 | Laughter from a Cloud |  |
199
OCCASIONAL VERSE
201
JOHANNESBURG, NEW YEAR, 1896
(“Several financiers have applied to the Boer Government
for permission to leave the city.”
—Daily papers, 9th January.)
O alien blood and hearts of mud, who shall mete you the measure due?
Remorse is a man's grim penance, and harrowing shame, but you—
Do they care, your kind? Will ye call to mind that day of the days gone by
When your panic yelp brought men to help, and ye kennelled, and let them die?
Remorse is a man's grim penance, and harrowing shame, but you—
Do they care, your kind? Will ye call to mind that day of the days gone by
When your panic yelp brought men to help, and ye kennelled, and let them die?
Helots of Boers ye have been, their helots ye still shall be,
Their brand on your craven foreheads shall sever you from the free.
Grab, when the till is opened; at the crack of the musket, fly!
Gibber with fear when ye see draw near the death that ye dare not die!
Their brand on your craven foreheads shall sever you from the free.
Grab, when the till is opened; at the crack of the musket, fly!
Gibber with fear when ye see draw near the death that ye dare not die!
202
Live then, and shame the living; live, as the mongrel can,
Safe in the friendly limbo of the scorn of God and man:
Not heaven or earth will judge you, ye must take your cause to try
Where deep in hell your brethren dwell, the worms that cannot die.
Safe in the friendly limbo of the scorn of God and man:
Not heaven or earth will judge you, ye must take your cause to try
Where deep in hell your brethren dwell, the worms that cannot die.
203
TO A LADY WITH AN UNRULY AND ILL-MANNERED DOG
Who bit several Persons of Importance
Your dog is not a dog of grace;
He does not wag the tail or beg;
He bit Miss Dickson in the face;
He bit a Bailie in the leg.
He does not wag the tail or beg;
He bit Miss Dickson in the face;
He bit a Bailie in the leg.
What tragic choices such a dog
Presents to visitor or friend!
Outside there is the Glasgow fog;
Within, a hydrophobic end.
Presents to visitor or friend!
Outside there is the Glasgow fog;
Within, a hydrophobic end.
Yet some relief even terror brings,
For when our life is cold and gray
We waste our strength on little things,
And fret our puny souls away.
For when our life is cold and gray
We waste our strength on little things,
And fret our puny souls away.
A snarl! A scuffle round the room!
A sense that Death is drawing near!
And human creatures reassume
The elemental robe of fear.
A sense that Death is drawing near!
And human creatures reassume
The elemental robe of fear.
204
So when my colleague makes his moan
Of careless cooks, and warts, and debt,
—Enlarge his views, restore his tone,
And introduce him to your Pet!
Of careless cooks, and warts, and debt,
—Enlarge his views, restore his tone,
And introduce him to your Pet!
Quod Raleigh.
Uffington, Berkshire 8th May 1903
205
STANS PUER AD MENSAM
Attend my words, my gentle knave,
And you shall learn from me
How boys at dinner may behave
With due propriety.
And you shall learn from me
How boys at dinner may behave
With due propriety.
Guard well your hands: two things have been
Unfitly used by some;
The trencher for a tambourine,
The table for a drum.
Unfitly used by some;
The trencher for a tambourine,
The table for a drum.
We could not lead a pleasant life,
And 'twould be finished soon,
If peas were eaten with the knife,
And gravy with the spoon.
And 'twould be finished soon,
If peas were eaten with the knife,
And gravy with the spoon.
Eat slowly: only men in rags
And gluttons old in sin
Mistake themselves for carpet bags
And tumble victuals in.
And gluttons old in sin
Mistake themselves for carpet bags
And tumble victuals in.
The privy pinch, the whispered tease,
The wild, unseemly yell—
When children do such things as these,
We say, “It is not well.”
The wild, unseemly yell—
When children do such things as these,
We say, “It is not well.”
206
Endure your mother's timely stare,
Your father's righteous ire,
And do not wriggle on your chair
Like flannel in the fire.
