 | War poems with some others |  |
28
Fresh Woods and Pastures New
Here by the forest edge the cuckoo-flowers
The border dwellers cluster in the sun.
Invading bracken spreads its new green fronds
Beside close thorn and hazel, and beyond
No ripple stirs the grasses or the wheat;
Life seems arrested in the pause of noon.
Then from afar a soft wind gathers breath
Quickens the tree-tops, quivers the still leaves,
Sets all the hazel rustling, bends the fern
And breaking silence as it passes brings
A message from the infinite to me.
The border dwellers cluster in the sun.
Invading bracken spreads its new green fronds
Beside close thorn and hazel, and beyond
No ripple stirs the grasses or the wheat;
Life seems arrested in the pause of noon.
Then from afar a soft wind gathers breath
Quickens the tree-tops, quivers the still leaves,
Sets all the hazel rustling, bends the fern
And breaking silence as it passes brings
A message from the infinite to me.
And the wind said, yon flowers of the field
Born to be beautiful and so fulfil
Their part in a great harmony, all those
Gold-hearted daisies, wide to drink the sun
And poppies on the fringe of last year's corn
Hold seed of beauty that is yet to be—
But they bloom barren till some breeze like mine
Or honey-questing bee may chance to bear
The golden pollen to expectant lips.
And of these myriad frail existencies,—
Despite the scent of kindred blossom near
And nature's lavish effort to survive,—
How many are terminate in beauty, fade
Fast rooted with no favouring wind for friend!
And are not we as they are? Though some few
Shall be fulfilled of loving ere they die
How many wait and dream their dream in vain.
Born to be beautiful and so fulfil
Their part in a great harmony, all those
Gold-hearted daisies, wide to drink the sun
And poppies on the fringe of last year's corn
Hold seed of beauty that is yet to be—
But they bloom barren till some breeze like mine
Or honey-questing bee may chance to bear
29
And of these myriad frail existencies,—
Despite the scent of kindred blossom near
And nature's lavish effort to survive,—
How many are terminate in beauty, fade
Fast rooted with no favouring wind for friend!
And are not we as they are? Though some few
Shall be fulfilled of loving ere they die
How many wait and dream their dream in vain.
Deep in the forest now! where twilight stems
Taper in purple to a golden red.
But in the solemn silence no bird sings,
And if the feet of little fawns should trip
Between the tree-trunks you would hardly hear
The old moss lies so deep. But you might ask
Do not the white clouds whisper to their crests
‘Look through us at the wonderful deep blue’
That so their branches strain to reach the sky.
I feel there moves not any harmful thing
Through this unbroken solitude of trees.
Whose very stillness has a soothing power,
Dispelling restless doubtings and desires,
Leaving the soul self-centred. It is good
To be here with the silence. Very good.
Taper in purple to a golden red.
But in the solemn silence no bird sings,
And if the feet of little fawns should trip
Between the tree-trunks you would hardly hear
The old moss lies so deep. But you might ask
Do not the white clouds whisper to their crests
‘Look through us at the wonderful deep blue’
That so their branches strain to reach the sky.
I feel there moves not any harmful thing
Through this unbroken solitude of trees.
Whose very stillness has a soothing power,
Dispelling restless doubtings and desires,
Leaving the soul self-centred. It is good
To be here with the silence. Very good.
My pathway led me to a woodland mere
With reed-beds haunted by the dragon-fly,
Where the roe drinks at even, and the clouds
Reflect a pearl-like image, sailing past.
I wonder if the emerald dragon-fly
Hovers for memory over lakes and streams
Where the life impulse stirred a worm to spin
A hanging cradle in the swaying reeds,
Its winter prison that the sun broke through
To radiate the filmy wings and free
A rainbow marvel to the summer air.
With reed-beds haunted by the dragon-fly,
30
Reflect a pearl-like image, sailing past.
I wonder if the emerald dragon-fly
Hovers for memory over lakes and streams
Where the life impulse stirred a worm to spin
A hanging cradle in the swaying reeds,
Its winter prison that the sun broke through
To radiate the filmy wings and free
A rainbow marvel to the summer air.
Then a wide clearing opened; meadow lands
In sunshine perfumed by the new-mown hay,
A village with red roofs and steepled church,
A graveyard at the lifting of a hill,
All forest-girdled to assure their peace.
In sunshine perfumed by the new-mown hay,
A village with red roofs and steepled church,
A graveyard at the lifting of a hill,
All forest-girdled to assure their peace.
Too long have I dwelt in cities, spent my soul
In concentration on material ends.
Here sense and spirit are in mute accord,
Here speaks unchallenged living nature's voice.
Beat into mine world's heart and make me feel
The magic of the eternal miracle,
No more perplexed why others miss the way.
Because always the marvels of our earth
Lie round them widespread these they hardly heed.
They only grasp the fragment and the whole
Escapes a vision blind to all beside
That use has made familiar. Therefore they
Note first the discords in the harmony,
Rail at the shadow and forget the sun.
In concentration on material ends.
Here sense and spirit are in mute accord,
Here speaks unchallenged living nature's voice.
Beat into mine world's heart and make me feel
The magic of the eternal miracle,
No more perplexed why others miss the way.
Because always the marvels of our earth
Lie round them widespread these they hardly heed.
They only grasp the fragment and the whole
Escapes a vision blind to all beside
That use has made familiar. Therefore they
31
Rail at the shadow and forget the sun.
Consider the mute lore of little things.
What master-craftsman, though he gave long years
To match one marvel of our everyday,
Scattered in myriads, could have graded so
A leaf of any wayside rose that blooms
Inevitably beautiful, or mould
One simple feather from the wild-bird's wing?
Then dimly wondering try to apprehend
That which not merely fashioned but conceived
Controlled creation, and in that thought daze.
What master-craftsman, though he gave long years
To match one marvel of our everyday,
Scattered in myriads, could have graded so
A leaf of any wayside rose that blooms
Inevitably beautiful, or mould
One simple feather from the wild-bird's wing?
Then dimly wondering try to apprehend
That which not merely fashioned but conceived
Controlled creation, and in that thought daze.
And yet assurance, not in words expressed,
Not issuing from a presence palpable,
But echoed from a world beyond my ken,
Convinces some immortal sense in me
Of potency to grasp all amplitudes,
To outsoar the finite, compassing the whole,
An all that is, but for us is not yet,
Because God's now is not in time or space.
Not issuing from a presence palpable,
But echoed from a world beyond my ken,
Convinces some immortal sense in me
Of potency to grasp all amplitudes,
To outsoar the finite, compassing the whole,
An all that is, but for us is not yet,
Because God's now is not in time or space.
| War poems with some others | |