 | Collected poems of Thomas Hardy |  |
793
WINTER WORDS IN VARIOUS MOODS AND METRES
797
THE NEW DAWN'S BUSINESS
What are you doing outside my walls,
O Dawn of another day?
I have not called you over the edge
Of the heathy ledge,
So why do you come this way,
With your furtive footstep without sound here,
And your face so deedily gray?
O Dawn of another day?
I have not called you over the edge
Of the heathy ledge,
So why do you come this way,
With your furtive footstep without sound here,
And your face so deedily gray?
“I show a light for killing the man
Who lives not far from you,
And for bringing to birth the lady's child,
Nigh domiciled,
And for earthing a corpse or two,
And for several other such odd jobs round here
That Time to-day must do.
Who lives not far from you,
And for bringing to birth the lady's child,
Nigh domiciled,
And for earthing a corpse or two,
And for several other such odd jobs round here
That Time to-day must do.
“But you he leaves alone (although,
As you have often said,
You are always ready to pay the debt
You don't forget
You owe for board and bed):
The truth is, when men willing are found here
He takes those loth instead.”
As you have often said,
You are always ready to pay the debt
You don't forget
You owe for board and bed):
The truth is, when men willing are found here
He takes those loth instead.”
PROUD SONGSTERS
The thrushes sing as the sun is going,
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales
In bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.
And the finches whistle in ones and pairs,
And as it gets dark loud nightingales
In bushes
Pipe, as they can when April wears,
As if all Time were theirs.
798
These are brand-new birds of twelve-months' growing,
Which a year ago, or less than twain,
No finches were, nor nightingales,
Nor thrushes,
But only particles of grain,
And earth, and air, and rain.
Which a year ago, or less than twain,
No finches were, nor nightingales,
Nor thrushes,
But only particles of grain,
And earth, and air, and rain.
THOUGHTS AT MIDNIGHT
Mankind, you dismay meWhen shadows waylay me!—
Not by your splendours
Do you affray me,
Not as pretenders
To demonic keenness,
Not by your meanness,
Nor your ill-teachings,
Nor your false preachings,
Nor your banalities
And immoralities,
Nor by your daring
Nor sinister bearing;
But by your madnesses
Capping cool badnesses,
Acting like puppets
Under Time's buffets;
In superstitions
And ambitions
Moved by no wisdom,
Far-sight, or system,
Led by sheer senselessness
And presciencelessness
Into unreason
And hideous self-treason. . . .
God, look he on you,
Have mercy upon you!
Part written 25th May 1906.
799
“I AM THE ONE”
I am the one whom ringdoves see
Through chinks in boughs
When they do not rouse
In sudden dread,
But stay on cooing, as if they said:
“Oh; it's only he.”
Through chinks in boughs
When they do not rouse
In sudden dread,
But stay on cooing, as if they said:
“Oh; it's only he.”
I am the passer when up-eared hares,
Stirred as they eat
The new-sprung wheat,
Their munch resume
As if they thought: “He is one for whom
Nobody cares.”
Stirred as they eat
The new-sprung wheat,
Their munch resume
As if they thought: “He is one for whom
Nobody cares.”
Wet-eyed mourners glance at me
As in train they pass
Along the grass
To a hollowed spot,
And think: “No matter; he quizzes not
Our misery.”
As in train they pass
Along the grass
To a hollowed spot,
And think: “No matter; he quizzes not
Our misery.”
I hear above: “We stars must lend
No fierce regard
To his gaze, so hard
Bent on us thus,—
Must scathe him not. He is one with us
Beginning and end.”
No fierce regard
To his gaze, so hard
Bent on us thus,—
Must scathe him not. He is one with us
Beginning and end.”
THE PROPHETESS
1
“Now shall I singThat pretty thing
‘The Mocking-Bird’?”—And sing it straight did she.
I had no cause
To think it was
A Mocking-bird in truth that sang to me.
800
2
Not even the glanceShe threw askance
Foretold to me, nor did the tune or rhyme,
That the words bore
A meaning more
Than that they were a ditty of the time.
3
But after yearsOf hopes and fears,
And all they bring, and all they take away,
I found I had heard
The Mocking-bird
In person singing there to me that day.
A WISH FOR UNCONSCIOUSNESS
If I could but abideAs a tablet on a wall,
Or a hillock daisy-pied,
Or a picture in a hall,
And as nothing else at all,
I should feel no doleful achings,
I should hear no judgment-call,
Have no evil dreams or wakings,
No uncouth or grisly care;
In a word, no cross to bear.
THE BAD EXAMPLE
Fie, Aphrodite, shamming you are no mother,And your maternal markings trying to smother,
As you were maiden, now you love another! . . .
If one like you need such pretence to noose him,
Indulgence in too early fires beware you,
All girls yet virgin, and have constant care you
Become not staled by use as she has, ere you
Meet your most-loved; lest, tumbled, you should lose him
801
TO LOUISA IN THE LANE
Meet me again as at that time
In the hollow of the lane;
I will not pass as in my prime
I passed at each day's wane.
—Ah, I remember!
To do it you will have to see
Anew this sorry scene wherein you have ceased to be!
In the hollow of the lane;
I will not pass as in my prime
I passed at each day's wane.
—Ah, I remember!
To do it you will have to see
Anew this sorry scene wherein you have ceased to be!
But I will welcome your aspen form
As you gaze wondering round
And say with spectral frail alarm,
“Why am I still here found?
—Ah, I remember!
It is through him with blitheful brow
Who did not love me then, but loves and draws me now!”
As you gaze wondering round
And say with spectral frail alarm,
“Why am I still here found?
—Ah, I remember!
It is through him with blitheful brow
Who did not love me then, but loves and draws me now!”
And I shall answer: “Sweet of eyes,
Carry me with you, Dear,
To where you donned this spirit-guise;
It's better there than here!”
—Till I remember
Such is a deed you cannot do:
Wait must I, till with flung-off flesh I follow you.
Carry me with you, Dear,
To where you donned this spirit-guise;
It's better there than here!”
—Till I remember
Such is a deed you cannot do:
Wait must I, till with flung-off flesh I follow you.
LOVE WATCHES A WINDOW
“Here in the window beaming across
Is he—the lineaments like him so!—
The saint whose name I do not know,
With the holy robe and the cheek aglow.
Here will I kneel as if worshipping God
When all the time I am worshipping you,
Whose Love I was—
You that with me will nevermore tread anew
The paradise-paths we trod!”
Is he—the lineaments like him so!—
The saint whose name I do not know,
With the holy robe and the cheek aglow.
Here will I kneel as if worshipping God
When all the time I am worshipping you,
Whose Love I was—
You that with me will nevermore tread anew
The paradise-paths we trod!”
802
She came to that prominent pew each day,
And sat there. Zealously she came
And watched her Love—looking just the same
From the rubied eastern tracery-frame—
The man who had quite forsaken her
And followed another, it was thought.—
Be't as it may,
Thinner, more thin, was the lady's figure wrought
By some ache, year on year.
And sat there. Zealously she came
And watched her Love—looking just the same
From the rubied eastern tracery-frame—
The man who had quite forsaken her
And followed another, it was thought.—
Be't as it may,
Thinner, more thin, was the lady's figure wrought
By some ache, year on year.
Well, now she's dead, and dead is he
From whom her heart once drew delight,
Whose face glowed daily, lover-bright,
High in the glass before her sight.
And still the face is seen as clear
In the rubied eastern window-gleam
As formerly;
But not seen now is a passioned woman's dream
Glowing beside it there.
From whom her heart once drew delight,
Whose face glowed daily, lover-bright,
High in the glass before her sight.
And still the face is seen as clear
In the rubied eastern window-gleam
As formerly;
But not seen now is a passioned woman's dream
Glowing beside it there.
THE LOVE-LETTERS
(IN MEMORIAM H. R.)
I met him quite by accident
In a bye-path that he'd frequent.
And, as he neared, the sunset glow
Warmed up the smile of pleasantry
Upon his too thin face, while he
Held a square packet up to me,
Of what, I did not know.
In a bye-path that he'd frequent.
And, as he neared, the sunset glow
Warmed up the smile of pleasantry
Upon his too thin face, while he
Held a square packet up to me,
Of what, I did not know.
“Well,” said he then; “they are my old letters.
Perhaps she—rather felt them fetters. . . .
You see, I am in a slow decline,
And she's broken off with me. Quite right
To send them back, and true foresight;
I'd got too fond of her! To-night
I burn them—stuff of mine!”
Perhaps she—rather felt them fetters. . . .
You see, I am in a slow decline,
And she's broken off with me. Quite right
To send them back, and true foresight;
I'd got too fond of her! To-night
I burn them—stuff of mine!”
He laughed in the sun—an ache in his laughter—
And went. I heard of his death soon after.
And went. I heard of his death soon after.
803
AN UNKINDLY MAY
A shepherd stands by a gate in a white smock-frock:
He holds the gate ajar, intently counting his flock.
He holds the gate ajar, intently counting his flock.
The sour spring wind is blurting boisterous-wise,
And bears on it dirty clouds across the skies;
Plantation timbers creak like rusty cranes,
And pigeons and rooks, dishevelled by late rains,
Are like gaunt vultures, sodden and unkempt,
And song-birds do not end what they attempt:
The buds have tried to open, but quite failing
Have pinched themselves together in their quailing.
The sun frowns whitely in eye-trying flaps
Through passing cloud-holes, mimicking audible taps.
“Nature, you're not commendable to-day!”
I think. “Better to-morrow!” she seems to say.
And bears on it dirty clouds across the skies;
Plantation timbers creak like rusty cranes,
And pigeons and rooks, dishevelled by late rains,
Are like gaunt vultures, sodden and unkempt,
And song-birds do not end what they attempt:
The buds have tried to open, but quite failing
Have pinched themselves together in their quailing.
The sun frowns whitely in eye-trying flaps
Through passing cloud-holes, mimicking audible taps.
“Nature, you're not commendable to-day!”
I think. “Better to-morrow!” she seems to say.
That shepherd still stands in that white smock-frock,
Unnoting all things save the counting his flock.
Unnoting all things save the counting his flock.
UNKEPT GOOD FRIDAYS
There are many more Good Fridays
Than this, if we but knew
The names, and could relate them,
Of men whom rulers slew
For their goodwill, and date them
As runs the twelvemonth through.
Than this, if we but knew
The names, and could relate them,
Of men whom rulers slew
For their goodwill, and date them
As runs the twelvemonth through.
These nameless Christs' Good Fridays,
Whose virtues wrought their end,
Bore days of bonds and burning,
With no man to their friend,
Of mockeries, and spurning;
Yet they are all unpenned.
Whose virtues wrought their end,
Bore days of bonds and burning,
With no man to their friend,
Of mockeries, and spurning;
Yet they are all unpenned.
804
When they had their Good Fridays
Of bloody sweat and strain
Oblivion hides. We quote not
Their dying words of pain,
Their sepulchres we note not,
Unwitting where they have lain.
Of bloody sweat and strain
Oblivion hides. We quote not
Their dying words of pain,
Their sepulchres we note not,
Unwitting where they have lain.
No annual Good Fridays
Gained they from cross and cord,
From being sawn asunder,
Disfigured and abhorred,
Smitten and trampled under:
Such dates no hands have scored.
Gained they from cross and cord,
From being sawn asunder,
Disfigured and abhorred,
Smitten and trampled under:
Such dates no hands have scored.
Let be. Let lack Good Fridays
These Christs of unwrit names;
The world was not even worthy
To taunt their hopes and aims,
As little of earth, earthy,
As his mankind proclaims.
These Christs of unwrit names;
The world was not even worthy
To taunt their hopes and aims,
As little of earth, earthy,
As his mankind proclaims.
Good Friday, 1927.
THE MOUND
For a moment pause:—Just here it was;
And through the thin thorn hedge, by the rays of the moon,
I can see the tree in the field, and beside it the mound—
Now sheeted with snow—whereon we sat that June
When it was green and round,
And she crazed my mind by what she coolly told—
The history of her undoing,
(As I saw it), but she called “comradeship,”
That bred in her no rueing:
And saying she'd not be bound
For life to one man, young, ripe-yeared, or old,
Left me—an innocent simpleton to her viewing;
805
Hers had more hotly flown. . . .
We never met again by this green mound,
To press as once so often lip on lip,
And palter, and pause:—
Yes; here it was!
LIDDELL AND SCOTT
ON THE COMPLETION OF THEIR LEXICON
“Well, though it seems
Beyond our dreams,”
Said Liddell to Scott,
“We've really got
To the very end,
All inked and penned
Blotless and fair
Without turning a hair,
This sultry summer day, A.D.
Eighteen hundred and forty-three.
Beyond our dreams,”
Said Liddell to Scott,
“We've really got
To the very end,
All inked and penned
Blotless and fair
Without turning a hair,
This sultry summer day, A.D.
Eighteen hundred and forty-three.
“I've often, I own,
Belched many a moan
At undertaking it,
And dreamt forsaking it.
—Yes, on to Pi,
When the end loomed nigh,
And friends said: ‘You've as good as done,’
I almost wished we'd not begun.
Even now, if people only knew
My sinkings, as we slowly drew
Along through Kappa, Lambda, Mu,
They'd be concerned at my misgiving,
And how I mused on a College living
Right down to Sigma,
But feared a stigma
If I succumbed, and left old Donnegan
For weary freshmen's eyes to con again:
And how I often, often wondered
What could have led me to have blundered
So far away from sound theology
To dialects and etymology;
Words, accents not to be breathed by men
Of any country ever again!”
Belched many a moan
At undertaking it,
And dreamt forsaking it.
—Yes, on to Pi,
When the end loomed nigh,
And friends said: ‘You've as good as done,’
I almost wished we'd not begun.
Even now, if people only knew
My sinkings, as we slowly drew
Along through Kappa, Lambda, Mu,
806
And how I mused on a College living
Right down to Sigma,
But feared a stigma
If I succumbed, and left old Donnegan
For weary freshmen's eyes to con again:
And how I often, often wondered
What could have led me to have blundered
So far away from sound theology
To dialects and etymology;
Words, accents not to be breathed by men
Of any country ever again!”
“My heart most failed,
Indeed, quite quailed,”
Said Scott to Liddell,
“Long ere the middle! . . .
'Twas one wet dawn
When, slippers on,
And a cold in the head anew,
Gazing at Delta
I turned and felt a
Wish for bed anew,
And to let supersedings
Of Passow's readings
In dialects go.
‘That German has read
More than we!’ I said;
Yea, several times did I feel so! . . .
Indeed, quite quailed,”
Said Scott to Liddell,
“Long ere the middle! . . .
'Twas one wet dawn
When, slippers on,
And a cold in the head anew,
Gazing at Delta
I turned and felt a
Wish for bed anew,
And to let supersedings
Of Passow's readings
In dialects go.
‘That German has read
More than we!’ I said;
Yea, several times did I feel so! . . .
“O that first morning, smiling bland,
With sheets of foolscap, quills in hand,
To write ααατος and ααγης,
Followed by fifteen hundred pages,
What nerve was ours
So to back our powers,
Assured that we should reach ωωδης
While there was breath left in our bodies!”
With sheets of foolscap, quills in hand,
To write ααατος and ααγης,
Followed by fifteen hundred pages,
What nerve was ours
So to back our powers,
Assured that we should reach ωωδης
While there was breath left in our bodies!”
Liddell replied: “Well, that's past now;
The job's done, thank God, anyhow.”
“And yet it's not,”
Considered Scott,
“For we've to get
Subscribers yet
We must remember;
Yes; by September.”
The job's done, thank God, anyhow.”
807
Considered Scott,
“For we've to get
Subscribers yet
We must remember;
Yes; by September.”
“O Lord; dismiss that. We'll succeed.
Dinner is my immediate need.
I feel as hollow as a fiddle,
Working so many hours,” said Liddell.
Dinner is my immediate need.
I feel as hollow as a fiddle,
Working so many hours,” said Liddell.
CHRISTMASTIDE
The rain-shafts splintered on me
As despondently I strode;
The twilight gloomed upon me
And bleared the blank high-road.
Each bush gave forth, when blown on
By gusts in shower and shower,
A sigh, as it were sown on
In handfuls by a sower.
As despondently I strode;
The twilight gloomed upon me
And bleared the blank high-road.
Each bush gave forth, when blown on
By gusts in shower and shower,
A sigh, as it were sown on
In handfuls by a sower.
A cheerful voice called, nigh me,
“A merry Christmas, friend!”—
There rose a figure by me,
Walking with townward trend,
A sodden tramp's, who, breaking
Into thin song, bore straight
Ahead, direction taking
Toward the Casuals' gate.
“A merry Christmas, friend!”—
There rose a figure by me,
Walking with townward trend,
A sodden tramp's, who, breaking
Into thin song, bore straight
Ahead, direction taking
Toward the Casuals' gate.
RELUCTANT CONFESSION
“What did you do? Cannot you let me know?”“Don't ask! . . . 'Twas midnight, and I'd lost at cards.”
“Ah. Was it crime—or seemed it to be so?”
“No—not till afterwards.”
“But what, then, did you do?”
808
You see, I had lost, and could not pay but—so.
And there flashed from him strange and strong regards
That you only see when scruples smash to shards;
And thus it happened—O it rained and blew!—
But I can't tell. 'Twas all so lurid in hue!
And what was worst came after, when I knew
What first crossed not my mind,
And he has never divined!” . . .
“But he must have, if he proposed it you?”
“I mean, that—I got rid of what resulted
In a way a woman told me I consulted:
'Tis that he does not know;
Great God, it harrows me so!
I did not mean to. Every night—
In hell-dark dreams
I see an appealing figure in white—
That somehow seems
A newborn child in the clothes I set to make,
But left off, for my own depraved name's sake!”
EXPECTATION AND EXPERIENCE
“I had a holiday once,” said the woman—Her name I did not know—
“And I thought that where I'd like to go,
Of all the places for being jolly,
And getting rid of melancholy,
Would be to a good big fair:
And I went. And it rained in torrents, drenching
Every horse, and sheep, and yeoman,
And my shoulders, face and hair;
And I found that I was the single woman
In the field—and looked quite odd there!
Everything was spirit-quenching:
I crept and stood in the lew of a wall
To think, and could not tell at all
What on earth made me plod there!”
809
ARISTODEMUS THE MESSENIAN
Scene: Before the Stronghold of Ithome, Messenia, 735 B.C.His daughter's lover discovered, in the disguise of a soothsayer; to whom enters Aristodemus.
Aristodemus
(apostrophically)
Straightway let it be done!
Lover
Let what be done, chief?
