Country muse :: :: University of Virginia Library

This peach is pink with such a pink
As suits the peach divinely;
The cunning colour rarely spread
Fades to the yellow finely;
But where to spy the truest pink
Is in my Love's soft cheek, I think.

The snowdrop, child of windy March,
Doth glory in her whiteness;
Her golden neighbours, crocuses,
Unenvious praise her brightness!
But I do know where, out of sight,
My sweetheart keeps a warmer white.

CUPID

Love, I met thee yesterday,
With an empty quiver,
Coming from Clarinda's house
By the reedy river.

And I saw Clarinda stand
Near the pansies, weeping,
With her hands upon her breast
All thine arrows keeping.

When the dewdrops came like stars,
Full of little flashes,
All Clarinda's tears I kissed
From her shining lashes.

A PETITION

Once in the daring days,
Born out of strife,
Gods of my fashioning
Sprang into life—
Gods of high flight that scorn
Death as he plods,
Wonderful, winged and wild,
Glittering gods!
Yet were they weak as reeds,
Bending for this,
Only a woman's eyes,
Only her kiss.

Then did a god in me,
Youngest and fair,
Bind me with luminous
Tangles of hair;
Drave me to roam at night
Under the moon
Till it was winter-time
Even in June!
Then in his treachery,
Traitor and spy!
Snared her away I loved,
Left me to die.

Soon when he deemed that I
Pardoned the smart,
Lo, he, importunate,
Cried at my heart!

Shelter I gave him not,
Nought of my breast
E'en though he fainted there
Bleeding, oppressed.
Then did each god in me
Powerless seem,
And at his altar changed
Into a dream!

What has a man to do?
Toil and grow old,
Breaking his heart to gain
Silver and gold:
Happy to-day with one
Dearest and wife;
Ruined by lives that spring
Out of his life!

Wrinkles and heavy eyes,
Vanishing grace—
Rags on the girl he loved,
Want on her face!

But if his shallop speed
Safe on the sea,
Laden with spice and pearls,
Laughter and glee,
Fortune but blesses him
When he is grey,
When the love-light is faint,
Stealing away;
So that his quiet years,
Passed in his chair,
Lack the fine fire to kiss
Love's loosened hair!

Gods, shall I yearn to stay
Stoop and grow sad,
Poor, since no riches buy
Aught that I had?
Never again to speed
Over the lawn,
Over the hills to catch
Sparkles of dawn!
Never again to wait
Down by the brook,
Wait for her coming feet,
Long for her look!

Gods that have fashioned me,
Take me again,
Take me, forgiving me
Error and stain;

Spare them that love me yet,
Find them a face—
Find them a heart and life
Dear in my place;
And when the swallows' wings
Whispering sweep
Leave me a little while
Dreaming asleep!

There for my covering
Grant me, I crave,
Armies of rapid weeds
Storming my grave!
Regiments with grassy spears
Marching along
Chanting for me alone
Snatches of song!

And let the friends who come
Seeking me start
Birds from my resting feet,
Birds from my heart.

Here in the dewy moss,
Here lay me down,
Far from the smoke and dust,
Far from the town;
Out of the breaking hearts,
Terrors and tears;
Out of the selfishness,
Folly and fears;
Far from the bitter wrong
Waiting for right;
Into the cold and dark
Looking for light!

SONG

[Wait but a little while—]

Wait but a little while—
The bird will bring
A heart in tune for melodies
Unto the spring,
Till he who's in the cedar there
Is moved to trill a song so rare,
And pipe her fair.

Wait but a little while—
The bud will break;
The inner rose will ope and glow
For summer's sake;
Fond bees will lodge within her breast
Till she herself is plucked and prest
Where I would rest.

Wait but a little while—
The maid will grow
Gracious with lips and hands to thee,
With breast of snow.
To-day Love's mute, but time hath sown
A soul in her to match thine own,
Though yet ungrown.

A SIN

I met a woman in the street
The angry wind seemed blowing through:
I halted, for the way she trod
Reminded me of you.

She turned and spake in tones that matched
Her soft, tear-clouded eyes of blue:
I gave her bread because her voice
Reminded me of you.

But as I went upon my road
The sin flashed full upon my view—
In that I only gave to God
In memory of you!

A GREAT MASTER

Here in the valley
Lyric with love,
Singing to slumber
Redpoll and dove,
Who's the musician
Hid in the fruit,
Lulling each velvety
Vocalist mute?

Milkmaid and shepherd
List in the hush,
List to the fairyland
Flute of the thrush!

