 | In the Dorian Mood |  |
1
TO A BRETON BEGGAR
(Dol Cathedral)
In the brown shadow of the transept door,
Gray kings and granite prophets overhead,
Which are so ancient they can age no more,
A beggar begs his bread.
Gray kings and granite prophets overhead,
Which are so ancient they can age no more,
A beggar begs his bread.
He too is old—so old, and worn, and still,
He seems a part of those gaunt sculptures there
By wizard masons dowered with power and will
To moan sometimes in prayer,
He seems a part of those gaunt sculptures there
By wizard masons dowered with power and will
To moan sometimes in prayer,
2
To moan in prayer, moving thin carven lips,
And with faint senses striving to drink in
Some golden sound, which peradventure slips
From the altar's heart within.
And with faint senses striving to drink in
Some golden sound, which peradventure slips
From the altar's heart within.
What is thy prayer? Is it a plaintive praise,
An intercession, or an anguished plaint,
Remorse, O sinner, for wild vanished days,
Or ecstasy, O saint?
An intercession, or an anguished plaint,
Remorse, O sinner, for wild vanished days,
Or ecstasy, O saint?
And through long hours when thou art wont to sit
In moveless silence, what inspires thy thought?
Is thine an utter drowsing? Or shall wit
Still travail, memory-fraught?
In moveless silence, what inspires thy thought?
Is thine an utter drowsing? Or shall wit
Still travail, memory-fraught?
Hear'st thou old battles? Wast thou one of those
Whose angry fire-locks made the hillsides ring
When, clad in skins and rags, the Chouans rose
To die for Church and King?
Whose angry fire-locks made the hillsides ring
When, clad in skins and rags, the Chouans rose
To die for Church and King?
3
Or dost thou view in weird and sad array
The long-dead Cymry—they of whom men tell
That ‘always to the war they marched away,’
And that ‘they always fell’?
The long-dead Cymry—they of whom men tell
That ‘always to the war they marched away,’
And that ‘they always fell’?
So touching are thine eyes which cannot see,
So great a resignation haunts thy face,
I often think that I behold in thee
The symbol of thy race,
So great a resignation haunts thy face,
I often think that I behold in thee
The symbol of thy race,
Not as it was when bards Armorican
Sang the high pageant of their Age of Gold,
But as it is, a long-tressed sombre man,
Exceeding poor and old,
Sang the high pageant of their Age of Gold,
But as it is, a long-tressed sombre man,
Exceeding poor and old,
With somewhat in his eyes for some to read,
Albeit dimmed with years and scarcely felt,—
The mystery of an antique deathless Creed,
The glamour of the Celt!
Albeit dimmed with years and scarcely felt,—
The mystery of an antique deathless Creed,
The glamour of the Celt!
4
WHEN THE LAMP IS QUENCHED
Your casement bright athwart the night
Gleams steadfastly—a golden square!
And I'm thrilled through for love of you
With hope that laughs away despair!
Gleams steadfastly—a golden square!
And I'm thrilled through for love of you
With hope that laughs away despair!
Lo, the lamp's out! Dark night and doubt
Rush in where erst was solace sweet;
And suddenly it seems to me
Some heart—some life—has ceased to beat!
Rush in where erst was solace sweet;
And suddenly it seems to me
Some heart—some life—has ceased to beat!
5
TWILIGHT-PIECE
The golden river-reach afar
Kisses the golden skies of even,
And there's the first faint lover's star
Alight along the walls of heaven.
Kisses the golden skies of even,
And there's the first faint lover's star
Alight along the walls of heaven.
The river murmurs to the boughs,
The boughs make music each to each,
And still an amorous west wind soughs
And loiters down the lonesome reach.
The boughs make music each to each,
And still an amorous west wind soughs
And loiters down the lonesome reach.
And here on the slim arch that spans
The rippling stream, in dark outline,
You see the poor old fisherman's
Bowed form and patient rod and line.
The rippling stream, in dark outline,
You see the poor old fisherman's
Bowed form and patient rod and line.
6
A picture better than all art,
Since none could catch that sunset stain,
Or set in the soft twilight's heart
This small strange touch of human pain!
Since none could catch that sunset stain,
Or set in the soft twilight's heart
This small strange touch of human pain!
7
MEJNUN AND LAILI
(After the Persic)
Drugged at the breast of Anguish, nursed
In Sorrow's old unnatural arms,
Daily the swart Mejnún rehearsed
Young Laili's lustrous charms.
In Sorrow's old unnatural arms,
Daily the swart Mejnún rehearsed
Young Laili's lustrous charms.
For him his desert grew to be
Love's golden house where evermore
Madness was janitor, and he
The threshold of love's door!
Love's golden house where evermore
Madness was janitor, and he
The threshold of love's door!
The telling of his griefs oppressed
The Arabians: 'mong their youth there was
A tumult, and as men possessed
They clamoured in his cause.
The Arabians: 'mong their youth there was
A tumult, and as men possessed
They clamoured in his cause.
8
Their lettered councils met: the fame
Of all thou sufferedst, saidst, and didst
For love's dear sake, Mejnún, became
A desert in their midst!
Of all thou sufferedst, saidst, and didst
For love's dear sake, Mejnún, became
A desert in their midst!
At length their Sultan spake—he too
Had plucked, whiles in love's land he paced,
Many a flower of sable hue
And fruit of haunting taste;—
Had plucked, whiles in love's land he paced,
Many a flower of sable hue
And fruit of haunting taste;—
‘Slave, make thy head like to thy feet
In running unto Najd! Bestir!
Be as a violent wind and fleet,
And hither fetch me Her
In running unto Najd! Bestir!
Be as a violent wind and fleet,
And hither fetch me Her
Whose eyes such miseries have wrought!’
The stripling coursed away amain,
And in a twinkling homeward brought
That Empress in Love's reign.
The stripling coursed away amain,
And in a twinkling homeward brought
That Empress in Love's reign.
9
Unto another slave he bent:
‘Now go thou also forth and bring
Love's burning lamp, Love's ornament,
Love's heart-consuméd King!’
‘Now go thou also forth and bring
Love's burning lamp, Love's ornament,
Love's heart-consuméd King!’
The boy sped and returned: he had
Strange company when back he pressed:
The wounds of separation clad
Mejnún as with a vest:
Strange company when back he pressed:
The wounds of separation clad
Mejnún as with a vest:
His cloak was his wild hair; 'twas spann'd
By a sharp comb of Arab thorn:
His robe was rustling desert sand:
To flint his feet were worn.
By a sharp comb of Arab thorn:
His robe was rustling desert sand:
To flint his feet were worn.
‘Look up!’ the Sultan cried, ‘O thou,
Who hast in Sorrow's gulf been lost!
Tell me! shall I exalt thee now
At this young beauty's cost?
Who hast in Sorrow's gulf been lost!
Tell me! shall I exalt thee now
At this young beauty's cost?
10
Become a courtier, wouldst thou not
Bask on her cheek, thy wanderings done?’
‘Nay,’ cried that other, ‘'twere to blot
With atomies the sun!
Bask on her cheek, thy wanderings done?’
‘Nay,’ cried that other, ‘'twere to blot
With atomies the sun!
‘King of high hearts, it were unjust
Thus rashly to forego our fates!
Enough if with one grain of dust
I crown me at thy gates!’
Thus rashly to forego our fates!
Enough if with one grain of dust
I crown me at thy gates!’
—Madness austerely throned above
The desolate hollows of his eyes—
‘Me the sharp pain,’ he cried, ‘of love
For Laili doth suffice!
The desolate hollows of his eyes—
‘Me the sharp pain,’ he cried, ‘of love
For Laili doth suffice!
‘Nor do I pray that from her spheres
One ray should light this mean worn man.’
He spake, he veiled his eyes with tears,
And toward the desert ran.
One ray should light this mean worn man.’
He spake, he veiled his eyes with tears,
And toward the desert ran.
11
‘EOTHEN’
Although I have not seen thee face to face,Nor haply shall, strange world of all my dreams,
Yet, when I read this book, it ever seems
As though I knew thee and had leave to pace
Through fancy's faith, born of the writer's grace,
Toward the city of roses and wide streams
Beneath the purple mountain crag that gleams
'Gainst the red sunset in a desert place,
Till through an eastward gate I pass into
A world of women veiled and silent men,
A white and ghostly world, stiller than thought,
Where never voice or music sounds save when
Some plague-stained bier is hurried out of view,
Or the last slave-bride to her lord is brought.
12
EPITAPHIUM CITHARISTRIÆ
Stand not uttering sedately
Trite oblivious praise above her!
Rather say you saw her lately
Lightly kissing her last lover
Trite oblivious praise above her!
Rather say you saw her lately
Lightly kissing her last lover
Whisper not, ‘There is a reason
Why we bring her no white blossom:’
Since the snowy bloom's in season
Strow it on her sleeping bosom:
Why we bring her no white blossom:’
Since the snowy bloom's in season
Strow it on her sleeping bosom:
Oh, for it would be a pity
To o'erpraise her or to flout her:
She was wild, and sweet, and witty—
Let's not say dull things about her.
To o'erpraise her or to flout her:
She was wild, and sweet, and witty—
Let's not say dull things about her.
13
A STORY OF THE EVIL EYE
There came unto an Austrian town,
In the good days of Reich and Ritter,
A slim small maid with blood-red gown,
And a bowed graybeard with a zitter.
In the good days of Reich and Ritter,
A slim small maid with blood-red gown,
And a bowed graybeard with a zitter.
Still hand in hand the travellers went,
Till in the Platz that fronts the steeple
He tuned and touched his instrument,
She danced before the market people.
Till in the Platz that fronts the steeple
He tuned and touched his instrument,
She danced before the market people.
Oh, 'tis a pleasant seemly noise!
Ah, she's so fair who treads the measure!
‘Huzza,’ cried wives and 'prentice boys,
‘For the Herr Graybeard and his treasure.’
Ah, she's so fair who treads the measure!
‘Huzza,’ cried wives and 'prentice boys,
‘For the Herr Graybeard and his treasure.’
