The Project Gutenberg eBook ofFriends

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofFriendsThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: FriendsCreator: Wilfrid Wilson GibsonRelease date: May 3, 2013 [eBook #42641]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS ***FRIENDSBYWILFRID WILSON GIBSONLONDONELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREETM CM XVIBY THE SAME WRITER(Uniform with FRIENDS)BATTLE (1915).THOROUGHFARES (1914).BORDERLANDS (1914).FIRES (1912).DAILY BREAD (1910).AKRA THE SLAVE (1910).STONEFOLDS (1907).TO THE MEMORYOFRUPERT BROOKEHe's gone.I do not understand.I only knowThat as he turned to goAnd waved his handIn his young eyes a sudden glory shone:And I was dazzled by a sunset glow.And he was gone.23rd April, 1915.CONTENTSRupert BrookeWilliam Denis BrowneTenantsSea-changeGoldThe Old BedTreesOblivionRetreatColourNightThe OrphansThe Pessimist?The Sweet-ToothGirl's SongThe Ice CartTo E. M.MarriageRosesFor G.HomeRUPERT BROOKEI.Your face was lifted to the golden skyAblaze beyond the black roofs of the square,As flame on flame leapt, flourishing in airIts tumult of red stars exultantly,To the cold constellations dim and high;And as we neared, the roaring ruddy flareKindled to gold your throat and brow and hairUntil you burned, a flame of ecstasy.The golden head goes down into the nightQuenched in cold gloom--and yet again you standBeside me now with lifted face alight,As, flame to flame, and fire to fire you burn...Then, recollecting, laughingly you turn,And look into my eyes and take my hand.II.Once in my garret--you being far awayTramping the hills and breathing upland air,Or so I fancied--brooding in my chair,I watched the London sunshine feeble and greyDapple my desk, too tired to labour more,When, looking up, I saw you standing there,Although I'd caught no footstep on the stair,Like sudden April at my open door.Though now beyond earth's farthest hills you fare,Song-crowned, immortal, sometimes it seems to meThat, if I listen very quietly,Perhaps I'll hear a light foot on the stair,And see you, standing with your angel air,Fresh from the uplands of eternity.III.Your eyes rejoiced in colour's ecstasyFulfilling even their uttermost desire,When, over a great sunlit field afireWith windy poppies, streaming like a seaOf scarlet flame that flaunted riotouslyAmong green orchards of that western shire,You gazed as though your heart could never tireOf life's red flood in summer revelry.And as I watched you little thought had IHow soon beneath the dim low-drifting skyYour soul should wander down the darkling way,With eyes that peer a little wistfully,Half-glad, half-sad, remembering, as they seeLethean poppies, shrivelling ashen grey.IV.October chestnuts showered their perishing goldOver us as beside the stream we layIn the Old Vicarage garden that blue day,Talking of verse and all the manifoldDelights a little net of words may hold,While in the sunlight water-voles at playDived under a trailing crimson bramble-spray,And walnuts thudded ripe on soft black mould.Your soul goes down unto a darker streamAlone, O friend, yet even in death's deep nightYour eyes may grow accustomed to the dark,And Styx for you may have the ripple and gleamOf your familiar river, and Charon's barkTarry by that old garden of your delight.WILLIAM DENIS BROWNE(GALLIPOLI, 1915)Night after night we two together heardThe music of the Ring,The inmost silence of our being stirredBy voice and string.Though I to-night in silence sit, and youIn stranger silence sleep,Eternal music stirs and thrills anewThe severing deep.TENANTSSuddenly, out of dark and leafy ways,We came upon the little house asleepIn cold blind stillness, shadowless and deep,In the white magic of the full moon-blaze.Strangers without the gate, we stood agaze,Fearful to break that quiet, and to creepInto the home that had been ours to keepThrough a long year of happy nights and daysSo unfamiliar in the white moon-gleam,So old and ghostly like a house of dreamIt seemed, that over us there stole the dreadThat even as we watched it, side by side,The ghosts of lovers, who had lived and diedWithin its walls, were sleeping in our bed.SEA-CHANGEWind-flicked and ruddy her young body glowedIn sunny shallows, splashing them to spray;But when on rippled, silver sand she lay,And over her the little green waves flowed,Coldly translucent and moon-coloured showedHer frail young beauty, as if rapt awayFrom all the light and laughter of the dayTo some twilit, forlorn sea-god's abode.Again into the sun with happy cryShe leapt alive and sparkling from the sea,Sprinkling white spray against the hot blue sky,A laughing girl ... and yet, I see her lieUnder a deeper tide eternallyIn cold moon-coloured immortality.GOLDAll day the mallet thudded, far belowMy garret, in an old ramshackle shedWhere ceaselessly, with stiffly nodding headAnd rigid motions ever to and froA figure like a puppet in a showBefore the window moved till day was dead,Beating out gold to earn his daily bread,Beating out thin fine gold-leaf blow on blow.And I within my garret all day longUnto that ceaseless thudding tuned my song,Beating out golden words in tune and timeTo that dull thudding, rhyme on golden rhyme.But in my dreams all night in that dark shedWith aching arms I beat fine gold for bread.THE OLD BEDStreaming beneath the eaves, the sunset lightTurns the white walls and ceiling to pure gold,And gold, the quilt and pillows on the oldFourposter bed--all day a cold drift-white--As if, in a gold casket glistering bright,The gleam of winter sunshine sought to holdThe sleeping child safe from the dark and coldAnd creeping shadows of the coming night.Slowly it fades: and stealing through the gloomHome-coming shadows throng the quiet room,Grey ghosts that move unrustling, without breath,To their familiar rest, and closer creepAbout the little dreamless child asleepUpon the bed of bridal, birth and death.TREES(ToLASCELLES ABERCROMBIE)The flames half lit the cavernous mysteryOf the over-arching elm that loomed profoundAnd mountainous above us, from the groundSoaring to midnight stars majestically,As, under the shelter of that ageless treeIn a rapt dreaming circle we lay aroundThe crackling faggots, listening to the soundOf old words moving in new harmony.And as you read, before our wondering eyesArose another tree of mighty girth--Crested with stars though rooted in the earth,Its heavy-foliaged branches, lit with gleamsOf ruddy firelight and the light of dreams--Soaring immortal to eternal skies.OBLIVIONNear the great pyramid, unshadowed, white,With apex piercing the white noon-day blaze,Swathed in white robes beneath the blinding raysLie sleeping Bedouins drenched in white-hot light.About them, searing to the tingling sightSwims the white dazzle of the desert waysWhere the sense shudders, witless and adaze,In a white void with neither depth nor height.Within the black core of the pyramidBeneath the weight of sunless centuriesLapt in dead night King Cheops lies asleep;Yet in the darkness of his chamber hidHe knows no black oblivion more deepThan that blind white oblivion of noon skies.RETREATBroken, bewildered by the long retreatAcross the stifling leagues of southern plain,Across the scorching leagues of trampled grain,Half-stunned, half-blinded, by the trudge of feetAnd dusty smother of the August heat,He dreamt of flowers in an English lane,Of hedgerow flowers glistening after rain--All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet.All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet--The innocent names kept up a cool refrain--All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet,Chiming and tinkling in his aching brain,Until he babbled like a child again--"All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet."COLOURA blue-black Nubian plucking orangesAt Jaffa by a sea of malachiteIn red tarboosh, green sash, and flowing whiteBurnous--among the shadowy memoriesThat haunt me yet by these bleak northern seasHe lives for ever in my eyes' delight,Bizarre, superb in young immortal might--A god of old barbaric mysteries.Maybe he lived a life of lies and lust:Maybe his bones are now but scattered dustYet, for