 | The sad years |  |
1
THE SAD YEARS
Thou hast encompassed us, indeed, O Lord,
With these sad years. Where does the failure lie
Of this Thy man, made to Thy likeness, since
Within the golden mirror of the sun
Thou gavest Thy sweet loveliness and didst
Then gather dust to mould him to Thy shape,
And stood him upright on Thy holy palm
To view his form and praise Thy handiwork?
Is this Thy likeness then, Thy perfect mould,
Thy hands, Thy feet, Thy voice, Thy sacred heart,
A god in miniature, of Eden made?
With these sad years. Where does the failure lie
Of this Thy man, made to Thy likeness, since
Within the golden mirror of the sun
Thou gavest Thy sweet loveliness and didst
Then gather dust to mould him to Thy shape,
And stood him upright on Thy holy palm
To view his form and praise Thy handiwork?
Is this Thy likeness then, Thy perfect mould,
Thy hands, Thy feet, Thy voice, Thy sacred heart,
A god in miniature, of Eden made?
Hands, hands, hands, tearing, grasping, slaying,
Cold, stiff, still, soothing, strangling, praying.
Feet, feet, feet, running, toiling, stamping,
Crushing, killing, falling, stumbling, tramping.
Cries, cries, cries, brutal, broken, wailing,
Sobbing, helpless, anguished, dying, failing.
Hearts, hearts, hearts, loving, hating, seeking,
Hearts of all Thy children, breaking, breaking.
Cold, stiff, still, soothing, strangling, praying.
Feet, feet, feet, running, toiling, stamping,
Crushing, killing, falling, stumbling, tramping.
Cries, cries, cries, brutal, broken, wailing,
Sobbing, helpless, anguished, dying, failing.
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Hearts of all Thy children, breaking, breaking.
Is this, indeed, Thy man, that Thou hast made,
Is this Thy likeness, and are these Thy ways?
Oh, Lord of pity, quench these flaming hours,
Restore to peace these sad and tortured years
Wherein Thou breakest the frail heart of man
—Or he the heart of God.
Is this Thy likeness, and are these Thy ways?
Oh, Lord of pity, quench these flaming hours,
Restore to peace these sad and tortured years
Wherein Thou breakest the frail heart of man
—Or he the heart of God.
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PROGRESS: 1914–1918
“Lo! I am athirst,” said the brown earth,
“And I would drink my fill.”
“Have I not slaked thee,” cried the grey skies,
“From river, stream, and rill?”
“And I would drink my fill.”
“Have I not slaked thee,” cried the grey skies,
“From river, stream, and rill?”
“I would have wine,” said the hot earth,
“Red wine from hearts afire.”
“Lo! thou shalt arise,” cried the fierce sun,
“Clad in a new attire.”
“Red wine from hearts afire.”
“Lo! thou shalt arise,” cried the fierce sun,
“Clad in a new attire.”
“My fruit abundant,” said the fair earth,
“As never seen before.”
“Gladly shall I bear,” cried the proud tree,
“That ripe and luscious store.”
“As never seen before.”
“Gladly shall I bear,” cried the proud tree,
“That ripe and luscious store.”
“My cloth so radiant,” said the vain earth,
“Shall wrap me in its sheen.”
“Deeply shall we weave,” cried the slim grass,
“In tender gold and green.”
“Shall wrap me in its sheen.”
“Deeply shall we weave,” cried the slim grass,
“In tender gold and green.”
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“Lo! I am athirst,” said the hot earth,
“And I would quench my fears.”
“Then thou shalt taste,” cried the young maid,
“The bitter sweet of tears.”
“And I would quench my fears.”
“Then thou shalt taste,” cried the young maid,
“The bitter sweet of tears.”
“Have I not held them,” said the old earth,
“The dead unto my heart?”
“Under my white robe,” cried the chill wind,
“So a new spring should start.”
“The dead unto my heart?”
“Under my white robe,” cried the chill wind,
“So a new spring should start.”
“Men must pale and die,” said the black earth,
“So men may rise and live;”
“And I was born thus,” cried the great town,
“In blood they slew to give.”
“So men may rise and live;”
“And I was born thus,” cried the great town,
“In blood they slew to give.”
“Grant to me red wine,” said the brown earth,
“Else do I droop and tire.”
“As in the great past,” cried the pale hills,
“We drank of hearts afire.”
“Else do I droop and tire.”
“As in the great past,” cried the pale hills,
“We drank of hearts afire.”
“In war have I grown,” said the fierce earth,
“Man against his brother.”
“Death's sheaves have fed thee,” said the green woods,
“Beast slaying one the other.”
“Man against his brother.”
“Death's sheaves have fed thee,” said the green woods,
“Beast slaying one the other.”
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“I have built my state,” said the proud earth,
“In strife and foul dissension;”
“Thy church uprising,” cried the grey rocks,
“From blood and hot contention.”
“In strife and foul dissension;”
“Thy church uprising,” cried the grey rocks,
“From blood and hot contention.”
“Lo! I am athirst,” sighed the brown earth,
“Grant me red wine to spend.”
“As it was in the beginning,” said the great hills,
“And shall be to the end.”
“Grant me red wine to spend.”
“As it was in the beginning,” said the great hills,
“And shall be to the end.”
6
OCTOBER, 1915
When the white rose and the red spill their leaves upon the way,
Make a scented path to tread through the long, sun-haunted day;
I half-dreaming all forget in the summer's idle grace,
That the city's claim will come, bid me back into my place.
Make a scented path to tread through the long, sun-haunted day;
I half-dreaming all forget in the summer's idle grace,
That the city's claim will come, bid me back into my place.
How can I go forth again to the hot and restless town,
Where the stranger people pass ever careless up and down,
Where convention chills each hand from a kind and friendly hold?
Here the robin to my call cheerful comes, alert and bold.
Where the stranger people pass ever careless up and down,
Where convention chills each hand from a kind and friendly hold?
Here the robin to my call cheerful comes, alert and bold.
Summer with her pretty ways now is taking leave of me,
Slow the ling'ring roses fall, softly sings the honey-bee,
How can I go back again to the horrors of the town,
Where the husky voice of war fiercely echoes up and down?
Slow the ling'ring roses fall, softly sings the honey-bee,
How can I go back again to the horrors of the town,
Where the husky voice of war fiercely echoes up and down?
7
THE QUESTION
Give me the heavy sleep, the dreamless slumber
Nor shrouded grief nor sorrow will encumber.
Let me but sleep as he whose labour-hand
Hath tilled the sod and ploughed the pleasant land,
But, God! to dream, to wake, and dream again,
Where screams red war in harvesting dead men.
Ah! dream of home, of love, of joy, all thrilling,
To wake once more to killing, killing, killing.
Nor shrouded grief nor sorrow will encumber.
Let me but sleep as he whose labour-hand
Hath tilled the sod and ploughed the pleasant land,
But, God! to dream, to wake, and dream again,
Where screams red war in harvesting dead men.
Ah! dream of home, of love, of joy, all thrilling,
To wake once more to killing, killing, killing.
Give me the hunter's hand, the patriot's fervour
To hold death naught, or for my land to serve her,
Slay and still slay, with heart that holds no sorrow
For these dead men and all their carnal horror.
Was I not one who loved my land for growing
Sweet, eager life, and pretty things all blowing?
How glad these hands to give their toil, how willing,
That now, O God! grow strong in killing, killing.
To hold death naught, or for my land to serve her,
Slay and still slay, with heart that holds no sorrow
For these dead men and all their carnal horror.
Was I not one who loved my land for growing
Sweet, eager life, and pretty things all blowing?
How glad these hands to give their toil, how willing,
That now, O God! grow strong in killing, killing.
I never see a young face grey in dying
But from my blade I hear a woman crying:
“Spare, spare my child!” or screams my bullet, saying,
“Stay, stay thy flight! My father thou art slaying.”
All summer through I heard from each pale sleeper,
“Thou shalt not kill.” “Am I my brother's keeper?”
I fain replied. And now comes dread December,
With “Peace on Earth.” O God! dare I remember?
“To men goodwill.” Am I Thy laws fulfilling
Who run red-handed—killing, killing, killing?
But from my blade I hear a woman crying:
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“Stay, stay thy flight! My father thou art slaying.”
All summer through I heard from each pale sleeper,
“Thou shalt not kill.” “Am I my brother's keeper?”
I fain replied. And now comes dread December,
With “Peace on Earth.” O God! dare I remember?
“To men goodwill.” Am I Thy laws fulfilling
Who run red-handed—killing, killing, killing?
