THE KING'S HOSTELLet us make it fit for him!He will come ere many hoursAre passed over. Strew these flowersWhere the floor is hard and bare!Ever was his royal whimThat his place of rest were fair.Such a narrow little room!Think you he will deign to use it?Yes, we know he would not choose itWere there any other near;Here there is such damp and gloom,And such quietness is here.That he loved the light, we know;And we know he was the gladdestAlways when the mirth was maddestAnd the laughter drowned the song;When the fire's shade and glowFell upon the loyal throng.Yet it may be, if he come,Now, to-night, he will be tired;And no more will be desiredAll the music once he knew;He will joy the lutes are dumbAnd be glad the lights are few.Heard you how the fight has gone?Surely it will soon be ended!Was their stronghold well defendedEre it fell before his might?Did it yield soon after dawn,Or when noon was at its height?Hark! his trumpet! It is done.Smooth the bed. And for a coverDrape those scarlet colors over;And upon these dingy wallsHang what banners he has won.Hasten ere the twilight falls!They are here!—We knew the bestWhen we set us to prepare himSuch a place; for they that bear him—They as he—seem weary too;Peace! and let him have his rest;There is nothing more to do.BETWEEN THE WINTER AND THE SPRINGBetween the Winter and the SpringOne came to me at dead of night;I heard him well as any might,Although his lips, unmurmuring.Made no sweet sounds for my delight;Also, I knew him, though long days(It seemed) had fallen across my waysSince I had felt his comforting.It was quite dark, but I could seeHis hair was yellow as the sun;And his soft garments, every one,Were white as angels' throats may be;And as some man whose pain is doneAt last, and peace is surely his,His eyes were perfect with great blissAnd seemed so glad to look at me.I knew that he had come to bringThe change that I was waiting for,And, as he crossed my rush-strewn floor,I had no thought of questioning;And then he kissed me, o'er and o'er,Upon the eyes; so I fellAsleep unfrightened,—knowing wellThat morning would fulfil the Spring.And when they came at early mornAnd found that I at last was dead,Some two or three knelt by my bedAnd prayed for one they deemed forlorn;But he they wept for only said(Thinking of when the old days were),"Alas that God had need of herThe very morning Spring was born!"THE MOTHERThe long dark night crawled slowly on;I waited patiently,Knowing at last the sudden dawn,Sometime, would surely be.It came,—to tell me everythingWas Winter's quiet slave:I waited still, aware that SpringWas strong to come and save.And then Spring came, and I was gladA few expectant hours;Until I learned the things I hadWere only withered flowersBecause there came not with the SpringAs in the ancient days—The sound of his feet patteringAlong Spring's open ways;Because his sweetly serious eyesLooked into mine no more;Because no more in childish-wiseHe brought his gathered storeOf dandelions to my bed,And violets and grass,—Deeming I would be comfortedThat Spring had come to pass.And now these unused toys and IHave little dread or careFor any season that drifts byThe silences we share;And sometimes, when we think to pray,Across the vacant yearsWe see God watching him at playAnd pitying our tears.THE WINDOW OF DREAMSIt was quite dark within the roomWherein the Lady Alice sat;One had not seen, who looked thereat,The gathered dust upon her loom,There was such gloom.And though the hangings on the wallWere wrought so well and cunninglyThat many had come far to seeTheir glory once (for they were allOf cardinal,And gold, and silk, and curious glass)The ladies with the long red hairThereon, the strong men fighting there,The little river edged with grass,—Were now, alas,As if they had been always gray.Likewise the lily, whose perfumeHad once been over all the room,In which dark corner now it lay,—What man might say?She did not see these things, or knowThat they had changed since she had seen.She liked it best to sit betweenTwo little firs (they used to grow,Once, long ago!)That stood each in an earthen potUpon the window's either side.They had been green before they died,But like the rest fell out their lot,—To be forgot.Yet what cared she for such as these,Whose window was toward the sunAt sun-rising? There was not oneOf them so strong and sure to please,Or bring her ease,As what she saw when she looked throughHer window just before the dawn.These were the sights she gazed upon:Sir John, whose silken pennon flew,Yellow and blue,And proud to be upon his lance;The horse he rode being gray and white;A few men, unafraid to fight,Followed (there were some men in FranceWere brave, perchance!)And they were armed with swords and spears;Their horses, too, were mostly gray.—They seemed not sad to go away,For they were men had lost their fearsWith their child-years.They had such hope, there was but oneLooked back: Sir John had strength to look.His men saw not that his lance shookA little, for though night was done,There was no sun.And so they rode into the dawnThat waited just behind the hill;(In France there were some men to kill!)These were the things she looked uponTill they were gone.