 | Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) |  |
241
THE HOUR OF BEAUTY
242
“None but God and I
Knows what is in my heart.”
Sahara Song.
Knows what is in my heart.”
Sahara Song.
“Wherever snow falls, or water flows, or birds fly,
wherever day and night meet in twilight, wherever
the blue heaven is hung by clouds, or sown with stars,
wherever are forms with transparent boundaries, wherever
are outlets into celestial space, wherever is danger,
and awe, and love, there is Beauty.”
Emerson.
243
DIM FACE OF BEAUTY
Dim face of Beauty haunting all the world,
Fair face of Beauty all too fair to see,
Where the lost stars adown the heavens are hurled,
There, there alone for thee
May white peace be.
Fair face of Beauty all too fair to see,
Where the lost stars adown the heavens are hurled,
There, there alone for thee
May white peace be.
For here where all the dreams of men are whirled
Like sere torn leaves of autumn to and fro,
There is no place for thee in all the world,
Who driftest as a star,
Beyond, afar.
Like sere torn leaves of autumn to and fro,
There is no place for thee in all the world,
Who driftest as a star,
Beyond, afar.
Beauty, sad face of Beauty, Mystery, Wonder,
What are these dreams to foolish babbling men?—
Who cry with little noises 'neath the thunder
Of ages ground to sand,
To a little sand.
What are these dreams to foolish babbling men?—
Who cry with little noises 'neath the thunder
Of ages ground to sand,
To a little sand.
244
DREAMS WITHIN DREAMS
I have gone out and seen the lands of Faery
And have found sorrow and peace and beauty there,
And have not known one from the other, but found each
Lovely and gracious alike, delicate and fair.
And have found sorrow and peace and beauty there,
And have not known one from the other, but found each
Lovely and gracious alike, delicate and fair.
“They are children of one mother, she that is called Longing,
Desire, Love,” one told me: and another, “her secret name
Is Wisdom:” and another, “they are not three but one:”
And another, “touch them not, seek them not, they are wind and flame.”
Desire, Love,” one told me: and another, “her secret name
Is Wisdom:” and another, “they are not three but one:”
And another, “touch them not, seek them not, they are wind and flame.”
I have come back from the hidden, silent lands of Faery
And have forgotten the music of its ancient streams:
And now flame and wind and the long, grey, wandering wave
And beauty and peace and sorrow are dreams within dreams.
And have forgotten the music of its ancient streams:
And now flame and wind and the long, grey, wandering wave
And beauty and peace and sorrow are dreams within dreams.
245
A CRY ON THE WIND
Pity the great with love, they are deaf, they are blind:
Pity the great with love, time out of mind:
This is the song of the grey-haired wandering wind
Since Oisin's mother fled to the hill a spellbound hind.
Pity the great with love, time out of mind:
This is the song of the grey-haired wandering wind
Since Oisin's mother fled to the hill a spellbound hind.
Sorrow on love! was the sob that rose in her throat,
I, that a woman was, now wear the wild fawn's coat:
This is to lift the heart to leap like a wave to the oar,
This is to see the heart flung back like foam on the shore.
I, that a woman was, now wear the wild fawn's coat:
This is to lift the heart to leap like a wave to the oar,
This is to see the heart flung back like foam on the shore.
Have not the hunters heard them, Oisin and she together
Like peewits crying on the wind where the world is sky and heather—
The peewits that wail to each other, rising and wheeling and falling
Till greyness of noon or darkness of dusk is full of a windy calling.
Like peewits crying on the wind where the world is sky and heather—
The peewits that wail to each other, rising and wheeling and falling
Till greyness of noon or darkness of dusk is full of a windy calling.
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Pity the great with love, they are deaf, they are blind:
Pity the great with love, time out of mind!
Pity the great with love, time out of mind!
O sorrowful face of Deirdrê seen on the hill!
Once I have seen you, once, beautiful, silent, still:
As a cloud that gathers her robe like drifted snow
You stood in the mountain-corrie, and dreamed on the world below.
Once I have seen you, once, beautiful, silent, still:
As a cloud that gathers her robe like drifted snow
You stood in the mountain-corrie, and dreamed on the world below.
Like a rising sound of the sea in woods in the heart of the night
I heard a noise as of hounds, and of spears and arrows in flight:
And a glory came like a flame, and morning sprang to your eyes—
And the flame passed, and the vision, and I heard but the wind's sighs.
I heard a noise as of hounds, and of spears and arrows in flight:
And a glory came like a flame, and morning sprang to your eyes—
And the flame passed, and the vision, and I heard but the wind's sighs.
Pity the great with love, they are deaf, they are blind:
Pity the great with love, time out of mind!
Pity the great with love, time out of mind!
Last night I walked by the shore where the machar slopes:
I drowned my heart in the sea, I cast to the wind my hopes.
What is this thing so great that all the Children of Sorrow
Are weary each morn for night, and weary each night for the morrow!
I drowned my heart in the sea, I cast to the wind my hopes.
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Are weary each morn for night, and weary each night for the morrow!
Pity the great with love, they are deaf, they are blind:
Pity the great with love, time out of mind:
This is the song of the grey-haired wandering wind
Since Oisin's mother fled to the hill a spellbound hind.
Pity the great with love, time out of mind:
This is the song of the grey-haired wandering wind
Since Oisin's mother fled to the hill a spellbound hind.
248
VALE, AMOR!