a moment he was life supremeExultant and unchallenged: and my rhymeWould set him safely out of reach of timeIn that old heaven where things are what they seem.NIGHTVesuvius, purple under purple skiesBeyond the purple, still, unrippling sea;Sheer amber lightning, streaming ceaselesslyFrom heaven to earth, dazzling bewildered eyesWith all the terror of beauty; thus day diesThat dawned in blue, unclouded innocency;And thus we look our last on ItalyThat soon, obscured by night, behind us lies.And night descends on us, tempestuous night,Night, torn with terror, as we sail the deep,And like a cataract down a mountain-steepPours, loud with thunder, that red perilous fire...Yet shall the dawn, O land of our desire,Show thee again, re-orient, crowned with light!THE ORPHANSAt five o'clock one April mornI met them making tracks,Young Benjamin and Abel Horn,With bundles on their backs.Young Benjamin is seventy-five,Young Abel, seventy-seven--The oldest innocents aliveBeneath that April heaven.I asked them why they trudged aboutWith crabby looks and sour--"And does your mother know you're outAt this unearthly hour?"They stopped: and scowling up at meEach shook a grizzled head,And swore; and then spat bitterly,As with one voice they said:"Homeless, about the country-sideWe never thought to roam;But mother, she has gone and died,And broken up the home."THE PESSIMISTHis body bulged with puppies--little eyesPeeped out of every pocket, black and bright;And with as innocent, round-eyed surpriseHe watched the glittering traffic of the night."What this world's coming to I cannot tell,"He muttered, as I passed him, with a whine--"Things surely must be making slap for hell,When no one wants these little dogs of mine."?Mooning in the moonlightI met a mottled pig,Grubbing mast and acorn,On the Gallows Rigg."Tell, oh, tell me truly,While I wander blind,Do your peepy pig's eyesReally see the wind--"See the great wind flowingDarkling and agleam,Through the fields of heaven,In a crystal stream?"Do the singing eddiesBreak on bough and twig,Into silvery sparklesFor your eyes, O pig?"Do celestial surgesSweep across the night,Like a sea of gloryIn your blessed sight?"Tell, oh, tell me truly!"But the mottled pigGrubbing mast and acornsDid not care a fig.THE SWEET-TOOTHTaking a turn after teaThrough orchards of Mirabelea,Where clusters of yellow and redDangled and glowed overhead,Who should I seeBut old Timothy,Hale and hearty as hearty could be--Timothy under a crab-apple tree.His blue eyes twinkling at me,Munching and crunching with glee,And wagging his wicked old head,"I've still got a sweet-tooth," he said."A hundred and threeCome January,I've one tooth left in my head," said he--Timothy under the crab-apple tree.GIRL'S SONGI saw three black pigs ridingIn a blue and yellow cart--Three black pigs riding to the fairBehind the old grey dappled mare--But it wasn't black pigs ridingIn a gay and gaudy cartThat sent me into hidingWith a flutter in my heart.I heard the cart returning,The jolting jingling cart--Returning empty from the fairBehind the old jog-trotting mare--But it wasn't the returningOf a clattering, empty cartThat sent the hot blood burningAnd throbbing through my heartTHE ICE CARTPerched on my city office-stool,I watched with envy, while a coolAnd lucky carter handled ice...And I was wandering in a trice,Far from the grey and grimy heatOf that intolerable street,O'er sapphire berg and emerald floe,Beneath the still, cold ruby glowOf everlasting Polar night,Bewildered by the queer half-light,Until I stumbled, unawares,Upon a creek where big white bearsPlunged headlong down with flourished heels,And floundered after shining sealsThrough shivering seas of blinding blue.And as I watched them, ere I knew,I'd stripped, and I was swimming, too,Among the seal-pack, young and hale,And thrusting on with threshing tail,With twist and twirl and sudden leapThrough crackling ice and salty deep--Diving and doubling with my kind,Until, at last, we left behindThose big, white, blundering bulks of death,And lay, at length, with panting breathUpon a far untravelled floe,Beneath a gentle drift of snow--Snow drifting gently, fine and white,Out of the endless Polar night,Falling and falling evermoreUpon that far untravelled shore,Till I was buried fathoms deepBeneath that cold white drifting sleep--Sleep drifting deep,Deep drifting sleep...The carter cracked a sudden whip:I clutched my stool with startled grip,Awakening to the grimy heatOf that intolerable street.TO E. M.(IN MEMORY OF R. B.)The night we saw the stacks of timber blazeTo terrible golden fury, young and strongHe watched between us with dream-dazzled gazeAflame, and burning like a god of song,As we together stood against the throngDrawn from the midnight of the city ways.To-night the world about us is ablazeAnd he is dead, is dead ... Yet, young and strongHe watches with us still with deathless gazeAflame, and burning like a god of song,As we together stand against the throngDrawn from the bottomless midnight of hell's ways.10th June, 1915.MARRIAGEGoing my way of old,Contented more or less,I dreamt not life could holdSuch happiness.I dreamt not that love's wayCould keep the golden heightDay after happy day,Night after night.ROSESRed roses floating in a crystal bowlYou bring, O love; and in your eyes I see,Blossom on blossom, your warm love of meBurning within the crystal of your soul--Red roses floating in a crystal bowl.FOR G.All night under the moonPlovers are flyingOver the dreaming meadows of silvery light,Over the meadows of June,Flying and crying--Wandering voices of love in the hush of the night.All night under the moon,Love, though we're lyingQuietly under the thatch, in silvery lightOver the meadows of JuneTogether we're flying--Rapturous voices of love in the hush of the night.1915HOMEI. RETURNUnder the brown bird-haunted eaves of thatchThe hollyhocks in crimson glory burnedAgainst black timbers and old rosy brick,And over the green door in clusters thickHung tangled passion-flowers, when we returnedTo our own threshold: and with hand on latchWe stood a moment in the sunset gleamAnd looked upon our home as in a dream.Rapt in a golden glow of still delightTogether on the threshold in the sunWe stood rejoicing that we two had wonTo this deep golden peace ere day was done,That over gloomy plain and storm-swept heightWe two, O love, had won to home ere night.II. CANDLE-LIGHTWhere through the open window I could seeThe supper-table in the golden lightOf tall white candles--brasses glinting brightOn the black gleaming board, and crockeryColoured like gardens of old Araby--In your blue gown against the walls of whiteYou stood adream, and in the starry nightI felt strange loneliness steal over me.You stood with eyes upon the candle flameThat kindled your thick hair to burnished gold,As in a golden spell that seemed to holdMy heart's love rapt from me for evermore...And then you stirred, and opening the door,Into the starry night you breathed my name.III. FIRELIGHTAgainst the curtained casement wind and sleetRattle and thresh, while snug by our own fireIn dear companionship that naught may tireWe sit--you listening, sewing in your seatHalf-dreaming in the glow of light and heat,I reading some old tale of love's desireThat swept on gold wings to disaster direThen rose re-orient from black defeat.I close the book, and louder yet the stormThreshes without. Your busy hands are still;And on your face and hair the light is warm,As we sit gazing on the coals' red gleamIn a gold glow of happiness, and dreamDiviner dreams the years shall yet fulfil.IV. MIDNIGHTBetween the midnight pillars of black elmsThe old moon hangs, a thin, cold, amber flameOver low ghostly mist: a lone snipe wheelsThrough shadowy moonshine, droning; and there stealsInto my heart a fear without a nameOut of primæval night's resurgent realms,Unearthly terror, chilling me with dreadAs I lie waking wide-eyed on the bed.And then you turn towards me in your sleepMurmuring, and with a sigh of deep contentYou nestle to my breast and over meSteals the warm peace of you; and, all fear spent,I hold you to me sleeping quietly,Till I, too, sink in slumber sound and deep.