Your father's righteous ire,
And do not wriggle on your chair
Like flannel in the fire.
Be silent: you may chatter loud
When you are fully grown,
Surrounded by a silent crowd
Of children of your own.
When you are fully grown,
Surrounded by a silent crowd
Of children of your own.
If you should suddenly feel bored
And much inclined to yawning,
Your little hand will best afford
A modest useful awning.
And much inclined to yawning,
Your little hand will best afford
A modest useful awning.
Think highly of the Cat: and yet
You need not therefore think
That portly strangers like your pet
To share their meat and drink.
You need not therefore think
That portly strangers like your pet
To share their meat and drink.
The end of dinner comes ere long
When, once more full and free,
You cheerfully may bide the gong
That calls you to your tea.
When, once more full and free,
You cheerfully may bide the gong
That calls you to your tea.
207
A Literature Lesson.
SIR PATRICK SPENS
In the Eighteenth Century manner
Verse I
In a famed town of Caledonia's land,
A prosperous port contiguous to the strand,
A monarch feasted in right royal state;
But care still dogs the pleasures of the Great,
And well his faithful servants could surmise
From his distracted looks and broken sighs
That though the purple bowl was circling free,
His mind was prey to black perplexity.
A prosperous port contiguous to the strand,
A monarch feasted in right royal state;
But care still dogs the pleasures of the Great,
And well his faithful servants could surmise
From his distracted looks and broken sighs
That though the purple bowl was circling free,
His mind was prey to black perplexity.
At last, while others thoughtless joys invoke,
Fierce from his breast the laboured utterance broke;
“Alas!” he cried, “and what to me the gain
Though I am king of all this fair domain,
Though Ceres minister her plenteous hoard,
And Bacchus with his bounty crowns my board,
If Neptune still, reluctant to obey,
Neglects my sceptre and denies my sway?
On a far mission must my vessels urge
Their course impetuous o'er the boiling surge;
But who shall guide them with a dextrous hand,
And bring them safely to that distant land?
Whose skill shall dare the perils of the deep,
And beard the Sea-god in his stormy keep?
Fierce from his breast the laboured utterance broke;
“Alas!” he cried, “and what to me the gain
Though I am king of all this fair domain,
Though Ceres minister her plenteous hoard,
And Bacchus with his bounty crowns my board,
If Neptune still, reluctant to obey,
Neglects my sceptre and denies my sway?
On a far mission must my vessels urge
Their course impetuous o'er the boiling surge;
But who shall guide them with a dextrous hand,
And bring them safely to that distant land?
Whose skill shall dare the perils of the deep,
And beard the Sea-god in his stormy keep?
208
Verse II
He spake: and straightway, rising from his sideAn ancient senator, of reverend pride,
Unsealed his lips, and uttered from his soul
Great store of flatulence and rigmarole;
—All fled the Court, which shades of night invest,
And Pope and Gay and Prior told the rest. [OMITTED]
Nov. 1900
209
LINES SUGGESTED BY AN EDITION OF BLAKE'S POEMS
I have taken to the Blake manner:
“If you try to do what's right
You pass your life in a horrible fright,
And your Emanation—Lord protect her!—
Commits adultery with your Spectre.”
You pass your life in a horrible fright,
And your Emanation—Lord protect her!—
Commits adultery with your Spectre.”
I write to you because you won't write to me:
“He that answers a Friend's letter
Makes the Morning Star his debtor.”
Makes the Morning Star his debtor.”
I like the visionary style.
Poplar, Malden, and Lambeth's Vale
Each held on to the other's tail;
Poplar lived on chickweed and groundsel,
Malden danced to please the Council;
Lambeth's Vale in an old plug hat
Played the bones on the front-door mat,
And then crept round to the back garden
To get his money and ask for pardon.
A Christian's heart is never hard,
So they gave him a pound of lard.
What's the reason, Christians, tell,
Why the most of us go to Hell?
Each held on to the other's tail;
Poplar lived on chickweed and groundsel,
Malden danced to please the Council;
Lambeth's Vale in an old plug hat
Played the bones on the front-door mat,
And then crept round to the back garden
To get his money and ask for pardon.
