 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
I
I once loved Nature so that man was nought,
And nought the works of man:
Whether the human force that inward wrought
My vital needs outran,
And, bidden by great Pan,
In its all-quickening arms the visible deadness caught;
And nought the works of man:
Whether the human force that inward wrought
My vital needs outran,
And, bidden by great Pan,
In its all-quickening arms the visible deadness caught;
Or was it accident of time and place?
For men were few to see
Where I was reared, and Nature's copious grace
Of form and colour free
Eclipsed the piety
Of childish social loves, and motions of the race;
For men were few to see
Where I was reared, and Nature's copious grace
Of form and colour free
Eclipsed the piety
Of childish social loves, and motions of the race;
I know not quite: but this to me is known,
That, with a soft unrest,
Soul unto soul in perfect aptness grown,
I drew her to my breast,
A personal creature pressed,
Full of a passionate will, and moods that were her own.
That, with a soft unrest,
Soul unto soul in perfect aptness grown,
I drew her to my breast,
A personal creature pressed,
Full of a passionate will, and moods that were her own.
719
Her own, yet, modulate and tuned to mine,
She shaped her meek replies
So that I ne'er bethought me to divine
If in her wondrous eyes
A light congenial lies,
Or, sprung from alien blood, insensate glories shine.
She shaped her meek replies
So that I ne'er bethought me to divine
If in her wondrous eyes
A light congenial lies,
Or, sprung from alien blood, insensate glories shine.
If homogeneous with me or not,
The question never tried me,
Or when, or wherefore, or of whom begot:
She seemed to stand outside me,
To soothe me and to guide me,
Another, or myself reflex, who cared one jot?
The question never tried me,
Or when, or wherefore, or of whom begot:
She seemed to stand outside me,
To soothe me and to guide me,
Another, or myself reflex, who cared one jot?
Thrice blest if I might roam on fell or shore
In exquisite solitude,
And uncontrolled the ο'αριστυς pour
That with its interlude,
Far from all discord rude,
Comes once to fresh young hearts, and comes not evermore.
In exquisite solitude,
And uncontrolled the ο'αριστυς pour
That with its interlude,
Far from all discord rude,
Comes once to fresh young hearts, and comes not evermore.
O, poet flush of all-compelling youth!
O, great interpreter!
O, artist prescient of the higher truth!
O, confident Lucifer!
O, nobly prone to err!
O, shadowless of doubt! O, innocent of ruth!
O, great interpreter!
O, artist prescient of the higher truth!
O, confident Lucifer!
O, nobly prone to err!
O, shadowless of doubt! O, innocent of ruth!
O, instinct vast! O, indiscriminate mind!
Not thus, but hesitant long,
That sculptor won the marble to be kind;
Thus rather, right or wrong
Untaught, Ixion strong
Held Nephele in arms a god might not unbind.
Not thus, but hesitant long,
That sculptor won the marble to be kind;
Thus rather, right or wrong
Untaught, Ixion strong
Held Nephele in arms a god might not unbind.
Then came the interact of will on will
The monad soul to frame;
And I was one of many, passion still,
And use, and praise, and blame,
The different, the same,
Shaping the definite self with change of good and ill.
The monad soul to frame;
And I was one of many, passion still,
And use, and praise, and blame,
The different, the same,
Shaping the definite self with change of good and ill.
720
A man with other men I had to dwell;
I had to love and hate,
To traffic with my heart, to buy and sell
Love's wares at current rate,
Mine enemies in the gate
With keen-edged sword of speech to harass and to quell.
I had to love and hate,
To traffic with my heart, to buy and sell
Love's wares at current rate,
Mine enemies in the gate
With keen-edged sword of speech to harass and to quell.
Wherefore I come a being manifold,
Nature, to sue thy grace.
It is not that my heart is growing cold,
If, conscious of my race,
I look into thy face
With a less simple trust than that I felt of old.
Nature, to sue thy grace.
It is not that my heart is growing cold,
If, conscious of my race,
I look into thy face
With a less simple trust than that I felt of old.
It is because thou seem'st at our alarms
Unmoved: the ages fall
Helpless from out the rigour of thine arms,
Thou heeding not at all
If bridal veil or pall
Illustrate or obscure the glory of thy charms.
Unmoved: the ages fall
Helpless from out the rigour of thine arms,
Thou heeding not at all
If bridal veil or pall
Illustrate or obscure the glory of thy charms.
It is because, with all thy loveliness,
Thou hast no delicate flush
Of feeling instant in its brimmed excess,
And rippled at the brush
Of lightest thought: the hush
Is thine of ordered change, fixed and emotionless.
Thou hast no delicate flush
Of feeling instant in its brimmed excess,
And rippled at the brush
Of lightest thought: the hush
Is thine of ordered change, fixed and emotionless.
It is because thou canst not apprehend
Beyond our simplest needs;
Because, obedient to thy native end,
Thou knowest only deeds
Where link to link succeeds,
And no irrational gaps the golden sequence rend.
Beyond our simplest needs;
Because, obedient to thy native end,
Thou knowest only deeds
Where link to link succeeds,
And no irrational gaps the golden sequence rend.
It is because the tracks of errant souls
Appear to thee so straight:
Unskilled to mark how latent force controls
The bias and the rate,
How inward grasping fate
Collects the various lines, and diverse sends the bowls.
Appear to thee so straight:
Unskilled to mark how latent force controls
The bias and the rate,
How inward grasping fate
Collects the various lines, and diverse sends the bowls.
721
Moreover, all the things that men have done,
The things that men have said,
Have made another light beneath the sun,
Another darkness shed,
Another soul-stream fed,
To cool in other wells, o'er other weirs to run.
The things that men have said,
Have made another light beneath the sun,
Another darkness shed,
Another soul-stream fed,
To cool in other wells, o'er other weirs to run.
I grant thou hast the very notes of prime,
But of the thousand tunes
Wherewith our summer loads the growing time,
The joyaunce of our Junes,
The full chromatic noons,
There is no scale to fit thy diapason chime.
But of the thousand tunes
Wherewith our summer loads the growing time,
The joyaunce of our Junes,
The full chromatic noons,
There is no scale to fit thy diapason chime.
Nor wilt thou, kindly monished, recognise
Of life the complex game:
We are not now as when, 'neath kindlier skies
Begot, to that great dame
Th' auroral offspring came;
We are no babes astride upon Eve's awful thighs.
Of life the complex game:
We are not now as when, 'neath kindlier skies
Begot, to that great dame
Th' auroral offspring came;
We are no babes astride upon Eve's awful thighs.
So, haply, one has known a foster-sister,
And, when the years have gone,
Has felt, with all his hopes, as if he missed her,
And come, and looked upon
Her face, and proved anon
Her eyes were meaningless, and, sadly silent, kissed her.
And, when the years have gone,
Has felt, with all his hopes, as if he missed her,
And come, and looked upon
Her face, and proved anon
Her eyes were meaningless, and, sadly silent, kissed her.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |