 | Poems of the Old Days and the New |  |
TO JEAN INGELOW.
When
youth was high, and life was new,
And days sped musical and fleet,
She stood amid the morning dew,
And sang her earliest measures sweet,—
Sang as the lark sings, speeding fair
To touch and taste the purer air,
To gain a nearer view of Heaven;
'T was then she sang “The Songs of Seven.”
And days sped musical and fleet,
She stood amid the morning dew,
And sang her earliest measures sweet,—
Sang as the lark sings, speeding fair
To touch and taste the purer air,
To gain a nearer view of Heaven;
'T was then she sang “The Songs of Seven.”
Now, farther on in womanhood,
With trainèd voice and ripened art,
She gently stands where once she stood,
And sings from out her deeper heart.
Sing on, dear Singer! sing again;
And we will listen to the strain,
Till soaring earth greets bending Heaven,
And seven-fold songs grow seventy-seven.
With trainèd voice and ripened art,
She gently stands where once she stood,
And sings from out her deeper heart.
Sing on, dear Singer! sing again;
And we will listen to the strain,
Till soaring earth greets bending Heaven,
And seven-fold songs grow seventy-seven.
SUSAN COOLIDGE.
1
THE BEGINNING.
‘They tell strange things of the primeval earth,But things that be are never strange to those
Among them. And we know what it was like,
Many are sure they walked in it; the proof
This, the all gracious, all admirèd whole
Called life, called world, called thought, was all as one,
Nor yet divided more than that old earth
Among the tribes. Self was not fully come—
Self was asleep, embedded in the whole.
I too dwelt once in a primeval world,
Such as they tell of, all things wonderful;
Voices, ay visions, people grand and tall
Thronged in it, but their talk was overhead
And bore scant meaning, that one wanted not
Whose thought was sight as yet unbound of words,
This kingdom of heaven having entered through
Being a little child.
Such as they tell of, all things wonderful;
Voices, ay visions, people grand and tall
Thronged in it, but their talk was overhead
And bore scant meaning, that one wanted not
Whose thought was sight as yet unbound of words,
This kingdom of heaven having entered through
Being a little child.
Such as can see,
Why should they doubt? The childhood of a race,
The childhood of a soul, hath neither doubt
Nor fear. Where all is super-natural
The guileless heart doth feed on it, no more
Afraid than angels are of heaven.
Why should they doubt? The childhood of a race,
The childhood of a soul, hath neither doubt
Nor fear. Where all is super-natural
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Afraid than angels are of heaven.
Who saith
Another life, the next one shall not have
Another childhood growing gently thus,
Able to bear the poignant sweetness, take
The rich long awful measure of its peace,
Endure the presence sublime.
Another life, the next one shall not have
Another childhood growing gently thus,
Able to bear the poignant sweetness, take
The rich long awful measure of its peace,
Endure the presence sublime.
I saw
Once in that earth primeval, once—a face,
A little face that yet I dream upon.’
Once in that earth primeval, once—a face,
A little face that yet I dream upon.’
‘Of this world was it?’
‘Not of this world—no,
In the beginning—for methinks it was
In the beginning but an if you ask
How long ago, time was not then, nor date
For marking. It was always long ago,
E'en from the first recalling of it, long
And long ago.
In the beginning—for methinks it was
In the beginning but an if you ask
How long ago, time was not then, nor date
For marking. It was always long ago,
E'en from the first recalling of it, long
And long ago.
And I could walk, and went,
Led by the hand through a long mead at morn,
Bathed in a ravishing excess of light.
It throbbed, and as it were fresh fallen from heaven,
Sank deep into the meadow grass. The sun
Gave every blade a bright and a dark side,
Glitter'd on buttercups that topped them, slipped
To soft red puffs, by some called holy-hay.
The wide oaks in their early green stood still
And took delight in it. Brown specks that made
Very sweet noises quivered in the blue;
Then they came down and ran along the brink
Of a long pool, and they were birds.
Led by the hand through a long mead at morn,
Bathed in a ravishing excess of light.
