 | Le Cahier Jaune |  |
2
To. M. B.
Oh patron of my fitful song,
True heart, brave heart, oh pure and good,
My praises cannot do thee wrong;
I cannot praise thee as I would.
True heart, brave heart, oh pure and good,
My praises cannot do thee wrong;
I cannot praise thee as I would.
Read as thou wilt, mother and friend,
And should the critic sense approve—
It may not? Hasten to the end,
And fill the vacancy with love.
And should the critic sense approve—
It may not? Hasten to the end,
And fill the vacancy with love.
And if thy dreams were other far
For thy inconstant heedless child,
Love takes the gleanings as they are,
And so the world is reconciled.
For thy inconstant heedless child,
Love takes the gleanings as they are,
And so the world is reconciled.
And should the strong years smite me through,
And leave my yearnings unconfessed,
Remember that I thought of you,
And honoured you, and loved you best.
And leave my yearnings unconfessed,
Remember that I thought of you,
And honoured you, and loved you best.
5
QUID DEDICATUM.
Oh what should be the poet's prayer
Before his own Apollo's shrine?
Ease and renown the world deems fair,
Not thither should his heart incline.
Before his own Apollo's shrine?
Ease and renown the world deems fair,
Not thither should his heart incline.
Not for the wealth that others love—
Red gold, and jewels' varied gleam;
For meadows, where the slow herds move,
Encircled by a silent stream;
Red gold, and jewels' varied gleam;
For meadows, where the slow herds move,
Encircled by a silent stream;
But for a wise and generous heart;
Too true to hate, too wise to sigh,
And when the fiery thoughts depart,
To lay his broken music by.
Too true to hate, too wise to sigh,
And when the fiery thoughts depart,
To lay his broken music by.
Eton, 1887.
7
DREAMS.
I dreamed that I was sitting at a feast;—
The shrill insensate laughter rang, and eyes
Flashing, made light of bitter memories;
And they that spake me fairest, loved me least.
The shrill insensate laughter rang, and eyes
Flashing, made light of bitter memories;
And they that spake me fairest, loved me least.
But one that sate so silent, you had deemed
Her haply proud, sent such a wistful gaze,
From eyes down-dropt and lips of sad amaze,
That I awoke—ah! would I had not dreamed.
Her haply proud, sent such a wistful gaze,
From eyes down-dropt and lips of sad amaze,
That I awoke—ah! would I had not dreamed.
As one that sits amid the thunderous din
Of rattling gear, and wheels that grate and grind,
Far into night prolonging his grim day;
And past the trembling casements, clear-defined
Steals the pure quiet moon, that seems to say
Peace, peace is mine; a peace thou may'st not win.
Of rattling gear, and wheels that grate and grind,
Far into night prolonging his grim day;
And past the trembling casements, clear-defined
Steals the pure quiet moon, that seems to say
Peace, peace is mine; a peace thou may'st not win.
Cambridge, 1885.
8
FEARS.
All night I said, before sleep kissed my eyes,—
And broke from dim unquiet dreams to say,
I will tread down the fears I served to-day
Break the dull spell, and bid the true soul rise.
And broke from dim unquiet dreams to say,
I will tread down the fears I served to-day
Break the dull spell, and bid the true soul rise.
Will meet her sweet glance with a happy gaze,
Her gentle voice with words of very fire,
Unseal the secret of my deep desire:
And all the unuttered yearning of my days.
Her gentle voice with words of very fire,
Unseal the secret of my deep desire:
And all the unuttered yearning of my days.
But when you came, my darling, straight dismayed
At your bright beauty, all I dared was this,
To look and smile and lightly touch your hand,
Not smooth away the truant lock that strayed
And drooping, kissed the brow I dared not kiss,
And the sweet eyes that will not understand.
At your bright beauty, all I dared was this,
To look and smile and lightly touch your hand,
Not smooth away the truant lock that strayed
And drooping, kissed the brow I dared not kiss,
And the sweet eyes that will not understand.
Cambridge, 1884.
9
A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
What made you turn your face to me,
Then at that moment, when the hour
Was sick with longing, and the tree
Hung listless, waiting for the shower?
Then at that moment, when the hour
Was sick with longing, and the tree
Hung listless, waiting for the shower?
How often had I stood before
There, where I leaned beside your chair,
And faintly through the open door
Glimmered the weary climbing stair.
There, where I leaned beside your chair,
And faintly through the open door
Glimmered the weary climbing stair.
We talked of many trivial things,
I know not half the words we said,
Yet memory back upon me brings
The moment when you turned your head.
I know not half the words we said,
Yet memory back upon me brings
The moment when you turned your head.
The open book unheeded lay;
The lamp was lit: the hand hung free,
I wonder, could the angels say,
What made you turn your face to me?
The lamp was lit: the hand hung free,
I wonder, could the angels say,
What made you turn your face to me?
You, were you weary? I, I know
Was sick of shadows, and the breath
Of fears and fancies, and the slow
Slow beckonings of doom and death.
Was sick of shadows, and the breath
Of fears and fancies, and the slow
Slow beckonings of doom and death.
10
Ah, dear, I know not: quick, forget
The words I said—be calm and free,
Let me remember: yet, ah yet,
What made you turn your face to me?
The words I said—be calm and free,
Let me remember: yet, ah yet,
What made you turn your face to me?
Lambeth, 1888.
14
CURA SUI.
You may stay or you may travel
In search of ease or pelf,
Yet you never shall unravel
The tangle of yourself;
You may climb the skyward mountain,—
One with you shall ride,
You may dive beneath the fountain;—
He'll be at your side:
Be it up, be it down,
Be it waste or town,
You may fly from child or wife, but he'll be ne'er denied.
In search of ease or pelf,
Yet you never shall unravel
The tangle of yourself;
You may climb the skyward mountain,—
One with you shall ride,
You may dive beneath the fountain;—
He'll be at your side:
Be it up, be it down,
Be it waste or town,
You may fly from child or wife, but he'll be ne'er denied.
Where the shepherd lads are calling
On the windswept down,
When the twilight closes, falling
O'er the white-walled town:
You may lose your heart in wonder
At the low-hung starry sphere,
He will chide the merry blunder
Saying, I am here.
You may wave a threatening arm:
He will plead, I meant no harm,
When you flout me, when you spurn me, you are doubly dear.
On the windswept down,
When the twilight closes, falling
O'er the white-walled town:
You may lose your heart in wonder
At the low-hung starry sphere,
He will chide the merry blunder
Saying, I am here.
You may wave a threatening arm:
He will plead, I meant no harm,
When you flout me, when you spurn me, you are doubly dear.
15
Oh never seek to move him;
He is all too strong:
If you say you do not love him,
You do him wrong.
Yet there's a certain potion
Lies at your door,
If he feel that sacred motion
You shall chide him nevermore.
He will fly, he will run,
He will scale the sun,
And the more you seek to stay him he will sing and soar.
He is all too strong:
If you say you do not love him,
You do him wrong.
Yet there's a certain potion
Lies at your door,
If he feel that sacred motion
You shall chide him nevermore.
He will fly, he will run,
He will scale the sun,
And the more you seek to stay him he will sing and soar.
Pontresina, 1891.
21
GOOD-BYE
It was that wild and chill November morning,
When the sullen clouds were laden with the snow,
There was whispered in the dark a tender warning
Saying, faintly but so surely, you must go.
When the sullen clouds were laden with the snow,
There was whispered in the dark a tender warning
Saying, faintly but so surely, you must go.
You had journeyed times enough—we learned to miss you—
There was fond and eager talk of winds and ways;
You had waved your hand at parting, bade us kiss you,—
But this was for your journey of all days!
There was fond and eager talk of winds and ways;
You had waved your hand at parting, bade us kiss you,—
But this was for your journey of all days!
How we counted through the hours when you had vanished!
How we said, She is here, she is there.
Now the heart on which we leaned must be banished
From the Here to the Everywhere!
How we said, She is here, she is there.
Now the heart on which we leaned must be banished
From the Here to the Everywhere!
You had always wanted little:—and we gave you
Less than little, now we sadly think:
And our aching hearts were powerless to save you
From the shadow while you waited on the brink.
Less than little, now we sadly think:
And our aching hearts were powerless to save you
From the shadow while you waited on the brink.
The tender soul that only schemed to lighten
Every burden, and despised its own decay,
Faced the silence and the dark, and dared to brighten
The heaviness that brooded on the way.
Every burden, and despised its own decay,
Faced the silence and the dark, and dared to brighten
The heaviness that brooded on the way.
Thus you left us with your valour unabated,
No diminution of that eager love;
In a moment, in the dawn of hope, translated
To perfect your faithful energies above.
No diminution of that eager love;
In a moment, in the dawn of hope, translated
To perfect your faithful energies above.
22
Are you thinking with a gracious wonder,
Of our sightless sorrows, our half hearted mirth?
O'er your head the angels' song, yet under—
Ah forget not! turns the old uneasy earth.
Of our sightless sorrows, our half hearted mirth?
O'er your head the angels' song, yet under—
Ah forget not! turns the old uneasy earth.
Ah, forgive us,—it is love and not resistance,
In the golden mansions will you think of home?
Are the brave eyes looking, smiling through the distance,
Are you waiting, will you meet us, when we come?
In the golden mansions will you think of home?
Are the brave eyes looking, smiling through the distance,
Are you waiting, will you meet us, when we come?
Eton, 1890.
23
ALL THAT WE KNEW OF HIM.
We bore him from the little hall
That through the quiet years,
Had heard his laughing welcome fall
On none but loving ears.
That through the quiet years,
Had heard his laughing welcome fall
On none but loving ears.
