through the fresh lovely eve,
Grown nigher now he heard the music sound
And suddenly the wayward stream did leave
The vine-clad hill, that Bharam followed round
Leaving a level grassy spot of ground
Twixt stream and hill; a very paradise
To Bharam's weary heart and dazzled eyes:
Because a long low rustic house of wood
Was at the end of the green flowery bay
And huge old trees about the meadow stood
And little closes hedged with trellis grey
Cast forth sweet odours on that end of day.
Green was the place, unburnt by any sun,
And scarce could know when showery spring was done.
But midway twixt the river and the house
E'en in the greenest place could Bharam see,
Beneath the over-shadowing elm-tree boughs
Strewn here and there, a goodly company,
And hidden by a thick-leaved bushy tree
He stayed awhile their manner to behold
Striving to make his beating heart more bold.
The music even as these came in sight
Had ceased once more, and he beheld indeed
Garlanded maids in girt-up raiment light
And eager youths, unarmed, in simple weed,
Just ceasing from the dance, as though for need
Of rest awhile, and sighing on the ground
The piper dropped beside his purse of sound.
But from grave elders rose a mingled voice,
And from the dancers laughter lacking breath,
Until the very wind must needs rejoice
At seeing folk so far removed from death,
Since he too much of woe remembereth,
The tireless traveller over town and plain
The bearer of ill news and plague and pain.
xxvij

But now as Bharam gained a little heart
To go to them, somewhat an elder said,
And to his feet the piping man did start,
A damsel set the garland on her head
Cast-down erewhile, and took the flute that led
The dancers, and rose up and 'gainst a tree
Stood leaning, waiting for the minstrelsy.
And all about the fair young people stirred,
And some maids blushing rose unto their feet,
Some sitting still turned with a whispered word
The dear support of some loved arm to meet,
And smiled, remembering the soft song and sweet
That in a while throughout the clear air rung
Alternately 'twixt youths and maidens flung.

SONG
[_]

This song with a few alterations and considerable additions was afterwards included in “Poems by the Way.”

PUERI
O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone
No more within the wilds were I alone
Leaping with bent bow over stock and stone,
No more alone my love the lamp should burn
Watching the weary spindle twist and turn,
Or o'er the web hold back her tears and yearn.
O winter, O white winter, wert thou gone!

PUELLÆ
Swift thoughts fly swiftlier than the drifting snow
And with the twisting thread sweet longings grow,
And o'er the web sweet pictures come and go,
For no white winter are we long alone.

PUERI
O stream so changed, what hast thou done to me
That I thy glittering ripples no more see
Wreathing with white her fair feet lovingly?
xxviij

See in the rain she stands, and looking down
With frightened eyes upon thy whirlpools brown
Drops to her feet again her girded gown.
O hurrying turbid stream, what hast thou done?

PUELLÆ
The clouds lift, telling of a happier day
When through the thin stream I shall take my way
Girt round with gold and garlanded with may:
What rushing stream can keep us long alone?

PUERI
O scorching Sun, O master of unrest!
Why must we toiling cast away the best,
Now when the bird sleeps by his empty nest?
See with my garland lying at her feet
In lonely labour stands my own, my sweet,
Above the quern half-filled with half-ground wheat.
O red taskmaster, that thy flames were done!

PUELLÆ
O love, to-night across the half-shorn plain
Shall I not go to meet the yellow wain,
A look of love at end of toil to gain,
What fiery sun can keep us long alone?

PUERI
O wilt thou ne'er depart, thou heavy night?
When will thy slaying bring on the morning bright
That leads my heavy feet to my delight,
Why lingerest thou to fill with wandering fears
My lone love's tired heart, her eyes with tears
Of pensive sorrow for the dying years;
Weaver of ill thoughts, when wilt thou begone?

PUELLÆ
Love, to the east are thine eyes turned as mine
In patient watching for the night's decline,
And hast thou seen like me this thin grey line,
Can any darkness keep us long alone?

xxix

PUERI
O day, O day, is this a little thing
That thou so long unto thy life must cling
Because I gave thee such a welcoming?
I called thee King of all felicity,
I praised thee that thou broughtest joy so nigh.
Thine hours are turned to years, thou wilt not die,
O day so longed for, would that thou wert gone!

