 | Herb o' Grace |  |
9
MYRRH AND AMARANTH
11
HERBAL
Love-lies-bleeding now is found
Grown in every common ground.
Love-lies-bleeding thrives apace
With the dear forget-me-not:
Nor is boy's love out of place
Now in any garden plot.
Grown in every common ground.
Love-lies-bleeding thrives apace
With the dear forget-me-not:
Nor is boy's love out of place
Now in any garden plot.
Love-in-a-mist, bewilderèd
With the many tears Love shed,
Seeks for herb-o'-grace to bind
Up her wounds, and fever-few
To give ease to a hurt mind;
Wound-wort is not wanting too.
With the many tears Love shed,
Seeks for herb-o'-grace to bind
Up her wounds, and fever-few
To give ease to a hurt mind;
Wound-wort is not wanting too.
Now the love-lies-bleeding grows
More than lily or the rose;
Love-in-idleness has gone
Out of fashion; here are flowers
Heartsease for to rest upon
With remembrance of sweet hours.
More than lily or the rose;
Love-in-idleness has gone
Out of fashion; here are flowers
12
With remembrance of sweet hours.
Ladders-to-heaven may be found
Now in any common ground.
Now in any common ground.
13
TELLING THE BEES
(For Edward Tennant)
Tell it to the bees, lest they
Umbrage take and fly away,
That the dearest boy is dead,
Who went singing, blithe and dear,
By the golden hives last year.
Curly-head, ah, curly-head!
Umbrage take and fly away,
That the dearest boy is dead,
Who went singing, blithe and dear,
By the golden hives last year.
Curly-head, ah, curly-head!
Tell them that the summer's over,
Over mignonette and clover;
Oh, speak low and very low!
Say that he was blithe and bonny,
Good as gold and sweet as honey,
All too late the roses blow!
Over mignonette and clover;
Oh, speak low and very low!
Say that he was blithe and bonny,
Good as gold and sweet as honey,
All too late the roses blow!
Say he will not come again,
Not in any sun or rain,
Heart's delight, ah, heart's delight!
Tell them that the boy they knew
Sleeps out under rain and dew
In the night, ah, in the night!
Not in any sun or rain,
Heart's delight, ah, heart's delight!
Tell them that the boy they knew
Sleeps out under rain and dew
In the night, ah, in the night!
14
NO MAN'S LAND
Not to an angel but a friend
He turned at the day's bitter end.
It was so comforting to feel
Some one was near, to see him kneel
By the deep shell-hole's edge: to know
He was not left to the fierce foe.
He turned at the day's bitter end.
It was so comforting to feel
Some one was near, to see him kneel
By the deep shell-hole's edge: to know
He was not left to the fierce foe.
This soldier who had eased his head
And staunched the flow where it had bled,
Who made a pillow of his breast
Where the poor tossing head might rest,
Wore a young face he used to know
Yesterday, some time, long ago.
And staunched the flow where it had bled,
Who made a pillow of his breast
Where the poor tossing head might rest,
Wore a young face he used to know
Yesterday, some time, long ago.
The night's cold it was bitter enough,
But who shall keep the fierce Day off?
And must he lie, be burnt and baked
In the hot sands, with lips unslaked?—
Will no one give him dews and rain?
Lord, send the frozen night again!
But who shall keep the fierce Day off?
And must he lie, be burnt and baked
In the hot sands, with lips unslaked?—
Will no one give him dews and rain?
Lord, send the frozen night again!
15
But here's the one who comforted!
No angel, but a boy instead,
Slender and young, above him leans:
The sands are changed to tender greens;
He hears the wind in the sycamore
Sing a low song by his mother's door.
No angel, but a boy instead,
Slender and young, above him leans:
The sands are changed to tender greens;
He hears the wind in the sycamore
Sing a low song by his mother's door.
Such tender touches to his wound,
Such loving arms to clasp him round,
Until they find him the third day!
The stretcher-bearers heard him say,
“Don't leave me, Denis! I am here.”
Denis? But Denis died last year!
Such loving arms to clasp him round,
Until they find him the third day!
The stretcher-bearers heard him say,
“Don't leave me, Denis! I am here.”
Denis? But Denis died last year!
