 | Quo Musa Tendis? |  |
11
PAULLO MAJORA CANAMUS.
13
A Remonstrance.
Love is what lacks then: but what does it mean to you?
Where did you hear of it, feel it, or see?
What has the truth, or the good of it been to you?
How love some other, yet nohow love me?
Where did you hear of it, feel it, or see?
What has the truth, or the good of it been to you?
How love some other, yet nohow love me?
If there were any conspicuous fault in me,
Any defect it were torture to bear,
Low-lying levels, too deep to exalt, in me,
Dread possibilities in me to fear:
Any defect it were torture to bear,
Low-lying levels, too deep to exalt, in me,
Dread possibilities in me to fear:
If I were ugly or old or untractable,
Mean in my methods or low in my views:
If I were dull or unpleasant: in fact able
Neither to please, nor elate, nor amuse:—
Mean in my methods or low in my views:
If I were dull or unpleasant: in fact able
Neither to please, nor elate, nor amuse:—
That makes you angry, impatient; we'll take it, then,
I am a man that to know 's to esteem:
That's the admission you make to me: make it then:
Well why not love me? what's love but a dream?
I am a man that to know 's to esteem:
That's the admission you make to me: make it then:
Well why not love me? what's love but a dream?
Only of course in the sense you bestow on it:
I have a meaning for love, that is plain:
Further than passion, and longing, and so on, it
Means to me liking and liking again:
I have a meaning for love, that is plain:
Further than passion, and longing, and so on, it
Means to me liking and liking again:
14
Liking and liking, and liking—that's plain enough;—
Something depending on qualities then?
Yes: for they give you both pleasure and pain enough,
Qualities common in women and men.
Something depending on qualities then?
Yes: for they give you both pleasure and pain enough,
Qualities common in women and men.
Still not a doubt that, the love being brought about,
Liking made love, there is more that will come:
All the good qualities ever yet thought about:—
Yes, they fall short of that excellent sum.
Liking made love, there is more that will come:
All the good qualities ever yet thought about:—
Yes, they fall short of that excellent sum.
Like a man: like him: and let there be more of it
That which he is he'll be liked for: at last
Love in a minute will flash—I am sure of it—
Whether the wedding be future or past.
That which he is he'll be liked for: at last
Love in a minute will flash—I am sure of it—
Whether the wedding be future or past.
You who consider it quite immaterial
Whether the person is worthy or not:
You who are looking for something ethereal,
Something celestial, transcending our lot:
Whether the person is worthy or not:
You who are looking for something ethereal,
Something celestial, transcending our lot:
You to whom every excellent quality
Means but a cypher: who hope to behold
Love at a burst in his mighty totality
Change all the grey of the world into gold:
Means but a cypher: who hope to behold
Love at a burst in his mighty totality
Change all the grey of the world into gold:
You dream a priceless love: I feel a penny one:
My reason plods, while your fancy can range:—
Therefore I ask, since you'll never love any one,
Why should you not marry me for a change?
My reason plods, while your fancy can range:—
Therefore I ask, since you'll never love any one,
Why should you not marry me for a change?
15
A Joke.
You cannot, will not, never could;
Of course I knew it, what's the good?
I know you, you know me, and then
You know so many other men:
You like them all, you like me too;
And most of them in love with you!
Of course I knew it, what's the good?
I know you, you know me, and then
You know so many other men:
You like them all, you like me too;
And most of them in love with you!
But if it had been otherwise:
If I had happened, in your eyes,
To be what other men have been
In other people's eyes, my queen:
Why then, why then,—confound it all,
The world's abominably small!
I mean the world of sense and feeling;
A truism there's no concealing.
If I had happened, in your eyes,
To be what other men have been
In other people's eyes, my queen:
Why then, why then,—confound it all,
The world's abominably small!
I mean the world of sense and feeling;
A truism there's no concealing.
You're smiling: as you smiled before,
While I was asking you for more
Than you could give me, when I chanced
To drop a jest, how quick you glanced!
You seemed to say that love (we use
The word; how not?) would scarcely choose
Such phrases as we jesters store,
To “set the table in a roar.”
