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1
I. PART I
FROM THE VOLUME OF 1882
2
A cold-blooded, laggard, worrying hunt after rhymes
which can be made serviceable. . . .’
O. W. Holmes: ‘Over the Teacups.’
3
WHITE LIES
Could I be young as I once was young—
Young, body and heart, again:
Could you but be fair as you once were fair
(But wishing, ah me! is vain);
There were happiness now that we missed somehow
In days that ended in pain.
Young, body and heart, again:
Could you but be fair as you once were fair
(But wishing, ah me! is vain);
There were happiness now that we missed somehow
In days that ended in pain.
Could I but love as once I loved
In old old days that are sped:
Could you but be true as I thought you true
Ere trust in my heart was dead;
There were still to know, in place of woe,
Ah me, what a joy instead!
In old old days that are sped:
Could you but be true as I thought you true
Ere trust in my heart was dead;
There were still to know, in place of woe,
Ah me, what a joy instead!
But I may not love as I loved in youth,
Nor trust as I trusted then;
Nor beauty is yours, nor the little of truth
That you brought to the sons of men:
There is nothing to mend, and here must end
My song—but I loved you then!
Nor trust as I trusted then;
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That you brought to the sons of men:
There is nothing to mend, and here must end
My song—but I loved you then!
5
READER TO NOVELIST
I hold it not the wisest plan
To make your hero out a man
For ever in the right,
And so alarmingly endowed
With virtue that an average cloud
(Or, if you better like it, spout)
Of envy, defamation, spite
Can scarce obscure, and can't put out,
His flickering candle-light.
Your novel-writer, not content
With average stature, 5 feet 9,
And morals such as have to serve
Mere men of God's design,
Seeks grand, chryselephantine, men
Whose strength is as the strength of ten,
Of beauty half divine.
To make your hero out a man
For ever in the right,
And so alarmingly endowed
With virtue that an average cloud
(Or, if you better like it, spout)
Of envy, defamation, spite
Can scarce obscure, and can't put out,
His flickering candle-light.
Your novel-writer, not content
With average stature, 5 feet 9,
And morals such as have to serve
Mere men of God's design,
Seeks grand, chryselephantine, men
Whose strength is as the strength of ten,
Of beauty half divine.
6
Dear novelist, unto me list;
I'd sooner death than with a breath
Of mine
Malign
This paragon of excellence
This ‘moral porcupine.’
But think how short is actual life,
Docked by old Time's pruning-knife,
How long your last romance is!
And think how brief would be your course
Had you the brilliant chances
You give your hero every day
To fall before resistless force,
Or slighted love, or dull remorse,
Or suicidal fancies.
I'd sooner death than with a breath
Of mine
Malign
This paragon of excellence
This ‘moral porcupine.’
But think how short is actual life,
Docked by old Time's pruning-knife,
How long your last romance is!
And think how brief would be your course
Had you the brilliant chances
You give your hero every day
To fall before resistless force,
Or slighted love, or dull remorse,
Or suicidal fancies.
The modern novel, I submit,
There's very much too much of it.
And all, I think, because
You give your hero such physique,
He's tougher than the toughest Greek,
(You couldn't kill him in a week!)
He scoffs at Nature's laws.
And then again, so fair a vein
His whole existence hallows,
It were insane to rack one's brain
In hope to lure this creature pure
Beyond his moral shallows,
Or catch him in one little sin,
Precursor of the gallows.
There's very much too much of it.
And all, I think, because
You give your hero such physique,
He's tougher than the toughest Greek,
(You couldn't kill him in a week!)
He scoffs at Nature's laws.
And then again, so fair a vein
His whole existence hallows,
It were insane to rack one's brain
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Beyond his moral shallows,
Or catch him in one little sin,
Precursor of the gallows.
For human nature's daily food
He's much too strong and much too good.
He's much too strong and much too good.
THE ANSWER
Suppose, dear Reader, I should choose,
By old tradition undeterred,
Some hero from the common herd
And ask the public to peruse
By old tradition undeterred,
Some hero from the common herd
And ask the public to peruse
The story of a life that moved
For ever in a midway track,
With little record at the back
Of Vice detected, Virtue proved
For ever in a midway track,
With little record at the back
Of Vice detected, Virtue proved
(As may be thine), were it a thing
To marvel at if in an hour,
Lulled by its soporific power,
I found thee, reader, slumbering?
To marvel at if in an hour,
Lulled by its soporific power,
I found thee, reader, slumbering?
8
CAMBRIDGE ROWING, 1874-8
It's vastly engaging
When a snowstorm is raging,
And a hurricane shrieks
Thro' shadowy breeks,
To loaf by the river
And grumble and shiver
Until the boat-captain,
His ‘ulster’ well wrapt in,
Appears on the scene.
When a snowstorm is raging,
And a hurricane shrieks
Thro' shadowy breeks,
To loaf by the river
And grumble and shiver
Until the boat-captain,
His ‘ulster’ well wrapt in,
Appears on the scene.
And when we are ready,
The ‘ship’ isn't steady,
The water is ‘heady,’
The ‘work’ is oppressive,
The captain aggressive,
And swearing like mad
By everything bad—
Eternally slanging
The writer for ‘hanging,’
For ‘sugaring,’ ‘cocking,’
Or ‘knifing,’ or ‘rocking’—
And when a boat-captain,
His dignity wrapt in,
Develops his views
Bad language ensues.
The ‘ship’ isn't steady,
The water is ‘heady,’
The ‘work’ is oppressive,
The captain aggressive,
And swearing like mad
By everything bad—
Eternally slanging
The writer for ‘hanging,’
For ‘sugaring,’ ‘cocking,’
Or ‘knifing,’ or ‘rocking’—
9
His dignity wrapt in,
Develops his views
Bad language ensues.
I'll endeavour to paint,
In portraiture faint,
The pleasures of rowing;
Commencing by showing
The style of oration
The youth of this nation
Requires to inflame
His yearning for Fame,
And will offer it thee
In paraphrase free,
Replacing by dashes
Such language as clashes
With prevalent notion
Of verbal emotion.
In portraiture faint,
The pleasures of rowing;
Commencing by showing
The style of oration
The youth of this nation
Requires to inflame
His yearning for Fame,
And will offer it thee
In paraphrase free,
Replacing by dashes
Such language as clashes
With prevalent notion
Of verbal emotion.
(CAPTAIN'S ADDRESS FROM THE TOWING-PATH.)
Get her ready!
Forward! Row!
Keep her steady!
Let her go!
Now she's strolling!
Sit ùp! Bow!
You are ròlling
Like a cow!
Now then, D—N it!
Blazes, Two!
Trỳ to lamn it
On, man, do!
Feel your strètchers!
Curse you, Three!
(Can't you, splash it
Over me?)
Swing togèther
Every oar!
Off the feàther
Sooner, Four!
Keep your bàcks up!
Look alìve!
Where d'you hope to
Go to, Five?
(Go to Heaven?
Go to H—ll!)
Six, you're cocking!
Seven, you're làte!
Shocking, shocking,
Ghastly Eight!
Keep it gòing!
Nèver saw
D-mnder rowing!
E-A-S-Y all.
Forward! Row!
Keep her steady!
Let her go!
Now she's strolling!
Sit ùp! Bow!
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Like a cow!
Now then, D—N it!
Blazes, Two!
Trỳ to lamn it
On, man, do!
Feel your strètchers!
Curse you, Three!
(Can't you, splash it
Over me?)
Swing togèther
Every oar!
Off the feàther
Sooner, Four!
Keep your bàcks up!
Look alìve!
Where d'you hope to
Go to, Five?
(Go to Heaven?
Go to H—ll!)
Six, you're cocking!
Seven, you're làte!
Shocking, shocking,
Ghastly Eight!
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Nèver saw
D-mnder rowing!
E-A-S-Y all.
Why should I continue?
'Tis surely not in you
To list any longer
To language no stronger
Than dash it, or d—n it,
And yet if I cram it
With oaths better suited
To please the polluted
I fear some ill fame
May attach to my name;
For I often aspire
In poetry higher,
And care not to venture
Incurring the censure
Of scandalised readers
In eloquent ‘leaders,’
For I shrewdly suspect
They would rise and reject
And spurn and resent all,
With anger prodigious,
My songs sentimental,
My epics religious.
'Tis surely not in you
To list any longer
To language no stronger
Than dash it, or d—n it,
And yet if I cram it
With oaths better suited
To please the polluted
I fear some ill fame
May attach to my name;
For I often aspire
In poetry higher,
And care not to venture
Incurring the censure
Of scandalised readers
In eloquent ‘leaders,’
For I shrewdly suspect
They would rise and reject
And spurn and resent all,
With anger prodigious,
My songs sentimental,
My epics religious.
12
AN EXHORTATION
‘The spectacle of an entire nation grovelling in
contentment is an exasperating thing.’—Mark Twain.
So many battles still unfought,
So many eager to be taught,
So many preachers prone to preach,
That mere plenitude of thought
Strikes poverty on speech?
Or tell me, fellow Interchangers,
Must we henceforth meet as strangers?
See with mutual resentment
Nothing mutual in our views?
Do you ‘grovel in contentment’?
Is there nothing to make better?
Is there nothing to abuse?
Is not the army ‘standing’?
Is not monarchy a sham?
Is not Beaconsfield in office?
Do not tin tacks in the jam
Arouse your indignation?
Nor the nauseating dram-
Drinking habits of the country
(Making bumpkins into brutes)?
Nor the age of Mrs. Grundy?
Nor the price of shoddy suits?
Does not a cry of ‘Woman's Rights’
Arouse a righteous ire
To rectify her wicked wrongs,
And wickeder attire?
While sermons may be preached that sticks
Have hammered out of stones,
Are ‘cruelty to animals,’
And pictures by Burne Jones,
And ‘universal suffrage’
(Including man and beast),
Iniquities in needlework,
And ‘horrors in the East’
Themes that can move no flexile quill
To quiver in the least?
While vice is rampant through the land,
And china lovers swear
That real old ‘Chelsea’ can't be had,
Nor true blue crockery ware,
That ‘Dresden's’ unreliable,
And ‘Wedgwood’ even rare,
Should any hand be idle
That might propel a quill?
Should any pulse be placid?
Should any tongue be still?
Till decency and order reign
Where drunkenness has been,
Till curious old mezzotints
On Morris-papered walls are seen
(Replacing noxious German prints
And poisoned arsenic green),
Till that far-distant, longed-for day
When savages shall think
That Christian creed, and Christian oaths,
And Christian stores of left-off clothes,
And Christian measles, Christian drink,
Are better than their heathen oaths,
Their meagre scantity of clothes,
Their unfermented drink.
Until, in short, some longed-for day
When, happy in success,
We've taught all men to clothe themselves,
And taught ourselves to dress.
Till all the nations feel as we
On English soil to-day
That 'tis ‘sinful’ to be worsted
In a ‘great and wicked’ fray:
But to spend a little money,
And waste a lot of life,
Is a ‘Noble undertaking’
In a small unrighteous strife.