It throbbed, and as it were fresh fallen from heaven,
Sank deep into the meadow grass. The sun
Gave every blade a bright and a dark side,
Glitter'd on buttercups that topped them, slipped
To soft red puffs, by some called holy-hay.
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And took delight in it. Brown specks that made
Very sweet noises quivered in the blue;
Then they came down and ran along the brink
Of a long pool, and they were birds.
The pool
Pranked at the edges with pale peppermint,
A rare amassment of veined cuckoo flowers
And flags blue-green was lying below. This all
Was sight it condescended not to words
Till memory kissed the charmèd dream.
Pranked at the edges with pale peppermint,
A rare amassment of veined cuckoo flowers
And flags blue-green was lying below. This all
Was sight it condescended not to words
Till memory kissed the charmèd dream.
The mead
Hollowing and heaving, in the hollows fair
With dropping roses fell away to it,
A strange sweet place; upon its further side
Some people gently walking took their way
Up to a wood beyond; and also bells
Sang, floated in the air, hummed—what you will.’
Hollowing and heaving, in the hollows fair
With dropping roses fell away to it,
A strange sweet place; upon its further side
Some people gently walking took their way
Up to a wood beyond; and also bells
Sang, floated in the air, hummed—what you will.’
‘Then it was Sunday?’
‘Sunday was not yet;
It was a holiday, for all the days
Were holy. It was not our day of rest
(The earth for all her rolling asks not rest,
For she was never weary).
It was a holiday, for all the days
Were holy. It was not our day of rest
(The earth for all her rolling asks not rest,
For she was never weary).
It was sweet,
Full of dear leisure and perennial peace,
As very old days when life went easily,
Before mankind had lost the wise, the good
Habit of being happy.
Full of dear leisure and perennial peace,
As very old days when life went easily,
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Habit of being happy.
For the pool
A beauteous place it was as might be seen,
That led one down to other meads, and had
Clouds and another sky. I thought to go
Deep down in it, and walk that steep clear slope.
A beauteous place it was as might be seen,
That led one down to other meads, and had
Clouds and another sky. I thought to go
Deep down in it, and walk that steep clear slope.
Then she who led me reached the brink, her foot
Staying to talk with one who met her there.
Here were fresh marvels, sailing things whose vans
Floated them on above the flowering flags.
We moved a little onward, paused again,
And here there was a break in these, and here
There came the vision; for I stooped to gaze
So far as my small height would let me—gaze
Into that pool to see the fishes dart,
And in a moment from her under hills
Came forth a little child who lived down there,
Looked up at me and smiled. We could not talk,
But looked and loved each other. I a hand
Held out to her, so she to me, but ah,
She would not come. Her home, her little bed,
Was doubtless under that soft shining thing
The water, and she wanted not to run
Among red sorrel spires, and fill her hand
In the dry warmèd grass with cowslip buds.
Awhile our feeding hearts all satisfied,
Took in the blue of one another's eyes,
Two dimpled creatures, rose-lipped innocent.
But when we fain had kissed—O! the end came,
For snatched aloft, held in the nurse's arms,
She parting with her lover I was borne
Far from that little child.
Staying to talk with one who met her there.
Here were fresh marvels, sailing things whose vans
Floated them on above the flowering flags.
We moved a little onward, paused again,
And here there was a break in these, and here
There came the vision; for I stooped to gaze
So far as my small height would let me—gaze
Into that pool to see the fishes dart,
And in a moment from her under hills
Came forth a little child who lived down there,
Looked up at me and smiled. We could not talk,
But looked and loved each other. I a hand
Held out to her, so she to me, but ah,
She would not come. Her home, her little bed,
Was doubtless under that soft shining thing
The water, and she wanted not to run
Among red sorrel spires, and fill her hand
In the dry warmèd grass with cowslip buds.
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Took in the blue of one another's eyes,
Two dimpled creatures, rose-lipped innocent.
But when we fain had kissed—O! the end came,
For snatched aloft, held in the nurse's arms,
She parting with her lover I was borne
Far from that little child.
And no one knew
She lived down there, but only I; and none
Sought for her, but I yearned for her and left
Part of myself behind, as the lambs leave
Their wool upon a thorn.’