A Christian's heart is never hard,
So they gave him a pound of lard.
What's the reason, Christians, tell,
Why the most of us go to Hell?
Oxford 27th Oct. 1905
210
THE ARTIST
The Artist and his Luckless Wife
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.
The world is very fair to see;
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.
The Artist is an awful man,
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.
The Artist uses honest paint
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.
1917
211
THE BATTLE HYMN OF KENSIT'S MEN
1
The Church is in a hawful state,With Richerlists and such;
The Pope 'e won't 'ave long to wait
For most of 'em—not much!
So Mister Kensit's took the 'ump
(And rightly too, says I),
And when 'e goes upon the stump
You'll see the feathers fly.
Then pack yer traps, and clear the way; depart, be gone, get Hout!
And make no noise, or Kensit's boys 'll show you 'oo can shout;—
No more of yer 'anky panky now, no more of yer Romish rot,
For Johnny K. is hon the way to bust the blooming lot.
And make no noise, or Kensit's boys 'll show you 'oo can shout;—
No more of yer 'anky panky now, no more of yer Romish rot,
For Johnny K. is hon the way to bust the blooming lot.
2
They've aconites and chasubells(Same like the Papists wears),
And makes the most unchristian smells
With hincense at their prayers;
212
And lamps that halways burn;
Such 'eaps of 'oly bric-a-brac,
There's 'ardly room to turn!
So pack yer traps, etc.
3
Now what would Martin Luther sayIf 'e come back to earth?
(And 'e was never in 'is day
A foe to Honest Mirth)—
I think that 'im and old John Knox
Would twig the little game,
And, knowing it was 'eterodox,
They simply would exclaim—
Now pack yer traps, etc.
4
A prayer may serve a useful hendWith something for to git,
But prayer for Nokes, my pore old friend,
Is neither sense nor wit;
'E's safely planted hin 'is grave,
(No longer hin the swim)
—Hup comes a low blasphemious knave
And takes and prays for 'im.
Then pack yer traps, etc.
213
5
It fairly makes my blood to bile,That Jesuites from Rome
Should crawl about the 'arth and spile
The sanctity of 'ome;
And if my missus, or the gals,
Gets talkative, and tries
To blab in them confessionals
I'll black their blooming eyes!
Then pack yer traps, etc.
6
I went into St. Ninny's Church,Where those so-called divines
Do bob, and jinnyflect and lurch,
Figged up unto the nines;
I ups and says—“You un'oly clown,
'Ow dare you 'ave the face
To go a capering hup and down
Before the Throne of Grace?
Now pack yer traps, etc.
7
“I don't object to fancy dressOn niggers at the races;
I'm fond of dancin', I confess,
(That is, in proper places);
214
To music by the band,
Rigged out in petticoats and caps,
Is more than I can stand.”
So pack yer traps, etc.
8
“Sit down!”—says 'e. “I won't”—says I.“Then, verger, turn 'im out.”
With that I lets a Bible fly,
And lands 'im hon the snout:
To stop 'is richerlistic row
I knocked 'im orf 'is perch,
And there and then we taught 'im 'ow
To desecrate a Church.
Then pack yer traps, etc.
9
My friends all stuck to me like bricks,The 'ymn-books flew like 'ail;
With one of them big candlesticks
I smashed the haltar-rail:
The idolaters set up a squall,
But soon they got the Toe:—
We made a 'olesome Gospel-'all
Of that galanty-show.
So pack yer traps, etc.
215
10
Come all you noble Protestants(For 'alf the job ain't done),
It is your 'elp that Hengland wants—
Yuss! Hevery mother's son!
If each of you brings 'alf a brick,
A better church we'll raise
Than hany blooming Cawtholic
In hall 'is blighted days.
They'll pack their traps, they'll clear the way, depart—be gone—get Hout—
They'll make no noise, or we're the boys will show them 'oo can shout!
They'll stow their 'anky-panky then, they'll chuck their Romish rot,
When Johnny K. 'as 'ad 'is way and bust the blooming lot.