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: FriendsCreator: Wilfrid Wilson GibsonRelease date: May 3, 2013 [eBook #42641]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Al Haines

Title: Friends

Creator: Wilfrid Wilson Gibson

Release date: May 3, 2013 [eBook #42641]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Al Haines

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FRIENDS ***

FRIENDSBYWILFRID WILSON GIBSONLONDONELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREETM CM XVI

FRIENDS

BYWILFRID WILSON GIBSON

LONDONELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREETM CM XVI

BY THE SAME WRITER(Uniform with FRIENDS)BATTLE (1915).THOROUGHFARES (1914).BORDERLANDS (1914).FIRES (1912).DAILY BREAD (1910).AKRA THE SLAVE (1910).STONEFOLDS (1907).

BY THE SAME WRITER

(Uniform with FRIENDS)

BATTLE (1915).THOROUGHFARES (1914).BORDERLANDS (1914).FIRES (1912).DAILY BREAD (1910).AKRA THE SLAVE (1910).STONEFOLDS (1907).

TO THE MEMORYOFRUPERT BROOKE

He's gone.I do not understand.I only knowThat as he turned to goAnd waved his handIn his young eyes a sudden glory shone:And I was dazzled by a sunset glow.And he was gone.23rd April, 1915.

He's gone.

I do not understand.

I only know

That as he turned to go

And waved his hand

In his young eyes a sudden glory shone:

And I was dazzled by a sunset glow.

And he was gone.

23rd April, 1915.

