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 | Uncollected verses by Francis Thompson |  |
5
FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO COVENTRY PATMORE
Even so the might
And planetary motions of thy thought
Thundered thy hearers deaf; they could not hark.
Thy universal harmonies interwheel
Their paces, like the silent-footed heavens.
[OMITTED]
And planetary motions of thy thought
Thundered thy hearers deaf; they could not hark.
Thy universal harmonies interwheel
Their paces, like the silent-footed heavens.
[OMITTED]
Therefore come I not
To brag a grief above a new-made grave,
In the dead lion build my honey-comb,
And from the strong bring forth my feebleness.
No,—for this thing the world is dark—the great
Is dead, and all the little are alive!
To brag a grief above a new-made grave,
In the dead lion build my honey-comb,
And from the strong bring forth my feebleness.
No,—for this thing the world is dark—the great
Is dead, and all the little are alive!
6
IN A MORTAL GARDEN THEY SET THE POET
In a mortal garden they set the poet,
With mortal maiden and mortal child,
Mortal bees, and mortal blossoms,
All the sweets that the summer embosoms:
“He smiled in sorrow,” they said, “now, lo! it
Must be he will laugh like a four-years' child!”
In a mortal garden they set the poet;
As a trapped bird breathed he wild.
He had smiled in sorrow: not now he smiled.
With mortal maiden and mortal child,
Mortal bees, and mortal blossoms,
All the sweets that the summer embosoms:
“He smiled in sorrow,” they said, “now, lo! it
Must be he will laugh like a four-years' child!”
In a mortal garden they set the poet;
As a trapped bird breathed he wild.
He had smiled in sorrow: not now he smiled.
“It is not,” he muttered, “the land of fire;
The roaring green of the flamèd trees
Blows not wide in a windy pyre;
No grass hisses against the breeze;
Nor the light of the lily, the heat of the rose,
Comes and goes
With the fitful gust by the scintillant streams.
Be sad, my bosom—dreams, dreams, dreams!”
The roaring green of the flamèd trees
Blows not wide in a windy pyre;
No grass hisses against the breeze;
Nor the light of the lily, the heat of the rose,
Comes and goes
With the fitful gust by the scintillant streams.
Be sad, my bosom—dreams, dreams, dreams!”
But into the garden, pacing slowly,
Came a lady with eyes inhuman,
There came a lady who was not woman,
And the sad slow mouth of him smiled again.
Came a lady with eyes inhuman,
There came a lady who was not woman,
And the sad slow mouth of him smiled again.
7
[“I know this lady with eyes unholy]
“I know this lady with eyes unholy,I know this lady that is not woman;
By her I know this garden real;
A child in a new house, shy and lowly,
I see my mother, and doubt turns vain.
Scarce I guessed were this dream in dreaming,
If ye were human or I were human,
Amid your blossoms which seem to be all
But a seeming within a seeming
To me who have walked in the soul's land solely,
To me whose garden had tears for rain;
To me who ken but the flowers ideal,
The asphodel and the changeless moly.
This lady I know, and she is real,
I know this lady, and she is Pain!”
8
RAN A RILLET, CHILL AT BOSOM
Ran a rillet, chill at bosom,
Wrinkling over mossy buds,
While all nature, warm and woosome,
Drowsed amid the great dumb woods.
Wrinkling over mossy buds,
While all nature, warm and woosome,
Drowsed amid the great dumb woods.
Shrill and fresh a rillet folden
Wrinkled over mossy buds,
While all nature love-enholden
Slumbered in the great dumb woods.
Wrinkled over mossy buds,
While all nature love-enholden
Slumbered in the great dumb woods.
Welled a water, cold and mazy,
Sliding over mossy buds,
While all nature lay love-lazy,
Slumbrous in the great dumb woods.
Sliding over mossy buds,
While all nature lay love-lazy,
Slumbrous in the great dumb woods.
Curled a runnel cold and cruisèd,
Wimpling over mossy buds,
While all nature, that love oozèd,
Drowsèd in the great dumb woods.
Wimpling over mossy buds,
While all nature, that love oozèd,
Drowsèd in the great dumb woods.
9
FROM ST. JOHN OF THE CROSS
The night, the mystic night, was dense,
The night which love knows;
Felicity!
I sallied forth invisibly,
My house in repose.
I farèd forth, my house of sense
Sunk in repose.
The night which love knows;
Felicity!
I sallied forth invisibly,
My house in repose.
I farèd forth, my house of sense
Sunk in repose.
In happy, happy night apart,
(Secret, seen of none)
Naught save myself discerned;
No light burned
Tutelar, except the one
Torch of my uplifted heart.
(Secret, seen of none)
Naught save myself discerned;
No light burned
Tutelar, except the one
Torch of my uplifted heart.