We do not know this thing
By the spoken word:
It is as though in a dim wood
One heard a bird
Suddenly sing:
Then, in the twinkling of an eye
A shadow glooms the earth and sky,
And we stand silent, startled, in a changed mood.
By the spoken word:
It is as though in a dim wood
One heard a bird
Suddenly sing:
Then, in the twinkling of an eye
A shadow glooms the earth and sky,
And we stand silent, startled, in a changed mood.
It is but a little thing
The leaping sword,
When in the startled silence of changed mood
It comes as when a bird
Doth suddenly sing.
But thrust of sword or agony of soul
Are alike swift and terrible and strong,
And no foot stirs the dead leaves of that silent wood.
The leaping sword,
When in the startled silence of changed mood
It comes as when a bird
Doth suddenly sing.
But thrust of sword or agony of soul
Are alike swift and terrible and strong,
And no foot stirs the dead leaves of that silent wood.
249
FLAME ON THE WIND
O wind without that moans and cries, O dark wind in my soul!
I would I were the wet wild wind that's blowing to the Pole!
I'd seek the plunging bergs of ice to cool my flaming heart ...
I would I were the wet wild wind that's blowing to the Pole!
I'd seek the plunging bergs of ice to cool my flaming heart ...
O Flaming Heart,
I'd drown you deep where the great icebergs roll!
I'd follow on thy beating wings the wings of the wild geese,
I'd seek among the plunging hills the phantom-flight of peace ...
O is there peace for hearts of fire in gloom and cold and flight—
Torches of night
'Mid swaying bergs that grind the trampling seas?
I'd drown you deep where the great icebergs roll!
I'd follow on thy beating wings the wings of the wild geese,
I'd seek among the plunging hills the phantom-flight of peace ...
O is there peace for hearts of fire in gloom and cold and flight—
Torches of night
'Mid swaying bergs that grind the trampling seas?
O wind without and rain without, O melancholy choir
Of tempest in the lonely night and tempestwhirled desire,
What if there be no peace amid the snowclouds of the Pole ...
O Burning Soul,
Can hills of ice assuage this whirling fire!
Of tempest in the lonely night and tempestwhirled desire,
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O Burning Soul,
Can hills of ice assuage this whirling fire!
O wet wild wind bow down dark wings and winnow me away,
Whirl me on mighty shadowy wings where's neither night nor day,
Where 'mid the plunging bergs of ice may fade a whirling flame ...
O Heart of Flame! ...
'Mid dirges of white shapes that plunge and sway.
Whirl me on mighty shadowy wings where's neither night nor day,
Where 'mid the plunging bergs of ice may fade a whirling flame ...
O Heart of Flame! ...
'Mid dirges of white shapes that plunge and sway.
251
THE ROSE OF THE NIGHT
[_]
There is an old mystical legend that when a soul among the dead woos a soul among the living, so that both may be reborn as one, the sign is a dark rose, or a rose of flame, in the heart of the night.
The dark rose of thy mouth
Draw nigher, draw nigher!
Thy breath is the wind of the south,
A wind of fire,
The wind and the rose and darkness, O Rose of my Desire!
Draw nigher, draw nigher!
Thy breath is the wind of the south,
A wind of fire,
The wind and the rose and darkness, O Rose of my Desire!
Deep silence of the night,
Husht like a breathless lyre,
Save the sea's thunderous might,
Dim, menacing, dire,
Silence and wind and sea, they are thee, O Rose of my Desire!
Husht like a breathless lyre,
Save the sea's thunderous might,
Dim, menacing, dire,
Silence and wind and sea, they are thee, O Rose of my Desire!
As a wind-eddying flame
Leaping higher and higher,
Thy soul, thy secret name,
Leaps thro' Death's blazing pyre,
Kiss me, Imperishable Fire, dark Rose, O Rose of my Desire!
Leaping higher and higher,
Thy soul, thy secret name,
Leaps thro' Death's blazing pyre,
Kiss me, Imperishable Fire, dark Rose, O Rose of my Desire!
252
I-BRASÎL
There's sorrow on the wind, my grief, there's sorrow on the wind,
Old and grey!
I hear it whispering, calling, where the last stars touch the sea,
Where the cloud creeps down the hill, and the leaf shakes on the tree,
There's sorrow on the wind and it's calling low to me
Come away! Come away!
Old and grey!
I hear it whispering, calling, where the last stars touch the sea,
Where the cloud creeps down the hill, and the leaf shakes on the tree,
There's sorrow on the wind and it's calling low to me
Come away! Come away!
There's sorrow in the world, O wind, there's sorrow in my heart
Night and day:
So why should I not listen to the song you sing to me?
The hill cloud falls away in rain, the leaf whirls from the tree,
And peace may live in I-Brasîl where the last stars touch the sea
Far away, far away.
Night and day:
So why should I not listen to the song you sing to me?
The hill cloud falls away in rain, the leaf whirls from the tree,
And peace may live in I-Brasîl where the last stars touch the sea
Far away, far away.
253
LOVE AND SORROW
Love said one morn to Sorrow
“Lend me your robe of grey,
And here is mine so gay:
Please borrow,
And each the other be until to-morrow.”
“Lend me your robe of grey,
And here is mine so gay:
Please borrow,
And each the other be until to-morrow.”
At morn they met and parted:
Each had her own again;
But each a new-felt pain;
Broken-hearted,
Love; and Sorrow, broken-hearted.
Each had her own again;
But each a new-felt pain;
Broken-hearted,
Love; and Sorrow, broken-hearted.