9
THE HUMAN TOUCH
She made roses all the day for pretty ladies' wear,
All through the patient hours, half into the night.
Dragged into a hurried knot all her dusty hair,
Eyes foolish with fatigue, straining to the light.
All through the patient hours, half into the night.
Dragged into a hurried knot all her dusty hair,
Eyes foolish with fatigue, straining to the light.
Pretty ladies roamed away over land and sea,
Talked on foreign boulevard, laughed in gay bazaar;
Followed summer's sunny road planning times to be,
Happy hours of holiday, as the seasons are.
Talked on foreign boulevard, laughed in gay bazaar;
Followed summer's sunny road planning times to be,
Happy hours of holiday, as the seasons are.
She made roses all the day for pretty ladies' wear,
All through the long day, half into the night.
Followed all the toiling hours with a dumb despair
Lest they overtake her skill in their hurried flight.
All through the long day, half into the night.
Followed all the toiling hours with a dumb despair
Lest they overtake her skill in their hurried flight.
Pretty ladies in the park driving up and down,
Chatting of the horrid war, strolling on the grass,
Shopping long in Regent Street, over cloak or gown,
Waving hand or handkerchief as the soldiers pass.
Chatting of the horrid war, strolling on the grass,
Shopping long in Regent Street, over cloak or gown,
Waving hand or handkerchief as the soldiers pass.
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She made roses all the day for pretty ladies' wear,
Threepence for a dozen such, working to the night.
Just an hour of holiday left her cupboard bare,
She knew naught of Regent Street or of war's affright.
Threepence for a dozen such, working to the night.
Just an hour of holiday left her cupboard bare,
She knew naught of Regent Street or of war's affright.
Sudden in a dusky hour came a stranger bird,
To the frightened city's gloom, in her silent race
Flew to drop her evil egg where the slow winds stirred
Wrapping mist from some rich store for her nesting place.
To the frightened city's gloom, in her silent race
Flew to drop her evil egg where the slow winds stirred
Wrapping mist from some rich store for her nesting place.
But the pitying breath of night blowing from the west
Blew the evil bird to go in the smoke and gloom,
So that sudden death might bring for the toiler rest—
Give her splendid liberty from her prison room.
Blew the evil bird to go in the smoke and gloom,
So that sudden death might bring for the toiler rest—
Give her splendid liberty from her prison room.
She had never time to weep, dim eyes and holiday,
Left her roses all unborn, left the cupboard bare.
Now she cried and rising flung roses all away,
Swift as any lady ran down the narrow stair.
Left her roses all unborn, left the cupboard bare.
Now she cried and rising flung roses all away,
Swift as any lady ran down the narrow stair.
All the pretty ladies prayed, with uplifted glance,
Thanked God that each lovely life had not met its doom,
She prayed in her prison place for the “lucky chance”
That had saved her sweated life from the restful tomb.
Thanked God that each lovely life had not met its doom,
She prayed in her prison place for the “lucky chance”
That had saved her sweated life from the restful tomb.
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Thanked God she made roses still for pretty ladies' wear,
Threepence for a dozen such, working to the night.
Dragged in to a hurried knot all her dusty hair—
Eyes foolish with fatigue straining to the light.
Threepence for a dozen such, working to the night.
Dragged in to a hurried knot all her dusty hair—
Eyes foolish with fatigue straining to the light.
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THE ROAD OF THE REFUGEES
Listen to the tramping! Oh, God of pity, listen!
Can we kneel at prayer, sleep all unmolested,
While the echo thunders?—God of pity, listen!
Can we think of prayer—or sleep—so arrested?
Can we kneel at prayer, sleep all unmolested,
While the echo thunders?—God of pity, listen!
Can we think of prayer—or sleep—so arrested?
Million upon million fleeing feet in passing
Trample down our prayers—trample down our sleeping;
How the patient roads groan beneath the massing
Of the feet in going, bleeding, running, creeping!
Trample down our prayers—trample down our sleeping;
How the patient roads groan beneath the massing
Of the feet in going, bleeding, running, creeping!
Clank of iron shoe, unshod hooves of cattle,
Pad of roaming hound, creak of wheel in turning,
Clank of dragging chain, harness ring and rattle,
Groan of breaking beam, crash of roof-tree burning.
Pad of roaming hound, creak of wheel in turning,
Clank of dragging chain, harness ring and rattle,
Groan of breaking beam, crash of roof-tree burning.
Listen to the tramping!—God of love and pity!
Million upon million fleeing feet in passing
Driven by the war out of field and city,
How the sullen road echoes to the massing!
Million upon million fleeing feet in passing
Driven by the war out of field and city,
How the sullen road echoes to the massing!
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Little feet of children, running, leaping, lagging,
Toiling feet of women, wounded, weary guiding,
Slow feet of the aged, stumbling, halting, flagging,
Strong feet of the men loud in passion striding.
Toiling feet of women, wounded, weary guiding,
Slow feet of the aged, stumbling, halting, flagging,
Strong feet of the men loud in passion striding.
Hear the lost feet straying, from the roadway slipping,
They will walk no longer in this march appalling;
Hear the sound of rain dripping, dripping, dripping,
Is it rain or tears? What, O God, is falling?
They will walk no longer in this march appalling;
Hear the sound of rain dripping, dripping, dripping,
Is it rain or tears? What, O God, is falling?
Hear the flying feet! Lord of love and pity!
Crushing down our prayers, tramping down our sleeping,
Driven by the war out of field and city,
Million upon million, running, bleeding, creeping.
Crushing down our prayers, tramping down our sleeping,
Driven by the war out of field and city,
Million upon million, running, bleeding, creeping.
14
HEROD
The Virgin speaks:Draw back the starry curtains of the night,
O Cherubim, and Seraphim!
Pull back the purple curtains of the night,
For I would look once more upon the world,
That ere my sorrows made some young delight
In bird and bee and each earth-flower uncurled.
Cherubim:
“Sancta Virgo Virginum.”
Let me behold a garden rich with fruit,
The pomegranate in shade of cypress trees,
Vines and wild honey, and the small bees' lute,
Where aromatic spices fill the breeze.
Seraphim:
“Virgo fidelis.”
Let me behold again all unafraid,
Fair Bethlehem and grey Egyptian sands,
Let me but see the spreading cedar's shade
Where once I hid in half-forgotten lands.
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“Mater amabilis.”
Let me but watch the little goats that leap
On the rough rocks that circle Galilee,
And I would hear the swelling waves that creep
To strike strong music from the changing sea.
Seraphim:
“Mater admirabilis.”
Draw back the purple curtain. I would find
A people, then unborn, yet for whose sake
I was most blessèd amongst womankind,
And bore God's son their heavy sins to take
Upon himself, so He in anguish died,
To teach them all to love and live in peace.
Draw now the starry curtains well aside,
And all the lights of Heaven swift release.
Cherubim:
“Mater Christi.”
What comes to me from far-off broken years?
A voice in Rama, mourning her sad lot!
Great lamentations, women's cries and tears,
A Rachel mourns her children who were not.
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“Consolatrix afflictorum.”
I hear again from out the singing spheres
A mother's scream, and all her whispered prayer
Stabbed by her anguish, faint beneath her fears,
I hide once more upon that far earth there.
Cherubim:
“Regina Martyrum.”
Draw close the starry curtains of the night
Lest Heaven fade and I forget to pray;
Here God is love, we hate nor suffer fight,
What Herod lives upon the earth to-day?
Cherubim:
“Da pacem, Domine, sustinentibus te,
ut Prophetae tui fideles inveniantur.”
Seraphim:
“Pacem relinquo vobis, pacem
meam do vobis, dicit Dominus.”
Cherubim and Seraphim:
Alleluia.
17
THE HOURS OF ILLNESS
How slow creeps time! I hear the midnight chime,
And now late revellers prepare for sleep;
A last gay voice rings in a passing rhyme,
And past my door the anxious footsteps creep.
And now late revellers prepare for sleep;
A last gay voice rings in a passing rhyme,
And past my door the anxious footsteps creep.
The little clocks from hidden places call,
'Tis one o'clock; downstairs the big clock's bell
Tolls deep, and then comes forth the merry chime,
Like laughing children calling, “All is well!”
'Tis one o'clock; downstairs the big clock's bell
Tolls deep, and then comes forth the merry chime,
Like laughing children calling, “All is well!”
'Tis two o'clock! Why in the lonesome room
This creak and crack, if there be no one here?
Whose feet disturb the loose board of the floor?
Whose secret presence fills the dark with fear?