Aristodemus
Who art thou that art speaking? Some sage prophet?—
She, my daughter's to perish on the altar!
Lover
Thou called hero!—a myth thy vaunted power,
If it fail to redeem thy best beloved.
Aristodemus
Power is nought to the matter. What the Sibyl
Bids, must be!
Lover
But I doubt such bidding thereto.
Aristodemus
Nay. White lippings above the Delphic tripod
Mangle never their message! And they lip such.
Thriving, conquering shall Messene be forthwith—
Future worthy my gift of this intact one.
Yea, and who of the Aépy̆tids' renowned house
Weigh can greater with Zeus than she my offspring?
Shall these Spartiats sway to save me reavement?
What is fatherhood when they march in hearing?
Hark! E'en now they are here!
(Marching soldiers heard afar.)
810
(after a silence)
And mean you to warn her?
Aristodemus
Not till evening shades can cover pallor.
[Exit.
Lover stands motionless. Enter the daughter of Aristodemus.
Daughter
Ah! Thou comest to me, Love, not as earlier! Lover, as it were waking, approaches, unhoods his face, and embraces her.
Why not speak to me?
Lover
Sweetest, thou'rt a doomed one!
Daughter
How?
Lover
Thy sacrifice by thy father waits thee—
Thee, as offering for the State's salvation.
Daughter
Not the slaying of me?
Lover
Fail I to stay him— (She droops in his arms)
Whereto bursts in a flame a means upon me!
Daughter
How? My father is mighty. Thou'rt so powerless.
Lover
Thus and now it adumbrates. Haste I to him,
Vowing love for thee!
Daughter
Which he'll value wryly—
Less than nought, as I know.
811
Till comes my sequel;
This, to wit. Thou art got with child by me. Ay,
List: the Sibylline utterance asks a virgin;
So th'rt saved!
Daughter
But a maid's the thing I am, Love!
Gods! With child I am not, but veriest virgin—
Who knows surer than thou?
Lover
I'll make him think so,
Though no man upon earth more knows its falseness,
Such will I.
Daughter
But alas, thou canst not make him:
Me he knows to the core. He'll not believe thee.
Lover
Then thou canst. He'll accept thy vouching, sure, Sweet,
And another intact one, equal serving,
Straightway find for the knife.
Daughter
My Love, I must not!
Lover
Not? And yet there is pending for thee, elsewise,
Dark destruction, and all thy burning being
Dungeoned in an eternal nescientness! She shudders, but weepingly shows unwillingness.
Stay. I'll make the asseverance first. Thou'lt clinch it?
Daughter
(with white cheeks, after a pause)
Be it so! . . .
The Messenian army is heard going out to meet the Spartans. Lover hoods himself as Aristodemus enters from the stronghold.
812
(looking strangely at his daughter)
Stay you yet at the gate? The old man also?
Hath indeed he disclosed the sore pronouncement?
Daughter
(falteringly)
Sore pronouncement? And what is, sire, its substance?
Messenger enters.
Messenger
King Euphaes is just found slain in combat:
Thereby King is the Chief, Aristodemus,
E'en ere falters the strife—still hard against us!
Aristodemus
Ha! And is it in balance yet!—The deed, then! Daughter looks at her lover, who throws off his disguise; and they go up to Aristodemus together.
Who's this man? And to what tends all this feigning?
Daughter
He—my lover—who thinks to be my husband—
O my father, thy pardon! Know a secret!
Aristodemus
Lover? Secret? And what? But such is nought now:
Husband he nor another can be to thee,
Let him think as he may! And though I meant not
Death to broach till the eve, let doom be dealt now.
Hark, the Spartan assays! It straight behoves me,
Cost it what to my soul, to give deliverance
To my country the instant. Thou, my daughter,
Foremost maiden of all the maidens round us—
Daughter
O but save me, I pray, sire! And to that end
There has now to be spoke a thing immediate,
And I fain would be speaker. But I cannot!
What he now will reveal, receive as vouched for!
(She rushes into the castle.)
813
(to lover)
What means this in her? Reads she what's impending?
Lover
King, its meaning is much! That she's with child. Yea,
By me! Hence there is called for immolation
One who's what she is not—a sure-sealed virgin—
If you'd haste to deliver stressed Ithome,
Bulking yet overhead as though unweakened!
Aristodemus sinks on to a projection of the rock, and covers his eyes.
Aristodemus
(brokenly)
Better had she been made the purposed victim
Than that this should have so befallen to save her!
Foul disaster of fatherhood and home-pride! . . .
Let this citadel fall; the Spartan army
Trample over its dust, and enter in here!
She is worse than a martyr for the State-weal,
I than one of the slain. And king to-morrow!
(He pauses)
Than that this should have so befallen to save her!
Foul disaster of fatherhood and home-pride! . . .
Let this citadel fall; the Spartan army
Trample over its dust, and enter in here!
She is worse than a martyr for the State-weal,
I than one of the slain. And king to-morrow!
Tis not true!
He makes as if to fall upon her lover with his sword. Lover
defends himself with his dagger. Aristodemus turns
to rush into the castle after his daughter.
I misdoubt it! They speak falsely!
[Exit Aristodemus. Lover walks up and down in strained suspense. Interval. A groan is heard. Lover is about to rush out, but re-enter Aristodemus sword in hand, now bloody.
Aristodemus
I have proved me her honour, shown the falsehood
Ye twain both have declared me!
Lover
That canst not do!
814
I say I have outshown it; proved her even
Until death very virgin pure and spotless!
Enter Attendants.
Attendants
(severally)
Horror, horror indeed! He's ripped her up—yea,
With his sword! He hath split her beauteous body
To prove her maid!
Aristodemus
(to lover)
Now diest thou for thy lying, like as she died!
He turns his sword on lover, but falls from exhaustion. Lover seizes Aristodemus' sword, and is about to run him through with it; but he checks his hand, and turn the sword upon himself.
(Lover dies.)
EVENING SHADOWS
The shadows of my chimneys stretch afar
Across the plot, and on to the privet bower,
And even the shadows of their smokings show,
And nothing says just now that where they are
They will in future stretch at this same hour,
Though in my earthen cyst I shall not know.
Across the plot, and on to the privet bower,
And even the shadows of their smokings show,
And nothing says just now that where they are
They will in future stretch at this same hour,
Though in my earthen cyst I shall not know.
And at this time the neighbouring Pagan mound,
Whose myths the Gospel news now supersede,
Upon the greensward also throws its shade,
And nothing says such shade will spread around
Even as to-day when men will no more heed
The Gospel news than when the mound was made.
Whose myths the Gospel news now supersede,
Upon the greensward also throws its shade,
And nothing says such shade will spread around
Even as to-day when men will no more heed
The Gospel news than when the mound was made.
THE THREE TALL MEN
The First Tapping
“What's that tapping at night: tack, tack,In some house in the street at the back?”
815
Is making himself a coffin to measure.
He's so very tall that no carpenter
Will make it long enough, he's in fear.
His father's was shockingly short for his limb—
And it made a deep impression on him.”
The Second Tapping
“That tapping has begun again,
Which ceased a year back, or near then?”
Which ceased a year back, or near then?”
“Yes, 'tis the man you heard before
Making his coffin. The first scarce done
His brother died—his only one—
And, being of his own height, or more,
He used it for him; for he was afraid
He'd not get a long enough one quick made.
He's making a second now, to fit
Himself when there shall be need for it.
Carpenters work so by rule of thumb
That they make mistakes when orders come.”
Making his coffin. The first scarce done
His brother died—his only one—
And, being of his own height, or more,
He used it for him; for he was afraid
He'd not get a long enough one quick made.
He's making a second now, to fit
Himself when there shall be need for it.
Carpenters work so by rule of thumb
That they make mistakes when orders come.”
The Third Tapping
“It's strange, but years back, when I was here,
I used to notice a tapping near;
A man was making his coffin at night,
And he made a second, if I am right?
I have heard again the self-same tapping—
Yes, late last night—or was I napping?”
I used to notice a tapping near;
A man was making his coffin at night,
And he made a second, if I am right?
I have heard again the self-same tapping—
Yes, late last night—or was I napping?”
“O no. It's the same man. He made one
Which his brother had; and a second was done—
For himself, as he thought. But lately his son,
As tall as he, died; aye, and as trim,
And his sorrowful father bestowed it on him.
And now the man is making a third,
To be used for himself when he is interred.”
Which his brother had; and a second was done—
For himself, as he thought. But lately his son,
As tall as he, died; aye, and as trim,
And his sorrowful father bestowed it on him.
And now the man is making a third,
To be used for himself when he is interred.”
“Many years later was brought to me
News that the man had died at sea.”
News that the man had died at sea.”
816
THE LODGING-HOUSE FUCHSIAS
Mrs. Masters's fuchsias hung
Higher and broader, and brightly swung,
Bell-like, more and more
Over the narrow garden-path,
Giving the passer a sprinkle-bath
In the morning.
Higher and broader, and brightly swung,
Bell-like, more and more
Over the narrow garden-path,
Giving the passer a sprinkle-bath
In the morning.
She put up with their pushful ways,
And made us tenderly lift their sprays,
Going to her door:
But when her funeral had to pass
They cut back all the flowery mass
In the morning.
And made us tenderly lift their sprays,
Going to her door:
But when her funeral had to pass
They cut back all the flowery mass
In the morning.
THE WHALER'S WIFE
I never pass that inn “The Ring of Bells”
Without recalling what its signpost tells
To recollection:
A tale such as all houses yield, maybe,
That ever have known of fealties, phantasy,
Hate, or affection.
Without recalling what its signpost tells
To recollection:
A tale such as all houses yield, maybe,
That ever have known of fealties, phantasy,
Hate, or affection.
He has come from a whaling cruise to settle down
As publican in his small native town,
Where his wife dwells.
It is a Sunday morning; she has gone
To church with others. Service still being on,
He seeks “The Bells.”
As publican in his small native town,
Where his wife dwells.
It is a Sunday morning; she has gone
To church with others. Service still being on,
He seeks “The Bells.”
“Yes: she's quite thriving; very much so, they say.
I don't believe in tales; 'tis not my way!
I hold them stuff.
But—as you press me—certainly we know
He visits her once at least each week or so,
Fair weather or rough.
I don't believe in tales; 'tis not my way!
I hold them stuff.
But—as you press me—certainly we know
He visits her once at least each week or so,
Fair weather or rough.
817
“And, after all, he's quite a gentleman,
And lonely wives must friend them where they can.
She'll tell you all,
No doubt, when prayers are done and she comes home.
I'm glad to hear your early taste to roam
Begins to pall.”
And lonely wives must friend them where they can.
She'll tell you all,
No doubt, when prayers are done and she comes home.
I'm glad to hear your early taste to roam
Begins to pall.”
“I'll stroll out and await her,” then said he.
Anon the congregation passed, and she
Passed with the rest,
Unconscious of the great surprise at hand
And bounding on, and smiling—fair and bland—
In her Sunday best.
Anon the congregation passed, and she
Passed with the rest,
Unconscious of the great surprise at hand
And bounding on, and smiling—fair and bland—
In her Sunday best.
Straight she was told. She fainted at the news,
But rallied, and was able to refuse
Help to her home.
There she sat waiting all day—with a look—
A look of joy, it seemed, if none mistook . . .
But he did not come.
But rallied, and was able to refuse
Help to her home.
There she sat waiting all day—with a look—
A look of joy, it seemed, if none mistook . . .
But he did not come.
Time flew: her husband kept him absent still,
And by slow slips the woman pined, until,
Grown thin, she died—
Of grief at loss of him, some would aver,
But how could that be? They anyway buried her
By her mother's side.
And by slow slips the woman pined, until,
Grown thin, she died—
Of grief at loss of him, some would aver,
But how could that be? They anyway buried her
By her mother's side.
And by the grave stood, at the funeral,
A tall man, elderly and grave withal;
Gossip grew grim:
He was the same one who had been seen before;
He paid, in cash, all owing; and no more
Was heard of him.
A tall man, elderly and grave withal;
Gossip grew grim:
He was the same one who had been seen before;
He paid, in cash, all owing; and no more
Was heard of him.
At the pulling down of her house, decayed and old,
Many years after, was the true tale told
By an ancient swain.
The tall man was the father of the wife.
He had beguiled her mother in maiden life,
And to cover her stain,
Many years after, was the true tale told
By an ancient swain.
The tall man was the father of the wife.
He had beguiled her mother in maiden life,
And to cover her stain,
818
Induced to wive her one in his service bred,
Who brought her daughter up as his till wed.
—This the girl knew,
But hid it close, to save her mother's name,
Even from her seaman spouse, and ruined her fame
With him, though true.
Who brought her daughter up as his till wed.
—This the girl knew,
But hid it close, to save her mother's name,
Even from her seaman spouse, and ruined her fame
With him, though true.
THROWING A TREE
NEW FOREST
The two executioners stalk along over the knolls,
Bearing two axes with heavy heads shining and wide,
And a long limp two-handled saw toothed for cutting great boles,
And so they approach the proud tree that bears the death-mark on its side.
Bearing two axes with heavy heads shining and wide,
And a long limp two-handled saw toothed for cutting great boles,
And so they approach the proud tree that bears the death-mark on its side.
Jackets doffed they swing axes and chop away just above ground,
And the chips fly about and lie white on the moss and fallen leaves;
Till a broad deep gash in the bark is hewn all the way round,
And one of them tries to hook upward a rope, which at last he achieves.
And the chips fly about and lie white on the moss and fallen leaves;
Till a broad deep gash in the bark is hewn all the way round,
And one of them tries to hook upward a rope, which at last he achieves.
The saw then begins, till the top of the tall giant shivers:
The shivers are seen to grow greater each cut than before:
They edge out the saw, tug the rope; but the tree only quivers,
And kneeling and sawing again, they step back to try pulling once more.
The shivers are seen to grow greater each cut than before:
They edge out the saw, tug the rope; but the tree only quivers,
And kneeling and sawing again, they step back to try pulling once more.
Then, lastly, the living mast sways, further sways: with a shout
Job and Ike rush aside. Reached the end of its long staying powers
The tree crashes downward: it shakes all its neighbours throughout,
And two hundred years' steady growth has been ended in less than two hours.
Job and Ike rush aside. Reached the end of its long staying powers
The tree crashes downward: it shakes all its neighbours throughout,
And two hundred years' steady growth has been ended in less than two hours.
819
THE WAR-WIFE OF CATKNOLL
“What crowd is this in Catknoll Street,
Now I am just come home?
What crowd is this in my old street,
That flings me such a glance?
A stretcher—and corpse? A sobering sight
To greet me, when my heart is light
With thoughts of coming cheer to-night
Now I am back from France.”
Now I am just come home?
What crowd is this in my old street,
That flings me such a glance?
A stretcher—and corpse? A sobering sight
To greet me, when my heart is light
With thoughts of coming cheer to-night
Now I am back from France.”
“O 'tis a woman, soldier-man,
Who seem to be new come:
O 'tis a woman, soldier-man,
Found in the river here,
Whither she went and threw her in,
And now they are carrying her within:
She's drowned herself for a sly sin
Against her husband dear.
Who seem to be new come:
O 'tis a woman, soldier-man,
Found in the river here,
Whither she went and threw her in,
And now they are carrying her within:
She's drowned herself for a sly sin
Against her husband dear.
“'A said to me, who knew her well,
‘O why was I so weak!’
'A said to me, who knew her well,
And have done all her life,
With a downcast face she said to me,
‘O why did I keep company
Wi' them that practised gallantry,
When vowed a faithful wife!’
‘O why was I so weak!’
'A said to me, who knew her well,
And have done all her life,
With a downcast face she said to me,
‘O why did I keep company
Wi' them that practised gallantry,
When vowed a faithful wife!’
“‘O God, I'm driven mad!’ she said,
‘To hear he's coming back;
I'm fairly driven mad!’ she said:
‘He's been two years agone,
And now he'll find me in this state,
And not forgive me. Had but fate
Kept back his coming three months late,
Nothing of it he'd known!’
‘To hear he's coming back;
I'm fairly driven mad!’ she said:
‘He's been two years agone,
And now he'll find me in this state,
And not forgive me. Had but fate
Kept back his coming three months late,
Nothing of it he'd known!’
“We did not think she meant so much,
And said: ‘He may forgive.’
O never we thought she meant so much
As to go doing this.
And now she must be crowned
!—so fair!—
Who drew men's eyes so everywhere!—
And love-letters beyond compare
For coaxing to a kiss.
And said: ‘He may forgive.’
O never we thought she meant so much
As to go doing this.
820
Who drew men's eyes so everywhere!—
And love-letters beyond compare
For coaxing to a kiss.
“She kept her true a year or more
Against the young men all;
Yes, kept her true a year or more,
And they were most to blame.
There was Will Peach who plays the flute,
And Waywell with the dandy suit,
And Nobb, and Knight. . . . But she's been mute
As to the father's name.”
Against the young men all;
Yes, kept her true a year or more,
And they were most to blame.
There was Will Peach who plays the flute,
And Waywell with the dandy suit,
And Nobb, and Knight. . . . But she's been mute
As to the father's name.”
CONCERNING HIS OLD HOME
Mood I
I wish to see it never—That dismal place
With cracks in its floor—
I would forget it ever!
Mood II
To see it once, that sadAnd memoried place—
Yes, just once more—
I should be faintly glad!
Mood III
To see it often again—That friendly place
With its green low door—
I'm willing anywhen!
821
Mood IV
I'll haunt it night and day—That loveable place,
With its flowers' rich store
That drives regret away!
HER SECOND HUSBAND HEARS HER STORY
“Still, Dear, it is incredible to me
That here, alone,
You should have sewed him up until he died,
And in this very bed. I do not see
How you could do it, seeing what might betide.”
That here, alone,
You should have sewed him up until he died,
And in this very bed. I do not see
How you could do it, seeing what might betide.”
“Well, he came home one midnight, liquored deep—
Worse than I'd known—
And lay down heavily, and soundly slept:
Then, desperate driven, I thought of it, to keep
Him from me when he woke. Being an adept
Worse than I'd known—
And lay down heavily, and soundly slept:
Then, desperate driven, I thought of it, to keep
Him from me when he woke. Being an adept
“With needle and thimble, as he snored, click-click
An hour I'd sewn,
Till, had he roused, he couldn't have moved from bed,
So tightly laced in sheet and quilt and tick
He lay. And in the morning he was dead.
An hour I'd sewn,
Till, had he roused, he couldn't have moved from bed,
So tightly laced in sheet and quilt and tick
He lay. And in the morning he was dead.
“Ere people came I drew the stitches out,
And thus 'twas shown
To be a stroke.”—“It's a strange tale!” said he.