CONTENTS

Rupert BrookeWilliam Denis BrowneTenantsSea-changeGoldThe Old BedTreesOblivionRetreatColourNightThe OrphansThe Pessimist?The Sweet-ToothGirl's SongThe Ice CartTo E. M.MarriageRosesFor G.Home

RUPERT BROOKE

Your face was lifted to the golden skyAblaze beyond the black roofs of the square,As flame on flame leapt, flourishing in airIts tumult of red stars exultantly,To the cold constellations dim and high;And as we neared, the roaring ruddy flareKindled to gold your throat and brow and hairUntil you burned, a flame of ecstasy.The golden head goes down into the nightQuenched in cold gloom--and yet again you standBeside me now with lifted face alight,As, flame to flame, and fire to fire you burn...Then, recollecting, laughingly you turn,And look into my eyes and take my hand.

Your face was lifted to the golden sky

Ablaze beyond the black roofs of the square,

As flame on flame leapt, flourishing in air

Its tumult of red stars exultantly,

To the cold constellations dim and high;

And as we neared, the roaring ruddy flare

Kindled to gold your throat and brow and hair

Until you burned, a flame of ecstasy.

The golden head goes down into the night

Quenched in cold gloom--and yet again you stand

Beside me now with lifted face alight,

As, flame to flame, and fire to fire you burn...

Then, recollecting, laughingly you turn,

And look into my eyes and take my hand.

II.

Once in my garret--you being far awayTramping the hills and breathing upland air,Or so I fancied--brooding in my chair,I watched the London sunshine feeble and greyDapple my desk, too tired to labour more,When, looking up, I saw you standing there,Although I'd caught no footstep on the stair,Like sudden April at my open door.Though now beyond earth's farthest hills you fare,Song-crowned, immortal, sometimes it seems to meThat, if I listen very quietly,Perhaps I'll hear a light foot on the stair,And see you, standing with your angel air,Fresh from the uplands of eternity.

Once in my garret--you being far away

Tramping the hills and breathing upland air,

Or so I fancied--brooding in my chair,

I watched the London sunshine feeble and grey

Dapple my desk, too tired to labour more,

When, looking up, I saw you standing there,

Although I'd caught no footstep on the stair,

Like sudden April at my open door.

Though now beyond earth's farthest hills you fare,

Song-crowned, immortal, sometimes it seems to me

That, if I listen very quietly,

Perhaps I'll hear a light foot on the stair,

And see you, standing with your angel air,

Fresh from the uplands of eternity.

III.

Your eyes rejoiced in colour's ecstasyFulfilling even their uttermost desire,When, over a great sunlit field afireWith windy poppies, streaming like a seaOf scarlet flame that flaunted riotouslyAmong green orchards of that western shire,You gazed as though your heart could never tireOf life's red flood in summer revelry.And as I watched you little thought had IHow soon beneath the dim low-drifting skyYour soul should wander down the darkling way,With eyes that peer a little wistfully,Half-glad, half-sad, remembering, as they seeLethean poppies, shrivelling ashen grey.

Your eyes rejoiced in colour's ecstasy

Fulfilling even their uttermost desire,

When, over a great sunlit field afire

With windy poppies, streaming like a sea

Of scarlet flame that flaunted riotously

Among green orchards of that western shire,

You gazed as though your heart could never tire

Of life's red flood in summer revelry.

And as I watched you little thought had I

How soon beneath the dim low-drifting sky

Your soul should wander down the darkling way,

With eyes that peer a little wistfully,

Half-glad, half-sad, remembering, as they see

Lethean poppies, shrivelling ashen grey.

IV.

October chestnuts showered their perishing goldOver us as beside the stream we layIn the Old Vicarage garden that blue day,Talking of verse and all the manifoldDelights a little net of words may hold,While in the sunlight water-voles at playDived under a trailing crimson bramble-spray,And walnuts thudded ripe on soft black mould.Your soul goes down unto a darker streamAlone, O friend, yet even in death's deep nightYour eyes may grow accustomed to the dark,And Styx for you may have the ripple and gleamOf your familiar river, and Charon's barkTarry by that old garden of your delight.

October chestnuts showered their perishing gold

Over us as beside the stream we lay

In the Old Vicarage garden that blue day,

Talking of verse and all the manifold

Delights a little net of words may hold,

While in the sunlight water-voles at play

Dived under a trailing crimson bramble-spray,

And walnuts thudded ripe on soft black mould.

Your soul goes down unto a darker stream

Alone, O friend, yet even in death's deep night

Your eyes may grow accustomed to the dark,

And Styx for you may have the ripple and gleam

Of your familiar river, and Charon's bark

Tarry by that old garden of your delight.

WILLIAM DENIS BROWNE

(GALLIPOLI, 1915)

Night after night we two together heardThe music of the Ring,The inmost silence of our being stirredBy voice and string.Though I to-night in silence sit, and youIn stranger silence sleep,Eternal music stirs and thrills anewThe severing deep.

Night after night we two together heard

The music of the Ring,

The inmost silence of our being stirred

By voice and string.

Though I to-night in silence sit, and you

In stranger silence sleep,

Eternal music stirs and thrills anew

The severing deep.

TENANTS

Suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways,We came upon the little house asleepIn cold blind stillness, shadowless and deep,In the white magic of the full moon-blaze.Strangers without the gate, we stood agaze,Fearful to break that quiet, and to creepInto the home that had been ours to keepThrough a long year of happy nights and daysSo unfamiliar in the white moon-gleam,So old and ghostly like a house of dreamIt seemed, that over us there stole the dreadThat even as we watched it, side by side,The ghosts of lovers, who had lived and diedWithin its walls, were sleeping in our bed.

Suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways,

We came upon the little house asleep

In cold blind stillness, shadowless and deep,

In the white magic of the full moon-blaze.

Strangers without the gate, we stood agaze,

Fearful to break that quiet, and to creep

Into the home that had been ours to keep

Through a long year of happy nights and days

So unfamiliar in the white moon-gleam,

So old and ghostly like a house of dream

It seemed, that over us there stole the dread

That even as we watched it, side by side,

The ghosts of lovers, who had lived and died

Within its walls, were sleeping in our bed.