They'll make no noise, or we're the boys will show them 'oo can shout!
They'll stow their 'anky-panky then, they'll chuck their Romish rot,
When Johnny K. 'as 'ad 'is way and bust the blooming lot.
216
ODE
To The Glasgow Ballad Club
21st December 1901
Men and Bards!
I, whom my dull brain retards,
Cannot make an ode that beats
Keats.
I, whom my dull brain retards,
Cannot make an ode that beats
Keats.
Yet I fain
Would uplift my humble strain
As your grateful and distressed
Guest.
Would uplift my humble strain
As your grateful and distressed
Guest.
Emerson
Says the bard must dwell alone,
Social habits make his verse
Worse.
Says the bard must dwell alone,
Social habits make his verse
Worse.
This may be
In the cities oversea,
Boston or New York, or Hong
Kong.
In the cities oversea,
Boston or New York, or Hong
Kong.
217
Here we find
That it elevates the mind,
And revives the muse to hob-
nob.
That it elevates the mind,
And revives the muse to hob-
nob.
Must we shine,
Buried diamonds in a mine,
Wasting rays that might adorn
Morn.
Buried diamonds in a mine,
Wasting rays that might adorn
Morn.
Joined in one
We shall glitter in the sun
(When he next illumines Clyde-
side).
We shall glitter in the sun
(When he next illumines Clyde-
side).
Though our songs
Cannot vanquish ancient wrongs;
Though they follow where the rose
Goes;
Cannot vanquish ancient wrongs;
Though they follow where the rose
Goes;
And their sound,
Swooning over hollow ground,
Fade and leave the enchanted air
Bare;
Swooning over hollow ground,
Fade and leave the enchanted air
Bare;
Yet the wise
Say that not unblest he dies
Who has known a single May
Day.
Say that not unblest he dies
Who has known a single May
Day.
218
If we have laughed,
Loved, and laboured in our craft,
We may pass with a resigned
Mind.
Loved, and laboured in our craft,
We may pass with a resigned
Mind.
While our cage
Is this narrow Iron Age,
Make it ring with many a brave
Stave!
Is this narrow Iron Age,
Make it ring with many a brave
Stave!
—But enough
Of this complicated stuff,
Lest the critics murmur “Hoots
Toots!”
Of this complicated stuff,
Lest the critics murmur “Hoots
Toots!”
Some are foes
To whatever is not prose;
Verse, they say, is merely fact
Cracked.
To whatever is not prose;
Verse, they say, is merely fact
Cracked.
You may meet
Daily in the public street
Men who call a sonnet clap-
Trap.
Daily in the public street
Men who call a sonnet clap-
Trap.
Here's a health!
To the poets wine and wealth;
Let the critics go to—well—
Hell!
To the poets wine and wealth;
Let the critics go to—well—
Hell!
219
TO PROFESSOR H. A. STRONG, LL. D.
24th November 1900
Dear Strang,
On this your natal day,
We Glaisgie bodies wish to say
We're sorry that we canna gae
That far to see ye;
But though oor bodies here maun stay,
In hairt we're wi' ye.
We Glaisgie bodies wish to say
We're sorry that we canna gae
That far to see ye;
But though oor bodies here maun stay,
In hairt we're wi' ye.
The Northern clans, wi' pipes and drones—
The “Scotswhahaes” and brave “Hechmons,”
The “Hootsawas” and “Sodascones”—
Are here thegither;
And ilka ane in joyful tones
Proclaims you brither.
The “Scotswhahaes” and brave “Hechmons,”
The “Hootsawas” and “Sodascones”—
Are here thegither;
And ilka ane in joyful tones
Proclaims you brither.
We're fine and glad ye didna scorn
The fashious wark o' being born,
Whilk wad ha' left us sair forlorn;
But noo—Losh guide us!—
Ye're fand, this braw November morn,
On airth beside us.
The fashious wark o' being born,
Whilk wad ha' left us sair forlorn;
But noo—Losh guide us!—
Ye're fand, this braw November morn,
On airth beside us.