14
About her coif a merry mint
Of little golden byzants dances,
Which sing and ring with gleam and glint
Each time she curtseys or advances.
Of little golden byzants dances,
Which sing and ring with gleam and glint
Each time she curtseys or advances.
And round her pale sweet face her hair
Lifts and flows out with billowy motion
As strands of the gold seaweed, where
The sun shines into th' emerald ocean.
Lifts and flows out with billowy motion
As strands of the gold seaweed, where
The sun shines into th' emerald ocean.
There's that within her eyes you meet
In wild wood things—they're soft and tragic:
But 'tis the witchery in her feet
Which out-enchants all other magic!
In wild wood things—they're soft and tragic:
But 'tis the witchery in her feet
Which out-enchants all other magic!
They come and go, they pass and pause,
Like swallows' wings or flames a-burning,
Till half the folk cry out because
Their heads are well-nigh turning.
Like swallows' wings or flames a-burning,
Till half the folk cry out because
Their heads are well-nigh turning.
15
And half the folk laugh low, and he
Who erewhile struck, now clasps his brother.
The scold grows good, and cheerfully
The fretting child obeys its mother.
Who erewhile struck, now clasps his brother.
The scold grows good, and cheerfully
The fretting child obeys its mother.
Old scores are paid; grim men forego
The cruel quests for which they panted.
‘Children, the while she dances so,
Do you not guess yourselves enchanted?’
The cruel quests for which they panted.
‘Children, the while she dances so,
Do you not guess yourselves enchanted?’
One spake—a dark Dominican.
Men started as the sharp words stung them;—
And lo, an old outlandish man,
A dark-eyed Turkish witch among them!
Men started as the sharp words stung them;—
And lo, an old outlandish man,
A dark-eyed Turkish witch among them!
Then someone cast a stone;—the deed
Was his who spake—we let him claim it:
Yet were there none to intercede
For wizard worshippers of Mamet!
Was his who spake—we let him claim it:
Yet were there none to intercede
For wizard worshippers of Mamet!
16
And soon arose a dreadful shout,—
‘'Tis th' Evil Eye!’ and stones came flying.
That burgher throng became a rout,
And after—someone lay a-dying.
‘'Tis th' Evil Eye!’ and stones came flying.
That burgher throng became a rout,
And after—someone lay a-dying.
So—lift her head upon his knee.
At sight of this is wrath not minished?
'Twill not last long: the tragedy
In those strange eyes is nearly finished.
At sight of this is wrath not minished?
'Twill not last long: the tragedy
In those strange eyes is nearly finished.
They grow exceeding dim. 'Tis good
The child hath such brave rags to cover
With kindred hue the dye of blood
Now that the dance and song are over!
The child hath such brave rags to cover
With kindred hue the dye of blood
Now that the dance and song are over!
Once more she stirred, and strove to fold
His frail worn hand with faint endeavour:
Then o'er the scarlet and the gold
Death drew his viewless veil for ever.
His frail worn hand with faint endeavour:
Then o'er the scarlet and the gold
Death drew his viewless veil for ever.
17
TO A GREEK GEM
Was it the signet of an Antonine—
This middle-finger ring whose bezel glows
With the most lovely of intaglios
Ere wrought by craftsman in an age divine?
Or was it borne by grim Tiberius' line
At lustful festals and fierce wild-beast shows?
Sealed it wise edicts, or when Lucan chose
His artful liberal death was it the sign?
This middle-finger ring whose bezel glows
With the most lovely of intaglios
Ere wrought by craftsman in an age divine?
Or was it borne by grim Tiberius' line
At lustful festals and fierce wild-beast shows?
Sealed it wise edicts, or when Lucan chose
His artful liberal death was it the sign?
I cannot tell, nor can this lucent toy!
I only know that these small graven forms,
This cymbal-playing maenad and this boy,
In their delightful beauty shall live on,
Crannied 'mong crashing rocks, when Time's last storms
Have whelmed us in the sands we build upon.
I only know that these small graven forms,
This cymbal-playing maenad and this boy,
In their delightful beauty shall live on,
Crannied 'mong crashing rocks, when Time's last storms
Have whelmed us in the sands we build upon.
18
AD CINERARIUM
Who in this small urn reposes,
Celt or Roman, man or woman,
Steel of steel, or rose of roses?
Celt or Roman, man or woman,
Steel of steel, or rose of roses?
Whose the dust set rustling slightly,
In its hiding-place abiding,
When this urn is lifted lightly?
In its hiding-place abiding,
When this urn is lifted lightly?
Sure some mourner deemed immortal
What thou holdest and enfoldest,
Little house without a portal!
What thou holdest and enfoldest,
Little house without a portal!
When the artificers had slowly
Formed thee, turned thee, sealed thee, burned thee,
Freighted with thy freightage holy,
Formed thee, turned thee, sealed thee, burned thee,
Freighted with thy freightage holy,
19
Sure he thought there's no forgetting
All the sweetness and completeness
Of his rising, of her setting,
All the sweetness and completeness
Of his rising, of her setting,
And so bade them grave no token,
Generation, age, or nation,
On thy round side still unbroken;—
Generation, age, or nation,
On thy round side still unbroken;—
Let them score no cypress verses,
Funeral glories, prayers, or stories,
Mourner's tears, or mourner's curses,
Funeral glories, prayers, or stories,
Mourner's tears, or mourner's curses,
Round thy brown rim time hath polished,—
Left thee dumbly cold and comely
As some shrine of gods abolished.
Left thee dumbly cold and comely
As some shrine of gods abolished.
Ah, 'twas well! It scarcely matters
What is sleeping in the keeping
Of this house of human tatters,—
What is sleeping in the keeping
Of this house of human tatters,—
20
Steel of steel, or rose of roses,
Man or woman, Celt or Roman,
If but soundly he reposes!
Man or woman, Celt or Roman,
If but soundly he reposes!
21
THE STATUARY
'Mong purple deeps and foam-engirdled shallows,
In the old Aegean, on an island hill,
I know not if some dim tradition hallows
The site of an evanished city still,
In the old Aegean, on an island hill,
I know not if some dim tradition hallows
The site of an evanished city still,
Where, long ago, there lived, and toiled, and perished
That nameless master of the Pheidian stone,
Whose handywork some secret god has cherished
Till now his fame to the four winds is blown.
That nameless master of the Pheidian stone,
Whose handywork some secret god has cherished
Till now his fame to the four winds is blown.
Oh, hard the path and bitter of attaining
Which leads to such a long-belated fame;
Grievous the glorious toil which leaves remaining
Not ev'n the shadow of the toiler's name!
Which leads to such a long-belated fame;
Grievous the glorious toil which leaves remaining
Not ev'n the shadow of the toiler's name!
22
Surely he was a dreamer 'mong his brothers,
A painful outcast from his race and time,
Whose life, alas, you can re-shape from others
As greatly wretched in each age and clime.
A painful outcast from his race and time,
Whose life, alas, you can re-shape from others
As greatly wretched in each age and clime.
Ah, how he toiled! No music at his portal,
No passing laughter or clear bridal song,
Could charm him from his communing immortal
The lustrous fictions of his brain among.
No passing laughter or clear bridal song,
Could charm him from his communing immortal
The lustrous fictions of his brain among.
The little children singing through the city
Could win no word, no greeting from his mouth:
He was unmoved by irony or pity,
Or the blithe heart's-ease of that ancient South.
Could win no word, no greeting from his mouth:
He was unmoved by irony or pity,
Or the blithe heart's-ease of that ancient South.
For, on a day, pacing in forest hoary,
Far from the joys and cavillings of Man,
He had been blinded by an untold glory,
He had been maddened by the strains of Pan,
Far from the joys and cavillings of Man,
He had been blinded by an untold glory,
He had been maddened by the strains of Pan,
23
And a great throng had passed him as he wondered,
Ev'n of the gods in their transcendent grace:
The bolts within bright Phœbus' quiver thundered,
And loosened raiment swept athwart his face,
Ev'n of the gods in their transcendent grace:
The bolts within bright Phœbus' quiver thundered,
And loosened raiment swept athwart his face,
One moment: for the high gods in derision
Filled him with torturing phrenzy, and his soul
Bade him, from that day forth, record his vision
In some divine and never-dying whole.
Filled him with torturing phrenzy, and his soul
Bade him, from that day forth, record his vision
In some divine and never-dying whole.
The sun-shafts smote athwart his vine-clad casement;
The moon looked on him through the breathing night;
But he toiled on, unheeding, in debasement,
In ecstasy, in anguish, in delight.
The moon looked on him through the breathing night;
But he toiled on, unheeding, in debasement,
In ecstasy, in anguish, in delight.
24
Suns, moons, and stars, and seasons passed unnumbered
Over his toil, nor shaped the toiler's lot.
His spirit woke and watched: when others slumbered
His art wrought on alone and slumbered not.
Over his toil, nor shaped the toiler's lot.
His spirit woke and watched: when others slumbered
His art wrought on alone and slumbered not.
Youth passed, age came, and his rapt face grew haggard,
And hunger in his hushed house watched with him.
‘We die,’ he said at last, ‘and I, a laggard,
Droop in the strife for fainting heart and limb.’
And hunger in his hushed house watched with him.
‘We die,’ he said at last, ‘and I, a laggard,
Droop in the strife for fainting heart and limb.’
‘Thou must be strong, O heart, in this endeavour!
One more surpassing struggle overpast,
One day, one night, then, O mine heart, for ever
Our toil shall live, and we have rest at last!
One more surpassing struggle overpast,
One day, one night, then, O mine heart, for ever
Our toil shall live, and we have rest at last!
25
The tender moonlight streaming through the casement
Shines on a statue, lovely past our thought:
A mortal craftsman stands in mute amazement
'Fore the strange splendour his frail hands have wrought.
Shines on a statue, lovely past our thought:
A mortal craftsman stands in mute amazement
'Fore the strange splendour his frail hands have wrought.
There enter some, when the earliest light is creeping
Toward the goddess o'er the dusty floor,
To blame, as is their wont, but he is sleeping:
He recks not of your guidance any more!