While I was asking you for more
Than you could give me, when I chanced
To drop a jest, how quick you glanced!
You seemed to say that love (we use
The word; how not?) would scarcely choose
Such phrases as we jesters store,
To “set the table in a roar.”
16
Ah! if you'd wanted words red hot,
You might have had them; you did not,
It's hardly decent, I opine,
To prate of beautiful, divine,
Describe one's amorous symptoms, gloat
On eyes, and hands, and hair, and throat,
And magnify one's lady's charms,
Like Troubadour or knight at arms,
Unless one has the luck to know
That she would rather have it so.
Faint heart—I know: I'm not the man
To do it, though my betters can,
Suffice it all the words are there
To thrill the circumambient air,
The moment I'm allowed: meanwhile
Why not encourage you to smile:
Relieve the tedium of a scene
You're used to? since I do not mean
To veil my eyes or bow my head,
Or weep, or wish that I were dead,
Or fail to fight the fight of life,
As keenly as were you my wife.
You're smiling still: you don't believe
A hopeless lover would not grieve;
A grieving lover would not show
Some outward token of his woe:
I'm joking, am I? be it so.
You might have had them; you did not,
It's hardly decent, I opine,
To prate of beautiful, divine,
Describe one's amorous symptoms, gloat
On eyes, and hands, and hair, and throat,
And magnify one's lady's charms,
Like Troubadour or knight at arms,
Unless one has the luck to know
That she would rather have it so.
Faint heart—I know: I'm not the man
To do it, though my betters can,
Suffice it all the words are there
To thrill the circumambient air,
The moment I'm allowed: meanwhile
Why not encourage you to smile:
Relieve the tedium of a scene
You're used to? since I do not mean
To veil my eyes or bow my head,
Or weep, or wish that I were dead,
Or fail to fight the fight of life,
As keenly as were you my wife.
You're smiling still: you don't believe
A hopeless lover would not grieve;
A grieving lover would not show
Some outward token of his woe:
I'm joking, am I? be it so.
17
An Afterthought .
The good a man does from time to time,
Gets thanks and praise for, is crowned with bays for
Or married for, sung for in verse sublime,
Or placed for in marble in civic halls
Or hung for in oils on palace walls:
Gets thanks and praise for, is crowned with bays for
Or married for, sung for in verse sublime,
Or placed for in marble in civic halls
Or hung for in oils on palace walls:
Is good that deserves to be hymned, no doubt,
Commemorated, and duly fêted,
And otherwise made much noise about:
And of course it is well that the men are found,
To do such good, and to be so crowned.
Commemorated, and duly fêted,
And otherwise made much noise about:
And of course it is well that the men are found,
To do such good, and to be so crowned.
But all the good that was ever done,
Or even tried for, or longed or sighed for,
By all the great men under the sun,
Since men were invented, or genius glowed,
Or the world was furnished for our abode:
Or even tried for, or longed or sighed for,
By all the great men under the sun,
Since men were invented, or genius glowed,
Or the world was furnished for our abode:
Is worth far less than the merest smile,
Or touch of finger, or sighs that linger,
When cheeks grow dimpled, and lips lack guile,
On the face of the women whom God gives grace
To—well on a certain woman's face.
Or touch of finger, or sighs that linger,
When cheeks grow dimpled, and lips lack guile,
On the face of the women whom God gives grace
To—well on a certain woman's face.
18
To a Rejected Lover.
Friend, why so gloomy? why so glum?
Why such a dull lack-lustre eye?
At festive meetings why so dumb?
From dearest friend so apt to fly?
You must have got a reason: come!
Why such a dull lack-lustre eye?
At festive meetings why so dumb?
From dearest friend so apt to fly?
You must have got a reason: come!
I know she's young, I know she's fair;
I know she's beautiful and sweet:
I know her wealth of golden hair,
Her sunny eyes, her tiny feet;
I do not bid you not despair
I know she's beautiful and sweet:
I know her wealth of golden hair,
Her sunny eyes, her tiny feet;
I do not bid you not despair
Of ever being more to her
Than half a dozen other men:
She's going, if I do not err
To marry some one else: what then?
I see no cause for such a stir.