Till Mr. Gaze, and Mr. Cook,
Have cleared the space betwixt us,
And every hungry soul may look
On the Madonna of ‘San Sixtus’
Until on all her eyes have dwelt
So loving, sweet, so sad-serene,
And each, assisted by their light,
His heart just once has seen
And felt—far better than before
Yet very very mean.—
Till Love is re-established
In Mrs. Grundy's rules,
Till bloodshed is abolished
And ‘young ladies’ boarding-schools,’
Till all who pine in woful want
May roll in wilful waste,
Till every one is very good
And everything in ‘taste.’—
Should any hand be idle
That might propel a quill?
Should any pulse be placid?
Should any tongue be still?
So many eager to be taught,
So many preachers prone to preach,
That mere plenitude of thought
Strikes poverty on speech?
Or tell me, fellow Interchangers,
Must we henceforth meet as strangers?
See with mutual resentment
Nothing mutual in our views?
Do you ‘grovel in contentment’?
Is there nothing to make better?
Is there nothing to abuse?
Is not the army ‘standing’?
Is not monarchy a sham?
Is not Beaconsfield in office?
Do not tin tacks in the jam
13
Nor the nauseating dram-
Drinking habits of the country
(Making bumpkins into brutes)?
Nor the age of Mrs. Grundy?
Nor the price of shoddy suits?
Does not a cry of ‘Woman's Rights’
Arouse a righteous ire
To rectify her wicked wrongs,
And wickeder attire?
While sermons may be preached that sticks
Have hammered out of stones,
Are ‘cruelty to animals,’
And pictures by Burne Jones,
And ‘universal suffrage’
(Including man and beast),
Iniquities in needlework,
And ‘horrors in the East’
Themes that can move no flexile quill
To quiver in the least?
While vice is rampant through the land,
And china lovers swear
That real old ‘Chelsea’ can't be had,
Nor true blue crockery ware,
That ‘Dresden's’ unreliable,
And ‘Wedgwood’ even rare,
14
That might propel a quill?
Should any pulse be placid?
Should any tongue be still?
Till decency and order reign
Where drunkenness has been,
Till curious old mezzotints
On Morris-papered walls are seen
(Replacing noxious German prints
And poisoned arsenic green),
Till that far-distant, longed-for day
When savages shall think
That Christian creed, and Christian oaths,
And Christian stores of left-off clothes,
And Christian measles, Christian drink,
Are better than their heathen oaths,
Their meagre scantity of clothes,
Their unfermented drink.
Until, in short, some longed-for day
When, happy in success,
We've taught all men to clothe themselves,
And taught ourselves to dress.
Till all the nations feel as we
On English soil to-day
That 'tis ‘sinful’ to be worsted
In a ‘great and wicked’ fray:
15
And waste a lot of life,
Is a ‘Noble undertaking’
In a small unrighteous strife.
Till Mr. Gaze, and Mr. Cook,
Have cleared the space betwixt us,
And every hungry soul may look
On the Madonna of ‘San Sixtus’
Until on all her eyes have dwelt
So loving, sweet, so sad-serene,
And each, assisted by their light,
His heart just once has seen
And felt—far better than before
Yet very very mean.—
Till Love is re-established
In Mrs. Grundy's rules,
Till bloodshed is abolished
And ‘young ladies’ boarding-schools,’
Till all who pine in woful want
May roll in wilful waste,
Till every one is very good
And everything in ‘taste.’—
Should any hand be idle
That might propel a quill?
Should any pulse be placid?
Should any tongue be still?
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NOW AND THEN
Once there was no heaven
Other than I knew
In the limitless world beyond
The fathomless blue
Of eyes that were wistful and wondrous
And loving and true.
Other than I knew
In the limitless world beyond
The fathomless blue
Of eyes that were wistful and wondrous
And loving and true.
Was the flame too fierce to be lasting?
The setting too rich for the jewel?
Was it pleasant forecasting the glances
Of eyes too kind to be cruel?
Was the setting too rich for the jewel—
(Thy face too fair in the view)?
Was it pleasant, beloved, blasting
A hope that was new
With words—a low murmur of music
On lips too sweet to be true?
The tale is the tale oft told:
Poor theme for a man to bemoan!
The eyes are the ‘wondrous’ eyes of old,
The ‘loving’ heart a heart as cold—
The self-same stone:
And the lips that have lied
Are the lips that sighed
In low sweet undertone.
The setting too rich for the jewel?
Was it pleasant forecasting the glances
Of eyes too kind to be cruel?
Was the setting too rich for the jewel—
(Thy face too fair in the view)?
Was it pleasant, beloved, blasting
A hope that was new
With words—a low murmur of music
On lips too sweet to be true?
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Poor theme for a man to bemoan!
The eyes are the ‘wondrous’ eyes of old,
The ‘loving’ heart a heart as cold—
The self-same stone:
And the lips that have lied
Are the lips that sighed
In low sweet undertone.
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SPRING-TIME
Where chestnuts overhang the stream
Our boat shall lie; here may we dream
An hour away, and Care may wait.
Ah! sweet—
Ah! sweet
Thus for one hour to deviate
From the rude pathway marked by Fate.
Our boat shall lie; here may we dream
An hour away, and Care may wait.
Ah! sweet—
Ah! sweet
Thus for one hour to deviate
From the rude pathway marked by Fate.
Our home is here: the skylark flings
His music down, and tiniest things
Beat the still air with labouring wings.
Ah! sweet the odours,
Sweet the song;
Sweet to forget, these scenes among,
The jarring discords of the throng.
His music down, and tiniest things
Beat the still air with labouring wings.
Ah! sweet the odours,
Sweet the song;
Sweet to forget, these scenes among,
The jarring discords of the throng.
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Now glide we onward ever slow,
And now, in the opal afterglow,
Listen, a voice sings clear and low.
Ah! sweet the singer;
Sweet the strain!
Ah when, ah when, tired heart and brain,
Will that song gladden thee again?
And now, in the opal afterglow,
Listen, a voice sings clear and low.
Ah! sweet the singer;
Sweet the strain!
Ah when, ah when, tired heart and brain,
Will that song gladden thee again?
20
LIMITS
Ah, Ladies, that some fairy band
Would turn a barren offering
Of thanks into a richer thing!
The cunning of an artist's hand,
The tuneful harp to sing,—
Would turn a barren offering
Of thanks into a richer thing!
The cunning of an artist's hand,
The tuneful harp to sing,—
These are not mine, nor mine the power
In graceful phrase, with studied art,
To tell how in a saddened hour,
As rain upon a thirsty flower,
Kind wishes cheer the heart.
In graceful phrase, with studied art,
To tell how in a saddened hour,
As rain upon a thirsty flower,
Kind wishes cheer the heart.
Alas, dear friends! could we but train
Upon a furrowed legal brow
The Muse's sacred laurel bough—
Ah, then I might not strive in vain
(Beating an irresponsive brain)
To waft in fitting measures now
The breath of kindness back again!
Upon a furrowed legal brow
The Muse's sacred laurel bough—
Ah, then I might not strive in vain
(Beating an irresponsive brain)
To waft in fitting measures now
The breath of kindness back again!
21
TOO HARD
‘The days will be long,’ she murmured:
Her tears on his bosom fell.
‘But a little while,’ he answered,
As loth to say Farewell.
Her tears on his bosom fell.
‘But a little while,’ he answered,
As loth to say Farewell.
So the Farewell was not spoken:
Her lover crossed the main,
And the days were long while she waited,
And watched till he came again.
Her lover crossed the main,
And the days were long while she waited,
And watched till he came again.
Too hard to be spoken at parting!
Her lover came back, and they tell
How they met, and how sweetly he uttered
(After long days of waiting) Farewell.
Her lover came back, and they tell
How they met, and how sweetly he uttered
(After long days of waiting) Farewell.
22
CHARON
Charon, thy craft more slowly wends
On peaceful Cam from shore to shore,
And in thy locks the silver blends
With larger freedom than of yore.
On peaceful Cam from shore to shore,
And in thy locks the silver blends
With larger freedom than of yore.
Thy bended form has little grace
(Nimble thou wert in earlier days),
And Time has sadly marred a face
That few may love and none can praise.
(Nimble thou wert in earlier days),
And Time has sadly marred a face
That few may love and none can praise.
We quail before thy searching glance;
Nay, bold boat-captains fear thine eye,
And tremble, Charon, if perchance
They have no little ‘trifle’ by.
Nay, bold boat-captains fear thine eye,
And tremble, Charon, if perchance
They have no little ‘trifle’ by.
Thou hast a son, a stalwart lad,
Some sixty summers he or more,
Who, when thy rheumatism's bad,
Deftly manœuvreth the oar.
Some sixty summers he or more,
Who, when thy rheumatism's bad,
Deftly manœuvreth the oar.
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And thou art yet but ninety-six—
Talk not of leaving us till he
(Thy namesake, Charon, on the Styx)
Bequeaths his pole to thee.
Talk not of leaving us till he
(Thy namesake, Charon, on the Styx)
Bequeaths his pole to thee.
24
IN THE ‘LONG’
Youth of the 'Varsity,
Flower of the land,
Here in a far city
Dreary I stand,
And pledge thee, and wring (like a ‘freshman’) thy hand.
Flower of the land,
Here in a far city
Dreary I stand,
And pledge thee, and wring (like a ‘freshman’) thy hand.
Time-honoured Colleges!
Classical halls!
Seeking for knowledge is
The last thing that palls
Under the nurturing shade of thy walls!
Classical halls!
Seeking for knowledge is
The last thing that palls
Under the nurturing shade of thy walls!
Dwellers in Trinity—
Tempest-tossed Cam—
Dons of Divinity—
‘Little-go’ cram
Alike are deserving of prostrate salaam.
Tempest-tossed Cam—
Dons of Divinity—
‘Little-go’ cram
Alike are deserving of prostrate salaam.
25
Up in an attic all
Corner and slope,
Men mathematical
Gloomily grope,
Of far away Fellowship, fostering hope.
Corner and slope,
Men mathematical
Gloomily grope,
Of far away Fellowship, fostering hope.
Burning to head all lists,
Lavish of oil,
Prizemen and medallists
Ceaselessly toil,
Burning, eternally burning for spoil.
Lavish of oil,
Prizemen and medallists
Ceaselessly toil,
Burning, eternally burning for spoil.
Slumbering lazily
Under the trees,
Ofttimes I hazily
Ponder of these
Sweet youths in their labours for ‘Honours’ degrees.
Under the trees,
Ofttimes I hazily
Ponder of these
Sweet youths in their labours for ‘Honours’ degrees.
Oft in the ‘Vac.,’ as I
Catch the perfumes
Of mingling tobaccos, I
Dream of my ‘rooms’
Haunted by ‘bedmakers,’ beetles, and glooms.
Catch the perfumes
Of mingling tobaccos, I
Dream of my ‘rooms’
Haunted by ‘bedmakers,’ beetles, and glooms.
26
Of faces congenial
Time-honoured jokes,
Of servient menial
Sedative smokes
Of bountiful ‘butteries,’ obdurate ‘oaks.’
Time-honoured jokes,
Of servient menial
Sedative smokes
Of bountiful ‘butteries,’ obdurate ‘oaks.’
Youth of the 'Varsity,
Flower of the land,
Now in a far city
Dreary I stand
And pledge thee, and wring like a freshman thy hand.
Flower of the land,
Now in a far city
Dreary I stand
And pledge thee, and wring like a freshman thy hand.
