SONG-DAY IN AUTUMN[p.xxi]Whenthe autumn rosesAre heavy with dew,Before the mist disclosesThe leaf’s brown hue,You would, among the laughing hillsOf yesterdayWalk innocent in the daffodils,Coiffing up your auburn hairIn a puritan fillet, a chaste white snareTo catch and keep me with you thereSo far away.When from the autumn rosesTrickles the dew,When the blue mist unclosesAnd the sun looks through,You from those startled hillsCome away,Out of the withering daffodils;Thoughtful, and half afraid,Plaiting a heavy, auburn braidAnd coiling it round the wise brows of a maidWho was scared in her play.When in the autumn rosesCreeps a bee,And a trembling flower enclosesHis ecstasy,You from your lonely walkTurn away,And leaning to me like a flower on its stalk,[p.xxii]Wait among the beechesFor your late bee who beseechesTo creep through your loosened hair till he reaches,Your heart of dismay.
Whenthe autumn rosesAre heavy with dew,Before the mist disclosesThe leaf’s brown hue,You would, among the laughing hillsOf yesterdayWalk innocent in the daffodils,Coiffing up your auburn hairIn a puritan fillet, a chaste white snareTo catch and keep me with you thereSo far away.
Whenthe autumn roses
Are heavy with dew,
Before the mist discloses
The leaf’s brown hue,
You would, among the laughing hills
Of yesterday
Walk innocent in the daffodils,
Coiffing up your auburn hair
In a puritan fillet, a chaste white snare
To catch and keep me with you there
So far away.
When from the autumn rosesTrickles the dew,When the blue mist unclosesAnd the sun looks through,You from those startled hillsCome away,Out of the withering daffodils;Thoughtful, and half afraid,Plaiting a heavy, auburn braidAnd coiling it round the wise brows of a maidWho was scared in her play.
When from the autumn roses
Trickles the dew,
When the blue mist uncloses
And the sun looks through,
You from those startled hills
Come away,
Out of the withering daffodils;
Thoughtful, and half afraid,
Plaiting a heavy, auburn braid
And coiling it round the wise brows of a maid
Who was scared in her play.
When in the autumn rosesCreeps a bee,And a trembling flower enclosesHis ecstasy,You from your lonely walkTurn away,And leaning to me like a flower on its stalk,[p.xxii]Wait among the beechesFor your late bee who beseechesTo creep through your loosened hair till he reaches,Your heart of dismay.
When in the autumn roses
Creeps a bee,
And a trembling flower encloses
His ecstasy,
You from your lonely walk
Turn away,
And leaning to me like a flower on its stalk,[p.xxii]
Wait among the beeches
For your late bee who beseeches
To creep through your loosened hair till he reaches,
Your heart of dismay.
AWARE[p.xxiii]Slowlythe moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,Divesting herself of her golden shift, and soEmerging white and exquisite; and I in amazeSee in the sky before me, a woman I did not knowI loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.
Slowlythe moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,Divesting herself of her golden shift, and soEmerging white and exquisite; and I in amazeSee in the sky before me, a woman I did not knowI loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.
Slowlythe moon is rising out of the ruddy haze,
Divesting herself of her golden shift, and so
Emerging white and exquisite; and I in amaze
See in the sky before me, a woman I did not know
I loved, but there she goes and her beauty hurts my heart;
I follow her down the night, begging her not to depart.
A PANG OF REMINISCENCE[p.xxiv]Highand smaller goes the moon, she is small and very far from me,Wistful and candid, watching me wistfully, and I seeTrembling blue in her pallor a tear that surely I have seen before,A tear which I had hoped that even hell held not again in store.
Highand smaller goes the moon, she is small and very far from me,Wistful and candid, watching me wistfully, and I seeTrembling blue in her pallor a tear that surely I have seen before,A tear which I had hoped that even hell held not again in store.
Highand smaller goes the moon, she is small and very far from me,
Wistful and candid, watching me wistfully, and I see
Trembling blue in her pallor a tear that surely I have seen before,
A tear which I had hoped that even hell held not again in store.
A WHITE BLOSSOM[p.xxv]A tinymoon as white and small as a single jasmine flowerLeans all alone above my window, on night’s wintry bower,Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rainShe shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain.
A tinymoon as white and small as a single jasmine flowerLeans all alone above my window, on night’s wintry bower,Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rainShe shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain.
A tinymoon as white and small as a single jasmine flower
Leans all alone above my window, on night’s wintry bower,
Liquid as lime-tree blossom, soft as brilliant water or rain
She shines, the one white love of my youth, which all sin cannot stain.
RED MOON-RISE[p.xxvi]Thetrain in running across the weald has fallen into a steadier strokeSo even, it beats like silence, and sky and earth in one unbrokeEmbrace of darkness lie around, and crushed between them all the looseAnd littered lettering of leaves and hills and houses closed, and we can useThe open book of landscape no more, for the covers of darkness have shut uponIts written pages, and sky and earth and all between are closed in one.And we are smothered between the darkness, we close our eyes and say “Hush!” we tryTo escape in sleep the terror of this immense deep darkness, and we lieWrapped up for sleep. And then, dear God, from out of the twofold darkness, redAs if from the womb the moon arises, as if the twin-walled darkness had bledIn one great spasm of birth and given us this new, red moon-riseWhich lies on the knees of the darkness bloody, and makes us hide our eyes.The train beats frantic in haste, and struggles awayFrom this ruddy terror of birth that has slid downFrom out of the loins of night to flame our wayWith fear; but God, I am glad, so glad that I drownMy terror with joy of confirmation, for now[p.xxvii]Lies God all red before me, and I am glad,As the Magi were when they saw the rosy browOf the Infant bless their constant folly which hadBrought them thither to God: for now I knowThat the Womb is a great red passion whence rises allThe shapeliness that decks us here-below:Yea like the fire that boils within this ballOf earth, and quickens all herself with flowers,God burns within the stiffened clay of us;And every flash of thought that we and oursSend up to heaven, and every movement, doesFly like a spark from this God-fire of passion;And pain of birth, and joy of the begetting,And sweat of labour, and the meanest fashionOf fretting or of gladness, but the jettingOf a trail of the great fire against the skyWhere we can see it, a jet from the innermost fire:And even in the watery shells that lieAlive within the cozy under-mire,A grain of this same fire I can descry.And then within the screaming birds that flyAcross the lightning when the storm leaps higher;And then the swirling, flaming folk that tryTo come like fire-flames at their fierce desire,They are as earth’s dread, spurting flames that plyAwhile and gush forth death and then expire.And though it be love’s wet blue eyes that cryTo hot love to relinquish its desire,Still in their depths I see the same red sparkAs rose to-night upon us from the dark.
Thetrain in running across the weald has fallen into a steadier strokeSo even, it beats like silence, and sky and earth in one unbrokeEmbrace of darkness lie around, and crushed between them all the looseAnd littered lettering of leaves and hills and houses closed, and we can useThe open book of landscape no more, for the covers of darkness have shut uponIts written pages, and sky and earth and all between are closed in one.
Thetrain in running across the weald has fallen into a steadier stroke
So even, it beats like silence, and sky and earth in one unbroke
Embrace of darkness lie around, and crushed between them all the loose
And littered lettering of leaves and hills and houses closed, and we can use
The open book of landscape no more, for the covers of darkness have shut upon
Its written pages, and sky and earth and all between are closed in one.
And we are smothered between the darkness, we close our eyes and say “Hush!” we tryTo escape in sleep the terror of this immense deep darkness, and we lieWrapped up for sleep. And then, dear God, from out of the twofold darkness, redAs if from the womb the moon arises, as if the twin-walled darkness had bledIn one great spasm of birth and given us this new, red moon-riseWhich lies on the knees of the darkness bloody, and makes us hide our eyes.
And we are smothered between the darkness, we close our eyes and say “Hush!” we try
To escape in sleep the terror of this immense deep darkness, and we lie
Wrapped up for sleep. And then, dear God, from out of the twofold darkness, red
As if from the womb the moon arises, as if the twin-walled darkness had bled
In one great spasm of birth and given us this new, red moon-rise
Which lies on the knees of the darkness bloody, and makes us hide our eyes.