Than half a dozen other men:
She's going, if I do not err
To marry some one else: what then?
I see no cause for such a stir.
It isn't what one hasn't got
That ought to quench the light of life:
It's what one loses: is it not?
It's death, or treason in a wife:
It's finding one's unhappy lot
That ought to quench the light of life:
It's what one loses: is it not?
It's death, or treason in a wife:
It's finding one's unhappy lot
19
Comprises foes, and friends untrue,
Grief, worry, sickness, even crime:
And I should only pity you,
If aught of these should come with time:
Not blame you as I own I do.
Grief, worry, sickness, even crime:
And I should only pity you,
If aught of these should come with time:
Not blame you as I own I do.
You haven't got a thousand pounds:
You cannot write yourself M.P.:
There are not any solid grounds
For thinking you will ever be
A very famous man: but, zounds!
You cannot write yourself M.P.:
There are not any solid grounds
For thinking you will ever be
A very famous man: but, zounds!
You don't, on that account, exclaim
That life's a curse, or birth a blight,
Nor do you minimise, or blame,
Such merits as are yours by right:
Well, be your conduct still the same!
That life's a curse, or birth a blight,
Nor do you minimise, or blame,
Such merits as are yours by right:
Well, be your conduct still the same!
From what you haven't gaily turn
To what you have: the world's alive:
Still pulses beat, still passions burn:
There's still to work, there's still to strive:
The cure is easy to discern.
To what you have: the world's alive:
Still pulses beat, still passions burn:
There's still to work, there's still to strive:
The cure is easy to discern.
I do not bid you to forget,
Nor say that she is full of flaws,
Nor rail on womankind: nor yet
Bestow a meed of just applause
On Amabel, or Violet:
Nor say that she is full of flaws,
Nor rail on womankind: nor yet
Bestow a meed of just applause
On Amabel, or Violet:
20
Nor say the sea is full of fish
As good as those which others catch:
Indeed I do not greatly wish
To urge you to another match:
I only say that life's a dish
As good as those which others catch:
Indeed I do not greatly wish
To urge you to another match:
I only say that life's a dish
Well worth the eating, even when
You cannot get the sauce you like;
You have a pair of hands, a pen,
A tongue: I've seen you work, and strike
A blow worth striking now and then.
You cannot get the sauce you like;
You have a pair of hands, a pen,
A tongue: I've seen you work, and strike
A blow worth striking now and then.
So don't be gloomy, don't be glum,
Nor give a thought to what you lack:
Take what you have: no longer dumb
Nor idle; hit misfortune back,
And own that I have reason: come!
Nor give a thought to what you lack:
Take what you have: no longer dumb
Nor idle; hit misfortune back,
And own that I have reason: come!
21
Paint and Ink.
To C. W. F.
You take a brush, and I take a pen:
You mix bright colours, I use black ink:
You cover a canvas, you first of men,
I write on a sheet for a scribbler meet:
Well, a contrast's a contrast: I will not shrink.
You mix bright colours, I use black ink:
You cover a canvas, you first of men,
I write on a sheet for a scribbler meet:
Well, a contrast's a contrast: I will not shrink.
First you compose: a line's grand sweep,
A break, a blend, a guide for our eyes:
You've a tone to settle, a curve to keep,
An impression to catch, new tints to match;
And a lesson behind it surely lies.
A break, a blend, a guide for our eyes:
You've a tone to settle, a curve to keep,
An impression to catch, new tints to match;
And a lesson behind it surely lies.
And every touch of your busy brush,
And every scrape of your palette-knife,
Each squeeze of the tube whence the pigments gush,
Each rub of your thumb, helps the whole become
A living page from the scroll of life.
And every scrape of your palette-knife,
Each squeeze of the tube whence the pigments gush,
Each rub of your thumb, helps the whole become
A living page from the scroll of life.
There's a landscape, a face, which displays—you know it—
A fact, a fancy, a thought, a dream,
Which the many miss; so, my picture-poet,
You catch a part not the whole,—that's art,—
And fix it for ever: a simpler theme
A fact, a fancy, a thought, a dream,
Which the many miss; so, my picture-poet,
You catch a part not the whole,—that's art,—
And fix it for ever: a simpler theme
22
For a man to grasp at, conceive, remember,
Than that which you saw and which we see not:
There's your Bathing Girl and your Bleak December,
Which you paint and exhibit for fools to gibbet:
You wrote the play, but God gave the plot.
