8448 lines
312 KiB
HTML
8448 lines
312 KiB
HTML
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
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<!DOCTYPE html>
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<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xmlns:epub="http://www.idpf.org/2007/ops" lang="en-GB" epub:prefix="z3998: http://www.daisy.org/z3998/2012/vocab/structure/, se: https://standardebooks.org/vocab/1.0" xml:lang="en-GB">
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<head>
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<title>Poetry</title>
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<meta content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1" name="viewport"/>
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<link rel="canonical" href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry/text/single-page" />
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<style><![CDATA[
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text-align: right;
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article{
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break-after: page;
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}
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#an-old-song-1 p:last-child{
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font-style: italic;
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}
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/* web.css */
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body{
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display: flex;
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flex-direction: column;
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font-family: "Georgia", serif;
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margin: 0;
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line-height: 1.5;
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flex-grow: 1;
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margin: 5rem auto 3rem;
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padding: 0 3rem;
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width: calc(100% - 2 * 3rem); /* calc instead of box-sizing: border-box which would make max-width count padding */
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body > header{
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all: unset; /* Remove any properties set by selectors in the ebook itself */
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background: #fff;
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border-bottom: 1px solid #999;
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box-shadow: 0 0 3px #ccc;
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padding: 1em;
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body > header li:first-child{
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margin-right: auto;
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transition: transform 200ms ease;
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nav + section,
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body,
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and will just drop this entire query together if it's included. */
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nav[epub|type~="toc"] ol li{
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margin-bottom: 2em;
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margin-top: 2em;
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*:target{
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scroll-margin-top: 4em;
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@media((max-width: 450px) and (pointer: coarse)){
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body > header li:first-child > a{
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width: 31px;
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height: 20px;
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]]></style>
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</head>
|
||
<body><main>
|
||
<section id="titlepage" epub:type="titlepage frontmatter">
|
||
<h1 epub:type="title">Poetry</h1>
|
||
<p>By <b epub:type="z3998:author z3998:personal-name">Edward Thomas</b>.</p>
|
||
<img alt="" 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.00%2C3.23%2C5.47%2C5.54%2C12.07%2C8.35c6.46%2C2.74%2C13.54%2C8.21%2C13.54%2C15.79c0.00%2C13.82-10.53%2C18.67-21.82%2C18.67c-13.54%2C0.00-21.75-7.65-21.75-7.65l6.60-11.09s7.72%2C6.53%2C14.18%2C6.53c2.88%2C0.00%2C8.35-0.28%2C8.35-5.68c0.00-4.21-6.18-6.11-13.05-9.54c-6.95-3.44-11.02-8.84-11.02-14.88c0.00-10.81%2C9.54-17.68%2C18.88-17.68z%22%2F%3E%09%3C%2Fg%3E%3C%2Fsvg%3E" epub:type="se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
|
||
</section>
|
||
<nav id="toc" epub:type="toc">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Table of Contents</h2>
|
||
<ol>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#titlepage">Titlepage</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#imprint">Imprint</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-trumpet">The Trumpet</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-sign-post">The Sign-Post</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#tears">Tears</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#two-pewits">Two Pewits</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-manor-farm">The Manor Farm</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-owl">The Owl</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#swedes">Swedes</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#will-you-come">Will You Come?</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#as-the-teams-head-brass">As the Team’s Head-Brass</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#thaw">Thaw</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#interval">Interval</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#like-the-touch-of-rain">Like the Touch of Rain</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-path">The Path</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-combe">The Combe</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#if-i-should-ever-by-chance">If I Should Ever by Chance</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#what-shall-i-give">What Shall I Give?</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#if-i-were-to-own">If I Were to Own</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#and-you-helen">And You, Helen</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#when-first">When First</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#head-and-bottle">Head and Bottle</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#after-you-speak">After You Speak</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#sowing">Sowing</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#when-we-two-walked">When We Two Walked</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#in-memoriam-easter-1915">In Memoriam (Easter, 1915)</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#fifty-faggots">Fifty Faggots</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#women-he-liked">Women He Liked</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#early-one-morning">Early One Morning</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-cherry-trees">The Cherry Trees</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#it-rains">It Rains</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-huckster">The Huckster</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#a-gentleman">A Gentleman</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-bridge">The Bridge</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#lob">Lob</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#bright-clouds">Bright Clouds</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-clouds-that-are-so-light">The Clouds That Are So Light</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#some-eyes-condemn">Some Eyes Condemn</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#may-23">May 23</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-glory">The Glory</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#melancholy">Melancholy</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#adelstrop">Adlestrop</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-green-roads">The Green Roads</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-mill-pond">The Mill-Pond</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#it-was-upon">It Was Upon</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#tall-nettles">Tall Nettles</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#haymaking">Haymaking</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#how-at-once">How at Once</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#gone-gone-again">Gone, Gone Again</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-sun-used-to-shine">The Sun Used to Shine</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#october">October</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-long-small-room">The Long Small Room</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#liberty">Liberty</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#november">November</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-sheiling">The Sheiling</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-gallows">The Gallows</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#birds-nests">Birds’ Nests</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#rain">Rain</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#home-1">“Home”</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#theres-nothing-like-the-sun">There’s Nothing Like the Sun</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#when-he-should-laugh">When He Should Laugh</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#an-old-song-1">An Old Song</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-penny-whistle">The Penny Whistle</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#lights-out">Lights Out</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#cock-crow">Cock-Crow</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#words">Words</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#up-in-the-wind">Words</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#i-never-saw-that-land-before">I Never Saw That Land Before</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-dark-forest">The Dark Forest</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#celandine">Celandine</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-ash-grove">The Ash Grove</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#old-man">Old Man</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-thrush">The Thrush</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#i-built-myself-a-house-of-glass">I Built Myself a House of Glass</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#february-afternoon">February Afternoon</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#digging-1">Digging</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#two-houses">Two Houses</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-mill-water">The Mill-Water</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#a-dream">A Dream</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#sedge-warblers">Sedge-Warblers</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#under-the-woods">Under the Woods</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#what-will-they-do">What Will They Do?</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#to-night">To-Night</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#a-cat">A Cat</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-unknown">The Unknown</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#song">Song</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#she-dotes">She Dotes</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#for-these">For These</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#march-the-third">March the Third</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-new-house">The New House</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#march">March</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-cuckoo">The Cuckoo</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#over-the-hills">Over the Hills</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#home-2">Home</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-hollow-wood">The Hollow Wood</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#wind-and-mist">Wind and Mist</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-unknown-bird">The Unknown Bird</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-lofty-sky">The Lofty Sky</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#after-rain">After Rain</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#digging-2">Digging</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#but-these-things-also">But These Things Also</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#april">April</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-barn">The Barn</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-barn-and-the-down">The Barn and the Down</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-child-on-the-cliffs">The Child on the Cliffs</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#good-night">Good Night</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-wasp-trap">The Wasp Trap</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#july">July</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#a-tale">A Tale</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#parting">Parting</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#lovers">Lovers</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-girls-clear-eyes">That Girl’s Clear Eyes</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-child-in-the-orchards">The Child in the Orchard</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-source">The Source</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-mountain-chapel">The Mountain Chapel</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#first-know-when-lost">First Known When Lost</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-word">The Word</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#these-things-that-poets-said">These Things That Poets Said</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#home-3">Home</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#aspens">Aspens</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#an-old-song-2">An Old Song</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#there-was-a-time">There Was a Time</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#ambition">Ambition</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#no-one-cares-less-than-i">No One Cares Less Than I</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#roads">Roads</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#this-is-no-case-of-petty-right-or-wrong">This Is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-chalk-pit">The Chalk-Pit</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#health">Health</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#beauty">Beauty</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#snow">Snow</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-new-year">The New Year</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-brook">The Brook</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-other">The Other</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#house-and-man">House and Man</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-gypsy">The Gypsy</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#man-and-dog">Man and Dog</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#a-private">A Private</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#out-in-the-dark">Out in the Dark</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-lane">The Lane</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#the-watchers">The Watchers</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#endnotes">Endnotes</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#colophon">Colophon</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
<li>
|
||
<a href="#uncopyright">Uncopyright</a>
|
||
</li>
|
||
</ol>
|
||
</nav>
|
||
<section id="imprint" epub:type="imprint frontmatter">
|
||
<header>
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Imprint</h2>
|
||
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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
|
||
</header>
|
||
<p>This ebook is the product of many hours of hard work by volunteers for <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">Standard Ebooks</a>, and builds on the hard work of other literature lovers made possible by the public domain.</p>
|
||
<p>This particular ebook is based on transcriptions from <a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry#transcriptions">Project Gutenberg</a> and on digital scans from <a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry#page-scans">Google Books</a>.</p>
|
||
<p>The source text and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. They may still be copyrighted in other countries, so users located outside of the United States must check their local laws before using this ebook. The creators of, and contributors to, this ebook dedicate their contributions to the worldwide public domain via the terms in the <a href="https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/">CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication</a>. For full license information, see the <a href="uncopyright">Uncopyright</a> at the end of this ebook.</p>
|
||
<p>Standard Ebooks is a volunteer-driven project that produces ebook editions of public domain literature using modern typography, technology, and editorial standards, and distributes them free of cost. You can download this and other ebooks carefully produced for true book lovers at <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">standardebooks.org</a>.</p>
|
||
</section>
|
||
<article id="the-trumpet" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Trumpet</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Rise up, rise up,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, as the trumpet blowing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Chases the dreams of men,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As the dawn glowing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The stars that left unlit</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The land and water,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rise up and scatter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The dew that covers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The print of last night’s lovers—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Scatter it, scatter it!</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>While you are listening</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the clear horn,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Forget, men, everything</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On this earth newborn,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except that it is lovelier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than any mysteries.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Open your eyes to the air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That has washed the eyes of the stars</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Through all the dewy night:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Up with the light,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the old wars;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Arise, arise!</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-sign-post" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Sign-Post</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The dim sea glints chill. The white sun is shy.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the skeleton weeds and the never-dry,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rough, long grasses keep white with frost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the hilltop by the finger-post;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The smoke of the traveller’s-joy is puffed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over hawthorn berry and hazel tuft.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I read the sign. Which way shall I go?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A voice says: You would not have doubted so</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At twenty. Another voice gentle with scorn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Says: At twenty you wished you had never been born.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>One hazel lost a leaf of gold</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From a tuft at the tip, when the first voice told</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The other he wished to know what ’twould be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To be sixty by this same post. “You shall see,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He laughed—and I had to join his laughter—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“You shall see; but either before or after,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whatever happens, it must befall,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A mouthful of earth to remedy all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Regrets and wishes shall freely be given;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And if there be a flaw in that heaven</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twill be freedom to wish, and your wish may be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To be here or anywhere talking to me,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No matter what the weather, on earth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At any age between death and birth—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To see what day or night can be,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sun and the frost, the land and the sea,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With a poor man of any sort, down to a king,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Standing upright out in the air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wondering where he shall journey, O where?”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="tears" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Tears</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It seems I have no tears left. They should have fallen—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their ghosts, if tears have ghosts, did fall—that day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When twenty hounds streamed by me, not yet combed out</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But still all equals in their rage of gladness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Upon the scent, made one, like a great dragon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In Blooming Meadow that bends towards the sun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And once bore hops: and on that other day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When I stepped out from the double-shadowed Tower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Into an April morning, stirring and sweet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And warm. Strange solitude was there and silence.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A mightier charm than any in the Tower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Possessed the courtyard. They were changing guard</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Soldiers in line, young English countrymen,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fair-haired and ruddy, in white tunics. Drums</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And fifes were playing “<span epub:type="se:name.music.song">The British Grenadiers</span>.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The men, the music piercing that solitude</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And silence, told me truths I had not dreamed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And have forgotten since their beauty passed.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="two-pewits" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Two Pewits</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Under the after-sunset sky</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Two pewits sport and cry,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More white than is the moon on high</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Riding the dark surge silently;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More black than earth. Their cry</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is the one sound under the sky.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They alone move, now low, now high,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And merrily they cry</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the mischievous Spring sky,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Plunging earthward, tossing high,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over the ghost who wonders why</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So merrily they cry and fly,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor choose ’twixt earth and sky,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While the moon’s quarter silently</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rides, and earth rests as silently.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-manor-farm" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Manor Farm</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The rock-like mud unfroze a little and rills</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ran and sparkled down each side of the road</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under the catkins wagging in the hedge.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But earth would have her sleep out, spite of the sun;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor did I value that thin gilding beam</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More than a pretty February thing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till I came down to the old Manor Farm,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And church and yew-tree opposite, in age</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its equals and in size. The church and yew</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And farmhouse slept in a Sunday silentness.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The air raised not a straw. The steep farm roof,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With tiles duskily glowing, entertained</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The mid-day sun; and up and down the roof</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>White pigeons nestled. There was no sound but one.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Three cart-horses were looking over a gate</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Drowsily through their forelocks, swishing their tails</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Against a fly, a solitary fly.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The Winter’s cheek flushed as if he had drained</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Spring, Summer, and Autumn at a draught</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And smiled quietly. But ’twas not Winter—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rather a season of bliss unchangeable</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Awakened from farm and church where it had lain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Safe under tile and thatch for ages since</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This England, Old already, was called Merry.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-owl" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Owl</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Then at the inn I had food, fire, and rest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Knowing how hungry, cold, and tired was I.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All of the night was quite barred out except</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>An owl’s cry, a most melancholy cry</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No merry note, nor cause of merriment,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But one telling me plain what I escaped</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And others could not, that night, as in I went.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And salted was my food, and my repose,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Salted and sobered, too, by the bird’s voice</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Speaking for all who lay under the stars,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="swedes" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Swedes</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>They have taken the gable from the roof of clay</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the long swede pile. They have let in the sun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the white and gold and purple of curled fronds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unsunned. It is a sight more tender-gorgeous</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the wood-corner where Winter moans and drips</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than when, in the Valley of the Tombs of Kings,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A boy crawls down into a Pharaoh’s tomb</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, first of Christian men, beholds the mummy,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>God and monkey, chariot and throne and vase,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Blue pottery, alabaster, and gold.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But dreamless long-dead Amen-hotep lies.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This is a dream of Winter, sweet as Spring.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="will-you-come" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Will You Come?</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Will you come?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will you come?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will you ride</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So late</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At my side?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>O, will you come?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Will you come?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will you come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If the night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has a moon,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Full and bright?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>O, will you come?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Would you come?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would you come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If the noon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Gave light,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not the moon?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beautiful, would you come?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Would you have come?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would you have come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without scorning,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had it been</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still morning?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beloved, would you have come?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>If you come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Haste and come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Owls have cried:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It grows dark</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To ride.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beloved, beautiful, come.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="as-the-teams-head-brass" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">As the Team’s Head-Brass</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>As the team’s head-brass flashed out on the turn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The lovers disappeared into the wood.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I sat among the boughs of the fallen elm</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That strewed an angle of the fallow, and</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Watched the plough narrowing a yellow square</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of charlock. Every time the horses turned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Instead of treading me down, the ploughman leaned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Upon the handles to say or ask a word,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>About the weather, next about the war.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Scraping the share he faced towards the wood,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And screwed along the furrow till the brass flashed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once more.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">The blizzard felled the elm whose crest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I sat in, by a woodpecker’s round hole,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The ploughman said. “When will they take it away?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“When the war’s over.” So the talk began—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One minute and an interval of ten,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A minute more and the same interval.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Have you been out?” “No.” “And don’t want to, perhaps?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“If I could only come back again, I should.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could spare an arm. I shouldn’t want to lose</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A leg. If I should lose my head, why, so,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I should want nothing more. … Have many gone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From here?” “Yes.” “Many lost?” “Yes: good few.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only two teams work on the farm this year.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One of my mates is dead. The second day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In France they killed him. It was back in March,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The very night of the blizzard, too. Now if</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He had stayed here we should have moved the tree.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“And I should not have sat here. Everything</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would have been different. For it would have been</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another world.” “Ay, and a better, though</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If we could see all all might seem good.” Then</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The lovers came out of the wood again:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The horses started and for the last time</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I watched the clods crumble and topple over</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>After the ploughshare and the stumbling team.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="thaw" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Thaw</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The speculating rooks at their nests cawed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And saw from elm-tops, delicate as flower of grass,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What we below could not see, Winter pass.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="interval" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Interval</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Gone the wild day:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A wilder night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Coming makes way</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For brief twilight.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Where the firm soaked road</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mounts and is lost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the high beech-wood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It shines almost.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The beeches keep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A stormy rest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Breathing deep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of wind from the west.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The wood is black,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With a misty steam.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above, the cloud pack</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Breaks for one gleam.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But the woodman’s cot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By the ivied trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Awakens not</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To light or breeze.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It smokes aloft</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unwavering:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It hunches soft</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under storm’s wing.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It has no care</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For gleam or gloom:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It stays there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While I shall roam,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Die, and forget</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The hill of trees,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The gleam, the wet,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This roaring peace.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="like-the-touch-of-rain" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Like the Touch of Rain</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Like the touch of rain she was</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On a man’s flesh and hair and eyes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When the joy of walking thus</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has taken him by surprise:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>With the love of the storm he burns,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He sings, he laughs, well I know how,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But forgets when he returns</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As I shall not forget her “Go now.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Those two words shut a door</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Between me and the blessed rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That was never shut before</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And will not open again.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-path" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Path</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Running along a bank, a parapet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That saves from the precipitous wood below</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The level road, there is a path. It serves</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Children for looking down the long smooth steep,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Between the legs of beech and yew, to where</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A fallen tree checks the sight: while men and women</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Content themselves with the road and what they see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over the bank, and what the children tell.