27
CAMBRIDGE LODGINGS, 1877
‘I ask not for cleanliness, care not for light,
I crave not a wide-spreading view;
But I must have my curtains of purple and white,
My table-cloth yellow and blue.’
I crave not a wide-spreading view;
But I must have my curtains of purple and white,
My table-cloth yellow and blue.’
‘I'm sure, sir, you'll find they are much to your mind,
For here is no wide-spreading view;
Neither cleanly nor light, nor excessive in height—
My curtains, moreover, are purple and white,
My table-cloth yellow and blue.’
For here is no wide-spreading view;
Neither cleanly nor light, nor excessive in height—
My curtains, moreover, are purple and white,
My table-cloth yellow and blue.’
‘But I must have a carpet of orange and green.
And then, I decidedly think
'Twould add to the general effect of the scene
Were the furniture covered in ultramarine,
Gamboge and magenta and pink.’
And then, I decidedly think
'Twould add to the general effect of the scene
Were the furniture covered in ultramarine,
Gamboge and magenta and pink.’
28
‘Oh then, sir, my rooms, if I rightly assume,
Will suit as to colours, I think;
There's an oleograph of a 'uge Magdalene
All over gamboge, sir, and ultramarine,
My furniture covers is pink.
Will suit as to colours, I think;
There's an oleograph of a 'uge Magdalene
All over gamboge, sir, and ultramarine,
My furniture covers is pink.
‘And as for magenta—but pray, sir, to enter
And look at the picturs and that:
That there's in the Bible, sir, ‘'sputin’ with doctors,’
And that's ‘little Alick,’ sir (one of the proctors),
And Longfield, the favourite bat,
And a dozen actresses, in beautiful dresses,
And a puppy dèvourin’ a rat.
And look at the picturs and that:
That there's in the Bible, sir, ‘'sputin’ with doctors,’
And that's ‘little Alick,’ sir (one of the proctors),
And Longfield, the favourite bat,
And a dozen actresses, in beautiful dresses,
And a puppy dèvourin’ a rat.
‘And a great many more, sir, the rent, sir, is L 20.’
‘My excellent woman, on questions of rent I
Assure you 'tis painful to dwell:
Your curtains and carpet, recherché and chaste;
Your pictures, selected with knowledge and taste,
Will suit me remarkably well.’
‘My excellent woman, on questions of rent I
Assure you 'tis painful to dwell:
Your curtains and carpet, recherché and chaste;
Your pictures, selected with knowledge and taste,
Will suit me remarkably well.’
29
MORAL FRAGMENTS
For money, or for money's worth,
On this unpleasant little earth
Most men will sell their souls away;
Their bodies too: to barter clay
(Unprofitable merchandise)
For glittering gold, were surely wise!
Says Rochefoucauld: ‘True wisdom brings
True knowledge of the price of things’:
We're very wise to-day.
We're very wise; I think we know
The price of all things here below.
We know that Vice and Virtue join
In having both their price in coin.
I knew of Virtue very young,
Have heard at least his praises sung;
I learned, at quite an early date,
To loathe the very name of Vice,
And circumspectly estimate
How much of goodness would suffice.
I learned from pastors, now with Shem,
That Heaven's gates seemed wide to them;
I learned from pastors, now with Ham,
How small a Vice may serve to damn.
But I digress, my gentle song
Becomes inordinately long.
Revenons a nos moutons.
On this unpleasant little earth
Most men will sell their souls away;
Their bodies too: to barter clay
(Unprofitable merchandise)
For glittering gold, were surely wise!
Says Rochefoucauld: ‘True wisdom brings
True knowledge of the price of things’:
We're very wise to-day.
We're very wise; I think we know
The price of all things here below.
We know that Vice and Virtue join
In having both their price in coin.
I knew of Virtue very young,
Have heard at least his praises sung;
I learned, at quite an early date,
To loathe the very name of Vice,
And circumspectly estimate
How much of goodness would suffice.
30
That Heaven's gates seemed wide to them;
I learned from pastors, now with Ham,
How small a Vice may serve to damn.
But I digress, my gentle song
Becomes inordinately long.
Revenons a nos moutons.
The thought to-day occurs to me
To write yet once a diary,
And therein duly to rehearse,
In careful prose, or careless verse,
All that may happen day by day,
Or wise, or witty, grave or gay:
For I, in speculation bold,
A pessimistic doctrine hold,
And would empirically decide
Whether this view be justified
By facts observed, or whether men,
Who should know better, now and then
(Being philosophers) have tried,
In sheer malignity, to make
My spiritual sponsors quake,
To spoil my happiness, to crush
The flower of young Hope, and brush
The bloom from Faith's pure cheek. And should
It prove that I have been misled
By cynics (a malignant brood),
And all my thinking on this head
Was false in drift, and in the letter,
And miserably misapplied,
All you will say is, ‘All the better.’
To write yet once a diary,
And therein duly to rehearse,
In careful prose, or careless verse,
All that may happen day by day,
Or wise, or witty, grave or gay:
For I, in speculation bold,
A pessimistic doctrine hold,
And would empirically decide
Whether this view be justified
By facts observed, or whether men,
Who should know better, now and then
(Being philosophers) have tried,
In sheer malignity, to make
My spiritual sponsors quake,
To spoil my happiness, to crush
The flower of young Hope, and brush
31
It prove that I have been misled
By cynics (a malignant brood),
And all my thinking on this head
Was false in drift, and in the letter,
And miserably misapplied,
All you will say is, ‘All the better.’
Behold then, courteous spectator,
(Reader, I mean) the raison d'être
Of this my diary. Its aim
Is purely scientific: I disclaim
All joy in any earthly things
Save such as touch the secret springs
Of human progress. . . .
(Reader, I mean) the raison d'être
Of this my diary. Its aim
Is purely scientific: I disclaim
All joy in any earthly things
Save such as touch the secret springs
Of human progress. . . .
32
VALENTINE
Not mine the painter's skill to trace
With pencil free, in flowing line,
And nice detail, a perfect face;
A figure cast in mould Divine,
Moved with a woman's grace.
With pencil free, in flowing line,
And nice detail, a perfect face;
A figure cast in mould Divine,
Moved with a woman's grace.
The poet, in his sorrow blest,
May tell with quivering quill
Some tender tale of broken rest,
And gentle eyes with teardrops fill,
And pity fills the breast.
May tell with quivering quill
Some tender tale of broken rest,
And gentle eyes with teardrops fill,
And pity fills the breast.
Nor is his labour all in vain
If heartfelt sighs his bosom wring,
And lower notes, and sadder strain,
Show distant ages wondering
A larger love, a deeper pain.
If heartfelt sighs his bosom wring,
And lower notes, and sadder strain,
Show distant ages wondering
A larger love, a deeper pain.
33
A heavy task; but heavier yet
Is grief that finds not any song—
His joy short-lived, and long regret,
Who bears his burden in the throng,
And seeks in silence to forget.
Is grief that finds not any song—
His joy short-lived, and long regret,
Who bears his burden in the throng,
And seeks in silence to forget.
34
INTROSPECTION
Through weary hours I've pondered o'er
A something which to write upon;
I've lain in frenzy on the floor,
And striven to let my fancy soar,
And nothing can I light upon!
A something which to write upon;
I've lain in frenzy on the floor,
And striven to let my fancy soar,
And nothing can I light upon!
Now shall I write in prose or verse?
Or whereunto my powers bring?
Shall I in tragic vein rehearse
A mother's grief, a father's curse?
Or tender tale nore softly sing?
Or whereunto my powers bring?
Shall I in tragic vein rehearse
A mother's grief, a father's curse?
Or tender tale nore softly sing?
Or shall I examine my mind
With the night-light of ‘Introspection’?
And then, having made from its innermost part
(Where some have a lumber-room, others a heart),
Of personal failings selection,
Explain to the world in the cleverest novels
How the normal mind abnormally grovels.
With the night-light of ‘Introspection’?
And then, having made from its innermost part
(Where some have a lumber-room, others a heart),
Of personal failings selection,
35
How the normal mind abnormally grovels.
The world of to-day wants ‘knowledge of self’—
The old true poets are all on the shelf;
And he may aspire to bays
Who gives to the world without any apology,
In metre, a volume of simple psychology.
The old true poets are all on the shelf;
And he may aspire to bays
Who gives to the world without any apology,
In metre, a volume of simple psychology.
I hope that it will not be long
Ere man knows enough of himself,
And seeks something better in song.
And yet, till the rage passes over,
A poet may live in clover,
And I willingly join the throng.—
Ere man knows enough of himself,
And seeks something better in song.
And yet, till the rage passes over,
A poet may live in clover,
And I willingly join the throng.—
‘Man, know thyself!’
All ye who are groping in college or school,
For love or for glory or pelf,
Henceforward must follow a different rule:
('Tis well for a man to know he's a fool)
Ineffable bathos! Study ‘thyself.’
All ye who are groping in college or school,
For love or for glory or pelf,
Henceforward must follow a different rule:
('Tis well for a man to know he's a fool)
Ineffable bathos! Study ‘thyself.’
36
'Tis not from his books, 'tis not from his friends
(Thank God!), nor his paltriest neighbour,
That a man will secure these desirable ends—
This ‘knowledge of life’ that makes ample amends
For the life that is lost in the labour.
(Thank God!), nor his paltriest neighbour,
That a man will secure these desirable ends—
This ‘knowledge of life’ that makes ample amends
For the life that is lost in the labour.
Then turn from thy friends: shun Poetry, Art;—
Be vain disputations avoided;
Examine, dear reader, thine innermost part;
And soon you will think you have fathomed your heart,
And know that you haven't enjoyed it.
Be vain disputations avoided;
Examine, dear reader, thine innermost part;
And soon you will think you have fathomed your heart,
And know that you haven't enjoyed it.
37
ART AND RELIGION IN CAMBRIDGE, 1874-78
Rock me to sleep! mine eyes have seen
Conflicting shades of blue and green!
Creator of each subtle sense—
God, Harmony Divine!
What agonies acute, intense,
Are his who thro' life's long suspense
Aspires to taste Divine!
Conflicting shades of blue and green!
Creator of each subtle sense—
God, Harmony Divine!
What agonies acute, intense,
Are his who thro' life's long suspense
Aspires to taste Divine!
Rock me to sleep! the True, the Chaste,
The Beautiful, the Good,—
All these, with fretting haste,
By man uncultured, boorish, rude,
Are eagerly pursued,
Whilst Thy great gift, the sense of Taste,
Lies neglected, unpursued.
The Beautiful, the Good,—
All these, with fretting haste,
By man uncultured, boorish, rude,
Are eagerly pursued,
Whilst Thy great gift, the sense of Taste,
Lies neglected, unpursued.
38
Rock me to sleep! take, take away
Thy servant's sense of sight!
Till earth again, in Thine own day,
Becomes a ‘harmony in gray’—
Take me to Thee: Let angels lay
On aching eyeballs, Night.
Thy servant's sense of sight!
Till earth again, in Thine own day,
Becomes a ‘harmony in gray’—
Take me to Thee: Let angels lay
On aching eyeballs, Night.
39
II. PART II
LIGHT VERSE
40
41
WILLY
They were talking of love, oh, so wisely!
How we slaved for that charity tea!