Than that which you saw and which we see not:
There's your Bathing Girl and your Bleak December,
Which you paint and exhibit for fools to gibbet:
You wrote the play, but God gave the plot.
And we in the pit have caught the meaning
You caught, or so much as you saved for us;
But here I perceive you intervening,
I hear your stricture: “A picture's a picture:
Colour and form:” well! come, discuss.
You caught, or so much as you saved for us;
But here I perceive you intervening,
I hear your stricture: “A picture's a picture:
Colour and form:” well! come, discuss.
Is there nothing but colour and form? no soul?
A judicious blend, an arrangement clever:
Reds and blues: lines curves: and is that the whole?
No hint designed of the truth behind:
Just a thing of beauty, a joy for ever!
A judicious blend, an arrangement clever:
Reds and blues: lines curves: and is that the whole?
No hint designed of the truth behind:
Just a thing of beauty, a joy for ever!
I think you are wronging yourself my friend,
And the noble craft that you ply so well:
For colour and form have a certain end,
And composition, or else ambition
Were better bestowed than on paint: you tell
And the noble craft that you ply so well:
For colour and form have a certain end,
And composition, or else ambition
Were better bestowed than on paint: you tell
New truths to us; draw for us morals old
From what seemed to have no moral at all:
And all's not done when your picture's sold,
Nor when you're R.A., at a future day,
And your picture glows on a palace wall.
From what seemed to have no moral at all:
And all's not done when your picture's sold,
Nor when you're R.A., at a future day,
And your picture glows on a palace wall.
23
To see, and to paint, and to know at sight
How much wants painting, how much neglect,
Is a noble function, I know: you're right:
But by nature's laws there is never a cause
That cannot or does not produce effect.
How much wants painting, how much neglect,
Is a noble function, I know: you're right:
But by nature's laws there is never a cause
That cannot or does not produce effect.
And, to point the contrast, and draw the moral,
I too, with my humbler art, aspire
To a name which I hope you will not quarrel
To see me claim: to the noble name
Of an artist: in truth I know no higher.
I too, with my humbler art, aspire
To a name which I hope you will not quarrel
To see me claim: to the noble name
Of an artist: in truth I know no higher.
But the metres I choose, and the rules I keep,
And the lilt of the verses I write for sport,
And the rhythm of lines that have made you sleep,
And the style of my prose, which, goodness knows,
Might grow far better and still fall short;
And the lilt of the verses I write for sport,
And the rhythm of lines that have made you sleep,
And the style of my prose, which, goodness knows,
Might grow far better and still fall short;
All these, were they better, or even free
From faults, would never enable you
In the scribbler a brother in arms to see
In the noble fray which you fight to day
For the good, the beautiful and the true.
From faults, would never enable you
In the scribbler a brother in arms to see
In the noble fray which you fight to day
For the good, the beautiful and the true.
I've thoughts to interpret and truths to teach,
I've an unread lesson at first to read,
Then to state so much of as e'er can reach
The brain of the man in the street: my plan
Is the same as your own, Sir, it is indeed!
I've an unread lesson at first to read,
Then to state so much of as e'er can reach
The brain of the man in the street: my plan
Is the same as your own, Sir, it is indeed!
24
I blend and arrange and compose: subdue
And indicate, aye and emphasize:
Till the world gets a hint of the truth: and you?
You do just the same, and the artist's name
Is for writer and painter the highest prize.
And indicate, aye and emphasize:
Till the world gets a hint of the truth: and you?
You do just the same, and the artist's name
Is for writer and painter the highest prize.
Your colour and form, my words and style,
Your wondrous brush and my busy pen,
Are our medium, our tools: and all the while
The question for each is what truths we teach
And how we interpret the world to men.
Your wondrous brush and my busy pen,
Are our medium, our tools: and all the while
The question for each is what truths we teach
And how we interpret the world to men.