* * * * *The room was dark, and full of fear;And so the Lady Alice stayedBeside the window. Here she prayedEach morning, and when night drew near,Year after year.Beside her lay some unused things:A trumpet that had long been mute;A vellum book; a little luteThat once had ten unrusted strings;And four gold rings;A piece of faded cloth-of-gold;And three black pennies that were whiteAs silver once:—the great delightShe had of all these things of oldWas now quite cold.Only the things that she could seeOut of the window gladdened her;After the morning, those things wereA ship that rode triumphantly(This sight would bePlainest a little ere the noon)On wide blue waters, with the windStrong from the west that lay behind;Its sail curved like a slender moon,Born into June.An empty ship beside the shoreOf some unconquered foreign land;Some brave men fighting on the sandAs they had never fought beforeIn any war;A few men fleeing to the hills(This came a little after noon),God, but the fight was ended soon!They were not hard to wound and kill!A trumpet shrillEchoes, and many knights pursue!And on the hillside dead men lie,Who learned before they came to dieThe yellow flags the victors flewWere crossed with blue!* * * * *No wonder that this window-placeCould make the Lady Alice glad,When sights like these were what she had!Yet there was one that made her faceFor a little spaceGrow like a face that God has known.I think she was the happiestWhen the sun dropped into the west;This was the thing she then was shown,And this alone:A laden ship that followed fastThe way the setting sun had led;In the east wind her great sail spread;A brave knight standing near the mast;The shore at last!Of all things, this the best did seem.And now the gathering darkness fell;The morn would bring him, she knew well;She slept; and in her sleep, I deem,She had one dream.* * * * *Against the window-side she slept.This window-place was very strange;Since it was made it had known change.Beneath it once no women wept,And no vines creptAnd twisted in the broken glass.Some time ago, the little treeThat she had planted tenderlyWas not much higher than tall grass;But now, alas,Its branches were the greatest whereHer window looked toward the sun.One branch, indeed, its way had wonInto her room,—it did not bearGreen leaves in here.Above the window, and inside,Great spider-webs were spun across.Where stone was, there was wet green mossWherein small creeping things did hideUntil they died.The leaves that looked toward the roomWere hardly anything but veins;They had been wasted by the rains,Like some dead naked girl in the gloomOf some old tomb.But those outside were broad and green,And lived between the sun and shade.A perfect bower they had made,—Beneath them there should sit some queen,Born to be seen!* * * * *It was quite dark within the placeWherein the Lady Alice slept.I heard the girls below who wept,But God did not (of His good grace)Show me her face.THE RELIEF OF WET WILLOWSNow this is the ballad of seven menWho rode to Wet Willows and back again.It was only an hour before the dawnWhen they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.For they knew his sword long years had hungOn the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,—They did not remember; the tale had been toldTo them by their fathers, ere they grew old—And then his sword was a dreaded thingWhen the men from the North came a-warfaring!)But the women said that the things they knewWere best made known to their master, too:How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the groundSome men who were dead and some who were boundAnd unable to succor the women who weptThat the North-King had come while their warriors slept.* * * * *So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn,Six men with their armor girded onHad ridden around to the Eastern gate;It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.And when he came they were unafraid,And knew no envy for those who stayedWhere the walls of the castle were strong and high;There were none save some women to bid them good-by,And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray,That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way.* * * * *These things were heard and seen by the sunWhen noon at Wet Willows was nearly done.After the battle, the King from the NorthBade his men lead the seven horses forth,And bind, one on each, the Southern manWho had dared to ride it when day began.The words that the Northern King had saidSir John and his men heard not, being dead;(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knewThat Sir John's son's son in the East was trueTo the cross that was white on the shield that he had);Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;Nor did they remember the trees by the way,Or the streams that they crossed, or the dead leaves that layBy the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near,They saw not its splendor; no more did they hearThe wind that was moaning from hill unto hill:Their leader,—his will was his horse's will.