Love sighed “No more I'll borrow:
I'll never more be glad.”
... “Can Love be oh so sad,”
Sighed Sorrow:
And so they kissed and parted on that morrow.
I'll never more be glad.”
... “Can Love be oh so sad,”
Sighed Sorrow:
And so they kissed and parted on that morrow.
But when these lovers parted
God made them seem as one—
“For so My will is done
Among the broken-hearted,”
He said; “O ye who are broken-hearted.”
God made them seem as one—
“For so My will is done
Among the broken-hearted,”
He said; “O ye who are broken-hearted.”
254
SONG-IN-MY-HEART
Song-in-my-heart, my heart's sorrow, my delight,
I hear a thin whistling as of a high arrow in flight
Or when the wind suddenly leaps, leaving the grass snowy-white:
Is it your voice, Song-in-my-heart, that calls to me to-night?
I hear a thin whistling as of a high arrow in flight
Or when the wind suddenly leaps, leaving the grass snowy-white:
Is it your voice, Song-in-my-heart, that calls to me to-night?
It is dark here, my Love, my Pulse, my Heart, my Flame:
Dark the night, dark with wind and cloud, the wind without aim
Baffled and blind, the cloud low, broken, dragging, lame,
And a stir in the darkness at the end of the room sighing my name, whispering my name!
Dark the night, dark with wind and cloud, the wind without aim
Baffled and blind, the cloud low, broken, dragging, lame,
And a stir in the darkness at the end of the room sighing my name, whispering my name!
Is that the sea calling, or the hounds of the sea, or the wind's hounds
Baffling billow on billow, wave into wave, with trampling sounds
As of herds confusedly crowding gorges?—or with leaps and bounds
The narwhals in the polar seas crashing between ice-grown mounds?
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As of herds confusedly crowding gorges?—or with leaps and bounds
The narwhals in the polar seas crashing between ice-grown mounds?
Great is that dark noise under the black north wind
Out on the sea to-night: but still it is—still as the frost that bind
The stark inland waters in green depths where icebergs grind—
In this noise of shaking storm in my heart and this blast sweeping my mind.
Out on the sea to-night: but still it is—still as the frost that bind
The stark inland waters in green depths where icebergs grind—
In this noise of shaking storm in my heart and this blast sweeping my mind.
256
MO BRÒN!
(A SONG ON THE WIND)
O come across the grey wild seas,
Said my heart in pain;
Give me peace, give me peace,
Said my heart in pain.
Said my heart in pain;
Give me peace, give me peace,
Said my heart in pain.
This is the song of the Swan
On the tides of the wind,
The song of the wild Swan
Time out of mind.
On the tides of the wind,
The song of the wild Swan
Time out of mind.
O come across the grey wild seas,
O give me a token!
My head is on my knees,
My heart is broken.
O give me a token!
My head is on my knees,
My heart is broken.
This is the song of the Heart
On the tides of Sorrow:
This is the song of my heart
To-day and to-morrow.
On the tides of Sorrow:
This is the song of my heart
To-day and to-morrow.
257
SORROW
The wrack is lapping in the pools, the sea's lip feels the sand,
Upon the mussel-purple rocks the restless mews are wailing:
The sinuous serpents of the tide are darkly twisting to the land:
The west wind drinks the foam as east she comes a-sailing.
Upon the mussel-purple rocks the restless mews are wailing:
The sinuous serpents of the tide are darkly twisting to the land:
The west wind drinks the foam as east she comes a-sailing.
(A whisper of the secret tides upon another coast,
The windy headlands of the soul, the lone sands of the mind....
That whisper swells as of a congregating host,
And I am as one frozen or deaf or blind.)
The windy headlands of the soul, the lone sands of the mind....
That whisper swells as of a congregating host,
And I am as one frozen or deaf or blind.)
O Tide that fills the little pools along the sunset-strand,
That sets the mews a-wailing above the wailing sea,
Bring back, hold out, O flowing Tide, O with a saviour hand
Restore the long-ebbed hopes, some fragment give to me!
That sets the mews a-wailing above the wailing sea,
Bring back, hold out, O flowing Tide, O with a saviour hand
Restore the long-ebbed hopes, some fragment give to me!
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(Along the dim and broken coasts the tired mind knows its own,
By day and night the silent tides are silent evermore:
Around the headlands of the soul the great deeps moan,
Or with dull thunders plunge from shore to shore.)
By day and night the silent tides are silent evermore:
Around the headlands of the soul the great deeps moan,
Or with dull thunders plunge from shore to shore.)
259
THE FOUNTS OF SONG
“What is the song I am singing?”
Said the pine-tree to the wave:
“Do you not know the song
You have sung so long
Down in the dim green alleys of the sea,
And where the great blind tides go swinging
Mysteriously,
And where the countless herds of the billows are hurl'd
On all the wild and lonely beaches of the world?”
Said the pine-tree to the wave:
“Do you not know the song
You have sung so long
Down in the dim green alleys of the sea,
And where the great blind tides go swinging
Mysteriously,
And where the countless herds of the billows are hurl'd
On all the wild and lonely beaches of the world?”
“Ah, Pine-tree,” sighed the wave,
“I have no song but what I catch from thee:
Far off I hear thy strain
Of infinite sweet pain
That floats along the lovely phantom land.
I sigh, and murmur it o'er and o'er and o'er,
When 'neath the slow compelling hand
That guides me back and far from the loved shore,
I wander long
Where never falls the breath of any song,
But only the loud, empty, crashing roar
Of seas swung this way and that for evermore.”