So I do dare claim to be kin with you,
And I hold you higher than if your task
Were doing no more than you say you do:
We shall live, if at all, we shall stand or fall,
As men before whom the world doffs its mask
And who answer the questions our fellows ask.
And I hold you higher than if your task
Were doing no more than you say you do:
We shall live, if at all, we shall stand or fall,
As men before whom the world doffs its mask
And who answer the questions our fellows ask.
25
A Paradox?
To F. C. H.
To find out what you cannot do,
And then to go and do it:
There lies the golden rule: but few
I ever found above the ground,
Except myself, who knew it.
And then to go and do it:
There lies the golden rule: but few
I ever found above the ground,
Except myself, who knew it.
You bid me do from day to day
The single thing I can do;
I can't do what I can't, you say?
Indeed I can; why, hang it man!
I solve it ambulando.
The single thing I can do;
I can't do what I can't, you say?
Indeed I can; why, hang it man!
I solve it ambulando.
I cannot draw the simplest thing:
I cannot guess a riddle:
I cannot dance, or skate, or sing:
I can't compose, and, goodness knows,
I cannot play the fiddle.
I cannot guess a riddle:
I cannot dance, or skate, or sing:
I can't compose, and, goodness knows,
I cannot play the fiddle.
26
And yet, to take a single case,
Of all an illustration,
At thirty-two (to my disgrace?)
I did begin the violin,
By way of recreation.
Of all an illustration,
At thirty-two (to my disgrace?)
I did begin the violin,
By way of recreation.
The way to go to work is taught
By precept and correction;
To do it nearly as you ought
You learn by force of pains,—of course
I don't suggest perfection.
By precept and correction;
To do it nearly as you ought
You learn by force of pains,—of course
I don't suggest perfection.
“But, ah! you can't acquire an ear,
If Nature don't bestow it:”
Excuse me: try before you sneer:
The pains you take an “ear” will make,
As practice makes a poet.
If Nature don't bestow it:”
Excuse me: try before you sneer:
The pains you take an “ear” will make,
As practice makes a poet.
The sounds, by Nature's laws, are there;
And all one's education
Is just to catch them in the air:
Success is due entirely to
Attentive observation.
And all one's education
Is just to catch them in the air:
Success is due entirely to
Attentive observation.
“Trained ear: trained fingers,—net result,
A tenth-rate fiddler.” Granted!
Plus hours well spent in patient cult
Of music, which you own is rich
In gifts not else implanted.
A tenth-rate fiddler.” Granted!
Plus hours well spent in patient cult
Of music, which you own is rich
In gifts not else implanted.
27
Well! so with all the other things:
You can learn how to do them:
You're born with rudiments of wings:
You'll fly in time, and—end sublime!—
You get a pleasure through them.
You can learn how to do them:
You're born with rudiments of wings:
You'll fly in time, and—end sublime!—
You get a pleasure through them.
“Ah, well!” you answer, “be it so:
Although of course it's not so:
You've learned to scrape a fiddle-bow;
And what remains? Your addled brains
Collapse: men die forgot so!
Although of course it's not so:
You've learned to scrape a fiddle-bow;
And what remains? Your addled brains
Collapse: men die forgot so!
“You've done the thing you couldn't do:
You're just a dilettante:
Yes, that's about the truth of you:
You'll end, I'm sure, an amateur,
A mere pococurante!”
You're just a dilettante:
Yes, that's about the truth of you:
You'll end, I'm sure, an amateur,
A mere pococurante!”
Ah! there, my friend, I know you're wrong!
For what you're best at doing,
Law, painting, science, speech or song,
Is just what you are bound to do,
Whate'er beside pursuing.
For what you're best at doing,
Law, painting, science, speech or song,
Is just what you are bound to do,
Whate'er beside pursuing.
The small pursuits you undertake
For innocent diversion,
No earthly difference will make:
The work goes on till life be gone:
I stand by that assertion!
For innocent diversion,
No earthly difference will make:
The work goes on till life be gone:
I stand by that assertion!