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The path, winding like silver, trickles on,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bordered and even invaded by thinnest moss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That tries to cover roots and crumbling chalk</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With gold, olive, and emerald, but in vain.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The children wear it. They have flattened the bank</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On top, and silvered it between the moss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With the current of their feet, year after year.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But the road is houseless, and leads not to school.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To see a child is rare there, and the eye</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has but the road, the wood that overhangs</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And underyawns it, and the path that looks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if it led on to some legendary</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or fancied place where men have wished to go</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And stay; till, sudden, it ends where the wood ends.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-combe" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Combe</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The Combe was ever dark, ancient and dark.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its mouth is stopped with bramble, thorn, and briar;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And no one scrambles over the sliding chalk</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By beech and yew and perishing juniper</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Down the half precipices of its sides, with roots</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And rabbit holes for steps. The sun of Winter,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The moon of Summer, and all the singing birds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except the missel-thrush that loves juniper,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are quite shut out. But far more ancient and dark</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The Combe looks since they killed the badger there,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dug him out and gave him to the hounds,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That most ancient Briton of English beasts.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="if-i-should-ever-by-chance" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">If I Should Ever by Chance</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>If I should ever by chance grow rich</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’ll buy Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Roses, Pyrgo, and Lapwater,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And let them all to my elder daughter.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The rent I shall ask of her will be only</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Each year’s first violets, white and lonely,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The first primroses and orchises—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She must find them before I do, that is.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But if she finds a blossom on furze</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without rent they shall all for ever be hers,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Codham, Cockridden, and Childerditch,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Roses, Pyrgo and Lapwater—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I shall give them all to my elder daughter.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="what-shall-i-give" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">What Shall I Give?</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>What shall I give my daughter the younger</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More than will keep her from cold and hunger?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I shall not give her anything.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If she shared South Weald and Havering,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their acres, the two brooks running between,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Paine’s Brook and Weald Brook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With pewit, woodpecker, swan, and rook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She would be no richer than the queen</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who once on a time sat in Havering Bower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Alone, with the shadows, pleasure and power.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She could do no more with Samarkand,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or the mountains of a mountain land</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And its far white house above cottages</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like Venus above the Pleiades.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Her small hands I would not cumber</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With so many acres and their lumber,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But leave her Steep and her own world</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And her spectacled self with hair uncurled,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wanting a thousand little things</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That time without contentment brings.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="if-i-were-to-own" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">If I Were to Own</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>If I were to own this countryside</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As far as a man in a day could ride,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the Tyes were mine for giving or letting—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wingle Tye and Margaretting</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Tye—and Skreens, Gooshays, and Cockerells,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, and Pickerells,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Marlins, Lambkins, and Lillyputs,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their copses, ponds, roads, and ruts,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fields where plough-horses steam and plovers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fling and whimper, hedges that lovers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Love, and orchards, shrubberies, walls</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where the sun untroubled by north wind falls,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And single trees where the thrush sings well</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His proverbs untranslatable,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I would give them all to my son</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If he would let me any one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For a song, a blackbird’s song, at dawn.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He should have no more, till on my lawn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never a one was left, because I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had shot them to put them into a pie—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His Essex blackbirds, every one,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I was left old and alone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Then unless I could pay, for rent, a song</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As sweet as a blackbird’s, and as long—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No more—he should have the house, not I:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Margaretting or Wingle Tye,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or it might be Skreens, Gooshays, or Cockerells,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, or Pickerells,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Martins, Lambkins, or Lillyputs,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Should be his till the cart tracks had no ruts.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="and-you-helen" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">And You, Helen</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And you, Helen, what should I give you?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So many things I would give you</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had I an infinite great store</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Offered me and I stood before</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To choose. I would give you youth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All kinds of loveliness and truth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A clear eye as good as mine,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lands, waters, flowers, wine,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As many children as your heart</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Might wish for, a far better art</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than mine can be, all you have lost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Upon the travelling waters tossed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or given to me. If I could choose</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Freely in that great treasure-house</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Anything from any shelf,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I would give you back yourself,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And power to discriminate</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What you want and want it not too late,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Many fair days free from care</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And heart to enjoy both foul and fair,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And myself, too, if I could find</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where it lay hidden and it proved kind.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="when-first" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">When First</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When first I came here I had hope,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My heart at sight of the tall slope</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or grass and yews, as if my feet</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Only by scaling its steps of chalk</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would see something no other hill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ever disclosed. And now I walk</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Down it the last time. Never will</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>My heart beat so again at sight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of any hill although as fair</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And loftier. For infinite</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The change, late unperceived, this year,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The twelfth, suddenly, shows me plain.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hope now—not health, nor cheerfulness,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Since they can come and go again,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As often one brief hour witnesses—</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Just hope has gone for ever. Perhaps</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I may love other hills yet more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than this: the future and the maps</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hide something I was waiting for.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>One thing I know, that love with chance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And use and time and necessity</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will grow, and louder the heart’s dance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At parting than at meeting be.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="head-and-bottle" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Head and Bottle</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The downs will lose the sun, white alyssum</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lose the bees’ hum;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But head and bottle tilted back in the cart</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will never part</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till I am cold as midnight and all my hours</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are beeless flowers.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He neither sees, nor hears, nor smells, nor thinks,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But only drinks,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Quiet in the yard where tree trunks do not lie</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More quietly.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="after-you-speak" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">After You Speak</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>After you speak</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And what you meant</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is plain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My eyes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Meet yours that mean—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With your cheeks and hair—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Something more wise,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More dark,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And far different.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Even so the lark</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Loves dust</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And nestles in it</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The minute</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Before he must</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Soar in lone flight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So far,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a black star</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He seems—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A mote</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of singing dust</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Afloat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That dreams</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And sheds no light.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I know your lust</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is love.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="sowing" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Sowing</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It was a perfect day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For sowing; just</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As sweet and dry was the ground</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As tobacco-dust.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I tasted deep the hour</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Between the far</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Owl’s chuckling first soft cry</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the first star.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A long stretched hour it was;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nothing undone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Remained; the early seeds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All safely sown.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And now, hark at the rain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Windless and light,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Half a kiss, half a tear,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Saying good night.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="when-we-two-walked" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">When We Two Walked</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When we two walked in Lent</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We imagined that happiness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was something different</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And this was something less.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But happy were we to hide</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Our happiness, not as they were</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who acted in their pride</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Juno and Jupiter:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For the Gods in their jealousy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Murdered that wife and man,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And we that were wise live free</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To recall our happiness then.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="in-memoriam-easter-1915" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">In Memoriam (Easter, 1915)</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The flowers left thick at nightfall in the wood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This Eastertide call into mind the men,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now far from home, who, with their sweethearts, should</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Have gathered them and will do never again.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="fifty-faggots" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Fifty Faggots</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There they stand, on their ends, the fifty faggots</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That once were underwood of hazel and ash</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In Jenny Pinks’s Copse. Now, by the hedge</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Close packed, they make a thicket fancy alone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Can creep through with the mouse and wren. Next Spring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A blackbird or a robin will nest there,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Accustomed to them, thinking they will remain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whatever is for ever to a bird:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This Spring it is too late; the swift has come.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twas a hot day for carrying them up:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Better they will never warm me, though they must</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Light several Winters’ fires. Before they are done</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The war will have ended, many other things</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Have ended, maybe, that I can no more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Foresee or more control than robin and wren.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="women-he-liked" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Women He Liked</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Women he liked, did shovel-bearded Bob,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Old Farmer Hayward of the Heath, but he</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Loved horses. He himself was like a cob,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And leather-coloured. Also he loved a tree.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For the life in them he loved most living things,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But a tree chiefly. All along the lane</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He planted elms where now the stormcock sings</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That travellers hear from the slow-climbing train.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Till then the track had never had a name</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For all its thicket and the nightingales</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That should have earned it. No one was to blame.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To name a thing beloved man sometimes fails.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Many years since, Bob Hayward died, and now</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>None passes there because the mist and the rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out of the elms have turned the lane to slough</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And gloom, the name alone survives, Bob’s Lane.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="early-one-morning" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Early One Morning</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Early one morning in May I set out,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And nobody I knew was about.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">I’m bound away for ever,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Away somewhere, away for ever.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was no wind to trouble the weathercocks.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I had burnt my letters and darned my socks.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>No one knew I was going away,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I thought myself I should come back some day.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I heard the brook through the town gardens run.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>O sweet was the mud turned to dust by the sun.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A gate banged in a fence and banged in my head.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“A fine morning, sir,” a shepherd said.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I could not return from my liberty,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To my youth and my love and my misery.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The only sweet thing that is not also fleet.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">I’m bound away for ever,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Away somewhere, away for ever.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-cherry-trees" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Cherry Trees</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The cherry trees bend over and are shedding</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the old road where all that passed are dead,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This early May morn when there is none to wed.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="it-rains" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">It Rains</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It rains, and nothing stirs within the fence</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Anywhere through the orchard’s untrodden, dense</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Forest of parsley. The great diamonds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of rain on the grass-blades there is none to break,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or the fallen petals further down to shake.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And I am nearly as happy as possible</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To search the wilderness in vain though well,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To think of two walking, kissing there,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Drenched, yet forgetting the kisses of the rain:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sad, too, to think that never, never again,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Unless alone, so happy shall I walk</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the rain. When I turn away, on its fine stalk</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Twilight has fined to naught, the parsley flower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Figures, suspended still and ghostly white,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The past hovering as it revisits the light.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-huckster" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Huckster</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>He has a hump like an ape on his back;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He has of money a plentiful lack;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And but for a gay coat of double his girth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There is not a plainer thing on the earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">This fine May morning.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But the huckster has a bottle of beer;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He drives a cart and his wife sits near</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who does not heed his lack or his hump;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And they laugh as down the lane they bump</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">This fine May morning.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="a-gentleman" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">A Gentleman</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“He has robbed two clubs. The judge at Salisbury</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Can’t give him more than he undoubtedly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Deserves. The scoundrel! Look at his photograph!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A lady-killer! Hanging’s too good by half</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For such as he.” So said the stranger, one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With crimes yet undiscovered or undone.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But at the inn the Gipsy dame began:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Now he was what I call a gentleman.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He went along with Carrie, and when she</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had a baby he paid up so readily</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His half a crown. Just like him. A crown’d have been</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More like him. For I never knew him mean.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Oh! but he was such a nice gentleman. Oh!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Last time we met he said if me and Joe</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was anywhere near we must be sure and call.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He put his arms around our Amos all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if he were his own son. I pray God</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Save him from justice! Nicer man never trod.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-bridge" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Bridge</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I have come a long way to-day:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On a strange bridge alone,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Remembering friends, old friends,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I rest, without smile or moan,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As they remember me without smile or moan.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>All are behind, the kind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the unkind too, no more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To-night than a dream. The stream</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Runs softly yet drowns the Past,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The dark-lit stream has drowned the Future and the Past.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>No traveller has rest more blest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than this moment brief between</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Two lives, when the Night’s first lights</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And shades hide what has never been,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Things goodlier, lovelier, dearer, than will be or have been.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="lob" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Lob</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>At hawthorn-time in Wiltshire travelling</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In search of something chance would never bring,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>An old man’s face, by life and weather cut</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And coloured—rough, brown, sweet as any nut—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A land face, sea-blue-eyed—hung in my mind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When I had left him many a mile behind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All he said was: “Nobody can’t stop ’ee. It’s</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A footpath, right enough. You see those bits</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of mounds—that’s where they opened up the barrows</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sixty years since, while I was scaring sparrows.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They thought as there was something to find there,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But couldn’t find it, by digging, anywhere.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To turn back then and seek him, where was the use?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There were three Manningfords—Abbots, Bohun, and Bruce:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And whether Alton, not Manningford, it was,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My memory could not decide, because</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There was both Alton Barnes and Alton Priors.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All had their churches, graveyards, farms, and byres,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lurking to one side up the paths and lanes,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Seldom well seen except by aeroplanes;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And when bells rang, or pigs squealed, or cocks crowed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then only heard. Ages ago the road</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Approached. The people stood and looked and turned,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor asked it to come nearer, nor yet learned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To move out there and dwell in all men’s dust.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And yet withal they shot the weathercock, just</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because ’twas he crowed out of tune, they said:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So now the copper weathercock is dead.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If they had reaped their dandelions and sold</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Them fairly, they could have afforded gold.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Many years passed, and I went back again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Among those villages, and looked for men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who might have known my ancient. He himself</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had long been dead or laid upon the shelf,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I thought. One man I asked about him roared</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At my description: “ ’Tis old Bottlesford</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He means, Bill.” But another said: “Of course,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It was Jack Button up at the White Horse.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He’s dead, sir, these three years.” This lasted till</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A girl proposed Walker of Walker’s Hill,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Old Adam Walker. Adam’s Point you’ll see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Marked on the maps.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">“That was her roguery,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The next man said. He was a squire’s son</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who loved wild bird and beast, and dog and gun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For killing them. He had loved them from his birth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One with another, as he loved the earth.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“The man may be like Button, or Walker, or</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like Bottlesford, that you want, but far more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He sounds like one I saw when I was a child.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could almost swear to him. The man was wild</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And wandered. His home was where he was free.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Everybody has met one such man as he.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Does he keep clear old paths that no one uses</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But once a life-time when he loves or muses?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He is English as this gate, these flowers, this mire.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And when at eight years old Lob-lie-by-the-fire</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Came in my books, this was the man I saw.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He has been in England as long as dove and daw,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Calling the wild cherry tree the merry tree,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The rose campion Bridget-in-her-bravery;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And in a tender mood he, as I guess,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Christened one flower Love-in-idleness,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And while he walked from Exeter to Leeds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One April called all cuckoo-flowers Milkmaids.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From him old herbal Gerard learnt, as a boy,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To name wild clematis the Traveller’s-joy.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Our blackbirds sang no English till his ear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Told him they called his Jan Toy ‘Pretty dear.’</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>(She was Jan Toy the Lucky, who, having lost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A shilling, and found a penny loaf, rejoiced.)</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For reasons of his own to him the wren</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is Jenny Pooter. Before all other men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twas he first called the Hog’s Back the Hog’s Back.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That Mother Dunch’s Buttocks should not lack</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their name was his care. He too could explain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Totteridge and Totterdown and Juggler’s Lane:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He knows, if anyone. Why Tumbling Bay,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Inland in Kent, is called so, he might say.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“But little he says compared with what he does.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If ever a sage troubles him he will buzz</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a beehive to conclude the tedious fray:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the sage, who knows all languages, runs away.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet Lob has thirteen hundred names for a fool,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And though he never could spare time for school</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To unteach what the fox so well expressed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On biting the cock’s head off—Quietness is best—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He can talk quite as well as anyone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>After his thinking is forgot and done.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He first of all told someone else’s wife,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For a farthing she’d skin a flint and spoil a knife</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Worth sixpence skinning it. She heard him speak:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>‘She had a face as long as a wet week’</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Said he, telling the tale in after years.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With blue smock and with gold rings in his ears,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sometimes he is a pedlar, not too poor</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To keep his wit. This is tall Tom that bore</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The logs in, and with Shakespeare in the hall</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once talked, when icicles hung by the wall.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As Herne the Hunter he has known hard times.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On sleepless nights he made up weather rhymes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Which others spoilt. And, Hob being then his name,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He kept the hog that thought the butcher came</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To bring his breakfast. ‘You thought wrong,’ said Hob.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When there were kings in Kent this very Lob,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whose sheep grew fat and he himself grew merry,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wedded the king’s daughter of Canterbury;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For he alone, unlike squire, lord, and king,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Watched a night by her without slumbering;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He kept both waking. When he was but a lad</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He won a rich man’s heiress, deaf, dumb, and sad,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By rousing her to laugh at him. He carried</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His donkey on his back. So they were married.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And while he was a little cobbler’s boy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He tricked the giant coming to destroy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shrewsbury by flood. ‘And how far is it yet?’</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The giant asked in passing. ‘I forget;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But see these shoes I’ve worn out on the road</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And we’re not there yet.’ He emptied out his load</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of shoes for mending. The giant let fall from his spade</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The earth for damming Severn, and thus made</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The Wrekin hill; and little Ercall hill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rose where the giant scraped his boots. While still</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So young, our Jack was chief of Gotham’s sages.