There was no hint of winter wild,
No stir upon the hill;
October on the heights was mild
And in the plain was still.
No stir upon the hill;
October on the heights was mild
And in the plain was still.
Wrapt in the low-hung mist we moved;
Below us dimly seen
The shapely woodlands that he loved,
The stream that slips between.
Below us dimly seen
The shapely woodlands that he loved,
The stream that slips between.
We marked the red beech overhead
Her flaming pall unfold,
The poplars underfoot had spread
Their pale smooth store of gold.
Her flaming pall unfold,
The poplars underfoot had spread
Their pale smooth store of gold.
The year in dying shewed so fair,
We drew serener breath;
It seemed as though the very air
Were in the arms of death.
We drew serener breath;
It seemed as though the very air
Were in the arms of death.
24
Till calmer, freer still, we sit
Within the storied fane,
Where that harmonious soul was writ
On pillar and on pane.
Within the storied fane,
Where that harmonious soul was writ
On pillar and on pane.
And presently the words were said;
The love we could not tell;
And in the chambers of the dead
We bade our friend farewell,
The love we could not tell;
And in the chambers of the dead
We bade our friend farewell,
And lingering by the churchyard wall
We pause a little space,
And half forgetting, half recall
The love that lit his face.
We pause a little space,
And half forgetting, half recall
The love that lit his face.
And yet so gently fell the end
We cannot wholly weep;
He prayed, and smiled upon his friend,
And turning, fell asleep.
We cannot wholly weep;
He prayed, and smiled upon his friend,
And turning, fell asleep.
Even death, whom sufferers far and wide
Have found so great, so grim,
Stept smiling to that sweet fireside,
And spake of God with him.
Have found so great, so grim,
Stept smiling to that sweet fireside,
And spake of God with him.
What though he did not from fierce foes
The bleeding trophies tear,
Yet gently morn by morn arose
The incense of his prayer.
The bleeding trophies tear,
Yet gently morn by morn arose
The incense of his prayer.
25
They say that nought but hard-won fights
Can set poor souls above;
But is there none whom he invites
Through ministries of love?
Can set poor souls above;
But is there none whom he invites
Through ministries of love?
Some souls there be that fight but fret,
That act but agonize,
And in the dust of earth forget
The silence of the skies.
That act but agonize,
And in the dust of earth forget
The silence of the skies.
And oh dear friend whom neath the sod,
We lay so trustfully,
Oh in the labour house of God
What is prepared for thee?
We lay so trustfully,
Oh in the labour house of God
What is prepared for thee?
A day shall be when what we marr'd
He shall make whole and new,
And where we thought Him false or hard
He will prove kind and true.
He shall make whole and new,
And where we thought Him false or hard
He will prove kind and true.
Then shall we see the souls that slept
Alert without constraint,
And all whose earthly vesture kept
The royal spirit faint.
Alert without constraint,
And all whose earthly vesture kept
The royal spirit faint.
And kneeling at his Father's feet,—
Still smiling from the skies,—
The soul so strenuously sweet,
And so unworldly wise.
Still smiling from the skies,—
The soul so strenuously sweet,
And so unworldly wise.
Stoke Bishop, 1884. (J. F. Wickenden.)
26
AN OLD DIARY.
At evening ere the stars were lit,
I idly turned my grandsire's page;—
The faltering verse, the heedless wit,
Young counsel striving to be sage,
The careless flotsam of the mind,
The laughter of the silent years,
The loves as idle as the wind,
With here and there a trace of tears.
I idly turned my grandsire's page;—
The faltering verse, the heedless wit,
Young counsel striving to be sage,
The careless flotsam of the mind,
The laughter of the silent years,
The loves as idle as the wind,
With here and there a trace of tears.
I gaze upon the pictured face,
His laughing eyes, his sunny brow,
Thy thoughts of glory and of grace
Are writ in dust, I said, and thou
Art slumbering 'neath thy headstone grim,
Beside the narrow smoky street;
The misty evening closes dim
About thee, where the house-fronts meet.
His laughing eyes, his sunny brow,
Thy thoughts of glory and of grace
Are writ in dust, I said, and thou
Art slumbering 'neath thy headstone grim,
Beside the narrow smoky street;
The misty evening closes dim
About thee, where the house-fronts meet.
Thy kindly mood that cheered with jest
And ready laugh the sullen day,
So frankly, tediously expressed,
I set them for a while away,
And o'er thee not unkindly bent
Across the haze of vanished years,
I can forgive thy merriment,
And love thee better for thy tears.
And ready laugh the sullen day,
So frankly, tediously expressed,
I set them for a while away,
And o'er thee not unkindly bent
Across the haze of vanished years,
I can forgive thy merriment,
And love thee better for thy tears.
27
One hour was thine of mortal pain:
Thou hadst no season to efface
What might have marked thee light or vain,
What might have wronged thee with thy race,
I scan the moments I have spent;
God grant if such an end be mine,
That my recorded merriment
May seem and be as pure as thine.
Thou hadst no season to efface
What might have marked thee light or vain,
What might have wronged thee with thy race,
I scan the moments I have spent;
God grant if such an end be mine,
That my recorded merriment
May seem and be as pure as thine.
God grant that in the eternal fold,
When all are safely gathered in,
When we have all our secrets told
And learnt humility from sin,
We two may taste of heavenly light,
And walk together, free and wise,
Not nearer in the Father's sight,
But mindful of our earthly ties.
When all are safely gathered in,
When we have all our secrets told
And learnt humility from sin,
We two may taste of heavenly light,
And walk together, free and wise,
Not nearer in the Father's sight,
But mindful of our earthly ties.
Eton, 1892.
28
IN COWPER'S LETTERS.
Poet of home, green walks and fireside ease,
The trivial joys in which our days are spent,
How cheerfully thy tender merriment
Falls on our ear in such dark hours as these!
When the sick thoughts that did thy spirit freeze
Hover about our mortal tenement,
And unsubstantial fear and vague lament
People the sighing of the restless breeze.
The trivial joys in which our days are spent,
How cheerfully thy tender merriment
Falls on our ear in such dark hours as these!
When the sick thoughts that did thy spirit freeze
Hover about our mortal tenement,
And unsubstantial fear and vague lament
People the sighing of the restless breeze.
Thy hedgerow elms that stand so starved and sere
When winter crusts each twig with crystal rime,
Still break in cloudy greenness, when the year
Wheels into warmth, and 'tis the budding time:
If I grow old and sad, why so didst thou!
Yet love hath crowned the pale world-weary brow.
When winter crusts each twig with crystal rime,
Still break in cloudy greenness, when the year
Wheels into warmth, and 'tis the budding time:
If I grow old and sad, why so didst thou!
Yet love hath crowned the pale world-weary brow.
Eton, 1891.
29
WILLIAM BLAKE.
O strenuous spirit, in thy serious cell
Riding on rays, upborne by angel's wings,
Fed and sustained from sweet and secret springs
Not for loud conquests, but to labour well:
Yet and anon the dolorous curtain fell,
And thy vext brain in sick imaginings,
Peopled the dark with fiery rushing things,
And all the staring larva-brood of hell.
Riding on rays, upborne by angel's wings,
Fed and sustained from sweet and secret springs
Not for loud conquests, but to labour well:
Yet and anon the dolorous curtain fell,
And thy vext brain in sick imaginings,
Peopled the dark with fiery rushing things,
And all the staring larva-brood of hell.
Not thine the crown that binds the poet's brow,
But Art's ethereal halo, and the rare
Fine diadem for men of simple mould,
Who speak but as they feel, and cannot bow
Nor truckle, though in perilous waters rolled
Of penury, derision and despair.
But Art's ethereal halo, and the rare
Fine diadem for men of simple mould,
Who speak but as they feel, and cannot bow
Nor truckle, though in perilous waters rolled
Of penury, derision and despair.
Eton, 1892.
36
VER SCHOLASTICUM.
Paul of the haggard face, bright eyes sore wearied of books;
Paul with the brow of a sage, but supple and strong as a boy;
Graceful and fresh of frame, and save for the desolate looks,
Meet for the prize of a friend and meet for a maiden's joy.
Paul with the brow of a sage, but supple and strong as a boy;
Graceful and fresh of frame, and save for the desolate looks,
Meet for the prize of a friend and meet for a maiden's joy.
Paul on a morn in May, when woods are better than men,
Walked in a garden-ground, sad, wistful, and heavy-eyed:
Shuddered to think of the mute and monotonous walk of his pen,
Hated the grim silent gape of the folios stacked at his side,
Walked in a garden-ground, sad, wistful, and heavy-eyed:
Shuddered to think of the mute and monotonous walk of his pen,
Hated the grim silent gape of the folios stacked at his side,
Laurels around him glittered metallic; to left and right
Broad green fingers of chestnuts were spread and unfurled to the day;
Up through her gray-green smoothness the lilac pushed to the light
Clubs and clusters of purple, and poured her scents in his way.
Broad green fingers of chestnuts were spread and unfurled to the day;
Up through her gray-green smoothness the lilac pushed to the light
Clubs and clusters of purple, and poured her scents in his way.
Up through the deep meadow-grass had floated the gold of spring.
Stirred and swayed on the surface in yellow and white and red,
Hid in the depths of the copse he heard the linnet sing,
And a thrush peered out with her beaded eyes and her timorous head.
Stirred and swayed on the surface in yellow and white and red,
Hid in the depths of the copse he heard the linnet sing,
And a thrush peered out with her beaded eyes and her timorous head.
37
Suddenly over his path an odour was wafted and blown,
Striking the flash of a fancy that passed and left him sad:
For he seemed as a child in wonder to stray demure and alone
In the fields of the home that had borne him, in days when his heart was glad.