Toward the goddess o'er the dusty floor,
To blame, as is their wont, but he is sleeping:
He recks not of your guidance any more!
So in that city lived, and toiled, and perished,
That nameless master of the Pheidian stone,
Whose handywork some secret god has cherished
Till now his fame to the four winds is blown.
That nameless master of the Pheidian stone,
Whose handywork some secret god has cherished
Till now his fame to the four winds is blown.
26
IN OLD HASTINGS
An hour ere dawn, when clustered stars are wan,
And such a mighty silence covers all
The world of sleep, which sleep still holds in thrall,
And such a shadow of night is yet upon
This old sea-township, whence all light hath gone,
Save where the roadway lamps, symmetrical,
Glint on red roof and dimly-bastioned wall,—
In the deep valley, a long hour ere dawn,
And such a mighty silence covers all
The world of sleep, which sleep still holds in thrall,
And such a shadow of night is yet upon
This old sea-township, whence all light hath gone,
Save where the roadway lamps, symmetrical,
Glint on red roof and dimly-bastioned wall,—
In the deep valley, a long hour ere dawn,
Only yon gleaming hill above the town,
And yon gray sea, whose dying lift and lapse
Along the beach murmur unceasingly,—
Only those twain would seem awake. Perhaps
They commune, and the mystery of the down
Is gathered to the secret of the sea!
And yon gray sea, whose dying lift and lapse
Along the beach murmur unceasingly,—
Only those twain would seem awake. Perhaps
They commune, and the mystery of the down
Is gathered to the secret of the sea!
27
A SECRET OF THE SEA
Down at the bottom of the sea
The huge old galleon lies asleep;
Red seaweeds cloak her heavily,
Green seaweeds round her droop and sweep.
The huge old galleon lies asleep;
Red seaweeds cloak her heavily,
Green seaweeds round her droop and sweep.
Scarce any light descends to show
Her decks made black with ancient blood,
Or the few bones that dimly glow
Where her stout captain last withstood
Her decks made black with ancient blood,
Or the few bones that dimly glow
Where her stout captain last withstood
The drunken shock of his wild crew
Who welcomed freedom in his fall
With laughter, cursing, tears, and who
Met with such shipwreck after all!
Who welcomed freedom in his fall
With laughter, cursing, tears, and who
Met with such shipwreck after all!
28
'Tis years since the faint noontide beam,
That filters to the chart-room floor,
Last rested where, as in a dream,
The drowned chief mutineer would pore
That filters to the chart-room floor,
Last rested where, as in a dream,
The drowned chief mutineer would pore
With orbits void and bony hands
Upon the chart which, day by day,
Into new shapes of seas and lands
The exploring sea-worms fret and fray;—
Upon the chart which, day by day,
Into new shapes of seas and lands
The exploring sea-worms fret and fray;—
Years since that semblance of a man,
That relic of unknown despair,
That symbol of past crime, began
Obscurely to be no more there!
That relic of unknown despair,
That symbol of past crime, began
Obscurely to be no more there!
For centuries now the ship hath lain
As drown'd forgotten ships do lie,
Unknown, alone, save for some train
Of shy small fishes starting by,
As drown'd forgotten ships do lie,
Unknown, alone, save for some train
Of shy small fishes starting by,
29
And so she still must lie until
A dying sun is burning red,
And earthquakes all earth's caverns thrill,
And the deep sea give up its dead!
A dying sun is burning red,
And earthquakes all earth's caverns thrill,
And the deep sea give up its dead!
30
THE SAILOR'S RETURN
I think I see her as she went
One summer eve adown the meadow;
Slant sunshine seemed her element,
And tender, lengthening shadow.
One summer eve adown the meadow;
Slant sunshine seemed her element,
And tender, lengthening shadow.
For oh! her eyes were soft and fair
As is the westering sun in heaven,
And the dear shadow of her hair
Was like the depth of even.
As is the westering sun in heaven,
And the dear shadow of her hair
Was like the depth of even.
I think I see her wending by,
Her milking-pail upon her shoulder:
Her frank lips smile delightfully
On every poor beholder.
Her milking-pail upon her shoulder:
Her frank lips smile delightfully
On every poor beholder.
31
'Tis good-night here, and there good-e'en—
To all a courteous country greeting:
A blither lass was never seen
At village merry-meeting.
To all a courteous country greeting:
A blither lass was never seen
At village merry-meeting.
And now the pail is set adown;
She stops to tie her hat more neatly,
And pluck a burr from off her gown
With fingers moving featly.
She stops to tie her hat more neatly,
And pluck a burr from off her gown
With fingers moving featly.
And on one knee she kneels to cull
Some many-petalled meadow vagrant.
No wonder girls grow beautiful
Amid a world so fragrant!
Some many-petalled meadow vagrant.
No wonder girls grow beautiful
Amid a world so fragrant!
And by the gateway in the shade,
With little sighs she cannot smother,
She plucks—a poor unworldly maid—
The petals one from t'other.
With little sighs she cannot smother,
She plucks—a poor unworldly maid—
The petals one from t'other.
32
‘He loves me! No, he loves me not!’
She pressed the flower against her bosom...
Alas, the blue forget-me-not
Is now her only blossom.
She pressed the flower against her bosom...
Alas, the blue forget-me-not
Is now her only blossom.
And I, who never knew she cared,
And never found the heart for wooing,
Am standing, bowed and hoary-haired,
Alone in mine undoing,
And never found the heart for wooing,
Am standing, bowed and hoary-haired,
Alone in mine undoing,
Beside the green and swelling mound
Where others laid earth's sweetest daughter,
When I was far on foreign ground,
Or on the weary water.
Where others laid earth's sweetest daughter,
When I was far on foreign ground,
Or on the weary water.
Methinks that he were wise who might
Unweave, with many painful guesses,
The tangle tense and infinite
Of man and his distresses.
Unweave, with many painful guesses,
The tangle tense and infinite
Of man and his distresses.
33
I cannot: so with swimming eyes
I'll pluck a flower that grows above her,
And pray to meet in Paradise,
Because so well I love her.
I'll pluck a flower that grows above her,
And pray to meet in Paradise,
Because so well I love her.
34
THE VEIL OF ISIS
To lift her veil, whose broideries
Are hornéd moons and lotuses,
None dare, though priest and thurifer
Charm her with frankincense and myrrh,
And long-drawn mystic harmonies.
Of all mankind's divinities
None secreter than this of his!
Behold, 'tis but to anger her
To lift her veil.
Are hornéd moons and lotuses,
None dare, though priest and thurifer
Charm her with frankincense and myrrh,
And long-drawn mystic harmonies.
Of all mankind's divinities
None secreter than this of his!
Behold, 'tis but to anger her
To lift her veil.
Natheless, in each man's time there is
A lifting of her veil: each dies.
To die, when all the hate and stir
Are o'er, to be a slumberer,
To dream perchance,—Oh, is not this
To lift her veil?
A lifting of her veil: each dies.
To die, when all the hate and stir
Are o'er, to be a slumberer,
To dream perchance,—Oh, is not this
To lift her veil?
35
GOOD-NIGHT
You linger when you say good-night:The parting touch a pang conveys.
'Tis,—‘Shall we meet at morning light,
Or only on the Day of Days?’
36
IN A NORMAN CHURCH
As over incense-laden air
Stole winter twilight, soft and dim,
The folk arose from their last prayer—
When hark, an ancient hymn!
Stole winter twilight, soft and dim,
The folk arose from their last prayer—
When hark, an ancient hymn!
Round yon great pillar, circlewise,
The singers stand up, two and two—
Small lint-haired girls from whose young eyes
The gray sea looks at you.
The singers stand up, two and two—
Small lint-haired girls from whose young eyes
The gray sea looks at you.
Now heavenward the pure music wins
With cadence soft and silvery beat:
In flutes and subtile violins
Are harmonies less sweet.
With cadence soft and silvery beat:
In flutes and subtile violins
Are harmonies less sweet.
37
It is a chant with plaintive ring,
And rhymes and refrains old and quaint:
‘Oh Monseigneur Saint Jacques,’ they sing,
And ‘Oh Assisi's Saint.’
And rhymes and refrains old and quaint:
‘Oh Monseigneur Saint Jacques,’ they sing,
And ‘Oh Assisi's Saint.’
Through deepening dusk one just can see
The little white-capped heads that move
In time to lines turned rhythmically
And starred with names of love.
The little white-capped heads that move
In time to lines turned rhythmically
And starred with names of love.
Bred in no gentle silken ease,
Trained to expect no splendid fate,
They are but pleasant children these,
Of very mean estate.
Trained to expect no splendid fate,
They are but pleasant children these,
Of very mean estate.
Nay, is that true? To-night perhaps
Unworldlier eyes had well discerned
Among those little gleaming caps
An aureole that burned.
Unworldlier eyes had well discerned
Among those little gleaming caps
An aureole that burned.
38
For once 'twas thought the Gates of Pearl
Best opened to the poor that trod
The path of the meek peasant girl
Who bore the Son of God.
Best opened to the poor that trod
The path of the meek peasant girl
Who bore the Son of God.
39
SHADOWS
A song of shadows: never glory was
But it had some soft shadow that would lie
On wall, on quiet water, on smooth grass,
Or in the vistas of the phantasy:
But it had some soft shadow that would lie
On wall, on quiet water, on smooth grass,
Or in the vistas of the phantasy:
The shadow of the house upon the lawn,
Upon the house the shadow of the tree,
And through the moon-steeped hours unto the dawn
The shadow of thy beauty over me.
Upon the house the shadow of the tree,
And through the moon-steeped hours unto the dawn
The shadow of thy beauty over me.
40
DEATH AND THE PLAYER
I watched the players playing on their stage;
An old delightful comedy was theirs,
The very picture of a gallant age,
Full of majestic airs.
An old delightful comedy was theirs,
The very picture of a gallant age,
Full of majestic airs.
Wit, virtuoso, captain, stately lord,
Each played his part with smooth Augustan grace;
And, gray and curl'd, th' Olympian perruques soared
O'er each fine oval face.