* * * * *In the Eastern sky faint streaks of grayWere changed to red, and it was day.The women had waited all night longWhere the castle tower was high and strong;And now, at last, they beheld Sir John,And his men, and the horses they rode upon,Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill.The women's cries rose loud and shrill,And in their joy they pitied not,The men Sir John and his men had foughtAnd slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not youngThey knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,—A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)* * * * *So they who had waited and watched and prayedThe long night through were no more afraidTo open the gate,—for Sir John and his menWho had fought at Wet Willows were home again.THE BUILDERCome and let me make thee gladIn this house that I have made!No where (I am unafraid!)Canst thou find its like on Earth:Come, and learn the perfect worthOf the labor I have had.I have fashioned it for thee,Every room and pictured wall;Every marble pillar tall,Every door and window-place;All were done that thy fair faceMight look kindlier on me.Here, moreover, thou shalt findStrange, delightful, far-brought things:Dulcimers, whose tightened strings,Once, dead women loved to touch;(Deeming they could mimic muchOf the music of the wind!)Heavy candlesticks of brass;Chess-men carved of ivory;Mass-books written perfectlyBy some patient monk of old;Flagons wrought of thick, red gold,Set with gems and colored glass;Burnished armor, once some knight(Dead, I deem, long wars ago!)Its great strength was glad to knowWhen his Lady needed him:(Now that both his eyes are dimBoth his sword and shield are bright!)Come, and share these things with me,Men have died to leave to us!We shall find life gloriousIn this splendid house of love;Come, and claim thy part thereof,—I have fashioned it for thee!TE DEUM LAUDAMUSI will praise God alway for each new year,Knowing that it shall be most worthy ofHis kindness and His pity and His loveI will wait patient, till, from sphere to sphere,Across large times and spaces, ringeth clearThe voice of Him who sitteth high above,Saying, "Behold! thou hast had pain enough;Come; for thy Love is waiting for thee here!"I know that it must happen as God saith.I know it well. Yet, also, I know wellThat where birds sing and yellow wild-flowers dwell,Or where some strange new sunset lingereth,All Earth shall alway of her presence tellWho liveth not for me this side of death.THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS BOOK CONSISTSOF FIVE HUNDRED COPIES WITH THIRTY-FIVEADDITIONAL COPIES ON ENGLISHHAND MADE PAPER PRINTED BY THEROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL PRESS OFBOSTON DURING NOVEMBER 1896*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKMATINS***
THE KING'S HOSTEL
Let us make it fit for him!He will come ere many hoursAre passed over. Strew these flowersWhere the floor is hard and bare!Ever was his royal whimThat his place of rest were fair.Such a narrow little room!Think you he will deign to use it?Yes, we know he would not choose itWere there any other near;Here there is such damp and gloom,And such quietness is here.That he loved the light, we know;And we know he was the gladdestAlways when the mirth was maddestAnd the laughter drowned the song;When the fire's shade and glowFell upon the loyal throng.Yet it may be, if he come,Now, to-night, he will be tired;And no more will be desiredAll the music once he knew;He will joy the lutes are dumbAnd be glad the lights are few.Heard you how the fight has gone?Surely it will soon be ended!Was their stronghold well defendedEre it fell before his might?Did it yield soon after dawn,Or when noon was at its height?Hark! his trumpet! It is done.Smooth the bed. And for a coverDrape those scarlet colors over;And upon these dingy wallsHang what banners he has won.Hasten ere the twilight falls!They are here!—We knew the bestWhen we set us to prepare himSuch a place; for they that bear him—They as he—seem weary too;Peace! and let him have his rest;There is nothing more to do.
Let us make it fit for him!He will come ere many hoursAre passed over. Strew these flowersWhere the floor is hard and bare!Ever was his royal whimThat his place of rest were fair.
Let us make it fit for him!
He will come ere many hours
Are passed over. Strew these flowers
Where the floor is hard and bare!
Ever was his royal whim
That his place of rest were fair.
Such a narrow little room!Think you he will deign to use it?Yes, we know he would not choose itWere there any other near;Here there is such damp and gloom,And such quietness is here.
Such a narrow little room!
Think you he will deign to use it?
Yes, we know he would not choose it
Were there any other near;
Here there is such damp and gloom,
And such quietness is here.
That he loved the light, we know;And we know he was the gladdestAlways when the mirth was maddestAnd the laughter drowned the song;When the fire's shade and glowFell upon the loyal throng.
That he loved the light, we know;
And we know he was the gladdest
Always when the mirth was maddest
And the laughter drowned the song;
When the fire's shade and glow
Fell upon the loyal throng.
Yet it may be, if he come,Now, to-night, he will be tired;And no more will be desiredAll the music once he knew;He will joy the lutes are dumbAnd be glad the lights are few.
Yet it may be, if he come,
Now, to-night, he will be tired;
And no more will be desired
All the music once he knew;
He will joy the lutes are dumb
And be glad the lights are few.
Heard you how the fight has gone?Surely it will soon be ended!Was their stronghold well defendedEre it fell before his might?Did it yield soon after dawn,Or when noon was at its height?
Heard you how the fight has gone?
Surely it will soon be ended!
Was their stronghold well defended
Ere it fell before his might?
Did it yield soon after dawn,
Or when noon was at its height?
Hark! his trumpet! It is done.Smooth the bed. And for a coverDrape those scarlet colors over;And upon these dingy wallsHang what banners he has won.Hasten ere the twilight falls!