SEA-CHANGE

Wind-flicked and ruddy her young body glowedIn sunny shallows, splashing them to spray;But when on rippled, silver sand she lay,And over her the little green waves flowed,Coldly translucent and moon-coloured showedHer frail young beauty, as if rapt awayFrom all the light and laughter of the dayTo some twilit, forlorn sea-god's abode.Again into the sun with happy cryShe leapt alive and sparkling from the sea,Sprinkling white spray against the hot blue sky,A laughing girl ... and yet, I see her lieUnder a deeper tide eternallyIn cold moon-coloured immortality.

Wind-flicked and ruddy her young body glowed

In sunny shallows, splashing them to spray;

But when on rippled, silver sand she lay,

And over her the little green waves flowed,

Coldly translucent and moon-coloured showed

Her frail young beauty, as if rapt away

From all the light and laughter of the day

To some twilit, forlorn sea-god's abode.

Again into the sun with happy cry

She leapt alive and sparkling from the sea,

Sprinkling white spray against the hot blue sky,

A laughing girl ... and yet, I see her lie

Under a deeper tide eternally

In cold moon-coloured immortality.

GOLD

All day the mallet thudded, far belowMy garret, in an old ramshackle shedWhere ceaselessly, with stiffly nodding headAnd rigid motions ever to and froA figure like a puppet in a showBefore the window moved till day was dead,Beating out gold to earn his daily bread,Beating out thin fine gold-leaf blow on blow.And I within my garret all day longUnto that ceaseless thudding tuned my song,Beating out golden words in tune and timeTo that dull thudding, rhyme on golden rhyme.But in my dreams all night in that dark shedWith aching arms I beat fine gold for bread.

All day the mallet thudded, far below

My garret, in an old ramshackle shed

Where ceaselessly, with stiffly nodding head

And rigid motions ever to and fro

A figure like a puppet in a show

Before the window moved till day was dead,

Beating out gold to earn his daily bread,

Beating out thin fine gold-leaf blow on blow.

And I within my garret all day long

Unto that ceaseless thudding tuned my song,

Beating out golden words in tune and time

To that dull thudding, rhyme on golden rhyme.

But in my dreams all night in that dark shed

With aching arms I beat fine gold for bread.

THE OLD BED

Streaming beneath the eaves, the sunset lightTurns the white walls and ceiling to pure gold,And gold, the quilt and pillows on the oldFourposter bed--all day a cold drift-white--As if, in a gold casket glistering bright,The gleam of winter sunshine sought to holdThe sleeping child safe from the dark and coldAnd creeping shadows of the coming night.Slowly it fades: and stealing through the gloomHome-coming shadows throng the quiet room,Grey ghosts that move unrustling, without breath,To their familiar rest, and closer creepAbout the little dreamless child asleepUpon the bed of bridal, birth and death.

Streaming beneath the eaves, the sunset light

Turns the white walls and ceiling to pure gold,

And gold, the quilt and pillows on the old

Fourposter bed--all day a cold drift-white--

As if, in a gold casket glistering bright,

The gleam of winter sunshine sought to hold

The sleeping child safe from the dark and cold

And creeping shadows of the coming night.

Slowly it fades: and stealing through the gloom

Home-coming shadows throng the quiet room,

Grey ghosts that move unrustling, without breath,

To their familiar rest, and closer creep

About the little dreamless child asleep

Upon the bed of bridal, birth and death.

TREES

(ToLASCELLES ABERCROMBIE)

The flames half lit the cavernous mysteryOf the over-arching elm that loomed profoundAnd mountainous above us, from the groundSoaring to midnight stars majestically,As, under the shelter of that ageless treeIn a rapt dreaming circle we lay aroundThe crackling faggots, listening to the soundOf old words moving in new harmony.And as you read, before our wondering eyesArose another tree of mighty girth--Crested with stars though rooted in the earth,Its heavy-foliaged branches, lit with gleamsOf ruddy firelight and the light of dreams--Soaring immortal to eternal skies.

The flames half lit the cavernous mystery

Of the over-arching elm that loomed profound

And mountainous above us, from the ground

Soaring to midnight stars majestically,

As, under the shelter of that ageless tree

In a rapt dreaming circle we lay around

The crackling faggots, listening to the sound

Of old words moving in new harmony.

And as you read, before our wondering eyes

Arose another tree of mighty girth--

Crested with stars though rooted in the earth,

Its heavy-foliaged branches, lit with gleams

Of ruddy firelight and the light of dreams--

Soaring immortal to eternal skies.

OBLIVION

Near the great pyramid, unshadowed, white,With apex piercing the white noon-day blaze,Swathed in white robes beneath the blinding raysLie sleeping Bedouins drenched in white-hot light.About them, searing to the tingling sightSwims the white dazzle of the desert waysWhere the sense shudders, witless and adaze,In a white void with neither depth nor height.Within the black core of the pyramidBeneath the weight of sunless centuriesLapt in dead night King Cheops lies asleep;Yet in the darkness of his chamber hidHe knows no black oblivion more deepThan that blind white oblivion of noon skies.

Near the great pyramid, unshadowed, white,

With apex piercing the white noon-day blaze,

Swathed in white robes beneath the blinding rays

Lie sleeping Bedouins drenched in white-hot light.

About them, searing to the tingling sight

Swims the white dazzle of the desert ways

Where the sense shudders, witless and adaze,

In a white void with neither depth nor height.

Within the black core of the pyramid

Beneath the weight of sunless centuries

Lapt in dead night King Cheops lies asleep;

Yet in the darkness of his chamber hid

He knows no black oblivion more deep

Than that blind white oblivion of noon skies.