Each played his part with smooth Augustan grace;
And, gray and curl'd, th' Olympian perruques soared
O'er each fine oval face.
Anon, young Celia, poised on red high heels,
Advanced with Chloe, the discreet soubrette:
Her laughter rings abroad in silver peals;
Her courtiers fawn and fret.
Advanced with Chloe, the discreet soubrette:
Her laughter rings abroad in silver peals;
Her courtiers fawn and fret.
41
One was a whiskered son of awful Mars;
And one, the favourite, a thing of spleen,
Whose pasquil jests, a stream of falling stars,
Illumined all the scene.
And one, the favourite, a thing of spleen,
Whose pasquil jests, a stream of falling stars,
Illumined all the scene.
They trod a minuet, and evermore,
Betwixt the curtseying lady and her thrall,
A masked and shrouded dancer kept the floor,
Unnoted by them all.
Betwixt the curtseying lady and her thrall,
A masked and shrouded dancer kept the floor,
Unnoted by them all.
Alas, poor player, that was Death's Dance indeed!
The curtain fell; the masker's fleshless hand
Compelled thee to his chariot, which at speed
Rolled home to his own land.
The curtain fell; the masker's fleshless hand
Compelled thee to his chariot, which at speed
Rolled home to his own land.
And now with cheeks and eyelids that confess
Grim stains of the last midnight's gay disguise,
The ingenious haggard actors swiftly press
Where their dead brother lies.
Grim stains of the last midnight's gay disguise,
The ingenious haggard actors swiftly press
Where their dead brother lies.
42
How strange a graveside—oh, how strange a scene!
The player's double life in such eclipse!
What a morality would this have been
On those once mocking lips!
The player's double life in such eclipse!
What a morality would this have been
On those once mocking lips!
But they are dumb, and there's scarce time for tears.
Back to the town! They're clamouring for our plays.
'Tis good that arch-comedian Death appears
But once in many days!
Back to the town! They're clamouring for our plays.
'Tis good that arch-comedian Death appears
But once in many days!
43
TO A DEAD STUDENT
I knew not your thoughts, nor regarded your books,
But now you are dead
There is not a thought of your thinking, a book of your reading,
That my heart hath not known and read!
But now you are dead
There is not a thought of your thinking, a book of your reading,
That my heart hath not known and read!
Alas, for the silenced lips and the dear closed eyes!
They answer me not
Who am seeking for clues and for glosses, traditions and meanings,
Ere the books and the thought be forgot!
They answer me not
Who am seeking for clues and for glosses, traditions and meanings,
Ere the books and the thought be forgot!
44
CHARLOTTE CORDAY
The Furies born of night and tumult mar
France, and her strong impassioned children are
Broken, and blind, and bleeding through despair:
Yet lo! amid the darkness wild, a Star.
France, and her strong impassioned children are
Broken, and blind, and bleeding through despair:
Yet lo! amid the darkness wild, a Star.
The hair of it is as a woman's hair;
The light of it is bright and passing fair:
Lo! in the dark the swift flash of a sword:
Hark! a sweet voice that cries aloud: ‘I dare!
The light of it is bright and passing fair:
Lo! in the dark the swift flash of a sword:
Hark! a sweet voice that cries aloud: ‘I dare!
‘I dare to break your idol o'er-adored,
O Poor of France; I dare to smite your lord.
I, slaying him, have set your millions free!
Take vengeance—let me also die abhorred.
O Poor of France; I dare to smite your lord.
I, slaying him, have set your millions free!
Take vengeance—let me also die abhorred.
45
‘He being dead to whom you bowed the knee,
Your eyesight shall be purgéd; you shall see
To walk when I, the murderess, am sped:
Yes, you shall live through loss of him and me.’
Your eyesight shall be purgéd; you shall see
To walk when I, the murderess, am sped:
Yes, you shall live through loss of him and me.’
Hail! riding by in robe of flamelike red!
Hail! lift on high thy young dishevelled head.
To men's derision pay not any heed,
But take thou precedence amid the dead.
Hail! lift on high thy young dishevelled head.
To men's derision pay not any heed,
But take thou precedence amid the dead.
To them who loved thee Death shall be for meed;
They too shall follow where thy bright steps lead.
From convent unto scaffold pass, beloved,
And know this well that Time shall praise thy Deed.
They too shall follow where thy bright steps lead.
From convent unto scaffold pass, beloved,
And know this well that Time shall praise thy Deed.
46
AT CITOYENNE TUSSAUD'S
The place is full of whispers—‘Mark you, sirs,
This one is he who struck our moralists mute
Before the crime which proved him wholly brute!
Mark well his face!’ The gaping sight-seers
Nudge one another, and no tongue but stirs
In awe-struck comment on hat, coat, and boot,
Mean smirking smile, base air of smug repute,
Worn by some prince of viler murderers!
This one is he who struck our moralists mute
Before the crime which proved him wholly brute!
Mark well his face!’ The gaping sight-seers
Nudge one another, and no tongue but stirs
In awe-struck comment on hat, coat, and boot,
Mean smirking smile, base air of smug repute,
Worn by some prince of viler murderers!
Nay, I like most these lank-tressed doctrinaires
Who cluster round their powerless guillotine;
Aquiline, delicate, dark, their thin cheeks mired
By their own blood—these Carriers and Héberts:
They only look so proud and so serene:
They only look so infinitely tired!
Who cluster round their powerless guillotine;
Aquiline, delicate, dark, their thin cheeks mired
By their own blood—these Carriers and Héberts:
They only look so proud and so serene:
They only look so infinitely tired!
47
TO PASSIVE OBEDIENCE
I
O sons of the Year Two! Wars waking epic chords!
Against the banded kings together drawing swords,
In Europe's furthest bounds,
Against all earthly Tyres and Sodoms far and wide,
Against the northern Czar who after men doth ride,
Followed of all his hounds,
Against the banded kings together drawing swords,
In Europe's furthest bounds,
Against all earthly Tyres and Sodoms far and wide,
Against the northern Czar who after men doth ride,
Followed of all his hounds,
48
Against great Europe's self with all her lords of war,
With all her men-at-arms that throng her steps afar,
With all her knights of thews,
A crested hydra-shape that wrathfully doth rear,
Singing they marched and marched, with souls devoid of fear,
With feet devoid of shoes!
With all her men-at-arms that throng her steps afar,
With all her knights of thews,
A crested hydra-shape that wrathfully doth rear,
Singing they marched and marched, with souls devoid of fear,
With feet devoid of shoes!
At day-dawn, and sundown, 'neath southern or arctic sky,
With their old muskets clanking rustily shoulder-high,
O'er torrent and o'er fell,
Without repose or sleep, in rags and driv'n to fast,
They marched on, proud and glad, to such a trumpet-blast
As blow the fiends of Hell!
With their old muskets clanking rustily shoulder-high,
O'er torrent and o'er fell,
Without repose or sleep, in rags and driv'n to fast,
They marched on, proud and glad, to such a trumpet-blast
As blow the fiends of Hell!
49
Liberty, the sublime, was steeping each man's thought;
Navies were ta'en by storm, frontiers were made as nought,
Beneath their tread divine!
O France, 'twas every day wrought marvels past compare,—
Shocks, charges, battles fought, and on th' Adige Joubert,
And Marceau on the Rhine!
Navies were ta'en by storm, frontiers were made as nought,
Beneath their tread divine!
O France, 'twas every day wrought marvels past compare,—
Shocks, charges, battles fought, and on th' Adige Joubert,
And Marceau on the Rhine!
They drove the vanguard in, the centre they dispersed;
In rain, in snow, in floods, above their waists immersed,
Onward they pressed for aye!
And one besought for peace, another flung gates wide,
And thrones, like whirling leaves dead in late autumn-tide,
Scattered on winds away!
In rain, in snow, in floods, above their waists immersed,
Onward they pressed for aye!
And one besought for peace, another flung gates wide,
50
Scattered on winds away!
Oh, but how great you were in battles' midmost places,
Soldiers! With lightning eyes and wild disordered faces
In the fight's whirlpool blind,
They glowed and shone, erect, with lifted fronts, afire;
And even as desert lions the tempest's blast respire
When blows the great North wind,
Soldiers! With lightning eyes and wild disordered faces
In the fight's whirlpool blind,
They glowed and shone, erect, with lifted fronts, afire;
And even as desert lions the tempest's blast respire
When blows the great North wind,
So were they rapt away by their wild epic life!
Drunken, they still drank in sounds of heroic strife—
Steel clashed on iron bare,
The Marseillaise a-wing amid the cannon balls,
The beaten drums, the shells, the bombs, the cymbal-calls,
And thy clear laugh, Kleber!
Drunken, they still drank in sounds of heroic strife—
Steel clashed on iron bare,
The Marseillaise a-wing amid the cannon balls,
51
And thy clear laugh, Kleber!
The Revolution cried:—‘You volunteered for me!
So therefore die to set your brother peoples free!’
Gladly they did assent;—
‘Go forth, my soldiers gray, my generals virgin-faced!’
And men beheld them march upon a world amazed,—
Barefoot, magnificent!
So therefore die to set your brother peoples free!’
Gladly they did assent;—
‘Go forth, my soldiers gray, my generals virgin-faced!’
And men beheld them march upon a world amazed,—
Barefoot, magnificent!
They knew not sorrow's pangs nor yet the pangs of dread.
They would, I doubt it not, have stormed the clouds o'erhead,
If with reverted eyes,
'Mid their Olympian race, these scorners of their doom
To rear of them had seen the great Republic loom
With finger toward the skies.
They would, I doubt it not, have stormed the clouds o'erhead,
If with reverted eyes,
52
To rear of them had seen the great Republic loom
With finger toward the skies.
53
MAY 22, 1885
Sped is our Titan? Nay, defer
The thought of death for such a man!
I know he plays at grandfather
As in the old days with Georges and Jeanne:
The thought of death for such a man!
I know he plays at grandfather
As in the old days with Georges and Jeanne:
I know the bowed and glorious head
To-day is silvern in the sun:
Some witty word is being said,
Some trancing tale is being spun.