This creak and crack, if there be no one here?
Whose feet disturb the loose board of the floor?
Whose secret presence fills the dark with fear?
'Tis three o'clock! O God, when comes sweet rest?
To sleep, to sleep, within this sleeping house,
Where all could wake with less fatigue than I,
Where no one stirs save some adventurous mouse!
To sleep, to sleep, within this sleeping house,
Where all could wake with less fatigue than I,
Where no one stirs save some adventurous mouse!
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'Tis four o'clock! Death stands at my bed-head
In meditation deep, with hidden face,
And I alone—a coward—alone, afraid,
Lest he from his dread brow the shroud displace.
In meditation deep, with hidden face,
And I alone—a coward—alone, afraid,
Lest he from his dread brow the shroud displace.
'Tis five o'clock! Within the empty room,
Threading their way, the happy dead appear,
More living than the quick in this still night—
All whom I loved or held me ever dear.
Threading their way, the happy dead appear,
More living than the quick in this still night—
All whom I loved or held me ever dear.
'Tis six o'clock! Death moves from my bed-head,
Flings high the shroud from off his hidden face.
“O gentle death! O fair and lovely shade,
Lift this sad spirit from its dwelling-place!”
Flings high the shroud from off his hidden face.
“O gentle death! O fair and lovely shade,
Lift this sad spirit from its dwelling-place!”
The clock at seven! Hear the milkman come.
Loud clangs the gate; the room is chill and dark.
The maid, reluctant rising, frees the door;
A dog runs forth with shrill, offensive bark.
Loud clangs the gate; the room is chill and dark.
The maid, reluctant rising, frees the door;
A dog runs forth with shrill, offensive bark.
The clock strikes eight! The curtains pulled aside
Let in the light, so cold, so bleak, so grey.
From their dark hiding come familiar things,
And through my window looks another day.
Let in the light, so cold, so bleak, so grey.
From their dark hiding come familiar things,
And through my window looks another day.
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TO BID HER LIVE
Bring to her spring flowers,
Cowslip and celandine,
And bid her hear the blackbird's song.
Let pass the sunny hours
In her dull room to shine,
Lay cherry blossom her thin arm along.
Cowslip and celandine,
And bid her hear the blackbird's song.
Let pass the sunny hours
In her dull room to shine,
Lay cherry blossom her thin arm along.
Bring all the sweets of June,
Pale viola and rue,
Garlands of fragrant roses, pink and white.
The young birds' broken tune,
The larkspur gold and blue,
Let in the gentle harping of the night.
Pale viola and rue,
Garlands of fragrant roses, pink and white.
The young birds' broken tune,
The larkspur gold and blue,
Let in the gentle harping of the night.
When russet autumn comes,
Lad's-love and lavender
Fling on her bed. Go, shake red apples down,
Sun-kissed and purple plums,
The sweet and luscious pear,
Bring her on leaves of crimson, green, and brown.
Lad's-love and lavender
Fling on her bed. Go, shake red apples down,
Sun-kissed and purple plums,
The sweet and luscious pear,
Bring her on leaves of crimson, green, and brown.
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When comes the winter snow,
Then close the shutters tight
To hide the falling leaves and stricken tree,
The silent birds that go,
Through cold and cheerless light,
And winter's shroud on all life's liberty.
Then close the shutters tight
To hide the falling leaves and stricken tree,
The silent birds that go,
Through cold and cheerless light,
And winter's shroud on all life's liberty.
Bear her the holly bough,
And on the glowing hearth
Let twisted flame and rebel fires roar.
Bid laughing children now
Dance round her in their mirth,
And call her fainting spirit home once more—
Oh, call her, call her, call her home once more!
And on the glowing hearth
Let twisted flame and rebel fires roar.
Bid laughing children now
Dance round her in their mirth,
And call her fainting spirit home once more—
Oh, call her, call her, call her home once more!
21
IF YOU SHOULD PASS
If by my tomb some day you careless pass,
A moment grieved by coming on my name,
Ah! kneel awhile upon the tender grass
In some short prayer acquitting me of blame.
A moment grieved by coming on my name,
Ah! kneel awhile upon the tender grass
In some short prayer acquitting me of blame.
If I reached not your pinnacle of right,
Or fell below your standard of desire,
If to my heart alone my hopes were white,
And my soul built its own celestial fire,
Or fell below your standard of desire,
If to my heart alone my hopes were white,
And my soul built its own celestial fire,
Then let your grief, be it a single tear,
Upon your cheek in tender sorrow fall,
Forget where I did fail; keep only dear
The deeds for which you loved me over all.
Upon your cheek in tender sorrow fall,
Forget where I did fail; keep only dear
The deeds for which you loved me over all.
For ah! to hear, poor shade from life shut out,
Unkindly tongues to trifle with my name,
So that remembrance came half-chilled with doubt
In conversations less of praise than blame.
Unkindly tongues to trifle with my name,
So that remembrance came half-chilled with doubt
In conversations less of praise than blame.
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For if thy charity be overstrained
And would bring slander where it cannot bless,
Give me but silence where good friendship waned,
Grant me the mercy of forgetfulness.
And would bring slander where it cannot bless,
Give me but silence where good friendship waned,
Grant me the mercy of forgetfulness.
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THE TWO PRAYERS
Lord! when they came and stood upon my way,
With “One is dead,” I paused awhile to pray,
In brief thanksgiving that I still did live
On the good earth that had so much to give.
Through my sweet garden softly did I go
To lift some lily's head that hung too low,
Or bind a rebel rose that sought to stray
Across my path. More dear were they to-day
When I did live who might as he be dead.
“Was ever world so fair,” I whisp'ring said.
“Thank God for eyes, for ears, for strength, for breath,
All that he hath not who hath tasted death.”
With “One is dead,” I paused awhile to pray,
In brief thanksgiving that I still did live
On the good earth that had so much to give.
Through my sweet garden softly did I go
To lift some lily's head that hung too low,
Or bind a rebel rose that sought to stray
Across my path. More dear were they to-day
When I did live who might as he be dead.
“Was ever world so fair,” I whisp'ring said.
“Thank God for eyes, for ears, for strength, for breath,
All that he hath not who hath tasted death.”
But when they went in silence, to my heart
Their pity pierced. Then came the poisoned dart,
With “He is dead.” I flung me low to pray.
“Lord, I have watched through the uncertain day
When he was far, and ev'ry throbbing hour,
Half lost in fear the joy of bird or flower.
And new alarm I found did some sharp cry
Come from the street, or did a foot pass by
Swift in its going. All did threaten him.
Hear me, O Lord, who sip at sorrow's brim.
Take thou these eyes, these ears, this strength, this breath.
All that he hath not, who hath tasted death.”
Their pity pierced. Then came the poisoned dart,
With “He is dead.” I flung me low to pray.
“Lord, I have watched through the uncertain day
When he was far, and ev'ry throbbing hour,
Half lost in fear the joy of bird or flower.
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Come from the street, or did a foot pass by
Swift in its going. All did threaten him.
Hear me, O Lord, who sip at sorrow's brim.
Take thou these eyes, these ears, this strength, this breath.
All that he hath not, who hath tasted death.”
25
MOTHER
If I should rise amidst the assembled dead,
Calling for thee, whose fond hands often led
Me in young years, in that far unknown place
To help me there, and could not find thy face!
Calling for thee, whose fond hands often led
Me in young years, in that far unknown place
To help me there, and could not find thy face!
If thou wouldst find that mother who was free
To call thee hers, as I have need of thee;
Or I stood lost, all fear and dread amaze,
On death's great plains and solitary ways!
To call thee hers, as I have need of thee;
Or I stood lost, all fear and dread amaze,
On death's great plains and solitary ways!
Ah, no, ah, no, less child than mother thou!
Have I not seen those gentle eyes, that brow,
Bent o'er me hours less grievous than to-day,
When on some childhood's bed I fevered lay?
Have I not seen those gentle eyes, that brow,
Bent o'er me hours less grievous than to-day,
When on some childhood's bed I fevered lay?
Couldst thou behold me sad and full of tears
For those I left, nor chide my lonesome fears
With the old smile on thy remembered face,
Holding me, wearied so from life's hard race?
For those I left, nor chide my lonesome fears
With the old smile on thy remembered face,
Holding me, wearied so from life's hard race?
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Safe in this thought, I give myself to sleep—
Sleep that may wake from slumber yet more deep,
So when I rise from all death's dread alarms,
I see thy face and find my mother's arms.
Sleep that may wake from slumber yet more deep,
So when I rise from all death's dread alarms,
I see thy face and find my mother's arms.