Hark to his quavers,
Hark to his breves,
Shaking the cherries,
Thrilling the leaves!

Mellowly pouring
Out of the tree
Starlit impromptus,
Laura, for thee;
Golden allegros
Flow from his heart,
Throstle Beethoven,
Spohr or Mozart!

A PASTORAL

The last cow's milked, and Mary's free
To cool her face so warm;
She pats old Ginger tenderly
And lends her comely arm
To hoist the pail
Across the rail,
And foots it homeward to the farm.

The bodice of her dairy-dress
Is full of milk-white loveliness,
And in her cheek there vies
The wild rose with the snowdrop small
That makes a deeper blue of all
The violets in her eyes!

With fearful hope and happy fear
She listens for Jock's tread,
And when his whistle proves him near
She does not turn her head
Because her face
May show the trace
Of love too great till she is wed!

The bodice of her dairy dress
Goes up and down in dear distress,
And in her conscious cheek
The snowdrop changes to a rose,
And in her eyes each violet shows
The love it cannot speak!

A SONG

[I will not say my true love's eyes]

I will not say my true love's eyes
Outshine the noblest star;
But in their depth of lustre lies
My peace, my truce, my war.

I will not say upon her neck
Is white to shame the snow;
For if her bosom hath a speck
I would not have it go.

My love is as a woman sweet,
And as a woman white;
Who's more than this is more than meet
For me and my delight.

RENUNCIATIONS

Dan Cupid, get thee gone!
I will no more endure thee—
Thy wailings and thy fun,
Thy promisings to cure me!
So shy and shrewd,
So pure and lewd,
So full of shade and sun,
I can no more endure thee—
Dan Cupid, get thee gone!

O woman, get thee gone!
No more shalt thou undo me—
Of whims and vapours spun,
Thou shalt not come unto me!

Both dry and dew,
Both false and true,
Budge, wench, and run, run, run!
No more shalt thou undo me—
O woman, get thee gone!

HOLY GROUND

Shy maids have haunts of still delight,
The lover glades he never tells;
And one is mine where mass the bright
And odoured chimes of foxglove-bells.

A dewy, covert, silent place
Where surely long ago God walked
Close to His creature's blinded face,
And for his finer moulding talked.

There hawthorn glows as if, white-hot,
God present, it were sacred found
To preach a creed too oft forgot—
That all we tread is holy ground.

Ah, could we but remember this,
Our thoughts would spring as purely up
To labour for our fellows' bliss
As doth to heaven a snowdrop's cup!

A SHEPHERD'S SONG

Come, sweetheart, do not cry!
Our love was born to die;
For Love's a nimble fellow
Who rarely stays to mellow.
Some lusty shepherd swain
Will pinch your cheek again
When these fresh tears are dry—
Come, sweetheart, do not cry!

Why, Delia, do not pout!
A flame must e'en go out,
And honest lads would falter
To pledge the fool won't alter!

Let's be as friend to friend,
Kiss once, and homeward wend
With hearts both wise and stout—
Why, Delia, do not pout!

A SONG

[I need some music for my brain]

I need some music for my brain
As pansies need the dew;
Sing that heart-breaking song again,
And let my play for you.

Of old a sigh betrayed your breast,
The courier of your pain;
And just one tear-drop, unrepressed,
Came, shone, and fled again.

You loved me then. And when you ask
If I can play it yet,
I sit and sound the tender task
I never may forget.

And if you falter at the part
Where long ago you sighed,
Remember we are heart to heart
Serenely satisfied.

IN SPRING

April's sweet upon the hill,
Streamlets, full with rainy fee,
Flow in silvery adventure
Out to sea.

Cherry is the hedge's bride,
Marriages are made by sun;
Here's a downy habitation
Just begun!

Love, when thou hast come to seek
In my sweetheart's side for rest,
Wake for me a Spring as fragrant
In her breast!

COURAGE

When you kneel to-night, and pray
God to keep the house you love,
Think of me so far away,
Think of me, my dear and dove.

For to-night, when I shall call
Blessings on the house I love,
I shall ask for joy to fall
On your heart, my dear and dove.

Let us trust a Father's care,
Looking to a Father's love;
He will only bid us bear
What we can, my dear and dove.

A LOVE SONG

Some may praise thy wondrous tresses
With a poet's golden speech;
Some may muse within their meshes
On thy cheek, so soft's the peach;
Some may sing that stars above thee
Wait for thee to light their skies;
I can only say—I love thee,
With my lips and with mine eyes.

Some may call thee true and tender
In an ode upon thy face;
Or may hymn thy bosom's splendour,
Snow beneath its snowy lace!