Striking the flash of a fancy that passed and left him sad:
For he seemed as a child in wonder to stray demure and alone
In the fields of the home that had borne him, in days when his heart was glad.
And he looked on a garden border, and taught by the pleading spell,
On a sunny wall, and beyond it an acre of golden grain,
And the great blue lustrous flies, that never a footfall fell
But they bustled and hummed for a moment, and straight were silent again.
On a sunny wall, and beyond it an acre of golden grain,
And the great blue lustrous flies, that never a footfall fell
But they bustled and hummed for a moment, and straight were silent again.
Gone—and the strange sweet longing for days that are long since dead
Flooded his heart in an instant, and stirred in the sunlit day;
For love still reigns in the heart, though knowledge rules in the head,
And it was not only sadness he knew as he turned away.
Flooded his heart in an instant, and stirred in the sunlit day;
For love still reigns in the heart, though knowledge rules in the head,
And it was not only sadness he knew as he turned away.
Cambridge, 1885. (Cambridge Review).
38
DEMETRIUS.
I think that you love me, dear:
Cannot I love you too?
For a week, a month, a year?
Will that be enough for you?
Cannot I love you too?
For a week, a month, a year?
Will that be enough for you?
Why yes, I could yield you this,
I could whisper, gaze and pray,
I could clasp your hand and kiss,
And that is enough, you say.
I could whisper, gaze and pray,
I could clasp your hand and kiss,
And that is enough, you say.
Your thirst is so deep, so deep,
You pant for the cooling wave;
Yet the treacherous ripples creep
And crawl in their moving grave.
You pant for the cooling wave;
Yet the treacherous ripples creep
And crawl in their moving grave.
Better to stand on the brink,
Better to faint for breath,
Than slowly to dream and sink
In the delicate hands of death.
Better to faint for breath,
Than slowly to dream and sink
In the delicate hands of death.
I have learned in a harder school,
Have dallied with scorn and shame
Where the wise man envies the fool,
And the nameless dies for a name.
Have dallied with scorn and shame
Where the wise man envies the fool,
And the nameless dies for a name.
39
I am sad enough to be wise,
I am strong enough to be hard,
Let me look but once in your eyes,
And see what I might have marred.
I am strong enough to be hard,
Let me look but once in your eyes,
And see what I might have marred.
Purity, hope and light
Are stronger than you and I:—
So we will be wise to-night;—
Remember, and say goodbye.
Are stronger than you and I:—
So we will be wise to-night;—
Remember, and say goodbye.
Eton, 1892.
40
MISERRIMUS.
When I am dead, and laid in gloom,
Oh, drop no tears above my tomb:
There let the evening breathe, and there
The wild rose trail her fragrant hair,
And in the opening of the spring
The throstle and the finch shall sing.
The dews slow-dropping overhead
Are gentler than the tears ye shed:
And wailings of a wintry wind
Are meeter far, if not so kind.
Oh, drop no tears above my tomb:
There let the evening breathe, and there
The wild rose trail her fragrant hair,
And in the opening of the spring
The throstle and the finch shall sing.
The dews slow-dropping overhead
Are gentler than the tears ye shed:
And wailings of a wintry wind
Are meeter far, if not so kind.
There shall I lie so calm at last
To hear the waters trickle past.
Down through the mould from stone to stone
The drops are slipping, one by one,
Struggling to win from troubled shores
The clear, deep, silent reservoirs.
To hear the waters trickle past.
Down through the mould from stone to stone
The drops are slipping, one by one,
Struggling to win from troubled shores
The clear, deep, silent reservoirs.
Some day it may be I shall feel
A thin white fibre through me steal,—
A root that reaching through the stones
Twines unaware about my bones,
And draws me to the upper day,
Till haply on a morn in May,
In some pure flowerbell sweetly pent
Or rose or myrtle innocent,
I see the happy dawn again,
The churchyard walls, the gilded vane,
The broad brown meadow-lands, with tree
And homestead dotted cheerily,
And in the tumult of delight
Scatter my scents from left to right,
So prodigal of all their grace
To deck my odorous sleeping-place,
That the dull villager who strays
Unheeding through the church-yard ways
May stoop to draw my breath, and tell
His mates how sweet the myrtles smell.
A thin white fibre through me steal,—
A root that reaching through the stones
Twines unaware about my bones,
And draws me to the upper day,
Till haply on a morn in May,
In some pure flowerbell sweetly pent
Or rose or myrtle innocent,
I see the happy dawn again,
The churchyard walls, the gilded vane,
41
And homestead dotted cheerily,
And in the tumult of delight
Scatter my scents from left to right,
So prodigal of all their grace
To deck my odorous sleeping-place,
That the dull villager who strays
Unheeding through the church-yard ways
May stoop to draw my breath, and tell
His mates how sweet the myrtles smell.
Ah, it is all too fair, too fair!
I may not win the plenteous air.
Calm thoughts, and the caressing sense
Of love, are made for innocence:
And though sin wearies hearts, and shame
Is hard to bear, yet ours the blame:
Not every suffering can impart
The rest it craves: ah! mortal heart,
Think'st thou that thou may'st sin, and rot
As still as he that sinneth not?
I may not win the plenteous air.
Calm thoughts, and the caressing sense
Of love, are made for innocence:
And though sin wearies hearts, and shame
Is hard to bear, yet ours the blame:
Not every suffering can impart
The rest it craves: ah! mortal heart,
Think'st thou that thou may'st sin, and rot
As still as he that sinneth not?
I am not what you thought me, friends:
How can my spirit make amends?
You saw me calm and deemed it meant—
This apathy—a still content:
And took a sullen acquiescence
For gentle love's transforming presence.
Oh! better weep not o'er my grave
Than claim the love I never gave.
How can my spirit make amends?
You saw me calm and deemed it meant—
This apathy—a still content:
And took a sullen acquiescence
For gentle love's transforming presence.
42
Than claim the love I never gave.
Now through the vast unshrinking years
This careless heart will sit in tears,
And through the darkness and the press
Of pain, will start from dreaminess,
To think real thoughts, and wholly prove
The spirit and the strength of love:
So weep not now: the dark shall teach
To break from silence into speech,
The love that grows in bitterness
Some day this chilly soul shall bless.
This careless heart will sit in tears,
And through the darkness and the press
Of pain, will start from dreaminess,
To think real thoughts, and wholly prove
The spirit and the strength of love:
So weep not now: the dark shall teach
To break from silence into speech,
The love that grows in bitterness
Some day this chilly soul shall bless.
Yet blame me not too much, but keep
The venomed tongue of ire asleep;
Deep was my fault, and faultier far
The sloth for effort, peace of war.
God knoweth why His mark is set
On this and that, nor doth forget
Why one is foul and base, and one
Is lovely when his work is done;
Why over one his lights are shed,
And one is sore dispirited.
I know not, I: but he who gave
Bounds to the thunders of the wave,
And with a silent glory fills
The purple spaces of the hills:
He knoweth: and what He hath planned
Is worthy of the master hand.
Farewell: why weepest? If I be
Worthy His purpose, thou shalt see
How out of taint of earthly spot
He works His wonders: and if not,
He knoweth: leave me; I have said,—
Henceforth I sit among the dead.
The venomed tongue of ire asleep;
Deep was my fault, and faultier far
The sloth for effort, peace of war.
God knoweth why His mark is set
On this and that, nor doth forget
Why one is foul and base, and one
Is lovely when his work is done;
Why over one his lights are shed,
And one is sore dispirited.
I know not, I: but he who gave
Bounds to the thunders of the wave,
And with a silent glory fills
The purple spaces of the hills:
He knoweth: and what He hath planned
Is worthy of the master hand.
43
Worthy His purpose, thou shalt see
How out of taint of earthly spot
He works His wonders: and if not,
He knoweth: leave me; I have said,—
Henceforth I sit among the dead.
Cambridge, 1883. (Cambridge Review).
44
THE GALE.
When the storm on my window dashes the rain,When the gulls wheel landward and the larches strain,
When through the bleared mists the sun stares pale,
And the spray from the ripple whirls in the gale,
When by the headland the teal huddle back,
And the hern in the marshpool is sleek and black,
When the hissing blast shakes the rain from the heath,
And the squalls run dark o'er the creek beneath,
When the deer in the corrie by the grey rock lie,
And the hills grow higher and are lost in the sky,
When the sheep grow languid in their sodden wool,
And the fly from the moorland floats struggling in the pool,
When the wives of mariners on the Father call,
And wonder if the tempest bring aught but bane to all,
Ah, better silence! pile the hearth high at home;
'Twill be time to make thy prayer when the sunshine come.
Skye, 1892.
45
THE BIRD-CHERRY.
Three days ago, and yonder sullen tree,
That shades the limit of my garden glade,
Was dense with leaf, and cast so sad a shade
There was no place for summer minstrelsy;
To-day it streams with lavish fragrance; see,
How close the milky spires of bloom are laid;
How short a space! To-morrow sees it fade,
And strips in snowy wreck its gallantry.
That shades the limit of my garden glade,
Was dense with leaf, and cast so sad a shade
There was no place for summer minstrelsy;
To-day it streams with lavish fragrance; see,
How close the milky spires of bloom are laid;
How short a space! To-morrow sees it fade,
And strips in snowy wreck its gallantry.
How near and yet how far! Not lingering,
Not making haste, our whirling planet runs;
Not mistress of herself the wilful spring,
But shares the punctual race of myriad suns.
And those imperious hands sustain, control
The faltering faith of this inconstant soul.
Not making haste, our whirling planet runs;
Not mistress of herself the wilful spring,
But shares the punctual race of myriad suns.
And those imperious hands sustain, control
The faltering faith of this inconstant soul.
Eton, 1892.