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FOR HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS
And I had died before the spring had come,
When winter's kiss upon the fields was cold,
And no small seed had broken up the land,
Then had I died, whose earthly hours were told.
When winter's kiss upon the fields was cold,
And no small seed had broken up the land,
Then had I died, whose earthly hours were told.
I should have liked to see the snowdrop rise,
And pressed my lips upon the primrose bowl,
To see the thousand spear-heads of new grass,
But death had called to my half-willing soul.
And pressed my lips upon the primrose bowl,
To see the thousand spear-heads of new grass,
But death had called to my half-willing soul.
And as I passed there came the sound of tears,
Disturbing me and dropping o'er my face;
I could not plead for mercy from their grief
With “Stay thy tears that chill my resting-place.”
Disturbing me and dropping o'er my face;
I could not plead for mercy from their grief
With “Stay thy tears that chill my resting-place.”
But I returned, in pity for their lot,
Stood by my bed to see my kindred there;
About my house I heard their footsteps go,
Finding my goods and seeking each his share.
Stood by my bed to see my kindred there;
About my house I heard their footsteps go,
Finding my goods and seeking each his share.
28
My desk, my shelf, my very roof-tree's shade
They sought for long, and o'er my lands did stray,
And then returned and by my corpse knelt down
With folded hands to murmur, “Let us pray.”
They sought for long, and o'er my lands did stray,
And then returned and by my corpse knelt down
With folded hands to murmur, “Let us pray.”
And as they bent by the mysterious dead,
Naked of all, from all possessions free,
I saw each face—and went new worlds to meet,
For what was I to them, or they to me?
Naked of all, from all possessions free,
I saw each face—and went new worlds to meet,
For what was I to them, or they to me?
29
THE SEA-MEW
I had loved the pretty birds that by my window sung—
The gentle thrush that had his nest the perfumed pines among;
The chaffinch with his sudden note, his song so clear and bold;
The sad rhyme of the robin, too, that came when winds grew cold;
The gentle thrush that had his nest the perfumed pines among;
The chaffinch with his sudden note, his song so clear and bold;
The sad rhyme of the robin, too, that came when winds grew cold;
The happy lark whose benison fell from the sunny sky;
The blackbird with his golden lute that serenaded by:
The nightingale that through the night told his low rosary;
The finches, with their little tunes, were all beloved by me.
The blackbird with his golden lute that serenaded by:
The nightingale that through the night told his low rosary;
The finches, with their little tunes, were all beloved by me.
I leaned to hear each lovely note through each enchanted day!
And thought no minstrelsy so fine, while all content I lay,
When to my ear, across the sky, I heard a sea-bird's scream,
And, flapping slow across the blue, I saw him flash and gleam.
And thought no minstrelsy so fine, while all content I lay,
When to my ear, across the sky, I heard a sea-bird's scream,
And, flapping slow across the blue, I saw him flash and gleam.
I cared not then for singing birds, I loved the sun no more.
I heard the plashing of the waves upon a far-off shore,
And lonely, lonely cried my heart in answer to its call—
Ah, best I held the sea-mew's note that had no song at all!
I heard the plashing of the waves upon a far-off shore,
And lonely, lonely cried my heart in answer to its call—
Ah, best I held the sea-mew's note that had no song at all!
30
LOVES ME? LOVES ME NOT?
I shall rest no more on the fragrant mosses
Under great trees where the green bough tosses
Scents of the lime; and the wild rose flinging
Sweets to the breeze with their censer swinging,
I shall count no more, as I linger lazy
Deep in the mead, from the pink-tipped daisy,
“Who loves me well, and who leaves me lonely?
Who loves me not, and who loves me only?”
Under great trees where the green bough tosses
Scents of the lime; and the wild rose flinging
Sweets to the breeze with their censer swinging,
I shall count no more, as I linger lazy
Deep in the mead, from the pink-tipped daisy,
“Who loves me well, and who leaves me lonely?
Who loves me not, and who loves me only?”
I shall walk no more by the great sea dreaming
Secret dreams, with the black gull screaming,
Child of the cliff and the wan wave falling,
Songless he cries with no bird-like calling.
I shall seek no more for the sea-shell's story
By the wet sands in the sunset glory,
Hear the sea call from the spiral hollow,
“Soul who is seeking, dare you not follow?”
Secret dreams, with the black gull screaming,
Child of the cliff and the wan wave falling,
Songless he cries with no bird-like calling.
I shall seek no more for the sea-shell's story
By the wet sands in the sunset glory,
Hear the sea call from the spiral hollow,
“Soul who is seeking, dare you not follow?”
Whom have I loved, and who loved me only?
I shall stand in the churchyard lonely,
And see the tombs of the dear departed,
Read of the love of the broken-hearted
Writ on the stones how they loved them only,
Who loved them well and who left them lonely?
Yea! I shall see all the cold white faces
Lying so still in their secret places.
I shall stand in the churchyard lonely,
31
Read of the love of the broken-hearted
Writ on the stones how they loved them only,
Who loved them well and who left them lonely?
Yea! I shall see all the cold white faces
Lying so still in their secret places.
Under the earth goes the last new-comer,
What were the life of her, winter-summer!
What if her silent grave holds one only
Who loved her well, and who left her lonely?
What were the life of her, winter-summer!
What if her silent grave holds one only
Who loved her well, and who left her lonely?
32
THE SWALLOW
How I hate the sparrows, the sparrows, the sparrows.
In and out and round the house all the live-long day,
Chirping shrill and fussy birds, with their silly petty minds,
Chittering and chattering, yet having naught to say.
In and out and round the house all the live-long day,
Chirping shrill and fussy birds, with their silly petty minds,
Chittering and chattering, yet having naught to say.
How I love the swallows, the swallows, the swallows,
Coming from a far land of minaret and dome.
I have got a small room, like a clinging cosy nest,
Built upon the gable-end of my country home.
Coming from a far land of minaret and dome.
I have got a small room, like a clinging cosy nest,
Built upon the gable-end of my country home.
On its wall the swallows house, who can find its secret door?
Such a cunning nursery, made with Eastern art.
I can hear the baby ones, in their first, swift, troubled flight,
Giving little frightened cries as they swoop and dart.
Such a cunning nursery, made with Eastern art.
I can hear the baby ones, in their first, swift, troubled flight,
Giving little frightened cries as they swoop and dart.
And I hear the swallow-folk telling tales of foreign climes,
In a low sweet lullaby long before the day.
Little brothers of the wind, children of the summer time,
Lovers of the summer sky, swift you fly away!
In a low sweet lullaby long before the day.
Little brothers of the wind, children of the summer time,
Lovers of the summer sky, swift you fly away!
33
I will dream the lone long hours, sick sad days, and weary nights;
If I should grow well again I will follow too,
See their distant happy homes, built with their strange Eastern art;
I shall seek but smiling lands, skies forever blue.
If I should grow well again I will follow too,
See their distant happy homes, built with their strange Eastern art;
I shall seek but smiling lands, skies forever blue.
And when swallows come again over all the changing sea,
Back to where their empty nests still do cling and stay,
I shall have a cabin, too, hidden 'neath its golden thatch,
Snow-white on a mountain side, built of Irish clay.
Back to where their empty nests still do cling and stay,
I shall have a cabin, too, hidden 'neath its golden thatch,
Snow-white on a mountain side, built of Irish clay.
I will leave the sparrows here, all the silly noisy birds,
In and out and round the home all the live-long day,
Chirping shrill and fussy ones, with their shallow sparrow minds,
Chittering and chattering, yet having naught to say.
In and out and round the home all the live-long day,
Chirping shrill and fussy ones, with their shallow sparrow minds,
Chittering and chattering, yet having naught to say.
34
THE SECRET
I know of a thrush's nest, a pretty nest, a cosy nest,
I know of a thrush's nest with three fine eggs of blue;
It is in the perfumed pine, the tasselled pine, the swaying pine,
It is in the cool dark wood that I have wandered through.
I know of a thrush's nest with three fine eggs of blue;
It is in the perfumed pine, the tasselled pine, the swaying pine,
It is in the cool dark wood that I have wandered through.
I know of a speckled trout, a noble trout, a shining trout,
I know of a splendid trout, the biggest I have seen;
It is by the lonely mill, the silent mill, the old spade mill,
It is in the running brook, for I did look and lean.
I know of a splendid trout, the biggest I have seen;
It is by the lonely mill, the silent mill, the old spade mill,
It is in the running brook, for I did look and lean.