She lived down there, but only I; and none
Sought for her, but I yearned for her and left
Part of myself behind, as the lambs leave
Their wool upon a thorn.’
‘And was she seen
Never again, nor known for what she was?’
‘Never again, for we did leave anon
Never again, nor known for what she was?’
The pasture and the pool. I know not where
They lie, and sleep a heaven on earth, but know
From thenceforth yearnings for a lost delight;
On certain days I dream about her still.’
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IN THE NURSERY.
‘Where do you go, Bob, when you're fast asleep?’‘Where? O well, once I went into a deep
Mine, father told of, and a cross man said
He'd make me help to dig, and eat black bread.
I saw the Queen once, in her room, quite near.
She said, “You rude boy, Bob, how came you here?”’
‘Was it like mother's boudoir?’
‘Grander far,
Gold chairs and things—all over diamonds—Ah!’
Gold chairs and things—all over diamonds—Ah!’
‘You're sure it was the Queen?’
‘Of course, a crown
Was on her, and a spangly purple gown.’
Was on her, and a spangly purple gown.’
‘I went to heaven last night.’
‘O Lily, no,
How could you?’
How could you?’
‘Yes I did, they told me so,
And my best doll, my favourite, with the blue
Frock, Jasmine, I took her to heaven too.’
And my best doll, my favourite, with the blue
Frock, Jasmine, I took her to heaven too.’
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‘What was it like?’
‘A kind of—I can't tell—
A sort of orchard place in a long dell,
With trees all over flowers. And there were birds
Who could do talking, say soft pretty words;
They let me stroke them, and I showed it all
To Jasmine. And I heard a blue dove call,
“Child, this is heaven.” I was not frightened when
It spoke, I said “Where are the angels then?”’
A sort of orchard place in a long dell,
With trees all over flowers. And there were birds
Who could do talking, say soft pretty words;
They let me stroke them, and I showed it all
To Jasmine. And I heard a blue dove call,
“Child, this is heaven.” I was not frightened when
It spoke, I said “Where are the angels then?”’
‘Well.’
‘So it said, “Look up and you shall see.”
There were two angels sitting in the tree,
As tall as mother; they had long gold hair.
They let drop down the fruit they gather'd there
And little angels came for it—so sweet.
Here they were beggar children in the street,
And the dove said they had the prettiest things,
And wore their best frocks every day.’
There were two angels sitting in the tree,
As tall as mother; they had long gold hair.
They let drop down the fruit they gather'd there
And little angels came for it—so sweet.
Here they were beggar children in the street,
And the dove said they had the prettiest things,
And wore their best frocks every day.’
‘And wings,
Had they no wings?’
Had they no wings?’
‘O yes, and lined with white
Like swallow wings, so soft—so very light
Fluttering about.’
Like swallow wings, so soft—so very light
Fluttering about.’
‘Well.’
‘Well, I did not stay,
So that was all.’
So that was all.’
‘They made you go away?’
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‘I did not go—but—I was gone.’
‘I know.’
‘But it's a pity, Bob, we never go
Together.’
‘But it's a pity, Bob, we never go
Together.’
‘Yes, and have no dreams to tell,
But the next day both know it all quite well.’
But the next day both know it all quite well.’
‘And, Bob, if I could dream you came with me
You would be there perhaps.’
You would be there perhaps.’
‘Perhaps—we'll see.’
PERDITA.
I go
beyond the commandment.’ So be it. Then mine be the blame,
The loss, the lack, the yearning, till life's last sand be run,—
I go beyond the commandment, yet honour stands fast with her claim,
And what I have rued I shall rue; for what I have done—I have done.
The loss, the lack, the yearning, till life's last sand be run,—
I go beyond the commandment, yet honour stands fast with her claim,
And what I have rued I shall rue; for what I have done—I have done.
Hush, hush! for what of the future; you cannot the base exalt,
There is no bridging a chasm over, that yawns with so sheer incline;
I will not any sweet daughter's cheek should pale for this mother's fault,
Nor son take leave to lower his life a-thinking on mine.