220
'Twas in this toun ye first assayed
The ancient gerund-grinding trade,
Wi' Latin in a spune ye gaed
The fowk to feed them;
And eh! the bonny jokes ye made—
Deil kens wha seed them!
The ancient gerund-grinding trade,
Wi' Latin in a spune ye gaed
The fowk to feed them;
And eh! the bonny jokes ye made—
Deil kens wha seed them!
Oor thochts hae dwalt upon you aft,
The climate's turned a wee thing saft,
Oor college noo wi' gowks is staffed,
Wi' gomerals deevit;
But, Lord be praised! there's Heaven alaft,
And here, Glenleevit.
The climate's turned a wee thing saft,
Oor college noo wi' gowks is staffed,
Wi' gomerals deevit;
But, Lord be praised! there's Heaven alaft,
And here, Glenleevit.
In Scotlan' nane need droop or dwine;
For them that feels their stren'th decline
The certain cure (it's just divine)
Each year returns
(Whilk mony a lassie had lang syne)
—A nicht wi' Burns.
For them that feels their stren'th decline
The certain cure (it's just divine)
Each year returns
(Whilk mony a lassie had lang syne)
—A nicht wi' Burns.
We twa hae strayed ower Brownlow Hill,
And pu'd lang faces on the sill,
While toddling ben to yon auld mill
That still plays clatter;
—And auld Mackay is there, and still
As daft's a hatter.
And pu'd lang faces on the sill,
While toddling ben to yon auld mill
That still plays clatter;
—And auld Mackay is there, and still
As daft's a hatter.
221
Lang may the flags o' Bedford Street
Resound beneath your honoured feet!
Lang may ye hauld your annual treat
For a' the leddies!
Lang may ye flout and jink and cheat
The Laird o' Hades!
Resound beneath your honoured feet!
Lang may ye hauld your annual treat
For a' the leddies!
Lang may ye flout and jink and cheat
The Laird o' Hades!
222
SESTINA OTIOSA
Our great work, the Otia Merseiana,
Edited by learned Mister Sampson,
And supported by Professor Woodward,
Is financed by numerous Bogus Meetings
Hastily convened by Kuno Meyer
To impose upon the Man of Business.
Edited by learned Mister Sampson,
And supported by Professor Woodward,
Is financed by numerous Bogus Meetings
Hastily convened by Kuno Meyer
To impose upon the Man of Business.
All in vain! The accomplished Man of Business
Disapproves of Otia Merseiana,
Turns his back on Doctor Kuno Meyer;
Cannot be enticed by Mister Sampson,
To be present at the Bogus Meetings,
Though attended by Professor Woodward.
Disapproves of Otia Merseiana,
Turns his back on Doctor Kuno Meyer;
Cannot be enticed by Mister Sampson,
To be present at the Bogus Meetings,
Though attended by Professor Woodward.
Little cares the staid Professor Woodward:
He, being something of a man of business,
Knows that not a hundred Bogus Meetings
To discuss the Otia Merseiana
Can involve himself and Mister Sampson
In the debts of Doctor Kuno Meyer.
He, being something of a man of business,
Knows that not a hundred Bogus Meetings
To discuss the Otia Merseiana
Can involve himself and Mister Sampson
In the debts of Doctor Kuno Meyer.
So the poor deluded Kuno Meyer,
Unenlightened by Professor Woodward—
Whom, upon the word of Mister Sampson,
He believes to be a man of business
Fit to run the Otia Merseiana—
Keeps on calling endless Bogus Meetings.
Unenlightened by Professor Woodward—
223
He believes to be a man of business
Fit to run the Otia Merseiana—
Keeps on calling endless Bogus Meetings.
Every week has now its Bogus Meetings,
Punctually convened by Kuno Meyer
In the name of Otia Merseiana:
Every other week Professor Woodward
Takes his place, and, as a man of business,
Audits the accounts with Mister Sampson.
Punctually convened by Kuno Meyer
In the name of Otia Merseiana:
Every other week Professor Woodward
Takes his place, and, as a man of business,
Audits the accounts with Mister Sampson.