He will maintain that Denis was
Beside him in his bitter case,
Denis more beautiful and gay
Than in the dear, remembered day:
God sent no angel, but a friend
To save him at the bitter end.
Beside him in his bitter case,
Denis more beautiful and gay
Than in the dear, remembered day:
God sent no angel, but a friend
To save him at the bitter end.
16
QUIET EYES
The boys come home, come home from war,
With quiet eyes for quiet things—
A child, a lamb, a flower, a star,
A bird that softly sings.
With quiet eyes for quiet things—
A child, a lamb, a flower, a star,
A bird that softly sings.
Young faces war-worn and deep-lined,
The satin smoothness past recall;
Yet out of sight is out of mind
For the worst wrong of all.
The satin smoothness past recall;
Yet out of sight is out of mind
For the worst wrong of all.
As nightmare dreams that pass with sleep,
The horror and grief intolerable.
The unremembering young eyes keep
Their innocence. All is well!
The horror and grief intolerable.
The unremembering young eyes keep
Their innocence. All is well!
The worldling's eyes are dusty dim,
The eyes of sin are weary and cold,
The fighting boy brings home with him
The unsullied eyes of old.
The eyes of sin are weary and cold,
The fighting boy brings home with him
The unsullied eyes of old.
17
The war has furrowed the young face.
Oh, there's no all-heal, no wound-wort!
The soul looks from its hidden place
Unharmed, unflawed, unhurt.
Oh, there's no all-heal, no wound-wort!
The soul looks from its hidden place
Unharmed, unflawed, unhurt.
18
THE SHORT ROAD TO HEAVEN
There's a short road to Heaven, but you must take it young,
And if you're for long living the road is all as long;
A long road, a hard road, with many a turn and twist.
The longer you'll be travelling, the easier it's missed.
And if you're for long living the road is all as long;
A long road, a hard road, with many a turn and twist.
The longer you'll be travelling, the easier it's missed.
But the wise lads, the dear lads, they've put it to the touch,
The lads of sweet-and-twenty, and maybe not so much;
'Tis the green way they've taken in the spring of their year,
When all their birds are singing to make them pleasant cheer.
The lads of sweet-and-twenty, and maybe not so much;
'Tis the green way they've taken in the spring of their year,
When all their birds are singing to make them pleasant cheer.
The long road is dusty and never a streamlet sings,
The dust lies on the hedgerows and on the birdies' wings;
The longer that you travel the wearier you are
And the farther off is Heaven and the stars are far.
The dust lies on the hedgerows and on the birdies' wings;
The longer that you travel the wearier you are
And the farther off is Heaven and the stars are far.
19
But the wise lads, the dear lads, the pathway's dewy green,
For the little Knights of Paradise of eighteen and nineteen;
They run the road to Heaven, they are singing as they go,
And the blood of their sacrifice has washed them white as snow.
For the little Knights of Paradise of eighteen and nineteen;
They run the road to Heaven, they are singing as they go,
And the blood of their sacrifice has washed them white as snow.
The young mothers' darlings, ah, who would bid them stay?
The short road to Heaven's a green and pleasant way;
They run singing and leaping, they will be in before
The night darkens on them—and there's God at the door.
The short road to Heaven's a green and pleasant way;
They run singing and leaping, they will be in before
The night darkens on them—and there's God at the door.
20
A CONNAUGHT MAN
(For Hugh Maguire)
Lord, when he shall come home from war,
Give him no pastures green,
But a wet wind and a soft wind
With reek of turf between.
Give him no pastures green,
But a wet wind and a soft wind
With reek of turf between.
Nor let Thy light shine overmuch
Lest that his soul should fret
For the grey mist and silver mist
That he will not forget.
Lest that his soul should fret
For the grey mist and silver mist
That he will not forget.
Build him no pearl-white palaces
Nor gardens fair and fine,
Lest for his bare, far-stretching bogs
His home-sick heart should pine.
Nor gardens fair and fine,
Lest for his bare, far-stretching bogs
His home-sick heart should pine.
Not groves, nor any vermeil walks,
Nor flowery pastures pied,
But the great sweep of sky and land
And the hills at eventide.
Nor flowery pastures pied,
But the great sweep of sky and land
And the hills at eventide.