“And this same bed?”—“Yes, here it came about.”
“Well, it sounds strange—told here and now to me.
And thus 'twas shown
To be a stroke.”—“It's a strange tale!” said he.
“And this same bed?”—“Yes, here it came about.”
“Well, it sounds strange—told here and now to me.
“Did you intend his death by your tight lacing?”
“O, that I cannot own.
I could not think of else that would avail
When he should wake up, and attempt embracing.”—
“Well, it's a cool queer tale!”
“O, that I cannot own.
I could not think of else that would avail
When he should wake up, and attempt embracing.”—
“Well, it's a cool queer tale!”
822
YULETIDE IN A YOUNGER WORLD
We believed in highdays then,
And could glimpse at night
On Christmas Eve
Imminent oncomings of radiant revel—
Doings of delight:—
Now we have no such sight.
And could glimpse at night
On Christmas Eve
Imminent oncomings of radiant revel—
Doings of delight:—
Now we have no such sight.
We had eyes for phantoms then,
And at bridge or stile
On Christmas Eve
Clear beheld those countless ones who had crossed it
Cross again in file:—
Such has ceased longwhile!
And at bridge or stile
On Christmas Eve
Clear beheld those countless ones who had crossed it
Cross again in file:—
Such has ceased longwhile!
We liked divination then,
And, as they homeward wound
On Christmas Eve,
We could read men's dreams within them spinning
Even as wheels spin round:—
Now we are blinker-bound.
And, as they homeward wound
On Christmas Eve,
We could read men's dreams within them spinning
Even as wheels spin round:—
Now we are blinker-bound.
We heard still small voices then,
And, in the dim serene
Of Christmas Eve,
Caught the fartime tones of fire-filled prophets
Long on earth unseen. . . .
—Can such ever have been?
And, in the dim serene
Of Christmas Eve,
Caught the fartime tones of fire-filled prophets
Long on earth unseen. . . .
—Can such ever have been?
AFTER THE DEATH OF A FRIEND
You died, and made but little of it!—Why then should I, when called to doff it,
Drop, and renounce this worm-holed raiment,
Shrink edgewise off from its grey claimant?
Rather say, when I am Time-outrun,
As you did: Take me, and have done,
Inexorable, insatiate one!
823
THE SON'S PORTRAIT
I walked the streets of a market town,
And came to a lumber-shop,
Which I had known ere I met the frown
Of fate and fortune,
And habit led me to stop.
And came to a lumber-shop,
Which I had known ere I met the frown
Of fate and fortune,
And habit led me to stop.
In burrowing mid this chattel and that,
High, low, or edgewise thrown,
I lit upon something lying flat—
A fly-flecked portrait,
Framed. 'Twas my dead son's own.
High, low, or edgewise thrown,
I lit upon something lying flat—
A fly-flecked portrait,
Framed. 'Twas my dead son's own.
“That photo? . . . A lady—I know not whence—
Sold it me, Ma'am, one day,
With more. You can have it for eighteenpence:
The picture's nothing;
It's but for the frame you pay.”
Sold it me, Ma'am, one day,
With more. You can have it for eighteenpence:
The picture's nothing;
It's but for the frame you pay.”
He had given it her in their heyday shine,
When she wedded him, long her wooer:
And then he was sent to the front-trench-line,
And fell there fighting;
And she took a new bridegroom to her.
When she wedded him, long her wooer:
And then he was sent to the front-trench-line,
And fell there fighting;
And she took a new bridegroom to her.
I bought the gift she had held so light,
And buried it—as 'twere he.—
Well, well! Such things are trifling, quite,
But when one's lonely
How cruel they can be!
And buried it—as 'twere he.—
Well, well! Such things are trifling, quite,
But when one's lonely
How cruel they can be!
LYING AWAKE
You, Morningtide Star, now are steady-eyed, over the east,
I know it as if I saw you;
You, Beeches, engrave on the sky your thin twigs, even the least;
Had I paper and pencil I'd draw you.
I know it as if I saw you;
You, Beeches, engrave on the sky your thin twigs, even the least;
Had I paper and pencil I'd draw you.
824
You, Meadow, are white with your counterpane cover of dew,
I see it as if I were there;
You, Churchyard, are lightening faint from the shade of the yew,
The names creeping out everywhere.
I see it as if I were there;
You, Churchyard, are lightening faint from the shade of the yew,
The names creeping out everywhere.
THE LADY IN THE FURS
“I'm a lofty lovely woman,”
Says the lady in the furs,
In the glance she throws around her
On the poorer dames and sirs:
“This robe, that cost three figures,
Yes, is mine,” her nod avers.
Says the lady in the furs,
In the glance she throws around her
On the poorer dames and sirs:
“This robe, that cost three figures,
Yes, is mine,” her nod avers.
“True, my money did not buy it,
But my husband's, from the trade;
And they, they only got it
From things feeble and afraid
By murdering them in ambush
With a cunning engine's aid.
But my husband's, from the trade;
And they, they only got it
From things feeble and afraid
By murdering them in ambush
With a cunning engine's aid.
“True, my hands, too, did not shape it
To the pretty cut you see,
But the hands of midnight workers
Who are strangers quite to me:
It was fitted, too, by dressers
Ranged around me toilsomely.
To the pretty cut you see,
But the hands of midnight workers
Who are strangers quite to me:
It was fitted, too, by dressers
Ranged around me toilsomely.
“But I am a lovely lady,
Though sneerers say I shine
By robbing Nature's children
Of apparel not mine,
And that I am but a broom-stick,
Like a scarecrow's wooden spine.”
Though sneerers say I shine
By robbing Nature's children
Of apparel not mine,
And that I am but a broom-stick,
Like a scarecrow's wooden spine.”
825
CHILDHOOD AMONG THE FERNS
I sat one sprinkling day upon the lea,
Where tall-stemmed ferns spread out luxuriantly,
And nothing but those tall ferns sheltered me.
Where tall-stemmed ferns spread out luxuriantly,
And nothing but those tall ferns sheltered me.
The rain gained strength, and damped each lopping frond,
Ran down their stalks beside me and beyond,
And shaped slow-creeping rivulets as I conned,
Ran down their stalks beside me and beyond,
And shaped slow-creeping rivulets as I conned,
With pride, my spray-roofed house. And though anon
Some drops pierced its green rafters, I sat on,
Making pretence I was not rained upon.
Some drops pierced its green rafters, I sat on,
Making pretence I was not rained upon.
The sun then burst, and brought forth a sweet breath
From the limp ferns as they dried underneath:
I said: “I could live on here thus till death”;
From the limp ferns as they dried underneath:
I said: “I could live on here thus till death”;
And queried in the green rays as I sate:
“Why should I have to grow to man's estate,
And this afar-noised World perambulate?”
“Why should I have to grow to man's estate,
And this afar-noised World perambulate?”
A COUNTENANCE
Her laugh was not in the middle of her face quite,
As a gay laugh springs,
It was plain she was anxious about some things
I could not trace quite.
Her curls were like fir-cones—piled up, brown—
Or rather like tight-tied sheaves:
It seemed they could never be taken down. . . .
As a gay laugh springs,
It was plain she was anxious about some things
I could not trace quite.
Her curls were like fir-cones—piled up, brown—
Or rather like tight-tied sheaves:
It seemed they could never be taken down. . . .
And her lips were too full, some might say:
I did not think so. Anyway,
The shadow her lower one would cast
Was green in hue whenever she passed
Bright sun on midsummer leaves.
Alas, I knew not much of her,
And lost all sight and touch of her!
I did not think so. Anyway,
The shadow her lower one would cast
Was green in hue whenever she passed
Bright sun on midsummer leaves.
Alas, I knew not much of her,
And lost all sight and touch of her!
826
If otherwise, should I have minded
The shy laugh not in the middle of her mouth quite,
And would my kisses have died of drouth quite
As love became unblinded?
The shy laugh not in the middle of her mouth quite,
And would my kisses have died of drouth quite
As love became unblinded?
1884.
A POET'S THOUGHT
It sprang up out of him in the dark,
And took on the lightness of a lark:
It went from his chamber along the city strand,
Lingered awhile, then leapt all over the land.
And took on the lightness of a lark:
It went from his chamber along the city strand,
Lingered awhile, then leapt all over the land.
It came back maimed and mangled. And the poet
When he beheld his offspring did not know it:
Yea, verily, since its birth Time's tongue had tossed to him
Such travesties that his old thought was lost to him.
When he beheld his offspring did not know it:
Yea, verily, since its birth Time's tongue had tossed to him
Such travesties that his old thought was lost to him.
SILENCES
There is the silence of a copse or croft
When the wind sinks dumb,
And of a belfry-loft
When the tenor after tolling stops its hum.
When the wind sinks dumb,
And of a belfry-loft
When the tenor after tolling stops its hum.
And there's the silence of a lonely pond
Where a man was drowned,
Nor nigh nor yond
A newt, frog, toad, to make the merest sound.
Where a man was drowned,
Nor nigh nor yond
A newt, frog, toad, to make the merest sound.
But the rapt silence of an empty house
Where oneself was born,
Dwelt, held carouse
With friends, is of all silences most forlorn!
Where oneself was born,
Dwelt, held carouse
With friends, is of all silences most forlorn!
Past are remembered songs and music-strains
Once audible there:
Roof, rafters, panes
Look absent-thoughted, tranced, or locked in prayer.
Once audible there:
Roof, rafters, panes
Look absent-thoughted, tranced, or locked in prayer.
827
It seems no power on earth can waken it
Or rouse its rooms,
Or its past permit
The present to stir a torpor like a tomb's.
Or rouse its rooms,
Or its past permit
The present to stir a torpor like a tomb's.
“I WATCHED A BLACKBIRD”
I watched a blackbird on a budding sycamoreOne Easter Day, when sap was stirring twigs to the core;
I saw his tongue, and crocus-coloured bill
Parting and closing as he turned his trill;
Then he flew down, seized on a stem of hay,
And upped to where his building scheme was under way,
As if so sure a nest were never shaped on spray.
A NIGHTMARE, AND THE NEXT THING
On this decline of Christmas Day
The empty street is fogged and blurred:
The house-fronts all seem backwise turned
As if the outer world were spurned:
Voices and songs within are heard,
Whence red rays gleam when fires are stirred,
Upon this nightmare Christmas Day.
The empty street is fogged and blurred:
The house-fronts all seem backwise turned
As if the outer world were spurned:
Voices and songs within are heard,
Whence red rays gleam when fires are stirred,
Upon this nightmare Christmas Day.
The lamps, just lit, begin to outloom
Like dandelion-globes in the gloom;
The stonework, shop-signs, doors, look bald;
Curious crude details seem installed,
And show themselves in their degrees
As they were personalities
Never discerned when the street was bustling
With vehicles, and farmers hustling.
Three clammy casuals wend their way
To the Union House. I hear one say:
“Jimmy, this is a treat! Hay-hay!”
Like dandelion-globes in the gloom;
The stonework, shop-signs, doors, look bald;
Curious crude details seem installed,
And show themselves in their degrees
As they were personalities
Never discerned when the street was bustling
With vehicles, and farmers hustling.
Three clammy casuals wend their way
To the Union House. I hear one say:
“Jimmy, this is a treat! Hay-hay!”
Six laughing mouths, six rows of teeth,
Six radiant pairs of eyes, beneath
Six yellow hats, looking out at the back
Of a waggonette on its slowed-down track
Up the steep street to some gay dance,
Suddenly interrupt my glance.
Six radiant pairs of eyes, beneath
828
Of a waggonette on its slowed-down track
Up the steep street to some gay dance,
Suddenly interrupt my glance.
They do not see a gray nightmare
Astride the day, or anywhere.
Astride the day, or anywhere.
TO A TREE IN LONDON
(CLEMENT'S INN)
Here you stay
Night and day,
Never, never going away!
Night and day,
Never, never going away!
Do you ache
When we take
Holiday for our health's sake?
When we take
Holiday for our health's sake?
Wish for feet
When the heat
Scalds you in the brick-built street,
When the heat
Scalds you in the brick-built street,
That you might
Climb the height
Where your ancestry saw light,
Climb the height
Where your ancestry saw light,
Find a brook
In some nook
There to purge your swarthy look?
In some nook
There to purge your swarthy look?
No. You read
Trees to need
Smoke like earth whereon to feed. . . .
Trees to need
Smoke like earth whereon to feed. . . .
Have no sense
That far hence
Air is sweet in a blue immense,
That far hence
Air is sweet in a blue immense,
829
Thus, black, blind,
You have opined
Nothing of your brightest kind;
You have opined
Nothing of your brightest kind;
Never seen
Miles of green,
Smelt the landscape's sweet serene.
Miles of green,
Smelt the landscape's sweet serene.
192*.
THE FELLED ELM AND SHE
When you put on that inmost ringShe, like you, was a little thing:
When your circles reached their fourth,
Scarce she knew life's south from north:
When your year-zones counted twenty
She had fond admirers plenty:
When you'd grown your twenty-second
She and I were lovers reckoned:
When you numbered twenty-three
She went everywhere with me:
When you, at your fortieth line,
Showed decay, she seemed to pine:
When you were quite hollow within
She was felled—mere bone and skin:
You too, lacking strength to grow
Further trunk-rings, were laid low,
Matching her; both unaware
That your lives formed such a pair.
HE DID NOT KNOW ME
(WOMAN'S SORROW SONG)
He said: “I do not know you;
You are not she who came
And made my heart grow tame?”
I laughed: “The same!”
You are not she who came
And made my heart grow tame?”
I laughed: “The same!”
830
Still said he: “I don't know you.”
“But I am your Love!” laughed I:
“Yours—faithful ever—till I die,
And pulseless lie!”
“But I am your Love!” laughed I:
“Yours—faithful ever—till I die,
And pulseless lie!”
Yet he said: “I don't know you.”
Freakful, I went away,
And met pale Time, with “Pray,
What means his Nay?”
Freakful, I went away,
And met pale Time, with “Pray,
What means his Nay?”
Said Time: “He does not know you
In your mask of Comedy.”
“But,” said I, “that I have chosen to be:
Tragedy he.”
In your mask of Comedy.”
“But,” said I, “that I have chosen to be:
Tragedy he.”
“True; hence he did not know you.”
“But him I could recognize?”
“Yea. Tragedy is true guise,
Comedy lies.”
“But him I could recognize?”
“Yea. Tragedy is true guise,
Comedy lies.”
SO VARIOUS
You may have met a man—quite young—
A brisk-eyed youth, and highly strung:
One whose desires
And inner fires
Moved him as wires.
A brisk-eyed youth, and highly strung:
One whose desires
And inner fires
Moved him as wires.
And you may have met one stiff and old,
If not in years; of manner cold;
Who seemed as stone,
And never had known
Of mirth or moan.
If not in years; of manner cold;
Who seemed as stone,
And never had known
Of mirth or moan.
And there may have crossed your path a lover,
In whose clear depths you could discover
A staunch, robust,
And tender trust,
Through storm and gust.
In whose clear depths you could discover
A staunch, robust,
And tender trust,
Through storm and gust.
831
And you may have also known one fickle,
Whose fancies changed as the silver sickle
Of yonder moon,
Which shapes so soon
To demilune!
Whose fancies changed as the silver sickle
Of yonder moon,
Which shapes so soon
To demilune!
You entertained a person once
Whom you internally deemed a dunce:—
As he sat in view
Just facing you
You saw him through.
Whom you internally deemed a dunce:—
As he sat in view
Just facing you
You saw him through.
You came to know a learned seer
Of whom you read the surface mere:
Your soul quite sank;
Brain of such rank
Dubbed yours a blank.
Of whom you read the surface mere:
Your soul quite sank;
Brain of such rank
Dubbed yours a blank.
Anon you quizzed a man of sadness,
Who never could have known true gladness:
Just for a whim
You pitied him
In his sore trim.
Who never could have known true gladness:
Just for a whim
You pitied him
In his sore trim.
You journeyed with a man so glad
You never could conceive him sad:
He proved to be
Indubitably
Good company.
You never could conceive him sad:
He proved to be
Indubitably
Good company.
You lit on an unadventurous slow man,
Who, said you, need be feared by no man;
That his slack deeds
And sloth must needs
Produce but weeds.
Who, said you, need be feared by no man;
That his slack deeds
And sloth must needs
Produce but weeds.
A man of enterprise, shrewd and swift,
Who never suffered affairs to drift,
You eyed for a time
Just in his prime,
And judged he might climb.
Who never suffered affairs to drift,
You eyed for a time
Just in his prime,
And judged he might climb.
832
You smoked beside one who forgot
All that you said, or grasped it not.
Quite a poor thing,
Not worth a sting
By satirizing!
All that you said, or grasped it not.
Quite a poor thing,
Not worth a sting
By satirizing!
Next year you nearly lost for ever
Goodwill from one who forgot slights never;
And, with unease,
Felt you must seize
Occasion to please . . .
Goodwill from one who forgot slights never;
And, with unease,
Felt you must seize
Occasion to please . . .
Now. . . . All these specimens of man,
So various in their pith and plan,
Curious to say
Were one man. Yea,
I was all they.
So various in their pith and plan,
Curious to say
Were one man. Yea,
I was all they.
A SELF-GLAMOURER
My little happiness,
How much I have made of it!—
As if I had been not less
Than a queen, to be straight obeyed of it.
“Life, be fairer far,”
I said, “Than you are.”
How much I have made of it!—
As if I had been not less
Than a queen, to be straight obeyed of it.
“Life, be fairer far,”
I said, “Than you are.”
So I counted my springtime-day's
Dream of futurity
Enringed with golden rays
To be quite a summer surety;
And my trustful daring undoubt
Brought it about!
Dream of futurity
Enringed with golden rays
To be quite a summer surety;
And my trustful daring undoubt
Brought it about!
Events all human-wrought
Had look of divinity,
And what I foreframed in thought
Grew substanced, by force of affinity:
Visions to verities came,
Seen as the same.
Had look of divinity,
And what I foreframed in thought
Grew substanced, by force of affinity:
Visions to verities came,
Seen as the same.
833
My years in trusting spent
Make to shape towardly,
And fate and accident
Behave not perversely or frowardly.
Shall, then, Life's winter snow
To me be so?
Make to shape towardly,
And fate and accident
Behave not perversely or frowardly.
Shall, then, Life's winter snow
To me be so?
THE DEAD BASTARD
Many and many a time I thought,
“Would my child were in its grave!”
Such the trouble and shame it brought.
“Would my child were in its grave!”
Such the trouble and shame it brought.