I know of a pretty maid, a laughing maid, a happy maid,
I know of a darling maid, oh, sweet she is and fair;
She waits in a garden bower, a rosy bower, a hidden bower,
What the way to this dear maid—is neither here nor there!
I know of a darling maid, oh, sweet she is and fair;
She waits in a garden bower, a rosy bower, a hidden bower,
What the way to this dear maid—is neither here nor there!
35
I WANT TO TALK TO THEE
I want to talk to thee of many things
Or sit in silence when the robin sings
His little song, when comes the winter bleak
I want to sit beside thee, cheek by cheek.
Or sit in silence when the robin sings
His little song, when comes the winter bleak
I want to sit beside thee, cheek by cheek.
I want to hear thy voice my name repeat,
To fill my heart with echoes ever sweet;
I want to hear thy love come calling me,
I want to seek and find but thee, but thee.
To fill my heart with echoes ever sweet;
I want to hear thy love come calling me,
I want to seek and find but thee, but thee.
I want to talk to thee of little things
So fond, so frail, so foolish that one clings
To keep them ours—who could but understand
A joy in speaking them, thus hand in hand
So fond, so frail, so foolish that one clings
To keep them ours—who could but understand
A joy in speaking them, thus hand in hand
Beside the fire; our joys, our hopes, our fears,
Our secret laughter, or unchidden tears;
Each day old dreams come back with beating wings,
I want to speak of these forgotten things.
Our secret laughter, or unchidden tears;
Each day old dreams come back with beating wings,
I want to speak of these forgotten things.
36
I want to feel thy arms around me pressed,
To hide my weeping eyes upon thy breast;
I want thy strength to hold and comfort me
For all the grief I had in losing thee.
To hide my weeping eyes upon thy breast;
I want thy strength to hold and comfort me
For all the grief I had in losing thee.
37
COMFORT THE WOMEN
A Prayer in Time of War
Whence comes the rain that ceaselessly doth fall,
And seems to hold the bitter taste of tears?
Is it the lonely sorrow of the night
Where patient women shed their hopes and fears?
And seems to hold the bitter taste of tears?
Is it the lonely sorrow of the night
Where patient women shed their hopes and fears?
Where mothers' hearts, that are too brave to break,
Cry in the silence what they hid by day;
As from the tear-drenched pillow they arise,
Proud with the dawn, and shut their grief away?
Cry in the silence what they hid by day;
As from the tear-drenched pillow they arise,
Proud with the dawn, and shut their grief away?
Whence comes the rain? Is it from Angel eyes
That from the neutral plains of Heaven gaze
Upon this tortured earth? They hear us pray,
And see our strife, in pity and amaze;
That from the neutral plains of Heaven gaze
Upon this tortured earth? They hear us pray,
And see our strife, in pity and amaze;
Calling on Him, again so crucified,
In divers tongues each righteous cause to care;
Rage unto rage, hate unto hate, doth shake
The doors of Heaven with its impòtent prayer.
In divers tongues each righteous cause to care;
Rage unto rage, hate unto hate, doth shake
The doors of Heaven with its impòtent prayer.
38
And shall my cry be heard, that calls so faint,
Through scream of shell and mighty cannon's roar,
Through thunder of the voices that appeal
For His protection at God's closèd door?
Through scream of shell and mighty cannon's roar,
Through thunder of the voices that appeal
For His protection at God's closèd door?
“Comfort the women, Lord, my neutral prayer
May reach Thy pity where those others fail;
Comfort the women in these warring lands
Who through the battles go, helpless and frail.”
May reach Thy pity where those others fail;
Comfort the women in these warring lands
Who through the battles go, helpless and frail.”
Dim are their eyes that watch the marching past
Of all the splendid manhood and strong youth,
Breaking their hearts, who are so proudly still
Lest their beloved should suffer at the truth.
Of all the splendid manhood and strong youth,
Breaking their hearts, who are so proudly still
Lest their beloved should suffer at the truth.
'Twas not for this barbarity of war
The mother breathless hung by the small cot
That held her man-child, fearing lest a wind
Would blow too chill, or sun would shine too hot.
The mother breathless hung by the small cot
That held her man-child, fearing lest a wind
Would blow too chill, or sun would shine too hot.
Or stayed her swifter feet so he might run
Not lost behind, and with all gentle hand
Holding him hers, who now has left her lone.
Comfort the mothers, Lord, through each sad land.
Not lost behind, and with all gentle hand
Holding him hers, who now has left her lone.
Comfort the mothers, Lord, through each sad land.
39
Protect the women—they so helpless slain
By each sharp sword that strikes a dear one down,
Who on the battlefield in spirit go
Without the war's red splendour or renown.
By each sharp sword that strikes a dear one down,
Who on the battlefield in spirit go
Without the war's red splendour or renown.
Lord, 'mid this discord of Thy Christian world,
'Mid the loud praying of men's hopes and fears,
Comfort the women, let this cry be heard,
For Thou hast known a human mother's tears.
'Mid the loud praying of men's hopes and fears,
Comfort the women, let this cry be heard,
For Thou hast known a human mother's tears.
40
THE SINKING SHIP
The ship is sinking, come ye one and all.
Stand fast and so this weakness overhaul,
Come ye strong hands and cheery voices call,
“Stand by!”
Stand fast and so this weakness overhaul,
Come ye strong hands and cheery voices call,
“Stand by!”
The ship is sinking in a summer sea,
Bless her but once for all she used to be,
Who rode the billows once so proud and free,
If you but loved a little, with a sigh,
“Stand by!”
Bless her but once for all she used to be,
Who rode the billows once so proud and free,
If you but loved a little, with a sigh,
“Stand by!”
Gone, all are gone, they neither hear or care,
The sun shines on and life is ever fair.
They shun the struggle, laughter lurks elsewhere.
The ship is sinking, passing echoes cry,
“Stand by!”
The sun shines on and life is ever fair.
They shun the struggle, laughter lurks elsewhere.
The ship is sinking, passing echoes cry,
“Stand by!”
The little ships that pass her in the night,
Speed from the darkness in their eager fright.
From troubled dreams they take refuge in flight.
Why should they then, who know they too must die,
“Stand by”?
Speed from the darkness in their eager fright.
From troubled dreams they take refuge in flight.
Why should they then, who know they too must die,
“Stand by”?
41
Then get you gone, desert the sinking ship,
O faithless friends, who on her pleasure-trip
Clung close with gentle words and smiling lip,
And still as ever on your own joys cry,
“Stand by!”
O faithless friends, who on her pleasure-trip
Clung close with gentle words and smiling lip,
And still as ever on your own joys cry,
“Stand by!”
The ship is sinking, parting in a smile,
The sunset waters mark the last sad mile
In dimpling play and in a little while
The waters close, Death and his angels cry,
“Stand by!”
The sunset waters mark the last sad mile
In dimpling play and in a little while
The waters close, Death and his angels cry,
“Stand by!”
42
NORA
Within an English village yesterday
I came upon a little child at play.
I lingered by to watch the baby game,
And heard some voice call gently on her name.
I came upon a little child at play.
I lingered by to watch the baby game,
And heard some voice call gently on her name.
Sweet she replied. How leaped my heart to hear
The pretty notes, the accent ever dear,
Shy as the wind soft singing from the South!
I, hungry, kissed the brogue upon her mouth.
The pretty notes, the accent ever dear,
Shy as the wind soft singing from the South!
I, hungry, kissed the brogue upon her mouth.
43
THE LOITERER
When Youth, led on by love and folly, strays,
Kissing sweet eyes beyond the allotted hour
That he should turn to labour and forget
Beyond his window beauty breaks to flower,
Kissing sweet eyes beyond the allotted hour
That he should turn to labour and forget
Beyond his window beauty breaks to flower,
O greybeard, pause before thy anger strikes
Those joyful moments from his happy face.
They make a glory of his sullen task
And turn his workshop to a godly place.
Those joyful moments from his happy face.
They make a glory of his sullen task
And turn his workshop to a godly place.
Thou couldst not scold if by thy window wide
A mating thrush his love-song softly sung,
And the green horn of Spring blew Summer airs
That once thou chorused well when thou wert young.
A mating thrush his love-song softly sung,
And the green horn of Spring blew Summer airs
That once thou chorused well when thou wert young.
Then, greybeard, chase the frown from off thy brow,
Since Time, alas! will soon belabour him;
And think what would become of joyous Spring
Were hoary Winter to be always grim.
Since Time, alas! will soon belabour him;
And think what would become of joyous Spring
Were hoary Winter to be always grim.