There is no bridging a chasm over, that yawns with so sheer incline;
I will not any sweet daughter's cheek should pale for this mother's fault,
Nor son take leave to lower his life a-thinking on mine.
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‘Will I tell you all?’ So! this, e'en this, will I do for your great love's sake;
Think what it costs. ‘Then let there be silence—silence you'll count consent.’
No, and no, and for ever no: rather to cross and to break,
And to lower your passion I speak—that other it was I meant.
Think what it costs. ‘Then let there be silence—silence you'll count consent.’
No, and no, and for ever no: rather to cross and to break,
And to lower your passion I speak—that other it was I meant.
That other I meant (but I know not how) to speak of, nor April days,
Nor a man's sweet voice that pleaded—O (but I promised this)—
He never talked of marriage, never; I grant him that praise;
And he bent his stately head, and I lost, and he won with a kiss.
Nor a man's sweet voice that pleaded—O (but I promised this)—
He never talked of marriage, never; I grant him that praise;
And he bent his stately head, and I lost, and he won with a kiss.
He led me away—O, how poignant sweet the nightingale's note that noon—
I beheld, and each crispèd spire of grass to him for my sake was fair,
And warm winds flattered my soul blowing straight from the soul of June,
And a lovely lie was spread on the fields, but the blue was bare.
I beheld, and each crispèd spire of grass to him for my sake was fair,
And warm winds flattered my soul blowing straight from the soul of June,
And a lovely lie was spread on the fields, but the blue was bare.
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When I looked up, he said: ‘Love, fair love! O rather look in these eyes
With thine far sweeter than eyes of Eve when she stepped the valley unshod’—
For One might be looking through it, he thought, and he would not in any wise
I should mark it open, limitless, empty, bare 'neath the gaze of God.
With thine far sweeter than eyes of Eve when she stepped the valley unshod’—
For One might be looking through it, he thought, and he would not in any wise
I should mark it open, limitless, empty, bare 'neath the gaze of God.
Ah me! I was happy—yes, I was; 't is fit you should know it all,
While love was warm and tender and yearning, the rough winds troubled me not;
I heard them moan without in the forest; heard the chill rains fall—
But I thought my place was sheltered with him—I forgot, I forgot.
While love was warm and tender and yearning, the rough winds troubled me not;
I heard them moan without in the forest; heard the chill rains fall—
But I thought my place was sheltered with him—I forgot, I forgot.
After came news of a wife; I think he was glad I should know,
To stay my pleading, ‘take me to church and give me my ring’;
‘You should have spoken before,’ he had sighed, when I prayed him so,
For his heart was sick for himself and me, and this bitter thing.
To stay my pleading, ‘take me to church and give me my ring’;
‘You should have spoken before,’ he had sighed, when I prayed him so,
For his heart was sick for himself and me, and this bitter thing.
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But my dream was over me still,—I was half beguiled,
And he in his kindness left me seldom, O seldom, alone,
And yet love waxed cold, and I saw the face of my little child,
And then at the last I knew what I was, and what I had done.
And he in his kindness left me seldom, O seldom, alone,
And yet love waxed cold, and I saw the face of my little child,
And then at the last I knew what I was, and what I had done.
‘You
will give me the name of wife. You
will give me a ring.’—O peace!
You are not let to ruin your life because I ruined mine;
You will go to your people at home. There will be rest and release;
The bitter now will be sweet full soon—ay, and denial divine.
You are not let to ruin your life because I ruined mine;
You will go to your people at home. There will be rest and release;
The bitter now will be sweet full soon—ay, and denial divine.
But spare me the ending. I did not wait to be quite cast away;
I left him asleep, and the bare sun rising shone red on my gown.
There was dust in the lane, I remember; prints of feet in it lay,
And honeysuckle trailed in the path that led on to the down.
I left him asleep, and the bare sun rising shone red on my gown.
There was dust in the lane, I remember; prints of feet in it lay,
And honeysuckle trailed in the path that led on to the down.