Now 'tis there. And now I'd brave
Opinion's worst, in word or act,
To have that child alive; yes, slave
Opinion's worst, in word or act,
To have that child alive; yes, slave
To dress and flaunt it to attract;
Show it the gossips brazenly,
And let as nothing be the fact
That never its father married me.
Show it the gossips brazenly,
And let as nothing be the fact
That never its father married me.
THE CLASPED SKELETONS
SURMISED DATE 1800 B.C.
O why did we uncover to view
So closely clasped a pair?
Your chalky bedclothes over you,
This long time here!
So closely clasped a pair?
Your chalky bedclothes over you,
This long time here!
Ere Paris lay with Helena—
The poets' dearest dear—
Ere David bedded Bathsheba
You two were bedded here.
The poets' dearest dear—
Ere David bedded Bathsheba
You two were bedded here.
834
Aye, even before the beauteous Jael
Bade Sisera doff his gear
And lie in her tent; then drove the nail,
You two lay here.
Bade Sisera doff his gear
And lie in her tent; then drove the nail,
You two lay here.
Wicked Aholah, in her youth,
Colled loves from far and near
Until they slew her without ruth;
But you had long colled here.
Colled loves from far and near
Until they slew her without ruth;
But you had long colled here.
Aspasia lay with Pericles,
And Philip's son found cheer
At eves in lying on Thais' knees
While you lay here.
And Philip's son found cheer
At eves in lying on Thais' knees
While you lay here.
Cleopatra with Antony,
Resigned to dalliance sheer,
Lay, fatuous he, insatiate she,
Long after you'd lain here.
Resigned to dalliance sheer,
Lay, fatuous he, insatiate she,
Long after you'd lain here.
Pilate by Procula his wife
Lay tossing at her tear
Of pleading for an innocent life;
You tossed not here.
Lay tossing at her tear
Of pleading for an innocent life;
You tossed not here.
Ages before Monk Abélard
Gained tender Héloïse' ear,
And loved and lay with her till scarred,
Had you lain loving here.
Gained tender Héloïse' ear,
And loved and lay with her till scarred,
Had you lain loving here.
So long, beyond chronology,
Lovers in death as 'twere,
So long in placid dignity
Have you lain here!
Lovers in death as 'twere,
So long in placid dignity
Have you lain here!
Yet what is length of time? But dream!
Once breathed this atmosphere
Those fossils near you, met the gleam
Of day as you did here;
Once breathed this atmosphere
Those fossils near you, met the gleam
Of day as you did here;
But so far earlier theirs beside
Your life-span and career,
That they might style of yestertide
Your coming here!
Your life-span and career,
That they might style of yestertide
Your coming here!
835
IN THE MARQUEE
It was near last century's ending,
And, though not much to rate
In a world of getting and spending,
To her it was great.
And, though not much to rate
In a world of getting and spending,
To her it was great.
The scene was a London suburb
On a night of summer weather,
And the villas had back gardens
Running together.
On a night of summer weather,
And the villas had back gardens
Running together.
Her neighbours behind were dancing
Under a marquee;
Two violoncellos played there,
And violins three.
Under a marquee;
Two violoncellos played there,
And violins three.
She had not been invited,
Although her lover was;
She lay beside her husband,
Perplexed at the cause.
Although her lover was;
She lay beside her husband,
Perplexed at the cause.
Sweet after sweet quadrille rang:
Absence made her weep;
The tears dried on her eyelids
As she fell asleep.
Absence made her weep;
The tears dried on her eyelids
As she fell asleep.
She dreamt she was whirling with him
In this dance upon the green
To which she was not invited
Though her lover had been.
In this dance upon the green
To which she was not invited
Though her lover had been.
All night she danced as he clasped her—
That is, in the happy dream
The music kept her dreaming
Till the first daybeam.
That is, in the happy dream
The music kept her dreaming
Till the first daybeam.
“O damn those noisy fiddles!”
Her husband said as he turned:
“Close to a neighbour's bedroom:
I'd like them burned!”
Her husband said as he turned:
“Close to a neighbour's bedroom:
I'd like them burned!”
836
At intervals thus all night-long
Her husband swore. But she
Slept on, and danced in the loved arms,
Under the marquee.
Her husband swore. But she
Slept on, and danced in the loved arms,
Under the marquee.
Next day she found that her lover,
Though asked, had gone elsewhere,
And that she had possessed him in absence
More than if there.
Though asked, had gone elsewhere,
And that she had possessed him in absence
More than if there.
AFTER THE BURIAL
The family had buried him,
Their bread-bringer, their best:
They had returned to the house, whose hush a dim
Vague vacancy expressed.
Their bread-bringer, their best:
They had returned to the house, whose hush a dim
Vague vacancy expressed.
There sat his sons, mute, rigid-faced,
His daughters, strained, red-eyed,
His wife, whose wan, worn features, vigil-traced,
Bent over him when he died.
His daughters, strained, red-eyed,
His wife, whose wan, worn features, vigil-traced,
Bent over him when he died.
At once a peal bursts from the bells
Of a large tall tower hard by:
Along the street the jocund clangour swells,
And upward to the sky.
Of a large tall tower hard by:
Along the street the jocund clangour swells,
And upward to the sky.
Probably it was a wedding-peal,
Or possibly for a birth,
Or townsman knighted for political zeal,
This resonant mark of mirth.
Or possibly for a birth,
Or townsman knighted for political zeal,
This resonant mark of mirth.
The mourners, heavy-browed, sat on
Motionless. Well they heard,
They could not help it; nevertheless thereon
Spoke not a single word,
Motionless. Well they heard,
They could not help it; nevertheless thereon
Spoke not a single word,
Nor window did they close, to numb
The bells' insistent calls
Of joy; but suffered the harassing din to come
And penetrate their souls.
The bells' insistent calls
Of joy; but suffered the harassing din to come
And penetrate their souls.
837
THE MONGREL
In Havenpool Harbour the ebb was strong,
And a man with a dog drew near and hung,
And taxpaying day was coming along,
So the mongrel had to be drowned.
The man threw a stick from the paved wharf-side
Into the midst of the ebbing tide,
And the dog jumped after with ardent pride
To bring the stick aground.
And a man with a dog drew near and hung,
And taxpaying day was coming along,
So the mongrel had to be drowned.
The man threw a stick from the paved wharf-side
Into the midst of the ebbing tide,
And the dog jumped after with ardent pride
To bring the stick aground.
But no: the steady suck of the flood
To seaward needed, to be withstood,
More than the strength of mongrelhood
To fight its treacherous trend.
So, swimming for life with desperate will,
The struggler with all his natant skill
Kept buoyant in front of his master still
There standing to wait the end.
To seaward needed, to be withstood,
More than the strength of mongrelhood
To fight its treacherous trend.
So, swimming for life with desperate will,
The struggler with all his natant skill
Kept buoyant in front of his master still
There standing to wait the end.
The loving eyes of the dog inclined
To the man he held as a god enshrined,
With no suspicion in his mind
That this had all been meant.
Till the effort not to drift from shore
Of his little legs grew slower and slower,
And, the tide still outing with brookless power,
Outward the dog, too, went.
To the man he held as a god enshrined,
With no suspicion in his mind
That this had all been meant.
Till the effort not to drift from shore
Of his little legs grew slower and slower,
And, the tide still outing with brookless power,
Outward the dog, too, went.
Just ere his sinking what does one see
Break on the face of that devotee?
A wakening to the treachery
He had loved with love so blind?
The faith that had shone in that mongrel's eye
That his owner would save him by and by
Turned to much like a curse as he sank to die,
And a loathing of mankind.
Break on the face of that devotee?
A wakening to the treachery
He had loved with love so blind?
The faith that had shone in that mongrel's eye
That his owner would save him by and by
Turned to much like a curse as he sank to die,
And a loathing of mankind.
838
CONCERNING AGNES
I am stopped from hoping what I have hoped before—
Yes, many a time!—
To dance with that fair woman yet once more
As in the prime
Of August, when the wide-faced moon looked through
The boughs at the faery lamps of the Larmer Avenue.
Yes, many a time!—
To dance with that fair woman yet once more
As in the prime
Of August, when the wide-faced moon looked through
The boughs at the faery lamps of the Larmer Avenue.
I could not, though I should wish, have over again
That old romance,
And sit apart in the shade as we sat then
After the dance
The while I held her hand, and, to the booms
Of contrabassos, feet still pulsed from the distant rooms.
That old romance,
And sit apart in the shade as we sat then
After the dance
The while I held her hand, and, to the booms
Of contrabassos, feet still pulsed from the distant rooms.
I could not. And you do not ask me why.
Hence you infer
That what may chance to the fairest under the sky
Has chanced to her.
Yes. She lies white, straight, features marble-keen,
Unapproachable, mute, in a nook I have never seen.
Hence you infer
That what may chance to the fairest under the sky
Has chanced to her.
Yes. She lies white, straight, features marble-keen,
Unapproachable, mute, in a nook I have never seen.
There she may rest like some vague goddess, shaped
As out of snow;
Say Aphrodite sleeping; or bedraped
Like Kalupso;
Or Amphitrite stretched on the Mid-sea swell,
Or one of the Nine grown stiff from thought. I cannot tell!
As out of snow;
Say Aphrodite sleeping; or bedraped
Like Kalupso;
Or Amphitrite stretched on the Mid-sea swell,
Or one of the Nine grown stiff from thought. I cannot tell!
HENLEY REGATTA
She looks from the window: still it pours down direly,
And the avenue drips. She cannot go, she fears;
And the Regatta will be spoilt entirely;
And she sheds half-crazed tears.
And the avenue drips. She cannot go, she fears;
And the Regatta will be spoilt entirely;
And she sheds half-crazed tears.
839
Regatta Day and rain come on together
Again, years after. Gutters trickle loud;
But Nancy cares not. She knows nought of weather,
Or of the Henley crowd:
Again, years after. Gutters trickle loud;
But Nancy cares not. She knows nought of weather,
Or of the Henley crowd:
She's a Regatta quite her own. Inanely
She laughs in the asylum as she floats
Within a water-tub, which she calls “Henley,”
Her little paper boats.
She laughs in the asylum as she floats
Within a water-tub, which she calls “Henley,”
Her little paper boats.
AN EVENING IN GALILEE
She looks far west towards Carmel, shading her eyes with her hand,
And she then looks east to the Jordan, and the smooth Tiberias' strand.
“Is my son mad?” she asks; and never an answer has she,
Save from herself, aghast at the possibility.
“He professes as his firm faiths things far too grotesque to be true,
And his vesture is odd—too careless for one of his fair young hue! . . .
And she then looks east to the Jordan, and the smooth Tiberias' strand.
“Is my son mad?” she asks; and never an answer has she,
Save from herself, aghast at the possibility.
“He professes as his firm faiths things far too grotesque to be true,
And his vesture is odd—too careless for one of his fair young hue! . . .
“He lays down doctrines as if he were old—aye, fifty at least:
In the Temple he terrified me, opposing the very High-Priest!
Why did he say to me, ‘Woman, what have I to do with thee?’
O it cuts to the heart that a child of mine thus spoke to me!
And he said, too, ‘Who is my mother?’—when he knows so very well.
He might have said, ‘Who is my father?’—and I'd found it hard to tell!
That no one knows but Joseph and—one other, nor ever will;
One who'll not see me again. . . . How it chanced!—I dreaming no ill! . . .
In the Temple he terrified me, opposing the very High-Priest!
Why did he say to me, ‘Woman, what have I to do with thee?’
O it cuts to the heart that a child of mine thus spoke to me!
And he said, too, ‘Who is my mother?’—when he knows so very well.
He might have said, ‘Who is my father?’—and I'd found it hard to tell!
That no one knows but Joseph and—one other, nor ever will;
One who'll not see me again. . . . How it chanced!—I dreaming no ill! . . .
“Would he'd not mix with the lowest folk—like those fishermen—
The while so capable, culling new knowledge, beyond our ken! . . .
That woman of no good character, ever following him,
Adores him if I mistake not: his wish of her is but a whim
Of his madness, it may be, outmarking his lack of coherency;
After his ‘Keep the Commandments!’ to smile upon such as she!
It is just what all those do who are wandering in their wit.
I don't know—dare not say—what harm may grow from it.
O a mad son is a terrible thing; it even may lead
To arrest, and death! . . . And how he can preach, expound, and read!
“Here comes my husband. Shall I unveil him this tragedy-brink?
No. He has nightmares enough. I'll pray, and think, and think.” . . .
She remembers she's never put on any pot for his evening meal,
And pondering a plea looks vaguely to south of her—towards Jezreel.
The while so capable, culling new knowledge, beyond our ken! . . .
That woman of no good character, ever following him,
Adores him if I mistake not: his wish of her is but a whim
Of his madness, it may be, outmarking his lack of coherency;
After his ‘Keep the Commandments!’ to smile upon such as she!
It is just what all those do who are wandering in their wit.
I don't know—dare not say—what harm may grow from it.
840
To arrest, and death! . . . And how he can preach, expound, and read!
“Here comes my husband. Shall I unveil him this tragedy-brink?
No. He has nightmares enough. I'll pray, and think, and think.” . . .
She remembers she's never put on any pot for his evening meal,
And pondering a plea looks vaguely to south of her—towards Jezreel.
THE BROTHER
O know you what I have done
To avenge our sister? She,
I thought, was wantoned with
By a man of levity:
To avenge our sister? She,
I thought, was wantoned with
By a man of levity:
And I lay in wait all day,
All day did I wait for him,
And dogged him to Bollard Head
When twilight dwindled dim,
All day did I wait for him,
And dogged him to Bollard Head
When twilight dwindled dim,
And hurled him over the edge
And heard him fall below:
O would I were lying with him,
For the truth I did not know!
And heard him fall below:
O would I were lying with him,
For the truth I did not know!
“O where's my husband?” she asked,
As evening wore away:
“Best you had one, forsooth,
But never had you!” I say.
As evening wore away:
“Best you had one, forsooth,
But never had you!” I say.
“Yes, but I have!” says she,
“My Love made it up with me,
And we churched it yesterday
And mean to live happily.”
“My Love made it up with me,
And we churched it yesterday
And mean to live happily.”
And now I go in haste
To the Head, before she's aware,
To join him in death for the wrong
I've done them both out there!
To the Head, before she's aware,
To join him in death for the wrong
I've done them both out there!
841
WE FIELD-WOMEN
How it rained
When we worked at Flintcomb-Ash,
And could not stand upon the hill
Trimming swedes for the slicing-mill.
The wet washed through us—plash, plash, plash:
How it rained!
When we worked at Flintcomb-Ash,
And could not stand upon the hill
Trimming swedes for the slicing-mill.
The wet washed through us—plash, plash, plash:
How it rained!
How it snowed
When we crossed from Flintcomb-Ash
To the Great Barn for drawing reed,
Since we could nowise chop a swede.—
Flakes in each doorway and casement-sash:
How it snowed!
When we crossed from Flintcomb-Ash
To the Great Barn for drawing reed,
Since we could nowise chop a swede.—
Flakes in each doorway and casement-sash:
How it snowed!
How it shone
When we went from Flintcomb-Ash
To start at dairywork once more
In the laughing meads, with cows three-score,
And pails, and songs, and love—too rash:
How it shone!
When we went from Flintcomb-Ash
To start at dairywork once more
In the laughing meads, with cows three-score,
And pails, and songs, and love—too rash:
How it shone!
A PRACTICAL WOMAN
“O who'll get me a healthy child:—
I should prefer a son—
Seven have I had in thirteen years,
Sickly every one!
I should prefer a son—
Seven have I had in thirteen years,
Sickly every one!
“Three mope about as feeble shapes;
Weak; white; they'll be no good.
One came deformed; an idiot next;
And two are crass as wood.
Weak; white; they'll be no good.
One came deformed; an idiot next;
And two are crass as wood.
“I purpose one not only sound
In flesh, but bright in mind:
And duly for producing him
A means I've now to find.”
In flesh, but bright in mind:
And duly for producing him
A means I've now to find.”
842
She went away. She disappeared,
Years, years. Then back she came:
In her hand was a blooming boy
Mentally and in frame.
Years, years. Then back she came:
In her hand was a blooming boy
Mentally and in frame.
“I found a father at last who'd suit
The purpose in my head,
And used him till he'd done his job,”
Was all thereon she said.
The purpose in my head,
And used him till he'd done his job,”
Was all thereon she said.
SQUIRE HOOPER
Hooper was ninety. One September dawn
He sent a messenger
For his physician, who asked thereupon
What ailed the sufferer
Which he might circumvent, and promptly bid begone.
He sent a messenger
For his physician, who asked thereupon
What ailed the sufferer
Which he might circumvent, and promptly bid begone.
“Doctor, I summoned you,” the squire replied—
“Pooh-pooh me though you may—
To ask what's happened to me—burst inside,
It seems—not much, I'd say—
But awkward with a house-full here for a shoot to-day.”
“Pooh-pooh me though you may—
To ask what's happened to me—burst inside,
It seems—not much, I'd say—
But awkward with a house-full here for a shoot to-day.”
And he described the symptoms. With bent head
The listener looked grave.
“H'm. . . . You're a dead man in six hours,” he said.—
“I speak out, since you are brave—
And best 'tis you should know, that last things may be sped.”
The listener looked grave.
“H'm. . . . You're a dead man in six hours,” he said.—
“I speak out, since you are brave—
And best 'tis you should know, that last things may be sped.”
“Right,” said the squire. “And now comes—what to do?
One thing: on no account
Must I now spoil the sport I've asked them to—
My guests are paramount—
They must scour scrub and stubble; and big bags bring as due.”
One thing: on no account
Must I now spoil the sport I've asked them to—
My guests are paramount—
They must scour scrub and stubble; and big bags bring as due.”
He downed to breakfast, and bespoke his guests:—
“I find I have to go
An unexpected journey, and it rests
With you, my friends, to show
The shoot can go off gaily, whether I'm there or no.”
“I find I have to go
An unexpected journey, and it rests
With you, my friends, to show
The shoot can go off gaily, whether I'm there or no.”
843
Thus blandly spoke he; and to the fields they went,
And Hooper up the stair.
They had a glorious day; and stiff and spent
Returned as dusk drew near.—
“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “he's not back as meant,
And Hooper up the stair.
They had a glorious day; and stiff and spent
Returned as dusk drew near.—
“Gentlemen,” said the doctor, “he's not back as meant,
To his deep regret!”—So they took leave, each guest
Observing: “I dare say
Business detains him in the town: 'tis best
We should no longer stay
Just now. We'll come again anon”; and they went their way.
Observing: “I dare say
Business detains him in the town: 'tis best
We should no longer stay
Just now. We'll come again anon”; and they went their way.