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But long before he could have been wise, ages</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Earlier than this, while he grew thick and strong</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And ate his bacon, or, at times, sang a song</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And merely smelt it, as Jack the giant-killer</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He made a name. He too ground up the miller,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The Yorkshireman who ground men’s bones for flour.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“Do you believe Jack dead before his hour?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or that his name is Walker, or Bottlesford,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or Button, a mere clown, or squire, or lord?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The man you saw—Lob-lie-by-the-fire, Jack Cade,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Jack Smith, Jack Moon, poor Jack of every trade,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Young Jack, or old Jack, or Jack What-d’ye-call,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Jack-in-the-hedge, or Robin-run-by-the-wall,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Robin Hood, Ragged Robin, lazy Bob,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One of the lords of No Man’s Land, good Lob—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Although he was seen dying at Waterloo,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hastings, Agincourt, and Sedgemoor too—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lives yet. He never will admit he is dead</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till millers cease to grind men’s bones for bread,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not till our weathercock crows once again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I remove my house out of the lane</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On to the road.” With this he disappeared</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In hazel and thorn tangled with old-man’s-beard.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But one glimpse of his back, as there he stood,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Choosing his way, proved him of old Jack’s blood,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Young Jack perhaps, and now a Wiltshireman</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As he has oft been since his days began.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="bright-clouds" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Bright Clouds</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Bright clouds of may</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shade half the pond.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beyond,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All but one bay</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of emerald</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Tall reeds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like criss-cross bayonets</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where a bird once called,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lies bright as the sun.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No one heeds.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The light wind frets</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And drifts the scum</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of may-blossom.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till the moorhen calls</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Naught’s to be done</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By birds or men.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still the may falls.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-clouds-that-are-so-light" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Clouds That Are So Light</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The clouds that are so light,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beautiful, swift and bright,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cast shadows on field and park</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the earth that is so dark,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And even so now, light one!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beautiful, swift and bright one!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>You let fall on a heart that was dark,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unillumined, a deeper mark.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But clouds would have, without earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To shadow, far less worth:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Away from your shadow on me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Your beauty less would be,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And if it still be treasured</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>An age hence, it shall be measured</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By this small dark spot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without which it were not.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="some-eyes-condemn" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Some Eyes Condemn</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Some eyes condemn the earth they gaze upon:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some wait patiently till they know far more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than earth can tell them: some laugh at the whole</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As folly of another’s making: one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I knew that laughed because he saw, from core</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To rind, not one thing worth the laugh his soul</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had ready at waking: some eyes have begun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With laughing; some stand startled at the door.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Others, too, I have seen rest, question, roll,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dance, shoot. And many I have loved watching. Some</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could not take my eyes from till they turned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And loving died. I had not found my goal.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But thinking of your eyes, dear, I become</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dumb: for they flamed, and it was me they burned.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="may-23" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">May 23</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There never was a finer day,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And never will be while May is May—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The third, and not the last of its kind;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But though fair and clear the two behind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Seemed pursued by tempests overpast;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the morrow with fear that it could not last</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was spoiled. To-day ere the stones were warm</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Five minutes of thunderstorm</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dashed it with rain, as if to secure,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By one tear, its beauty the luck to endure.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>At mid-day then along the lane</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Old Jack Noman appeared again,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Jaunty and old, crooked and tall,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And stopped and grinned at me over the wall,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With a cowslip bunch in his button-hole</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And one in his cap. Who could say if his roll</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Came from flints in the road, the weather, or ale?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He was welcome as the nightingale.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not an hour of the sun had been wasted on Jack.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I’ve got my Indian complexion back”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Said he. He was tanned like a harvester,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like his short clay pipe, like the leaf and burr</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That clung to his coat from last night’s bed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like the ploughland crumbling red.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fairer flowers were none on the earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than his cowslips wet with the dew of their birth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or fresher leaves than the cress in his basket.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Where did they come from, Jack?” “Don’t ask it,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And you’ll be told no lies.” “Very well:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then I can’t buy.” “I don’t want to sell.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Take them and these flowers, too, free.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Perhaps you have something to give me?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wait till next time. The better the day …</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The Lord couldn’t make a better, I say;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If he could, he never has done.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So off went Jack with his roll-walk-run,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Leaving his cresses from Oakshott rill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And his cowslips from Wheatham hill.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>’Twas the first day that the midges bit;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But though they bit me, I was glad of it:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the dust in my face, too, I was glad.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Spring could do nothing to make me sad.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bluebells hid all the ruts in the copse.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The elm seeds lay in the road like hops,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That fine day, May the twenty-third,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The day Jack Noman disappeared.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-glory" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Glory</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The glory of the beauty of the morning—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The blackbird that has found it, and the dove</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That tempts me on to something sweeter than love;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>White clouds ranged even and fair as new-mown hay;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The heat, the stir, the sublime vacancy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of sky and meadow and forest and my own heart:—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The glory invites me, yet it leaves me scorning</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All I can ever do, all I can be,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beside the lovely of motion, shape, and hue,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The happiness I fancy fit to dwell</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In beauty’s presence. Shall I now this day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Begin to seek as far as heaven, as hell,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wisdom or strength to match this beauty, start</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And tread the pale dust pitted with small dark drops,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In hope to find whatever it is I seek,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hearkening to short-lived happy-seeming things</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That we know naught of, in the hazel copse?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or must I be content with discontent</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As larks and swallows are perhaps with wings?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And shall I ask at the day’s end once more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What beauty is, and what I can have meant</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By happiness? And shall I let all go,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Glad, weary, or both? Or shall I perhaps know</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I was happy oft and oft before,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Awhile forgetting how I am fast pent,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>How dreary-swift, with naught to travel to,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is Time? I cannot bite the day to the core.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="melancholy" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Melancholy</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The rain and wind, the rain and wind, raved endlessly.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On me the Summer storm, and fever, and melancholy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wrought magic, so that if I feared the solitude</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far more I feared all company: too sharp, too rude,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had been the wisest or the dearest human voice.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What I desired I knew not, but whate’er my choice</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Vain it must be, I knew. Yet naught did my despair</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But sweeten the strange sweetness, while through the wild air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All day long I heard a distant cuckoo calling</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, soft as dulcimers, sounds of near water falling,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, softer, and remote as if in history,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rumours of what had touched my friends, my foes, or me.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="adelstrop" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Adlestrop</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Yes. I remember Adlestrop—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The name, because one afternoon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of heat the express-train drew up there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unwontedly. It was late June.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No one left and no one came</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the bare platform. What I saw</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was Adlestrop—only the name</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And willows, willow-herb, and grass,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No whit less still and lonely fair</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than the high cloudlets in the sky.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And for that minute a blackbird sang</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Close by, and round him, mistier,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Farther and farther, all the birds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-green-roads" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Green Roads</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The green roads that end in the forest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are strewn with white goose feathers this June,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Like marks left behind by some one gone to the forest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To show his track. But he has never come back.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Down each green road a cottage looks at the forest.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Round one the nettle towers; two are bathed in flowers.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>An old man along the green road to the forest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Strays from one, from another a child alone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In the thicket bordering the forest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All day long a thrush twiddles his song.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It is old, but the trees are young in the forest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All but one like a castle keep, in the middle deep.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>That oak saw the ages pass in the forest:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They were a host, but their memories are lost,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For the tree is dead: all things forget the forest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Excepting perhaps me, when now I see</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The old man, the child, the goose feathers at the edge of the forest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And hear all day long the thrush repeat his song.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-mill-pond" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Mill-Pond</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The sun blazed while the thunder yet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Added a boom:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A wagtail flickered bright over</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The mill-pond’s gloom:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Less than the cooing in the alder</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Isles of the pool</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sounded the thunder through that plunge</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of waters cool.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Scared starlings on the aspen tip</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Past the black mill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Outchattered the stream and the next roar</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far on the hill.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>As my feet dangling teased the foam</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That slid below</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A girl came out. “Take care!” she said—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ages ago.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She startled me, standing quite close</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dressed all in white:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ages ago I was angry till</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She passed from sight.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Then the storm burst, and as I crouched</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To shelter, how</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beautiful and kind, too, she seemed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As she does now!</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="it-was-upon" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">It Was Upon</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It was upon a July evening.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At a stile I stood, looking along a path</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over the country by a second Spring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Drenched perfect green again. “The lattermath</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will be a fine one.” So the stranger said,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A wandering man. Albeit I stood at rest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Flushed with desire I was. The earth outspread,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like meadows of the future, I possessed.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And as an unaccomplished prophecy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The stranger’s words, after the interval</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of a score years, when those fields are by me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never to be recrossed, now I recall,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This July eve, and question, wondering,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What of the lattermath to this hoar Spring?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="tall-nettles" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Tall Nettles</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Tall nettles cover up, as they have done</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>These many springs, the rusty harrow, the plough</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Long worn out, and the roller made of stone:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only the elm butt tops the nettles now.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This corner of the farmyard I like most:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As well as any bloom upon a flower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I like the dust on the nettles, never lost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except to prove the sweetness of a shower.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="haymaking" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Haymaking</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>After night’s thunder far away had rolled</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The fiery day had a kernel sweet of cold,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And in the perfect blue the clouds uncurled,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like the first gods before they made the world</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And misery, swimming the stormless sea</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In beauty and in divine gaiety.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The smooth white empty road was lightly strewn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With leaves—the holly’s Autumn falls in June—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And fir cones standing stiff up in the heat.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The mill-foot water tumbled white and lit</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With tossing crystals, happier than any crowd</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of children pouring out of school aloud.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And in the little thickets where a sleeper</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For ever might lie lost, the nettle-creeper</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And garden warbler sang unceasingly;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While over them shrill shrieked in his fierce glee</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The swift with wings and tail as sharp and narrow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if the bow had flown off with the arrow.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only the scent of woodbine and hay new-mown</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Travelled the road. In the field sloping down,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Park-like, to where its willows showed the brook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Haymakers rested. The tosser lay forsook</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out in the sun; and the long wagon stood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without its team, it seemed it never would</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Move from the shadow of that single yew.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The team, as still, until their task was due,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beside the labourers enjoyed the shade</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That three squat oaks mid-field together made</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Upon a circle of grass and weed uncut,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And on the hollow, once a chalk-pit, but</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now brimmed with nut and elder-flower so clean.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The men leaned on their rakes, about to begin,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But still. And all were silent. All was old,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This morning time, with a great age untold,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Older than Clare and Cobbett, Morland and Crome,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than, at the field’s far edge, the farmer’s home,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A white house crouched at the foot of a great tree.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under the heavens that know not what years be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The men, the beasts, the trees, the implements</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Uttered even what they will in times far hence—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All of us gone out of the reach of change—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Immortal in a picture of an old grange.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="how-at-once" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">How at Once</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>How at once should I know,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When stretched in the harvest blue</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I saw the swift’s black bow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I would not have that view</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until next May</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again it is due?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The same year after year—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But with the swift alone.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With other things I but fear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That they will be over and done</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Suddenly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I only see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Them to know them gone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="gone-gone-again" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Gone, Gone Again</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Gone, gone again,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>May, June, July,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And August gone,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again gone by,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Not memorable</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Save that I saw them go,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As past the empty quays</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The rivers flow.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And now again,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the harvest rain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The Blenheim oranges</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fall grubby from the trees,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>As when I was young—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And when the lost one was here—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And when the war began</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To turn young men to dung.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Look at the old house,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Outmoded, dignified,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dark and untenanted,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With grass growing instead</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Of the footsteps of life,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The friendliness, the strife;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In its beds have lain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Youth, love, age and pain:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I am something like that;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only I am not dead,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still breathing and interested</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the house that is not dark:—</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I am something like that:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not one pane to reflect the sun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For the schoolboys to throw at—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They have broken every one.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-sun-used-to-shine" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Sun Used to Shine</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The sun used to shine while we two walked</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Slowly together, paused and started</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again, and sometimes mused, sometimes talked</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As either pleased, and cheerfully parted</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Each night. We never disagreed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Which gate to rest on. The to be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the late past we gave small heed.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We turned from men or poetry</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To rumours of the war remote</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only till both stood disinclined</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For aught but the yellow flavorous coat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of an apple wasps had undermined;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Or a sentry of dark betonies,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The stateliest of small flowers on earth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the forest verge; or crocuses</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Pale purple as if they had their birth</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In sunless Hades fields. The war</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Came back to mind with the moonrise</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Which soldiers in the east afar</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beheld then. Nevertheless, our eyes</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Could as well imagine the Crusades</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or Caesar’s battles. Everything</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To faintness like those rumours fades—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like the brook’s water glittering</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Under the moonlight—like those walks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now—like us two that took them, and</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The fallen apples, all the talks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And silences—like memory’s sand</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When the tide covers it late or soon,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And other men through other flowers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In those fields under the same moon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Go talking and have easy hours.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="october" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">October</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The green elm with the one great bough of gold</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lets leaves into the grass slip, one by one—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The short hill grass, the mushrooms small milk-white,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Harebell and scabious and tormentil,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That blackberry and gorse, in dew and sun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bow down to; and the wind travels too light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To shake the fallen birch leaves from the fern;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The gossamers wander at their own will.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At heavier steps than birds’ the squirrels scold.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The rich scene has grown fresh again and new</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As Spring and to the touch is not more cool</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than it is warm to the gaze; and now I might</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As happy be as earth is beautiful,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were I some other or with earth could turn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In alternation of violet and rose,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Harebell and snowdrop, at their season due,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And gorse that has no time not to be gay.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But if this be not happiness—who knows?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some day I shall think this a happy day,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And this mood by the name of melancholy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shall no more blackened and obscured be.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-long-small-room" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Long Small Room</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The long small room that showed willows in the west</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Narrowed up to the end the fireplace filled,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Although not wide. I liked it. No one guessed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What need or accident made them so build.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Only the moon, the mouse and the sparrow peeped</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In from the ivy round the casement thick.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of all they saw and heard there they shall keep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The tale for the old ivy and older brick.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When I look back I am like moon, sparrow and mouse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That witnessed what they could never understand</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or alter or prevent in the dark house.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One thing remains the same—this my right hand</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Crawling crab-like over the clean white page,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Resting awhile each morning on the pillow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then once more starting to crawl on towards age.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The hundred last leaves stream upon the willow.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="liberty" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Liberty</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The last light has gone out of the world, except</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This moonlight lying on the grass like frost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beyond the brink of the tall elm’s shadow.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It is as if everything else had slept</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Many an age, unforgotten and lost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The men that were, the things done, long ago,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All I have thought; and but the moon and I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Live yet and here stand idle over the grave</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where all is buried. Both have liberty</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To dream what we could do if we were free</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To do some thing we had desired long,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The moon and I. There’s none less free than who</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Does nothing and has nothing else to do,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Being free only for what is not to his mind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And nothing is to his mind. If every hour</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like this one passing that I have spent among</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The wiser others when I have forgot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To wonder whether I was free or not,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were piled before me, and not lost behind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I could take and carry them away</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I should be rich; or if I had the power</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To wipe out every one and not again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Regret, I should be rich to be so poor.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And yet I still am half in love with pain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With what is imperfect, with both tears and mirth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With things that have an end, with life and earth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And this moon that leaves me dark within the door.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="november" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">November</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>November’s days are thirty:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>November’s earth is dirty,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Those thirty days, from first to last;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the prettiest things on ground are the paths</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With morning and evening hobnails dinted,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With foot and wing-tip overprinted</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or separately charactered,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of little beast and little bird.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The fields are mashed by sheep, the roads</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Make the worst going, the best the woods</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where dead leaves upward and downward scatter.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Few care for the mixture of earth and water,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Twig, leaf, flint, thorn,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Straw, feather, all that men scorn,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Pounded up and sodden by flood,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Condemned as mud.