PUELLÆ
The light fails, love, the long day soon shall be
Nought but a pensive happy memory
Blessed for the tales it told to me and thee.
How hard it was, O love, to be alone.

[OMITTED]
“For look, this river runneth to the sea
And reaches it by many streams grown great,
If thou wouldst be what thou mayst hope to be
This is the road that leadeth to the gate
Beyond which lies irrevocable fate
For thee for ever; thither must thou go
Alone, for thereof nothing would we know,
“Or see that image of all discontent
Men call the ocean, though we know of it
Through folk who up our stream their course have bent
And told us tales with faces moved no whit
That made us glad to see their white sails flit
Seaward again: from thence too War has come
Once and again to vex our peaceful home.
xxx

“But heed thou this which more concerneth thee:
Up our fair river comes a bark forlorn
Black sailed, black oared, that beareth from the sea
Mostly before a year is well outworn
Him that our quiet peaceful life did scorn;
Dead seemeth he, and yet we deem perchance
He is not dead but in a deathlike trance.
“In silence do those shipmen pass this place,
But not far hence the mournful bark they moor
And taking land, each man with hidden face,
They bear the wanderer to the cavern door
Wherefrom thou camest, whence he came before;
There vanish they with him and in ten days
Come back again their mournful sail to raise.
“And still these men to all our questioning
Will answer nought, wherefore our words we spare
And pay but little heed to this sad thing:
What sayst thou, on this voyage wilt thou fare
And take the fate that waiteth for thee there,
Or wilt thou dwell with us a little while
Till thou hast learned on coming death to smile?
“Yet if thou canst not in good time be wise
Amid these trees hearken the brown bird's note
Nine days, and when the tenth sun shall arise,
Then will we set thee in a little boat
With all things thou mayst need, and thou shalt float
Adown the river to the barren sea
And reach thine hands out to thy destiny.”
He sat in the fair porch amid this speech
And saw betwixt the heavy shadowed trees
The golden plain across the stream's bright reach,
Nigher the children played, and midst of these
The women's raiment fluttered in the breeze,
Close by a damsel caught his eye, and turned
Unto her fellow with bright eyes that burned
xxxj

With joy of life and shame of hopeful love;
A messenger from some far homestead stood
Waiting for silence; from the walnut grove
Birds mocked the grave slow speech in various mood;
Happy all things seemed, fair and soft and good,
Why should he leave it, was he not well freed
From all his woes? what further did he need?
He gave them many thanks, and for nine days
He wandered twixt the river and the trees
Happy and idle, noting all their ways,
Regarding them as painted images
Nor wishing more for other things than these;
Nor had he any will but there to stay
When the tenth morn had chased the clouds away.
xiv

[FEBRUARY.]

[Lines not used in the final version.]

[_]

Discarded song from the beginning of “Bellerophon in Lycia.”

There twixt the languid leaves
And o'er blown blossom he awhile did go,
Striving to think, but still that eager face
Wild with its love, and grief and hope and fear
Must he behold; and that sweet voice must hear
Sad and heart-piercing: but nigh where he did pass
Neath sweeping lime-boughs lay a bank of grass
And underneath the shadows there was laid
Unwitting of him, a fair Lycian maid
Not heeding if in that hot windless tide
The loosened clasp should let the linen glide
From off her shoulder, careless that the crown
Of roses from her head had fallen down;
But lying there faint words as of a song
She murmured, and her fingers moved among
The strings of a small harp that lightly lay
Upon her breast, till as one thrusts away
A listless mood she raised herself at last
And pensive music on the hot air cast:
xv

A sweet garden by the sea
Did my true love give to me,
The All-father's paradise
Was not wrought in fairer wise;
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
There the birds sing songs for me
And the murmur of the sea
Do I hear day-long, night-long,
Nothing there may do me wrong;
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
There 'twixt blossomed trees and sea
He let build a house for me
Therein is there wealth of gold
Tales on walls and floor are told;
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
Many a slave he gat for me
On that beach along the sea,
From Mysian land and Argive land
Did the captive women stand;
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
Twixt lily-bed and white-crowned sea
Tales of love folk tell to me;
Songs they sing of happy dreams,
But the o'erword ever seems,
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
Sometimes do folk say to me
When the murmur of the sea
At dead ebb is far away,
“Forget him, he died yesterday.”
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
Or when west winds make the sea
Mad and loud, they say to me,
“Weeping makes thine eyes less fair,
Tomorrow morn shall he be here,”
Ah how lone, how lone it is.
xvj