The train beats frantic in haste, and struggles awayFrom this ruddy terror of birth that has slid downFrom out of the loins of night to flame our wayWith fear; but God, I am glad, so glad that I drownMy terror with joy of confirmation, for now[p.xxvii]Lies God all red before me, and I am glad,As the Magi were when they saw the rosy browOf the Infant bless their constant folly which hadBrought them thither to God: for now I knowThat the Womb is a great red passion whence rises allThe shapeliness that decks us here-below:Yea like the fire that boils within this ballOf earth, and quickens all herself with flowers,God burns within the stiffened clay of us;And every flash of thought that we and oursSend up to heaven, and every movement, doesFly like a spark from this God-fire of passion;And pain of birth, and joy of the begetting,And sweat of labour, and the meanest fashionOf fretting or of gladness, but the jettingOf a trail of the great fire against the skyWhere we can see it, a jet from the innermost fire:And even in the watery shells that lieAlive within the cozy under-mire,A grain of this same fire I can descry.
The train beats frantic in haste, and struggles away
From this ruddy terror of birth that has slid down
From out of the loins of night to flame our way
With fear; but God, I am glad, so glad that I drown
My terror with joy of confirmation, for now[p.xxvii]
Lies God all red before me, and I am glad,
As the Magi were when they saw the rosy brow
Of the Infant bless their constant folly which had
Brought them thither to God: for now I know
That the Womb is a great red passion whence rises all
The shapeliness that decks us here-below:
Yea like the fire that boils within this ball
Of earth, and quickens all herself with flowers,
God burns within the stiffened clay of us;
And every flash of thought that we and ours
Send up to heaven, and every movement, does
Fly like a spark from this God-fire of passion;
And pain of birth, and joy of the begetting,
And sweat of labour, and the meanest fashion
Of fretting or of gladness, but the jetting
Of a trail of the great fire against the sky
Where we can see it, a jet from the innermost fire:
And even in the watery shells that lie
Alive within the cozy under-mire,
A grain of this same fire I can descry.
And then within the screaming birds that flyAcross the lightning when the storm leaps higher;And then the swirling, flaming folk that tryTo come like fire-flames at their fierce desire,They are as earth’s dread, spurting flames that plyAwhile and gush forth death and then expire.And though it be love’s wet blue eyes that cryTo hot love to relinquish its desire,Still in their depths I see the same red sparkAs rose to-night upon us from the dark.
And then within the screaming birds that fly
Across the lightning when the storm leaps higher;
And then the swirling, flaming folk that try
To come like fire-flames at their fierce desire,
They are as earth’s dread, spurting flames that ply
Awhile and gush forth death and then expire.
And though it be love’s wet blue eyes that cry
To hot love to relinquish its desire,
Still in their depths I see the same red spark
As rose to-night upon us from the dark.
RETURN[p.xxviii]NowI am come again, you who have so desiredMy coming, why do you look away from me?Why does your cheek burn against me—have I inspiredSuch anger as sets your mouth unwontedly?Ah, here I sit while you break the music beneathYour bow; for broken it is, and hurting to hear:Cease then from music—does anguish of absence bequeathMe only aloofness when I would draw near?
NowI am come again, you who have so desiredMy coming, why do you look away from me?Why does your cheek burn against me—have I inspiredSuch anger as sets your mouth unwontedly?
NowI am come again, you who have so desired
My coming, why do you look away from me?
Why does your cheek burn against me—have I inspired
Such anger as sets your mouth unwontedly?
Ah, here I sit while you break the music beneathYour bow; for broken it is, and hurting to hear:Cease then from music—does anguish of absence bequeathMe only aloofness when I would draw near?
Ah, here I sit while you break the music beneath
Your bow; for broken it is, and hurting to hear:
Cease then from music—does anguish of absence bequeath
Me only aloofness when I would draw near?
THE APPEAL[p.xxix]You, Helen, who see the starsAs mistletoe berries burning in a black tree,You surely, seeing I am a bowl of kisses,Should put your mouth to mine and drink of me.Helen, you let my kisses steamWasteful into the night’s black nostrils; drinkMe up I pray; oh you who are Night’s Bacchante,How can you from my bowl of kisses shrink!
You, Helen, who see the starsAs mistletoe berries burning in a black tree,You surely, seeing I am a bowl of kisses,Should put your mouth to mine and drink of me.
You, Helen, who see the stars
As mistletoe berries burning in a black tree,
You surely, seeing I am a bowl of kisses,
Should put your mouth to mine and drink of me.
Helen, you let my kisses steamWasteful into the night’s black nostrils; drinkMe up I pray; oh you who are Night’s Bacchante,How can you from my bowl of kisses shrink!
Helen, you let my kisses steam
Wasteful into the night’s black nostrils; drink
Me up I pray; oh you who are Night’s Bacchante,
How can you from my bowl of kisses shrink!
REPULSED[p.xxx]Thelast, silk-floating thought has gone from the dandelion stem,And the flesh of the stalk holds up for nothing a blank diadem.The night’s flood-winds have lifted my last desire from me,And my hollow flesh stands up in the night abandonedly.As I stand on this hill, with the whitening cave of the city beyond,Helen, I am despoiled of my pride, and my soul turns fond:Overhead the nightly heavens like an open, immense eye,Like a cat’s distended pupil sparkles with sudden stars,As with thoughts that flash and crackle in uncouth malignancyThey glitter at me, and I fear the fierce snapping of night’s thought-stars.Beyond me, up the darkness, goes the gush of the lights of two towns,As the breath which rushes upwards from the nostrils of an immenseLife crouched across the globe, ready, if need be, to pounceAcross the space upon heaven’s high hostile eminence.All round me, but far away, the night’s twin consciousness roars[p.xxxi]With sounds that endlessly swell and sink like the storm of thought in the brain,Lifting and falling like slow breaths taken, pulsing like oarsImmense that beat the blood of the night down its vein.The night is immense and awful, Helen, and I am insect smallIn the fur of this hill, clung on to the fur of shaggy, black heather.A palpitant speck in the fur of the night, and afraid of all,Seeing the world and the sky like creatures hostile together.And I in the fur of the world, and you a pale fleck from the sky,How we hate each other to-night, hate, you and I,As the world of activity hates the dream that goes on on high,As a man hates the dreaming woman he loves, but who will not reply.
Thelast, silk-floating thought has gone from the dandelion stem,And the flesh of the stalk holds up for nothing a blank diadem.
Thelast, silk-floating thought has gone from the dandelion stem,
And the flesh of the stalk holds up for nothing a blank diadem.
The night’s flood-winds have lifted my last desire from me,And my hollow flesh stands up in the night abandonedly.
The night’s flood-winds have lifted my last desire from me,
And my hollow flesh stands up in the night abandonedly.
As I stand on this hill, with the whitening cave of the city beyond,Helen, I am despoiled of my pride, and my soul turns fond:
As I stand on this hill, with the whitening cave of the city beyond,
Helen, I am despoiled of my pride, and my soul turns fond:
Overhead the nightly heavens like an open, immense eye,Like a cat’s distended pupil sparkles with sudden stars,As with thoughts that flash and crackle in uncouth malignancyThey glitter at me, and I fear the fierce snapping of night’s thought-stars.
Overhead the nightly heavens like an open, immense eye,
Like a cat’s distended pupil sparkles with sudden stars,
As with thoughts that flash and crackle in uncouth malignancy
They glitter at me, and I fear the fierce snapping of night’s thought-stars.
Beyond me, up the darkness, goes the gush of the lights of two towns,As the breath which rushes upwards from the nostrils of an immenseLife crouched across the globe, ready, if need be, to pounceAcross the space upon heaven’s high hostile eminence.
Beyond me, up the darkness, goes the gush of the lights of two towns,
As the breath which rushes upwards from the nostrils of an immense
Life crouched across the globe, ready, if need be, to pounce
Across the space upon heaven’s high hostile eminence.
All round me, but far away, the night’s twin consciousness roars[p.xxxi]With sounds that endlessly swell and sink like the storm of thought in the brain,Lifting and falling like slow breaths taken, pulsing like oarsImmense that beat the blood of the night down its vein.
All round me, but far away, the night’s twin consciousness roars[p.xxxi]
With sounds that endlessly swell and sink like the storm of thought in the brain,
Lifting and falling like slow breaths taken, pulsing like oars
Immense that beat the blood of the night down its vein.
The night is immense and awful, Helen, and I am insect smallIn the fur of this hill, clung on to the fur of shaggy, black heather.A palpitant speck in the fur of the night, and afraid of all,Seeing the world and the sky like creatures hostile together.
The night is immense and awful, Helen, and I am insect small
In the fur of this hill, clung on to the fur of shaggy, black heather.
A palpitant speck in the fur of the night, and afraid of all,
Seeing the world and the sky like creatures hostile together.
And I in the fur of the world, and you a pale fleck from the sky,How we hate each other to-night, hate, you and I,As the world of activity hates the dream that goes on on high,As a man hates the dreaming woman he loves, but who will not reply.