RETREAT

Broken, bewildered by the long retreatAcross the stifling leagues of southern plain,Across the scorching leagues of trampled grain,Half-stunned, half-blinded, by the trudge of feetAnd dusty smother of the August heat,He dreamt of flowers in an English lane,Of hedgerow flowers glistening after rain--All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet.All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet--The innocent names kept up a cool refrain--All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet,Chiming and tinkling in his aching brain,Until he babbled like a child again--"All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet."

Broken, bewildered by the long retreat

Across the stifling leagues of southern plain,

Across the scorching leagues of trampled grain,

Half-stunned, half-blinded, by the trudge of feet

And dusty smother of the August heat,

He dreamt of flowers in an English lane,

Of hedgerow flowers glistening after rain--

All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet.

All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet--

The innocent names kept up a cool refrain--

All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet,

Chiming and tinkling in his aching brain,

Until he babbled like a child again--

"All-heal and willow-herb and meadow-sweet."

COLOUR

A blue-black Nubian plucking orangesAt Jaffa by a sea of malachiteIn red tarboosh, green sash, and flowing whiteBurnous--among the shadowy memoriesThat haunt me yet by these bleak northern seasHe lives for ever in my eyes' delight,Bizarre, superb in young immortal might--A god of old barbaric mysteries.Maybe he lived a life of lies and lust:Maybe his bones are now but scattered dustYet, for a moment he was life supremeExultant and unchallenged: and my rhymeWould set him safely out of reach of timeIn that old heaven where things are what they seem.

A blue-black Nubian plucking oranges

At Jaffa by a sea of malachite

In red tarboosh, green sash, and flowing white

Burnous--among the shadowy memories

That haunt me yet by these bleak northern seas

He lives for ever in my eyes' delight,

Bizarre, superb in young immortal might--

A god of old barbaric mysteries.

Maybe he lived a life of lies and lust:

Maybe his bones are now but scattered dust

Yet, for a moment he was life supreme

Exultant and unchallenged: and my rhyme

Would set him safely out of reach of time

In that old heaven where things are what they seem.

NIGHT

Vesuvius, purple under purple skiesBeyond the purple, still, unrippling sea;Sheer amber lightning, streaming ceaselesslyFrom heaven to earth, dazzling bewildered eyesWith all the terror of beauty; thus day diesThat dawned in blue, unclouded innocency;And thus we look our last on ItalyThat soon, obscured by night, behind us lies.And night descends on us, tempestuous night,Night, torn with terror, as we sail the deep,And like a cataract down a mountain-steepPours, loud with thunder, that red perilous fire...Yet shall the dawn, O land of our desire,Show thee again, re-orient, crowned with light!

Vesuvius, purple under purple skies

Beyond the purple, still, unrippling sea;

Sheer amber lightning, streaming ceaselessly

From heaven to earth, dazzling bewildered eyes

With all the terror of beauty; thus day dies

That dawned in blue, unclouded innocency;

And thus we look our last on Italy

That soon, obscured by night, behind us lies.

And night descends on us, tempestuous night,

Night, torn with terror, as we sail the deep,

And like a cataract down a mountain-steep

Pours, loud with thunder, that red perilous fire...

Yet shall the dawn, O land of our desire,

Show thee again, re-orient, crowned with light!

THE ORPHANS

At five o'clock one April mornI met them making tracks,Young Benjamin and Abel Horn,With bundles on their backs.Young Benjamin is seventy-five,Young Abel, seventy-seven--The oldest innocents aliveBeneath that April heaven.I asked them why they trudged aboutWith crabby looks and sour--"And does your mother know you're outAt this unearthly hour?"They stopped: and scowling up at meEach shook a grizzled head,And swore; and then spat bitterly,As with one voice they said:"Homeless, about the country-sideWe never thought to roam;But mother, she has gone and died,And broken up the home."

At five o'clock one April morn

I met them making tracks,

Young Benjamin and Abel Horn,

With bundles on their backs.

Young Benjamin is seventy-five,

Young Abel, seventy-seven--

The oldest innocents alive

Beneath that April heaven.

I asked them why they trudged about

With crabby looks and sour--

"And does your mother know you're out

At this unearthly hour?"

They stopped: and scowling up at me

Each shook a grizzled head,

And swore; and then spat bitterly,

As with one voice they said:

"Homeless, about the country-side

We never thought to roam;

But mother, she has gone and died,

And broken up the home."

THE PESSIMIST

His body bulged with puppies--little eyesPeeped out of every pocket, black and bright;And with as innocent, round-eyed surpriseHe watched the glittering traffic of the night."What this world's coming to I cannot tell,"He muttered, as I passed him, with a whine--"Things surely must be making slap for hell,When no one wants these little dogs of mine."

His body bulged with puppies--little eyes

Peeped out of every pocket, black and bright;

And with as innocent, round-eyed surprise

He watched the glittering traffic of the night.

"What this world's coming to I cannot tell,"

He muttered, as I passed him, with a whine--

"Things surely must be making slap for hell,

When no one wants these little dogs of mine."

Mooning in the moonlightI met a mottled pig,Grubbing mast and acorn,On the Gallows Rigg."Tell, oh, tell me truly,While I wander blind,Do your peepy pig's eyesReally see the wind--"See the great wind flowingDarkling and agleam,Through the fields of heaven,In a crystal stream?"Do the singing eddiesBreak on bough and twig,Into silvery sparklesFor your eyes, O pig?"Do celestial surgesSweep across the night,Like a sea of gloryIn your blessed sight?"Tell, oh, tell me truly!"But the mottled pigGrubbing mast and acornsDid not care a fig.

Mooning in the moonlight

I met a mottled pig,

Grubbing mast and acorn,

On the Gallows Rigg.

"Tell, oh, tell me truly,

While I wander blind,

Do your peepy pig's eyes

Really see the wind--

"See the great wind flowing

Darkling and agleam,

Through the fields of heaven,

In a crystal stream?