Hark! his trumpet! It is done.
Smooth the bed. And for a cover
Drape those scarlet colors over;
And upon these dingy walls
Hang what banners he has won.
Hasten ere the twilight falls!
They are here!—We knew the bestWhen we set us to prepare himSuch a place; for they that bear him—They as he—seem weary too;Peace! and let him have his rest;There is nothing more to do.
They are here!—We knew the best
When we set us to prepare him
Such a place; for they that bear him
—They as he—seem weary too;
Peace! and let him have his rest;
There is nothing more to do.
BETWEEN THE WINTER AND THE SPRING
Between the Winter and the SpringOne came to me at dead of night;I heard him well as any might,Although his lips, unmurmuring.Made no sweet sounds for my delight;Also, I knew him, though long days(It seemed) had fallen across my waysSince I had felt his comforting.It was quite dark, but I could seeHis hair was yellow as the sun;And his soft garments, every one,Were white as angels' throats may be;And as some man whose pain is doneAt last, and peace is surely his,His eyes were perfect with great blissAnd seemed so glad to look at me.I knew that he had come to bringThe change that I was waiting for,And, as he crossed my rush-strewn floor,I had no thought of questioning;And then he kissed me, o'er and o'er,Upon the eyes; so I fellAsleep unfrightened,—knowing wellThat morning would fulfil the Spring.And when they came at early mornAnd found that I at last was dead,Some two or three knelt by my bedAnd prayed for one they deemed forlorn;But he they wept for only said(Thinking of when the old days were),"Alas that God had need of herThe very morning Spring was born!"
Between the Winter and the SpringOne came to me at dead of night;I heard him well as any might,Although his lips, unmurmuring.Made no sweet sounds for my delight;Also, I knew him, though long days(It seemed) had fallen across my waysSince I had felt his comforting.
Between the Winter and the Spring
One came to me at dead of night;
I heard him well as any might,
Although his lips, unmurmuring.
Made no sweet sounds for my delight;
Also, I knew him, though long days
(It seemed) had fallen across my ways
Since I had felt his comforting.
It was quite dark, but I could seeHis hair was yellow as the sun;And his soft garments, every one,Were white as angels' throats may be;And as some man whose pain is doneAt last, and peace is surely his,His eyes were perfect with great blissAnd seemed so glad to look at me.
It was quite dark, but I could see
His hair was yellow as the sun;
And his soft garments, every one,
Were white as angels' throats may be;
And as some man whose pain is done
At last, and peace is surely his,
His eyes were perfect with great bliss
And seemed so glad to look at me.
I knew that he had come to bringThe change that I was waiting for,And, as he crossed my rush-strewn floor,I had no thought of questioning;And then he kissed me, o'er and o'er,Upon the eyes; so I fellAsleep unfrightened,—knowing wellThat morning would fulfil the Spring.
I knew that he had come to bring
The change that I was waiting for,
And, as he crossed my rush-strewn floor,
I had no thought of questioning;
And then he kissed me, o'er and o'er,
Upon the eyes; so I fell
Asleep unfrightened,—knowing well
That morning would fulfil the Spring.
And when they came at early mornAnd found that I at last was dead,Some two or three knelt by my bedAnd prayed for one they deemed forlorn;But he they wept for only said(Thinking of when the old days were),"Alas that God had need of herThe very morning Spring was born!"
And when they came at early morn
And found that I at last was dead,
Some two or three knelt by my bed
And prayed for one they deemed forlorn;
But he they wept for only said
(Thinking of when the old days were),
"Alas that God had need of her
The very morning Spring was born!"
THE MOTHER
The long dark night crawled slowly on;I waited patiently,Knowing at last the sudden dawn,Sometime, would surely be.It came,—to tell me everythingWas Winter's quiet slave:I waited still, aware that SpringWas strong to come and save.And then Spring came, and I was gladA few expectant hours;Until I learned the things I hadWere only withered flowersBecause there came not with the SpringAs in the ancient days—The sound of his feet patteringAlong Spring's open ways;Because his sweetly serious eyesLooked into mine no more;Because no more in childish-wiseHe brought his gathered storeOf dandelions to my bed,And violets and grass,—Deeming I would be comfortedThat Spring had come to pass.And now these unused toys and IHave little dread or careFor any season that drifts byThe silences we share;And sometimes, when we think to pray,Across the vacant yearsWe see God watching him at playAnd pitying our tears.
The long dark night crawled slowly on;I waited patiently,Knowing at last the sudden dawn,Sometime, would surely be.
The long dark night crawled slowly on;
I waited patiently,
Knowing at last the sudden dawn,
Sometime, would surely be.