Some may sing that saints above thee
Are less pure in Paradise;
I can only say—I love thee,
With my lips and with mine eyes.

WERE I A BIRD

Were I a bird, I would not pipe
Save when my love was near the tree,
That I might watch her lips so ripe
Half-open in delight at me.

And I would sing a song divine,
Would make her clasp her heart in pain,
Yet never tire, and always pine
To hear me carol it again.

A song so full of tears and ache,
Of such fair sadness and unrest,
That she her homeward path should take,
And yearn to lodge me in her breast.

Were I a bird, I would not sing
Save when my love was near the tree,
That I might watch my music bring
Her maiden blood in praise of me.

A SONG

[The shyest blooms are best. The hidden bird]

The shyest blooms are best. The hidden bird
Can make a midnight melody of wrong;
And sweetest far the Love that is not heard
Before a kindred soul demands its song.
How luring she that's simple-souled and staid!
And love is ever rarest half-afraid.

The maytree has its white, the rose its red,
The brook gold lilies, and the pool its rush;
The graveyard has its unforgotten dead,
And life has beauty waking to a blush.
But Love has tenderness and all sweet things,
And throbs alike for cotters and for kings!

NASEBY EVE

Here's to men who pluck a blade,
Whirling it for Charlie!
Here's to ev'ry willing maid
Blushing in the barley!
Pest befall the trooper knave
Cheats her of a crown, Sirs,
Chant him as a miser slave—
Let us sing him down, Sirs!

Then let each morion be a cup,
And drink, my night-hawks, drink
Till Noll shall prick his dog's ears up
To listen to the clink!

Troll a stave for Mistress Plump
Carving at the pullets,
While our cans the board bethump
In the praise of bullets!
Brown October gaily hums
In our ringing sconces
As we give the hymn that comes
Cavalier responses!

Then let each trooper of you all
Drench beards again and drink,
Till ev'ry Barebones, great and small,
Can catch the ditty's clink!

Death to Reuben Snufflenose—
Scores of canting thinkers
Soon to taste the burly blows
Rained by lusty drinkers!

Here's to trumpet, sword, and glove,
Wenches' lips at pleasure,
While the varlet Roundheads prove
Souls the only treasure!

Then let our morions be the cups,
And shout, my night-hawks, shout
Till from his tent where Satan sups,
Noll push his brewer's snout!

A PATIENT

He watches her the livelong day,
A household spirit, star and stay;
He bends upon her till he dies
The still devotion of his eyes.

O God, who took from him we see
The talent of activity,
To him mysteriously bereft
How much in charity was left!

A woman bent beneath the load,
And sang along the sacred road;
Faith showed a still unshaken spire,
Love lit the cot with tenfold fire!

REQUIESCAM

The churchyard yews may murmur on
Monotonous o'er me,
But that incessant dirge which sounds
So very wearily
May to the thistled grass make moan—
I shall not hear beneath my stone.

Friends' faces shine not now again,
And I have breathed my last;
The pulse of love, the grip of scorn,
The ache, the stir are past:
Life was my only deep distress—
Sleep is my crown of happiness.

103

Of all I lose the loss is most
Of hearing birds no more;
Of no more hearing rebel waves
Insurgent on the shore;
The hedges, harvests, all are gone—
My little dream of daylight's done.

104

A MAID'S HOLIDAY

The deep and silent undergrowth
Shall be my home this summer day;
The idle bird and breeze shall both
Entrance me with their lay:
How cool to lie where shadows toss
In revelry upon the turf,
And press my fingers in the moss,
And be no more a serf!

No more a slave to pen and ink;
No more a slave to aching dread;
Released from cages where I think
To win my daily bread.

105

O little blade of grass so soft,
My heart is glad to find you here—
To find your slender lance aloft,
With all your comrades near!

Is then your regiment, bright, alert,
In marching order, cooled by dew,
Camped here to watch that none may hurt
The speedwell's speck of blue?
Or do you guard the foxglove bloom
That rings a chime it never tells,
Round which the bees in concert boom
And rumble in its bells?

'Tis sweet indeed to lie and watch
Faint figures in the open glades;
To see the pressing sweethearts snatch
A tribute from the maids!

106

To hear the clink of milking-pails;
The brisk and angry crack of whips
That startle Colin by the rails
From touching Cicely's lips!

But best of all, with eyes devout,
To gaze in silence at the sky,
And wonder if the dead look out
Upon me as I lie:
Across my patch of firmament
So many angels seem to rove—
So many friends who died and went,
Tho' not beyond my love!