“I have no song but what I catch from thee:
Far off I hear thy strain
Of infinite sweet pain
That floats along the lovely phantom land.
I sigh, and murmur it o'er and o'er and o'er,
When 'neath the slow compelling hand
That guides me back and far from the loved shore,
I wander long
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But only the loud, empty, crashing roar
Of seas swung this way and that for evermore.”
“What is the song I am singing?”
Said the poet to the pine:
“Do you not know the song
You have sung so long
Here in the dim green alleys of the woods
Where the wild winds go wandering in all moods,
And whisper often o'er and o'er,
Or in tempestuous clamours roar
Their dark eternal secret evermore?”
Said the poet to the pine:
“Do you not know the song
You have sung so long
Here in the dim green alleys of the woods
Where the wild winds go wandering in all moods,
And whisper often o'er and o'er,
Or in tempestuous clamours roar
Their dark eternal secret evermore?”
“Oh, Poet,” said the Pine,
“Thine
Is that song!
Not mine!
I have known it, loved it, long!
Nothing I know of what the wild winds cry
Through dusk and storm and night,
Or prophesy
When tempests whirl us with their awful might.
Only, I know that when
The poet's voice is heard
Among the woods
The infinite pain from out the hearts of men
Is sweeter than the voice of wave or branch or bird
In these dumb solitudes.”
“Thine
Is that song!
Not mine!
I have known it, loved it, long!
Nothing I know of what the wild winds cry
Through dusk and storm and night,
Or prophesy
When tempests whirl us with their awful might.
Only, I know that when
The poet's voice is heard
Among the woods
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Is sweeter than the voice of wave or branch or bird
In these dumb solitudes.”
262
ON A REDBREAST SINGING AT THE GRAVE OF PLATO
(IN THE GROVE OF ACADEME)
The rose of gloaming everywhere!
And through the silence cool and sweet
A song falls through the golden air
And stays my feet—
For there! ...
This very moment surely I have heard
The sudden, swift, incalculable word
That takes me o'er the foam
Of these empurpling, dim Ionian seas,
That takes me home
To where
Far on an isle of the far Hebrides
Sits on a spray of gorse a little home-sweet bird.
And through the silence cool and sweet
A song falls through the golden air
And stays my feet—
For there! ...
This very moment surely I have heard
The sudden, swift, incalculable word
That takes me o'er the foam
Of these empurpling, dim Ionian seas,
That takes me home
To where
Far on an isle of the far Hebrides
Sits on a spray of gorse a little home-sweet bird.
The great white Attic poplars rise,
And down their tremulous stairs I hear
Light airs and delicate sighs.
Even here
Outside this grove of ancient olive-trees,
Close by this trickling murmuring stream,
Was laid long, long ago, men say,
That lordly Prince of Peace
Who loved to wander here from day to day,
Plato, who from this Academe
Sent radiant dreams sublime
Across the troubled seas of time,
Dreams that not yet are passed away,
Nor faded grown, nor grey,
But white, immortal are
As that great star
That yonder hangs above Hymettos' brow.
And down their tremulous stairs I hear
Light airs and delicate sighs.
Even here
Outside this grove of ancient olive-trees,
Close by this trickling murmuring stream,
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That lordly Prince of Peace
Who loved to wander here from day to day,
Plato, who from this Academe
Sent radiant dreams sublime
Across the troubled seas of time,
Dreams that not yet are passed away,
Nor faded grown, nor grey,
But white, immortal are
As that great star
That yonder hangs above Hymettos' brow.
But now
It is not he, the Dreamer of the Dream,
That holds my thought.
Greece, Plato, and the Academe
Are all forgot:
It is as though I am unloosed by hands:
My heart aches for the grey-green seas
That hold a lonely isle
Far in the Hebrides,
An isle where all day long
The redbreast's song
Goes fluting on the wind o'er lonely sands.
It is not he, the Dreamer of the Dream,
That holds my thought.
Greece, Plato, and the Academe
Are all forgot:
It is as though I am unloosed by hands:
My heart aches for the grey-green seas
That hold a lonely isle
Far in the Hebrides,
An isle where all day long
The redbreast's song
Goes fluting on the wind o'er lonely sands.
So beautiful, so beautiful
Is Hellas, here.
Divinely clear
The mellow golden air,
Filled, as a rose is full,
Of delicate flame:
And oh the secret tides of thought and dream
That haunt this slow Kephisian stream!
But yet more sweet, more beautiful, more dear
The secret tides of memory and thought
That link me to the far-off shore
For which I long—
Greece, Plato, and the Academe forgot
For a robin's song!
Is Hellas, here.
Divinely clear
The mellow golden air,
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Of delicate flame:
And oh the secret tides of thought and dream
That haunt this slow Kephisian stream!
But yet more sweet, more beautiful, more dear
The secret tides of memory and thought
That link me to the far-off shore
For which I long—
Greece, Plato, and the Academe forgot
For a robin's song!
265
THE BELLS OF YOUTH
The Bells of Youth are ringing in the gateways of the South:
The bannerets of green are now unfurled:
Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her mouth,
And is singing, singing, singing thro' the world.
The bannerets of green are now unfurled:
Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her mouth,
And is singing, singing, singing thro' the world.
The Bells of Youth are ringing in all the silent places,
The primrose and the celandine are out:
Children run a-laughing with joy upon their faces,
The west wind follows after with a shout.