To-day is silvern in the sun:
Some witty word is being said,
Some trancing tale is being spun.
Mark the young faces round his chair,
Hark, eager voices echoing!
He is so dear and debonnaire,
Of gray-beards let us crown him king!
Hark, eager voices echoing!
He is so dear and debonnaire,
Of gray-beards let us crown him king!
54
Ah me, defer it as we may,
Defer Death's terror as we will,
Our Victor cannot win to-day—
Death is your only conqueror still.
Defer Death's terror as we will,
Our Victor cannot win to-day—
Death is your only conqueror still.
And now tired eyelids droop in sleep,
And the familiar days are sped,
We weep not our old friend; we weep
In a great darkness the great dead.
And the familiar days are sped,
We weep not our old friend; we weep
In a great darkness the great dead.
And we forget the children's ways,
The laughing boast, the daily tryst,
For he doth pass through heaven's full blaze
With Alighieri unto Christ.
The laughing boast, the daily tryst,
For he doth pass through heaven's full blaze
With Alighieri unto Christ.
55
A NIGHT OF TERROR
1870
They woke me up, for my small eyes were tightShut in night's first sweet sleep. ‘We waken you,’
They whispered, ‘to behold the strangest sight:
The seeing of such sights is given to few!’
Far off upon the horizon's verge, the night,
Which round our mountain hung so still and blue,
Was diapered with little shoots of light
That rose, and curved, and burst, as rockets do.
I stirred in my small bed, and 'gan to plain
Because they waked me. Then I heard them say:
56
And lo, mine eyes were changed and 'gan to feast
Not as in dreams or games on that bright rain,
And, on the Night of Terror, childhood ceased!
57
IN EXCELSIS
1889
Oh how delectable it is to be
Over against the sea
When through deep gloaming, the drench'd dying gloaming,
In long long line on line the waves go foaming
Strandward, aye voicing, ‘Yea, eternally!’
Over against the sea
When through deep gloaming, the drench'd dying gloaming,
In long long line on line the waves go foaming
Strandward, aye voicing, ‘Yea, eternally!’
To watch where wave on wave of the rock'd flood
Falls with a sibilant thud—
Falls, and flows back, 'mid huge reverberations
O'er the torn beach, 'mid foam for exhalations,
'Mid foam about its falling shed for blood;
Falls with a sibilant thud—
Falls, and flows back, 'mid huge reverberations
O'er the torn beach, 'mid foam for exhalations,
'Mid foam about its falling shed for blood;
58
To hear, while equinoctial storms subside,
The vast untiring tide
Singing old Nature's mystic In Excelsis,
Its strange self-centred psalm! Surely nought else is
More sweet, more dread, more to be magnified.
The vast untiring tide
Singing old Nature's mystic In Excelsis,
Its strange self-centred psalm! Surely nought else is
More sweet, more dread, more to be magnified.
Nay, there is one thing more delectable
Than the sea's echoing swell!
To hear confuséd sound of many people
At feast in shadow of each village steeple
This day when years ago the Bastille fell;
To hear, where flags flap red, and blue, and white,
The cannon's hoarse delight,
The bells, the clarions, the huge mystic throbbing
Of marching feet, the laughter, the hush'd sobbing
Of such as whisper to themselves: ‘The night
Slips from thy face, O France, and thou art fair
Under thy laurelled hair
After the traffickings of kings and traitors,
After the shifts of priests and progress-haters,
After much blood and infinite despair!’
Than the sea's echoing swell!
To hear confuséd sound of many people
At feast in shadow of each village steeple
This day when years ago the Bastille fell;
To hear, where flags flap red, and blue, and white,
The cannon's hoarse delight,
The bells, the clarions, the huge mystic throbbing
Of marching feet, the laughter, the hush'd sobbing
Of such as whisper to themselves: ‘The night
59
Under thy laurelled hair
After the traffickings of kings and traitors,
After the shifts of priests and progress-haters,
After much blood and infinite despair!’
To hear this is to hear beyond defeat,
Republican, complete,
France chaunting myriad-voiced her In Excelsis,
Her ultimate choric song, than which nought else is
More to be magnified, more dread, more sweet.
Republican, complete,
France chaunting myriad-voiced her In Excelsis,
Her ultimate choric song, than which nought else is
More to be magnified, more dread, more sweet.
60
CHE SARA SARA!
Preach wisdom unto him who understands!
When there's such lovely longing in thine eyes,
And such a pulse in thy small clinging hands,
What is the good of being great or wise?
When there's such lovely longing in thine eyes,
And such a pulse in thy small clinging hands,
What is the good of being great or wise?
What is the good of beating up the dust
On the world's highway, vext with drouthy heat?
Oh, I grow fatalist—what must be must,
Seeing that thou, belovéd, art so sweet!
On the world's highway, vext with drouthy heat?
Oh, I grow fatalist—what must be must,
Seeing that thou, belovéd, art so sweet!
61
IN A GARRET
In deep twilight
The rain taps upon the skylight,
Beating, beating, like a deathless pulse of pain:
From the writing
His tired hands are aye inditing
He looks upward to the window dulled with rain,
The rain taps upon the skylight,
Beating, beating, like a deathless pulse of pain:
From the writing
His tired hands are aye inditing
He looks upward to the window dulled with rain,
And he muses
On the fame that still refuses
To attend him as he plies life's hungry trade,
On the rapture
Of the dreams he cannot capture,
On the hopes that cheat, the loves that still evade.
On the fame that still refuses
To attend him as he plies life's hungry trade,
On the rapture
Of the dreams he cannot capture,
On the hopes that cheat, the loves that still evade.
62
Is he dreaming?
No, 'tis but a slumber seeming,
But the shadow of a dream that vanisheth;
For the drifting
Misty veil of sleep uplifting
Hath but now disclosed the shadowy flood of death.
No, 'tis but a slumber seeming,
But the shadow of a dream that vanisheth;
For the drifting
Misty veil of sleep uplifting
Hath but now disclosed the shadowy flood of death.
63
ECCLESIASTES CHAPTER XII
He hath a few more days to live, and we
Go to the festal, dight with robes and flowers,
And all is goodly in this world of ours,
And ‘All is Vanity,’ saith he.
Go to the festal, dight with robes and flowers,
And all is goodly in this world of ours,
And ‘All is Vanity,’ saith he.
He hath outlived the heaviest share of days:
His gray locks flutter in the wind: his lips
Tremble and moan as in his steps he slips,
And all is Vanity always.
His gray locks flutter in the wind: his lips
Tremble and moan as in his steps he slips,
And all is Vanity always.
For him the sun, and moon, and stars are dark:
After the rain the clouds return for him.
The keepers of his soul's house quake in limb,
The strong men bow themselves adown, and hark!
After the rain the clouds return for him.
The keepers of his soul's house quake in limb,
The strong men bow themselves adown, and hark!
64
The grinders cease through being few, and those
That from the windows of the spirit gaze
Are darkened, and below them, in the ways,
What time the grinding fails the portals close.
That from the windows of the spirit gaze
Are darkened, and below them, in the ways,
What time the grinding fails the portals close.
And this old man at cock-crow riseth up
To live a little o'er the long ago.
For him sweet Musick's daughters are brought low:
He careth not at all for dance or cup,
To live a little o'er the long ago.
For him sweet Musick's daughters are brought low:
He careth not at all for dance or cup,
But feareth that which loometh out on high,
For in his faltering way is many a fear;
The shrilling grasshopper he scarce can bear,
And all his old desires grow near to die,
For in his faltering way is many a fear;
The shrilling grasshopper he scarce can bear,
And all his old desires grow near to die,
Because to-day man seeketh his long home,
And mourners go about the vacant streets:
Oh, little day of life; oh, bitter sweets!
Whence have I come, and what shall I become?
And mourners go about the vacant streets:
Oh, little day of life; oh, bitter sweets!
Whence have I come, and what shall I become?
65
Or ever the silver cord be loosen'd, or
The golden bowl be broken on the wall,
Or the full pitcher at the fountain fall,
Or ever the cistern-wheel can turn no more,
The golden bowl be broken on the wall,
Or the full pitcher at the fountain fall,
Or ever the cistern-wheel can turn no more,
Then shall the dust return unto the earth
Even whence it came—it trod, and shall be trod,—
And the thin spirit shall go back to God
Of Whom we know not, and who gave it birth.
Even whence it came—it trod, and shall be trod,—
And the thin spirit shall go back to God
Of Whom we know not, and who gave it birth.
66
BEFORE THE TIME OF MOWING
Deep in long seedling grass the meadows lie,Bedappled by the shadows of the trees:
Now and again the bloom-enamoured breeze
Comes for one little moment rustling by:
The great soft moon with drench of golden dye
Enchants the world, till all the glimmering leas
Give forth strange warmth. Were all one's hours like these,
It were not hard, love, for us twain to die!
For grief is dead now. Listen, only list
To yon bird's voice: o'er bloomy orchard ground,
67
Floats out the singing of the nightingale!
‘Oh, love, love, love, love lost, love suddenly found’—
Such is her descant. Nay, but thou art pale!
68
CONFESSION
Because she spoke no word, but parted wide
Her tantalising lips, and ‘ces yeux verts,’
Which the romantic poet Baudelaire
Would have held half divine, methought I spied
A fault in her; methought she gently tried
To scout my love with smiling sedulous care,
For that her fancy had gone otherwhere,
And I had grown a shadow at her side.
Her tantalising lips, and ‘ces yeux verts,’
Which the romantic poet Baudelaire
Would have held half divine, methought I spied
A fault in her; methought she gently tried
To scout my love with smiling sedulous care,
For that her fancy had gone otherwhere,
And I had grown a shadow at her side.
So long I begged her in my desperate fear
For one kind word, one sigh, one tremulous breath.
‘An you be shy, sweet, whisper in mine ear!’
I said in anguish. Then quite suddenly
She spake out loud:—‘I have given my love to thee:
Nothing shall change it till the change of Death!’
For one kind word, one sigh, one tremulous breath.