And I in the fur of the world, and you a pale fleck from the sky,
How we hate each other to-night, hate, you and I,
As the world of activity hates the dream that goes on on high,
As a man hates the dreaming woman he loves, but who will not reply.
DREAM-CONFUSED[p.xxxii]Isthat the moonAt the window so big and red?No one in the room,No one near thebed——?Listen, her shoonPalpitating down the stair?—Or a beat of wings at the window there?A moment agoShe kissed me warm on the mouth,The very moon in the southIs warm with a bloody glow,The moon from far abyssesSignalling those two kisses.And now the moonGoes slowly out of the west,And slowly back in my breastMy kisses are sinking, soonTo leave me at rest.
Isthat the moonAt the window so big and red?No one in the room,No one near thebed——?
Isthat the moon
At the window so big and red?
No one in the room,
No one near thebed——?
Listen, her shoonPalpitating down the stair?—Or a beat of wings at the window there?
Listen, her shoon
Palpitating down the stair?
—Or a beat of wings at the window there?
A moment agoShe kissed me warm on the mouth,The very moon in the southIs warm with a bloody glow,The moon from far abyssesSignalling those two kisses.
A moment ago
She kissed me warm on the mouth,
The very moon in the south
Is warm with a bloody glow,
The moon from far abysses
Signalling those two kisses.
And now the moonGoes slowly out of the west,And slowly back in my breastMy kisses are sinking, soonTo leave me at rest.
And now the moon
Goes slowly out of the west,
And slowly back in my breast
My kisses are sinking, soon
To leave me at rest.
COROT[p.xxxiii]Thetrees rise tall and taller, liftedOn a subtle rush of cool grey flameThat issuing out of the dawn has siftedThe spirit from each leaf’s frame.For the trailing, leisurely rapture of lifeDrifts dimly forward, easily hiddenBy bright leaves uttered aloud, and strifeOf shapes in the grey mist chidden.The grey, phosphorescent, pellucid advanceOf the luminous purpose of God, shines outWhere the lofty trees athwart stream chanceTo shake flakes of its shadow about.The subtle, steady rush of the wholeGrey foam-mist of advancing God,As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal,Is heard in the grass of the sod.Is heard in the windless whisper of leavesIn the silent labours of men in the fields,In the downward dropping of flimsy sheavesOf cloud the rain skies yield.In the tapping haste of a fallen leaf,In the flapping of red-roof smoke, and the smallFoot-stepping tap of men beneathThese trees so huge and tall.For what can all sharp-rimmed substance but catch[p.xxxiv]In a backward ripple, God’s purpose, revealFor a moment His mighty direction, snatchA spark beneath His wheel.Since God sweeps onward dim and vast,Creating the channelled vein of ManAnd Leaf for His passage, His shadow is castOn all for us to scan.Ah listen, for Silence is not lonely:Imitate the magnificent treesThat speak no word of their rapture, but onlyBreathe largely the luminous breeze.
Thetrees rise tall and taller, liftedOn a subtle rush of cool grey flameThat issuing out of the dawn has siftedThe spirit from each leaf’s frame.
Thetrees rise tall and taller, lifted
On a subtle rush of cool grey flame
That issuing out of the dawn has sifted
The spirit from each leaf’s frame.
For the trailing, leisurely rapture of lifeDrifts dimly forward, easily hiddenBy bright leaves uttered aloud, and strifeOf shapes in the grey mist chidden.
For the trailing, leisurely rapture of life
Drifts dimly forward, easily hidden
By bright leaves uttered aloud, and strife
Of shapes in the grey mist chidden.
The grey, phosphorescent, pellucid advanceOf the luminous purpose of God, shines outWhere the lofty trees athwart stream chanceTo shake flakes of its shadow about.
The grey, phosphorescent, pellucid advance
Of the luminous purpose of God, shines out
Where the lofty trees athwart stream chance
To shake flakes of its shadow about.
The subtle, steady rush of the wholeGrey foam-mist of advancing God,As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal,Is heard in the grass of the sod.
The subtle, steady rush of the whole
Grey foam-mist of advancing God,
As He silently sweeps to His somewhere, his goal,
Is heard in the grass of the sod.
Is heard in the windless whisper of leavesIn the silent labours of men in the fields,In the downward dropping of flimsy sheavesOf cloud the rain skies yield.
Is heard in the windless whisper of leaves
In the silent labours of men in the fields,
In the downward dropping of flimsy sheaves
Of cloud the rain skies yield.
In the tapping haste of a fallen leaf,In the flapping of red-roof smoke, and the smallFoot-stepping tap of men beneathThese trees so huge and tall.
In the tapping haste of a fallen leaf,
In the flapping of red-roof smoke, and the small
Foot-stepping tap of men beneath
These trees so huge and tall.
For what can all sharp-rimmed substance but catch[p.xxxiv]In a backward ripple, God’s purpose, revealFor a moment His mighty direction, snatchA spark beneath His wheel.
For what can all sharp-rimmed substance but catch[p.xxxiv]
In a backward ripple, God’s purpose, reveal
For a moment His mighty direction, snatch
A spark beneath His wheel.
Since God sweeps onward dim and vast,Creating the channelled vein of ManAnd Leaf for His passage, His shadow is castOn all for us to scan.
Since God sweeps onward dim and vast,
Creating the channelled vein of Man
And Leaf for His passage, His shadow is cast
On all for us to scan.
Ah listen, for Silence is not lonely:Imitate the magnificent treesThat speak no word of their rapture, but onlyBreathe largely the luminous breeze.
Ah listen, for Silence is not lonely:
Imitate the magnificent trees
That speak no word of their rapture, but only
Breathe largely the luminous breeze.
MORNING WORK[p.xxxv]A gangof labourers on the piled wet timberThat shines blood-red beside the railway sidingSeem to be making out of the blue of the morningSomething faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttlingHither and thither across the morn’s crystalline frameOf blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining,And laughing with work, living their work like a game.
A gangof labourers on the piled wet timberThat shines blood-red beside the railway sidingSeem to be making out of the blue of the morningSomething faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,
A gangof labourers on the piled wet timber
That shines blood-red beside the railway siding
Seem to be making out of the blue of the morning
Something faery and fine, the shuttles sliding,
The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttlingHither and thither across the morn’s crystalline frameOf blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining,And laughing with work, living their work like a game.
The red-gold spools of their hands and faces shuttling
Hither and thither across the morn’s crystalline frame
Of blue: trolls at the cave of ringing cerulean mining,
And laughing with work, living their work like a game.
TRANSFORMATIONS[p.xxxvi]IThe TownOhyou stiff shapes, swift transformation seethesAbout you: only last night you wereA Sodom smouldering in the dense, soiled air;To-day a thicket of sunshine with blue smoke-wreaths.To-morrow swimming in evening’s vague, dim vapourLike a weeded city in shadow under the sea,Beneath an ocean of shimmering light you will be:Then a group of toadstools waiting the moon’s white taper.And when I awake in the morning, after rain,To find the new houses a cluster of lilies glitteringIn scarlet, alive with the birds’ bright twittering,I’ll say your bond of ugliness is vain.IIThe EarthOhEarth, you spinning clod of earth,And then you lamp, you lemon-coloured beauty;Oh Earth, you rotten apple rolling downward,Then brilliant Earth, from the burr of night in beautyAs a jewel-brown horse-chestnut newlyissued:—You are all these, and strange, it is my dutyTo take you all, sordid or radiant tissued.III[p.xxxvii]MenOhlabourers, oh shuttles across the blue frame of morning,You feet of the rainbow balancing the sky!Oh you who flash your arms like rockets to heaven,Who in lassitude lean as yachts on the sea-wind lie!You who in crowds are rhododendrons in blossom,Who stand alone in pride like lighted lamps;Who grappling down with work or hate or passion,Take strange lithe form of a beast that sweats and ramps:You who are twisted in grief like crumpled beech-leaves,Who curl in sleep like kittens, who kiss as a swarmOf clustered, vibrating bees; who fall to earthAt last like a bean-pod: what are you, oh multiform?
I
The Town
Ohyou stiff shapes, swift transformation seethesAbout you: only last night you wereA Sodom smouldering in the dense, soiled air;To-day a thicket of sunshine with blue smoke-wreaths.
Ohyou stiff shapes, swift transformation seethes
About you: only last night you were
A Sodom smouldering in the dense, soiled air;
To-day a thicket of sunshine with blue smoke-wreaths.