Of love in its ‘higher relations,’
And ‘Platonic’ affection, dear me!
How we slaved for that charity tea!
Of love in its ‘higher relations,’
And ‘Platonic’ affection, dear me!
But poor little I was too flighty,
Contrived on too heedless a plan,
Too vain (so they said) and too trifling
To know aught of the ideal man.
Contrived on too heedless a plan,
Too vain (so they said) and too trifling
To know aught of the ideal man.
They talked, and oh! I grew sleepy;
And the sun streamed in on the pane;
And I hardly seemed wanted, and somehow
I found myself down in the lane.
And the sun streamed in on the pane;
And I hardly seemed wanted, and somehow
I found myself down in the lane.
And then, oh then, I met Willy:
He popped from the hedge with his gun:
‘So delightful,’ he said, ‘to meet you here,
Of all people under the sun.’
He popped from the hedge with his gun:
‘So delightful,’ he said, ‘to meet you here,
Of all people under the sun.’
42
Yes, would you believe it, 'twas Willy,
And his two little dogs, ‘Smalls’ and ‘Mods’;
I faltered, ‘Aunt Susie will miss me,’
But Willy just said, ‘What's the odds!’
And his two little dogs, ‘Smalls’ and ‘Mods’;
I faltered, ‘Aunt Susie will miss me,’
But Willy just said, ‘What's the odds!’
And he said—but, oh that I can't tell you!
But he kissed me before he began:
He's over six feet, and he's lovely,
If he isn't an ‘ideal’ man.
But he kissed me before he began:
He's over six feet, and he's lovely,
If he isn't an ‘ideal’ man.
My eyes were tight shut, and he kissed me,
And ‘Mods’ gave a warning bow-bow;
And I screamed, and thought, ‘Was my hair tidy
While Willy recorded his vow?’
And ‘Mods’ gave a warning bow-bow;
And I screamed, and thought, ‘Was my hair tidy
While Willy recorded his vow?’
Then I slipped to my corner demurely,
And patted and smoothed down my hair,
And wondered if any one noticed,
And made up my mind not to care;
And patted and smoothed down my hair,
And wondered if any one noticed,
And made up my mind not to care;
For I still shut my eyes and saw Willy,
While we slaved for that charity tea,
And talked of love's ‘higher relations,’
And ‘Platonic’ affection, dear me!
While we slaved for that charity tea,
And talked of love's ‘higher relations,’
And ‘Platonic’ affection, dear me!
43
IDYLL OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM
She moved, admiring students said,
Amid the marbles like their queen;
He bore, a little high, his head,
Aware of God-like mien.
Amid the marbles like their queen;
He bore, a little high, his head,
Aware of God-like mien.
'Tis afternoon: the long slant rays
Make hot the dim Egyptian room;
Our queen her little luncheon lays
On a low sculptured tomb.
Make hot the dim Egyptian room;
Our queen her little luncheon lays
On a low sculptured tomb.
And now the lad (his dark curls float
As if from hers their gold to win)
Draws from a worn-out velvet coat
A paint-smeared sandwich tin.
As if from hers their gold to win)
Draws from a worn-out velvet coat
A paint-smeared sandwich tin.
Love spreads the feast; their lips have met!
So grace is said, and lingered o'er!
Grey gods, ye smiled! Nor look ye yet
All grimly serious as before.
So grace is said, and lingered o'er!
Grey gods, ye smiled! Nor look ye yet
All grimly serious as before.
44
DARTMOOR
Miss ‘Meg’ stood pawing at the door,
As she would question, ‘Wherefore tarry?
Brave old Dartmoor I'll put you o'er,
Young master, like old Harry.’
As she would question, ‘Wherefore tarry?
Brave old Dartmoor I'll put you o'er,
Young master, like old Harry.’
Then up I took my little crook
Ere Time was any older,
And Hell-to-split we frolicked it
O'er fern and furze and boulder.
Ere Time was any older,
And Hell-to-split we frolicked it
O'er fern and furze and boulder.
45
MY LADY NICOTINE
‘Fair friend of Mine, the lips that taught
The trick of blowing rings
Must answer for the lawless thought
Of kissing that it brings.’
The trick of blowing rings
Must answer for the lawless thought
Of kissing that it brings.’
What wonder that Love's last recruit
For fear of Hope deferred
Proceeded then and there to suit
The action to the word!
For fear of Hope deferred
Proceeded then and there to suit
The action to the word!
46
‘OLD BOYS’ AT AMERSHAM HALL
I long have nursed, an old boy I,
A gouty leg upon the pillow;
Yet was I in the days gone by
No mean performer with the willow;
A gouty leg upon the pillow;
Yet was I in the days gone by
No mean performer with the willow;
And so was asked (no doubt my years
Secured for me the invitation)
To travel down to X., good sirs,
And play the rising generation.
Secured for me the invitation)
To travel down to X., good sirs,
And play the rising generation.
I came, I saw, I fielded ‘point’;
Till Buggins minimus, by Jingo,
Knocked my forefinger out of joint,
And chirruped, ‘Hold it, Old Flamingo!’
Till Buggins minimus, by Jingo,
Knocked my forefinger out of joint,
And chirruped, ‘Hold it, Old Flamingo!’
It made me hop! A substitute
I signalled with the wounded digit,
And that young Buggins (little brute)
Ran on like a demented midgit.
I signalled with the wounded digit,
And that young Buggins (little brute)
Ran on like a demented midgit.
47
‘Retired hurt,’ I sat and told
Of ancient days when there was cricket,
And Birrell slogged, and Spokey bowled,
And Winterbotham kept the wicket.
Of ancient days when there was cricket,
And Birrell slogged, and Spokey bowled,
And Winterbotham kept the wicket.
Ripe legends—(much improved upon)—
I babbled of the great ‘Matrics,’
And how I caught, at long ‘long on,’
A ball Jim Parry hit for six.
I babbled of the great ‘Matrics,’
And how I caught, at long ‘long on,’
A ball Jim Parry hit for six.
I did indeed; ‘Lost ball’ was cried;
The hero o'er his bat was bending;
When overhead, supremely ‘skied,’
I saw that awful ball descending.
The hero o'er his bat was bending;
When overhead, supremely ‘skied,’
I saw that awful ball descending.
And ran, like any acrobat
(Three hundred yards if ever man did),
And cleared the fence, and had him pat
Two inches from the ground, left-handed!
(Three hundred yards if ever man did),
And cleared the fence, and had him pat
Two inches from the ground, left-handed!
I paused, and heard, it touched my pride
(It was unfeeling and improper),
A fat boy, nicknamed ‘Full-inside,’
Gasp out—‘Jemima, wot a wopper!’
(It was unfeeling and improper),
A fat boy, nicknamed ‘Full-inside,’
Gasp out—‘Jemima, wot a wopper!’
48
LOST FRIENDS
Dear comrades! though ye figure not in Lowndes,
(Thy costlier brethren long have left their home),
How are ye ravished from me, tome by tome,
For fewer shillings than ye cost me pounds!
Shades of unthrifty authors! Hark, it sounds!
My portal tells (a tedious metronome)
Of sullen duns who onewhile forced to roam
Kit Marlowe, Savage, Johnson, Goldsmith: Zounds!
(Thy costlier brethren long have left their home),
How are ye ravished from me, tome by tome,
For fewer shillings than ye cost me pounds!
Shades of unthrifty authors! Hark, it sounds!
My portal tells (a tedious metronome)
Of sullen duns who onewhile forced to roam
Kit Marlowe, Savage, Johnson, Goldsmith: Zounds!
Dim days of quiet pleasure that are fled!
Once, snugly harboured, dallying by turns
With new and old, in such pure peace I read
As one who (want unknowing) idly learns.
Now in yon gaping casement widely spread
Stand Shakespeare only, Landor, Lamb and Burns.
Once, snugly harboured, dallying by turns
With new and old, in such pure peace I read
As one who (want unknowing) idly learns.
Now in yon gaping casement widely spread
Stand Shakespeare only, Landor, Lamb and Burns.
49
IN CHAMBERS
There now, he's coming, tramp, tramp, tramp!
Those seventy-two accursed stairs!
Certain and slow, I know the scamp,
And in a minute (if my prayers
Cannot prevent)—it's too late now—
He's at it; kicking round the scraper:
O God! And must I suffer so
To get a clammy paper?
Those seventy-two accursed stairs!
Certain and slow, I know the scamp,
And in a minute (if my prayers
Cannot prevent)—it's too late now—
He's at it; kicking round the scraper:
O God! And must I suffer so
To get a clammy paper?
Ah well, ah well! One day I know
(I've watched and waited two years now)
A lighter foot, with step less slow,
Will touch the stair, and then somehow
I shall be certain as the day
That that quick step is not to stop
Like all the rest (confound the fop!)
Down there at Jones's, just half-way.
(I've watched and waited two years now)
A lighter foot, with step less slow,
Will touch the stair, and then somehow
I shall be certain as the day
That that quick step is not to stop
Like all the rest (confound the fop!)
Down there at Jones's, just half-way.
50
‘I shall be by the fire suppose,’—
With my Chaucer in hand, as beseemeth youth,
And the smoke will be curling about my nose
As I dream, in veriest truth,
That Law is no more, and the Junior Bar
In Courts of Love all hold a brief,
And the fairest of witnesses flock from afar
To debate of the ‘Flower and the Leaf.’
With my Chaucer in hand, as beseemeth youth,
And the smoke will be curling about my nose
As I dream, in veriest truth,
That Law is no more, and the Junior Bar
In Courts of Love all hold a brief,
And the fairest of witnesses flock from afar
To debate of the ‘Flower and the Leaf.’
And then, ah then, on the wind-swept stair
Of this drear old Temple a voice will be heard!
The rush of a dress, the trill of an air,
The scent of a rose, and the note of a bird!
And then, ah then! The book will fly,
Dear grand old bard at thy grand old bust;
And I shall be there in the wink of an eye—
She's coming, you gibbering fool!—she must.
Of this drear old Temple a voice will be heard!
The rush of a dress, the trill of an air,
The scent of a rose, and the note of a bird!
And then, ah then! The book will fly,
Dear grand old bard at thy grand old bust;
And I shall be there in the wink of an eye—
She's coming, you gibbering fool!—she must.
So you needn't sit there, with your worldwise air,
And prattle Propriety out of a book.
‘No lady would sing on a public stair’?
You ass! My girl sings everywhere!
And is coming, by hook or by crook!
You grinning old reprobate! Stop your tum tum—
‘No lady’—hang ladies! Mine will not be long.
I know not her face, but I know she will come!
A flutter, a rush, a scent, and a song.
And prattle Propriety out of a book.
‘No lady would sing on a public stair’?
You ass! My girl sings everywhere!
And is coming, by hook or by crook!
51
‘No lady’—hang ladies! Mine will not be long.
I know not her face, but I know she will come!
A flutter, a rush, a scent, and a song.
52
TRIOLET
If you never write verses yourself,Dear reader, I leave it with you.
You will grant a half inch of your shelf
If you never write verses yourself.
I was damned by a heavy Review,
I'm a bit of a critic myself,
But, reader, I leave it with you.
53
MY PRETTY MAID
Where are you going to, my pretty maid?‘I'm going to publish, sir,’ she said.
Perhaps you've a fortune, my pretty maid?