When tomorrow comes to me
I shall not hear the unquiet sea,
When today is yesterday
No more shall I weep and say,
“Ah how lone, how lone it is.”
He stopped the while she sang, she saw him not
As 'neath the moveless boughs in that green spot
She sang, and when the last words of the song were spent
Unto her feet she gat and slowly went
Another way, as one made well nigh sad
Amidst of joyous life...
xvij

[FEBRUARY.]

[Lines from a later draft.]

I saw a forest once in Germany
Set in a lordship called Turingia,
[OMITTED]
And so in time I came to Ratisbon
And there I met a certain ancient knight,
[OMITTED]
So then the ancient man
This story of the sorceress began.
xviij

[OMITTED]
And gilded spires and vanes were borne aloft
From the fair walls by carven turrets high,
And doves and pigeons in their flutterings soft,
With bright unknown birds thereabout did fly,
And from the windows came melodiously
The sound of music that made all things seem
Half dim and fleeting, like a happy dream.
[OMITTED]
Lady Venus, where art thou
We are faint with waiting now,
[OMITTED]
Haply in the northern breeze
Of the hurrying world without,
She is tangled mid the rout
Of Diana, and they go
Ever slower, and more slow,
Careless of the fleeting hart;
Each one thinking for her part
That her summer slips away,
And no hope has she by day,
And no happiness by night.
Or beneath the flickering light
Stands she by some torchlit door,
Where across the rose-strewn floor,
With her trembling, tender feet,
Her unknown delight to meet,
xix

Goes the pale new-wedded bride
Slowly letting her smock glide
To the roses of the floor.
Lo our Queen is at the door
Gold-clad, yet her hair is wet
With the washing of the sea.
O sweet Queen, we kneel to thee.
[OMITTED]
As when from out the green sea first I came
Hidden of nought;...
And in his mind again the ill thought came
That all those things he saw, were but shadows
Set round him but to keep his heart aflame.
The smiling folk, the graceful girls in rows,
His damsel, and the bodies of his foes,
All were but deadly meshes of her net
About his fluttering soul in order set.
xx

[OMITTED]
ere dawn was fully come
She woke, and fell a-longing for the sea,
And the broad yellow sands of her old home,
Where by their black boats fisher people be;
And longed to hear the wind sing mightily
With little changing song from point to point,
And in its waves her body to anoint.
[OMITTED]
Left all alone within this wicked place;
Left naked of her love, and growing old.
 

Fragments from a later quarto manuscript of “The Hill of Venus.”

xxj

[FEBRUARY.]

[Lines from a later draft.]

[_]

Fragment from the second draft, B, of this later draft of “The Hill of Venus.”

“What thing dost thou desire
I cannot give? Has not thy fickle mouth
Been full of praises of the sweet strange fire
That dieth not, of the heart-cleaving drouth
Unquenchable; the sight of deathless youth
And changeless beauty? Shall I take away
These things once given?—Shall night follow day?
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
“The thing thou seem'st to lack
xxij

I have not and I know not; if it lay
Within mine hand to give, yet should I say
The having it would never better thee,
Restless and lonely ever shalt thou be.
“Be wise, come back if for a while again!
I am the thing that thou didst cry to have,
That rest and refuge from dull common pain
For which within the world thou didst so crave:
Whence came I, where I wend, what thing shall save
My beauty from the swift decay of earth
I know not; but my heart is full of mirth:
“My heart is full of mirth, and all is good;
Good the slow creeping longing and the ruth
That grows to restless fever of the blood,
Good the sweet blindness, good the flash of truth
That dies and comes again; and good the growth
Of half regret and half forgetfulness
That as the days wear the worn heart doth bless.
“Yea even good awhile the emptied heart
To which but half believed quite scorned is pain,
Ere it is garnished for another part,
Good the new love the old shall not disdain
And all the sweetness sweet come back again—
—O come thou back, curse me, weep on my breast,
Belike it is thou hast not known the best!”