46
STORM AND TEMPEST.
The gale thunders on the roof;
The raindrops splash the wall;
And the stars shine far aloof;
And God sees all.
The raindrops splash the wall;
And the stars shine far aloof;
And God sees all.
Through the rack of flying cloud
The watery moon wades on,
And the lime trees whisper loud;
The brief day is gone.
The watery moon wades on,
And the lime trees whisper loud;
The brief day is gone.
Within the lamp is lit,
And the fire burns red and warm,
And I ponder as I sit,
Glad and free from harm.
And the fire burns red and warm,
And I ponder as I sit,
Glad and free from harm.
Strange that the driving cloud
Doth not stay my merriment!
When the wind pipes thin and loud,
I am most content.
Doth not stay my merriment!
When the wind pipes thin and loud,
I am most content.
Out on the plunging sea
The frail boats dip and spin;
Where the cliffs tower drearily
O'er the breakers' din.
The frail boats dip and spin;
Where the cliffs tower drearily
O'er the breakers' din.
47
Men hold their breath for fear
Of the shrieking hissing foam,
Wonder if day be near,
And think of home.
Of the shrieking hissing foam,
Wonder if day be near,
And think of home.
One on the reeling deck
Gasps at the thundering wind;
Dreaming of death and wreck,
And what lies behind.
Gasps at the thundering wind;
Dreaming of death and wreck,
And what lies behind.
The boy by the gunwale stands
Watching his father's face;
The wheel jerks in his hands,
In the roaring race.
Watching his father's face;
The wheel jerks in his hands,
In the roaring race.
They wish, but dare not pray,
Weary and tempest-tost,
The word they dare not say
Would confess them lost.
Weary and tempest-tost,
The word they dare not say
Would confess them lost.
And I sit idly here
Watching the embers fall,
And they are sick with fear,
And God sees all.
Watching the embers fall,
And they are sick with fear,
And God sees all.
Eton, 1891.
55
A JUNE EVENING.
Over the red-tiled roofs and under the elm-trees high
Making a sudden clatter the pigeons wheel in the air:
The marigold stares in the pool and the blown sedge whistles dry,
And the elder is starred with bloom and breathes her soul on the air.
Making a sudden clatter the pigeons wheel in the air:
The marigold stares in the pool and the blown sedge whistles dry,
And the elder is starred with bloom and breathes her soul on the air.
Out of the heart of the thicket the bird's song breaks like a star,
Thrilling the soul with a passion as pure as the driven snow;
And the roses drink of the blood of life and glow from afar,
But what they say to my spirit is more than the roses know.
Thrilling the soul with a passion as pure as the driven snow;
And the roses drink of the blood of life and glow from afar,
But what they say to my spirit is more than the roses know.
Cedar and oak and plane that shadow my garden glade,
I know your greenness and gloom and love you each the best,
You with your slender fans, and you with your knotted shade,
And you with your lively grace and the scars of spring on your breast.
I know your greenness and gloom and love you each the best,
You with your slender fans, and you with your knotted shade,
And you with your lively grace and the scars of spring on your breast.
Deep in the winding lane where the hazels screen the nest,
The high-heaped waggons come with the music of tinkling teams,
And the trailing sprays fly back, and catch at the load deep-prest,
And laughter floats on the twilight as fair as the laughter of dreams.
The high-heaped waggons come with the music of tinkling teams,
And the trailing sprays fly back, and catch at the load deep-prest,
And laughter floats on the twilight as fair as the laughter of dreams.
56
Yet down in the hamlet below sick hearts are sorry to-night,
And children moan in their beds at the sounds of the hateful strife,
And dull eyes strain to the dawn and sigh at the chilly light,
And pant for the bliss unknown and know the burden of life.
And children moan in their beds at the sounds of the hateful strife,
And dull eyes strain to the dawn and sigh at the chilly light,
And pant for the bliss unknown and know the burden of life.
Saint and martyr and sage, that die for the weal of your race,
Penned in the din of the city or mured in the cloistered gloom,
Say have you felt in your hearts the glory of earth, and the grace
Of the spring, the flush of summer—the roses that twine the tomb?
Penned in the din of the city or mured in the cloistered gloom,
Say have you felt in your hearts the glory of earth, and the grace
Of the spring, the flush of summer—the roses that twine the tomb?
Oh joy that is knit with pain, oh shadows born of the grave,
Oh ache of the weary brow and throb of the labouring breath;—
Yet this is the world I want, and these are the joys I crave,
And not the passionless gloom on the other shore of death.
Oh ache of the weary brow and throb of the labouring breath;—
Yet this is the world I want, and these are the joys I crave,
And not the passionless gloom on the other shore of death.
Eton, 1891.
57
AZALEA.
A window into a dusty street:
A weary head, and a task that brings
Scanty profit nor aught of sweet
To the hours that lag on their leaden wings.
A weary head, and a task that brings
Scanty profit nor aught of sweet
To the hours that lag on their leaden wings.
Someone dropt me a charm to-day,
Dropt and vanished and bade me hope;
Yellow azalea, one tall spray,
Caught from a flashing fairy slope.
Dropt and vanished and bade me hope;
Yellow azalea, one tall spray,
Caught from a flashing fairy slope.
Bursting out like a starry shower,
Petals curled like a hanging wave,
Who that fashioned you, dainty flower,
Dreamed of a spirit so sweet and brave?
Petals curled like a hanging wave,
Who that fashioned you, dainty flower,
Dreamed of a spirit so sweet and brave?
See my brow to your charm is bent:
Where you pour from your mystic springs,
All in prodigal alchemy blent
Scents that quicken and lend me wings.
Where you pour from your mystic springs,
All in prodigal alchemy blent
Scents that quicken and lend me wings.
What stirs first in the dreaming brain?
Sweetness infinite, unaware,
Aching pleasure and happy pain,
Drowned in a glory of sunny air.
Sweetness infinite, unaware,
Aching pleasure and happy pain,
Drowned in a glory of sunny air.
Forest nooks in a summer world:
Waters slipping from ledge to ledge;
Bowery woodlands heaped and hurled
Down to the stream from the mountain's edge.
Waters slipping from ledge to ledge;
Bowery woodlands heaped and hurled
Down to the stream from the mountain's edge.
58
Boats that slide on a brimming stream
Under the shelter of willowy isles;
Thoughts that wind in a mystic dream;
Idle laughter and loving smiles;
Under the shelter of willowy isles;
Thoughts that wind in a mystic dream;
Idle laughter and loving smiles;
Yet there lurks in the honied wine
Something bitter and fresh and strong;
Wholesome savour of breeze and brine,
Wise and wild as the linnet's song.
Something bitter and fresh and strong;
Wholesome savour of breeze and brine,
Wise and wild as the linnet's song.
Sinks the fragrance perilous sweet,
Suddenly open the dreaming eyes;
Drowsily hums the teeming street,
Thunder broods in the lowering skies.
Suddenly open the dreaming eyes;
Drowsily hums the teeming street,
Thunder broods in the lowering skies.
Eton, 1892.
59
NORTHWARDS.
An orb of fire behind the grove
The sun speeds on;
The sliding streams that seaward move
Are chill and wan:
The mire is ridged with icy crust,
The tufted meads
Are specked with hoary flakes, where thrust
The frozen reeds.
The mellow light begins to pale,
The moon on high,
Too dim, too cloudlike to prevail,
Hangs in the sky.
The sun speeds on;
The sliding streams that seaward move
Are chill and wan:
The mire is ridged with icy crust,
The tufted meads
Are specked with hoary flakes, where thrust
The frozen reeds.
The mellow light begins to pale,
The moon on high,
Too dim, too cloudlike to prevail,
Hangs in the sky.
Through this bleak hour that brings the dark,
Ere daylight fade,
We fly on iron wheels, and mark
The changing glade.
Northwards the shuddering axles reel,
With merry din;
Like moving spokes on some slow wheel
The furrows spin.
The copse, the farmstead shifts; and both
Fly like the wind.
Swift runs the distant spire, as loth
To lag behind.
Ere daylight fade,
We fly on iron wheels, and mark
The changing glade.
Northwards the shuddering axles reel,
With merry din;
Like moving spokes on some slow wheel
The furrows spin.
The copse, the farmstead shifts; and both
Fly like the wind.
Swift runs the distant spire, as loth
To lag behind.
What means the transient glimpse, the sight
Of waste and home?
What stirs the roving heart so light
To choose and come?
They wave a welcome back, Oh stay
Thy course severe,
A truce to wandering! Here, they say,
Lies peace, and here.
Rest, rest, they call, unquiet mind,
Here learn to dream,
To love, and wander unconfined
As breeze or stream.
Of waste and home?
64
To choose and come?
They wave a welcome back, Oh stay
Thy course severe,
A truce to wandering! Here, they say,
Lies peace, and here.
Rest, rest, they call, unquiet mind,
Here learn to dream,
To love, and wander unconfined
As breeze or stream.
Ah no, I answer, night is near;
Not mine to set
The bourn I crave: what most I fear
Runs with me yet.
I hurry, hurry through the night,
I hasten on
To see what lands the Northern light
Next shines upon,
When I have learnt what longings are,
What means regret,
Something,—beyond the furthest star—
Shall call me yet.
Not mine to set
The bourn I crave: what most I fear
Runs with me yet.
I hurry, hurry through the night,
I hasten on
To see what lands the Northern light
Next shines upon,
When I have learnt what longings are,
What means regret,
Something,—beyond the furthest star—
Shall call me yet.
Ripon, 1892.
65
IN THE SOUTH.