21
Lord, when the men come from the war,
Give each man his desire!
Give him the soft wind and the rain
And the reek of the turf fire.
Give each man his desire!
Give him the soft wind and the rain
And the reek of the turf fire.
22
THE BROTHERS
(For Arnold and Donald Fletcher.)
One called from Salonika and his call
Rang to his brother;
Forded wide rivers, climbed the mountain wall,
Seeking the other.
Rang to his brother;
Forded wide rivers, climbed the mountain wall,
Seeking the other.
Are you asleep, Arnold, or do you wake?
Our way's together!
The day's before us and the path we take
Over the heather.
Our way's together!
The day's before us and the path we take
Over the heather.
As oft before, breasting the Wicklow hills,
Light-foot and leaping
Over the bog-pools and the singing rills,
Side by side keeping.
Light-foot and leaping
Over the bog-pools and the singing rills,
Side by side keeping.
We have known all the best that life can give,
Tasted the sweetest;
Shall we grow old, lag heavy-foot and grieve,
We, who were fleetest?
Tasted the sweetest;
Shall we grow old, lag heavy-foot and grieve,
We, who were fleetest?
23
Let us be gone while yet it is the morn
Dewy before us,
Light on the mountains and the springing corn
And the lark o'er us!
Dewy before us,
Light on the mountains and the springing corn
And the lark o'er us!
The voice from Salonika found the way
Easy of passage,
And to French Flanders on the second day
Carried the message.
Easy of passage,
And to French Flanders on the second day
Carried the message.
Arnold has gone the way that Donald went,
Donald's o'ertaken;
Up to the highest peaks they climb unspent,
Footing the bracken.
Donald's o'ertaken;
Up to the highest peaks they climb unspent,
Footing the bracken.
24
THE SECRET FOE
When now to battle he shall ride,
The bravest of the brave,
Joan the Maid be by his side
And Michael, quick to save.
The bravest of the brave,
Joan the Maid be by his side
And Michael, quick to save.
Not against man's most fell device
The shell, the gas, the mine;
These he shall meet with steady eyes
And courage half-divine.
The shell, the gas, the mine;
These he shall meet with steady eyes
And courage half-divine.
Oh, not the gaping wounds and red
And not the tortured sense,
And not the dying and the dead
And his own impotence.
And not the tortured sense,
And not the dying and the dead
And his own impotence.
But when the joy of battle faints
And his hot blood grows chill,
Be near him, all ye soldier saints,
Lest Satan work him ill!
And his hot blood grows chill,
Be near him, all ye soldier saints,
Lest Satan work him ill!
25
Lest in the hour of his great fight
This foe should him assail,
The enemy that creeps by night
Strike through his coat of mail.
This foe should him assail,
The enemy that creeps by night
Strike through his coat of mail.
Sebastian of the arrows, haste,
Michael and the White Maid,
Lest in his splendid hour, at last,
The soldier be afraid.
Michael and the White Maid,
Lest in his splendid hour, at last,
The soldier be afraid.
26
THE VESTAL
She goes unwedded all her days
Because some man she never knew,
Her destined mate, has won his bays,
Passed the low door of darkness through.
Because some man she never knew,
Her destined mate, has won his bays,
Passed the low door of darkness through.
Sometimes she has a wild surmise
Of what dear name he used to have,
And what the colour of his eyes,
And was he gay, or was he grave.
Of what dear name he used to have,
And what the colour of his eyes,
And was he gay, or was he grave.
Or if his hair was brown or gold,
Or if his voice was low and clear
To tell his love with, never told
To hers or any woman's ear.
Or if his voice was low and clear
To tell his love with, never told
To hers or any woman's ear.
His voice is lost upon the wind;
And when the rain beats on her heart
His eyes elude her, warm and kind,
Where the dim shadows steal apart.
And when the rain beats on her heart
His eyes elude her, warm and kind,
Where the dim shadows steal apart.
29
What of their children all unborn?
What of the house they should have built?
She wanders through her days forlorn,
The untasted cup of joy is spilt.
What of the house they should have built?
She wanders through her days forlorn,
The untasted cup of joy is spilt.
She lives unwedded,—as for him
He sleeps too sound for any fret
At their lost kisses, or the dream
Of the poor girl he never met.