[FEBRUARY.]

[Lines from a later draft.]

[_]

Fragment containing another experiment in lyric on the same theme.

Still in the world old tales of Her they tell [OMITTED]
They gaze upon the images men made
Long time ago, before they grew afraid
xxiij

To call upon her beauty for their aid;
“Alas,” they say, “that she no more is here!”
But who knows, who knows what great happiness
The heart of such a happy man would bless
As wandered hither from the world's distress?
O the kind heart of her that dwelleth here.

[FEBRUARY.]

[Lines from a later draft.]

[_]

Fragment from the third draft, C, of this later draft of “The Hill of Verus.”

with his intent
Grown stronger, and because of strength, more met
By old despair, by old desire grown vile,
Stood with his hand upon a pillar set
And glaring at the door, and for a while
His hopelessness he strove hard to beguile
With thinking: “Ah let all things go their ways;
I will return, and yet win happy days.”
What hope in her to turn to? There between
The blossoming trees she stood, in such a shade,
That e'en the very air seemed well-nigh green,
With one hand on a smooth stemmed sapling laid
The other on her white breast, where there played
From over-head a thin bright flickering ray
Upon the place whereon his head once lay.
xxiv

The burning kisses of a thousand years
Had sullied not her skin in any place;
The groans of ruined men, lost lovers' tears,
So many a last despairing close embrace,
Had brought no wrinkle to her happy face,
No pain or terror yet had e'er made less
That long-enduring perfect loveliness.
And still no smile, no triumph in her eyes,
No frown upon her smooth white brows and fair,
No trouble on her mouth for memories
Of days past, and the lips once trembling there,
No coldness to keep back, no pride to scare
Gave hope of any change for bad or good,
The soul of worshipped beauty there she stood.
Ah what is fair beside her? the first day
When o'er the ruined winter blithe birds sing,
The summer eve when storms have passed away,
The blossomed boughs of happy dying spring,
The meadows in the May-tide flourishing—
All these we have, and lose with little pain
And nigh forget them till they come again.
But who can e'er forget her, having seen
Her beauty once, or ever take delight
In aught but her, or be as he has been,
Or rest in peace a moment day or night,
For thinking of the tremor of his sight,
When, like a man who gazes on the sun
He scarce beheld her as he might have done?
[OMITTED]
“I go to seek if Love may yet be found
Within the arms of death.”
xxvj

[FEBRUARY.]

[Lines from the third draft, C, of the later draft of “The Hill of Verus.”]

And all the toiling world, that e'en then lay
Resting a little 'neath the peaceful show
Of the grey night.
O idle words unto her ears are these!
O idle words; and nought she promiseth
Except the ceaseless flow of images
Of love, the casting by of thought of Death.
xxvij

[JUNE.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

In the June evening as the day grew cool
Within a lovely valley watered well
By a sweet stream that threaded many a pool
The strangers sat some new delight to tell,
And sweetly did both rose and lily smell,
But yet the thrush would listen to no tale,
But her mate's song that rang throughout the vale.
And as they sat about them ladies came
Amid the story of the Goddesses
Whereat some few of them just blushed for shame,
For by the thickly spreading alder trees,
And by the stream that rippled to their knees
Their bodies were but hid a while ago.
Alas that such fair things should perish so.

[JULY.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

In July, love, while yet the sun is low,
Come from thy door 'twixt flowers fresh with morn
And to a thick-leaved wood let us two go
That overlooks the yellowing fields of corn,
For though the rose indeed is now forlorn,
And silenced is the brown bird piteous,
Yet many a joy the year has yet for us.
See love, the ripening vine clusters o'erhead,
The cushats moan still though no birds do sing,
See now the bright-eyed squirrel leaves his bed
To gaze on us, need we weep for the spring
If this should last, that goes like every thing.
Hearken, O love, to ancient tales to-day
I heard of elders ere they passed away.
xxviij

[OCTOBER or NOVEMBER.]