28
Although a modest man, my friend,
I'll make you this confession:
I feel that I have got an “End”—
A telos, eh? as you would say—
My métier, my profession:
I'll make you this confession:
I feel that I have got an “End”—
A telos, eh? as you would say—
My métier, my profession:
Which is—: well, never mind the name;
But, Frank, I do assure you,
Whatever other little game
I chance to play from day to day—
(I hope I do not bore you?
But, Frank, I do assure you,
Whatever other little game
I chance to play from day to day—
(I hope I do not bore you?
I'm aiming at a certain chat
I had with you, and therefore
You must attend, my worthy friend)—
Will not effect the least neglect
Of what I really care for.
I had with you, and therefore
You must attend, my worthy friend)—
Will not effect the least neglect
Of what I really care for.
29
Question and Answer.
To H. R.
The Question.
The river is flowing,
The stars coming forth:
Great ruddy clouds going
From Westward to North:
The stars coming forth:
Great ruddy clouds going
From Westward to North:
The rushes are waving,
The water's still blue:
And I am behaving
Decorously too:
The water's still blue:
And I am behaving
Decorously too:
The amorous zephyr
Breathes soft in our ear:
Who hears not is deafer
Than adders, my dear:
Breathes soft in our ear:
Who hears not is deafer
Than adders, my dear:
Ah! list to the whisper
Of waters and sky!
Thames, vagabond lisper,
Grows subtle and sly.
Of waters and sky!
Thames, vagabond lisper,
Grows subtle and sly.
30
How trebly delicious
The air-draughts we quaff:
The hour is propitious:—
Oh!...why do you laugh?
The air-draughts we quaff:
The hour is propitious:—
Oh!...why do you laugh?
The Answer.
Ask the sky why it flushes,
The clouds why they glow:
The weir why it gushes,
The reeds why they grow;
The clouds why they glow:
The weir why it gushes,
The reeds why they grow;
The moon why it rises,
The sun why it sets:
Her why she surprises,
Him why he forgets;
The sun why it sets:
Her why she surprises,
Him why he forgets;
The star why it twinkles,
The west why it shines:
The brow why it wrinkles,
The heart why it pines:
The west why it shines:
The brow why it wrinkles,
The heart why it pines:
Mankind why they blunder,
The corn why there's chaff:
Ask yourself why you wonder—
Not me why I laugh!
The corn why there's chaff:
Ask yourself why you wonder—
Not me why I laugh!
31
Blue Hills..
An Allegory
To A. M. P.
Years ago, in the land of my birth,
When my head was little above the earth,
I stood by the side of the grass-blades tall,
And a quickset hedge was a mighty wall,
And a measureless forest I often found
In a swampy acre of rush-clad ground:
But, when I could see it, the best of the view
Was a distant circle, the Hills of Blue.
When my head was little above the earth,
I stood by the side of the grass-blades tall,
And a quickset hedge was a mighty wall,
And a measureless forest I often found
In a swampy acre of rush-clad ground:
But, when I could see it, the best of the view
Was a distant circle, the Hills of Blue.
Higher we grow as the long years pass,
And I now look down on the growing grass;
I see the top where I saw the side,
Some beauties are lost as the view grows wide,
I see over things that I couldn't see through:
But my limit is still the Hills of Blue.
And I now look down on the growing grass;
I see the top where I saw the side,
Some beauties are lost as the view grows wide,
I see over things that I couldn't see through:
But my limit is still the Hills of Blue.
As a child I sought them, and found them not,
Footsore and weary, tired and hot;
They were still the bulwark of all I could see,
And still at a fabulous distance from me;
I wondered if age and strength could teach
How to traverse the plain, the mountains reach;
Meanwhile, whatever a child might do,
They still were far and they still were blue.
Footsore and weary, tired and hot;
They were still the bulwark of all I could see,
And still at a fabulous distance from me;
I wondered if age and strength could teach
How to traverse the plain, the mountains reach;
Meanwhile, whatever a child might do,
They still were far and they still were blue.
32
Well I've reached them at last, those distant Hills;
I've reached their base through a world of ills;
I have toiled and laboured and wandered far,
With my constant eyes on a shifting star:
And ever, as nearer I came, they grew,
Larger and larger, but, ah! less blue.