He sleeps too sound for any fret
At their lost kisses, or the dream
Of the poor girl he never met.
30
THE OLD HOUSE
The boys who used to come and go
In the grey kindly house are flown.
They have taken the way the young feet know;
Not alone, not alone!
Thronged is the road the young feet go.
In the grey kindly house are flown.
They have taken the way the young feet know;
Not alone, not alone!
Thronged is the road the young feet go.
Yet in the quiet evening hour
What comes, oh, lighter than a bird?
Touches her cheek, soft as a flower.
What moved, what stirred?
What was the joyous whisper heard?
What comes, oh, lighter than a bird?
Touches her cheek, soft as a flower.
What moved, what stirred?
What was the joyous whisper heard?
What flitted in the corridor
Like a boy's shape so dear and slight?
What was the laughter ran before?
Delicate, light,
Like harps the wind plays out of sight.
Like a boy's shape so dear and slight?
What was the laughter ran before?
Delicate, light,
Like harps the wind plays out of sight.
31
The boys who used to go and come
In the grey house are come again;
Of the grey house and firelit room
They are fain, they are fain:
They are come home from the night and rain.
In the grey house are come again;
Of the grey house and firelit room
They are fain, they are fain:
They are come home from the night and rain.
32
WHEN YOU COME HOME
All will be right when you come home, dear lad,
But oh, 'tis long of coming that you are!
Everything's wrong with all the world and sad;
There are so many hurt in this long war,
So many missing, who will never come,
Lying out in the rain and in the cold.
I shall forget it all when you come home,
I shall forget the lonesome things they told.
But oh, 'tis long of coming that you are!
Everything's wrong with all the world and sad;
There are so many hurt in this long war,
So many missing, who will never come,
Lying out in the rain and in the cold.
I shall forget it all when you come home,
I shall forget the lonesome things they told.
There's something, something sad, that troubles me.
Beats like the rain upon my frightened heart;
A tale about a girl, the thing might be,
Whispered in corners, secret and apart;
How he was killed and how she never knew
Because God put a small cloud on her mind,
And how she waited the black winters through
And the wet summers; surely God was kind!
Beats like the rain upon my frightened heart;
A tale about a girl, the thing might be,
Whispered in corners, secret and apart;
How he was killed and how she never knew
Because God put a small cloud on her mind,
And how she waited the black winters through
And the wet summers; surely God was kind!
I took a daisy from the garden-bed
And plucked the petals, one by one, to tell
When I and my true lover should be wed,
This year: Next year: Never: the petals fell
And stopped at Never. But it could not guess,
The foolish daisy, what true love I had.
I turned from daisies and I plucked heartsease
To rest my heart on and be safe and glad.
And plucked the petals, one by one, to tell
33
This year: Next year: Never: the petals fell
And stopped at Never. But it could not guess,
The foolish daisy, what true love I had.
I turned from daisies and I plucked heartsease
To rest my heart on and be safe and glad.
Everything's wrong, Love, since you went away,
Such a queer world when all the boys are gone,
And there is no one left but old and grey,
Women and children, frightened and alone.
Sometimes the tale is crying at my heart
Of that poor girl. Maybe 'twas but a dream.
When you come home the shadows will depart,
The lonesome dreams die off in morning gleam.
Such a queer world when all the boys are gone,
And there is no one left but old and grey,
Women and children, frightened and alone.
Sometimes the tale is crying at my heart
Of that poor girl. Maybe 'twas but a dream.
When you come home the shadows will depart,
The lonesome dreams die off in morning gleam.
34
THE LAST QUESTION
(For B. A. Bingham)
They lifted up his weary head,
Stained with a dark and bitter dew:
“How does the battle go?” he said.
Stained with a dark and bitter dew:
“How does the battle go?” he said.
“Sir, it is victory,”—when he heard
He smiled the darkening shadows through
And died as blithe as a singing bird.
He smiled the darkening shadows through
And died as blithe as a singing bird.
On the stained grass as on a bed
Dying he lay and well content—
“Sir, it is victory,” they said.
Dying he lay and well content—
“Sir, it is victory,” they said.
So smiling, smiling all the way,
To the undying Dead he went
As to a heavenly holiday.
To the undying Dead he went
As to a heavenly holiday.