Meeting two men in the obscurity
Shouldering a box a thin
Cloth-covering wrapt, one sportsman cried: “Damn me,
I thought them carrying in,
At first, a coffin; till I knew it could not be.”
Shouldering a box a thin
Cloth-covering wrapt, one sportsman cried: “Damn me,
I thought them carrying in,
At first, a coffin; till I knew it could not be.”
“A GENTLEMAN'S SECOND-HAND SUIT”
Here it is hanging in the sun
By the pawn-shop door,
A dress-suit—all its revels done
Of heretofore.
Long drilled to the waltzers' swing and sway,
As its tokens show:
What it has seen, what it could say
If it did but know!
By the pawn-shop door,
A dress-suit—all its revels done
Of heretofore.
Long drilled to the waltzers' swing and sway,
As its tokens show:
What it has seen, what it could say
If it did but know!
The sleeve bears still a print of powder
Rubbed from her arms
When she warmed up as the notes swelled louder
And livened her charms—
Or rather theirs, for beauties many
Leant there, no doubt,
Leaving these tell-tale traces when he
Spun them about.
Rubbed from her arms
When she warmed up as the notes swelled louder
And livened her charms—
Or rather theirs, for beauties many
Leant there, no doubt,
Leaving these tell-tale traces when he
Spun them about.
844
Its cut seems rather in bygone style
On looking close,
So it mayn't have bent it for some while
To the dancing pose:
Anyhow, often within its clasp
Fair partners hung,
Assenting to the wearer's grasp
With soft sweet tongue.
On looking close,
So it mayn't have bent it for some while
To the dancing pose:
Anyhow, often within its clasp
Fair partners hung,
Assenting to the wearer's grasp
With soft sweet tongue.
Where is, alas, the gentleman
Who wore this suit?
And where are his ladies? Tell none can:
Gossip is mute.
Some of them may forget him quite
Who smudged his sleeve,
Some think of a wild and whirling night
With him, and grieve.
Who wore this suit?
And where are his ladies? Tell none can:
Gossip is mute.
Some of them may forget him quite
Who smudged his sleeve,
Some think of a wild and whirling night
With him, and grieve.
“WE SAY WE SHALL NOT MEET”
We say we shall not meet
Again beneath this sky,
And turn with leaden feet,
Murmuring “Good-bye!”
Again beneath this sky,
And turn with leaden feet,
Murmuring “Good-bye!”
But laugh at how we rued
Our former time's adieu
When those who went for good
Are met anew.
Our former time's adieu
When those who went for good
Are met anew.
We talk in lightest vein
On trifles talked before,
And part to meet again,
But meet no more.
On trifles talked before,
And part to meet again,
But meet no more.
845
SEEING THE MOON RISE
We used to go to Froom-hill Barrow
To see the round moon rise
Into the heath-rimmed skies,
Trudging thither by plough and harrow
Up the pathway, steep and narrow,
Singing a song.
Now we do not go there. Why?
Zest burns not so high!
To see the round moon rise
Into the heath-rimmed skies,
Trudging thither by plough and harrow
Up the pathway, steep and narrow,
Singing a song.
Now we do not go there. Why?
Zest burns not so high!
Latterly we've only conned her
With a passing glance
From window or door by chance,
Hoping to go again, high yonder,
As we used, and gaze, and ponder,
Singing a song.
Thitherward we do not go:
Feet once quick are slow!
With a passing glance
From window or door by chance,
Hoping to go again, high yonder,
As we used, and gaze, and ponder,
Singing a song.
Thitherward we do not go:
Feet once quick are slow!
August 1927
SONG TO AURORE
We'll not begin again to love,
It only leads to pain;
The fire we now are master of
Has seared us not in vain.
Any new step of yours I'm fain
To hear of from afar,
And even in such may find a gain
While lodged not where you are.
It only leads to pain;
The fire we now are master of
Has seared us not in vain.
Any new step of yours I'm fain
To hear of from afar,
And even in such may find a gain
While lodged not where you are.
No: that must not be done anew
Which has been done before;
I scarce could bear to seek, or view,
Or clasp you any more!
Life is a labour, death is sore,
And lonely living wrings;
But go your courses, Sweet Aurore,
Kisses are caresome things!
Which has been done before;
I scarce could bear to seek, or view,
Or clasp you any more!
Life is a labour, death is sore,
And lonely living wrings;
But go your courses, Sweet Aurore,
Kisses are caresome things!
846
HE NEVER EXPECTED MUCH
[or] A CONSIDERATION
[A reflection] ON MY EIGHTY-SIXTH BIRTHDAY
Well, World, you have kept faith with me,
Kept faith with me;
Upon the whole you have proved to be
Much as you said you were.
Since as a child I used to lie
Upon the leaze and watch the sky,
Never, I own, expected I
That life would all be fair.
Kept faith with me;
Upon the whole you have proved to be
Much as you said you were.
Since as a child I used to lie
Upon the leaze and watch the sky,
Never, I own, expected I
That life would all be fair.
'Twas then you said, and since have said,
Times since have said,
In that mysterious voice you shed
From clouds and hills around:
“Many have loved me desperately,
Many with smooth serenity,
While some have shown contempt of me
Till they dropped underground.
Times since have said,
In that mysterious voice you shed
From clouds and hills around:
“Many have loved me desperately,
Many with smooth serenity,
While some have shown contempt of me
Till they dropped underground.
“I do not promise overmuch,
Child; overmuch;
Just neutral-tinted haps and such,”
You said to minds like mine.
Wise warning for your credit's sake!
Which I for one failed not to take,
And hence could stem such strain and ache
As each year might assign.
Child; overmuch;
Just neutral-tinted haps and such,”
You said to minds like mine.
Wise warning for your credit's sake!
Which I for one failed not to take,
And hence could stem such strain and ache
As each year might assign.
STANDING BY THE MANTELPIECE
(H. M. M., 1873)
This candle-wax is shaping to a shroud
To-night. (They call it that, as you may know)—
By touching it the claimant is avowed,
And hence I press it with my finger—so.
To-night. (They call it that, as you may know)—
By touching it the claimant is avowed,
And hence I press it with my finger—so.
847
To-night. To me twice night, that should have been
The radiance of the midmost tick of noon,
And close around me wintertime is seen
That might have shone the veriest day of June!
The radiance of the midmost tick of noon,
And close around me wintertime is seen
That might have shone the veriest day of June!
But since all's lost, and nothing really lies
Above but shade, and shadier shade below,
Let me make clear, before one of us dies,
My mind to yours, just now embittered so.
Above but shade, and shadier shade below,
Let me make clear, before one of us dies,
My mind to yours, just now embittered so.
Since you agreed, unurged and full-advised,
And let warmth grow without discouragement,
Why do you bear you now as if surprised,
When what has come was clearly consequent?
And let warmth grow without discouragement,
Why do you bear you now as if surprised,
When what has come was clearly consequent?
Since you have spoken, and finality
Closes around, and my last movements loom,
I say no more: the rest must wait till we
Are face to face again, yonside the tomb.
Closes around, and my last movements loom,
I say no more: the rest must wait till we
Are face to face again, yonside the tomb.
And let the candle-wax thus mould a shape
Whose meaning now, if hid before, you know,
And how by touch one present claims its drape,
And that it's I who press my finger—so.
Whose meaning now, if hid before, you know,
And how by touch one present claims its drape,
And that it's I who press my finger—so.
BOYS THEN AND NOW
“More than one cuckoo?”
And the little boy
Seemed to lose something
Of his spring joy.
And the little boy
Seemed to lose something
Of his spring joy.
When he'd grown up
He told his son
He'd used to think
There was only one,
He told his son
He'd used to think
There was only one,
Who came each year
With the trees' new trim
On purpose to please
England and him:
With the trees' new trim
On purpose to please
England and him:
848
And his son—old already
In life and its ways—
Said yawning: “How foolish
Boys were in those days!”
In life and its ways—
Said yawning: “How foolish
Boys were in those days!”
THAT KISS IN THE DARK
Recall it you?—Say you do!—
When you went out into the night,
In an impatience that would not wait,
From that lone house in the woodland spot,
And when I, thinking you had gone
For ever and ever from my sight,
Came after, printing a kiss upon
Black air
In my despair,
And my two lips lit on your cheek
As you leant silent against a gate,
Making my woman's face flush hot
At what I had done in the dark, unware
You lingered for me but would not speak:
Yes, kissed you, thinking you were not there!
Recall it you?—
Say you do!
A NECESSITARIAN'S EPITAPH
A world I did not wish to enterTook me and poised me on my centre,
Made me grimace, and foot, and prance,
As cats on hot bricks have to dance
Strange jigs to keep them from the floor,
Till they sink down and feel no more.
BURNING THE HOLLY
O you are sad on Twelfth Night,
I notice: sad on Twelfth Night;
You are as sad on Twelfth Night
As any that I know.
I notice: sad on Twelfth Night;
You are as sad on Twelfth Night
As any that I know.
849
“Yes: I am sad on that night,
Doubtless I'm sad on that night:
Yes; I am sad on that night,
For we all loved her so!”
Doubtless I'm sad on that night:
Yes; I am sad on that night,
For we all loved her so!”
Why are you sad on Twelfth Night,
Especially on Twelfth Night?
Why are you sad on Twelfth Night
When wit and laughter flow?
Especially on Twelfth Night?
Why are you sad on Twelfth Night
When wit and laughter flow?
—“She'd been a famous dancer,
Much lured of men; a dancer.
She'd been a famous dancer,
Facile in heel and toe. . . .
Much lured of men; a dancer.
She'd been a famous dancer,
Facile in heel and toe. . . .
“And we were burning the holly
On Twelfth Night; the holly,
As people do: the holly,
Ivy, and mistletoe.
On Twelfth Night; the holly,
As people do: the holly,
Ivy, and mistletoe.
“And while it popped and crackled,
(She being our lodger), crackled;
And while it popped and crackled,
Her face caught by the glow,
(She being our lodger), crackled;
And while it popped and crackled,
Her face caught by the glow,
“In he walked and said to her,
In a slow voice he said to her;
Yes, walking in he said to her,
‘We sail before cock-crow.’
In a slow voice he said to her;
Yes, walking in he said to her,
‘We sail before cock-crow.’
“‘Why did you not come on to me,
As promised? Yes, come on to me?
Why did you not come on to me,
Since you had sworn to go?’
As promised? Yes, come on to me?
Why did you not come on to me,
Since you had sworn to go?’
“His eyes were deep and flashing,
As flashed the holm-flames: flashing;
His eyes were deep, and flashing
In their quick, keen upthrow.
As flashed the holm-flames: flashing;
His eyes were deep, and flashing
In their quick, keen upthrow.
850
“As if she had been ready,
Had furtively been ready;
As if she had been ready
For his insistence—lo!—
Had furtively been ready;
As if she had been ready
For his insistence—lo!—
“She clasped his arm and went with him
As his entirely: went with him.
She clasped his arm and went with him
Into the sprinkling snow.
As his entirely: went with him.
She clasped his arm and went with him
Into the sprinkling snow.
“We saw the prickly leaves waste
To ashes: saw the leaves waste;
The burnt-up prickly leaves waste. . . .
The pair had gone also.
To ashes: saw the leaves waste;
The burnt-up prickly leaves waste. . . .
The pair had gone also.
—“On Twelfth Night, two years after—
Yes, Twelfth Night, two years after;
On Twelfth Night, two years after,
We sat—our spirits low—
Yes, Twelfth Night, two years after;
On Twelfth Night, two years after,
We sat—our spirits low—
“Musing, when back the door swung
Without a knock. The door swung;
Thought flew to her. The door swung,
And in she came, pale, slow;
Without a knock. The door swung;
Thought flew to her. The door swung,
And in she came, pale, slow;
“Against her breast a child clasped;
Close to her breast a child clasped;
She stood there with the child clasped,
Swaying it to and fro.
Close to her breast a child clasped;
She stood there with the child clasped,
Swaying it to and fro.
“Her look alone the tale told;
Quite wordless was the tale told;
Her careworn eyes the tale told
As larger they seemed to grow. . . .
Quite wordless was the tale told;
Her careworn eyes the tale told
As larger they seemed to grow. . . .
“One day next spring she disappeared,
The second time she disappeared.
And that time, when she'd disappeared
Came back no more. Ah, no!
The second time she disappeared.
And that time, when she'd disappeared
Came back no more. Ah, no!
851
“But we still burn the holly
On Twelfth Night; burn the holly
As people do: the holly,
Ivy, and mistletoe.”
On Twelfth Night; burn the holly
As people do: the holly,
Ivy, and mistletoe.”
SUSPENSE
A clamminess hangs over all like a clout,
The fields are a water-colour washed out,
The sky at its rim leaves a chink of light,
Like the lid of a pot that will not close tight.
The fields are a water-colour washed out,
The sky at its rim leaves a chink of light,
Like the lid of a pot that will not close tight.
She is away by the groaning sea,
Strained at the heart, and waiting for me:
Between us our foe from a hid retreat
Is watching, to wither us if we meet. . . .
Strained at the heart, and waiting for me:
Between us our foe from a hid retreat
Is watching, to wither us if we meet. . . .
But it matters little, however we fare—
Whether we meet, or I get not there;
The sky will look the same thereupon,
And the wind and the sea go groaning on.
Whether we meet, or I get not there;
The sky will look the same thereupon,
And the wind and the sea go groaning on.
THE SECOND VISIT
Clack, clack, clack, went the mill-wheel as I came,
And she was on the bridge with the thin hand-rail,
And the miller at the door, and the ducks at mill-tail;
I come again years after, and all there seems the same.
And she was on the bridge with the thin hand-rail,
And the miller at the door, and the ducks at mill-tail;
I come again years after, and all there seems the same.
And so indeed it is: the apple-tree'd old house,
And the deep mill-pond, and the wet wheel clacking,
And a woman on the bridge, and white ducks quacking,
And the miller at the door, powdered pale from boots to brows.
And the deep mill-pond, and the wet wheel clacking,
And a woman on the bridge, and white ducks quacking,
And the miller at the door, powdered pale from boots to brows.
But it's not the same miller whom long ago I knew,
Nor are they the same apples, nor the same drops that dash
Over the wet wheel, nor the ducks below that splash,
Nor the woman who to fond plaints replied, “You know I do!”
Nor are they the same apples, nor the same drops that dash
Over the wet wheel, nor the ducks below that splash,
Nor the woman who to fond plaints replied, “You know I do!”
852
OUR OLD FRIEND DUALISM
All hail to him, the Protean! A tough old chap is he:Spinoza and the Monists cannot make him cease to be.
We pound him with our “Truth, Sir, please!” and quite appear to still him:
He laughs; holds Bergson up, and James; and swears we cannot kill him.
We argue them pragmatic cheats. “Aye,” says he. “They're deceiving:
But I must live; for flamens plead I am all that's worth believing!”
1920.
FAITHFUL WILSON
“I say she's handsome, by all laws
Of beauty, if wife ever was!”
Wilson insists thus, though each day
The years fret Fanny towards decay.
“She was once beauteous as a jewel,”
Hint friends; “but Time, of course, is cruel.”
Still Wilson does not quite feel how,
Once fair, she can be different now.
Of beauty, if wife ever was!”
Wilson insists thus, though each day
The years fret Fanny towards decay.
“She was once beauteous as a jewel,”
Hint friends; “but Time, of course, is cruel.”
Still Wilson does not quite feel how,
Once fair, she can be different now.
GALLANT'S SONG
When the maiden leaves off teasing,Then the man may leave off pleasing:
Yea, 'tis sign,
Wet or fine,
She will love him without ceasing
With a love there's no appeasing.
Is it so?
Ha-ha. Ho!
Nov. 1868.
853
A PHILOSOPHICAL FANTASY
“Milton . . . made God argue.”
—Walter Bagehot.
“Well, if thou wilt, then, ask me;
To answer will not task me:
I've a response, I doubt not.
And quite agree to flout not
Thy question, if of reason,
Albeit not quite in season:
A universe to marshal,
What god can give but partial
Eye to frail Earth—life-shotten
Ere long, extinct, forgotten!—
But seeing indications
That thou read'st my limitations,
And since my lack of forethought
Aggrieves thy more and more thought,
I'll hearken to thy pleading:
Some lore may lie in heeding
Thy irregular proceeding.”
To answer will not task me:
I've a response, I doubt not.
And quite agree to flout not
Thy question, if of reason,
Albeit not quite in season:
A universe to marshal,
What god can give but partial
Eye to frail Earth—life-shotten
Ere long, extinct, forgotten!—
But seeing indications
That thou read'st my limitations,
And since my lack of forethought
Aggrieves thy more and more thought,
I'll hearken to thy pleading:
Some lore may lie in heeding
Thy irregular proceeding.”
“'Tis this unfulfilled intention,
O Causer, I would mention:—
Will you, in condescension
This evening, ere we've parted,
Say why you felt fainthearted,
And let your aim be thwarted,
Its glory be diminished,
Its concept stand unfinished?—
Such I ask you, Sir or Madam,
(I know no more than Adam,
Even vaguely, what your sex is,—
Though feminine I had thought you
Till seers as ‘Sire’ besought you;—
And this my ignorance vexes
Some people not a little,
And, though not me one tittle,
It makes me sometimes choose me
Call you ‘It,’ if you'll excuse me?”)
“Call me ‘It’ with a good conscience,
And be sure it is all nonsense
That I mind a fault of manner
In a pigmy towards his planner!
Be I, be not I, sexless,
I am in nature vexless.
—How vain must clay-carved man be
To deem such folly can be
As that freaks of my own framing
Can set my visage flaming—
Start me volleying interjections
Against my own confections,
As the Jews and others limned me,
And in fear and trembling hymned me!
Call me ‘but dream-projected,’
I shall not be affected;
Call me ‘blind force persisting,’
I shall remain unlisting;
(A few have done it lately,
And, maybe, err not greatly.)
—Another such a vanity
In witless weak humanity
Is thinking that of those all
Through space at my disposal,
Man's shape must needs resemble
Mine, that makes zodiacs tremble!
O Causer, I would mention:—
Will you, in condescension
This evening, ere we've parted,
Say why you felt fainthearted,
And let your aim be thwarted,
Its glory be diminished,
Its concept stand unfinished?—
Such I ask you, Sir or Madam,
(I know no more than Adam,
Even vaguely, what your sex is,—
Though feminine I had thought you
Till seers as ‘Sire’ besought you;—
And this my ignorance vexes
Some people not a little,
And, though not me one tittle,
It makes me sometimes choose me
Call you ‘It,’ if you'll excuse me?”)
854
And be sure it is all nonsense
That I mind a fault of manner
In a pigmy towards his planner!