To-morrow swimming in evening’s vague, dim vapourLike a weeded city in shadow under the sea,Beneath an ocean of shimmering light you will be:Then a group of toadstools waiting the moon’s white taper.
To-morrow swimming in evening’s vague, dim vapour
Like a weeded city in shadow under the sea,
Beneath an ocean of shimmering light you will be:
Then a group of toadstools waiting the moon’s white taper.
And when I awake in the morning, after rain,To find the new houses a cluster of lilies glitteringIn scarlet, alive with the birds’ bright twittering,I’ll say your bond of ugliness is vain.
And when I awake in the morning, after rain,
To find the new houses a cluster of lilies glittering
In scarlet, alive with the birds’ bright twittering,
I’ll say your bond of ugliness is vain.
II
The Earth
OhEarth, you spinning clod of earth,And then you lamp, you lemon-coloured beauty;Oh Earth, you rotten apple rolling downward,Then brilliant Earth, from the burr of night in beautyAs a jewel-brown horse-chestnut newlyissued:—You are all these, and strange, it is my dutyTo take you all, sordid or radiant tissued.
OhEarth, you spinning clod of earth,
And then you lamp, you lemon-coloured beauty;
Oh Earth, you rotten apple rolling downward,
Then brilliant Earth, from the burr of night in beauty
As a jewel-brown horse-chestnut newlyissued:—
You are all these, and strange, it is my duty
To take you all, sordid or radiant tissued.
III[p.xxxvii]
Men
Ohlabourers, oh shuttles across the blue frame of morning,You feet of the rainbow balancing the sky!Oh you who flash your arms like rockets to heaven,Who in lassitude lean as yachts on the sea-wind lie!You who in crowds are rhododendrons in blossom,Who stand alone in pride like lighted lamps;Who grappling down with work or hate or passion,Take strange lithe form of a beast that sweats and ramps:You who are twisted in grief like crumpled beech-leaves,Who curl in sleep like kittens, who kiss as a swarmOf clustered, vibrating bees; who fall to earthAt last like a bean-pod: what are you, oh multiform?
Ohlabourers, oh shuttles across the blue frame of morning,
You feet of the rainbow balancing the sky!
Oh you who flash your arms like rockets to heaven,
Who in lassitude lean as yachts on the sea-wind lie!
You who in crowds are rhododendrons in blossom,
Who stand alone in pride like lighted lamps;
Who grappling down with work or hate or passion,
Take strange lithe form of a beast that sweats and ramps:
You who are twisted in grief like crumpled beech-leaves,
Who curl in sleep like kittens, who kiss as a swarm
Of clustered, vibrating bees; who fall to earth
At last like a bean-pod: what are you, oh multiform?
RENASCENCE[p.xxxviii]Wehave bit no forbidden apple,Eve and I,Yet the splashes of day and nightFalling round us no longer dappleThe same Eden with purple and white.This is our own still valleyOur Eden, our home,But day shows it vivid with feelingAnd the pallor of night does not tallyWith dark sleep that once covered its ceiling.My little red heifer, to-night I looked in her eyes,—She will calve to-morrow:Last night when I went with the lantern, the sow was grabbing her litterWith red, snarling jaws: and I heard the criesOf the new-born, and after that, the old owl, then the bats that flitter.And I woke to the sound of the wood-pigeons, and lay and listened,Till I could borrowA few quick beats of a wood-pigeon’s heart, and when I did riseThe morning sun on the shaken iris glistened,And I saw that home, this valley, was wider than Paradise.I learned it all from my Eve[p.xxxix]This warm, dumb wisdom.She’s a finer instructress than years;She has taught my heart-strings to weaveThrough the web of all laughter and tears.And now I see the valleyFleshed all like meWith feelings that change and quiver:And all things seem to tallyWith something in me,Something of which she’s the giver.
Wehave bit no forbidden apple,Eve and I,Yet the splashes of day and nightFalling round us no longer dappleThe same Eden with purple and white.
Wehave bit no forbidden apple,
Eve and I,
Yet the splashes of day and night
Falling round us no longer dapple
The same Eden with purple and white.
This is our own still valleyOur Eden, our home,But day shows it vivid with feelingAnd the pallor of night does not tallyWith dark sleep that once covered its ceiling.
This is our own still valley
Our Eden, our home,
But day shows it vivid with feeling
And the pallor of night does not tally
With dark sleep that once covered its ceiling.
My little red heifer, to-night I looked in her eyes,—She will calve to-morrow:Last night when I went with the lantern, the sow was grabbing her litterWith red, snarling jaws: and I heard the criesOf the new-born, and after that, the old owl, then the bats that flitter.
My little red heifer, to-night I looked in her eyes,
—She will calve to-morrow:
Last night when I went with the lantern, the sow was grabbing her litter
With red, snarling jaws: and I heard the cries
Of the new-born, and after that, the old owl, then the bats that flitter.
And I woke to the sound of the wood-pigeons, and lay and listened,Till I could borrowA few quick beats of a wood-pigeon’s heart, and when I did riseThe morning sun on the shaken iris glistened,And I saw that home, this valley, was wider than Paradise.
And I woke to the sound of the wood-pigeons, and lay and listened,
Till I could borrow
A few quick beats of a wood-pigeon’s heart, and when I did rise
The morning sun on the shaken iris glistened,
And I saw that home, this valley, was wider than Paradise.
I learned it all from my Eve[p.xxxix]This warm, dumb wisdom.She’s a finer instructress than years;She has taught my heart-strings to weaveThrough the web of all laughter and tears.
I learned it all from my Eve[p.xxxix]
This warm, dumb wisdom.
She’s a finer instructress than years;
She has taught my heart-strings to weave
Through the web of all laughter and tears.
And now I see the valleyFleshed all like meWith feelings that change and quiver:And all things seem to tallyWith something in me,Something of which she’s the giver.
And now I see the valley
Fleshed all like me
With feelings that change and quiver:
And all things seem to tally
With something in me,
Something of which she’s the giver.
DOG-TIRED[p.xl]Ifshe would come to me here,Now the sunken swathsAre glittering pathsTo the sun, and the swallows cut clearInto the low sun—if she came to me here!If she would come to me now,Before the last mown harebells are dead,While that vetch clump yet burns red;Before all the bats have dropped from the boughInto the cool of night—if she came to me now!The horses are untackled, the chattering machineIs still at last. If she would come,I would gather up the warm hay fromThe hill-brow, and lie in her lap till the greenSky ceased to quiver, and lost its tired sheen.I should like to dropOn the hay, with my head on her kneeAnd lie stone still, while sheBreathed quiet above me—we could stopTill the stars came out to see.I should like to lie stillAs if I was dead—but feelingHer hand go stealingOver my face and my hair untilThis ache was shed.
Ifshe would come to me here,Now the sunken swathsAre glittering pathsTo the sun, and the swallows cut clearInto the low sun—if she came to me here!
Ifshe would come to me here,
Now the sunken swaths
Are glittering paths
To the sun, and the swallows cut clear
Into the low sun—if she came to me here!
If she would come to me now,Before the last mown harebells are dead,While that vetch clump yet burns red;Before all the bats have dropped from the boughInto the cool of night—if she came to me now!
If she would come to me now,
Before the last mown harebells are dead,
While that vetch clump yet burns red;
Before all the bats have dropped from the bough
Into the cool of night—if she came to me now!
The horses are untackled, the chattering machineIs still at last. If she would come,I would gather up the warm hay fromThe hill-brow, and lie in her lap till the greenSky ceased to quiver, and lost its tired sheen.
The horses are untackled, the chattering machine
Is still at last. If she would come,
I would gather up the warm hay from
The hill-brow, and lie in her lap till the green
Sky ceased to quiver, and lost its tired sheen.
I should like to dropOn the hay, with my head on her kneeAnd lie stone still, while sheBreathed quiet above me—we could stopTill the stars came out to see.
I should like to drop
On the hay, with my head on her knee
And lie stone still, while she
Breathed quiet above me—we could stop
Till the stars came out to see.
I should like to lie stillAs if I was dead—but feelingHer hand go stealingOver my face and my hair untilThis ache was shed.
I should like to lie still
As if I was dead—but feeling
Her hand go stealing
Over my face and my hair until
This ache was shed.