In the sunny summer weather, in a garden by the sea,Where the breeze scarce stirs the drooping fans of many a tropic tree,
Only all the lazy morning to attend my listless dreams,
Doth the languid eucalyptus breathe the sound of falling streams;
High above the huddling houses blinking white with shuttered eyes,
You may see the city, roof by roof, and tower by tower arise,
Dazzling walls embowered in greenness, spires that peep through palm and plane,
Vines that droop o'er trellised terrace, runlets that forget the rain,
Upwards ever upwards climbing, till the high-piled tops are won,
Streaked with tracts of sombre woodland quivering in the steady sun.
Or about the league-long crest the vaporous cloud is folded gray,
When the sea is white with breakers and the beach is wet with spray,
And the hills are flecked with coursing shadows, and the hasty wind
Blusters through the garden that was late so indolent and kind.
When the sea is white with breakers and the beach is wet with spray,
And the hills are flecked with coursing shadows, and the hasty wind
Blusters through the garden that was late so indolent and kind.
But to-night sweet peace enfolds me; only from the lazy town
Floats the hum of summer voices, and the mighty ships swing down,
Blowing here a mellower horn to bid the wandering truant home,
Or the solemn convent bells are rung in many a sounding dome,
Or the watch-dog bays belated, and with shrill effusive note
Cocks are challenging the morning perched in homesteads far remote;
Idle sounds that mingle with the flying footsteps of the breeze,
Hurrying to cool vales of sunrise o'er the crests of rippling seas.
Floats the hum of summer voices, and the mighty ships swing down,
Blowing here a mellower horn to bid the wandering truant home,
Or the solemn convent bells are rung in many a sounding dome,
66
Cocks are challenging the morning perched in homesteads far remote;
Idle sounds that mingle with the flying footsteps of the breeze,
Hurrying to cool vales of sunrise o'er the crests of rippling seas.
Man, unlike his fellow-brutes, that wounded creep apart to die,
Flies from shelter, basks in light, and smiles in alien company.
Mocked by life and hope that flies before him, drawing fiercer breath,
Darkens light and poisons laughter with the undertone of death.
Flies from shelter, basks in light, and smiles in alien company.
Mocked by life and hope that flies before him, drawing fiercer breath,
Darkens light and poisons laughter with the undertone of death.
Oh! the world is strong and careless, soft the sky and still the sea;
What avails the myriad gladness, if it be not glad for me?
What for me the brooding sunlight and the creeper's scented breath,
When a thousand trembling hands are beating at the doors of death?
What avails the fragrant passion of the clustering spires of bloom,
If I chafe in hopeless longing, if I pine in lonely gloom?
Yet I think the load would lighten, could I think that endless pain
Were the seed of love and laughter, when the world is born again.
I could laugh at suffering, were it pledge of some imparted joy,
Gave it but a momentary gladness to a thoughtless boy.
Thus I wrote beneath the trailing vines, not knowing what might be,
What avails the myriad gladness, if it be not glad for me?
What for me the brooding sunlight and the creeper's scented breath,
When a thousand trembling hands are beating at the doors of death?
What avails the fragrant passion of the clustering spires of bloom,
If I chafe in hopeless longing, if I pine in lonely gloom?
Yet I think the load would lighten, could I think that endless pain
Were the seed of love and laughter, when the world is born again.
I could laugh at suffering, were it pledge of some imparted joy,
Gave it but a momentary gladness to a thoughtless boy.
In an island ringed about by the interminable sea.
Madeira, 1890.
67
HOMEWARDS.
Comrade, the sun is low;
Now doth the heavy West
Burn for leagues like a smouldering coal with a smoky glow;
Oh, the day pants for rest!
Now doth the heavy West
Burn for leagues like a smouldering coal with a smoky glow;
Oh, the day pants for rest!
Higher, the liquid sky
Green as an ice-fed stream,
Deepens to infinite blue, and softly inveigles the shy
Stars from their day-long dream.
Green as an ice-fed stream,
Deepens to infinite blue, and softly inveigles the shy
Stars from their day-long dream.
Out of the wayside flower
Ebbs the colour away:
Crocuses delicate, pink, that lay like a starry shower,
Dapple the dusk with grey.
Ebbs the colour away:
Crocuses delicate, pink, that lay like a starry shower,
Dapple the dusk with grey.
Blackness gathers apace
Under the shrouded pines
Over the tumbled stones that stream from the mountain's face
Slowly the shade declines.
Under the shrouded pines
Over the tumbled stones that stream from the mountain's face
Slowly the shade declines.
Only the dying fires,
Flashes of farewell light,
Flush in the old stone crags, and flame in the rocky spires;
Suddenly falls the night.
Flashes of farewell light,
Flush in the old stone crags, and flame in the rocky spires;
Suddenly falls the night.
68
Comrade, the dark is come;
Drop to the welcoming vale,
Steer to the winding lights and the city's generous hum;
Then when the dawn is pale,
Drop to the welcoming vale,
Steer to the winding lights and the city's generous hum;
Then when the dawn is pale,
Quitting the kindly street,
Leaving the fireside bright,
Laugh with the parting guest and smile on the child we meet,
Free as the fleeting light;
Leaving the fireside bright,
Laugh with the parting guest and smile on the child we meet,
Free as the fleeting light;
We too speed from the west,
Speed with the rushing earth;
Still the unsatisfied heart and still the imperious quest
Mock at our devious mirth.
Speed with the rushing earth;
Still the unsatisfied heart and still the imperious quest
Mock at our devious mirth.
Hush, for the world must sleep:
Passion and heat are done:
Who would the pulsing fervours of clamorous noontide keep
Till he fade in the sun?
Passion and heat are done:
Who would the pulsing fervours of clamorous noontide keep
Till he fade in the sun?
Twilight, pitiful, sad,
Night, so chilly and stern
Breathe your vastness upon us, and make us brave and glad;
Better to brood than burn.
Night, so chilly and stern
Breathe your vastness upon us, and make us brave and glad;
Better to brood than burn.
Suns in the heart of the night
Flame like a restless spark:
Only the silence waits till the aching gaps unite
Into the infinite dark.
Flame like a restless spark:
Only the silence waits till the aching gaps unite
Into the infinite dark.
Coire, 1891.
69
IDYLL.
Damon the shepherd-singer, on a day
When the old Earth was turning in her sleep
To dream of summer and good things to come,
Sate on a flowery hillock by the copse,
And heard a throstle on a flying spray
Chuckle and chirp and make so sweet a din
That all the merry music of the time
Stirred in his heart with envy of her song.
When the old Earth was turning in her sleep
To dream of summer and good things to come,
Sate on a flowery hillock by the copse,
And heard a throstle on a flying spray
Chuckle and chirp and make so sweet a din
That all the merry music of the time
Stirred in his heart with envy of her song.
So preluding awhile upon a reed
Which he had fashioned in a maying-time
But cast away when winter in despite
Shrilled all untuneful thro' the shuddering trees—
His eyes indwelling wistful for a space—
Brake the sweet concert with a sweeter song.
Which he had fashioned in a maying-time
But cast away when winter in despite
Shrilled all untuneful thro' the shuddering trees—
His eyes indwelling wistful for a space—
Brake the sweet concert with a sweeter song.
Spring in the air: and every wind that stirs
Swaying the budding treetops to and fro,
Is freighted with a freshness half divine.
Swaying the budding treetops to and fro,
Is freighted with a freshness half divine.
Spring in the forest;—tender green steals up,
Shaming the tyrants of the winter woods,
Grim yews, and spiky tassels of the pine.
Shaming the tyrants of the winter woods,
Grim yews, and spiky tassels of the pine.
Spring in the fields: God's carpet underfoot,
Starsown with daisies and red spires of seed,
And golden glory of the celandine.
Starsown with daisies and red spires of seed,
And golden glory of the celandine.
70
Spring in the soul: and happy thought puts out
The tender bud, where sweetness lies enshrined
With promise of a golden garnering.
The tender bud, where sweetness lies enshrined
With promise of a golden garnering.
So Damon sang, and all the woods were green.
Cambridge, 1883. (Cambridge Review).
71
EARL HACON'S TOMB.
He lieth under a pile of stones,
On a high and heathery hill:
The shy deer graze above his bones,
And the plover whistles shrill.
On a high and heathery hill:
The shy deer graze above his bones,
And the plover whistles shrill.
Eastward and westward fall the streams
Thro' a broad and level land;
But mark how merry the sunlight gleams
On the sea on either hand!
Thro' a broad and level land;
But mark how merry the sunlight gleams
On the sea on either hand!
Oh ye may tread twelve counties round,
But ye may never be,
Whence ye may view from moorland ground
The double glint of sea.
But ye may never be,
Whence ye may view from moorland ground
The double glint of sea.
All round about in the peat below
There are twenty bodies set;
Their bones are white as the April snow,
Their skulls with the streams are wet.
There are twenty bodies set;
Their bones are white as the April snow,
Their skulls with the streams are wet.
Twenty rovers the old Earl kept
To work his lawless will,
They dreamed to serve him while they slept,
And to-day they serve him still.
To work his lawless will,
They dreamed to serve him while they slept,
And to-day they serve him still.
72
Beside each man was a trusty helm,
A sword and javelins twain;
Heavy and dark are the hafts of elm,
But the sword is a red rust stain.
A sword and javelins twain;
Heavy and dark are the hafts of elm,
But the sword is a red rust stain.
The old Earl's brow had a gold circlet,
His neck bore a chain of gold;
But so black a stain on the gold is set
The metal may scarce be told.
His neck bore a chain of gold;
But so black a stain on the gold is set
The metal may scarce be told.
The tale of his house is a tale of shame,
No sons of his blood hath he,
And no man beareth the old Earl's name
Save a beggar over the sea.
No sons of his blood hath he,
And no man beareth the old Earl's name
Save a beggar over the sea.