"Do the singing eddies

Break on bough and twig,

Into silvery sparkles

For your eyes, O pig?

"Do celestial surges

Sweep across the night,

Like a sea of glory

In your blessed sight?

"Tell, oh, tell me truly!"

But the mottled pig

Grubbing mast and acorns

Did not care a fig.

THE SWEET-TOOTH

Taking a turn after teaThrough orchards of Mirabelea,Where clusters of yellow and redDangled and glowed overhead,Who should I seeBut old Timothy,Hale and hearty as hearty could be--Timothy under a crab-apple tree.His blue eyes twinkling at me,Munching and crunching with glee,And wagging his wicked old head,"I've still got a sweet-tooth," he said."A hundred and threeCome January,I've one tooth left in my head," said he--Timothy under the crab-apple tree.

Taking a turn after tea

Through orchards of Mirabelea,

Where clusters of yellow and red

Dangled and glowed overhead,

Who should I see

But old Timothy,

Hale and hearty as hearty could be--

Timothy under a crab-apple tree.

His blue eyes twinkling at me,

Munching and crunching with glee,

And wagging his wicked old head,

"I've still got a sweet-tooth," he said.

"A hundred and three

Come January,

I've one tooth left in my head," said he--

Timothy under the crab-apple tree.

GIRL'S SONG

I saw three black pigs ridingIn a blue and yellow cart--Three black pigs riding to the fairBehind the old grey dappled mare--But it wasn't black pigs ridingIn a gay and gaudy cartThat sent me into hidingWith a flutter in my heart.I heard the cart returning,The jolting jingling cart--Returning empty from the fairBehind the old jog-trotting mare--But it wasn't the returningOf a clattering, empty cartThat sent the hot blood burningAnd throbbing through my heart

I saw three black pigs riding

In a blue and yellow cart--

Three black pigs riding to the fair

Behind the old grey dappled mare--

But it wasn't black pigs riding

In a gay and gaudy cart

That sent me into hiding

With a flutter in my heart.

I heard the cart returning,

The jolting jingling cart--

Returning empty from the fair

Behind the old jog-trotting mare--

But it wasn't the returning

Of a clattering, empty cart

That sent the hot blood burning

And throbbing through my heart

THE ICE CART

Perched on my city office-stool,I watched with envy, while a coolAnd lucky carter handled ice...And I was wandering in a trice,Far from the grey and grimy heatOf that intolerable street,O'er sapphire berg and emerald floe,Beneath the still, cold ruby glowOf everlasting Polar night,Bewildered by the queer half-light,Until I stumbled, unawares,Upon a creek where big white bearsPlunged headlong down with flourished heels,And floundered after shining sealsThrough shivering seas of blinding blue.And as I watched them, ere I knew,I'd stripped, and I was swimming, too,Among the seal-pack, young and hale,And thrusting on with threshing tail,With twist and twirl and sudden leapThrough crackling ice and salty deep--Diving and doubling with my kind,Until, at last, we left behindThose big, white, blundering bulks of death,And lay, at length, with panting breathUpon a far untravelled floe,Beneath a gentle drift of snow--Snow drifting gently, fine and white,Out of the endless Polar night,Falling and falling evermoreUpon that far untravelled shore,Till I was buried fathoms deepBeneath that cold white drifting sleep--Sleep drifting deep,Deep drifting sleep...The carter cracked a sudden whip:I clutched my stool with startled grip,Awakening to the grimy heatOf that intolerable street.

Perched on my city office-stool,

I watched with envy, while a cool

And lucky carter handled ice...

And I was wandering in a trice,

Far from the grey and grimy heat

Of that intolerable street,

O'er sapphire berg and emerald floe,

Beneath the still, cold ruby glow

Of everlasting Polar night,

Bewildered by the queer half-light,

Until I stumbled, unawares,

Upon a creek where big white bears

Plunged headlong down with flourished heels,

And floundered after shining seals

Through shivering seas of blinding blue.

And as I watched them, ere I knew,

I'd stripped, and I was swimming, too,

Among the seal-pack, young and hale,

And thrusting on with threshing tail,

With twist and twirl and sudden leap

Through crackling ice and salty deep--

Diving and doubling with my kind,

Until, at last, we left behind

Those big, white, blundering bulks of death,

And lay, at length, with panting breath

Upon a far untravelled floe,

Beneath a gentle drift of snow--

Snow drifting gently, fine and white,

Out of the endless Polar night,

Falling and falling evermore

Upon that far untravelled shore,

Till I was buried fathoms deep

Beneath that cold white drifting sleep--

Sleep drifting deep,

Deep drifting sleep...

The carter cracked a sudden whip:

I clutched my stool with startled grip,

Awakening to the grimy heat

Of that intolerable street.

TO E. M.

(IN MEMORY OF R. B.)

The night we saw the stacks of timber blazeTo terrible golden fury, young and strongHe watched between us with dream-dazzled gazeAflame, and burning like a god of song,As we together stood against the throngDrawn from the midnight of the city ways.To-night the world about us is ablazeAnd he is dead, is dead ... Yet, young and strongHe watches with us still with deathless gazeAflame, and burning like a god of song,As we together stand against the throngDrawn from the bottomless midnight of hell's ways.10th June, 1915.

The night we saw the stacks of timber blaze

To terrible golden fury, young and strong

He watched between us with dream-dazzled gaze

Aflame, and burning like a god of song,

As we together stood against the throng

Drawn from the midnight of the city ways.

To-night the world about us is ablaze

And he is dead, is dead ... Yet, young and strong

He watches with us still with deathless gaze

Aflame, and burning like a god of song,

As we together stand against the throng

Drawn from the bottomless midnight of hell's ways.

10th June, 1915.