44
THE PATCHWORK QUILT
Bring to me white roses, roses, pinks, and lavender,
Sweet stock and gillyflowers, poppies mauve and red,
Bee-flowers and mignonette, with blue forget-me-not—
I would make a coverlet for my narrow bed.
Sweet stock and gillyflowers, poppies mauve and red,
Bee-flowers and mignonette, with blue forget-me-not—
I would make a coverlet for my narrow bed.
Bring me no silken cloth, velvet sheen or satin shine,
Gossamer of woven lace, gold and silver thread,
Purple deep and dove, and grey, through my idle fingers fall,
Bidding me in patient hours make a patchwork spread.
Gossamer of woven lace, gold and silver thread,
Purple deep and dove, and grey, through my idle fingers fall,
Bidding me in patient hours make a patchwork spread.
Since I must go forth alone, far beyond the roof-tree's shade,
Out into the open soon lonely there to lie,
What want I of silken cloth woven by the hands of men?
Time would soon despoil me there as he passed me by.
Out into the open soon lonely there to lie,
What want I of silken cloth woven by the hands of men?
Time would soon despoil me there as he passed me by.
Bring to me white roses then, roses, pinks and lavender,
Sweet stock and gillyflowers, poppies gold and red,
Bee-flowers and mignonette and blue forget-me-not,
So I have a coverlet for my narrow bed.
Sweet stock and gillyflowers, poppies gold and red,
Bee-flowers and mignonette and blue forget-me-not,
So I have a coverlet for my narrow bed.
51
HOME
I want to go to the heather hills,
To the heather hills and rocky shore.
I want to climb to Ben-Edar's heights,
And to smell the sea once more.
To the heather hills and rocky shore.
I want to climb to Ben-Edar's heights,
And to smell the sea once more.
I want to talk by an Ulster hearth,
Where welcome ever a stranger finds,
I want to stand on a Connaught hill,
And sing to the four great winds.
Where welcome ever a stranger finds,
I want to stand on a Connaught hill,
And sing to the four great winds.
I want to see on a Kerry moor
The purple turf smoke, coil, and soar,
I want to hear a soft Munster voice
That sings by a cottage door.
The purple turf smoke, coil, and soar,
I want to hear a soft Munster voice
That sings by a cottage door.
I want to go to the Leinster hills,
To the Dublin hills by the rocky shore.
I want to climb to Ben-Edar's heights—
I want to be home once more.
To the Dublin hills by the rocky shore.
I want to climb to Ben-Edar's heights—
I want to be home once more.
52
I SAW CHILDREN PLAYING
I saw children playing, dancing in a ring,
Till a voice came calling, calling one away;
With sad backward glances she went loitering,
Hoping they would miss her and so cease to play.
Till a voice came calling, calling one away;
With sad backward glances she went loitering,
Hoping they would miss her and so cease to play.
Pettishly and pouting, “'Tis not time to sleep.”
Sobbing and protesting, slowly she did go;
But her merry comrades they all run and leap,
Feeling not her absence, heeding not her woe.
Sobbing and protesting, slowly she did go;
But her merry comrades they all run and leap,
Feeling not her absence, heeding not her woe.
So as I went chatting through the city's hum,
With my old companions laughing on the way,
Came a voice low calling, calling me to come
To my lonely sleeping, leaving work and play.
With my old companions laughing on the way,
Came a voice low calling, calling me to come
To my lonely sleeping, leaving work and play.
With sad, mournful glances do I look to see
If a heart should loving pause and turn aside
From the happy circles and then come to me,
Sighing, “Do not leave us—still with us abide.”
If a heart should loving pause and turn aside
From the happy circles and then come to me,
Sighing, “Do not leave us—still with us abide.”
53
No! they still are playing, chatting in a ring,
Eager voices seeking other games to know.
Lone I go protesting—hear them laugh and sing,
Feeling not my absence, heeding not my woe.
Eager voices seeking other games to know.
Lone I go protesting—hear them laugh and sing,
Feeling not my absence, heeding not my woe.
54
A STUDENT'S SONG
When I was a merry young fellow
I loved the red juice of the grape.
I would drink till I grew gay and mellow,
From Morpheus I could not escape.
I loved the red juice of the grape.
I would drink till I grew gay and mellow,
From Morpheus I could not escape.
I would give myself freely to slumber
Nor feared to go lonely to sleep,
I was lost for dark hours without number
My soul to oblivion would creep.
Nor feared to go lonely to sleep,
I was lost for dark hours without number
My soul to oblivion would creep.
Then why do I now shake and tremble
As death comes to bid me lie still,
In a silence that sleep doth resemble
Who sought such a slumber at will?
As death comes to bid me lie still,
In a silence that sleep doth resemble
Who sought such a slumber at will?
Then death be your cup but the stronger,
For why should I fear me to sleep?
For I shall but slumber the longer
And drink but a little more deep.
For why should I fear me to sleep?
For I shall but slumber the longer
And drink but a little more deep.
57
MIGRATORY BIRDS
I have listened for the beat
Of slow wings across the sea.
In their strange and dumb retreat
From their foreign liberty.
Of slow wings across the sea.
In their strange and dumb retreat
From their foreign liberty.
Come the birds from northern lands,
Where the Russian sleigh-bells chime,
From the hungry desert sands
Of a southern clime.
Where the Russian sleigh-bells chime,
From the hungry desert sands
Of a southern clime.
Come the birds where Eastern air,
Pierced by lofty minaret,
Echoes far the Turkish prayer
Of a God we half forget.
Pierced by lofty minaret,
Echoes far the Turkish prayer
Of a God we half forget.
In my garden I have strayed
Through the warm sweet days of Spring,
Bent to each small nest, delayed
By the young birds' fluttering.
Through the warm sweet days of Spring,
Bent to each small nest, delayed
By the young birds' fluttering.
58
To the soft, song-laden wind
Leant in hope and half in fear,
One low perfect note to find
In the joyous tumult here.
Leant in hope and half in fear,
One low perfect note to find
In the joyous tumult here.
There 's no bird upon the wing,
There 's no fledgeling in the nest,
There 's no song where others sing
More glorious than the rest.
There 's no fledgeling in the nest,
There 's no song where others sing
More glorious than the rest.
Is he caged without release
Who makes all lovely things to be?
What holds the gentle bird of Peace,
God's hand, or human frailty?
Who makes all lovely things to be?
What holds the gentle bird of Peace,
God's hand, or human frailty?
59
A FANTASY
I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tree,
She plucked berries bright to crown her head.
She was singing little robin's song
While wild beech-leaves round and round her spread.
She plucked berries bright to crown her head.
She was singing little robin's song
While wild beech-leaves round and round her spread.
I ran home into my little house,
Pulled to the shutters, barred up the door;
I knelt down to blow the fire to flame,
Great dark shadows danced upon the floor.
Pulled to the shutters, barred up the door;
I knelt down to blow the fire to flame,
Great dark shadows danced upon the floor.
Long-legged shadows came from corners drear,
Leaped up white walls, fell, and climbed again.
I hear North Wind pushing at the gate,
I won't open, not for wind or rain.
Leaped up white walls, fell, and climbed again.
I hear North Wind pushing at the gate,
I won't open, not for wind or rain.
Oh, run home, wee ones, lest the whirling leaves
Take ye far away, fairy folk to see.
Crowning her dark hair with berries red
I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tree.
Take ye far away, fairy folk to see.
Crowning her dark hair with berries red
I saw Winter 'neath a spindle tree.
68
THE DEFENDERS
Leave me my dreams, and I shall not repine;
Youth's eager hours, love's restless holiday.
Leave me my dreams, a castled garden mine—
Where all unchid my wand'ring feet can stray.
Youth's eager hours, love's restless holiday.
Leave me my dreams, a castled garden mine—
Where all unchid my wand'ring feet can stray.
Leave me my dreams, the foe is at my door,
Time's swinging scythe, and disappointed years.
Leave me my dreams, and they can yet restore
The crumbling walls, where crouch invading fears.
Time's swinging scythe, and disappointed years.
Leave me my dreams, and they can yet restore
The crumbling walls, where crouch invading fears.
Leave me my dreams, nor can rude sorrow break
Into my fortress where content I go.
Leave me my dreams, and who dare combat make
On Youth's sweet hours, or lay Hope's castle low?
Into my fortress where content I go.
Leave me my dreams, and who dare combat make
On Youth's sweet hours, or lay Hope's castle low?