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But of all the months when earth is greener</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not one has clean skies that are cleaner.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Clean and clear and sweet and cold,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They shine above the earth so old,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While the after-tempest cloud</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sails over in silence though winds are loud,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till the full moon in the east</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Looks at the planet in the west</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And earth is silent as it is black,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet not unhappy for its lack.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Up from the dirty earth men stare:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One imagines a refuge there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above the mud, in the pure bright</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the cloudless heavenly light:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another loves earth and November more dearly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because without them, he sees clearly,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sky would be nothing more to his eye</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than he, in any case, is to the sky;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He loves even the mud whose dyes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Renounce all brightness to the skies.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-sheiling" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Sheiling</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It stands alone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Up in a land of stone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All worn like ancient stairs,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A land of rocks and trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nourished on wind and stone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And all within</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Long delicate has been;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By arts and kindliness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Coloured, sweetened, and warmed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For many years has been.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Safe resting there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Men hear in the travelling air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But music, pictures see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the same daily land</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Painted by the wild air.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>One maker’s mind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Made both, and the house is kind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the land that gave it peace,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the stone has taken the house</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To its cold heart and is kind.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-gallows" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Gallows</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was a weasel lived in the sun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With all his family,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till a keeper shot him with his gun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And hung him up on a tree,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where he swings in the wind and rain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the sun and in the snow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without pleasure, without pain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the dead oak tree bough.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was a crow who was no sleeper,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But a thief and a murderer</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till a very late hour; and this keeper</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Made him one of the things that were,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To hang and flap in rain and wind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the sun and in the snow.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There are no more sins to be sinned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the dead oak tree bough.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was a magpie, too,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had a long tongue and a long tail;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He could both talk and do—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But what did that avail?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He, too, flaps in the wind and rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Alongside weasel and crow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without pleasure, without pain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the dead oak tree bough.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And many other beasts</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And birds, skin, bone and feather,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Have been taken from their feasts</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And hung up there together,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To swing and have endless leisure</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the sun and in the snow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Without pain, without pleasure,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the dead oak tree bough.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="birds-nests" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Birds’ Nests</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The summer nests uncovered by autumn wind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some torn, others dislodged, all dark.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Everyone sees them: low or high in tree,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or hedge, or single bush, they hang like a mark.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Since there’s no need of eyes to see them with</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I cannot help a little shame</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I missed most, even at eye’s level, till</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The leaves blew off and made the seeing no game.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>’Tis a light pang. I like to see the nests</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still in their places, now first known,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At home and by far roads. Boys knew them not,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whatever jays and squirrels may have done.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And most I like the winter nests deep-hid</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That leaves and berries fell into;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once a dormouse dined there on hazel-nuts,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And grass and goose-grass seeds found soil and grew.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="rain" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Rain</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Remembering again that I shall die</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For washing me cleaner than I have been</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Since I was born into this solitude.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Blessed are the dead that the rain rains upon:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But here I pray that none whom once I loved</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is dying to-night or lying still awake</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Solitary, listening to the rain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Either in pain or thus in sympathy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Helpless among the living and the dead,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a cold water among broken reeds,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Myriads of broken reeds all still and stiff,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like me who have no love which this wild rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has not dissolved except the love of death,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If love it be towards what is perfect and</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cannot, the tempest tells me, disappoint.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="home-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">“Home”</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Fair was the morning, fair our tempers, and</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We had seen nothing fairer than that land,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though strange, and the untrodden snow that made</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wild of the tame, casting out all that was</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not wild and rustic and old; and we were glad.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Fair, too, was afternoon, and first to pass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were we that league of snow, next the north wind</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was nothing to return for, except need,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And yet we sang nor ever stopped for speed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As we did often with the start behind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Faster still strode we when we came in sight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the cold roofs where we must spend the night.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Happy we had not been there, nor could be.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though we had tasted sleep and food and fellowship</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Together long.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">“How quick” to someone’s lip</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The words came, “will the beaten horse run home.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The word “home” raised a smile in us all three,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And one repeated it, smiling just so</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That all knew what he meant and none would say.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Between three counties far apart that lay</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We were divided and looked strangely each</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the other, and we knew we were not friends</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But fellows in a union that ends</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With the necessity for it, as it ought.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Never a word was spoken, not a thought</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was thought, of what the look meant with the word</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Home” as we walked and watched the sunset blurred.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And then to me the word, only the word,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Homesick,” as it were playfully occurred:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No more.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">If I should ever more admit</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than the mere word I could not endure it</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For a day longer: this captivity</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Must somehow come to an end, else I should be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another man, as often now I seem,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or this life be only an evil dream.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="theres-nothing-like-the-sun" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">There’s Nothing Like the Sun</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There’s nothing like the sun as the year dies,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Kind as it can be, this world being made so,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To stones and men and beasts and birds and flies,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To all things that it touches except snow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whether on mountain side or street of town.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The south wall warms me: November has begun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet never shone the sun as fair as now</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While the sweet last-left damsons from the bough</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With spangles of the morning’s storm drop down</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because the starling shakes it, whistling what</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once swallows sang. But I have not forgot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That there is nothing, too, like March’s sun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like April’s, or July’s, or June’s, or May’s,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or January’s, or February’s, great days:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And August, September, October, and December</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Have equal days, all different from November.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No day of any month but I have said—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or, if I could live long enough, should say—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“There’s nothing like the sun that shines to-day.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There’s nothing like the sun till we are dead.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="when-he-should-laugh" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">When He Should Laugh</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When he should laugh the wise man knows full well:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For he knows what is truly laughable.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But wiser is the man who laughs also,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or holds his laughter, when the foolish do.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="an-old-song-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">An Old Song</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The sun set, the wind fell, the sea</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was like a mirror shaking:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The one small wave that clapped the land</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A mile-long snake of foam was making</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where tide had smoothed and wind had dried</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The vacant sand.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A light divided the swollen clouds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And lay most perfectly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a straight narrow footbridge bright</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That crossed over the sea to me;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And no one else in the whole world</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Saw that same sight.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I walked elate, my bridge always</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Just one step from my feet:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A robin sang, a shade in shade:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And all I did was to repeat:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I’ll go no more a-roving</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With you, fair maid.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The sailors’ song of merry loving</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With dusk and sea-gull’s mewing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mixed sweet, the lewdness far outweighed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By the wild charm the chorus played:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I’ll go no more a-roving</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With you, fair maid:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A-roving, a-roving, since roving’s been my ruin,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’ll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In Amsterdam there dwelt a maid—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mark well what I do say—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In Amsterdam there dwelt a maid</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And she was a mistress of her trade:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’ll go no more a-roving</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With you, fair maid:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A-roving, a-roving, since roving’s been my ruin,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’ll go no more a-roving with you, fair maid.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-penny-whistle" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Penny Whistle</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The new moon hangs like an ivory bugle</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the naked frosty blue;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the ghylls of the forest, already blackened</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By Winter, are blackened anew.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The brooks that cut up and increase the forest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if they had never known</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sun, are roaring with black hollow voices</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Betwixt rage and a moan.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But still the caravan-hut by the hollies</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a kingfisher gleams between:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Round the mossed old hearths of the charcoal-burners</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>First primroses ask to be seen.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The charcoal-burners are black, but their linen</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Blows white on the line;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And white the letter the girl is reading</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under that crescent fine;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And her brother who hides apart in a thicket,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Slowly and surely playing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On a whistle an olden nursery melody,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Says far more than I am saying.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="lights-out" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Lights Out</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I have come to the borders of sleep,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The unfathomable deep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Forest where all must lose</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their way, however straight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or winding, soon or late;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They cannot choose.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Many a road and track</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That, since the dawn’s first crack,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Up to the forest brink,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Deceived the travellers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Suddenly now blurs,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And in they sink.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Here love ends,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Despair, ambition ends,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All pleasure and all trouble,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Although most sweet or bitter,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Here ends in sleep that is sweeter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than tasks most noble.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There is not any book</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or face of dearest look</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I would not turn from now</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To go into the unknown</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I must enter and leave alone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I know not how.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The tall forest towers;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its cloudy foliage lowers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ahead, shelf above shelf;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its silence I hear and obey</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I may lose my way</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And myself.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="cock-crow" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Cock-Crow</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Out of the wood of thoughts that grows by night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To be cut down by the sharp axe of light—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out of the night, two cocks together crow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cleaving the darkness with a silver blow:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And bright before my eyes twin trumpeters stand,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Heralds of splendour, one at either hand,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Each facing each as in a coat of arms:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The milkers lace their boots up at the farms.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="words" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Words</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Out of us all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That make rhymes,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will you choose</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sometimes—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As the winds use</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A crack in a wall</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or a drain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their joy or their pain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To whistle through—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Choose me,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>You English words?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I know you:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>You are light as dreams,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Tough as oak,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Precious as gold,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As poppies and corn,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or an old cloak:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sweet as our birds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the ear,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As the burnet rose</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In the heat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of Midsummer:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Strange as the races</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of dead and unborn:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Strange and sweet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Equally,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And familiar,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the eye,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As the dearest faces</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That a man knows,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And as lost homes are:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But though older far</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than oldest yew—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As our hills are, old—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Worn new</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again and again:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Young as our streams</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>After rain:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And as dear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As the earth which you prove</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That we love.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Make me content</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With some sweetness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From Wales</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whose nightingales</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Have no wings—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From Wiltshire and Kent</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And Herefordshire,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the villages there—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From the names, and the things</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No less.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Let me sometimes dance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With you,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or climb</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or stand perchance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In ecstasy,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fixed and free</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In a rhyme,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As poets do.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="up-in-the-wind" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Words</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“I could wring the old thing’s neck that put it there!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A public-house! It may be public for birds,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Squirrels and suchlike, ghosts of charcoal-burners</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And highwaymen.” The wild girl laughed. “But I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hate it since I came back from Kennington.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I gave up a good place.” Her cockney accent</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Made her and the house seem wilder by calling up—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only to be subdued at once by wildness—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The idea of London, there in that forest parlour,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Low and small among those towering beeches</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the one bulging but that’s like a font.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Her eyes flashed up; she shook her hair away</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From eyes and mouth, as if to shriek again;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then sighed back to her scrubbing. While I drank</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I might have mused of coaches and highwaymen,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Charcoal-burners and life that loves the wild.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For who now used these roads except myself,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A market wagon every other Wednesday,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A solitary tramp, some very fresh one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ignorant of these eleven houseless miles,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A motorist from a distance slowing down</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To taste whatever luxury he can</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In having North Downs clear behind, South clear before,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And being midway between two railway lines</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far out of sight or sound of them? There are</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some houses—down the by-lanes; and a few</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are visible—when their damsons are in bloom.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But the land is wild, and there’s a spirit of wildness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Much older, crying when the stone-curlew yodels</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His sea and mountain cry, high up in Spring.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He nests in fields where still the gorse is free as</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When all was open and common. Common ’tis named</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And calls itself, because the bracken and gorse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still hold the hedge where plough and scythe have chased them.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once on a time ’tis plain that The White Horse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Stood merely on the border of a waste</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where horse or cart picked its own course afresh.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On all sides then, as now, paths ran to the inn;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And now a farm-track takes you from a gate.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Two roads cross, and not a house in sight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except The White Horse in this clump of beeches.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It hides from either road, a field’s breadth back;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And it’s the trees you see, and not the house,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Both near and far, when the clump’s the highest thing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And homely, too, upon a far horizon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To one who knows there is an inn within.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“ ’Twould have been different,” the wild girl shrieked, “suppose</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That widow had married another blacksmith and</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Kept on the business. This parlour was the smithy.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If she had done, there might never have been an inn:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I, in that case, might never have been born.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Years ago, when this was all a wood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the smith had charcoal-burners for company,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A man from a beech-country in the shires</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Came with an engine and a little boy</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>(To feed the engine) to cut up timber here.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It all happened years ago. The smith</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had died, his widow had set up an alehouse—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could wring the old thing’s neck for thinking of it.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Well, I suppose they fell in love, the widow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And my great-uncle that sawed up the timber:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Leastways they married. The little boy stayed on.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He was my father.” She thought she’d scrub again—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I draw the ale, and he grows fat,” she muttered—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But only studied the hollows in the bricks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And chose among her thoughts in stirring silence.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The clock ticked, and the big saucepan lid</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Heaved as the cabbage bubbled, and the girl</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Questioned the fire and spoke: “My father, he</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Took to the land. A mile of it is worth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A guinea; for by that time all the trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except those few about the house were gone:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That’s all that’s left of the forest unless you count</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The bottoms of the charcoal-burners’ fires—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We plough one up at times. Did you ever see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Our signboard?” No. The post and empty frame</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I knew. Without them I could not have guessed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The low grey house and its one stack under trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was a public-house and not a hermitage.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“But can that empty frame be any use?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now I should like to see a good white horse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Swing there, a really beautiful white horse,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Galloping one side, being painted on the other.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“But would you like to hear it swing all night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And all day? All I ever had to thank</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The wind for was for blowing the sign down.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Time after time it blew down and I could sleep.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At last they fixed it, and it took a thief</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To move it, and we’ve never had another:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It’s lying at the bottom of our pond.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But no one’s moved the wood from off the hill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There at the back, although it makes a noise</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When the wind blows, as if a train was running</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The other side, a train that never stops</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or ends. And the linen crackles on the line</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a wood fire rising.” “But if you had the sign</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>You might draw company. What about Kennington?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She bent down to her scrubbing with “Not me.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not back to Kennington. Here I was born,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I’ve a notion on these windy nights</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Here I shall die. Perhaps I want to die here.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I reckon I shall stay. But I do wish</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The road was nearer and the wind farther off,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or once now and then quite still, though when I die</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’d have it blowing that I might go with it</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Somewhere distant, where there are trees no more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I could wake and not know where I was</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor even wonder if they would roar again.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Look at those calves.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">Between the open door</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the trees two calves were wading in the pond,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Grazing the water here and there and thinking,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sipping and thinking, both happily, neither long.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The water wrinkled, but they sipped and thought,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As careless of the wind as it of us.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Look at those calves. Hark at the trees again.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="i-never-saw-that-land-before" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">I Never Saw That Land Before</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I never saw that land before,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And now can never see it again;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet, as if by acquaintance hoar</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Endeared, by gladness and by pain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Great was the affection that I bore</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To the valley and the river small,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The cattle, the grass, the bare ash trees,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The chickens from the farmsteads, all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Elm-hidden, and the tributaries</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Descending at equal interval;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The blackthorns down along the brook</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With wounds yellow as crocuses</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where yesterday the labourer’s hook</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had sliced them cleanly; and the breeze</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That hinted all and nothing spoke.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I neither expected anything</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor yet remembered: but some goal</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I touched then; and if I could sing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What would not even whisper my soul</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As I went on my journeying,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I should use, as the trees and birds did,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A language not to be betrayed;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And what was hid should still be hid</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Excepting from those like me made</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who answer when such whispers bid.