Be I, be not I, sexless,
I am in nature vexless.
—How vain must clay-carved man be
To deem such folly can be
As that freaks of my own framing
Can set my visage flaming—
Start me volleying interjections
Against my own confections,
As the Jews and others limned me,
And in fear and trembling hymned me!
Call me ‘but dream-projected,’
I shall not be affected;
Call me ‘blind force persisting,’
I shall remain unlisting;
(A few have done it lately,
And, maybe, err not greatly.)
—Another such a vanity
In witless weak humanity
Is thinking that of those all
Through space at my disposal,
Man's shape must needs resemble
Mine, that makes zodiacs tremble!
“Continuing where we started:—
As for my aims being thwarted,
Wherefore I feel fainthearted,
Aimless am I, revealing
No heart-scope for faint feeling.
—But thy mistake I'll pardon,
And, as Adam's mentioned to me,
(Though in timeless truth there never
Was a man like him whatever)
I'll meet thee in thy garden,
As I did not him, beshrew me!
In the sun of so-called daytime—
Say, just about the Maytime
Of my next, or next, Creation?
(I love procrastination,
To use the words in thy sense,
Which have no hold on my sense)
Or at any future stray-time.—
One of thy representatives
In some later incarnation
I mean, of course, well knowing
Thy present conformation
But a unit of my tentatives,
Whereof such heaps lie blowing
As dust, where thou art going;
Yea, passed to where suns glow not,
Begrieved of those that go not
(Though what grief is, I know not.)
As for my aims being thwarted,
Wherefore I feel fainthearted,
Aimless am I, revealing
No heart-scope for faint feeling.
—But thy mistake I'll pardon,
And, as Adam's mentioned to me,
(Though in timeless truth there never
Was a man like him whatever)
I'll meet thee in thy garden,
As I did not him, beshrew me!
In the sun of so-called daytime—
Say, just about the Maytime
Of my next, or next, Creation?
(I love procrastination,
855
Which have no hold on my sense)
Or at any future stray-time.—
One of thy representatives
In some later incarnation
I mean, of course, well knowing
Thy present conformation
But a unit of my tentatives,
Whereof such heaps lie blowing
As dust, where thou art going;
Yea, passed to where suns glow not,
Begrieved of those that go not
(Though what grief is, I know not.)
“Perhaps I may inform thee,
In case I should alarm thee,
That no dramatic stories
Like ancient ones whose core is
A mass of superstition
And monkish imposition
Will mark my explanation
Of the world's sore situation
(As thou tell'st), with woes that shatter;
Though from former aions to latter
To me 'tis malleable matter
For treatment scientific
More than sensitive and specific—
Stuff without moral features,
Which I've no sense of ever,
Or of ethical endeavour,
Or of justice to Earth's creatures,
Or how Right from Wrong to sever:
Let these be as men learn such;
For me, I don't discern such,
And—real enough I daresay—
I know them but by hearsay
As something Time hath rendered
Out of substance I engendered,
Time, too, being a condition
Beyond my recognition.
—I would add that, while unknowing
Of this justice earthward owing,
Nor explanation offering
Of what is meant by suffering,
Thereof I'm not a spurner,
Or averse to be a learner.
In case I should alarm thee,
That no dramatic stories
Like ancient ones whose core is
A mass of superstition
And monkish imposition
Will mark my explanation
Of the world's sore situation
(As thou tell'st), with woes that shatter;
Though from former aions to latter
To me 'tis malleable matter
For treatment scientific
More than sensitive and specific—
Stuff without moral features,
Which I've no sense of ever,
Or of ethical endeavour,
Or of justice to Earth's creatures,
Or how Right from Wrong to sever:
Let these be as men learn such;
For me, I don't discern such,
And—real enough I daresay—
I know them but by hearsay
As something Time hath rendered
Out of substance I engendered,
Time, too, being a condition
Beyond my recognition.
—I would add that, while unknowing
Of this justice earthward owing,
856
Of what is meant by suffering,
Thereof I'm not a spurner,
Or averse to be a learner.
“To return from wordy wandering
To the question we are pondering;
Though, viewing the world in my mode,
I fail to see it in thy mode
As ‘unfulfilled intention,’
Which is past my comprehension
Being unconscious in my doings
So largely, (whence thy rueings);—
Aye, to human tribes nor kindlessness
Nor love I've given, but mindlessness,
Which state, though far from ending,
May nevertheless be mending.
To the question we are pondering;
Though, viewing the world in my mode,
I fail to see it in thy mode
As ‘unfulfilled intention,’
Which is past my comprehension
Being unconscious in my doings
So largely, (whence thy rueings);—
Aye, to human tribes nor kindlessness
Nor love I've given, but mindlessness,
Which state, though far from ending,
May nevertheless be mending.
“However, I'll advise him—
Him thy scion, who will walk here
When Death hath dumbed thy talk here—
In phrase that may surprise him,
What thing it was befel me,
(A thing that my confessing
Lack of forethought helps thy guessing),
And acted to compel me
By that purposeless propension
Which is mine, and not intention,
Along lines of least resistance,
Or, in brief, unsensed persistence,
That saddens thy existence
To think my so-called scheming
Not that of my first dreaming.”
Him thy scion, who will walk here
When Death hath dumbed thy talk here—
In phrase that may surprise him,
What thing it was befel me,
(A thing that my confessing
Lack of forethought helps thy guessing),
And acted to compel me
By that purposeless propension
Which is mine, and not intention,
Along lines of least resistance,
Or, in brief, unsensed persistence,
That saddens thy existence
To think my so-called scheming
Not that of my first dreaming.”
1920 and 1926.
A QUESTION OF MARRIAGE
“I yield you my whole heart, Countess,” said he;
“Come, Dear, and be queen of my studio.”
“No, sculptor. You're merely my friend,” said she:
“We dine our artists; but marry them—no.”
“Come, Dear, and be queen of my studio.”
“No, sculptor. You're merely my friend,” said she:
“We dine our artists; but marry them—no.”
857
“Be it thus,” he replied. And his love, so strong,
He subdued as a stoic should. Anon
He wived some damsel who'd loved him long,
Of lineage noteless; and chiselled on.
He subdued as a stoic should. Anon
He wived some damsel who'd loved him long,
Of lineage noteless; and chiselled on.
And a score years passed. As a master-mind
The world made much of his marching fame,
And his wife's little charms, with his own entwined,
Won day after day increased acclaim.
The world made much of his marching fame,
And his wife's little charms, with his own entwined,
Won day after day increased acclaim.
The countess-widow had closed with a mate
In rank and wealth of her own degree,
And they moved among the obscurely great
Of an order that had no novelty.
In rank and wealth of her own degree,
And they moved among the obscurely great
Of an order that had no novelty.
And oldening—neither with blame nor praise—
Their stately lives begot no stir,
And she saw that when death should efface her days
All men would abandon thought of her;
Their stately lives begot no stir,
And she saw that when death should efface her days
All men would abandon thought of her;
And said to herself full gloomily:
“Far better for me had it been to shine
The wench of a genius such as he
Than rust as the wife of a spouse like mine!”
“Far better for me had it been to shine
The wench of a genius such as he
Than rust as the wife of a spouse like mine!”
THE LETTER'S TRIUMPH
(A FANCY)
Yes: I perceive it's to your Love
You are bent on sending me. That this is so
Your words and phrases prove!
You are bent on sending me. That this is so
Your words and phrases prove!
And now I am folded, and start to go,
Where you, my writer, have no leave to come:
My entry none will know!
Where you, my writer, have no leave to come:
My entry none will know!
And I shall catch her eye, and dumb
She'll keep, should my unnoised arrival be
Hoped for, or troublesome.
She'll keep, should my unnoised arrival be
Hoped for, or troublesome.
858
My face she'll notice readily:
And, whether she care to meet you, or care not,
She will perforce meet me;
And, whether she care to meet you, or care not,
She will perforce meet me;
Take me to closet or garden-plot
And, blushing or pouting, bend her eyes quite near,
Moved much, or never a jot.
And, blushing or pouting, bend her eyes quite near,
Moved much, or never a jot.
And while you wait in hope and fear,
Far from her cheeks and lips, snug I shall stay
In close communion there,
Far from her cheeks and lips, snug I shall stay
In close communion there,
And hear her heart-beats, things she may say,
As near her naked fingers, sleeve, or glove
I lie—ha-ha!—all day.
As near her naked fingers, sleeve, or glove
I lie—ha-ha!—all day.
A FORGOTTEN MINIATURE
There you are in the dark,
Deep in a box
Nobody ever unlocks,
Or even turns to mark;
—Out of mind stark.
Deep in a box
Nobody ever unlocks,
Or even turns to mark;
—Out of mind stark.
Yet there you have not been worsed
Like your sitter
By Time, the Fair's hard-hitter;
Your beauties, undispersed,
Glow as at first.
Like your sitter
By Time, the Fair's hard-hitter;
Your beauties, undispersed,
Glow as at first.
Shut in your case for years,
Never an eye
Of the many passing nigh,
Fixed on their own affairs,
Thinks what it nears!
Never an eye
Of the many passing nigh,
Fixed on their own affairs,
Thinks what it nears!
—While you have lain in gloom,
A form forgot,
Your reign remembered not,
Much life has come to bloom
Within this room.
A form forgot,
Your reign remembered not,
Much life has come to bloom
Within this room.
859
Yea, in Time's cyclic sweep
Unrest has ranged:
Women and men have changed:
Some you knew slumber deep;
Some wait for sleep.
Unrest has ranged:
Women and men have changed:
Some you knew slumber deep;
Some wait for sleep.
WHISPERED AT THE CHURCH-OPENING
In the bran-new pulpit the bishop stands,
And gives out his text, as his gaze expands
To the people, the aisles, the roof's new frame,
And the arches, and ashlar with coloured bands.
And gives out his text, as his gaze expands
To the people, the aisles, the roof's new frame,
And the arches, and ashlar with coloured bands.
“Why—he's the man,” says one, “who came
To preach in my boyhood—a fashion then—
In a series of sermons to working-men
On week-day evenings, a novelty
Which brought better folk to hear and see.
They preached each one each week, by request:
Some were eloquent speakers, among the best
Of the lot being this, as all confessed.”
To preach in my boyhood—a fashion then—
In a series of sermons to working-men
On week-day evenings, a novelty
Which brought better folk to hear and see.
They preached each one each week, by request:
Some were eloquent speakers, among the best
Of the lot being this, as all confessed.”
“I remember now. And reflection brings
Back one in especial, sincerest of all;
Whose words, though unpicked, gave the essence of things;—
And where is he now, whom I well recall?”
Back one in especial, sincerest of all;
Whose words, though unpicked, gave the essence of things;—
And where is he now, whom I well recall?”
“Oh, he'd no touches of tactic skill:
His mind ran on charity and good will:
He's but as he was, a vicar still.”
His mind ran on charity and good will:
He's but as he was, a vicar still.”
IN WEATHERBURY STOCKS
(1850)
“I sit here in these stocks,
And Saint-Mary's moans eleven;
The sky is dark and cold:
I would I were in heaven!
And Saint-Mary's moans eleven;
The sky is dark and cold:
I would I were in heaven!
860
“What footsteps do I hear?
Ah, you do not forget,
My Sophy! O, my dear,
We may be happy yet!
Ah, you do not forget,
My Sophy! O, my dear,
We may be happy yet!
“But—. Mother, is't your voice?
You who have come to me?—
It did not cross my thought:
I was thinking it was she.”
You who have come to me?—
It did not cross my thought:
I was thinking it was she.”
“She! Foolish simple son!
She says: ‘I've finished quite
With him or any one
Put in the stocks to-night.’
She says: ‘I've finished quite
With him or any one
Put in the stocks to-night.’
“She's gone to Blooms-End dance,
And will not come back yet:
Her new man sees his chance,
And is teaching her to forget.
And will not come back yet:
Her new man sees his chance,
And is teaching her to forget.
“Jim, think no other woman
To such a fellow is true
But the mother you have grieved so,
Or cares for one like you!”
To such a fellow is true
But the mother you have grieved so,
Or cares for one like you!”
A PLACID MAN'S EPITAPH
As for my life, I've led itWith fair content and credit:
It said: “Take this.” I took it.
Said: “Leave.” And I forsook it.
If I had done without it
None would have cared about it,
Or said: “One has refused it
Who might have meetly used it.”
1925.
861
THE NEW BOOTS
“They are his new boots,” she pursued;
“They have not been worn at all:
They stay there hung on the wall,
And are getting as stiff as wood.
He bought them for the wet weather,
And they are of waterproof leather.”
“They have not been worn at all:
They stay there hung on the wall,
And are getting as stiff as wood.
He bought them for the wet weather,
And they are of waterproof leather.”
“Why does her husband,” said I,
“Never wear those boots bought new?”
To a neighbour of hers I knew;
Who answered: “Ah, those boots. Aye,
He bought them to wear whenever
It rained. But there they hang ever.
“Never wear those boots bought new?”
To a neighbour of hers I knew;
Who answered: “Ah, those boots. Aye,
He bought them to wear whenever
It rained. But there they hang ever.
“‘Yes,’ he laughed, as he hung them up,
‘I've got them at last—a pair
I can walk in anywhere
Through rain and slush and slop.
For many a year I've been haunted
By thoughts of how much they were wanted.’
‘I've got them at last—a pair
I can walk in anywhere
Through rain and slush and slop.
For many a year I've been haunted
By thoughts of how much they were wanted.’
“And she's not touched them or tried
To remove them. . . . Anyhow,
As you see them hanging now
They have hung ever since he died
The day after gaily declaring:
‘Ha-ha! Now for wet wayfaring.
They're just the chaps for my wearing!’”
To remove them. . . . Anyhow,
As you see them hanging now
They have hung ever since he died
The day after gaily declaring:
‘Ha-ha! Now for wet wayfaring.
They're just the chaps for my wearing!’”
THE MUSING MAIDEN
“Why so often, silent one,
Do you steal away alone?”
Starting, half she turned her head,
And guiltily she said:—
Do you steal away alone?”
Starting, half she turned her head,
And guiltily she said:—
862
“When the vane points to his far town
I go upon the hog-backed down,
And think the breeze that stroked his lip
Over my own may slip.
I go upon the hog-backed down,
And think the breeze that stroked his lip
Over my own may slip.
“When he walks at close of day
I ramble on the white highway,
And think it reaches to his feet:
A meditation sweet!
I ramble on the white highway,
And think it reaches to his feet:
A meditation sweet!
“When coasters hence to London sail
I watch their puffed wings waning pale;
His window opens near the quay;
Their coming he can see.
I watch their puffed wings waning pale;
His window opens near the quay;
Their coming he can see.
“I go to meet the moon at night;
To mark the moon was our delight;
Up there our eyesights touch at will
If such he practise still.”
To mark the moon was our delight;
Up there our eyesights touch at will
If such he practise still.”
W.P.V. October 1866 (recopied).
LORNA THE SECOND
Lorna! Yes, you are sweet,But you are not your mother,
Lorna the First, frank, feat,
Never such another!—
Love of her could smother
Griefs by day or night;
Nor could any other,
Lorna, dear and bright,
Ever so well adorn a
Mansion, coach, or cot,
Or so make men scorn a
Rival in their sight;
Even you could not!
Hence I have to mourn a
Loss ere you were born; a Lorna!
863
A DAUGHTER RETURNS
I like not that dainty-cut raiment, those earrings of pearl,
I like not the light in that eye;
I like not the note of that voice. Never so was the girl
Who a year ago bade me good-bye!
I like not the light in that eye;
I like not the note of that voice. Never so was the girl
Who a year ago bade me good-bye!
Hadst but come bare and moneyless, worn in the vamp, weather-gray,
But innocent still as before,
How warmly I'd lodged thee! But sport thy new gains far away;
I pray thee now—come here no more!
But innocent still as before,
How warmly I'd lodged thee! But sport thy new gains far away;
I pray thee now—come here no more!
And yet I'll not try to blot out every memory of thee;
I'll think of thee—yes, now and then:
One who's watched thee since Time called thee out o' thy mother and me
Must think of thee; aye, I know when! . . .
I'll think of thee—yes, now and then:
One who's watched thee since Time called thee out o' thy mother and me
Must think of thee; aye, I know when! . . .
When the cold sneer of dawn follows night-shadows black as a hearse,
And the rain filters down the fruit tree,
And the tempest mouths into the flue-top a word like a curse,
Then, then I shall think, think of thee!
And the rain filters down the fruit tree,
And the tempest mouths into the flue-top a word like a curse,
Then, then I shall think, think of thee!
December 17, 1901.
THE THIRD KISSING-GATE
She foots it forward down the town,
Then leaves the lamps behind,
And trots along the eastern road
Where elms stand double-lined.
Then leaves the lamps behind,
And trots along the eastern road
Where elms stand double-lined.
She clacks the first dim kissing-gate
Beneath the storm-strained trees,
And passes to the second mead
That fringes Mellstock Leaze.
Beneath the storm-strained trees,
And passes to the second mead
That fringes Mellstock Leaze.
864
She swings the second kissing-gate
Next the gray garden-wall,
And sees the third mead stretching down
Towards the waterfall.
Next the gray garden-wall,
And sees the third mead stretching down
Towards the waterfall.
And now the third-placed kissing-gate
Her silent shadow nears,
And touches with; when suddenly
Her person disappears.
Her silent shadow nears,
And touches with; when suddenly
Her person disappears.
What chanced by that third kissing-gate
When the hushed mead grew dun?
Lo—two dark figures clasped and closed
As if they were but one.
When the hushed mead grew dun?
Lo—two dark figures clasped and closed
As if they were but one.
DRINKING SONG
Once on a time when thought began
Lived Thales: he
Was said to see
Vast truths that mortals seldom can;
It seems without
A moment's doubt
That everything was made for man.
Lived Thales: he
Was said to see
Vast truths that mortals seldom can;
It seems without
A moment's doubt
That everything was made for man.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distressThat thoughts so great should now be less!
Earth mid the sky stood firm and flat,
He held, till came
A sage by name
Copernicus, and righted that.
We trod, he told,
A globe that rolled
Around a sun it warmed it at.
He held, till came
A sage by name
Copernicus, and righted that.
We trod, he told,
A globe that rolled
Around a sun it warmed it at.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
865
But still we held, as Time flew by
And wit increased,
Ours was, at least,
The only world whose rank was high:
Till rumours flew
From folk who knew
Of globes galore about the sky.
And wit increased,
Ours was, at least,
The only world whose rank was high:
Till rumours flew
From folk who knew
Of globes galore about the sky.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: fell no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
And that this earth, our one estate,
Was no prime ball,
The best of all,
But common, mean; indeed, tenth-rate:
And men, so proud,
A feeble crowd,
Unworthy any special fate.