69
A SONG FOR EVALEEN
Sing a song for Evaleen, only two years old,
Running laughing on life's path in her wilful way;
Christ-Child, Whom on Mary's knee her loving arms enfold,
Let Thy little angels come with this babe to play.
Running laughing on life's path in her wilful way;
Christ-Child, Whom on Mary's knee her loving arms enfold,
Let Thy little angels come with this babe to play.
One to guide her either hand, so what deed it do,
It shall neither give nor take grievous hurt or pain;
Let these little fingers pull blossoms fair and true
For the glory of Thy feet, without thorn or stain.
It shall neither give nor take grievous hurt or pain;
Let these little fingers pull blossoms fair and true
For the glory of Thy feet, without thorn or stain.
One to whisper songs of joy in her listening ear,
So the sad world's bitter cries reach her but afar;
So that evil, on his way, finds no welcome here,
Let but white words come to her where Thy angels are.
So the sad world's bitter cries reach her but afar;
So that evil, on his way, finds no welcome here,
Let but white words come to her where Thy angels are.
One to guard her dimpled mouth, laughing in its glee,
So it say no cruel words, nor let anger call;
Let it make for all who hear golden melody,
So it raise some stricken heart where the tune may fall.
So it say no cruel words, nor let anger call;
Let it make for all who hear golden melody,
So it raise some stricken heart where the tune may fall.
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One to keep her baby eyes from despair and tears,
Let them find the lovely things of thy wondrous ways;
So they grow not dull with grief or too bright with fears—
Let them see but splendid deeds meriting Thy praise.
Let them find the lovely things of thy wondrous ways;
So they grow not dull with grief or too bright with fears—
Let them see but splendid deeds meriting Thy praise.
One to guide her wilful feet lest they lose the way
On their perilous woman's path, where such dangers be;
Guide her little baby feet so they never stray
Far from where Thou art a Child held on Mary's knee.
On their perilous woman's path, where such dangers be;
Guide her little baby feet so they never stray
Far from where Thou art a Child held on Mary's knee.
One to bless her every deed, every thought new-born,
Bless her in the summer-time and in the winter's cold,
Bless her in the dark of night and in the dawn of morn,
This a song for Evaleen, only two years old.
Bless her in the summer-time and in the winter's cold,
Bless her in the dark of night and in the dawn of morn,
This a song for Evaleen, only two years old.
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THE COMFORTERS
When I crept over the hill, broken with tears.
When I crouched down on the grass, dumb in despair,
I heard the soft croon of the wind bend to my ears,
I felt the light kiss of the wind touching my hair.
When I crouched down on the grass, dumb in despair,
I heard the soft croon of the wind bend to my ears,
I felt the light kiss of the wind touching my hair.
When I stood lone on the height my sorrow did speak,
As I went down the hill, I cried and I cried,
The soft little hands of the rain stroking my cheek,
The kind little feet of the rain ran by my side.
As I went down the hill, I cried and I cried,
The soft little hands of the rain stroking my cheek,
The kind little feet of the rain ran by my side.
When I went to thy grave, broken with tears,
When I crouched down in the grass, dumb in despair,
I heard the sweet croon of the wind soft in my ears,
I felt the kind lips of the wind touching my hair.
When I crouched down in the grass, dumb in despair,
I heard the sweet croon of the wind soft in my ears,
I felt the kind lips of the wind touching my hair.
When I stood lone by thy cross, sorrow did speak.
When I went down the long hill, I cried and I cried.
The soft little hands of the rain stroked my pale cheek,
The kind little feet of the rain ran by my side.
When I went down the long hill, I cried and I cried.
The soft little hands of the rain stroked my pale cheek,
The kind little feet of the rain ran by my side.
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THE BLACK HORSEMAN
Lift me up from this bed of sickness;
I am going out to meet the summer.
I will run into the arms of Sunshine
And be so comforted, the first new-comer.
“I will lift you up,” said the black horseman.
I am going out to meet the summer.
I will run into the arms of Sunshine
And be so comforted, the first new-comer.
“I will lift you up,” said the black horseman.
I shall climb over the lone hill-tops,
I shall sail unto the far places,
Eat of wheaten bread and the wild honey,
See the dark eyes of Eastern races.
“You shall come with me,” said the black horseman.
I shall sail unto the far places,
Eat of wheaten bread and the wild honey,
See the dark eyes of Eastern races.
“You shall come with me,” said the black horseman.
Lay me down on my bed of dreaming.
It is best, for am I not too weary
Walking the white wide roads about the world?
Here night is not too long, nor day too dreary.
“Do you not fear me?” said the black horseman.
It is best, for am I not too weary
Walking the white wide roads about the world?
Here night is not too long, nor day too dreary.
“Do you not fear me?” said the black horseman.
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Why should I fear when there are friends before me?
I grow old who used to roam enraptured,
Yet I am young for even more exploring,
Whose day is o'er and each wild joy is captured.
“I am the best adventure,” smiled the black horseman.
I grow old who used to roam enraptured,
Yet I am young for even more exploring,
Whose day is o'er and each wild joy is captured.
“I am the best adventure,” smiled the black horseman.
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ON THE OTHER SIDE
What will you do through the waiting days,
What will my darling do?
Will you sleep, or wander in those strange ways
Until I can come to you?
What will my darling do?
Will you sleep, or wander in those strange ways
Until I can come to you?
Do you cry at the door as I cry here,
Death's door that lies between?
Do you plead in vain for my love, my dear,
As you stand by my side unseen?
Death's door that lies between?
Do you plead in vain for my love, my dear,
As you stand by my side unseen?
Who will comfort your difficult ways
That were hard to understand,
When I who knew you through all your days,
Can give you no helping hand?
That were hard to understand,
When I who knew you through all your days,
Can give you no helping hand?
When I who loved you no word can speak,
Though your ghost should cry to me,
Can give no help, though my heart should break
At the thought of your agony.
Though your ghost should cry to me,
Can give no help, though my heart should break
At the thought of your agony.
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You were shy of strangers—and who will come
As you stand there lone and new,
Through the long years when my lips are dumb
What will my darling do?
As you stand there lone and new,
Through the long years when my lips are dumb
What will my darling do?
76
THE HOUSE OF CARDS
O the chatter, chatter, chatter,
Of the things that do not matter.
Little wordy things that clatter,
Restless feet that pitter patter,
All my pretty houses scatter,
All my noble castles scatter.
Of the things that do not matter.
Little wordy things that clatter,
Restless feet that pitter patter,
All my pretty houses scatter,
All my noble castles scatter.
See I build it tower by tower,
Kingly hall and queenly bower,
Into skies celestial throwing,
Spire and turret upward growing,
Prisoned sunshine for its lighting,
Rainbow beams its roof uniting.
Kings and queens and noble people
Look from turret, peep from steeple,
With a handsome knave or two
All the fairy ways pursue.
Kingly hall and queenly bower,
Into skies celestial throwing,
Spire and turret upward growing,
Prisoned sunshine for its lighting,
Rainbow beams its roof uniting.
Kings and queens and noble people
Look from turret, peep from steeple,
With a handsome knave or two
All the fairy ways pursue.
But the clatter, clatter, clatter,
Of the things that do not matter,
All the talk of dining, wining,
Discontented people whining,
All my pretty houses scatter
All my noble castles scatter.
Of the things that do not matter,
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Discontented people whining,
All my pretty houses scatter
All my noble castles scatter.
See from out yon casement shady,
Leans a fair and lovely lady.
Gems and jewels flashing, gleaming.
'Tis the queen of diamonds dreaming.
She is sad and somewhat lonely,
All she lost in loving only
Riches, games were all her passion,
She is mourning in her fashion.
See, she leans, her casement gracing,
Watching yonder dark king pacing
Up and down the paths beneath her.
Does she dream he 'll kneel, entreat her
Into love with serenading,
At her coldness stay upbraiding?
Ah, she wots not he is sighing,
Only is his fond heart sighing
For dark eyes and nut-brown tresses.
'Tis not she his love-thought blesses.
Oh, the chatter, chatter, chatter,
Of the things that never matter.
Of the tongues that rage or flatter
And the countless feet that clatter
With their noisy pitter patter,
Till my castles all they scatter
All my pretty houses scatter.
Leans a fair and lovely lady.
Gems and jewels flashing, gleaming.
'Tis the queen of diamonds dreaming.
She is sad and somewhat lonely,
All she lost in loving only
Riches, games were all her passion,
She is mourning in her fashion.
See, she leans, her casement gracing,
Watching yonder dark king pacing
Up and down the paths beneath her.
Does she dream he 'll kneel, entreat her
Into love with serenading,
At her coldness stay upbraiding?