‘My verse is my fortune, sir,’ she said.
Then you'd better not try it, my pretty maid.
There's an item for printing, and when it is paid,
There's ‘Commission on sales’—O innocent maid!
In your rural retreat, have you heard of THE TRADE?
Oh, where are you going to, my pretty maid?
54
INTERJECTIONS
I
‘C'gar lights, yer honour? C'gar lights?’May God forget you in your need.
Ay, damn you; if folk git ther rights,
‘C'gar lights, yer honour? C'gar lights?’
Ther childern shan't starve in the nights
For wantin' the price of yer weed!
‘C'gar lights, yer honour? C'gar lights?’
May God forget you in your need.
55
II
‘Fine Vilets! Fresh Vilets! Come buy!Ah, rich man, I would not be you.
All springtime it haunts me, that cry:
‘Fine Vilets! Fresh Vilets! Come buy!’
Whose loss, if she tell me a lie?
‘They're starvin', my God, sir, it's true.’
‘Fine Vilets! Fresh Vilets! Come buy!’
Ah, rich man, I would not be you.
56
III
‘Ices! Programmes! Lemonade!’'E thinks 'e's a Hirving, my eye!
Why, puss, you bin crying? afraid?
‘Ices! Prográmmes! Lemonade!’
The fust time you sin a piece played?
It's putty, but, Pussy, don't cry.
‘Ices! Prográmmes! Lemonade!’
'E thinks 'e's a Hirving, my eye!
57
IV
‘Down 'Oborn, sir? Circus? Bank, Bank!’Yer's a huproar, my bloomin', Hoff side!
A flower, Miss? Ah, thankee, Miss, thank—
‘Down 'Oborn, sir? Circus? Bank, Bank!’
'Igher up! 'Ullo, Bill! Wot a prank!
If that 'ere old carcase 'ant shied!
‘Down 'Oborn, sir? Circus? Bank, Bank!’
Yer's a huproar, my bloomin'! Hoff side!
58
V
‘'Ot P'taties! All 'ot, sir! All 'ot!’'Ere's a swell in a welveteen coat!
'E 's a hartist, a hauthor—a wot?
‘'Ot P'taties! All 'ot, sir! All 'ot!’
Ah, there now's a beauty you've got!
(Them writin's don't keep 'im afloat)
‘'Ot P'taties! All 'ot, sir! All 'ot!’
'Ere's a swell in a welveteen coat!
59
INCIDENT OF THE OFFICE
I was sitting and was wondering
What was business ever for,
When there came a rush of petticoats
With a flutter to the door.
What was business ever for,
When there came a rush of petticoats
With a flutter to the door.
And a lady entered, flying
In a way to make you grin
(There were steps she did not notice,
For the doorway opens in).
In a way to make you grin
(There were steps she did not notice,
For the doorway opens in).
She stopped against the stove-pipe
With a disconcerted air,
And panted, and I asked her
Had she not observed the stair?
With a disconcerted air,
And panted, and I asked her
Had she not observed the stair?
And did she come on business?
Or would she like a bun?
And she, at first, said nothing
For business she had done.
Or would she like a bun?
And she, at first, said nothing
For business she had done.
60
Then, speaking very rapidly,
She answered, ‘No, indeed!
I have, in fact, no business,
But I lately chanced to read
She answered, ‘No, indeed!
I have, in fact, no business,
But I lately chanced to read
‘In the P.M.G. a poem,
And they tell me—am I right?—
You are the gifted author,
And so I thought I might—
And they tell me—am I right?—
You are the gifted author,
And so I thought I might—
‘I mean, you know, that seeing
Your name upon the door,
You would excuse my asking
Have you written any more?’
Your name upon the door,
You would excuse my asking
Have you written any more?’
Then I rose, and thundered, ‘Madam!’
And said sternly, ‘God forbid!
You are under some delusion, Madam,
Vanish!’ and she did.
And said sternly, ‘God forbid!
You are under some delusion, Madam,
Vanish!’ and she did.
And still I sit a-wondering
What was business ever for;
And I sigh for lady visitors,
But they come not any more.
What was business ever for;
And I sigh for lady visitors,
But they come not any more.
61
LATTER-DAY SONG
Had ‘Robbie’ Burns espied thy lips
He'd have kissed them, that I know.
We modern men dare no such quips,
But slowlier go,
And wind about with ill grimace
For tardier shows of scantier grace.
He'd have kissed them, that I know.
We modern men dare no such quips,
But slowlier go,
And wind about with ill grimace
For tardier shows of scantier grace.
Could ‘Robbie’ see the laughing eyes
That glint from out their lashes so,
They'd have no time for shy surprise
('Twixt ‘Robbie's’ kisses, don't you know)
With laughter low.
He'd kiss, and kiss, and whisper—Oh!
Sweet words no living bard can show.
That glint from out their lashes so,
They'd have no time for shy surprise
('Twixt ‘Robbie's’ kisses, don't you know)
With laughter low.
He'd kiss, and kiss, and whisper—Oh!
Sweet words no living bard can show.
62
THE BOOK OF THE RHYMERS' CLUB
VOL. II.
Had you increased our number,What sweetness might have been
Uprising as from slumber
We bards, in all thirteen,
Amassed this much and lumber—
Sad work without a Queen!
Had you increased our number,
What sweetness might have been!
63
MALICE
Who brought us together that day,Gentle Alice?
Whole hours at thy feet I lay:
Who brought us together that day?
Now, friendly and frank, let us say
It was Malice
Who brought us together that day,
Gentle Alice.
64
AFTER HEINE
In penning this epistleYou find perhaps relief:
But a notice of dismissal,
My darling, should be brief.
65
‘SOME EMOTIONS AND A MORAL’
Yes, yes, you did: with smirk and smile,
And smooth persuasion, make it plain—
You oily thing of sin and guile—
That all my hair would grow again.
And smooth persuasion, make it plain—
You oily thing of sin and guile—
That all my hair would grow again.
Once Love hid in my golden locks:
He stole behind me where I lay,
And, oh! the recollection shocks,
His kiss met my kiss just half way.
He stole behind me where I lay,
And, oh! the recollection shocks,
His kiss met my kiss just half way.
And, oh! with arms thrown back I made
A frame that his face closely held,
And he a tenderness betrayed
That my poor tresses had compelled.
A frame that his face closely held,
And he a tenderness betrayed
That my poor tresses had compelled.
66
Oh, what of bliss surpasses this?
For one sweet hour to know the pain
Of utter love, of kiss on kiss
Descending in a golden rain!
For one sweet hour to know the pain
Of utter love, of kiss on kiss
Descending in a golden rain!
Ah, one such hour, within my power,
A golden shower of kisses fell;
And breast to breast—but, oh! the rest—
I must not, dare not, cannot tell.
A golden shower of kisses fell;
And breast to breast—but, oh! the rest—
I must not, dare not, cannot tell.
And now, ah now, my heart it bleeds—
From dreams to stony truths I pass
To see the tale of Time's misdeeds
Recorded in a hateful glass.
From dreams to stony truths I pass
To see the tale of Time's misdeeds
Recorded in a hateful glass.
O stern surveyor! 'neath thy ban
I trembling to my knees am brought:
My heart is breaking; nothing can
Repair the havoc thou hast wrought.
I trembling to my knees am brought:
My heart is breaking; nothing can
Repair the havoc thou hast wrought.
67
ABOMINATIONS
No. I of a Proposed Series
Of irremediable illsThe vilest is the beastly board
That booms the fame of B—m's Pills!
Were I of public help assured,
I'd rid the land of all such ills:
I'd hang the man; I'd burn the board
That booms the fame of B—m's Pills.
68
BY GERARD DOW
True, true, very true; but you seeIt's useless to argue with me.
Ascetical scruples? Fiddle-dee-dee!
She's there, in the Dresden gallery—
‘A girl with a candle’—19c—
And any one, worthy to loosen her sandal,
Would give, though a belted earl,
His total possessions to blow out her candle,
I tell you, and kiss that girl!
69
FEB. 14
In boyhood's hour my facile pen
Sped lightest love in smoothest lines:
Ah, many a bosom cherished then
My easy, artful Valentines.
Sped lightest love in smoothest lines:
Ah, many a bosom cherished then
My easy, artful Valentines.
But now, ah now, my aching breast
Knows deeper love by surer signs
Of pain that they have never guessed
Who kissed those artful Valentines.
Knows deeper love by surer signs
Of pain that they have never guessed
Who kissed those artful Valentines.
70
A XMAS CARD
‘Now may the fair goddess Fortune fall deep in love with thee.’
Ah, kindest friend, kind words that cheer
A path too desolate and drear,
When troubled thoughts importune
For timid Joy to venture near!
Ah, blest indeed if it might be
That Fortune were in love with me,
As I in love with Fortune.
71
A PRESIDING EXAMINER
Emerging from the darkness
Of London's sullen frown,
I, simulating Majesty,
Appeared in hood and gown;
Of London's sullen frown,
I, simulating Majesty,
Appeared in hood and gown;
Commissioned to examine,
According to the Rule,
In all that they could cram in,
The boys of my old school.
According to the Rule,
In all that they could cram in,
The boys of my old school.
I sat in my imposing seat,
The papers from me flew:
As though my learning were complete,
And I all knowledge knew.
The papers from me flew:
As though my learning were complete,
And I all knowledge knew.
But oh! despite the hood and gown,
Despite the high respect
Paid to a mild official frown,
Yet had I to reflect
Despite the high respect
Paid to a mild official frown,
Yet had I to reflect
72
That 'neath a borrowed mortar-board
Mere ghosts of knowledge dwelt;
That false was my pretended hoard,
Ah me, how poor I felt!
Mere ghosts of knowledge dwelt;
That false was my pretended hoard,
Ah me, how poor I felt!
Ah, boys! despite my College,
I am a learned man!
I 've loads of sorry knowledge
Not set in any plan.
I am a learned man!
I 've loads of sorry knowledge
Not set in any plan.
My wisdom, hard in earning,
I'd give it all to know
Again what I was learning
Now twenty years ago.
I'd give it all to know
Again what I was learning
Now twenty years ago.
73
JEREMIAH AT THE CHESHIRE CHEESE
O Heart of man!What ills torment, what passions tear
The heart of man!
We Rhymers, gathered in a clan,
Disconsolate, aghast, declare
Thy burden is too hard to bear
O Heart of man!
74
SHELLEY AT OXFORD
1811 AND 1893
THE MASTER SPEAKS
‘The rebel of eighty years agoIs the hero of to-day.’
In this memorial none will know
The rebel of eighty years ago.
We Oxford dons, however slow,
Are now at last compelled to say
‘The rebel of eighty years ago
Is the hero of to-day.’
75
PREFERENCES
‘Nay,’ said the husband, ‘give him this,’
(In manifest alarm).
‘This is her proper likeness, that
Has but a sudden charm.
(In manifest alarm).
‘This is her proper likeness, that
Has but a sudden charm.
‘A look that flashes into light,
And quickly dies away,
May blind some passer; as for me,
I love the looks that stay.’
And quickly dies away,
May blind some passer; as for me,
I love the looks that stay.’
And I but said, what could I say?
(Not meaning any harm)
They're yours, dear friend, the looks that stay;
Spare then to me, she surely may,
A glance of sudden charm.