[Lines from an earlier draft]

Come forth, O love, to-day, although the earth
Is pale and sad with death of many things
And shrouds the memory of her months of mirth
And dulls the thoughts of coming winter's stings
With haze of morns and faint grey evenings
Of windless rain: come forth and drive from me
These dreary thoughts of what my life may be.
With hardened heart to pass the once loved place
Where I have felt the unforgotten kiss,
With hardened heart to think upon the face
Whose sight filled day and night for me with bliss,
With hardened heart to live alone—for this;
The praises of the careless world to hear,
Listless with fear of death, and death anear.
Ah it may be, but while we both forget
That we and all our love were made to die,
While fear our foe is not our master yet,
Unsatiate of life, we pensively
May watch the lives of other men go by,
In listening the tales that have been told
For we are young, although the year grows old.

[JANUARY and FEBRUARY.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

JANUARY

The year is gone and now another year
Begins again amid half frozen rain
From its strange hand scattering both hope and fear,
xxix

Idle forebodings, longings sore and vain,
Uncertain joys and certain toil and pain.
What thing is there but one can still the strife:
The end of labour is the end of life.
Let us leave hopes because we doubt them all,
Let us leave fear at least a little while,
Let us forget ourselves the while we call
Old names before us, let us now beguile
These sorry days with thoughts of Helen's smile,
And let our eyes dim looking through the wine
Behold once more the prow of Argo shine.
Then in our memory and forgetfulness
May we [be] like to men upon the sea
Laid fast asleep in midst of their distress,
But dreaming how the stream runs pleasantly
By summer meadows where the mowers be,
Are they not happy though they wake no more
Until they reach the unknown shadowy shore.

FEBRUARY

Look out of door to-day and see the streets
Swept by the cold unkindly north-east wind,
And how the rain upon the window beats
Putting all thought of summer from the mind.
So on this eve what solace can we find
But watching how the wine runs bright and clear;
Yet, would the summer and its sun were here.
Nay, silence, and get ready for the spring
And meet her with your heart all free from care
For in the woods wolfsbane is blossoming
And faintly shows the primrose here and there,
And there is scent of new things in the air,
And by the south wind blown from place to place
Northward the longed-for Spring draws on apace.
xxx

Yea, so things come and go and come again,
And if one root within the hazelwood
Dies off for ever, then with little pain
Another grows up where the lost one stood.
And so in April all seems fair and good
And with the sight thereof our eyes we please:
Now unto someone may we be as these.

[MARCH.]

Lo last night winter died, although to-day
Unwillingly we leave the fireside
And shiver as the sunlight fades away
From off the southern wall at eventide,
Yet none the less I say that winter died
Last evening with the rising of the moon.
And many a change will be upon us soon.
For many a day henceforth the cheerless sun
Shall shine upon the furrows cheerlessly,
Along the straight road shall the dust cloud run
Before the East wind, till a day shall be
When with the west shall rain come from the sea,
Then look to see full many a lovely thing
And feel the quickening power of the spring.
Behold the year lies spread before you now,
Spring, summer, autumn and the end of all,
And if therein some sorrow you may know
Bear not about with you your dusky pall
But make the best of what may chance to fall:
Then thou diest like others, yet be glad
That ere thy death some joyance thou hast had.
xxxj

[L'ENVOI.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

I have heard folks say talking of such men
As brought great things in measured words to pass,
That these were but the fountain's splashings when
The glittering drops leaped out upon the grass
That knoweth nought of that scarce moved mass
Within the bowl—such are great men, they say,
No idle singers of an empty day.

[L'ENVOI.]

[Lines from an earlier draft.]

And thou at least, poor book, I bid go forth
To seek a place mid that loved company,
However little thou mayst be of worth,
Yet art thou worth e'en just so much as I.
Go forth and pray at worst that thou may'st lie
Mid kindly earth to hide the heart away
Of one poor singer of an empty day.
Thou hast beheld me tremble oft enough
At things I could not choose but trust to thee,
Although I knew the world was wise and rough,
Yet did I never fail to let thee see
The littleness that each day was in me:
Through all this while we dealt did I betray
The idle singer of an empty day.
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