A ring of stones is the frowning keep,
Grey stones on a lonely moor:
And the ship he sailed in is bedded deep
In the sand on a leeward shore.
Grey stones on a lonely moor:
And the ship he sailed in is bedded deep
In the sand on a leeward shore.
Now slit the turf with a mattock strong,
And scatter the stones away:
The Earl that hath dwelt in the dark so long
Shall look on the light of day.
And scatter the stones away:
The Earl that hath dwelt in the dark so long
Shall look on the light of day.
73
One by one to the day they pass,
The young Lord telleth them all;
The chain is set in an ark of glass,
The circlet hangs in the hall.
The young Lord telleth them all;
The chain is set in an ark of glass,
The circlet hangs in the hall.
Go cast in the charnel-pit their bones!
Their grave shall hallowed be;
And none shall know why the pile of stones,
O'erlooketh the double sea.
Their grave shall hallowed be;
And none shall know why the pile of stones,
O'erlooketh the double sea.
Sligachan, 1892.
74
TOO LATE.
Eastward the morning cometh in apace
Over the gray hills and the falling streams,
Yet may not break the silence of her dreams,
Nor flash a waking glory on her face;
Call to her; she is silent in her place,
And may not answer; how the sweet mouth seems
To smile, as though she recked of kindlier gleams
About her, and were dumb for very grace!
Over the gray hills and the falling streams,
Yet may not break the silence of her dreams,
Nor flash a waking glory on her face;
Call to her; she is silent in her place,
And may not answer; how the sweet mouth seems
To smile, as though she recked of kindlier gleams
About her, and were dumb for very grace!
The lilies hearing bow themselves for fear,
The red light, beating strong with crimson glow,
Shudders to feel him pass, whom bolts and bars,
Stay not nor hinder, neither threat nor tear;—
Can ye put back by any prayers ye know
The march of the invariable stars?
The red light, beating strong with crimson glow,
Shudders to feel him pass, whom bolts and bars,
Stay not nor hinder, neither threat nor tear;—
Can ye put back by any prayers ye know
The march of the invariable stars?
Lambeth, 1884.
75
AN ENGLISH HOME.
Deep in a hazy hollow of the down,
The brick-built Court in mellow squareness stood,
Where feathery beeches fringed the hanging wood,
And sighing cedars spread a carpet brown.
The brick-built Court in mellow squareness stood,
Where feathery beeches fringed the hanging wood,
And sighing cedars spread a carpet brown.
Out of the elms the jetty treefolk sent
A clamorous welcome: while the roses made
Their vesper offering, and the creeper laid
His flaming hands about the pediment.
A clamorous welcome: while the roses made
Their vesper offering, and the creeper laid
His flaming hands about the pediment.
O happy souls, most fatherly denied
The cares that fret, not quicken: drawn to know
The healing hands that hang upon the Cross;
And through pure agonies of love and loss,
Wrought into sorrow for a world of woe;
And from a prosperous baseness purified.
The cares that fret, not quicken: drawn to know
The healing hands that hang upon the Cross;
And through pure agonies of love and loss,
Wrought into sorrow for a world of woe;
And from a prosperous baseness purified.
Bere Court, 1884. (Spectator)
76
ANGULUS TERRARUM.
Within the grey encircling walls
The sun leads on another day,
Where quiet leisure hourly calls
Her votary from the world away.
The sun leads on another day,
Where quiet leisure hourly calls
Her votary from the world away.
Philosophy shall lap us round
To dream of spheres where all is well,
Not troubled by the uncertain sound
Of those that prate of heaven and hell.
To dream of spheres where all is well,
Not troubled by the uncertain sound
Of those that prate of heaven and hell.
Grave History shall ply her arts,
To shew us, from the storied page,
That Science cannot harden hearts,
Nor stay the heavenward pilgrimage.
To shew us, from the storied page,
That Science cannot harden hearts,
Nor stay the heavenward pilgrimage.
No Muse shall be that shall not lend
Her soaring impulse to the soul,
Discern the lover in the friend,
Or point the failing to the goal.
Her soaring impulse to the soul,
Discern the lover in the friend,
Or point the failing to the goal.
Staid Clio, queen of human speech,
Urania of the starlit eye,
And the sweet maiden that shall teach
The cheek to blush, the heart to sigh.
Urania of the starlit eye,
And the sweet maiden that shall teach
The cheek to blush, the heart to sigh.
Neither shall music be denied
To wing the heart that pants to see
The shrine of beauty, half descried,
Half slighted by the things that be.
To wing the heart that pants to see
The shrine of beauty, half descried,
Half slighted by the things that be.
77
The sunlight falls on level lawns,
And wooded knolls with kindlier gleam,
And statelier palaces adorn
The reaches of the brimming stream.
And wooded knolls with kindlier gleam,
And statelier palaces adorn
The reaches of the brimming stream.
The lazy water laps the wall,
Skirting the terraced walks, that go
By storied tower and cool dim hall,
And gardens where the roses blow.
Skirting the terraced walks, that go
By storied tower and cool dim hall,
And gardens where the roses blow.
High frown the gabled roofs, and higher
The huddled elms aerial slope;
And peering over all, the spire
That points a finger up in hope.
The huddled elms aerial slope;
And peering over all, the spire
That points a finger up in hope.
These all about me: far below
A solemn fountain hourly drips,
Where bronze-wreathed dolphins sprawl and throw
Sweet water from their green-fringed lips.
A solemn fountain hourly drips,
Where bronze-wreathed dolphins sprawl and throw
Sweet water from their green-fringed lips.
And on the lawn with restless feet,
And nodding necks of changing shine,
Pigeons patrol, when suns are sweet,
Westward or eastward, all in line.
And nodding necks of changing shine,
Pigeons patrol, when suns are sweet,
Westward or eastward, all in line.
And in the dark elms half the day
Or white-spired chestnuts light the doves,
Too mild to work, too fond to play,
And croning half-a-hundred loves.
Or white-spired chestnuts light the doves,
Too mild to work, too fond to play,
And croning half-a-hundred loves.
78
Heaven all about us; could we lay
Our hands upon it, it were well;
But oh! how slight a failing may
Turn paradise to dreary hell.
Our hands upon it, it were well;
But oh! how slight a failing may
Turn paradise to dreary hell.
The sordid spirit, and the brute
Impulse, that most, when hearts beat high,
Tugs at his chains, with throes that shoot
And quiver, bidding the good thought die.
Impulse, that most, when hearts beat high,
Tugs at his chains, with throes that shoot
And quiver, bidding the good thought die.
And only when the soul is dull
With terror of the looming years,
And scorn of self, they deign to lull
The stings that cost us toil and tears.
With terror of the looming years,
And scorn of self, they deign to lull
The stings that cost us toil and tears.
All these: and sullen discontent
That chides the smiling suns of May
For burning, yet can find a vent
For humours, when the skies are gray.
That chides the smiling suns of May
For burning, yet can find a vent
For humours, when the skies are gray.
These are our foes; and we will live
As though we may not wholly slay
The cares that prick us on to strive,
The fears that prompt us when to pray.
As though we may not wholly slay
The cares that prick us on to strive,
The fears that prompt us when to pray.
Like men that watch for some great king,
A barren frontier, where the sky
Stoops to the distance, vanishing
In dimness, and the land is dry.
A barren frontier, where the sky
Stoops to the distance, vanishing
In dimness, and the land is dry.
79
Sometimes the red sand-pillars stalk
Across the desert, or the wastes,
Wan like a level water, baulk
The thirsty soul that thither hastes.
Across the desert, or the wastes,
Wan like a level water, baulk
The thirsty soul that thither hastes.
Sometimes a thin voice seems to float
Out of the stillness, crying faint;
Or the dull seacrow's dismal note
Sounds, or the bittern's measured plaint.
Out of the stillness, crying faint;
Or the dull seacrow's dismal note
Sounds, or the bittern's measured plaint.
So long, they know not if they be
Men, or mere phantoms of the night;
Like the pale lights that flicker and flee
In marshlands, where the rush blows white.
Men, or mere phantoms of the night;
Like the pale lights that flicker and flee
In marshlands, where the rush blows white.
Only that northward, when the wind
Draws from the land that once was theirs,
Bells from the city echo, and bind
Sweet music on the wandering airs.
Draws from the land that once was theirs,
Bells from the city echo, and bind
Sweet music on the wandering airs.
And once they saw a sight so sweet
They scarce could trust their wondering eyes,
The snowbound mountains, at whose feet,
Their king's imperial palace lies.
They scarce could trust their wondering eyes,
The snowbound mountains, at whose feet,
Their king's imperial palace lies.
His word, they said, bade the high tower
Rock to the music of the bells;
His eye, they whispered, hour by hour,
Upon those happy mountains dwells.
Rock to the music of the bells;
His eye, they whispered, hour by hour,
Upon those happy mountains dwells.
Cambridge, 1884. (Cambridge Review).
80
AMBERLEY CASTLE.
The enormous hills run smoothly down
In fold on fold of shaven green,
And in the gap a little town
Sleeps, and a river slips between.
In fold on fold of shaven green,
And in the gap a little town
Sleeps, and a river slips between.
It bubbled from a heathery hill
And channelled through the grey ribbed sand,
And now slides seaward dark and still
Thro' hazy leagues of level land.
And channelled through the grey ribbed sand,
And now slides seaward dark and still
Thro' hazy leagues of level land.
A stone's throw from its fringing sedge
Grey mouldering walls to ruin slip,
And from the turret's ragged edge,
The brimming ivy seems to drip.
Grey mouldering walls to ruin slip,
And from the turret's ragged edge,
The brimming ivy seems to drip.