MICHAEL-ANGELO[p.xli]Godshook thy roundness in His finger’s cup,He sunk His hands in firmness down thy sides,And drew the circle of His grasp, O Man,Along thy limbs delighted, thine, His bride’s.And so thou wert God-shapen: His fingerCurved thy mouth for thee, and His strong shoulderPlanted thee upright: art not proud to seeIn the curve of thine exquisite form the joy of the Moulder?He took a handful of light and rolled a ball,Compressed it till its beam grew wondrous dark,Then gave thee thy dark eyes, O Man, that allHe made had doorway to thee through that spark.God, lonely, put down His mouth in a kiss of creation,He kissed thee, O Man, in a passion of love, and leftThe vivid life of His love in thy mouth and thy nostrils;Keep then the kiss from the adultress’ theft.
Godshook thy roundness in His finger’s cup,He sunk His hands in firmness down thy sides,And drew the circle of His grasp, O Man,Along thy limbs delighted, thine, His bride’s.
Godshook thy roundness in His finger’s cup,
He sunk His hands in firmness down thy sides,
And drew the circle of His grasp, O Man,
Along thy limbs delighted, thine, His bride’s.
And so thou wert God-shapen: His fingerCurved thy mouth for thee, and His strong shoulderPlanted thee upright: art not proud to seeIn the curve of thine exquisite form the joy of the Moulder?
And so thou wert God-shapen: His finger
Curved thy mouth for thee, and His strong shoulder
Planted thee upright: art not proud to see
In the curve of thine exquisite form the joy of the Moulder?
He took a handful of light and rolled a ball,Compressed it till its beam grew wondrous dark,Then gave thee thy dark eyes, O Man, that allHe made had doorway to thee through that spark.
He took a handful of light and rolled a ball,
Compressed it till its beam grew wondrous dark,
Then gave thee thy dark eyes, O Man, that all
He made had doorway to thee through that spark.
God, lonely, put down His mouth in a kiss of creation,He kissed thee, O Man, in a passion of love, and leftThe vivid life of His love in thy mouth and thy nostrils;Keep then the kiss from the adultress’ theft.
God, lonely, put down His mouth in a kiss of creation,
He kissed thee, O Man, in a passion of love, and left
The vivid life of His love in thy mouth and thy nostrils;
Keep then the kiss from the adultress’ theft.
VIOLETS[p.xlii]Sister, tha knows while we was on the planksAside o’ th’ grave, while th’ coffin wor lyin’ yetOn th’ yaller clay, an’ th’ white flowers top of itTryin’ to keep off ’n him a bit o’ th’ wet,An’ parson makin’ haste, an’ a’ the blackHuddlin’ close together a cause o’ th’ rain,Did t’ ’appen ter notice a bit of a lass away backBy a head-stun, sobbin’ an’ sobbin’ again?—How should I be lookin’ roundAn’ me standin’ on the plankBeside the open ground,Where our Ted ’ud soon be sank?Yi, an’ ’im that young,Snapped sudden out of allHis wickedness, amongPals worse n’r ony name as you could call.Let be that; there’s some o’ th’ bad as weLike better nor all your good, an’ ’e was one.—An’ cos I liked him best, yi, bett’r nor thee,I canna bide to think where he is gone.Ah know tha liked ’im bett’r nor me. But letMe tell thee about this lass. When you had goneAh stopped behind on t’ pad i’ th’ drippin wetAn’ watched what ’er ’ad on.Tha should ha’ seed her slive up when we’d gone,[p.xliii]Tha should ha’ seed her kneel an’ look inAt th’ sloppy wet grave—an’ ’er little neck shoneThat white, an’ ’er shook that much, I’d like to beginScraïghtin’ my-sen as well. ’En undid her blackJacket at th’ bosom, an’ took from out of itOver a double ’andful of violets, all in a packRavelled blue and white—warm, for a bitO’ th’ smell come waftin’ to me. ’Er put ’er faceRight intil ’em and scraïghted out again,Then after a bit ’er dropped ’em down that place,An’ I come away, because o’ the teemin’ rain.
Sister, tha knows while we was on the planksAside o’ th’ grave, while th’ coffin wor lyin’ yetOn th’ yaller clay, an’ th’ white flowers top of itTryin’ to keep off ’n him a bit o’ th’ wet,
Sister, tha knows while we was on the planks
Aside o’ th’ grave, while th’ coffin wor lyin’ yet
On th’ yaller clay, an’ th’ white flowers top of it
Tryin’ to keep off ’n him a bit o’ th’ wet,
An’ parson makin’ haste, an’ a’ the blackHuddlin’ close together a cause o’ th’ rain,Did t’ ’appen ter notice a bit of a lass away backBy a head-stun, sobbin’ an’ sobbin’ again?
An’ parson makin’ haste, an’ a’ the black
Huddlin’ close together a cause o’ th’ rain,
Did t’ ’appen ter notice a bit of a lass away back
By a head-stun, sobbin’ an’ sobbin’ again?
—How should I be lookin’ roundAn’ me standin’ on the plankBeside the open ground,Where our Ted ’ud soon be sank?
—How should I be lookin’ round
An’ me standin’ on the plank
Beside the open ground,
Where our Ted ’ud soon be sank?
Yi, an’ ’im that young,Snapped sudden out of allHis wickedness, amongPals worse n’r ony name as you could call.
Yi, an’ ’im that young,
Snapped sudden out of all
His wickedness, among
Pals worse n’r ony name as you could call.
Let be that; there’s some o’ th’ bad as weLike better nor all your good, an’ ’e was one.—An’ cos I liked him best, yi, bett’r nor thee,I canna bide to think where he is gone.
Let be that; there’s some o’ th’ bad as we
Like better nor all your good, an’ ’e was one.
—An’ cos I liked him best, yi, bett’r nor thee,
I canna bide to think where he is gone.
Ah know tha liked ’im bett’r nor me. But letMe tell thee about this lass. When you had goneAh stopped behind on t’ pad i’ th’ drippin wetAn’ watched what ’er ’ad on.
Ah know tha liked ’im bett’r nor me. But let
Me tell thee about this lass. When you had gone
Ah stopped behind on t’ pad i’ th’ drippin wet
An’ watched what ’er ’ad on.
Tha should ha’ seed her slive up when we’d gone,[p.xliii]Tha should ha’ seed her kneel an’ look inAt th’ sloppy wet grave—an’ ’er little neck shoneThat white, an’ ’er shook that much, I’d like to begin
Tha should ha’ seed her slive up when we’d gone,[p.xliii]
Tha should ha’ seed her kneel an’ look in
At th’ sloppy wet grave—an’ ’er little neck shone
That white, an’ ’er shook that much, I’d like to begin
Scraïghtin’ my-sen as well. ’En undid her blackJacket at th’ bosom, an’ took from out of itOver a double ’andful of violets, all in a packRavelled blue and white—warm, for a bit
Scraïghtin’ my-sen as well. ’En undid her black
Jacket at th’ bosom, an’ took from out of it
Over a double ’andful of violets, all in a pack
Ravelled blue and white—warm, for a bit
O’ th’ smell come waftin’ to me. ’Er put ’er faceRight intil ’em and scraïghted out again,Then after a bit ’er dropped ’em down that place,An’ I come away, because o’ the teemin’ rain.
O’ th’ smell come waftin’ to me. ’Er put ’er face
Right intil ’em and scraïghted out again,
Then after a bit ’er dropped ’em down that place,
An’ I come away, because o’ the teemin’ rain.