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-dark-forest" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Dark Forest</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Dark is the forest and deep, and overhead</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hang stars like seeds of light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In vain, though not since they were sown was bred</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Anything more bright.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And evermore mighty multitudes ride</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>About, nor enter in;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the other multitudes that dwell inside</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never yet was one seen.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The forest foxglove is purple, the marguerite</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Outside is gold and white,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor can those that pluck either blossom greet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The others, day or night.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="celandine" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Celandine</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Thinking of her had saddened me at first,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until I saw the sun on the celandines lie</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Redoubled, and she stood up like a flame,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A living thing, not what before I nursed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The shadow I was growing to love almost,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The phantom, not the creature with bright eye</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I had thought never to see, once lost.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She found the celandines of February</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Always before us all. Her nature and name</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were like those flowers, and now immediately</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For a short swift eternity back she came,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beautiful, happy, simply as when she wore</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Her brightest bloom among the winter hues</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of all the world; and I was happy too,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Seeing the blossoms and the maiden who</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had seen them with me Februarys before,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bending to them as in and out she trod</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And laughed, with locks sweeping the mossy sod.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But this was a dream: the flowers were not true,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until I stooped to pluck from the grass there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One of five petals and I smelt the juice</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Which made me sigh, remembering she was no more,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Gone like a never perfectly recalled air.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-ash-grove" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Ash Grove</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Half of the grove stood dead, and those that yet lived made</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Little more than the dead ones made of shade.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If they led to a house, long before they had seen its fall:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But they welcomed me; I was glad without cause and delayed.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Scarce a hundred paces under the trees was the Interval—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Paces each sweeter than sweetest miles—but nothing at all,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not even the spirits of memory and fear with restless wing,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Could climb down in to molest me over the wall</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>That I passed through at either end without noticing.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And now an ash grove far from those hills can bring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The same tranquillity in which I wander a ghost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With a ghostly gladness, as if I heard a girl sing</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The song of the Ash Grove soft as love uncrossed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And then in a crowd or in distance it were lost,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But the moment unveiled something unwilling to die</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I had what most I desired, without search or desert or cost.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="old-man" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Old Man</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Old Man, or Lad’s-love—in the name there’s nothing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To one that knows not Lad’s-love, or Old Man,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The hoar-green feathery herb, almost a tree,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Growing with rosemary and lavender.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Even to one that knows it well, the names</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Half decorate, half perplex, the thing it is:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At least, what that is clings not to the names</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In spite of time. And yet I like the names.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The herb itself I like not, but for certain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I love it, as some day the child will love it</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who plucks a feather from the door-side bush</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whenever she goes in or out of the house.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Often she waits there, snipping the tips and shrivelling</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The shreds at last on to the path, perhaps</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Thinking, perhaps of nothing, till she sniffs</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Her fingers and runs off. The bush is still</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But half as tall as she, though it is as old;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So well she clips it. Not a word she says;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I can only wonder how much hereafter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She will remember, with that bitter scent,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of garden rows, and ancient damson-trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Topping a hedge, a bent path to a door,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A low thick bush beside the door, and me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Forbidding her to pick.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">As for myself,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where first I met the bitter scent is lost.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I, too, often shrivel the grey shreds,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sniff them and think and sniff again and try</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once more to think what it is I am remembering,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Always in vain. I cannot like the scent,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet I would rather give up others more sweet,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With no meaning, than this bitter one.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I have mislaid the key. I sniff the spray</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And think of nothing; I see and I hear nothing;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet seem, too, to be listening, lying in wait</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For what I should, yet never can, remember:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No garden appears, no path, no hoar-green bush</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of Lad’s-love, or Old Man, no child beside,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Neither father nor mother, nor any playmate;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only an avenue, dark, nameless, without end.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-thrush" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Thrush</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When Winter’s ahead,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What can you read in November</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That you read in April</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When Winter’s dead?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I hear the thrush, and I see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Him alone at the end of the lane</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Near the bare poplar’s tip,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Singing continuously.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Is it more that you know</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than that, even as in April,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So in November,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Winter is gone that must go?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Or is all your lore</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not to call November November,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And April April,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And Winter Winter—no more?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But I know the months all,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And their sweet names, April,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>May and June and October,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As you call and call</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I must remember</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What died into April</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And consider what will be born</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of a fair November;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And April I love for what</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It was born of, and November</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For what it will die in,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What they are and what they are not,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>While you love what is kind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What you can sing in</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And love and forget in</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All that’s ahead and behind.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="i-built-myself-a-house-of-glass" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">I Built Myself a House of Glass</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I built myself a house of glass:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It took me years to make it:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I was proud. But now, alas,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would God someone would break it.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But it looks too magnificent.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No neighbour casts a stone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From where he dwells, in tenement</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or palace of glass, alone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="february-afternoon" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">February Afternoon</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Men heard this roar of parleying starlings, saw,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">A thousand years ago even as now,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Black rooks with white gulls following the plough</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So that the first are last until a caw</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Commands that last are first again—a law</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Which was of old when one, like me, dreamed how</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">A thousand years might dust lie on his brow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet thus would birds do between hedge and shaw.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Time swims before me, making as a day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">A thousand years, while the broad ploughland oak</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Roars mill-like and men strike and bear the stroke</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Of war as ever, audacious or resigned,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And God still sits aloft in the array</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">That we have wrought him, stone-deaf and stone-blind.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="digging-1" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Digging</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>What matter makes my spade for tears or mirth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Letting down two clay pipes into the earth?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The one I smoked, the other a soldier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of Blenheim, Ramillies, and Malplaquet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Perhaps. The dead man’s immortality</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lies represented lightly with my own,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A yard or two nearer the living air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than bones of ancients who, amazed to see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Almighty God erect the mastodon,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once laughed, or wept, in this same light of day.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="two-houses" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Two Houses</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Between a sunny bank and the sun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The farmhouse smiles</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the riverside plat:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No other one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So pleasant to look at</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And remember, for many miles,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So velvet-hushed and cool under the warm tiles.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Not far from the road it lies, yet caught</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far out of reach</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the road’s dust</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the dusty thought</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of passers-by, though each</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Stops, and turns, and must</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Look down at it like a wasp at the muslined peach.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But another house stood there long before:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And as if above graves</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still the turf heaves</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above its stones:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dark hangs the sycamore,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shadowing kennel and bones</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the black dog that shakes his chain and moans.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And when he barks, over the river</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Flashing fast,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dark echoes reply,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the hollow past</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Half yields the dead that never</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More than half hidden lie:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And out they creep and back again for ever.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-mill-water" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Mill-Water</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Only the sound remains</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the old mill;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Gone is the wheel;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the prone roof and walls the nettle reigns.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Water that toils no more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dangles white locks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, falling, mocks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The music of the mill-wheel’s busy roar.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Pretty to see, by day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its sound is naught</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Compared with thought</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And talk and noise of labour and of play.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Night makes the difference.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In calm moonlight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Gloom infinite,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sound comes surging in upon the sense:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Solitude, company—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When it is night—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Grief or delight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By it must haunted or concluded be.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Often the silentness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has but this one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Companion;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wherever one creeps in the other is:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Sometimes a thought is drowned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By it, sometimes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out of it climbs;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All thoughts begin or end upon this sound,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Only the idle foam</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of water falling</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Changelessly calling,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where once men had a work-place and a home.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="a-dream" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">A Dream</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Over known fields with an old friend in dream</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I walked, but came sudden to a strange stream.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its dark waters were bursting out most bright</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From a great mountain’s heart into the light.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They ran a short course under the sun, then back</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Into a pit they plunged, once more as black</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As at their birth; and I stood thinking there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>How white, had the day shone on them, they were,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Heaving and coiling. So by the roar and hiss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And by the mighty motion of the abyss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I was bemused, that I forgot my friend</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And neither saw nor sought him till the end,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When I awoke from waters unto men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Saying: “I shall be here some day again.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="sedge-warblers" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Sedge-Warblers</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This beauty made me dream there was a time</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Long past and irrecoverable, a clime</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where any brook so radiant racing clear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Through buttercup and kingcup bright as brass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But gentle, nourishing the meadow grass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That leans and scurries in the wind, would bear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another beauty, divine and feminine,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Child to the sun, a nymph whose soul unstained</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Could love all day, and never hate or tire,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A lover of mortal or immortal kin.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And yet, rid of this dream, ere I had drained</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Its poison, quieted was my desire</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So that I only looked into the water,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Clearer than any goddess or man’s daughter,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And hearkened while it combed the dark green hair</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And shook the millions of the blossoms white</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of water-crowfoot, and curdled to one sheet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The flowers fallen from the chestnuts in the park</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far off. And sedge-warblers, clinging so light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To willow twigs, sang longer than the lark,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Quick, shrill, or grating, a song to match the heat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the strong sun, nor less the water’s cool,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Gushing through narrows, swirling in the pool.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their song that lacks all words, all melody,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All sweetness almost, was dearer then to me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than sweetest voice that sings in tune sweet words.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This was the best of May—the small brown birds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wisely reiterating endlessly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What no man learnt yet, in or out of school.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="under-the-woods" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Under the Woods</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>When these old woods were young</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The thrushes’ ancestors</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As sweetly sung</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the old years.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was no garden here,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Apples nor mistletoe;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No children dear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ran to and fro.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>New then was this thatched cot,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But the keeper was old,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And he had not</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Much lead or gold.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Most silent beech and yew:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As he went round about</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The woods to view</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Seldom he shot.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But now that he is gone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out of most memories,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still lingers on,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A stoat of his,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But one, shrivelled and green,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And with no scent at all,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And barely seen</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On this shed wall.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="what-will-they-do" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">What Will They Do?</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>What will they do when I am gone? It is plain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That they will do without me as the rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Can do without the flowers and the grass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That profit by it and must perish without.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I have but seen them in the loud street pass;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I was naught to them. I turned about</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To see them disappearing carelessly.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But what if I in them as they in me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nourished what has great value and no price?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Almost I thought that rain thirsts for a draught</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Which only in the blossom’s chalice lies,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until that one turned back and lightly laughed.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="to-night" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">To-Night</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Harry, you know at night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The larks in Castle Alley</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sing from the attic’s height</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if the electric light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were the true sun above a summer valley:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whistle, don’t knock, to-night.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I shall come early, Kate:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And we in Castle Alley</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will sit close out of sight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Alone, and ask no light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of lamp or sun above a summer valley:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To-night I can stay late.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="a-cat" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">A Cat</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She had a name among the children;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But no one loved though someone owned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And had her kittens duly drowned.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In Spring, nevertheless, this cat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And birds of bright voice and plume and flight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I loathed and hated her for this;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One speckle on a thrush’s breast</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was worth a million such; and yet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She lived long, till God gave her rest.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-unknown" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Unknown</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She is most fair,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And when they see her pass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The poets’ ladies</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Look no more in the glass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But after her.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>On a bleak moor</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Running under the moon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She lures a poet,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once proud or happy, soon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far from his door.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Beside a train,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because they saw her go,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or failed to see her,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Travellers and watchers know</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another pain.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The simple lack</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of her is more to me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than others’ presence,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whether life splendid be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or utter black.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I have not seen,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I have no news of her;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I can tell only</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She is not here, but there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She might have been.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She is to be kissed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only perhaps by me;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She may be seeking</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Me and no other; she</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>May not exist.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="song" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Song</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>At poet’s tears,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sweeter than any smiles but hers,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She laughs; I sigh;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And yet I could not live if she should die.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And when in June</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once more the cuckoo spoils his tune,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She laughs at sighs;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And yet she says she loves me till she dies.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="she-dotes" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">She Dotes</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She dotes on what the wild birds say</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or hint or mock at, night and day—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Thrush, blackbird, all that sing in May,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">And songless plover,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hawk, heron, owl, and woodpecker.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They never say a word to her</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">About her lover.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>She laughs at them for childishness,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She cries at them for carelessness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who see her going loverless</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Yet sing and chatter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Just as when he was not a ghost,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor ever ask her what she has lost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Or what is the matter.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Yet she has fancied blackbirds hide</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A secret, and that thrushes chide</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because she thinks death can divide</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Her from her lover;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And she has slept, trying to translate</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The word the cuckoo cries to his mate</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Over and over.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="for-these" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">For These</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>An acre of land between the shore and the hills,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Upon a ledge that shows my kingdoms three,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The lovely visible earth and sky and sea,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where what the curlew needs not, the farmer tills:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A house that shall love me as I love it,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Well-hedged, and honoured by a few ash-trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That linnets, greenfinches, and goldfinches</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shall often visit and make love in and flit:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A garden I need never go beyond,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Broken but neat, whose sunflowers every one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are fit to be the sign of the Rising Sun:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A spring, a brook’s bend, or at least a pond:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For these I ask not, but, neither too late</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor yet too early, for what men call content,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And also that something may be sent</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To be contented with, I ask of fate.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="march-the-third" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">March the Third<a href="#note-1" id="noteref-1" epub:type="noteref">1</a></h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Here again (she said) is March the third</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And twelve hours singing for the bird</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twixt dawn and dusk, from half past six</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To half past six, never unheard.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>’Tis Sunday, and the church-bells end</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When the birds do. I think they blend</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now better than they will when passed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is this unnamed, unmarked godsend.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Or do all mark, and none dares say,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>How it may shift and long delay,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Somewhere before the first of Spring,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But never fails, this singing day?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And when it falls on Sunday, bells</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are a wild natural voice that dwells</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On hillsides; but the birds’ songs have</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The holiness gone from the bells.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This day unpromised is more dear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than all the named days of the year</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When seasonable sweets come in,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because we know how lucky we are.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-new-house" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The New House</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Now first, as I shut the door,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">I was alone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the new house; and the wind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Began to moan.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Old at once was the house,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">And I was old;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My ears were teased with the dread</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Of what was foretold,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Nights of storm, days of mist, without end;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Sad days when the sun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Shone in vain: old griefs and griefs</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Not yet begun.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>All was foretold me; naught</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">Could I foresee;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But I learned how the wind would sound</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">After these things should be.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="march" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">March</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Now I know that Spring will come again,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Perhaps to-morrow: however late I’ve patience</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>After this night following on such a day.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>While still my temples ached from the cold burning</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of hail and wind, and still the primroses</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Torn by the hail were covered up in it,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sun filled earth and heaven with a great light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And a tenderness, almost warmth, where the hail dripped,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if the mighty sun wept tears of joy.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But ’twas too late for warmth. The sunset piled</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mountains on mountains of snow and ice in the west:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Somewhere among their folds the wind was lost,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And yet ’twas cold, and though I knew that Spring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would come again, I knew it had not come,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That it was lost too in those mountains chill.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>What did the thrushes know? Rain, snow, sleet, hail,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had kept them quiet as the primroses.