(Not meaning any harm)
They're yours, dear friend, the looks that stay;
Spare then to me, she surely may,
A glance of sudden charm.
76
LOVE AND DEATH
Love on a summer day,
Faint with heat,
And tired of play,
Came to a grotto fair,
And courted slumber there,
And flung his darts away.
Faint with heat,
And tired of play,
Came to a grotto fair,
And courted slumber there,
And flung his darts away.
This was, the Fable saith,
The very cave of Death,
But this Love did not know.
As he had sped a shaft
With more than common craft,
Once, in his sleep, he laughed,
At dawn he rose to go.
The very cave of Death,
But this Love did not know.
As he had sped a shaft
With more than common craft,
Once, in his sleep, he laughed,
At dawn he rose to go.
Love was at parting fain
To have his darts again:—
O Love, beware, beware,
The shafts of Death are there,
Of mortal man the bane.
To have his darts again:—
77
The shafts of Death are there,
Of mortal man the bane.
But Love cared not a stiver;
Intent on human hearts,
He gathered to his quiver
His own with Death's black darts;
And glorious in the morning
He winged his golden way;
Fair maidens had forewarning
That Love was on the way.
Strong men, their labour scorning,
Did nothing all that day,
For dallying with a maiden
Is neither work nor play.
Old men and women saddened
In the dragging of the years,
All on a sudden gladdened
To laughter and to tears.
Intent on human hearts,
He gathered to his quiver
His own with Death's black darts;
And glorious in the morning
He winged his golden way;
Fair maidens had forewarning
That Love was on the way.
Strong men, their labour scorning,
Did nothing all that day,
For dallying with a maiden
Is neither work nor play.
Old men and women saddened
In the dragging of the years,
All on a sudden gladdened
To laughter and to tears.
Love was on earth again,
Intending ill to none,
(He wotted not of pain,
Blind creature of the sun).
Not knowing what he did,
And restless, till 'twas done,
Both young and old
He rushed amid
And shot his arrows
Every one.
Intending ill to none,
(He wotted not of pain,
Blind creature of the sun).
78
And restless, till 'twas done,
Both young and old
He rushed amid
And shot his arrows
Every one.
And some cried out, ‘'Tis Death he deals,’—
And surely Death did come.
But others cried, ‘'Tis Love, 'tis Love’—
And Love there was for some.
And surely Death did come.
But others cried, ‘'Tis Love, 'tis Love’—
And Love there was for some.
79
SUBURBAN
He leaned upon the narrow wall
That set the limit to his ground,
And marvelled (thinking of it all)
That he such happiness had found.
That set the limit to his ground,
And marvelled (thinking of it all)
That he such happiness had found.
There long he sat in perfect peace;
He smoked his pipe, he thanked his stars
(His stars, unnumbered in the lease),
And blest the subterranean cars
He smoked his pipe, he thanked his stars
(His stars, unnumbered in the lease),
And blest the subterranean cars
That bore him nightly back to win
The home where he had left a heart,
Not trusted in the Devil's din
Of London's damned money mart.
The home where he had left a heart,
Not trusted in the Devil's din
Of London's damned money mart.
80
PSEUDONYM LIBRARY
Fisher Unwin publishes,
Price one-and-six,
In the ‘Pseudonym’ Library,
M'selle Ixe.
Price one-and-six,
In the ‘Pseudonym’ Library,
M'selle Ixe.
Publishers are constantly
Up to such tricks;
This is their latest,
M'selle Ixe.
Up to such tricks;
This is their latest,
M'selle Ixe.
He who sits reading it
Hopelessly sticks
In this pseudonymous
M'selle Ixe.
Hopelessly sticks
In this pseudonymous
M'selle Ixe.
But the ‘get up’ of it
Everything licks:—
Buy it, ye Bibliacs,
M'selle Ixe!
Everything licks:—
Buy it, ye Bibliacs,
M'selle Ixe!
81
He who gets discount
Has straw for his tricks;
If you want to lose fourpence,
Pay one-and-six.
Has straw for his tricks;
If you want to lose fourpence,
Pay one-and-six.
83
III. PART III
TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY
85
MOTHER EARTH AND THE NEW WOMAN
Love in my arms lies weeping,
His tiny limbs upcurled:
Art thou so soon, my darling,
Aweary of the world?
His tiny limbs upcurled:
Art thou so soon, my darling,
Aweary of the world?
Come, come, a baby's troubles
Are easily redressed:
Drink deep, drink deep, my darling,
God gives thee of his best.
Are easily redressed:
Drink deep, drink deep, my darling,
God gives thee of his best.
Ah, now about my bosom
The tiny hands have curled!
To thee, to thee, my darling,
The bosom is the world.
The tiny hands have curled!
To thee, to thee, my darling,
The bosom is the world.
Love in my arms lies weeping.
O God! dear God! recall
Thy children to my breast, for here
Is nourishment for all.
O God! dear God! recall
Thy children to my breast, for here
Is nourishment for all.
86
FOR AN IDEAL
I looked out over the ocean
And saw a maiden stand
Where billow and cloud commingled
In a vanishing golden land.
And saw a maiden stand
Where billow and cloud commingled
In a vanishing golden land.
I passed out over the ocean,
And held the Sun-Maiden's hand,
And lost for ever the treasure
Of Love in my Fatherland.
And held the Sun-Maiden's hand,
And lost for ever the treasure
Of Love in my Fatherland.
87
SONG IN THE LABOUR MOVEMENT
The voice of Labour soundeth shrill—
Mere clamour of a tuneless throng—
To you who barter at your will
The very Life that maketh Song.
Mere clamour of a tuneless throng—
To you who barter at your will
The very Life that maketh Song.
O you whose sluggard hours are spent
The Rule of Mammon to prolong,
What know ye of the stern intent
Of hosted Labour marching strong?
The Rule of Mammon to prolong,
What know ye of the stern intent
Of hosted Labour marching strong?
When we have righted what is wrong,
Great singing shall your ears entreat:
Meanwhile in movement there is song,
And music in the pulse of feet!
Great singing shall your ears entreat:
Meanwhile in movement there is song,
And music in the pulse of feet!
88
ENVOY
Dearest, I have put my life
In a tiny book of song;
If I speak with halting voice,
Yet may broken words prolong
In a tiny book of song;
If I speak with halting voice,
Yet may broken words prolong
The memory of the golden hour
When we were given each to each,
And in silence, wanting words,
Perfect love found perfect speech.
When we were given each to each,
And in silence, wanting words,
Perfect love found perfect speech.
89
PLYMOUTH HARBOUR
A SONG
Oh, what know they of harbours
Who toss not on the sea!
They tell of fairer havens,
But none so fair there be
Who toss not on the sea!
They tell of fairer havens,
But none so fair there be
As Plymouth town outstretching
Her quiet arms to me;
Her breast's broad welcome spreading
From Mewstone to Penlee.
Her quiet arms to me;
Her breast's broad welcome spreading
From Mewstone to Penlee.
Ah, with this home-thought, darling,
Come crowding thoughts of thee.
Oh, what know they of harbours
Who toss not on the sea!
Come crowding thoughts of thee.
Oh, what know they of harbours
Who toss not on the sea!
90
UNWORTHY
Am I not worthy of thee? O my child,
Come close, come close, and nurse upon thy breast
My aching brow! Let thy sweet hands be pressed
Cool, cool on these hot eyelids till the wild,
Come close, come close, and nurse upon thy breast
My aching brow! Let thy sweet hands be pressed
Cool, cool on these hot eyelids till the wild,
Ungoverned tumult of my brain is stilled.
Close, close, till that sound dies within my ears,
And I may cease from questioning with tears
Why God has made me love thee; O my child!
Close, close, till that sound dies within my ears,
And I may cease from questioning with tears
Why God has made me love thee; O my child!
91
MARGUERITE
Loveth he, or loveth not,
All these idle years?
An he love me, Laughter;
An he love not, Tears.
All these idle years?
An he love me, Laughter;
An he love not, Tears.
Loveth he, or loveth not?
Flower, canst thou tell?
Thou shalt deck my bosom
An he love me well.
Flower, canst thou tell?
Thou shalt deck my bosom
An he love me well.
Loveth he, or loveth not?
Oh, but life were sweet!
Say, ah say, ‘He loves thee,’
Gentle Marguerite!
Oh, but life were sweet!
Say, ah say, ‘He loves thee,’
Gentle Marguerite!
92
MY LOVE: WHERE ART THOU?
My Love, where art thou? Crowding waves
Press ever on the strait confine
Of the still spirit-haunted shore
Where my soul waiteth thine.
Press ever on the strait confine
Of the still spirit-haunted shore
Where my soul waiteth thine.
My Love, where art thou? Once, ah once,
Thy vision in the clamorous mart
Had drawn me surely from the throng
To a chamber set apart
Thy vision in the clamorous mart
Had drawn me surely from the throng
To a chamber set apart
Where weaving from its finest strand
My spirit fashioned for thy shrine
A veil to shroud thee from a gaze
Raised unabashed to thine.
My spirit fashioned for thy shrine
A veil to shroud thee from a gaze
Raised unabashed to thine.
93
But now, where art thou? Say not, lost!
The sanctuary of thought is bare:
The shrine where stood thy picture shows
The wan face of Despair.
The sanctuary of thought is bare:
The shrine where stood thy picture shows
The wan face of Despair.
Not ‘lost’—the low sweet voice that bade
Me wait the lapse of dragging years:
Not ‘lost’—my vision in the throng
Now dimly seen through tears.
Me wait the lapse of dragging years:
Not ‘lost’—my vision in the throng
Now dimly seen through tears.
94
IN ACCOUNT WITH TIME
Time cannot grudge to me
The few glad hours I spend—
Glad hours of rare companionship—
In converse with my friend.
The few glad hours I spend—
Glad hours of rare companionship—
In converse with my friend.
My friend thus counsels me:
‘Be it with Time agreed
That thou wilt in my company
Seek rest when thou hast need.’
‘Be it with Time agreed
That thou wilt in my company
Seek rest when thou hast need.’
Sweet words (if words could soften
The pain of parting)—‘May
I come indeed as often
As I have need?’ I say.
The pain of parting)—‘May
I come indeed as often
As I have need?’ I say.
‘Time cannot grudge to me
The sure release from pain
I have in thy sweet ministry
Of solace to my brain.’
The sure release from pain
I have in thy sweet ministry
Of solace to my brain.’
95
ANNIVERSARY
These five years.Ah, they have shown us one thing plain,
These five years.
Joy has a deeper spring than tears:
Love knows a harbour shut to pain:
Dearest, they are not spent in vain,
These five years.
96
A DREAM
Night brought a dream of love—
A fond sweet dream of thee;
Thy heart beat warm upon my heart;
Thy dear arms circled me.
A fond sweet dream of thee;
Thy heart beat warm upon my heart;
Thy dear arms circled me.
Alas! but dawn now shows
A cheerless couch to me.
'Twas sleep beguiled an empty heart;
My vacant arms sought thee.
A cheerless couch to me.
'Twas sleep beguiled an empty heart;
My vacant arms sought thee.
97
WITH FLOWERS
I know not how in any wise,
Dearest, my aching love to show;
If flowers have voices these will speak,
These flowers I gave you
Long ago.