I will not wrong their happiness,
Nor lust to bring them back again,
For God will give fresh joy to ease
The iron of my pain:

107

He sends me lilacs, pansies, pinks,
This deep and silent undergrowth,
And sometimes, when my spirit sinks,
The peace of utter sloth.

108

THE HAPPY DEAD

Some lie in their spices and linen unshrunken,
Their weariness, wonder, and waiting are past;
They feel not the cold and their cheeks are scarce sunken,
They dream of a light that may wake them at last;
But though it should shine not, these figures repine not,
They sleep in their peace with the world overhead;
And who shall disturb them, or who shall perturb them?
Yea, they are the happy ones, they who are dead.

I turn me away from the noise of the street filled
With footfalls of merchants and faces of thieves;
My treasure-house stands in the gold of the wheat-field,

109

My books are the bushes with millions of leaves.
The poppy stares up in my face as she bears up
Her sleep-giving cup of imperial red,
But Death could enchant me far more would he plant me
Too deep down for poppies, dead dust with the dead.

The nuts slip their leashes and couch in the mosses,
The over-ripe berry falls into the pond;
The butterfly's floating magnificence crosses
Our lawn for a moment, then flutters beyond:
And likewise we flutter a moment, and utter
The laugh and the moan that together are wed;
But tho' we must weep well, God give we may sleep well
Deep down in the silences next to the dead.

110

Come, Merciful Sleep, where the balmy wind passes
Not far from the slopes where anemones grow;
Perchance I shall learn the soft secret of grasses,
And hear when the world's heart begins to beat slow.
But set up no token, and leave me unspoken—
My name and my virtues and aught I have said;
The few who have kissed me, and she who has missed me,
Need nothing to guide them to where I am dead.

If bird-dreams and shade-dreams be all unavailing,
Grant slumber in one of the many green graves;
Give peace in sea-gardens spread under ships sailing
Far, far from the shoreward quick tramp of the waves:
Cold comrades to sleep with, but never to weep with,
Stark brides that come down to us sinking as lead:
And well if Time hold us where Ocean has rolled us,
Unmeshed by the drag-net that draws in the dead!

111

THE KISS

Beneath his eyes a fringe of lace
Upon her bosom strangely stirs,
For she had seen herself in his,
And knew he saw himself in hers.

So, like a new-born star that fears
Its own magnificence of light,
Those dark blue glories of her face
Seemed clouded over by the night.

Yet in that glance she found her place
Was by his side—her all in all—
As clearly as Belshazzar saw
The hand that wrote upon the wall.

112

And wisdom lit her leaping heart
More swiftly than the swallows skim;
Whereas the King dropped down his cup
To call interpreters to him.

And soft as mother's earliest word
Unto her babe a moment old,
His kiss, with Midas-touch, at last
Came down and turned her life to gold.

113

THE REASON

That I, all loveless, sing of love
Is passing strange:
What can I know except that love
Knows how to change?
O Fortunate, if it be true
Love bends his roseleaf cheek to you!

That he should make divine her eyes
Was nought, Love felt;
He snowed on woman's heart a snow
That could not melt,
Although the slopes whereon it lay
Were warm as rainless April day,

114

Love lent me angel eyes a while,
And O! a breast
Of stainless snow's fresh-fallen hue
For dreamy rest!
Wherefore, unkissed, my lips still move
With songs to praise the Ghost of Love.

115

A SONG

[Love, with a crocus in his cap]

Love, with a crocus in his cap,
Came past the streams and springs,
His quiver full of faithlessness
And sweet imaginings,
In snowdrop time
And primrose prime.

Love, with a rosebud in his cap,
Came o'er my meadowlands;
His gold-tipped bow he bent at me
With only idle hands
In tulip time
And pansy prime.

116

Love, with a dead leaf in his cap,
Outspread his velvet wings,
Nor gathered he the arrows shot
From off the silver strings.
Ah, tearful prime
Of winter-time!

117

A SONG

[Maid of the yet unconquered heart]

Maid of the yet unconquered heart,
My siege to thee alone is set;
Love hath no secret shaft or dart,
No web of smiles, no cunning net,
But I will storm his arsenal
To make thy virgin fortress fall.

Maid of inviolate snow, beware!
With trench and mine and ev'ry test
To lull the foe, or speak her fair,
I march to my desire of rest:
Nor shall the clang of war's alarms
Hush till I find me in thine arms!

122

HOPE

The flush that gathers in thy cheeks
Sweeps down thy neck in scarlet wealth,
And in a realm of tenderness
Shakes roses on the snow by stealth.