10
TO ST. JOHN THE DIVINE
Thou, the Foreshadower,
Of all things which shall come upon the Bride;
Of all things which shall come upon the Bride;
Thou, Prophet of Prophets,
Sum of them before thee, forestaller of them after thee;
Sum of them before thee, forestaller of them after thee;
Thou, Seer of Seers,
Knowing the language of the Seers of the Hebrew, the Seers of Theman and Egypt, the tongue of the heathen Seers of the most ancient East;
Knowing the language of the Seers of the Hebrew, the Seers of Theman and Egypt, the tongue of the heathen Seers of the most ancient East;
Thou, Poet and Prophet,
Eagle of the New Dispensation, Lord of shadowy sign, shower of heart-shaking portent;
Eagle of the New Dispensation, Lord of shadowy sign, shower of heart-shaking portent;
Thou, Mystic of Mystics,
Who sawest the Holy City coming down out of Heaven, the things which are not and shall be;
Who sawest the Holy City coming down out of Heaven, the things which are not and shall be;
Thou, Lover of Lovers,
Who badest us little children love one another, Pray for us, that we may love as the Heart on which thou layest.
Who badest us little children love one another, Pray for us, that we may love as the Heart on which thou layest.
Prophet and Poet, Seer and Mystic, Divine and Lover,
Pray for us that we may be wise with the Prophets, glad with the Poets, see with the Seers, desire with the Mystics, believe with the Divines, and that the least of us may love with the Lovers.
Pray for us that we may be wise with the Prophets, glad with the Poets, see with the Seers, desire with the Mystics, believe with the Divines, and that the least of us may love with the Lovers.
11
Enoch, fulfil in us Elias; John the Divine, fulfil in us John
the Precursor; Prophet of the Celestial, fulfil in us the
prophecy of the earthly love.
WRITTEN AT THE TIME OF THE SPANISH-AMERICAN WAR
If ever an envious Europe banded to buffet youWould not the heart of the England Old cry “Lay our guns by the England New”?
Yea, and against the leaguèd world roar the iron mouth of the Saxon Two! [OMITTED]
But be you right or wrong, our heart is flame on our lips
When the cry of a war-worn people fans the fires of your battleships.
Oh, then we know you ours, and the stirrings of our womb
Are woman towards the magnificent child that shall wax when England wanes to her tomb.
12
THE TIME IS NOW
The time is now, the time is now; the tree
O' the years is heavy with its evil fruit
And nigh to fall: the painèd cycle goes
In labour with a heavy birth-foredoomed.
And as we see the heavens run with blood,
When the wild ruin as of half the world
Is blown in flame about the fuming sky:
So to red doom sinks down the Western world,
The sun with fiercelier tormented heart. [OMITTED]
Trouble in the heavens, trouble on the earth,
And trouble in the fountain of it all—
The unlawful heart of man.
O' the years is heavy with its evil fruit
And nigh to fall: the painèd cycle goes
In labour with a heavy birth-foredoomed.
And as we see the heavens run with blood,
When the wild ruin as of half the world
Is blown in flame about the fuming sky:
So to red doom sinks down the Western world,
The sun with fiercelier tormented heart. [OMITTED]
Trouble in the heavens, trouble on the earth,
And trouble in the fountain of it all—
The unlawful heart of man.
O man, man, man!
'Tis thou that set'st a trouble in the sun,
And from thy bosom the volcano spits
That lays a land in ruin; 'tis thy breast,
In agitation, turmoils roof and spire
When the earthquake bids the dome and pinnacle
Bow to the house o' the ant!
Do reverence to the ant's firm cupola
Standing where cities perish.
All is vain.
You will not credit that the woe is come
Not some day, not to-morrow, but this day
Which dawns with all disaster over you,
Though upon harps of gold's most burning soul
God's angels sang it. Though now you see
Dark drift, harsh bode of fleeing birds,
First snarl of the unlaired thunder, all is vain.
Yet when the crash strikes and the shaking ship
Rudderless and riven lies stunned,
And (what thing else is left?) you fall to prayer,
Saying, “We were advised and would not spend
A mock upon the warning, we have sinned
And that way comes our ruin: we do now
Remember there is God.” . . .
'Tis thou that set'st a trouble in the sun,
And from thy bosom the volcano spits
That lays a land in ruin; 'tis thy breast,
In agitation, turmoils roof and spire
When the earthquake bids the dome and pinnacle
Bow to the house o' the ant!
Do reverence to the ant's firm cupola
Standing where cities perish.
13
You will not credit that the woe is come
Not some day, not to-morrow, but this day
Which dawns with all disaster over you,
Though upon harps of gold's most burning soul
God's angels sang it. Though now you see
Dark drift, harsh bode of fleeing birds,
First snarl of the unlaired thunder, all is vain.
Yet when the crash strikes and the shaking ship
Rudderless and riven lies stunned,
And (what thing else is left?) you fall to prayer,
Saying, “We were advised and would not spend
A mock upon the warning, we have sinned
And that way comes our ruin: we do now
Remember there is God.” . . .
14
TILL ALL MY LIFE LAY ROUND ME
Till all my life lay round me in great swathesLike grass about the mower,
Then, Lord, then
The miserable residue, by men
Cast forth contemptuously beside the ways,
The sweepings of my days
(Having, me now bethinketh,
My whole life long to Him some offering owed)
“These will I give to God.”