Dearest, my aching love to show;
If flowers have voices these will speak,
These flowers I gave you
Long ago.
And they will whisper, ‘Day and Night
He sheddeth tears of joy to know
He has not lost, not lost, not lost
The love you gave him
Long ago.’
He sheddeth tears of joy to know
He has not lost, not lost, not lost
The love you gave him
Long ago.’
98
IN JUNE
Ah, Love, I lack thy kisses
In the warm sweet breath of June:
I am lonely amid lovers—
Love, come soon.
In the warm sweet breath of June:
I am lonely amid lovers—
Love, come soon.
A blue sea stretches waveless
'Neath a blue blue sky this June:
I am panting for thy love, Love—
Love, come soon.
'Neath a blue blue sky this June:
I am panting for thy love, Love—
Love, come soon.
99
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
Athwart the shadowed path
Of Life wherein we tread,
How often Beauty hath
A ray of sunlight shed!
Of Life wherein we tread,
How often Beauty hath
A ray of sunlight shed!
If on my shadowed path
She throws her light to-day,
I forth shall go with heart aglow,
Rejoicing on my way.
She throws her light to-day,
I forth shall go with heart aglow,
Rejoicing on my way.
100
TO A SWEET SINGER
My heart was full the while I wrote
The song you sang yestreen.
That it would fill so sweet a throat
I could not have foreseen.
The song you sang yestreen.
That it would fill so sweet a throat
I could not have foreseen.
So long as Love is in the land,
He rules by right divine:
So long will there be fresh demand
Of voices sweet as thine.
He rules by right divine:
So long will there be fresh demand
Of voices sweet as thine.
101
EDELWEISS
Above the line
Of thawless snows
On yonder height
One flower grows.
Of thawless snows
On yonder height
One flower grows.
And in my bosom
Winter-bound
Lives one such flower
Which thou hast found.
Winter-bound
Lives one such flower
Which thou hast found.
102
OF ME
Think, Love, of me.Far from thy side to-night,
Think, Love, of me.
So shall I absent see,
Pictured upon the night,
Thy dear face set in light.
Think, Love, of me.
103
DAY AND NIGHT
I held her hand
To-day,
And whispered a word,
And she heard;
And I did not work,
And she did not play,
To-day.
To-day,
And whispered a word,
And she heard;
And I did not work,
And she did not play,
To-day.
I touched her lips
To-night;
And none knew, but we two,
The delight;
And I shall not sleep,
And she will not sleep,
To-night.
To-night;
And none knew, but we two,
The delight;
And I shall not sleep,
And she will not sleep,
To-night.
104
WHEN
When laughing Joy robs SorrowOf all her load of thought,
The harp and voice may borrow
A sweetness yet untaught.
To be merry, till the morrow
Dawns with its memories fraught,
And the tired thief
Brings back to Grief
Her heavy load of thought.
105
LOST
Something has gone.O Life! great giver as thou art,
Something has gone.
Not Love, for Love, as years roll on,
Plays evermore a fuller part.
But from the treasure of my heart
Something has gone.
106
AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Fair flowers! the hand I fain would kiss,
That so among you lightly moved,
To gather this—and this—and this—
The while you nodded and approved.
That so among you lightly moved,
To gather this—and this—and this—
The while you nodded and approved.
In culling leaves so rare of scent,
It was (was it not?) her intent
To grace a friendship old as ours
With fragrance passing that of flowers?
It was (was it not?) her intent
To grace a friendship old as ours
With fragrance passing that of flowers?
107
A DOLE
The bread I eatFills me to-day with shame.
Lo, here I fling it to the street:
Not money: just the bread I eat.
O comrades, for your lofty claim
Take, take from me, in Freedom's name,
The bread I eat.
108
HOMEWARD BOUND
In the low pathway of the sun,Far-shadowed on the golden fern,
And robed in purple twilight, one
Stood and awaited his return;
And shone upon him unforeseen
As he with heavy step drew near:
Ah, then was greeting sweet between
Us two old lovers—Sister dear!
109
PICTURES BY FLORENCE SMALL
I.—AUTUMN
O Autumn leaves!Bind in thy tresses, maiden fair,
These Autumn leaves.
See Hope fulfilled in rangèd sheaves:
See in dead Nature Love's despair:
For brooding joy, for russet care,
These Autumn leaves.
II.—THE POEM
Her brow upon thy pages bent,
Thy volume, Poet, in her hands;
She knows not, she so innocent,
How like a pictured maid she stands.
Thy volume, Poet, in her hands;
She knows not, she so innocent,
How like a pictured maid she stands.
Sing, Singer, to thy heart's content!
Paint, Painter! shall he rival thee?
Twin arts have equal graces lent:
So art thou, Maiden, fair—and free.
Paint, Painter! shall he rival thee?
Twin arts have equal graces lent:
So art thou, Maiden, fair—and free.
110
AN UNFINISHED PORTRAIT
How shines the gold amid the brown
Of heavy tresses tumbling down,
In Art's despite!
How Nature blends her red and white!
Of heavy tresses tumbling down,
In Art's despite!
How Nature blends her red and white!
Ah, happy painter, it is thine
That ‘sweet disorder’ to confine:
If thou shouldst order it aright,
Ah, what delight!
That ‘sweet disorder’ to confine:
If thou shouldst order it aright,
Ah, what delight!
111
TO WILLIAM THOMPSON
Old friend, it was my earliest thought
That your name should be written here;
For sooth, if Friendship counts for aught,
I hold no living man so dear.
That your name should be written here;
For sooth, if Friendship counts for aught,
I hold no living man so dear.
Yet o'er my pages now I look,
And am, for very shame, deterred:
Of Love unending tells the book,
But of our Friendship not a word.
And am, for very shame, deterred:
Of Love unending tells the book,
But of our Friendship not a word.
112
A BIRTHDAY
Dear sister, with an idle line,
There comes no dainty thing
To grace thy dress, to deck thy hair;
These may some other bring.
There comes no dainty thing
To grace thy dress, to deck thy hair;
These may some other bring.
Love, of an essence volatile,
Will oft elude the string
That bindeth sure the decent gift
Of formal offering.
Will oft elude the string
That bindeth sure the decent gift
Of formal offering.
So in no cumbering parcel tied,
But swift, on his own wing,
Love, faring forth to gain thy side,
Has only love to bring.
But swift, on his own wing,
Love, faring forth to gain thy side,
Has only love to bring.
113
FRIENDS
Hands clasped a moment on the strand:
The one must stay, the other go:
There is not any sign to show
That friends have parted, hand from hand.
The one must stay, the other go:
There is not any sign to show
That friends have parted, hand from hand.
The years roll on; the two friends stand:
The welcome spoken, speech is slow;
Still is there not a sign to show
Friend dead to friend, as hand strikes hand.
The welcome spoken, speech is slow;
Still is there not a sign to show
Friend dead to friend, as hand strikes hand.
114
IN A BACHELOR'S GARDEN
It seems, ah me! but yesterday
She plucked, half jesting was she not?
And blushed (so near my heart they lay)
Yon flowers that plead—‘Forget-me-not.’
She plucked, half jesting was she not?
And blushed (so near my heart they lay)
Yon flowers that plead—‘Forget-me-not.’
Ah, ageing heart! old memories throng!
Again, meseems, her kiss strikes hot:
Her voice, long mute, bursts into song
Who planted that Forget-me-not.
Again, meseems, her kiss strikes hot:
Her voice, long mute, bursts into song
Who planted that Forget-me-not.
115
A SCIENCE OF HISTORY
Think you it would be good indeed
(Surveying on the walls of Time
The hurried finger trace) to climb
The heights of Fancy, and to read
(Surveying on the walls of Time
The hurried finger trace) to climb
The heights of Fancy, and to read
The import of the coming years?
Or would the load be heavier yet?
A paler grief unheeded, wet
The Rock of Destiny with tears?
Or would the load be heavier yet?
A paler grief unheeded, wet
The Rock of Destiny with tears?
116
QUESTION
To one who long a worldly gainIn worldly paths has sought,
May aught of better worth remain,
Save peradventure caught
On cobwebs in the brain,
Some fragment of untainted thought?
117
TWICE DEAD
The spirit ever hath desire
To pierce, thro' forms of Friendship, higher,
And somewhere gain its promised part
Of true communion, heart with heart.
To pierce, thro' forms of Friendship, higher,
And somewhere gain its promised part
Of true communion, heart with heart.
Ah, friend of Youth! thy fresh-cut grave
Is warmer than the hand you gave:
Else were not (strangers many years)
Lost friend, lost friend! these tears, these tears.
Is warmer than the hand you gave:
Else were not (strangers many years)
Lost friend, lost friend! these tears, these tears.
118
MAGDALENE
‘You are a beautiful woman,’ he said.
Oh, a long night followed that day.
The whole long night rang rang in my head
His words, and his look as I lay
Oh, a long night followed that day.
The whole long night rang rang in my head
His words, and his look as I lay
I could not forget. I lay weeping, and vowed—
‘I will hold hereafter in trust
This Beauty of mine: I will live and be proud,
Not humbled, as now, in the dust.’
‘I will hold hereafter in trust
This Beauty of mine: I will live and be proud,
Not humbled, as now, in the dust.’
We met, as one meets men, any way,
I've met, it may be, men by the score.
And talked about nothing, as any one may
When one has to spend ten minutes or more.
I've met, it may be, men by the score.
And talked about nothing, as any one may
When one has to spend ten minutes or more.
119
Then parted—a light matter parting with men?
But the eyes of this man were aflame in his head—
He gave a great hand, and was silent, and then,
‘You are a beautiful woman,’ he said.
But the eyes of this man were aflame in his head—
He gave a great hand, and was silent, and then,
‘You are a beautiful woman,’ he said.
120
ALMA MATER
Lady, my thanks: this night my dream
Is of a pathway stretching fair
Through meadows bordering a stream,
And flowers, thy gift, spring everywhere.
Is of a pathway stretching fair
Through meadows bordering a stream,
And flowers, thy gift, spring everywhere.
By Grandchester, by Trumpington,
Our quiet Cam-side pacing slow,
At eve I pass, still musing on
The unseen years, as years ago.
Our quiet Cam-side pacing slow,
At eve I pass, still musing on
The unseen years, as years ago.
My flower-dream annulling time
Gives back the garnered hours to me;
Gives back a perished trick of rhyme
That hardly shapes these words to thee;
Gives back the garnered hours to me;
Gives back a perished trick of rhyme
That hardly shapes these words to thee;
Gives crowding thoughts of earlier days:—
Lost friend, whose love I ask in vain,
I walk the old oft-trodden ways
Thy hand within mine arm again.
Lost friend, whose love I ask in vain,
I walk the old oft-trodden ways
Thy hand within mine arm again.
121
Ah, the old days! The sun sank there:
Ah, the old days! Thus sped the hours:
But dream-born seems the perfumed air,
And of the dream my path of flowers.
Ah, the old days! Thus sped the hours:
But dream-born seems the perfumed air,
And of the dream my path of flowers.
122
IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM
Dead sage, dead priest, unheard ye call
Up from the valleys where ye sleep:
Love's clarion soundeth over all;
His fires glow from steep to steep.