The primrose and the celandine are out:
Children run a-laughing with joy upon their faces,
The west wind follows after with a shout.
The Bells of Youth are ringing from the forests to the mountains,
From the meadows to the moorlands, hark their ringing!
Ten thousand thousand splashing rills and fern-dappled fountains
Are flinging wide the Song of Youth, and onward flowing, singing!
From the meadows to the moorlands, hark their ringing!
Ten thousand thousand splashing rills and fern-dappled fountains
Are flinging wide the Song of Youth, and onward flowing, singing!
266
The Bells of Youth are ringing in the gateways of the South:
The bannerets of green are now unfurled:
Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her mouth,
And is singing, singing, singing thro' the world.
The bannerets of green are now unfurled:
Spring has risen with a laugh, a wild-rose in her mouth,
And is singing, singing, singing thro' the world.
267
SONG OF APPLE-TREES
Song of Apple-trees, honeysweet and murmurous,
Where the swallows flash and shimmer as they thrid the foamwhite maze,
Breaths of far-off Avalon are blown to us, come down to us,
Avalon of the Heart's Desire, Avalon of the Hidden Ways!
Where the swallows flash and shimmer as they thrid the foamwhite maze,
Breaths of far-off Avalon are blown to us, come down to us,
Avalon of the Heart's Desire, Avalon of the Hidden Ways!
Song of Apple-blossom, when the myriad leaves are gleaming
Like undersides of small green waves in foam of shallow seas,
One may dream of Avalon, lie dreaming, dreaming, dreaming,
Till wandering through dim vales of dusk the stars hang in the trees.
Like undersides of small green waves in foam of shallow seas,
One may dream of Avalon, lie dreaming, dreaming, dreaming,
Till wandering through dim vales of dusk the stars hang in the trees.
Song of Apple-trees, honeysweet and murmurous,
When the night-wind fills the branches with a sound of muffled oars,
Breaths of far-off Avalon are blown to us, come down to us,
Avalon of the Heart's Desire, Avalon of the Hidden Shores.
When the night-wind fills the branches with a sound of muffled oars,
268
Avalon of the Heart's Desire, Avalon of the Hidden Shores.
269
RÒSEEN-DHU
Little wild-rose of my heart,
Ròseen-dhu, Ròseen-dhu!
Why must we part,
Ròseen-dhu?
To meet but to part again!
Is it because we are fain
Of the wind and the rain,
Because we are hungry of pain,
Ròseen-dhu?
Ròseen-dhu, Ròseen-dhu!
Why must we part,
Ròseen-dhu?
To meet but to part again!
Is it because we are fain
Of the wind and the rain,
Because we are hungry of pain,
Ròseen-dhu?
Little wild-rose of my heart,
Ròseen-dhu, Ròseen-dhu,
Where I am, thou art,
Ròseen-dhu!
If summer come and go,
If the wild wind blow,
Come rain, come snow,
If the tide ebb, if the tide flow,
Ròseen-dhu!
Ròseen-dhu, Ròseen-dhu,
Where I am, thou art,
Ròseen-dhu!
If summer come and go,
If the wild wind blow,
Come rain, come snow,
If the tide ebb, if the tide flow,
Ròseen-dhu!
Little wild-rose of my heart,
Ròseen-dhu, Ròseen-dhu ...
Time poiseth his shadowy dart,
Ròseen-dhu!
What matter, O Ròseen mochree,
Since each is a wave on the sea—
Since Love is as lightning for thee
And as thunder for me,
Ròseen-dhu!
Ròseen-dhu, Ròseen-dhu ...
Time poiseth his shadowy dart,
Ròseen-dhu!
270
Since each is a wave on the sea—
Since Love is as lightning for thee
And as thunder for me,
Ròseen-dhu!
271
THE SHREWMOUSE
The creatures with the shining eyes
That live among the tender grass
See great stars falling down the skies
And mighty comets pass.
That live among the tender grass
See great stars falling down the skies
And mighty comets pass.
Torches of thought within the mind
Wave fire upon the dancing streams
Of souls that shake upon them wind
In rain of falling dreams.
Wave fire upon the dancing streams
Of souls that shake upon them wind
In rain of falling dreams.
The shrewmouse builds her windy nest
And laughs amid the corn:
She hath no dreams within her breast:
God smiled when she was born.
And laughs amid the corn:
She hath no dreams within her breast:
God smiled when she was born.
272
THE LAST FAY
I have wandered where the cuckoo fills
The woodlands with her magic voice:
I have wandered on the brows of hills
Where the last heavenward larks rejoice:
Far I have wandered by the wave,
By shadowy loch and swaying stream,
But never have I found the grave
Of him who made me a wandering Dream.
If I could find that lonely place
And him who lies asleep therein,
I'd bow my head and kiss his face
And sleep and rest and peace would win.
The woodlands with her magic voice:
I have wandered on the brows of hills
Where the last heavenward larks rejoice:
Far I have wandered by the wave,
By shadowy loch and swaying stream,
But never have I found the grave
Of him who made me a wandering Dream.
If I could find that lonely place
And him who lies asleep therein,
I'd bow my head and kiss his face
And sleep and rest and peace would win.
He made me, he who lies asleep
Hidden in some forgotten spot
Where winds sweep and rains weep
And foot of wayfarer cometh not:
He made me, Merlin, ages ago,
He shaped me in an idle hour,
He made a heart of fire to glow
And hid it in an April shower!