Where once the guardian pool was deep,
The moorhen flaps among the reeds,
And broadbacked waterlilies sleep
Anchored amid the shifting weeds.
The moorhen flaps among the reeds,
And broadbacked waterlilies sleep
Anchored amid the shifting weeds.
There where the green turf laps the walls,
Slow oxen graze, shrill children play,
And when the kindly summer falls,
Swart sun-browned rustics toss the hay.
Slow oxen graze, shrill children play,
And when the kindly summer falls,
Swart sun-browned rustics toss the hay.
A farmstead steams where hung the door
Whence smiling gallants paced the hall—
Where roysterers drank and soldiers swore
The merry cottage-children call.
Whence smiling gallants paced the hall—
Where roysterers drank and soldiers swore
The merry cottage-children call.
81
Here where the old priest day by day,
Saw sunrise thro' his blazoned panes,
Between tall stacks of scented hay,
A grumbling ciderpress complains.
Saw sunrise thro' his blazoned panes,
Between tall stacks of scented hay,
A grumbling ciderpress complains.
Look o'er the ill-swung gate and see
The black swine rout the streaming soil,
And piled or strewn neglectfully
The sordid furniture of toil.
The black swine rout the streaming soil,
And piled or strewn neglectfully
The sordid furniture of toil.
The king that smiled so royally
Around him, and the sweet sad queen,
The restless children round her knee,
Are all as they had never been.
Around him, and the sweet sad queen,
The restless children round her knee,
Are all as they had never been.
Dark in their oozy bed to-night
They slumber: all about their bones
The ivy casts his fingers white
Whose fibres know the place of stones.
They slumber: all about their bones
The ivy casts his fingers white
Whose fibres know the place of stones.
Think of the aching hearts, the sighs
This old house heard, which stands so still,
And all the million memories
That haunt the hollows of the hill.
This old house heard, which stands so still,
And all the million memories
That haunt the hollows of the hill.
Think of the eyes that must have stared
From those blank windows, on the same
Grey misty flats through which we fared
We twain, and doubted of their name.
From those blank windows, on the same
Grey misty flats through which we fared
We twain, and doubted of their name.
82
O'er grassy mound and marble rim
Where one dead friend's poor vestment lies,
The sudden tears unwitting brim
Decorous lashes, downdropt eyes.
Where one dead friend's poor vestment lies,
The sudden tears unwitting brim
Decorous lashes, downdropt eyes.
Or one dear brother whom we miss—
We mount with reverent step above,
This was his room, we say, and this
The picture that he used to love.
We mount with reverent step above,
This was his room, we say, and this
The picture that he used to love.
In these walls too young hope was high,
And love was glorious then as now—
Shall we behold, and pass them by,
Nor write one sorrow on our brow?
And love was glorious then as now—
Shall we behold, and pass them by,
Nor write one sorrow on our brow?
Shall we not spare one tear to-day
And pray one prayer in order due?
Here is a human heart, we'll say,
That beats as yours, and thinks of you.
And pray one prayer in order due?
Here is a human heart, we'll say,
That beats as yours, and thinks of you.
Amberley, 1883. (Cornhill Magazine).
83
JANUS.
Lo, as we muse, and strive with wondering eye
To trace the semblance of the coming years,
Flower-crowned, fruit-laden, one by one appears
In gracious wise against a golden sky;
Yet when we turn to scan them as they fly,
This creeps and shudders, sick with wasting fears,
And that is blotted in a mist of tears,
And meets our wistful look with sob and sigh.
To trace the semblance of the coming years,
Flower-crowned, fruit-laden, one by one appears
In gracious wise against a golden sky;
Yet when we turn to scan them as they fly,
This creeps and shudders, sick with wasting fears,
And that is blotted in a mist of tears,
And meets our wistful look with sob and sigh.
And therefore did that ancient serious folk
Set high above the turmoil and the din
Of traffic, and the grim laborious day,
A carven God, twin-headed, blurred with smoke;—
The outer, kindly, trivial; but within
The eyes that love, the lips that seem to pray.
Set high above the turmoil and the din
Of traffic, and the grim laborious day,
A carven God, twin-headed, blurred with smoke;—
The outer, kindly, trivial; but within
The eyes that love, the lips that seem to pray.
Cambridge, 1884.
84
NEW YEAR'S EVE.
This is the lesson of the world: to feel
That day by day to wish is not to be,
That aspiration is not victory,
And that regret must hurt and may not heal;
That day by day to wish is not to be,
That aspiration is not victory,
And that regret must hurt and may not heal;
No change: for ever thro' the myriad years
The woods are grim in winter and green in spring,
When grain is golden comes the harvesting,
Man lives and struggles, loves and disappears.
The woods are grim in winter and green in spring,
When grain is golden comes the harvesting,
Man lives and struggles, loves and disappears.
The year goes out in silence: through the night
The solemn stars troop onward, pure, serene;
And the sad chimes in their remorseless flight
Tell the stern record of what might have been;
Is there no hope then? Nay, in heaven above
And in the earth is silence, save for love.
The solemn stars troop onward, pure, serene;
And the sad chimes in their remorseless flight
Tell the stern record of what might have been;
Is there no hope then? Nay, in heaven above
And in the earth is silence, save for love.
Addington, 1885,
85
IN A COLLEGE GARDEN.
Once in a time of sunshine and cloudless weather,
By the brimming river moving to the sea,
The wind and I and the morning laughed together,
Merrily and loud laughed we.
Mockingly I flung on the turf beside me,
My withered volume with its homilies and saws,
Preach on, I said, but whether weal or woe betide me,
No word of yours hath been the cause.
Preach, I said, if ye will, to the old and ailing,
In my hand are the visionary years,
Leave their cloistral dismays to the faint and failing,
I have no faithless fears.
Let me scan as I lie the seasons thronging;
This brings glory and that brings warmth and love,
Surely, I said, my pure and eager longing,
Hath its counterpart above.
By the brimming river moving to the sea,
The wind and I and the morning laughed together,
Merrily and loud laughed we.
Mockingly I flung on the turf beside me,
My withered volume with its homilies and saws,
Preach on, I said, but whether weal or woe betide me,
No word of yours hath been the cause.
Preach, I said, if ye will, to the old and ailing,
In my hand are the visionary years,
Leave their cloistral dismays to the faint and failing,
I have no faithless fears.
Let me scan as I lie the seasons thronging;
This brings glory and that brings warmth and love,
Surely, I said, my pure and eager longing,
Hath its counterpart above.
Then I reigned so mightily for a season,
Hope and faith and eternity were mine,
I was lord in the royal right of reason
Of a destiny divine.
Time denied me my will, but ever smiling;
What of that? I could wait the promised hour.
Day by day with a certain hope beguiling
Hurricane and cold and shower.
Hope and faith and eternity were mine,
I was lord in the royal right of reason
Of a destiny divine.
Time denied me my will, but ever smiling;
What of that? I could wait the promised hour.
Day by day with a certain hope beguiling
Hurricane and cold and shower.
86
Am I awake at last? and was it dreaming?
While I so wondered, indolently reclined,
Busy brains have been labouring and scheming;—
Am I left behind?
These my comrades who faced the stormy weather
They sit throned in the ample hall to-day,
Will they remember the years we lived together?
Will they envy my delay?
By the sweet ambitions, I cried, that moved us,
By the birthpang of many a hallowed thought,—
Nay hey said, we remember that you loved us,
Only the time is short.
Who will plead, said I then, for a soul rejected?
Love sat silent and tears were on his cheek:
Wistfully smiled like a stranger half expected,
Only no word would speak.
I am undone, I cried, I have wholly blundered,
I looked for peace and have found despair instead,
Then love nestled towards me, and as I wondered,
Then thou art mine, he said.
While I so wondered, indolently reclined,
Busy brains have been labouring and scheming;—
Am I left behind?
These my comrades who faced the stormy weather
They sit throned in the ample hall to-day,
Will they remember the years we lived together?
Will they envy my delay?
By the sweet ambitions, I cried, that moved us,
By the birthpang of many a hallowed thought,—
Nay hey said, we remember that you loved us,
Only the time is short.
Who will plead, said I then, for a soul rejected?
Love sat silent and tears were on his cheek:
Wistfully smiled like a stranger half expected,
Only no word would speak.
I am undone, I cried, I have wholly blundered,
I looked for peace and have found despair instead,
Then love nestled towards me, and as I wondered,
Then thou art mine, he said.
Addington, 1891.
87
HERO-WORSHIP.
We work and we are weary; we are spent
And spend our hearts in cares that we despise,
Yet if we dare but ply our failing eyes,
Strong eager souls are still to cheer us sent,
To whom the very failures we lament
Are beautiful, and little deeds sublime;
Who see beyond the rolling mists of time,
The eternal country whither they are bent.
And spend our hearts in cares that we despise,
Yet if we dare but ply our failing eyes,
Strong eager souls are still to cheer us sent,
To whom the very failures we lament
Are beautiful, and little deeds sublime;
Who see beyond the rolling mists of time,
The eternal country whither they are bent.
As that grim prophet, when the Syrian host
Thundered at eve across the upland, there
In Dothan, and about the huddling town,
Spake naught, most heedless when they mocked him most,
Seeing how God all night above the down
Drave his red squadrons up the shuddering air.
Thundered at eve across the upland, there
In Dothan, and about the huddling town,
Spake naught, most heedless when they mocked him most,
Seeing how God all night above the down
Drave his red squadrons up the shuddering air.
Eton, 1886.
90
(1) ART.