I've reached their base through a world of ills;
I have toiled and laboured and wandered far,
With my constant eyes on a shifting star:
And ever, as nearer I came, they grew,
Larger and larger, but, ah! less blue.
Green I have found them, green and brown,
Studded with houses, o'erhanging a town,
Feeding the plain below with streams,
Dappled with shadows and brightening with beams,
Image of scenes I had left behind,
Merely a group of the hilly kind:
And beyond them a prospect as fair to view
As the old, and bounded by Hills as blue.
Studded with houses, o'erhanging a town,
Feeding the plain below with streams,
Dappled with shadows and brightening with beams,
Image of scenes I had left behind,
Merely a group of the hilly kind:
And beyond them a prospect as fair to view
As the old, and bounded by Hills as blue.
But I will not seek those further Hills,
Nor travel the course of the outward rills;
I have lost the faith of my childhood's day;
Let me dream (it is only a dream) while I may;
I will put my belief to no cruel test:
As I doze on this green deceptive crest,
I will try to believe, as I used to do,
There are some Blue Hills which are really blue.
Nor travel the course of the outward rills;
I have lost the faith of my childhood's day;
Let me dream (it is only a dream) while I may;
I will put my belief to no cruel test:
As I doze on this green deceptive crest,
I will try to believe, as I used to do,
There are some Blue Hills which are really blue.
33
The Dawn of the Year.
Once in the year, if you get up early,
You may get—just once—what you can't but praise:
Not a sky that's blue, or a lawn that's pearly,
Though these may be there as on other days:
But a bright cool still delicious thrill,
Which tells you October is come or near:—
The Dawn of the Year!
You may get—just once—what you can't but praise:
Not a sky that's blue, or a lawn that's pearly,
Though these may be there as on other days:
But a bright cool still delicious thrill,
Which tells you October is come or near:—
The Dawn of the Year!
For I take it the end of the Long Vacation
Which repeoples the Temple and Lincoln's Inn,
And quickens the pulse of civilisation,
And ends the hush of our daily din,
Is really the season, by light of reason,
Which ought to and does to the wise appear
The Dawn of the Year.
Which repeoples the Temple and Lincoln's Inn,
And quickens the pulse of civilisation,
And ends the hush of our daily din,
Is really the season, by light of reason,
Which ought to and does to the wise appear
The Dawn of the Year.
Years die in July and are dead till September:
By the first of October the New Year's born:
It's a sturdy infant in mid December,
And reaches its prime some April morn:
Hot and weary in June, it must perish soon,
It is working too hard: it will break: but here
Is the Dawn of the Year.
By the first of October the New Year's born:
It's a sturdy infant in mid December,
And reaches its prime some April morn:
Hot and weary in June, it must perish soon,
It is working too hard: it will break: but here
Is the Dawn of the Year.
34
And this is the time for good resolutions:
He's a laggard who waits till Christmas past:
In obedience to meaningless institutions
He starts on a year which can but last
Six months or so: while we, who know,
Find in golden autumn, not winter drear,
The Dawn of the Year.
He's a laggard who waits till Christmas past:
In obedience to meaningless institutions
He starts on a year which can but last
Six months or so: while we, who know,
Find in golden autumn, not winter drear,
The Dawn of the Year.
You surely remember the feeling I mean?
It's a misty morning, portending heat:
Scarce a leaf has fallen, the trees are green,
And the last late flowers are bright and sweet,
By the sight and scent summer's not yet spent,
But there's something new in the atmosphere
The Dawn of the Year.
It's a misty morning, portending heat:
Scarce a leaf has fallen, the trees are green,
And the last late flowers are bright and sweet,
By the sight and scent summer's not yet spent,
But there's something new in the atmosphere
The Dawn of the Year.
Just a touch of healthy autumnal cold,
Not the dismal shiver of rainy summers;
And a sun no longer a blaze of gold
To light the frolic of idle mummers,
But a genial guide for the busy tide
Of men who have work to do, shows clear
The Dawn of the Year.
Not the dismal shiver of rainy summers;
And a sun no longer a blaze of gold
To light the frolic of idle mummers,
But a genial guide for the busy tide
Of men who have work to do, shows clear
The Dawn of the Year.