WHETHER OR NOT[p.xliv]IDunnathee tell me its his’n, mother,Dunna thee, dunna thee.—Oh ay! he’ll be comin’ to tell thee his-sènWench, wunna he?Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother,He’s gone withat——My gel, owt’ll do for a man i’ the dark,Tha’s got it flat.But ’er’s old, mother, ’er’s twenty yearOlder norhim——Ay, an’ yaller as a crowflower, an’ yet i’ the darkEr’d do for Tim.Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter?It’s somebody’s lies.—Ax him thy-sèn wench—a widder’s lodger;It’s no surprise.IIA widow of forty-fiveWith a bitter, swarthy skin,To ha’ ’ticed a lad o’ twenty-fiveAn’ ’im to have been took in!A widow of forty-fiveAs has sludged like a horse all her life,Till ’er’s tough as whit-leather, to sliveAtween a lad an’ ’is wife!A widow of forty-five.[p.xlv]A tough old otchel wi’ longWitch teeth, an’ ’er black hawk-eyes as I’veMistrusted all along!An’ me as ’as kep my-senShut like a daisy bud,Clean an’ new an’ nice, so’s whenHe wed he’d ha’e summat good!An’ ’im as nice an’ freshAs any man i’ the force,To ha’e gone an’ given his white young fleshTo a woman that coarse!IIIYou’re stout to brave this snow, Miss Stainwright,Are you makin’ Brinsley way?—I’m off up th’ line to UnderwoodWi’ a dress as is wanted to-day.Oh are you goin’ to Underwood?’Appen then you’ve ’eered?—What’s that as ’appen I’ve ’eered-on, Missis,Speak up, you nedna be feared.Why, your young man an’ Widow Naylor,Her as he lodges wi’,They say he’s got her wi’ childt; but there,It’s nothing to do wi’ me.Though if it’s true they’ll turn him outO’ th’ p’lice force, without fail;An’ if it’s not true, I’d back my life[p.xlvi]They’ll listen tohertale.Well, I’m believin’ no tale, Missis,I’m seein’ for my-sen;An’ when I know for sure, Missis,I’ll talkthen.IVNay robin red-breast, tha nednaSit noddin’ thy head at me;My breast’s as red as thine, I reckon,Flayed red, if tha could but see.Nay, you blessed pee-whips,You nedna screet at me!I’m screetin’ my-sen, but are-na goin’To let iv’rybody see.Thaartsmock-ravelled, bunny,Larropin’ neck an’ cropI’ th’ snow: but I’s warrant thee, bunny,I’mfurther ower th’ top.VNow sithee theer at th’ railroad crossin’Warmin’ his-sen at the stool o’ fireUnder the tank as fills the ingines,If there isn’t my dearly-beloved liar!My constable wi’ ’is buttoned breastAs stout as the truth, my sirs!—An’ ’is faceAs bold as a robin! It’s much he cares[p.xlvii]For this nice old shame and disgrace.Oh but he drops his flag when ’e sees me,Yes, an’ ’is face goes white ... oh yesTha can stare at me wi’ thy fierce blue eyes,But tha doesna stare me out, I guess!VIWhativer brings thee out so farIn a’ this depth o’ snow?—I’m takin’ ’ome a weddin’ dressIf tha maun know.Why, is there a weddin’ at Underwood,As tha ne’d trudge up here?—It’s Widow Naylor’s weddin’-dress,An’ ’er’s wantin it, I hear.’Erdoesna want noweddin-dress ...What—but what dost mean?—Doesn’t ter know what I mean, Tim?—Yi,Tha must’ a’ been hard to wean!Tha’rt a good-un at suckin-in yet, Timmy;But tell me, isn’t it trueAs ’er’ll be wantin’myweddin’ dressIn a week or two?Tha’s no occasions ter ha’e me onLizzie—what’s done is done!—Done, I should think so—Done! But mightI ask when tha begun?It’s thee as ’as done it as much as me,[p.xlviii]Lizzie, I tell thee that.—“Me gotten a childt to thylandlady—!”Tha’s gotten thy answer pat,As tha allers hast—but let me tell theeHasna ter sent me whoam, when IWas a’most burstin’ mad o’ my-senAn’ walkin’ in agony;After thy kisses, Lizzie, afterTha’s lain right up to me Lizzie, an’ meltedInto me, melted into me, Lizzie,Till I was verily swelted.An’ if my landlady seed me like it,An’ if ’er clawkin’, tiger’s eyesWent through me just as the light went outIs it any cause for surprise?No cause for surprise at all, my lad,After lickin’ and snuffin’ at me, tha couldTurn thy mouth on a woman likeher—Did ter find her good?Ay, I did, but afterwardsI should like to ha’ killed her!—Afterwards!—an’ after how longWor it tha’d liked to ’a killed her?Say no more, Liz, dunna thee,I might lose my-sen.—I’ll only say good-bye to thee, Timothy,An’ gi’e her thee back again.I’ll ta’e thy word ‘Good-bye,’ Liz,[p.xlix]But I shonna marry her,I shonna for nobody.—It isVery nice on you, Sir.The childt maun ta’e its luck, it maun,An’ she maun ta’eherluck,For I tell ye I shonna marryher—What her’s got, her took.That’s spoken like a man, Timmy,That’s spoken like aman ...“He up an’ fired off his pistolAn’ then away he ran.”I damn well shanna marry ’er,So chew at it no more,Or I’ll chuck the flamin’ lot ofyou——You nedn’t have swore.VIIThat’s his collar round the candle-stickAn’ that’s the dark blue tie I bought ’im,An’ these is the woman’s kids he’s so fond on,An’ ’ere comes the cat that caught ’im.I dunno where his eyes was—a gretRound-shouldered hag! My sirs, to thinkOf him stoopin’ to her! You’d wonder he couldThrow hisself in that sink.I expect you know who I am, Mrs Naylor![p.l]—Who yer are?—yis, you’re Lizzie Stainwright.’An ’appen you might guess what I’ve come for?—’Appen I mightn’t, ’appen I might.You knowed as I was courtin’ Tim Merfin.—Yis, I knowed ’e wor courtin’ thee.An’ yet you’ve been carryin’ on wi’ him.—Ay, an’ ’im wi’ me.Well, now you’ve got to pay for it,—An’ if I han, what’s that to thee?For ’e isn’t goin’ to marry you.—Is it a toss-up ’twixt thee an’ me?It’s no toss-up ’twixt thee an’ me.—Then what art colleyfoglin’ for?I’m not havin’ your orts an’ slarts.—Which on us said you wor?I want you to know ’e’s nonmarryin’you.—Tha wants ’im thy-sen too bad.Though I’ll see as ’e pays you, an’ comes to the scratch.—Tha’rt for doin’ a lot wi’ th’ lad.VIIITo think I should ha’e to haffle an’ caffleWi’ a woman, an’ pay ’er a priceFor lettin’ me marry the lad as I thoughtTo marry wi’ cabs an’ rice.But we’ll go unbeknown to the registrar,[p.li]An’ give’erwhat money there is,For I won’t be beholden to such as herFor anythink of his.IXTake off thy duty stripes, Tim,An’ come wi’ me in here,Ta’e off thy p’lice-man’s helmetAn’ look me clear.I wish tha hadna done it, Tim,I do, an’ that I do!For whenever I look thee i’ th’ face, I s’ll seeHer face too.I wish tha could wesh ’er off’n thee,For I used to think that thyFace was the finest thing that iverMet myeye....XTwenty pound o’ thy own tha hast, and fifty pound ha’e I,Thine shall go to pay the woman, an’ wi’ my bit we’ll buyAll as we shall want for furniture when tha leaves this place,An’ we’ll be married at th’ registrar—now lift thy face.Lift thy face an’ look at me, man, up an’ look at me:Sorry I am for this business, an’ sorry if I ha’e driven theeTo such a thing: but it’s a poor tale, that I’m bound to say,[p.lii]Before I can ta’e thee I’ve got a widow of forty-five to pay.Dunnat thee think but what I love thee—I love thee well,But ’deed an’ I wish as this tale o’ thine wor niver my tale to tell;Deed an’ I wish as I could stood at the altar wi’ thee an’ been proud o’ thee,That I could ha’ been first woman to thee, as thou’rt first man to me.But we maun ma’e the best on’t—I’ll rear thy childt if ’er’ll yield it to me,An’ then wi’ that twenty pound we gi’e ’er I s’d think ’er wunna beSo very much worser off than ’er wor before—An’ now look upAn’ answer me—for I’ve said my say, an’ there’s no more sorrow to sup.Yi, tha’rt a man, tha’rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyesAs sulky an’ ormin’ as thine. Hast owt to say otherwiseFrom what I’ve arranged wi’ thee? Eh man, what a stubborn jackass thou art,Kiss me then—there!—ne’er mind if I scraight—I wor fond o’ thee, Sweetheart.
I
Dunnathee tell me its his’n, mother,Dunna thee, dunna thee.—Oh ay! he’ll be comin’ to tell thee his-sènWench, wunna he?
Dunnathee tell me its his’n, mother,
Dunna thee, dunna thee.
—Oh ay! he’ll be comin’ to tell thee his-sèn
Wench, wunna he?
Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother,He’s gone withat——My gel, owt’ll do for a man i’ the dark,Tha’s got it flat.
Tha doesna mean to say to me, mother,
He’s gone withat—
—My gel, owt’ll do for a man i’ the dark,
Tha’s got it flat.
But ’er’s old, mother, ’er’s twenty yearOlder norhim——Ay, an’ yaller as a crowflower, an’ yet i’ the darkEr’d do for Tim.
But ’er’s old, mother, ’er’s twenty year
Older norhim—
—Ay, an’ yaller as a crowflower, an’ yet i’ the dark
Er’d do for Tim.
Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter?It’s somebody’s lies.—Ax him thy-sèn wench—a widder’s lodger;It’s no surprise.
Tha niver believes it, mother, does ter?
It’s somebody’s lies.