To range abroad at will,
To pluck the flower and trace the woodland stream,
Sleep when I will, and when I sleep to dream,
Enfolding, gathering still;
To pluck the flower and trace the woodland stream,
Sleep when I will, and when I sleep to dream,
Enfolding, gathering still;
To be at large and free,
To hover high, not wallow with the low;
No impulse to reject, no fear to know,
To learn humanity:
To hover high, not wallow with the low;
No impulse to reject, no fear to know,
To learn humanity:
All day, and then at eve
To sort my prodigal spoil, and portion out
This medicine for despair and that for doubt,
Nought for myself to leave;
To sort my prodigal spoil, and portion out
This medicine for despair and that for doubt,
Nought for myself to leave;
But give myself, the best
That I could fashion, giving self the rein;
Royally, recklessly, my joy, my pain;—
Then claim my sovereign rest.
That I could fashion, giving self the rein;
Royally, recklessly, my joy, my pain;—
Then claim my sovereign rest.
91
(2) FAITH.
To sit at home and sigh,
To check the tired eyes that are fain to soar,
Beyond the blue hills and the winding shore
In careless liberty:
To check the tired eyes that are fain to soar,
Beyond the blue hills and the winding shore
In careless liberty:
To curb each impulse wild,
To drudge and minister and ask no fee,
And should rewards shower on me, let them be
To bless some wondering child.
To drudge and minister and ask no fee,
And should rewards shower on me, let them be
To bless some wondering child.
To portion out the light
And sweetness, that may just suffice to give
Due strength to keep the failing brain alive,
And nerve the hand to fight;
And sweetness, that may just suffice to give
Due strength to keep the failing brain alive,
And nerve the hand to fight;
As some rich tree that grows
Cribbed and confined, its young luxuriance shorn,
To bear the sweetness it would ne'er have borne,
But for those biting throes.
Cribbed and confined, its young luxuriance shorn,
To bear the sweetness it would ne'er have borne,
But for those biting throes.
92
(3) THE COMPROMISE.
Not mine to reconcile
The seeming paradox, not mine to choose
Between the pure and high—to reign; or lose
The kingdom for a while
The seeming paradox, not mine to choose
Between the pure and high—to reign; or lose
The kingdom for a while
For that thin crown that hangs
Above the starry silence, oh, meseems
Too faint and delicate for aught but dreams!
Yet whence these envious pangs?
Above the starry silence, oh, meseems
Too faint and delicate for aught but dreams!
Yet whence these envious pangs?
The sceptre or the rod?
This most I dread: to hear the pleading call
And falter: grasp and hesitate: to fall
Between myself and God.
This most I dread: to hear the pleading call
And falter: grasp and hesitate: to fall
Between myself and God.
Lambeth, 1892.
93
NON OMNIS MORIAR.
My spirit strove with me and said,
Why sit'st thou here alone and vile?
Mix with thy fellows: weep and smile,
And let them hear thee, see thee; then
Thou shalt be throned midst mighty men;
Or pious hands shalt crown thee dead,
And thou shalt live a little while.
Why sit'st thou here alone and vile?
Mix with thy fellows: weep and smile,
And let them hear thee, see thee; then
Thou shalt be throned midst mighty men;
Or pious hands shalt crown thee dead,
And thou shalt live a little while.
Nay, said I, Nay, I would not be
Read with a sneer and tossed away,
To pine where dusty tomes decay,
Piled in some high unfriendly shelf
With men as luckless as myself;
Full fifty more long-winded rogues
To cumber tedious catalogues:
That is not immortality!
Oh, let me live my life and die!
Read with a sneer and tossed away,
To pine where dusty tomes decay,
Piled in some high unfriendly shelf
With men as luckless as myself;
Full fifty more long-winded rogues
To cumber tedious catalogues:
That is not immortality!
Oh, let me live my life and die!
Would'st not? my spirit sternly said;
Then be a man, and love and wed,
That lusty sons, long ages hence,
May somewhat dimly reverence
Thee, as their certain fountain-head,
Though of no other consequence.
Thou canst not quicken thought? What then?
At least mayst live in other men.
Then be a man, and love and wed,
That lusty sons, long ages hence,
May somewhat dimly reverence
Thee, as their certain fountain-head,
Though of no other consequence.
Thou canst not quicken thought? What then?
At least mayst live in other men.
94
Nay, said I, Nay: is't not enough
That I should creep and loiter late?
What? should I so perpetuate
This faltering, this inconstant stuff?
Bind in this shrinking fearful mind
More deep in generous humankind?
Oh no! I may not play the part
To compromise another heart,
Its ampler fortunes to resign
Indissolubly mixt with mine.
That I should creep and loiter late?
What? should I so perpetuate
This faltering, this inconstant stuff?
Bind in this shrinking fearful mind
More deep in generous humankind?
Oh no! I may not play the part
To compromise another heart,
Its ampler fortunes to resign
Indissolubly mixt with mine.
My spirit spake no more, and I
In such sad triumph made reply.
No claim upon my race I'll make,
For this I cannot ratify:
No human heart I'll bid to ache,
Bearing my burdens as its own;—
Vile I may be, but not alone;
God seems with tender grace to send
The equal love of comrade, friend,
Of kith and kin: and after these
The large air and the moving trees,
The meadows and the secret springs;
Ah me! I love a thousand things!
Quickly I'd die and quickly fade,
This is the way that men are made;
This is enough, for me to scan
My heart, and own myself a man.
In such sad triumph made reply.
No claim upon my race I'll make,
For this I cannot ratify:
No human heart I'll bid to ache,
Bearing my burdens as its own;—
Vile I may be, but not alone;
God seems with tender grace to send
The equal love of comrade, friend,
Of kith and kin: and after these
The large air and the moving trees,
The meadows and the secret springs;
Ah me! I love a thousand things!
Quickly I'd die and quickly fade,
This is the way that men are made;
This is enough, for me to scan
My heart, and own myself a man.
Skye, 1892.
95
OLD FOES.
What, must I leave the banquet and the laughter,
Oh thou pale visitant that criest low?
Wilt thou be ever thus? Far hence, hereafter,
Oh art thou other than the thing I know?
Oh thou pale visitant that criest low?
Wilt thou be ever thus? Far hence, hereafter,
Oh art thou other than the thing I know?
As one that listens from his window leaning,
When night's slow curtain shuts the glen from view,
Now with a thrill of sweetness overweening,
Now with a shudder at what may be true,
When night's slow curtain shuts the glen from view,
Now with a thrill of sweetness overweening,
Now with a shudder at what may be true,
Hears many times, but ever doubts in hearing,
Borne by the shifting breeze now loud, now low,
Too faint for hope and too distinct for fearing,
The distant measured footfall come and go.
Borne by the shifting breeze now loud, now low,
Too faint for hope and too distinct for fearing,
The distant measured footfall come and go.
Fear, silent fear, I deemed that thou hadst left me;
Why dost thou dog my shrinking path again?
Lo of what manliness thou hast bereft me!
Where is the fortitude that comes of pain?
Why dost thou dog my shrinking path again?
Lo of what manliness thou hast bereft me!
Where is the fortitude that comes of pain?
Why dost thou whisper, Love's a merry madness,
Friendship's the easy brotherhood of youth?
I would not wilfully abide in sadness,
Save that I fear thou whisperest but the truth.
Friendship's the easy brotherhood of youth?
I would not wilfully abide in sadness,
Save that I fear thou whisperest but the truth.
Nay, but I answer: if indeed thou callest,
Grant me a respite while I plead with thee,
Small was my joy: I thank thee for the smallest!
Come when thou willest and be one with me.
Grant me a respite while I plead with thee,
Small was my joy: I thank thee for the smallest!
Come when thou willest and be one with me.
96
Lo, I am free! I choose the pain thou bearest:
Thou art the messenger of One who waits;
Thou wilt reveal the hidden face thou wearest,
When my feet falter at the Eternal Gates.
Thou art the messenger of One who waits;
Thou wilt reveal the hidden face thou wearest,
When my feet falter at the Eternal Gates.
Skye, 1892.
98
INTEREA.
When pain and stubborn sorrow first
Entrapped me, as a prisoned bird,
Moping, I deemed myself accurst,
Or raging on the bars I burst,
Yet nought but my own plumage stirred;
Alas! poor bird!
Entrapped me, as a prisoned bird,
Moping, I deemed myself accurst,
Or raging on the bars I burst,
Yet nought but my own plumage stirred;
Alas! poor bird!
Now, growing calmer, I'll be wise,
And bravely fold the quivering wing;—
But give the rein to eager eyes
To range unchecked the further skies,
And till my Winter melt in Spring,
I'll sit and sing!
And bravely fold the quivering wing;—
But give the rein to eager eyes
To range unchecked the further skies,
And till my Winter melt in Spring,
I'll sit and sing!
Eton, 1892.
99
PROSPERO.
O close the book and let the pages lie,
Not flap and ruffle in the idle wind;
Prison the mocking sprites that unconfined
Would wreck the world with easy jollity.
Not flap and ruffle in the idle wind;
Prison the mocking sprites that unconfined
Would wreck the world with easy jollity.
O I have lived and loved my lordly art
And lo I pass, yet this my art shall be,
To weave new spells unknown, unguessed by me
To break like morning in some later heart.
And lo I pass, yet this my art shall be,
To weave new spells unknown, unguessed by me
To break like morning in some later heart.
The fabled Sibyl in her haunted cave
Gave all her written leaves to the vague breeze;
So we, more secret still, will let the wave
Steep them in thunder of the wandering seas:
Matted and coiled in oozy water-weed
No mortal eye shall scan them: they are dead indeed.
Gave all her written leaves to the vague breeze;
So we, more secret still, will let the wave
Steep them in thunder of the wandering seas:
Matted and coiled in oozy water-weed
No mortal eye shall scan them: they are dead indeed.
Rosehill, 1891.
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