He and impecunious Mister Sampson
Are the mainstay of the Bogus Meetings;
But the alienated Man of Business
Cannot be allured by Kuno Meyer
To attend and meet Professor Woodward,
Glory of the Otia Merseiana.
Are the mainstay of the Bogus Meetings;
But the alienated Man of Business
Cannot be allured by Kuno Meyer
To attend and meet Professor Woodward,
Glory of the Otia Merseiana.
Kuno Meyer! Great Professor Woodward!
Bogus Meetings damn, for men of business,
Mister Sampson's Otia Merseiana.
Bogus Meetings damn, for men of business,
Mister Sampson's Otia Merseiana.
227
ON J*** M*****
Founder of the Society for the Suppression of Demoralizing Literature
“Henceforth let all Creation be refined!”Said M*****, sole Protector of the Mind;
By none of my young men let it be said
That rivers come together in their bed;
And if they write of Venus—very well,
They write; I do not print; it does not sell;
I mean, it does not sell; I do not print;
—I hope that my young men will take the hint.
My grandfather, who licked the boots of Byron,
Thought chaste themes best for bards to spank the lyre on;
But Byron was a young man in a hurry;
He's gone the Lord knows where, and I'm J*** M*****.
228
WISHES OF AN ELDERLY MAN
Wished at a Garden Party, June 1914
I wish I loved the Human Race;I wish I loved its silly face;
I wish I liked the way it walks;
I wish I liked the way it talks;
And when I'm introduced to one
I wish I thought What Jolly Fun!
229
SONNET
To J. S.
March 1908
I never cared for literature as such.
The spondee, dactyl, trochee, anapaest,
Do not inflame my passions in the least;
And cultured persons do not please me much.
Great works may be composed in French or Dutch,
Yet my poor happiness is not increased:
To me the learned critic is a beast,
And poetry a decorated crutch.
The spondee, dactyl, trochee, anapaest,
Do not inflame my passions in the least;
And cultured persons do not please me much.
Great works may be composed in French or Dutch,
Yet my poor happiness is not increased:
To me the learned critic is a beast,
And poetry a decorated crutch.
One book among the rest is dear to me;
As when a man, having tired himself in deed
Against the world, and, falling back to write,
Sated with love, or crazed by vanity,
Or drunk with joy, or maimed by Fortune's spite,
Sets down his Paternoster and his Creed.
As when a man, having tired himself in deed
Against the world, and, falling back to write,
Sated with love, or crazed by vanity,
Or drunk with joy, or maimed by Fortune's spite,
Sets down his Paternoster and his Creed.
230
MY LAST WILL
When I am safely laid away,
Out of work and out of play,
Sheltered by the kindly ground
From the world of sight and sound,
One or two of those I leave
Will remember me and grieve,
Thinking how I made them gay
By the things I used to say;
—But the crown of their distress
Will be my untidiness.
Out of work and out of play,
Sheltered by the kindly ground
From the world of sight and sound,
One or two of those I leave
Will remember me and grieve,
Thinking how I made them gay
By the things I used to say;
—But the crown of their distress
Will be my untidiness.
What a nuisance then will be
All that shall remain of me!
Shelves of books I never read,
Piles of bills, undocketed,
Shaving-brushes, razors, strops,
Bottles that have lost their tops,
Boxes full of odds and ends,
Letters from departed friends,
Faded ties and broken braces
Tucked away in secret places,
Baggy trousers, ragged coats,
Stacks of ancient lecture-notes,
And that ghostliest of shows,
Boots and shoes in horrid rows.
Though they are of cheerful mind,
My lovers, whom I leave behind,
When they find these in my stead,
Will be sorry I am dead.
All that shall remain of me!
Shelves of books I never read,
Piles of bills, undocketed,
Shaving-brushes, razors, strops,
Bottles that have lost their tops,
Boxes full of odds and ends,
Letters from departed friends,
Faded ties and broken braces
Tucked away in secret places,
Baggy trousers, ragged coats,
Stacks of ancient lecture-notes,
231
Boots and shoes in horrid rows.