It came,—to tell me everythingWas Winter's quiet slave:I waited still, aware that SpringWas strong to come and save.
It came,—to tell me everything
Was Winter's quiet slave:
I waited still, aware that Spring
Was strong to come and save.
And then Spring came, and I was gladA few expectant hours;Until I learned the things I hadWere only withered flowers
And then Spring came, and I was glad
A few expectant hours;
Until I learned the things I had
Were only withered flowers
Because there came not with the SpringAs in the ancient days—The sound of his feet patteringAlong Spring's open ways;
Because there came not with the Spring
As in the ancient days—
The sound of his feet pattering
Along Spring's open ways;
Because his sweetly serious eyesLooked into mine no more;Because no more in childish-wiseHe brought his gathered store
Because his sweetly serious eyes
Looked into mine no more;
Because no more in childish-wise
He brought his gathered store
Of dandelions to my bed,And violets and grass,—Deeming I would be comfortedThat Spring had come to pass.
Of dandelions to my bed,
And violets and grass,—
Deeming I would be comforted
That Spring had come to pass.
And now these unused toys and IHave little dread or careFor any season that drifts byThe silences we share;
And now these unused toys and I
Have little dread or care
For any season that drifts by
The silences we share;
And sometimes, when we think to pray,Across the vacant yearsWe see God watching him at playAnd pitying our tears.
And sometimes, when we think to pray,
Across the vacant years
We see God watching him at play
And pitying our tears.
THE WINDOW OF DREAMS
It was quite dark within the roomWherein the Lady Alice sat;One had not seen, who looked thereat,The gathered dust upon her loom,There was such gloom.And though the hangings on the wallWere wrought so well and cunninglyThat many had come far to seeTheir glory once (for they were allOf cardinal,And gold, and silk, and curious glass)The ladies with the long red hairThereon, the strong men fighting there,The little river edged with grass,—Were now, alas,As if they had been always gray.Likewise the lily, whose perfumeHad once been over all the room,In which dark corner now it lay,—What man might say?She did not see these things, or knowThat they had changed since she had seen.She liked it best to sit betweenTwo little firs (they used to grow,Once, long ago!)That stood each in an earthen potUpon the window's either side.They had been green before they died,But like the rest fell out their lot,—To be forgot.Yet what cared she for such as these,Whose window was toward the sunAt sun-rising? There was not oneOf them so strong and sure to please,Or bring her ease,As what she saw when she looked throughHer window just before the dawn.These were the sights she gazed upon:Sir John, whose silken pennon flew,Yellow and blue,And proud to be upon his lance;The horse he rode being gray and white;A few men, unafraid to fight,Followed (there were some men in FranceWere brave, perchance!)And they were armed with swords and spears;Their horses, too, were mostly gray.—They seemed not sad to go away,For they were men had lost their fearsWith their child-years.They had such hope, there was but oneLooked back: Sir John had strength to look.His men saw not that his lance shookA little, for though night was done,There was no sun.And so they rode into the dawnThat waited just behind the hill;(In France there were some men to kill!)These were the things she looked uponTill they were gone.
It was quite dark within the roomWherein the Lady Alice sat;One had not seen, who looked thereat,The gathered dust upon her loom,There was such gloom.
It was quite dark within the room
Wherein the Lady Alice sat;
One had not seen, who looked thereat,
The gathered dust upon her loom,
There was such gloom.
And though the hangings on the wallWere wrought so well and cunninglyThat many had come far to seeTheir glory once (for they were allOf cardinal,
And though the hangings on the wall
Were wrought so well and cunningly
That many had come far to see
Their glory once (for they were all
Of cardinal,
And gold, and silk, and curious glass)The ladies with the long red hairThereon, the strong men fighting there,The little river edged with grass,—Were now, alas,
And gold, and silk, and curious glass)
The ladies with the long red hair
Thereon, the strong men fighting there,
The little river edged with grass,—
Were now, alas,
As if they had been always gray.Likewise the lily, whose perfumeHad once been over all the room,In which dark corner now it lay,—What man might say?
As if they had been always gray.
Likewise the lily, whose perfume
Had once been over all the room,
In which dark corner now it lay,—
What man might say?
She did not see these things, or knowThat they had changed since she had seen.She liked it best to sit betweenTwo little firs (they used to grow,Once, long ago!)
She did not see these things, or know
That they had changed since she had seen.
She liked it best to sit between
Two little firs (they used to grow,
Once, long ago!)
That stood each in an earthen potUpon the window's either side.They had been green before they died,But like the rest fell out their lot,—To be forgot.
That stood each in an earthen pot
Upon the window's either side.
They had been green before they died,
But like the rest fell out their lot,—
To be forgot.