Up from the valleys where ye sleep:
Love's clarion soundeth over all;
His fires glow from steep to steep.
Professor, I have little store
Of learning you may fitly seek,
I covet no Department's lore—
Egyptian, Syriac, or Greek.
Of learning you may fitly seek,
I covet no Department's lore—
Egyptian, Syriac, or Greek.
But oft I tread these halls alone,
And mark where, treasured with the rest,
There lies a stone, no common stone.
‘A fragment’—of a ‘woman's breast.’
And mark where, treasured with the rest,
There lies a stone, no common stone.
‘A fragment’—of a ‘woman's breast.’
Profess, Professor, all you know!
I ask, among the spoils you heap,
Has Time a greater thing to show?
Have we a holier thing to keep?
I ask, among the spoils you heap,
Has Time a greater thing to show?
Have we a holier thing to keep?
123
REMEMBER
Remember, love, how Burns would bring
His verses to the ingle-side,
And bid his dear-loved Jeanie sing,
And by that test abide.
His verses to the ingle-side,
And bid his dear-loved Jeanie sing,
And by that test abide.
Then what her ear determined true
Her lips gave ringing to the night;
And Burns was glad, and surely knew
That he had sung aright.
Her lips gave ringing to the night;
And Burns was glad, and surely knew
That he had sung aright.
Dear love, for me play such a part;
If I sing truly thou canst tell:
I bring my verses to thy heart;
If any enter, it is well.
If I sing truly thou canst tell:
I bring my verses to thy heart;
If any enter, it is well.
124
QUESTION
The inmost tenant of my heart,Dearest, thou knowest well thou art;
But love alone can solve a doubt
If I love thee, Love, out and out.
125
GIFTS
Take back the song you sang, Love:
Take back the gift you brought:
Take back the word you gave, Love:
Let me only keep the thought
Take back the gift you brought:
Take back the word you gave, Love:
Let me only keep the thought
That you knew not what you said, Love:
You deemed a song was naught:
You brought a gift to me, Love;
And knew not what you brought.
You deemed a song was naught:
You brought a gift to me, Love;
And knew not what you brought.
126
EVER AND A DAY
He murmured, ‘Love, for ever!’She whispered, ‘and a day?’
And I, whose pain ends never,
Saw her stand in her bride's array,
And knew that her love was for ever,
And his false love for a day.
127
G. D. R.
1879
Dearest sister, Sorrow dwellsIn the home as sound in shells
That whisper evermore
Along a silent shore:
Evermore, and mournfully,
The gathered sadness of the sea.
1889
A voice unheard these many years;A face long summers shut from sight;
That face I saw, that voice to-night
Gave quiet in a world of fears.
Sister, ten years may serve for tears;
In twice ten years I shall not miss
His very look, the ring of his
Great voice abideth in mine ears.
128
W. H. WIDGERY
‘He worketh still,’Superior to Death's smart,
He worketh still.
What his spent years could not fulfil
I shall endeavour for my part,
For ever, living in my heart,
He worketh still.
129
TO JOSEPH SKIPSEY
If I herein have phrased a thoughtIn words that jar not on your ear,
I shall be happy: Love has wrought
So in my heart that words are naught
To me at all, if insincere.
Unless with sacred meanings fraught
Words are but words. To ‘perfect praise’
Is the sole aim of Art: the Thought
Of daily bread, too dearly bought,
Deters no poet—Time repays.
130
OF QUIET
Tired brain, there is a place of restOn the broad bosom of the Land,
Where quiet will reward the quest
Of Quiet; and the iron hand
Of Toil upon the rolling hills
Will be unheard.—Ah, there shall we
Find quiet in the tumbling rills;
Or in the tumult of the sea,
The quiet that my dream fulfils
Of Quiet-aching tho' it be.
131
R. A. LEDWARD, SCULPTOR
Mark how with loving hand he wrought
Here on the dial that counts the hours
Thy sad great figure, wingèd Time,
Set heavy-hearted 'mid the flowers.
Here on the dial that counts the hours
Thy sad great figure, wingèd Time,
Set heavy-hearted 'mid the flowers.
Ah, even while he wrought did he
Close a great bargain with the years
The sooner with these flowers to be
That for their nurture have thy tears.
Close a great bargain with the years
The sooner with these flowers to be
That for their nurture have thy tears.
132
FOR AN URN
She chose to die.Grave here beneath our helpless flowers
‘She chose to die.’
Alas! the sun forsook her sky
What while he gladdened other bowers:
She tasted life—a few sad hours;
And chose to die.
133
ART'S EXTREMES
Proudly the father,
Lowly the wife,
Bends o'er a child sleeping,
Dearer than life.
Pride speaks in the father,
Love is mute in the wife,—
‘Did ever a painter
Paint like Life?’
Lowly the wife,
Bends o'er a child sleeping,
Dearer than life.
Pride speaks in the father,
Love is mute in the wife,—
‘Did ever a painter
Paint like Life?’
Heavy the footfall,
Laboured the breath;
One quitteth the chamber
Held by Death.
His gaze is estranged,
All strangely he saith—
‘Was there ever a sculptor
Wrought like Death?’
Laboured the breath;
One quitteth the chamber
Held by Death.
His gaze is estranged,
All strangely he saith—
‘Was there ever a sculptor
Wrought like Death?’
134
THE PROTEST OF SPRING
O Spring!Say not that She is dead.
Green month of bursting flower and leaf
Say not that She is dead.
For joy of life thy tears are shed;
Naught, naught to thee are mine of grief;
April! Fling wide thy disbelief
That She is dead.
135
LET REST
What art was lavished on the bower;
What nameless beauty hers for dower;
What perfect moments made the hour!
What nameless beauty hers for dower;
What perfect moments made the hour!
They steal like death from room to room;
They stifle sobs that break the gloom;
They keep the silence of the tomb.
They stifle sobs that break the gloom;
They keep the silence of the tomb.
Bring up old friends to view the bed;
Bring up, with slow, mock-solemn tread,
The hired transport of the dead.
Bring up, with slow, mock-solemn tread,
The hired transport of the dead.
Let rest the gold that holds her hair;
Let rest the ring none else might wear;
Let rest the strong man weeping there.
Let rest the ring none else might wear;
Let rest the strong man weeping there.
136
LIFE—LIFE
Life, life, if murmuring there beOf low estate, or scanty pelf,
The plaint upgoeth not from me.
Thy toys lie broken on the shelf—
Love swept them with an idle breath:
Life, life! Love overmastereth thee:
Grant gentle passage unto death.
137
TRIOLET
Lo, thy poor ring is broken!These kisses bind for aye.
Let but this word be spoken,
Now thy poor ring is broken:
‘True love outlasts his token,
Yet cannot choose but stay.’
Lo, thy poor ring is broken!
These kisses bind for aye.
138
THE UNDERSONG
To-day shall be no song, Love,
Here quiet now with thee;
No song holds all my love, Love,
So singing shall not be.
Here quiet now with thee;
No song holds all my love, Love,
So singing shall not be.
Let my hands frame thy face, Love;
Take this kiss for thy brow;
And these for thy tired lids, Love;
Ah! tears, not singing, now.
Take this kiss for thy brow;
And these for thy tired lids, Love;
Ah! tears, not singing, now.
Lay thy cheek to my cheek, Love;
Rest thy dear hand in mine;
Let thy heart search my heart, Love.
If it indeed be thine.
Rest thy dear hand in mine;
Let thy heart search my heart, Love.
If it indeed be thine.
And let there be no song, Love,
Save only this that tells
How deep, beneath all singing,
Song in the heart upwells.
Save only this that tells
How deep, beneath all singing,
Song in the heart upwells.
181
POSTSCRIPT
IN PRAISE OF ROBERT BURNS
182
183
‘I could write a capital satire on the world on the back
of that Bible; but first of all I must think of supplying
myself with food.’—Lavengro.
My hero Burns is wholly pure at heart?
His truly rural moral code is not
At one with ours. If urban folks depart
From the strait gate of virtue, they have got
His truly rural moral code is not
At one with ours. If urban folks depart
From the strait gate of virtue, they have got
None but themselves to blame for it: one learns
So very young so nicely what to hide!
My lady friend who looks askant at Burns
Remarks that Mrs. Grundy's skirts are wide;
So very young so nicely what to hide!
My lady friend who looks askant at Burns
Remarks that Mrs. Grundy's skirts are wide;
And Mrs. Grundy says that sex asserts
Itself so often, in the strangest ways,
She is obliged to wear the fullest skirts
To screen her darlings from the public gaze.
Itself so often, in the strangest ways,
She is obliged to wear the fullest skirts
To screen her darlings from the public gaze.
184
The modern garb effectually conceals
The form of woman. How on earth she goes,
A little tipsy pyramid on wheels,
About her daily business, goodness knows.
The form of woman. How on earth she goes,
A little tipsy pyramid on wheels,
About her daily business, goodness knows.
It was against monstrosities like these
That Carlyle's far-resounding bolts were hurled:
We live and move (in clothes but half at ease)
And have our Being in a ‘naked world.’
That Carlyle's far-resounding bolts were hurled:
We live and move (in clothes but half at ease)
And have our Being in a ‘naked world.’
I say again that I in Burns delight,
I mean to make his life and work the text
Of some eight hundred verses: I shall write
Of all within my knowledge that has vext
I mean to make his life and work the text
Of some eight hundred verses: I shall write
Of all within my knowledge that has vext
The souls of workers in this land of ours.
I say at once, to make my meaning plain,
When we have killed the filthy beast that glowers
On all our doings, Love will breathe again:
I say at once, to make my meaning plain,
When we have killed the filthy beast that glowers
On all our doings, Love will breathe again:
And not till then. I do not mention names:
The animal in question is of course
No stranger to us: when the Devil claims
His own, we shall without the least remorse
The animal in question is of course
185
His own, we shall without the least remorse
Abandon him, and tell him he may go
To Blazes with his beastly money-bags,
And learn to play with bosom friends below
The game called ‘Retribution’ when Time flags.
To Blazes with his beastly money-bags,
And learn to play with bosom friends below
The game called ‘Retribution’ when Time flags.
So much for the god Mammon. To return:
I've written so far, you will understand,
By way of practice: if I want to earn
A living by it, I must lick the hand
I've written so far, you will understand,
By way of practice: if I want to earn
A living by it, I must lick the hand
Of some one high in office—some one hired
To make the business of a paper pay.
(The trick of self-effacement once acquired
One never loses, its professors say.)
To make the business of a paper pay.
(The trick of self-effacement once acquired
One never loses, its professors say.)
If God indeed helps those who help themselves,
He must have lost all sense of Right and Wrong—
While under His direction Adam delves,
No Child of Nature will attempt a song.
He must have lost all sense of Right and Wrong—
While under His direction Adam delves,
No Child of Nature will attempt a song.
186
If in ten dozen books of verse that claim
To be called poetry you find
But one pure song deserving of the name,
Then take the writer in your arms and blind
To be called poetry you find
But one pure song deserving of the name,
Then take the writer in your arms and blind
Him with fond kisses. On that fateful day
Talk not of money, lest you do him wrong.
Put up your purse. Let Love in his own way
Do honour to the singer and the song.
Talk not of money, lest you do him wrong.
Put up your purse. Let Love in his own way
Do honour to the singer and the song.
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