—Ax him thy-sèn wench—a widder’s lodger;
It’s no surprise.
II
A widow of forty-fiveWith a bitter, swarthy skin,To ha’ ’ticed a lad o’ twenty-fiveAn’ ’im to have been took in!
A widow of forty-five
With a bitter, swarthy skin,
To ha’ ’ticed a lad o’ twenty-five
An’ ’im to have been took in!
A widow of forty-fiveAs has sludged like a horse all her life,Till ’er’s tough as whit-leather, to sliveAtween a lad an’ ’is wife!
A widow of forty-five
As has sludged like a horse all her life,
Till ’er’s tough as whit-leather, to slive
Atween a lad an’ ’is wife!
A widow of forty-five.[p.xlv]A tough old otchel wi’ longWitch teeth, an’ ’er black hawk-eyes as I’veMistrusted all along!
A widow of forty-five.[p.xlv]
A tough old otchel wi’ long
Witch teeth, an’ ’er black hawk-eyes as I’ve
Mistrusted all along!
An’ me as ’as kep my-senShut like a daisy bud,Clean an’ new an’ nice, so’s whenHe wed he’d ha’e summat good!
An’ me as ’as kep my-sen
Shut like a daisy bud,
Clean an’ new an’ nice, so’s when
He wed he’d ha’e summat good!
An’ ’im as nice an’ freshAs any man i’ the force,To ha’e gone an’ given his white young fleshTo a woman that coarse!
An’ ’im as nice an’ fresh
As any man i’ the force,
To ha’e gone an’ given his white young flesh
To a woman that coarse!
III
You’re stout to brave this snow, Miss Stainwright,Are you makin’ Brinsley way?—I’m off up th’ line to UnderwoodWi’ a dress as is wanted to-day.
You’re stout to brave this snow, Miss Stainwright,
Are you makin’ Brinsley way?
—I’m off up th’ line to Underwood
Wi’ a dress as is wanted to-day.
Oh are you goin’ to Underwood?’Appen then you’ve ’eered?—What’s that as ’appen I’ve ’eered-on, Missis,Speak up, you nedna be feared.
Oh are you goin’ to Underwood?
’Appen then you’ve ’eered?
—What’s that as ’appen I’ve ’eered-on, Missis,
Speak up, you nedna be feared.
Why, your young man an’ Widow Naylor,Her as he lodges wi’,They say he’s got her wi’ childt; but there,It’s nothing to do wi’ me.
Why, your young man an’ Widow Naylor,
Her as he lodges wi’,
They say he’s got her wi’ childt; but there,
It’s nothing to do wi’ me.
Though if it’s true they’ll turn him outO’ th’ p’lice force, without fail;An’ if it’s not true, I’d back my life[p.xlvi]They’ll listen tohertale.
Though if it’s true they’ll turn him out
O’ th’ p’lice force, without fail;
An’ if it’s not true, I’d back my life[p.xlvi]
They’ll listen tohertale.
Well, I’m believin’ no tale, Missis,I’m seein’ for my-sen;An’ when I know for sure, Missis,I’ll talkthen.
Well, I’m believin’ no tale, Missis,
I’m seein’ for my-sen;
An’ when I know for sure, Missis,
I’ll talkthen.
IV
Nay robin red-breast, tha nednaSit noddin’ thy head at me;My breast’s as red as thine, I reckon,Flayed red, if tha could but see.
Nay robin red-breast, tha nedna
Sit noddin’ thy head at me;
My breast’s as red as thine, I reckon,
Flayed red, if tha could but see.
Nay, you blessed pee-whips,You nedna screet at me!I’m screetin’ my-sen, but are-na goin’To let iv’rybody see.
Nay, you blessed pee-whips,
You nedna screet at me!
I’m screetin’ my-sen, but are-na goin’
To let iv’rybody see.
Thaartsmock-ravelled, bunny,Larropin’ neck an’ cropI’ th’ snow: but I’s warrant thee, bunny,I’mfurther ower th’ top.
Thaartsmock-ravelled, bunny,
Larropin’ neck an’ crop
I’ th’ snow: but I’s warrant thee, bunny,
I’mfurther ower th’ top.
V
Now sithee theer at th’ railroad crossin’Warmin’ his-sen at the stool o’ fireUnder the tank as fills the ingines,If there isn’t my dearly-beloved liar!
Now sithee theer at th’ railroad crossin’
Warmin’ his-sen at the stool o’ fire
Under the tank as fills the ingines,
If there isn’t my dearly-beloved liar!
My constable wi’ ’is buttoned breastAs stout as the truth, my sirs!—An’ ’is faceAs bold as a robin! It’s much he cares[p.xlvii]For this nice old shame and disgrace.
My constable wi’ ’is buttoned breast
As stout as the truth, my sirs!—An’ ’is face
As bold as a robin! It’s much he cares[p.xlvii]
For this nice old shame and disgrace.
Oh but he drops his flag when ’e sees me,Yes, an’ ’is face goes white ... oh yesTha can stare at me wi’ thy fierce blue eyes,But tha doesna stare me out, I guess!
Oh but he drops his flag when ’e sees me,
Yes, an’ ’is face goes white ... oh yes
Tha can stare at me wi’ thy fierce blue eyes,
But tha doesna stare me out, I guess!
VI
Whativer brings thee out so farIn a’ this depth o’ snow?—I’m takin’ ’ome a weddin’ dressIf tha maun know.
Whativer brings thee out so far
In a’ this depth o’ snow?
—I’m takin’ ’ome a weddin’ dress
If tha maun know.
Why, is there a weddin’ at Underwood,As tha ne’d trudge up here?—It’s Widow Naylor’s weddin’-dress,An’ ’er’s wantin it, I hear.
Why, is there a weddin’ at Underwood,
As tha ne’d trudge up here?
—It’s Widow Naylor’s weddin’-dress,
An’ ’er’s wantin it, I hear.
’Erdoesna want noweddin-dress ...What—but what dost mean?—Doesn’t ter know what I mean, Tim?—Yi,Tha must’ a’ been hard to wean!
’Erdoesna want noweddin-dress ...
What—but what dost mean?
—Doesn’t ter know what I mean, Tim?—Yi,
Tha must’ a’ been hard to wean!
Tha’rt a good-un at suckin-in yet, Timmy;But tell me, isn’t it trueAs ’er’ll be wantin’myweddin’ dressIn a week or two?
Tha’rt a good-un at suckin-in yet, Timmy;
But tell me, isn’t it true
As ’er’ll be wantin’myweddin’ dress
In a week or two?
Tha’s no occasions ter ha’e me onLizzie—what’s done is done!—Done, I should think so—Done! But mightI ask when tha begun?
Tha’s no occasions ter ha’e me on
Lizzie—what’s done is done!
—Done, I should think so—Done! But might
I ask when tha begun?
It’s thee as ’as done it as much as me,[p.xlviii]Lizzie, I tell thee that.—“Me gotten a childt to thylandlady—!”Tha’s gotten thy answer pat,
It’s thee as ’as done it as much as me,[p.xlviii]
Lizzie, I tell thee that.
—“Me gotten a childt to thylandlady—!”
Tha’s gotten thy answer pat,
As tha allers hast—but let me tell theeHasna ter sent me whoam, when IWas a’most burstin’ mad o’ my-senAn’ walkin’ in agony;
As tha allers hast—but let me tell thee
Hasna ter sent me whoam, when I
Was a’most burstin’ mad o’ my-sen
An’ walkin’ in agony;
After thy kisses, Lizzie, afterTha’s lain right up to me Lizzie, an’ meltedInto me, melted into me, Lizzie,Till I was verily swelted.
After thy kisses, Lizzie, after
Tha’s lain right up to me Lizzie, an’ melted
Into me, melted into me, Lizzie,
Till I was verily swelted.
An’ if my landlady seed me like it,An’ if ’er clawkin’, tiger’s eyesWent through me just as the light went outIs it any cause for surprise?
An’ if my landlady seed me like it,
An’ if ’er clawkin’, tiger’s eyes
Went through me just as the light went out
Is it any cause for surprise?
No cause for surprise at all, my lad,After lickin’ and snuffin’ at me, tha couldTurn thy mouth on a woman likeher—Did ter find her good?
No cause for surprise at all, my lad,
After lickin’ and snuffin’ at me, tha could
Turn thy mouth on a woman likeher—
Did ter find her good?
Ay, I did, but afterwardsI should like to ha’ killed her!—Afterwards!—an’ after how longWor it tha’d liked to ’a killed her?
Ay, I did, but afterwards
I should like to ha’ killed her!