Was no prime ball,
The best of all,
But common, mean; indeed, tenth-rate:
And men, so proud,
A feeble crowd,
Unworthy any special fate.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
Then rose one Hume, who could not see,
If earth were such,
Required were much
To prove no miracles could be:
“Better believe
The eyes deceive
Than that God's clockwork jolts,” said he.
If earth were such,
Required were much
To prove no miracles could be:
“Better believe
The eyes deceive
Than that God's clockwork jolts,” said he.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
Next this strange message Darwin brings,
(Though saying his say
In a quiet way);
We all are one with creeping things;
And apes and men
Blood-brethren,
And likewise reptile forms with stings.
(Though saying his say
In a quiet way);
We all are one with creeping things;
And apes and men
Blood-brethren,
And likewise reptile forms with stings.
866
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
And when this philosoph had done
Came Doctor Cheyne:
Speaking plain he
Proved no virgin bore a son.
“Such tale, indeed,
Helps not our creed,”
He said. “A tale long known to none.”
Came Doctor Cheyne:
Speaking plain he
Proved no virgin bore a son.
“Such tale, indeed,
Helps not our creed,”
He said. “A tale long known to none.”
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
And now comes Einstein with a notion—
Not yet quite clear
To many here—
That's there's no time, no space, no motion,
Nor rathe nor late,
Nor square nor straight,
But just a sort of bending-ocean.
Not yet quite clear
To many here—
That's there's no time, no space, no motion,
Nor rathe nor late,
Nor square nor straight,
But just a sort of bending-ocean.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distress;'Tis only one great thought the less!
So here we are, in piteous case:
Like butterflies
Of many dyes
Upon an Alpine glacier's face:
To fly and cower
In some warm bower
Our chief concern in such a place.
Like butterflies
Of many dyes
Upon an Alpine glacier's face:
To fly and cower
In some warm bower
Our chief concern in such a place.
Chorus.
Fill full your cups: feel no distressAt all our great thoughts shrinking less:
We'll do a good deed nevertheless!
867
THE TARRYING BRIDEGROOM
Wildly bound the bells this morning
For the glad solemnity;
People are adorning
Chancel and canopy;
But amid the peal a warning
Under-echo calls to me.
For the glad solemnity;
People are adorning
Chancel and canopy;
But amid the peal a warning
Under-echo calls to me.
Where the lane divides the pasture
Long I watch each bend and stone,
Why not now as last year,
When he sought me—lone?
Come, O come, and see, and cast here
Light and love on one your own!
Long I watch each bend and stone,
Why not now as last year,
When he sought me—lone?
Come, O come, and see, and cast here
Light and love on one your own!
How it used to draw him to me,
When I piped a pretty tune;
Yes, when first he knew me
In my pink shalloon:
Little I guessed 'twould so undo me
Lacking him this summer noon!
When I piped a pretty tune;
Yes, when first he knew me
In my pink shalloon:
Little I guessed 'twould so undo me
Lacking him this summer noon!
THE DESTINED PAIR
Two beings were drifting
Each one to the other:
No moment's veil-lifting
Or hint from another
Led either to weet
That the tracks of their feet
Were arcs that would meet.
Each one to the other:
No moment's veil-lifting
Or hint from another
Led either to weet
That the tracks of their feet
Were arcs that would meet.
One moved in a city,
And one in a village,
Where many a ditty
He tongued when at tillage
On dreams of a dim
Figure fancy would limn
That was viewless to him.
And one in a village,
Where many a ditty
He tongued when at tillage
On dreams of a dim
Figure fancy would limn
That was viewless to him.
868
Would Fate have been kinder
To keep night between them?—
Had he failed to find her
And time never seen them
Unite; so that, caught
In no burning love-thought,
She had faded unsought?
To keep night between them?—
Had he failed to find her
And time never seen them
Unite; so that, caught
In no burning love-thought,
She had faded unsought?
A MUSICAL INCIDENT
When I see the room it hurts me
As with a pricking blade,
Those women being the memoried reason why my cheer deserts me.—
'Twas thus. One of them played
To please her friend, not knowing
That friend was speedily growing,
Behind the player's chair,
Somnolent, unaware
Of any music there.
As with a pricking blade,
Those women being the memoried reason why my cheer deserts me.—
'Twas thus. One of them played
To please her friend, not knowing
That friend was speedily growing,
Behind the player's chair,
Somnolent, unaware
Of any music there.
I saw it, and it distressed me,
For I had begun to think
I loved the drowsy listener, when this arose to test me
And tug me from love's brink.
“Beautiful!” said she, waking
As the music ceased. “Heart-aching!”
Though never a note she'd heard
To judge of as averred—
Save that of the very last word.
For I had begun to think
I loved the drowsy listener, when this arose to test me
And tug me from love's brink.
“Beautiful!” said she, waking
As the music ceased. “Heart-aching!”
Though never a note she'd heard
To judge of as averred—
Save that of the very last word.
All would have faded in me,
But that the sleeper brought
News a week thence that her friend was dead. It stirred within me
Sense of injustice wrought
That dead player's poor intent—
So heartily, kindly meant—
As blandly added the sigher:
“How glad I am I was nigh her,
To hear her last tune!”—“Liar!”
I lipped.—This gave love pause,
And killed it, such as it was.
But that the sleeper brought
News a week thence that her friend was dead. It stirred within me
Sense of injustice wrought
That dead player's poor intent—
So heartily, kindly meant—
As blandly added the sigher:
“How glad I am I was nigh her,
To hear her last tune!”—“Liar!”
I lipped.—This gave love pause,
And killed it, such as it was.
869
JUNE LEAVES AND AUTUMN
I
Lush summer lit the trees to green;But in the ditch hard by
Lay dying boughs some hand unseen
Had lopped when first with festal mien
They matched their mates on high.
It seemed a melancholy fate
That leaves but brought to birth so late
Should rust there, red and numb,
In quickened fall, while all their race
Still joyed aloft in pride of place
With store of days to come.
II
At autumn-end I fared that way,And traced those boughs fore-hewn
Whose leaves, awaiting their decay
In slowly browning shades, still lay
Where they had lain in June
And now, no less embrowned and curst
Than if they had fallen with the first,
Nor known a morning more,
Lay there alongside, dun and sere,
Those that at my last wandering here
Had length of days in store.
November 19, 1898.
NO BELL-RINGING
A BALLAD OF DURNOVER
The little boy legged on through the dark,
To hear the New-Year's ringing:
The three-mile road was empty, stark,
No sound or echo bringing.
To hear the New-Year's ringing:
The three-mile road was empty, stark,
No sound or echo bringing.
870
When he got to the tall church tower
Standing upon the hill,
Although it was hard on the midnight hour
The place was, as elsewhere, still;
Standing upon the hill,
Although it was hard on the midnight hour
The place was, as elsewhere, still;
Except that the flag-staff rope, betossed
By blasts from the nor'-east,
Like a dead man's bones on a gibbet-post
Tugged as to be released.
By blasts from the nor'-east,
Like a dead man's bones on a gibbet-post
Tugged as to be released.
“Why is there no ringing to-night?”
Said the boy to a moveless one
On a tombstone where the moon struck white;
But he got answer none.
Said the boy to a moveless one
On a tombstone where the moon struck white;
But he got answer none.
“No ringing in of New Year's Day.”
He mused as he dragged back home;
And wondered till his head was gray
Why the bells that night were dumb.
He mused as he dragged back home;
And wondered till his head was gray
Why the bells that night were dumb.
And often thought of the snowy shape
That sat on the moonlit stone,
Nor spoke nor moved, and in mien and drape
Seemed like a sprite thereon.
That sat on the moonlit stone,
Nor spoke nor moved, and in mien and drape
Seemed like a sprite thereon.
And then he met one left of the band
That had treble-bobbed when young,
And said: “I never could understand
Why, that night, no bells rung.”
That had treble-bobbed when young,
And said: “I never could understand
Why, that night, no bells rung.”
“True. There'd not happened such a thing
For half a century; aye,
And never I've told why they did not ring
From that time till to-day. . . .
For half a century; aye,
And never I've told why they did not ring
From that time till to-day. . . .
“Through the week in bliss at The Hit or Miss
We had drunk—not a penny left;
What then we did—well, now 'tis hid,—
But better we'd stooped to theft!
We had drunk—not a penny left;
What then we did—well, now 'tis hid,—
But better we'd stooped to theft!
871
“Yet, since none other remains who can,
And few more years are mine,
I may tell you,” said the cramped old man.
“We—swilled the Sacrament-wine.
And few more years are mine,
I may tell you,” said the cramped old man.
“We—swilled the Sacrament-wine.
“Then each set-to with the strength of two,
Every man to his bell;
But something was wrong we found ere long
Though what, we could not tell.
Every man to his bell;
But something was wrong we found ere long
Though what, we could not tell.
“We pulled till the sweat-drops fell around,
As we'd never pulled before,
An hour by the clock, but not one sound
Came down through the bell-loft floor.
As we'd never pulled before,
An hour by the clock, but not one sound
Came down through the bell-loft floor.
“On the morrow all folk of the same thing spoke,
They had stood at the midnight time
On their doorsteps near with a listening ear,
But there reached them never a chime.
They had stood at the midnight time
On their doorsteps near with a listening ear,
But there reached them never a chime.
“We then could read the dye of our deed,
And we knew we were accurst;
But we broke to none the thing we had done,
And since then never durst.”
And we knew we were accurst;
But we broke to none the thing we had done,
And since then never durst.”
“I LOOKED BACK”
I looked back as I left the house,
And, past the chimneys and neighbour tree,
The moon upsidled through the boughs:—
I thought: “I shall a last time see
This picture; when will that time be?”
And, past the chimneys and neighbour tree,
The moon upsidled through the boughs:—
I thought: “I shall a last time see
This picture; when will that time be?”
I paused amid the laugh-loud feast,
And selfward said: “I am sitting where,
Some night, when ancient songs have ceased,
‘Now is the last time I shall share
Such cheer,’” will be the thought I bear.
And selfward said: “I am sitting where,
Some night, when ancient songs have ceased,
‘Now is the last time I shall share
Such cheer,’” will be the thought I bear.
872
An eye-sweep back at a look-out corner
Upon a hill, as forenight wore,
Stirred me to think: “Ought I to warn her
That, though I come here times three-score,
One day 'twill be I come no more?”
Upon a hill, as forenight wore,
Stirred me to think: “Ought I to warn her
That, though I come here times three-score,
One day 'twill be I come no more?”
Anon I reasoned there had been,
Ere quite forsaken was each spot,
Bygones whereon I'd lastly seen
That house, that feast, that maid forgot;
But when?—Ah, I remembered not!
Ere quite forsaken was each spot,
Bygones whereon I'd lastly seen
That house, that feast, that maid forgot;
But when?—Ah, I remembered not!
THE AGED NEWSPAPER SOLILOQUIZES
Yes; yes; I am old. In me appearsThe history of a hundred years;
Empires', kings', captives', births and deaths,
Strange faiths, and fleeting shibboleths.
—Tragedy, comedy, throngs my page
Beyond all mummed on any stage:
Cold hearts beat hot, hot hearts beat cold,
And I beat on. Yes; yes; I am old.
CHRISTMAS: 1924
“Peace upon earth!” was said. We sing it,And pay a million priests to bring it.
After two thousand years of mass
We've got as far as poison-gas.
1924.
THE SINGLE WITNESS
“Did no one else, then, see them, man,
Lying among the whin?
Did no one else, behold them at all
Commit this shameless sin,
But you, in the hollow of the down
No traveller's eye takes in?”
Lying among the whin?
Did no one else, behold them at all
Commit this shameless sin,
But you, in the hollow of the down
No traveller's eye takes in?”
873
“Nobody else, my noble lord,
Saw them together there—
Your young son's tutor and she. I made
A short cut from the fair,
And lit on them. I've said no word
About it anywhere.”
Saw them together there—
Your young son's tutor and she. I made
A short cut from the fair,
And lit on them. I've said no word
About it anywhere.”
“Good. . . . Now, you see my father's sword,
Hanging up in your view;
No hand has swung it since he came
Home after Waterloo.
I'll show it you. . . . There is the sword:
And this is what I'll do.”
Hanging up in your view;
No hand has swung it since he came
Home after Waterloo.
I'll show it you. . . . There is the sword:
And this is what I'll do.”
He ran the other through the breast,
Ere he could plead or cry.
“It is a dire necessity,
But—since no one was nigh
Save you and they, my historied name
Must not be smirched thereby.”
Ere he could plead or cry.
“It is a dire necessity,
But—since no one was nigh
Save you and they, my historied name
Must not be smirched thereby.”
HOW SHE WENT TO IRELAND
Dora's gone to Ireland
Through the sleet and snow:
Promptly she has gone there
In a ship, although
Why she's gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
Through the sleet and snow:
Promptly she has gone there
In a ship, although
Why she's gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
That was where, yea, Ireland,
Dora wished to be:
When she felt, in lone times,
Shoots of misery,
Often there, in Ireland,
Dora wished to be.
Dora wished to be:
When she felt, in lone times,
Shoots of misery,
Often there, in Ireland,
Dora wished to be.
874
Hence she's gone to Ireland,
Since she meant to go,
Through the drift and darkness
Onward labouring, though
That she's gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
Since she meant to go,
Through the drift and darkness
Onward labouring, though
That she's gone to Ireland
Dora does not know.
DEAD “WESSEX” THE DOG TO THE HOUSEHOLD
Do you think of me at all,
Wistful ones?
Do you think of me at all
As if nigh?
Do you think of me at all
At the creep of evenfall,
Or when the sky-birds call
As they fly?
Wistful ones?
Do you think of me at all
As if nigh?
Do you think of me at all
At the creep of evenfall,
Or when the sky-birds call
As they fly?
Do you look for me at times,
Wistful ones?
Do you look for me at times
Strained and still?
Do you look for me at times,
When the hour for walking chimes,
On that grassy path that climbs
Up the hill?
Wistful ones?
Do you look for me at times
Strained and still?
Do you look for me at times,
When the hour for walking chimes,
On that grassy path that climbs
Up the hill?
You may hear a jump or trot,
Wistful ones,
You may hear a jump or trot—
Mine, as 'twere—
You may hear a jump or trot
On the stair or path or plot;
But I shall cause it not,
Be not there.
Wistful ones,
You may hear a jump or trot—
Mine, as 'twere—
You may hear a jump or trot
On the stair or path or plot;
But I shall cause it not,
Be not there.
Should you call as when I knew you,
Wistful ones,
Should you call as when I knew you,
Shared your home;
Should you call as when I knew you,
I shall not turn to view you,
I shall not listen to you,
Shall not come.
Wistful ones,
Should you call as when I knew you,
Shared your home;
875
I shall not turn to view you,
I shall not listen to you,
Shall not come.
THE WOMAN WHO WENT EAST
“Where is that woman of the west,
Good Sir, once friends with me,
In rays of her own rareness drest,
And fired by sunset from the sea?
Yes, she—once friends with me.”
Good Sir, once friends with me,
In rays of her own rareness drest,
And fired by sunset from the sea?
Yes, she—once friends with me.”
“—She went to sojourn in the east,
O stranger Dame, one day;
Her own west land she reckoned least
Of all lands, with its weird old way,
So left it, Dame, one day:
O stranger Dame, one day;
Her own west land she reckoned least
Of all lands, with its weird old way,
So left it, Dame, one day:
“Doubtless they prized her marvellous mould
At its right worth elsewhere,
Yea, Dame, and kept her shrined in gold,
So speaking, as one past compare;
Aye, prized her worth elsewhere!”
At its right worth elsewhere,
Yea, Dame, and kept her shrined in gold,
So speaking, as one past compare;
Aye, prized her worth elsewhere!”
—“Must, must I then a story tell,
Old native, here to you,
Of peradventures that befel
Her eastward—shape it as 'twere new,
Old native, here to you?
Old native, here to you,
Of peradventures that befel
Her eastward—shape it as 'twere new,
Old native, here to you?
“O unforgotten day long back,
When, wilful, east she sped
From you with her new Love. Alack,
Her lips would still be ripe and red
Had she not eastward sped!
When, wilful, east she sped
From you with her new Love. Alack,
Her lips would still be ripe and red
Had she not eastward sped!
876
“For know, old lover, dull of eyes,
That woman, I am she:
This skeleton that Time so tries
Your rose of rareness used to be;
Yes, sweetheart, I am she.”
That woman, I am she:
This skeleton that Time so tries
Your rose of rareness used to be;
Yes, sweetheart, I am she.”
NOT KNOWN
They know the wilings of the world,
The latest flippancy;
They know each jest at hazard hurled,
But know not me.
The latest flippancy;
They know each jest at hazard hurled,
But know not me.
They know a phasm they name as me,
In whom I should not find
A single self-held quality
Of body or mind.
In whom I should not find
A single self-held quality
Of body or mind.
THE BOY'S DREAM
Provincial town-boy he,—frail, lame,
His face a waning lily-white,
A court the home of his wry, wrenched frame,
Where noontide shed no warmth or light.
His face a waning lily-white,
A court the home of his wry, wrenched frame,
Where noontide shed no warmth or light.
Over his temples—flat and wan,
Where bluest veins were patterned keen,
The skin appeared so thinly drawn
The skull beneath was almost seen.
Where bluest veins were patterned keen,
The skin appeared so thinly drawn
The skull beneath was almost seen.
Always a wishful, absent look
Expressed it in his face and eye;
At the strong shape this longing took
One guessed what wish must underlie.
Expressed it in his face and eye;
At the strong shape this longing took
One guessed what wish must underlie.
But no. That wish was not for strength,
For other boys' agility,
To race with ease the field's far length,
Now hopped across so painfully.
For other boys' agility,
To race with ease the field's far length,
Now hopped across so painfully.
877
He minded not his lameness much,
To shine at feats he did not long,
Nor to be best at goal and touch,
Nor at assaults to stand up strong.
To shine at feats he did not long,
Nor to be best at goal and touch,
Nor at assaults to stand up strong.
But sometimes he would let be known
What the wish was:—to have, next spring,
A real green linnet—his very own—
Like that one he had late heard sing.
What the wish was:—to have, next spring,
A real green linnet—his very own—
Like that one he had late heard sing.
And as he breathed the cherished dream
To those whose secrecy was sworn,
His face was beautified by the theme,
And wore the radiance of the morn.
To those whose secrecy was sworn,
His face was beautified by the theme,
And wore the radiance of the morn.