For I am but a shower that calls
A thin sweet song of rain, and pass:
Even the wind-whirled leaf that falls
Lingers awhile within the grass,
But I am blown from hill to vale,
From vale to hill like a bird's cry
That shepherds hear a far-off wail
And woodfolk as a drowsy sigh.
Hidden in some forgotten spot
Where winds sweep and rains weep
And foot of wayfarer cometh not:
He made me, Merlin, ages ago,
He shaped me in an idle hour,
He made a heart of fire to glow
And hid it in an April shower!
For I am but a shower that calls
A thin sweet song of rain, and pass:
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Lingers awhile within the grass,
But I am blown from hill to vale,
From vale to hill like a bird's cry
That shepherds hear a far-off wail
And woodfolk as a drowsy sigh.
And I am tired, whom Merlin made.
I would lie down in the heart of June
And fall asleep in a leafy shade
And wake not till in the Faery Moon
Merlin shall rise our lord and king,
To leave for aye the tribes of Man,
And let the clarion summons ring
The kingdom of the Immortal Clan.
If but in some green place I'd see
An ancient tangled moss-like beard
And half-buried boulder of a knee
I should not flutter away afeared!
With leap of joy, with low glad cry
I'd sink beside the Sleeper fair:
He would not grudge my fading sigh
In the ancient stillness brooding there.
I would lie down in the heart of June
And fall asleep in a leafy shade
And wake not till in the Faery Moon
Merlin shall rise our lord and king,
To leave for aye the tribes of Man,
And let the clarion summons ring
The kingdom of the Immortal Clan.
If but in some green place I'd see
An ancient tangled moss-like beard
And half-buried boulder of a knee
I should not flutter away afeared!
With leap of joy, with low glad cry
I'd sink beside the Sleeper fair:
He would not grudge my fading sigh
In the ancient stillness brooding there.
274
THE DIRGE OF “CLAN SIUBHAIL”
(THE WANDERING FOLK)
Sorrow upon me on the grass and on the wandering road:
My heart is heavy in the morn and heavier still at night.
Sometimes I rest in a quiet place and lay me down my heavy load,
And watch in the dewy valley the coming of light after light,
Watch on the dusky hill and the darkening plain the coming of light after light.
My heart is heavy in the morn and heavier still at night.
Sometimes I rest in a quiet place and lay me down my heavy load,
And watch in the dewy valley the coming of light after light,
Watch on the dusky hill and the darkening plain the coming of light after light.
At dawn I am stirring again, and weary of the night:
And all the morn and all the noon I lift my heavy load:
At fall of day I see once more the coming of light after light:
And night is as day and day is as night on the endless road—
Sorrow upon me on the grass and on the wandering road.
And all the morn and all the noon I lift my heavy load:
At fall of day I see once more the coming of light after light:
And night is as day and day is as night on the endless road—
Sorrow upon me on the grass and on the wandering road.
275
THE EXILE
It is not when the seamew cries above the grey-green foam
Or circling o'er the bracken-fields the fluttering lapwings fly,
Or when above the broom and gale the lark is in his windy home
That thus I long, and with old longing sigh.
Or circling o'er the bracken-fields the fluttering lapwings fly,
Or when above the broom and gale the lark is in his windy home
That thus I long, and with old longing sigh.
For I am far away now, and now have time for sighing,
For sighing and for longing, where the grey houses stand.
In dreams I am a seamew flying, flying, flying
To where my heart is, in my own lost land.
For sighing and for longing, where the grey houses stand.
In dreams I am a seamew flying, flying, flying
To where my heart is, in my own lost land.
It is when in the crowded streets the rustling of white willows
And tumbling of a brown hill-water obscure the noisy ways;
Then is the ache a bitter pain; and to hear grey-green billows,
Or the hill-wind in a broom-sweet place.
And tumbling of a brown hill-water obscure the noisy ways;
Then is the ache a bitter pain; and to hear grey-green billows,
Or the hill-wind in a broom-sweet place.
276
THE SHADOW
“Do you hear the calling, Mary, down by the sea?
Who is it callin', yonder, callin' to me?
Last night a shadow came up to the rowantree,
And Muirnean, it whispered, Muirnean, I'm waiting for thee!
Who is it callin', yonder, callin' to me?
Last night a shadow came up to the rowantree,
And Muirnean, it whispered, Muirnean, I'm waiting for thee!
“Do you hear the calling, Mary, down by the shore?
Who is it callin', yonder, callin' sore?
Last night I came in from the rowan an' shut the door,
But some one without kept whisperin' the same thing o'er and o'er.
Who is it callin', yonder, callin' sore?
Last night I came in from the rowan an' shut the door,
But some one without kept whisperin' the same thing o'er and o'er.
“Do you hear the calling, Mary, here, close by?
Who is it callin', whisperin', here, so nigh?
Give me my shawl, Mary, an' don't whimper an' cry:
I'm going out into the night, just to look at the sky.”
Who is it callin', whisperin', here, so nigh?
Give me my shawl, Mary, an' don't whimper an' cry:
I'm going out into the night, just to look at the sky.”
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Mary—Mary—Mary—wailed the wind wearily:
Mary—Mary—Mary—wailed the rain in the tree:
One! Two! Three! ticked the clock—One! Two! Three!
Out in the darkness rose the calling of the sea.
Mary—Mary—Mary—wailed the rain in the tree:
One! Two! Three! ticked the clock—One! Two! Three!
Out in the darkness rose the calling of the sea.