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They had but an hour to sing. On boughs they sang,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On gates, on ground; they sang while they changed perches</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And while they fought, if they remembered to fight:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So earnest were they to pack into that hour</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their unwilling hoard of song before the moon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Grew brighter than the clouds. Then ’twas no time</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For singing merely. So they could keep off silence</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And night, they cared not what they sang or screamed;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whether ’twas hoarse or sweet or fierce or soft;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And to me all was sweet: they could do no wrong.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Something they knew—I also, while they sang</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And after. Not till night had half its stars</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And never a cloud, was I aware of silence</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Stained with all that hour’s songs, a silence</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Saying that Spring returns, perhaps to-morrow.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-cuckoo" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Cuckoo</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>That’s the cuckoo, you say. I cannot hear it.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When last I heard it I cannot recall; but I know</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Too well the year when first I failed to hear it—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It was drowned by my man groaning out to his sheep “Ho! Ho!”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Ten times with an angry voice he shouted</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Ho! Ho!” but not in anger, for that was his way.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He died that Summer, and that is how I remember</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The cuckoo calling, the children listening, and me saying, “Nay.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And now, as you said, “There it is,” I was hearing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not the cuckoo at all, but my man’s “Ho! Ho!” instead.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I think that even if I could lose my deafness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The cuckoo’s note would be drowned by the voice of my dead.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="over-the-hills" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Over the Hills</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Often and often it came back again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To mind, the day I passed the horizon ridge</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To a new country, the path I had to find</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By half-gaps that were stiles once in the hedge,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The pack of scarlet clouds running across</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The harvest evening that seemed endless then</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And after, and the inn where all were kind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All were strangers. I did not know my loss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till one day twelve months later suddenly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I leaned upon my spade and saw it all,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though far beyond the sky-line. It became</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Almost a habit through the year for me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To lean and see it and think to do the same</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again for two days and a night. Recall</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was vain: no more could the restless brook</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ever turn back and climb the waterfall</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the lake that rests and stirs not in its nook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As in the hollow of the collar-bone</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under the mountain’s head of rush and stone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="home-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Home</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Often I had gone this way before:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But now it seemed I never could be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And never had been anywhere else;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twas home; one nationality</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We had, I and the birds that sang,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One memory.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>They welcomed me. I had come back</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That eve somehow from somewhere far:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The April mist, the chill, the calm,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Meant the same thing familiar</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And pleasant to us, and strange too,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet with no bar.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The thrush on the oaktop in the lane</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sang his last song, or last but one;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And as he ended, on the elm</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Another had but just begun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His last; they knew no more than I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The day was done.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Then past his dark white cottage front</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A labourer went along, his tread</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Slow, half with weariness, half with ease;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, through the silence, from his shed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sound of sawing rounded all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That silence said.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-hollow-wood" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Hollow Wood</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Out in the sun the goldfinch flits</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Along the thistle-tops, flits and twits</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above the hollow wood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where birds swim like fish—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fish that laugh and shriek—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To and fro, far below</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the pale hollow wood.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Lichen, ivy, and moss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Keep evergreen the trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That stand half-flayed and dying,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the dead trees on their knees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In dog’s-mercury and moss:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the bright twit of the goldfinch drops</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Down there as he flits on thistle-tops.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="wind-and-mist" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Wind and Mist</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>They met inside the gateway that gives the view,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A hollow land as vast as heaven. “It is</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A pleasant day, sir.” “A very pleasant day.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“And what a view here. If you like angled fields</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of grass and grain bounded by oak and thorn,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Here is a league. Had we with Germany</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To play upon this board it could not be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More dear than April has made it with a smile.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The fields beyond that league close in together</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And merge, even as our days into the past,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Into one wood that has a shining pane</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of water. Then the hills of the horizon—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That is how I should make hills had I to show</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One who would never see them what hills were like.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Yes. Sixty miles of South Downs at one glance.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sometimes a man feels proud at them, as if</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He had just created them with one mighty thought.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“That house, though modern, could not be better planned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For its position. I never liked a new</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>House better. Could you tell me who lives in it?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“No one.” “Ah—and I was peopling all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Those windows on the south with happy eyes,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The terrace under them with happy feet;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Girls—” “Sir, I know. I know. I have seen that house</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Through mist look lovely as a castle in Spain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And airier. I have thought: ‘ ’Twere happy there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To live.’ And I have laughed at that</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because I lived there then.” “Extraordinary.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Yes, with my furniture and family</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Still in it, I, knowing every nook of it</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And loving none, and in fact hating it.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Dear me! How could that be? But pardon me.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“No offence. Doubtless the house was not to blame,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But the eye watching from those windows saw,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Many a day, day after day, mist—mist</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like chaos surging back—and felt itself</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Alone in all the world, marooned alone.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We lived in clouds, on a cliff’s edge almost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>(You see), and if clouds went, the visible earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lay too far off beneath and like a cloud.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I did not know it was the earth I loved</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until I tried to live there in the clouds</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the earth turned to cloud.” “You had a garden</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of flint and clay, too.” “True; that was real enough.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The flint was the one crop that never failed.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The clay first broke my heart, and then my back;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the back heals not. There were other things</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Real, too. In that room at the gable a child</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was born while the wind chilled a summer dawn:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never looked grey mind on a greyer one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than when the child’s cry broke above the groans.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I hope they were both spared.” “They were. Oh yes!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But flint and clay and childbirth were too real</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For this cloud-castle. I had forgot the wind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Pray do not let me get on to the wind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>You would not understand about the wind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It is my subject, and compared with me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Those who have always lived on the firm ground</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are quite unreal in this matter of the wind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There were whole days and nights when the wind and I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Between us shared the world, and the wind ruled</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I obeyed it and forgot the mist.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My past and the past of the world were in the wind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now you may say that though you understand</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And feel for me, and so on, you yourself</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would find it different. You are all like that</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If once you stand here free from wind and mist:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I might as well be talking to wind and mist.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>You would believe the house-agent’s young man</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who gives no heed to anything I say.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Good morning. But one word. I want to admit</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I would try the house once more, if I could;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As I should like to try being young again.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-unknown-bird" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Unknown Bird</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If others sang; but others never sang</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the great beech-wood all that May and June.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No one saw him: I alone could hear him</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though many listened. Was it but four years</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ago? or five? He never came again.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Oftenest when I heard him I was alone,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor could I ever make another hear.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>La-la-la! he called, seeming far-off—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if the bird or I were in a dream.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet that he travelled through the trees and sometimes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Neared me, was plain, though somehow distant still</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He sounded. All the proof is—I told men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What I had heard.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">I never knew a voice,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Man, beast, or bird, better than this. I told</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The naturalists; but neither had they heard</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Anything like the notes that did so haunt me,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I had them clear by heart and have them still.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Four years, or five, have made no difference. Then</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As now that La-la-la! was bodiless sweet:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sad more than joyful it was, if I must say</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That it was one or other, but if sad</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twas sad only with joy too, too far off</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For me to taste it. But I cannot tell</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If truly never anything but fair</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The days were when he sang, as now they seem.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This surely I know, that I who listened then,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Happy sometimes, sometimes suffering</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A heavy body and a heavy heart,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now straightway, if I think of it, become</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Light as that bird wandering beyond my shore.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-lofty-sky" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Lofty Sky</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To-day I want the sky,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The tops of the high hills,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above the last man’s house,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His hedges, and his cows,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where, if I will, I look</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Down even on sheep and rook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And of all things that move</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>See buzzards only above:—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Past all trees, past furze</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And thorn, where nought deters</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The desire of the eye</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For sky, nothing but sky.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I sicken of the woods</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And all the multitudes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of hedge-trees. They are no more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than weeds upon this floor</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the river of air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Leagues deep, leagues wide, where</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I am like a fish that lives</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In weeds and mud and gives</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What’s above him no thought.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I might be a tench for aught</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I can do to-day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Down on the wealden clay.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Even the tench has days</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When he floats up and plays</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Among the lily leaves</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And sees the sky, or grieves</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not if he nothing sees:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While I, I know that trees</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under that lofty sky</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are weeds, fields mud, and I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Would arise and go far</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To where the lilies are.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="after-rain" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">After Rain</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The rain of a night and a day and a night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Stops at the light</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of this pale choked day. The peering sun</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sees what has been done.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The road under the trees has a border new</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of purple hue</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Inside the border of bright thin grass:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For all that has</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Been left by November of leaves is torn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From hazel and thorn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the greater trees. Throughout the copse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No dead leaf drops</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On grey grass, green moss, burnt-orange fern,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the wind’s return:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The leaflets out of the ash-tree shed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are thinly spread</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the road, like little black fish, inlaid,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if they played.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What hangs from the myriad branches down there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So hard and bare</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is twelve yellow apples lovely to see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On one crab-tree.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And on each twig of every tree in the dell</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Uncountable</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Crystals both dark and bright of the rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That begins again.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="digging-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Digging</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To-day I think</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only with scents—scents dead leaves yield,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the square mustard field;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Odours that rise</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When the spade wounds the root of tree,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Rhubarb or celery;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The smoke’s smell, too,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Flowing from where a bonfire burns</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The dead, the waste, the dangerous,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And all to sweetness turns.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It is enough</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To smell, to crumble the dark earth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While the robin sings over again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sad songs of Autumn mirth.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="but-these-things-also" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">But These Things Also</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But these things also are Spring’s—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On banks by the roadside the grass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Long-dead that is greyer now</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than all the Winter it was;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The shell of a little snail bleached</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the grass; chip of flint, and mite</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of chalk; and the small birds’ dung</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In splashes of purest white:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>All the white things a man mistakes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For earliest violets</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who seeks through Winter’s ruins</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Something to pay Winter’s debts,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>While the North blows, and starling flocks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By chattering on and on</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Keep their spirits up in the mist,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And Spring’s here, Winter’s not gone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="april" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">April</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The sweetest thing, I thought</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At one time, between earth and heaven</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was the first smile</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When mist has been forgiven</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the sun has stolen out,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Peered, and resolved to shine at seven</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On dabbled lengthening grasses,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Thick primroses and early leaves uneven,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When earth’s breath, warm and humid, far surpasses</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The richest oven’s, and loudly rings “cuckoo”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And sharply the nightingale’s “tsoo, tsoo, tsoo, tsoo”:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To say “God bless it” was all that I could do.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But now I know one sweeter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By far since the day Emily</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Turned weeping back</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To me, still happy me,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To ask forgiveness—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet smiled with half a certainty</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To be forgiven—for what</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She had never done; I knew not what it might be,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor could she tell me, having now forgot,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By rapture carried with me past all care</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As to an isle in April lovelier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than April’s self. “God bless you” I said to her.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-barn" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Barn</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>They should never have built a barn there, at all—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Drip, drip, drip!—under that elm tree,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though then it was young. Now it is old</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But good, not like the barn and me.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To-morrow they cut it down. They will leave</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The barn, as I shall be left, maybe.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What holds it up? ’Twould not pay to pull down.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Well, this place has no other antiquity.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>No abbey or castle looks so old</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As this that Job Knight built in ’54,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Built to keep corn for rats and men.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now there’s fowls in the roof, pigs on the floor.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>What thatch survives is dung for the grass,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The best grass on the farm. A pity the roof</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Will not bear a mower to mow it. But</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only fowls have foothold enough.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Starlings used to sit there with bubbling throats</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Making a spiky beard as they chattered</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And whistled and kissed, with heads in air,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till they thought of something else that mattered.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But now they cannot find a place,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Among all those holes, for a nest any more.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It’s the turn of lesser things, I suppose.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Once I fancied ’twas starlings they built it for.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-barn-and-the-down" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Barn and the Down</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It stood in the sunset sky</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like the straight-backed down,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Many a time—the barn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the edge of the town,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>So huge and dark that it seemed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It was the hill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till the gable’s precipice proved</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It impossible.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Then the great down in the west</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Grew into sight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A barn stored full to the ridge</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With black of night;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And the barn fell to a barn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or even less</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Before critical eyes and its own</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Late mightiness.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But far down and near barn and I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Since then have smiled,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Having seen my new cautiousness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By itself beguiled</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To disdain what seemed the barn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till a few steps changed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It past all doubt to the down;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So the barn was avenged.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-child-on-the-cliffs" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Child on the Cliffs</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Mother, the root of this little yellow flower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Among the stones has the taste of quinine.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Things are strange to-day on the cliff. The sun shines so bright,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the grasshopper works at his sewing-machine</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So hard. Here’s one on my hand, mother, look;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I lie so still. There’s one on your book.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But I have something to tell more strange. So leave</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Your book to the grasshopper, mother dear—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a green knight in a dazzling market-place—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And listen now. Can you hear what I hear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far out? Now and then the foam there curls</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And stretches a white arm out like a girl’s.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Fishes and gulls ring no bells. There cannot be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A chapel or church between here and Devon,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With fishes or gulls ringing its bell—hark!—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Somewhere under the sea or up in heaven.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“It’s the bell, my son, out in the bay</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the buoy. It does sound sweet to-day.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Sweeter I never heard, mother, no, not in all Wales.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I should like to be lying under that foam,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dead, but able to hear the sound of the bell,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And certain that you would often come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And rest, listening happily.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I should be happy if that could be.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="good-night" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Good Night</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The skylarks are far behind that sang over the down;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I can hear no more those suburb nightingales;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Thrushes and blackbirds sing in the gardens of the town</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In vain: the noise of man, beast, and machine prevails.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But the call of children in the unfamiliar streets</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That echo with a familiar twilight echoing,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sweet as the voice of nightingale or lark, completes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A magic of strange welcome, so that I seem a king</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Among man, beast, machine, bird, child, and the ghost</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That in the echo lives and with the echo dies.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The friendless town is friendly; homeless, I not lost;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though I know none of these doors, and meet but strangers’ eyes.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Never again, perhaps, after to-morrow, shall</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I see these homely streets, these church windows alight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not a man or woman or child among them all:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But it is All Friends’ Night, a traveller’s good night.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-wasp-trap" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Wasp Trap</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This moonlight makes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The lovely lovelier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than ever before lakes</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And meadows were.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And yet they are not,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though this their hour is, more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lovely than things that were not</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lovely before.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Nothing on earth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And in the heavens no star,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For pure brightness is worth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More than that jar,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For wasps meant, now</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A star—long may it swing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From the dead apple-bough,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So glistening.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="july" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">July</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Naught moves but clouds, and in the glassy lake</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their doubles and the shadow of my boat.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The boat itself stirs only when I break</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This drowse of heat and solitude afloat</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To prove if what I see be bird or mote,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or learn if yet the shore woods be awake.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Long hours since dawn grew—spread—and passed on high</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And deep below—I have watched the cool reeds hung</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over images more cool in imaged sky:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nothing there was worth thinking of so long;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All that the ring-doves say, far leaves among,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Brims my mind with content thus still to lie.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="a-tale" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">A Tale</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There once the walls</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the ruined cottage stood.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The periwinkle crawls</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With flowers in its hair into the wood.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In flowerless hours</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never will the bank fail,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With everlasting flowers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On fragments of blue plates, to tell the tale.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="parting" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Parting</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The Past is a strange land, most strange.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Wind blows not there, nor does rain fall:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If they do, they cannot hurt at all.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Men of all kinds as equals range</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The soundless fields and streets of it.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Pleasure and pain there have no sting,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The perished self not suffering</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That lacks all blood and nerve and wit,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And is in shadow-land a shade.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Remembered joy and misery</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bring joy to the joyous equally;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Both sadden the sad. So memory made</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Parting to-day a double pain:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>First because it was parting; next</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because the ill it ended vexed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And mocked me from the Past again,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Not as what had been remedied</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had I gone on—not that, oh no!