THE GAP IN THE WHITE
(178*)
Something had cracked in her mouth as she slept,
Having danced with the Prince long, and sipped his gold tass;
And she woke in alarm, and quick, breathlessly, leapt
Out of bed to the glass.
Having danced with the Prince long, and sipped his gold tass;
And she woke in alarm, and quick, breathlessly, leapt
Out of bed to the glass.
And there, in the blue dawn, her mouth now displayed
To her woe, in the white
Level line of her teeth, a black gap she had made
In a dream's nervous bite.
To her woe, in the white
Level line of her teeth, a black gap she had made
In a dream's nervous bite.
“O how can I meet him to-morrow!” she said.
“I'd won him—yes, yes! Now, alas, he is lost!”
(That age knew no remedy.) Duly her dread
Proved the truth, to her cost.
“I'd won him—yes, yes! Now, alas, he is lost!”
(That age knew no remedy.) Duly her dread
Proved the truth, to her cost.
And if you could go and examine her grave
You'd find the gap there,
But not understand, now that science can save,
Her unbounded despair.
You'd find the gap there,
But not understand, now that science can save,
Her unbounded despair.
878
FAMILY PORTRAITS
Three picture-drawn people stepped out of their frames—
The blast, how it blew!
And the white-shrouded candles flapped smoke-headed flames;
—Three picture-drawn people came down from their frames,
And dumbly in lippings they told me their names,
Full well though I knew.
The blast, how it blew!
And the white-shrouded candles flapped smoke-headed flames;
—Three picture-drawn people came down from their frames,
And dumbly in lippings they told me their names,
Full well though I knew.
The first was a maiden of mild wistful tone,
Gone silent for years,
The next a dark woman in former time known;
But the first one, the maiden of mild wistful tone,
So wondering, unpractised, so vague and alone,
Nigh moved me to tears.
Gone silent for years,
The next a dark woman in former time known;
But the first one, the maiden of mild wistful tone,
So wondering, unpractised, so vague and alone,
Nigh moved me to tears.
The third was a sad man—a man of much gloom;
And before me they passed
In the shade of the night, at the back of the room,
The dark and fair woman, the man of much gloom,
Three persons, in far-off years forceful, but whom
Death now fettered fast.
And before me they passed
In the shade of the night, at the back of the room,
The dark and fair woman, the man of much gloom,
Three persons, in far-off years forceful, but whom
Death now fettered fast.
They set about acting some drama, obscure,
The women and he,
With puppet-like movements of mute strange allure;
Yea, set about acting some drama, obscure,
Till I saw 'twas their own lifetime's tragic amour,
Whose course begot me;
The women and he,
With puppet-like movements of mute strange allure;
Yea, set about acting some drama, obscure,
Till I saw 'twas their own lifetime's tragic amour,
Whose course begot me;
Yea—a mystery, ancestral, long hid from my reach
In the perished years past,
That had mounted to dark doings each against each
In those ancestors' days, and long hid from my reach;
Which their restless enghostings, it seemed, were to teach
Me in full, at this last.
In the perished years past,
That had mounted to dark doings each against each
In those ancestors' days, and long hid from my reach;
Which their restless enghostings, it seemed, were to teach
Me in full, at this last.
But fear fell upon me like frost, of some hurt
If they entered anew
On the orbits they smartly had swept when expert
In the law-lacking passions of life,—of some hurt
To their souls—and thus mine—which I fain would avert
So, in sweat cold as dew,
If they entered anew
On the orbits they smartly had swept when expert
In the law-lacking passions of life,—of some hurt
To their souls—and thus mine—which I fain would avert
So, in sweat cold as dew,
879
“Why wake up all this?” I cried out. “Now, so late!
Let old ghosts be laid!”
And they stiffened, drew back to their frames and numb state,
Gibbering: “Thus are your own ways to shape, know too late!”
Then I grieved that I'd not had the courage to wait
And see the play played.
Let old ghosts be laid!”
And they stiffened, drew back to their frames and numb state,
Gibbering: “Thus are your own ways to shape, know too late!”
Then I grieved that I'd not had the courage to wait
And see the play played.
I have grieved ever since: to have balked future pain,
My blood's tendance foreknown,
Had been triumph. Nights long stretched awake I have lain
Perplexed in endeavours to balk future pain
By uncovering the drift of their drama. In vain,
Though therein lay my own.
My blood's tendance foreknown,
Had been triumph. Nights long stretched awake I have lain
Perplexed in endeavours to balk future pain
By uncovering the drift of their drama. In vain,
Though therein lay my own.
THE CATCHING BALLET OF THE WEDDING CLOTHES
(Temp. Guliel IV.)
“A gentleman's coming
To court me, they say;
The ringers are told,
And the band is to play.
O why should he do it
Now poor Jack's away?
I surely shall rue it:
Come, white witch, and say!”
To court me, they say;
The ringers are told,
And the band is to play.
O why should he do it
Now poor Jack's away?
I surely shall rue it:
Come, white witch, and say!”
“The gentleman's coming
To marry you, dear;
They tell at the turnpikes
That he has been here!
He rode here in secret,
To gain eye of you:—
Throw over the sailor,
Is what I should do!”
To marry you, dear;
They tell at the turnpikes
That he has been here!
He rode here in secret,
To gain eye of you:—
Throw over the sailor,
Is what I should do!”
“I will not throw over
Poor Jack: no, indeed,
For a new unknown lover
Who loves at such speed,
And writes to the ringers,
And orders the band,
As if I could only
Obey his command!
Poor Jack: no, indeed,
For a new unknown lover
Who loves at such speed,
880
And orders the band,
As if I could only
Obey his command!
“La! now here is something
Close packed in a box,
And strapped up and corded,
And held with two locks!”
“Dear, that's from him, surely,
As we may suppose?
Ay, through the chink shining
I spy wedding clothes!”
Close packed in a box,
And strapped up and corded,
And held with two locks!”
“Dear, that's from him, surely,
As we may suppose?
Ay, through the chink shining
I spy wedding clothes!”
“Yes—here's a drawn bonnet,
And tortoiseshell combs,
And a silk gown, silk stockings,
And scents of rare blooms;
And shoes, too, of satin,
Quite past all my pride:
O, how will it end, witch;
I can't be his bride!”
And tortoiseshell combs,
And a silk gown, silk stockings,
And scents of rare blooms;
And shoes, too, of satin,
Quite past all my pride:
O, how will it end, witch;
I can't be his bride!”
“Don't waste you in weeping:
Not worth it is man!
Beshrew me, my deary,
I've shaped a new plan.
Wear the clothes of the rich one,
Since he will not see,
But marry the poor one
You love faithfully.”
Not worth it is man!
Beshrew me, my deary,
I've shaped a new plan.
Wear the clothes of the rich one,
Since he will not see,
But marry the poor one
You love faithfully.”
“Here's a last packet. . . . Never!
It knocks me to bits—
The ring! ‘Just to try on,
To see if it fits.”
O I cannot!” . . . But Jack said,
Quite cool, when he came,
“Well, it will save money,
And be just the same.”
It knocks me to bits—
The ring! ‘Just to try on,
To see if it fits.”
O I cannot!” . . . But Jack said,
Quite cool, when he came,
“Well, it will save money,
And be just the same.”
881
The marriage took place,
Yes; as vowed, she was true
To her dear sailor Jack
Ere the gentleman knew;
But she wore the rich clothing,
Much joyed at such guise,
Yet fearing and trembling
With tears in her eyes.
Yes; as vowed, she was true
To her dear sailor Jack
Ere the gentleman knew;
But she wore the rich clothing,
Much joyed at such guise,
Yet fearing and trembling
With tears in her eyes.
And at midnight, between her
And him she had wed,
The gentleman's figure
Arose up and said:
“My too-cruel darling,
In spite of your oaths,
You have married the man
Of the ring and the clothes!”
And him she had wed,
The gentleman's figure
Arose up and said:
“My too-cruel darling,
In spite of your oaths,
You have married the man
Of the ring and the clothes!”
Thence on, would confront her,
When sleep had grown slack,
His face on the pillow
Between her and Jack;
And he nightly kept whispering:
“You surely must see,
Though your tongue-tip took him, Love,
Your body took me.”
When sleep had grown slack,
His face on the pillow
Between her and Jack;
And he nightly kept whispering:
“You surely must see,
Though your tongue-tip took him, Love,
Your body took me.”
Till she sighed: “Yes, my word,
It must be confessed o' me,
Jack has; but this man
Can claim all the rest o' me!
And off to go with him
Bewitched am I now:
I'd fain not be two men's,
And won't, anyhow!”
It must be confessed o' me,
Jack has; but this man
Can claim all the rest o' me!
And off to go with him
Bewitched am I now:
I'd fain not be two men's,
And won't, anyhow!”
So she pleaded and pleaded
From daybreak till dark,
Converting the parish
(Save parson and clerk).
She then wrote to Jack thus:
“I'm torn with mind-strife:
She who wears a man's bride-clothes
Must be the man's wife!”
From daybreak till dark,
Converting the parish
(Save parson and clerk).
882
“I'm torn with mind-strife:
She who wears a man's bride-clothes
Must be the man's wife!”
And still she kept plaining,
Till Jack he wrote: “Aye!”
And the villagers gathered,
And on a fixed day,
They went out alertly
And stood in a row,
Quite blithe with excitement
To see John's wife go.
Till Jack he wrote: “Aye!”
And the villagers gathered,
And on a fixed day,
They went out alertly
And stood in a row,
Quite blithe with excitement
To see John's wife go.
Some were facing her dwelling,
And some on the bridge,
And some at the corner,
And some by the ridge.
With a nod and a word
The coach stopped at her door,
And she upped like a bird,
And they saw her no more.
And some on the bridge,
And some at the corner,
And some by the ridge.
With a nod and a word
The coach stopped at her door,
And she upped like a bird,
And they saw her no more.
'Twas told that, years after,
When autumn winds wave,
A wealthy old lady
Stood long at Jack's grave,
And while her coach waited:—
She mused there; and then
She stepped in, and never
Came thither again.
When autumn winds wave,
A wealthy old lady
Stood long at Jack's grave,
And while her coach waited:—
She mused there; and then
She stepped in, and never
Came thither again.
1919.
A WINSOME WOMAN
SONG
There's no winsome woman so winsome as she;
Some are flower-like in mouth,
Some have fire in the eyes,
Some feed a soul's drouth
Trilling words music-wise;
But where are these gifts all in one found to be
Save in her known to me?
Some are flower-like in mouth,
Some have fire in the eyes,
Some feed a soul's drouth
Trilling words music-wise;
But where are these gifts all in one found to be
Save in her known to me?
883
What her thoughts are I read not, but this much I know,
That she, too, will pass
From the sun and the air
To her cave under grass;
And the world will declare,
“No such woman as his passioned utterances show
Walked this planet, we trow!”
That she, too, will pass
From the sun and the air
To her cave under grass;
And the world will declare,
“No such woman as his passioned utterances show
Walked this planet, we trow!”
THE BALLAD OF LOVE'S SKELETON
(179*)
“Come, let's to Culliford Hill and Wood,
And watch the squirrels climb,
And look in sunny places there
For shepherds' thyme.”
And watch the squirrels climb,
And look in sunny places there
For shepherds' thyme.”
—“Can I have heart for Culliford Wood,
And hill and bank and tree,
Who know and ponder over all
Things done by me!”
And hill and bank and tree,
Who know and ponder over all
Things done by me!”
—“Then, Dear, don hat, and come along:
We'll strut the Royal strand;
King George has just arrived, his Court,
His guards, and band.”
We'll strut the Royal strand;
King George has just arrived, his Court,
His guards, and band.”
—“You are a Baron of the King's Court
From Hanover lately come,
And can forget in song and dance
What chills me numb.
From Hanover lately come,
And can forget in song and dance
What chills me numb.
“Well be the royal scenes for you,
And band beyond compare,
But how is she who hates her crime
To frolic there?
And band beyond compare,
But how is she who hates her crime
To frolic there?
“O why did you so urge and say
'Twould soil your noble name!—
I should have prized a little child,
And faced the shame.
'Twould soil your noble name!—
I should have prized a little child,
And faced the shame.
884
“I see the child—that should have been,
But was not, born alive;
With such a deed in a woman's life
A year seems five.
But was not, born alive;
With such a deed in a woman's life
A year seems five.
“I asked not for the wifely rank,
Nor maiden honour saved;
To call a nestling thing my own
Was all I craved.
Nor maiden honour saved;
To call a nestling thing my own
Was all I craved.
“For what's the hurt of shame to one
Of no more note than me?
Can littlest life beneath the sun
More littled be?”
Of no more note than me?
Can littlest life beneath the sun
More littled be?”
—“Nay, never grieve. The day is bright,
Just as it was ere then:
In the Assembly Rooms to-night
Let's joy again!
Just as it was ere then:
In the Assembly Rooms to-night
Let's joy again!
“The new Quick-Step is the sweetest dance
For lively toes and heels;
And when we tire of that we'll prance
Bewitching reels.
For lively toes and heels;
And when we tire of that we'll prance
Bewitching reels.
“Dear, never grieve! As once we whirled
So let us whirl to-night,
Forgetting all things save ourselves
Till dawning light.
So let us whirl to-night,
Forgetting all things save ourselves
Till dawning light.
“The King and Queen, Princesses three,
Have promised to meet there
The mayor and townsfolk. I've my card
And One to spare.
Have promised to meet there
The mayor and townsfolk. I've my card
And One to spare.
“The Court will dance at the upper end;
Only a cord between
Them and the burgher-throng below;
A brilliant scene!”
Only a cord between
Them and the burgher-throng below;
A brilliant scene!”
—“I'll go. You've still my heart in thrall:
Save you, all's dark to me.
And God knows what, when love is all,
The end will be!”
Save you, all's dark to me.
And God knows what, when love is all,
The end will be!”
885
A PRIVATE MAN ON PUBLIC MEN
When my contemporaries were drivingTheir coach through Life with strain and striving,
And raking riches into heaps,
And ably pleading in the Courts
With smart rejoinders and retorts,
Or where the Senate nightly keeps
Its vigils, till their fames were fanned
By rumour's tongue throughout the land,
I lived in quiet, screened, unknown,
Pondering upon some stick or stone,
Or news of some rare book or bird
Latterly bought, or seen, or heard,
Not wishing ever to set eyes on
The surging crowd beyond the horizon,
Tasting years of moderate gladness
Mellowed by sundry days of sadness,
Shut from the noise of the world without,
Hearing but dimly its rush and rout,
Unenvying those amid its roar,
Little endowed, not wanting more.
CHRISTMAS IN THE ELGIN ROOM
BRITISH MUSEUM: EARLY LAST CENTURY
“What is the noise that shakes the night,
And seems to soar to the Pole-star height?”
—“Christmas bells,
The watchman tells
Who walks this hall that blears us captives with its blight.”
And seems to soar to the Pole-star height?”
—“Christmas bells,
The watchman tells
Who walks this hall that blears us captives with its blight.”
“And what, then, mean such clangs, so clear?”
“—'Tis said to have been a day of cheer,
And source of grace
To the human race
Long ere their woven sails winged us to exile here.
“—'Tis said to have been a day of cheer,
And source of grace
To the human race
Long ere their woven sails winged us to exile here.
886
“We are those whom Christmas overthrew
Some centuries after Pheidias knew
How to shape us
And bedrape us
And to set us in Athena's temple for men's view.
Some centuries after Pheidias knew
How to shape us
And bedrape us
And to set us in Athena's temple for men's view.
“O it is sad now we are sold—
We gods! for Borean people's gold,
And brought to the gloom
Of this gaunt room
Which sunlight shuns, and sweet Aurore but enters cold.
We gods! for Borean people's gold,
And brought to the gloom
Of this gaunt room
Which sunlight shuns, and sweet Aurore but enters cold.
“For all these bells, would I were still
Radiant as on Athenai's Hill.”
—“And I, and I!”
The others sigh,
“Before this Christ was known, and we had men's good will.”
Radiant as on Athenai's Hill.”
—“And I, and I!”
The others sigh,
“Before this Christ was known, and we had men's good will.”
Thereat old Helios could but nod,
Throbbed, too, the Ilissus River-god,
And the torsos there
Of deities fair,
Whose limbs were shards beneath some Acropolitan clod:
Throbbed, too, the Ilissus River-god,
And the torsos there
Of deities fair,
Whose limbs were shards beneath some Acropolitan clod:
Demeter too, Poseidon hoar,
Persephone, and many more
Of Zeus' high breed,—
All loth to heed
What the bells sang that night which shook them to the core.
Persephone, and many more
Of Zeus' high breed,—
All loth to heed
What the bells sang that night which shook them to the core.
1905 and 1926.
“WE ARE GETTING TO THE END”
We are getting to the end of visioning
The impossible within this universe,
Such as that better whiles may follow worse,
And that our race may mend by reasoning.
The impossible within this universe,
Such as that better whiles may follow worse,
And that our race may mend by reasoning.
887
We know that even as larks in cages sing
Unthoughtful of deliverance from the curse
That holds them lifelong in a latticed hearse,
We ply spasmodically our pleasuring.
Unthoughtful of deliverance from the curse
That holds them lifelong in a latticed hearse,
We ply spasmodically our pleasuring.
And that when nations set them to lay waste
Their neighbours' heritage by foot and horse,
And hack their pleasant plains in festering seams,
They may again,—not warely, or from taste,
But tickled mad by some demonic force.—
Yes. We are getting to the end of dreams!
Their neighbours' heritage by foot and horse,
And hack their pleasant plains in festering seams,
They may again,—not warely, or from taste,
But tickled mad by some demonic force.—
Yes. We are getting to the end of dreams!
HE RESOLVES TO SAY NO MORE
O my soul, keep the rest unknown!
It is too like a sound of moan
When the charnel-eyed
Pale Horse has nighed:
Yea, none shall gather what I hide!
It is too like a sound of moan
When the charnel-eyed
Pale Horse has nighed:
Yea, none shall gather what I hide!
Why load men's minds with more to bear
That bear already ails to spare?
From now alway
Till my last day
What I discern I will not say.
That bear already ails to spare?
From now alway
Till my last day
What I discern I will not say.
Let Time roll backward if it will;
(Magians who drive the midnight quill
With brain aglow
Can see it so,)
What I have learnt no man shall know.
(Magians who drive the midnight quill
With brain aglow
Can see it so,)
What I have learnt no man shall know.
And if my vision range beyond
The blinkered sight of souls in bond,
—By truth made free—
I'll let all be,
And show to no man what I see.
The blinkered sight of souls in bond,
—By truth made free—
I'll let all be,
And show to no man what I see.
| Collected poems of Thomas Hardy | |