I was going nowhere—I wandered up, then turned and dared to look back,
Where low in the valley he careless and quiet—quiet and careless slept.
‘Did I love him yet?’ I loved him. Ay, my heart on the upland track
Cried to him, sighed to him out by the wheat, as I walked, and I wept.
Where low in the valley he careless and quiet—quiet and careless slept.
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Cried to him, sighed to him out by the wheat, as I walked, and I wept.
I knew of another alas, one that had been in my place,
Her little ones, she forsaken, were almost in need;
I went to her, and carried my babe, then all in my satins and lace
I sank at the step of her desolate door, a mourner indeed.
Her little ones, she forsaken, were almost in need;
I went to her, and carried my babe, then all in my satins and lace
I sank at the step of her desolate door, a mourner indeed.
I cried, ‘'T is the way of the world, would I had never been born!’
‘Ay, 't is the way of the world, but have you no sense to see
For all the way of the world,’ she answers and laughs me to scorn,
‘The world is made the world that it is by fools like you, like me.’
‘Ay, 't is the way of the world, but have you no sense to see
For all the way of the world,’ she answers and laughs me to scorn,
‘The world is made the world that it is by fools like you, like me.’
Right hard upon me, hard on herself, and cold as the cold stone,
But she took me in; and while I lay sick I knew I was lost,
Lost with the man I loved, or lost without him, making my moan
Blighted and rent of the bitter frost, wrecked, tempest tossed, lost, lost!
But she took me in; and while I lay sick I knew I was lost,
Lost with the man I loved, or lost without him, making my moan
Blighted and rent of the bitter frost, wrecked, tempest tossed, lost, lost!
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How am I fallen:—we that might make of the world what we would,
Some of us sink in deep waters. Ah! ‘you would raise me again?’
No true heart,—you cannot, you cannot, and all in my soul that is good
Cries out against such a wrong. Let be, your quest is for ever in vain.
Some of us sink in deep waters. Ah! ‘you would raise me again?’
No true heart,—you cannot, you cannot, and all in my soul that is good
Cries out against such a wrong. Let be, your quest is for ever in vain.
For I feel with another heart, I think with another mind,
I have worsened life, I have wronged the world, I have lowered the light;
But as for him, his words and his ways were after his kind,
He did but spoil where he could, and waste where he might.
I have worsened life, I have wronged the world, I have lowered the light;
But as for him, his words and his ways were after his kind,
He did but spoil where he could, and waste where he might.
For he was let to do it; I let him and left his soul
To walk mid the ruins he made of home in remembrance of love's despairs,
Despairs that harden the hearts of men and shadow their heads with dole,
And woman's fault, though never on earth, may be healed,—but what of theirs.
To walk mid the ruins he made of home in remembrance of love's despairs,
Despairs that harden the hearts of men and shadow their heads with dole,
And woman's fault, though never on earth, may be healed,—but what of theirs.
'Twas fit you should hear it all—What, tears? they comfort me; now you will go,
Nor wrong your life for the nought you call ‘a pair of beautiful eyes,’
‘I will not say I love you.’ Truly I will not, no.
‘Will, I pity you?’ Ay, but the pang will be short, you shall wake and be wise.
Nor wrong your life for the nought you call ‘a pair of beautiful eyes,’
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‘Will, I pity you?’ Ay, but the pang will be short, you shall wake and be wise.
‘Shall we meet? We shall meet on the other side, but not before.
I shall be pure and fair, I shall hear the sound of the name,
And see the form of His face. You too will walk on that shore,
In the garden of the Lord God, where neither is sorrow nor shame.
I shall be pure and fair, I shall hear the sound of the name,
And see the form of His face. You too will walk on that shore,
In the garden of the Lord God, where neither is sorrow nor shame.
Farewell, I shall bide alone, for God took my one white lamb,
I work for such as she was, and I will the while I last,
But there's no beginning again, ever I am what I am,
And nothing, nothing, nothing, can do away with the past.
I work for such as she was, and I will the while I last,
But there's no beginning again, ever I am what I am,
And nothing, nothing, nothing, can do away with the past.
| Poems of the Old Days and the New | |