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But as itself no longer woe;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sighs, angry word and look and deed</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Being faded: rather a kind of bliss,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For there spiritualized it lay</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the perpetual yesterday</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That naught can stir or stain like this.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="lovers" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Lovers</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The two men in the road were taken aback.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The lovers came out shading their eyes from the sun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And never was white so white, or black so black,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As her cheeks and hair. “There are more things than one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A man might turn into a wood for, Jack,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Said George; Jack whispered: “He has not got a gun.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It’s a bit too much of a good thing, I say.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They are going the other road, look. And see her run.”—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She ran.—“What a thing it is, this picking may!”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-girls-clear-eyes" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">That Girl’s Clear Eyes</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>That girl’s clear eyes utterly concealed all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except that there was something to reveal.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And what did mine say in the interval?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No more: no less. They are but as a seal</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not to be broken till after I am dead;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And then vainly. Every one of us</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This morning at our tasks left nothing said,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In spite of many words. We were sealed thus,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like tombs. Nor until now could I admit</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That all I cared for was the pleasure and pain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I tasted in the stony square sunlit,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or the dark cloisters, or shade of airy plane,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While music blazed and children, line after line,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Marched past, hiding the “<b>Seventeen Thirty-Nine.</b>”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-child-in-the-orchards" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Child in the Orchard</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“He rolls in the orchard: he is stained with moss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And with earth, the solitary old white horse.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where is his father and where is his mother</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Among all the brown horses? Has he a brother?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I know the swallow, the hawk, and the hern;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But there are two million things for me to learn.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“Who was the lady that rode the white horse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With rings and bells to Banbury Cross?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was there no other lady in England beside</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That a nursery rhyme could take for a ride?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The swift, the swallow, the hawk, and the hern.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There are two million things for me to learn.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“Was there a man once who straddled across</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The back of the Westbury White Horse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over there on Salisbury Plain’s green wall?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was he bound for Westbury, or had he a fall?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The swift, the swallow, the hawk, and the hern.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There are two million things for me to learn.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“Out of all the white horses I know three,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the age of six; and it seems to me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There is so much to learn, for men,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I dare not go to bed again.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The swift, the swallow, the hawk, and the hern.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There are millions of things for me to learn.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-source" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Source</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>All day the air triumphs with its two voices</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of wind and rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As loud as if in anger it rejoices,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Drowning the sound of earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That gulps and gulps in choked endeavour vain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To swallow the rain.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Half the night, too, only the wild air speaks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With wind and rain,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till forth the dumb source of the river breaks</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And drowns the rain and wind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bellows like a giant bathing in mighty mirth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The triumph of earth.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-mountain-chapel" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Mountain Chapel</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Chapel and gravestones, old and few,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are shrouded by a mountain fold</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From sound and view</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of life. The loss of the brook’s voice</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Falls like a shadow. All they hear is</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The eternal noise</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of wind whistling in grass more shrill</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than aught as human as a sword,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And saying still:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“ ’Tis but a moment since man’s birth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And in another moment more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Man lies in earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For ever; but I am the same</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now, and shall be, even as I was</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Before he came;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till there is nothing I shall be.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet there the sun shines after noon</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So cheerfully</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The place almost seems peopled, nor</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Lacks cottage chimney, cottage hearth:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It is not more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In size than is a cottage, less</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than any other empty home</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In homeliness.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It has a garden of wild flowers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And finest grass and gravestones warm</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In sunshine hours</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The year through. Men behind the glass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Stand once a week, singing, and drown</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The whistling grass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their ponies munch. And yet somewhere,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Near or far off, there’s a man could</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Be happy here,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or one of the gods perhaps, were they</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not of inhuman stature dire,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As poets say</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who have not seen them clearly; if</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At sound of any wind of the world</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In grass-blades stiff</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They would not startle and shudder cold</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under the sun. When gods were young</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This wind was old.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="first-know-when-lost" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">First Known When Lost</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I never had noticed it until</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twas gone—the narrow copse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Where now the woodman lops</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The last of the willows with his bill.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>It was not more than a hedge overgrown.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One meadow’s breadth away</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I passed it day by day.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now the soil was bare as a bone,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And black betwixt two meadows green,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though fresh-cut faggot ends</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of hazel made some amends</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With a gleam as if flowers they had been.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Strange it could have hidden so near!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And now I see as I look</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That the small winding brook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A tributary’s tributary, rises there.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-word" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Word</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There are so many things I have forgot,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That once were much to me, or that were not,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All lost, as is a childless woman’s child</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And its child’s children, in the undefiled</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Abyss of what can never be again.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I have forgot, too, names of the mighty men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That fought and lost or won in the old wars,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of kings and fiends and gods, and most of the stars.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some things I have forgot that I forget.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But lesser things there are, remembered yet,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than all the others. One name that I have not—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though ’tis an empty thingless name—forgot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never can die because Spring after Spring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some thrushes learn to say it as they sing.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There is always one at mid-day saying it clear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And tart—the name, only the name I hear.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While perhaps I am thinking of the elder scent</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That is like food, or while I am content</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With the wild rose scent that is like memory,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This name suddenly is cried out to me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From somewhere in the bushes by a bird</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over and over again, a pure thrush word.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="these-things-that-poets-said" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">These Things That Poets Said</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>These things that poets said</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of love seemed true to me</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When I loved and I fed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On love and poetry equally.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But now I wish I knew</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If theirs were love indeed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or if mine were the true</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And theirs some other lovely weed:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For certainly not thus,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then or thereafter, I</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Loved ever. Between us</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Decide, good Love, before I die.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Only, that once I loved</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By this one argument</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is very plainly proved:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I, loving not, am different.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="home-3" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Home</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Not the end: but there’s nothing more.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sweet Summer and Winter rude</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I have loved, and friendship and love,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The crowd and solitude:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But I know them: I weary not;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But all that they mean I know.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I would go back again home</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Now. Yet how should I go?</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This is my grief. That land,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My home, I have never seen;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No traveller tells of it,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>However far he has been.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And could I discover it,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I fear my happiness there,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or my pain, might be dreams of return</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Here, to these things that were.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Remembering ills, though slight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet irremediable,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Brings a worse, an impurer pang</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than remembering what was well.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>No: I cannot go back,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And would not if I could.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until blindness come, I must wait</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And blink at what is not good.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="aspens" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Aspens</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>All day and night, save winter, every weather,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Above the inn, the smithy, and the shop,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The aspens at the cross-roads talk together</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of rain, until their last leaves fall from the top.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Out of the blacksmith’s cavern comes the ringing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of hammer, shoe, and anvil; out of the inn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The clink, the hum, the roar, the random singing—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The sounds that for these fifty years have been.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The whisper of the aspens is not drowned,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And over lightless pane and footless road,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Empty as sky, with every other sound</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not ceasing, calls their ghosts from their abode,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A silent smithy, a silent inn, nor fails</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the bare moonlight or the thick-furred gloom,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In tempest or the night of nightingales,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To turn the cross-roads to a ghostly room.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And it would be the same were no house near.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over all sorts of weather, men, and times,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Aspens must shake their leaves and men may hear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But need not listen, more than to my rhymes.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Whatever wind blows, while they and I have leaves</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We cannot other than an aspen be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That ceaselessly, unreasonably grieves,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or so men think who like a different tree.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="an-old-song-2" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">An Old Song</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I was not apprenticed nor ever dwelt in famous Lincolnshire;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’ve served one master ill and well much more than seven year;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And never took up to poaching as you shall quickly find;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">But ’tis my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I roamed where nobody had a right but keepers and squires, and there</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I sought for nests, wild flowers, oak sticks, and moles, both far and near.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And had to run from farmers, and learnt the Lincolnshire song:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">“Oh, ’tis my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I took those walks years after, talking with friend or dear,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or solitary musing; but when the moon shone clear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I had no joy or sorrow that could not be expressed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">By “ ’Tis my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Since then I’ve thrown away a chance to fight a gamekeeper;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I less often trespass, and what I see or hear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is mostly from the road or path by day: yet still I sing:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">“Oh, ’tis my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For if I am contented, at home or anywhere,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or if I sigh for I know not what, or my heart beats with some fear,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It is a strange kind of delight to sing or whistle just:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">“Oh, ’tis my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And with this melody on my lips and no one by to care,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Indoors, or out on shiny nights or dark in open air,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I am for a moment made a man that sings out of his heart:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">“Oh, ’tis my delight of a shiny night in the season of the year.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="there-was-a-time" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">There Was a Time</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>There was a time when this poor frame was whole</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I had youth and never another care,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or none that should have troubled a strong soul.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet, except sometimes in a frosty air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When my heels hammered out a melody</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From pavements of a city left behind,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I never would acknowledge my own glee</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because it was less mighty than my mind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had dreamed of. Since I could not boast of strength</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Great as I wished, weakness was all my boast.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I sought yet hated pity till at length</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I earned it. Oh, too heavy was the cost.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But now that there is something I could use</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My youth and strength for, I deny the age,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The care and weakness that I know—refuse</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To admit I am unworthy of the wage</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Paid to a man who gives up eyes and breath</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For what can neither ask nor heed his death.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="ambition" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Ambition</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Unless it was that day I never knew</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ambition. After a night of frost, before</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The March sun brightened and the South-west blew,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Jackdaws began to shout and float and soar</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Already, and one was racing straight and high</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Alone, shouting like a black warrior</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Challenges and menaces to the wide sky.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With loud long laughter then a woodpecker</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ridiculed the sadness of the owl’s last cry.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And through the valley where all the folk astir</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Made only plumes of pearly smoke to tower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Over dark trees and white meadows happier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than was Elysium in that happy hour,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A train that roared along raised after it</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And carried with it a motionless white bower</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of purest cloud, from end to end close-knit,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So fair it touched the roar with silence. Time</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Was powerless while that lasted. I could sit</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And think I had made the loveliness of prime,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Breathed its life into it and were its lord,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And no mind lived save this ’twixt clouds and rime.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Omnipotent I was, nor even deplored</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I did nothing. But the end fell like a bell:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The bower was scattered; far off the train roared.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But if this was ambition I cannot tell.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What ’twas ambition for I know not well.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="no-one-cares-less-than-i" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">No One Cares Less Than I</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“No one cares less than I,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nobody knows but God,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Whether I am destined to lie</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Under a foreign clod,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were the words I made to the bugle call in the morning.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But laughing, storming, scorning,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Only the bugles know</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>What the bugles say in the morning,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And they do not care, when they blow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The call that I heard and made words to early this morning.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="roads" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Roads</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I love roads:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The goddesses that dwell</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Far along invisible</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are my favourite gods.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Roads go on</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While we forget, and are</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Forgotten like a star</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That shoots and is gone.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>On this earth ’tis sure</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We men have not made</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Anything that doth fade</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So soon, so long endure:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The hill road wet with rain</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the sun would not gleam</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a winding stream</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If we trod it not again.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>They are lonely</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While we sleep, lonelier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For lack of the traveller</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Who is now a dream only.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>From dawn’s twilight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And all the clouds like sheep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the mountains of sleep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They wind into the night.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The next turn may reveal</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Heaven: upon the crest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The close pine clump, at rest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And black, may Hell conceal.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Often footsore, never</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet of the road I weary,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though long and steep and dreary</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As it winds on for ever.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Helen of the roads,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The mountain ways of Wales</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the Mabinogion tales,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is one of the true gods,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Abiding in the trees,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The threes and fours so wise,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The larger companies,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That by the roadside be,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And beneath the rafter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Else uninhabited</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Excepting by the dead;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And it is her laughter</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>At morn and night I hear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When the thrush cock sings</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bright irrelevant things,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And when the chanticleer</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Calls back to their own night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Troops that make loneliness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With their light footsteps’ press,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As Helen’s own are light.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Now all roads lead to France</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And heavy is the tread</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the living; but the dead</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Returning lightly dance:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Whatever the road bring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To me or take from me,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They keep me company</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With their pattering,</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Crowding the solitude</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the loops over the downs,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hushing the roar of towns</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And their brief multitude.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="this-is-no-case-of-petty-right-or-wrong" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">This Is No Case of Petty Right or Wrong</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This is no case of petty right or wrong</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That politicians or philosophers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Can judge. I hate not Germans, nor grow hot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With love of Englishmen, to please newspapers.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beside my hate for one fat patriot</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>My hatred of the Kaiser is love true:—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A kind of god he is, banging a gong.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But I have not to choose between the two,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or between justice and injustice. Dinned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With war and argument I read no more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than in the storm smoking along the wind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Athwart the wood. Two witches’ cauldrons roar.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From one the weather shall rise clear and gay;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out of the other an England beautiful</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And like her mother that died yesterday.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Little I know or care if, being dull,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I shall miss something that historians</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Can rake out of the ashes when perchance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The phoenix broods serene above their ken.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But with the best and meanest Englishmen</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I am one in crying, God save England, lest</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We lose what never slaves and cattle blessed.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The ages made her that made us from the dust:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She is all we know and live by, and we trust</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She is good and must endure, loving her so:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And as we love ourselves we hate her foe.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-chalk-pit" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Chalk-Pit</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“Is this the road that climbs above and bends</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Round what was once a chalk-pit: now it is</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By accident an amphitheatre.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some ash-trees standing ankle-deep in brier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And bramble act the parts, and neither speak</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor stir.” “But see: they have fallen, every one,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And brier and bramble have grown over them.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“That is the place. As usual no one is here.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Hardly can I imagine the drop of the axe,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the smack that is like an echo, sounding here.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I do not understand.” “Why, what I mean is</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I have seen the place two or three times</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At most, and that its emptiness and silence</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And stillness haunt me, as if just before</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It was not empty, silent, still, but full</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of life of some kind, perhaps tragical.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has anything unusual happened here?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Not that I know of. It is called the Dell.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They have not dug chalk here for a century.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That was the ash-trees’ age. But I will ask.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“No. Do not. I prefer to make a tale,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or better leave it like the end of a play,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Actors and audience and lights all gone;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For so it looks now. In my memory</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Again and again I see it, strangely dark,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And vacant of a life but just withdrawn.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>We have not seen the woodman with the axe.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Some ghost has left it now as we two came.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“And yet you doubted if this were the road?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Well, sometimes I have thought of it and failed</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To place it. No. And I am not quite sure,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Even now, this is it. For another place,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Real or painted, may have combined with it.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or I myself a long way back in time …”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Why, as to that, I used to meet a man—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I had forgotten—searching for birds’ nests</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Along the road and in the chalk-pit too.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The wren’s hole was an eye that looked at him</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For recognition. Every nest he knew.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He got a stiff neck, by looking this side or that,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Spring after spring, he told me, with his laugh—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A sort of laugh. He was a visitor,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A man of forty—smoked and strolled about.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At orts and crosses Pleasure and Pain had played</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On his brown features;—I think both had lost;—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mild and yet wild too. You may know the kind.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And once or twice a woman shared his walks,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A girl of twenty with a brown boy’s face,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And hair brown as a thrush or as a nut,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Thick eyebrows, glinting eyes—” “You have said enough.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A pair—free thought, free love—I know the breed:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I shall not mix my fancies up with them.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“You please yourself. I should prefer the truth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or nothing. Here, in fact, is nothing at all</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Except a silent place that once rang loud,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And trees and us—imperfect friends, we men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And trees since time began; and nevertheless</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Between us still we breed a mystery.”</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="health" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Health</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Four miles at a leap, over the dark hollow land,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To the frosted steep of the down and its junipers black,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Travels my eye with equal ease and delight:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And scarce could my body leap four yards.