And didst Thou bid Thy splendours,
Keeping their wingèd ward,
To scourge the mad insulter from thy gate?
No, Thou didst say, O awful King:
“My child, I do accept thy offering.
Only this thing
I ask of thee—not more;
To cleanse it in the fire and with thy tears
Thy few remaining years.
And I will give the tears and give the fire,
And if thou tire
(Although they be few years)
Behold I will be with thee in thy tears,
Behold I will be with thee in the fire.”
15
LULLABY
Lullay, lullay, little child, why weepest thou so sorely?
Need is thine of weeping: it was foredoomed thee early
Ever to live in sorrow, in sighing and in mourning
As thine eldren did ere this, that are unreturning.
Lullay, little child; child, lullay, lullow:
To an uncouth world y-comen art thou now.
Need is thine of weeping: it was foredoomed thee early
Ever to live in sorrow, in sighing and in mourning
As thine eldren did ere this, that are unreturning.
Lullay, little child; child, lullay, lullow:
To an uncouth world y-comen art thou now.
Beast and every bird too; the fish that in the flood is;
And each creature living, that made of bone and blood is;
When it cometh to the world, its coming for its good is;
All, but the wretched thing that of Adam's blood is.
Lullay, lullay, little child; to care thy mother bore thee:
Thou know'st not this world is wild, which she has set before thee.
And each creature living, that made of bone and blood is;
When it cometh to the world, its coming for its good is;
All, but the wretched thing that of Adam's blood is.
Lullay, lullay, little child; to care thy mother bore thee:
Thou know'st not this world is wild, which she has set before thee.
Child, if betideth that thou shalt thrive and be,
Think thou wert y-fostered on thy mother's knee.
Ever have mind in thy heart of these things three—
Whence thou comest, where thou art, and what shall come of thee.
Lullay, lullay, little child: child, lullay, lullay:
With sorrow thou camest to this world, with sorrow shalt wend away.
Think thou wert y-fostered on thy mother's knee.
Ever have mind in thy heart of these things three—
Whence thou comest, where thou art, and what shall come of thee.
Lullay, lullay, little child: child, lullay, lullay:
With sorrow thou camest to this world, with sorrow shalt wend away.
16
CRICKET VERSES
DIES IRÆ, DIES ILLA
Woe is me, fair White Rose!
It is a bitter stead,
That thou should'st fall unto false Southron,
And not to thy Sister Red.
Woe is me, my Red, Red Rose!
Woe and shameful plight,
When the Red Rose falls to the South blast
And not to the Rose of White!
It is a bitter stead,
That thou should'st fall unto false Southron,
And not to thy Sister Red.
Woe is me, my Red, Red Rose!
Woe and shameful plight,
When the Red Rose falls to the South blast
And not to the Rose of White!
When Red Rose met White on Bramall grass,
And turned not back from each other; alas,
Had the Red Rose smote the White Rose,
Or the White Rose smote the Red,
Or ever bent to the soft Southron
The stubborn Northern Head!
And turned not back from each other; alas,
Had the Red Rose smote the White Rose,
Or the White Rose smote the Red,
Or ever bent to the soft Southron
The stubborn Northern Head!
O Red Rose, O White Rose,
Set you but side by side,
And bring against you the leaguèd South,
You might their shock abide;
Yea, bring against you the banded South,
With all their strength allied,
My White Rose, my Red Rose
Could smite their puissance i' the mouth!
Set you but side by side,
17
You might their shock abide;
Yea, bring against you the banded South,
With all their strength allied,
My White Rose, my Red Rose
Could smite their puissance i' the mouth!
[Somewhere still ye bide among my long-lost Northern faces]
Somewhere still ye bide among my long-lost Northern faces,My heroes of the past, they tell me so!
Somewhere still ye bide in my long-lost Northern places,
But dead to me with youth, long ago.
I mind me of your staunchness as I near the shadowy water,
O Stonewall, and the look of your little fair-haired daughter;
(But the years have done upon you all the unassuagable slaughter)
As the run-stealers flicker to and fro,
To and fro,
O my Monkey and my Stonewall long ago!
18
[For the field is full of shades/shadows as I near the shadowy coasts]
For the field is full of shades/shadows as I near the shadowy coasts,And the ghostly batsmen play, and the bowlers too are ghosts,
And the ghostly batsmen play to the bowling of the ghosts,
And the ghostly batsmen play silent balls of bowling ghosts,
And I see the ghostly batsmen that play to bowling ghosts,
And I look through my tears at a soundless clapping/cheering host
As/While/Where the run-stealers flicker to and fro,
To and fro.
O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!
19
THIS IS MY BELOVED
Son of the womb of her,Loved till doom of her,
Thought of the brain of her,
Heart of her side,
She joyed and grieved in him,
Hoped, believed in him:
God grew fain of her,
And she died.
Died, and horribly
Saw the mystery,
Saw the grime of it—
That hid soul;
Saw the slime of it,
Saw it whole.
O mother, mother, for all the sweet John saith,
O mother, was not this the Second Death?
| Uncollected verses by Francis Thompson | |