Yet what cared she for such as these,Whose window was toward the sunAt sun-rising? There was not oneOf them so strong and sure to please,Or bring her ease,
Yet what cared she for such as these,
Whose window was toward the sun
At sun-rising? There was not one
Of them so strong and sure to please,
Or bring her ease,
As what she saw when she looked throughHer window just before the dawn.These were the sights she gazed upon:Sir John, whose silken pennon flew,Yellow and blue,
As what she saw when she looked through
Her window just before the dawn.
These were the sights she gazed upon:
Sir John, whose silken pennon flew,
Yellow and blue,
And proud to be upon his lance;The horse he rode being gray and white;A few men, unafraid to fight,Followed (there were some men in FranceWere brave, perchance!)
And proud to be upon his lance;
The horse he rode being gray and white;
A few men, unafraid to fight,
Followed (there were some men in France
Were brave, perchance!)
And they were armed with swords and spears;Their horses, too, were mostly gray.—They seemed not sad to go away,For they were men had lost their fearsWith their child-years.
And they were armed with swords and spears;
Their horses, too, were mostly gray.
—They seemed not sad to go away,
For they were men had lost their fears
With their child-years.
They had such hope, there was but oneLooked back: Sir John had strength to look.His men saw not that his lance shookA little, for though night was done,There was no sun.
They had such hope, there was but one
Looked back: Sir John had strength to look.
His men saw not that his lance shook
A little, for though night was done,
There was no sun.
And so they rode into the dawnThat waited just behind the hill;(In France there were some men to kill!)These were the things she looked uponTill they were gone.
And so they rode into the dawn
That waited just behind the hill;
(In France there were some men to kill!)
These were the things she looked upon
Till they were gone.
* * * * *
The room was dark, and full of fear;And so the Lady Alice stayedBeside the window. Here she prayedEach morning, and when night drew near,Year after year.Beside her lay some unused things:A trumpet that had long been mute;A vellum book; a little luteThat once had ten unrusted strings;And four gold rings;A piece of faded cloth-of-gold;And three black pennies that were whiteAs silver once:—the great delightShe had of all these things of oldWas now quite cold.Only the things that she could seeOut of the window gladdened her;After the morning, those things wereA ship that rode triumphantly(This sight would bePlainest a little ere the noon)On wide blue waters, with the windStrong from the west that lay behind;Its sail curved like a slender moon,Born into June.An empty ship beside the shoreOf some unconquered foreign land;Some brave men fighting on the sandAs they had never fought beforeIn any war;A few men fleeing to the hills(This came a little after noon),God, but the fight was ended soon!They were not hard to wound and kill!A trumpet shrillEchoes, and many knights pursue!And on the hillside dead men lie,Who learned before they came to dieThe yellow flags the victors flewWere crossed with blue!
The room was dark, and full of fear;And so the Lady Alice stayedBeside the window. Here she prayedEach morning, and when night drew near,Year after year.
The room was dark, and full of fear;
And so the Lady Alice stayed
Beside the window. Here she prayed
Each morning, and when night drew near,
Year after year.
Beside her lay some unused things:A trumpet that had long been mute;A vellum book; a little luteThat once had ten unrusted strings;And four gold rings;
Beside her lay some unused things:
A trumpet that had long been mute;
A vellum book; a little lute
That once had ten unrusted strings;
And four gold rings;
A piece of faded cloth-of-gold;And three black pennies that were whiteAs silver once:—the great delightShe had of all these things of oldWas now quite cold.
A piece of faded cloth-of-gold;
And three black pennies that were white
As silver once:—the great delight
She had of all these things of old
Was now quite cold.
Only the things that she could seeOut of the window gladdened her;After the morning, those things wereA ship that rode triumphantly(This sight would be
Only the things that she could see
Out of the window gladdened her;
After the morning, those things were
A ship that rode triumphantly
(This sight would be
Plainest a little ere the noon)On wide blue waters, with the windStrong from the west that lay behind;Its sail curved like a slender moon,Born into June.
Plainest a little ere the noon)
On wide blue waters, with the wind
Strong from the west that lay behind;
Its sail curved like a slender moon,
Born into June.
An empty ship beside the shoreOf some unconquered foreign land;Some brave men fighting on the sandAs they had never fought beforeIn any war;
An empty ship beside the shore
Of some unconquered foreign land;
Some brave men fighting on the sand
As they had never fought before
In any war;
A few men fleeing to the hills(This came a little after noon),God, but the fight was ended soon!They were not hard to wound and kill!A trumpet shrill
A few men fleeing to the hills
(This came a little after noon),
God, but the fight was ended soon!
They were not hard to wound and kill!