So back to work in the London streets,
Or College courts, or clamorous Schools;
We have tasted and dwelt on the passing sweets
Of sunlit leisure: resume your tools,
Get back to your labours, my excellent neighbours,
And greet with a spirit that work can cheer,
The Dawn of the Year.
Or College courts, or clamorous Schools;
We have tasted and dwelt on the passing sweets
Of sunlit leisure: resume your tools,
Get back to your labours, my excellent neighbours,
And greet with a spirit that work can cheer,
The Dawn of the Year.
35
Battle.
How seldom it happens in these dull days,
When we're all decorous, and all behave,
That our pulses can beat at fever heat
And our deeds be sudden and bright and brave,
In the keen delight of a stand-up fight,
When the wronger falls and the wronged wins bays.
When we're all decorous, and all behave,
That our pulses can beat at fever heat
And our deeds be sudden and bright and brave,
In the keen delight of a stand-up fight,
When the wronger falls and the wronged wins bays.
To know you are right and to say so boldly,
To prove your strength by a downright blow,
To punish and pound your foe till the ground
Is red with his blood!—but then, you know,
We “make up a visage”—: the worst of this age
Is just that we bear our wrongs so coldly.
To prove your strength by a downright blow,
To punish and pound your foe till the ground
Is red with his blood!—but then, you know,
We “make up a visage”—: the worst of this age
Is just that we bear our wrongs so coldly.
There's a man—for the matter of that there are men—
I could deal with just as our fathers dealt
With those who defied their manly pride;
Oh! to feel the wild delight they felt
When face to face with a foe: disgrace
To inflict, and glory to win: but then
I could deal with just as our fathers dealt
With those who defied their manly pride;
Oh! to feel the wild delight they felt
When face to face with a foe: disgrace
To inflict, and glory to win: but then
36
We've the honour of being so civilised,
So good, so kind and so truly wise,
And we seldom say at the present day
“Come on you—” what you can all surmise:—
If we did, we should gain! but it's all in vain,
And my villains will die unpulverised!
So good, so kind and so truly wise,
And we seldom say at the present day
“Come on you—” what you can all surmise:—
If we did, we should gain! but it's all in vain,
And my villains will die unpulverised!
But if I could have what some have prayed for,
One life more to live how and when I chose,
I would ask to belong to one age when wrong
Is punished by honest unflinching blows,
When to hate's to fight in the open light,
And a dire offence is as direly paid for.
One life more to live how and when I chose,
I would ask to belong to one age when wrong
Is punished by honest unflinching blows,
When to hate's to fight in the open light,
And a dire offence is as direly paid for.
37
The Malefactor's Plea.
Of sentences that stir my bile,
Of phrases I detest,
There's one beyond all others vile;
“He did it for the best.”
Of phrases I detest,
There's one beyond all others vile;
“He did it for the best.”
Of course he did: I don't suppose,
Nor can you think I should,
The man's among my deadliest foes,
Or is not fairly good.
Nor can you think I should,
The man's among my deadliest foes,
Or is not fairly good.
Of course he did it for the best:
What should he do it for?
But did he do it? that's the test:
I ask to know no more.
What should he do it for?
But did he do it? that's the test:
I ask to know no more.
Alas! he did: and here am I,
Quite ruined, half disgraced;
And you can really ask me why
My wrath is not effaced:
Quite ruined, half disgraced;
And you can really ask me why
My wrath is not effaced:
And there is he, good worthy man,
With self-esteem possessed,
Still saying, as of course he can,
“I did it for the best.”
With self-esteem possessed,
Still saying, as of course he can,
“I did it for the best.”
38
No evil deed was ever done,
Or honest man withstood,
Since first this weary world begun,
Except for some one's good.
Or honest man withstood,
Since first this weary world begun,
Except for some one's good.
And can it signify to me
Whose good he did it for?
Mine was it? thus 'twas wont to be,
And will be ever more.
Whose good he did it for?
Mine was it? thus 'twas wont to be,
And will be ever more.
When inoffensive people plant
A dagger in your breast,
Your good is what they really want:
They do it for the best.
A dagger in your breast,
Your good is what they really want:
They do it for the best.
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