Because I say, ‘'Twere sweet enough
To suffer Fortune's sharpest test
So there were refuge for my head
Among the lilies of thy breast.’

For this the sword of Damocles
Its point above my head might swing,
And I would joy as lovers do
Who walk and whisper in the Spring.

123

Hate has no goblin at his beck
Whose scheming brain could ever cope
Against man's finest heritage—
The immortality of hope.

And all my share in this shall cling
Round thee, pure angel of my dream;
That when thy mating moment's here,
When Loves surprise thee by the stream,

Filling thine eyes with softer light—
Painting thy lips a deeper hue,—
My absence shall be poisoned thorns,
My presence, bloom and fruit and dew!

124

AN EPITAPH

He sang a simple forest song;
To him the day was never long
Amid the blooms and feathered throng
He loved with all his heart:
He took the hand he knew was pure;
He preached the faith he felt was sure;
God taught him how he should endure
And gird him to depart.

125

A ROSEBUD

Love's a little rosebud,
Speak not of the thorn!
Only watch the rosebud
Open in the morn.
Maiden, on the milk-white
Beauty of thy breast
Give the little rosebud Rest.

126

VERSES

You will not kiss me, O my love, my love!
You will not kiss me, but you cannot spare
My lips for others, nor in comfort list
If haply they should laud strange eyes and hair.

The violets and roses of my choice
Must in your garden grow, or you are sad;
And if I cease to smile, come shining tears
To buy fresh smiles, whereat your heart grows glad.

Thus in austere simplicity our lives
Are sunshine, sunshine, sunshine without heat;
And it is witness to your nameless charm
That I must starve in patience at your feet.

133

SONG

[We walk together, you and I]

We walk together, you and I,
And dream the world is ours to-day;
So bright the sun, so blue the sky,
And then the clouds—so far away!
So present is our paradise
That both our hearts it scantly grieves
To know that Death beyond the hedge
Is leering through the leaves.

Love, when I stoop to kiss your hand,
Across your face warm blushes pass
Like shadows floating o'er the land,
Elusive islands on the grass:

134

And when my lips essay your own,
And all your breast insurgent heaves,
Wide eyes of Death may stare in vain
When looking through the leaves.

The corn on yonder yellow hill
Has that ripe colour of your hair;
To-morrow men will whistle shrill,
And neither corn nor poppy spare.
To-day, at least, the field shall glow;
To-day, at least, our fate reprieves;
So love me, dearest, spite of Death,
Who leers between the leaves!

135

[Who will may take Love's pipe from out my fingers]

Who will may take Love's pipe from out my fingers,
Who will may sing the songs I used to sing;
No more where dying daylight shyly lingers
Will I, made musical, salute the Spring.

No more my sheep shall crop the grass around me,
Browsing the rings where Queen Titania trips;
No more I shame the leaves and birds that found me
Once as a shepherd praise Clarinda's lips.

O woodland nymph, whose amber-coloured tresses
Held me so long where love-lyres woo and ache,
Now I desert the soul of thy caresses,
Struggling, all dazed, from thine enchanted brake!

139

Lie still, lost Love! Young blood will come to woo thee,
Blood that shall leap to find thee flushed and fair;
Heroes of fire, young kings of verse, shall sue thee,
Nest on thy heart that shines beyond compare!

But from my pipe hath poured its first love's splendour,
Now will I dare the steep that bounds the plain;
Teaching my soul its duty, stern and tender,
Singing the truth that only comes through pain.

141

APPENDIX

142

[_]

It was the author's intention to omit some verses from this new issue of ‘A Country Muse,’ but it was pointed out to him that the present book could hardly pretend to be a second edition if it did not contain all that was in the first. Consequently the poems he would prefer to leave out are printed in this Appendix.

143

A SONG

[I kissed thee once.]

I kissed thee once.
No deep distress,
No bitterness
Of piercing word or silent bird
Can cloud with strife
This joy of life—
I kissed thee once.

I kissed thee once.
When wings apace
Towards thy face
The robber bee to plunder thee,
Not first he sips
Thy honeyed lips—
I kissed thee once!

144

TO A MAID SLEEPING ON THE LAWN

Gold and roses,
Roses, gold!
Not a thorn to
Prick the bold!
She reposes,
As of old,
Gold and roses,
Roses, gold.

Love and kisses,
Kisses, love!
Whiter-breasted
Than a dove!

145

When she misses
This her glove,
Love and kisses,
Kisses, love,

Sweet and lily,
Lily, sweet,
I will throw me
At her feet
In this stilly
Rose retreat,
Sweet and lily,
Lily, sweet!