A trumpet shrill
Echoes, and many knights pursue!And on the hillside dead men lie,Who learned before they came to dieThe yellow flags the victors flewWere crossed with blue!
Echoes, and many knights pursue!
And on the hillside dead men lie,
Who learned before they came to die
The yellow flags the victors flew
Were crossed with blue!
* * * * *
No wonder that this window-placeCould make the Lady Alice glad,When sights like these were what she had!Yet there was one that made her faceFor a little spaceGrow like a face that God has known.I think she was the happiestWhen the sun dropped into the west;This was the thing she then was shown,And this alone:A laden ship that followed fastThe way the setting sun had led;In the east wind her great sail spread;A brave knight standing near the mast;The shore at last!Of all things, this the best did seem.And now the gathering darkness fell;The morn would bring him, she knew well;She slept; and in her sleep, I deem,She had one dream.
No wonder that this window-placeCould make the Lady Alice glad,When sights like these were what she had!Yet there was one that made her faceFor a little space
No wonder that this window-place
Could make the Lady Alice glad,
When sights like these were what she had!
Yet there was one that made her face
For a little space
Grow like a face that God has known.I think she was the happiestWhen the sun dropped into the west;This was the thing she then was shown,And this alone:
Grow like a face that God has known.
I think she was the happiest
When the sun dropped into the west;
This was the thing she then was shown,
And this alone:
A laden ship that followed fastThe way the setting sun had led;In the east wind her great sail spread;A brave knight standing near the mast;The shore at last!
A laden ship that followed fast
The way the setting sun had led;
In the east wind her great sail spread;
A brave knight standing near the mast;
The shore at last!
Of all things, this the best did seem.And now the gathering darkness fell;The morn would bring him, she knew well;She slept; and in her sleep, I deem,She had one dream.
Of all things, this the best did seem.
And now the gathering darkness fell;
The morn would bring him, she knew well;
She slept; and in her sleep, I deem,
She had one dream.
* * * * *
Against the window-side she slept.This window-place was very strange;Since it was made it had known change.Beneath it once no women wept,And no vines creptAnd twisted in the broken glass.Some time ago, the little treeThat she had planted tenderlyWas not much higher than tall grass;But now, alas,Its branches were the greatest whereHer window looked toward the sun.One branch, indeed, its way had wonInto her room,—it did not bearGreen leaves in here.Above the window, and inside,Great spider-webs were spun across.Where stone was, there was wet green mossWherein small creeping things did hideUntil they died.The leaves that looked toward the roomWere hardly anything but veins;They had been wasted by the rains,Like some dead naked girl in the gloomOf some old tomb.But those outside were broad and green,And lived between the sun and shade.A perfect bower they had made,—Beneath them there should sit some queen,Born to be seen!
Against the window-side she slept.This window-place was very strange;Since it was made it had known change.Beneath it once no women wept,And no vines crept
Against the window-side she slept.
This window-place was very strange;
Since it was made it had known change.
Beneath it once no women wept,
And no vines crept
And twisted in the broken glass.Some time ago, the little treeThat she had planted tenderlyWas not much higher than tall grass;But now, alas,
And twisted in the broken glass.
Some time ago, the little tree
That she had planted tenderly
Was not much higher than tall grass;
But now, alas,
Its branches were the greatest whereHer window looked toward the sun.One branch, indeed, its way had wonInto her room,—it did not bearGreen leaves in here.
Its branches were the greatest where
Her window looked toward the sun.
One branch, indeed, its way had won
Into her room,—it did not bear
Green leaves in here.
Above the window, and inside,Great spider-webs were spun across.Where stone was, there was wet green mossWherein small creeping things did hideUntil they died.
Above the window, and inside,
Great spider-webs were spun across.
Where stone was, there was wet green moss
Wherein small creeping things did hide
Until they died.
The leaves that looked toward the roomWere hardly anything but veins;They had been wasted by the rains,Like some dead naked girl in the gloomOf some old tomb.
The leaves that looked toward the room
Were hardly anything but veins;
They had been wasted by the rains,
Like some dead naked girl in the gloom
Of some old tomb.
But those outside were broad and green,And lived between the sun and shade.A perfect bower they had made,—Beneath them there should sit some queen,Born to be seen!
But those outside were broad and green,
And lived between the sun and shade.
A perfect bower they had made,—
Beneath them there should sit some queen,
Born to be seen!
* * * * *
It was quite dark within the placeWherein the Lady Alice slept.I heard the girls below who wept,But God did not (of His good grace)Show me her face.
It was quite dark within the placeWherein the Lady Alice slept.I heard the girls below who wept,But God did not (of His good grace)Show me her face.