Though they are of cheerful mind,
My lovers, whom I leave behind,
When they find these in my stead,
Will be sorry I am dead.
They will grieve; but you, my dear,
Who have never tasted fear,
Brave companion of my youth,
Free as air and true as truth,
Do not let these weary things
Rob you of your junketings.
Who have never tasted fear,
Brave companion of my youth,
Free as air and true as truth,
Do not let these weary things
Rob you of your junketings.
Burn the papers; sell the books;
Clear out all the pestered nooks;
Make a mighty funeral pyre
For the corpse of old desire,
Till there shall remain of it
Naught but ashes in a pit:
And when you have done away
All that is of yesterday,
If you feel a thrill of pain,
Master it, and start again.
Clear out all the pestered nooks;
Make a mighty funeral pyre
For the corpse of old desire,
Till there shall remain of it
Naught but ashes in a pit:
And when you have done away
All that is of yesterday,
If you feel a thrill of pain,
Master it, and start again.
This, at least, you have never done
Since you first beheld the sun:
If you came upon your own
Blind to light and deaf to tone,
Basking in the great release
Of unconsciousness and peace,
You would never, while you live,
Shatter what you cannot give;
—Faithful to the watch you keep,
You would never break their sleep.
Since you first beheld the sun:
If you came upon your own
Blind to light and deaf to tone,
232
Of unconsciousness and peace,
You would never, while you live,
Shatter what you cannot give;
—Faithful to the watch you keep,
You would never break their sleep.
Clouds will sail and winds will blow
As they did an age ago
O'er us who lived in little towns
Underneath the Berkshire downs.
When at heart you shall be sad,
Pondering the joys we had,
Listen and keep very still.
If the lowing from the hill
Or the tolling of a bell
Do not serve to break the spell,
Listen; you may be allowed
To hear my laughter from a cloud.
As they did an age ago
O'er us who lived in little towns
Underneath the Berkshire downs.
When at heart you shall be sad,
Pondering the joys we had,
Listen and keep very still.
If the lowing from the hill
Or the tolling of a bell
Do not serve to break the spell,
Listen; you may be allowed
To hear my laughter from a cloud.
Take the good that life can give
For the time you have to live.
Friends of yours and friends of mine
Surely will not let you pine.
Sons and daughters will not spare
More than friendly love and care.
If the Fates are kind to you,
Some will stay to see you through;
And the time will not be long
Till the silence ends the song.
Sleep is God's own gift; and man,
Snatching all the joys he can,
Would not dare to give his voice
To reverse his Maker's choice.
Brief delight, eternal quiet,
How change these for endless riot
Broken by a single rest?
Well you know that sleep is best.
For the time you have to live.
Friends of yours and friends of mine
Surely will not let you pine.
Sons and daughters will not spare
More than friendly love and care.
If the Fates are kind to you,
Some will stay to see you through;
And the time will not be long
Till the silence ends the song.
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Snatching all the joys he can,
Would not dare to give his voice
To reverse his Maker's choice.
Brief delight, eternal quiet,
How change these for endless riot
Broken by a single rest?
Well you know that sleep is best.
We that have been heart to heart
Fall asleep, and drift apart.
Will that overwhelming tide
Reunite us, or divide?
Whence we come and whither go
None can tell us, but I know
Passion's self is often marred
By a kind of self-regard,
And the torture of the cry
“You are you, and I am I.”
While we live, the waking sense
Feeds upon our difference,
In our passion and our pride
Not united, but allied.
Fall asleep, and drift apart.
Will that overwhelming tide
Reunite us, or divide?
Whence we come and whither go
None can tell us, but I know
Passion's self is often marred
By a kind of self-regard,
And the torture of the cry
“You are you, and I am I.”
While we live, the waking sense
Feeds upon our difference,
In our passion and our pride
Not united, but allied.
We are severed by the sun,
And by darkness are made one.
And by darkness are made one.
Oxford, 1919
| Laughter from a Cloud | |