69
I said in anguish. Then quite suddenly
She spake out loud:—‘I have given my love to thee:
Nothing shall change it till the change of Death!’
70
A COROT IN NATURE
The sunset sky burns deep and red beyondThe massy oakwoods as they fade into
That opaque green which is night's very hue,
So dark, so full of quiet. Every frond
And mighty verdure-vested branch hath donned
Dim raiment of great shadow. 'Tis a view,
Quick with some sovran charm, to be by you
Remembered, and perpetually re-conned.
The perfect silence, the vast lonesomeness,
The cool, the glow, the breath of evening,
Scarce tinged with a faint scent of blossomed spring,
71
Are they not sweet, and shall you not confess
That such dear pathos maketh almost glad?
72
THE GODDESS OF THE ISLANDERS
In the midmost page, the bookworm's pasturage,
Of some folio by a curious traveller writ,
Hast thou read the story of the Mystic Island
And such as dwelt in it?
Of some folio by a curious traveller writ,
Hast thou read the story of the Mystic Island
And such as dwelt in it?
All the moons are brighter, so saith the travelled writer,
In that island than the sunlight of our Junes:
'Tis a land of midnight forests, poppied meadows,
And seaward-looming dunes.
In that island than the sunlight of our Junes:
'Tis a land of midnight forests, poppied meadows,
And seaward-looming dunes.
And such as do possess it, and as gardeners dress it,
Are a sorrowful old tribe of little ease,—
Men with wistful faces, women drooping darkly
As weeds in their pale seas.
Are a sorrowful old tribe of little ease,—
Men with wistful faces, women drooping darkly
As weeds in their pale seas.
73
Endless wars oppress them, plagues and flames distress them:
Their best works are fruitless or surcharged with woe,
But they only whisper, ‘It is the Great Goddess,
The Goddess wills it so!’
Their best works are fruitless or surcharged with woe,
But they only whisper, ‘It is the Great Goddess,
The Goddess wills it so!’
‘Oh, but thou art glorious, wonderful, victorious,
Dear transcendent Queen to whom we bow!
Set the outlandish nations babbling of their godheads—
These art not thou, not thou!
Dear transcendent Queen to whom we bow!
Set the outlandish nations babbling of their godheads—
These art not thou, not thou!
‘Subtile Arab trader, and Portingale invader,
With his firelocks and his god in anguish slain,
And the shy ascetic seeking his Nirvana,
These surely preach in vain.
With his firelocks and his god in anguish slain,
And the shy ascetic seeking his Nirvana,
These surely preach in vain.
‘For thou art eternal, beyond dispute, infernal,
A fair woman with no heart in her great eyes,
As all day thou sittest at thy silvern mirror,
Alone in the great skies.
A fair woman with no heart in her great eyes,
74
Alone in the great skies.
‘Through thy mystic glass thou seeëst all things pass,
As in some long pageant, changing hour by hour,
And amid their glory, squalor, laughter, sorrow,
Thy face shines a pure flower!’
As in some long pageant, changing hour by hour,
And amid their glory, squalor, laughter, sorrow,
Thy face shines a pure flower!’
As some woman will lean o'er her window-sill,
Watching every humour of a moving street,
So she views her mirror. ‘Ah, but art thou helpless
In old and long defeat?
Watching every humour of a moving street,
So she views her mirror. ‘Ah, but art thou helpless
In old and long defeat?
‘Canst thou not befriend, refashion, or amend?
Art thou only watching some tremendous game
Like to Caracalla or to Nero, maddened
With art, or life, or shame?
Art thou only watching some tremendous game
Like to Caracalla or to Nero, maddened
With art, or life, or shame?
75
Or art crazed through being so lonely and all-seeing,
Crazed through brooding on this world thy hands have made?’
Deaf she is and voiceless! She would never tell me,
Though evermore I prayed.
Crazed through brooding on this world thy hands have made?’
Deaf she is and voiceless! She would never tell me,
Though evermore I prayed.
Silent still she muses, or braids her hair, or chooses
Gems from out their caskets for her brows sublime,
And behold, each stone is sentient, and half human,
A passion or a crime!
Gems from out their caskets for her brows sublime,
And behold, each stone is sentient, and half human,
A passion or a crime!
Yet the glories old of diamonds and gold
Scarcely do arrest her soft and dreamful gaze:
'Tis the complex agate and the cloudy moonstone
Which charm her through whole days,—
Scarcely do arrest her soft and dreamful gaze:
'Tis the complex agate and the cloudy moonstone
Which charm her through whole days,—
76
These and the verdure sterile of emerald, jade, and beryl,
And the topaz' mystic laughter, and the rose
Of the fleshlike onyx, and the fiery sardius,
And the opal's flame-fraught snows.
And the topaz' mystic laughter, and the rose
Of the fleshlike onyx, and the fiery sardius,
And the opal's flame-fraught snows.
77
[I gaze into her loved eyes, and behold]
Στερρα γαρ αναγκη
Hecuba, 1295.
I gaze into her loved eyes, and behold
A terror there—,
Death's vague monition and the pain untold
Of newly-learnt despair.
A terror there—,
Death's vague monition and the pain untold
Of newly-learnt despair.
Late sunglow over the oak-woods by the sea,
A wind that hovers,
Dog-roses breathing,—these, methinks, must be
A spell o'er happier lovers.
A wind that hovers,
Dog-roses breathing,—these, methinks, must be
A spell o'er happier lovers.
For us a pang is in the wind; the waves
And woods' perfumes
Seem dimly eloquent of unseen graves
And sharp forgotten dooms.
And woods' perfumes
Seem dimly eloquent of unseen graves
And sharp forgotten dooms.
78
Such love as ours is but to lose hearts'-ease
Beyond return:
How ends that play of sweet Euripides?
Thus surely:—‘Fate is stern!’
Beyond return:
How ends that play of sweet Euripides?
Thus surely:—‘Fate is stern!’
79
AN ADAPTATION OF AN EPISODE IN VIRGIL
‘Tris litore cervos
Prospicit errantis; hos tota armenta sequuntur
A tergo; et longum per vallis pascitur agmen.’
Æneid 1, 184.
Prospicit errantis; hos tota armenta sequuntur
A tergo; et longum per vallis pascitur agmen.’
Æneid 1, 184.
A scald, whose song was ever of the Norns,
Stood once on steeply seaward-facing land,
When lo! arboreal horns,
And far, far down, stags wandering on the sand,
And after these, up a long inland vale,
Coming from out of the old inland unknown,
Great deer-droves looming pale
And vague, for overhead thick mist is blown,
Yea, overhead the cold dawn-drift is riven,
And the weird wind thereof lamenteth sore,
80
Silently forth from view go stags and deer.
Then sang that lonely scald to the loud wind
With tongue made heavy by a weight of weeping—
‘Lo! it is human kind,
In the night born, and through the dim dawn sweeping
From the gods' gaze, silent and sudden hordes,
By mist-wrapt ways of shifting sand, and led
By splendour-brainéd lords
To the forgetting and forgotten Dead.’
81
ON A READING OF MATTHEW ARNOLD
Arnold is dead, and everyone forgets
His gracious doctrine, his hellenic creed,
His faith in light and sweetness. 'Tis indeed
So easy to repudiate our debts
Of heart and brain! When what one most regrets
Is stint of love, and ease, and wealth, who need
Go wail for culture? 'Tis a colourless weed
Which no one in his table nosegay sets.
His gracious doctrine, his hellenic creed,
His faith in light and sweetness. 'Tis indeed
So easy to repudiate our debts
Of heart and brain! When what one most regrets
Is stint of love, and ease, and wealth, who need
Go wail for culture? 'Tis a colourless weed
Which no one in his table nosegay sets.
Yet, great Oxonian, it were meet and fit
Could we but halt upon our daily stage
Of petty duty, dull mechanic task,
To meditate thy theme and hear thee ask,
‘Is conduct all? Are grace, and light, and wit,
Not chiefly good in this Bœotian age?’
Could we but halt upon our daily stage
Of petty duty, dull mechanic task,
To meditate thy theme and hear thee ask,
‘Is conduct all? Are grace, and light, and wit,
Not chiefly good in this Bœotian age?’
82
THE NIGHT-JAR
On the river, in the shallows, on the shore,
Are the darkness and the silence of the tomb;
O'er the woods the sunset dyed an hour before
Utter gloom.
Are the darkness and the silence of the tomb;
O'er the woods the sunset dyed an hour before
Utter gloom.
Only here betwixt the ramparts of tall trees,
In mid-stream, the pallid waters gleam afar,
Scarce a ripple on their surface, scarce a breeze,
Scarce a star.
In mid-stream, the pallid waters gleam afar,
Scarce a ripple on their surface, scarce a breeze,
Scarce a star.
Where the shadow of the ruined water-mill
Hides the mill-pool and its anchored lily fleet,
And the warm air seems to slumber over-still,
Over-sweet,
Hides the mill-pool and its anchored lily fleet,
And the warm air seems to slumber over-still,
Over-sweet,
83
Hark the Night-jar! In the meadows by the stream
Shrills the bird's unearthly note: I like it well,
For it lulls you as the mystery of a dream,
Or a spell.
Shrills the bird's unearthly note: I like it well,
For it lulls you as the mystery of a dream,
Or a spell.
All the nightingales along the bowery reach
Plain together when the midnight moon is bright:
This bird only knows the secret speech
Of dark night.
Plain together when the midnight moon is bright:
This bird only knows the secret speech
Of dark night.
Turn the boat now. Row away, friends. Let us hence,
Lest the glamour of the night's o'er-trancing breath,
Plunge us one and all into that dream intense
Which is Death.
Lest the glamour of the night's o'er-trancing breath,
Plunge us one and all into that dream intense
Which is Death.
84
THE VIOLIN-PLAYER
You who love music and comprehend
All the pomps and triumphs of sound,
Deign you to follow me, critical friend,
Into my span of enchanted ground?
All the pomps and triumphs of sound,
Deign you to follow me, critical friend,
Into my span of enchanted ground?