278
ORAN-BHROIN
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild
With tempest wings that fan the fire
Of sunset to one awful pyre,
I hear the crying of a child—
The crying of a little child
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
Is blowing wild
With tempest wings that fan the fire
Of sunset to one awful pyre,
I hear the crying of a child—
The crying of a little child
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
The screaming scart, the wailing mew,
The lone curlew,
From shore and moor these voices rise:
The grey wind roams through ashen skies:
The West is all a blood-red hue:
Out of the glistering moorland dew
I hear a child's voice wail and rise
In mournful cries.
The lone curlew,
From shore and moor these voices rise:
The grey wind roams through ashen skies:
The West is all a blood-red hue:
Out of the glistering moorland dew
I hear a child's voice wail and rise
In mournful cries.
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild
And shrill and faint along the shore,
By moor, or hill, and o'er and o'er
A child's lament is tost on high ...
It is a love that cannot die,
A lost love weeping evermore
While all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
Is blowing wild
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By moor, or hill, and o'er and o'er
A child's lament is tost on high ...
It is a love that cannot die,
A lost love weeping evermore
While all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
280
AT THE COMING OF THE WILD SWANS
By loch and darkening river,
Above the salt sea-plains,
Across the misty mountains
Amid the blinding rains,
In fierce or silent weather
The wild swans southward fare,
The wild swans swing together
Through lonely fields of air,
Crying Honk, Honk, Honk,
Glugulû, ullalû, glugulû,
Honk! Honk!
Above the salt sea-plains,
Across the misty mountains
Amid the blinding rains,
In fierce or silent weather
The wild swans southward fare,
The wild swans swing together
Through lonely fields of air,
Crying Honk, Honk, Honk,
Glugulû, ullalû, glugulû,
Honk! Honk!
The seamew's lonely laughter
Flits down the flowing wave,
The green scarts follow after
The surge where cross-tides rave:
The sea-duck's mellow wailing
Floats over sheltered places,
And southward, southward sailing
Go all the feathered races....
When the swans cry Honk, Honk,
Glugulû, ullalû, glugulû,
Honk! Honk!
Flits down the flowing wave,
The green scarts follow after
The surge where cross-tides rave:
The sea-duck's mellow wailing
Floats over sheltered places,
And southward, southward sailing
Go all the feathered races....
When the swans cry Honk, Honk,
Glugulû, ullalû, glugulû,
Honk! Honk!
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White spirits from the Northland,
Grey clan of Storm and Frost,
Wind-swooping to the Southland
From icy-seas blast-tost....
Wild clan of sons and daughters,
A welcome, now you are come
When all your polar waters
Are frozen, white, and dumb!...
Crying Honk, Honk, Honk,
Glugulû, ullalû, glugulû,
Honk! Honk!
Grey clan of Storm and Frost,
Wind-swooping to the Southland
From icy-seas blast-tost....
Wild clan of sons and daughters,
A welcome, now you are come
When all your polar waters
Are frozen, white, and dumb!...
Crying Honk, Honk, Honk,
Glugulû, ullalû, glugulû,
Honk! Honk!
282
THE WEAVER OF SNOW
In Polar noons when the moonshine glimmers,
And the frost-fans whirl,
And whiter than moonlight the ice-flowers grow,
And the lunar rainbow quivers and shimmers,
And the Silent Laughers dance to and fro,
A stooping girl
As pale as pearl
Gathers the frost-flowers where they blow:
And the fleet-foot fairies smile, for they know
The Weaver of Snow.
And the frost-fans whirl,
And whiter than moonlight the ice-flowers grow,
And the lunar rainbow quivers and shimmers,
And the Silent Laughers dance to and fro,
A stooping girl
As pale as pearl
Gathers the frost-flowers where they blow:
And the fleet-foot fairies smile, for they know
The Weaver of Snow.
And she climbs at last to a berg set free,
That drifteth slow:
And she sails to the edge of the world we see:
And waits till the wings of the north wind lean
Like an eagle's wings o'er a lochan of green,
And the pale stars glow
On berg and floe....
Then down on our world with a wild laugh of glee
She empties her lap full of shimmer and sheen.
And that is the way in a dream I have seen
The Weaver of Snow.
That drifteth slow:
And she sails to the edge of the world we see:
And waits till the wings of the north wind lean
Like an eagle's wings o'er a lochan of green,
And the pale stars glow
On berg and floe....
Then down on our world with a wild laugh of glee
She empties her lap full of shimmer and sheen.
And that is the way in a dream I have seen
The Weaver of Snow.
283
A SONG OF DREAMS
One came to me in the night
And said Arise!
I rose, phantom-white;
Far was my flight
To a star shaken with light
In the heart of the skies.
And said Arise!
I rose, phantom-white;
Far was my flight
To a star shaken with light
In the heart of the skies.
Through seven spheres I fled,
Opal and rose and white,
Emerald, violet, red,
Through azure was I led,
And the coronal on my head
With seven moons was bright.
Opal and rose and white,
Emerald, violet, red,
Through azure was I led,
And the coronal on my head
With seven moons was bright.
What wonder that the day
Swings slowly through slow hours!
My heart leaps when the grey
Husht feet of Night are astray,
And I hear her wild bells play
On her starry towers.
Swings slowly through slow hours!
My heart leaps when the grey
Husht feet of Night are astray,
And I hear her wild bells play
On her starry towers.