Ah, she wots not he is sighing,
Only is his fond heart sighing
For dark eyes and nut-brown tresses.
'Tis not she his love-thought blesses.
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Of the things that never matter.
Of the tongues that rage or flatter
And the countless feet that clatter
With their noisy pitter patter,
Till my castles all they scatter
All my pretty houses scatter.
See yon splendid pageant forming,
To the gates the draw-bridge storming.
Yonder come in kingly passion
Lords and knights in war-like fashion.
See the black-browed monarch going,
Drums a-rolling, trumpets blowing,
Clash of sword and armour's rattle
He so full of rage and battle
For a mad-cap princess hiding
In some secret nook deriding
All his wild and fierce pursuing,
All his dark and despot wooing.
To the gates the draw-bridge storming.
Yonder come in kingly passion
Lords and knights in war-like fashion.
See the black-browed monarch going,
Drums a-rolling, trumpets blowing,
Clash of sword and armour's rattle
He so full of rage and battle
For a mad-cap princess hiding
In some secret nook deriding
All his wild and fierce pursuing,
All his dark and despot wooing.
But they must not in their passion,
Break my song in such a fashion,
Make no discord in my singing,
That dream song that goes a-ringing
Through the chambers of my houses,
See the clash of war arouses,
He the greatest king who, reigning,
Rules in this dear land of feigning,
King of hearts, he leads his lady
Down the pleasant rue path shady,
Down to greet the dark-browed lover,
Help his mad-cap queen discover.
And I hear from roof to rafter
Naught but song and fairy laughter.
Break my song in such a fashion,
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That dream song that goes a-ringing
Through the chambers of my houses,
See the clash of war arouses,
He the greatest king who, reigning,
Rules in this dear land of feigning,
King of hearts, he leads his lady
Down the pleasant rue path shady,
Down to greet the dark-browed lover,
Help his mad-cap queen discover.
And I hear from roof to rafter
Naught but song and fairy laughter.
Till the chatter, chatter, chatter,
Comes of things that do not matter;
Much ado of wining, dining,
Dismal voices whining, pining.
Restless feet that pitter, patter,
All my pleasant castles scatter.
All my happy houses scatter.
Comes of things that do not matter;
Much ado of wining, dining,
Dismal voices whining, pining.
Restless feet that pitter, patter,
All my pleasant castles scatter.
All my happy houses scatter.
80
THE PALACE GATE
“Halt, who goes there?” “'Tis for the new-born king,
In long processions see what gifts we bring.
Here cometh Care with sheaf of troubled years,
And here is Grief with dish of women's tears.
Frail Glory, too, holds out her heavy crown,
And Joy comes pale with merry eyes cast down,
Sweet Love drags slow by passion's eager feet
To make alarm into a swift retreat,
Here Marriage leads the law-selected wife,
And yonder Death with the assassin's knife.”
In long processions see what gifts we bring.
Here cometh Care with sheaf of troubled years,
And here is Grief with dish of women's tears.
Frail Glory, too, holds out her heavy crown,
And Joy comes pale with merry eyes cast down,
Sweet Love drags slow by passion's eager feet
To make alarm into a swift retreat,
Here Marriage leads the law-selected wife,
And yonder Death with the assassin's knife.”
And as they stood before the palace gate,
Now all disturbed to wonder and to wait.
A little ghost from out the palace ran
And through the crowd to force his way began,
Their mourning garments beat about his face.
He thrust black Care and Glory from their place,
Love took one hand, the other held by Joy,
Who ran to safety with the pretty boy.
Then soon from far came laughter strangely sweet
And on the floor of Heaven running feet.
Now all disturbed to wonder and to wait.
A little ghost from out the palace ran
And through the crowd to force his way began,
Their mourning garments beat about his face.
He thrust black Care and Glory from their place,
Love took one hand, the other held by Joy,
Who ran to safety with the pretty boy.
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And on the floor of Heaven running feet.
The soldier closed the clanging palace gate
Upon the crowd who murmured still to wait.
“Take back your gifts, you may not pass,” he said.
“Hear the bell toll—the little king is dead.”
Upon the crowd who murmured still to wait.
“Take back your gifts, you may not pass,” he said.
“Hear the bell toll—the little king is dead.”
82
AN OLD PROVERB
“It will be all the same in a thousand years.”
And in a thousand years
It will be all the same,
Whether or no
Women's tears flow,
Or battles take us
To save or to break us,
Or man against man
Advance but a span;
Hideous in anger,
Tame in death's languor,
Shouting and crying,
Sobbing and dying,
On the red fields of war;
Calling on those afar,
Mother and child and wife
There in the midst of strife.
God, the earth shakes with it!
Down in the hellish pit,
Where the red river ran,
Hatred of man to man;
Maddened they rush to kill,
That but their single will;
Strangle or bayonet him!
Trample him life and limb
Into the awful mire;
Break him with knife or fire!
So that we know he lie
Dead to the smiling sky.
It will be all the same,
Whether or no
Women's tears flow,
Or battles take us
To save or to break us,
Or man against man
Advance but a span;
Hideous in anger,
Tame in death's languor,
Shouting and crying,
Sobbing and dying,
On the red fields of war;
Calling on those afar,
Mother and child and wife
There in the midst of strife.
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Down in the hellish pit,
Where the red river ran,
Hatred of man to man;
Maddened they rush to kill,
That but their single will;
Strangle or bayonet him!
Trample him life and limb
Into the awful mire;
Break him with knife or fire!
So that we know he lie
Dead to the smiling sky.
And in a thousand years
It will be all the same.
Which of us was to blame?
What will it matter then?
Over the sleeping men
Grass will so softly grow
No one would ever know
Of the dark crimson stain,
Of all the hate and pain
That once had fearful birth
In the black secret earth.
Ah! in a thousand years
Time will forget our tears.
Babes in their golden hour
Seeking some hidden flower
Will, in those years afar,
Play on the fields of war;
And as they laughing roam
Mothers will call them home;
Laden with fruit and flower
Run they at twilight hour.
Cattle will, lowing, stray,
Little lambs frisk and play,
Birds nest in hedge and tree
All in Time's victory.
It will be all the same.
Which of us was to blame?
What will it matter then?
Over the sleeping men
Grass will so softly grow
No one would ever know
Of the dark crimson stain,
Of all the hate and pain
That once had fearful birth
In the black secret earth.
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Time will forget our tears.
Babes in their golden hour
Seeking some hidden flower
Will, in those years afar,
Play on the fields of war;
And as they laughing roam
Mothers will call them home;
Laden with fruit and flower
Run they at twilight hour.
Cattle will, lowing, stray,
Little lambs frisk and play,
Birds nest in hedge and tree
All in Time's victory.
Dark o' night, dawn o' day,
Dark o' night, dawn o' day.
Thus in a thousand years
Time will forget our tears,
And the lost fields of war.
In the good years afar
When the lads silent lie,
When women's tears are dry.
All the wives comforted,
All the maid's grief is shed,
Crying babes safe and still
Sleeping in vale and hill,
Sobbing of men is mute,
And scream of dying brute,
On the red fields of war,
In those good years afar.
Only the waving grass,
Where the shy children pass
Seeking the hidden flower,
Glad in their golden hour,
And as they laughing roam
Mothers will call them home,
Laden with fruit or flower
Run they at twilight hour.
Dark o' night, dawn o' day.
Thus in a thousand years
Time will forget our tears,
And the lost fields of war.
In the good years afar
When the lads silent lie,
When women's tears are dry.
All the wives comforted,
85
Crying babes safe and still
Sleeping in vale and hill,
Sobbing of men is mute,
And scream of dying brute,
On the red fields of war,
In those good years afar.
Only the waving grass,
Where the shy children pass
Seeking the hidden flower,
Glad in their golden hour,
And as they laughing roam
Mothers will call them home,
Laden with fruit or flower
Run they at twilight hour.
Over the meadow grass
Slow the moon's shadows pass.
Only the chirp of bird
From the deep hedge is heard.
This in a thousand years
Payment of blood and tears,
Horrors we dare not name,
It will be all the same.
What is the value then
To all those sleeping men?
It will be all the same,
Passion and grief and blame.
This in the years to be,
My God, the tragedy!
Slow the moon's shadows pass.
Only the chirp of bird
From the deep hedge is heard.
This in a thousand years
Payment of blood and tears,
Horrors we dare not name,
It will be all the same.
86
To all those sleeping men?
It will be all the same,
Passion and grief and blame.
This in the years to be,
My God, the tragedy!
| The sad years | |