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This is the best and the worst of it—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Never to know,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet to imagine gloriously, pure health.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>To-day, had I suddenly health,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could not satisfy the desire of my heart</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unless health abated it,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So beautiful is the air in its softness and clearness, while Spring</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Promises all and fails in nothing as yet;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And what blue and what white is I never knew</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Before I saw this sky blessing the land.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>For had I health I could not ride or run or fly</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So far or so rapidly over the land</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As I desire: I should reach Wiltshire tired;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I should have changed my mind before I could be in Wales.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could not love; I could not command love.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beauty would still be far off</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>However many hills I climbed over;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Peace would still be farther.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Maybe I should not count it anything</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To leap these four miles with the eye;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And either I should not be filled almost to bursting with desire,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or with my power desire would still keep pace.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Yet I am not satisfied</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Even with knowing I never could be satisfied.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With health and all the power that lies</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In maiden beauty, poet and warrior,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In Caesar, Shakespeare, Alcibiades,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mazeppa, Leonardo, Michelangelo,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In any maiden whose smile is lovelier</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than sunlight upon dew,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could not be as the wagtail running up and down</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The warm tiles of the roof slope, twittering</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Happily and sweetly as if the sun itself</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Extracted the song</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As the hand makes sparks from the fur of a cat:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I could not be as the sun.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Nor should I be content to be</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As little as the bird or as mighty as the sun.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For the bird knows not of the sun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the sun regards not the bird.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But I am almost proud to love both bird and sun,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though scarce this Spring could my body leap four yards.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="beauty" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Beauty</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>What does it mean? Tired, angry, and ill at ease,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No man, woman, or child alive could please</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Me now. And yet I almost dare to laugh</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Because I sit and frame an epitaph—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Here lies all that no one loved of him</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And that loved no one.” Then in a trice that whim</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has wearied. But, though I am like a river</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At fall of evening while it seems that never</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Has the sun lighted it or warmed it, while</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cross breezes cut the surface to a file,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This heart, some fraction of me, happily</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Floats through the window even now to a tree</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Down in the misting, dim-lit, quiet vale,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not like a pewit that returns to wail</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For something it has lost, but like a dove</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That slants unswerving to its home and love.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>There I find my rest, and through the dusk air</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Flies what yet lives in me. Beauty is there.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="snow" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Snow</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>In the gloom of whiteness,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the great silence of snow,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A child was sighing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And bitterly saying: “Oh,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They have killed a white bird up there on her nest,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The down is fluttering from her breast.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And still it fell through that dusky brightness</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the child crying for the bird of the snow.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-new-year" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The New Year</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>He was the one man I met up in the woods</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That stormy New Year’s morning; and at first sight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fifty yards off, I could not tell how much</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the strange tripod was a man. His body,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Bowed horizontal, was supported equally</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By legs at one end, by a rake at the other:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Thus he rested, far less like a man than</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His wheel-barrow in profile was like a pig.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But when I saw it was an old man bent,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At the same moment came into my mind</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The games at which boys bend thus, <em>High-Cockalorum</em>,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or <em>Fly-the-garter</em>, and <em>Leap-frog</em>. At the sound</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of footsteps he began to straighten himself;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His head rolled under his cape like a tortoise’s;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He took an unlit pipe out of his mouth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Politely ere I wished him “A Happy New Year,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And with his head cast upward sideways muttered—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So far as I could hear through the trees’ roar—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Happy New Year, and may it come fastish, too,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While I strode by and he turned to raking leaves.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-brook" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Brook</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Seated once by a brook, watching a child</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Chiefly that paddled, I was thus beguiled.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Mellow the blackbird sang and sharp the thrush</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not far off in the oak and hazel brush,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unseen. There was a scent like honeycomb</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From mugwort dull. And down upon the dome</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of the stone the cart-horse kicks against so oft</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A butterfly alighted. From aloft</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He took the heat of the sun, and from below.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>On the hot stone he perched contented so,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As if never a cart would pass again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That way; as if I were the last of men</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And he the first of insects to have earth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And sun together and to know their worth.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I was divided between him and the gleam,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The motion, and the voices, of the stream,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The waters running frizzled over gravel,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That never vanish and for ever travel.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A grey flycatcher silent on a fence</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And I sat as if we had been there since</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The horseman and the horse lying beneath</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The fir-tree-covered barrow on the heath,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The horseman and the horse with silver shoes,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Galloped the downs last. All that I could lose</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I lost. And then the child’s voice raised the dead.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“No one’s been here before” was what she said</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And what I felt, yet never should have found</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A word for, while I gathered sight and sound.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-other" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Other</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>The forest ended. Glad I was</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To feel the light, and hear the hum</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of bees, and smell the drying grass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the sweet mint, because I had come</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To an end of forest, and because</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Here was both road and inn, the sum</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of what’s not forest. But ’twas here</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They asked me if I did not pass</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yesterday this way? “Not you? Queer.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Who then? and slept here?” I felt fear.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I learnt his road and, ere they were</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Sure I was I, left the dark wood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Behind, kestrel and woodpecker,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The inn in the sun, the happy mood</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When first I tasted sunlight there.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I travelled fast, in hopes I should</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Outrun that other. What to do</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>When caught, I planned not. I pursued</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To prove the likeness, and, if true,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To watch until myself I knew.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I tried the inns that evening</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of a long gabled high-street grey,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of courts and outskirts, travelling</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>An eager but a weary way,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In vain. He was not there. Nothing</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Told me that ever till that day</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had one like me entered those doors,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Save once. That time I dared: “You may</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Recall”—but never-foamless shores</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Make better friends than those dull boors.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Many and many a day like this</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Aimed at the unseen moving goal</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And nothing found but remedies</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For all desire. These made not whole;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They sowed a new desire, to kiss</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Desire’s self beyond control,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Desire of desire. And yet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Life stayed on within my soul.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One night in sheltering from the wet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I quite forgot I could forget.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A customer, then the landlady</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Stared at me. With a kind of smile</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>They hesitated awkwardly:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Their silence gave me time for guile.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had anyone called there like me,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I asked. It was quite plain the wile</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Succeeded. For they poured out all.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And that was naught. Less than a mile</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beyond the inn, I could recall</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He was like me in general.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>He had pleased them, but I less.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I was more eager than before</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To find him out and to confess,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To bore him and to let him bore.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I could not wait: children might guess</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I had a purpose, something more</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That made an answer indiscreet.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One girl’s caution made me sore,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Too indignant even to greet</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That other had we chanced to meet.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>I sought then in solitude.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The wind had fallen with the night; as still</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The roads lay as the ploughland rude,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dark and naked, on the hill.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Had there been ever any feud</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twixt earth and sky, a mighty will</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Closed it: the crocketed dark trees,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A dark house, dark impossible</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cloud-towers, one star, one lamp, one peace</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Held on an everlasting lease:</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And all was earth’s, or all was sky’s;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>No difference endured between</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The two. A dog barked on a hidden rise;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A marshbird whistled high unseen;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The latest waking blackbird’s cries</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Perished upon the silence keen.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The last light filled a narrow firth</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Among the clouds. I stood serene,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And with a solemn quiet mirth,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>An old inhabitant of earth.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Once the name I gave to hours</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like this was melancholy, when</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>It was not happiness and powers</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Coming like exiles home again,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And weaknesses quitting their bowers,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Smiled and enjoyed, far off from men,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Moments of everlastingness.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And fortunate my search was then</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While what I sought, nevertheless,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That I was seeking, I did not guess.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>That time was brief: once more at inn</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And upon road I sought my man</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Till once amid a tap-room’s din</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Loudly he asked for me, began</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To speak, as if it had been a sin,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of how I thought and dreamed and ran</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>After him thus, day after day:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He lived as one under a ban</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For this: what had I got to say?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I said nothing, I slipped away.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And now I dare not follow after</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Too close. I try to keep in sight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Dreading his frown and worse his laughter.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I steal out of the wood to light;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I see the swift shoot from the rafter</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>By the inn door: ere I alight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I wait and hear the starlings wheeze</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And nibble like ducks: I wait his flight.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He goes: I follow: no release</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Until he ceases. Then I also shall cease.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="house-and-man" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">House and Man</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>One hour: as dim he and his house now look</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As a reflection in a rippling brook,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While I remember him; but first, his house.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Empty it sounded. It was dark with forest boughs</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That brushed the walls and made the mossy tiles</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Part of the squirrels’ track. In all those miles</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of forest silence and forest murmur, only</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One house—“Lonely!” he said, “I wish it were lonely”—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Which the trees looked upon from every side,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And that was his.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span class="right">He waved good-bye to hide</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A sigh that he converted to a laugh.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He seemed to hang rather than stand there, half</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Ghost-like, half like a beggar’s rag, clean wrung</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And useless on the brier where it has hung</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Long years a-washing by sun and wind and rain.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>But why I call back man and house again</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Is that now on a beech-tree’s tip I see</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As then I saw—I at the gate, and he</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the house darkness—a magpie veering about,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>A magpie like a weathercock in doubt.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-gypsy" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Gypsy</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>A fortnight before Christmas Gypsies were everywhere:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Vans were drawn up on wastes, women trailed to the fair.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“My gentleman,” said one, “you’ve got a lucky face.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“And you’ve a luckier,” I thought, “if such a grace</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And impudence in rags are lucky.” “Give a penny</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For the poor baby’s sake.” “Indeed I have not any</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Unless you can give change for a sovereign, my dear.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Then just half a pipeful of tobacco can you spare?”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I gave it. With that much victory she laughed content.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I should have given more, but off and away she went</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With her baby and her pink sham flowers to rejoin</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The rest before I could translate to its proper coin</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Gratitude for her grace. And I paid nothing then,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>As I pay nothing now with the dipping of my pen</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For her brother’s music when he drummed the tambourine</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And stamped his feet, which made the workmen passing grin,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>While his mouth-organ changed to a rascally Bacchanal dance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Over the hills and far away.” This and his glance</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Outlasted all the fair, farmer and auctioneer,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Cheap-jack, balloon-man, drover with crooked stick, and steer,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Pig, turkey, goose, and duck, Christmas Corpses to be.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Not even the kneeling ox had eyes like the Romany.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That night he peopled for me the hollow wooded land,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More dark and wild than stormiest heavens, that I searched and scanned</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Like a ghost new-arrived. The gradations of the dark</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were like an underworld of death, but for the spark</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the Gypsy boy’s black eyes as he played and stamped his tune,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“Over the hills and far away,” and a crescent moon.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="man-and-dog" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Man and Dog</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>“ ’Twill take some getting.” “Sir, I think ’twill so.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The old man stared up at the mistletoe</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That hung too high in the poplar’s crest for plunder</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of any climber, though not for kissing under:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then he went on against the north-east wind—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Straight but lame, leaning on a staff new-skinned,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Carrying a brolly, flag-basket, and old coat—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Towards Alton, ten miles off. And he had not</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Done less from Chilgrove where he pulled up docks.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>’Twere best, if he had had “a money-box,”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To have waited there till the sheep cleared a field</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>For what a half-week’s flint-picking would yield.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His mind was running on the work he had done</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Since he left Christchurch in the New Forest, one</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Spring in the seventies—navvying on dock and line</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From Southampton to Newcastle-on-Tyne—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In seventy-four a year of soldiering</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With the Berkshires—hoeing and harvesting</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In half the shires where corn and couch will grow.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His sons, three sons, were fighting, but the hoe</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And reap-hook he liked, or anything to do with trees.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He fell once from a poplar tall as these:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The Flying Man they called him in hospital.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“If I flew now, to another world I’d fall.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>He laughed and whistled to the small brown bitch</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With spots of blue that hunted in the ditch.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Her foxy Welsh grandfather must have paired</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beneath him. He kept sheep in Wales and scared</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Strangers, I will warrant, with his pearl eye</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And trick of shrinking off as he were shy,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Then following close in silence for—for what?</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“No rabbit, never fear, she ever got,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet always hunts. To-day she nearly had one:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She would and she wouldn’t. ’Twas like that. The bad one!</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>She’s not much use, but still she’s company,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Though I’m not. She goes everywhere with me.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>So Alton I must reach to-night somehow:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>I’ll get no shakedown with that bedfellow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>From farmers. Many a man sleeps worse to-night</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than I shall.” “In the trenches.” “Yes, that’s right.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>But they’ll be out of that—I hope they be—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This weather, marching after the enemy.”</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“And so I hope. Good luck.” And there I nodded</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“good night. You keep straight on.” Stiffly he plodded;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And at his heels the crisp leaves scurried fast,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the leaf-coloured robin watched. They passed,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The robin till next day, the man for good,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Together in the twilight of the wood.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="a-private" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">A Private</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Many a frozen night, and merrily</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Answered staid drinkers, good bedmen, and all bores:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“At <abbr epub:type="z3998:name-title">Mrs.</abbr> Greenland’s Hawthorn Bush,” said he,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>“I slept.” None knew which bush. Above the town,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Beyond The Drover, a hundred spot the down</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In Wiltshire. And where now at last he sleeps</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>More sound in France—that, too, he secret keeps.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="out-in-the-dark" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Out in the Dark</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Out in the dark over the snow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The fallow fawns invisible go</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>With the fallow doe;</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And the winds blow</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Fast as the stars are slow.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Stealthily the dark haunts round</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And, when a lamp goes, without sound</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>At a swifter bound</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Than the swiftest hound,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Arrives, and all else is drowned;</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>And I and star and wind and deer,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Are in the dark together—near,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Yet far—and fear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Drums on my ear</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In that sage company drear.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>How weak and little is the light,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>All the universe of sight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Love and delight,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Before the might,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>If you love it not, of night.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-lane" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Lane</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>Some day, I think, there will be people enough</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In Froxfield to pick all the blackberries</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Out of the hedges of Green Lane, the straight</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Broad lane where now September hides herself</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In bracken and blackberry, harebell and dwarf gorse.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>To-day, where yesterday a hundred sheep</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Were nibbling, halcyon bells shake to the sway</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of waters that no vessel ever sailed …</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span class="i1">It is a kind of spring: the chaffinch tries</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>His song. For heat it is like summer too.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>This might be winter’s quiet. While the glint</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Of hollies dark in the swollen hedge lasts—</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>One mile—and those bells ring, little I know</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Or heed if time be still the same, until</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The lane ends and once more all is the same.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<article id="the-watchers" epub:type="z3998:poem bodymatter z3998:fiction">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">The Watchers</h2>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>By the Ford at the town’s edge</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Horse and carter rest:</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>The carter smokes on the bridge</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>Watching the water press in swathes about his horse’s chest.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>From the inn one watches, too,</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>In the room for visitors</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>That has no fire, but a view</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>And many cases of stuffed fish, vermin, and kingfishers.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</article>
|
||
<section id="endnotes" epub:type="endnotes backmatter">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Endnotes</h2>
|
||
<ol>
|
||
<li id="note-1" epub:type="endnote">
|
||
<p>The author’s birthday. <a href="#noteref-1" epub:type="backlink">↩</a></p>
|
||
</li>
|
||
</ol>
|
||
</section>
|
||
<section id="colophon" epub:type="colophon backmatter">
|
||
<header>
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Colophon</h2>
|
||
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epub:type="z3998:publisher-logo se:image.color-depth.black-on-transparent"/>
|
||
</header>
|
||
<p><i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Poetry</i><br/>
|
||
was published between <time>1916</time> and <time>1927</time> by<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Thomas_(poet)">Edward Thomas</a>.</p>
|
||
<p><b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Lance Linimon</b><br/>
|
||
sponsored the production of this ebook for<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/">Standard Ebooks</a>.<br/>
|
||
It was produced by<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://alexcabal.com/">Alex Cabal</a>,<br/>
|
||
and is based on transcriptions produced in <time>2007</time> by<br/>
|
||
<b epub:type="z3998:personal-name">Lewis Jones</b><br/>
|
||
for<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry#transcriptions">Project Gutenberg</a><br/>
|
||
and on digital scans from<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry#page-scans">Google Books</a>.</p>
|
||
<p>The cover page is adapted from<br/>
|
||
<i epub:type="se:name.visual-art.painting">Landscape</i>,<br/>
|
||
a painting completed circa <time>1850</time> by<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Middleton_(Norfolk_artist)">John Middleton</a>.<br/>
|
||
The cover and title pages feature the<br/>
|
||
<b epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">League Spartan</b> and <b epub:type="se:name.visual-art.typeface">Sorts Mill Goudy</b><br/>
|
||
typefaces created in <time>2014</time> and <time>2009</time> by<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://www.theleagueofmoveabletype.com/">The League of Moveable Type</a>.</p>
|
||
<p>The first edition of this ebook was released on<br/>
|
||
<time datetime="2025-02-14T19:14:12Z">February 14, 2025, 7:14 <abbr class="eoc">p.m.</abbr></time><br/>
|
||
You can check for updates to this ebook, view its revision history, or download it for different ereading systems at<br/>
|
||
<a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry">standardebooks.org/ebooks/edward-thomas/poetry</a>.</p>
|
||
<p>The volunteer-driven Standard Ebooks project relies on readers like you to submit typos, corrections, and other improvements. Anyone can contribute at <a href="https://standardebooks.org/">standardebooks.org</a>.</p>
|
||
</section>
|
||
<section id="uncopyright" epub:type="copyright-page backmatter">
|
||
<h2 epub:type="title">Uncopyright</h2>
|
||
<blockquote epub:type="z3998:verse">
|
||
<p>
|
||
<span>May you do good and not evil.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>May you find forgiveness for yourself and forgive others.</span>
|
||
<br/>
|
||
<span>May you share freely, never taking more than you give.</span>
|
||
</p>
|
||
</blockquote>
|
||
<p>Copyright pages exist to tell you that you <em>can’t</em> do something. Unlike them, this Uncopyright page exists to tell you that the writing and artwork in this ebook are believed to be in the United States public domain; that is, they are believed to be free of copyright restrictions in the United States. The United States public domain represents our collective cultural heritage, and items in it are free for anyone in the United States to do almost anything at all with, without having to get permission.</p>
|
||
<p>Copyright laws are different all over the world, and the source text or artwork in this ebook may still be copyrighted in other countries. If you’re not located in the United States, you must check your local laws before using this ebook. Standard Ebooks makes no representations regarding the copyright status of the source text or artwork in this ebook in any country other than the United States.</p>
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<p>Non-authorship activities performed on items that are in the public domain—so-called “sweat of the brow” work—don’t create a new copyright. That means that nobody can claim a new copyright on an item that is in the public domain for, among other things, work like digitization, markup, or typography. Regardless, the contributors to this ebook release their contributions under the terms in the <a href="https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/">CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication</a>, thus dedicating to the worldwide public domain all of the work they’ve done on this ebook, including but not limited to metadata, the titlepage, imprint, colophon, this Uncopyright, and any changes or enhancements to, or markup on, the original text and artwork. This dedication doesn’t change the copyright status of the source text or artwork. We make this dedication in the interest of enriching our global cultural heritage, to promote free and libre culture around the world, and to give back to the unrestricted culture that has given all of us so much.</p>
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