MARRIAGE

Going my way of old,Contented more or less,I dreamt not life could holdSuch happiness.I dreamt not that love's wayCould keep the golden heightDay after happy day,Night after night.

Going my way of old,

Contented more or less,

I dreamt not life could hold

Such happiness.

I dreamt not that love's way

Could keep the golden height

Day after happy day,

Night after night.

ROSES

Red roses floating in a crystal bowlYou bring, O love; and in your eyes I see,Blossom on blossom, your warm love of meBurning within the crystal of your soul--Red roses floating in a crystal bowl.

Red roses floating in a crystal bowl

You bring, O love; and in your eyes I see,

Blossom on blossom, your warm love of me

Burning within the crystal of your soul--

Red roses floating in a crystal bowl.

FOR G.

All night under the moonPlovers are flyingOver the dreaming meadows of silvery light,Over the meadows of June,Flying and crying--Wandering voices of love in the hush of the night.All night under the moon,Love, though we're lyingQuietly under the thatch, in silvery lightOver the meadows of JuneTogether we're flying--Rapturous voices of love in the hush of the night.1915

All night under the moon

Plovers are flying

Over the dreaming meadows of silvery light,

Over the meadows of June,

Flying and crying--

Wandering voices of love in the hush of the night.

All night under the moon,

Love, though we're lying

Quietly under the thatch, in silvery light

Over the meadows of June

Together we're flying--

Rapturous voices of love in the hush of the night.

1915

HOME

I. RETURN

Under the brown bird-haunted eaves of thatchThe hollyhocks in crimson glory burnedAgainst black timbers and old rosy brick,And over the green door in clusters thickHung tangled passion-flowers, when we returnedTo our own threshold: and with hand on latchWe stood a moment in the sunset gleamAnd looked upon our home as in a dream.Rapt in a golden glow of still delightTogether on the threshold in the sunWe stood rejoicing that we two had wonTo this deep golden peace ere day was done,That over gloomy plain and storm-swept heightWe two, O love, had won to home ere night.

Under the brown bird-haunted eaves of thatch

The hollyhocks in crimson glory burned

Against black timbers and old rosy brick,

And over the green door in clusters thick

Hung tangled passion-flowers, when we returned

To our own threshold: and with hand on latch

We stood a moment in the sunset gleam

And looked upon our home as in a dream.

Rapt in a golden glow of still delight

Together on the threshold in the sun

We stood rejoicing that we two had won

To this deep golden peace ere day was done,

That over gloomy plain and storm-swept height

We two, O love, had won to home ere night.

II. CANDLE-LIGHT

Where through the open window I could seeThe supper-table in the golden lightOf tall white candles--brasses glinting brightOn the black gleaming board, and crockeryColoured like gardens of old Araby--In your blue gown against the walls of whiteYou stood adream, and in the starry nightI felt strange loneliness steal over me.You stood with eyes upon the candle flameThat kindled your thick hair to burnished gold,As in a golden spell that seemed to holdMy heart's love rapt from me for evermore...And then you stirred, and opening the door,Into the starry night you breathed my name.

Where through the open window I could see

The supper-table in the golden light

Of tall white candles--brasses glinting bright

On the black gleaming board, and crockery

Coloured like gardens of old Araby--

In your blue gown against the walls of white

You stood adream, and in the starry night

I felt strange loneliness steal over me.

You stood with eyes upon the candle flame

That kindled your thick hair to burnished gold,

As in a golden spell that seemed to hold

My heart's love rapt from me for evermore...

And then you stirred, and opening the door,

Into the starry night you breathed my name.

III. FIRELIGHT

Against the curtained casement wind and sleetRattle and thresh, while snug by our own fireIn dear companionship that naught may tireWe sit--you listening, sewing in your seatHalf-dreaming in the glow of light and heat,I reading some old tale of love's desireThat swept on gold wings to disaster direThen rose re-orient from black defeat.I close the book, and louder yet the stormThreshes without. Your busy hands are still;And on your face and hair the light is warm,As we sit gazing on the coals' red gleamIn a gold glow of happiness, and dreamDiviner dreams the years shall yet fulfil.

Against the curtained casement wind and sleet

Rattle and thresh, while snug by our own fire

In dear companionship that naught may tire

We sit--you listening, sewing in your seat

Half-dreaming in the glow of light and heat,

I reading some old tale of love's desire

That swept on gold wings to disaster dire

Then rose re-orient from black defeat.

I close the book, and louder yet the storm

Threshes without. Your busy hands are still;

And on your face and hair the light is warm,

As we sit gazing on the coals' red gleam

In a gold glow of happiness, and dream

Diviner dreams the years shall yet fulfil.

IV. MIDNIGHT

Between the midnight pillars of black elmsThe old moon hangs, a thin, cold, amber flameOver low ghostly mist: a lone snipe wheelsThrough shadowy moonshine, droning; and there stealsInto my heart a fear without a nameOut of primæval night's resurgent realms,Unearthly terror, chilling me with dreadAs I lie waking wide-eyed on the bed.And then you turn towards me in your sleepMurmuring, and with a sigh of deep contentYou nestle to my breast and over meSteals the warm peace of you; and, all fear spent,I hold you to me sleeping quietly,Till I, too, sink in slumber sound and deep.

Between the midnight pillars of black elms

The old moon hangs, a thin, cold, amber flame

Over low ghostly mist: a lone snipe wheels

Through shadowy moonshine, droning; and there steals

Into my heart a fear without a name

Out of primæval night's resurgent realms,

Unearthly terror, chilling me with dread

As I lie waking wide-eyed on the bed.

And then you turn towards me in your sleep

Murmuring, and with a sigh of deep content

You nestle to my breast and over me

Steals the warm peace of you; and, all fear spent,

I hold you to me sleeping quietly,

Till I, too, sink in slumber sound and deep.

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