An infinite sky where the sun has set,
A chamber of shadow and after-glow,
Against the window en silhouette
A model for Fra Angelico,
A chamber of shadow and after-glow,
Against the window en silhouette
A model for Fra Angelico,
A slim girl-form, a delicate pose,
A downcast head, a glory of hair,—
Often I think that such were those
Who climbed the visioned Ladder of Prayer,
A downcast head, a glory of hair,—
Often I think that such were those
Who climbed the visioned Ladder of Prayer,
85
A soft cheek pressed to a violin,
And two grave eyes that haply keep
Watch for the soul of the music in
The notes that follow the white arm's sweep,
And two grave eyes that haply keep
Watch for the soul of the music in
The notes that follow the white arm's sweep,
—Such is my vision! Oh, unto me
The child and her tune are the hunger of heart,
The vague sweet sorrow, the mystery,
Which are the beginning and end of Art.
The child and her tune are the hunger of heart,
The vague sweet sorrow, the mystery,
Which are the beginning and end of Art.
86
DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM
'Thwart his brow and round his eyes
Mark the weary lines and deep!
Nay, they baffle our surmise,
And are secrets Death must keep?
Mark the weary lines and deep!
Nay, they baffle our surmise,
And are secrets Death must keep?
When a man is dead you deem
That the child's look comes apace:—
Ancient hope, poetic dream,
Light of first love haunt the face!
That the child's look comes apace:—
Ancient hope, poetic dream,
Light of first love haunt the face!
Or at most his look but is
Sum of all the unsensuous side
Of that life which once was his
Ere he sickened, ere he died.
Sum of all the unsensuous side
Of that life which once was his
Ere he sickened, ere he died.
87
Nay, at last you are not loth
To admit that more is there—
Baffled hope, and cheated troth,
Disappointment and despair!
To admit that more is there—
Baffled hope, and cheated troth,
Disappointment and despair!
Yet with me you have not seen
How this dead man's message mute,
Proves but th' old blood-bond between
Man and some ancestral brute!
How this dead man's message mute,
Proves but th' old blood-bond between
Man and some ancestral brute!
You are shocked because I read
Old debauch and bygone hate
In this mask as in a screed
Signed by the trite mark of Fate.
Old debauch and bygone hate
In this mask as in a screed
Signed by the trite mark of Fate.
Nay, you shudder when I ask,—
Is it that the muscles change
Their old tension through the mask,
Leaving it new-drawn and strange,
Is it that the muscles change
Their old tension through the mask,
Leaving it new-drawn and strange,
88
Or is't some dark dominant sin
Makes the whole face loom so great,
So ascetical, so thin,
And so all inviolate?
Makes the whole face loom so great,
So ascetical, so thin,
And so all inviolate?
89
TO ONE WHO FAILED
Because you failed, because you failed,
Failed without ceasing, O my friend,
And the strong spat on you and railed,
I love you, love you without end.
Failed without ceasing, O my friend,
And the strong spat on you and railed,
I love you, love you without end.
The weak ways and the wandering thought
Are grown divine because you fell:
Friend, you have won a rest unsought,
By Milton's side! you have conquered Hell,
Are grown divine because you fell:
Friend, you have won a rest unsought,
By Milton's side! you have conquered Hell,
Ay, Hell of modern seasons fled
With the creeds' refuse and the arts',
Where unideal women wed
To brute men, dowered with dying hearts.
With the creeds' refuse and the arts',
Where unideal women wed
To brute men, dowered with dying hearts.
90
BURLESQUE
The footlights glint, the house is set,
Fair ladies rustle fans and laces;
Flutings proclaim a tuning clarionet,
Fiddles go through their paces.
Fair ladies rustle fans and laces;
Flutings proclaim a tuning clarionet,
Fiddles go through their paces.
The gloved conductor mounts his chair,
Whilst programme-hawkers sink their voices:
He raps his desk: his baton sweeps in air—
His overture rejoices.
Whilst programme-hawkers sink their voices:
He raps his desk: his baton sweeps in air—
His overture rejoices.
And then, in soft and swift eclipse,
The curtain out of sight goes winging,
And, with a glow of moving limbs and lips,
The Chorus fall a-singing.
The curtain out of sight goes winging,
And, with a glow of moving limbs and lips,
The Chorus fall a-singing.
91
‘A trite old scene,’ grim critics say:
‘A harbour—ships!’ nay, but you're boorish
To quarrel with these skies more bright than day
These quays and houses Moorish.
‘A harbour—ships!’ nay, but you're boorish
To quarrel with these skies more bright than day
These quays and houses Moorish.
Critic, I dote upon this throng
That swings, retreating and advancing,
As though this weary world were set to song,
And always, always dancing.
That swings, retreating and advancing,
As though this weary world were set to song,
And always, always dancing.
Look, to the front, with beck and nod,
With jibe and infinite gyration,
The mime of mimes has sprung, the groundling's god,
The king of this mad nation.
With jibe and infinite gyration,
The mime of mimes has sprung, the groundling's god,
The king of this mad nation.
‘Brava!’ cries gallery, and stall,
Avers the man's as mad as ever.
Strange now, dear critic, I laugh not at all
Although he's monstrous clever.
Avers the man's as mad as ever.
Strange now, dear critic, I laugh not at all
Although he's monstrous clever.
92
'Tis drawing on—that old attack,
That mood confounding brain and senses:
You know this playhouse is my Church—alack!
I cannot make pretences.
That mood confounding brain and senses:
You know this playhouse is my Church—alack!
I cannot make pretences.
Critic, you damn an Arabesque
In art—a ‘Music Hall Tradition’:
Well, be it so, good sir: this base burlesque
Is my sublime perdition.
In art—a ‘Music Hall Tradition’:
Well, be it so, good sir: this base burlesque
Is my sublime perdition.
For as I watch it, evermore,
Sweet pain upon my heart encroaches,
Delightful languors knock at my heart's door,
Dreams haunt in its approaches.
Sweet pain upon my heart encroaches,
Delightful languors knock at my heart's door,
Dreams haunt in its approaches.
And when, in clouds of roseleaf rain,
The dancers storm the scenic city,
And all the panting playhouse thrills again
To hear some well-loved ditty,
The dancers storm the scenic city,
And all the panting playhouse thrills again
To hear some well-loved ditty,
93
I, with a difference, also thrill
In joyance, vague, divine, immortal,
As in the old legends fasting hermits will,
Who see heaven's opened portal,—
In joyance, vague, divine, immortal,
As in the old legends fasting hermits will,
Who see heaven's opened portal,—
Till blind with light and gorgeous hue,
O'erborne with music wild and tender,
Crazed with the incessant joyous dance, I view
An unimagined splendour.
O'erborne with music wild and tender,
Crazed with the incessant joyous dance, I view
An unimagined splendour.
The orchestra's music changes—dies;
The stage seems far away and shrunken;
Sudden, I plunge alone 'mid fiery skies,
As one with opium drunken.
The stage seems far away and shrunken;
Sudden, I plunge alone 'mid fiery skies,
As one with opium drunken.
Around me, through me, everywhere,
As lightnings in dark violent weather,
Sound, Hue, and Shape, great angels past compare,
Sweep triumphing together.
As lightnings in dark violent weather,
Sound, Hue, and Shape, great angels past compare,
Sweep triumphing together.
94
And Sight, Touch, Hearing, grown intense,
Pursue them with a dancer's motions,
Till, merging in one quintessential sense,
They die in luminous oceans.
Pursue them with a dancer's motions,
Till, merging in one quintessential sense,
They die in luminous oceans.
Then silence: then a shock, a jar,
A shivering, and a lamentation:
In heaven the untoward falling of a star,
At heart a desolation.
A shivering, and a lamentation:
In heaven the untoward falling of a star,
At heart a desolation.
And then a voice: ‘Well done, say I.
Gad, it's a quarter past eleven.
Liked you the piece, sir?’ Can one make reply:
‘They have played plays in heaven?’
Gad, it's a quarter past eleven.
Liked you the piece, sir?’ Can one make reply:
‘They have played plays in heaven?’
95
A PARTERRE OF KINGS
With diamonds the boxes flashed and blazed:
Bejewelled orders shone in the parterre.
It was a ceremonial night: there were
So many gems there that the claque amazed
Forgot to cheer, and e'en the gas was dazed,
So many costly modish splendours there
That the cowed gallery people gasped for air
The while perspiringly they gazed and praised.
Bejewelled orders shone in the parterre.
It was a ceremonial night: there were
So many gems there that the claque amazed
Forgot to cheer, and e'en the gas was dazed,
So many costly modish splendours there
That the cowed gallery people gasped for air
The while perspiringly they gazed and praised.
The portly little diva, bribed with gold
Enough to make twelve Miltons roll in wealth,
Sang, somewhat out of voice, her refrain old.
Six wreaths were flung her—th' impresario's part,—
Four Grand Dukes went behind the scenes by stealth,
And nothing lacked that night save only Art!
Enough to make twelve Miltons roll in wealth,
Sang, somewhat out of voice, her refrain old.
Six wreaths were flung her—th' impresario's part,—
Four Grand Dukes went behind the scenes by stealth,
And nothing lacked that night save only Art!
96
A NOCTURNE AT GREENWICH
Far out, beyond my window, in the gloomNightly I see thee loom,
Thou vast black city. Oh, but night is kind,
Here where Thames' waters wind,
To the grim formless features of thy face.
They do assume such grace
In the deep darkness, starred through leagues of night,
With long streets, fringed with light,
Or with the lanthorns of the ships that aye
Ascend the water-way,
Coasting from East and West, and North and South,
To this, Earth's harbour-mouth.
Up from the darkness echoes sleepily
97
Or, like a wild beast's call heard in a dream,
The siren's undulant scream
Whistles the darkling midnight through and through,
While with her labouring screw
Some dim leviathan of ships drops down
Past storied Greenwich town,
Showing her swiftly-gliding starboard light,
Green 'gainst the wide dark night.
Past the great hospital she drops, and past
The marshes, still and vast,
Below the lines of Woolwich and the lines
Of Bostal's shadowy pines,
On to that world of Saxon brine and fen,
Old races, vanished men,
Where Thames, from heron-haunted shores set free,
Merges in northern sea.