—Afterwards!—an’ after how long
Wor it tha’d liked to ’a killed her?
Say no more, Liz, dunna thee,I might lose my-sen.—I’ll only say good-bye to thee, Timothy,An’ gi’e her thee back again.
Say no more, Liz, dunna thee,
I might lose my-sen.
—I’ll only say good-bye to thee, Timothy,
An’ gi’e her thee back again.
I’ll ta’e thy word ‘Good-bye,’ Liz,[p.xlix]But I shonna marry her,I shonna for nobody.—It isVery nice on you, Sir.
I’ll ta’e thy word ‘Good-bye,’ Liz,[p.xlix]
But I shonna marry her,
I shonna for nobody.—It is
Very nice on you, Sir.
The childt maun ta’e its luck, it maun,An’ she maun ta’eherluck,For I tell ye I shonna marryher—What her’s got, her took.
The childt maun ta’e its luck, it maun,
An’ she maun ta’eherluck,
For I tell ye I shonna marryher—
What her’s got, her took.
That’s spoken like a man, Timmy,That’s spoken like aman ...“He up an’ fired off his pistolAn’ then away he ran.”
That’s spoken like a man, Timmy,
That’s spoken like aman ...
“He up an’ fired off his pistol
An’ then away he ran.”
I damn well shanna marry ’er,So chew at it no more,Or I’ll chuck the flamin’ lot ofyou——You nedn’t have swore.
I damn well shanna marry ’er,
So chew at it no more,
Or I’ll chuck the flamin’ lot ofyou—
—You nedn’t have swore.
VII
That’s his collar round the candle-stickAn’ that’s the dark blue tie I bought ’im,An’ these is the woman’s kids he’s so fond on,An’ ’ere comes the cat that caught ’im.
That’s his collar round the candle-stick
An’ that’s the dark blue tie I bought ’im,
An’ these is the woman’s kids he’s so fond on,
An’ ’ere comes the cat that caught ’im.
I dunno where his eyes was—a gretRound-shouldered hag! My sirs, to thinkOf him stoopin’ to her! You’d wonder he couldThrow hisself in that sink.
I dunno where his eyes was—a gret
Round-shouldered hag! My sirs, to think
Of him stoopin’ to her! You’d wonder he could
Throw hisself in that sink.
I expect you know who I am, Mrs Naylor![p.l]—Who yer are?—yis, you’re Lizzie Stainwright.’An ’appen you might guess what I’ve come for?—’Appen I mightn’t, ’appen I might.
I expect you know who I am, Mrs Naylor![p.l]
—Who yer are?—yis, you’re Lizzie Stainwright.
’An ’appen you might guess what I’ve come for?
—’Appen I mightn’t, ’appen I might.
You knowed as I was courtin’ Tim Merfin.—Yis, I knowed ’e wor courtin’ thee.An’ yet you’ve been carryin’ on wi’ him.—Ay, an’ ’im wi’ me.
You knowed as I was courtin’ Tim Merfin.
—Yis, I knowed ’e wor courtin’ thee.
An’ yet you’ve been carryin’ on wi’ him.
—Ay, an’ ’im wi’ me.
Well, now you’ve got to pay for it,—An’ if I han, what’s that to thee?For ’e isn’t goin’ to marry you.—Is it a toss-up ’twixt thee an’ me?
Well, now you’ve got to pay for it,
—An’ if I han, what’s that to thee?
For ’e isn’t goin’ to marry you.
—Is it a toss-up ’twixt thee an’ me?
It’s no toss-up ’twixt thee an’ me.—Then what art colleyfoglin’ for?I’m not havin’ your orts an’ slarts.—Which on us said you wor?
It’s no toss-up ’twixt thee an’ me.
—Then what art colleyfoglin’ for?
I’m not havin’ your orts an’ slarts.
—Which on us said you wor?
I want you to know ’e’s nonmarryin’you.—Tha wants ’im thy-sen too bad.Though I’ll see as ’e pays you, an’ comes to the scratch.—Tha’rt for doin’ a lot wi’ th’ lad.
I want you to know ’e’s nonmarryin’you.
—Tha wants ’im thy-sen too bad.
Though I’ll see as ’e pays you, an’ comes to the scratch.
—Tha’rt for doin’ a lot wi’ th’ lad.
VIII
To think I should ha’e to haffle an’ caffleWi’ a woman, an’ pay ’er a priceFor lettin’ me marry the lad as I thoughtTo marry wi’ cabs an’ rice.
To think I should ha’e to haffle an’ caffle
Wi’ a woman, an’ pay ’er a price
For lettin’ me marry the lad as I thought
To marry wi’ cabs an’ rice.
But we’ll go unbeknown to the registrar,[p.li]An’ give’erwhat money there is,For I won’t be beholden to such as herFor anythink of his.
But we’ll go unbeknown to the registrar,[p.li]
An’ give’erwhat money there is,
For I won’t be beholden to such as her
For anythink of his.
IX
Take off thy duty stripes, Tim,An’ come wi’ me in here,Ta’e off thy p’lice-man’s helmetAn’ look me clear.
Take off thy duty stripes, Tim,
An’ come wi’ me in here,
Ta’e off thy p’lice-man’s helmet
An’ look me clear.
I wish tha hadna done it, Tim,I do, an’ that I do!For whenever I look thee i’ th’ face, I s’ll seeHer face too.
I wish tha hadna done it, Tim,
I do, an’ that I do!
For whenever I look thee i’ th’ face, I s’ll see
Her face too.
I wish tha could wesh ’er off’n thee,For I used to think that thyFace was the finest thing that iverMet myeye....
I wish tha could wesh ’er off’n thee,
For I used to think that thy
Face was the finest thing that iver
Met myeye....
X
Twenty pound o’ thy own tha hast, and fifty pound ha’e I,Thine shall go to pay the woman, an’ wi’ my bit we’ll buyAll as we shall want for furniture when tha leaves this place,An’ we’ll be married at th’ registrar—now lift thy face.
Twenty pound o’ thy own tha hast, and fifty pound ha’e I,
Thine shall go to pay the woman, an’ wi’ my bit we’ll buy
All as we shall want for furniture when tha leaves this place,
An’ we’ll be married at th’ registrar—now lift thy face.
Lift thy face an’ look at me, man, up an’ look at me:Sorry I am for this business, an’ sorry if I ha’e driven theeTo such a thing: but it’s a poor tale, that I’m bound to say,[p.lii]Before I can ta’e thee I’ve got a widow of forty-five to pay.
Lift thy face an’ look at me, man, up an’ look at me:
Sorry I am for this business, an’ sorry if I ha’e driven thee
To such a thing: but it’s a poor tale, that I’m bound to say,[p.lii]
Before I can ta’e thee I’ve got a widow of forty-five to pay.
Dunnat thee think but what I love thee—I love thee well,But ’deed an’ I wish as this tale o’ thine wor niver my tale to tell;Deed an’ I wish as I could stood at the altar wi’ thee an’ been proud o’ thee,That I could ha’ been first woman to thee, as thou’rt first man to me.
Dunnat thee think but what I love thee—I love thee well,
But ’deed an’ I wish as this tale o’ thine wor niver my tale to tell;
Deed an’ I wish as I could stood at the altar wi’ thee an’ been proud o’ thee,
That I could ha’ been first woman to thee, as thou’rt first man to me.
But we maun ma’e the best on’t—I’ll rear thy childt if ’er’ll yield it to me,An’ then wi’ that twenty pound we gi’e ’er I s’d think ’er wunna beSo very much worser off than ’er wor before—An’ now look upAn’ answer me—for I’ve said my say, an’ there’s no more sorrow to sup.
But we maun ma’e the best on’t—I’ll rear thy childt if ’er’ll yield it to me,
An’ then wi’ that twenty pound we gi’e ’er I s’d think ’er wunna be
So very much worser off than ’er wor before—An’ now look up
An’ answer me—for I’ve said my say, an’ there’s no more sorrow to sup.
Yi, tha’rt a man, tha’rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyesAs sulky an’ ormin’ as thine. Hast owt to say otherwiseFrom what I’ve arranged wi’ thee? Eh man, what a stubborn jackass thou art,Kiss me then—there!—ne’er mind if I scraight—I wor fond o’ thee, Sweetheart.
Yi, tha’rt a man, tha’rt a fine big man, but niver a baby had eyes
As sulky an’ ormin’ as thine. Hast owt to say otherwise
From what I’ve arranged wi’ thee? Eh man, what a stubborn jackass thou art,
Kiss me then—there!—ne’er mind if I scraight—I wor fond o’ thee, Sweetheart.