284
EASTER
The stars wailed when the reed was born,
And heaven wept at the birth of the thorn:
Joy was pluckt like a flower and torn,
For Time foreshadowed Good-Friday Morn.
And heaven wept at the birth of the thorn:
Joy was pluckt like a flower and torn,
For Time foreshadowed Good-Friday Morn.
But the stars laughed like children free
And heaven was hung with the rainbow's glee
When at Easter Sunday, so fair to see,
Time bowed before Eternity.
And heaven was hung with the rainbow's glee
When at Easter Sunday, so fair to see,
Time bowed before Eternity.
285
WHEN THERE IS PEACE
There is peace on the sea to-night
Thought the fish in the white wave:
There is peace among the stars to-night
Thought the sleeper in the grave:
Thought the fish in the white wave:
There is peace among the stars to-night
Thought the sleeper in the grave:
There is peace in my heart to-night
Sighed Love beneath his breath;
For God dreamed in the silence of His might
Amid the earthquakes of death.
Sighed Love beneath his breath;
For God dreamed in the silence of His might
Amid the earthquakes of death.
286
TIME
I saw a happy Spirit
That wandered among flowers:
Her crown was a rainbow,
Her gown was wove of hours.
That wandered among flowers:
Her crown was a rainbow,
Her gown was wove of hours.
She turned with sudden laughter,
I was, but am no more!
And as I followed after
Time smote me on the brow.
I was, but am no more!
And as I followed after
Time smote me on the brow.
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INVOCATION
Written in the Gulf of Lyons during a storm.
Play me a lulling tune, O Flute-Player of Sleep.
Across the twilight bloom of thy purple havens.
Far off a phantom stag on the moon-yellow highlands
Ceases; and, as a shadow, wavers; and passes:
So let Silence seal me and Darkness gather, Piper of Sleep.
Across the twilight bloom of thy purple havens.
Far off a phantom stag on the moon-yellow highlands
Ceases; and, as a shadow, wavers; and passes:
So let Silence seal me and Darkness gather, Piper of Sleep.
Play me a lulling chant, O Anthem-Maker,
Out of the fall of lonely seas, and the wind's sorrow:
Behind are the burning glens of the sunset sky
Where like blown ghosts the seamews wail their desolate sea-dirges:
Make me of these a lulling chant, O Anthem-Maker.
Out of the fall of lonely seas, and the wind's sorrow:
Behind are the burning glens of the sunset sky
Where like blown ghosts the seamews wail their desolate sea-dirges:
Make me of these a lulling chant, O Anthem-Maker.
No—no—from nets of silence weave me, O Sigher of Sleep,
A dusky veil ash-grey as the moon-pale moth's grey wing;
Of thicket-stillness woven, and sleep of grass, and thin evanishing air
Where the tall reed spires breathless—for I am tired, O Sigher of Sleep,
And long for thy muffled song as of bells on the wind, and the wind's cry
Falling, and the dim wastes that lie
Beyond the last, low, long, oblivious sigh.
A dusky veil ash-grey as the moon-pale moth's grey wing;
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Where the tall reed spires breathless—for I am tired, O Sigher of Sleep,
And long for thy muffled song as of bells on the wind, and the wind's cry
Falling, and the dim wastes that lie
Beyond the last, low, long, oblivious sigh.
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THE SECRET GATE
From out the dark of sleep I rose, on the wings of desire:
“Give me the joy of sight,” I cried, “O Master of Hidden Fire!”
And a Voice said: Wait
Till you pass the Gate.
“Give me the joy of sight,” I cried, “O Master of Hidden Fire!”
And a Voice said: Wait
Till you pass the Gate.
“Give me the joy of sight,” I cried, “O Master of Hidden Fire!
By the flame in the heart of the soul, grant my desire!”
And a Voice said: Wait
Till you pass the Gate.
By the flame in the heart of the soul, grant my desire!”
And a Voice said: Wait
Till you pass the Gate.
I shook the dark with the tremulous beat of my wings of desire:
“Give me but once the thing I ask, O Master of Hidden Fire!”
And a Voice said: Wait!
You have reached the Gate.
“Give me but once the thing I ask, O Master of Hidden Fire!”
And a Voice said: Wait!
You have reached the Gate.
I rose from flame to flame on pinions of desire:
And I heard the voice of the Master of Hidden Fire:
Behold the Flaming Gate,
Where Sight doth wait!
And I heard the voice of the Master of Hidden Fire:
Behold the Flaming Gate,
Where Sight doth wait!
290
Like a wandering star I fell through the deeps of desire,
And back through the portals of sleep the Master of Hidden Fire
Thundered: Await
The opening of the Gate!
And back through the portals of sleep the Master of Hidden Fire
Thundered: Await
The opening of the Gate!
But now I pray, now I pray, with passionate desire:
“Blind me, O blind me, Master of Hidden Fire,
I supplicate,
Ope not the Gate.”
“Blind me, O blind me, Master of Hidden Fire,
I supplicate,
Ope not the Gate.”
291
THE MYSTIC'S PRAYER
Lay me to sleep in sheltering flame,
O Master of the Hidden Fire!
Wash pure my heart, and cleanse for me
My soul's desire.
O Master of the Hidden Fire!
Wash pure my heart, and cleanse for me
My soul's desire.
In flame of sunrise bathe my mind,
O Master of the Hidden Fire,
That, when I wake, clear-eyed may be
My soul's desire.
O Master of the Hidden Fire,
That, when I wake, clear-eyed may be
My soul's desire.
| Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) | |