98
I watch thee without cease,
Thou ancient stream, mysterious as the sky
Which starless glooms on high.
About me, on the volume-peopled wall,
The famed old authors all
Sleep their just sleep, and in the hearth's clear beams
Dante's medallion gleams,
And Brutus and great Tully o'er the shelves
Commune among themselves.
This silent music of what once hath been
Suits well with that night scene:
Nay, its essential sweetness sweeter grows,
Because that river flows
Through northern midnight, big with life and doom,
Out yonder in the gloom.
99
THROUGH THE WOOD
(By Dartmoor, Sept., 1893)
To F.W.W.
All day long upon her throne
Reason sat,
Ruled the realm which is her own
Judged of this, disputed that:
Now the heart doth beat alone!
Reason sat,
Ruled the realm which is her own
Judged of this, disputed that:
Now the heart doth beat alone!
In the deep lane by the hedge
Trails a leaf,
And along the river's edge
The low wind awakes the grief
In the dry heart of the sedge.
Trails a leaf,
And along the river's edge
The low wind awakes the grief
In the dry heart of the sedge.
100
Journey through the wood you must
Though the tread
Falter in the soundless dust,
And the dark oaks overhead
Shudder in a silent gust!
Though the tread
Falter in the soundless dust,
And the dark oaks overhead
Shudder in a silent gust!
Journey through the wood you shall
When the tors
Are grown dark and tragical,
And the wit no longer soars,
And the valley lights enthrall!
When the tors
Are grown dark and tragical,
And the wit no longer soars,
And the valley lights enthrall!
Night hath just that mystic power
Now as when,
On the moor there, hour by hour,
Those old Neolithic men
'Mong their monstrous stones did cower
Now as when,
On the moor there, hour by hour,
Those old Neolithic men
'Mong their monstrous stones did cower
While the screech-owl swept the ground,
And the wolf
Went his swift mysterious round
On the shore of midnight's gulf
Where the dead sheep's bones are found!
And the wolf
101
On the shore of midnight's gulf
Where the dead sheep's bones are found!
In a circle of gray stone
Reason sat
All day long among her own,
Arguing this, rejecting that:
Now the heart must beat alone!
Reason sat
All day long among her own,
Arguing this, rejecting that:
Now the heart must beat alone!
102
THE DEER IN GREENWICH PARK
Pathetic in their rags, from far and near,
The children of the slums o'erswarm the grass:
Pathetic in their grace the kinglike deer
Leap up to let them pass.
The children of the slums o'erswarm the grass:
Pathetic in their grace the kinglike deer
Leap up to let them pass.
Where riot scares the gloom and fevers burn
These wizened babes were pent till morning light:
Slim shadows moving 'mong the moonlit fern
These shy deer strayed all night.
These wizened babes were pent till morning light:
Slim shadows moving 'mong the moonlit fern
These shy deer strayed all night.
In the hot hours London's poor wastrels find
Their paradise in this brown London Park:
The lordlier brutes, in the scant shade reclin'd,
Pant for the hours of dark
Their paradise in this brown London Park:
The lordlier brutes, in the scant shade reclin'd,
Pant for the hours of dark
103
When some dim instinct of primeval years
Thrills on a sudden through each dappled breast,
And with untamable mysterious fears
The herd is repossessed!
Thrills on a sudden through each dappled breast,
And with untamable mysterious fears
The herd is repossessed!
Then the branch'd horns are tossed: the nostrils fine
Respire the sleepy breath from London's heart,
And bucks, and does, and fawns, in spectral line,
Forth from their bracken start.
Respire the sleepy breath from London's heart,
And bucks, and does, and fawns, in spectral line,
Forth from their bracken start.
An antlered watchman stamps a shapely hoof—
Is that a tartaned Gael within the brake?
Did Luath bay below the heath-clad roof—
Doth Fingal's son awake?
Is that a tartaned Gael within the brake?
Did Luath bay below the heath-clad roof—
Doth Fingal's son awake?
Hath a harp wailed in Tara? Did a bough
Snap in Broceliande, where Merlin keeps
His drowsy magic vigil even now
In the oak-woods' sunlit deeps?
Snap in Broceliande, where Merlin keeps
His drowsy magic vigil even now
In the oak-woods' sunlit deeps?
104
Was it a cry, borne from Caerluda town—
A spell the Stag of Ages understands?
Or voices of old rivers raving down
Through heathery Cymric lands?
A spell the Stag of Ages understands?
Or voices of old rivers raving down
Through heathery Cymric lands?
Or—since the red stag by wild mountain streams
Is he whom such weird terrors most appal;
Since these be fallow deer, and yonder dreams
The dom'd Stuart Hospital,—
Is he whom such weird terrors most appal;
Since these be fallow deer, and yonder dreams
The dom'd Stuart Hospital,—
Was it the bugle, echoing as of yore
In some vast chase, enwrapt in lake-side mists?
Swept Herne the Hunter by, or score on score
Of silken Royalists?
In some vast chase, enwrapt in lake-side mists?
Swept Herne the Hunter by, or score on score
Of silken Royalists?
Hunts captured Charles? Or hath Cromwellian shot
Laid some escaping war-spent gallant low
In the far ride where last year's leaf doth rot,
And, save the deer, none go?
Laid some escaping war-spent gallant low
In the far ride where last year's leaf doth rot,
And, save the deer, none go?
105
Who knows what stirs them? Nay, can any guess
That which their beautiful clear eyes import
When, at high noon, about your hand they press,
Begging in timid sort,
That which their beautiful clear eyes import
When, at high noon, about your hand they press,
Begging in timid sort,
Save haply the exile's doom, which is the same
Whether 'tis buried in the tragic eyes
Of king discrowned, or wanderer without name,
Bondman, or brute that dies?
Whether 'tis buried in the tragic eyes
Of king discrowned, or wanderer without name,
Bondman, or brute that dies?
106
THE HAUNTING DREAM
Last night a melancholy dream
Pursued me down the gulphs of sleep,
Like some great bird that flits a-gleam
In a ship's wake on the lone deep.
Pursued me down the gulphs of sleep,
Like some great bird that flits a-gleam
In a ship's wake on the lone deep.
One of those dreams it was so sweet,
And subtly sad, that when I woke,
And rose, and went into the street,
I dreamt although I moved and spoke:
And subtly sad, that when I woke,
And rose, and went into the street,
I dreamt although I moved and spoke:
I dreamt although my hands and brain
Were busy in the jarring noon;
I dreamt till night came round again,
And now I dream, watching the moon.
Were busy in the jarring noon;
I dreamt till night came round again,
And now I dream, watching the moon.
107
Oh for the joy that might have been,
Oh for the joy that shall not be,
And that which thou hast never seen,
And that which thou mayst never see!
Oh for the joy that shall not be,
And that which thou hast never seen,
And that which thou mayst never see!
108
TO ONE ASLEEP
With a rush and a growl at Cannon Street,
And a jest like an oath, in he leapt
'Mong the clerklings demure and discreet,
But 'ere Deptford he slept.
And a jest like an oath, in he leapt
'Mong the clerklings demure and discreet,
But 'ere Deptford he slept.
Slumber hangs in the eyelids of intrigue,
Sleep entraps drunken feet from beneath,
But before such an infinite fatigue
It is almost like death.
Sleep entraps drunken feet from beneath,
But before such an infinite fatigue
It is almost like death.
Nay, the man might be dead before our eyes.
Pale and worn, dulled and still, shrunk and cowed,
Of a truth he will look no otherwise
When he's wrapt in his shroud!
Pale and worn, dulled and still, shrunk and cowed,
Of a truth he will look no otherwise
When he's wrapt in his shroud!
109
What's his trade? Does he toil among the ships,
On the rails? in the streets? Who can guess
From the things that long since were finger-tips,
Or the grime on his dress?
On the rails? in the streets? Who can guess
From the things that long since were finger-tips,
Or the grime on his dress?
For at best here is only one more slave
Of the toil that has used and outworn
Half our kind from the cradle to the grave
Since the day Man was born.
Of the toil that has used and outworn
Half our kind from the cradle to the grave
Since the day Man was born.
Painful Science proclaims him half a brute,
Old Religion maintains him God's heir:
But he knows not the matter in dispute:
An' he knew, would he care?
Old Religion maintains him God's heir:
But he knows not the matter in dispute:
An' he knew, would he care?
There's the cant of ‘the Workman's Glorious Reign’;
There's the cant of ‘What Effort can teach’;
There's the cant of ‘the Discipline of Pain’:
Does he hear when they preach?
There's the cant of ‘What Effort can teach’;
There's the cant of ‘the Discipline of Pain’:
Does he hear when they preach?
110
‘Summer burns, winter nips with snow and ice;
It is good for a man to beget;
Food and fire are the jewels of great price,
And to drink's to forget:
It is good for a man to beget;
Food and fire are the jewels of great price,
And to drink's to forget:
‘In the morning at dawn the “hooters” cry,
And at eve about dark work is o'er;
You must work an' you do not want to die’:—
That's his creed at the core.
And at eve about dark work is o'er;
You must work an' you do not want to die’:—
That's his creed at the core.
Though he knows not the trade of his sire,
Nor can tell whence his grandfather came;
Though his caste is a bastard which the mire
Aye begets out of shame;
Nor can tell whence his grandfather came;
Though his caste is a bastard which the mire
Aye begets out of shame;
Though the grime has crept inward to his heart,
From the things that were once finger-tips;
Though the sweat from his brow shall not depart
Nor the curse from his lips;
From the things that were once finger-tips;
Though the sweat from his brow shall not depart
Nor the curse from his lips;
111
Shall you scoff at the tenets of his creed,
And aver he's a leper to shun,
Or confess, ‘Here is Tragic Cain indeed,
Here is Man's eldest son?’
And aver he's a leper to shun,
Or confess, ‘Here is Tragic Cain indeed,
Here is Man's eldest son?’
THE END
| In the Dorian Mood | |