35
A HOLY WEEK SONG, 1918
Now when Christ died for man his sake
A myriad men must die;
His Via Crucis they must take
And share His Calvary.
God keep ye, gallant gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
Who share Lord Jesus Christ His pain
Upon this Good Friday!
A myriad men must die;
His Via Crucis they must take
And share His Calvary.
God keep ye, gallant gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
Who share Lord Jesus Christ His pain
Upon this Good Friday!
Now some shall turn and meet His gaze
And say, “Remember me
When Thou art come to Thine own place
Where ransomed sinners be!”
God rest ye, gallant gentlemen,
For ye are bought with price,
This day there wends a shining train
The way to Paradise.
And say, “Remember me
When Thou art come to Thine own place
Where ransomed sinners be!”
God rest ye, gallant gentlemen,
For ye are bought with price,
This day there wends a shining train
The way to Paradise.
The day our Lord Christ lay in grave
The dead are piled so high
The field slow-moving like a wave
Sends up a mortal cry.
God love ye, gallant gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For life is born and Death is slain
Upon the Easter Day.
The dead are piled so high
36
Sends up a mortal cry.
God love ye, gallant gentlemen,
Let nothing you dismay,
For life is born and Death is slain
Upon the Easter Day.
37
FLOWER O' THE YEAR
The laggard year is now at prime
And primrose-time is daffodil-time;
Where do the boys delay? What tether
Hinders them from the heavenly weather,
From violet-time and cowslip-time?
And primrose-time is daffodil-time;
Where do the boys delay? What tether
Hinders them from the heavenly weather,
From violet-time and cowslip-time?
Why do they keep the house so late?
The sweet o' the year is at the gate,
And hear the cuckoo calling, saying:
Up, slug-a-bed! 'Tis time for Maying!
The cuckoo calling early and late.
The sweet o' the year is at the gate,
And hear the cuckoo calling, saying:
Up, slug-a-bed! 'Tis time for Maying!
The cuckoo calling early and late.
They have stolen away before the dawn,
No print in the May-dew on the lawn
Betrays the way their light feet taking
Set not the quaking grass to shaking,
Running so light-foot in the dawn.
No print in the May-dew on the lawn
Betrays the way their light feet taking
Set not the quaking grass to shaking,
Running so light-foot in the dawn.
38
The primrose and the daffodil weather
Is here, and cowslips troop together;
The lambs frolic in pastures gold,
But since they come not it is cold.
Cold the primrose and daffodil weather.
Is here, and cowslips troop together;
The lambs frolic in pastures gold,
But since they come not it is cold.
Cold the primrose and daffodil weather.
39
THE GREAT MAY
Who said the Spring was dead?
She would not come again,
Dust on her starry head,
For a sad world in pain?
The thing they have said in vain,
She comes new garlanded:
Lovely on hill and plain
Her lights, her flowers are shed.
She would not come again,
Dust on her starry head,
For a sad world in pain?
The thing they have said in vain,
She comes new garlanded:
Lovely on hill and plain
Her lights, her flowers are shed.
Never was such a May!
Mercy of God, to prove
Life springs from the clay
And every treasured love
Walks in a heavenly grove.
The Lord God's holiday
To the soft coo of the dove
With the young lambs at play.
Mercy of God, to prove
Life springs from the clay
And every treasured love
Walks in a heavenly grove.
The Lord God's holiday
To the soft coo of the dove
With the young lambs at play.
Lo! yours, and yours, are there,
I see them leap and run
In a May-world past compare
Whereof our God is sun.
They rejoice, yea, every one
In the ambient light and air,
Their pleasures are not done
From morn till evening star.
I see them leap and run
40
Whereof our God is sun.
They rejoice, yea, every one
In the ambient light and air,
Their pleasures are not done
From morn till evening star.
Never was such a Spring!
Oh, you whose eyes are wet,
Listen, take comforting,
Our God does not forget.
Poor folk that fear and fret
Your hours are on the wing
To the loves that wait you yet,
Raised up and triumphing.
Oh, you whose eyes are wet,
Listen, take comforting,
Our God does not forget.
Poor folk that fear and fret
Your hours are on the wing
To the loves that wait you yet,
Raised up and triumphing.
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