It was quite dark within the place
Wherein the Lady Alice slept.
I heard the girls below who wept,
But God did not (of His good grace)
Show me her face.
THE RELIEF OF WET WILLOWS
Now this is the ballad of seven menWho rode to Wet Willows and back again.It was only an hour before the dawnWhen they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.For they knew his sword long years had hungOn the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,—They did not remember; the tale had been toldTo them by their fathers, ere they grew old—And then his sword was a dreaded thingWhen the men from the North came a-warfaring!)But the women said that the things they knewWere best made known to their master, too:How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the groundSome men who were dead and some who were boundAnd unable to succor the women who weptThat the North-King had come while their warriors slept.
Now this is the ballad of seven menWho rode to Wet Willows and back again.
Now this is the ballad of seven men
Who rode to Wet Willows and back again.
It was only an hour before the dawnWhen they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.
It was only an hour before the dawn
When they deemed it best to awaken Sir John.
For they knew his sword long years had hungOn the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,—
For they knew his sword long years had hung
On the wall, unhandled. (Once he was young,—
They did not remember; the tale had been toldTo them by their fathers, ere they grew old—
They did not remember; the tale had been told
To them by their fathers, ere they grew old—
And then his sword was a dreaded thingWhen the men from the North came a-warfaring!)
And then his sword was a dreaded thing
When the men from the North came a-warfaring!)
But the women said that the things they knewWere best made known to their master, too:
But the women said that the things they knew
Were best made known to their master, too:
How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the groundSome men who were dead and some who were bound
How, down at Wet Willows, there lay on the ground
Some men who were dead and some who were bound
And unable to succor the women who weptThat the North-King had come while their warriors slept.
And unable to succor the women who wept
That the North-King had come while their warriors slept.
* * * * *
So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn,Six men with their armor girded onHad ridden around to the Eastern gate;It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.And when he came they were unafraid,And knew no envy for those who stayedWhere the walls of the castle were strong and high;There were none save some women to bid them good-by,And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray,That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way.
So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn,Six men with their armor girded on
So it came to pass, with the wind of the dawn,
Six men with their armor girded on
Had ridden around to the Eastern gate;It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.
Had ridden around to the Eastern gate;
It was there that Sir John had told them to wait.
And when he came they were unafraid,And knew no envy for those who stayed
And when he came they were unafraid,
And knew no envy for those who stayed
Where the walls of the castle were strong and high;There were none save some women to bid them good-by,
Where the walls of the castle were strong and high;
There were none save some women to bid them good-by,
And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray,That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way.
And they saw, as the sky in the East grew gray,
That Sir John and his men were some miles on their way.
* * * * *
These things were heard and seen by the sunWhen noon at Wet Willows was nearly done.After the battle, the King from the NorthBade his men lead the seven horses forth,And bind, one on each, the Southern manWho had dared to ride it when day began.The words that the Northern King had saidSir John and his men heard not, being dead;(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knewThat Sir John's son's son in the East was trueTo the cross that was white on the shield that he had);Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;Nor did they remember the trees by the way,Or the streams that they crossed, or the dead leaves that layBy the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near,They saw not its splendor; no more did they hearThe wind that was moaning from hill unto hill:Their leader,—his will was his horse's will.
These things were heard and seen by the sunWhen noon at Wet Willows was nearly done.
These things were heard and seen by the sun
When noon at Wet Willows was nearly done.
After the battle, the King from the NorthBade his men lead the seven horses forth,
After the battle, the King from the North
Bade his men lead the seven horses forth,
And bind, one on each, the Southern manWho had dared to ride it when day began.
And bind, one on each, the Southern man
Who had dared to ride it when day began.
The words that the Northern King had saidSir John and his men heard not, being dead;
The words that the Northern King had said
Sir John and his men heard not, being dead;
(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knewThat Sir John's son's son in the East was true
(Nor heard they the sobs of the women who knew
That Sir John's son's son in the East was true
To the cross that was white on the shield that he had);Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;
To the cross that was white on the shield that he had);
Nor knew they their home-going horses were glad;
Nor did they remember the trees by the way,Or the streams that they crossed, or the dead leaves that lay
Nor did they remember the trees by the way,
Or the streams that they crossed, or the dead leaves that lay
By the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near,They saw not its splendor; no more did they hear
By the roadside. And when the moon rose, red and near,
They saw not its splendor; no more did they hear
The wind that was moaning from hill unto hill:Their leader,—his will was his horse's will.
The wind that was moaning from hill unto hill:
Their leader,—his will was his horse's will.
* * * * *
In the Eastern sky faint streaks of grayWere changed to red, and it was day.The women had waited all night longWhere the castle tower was high and strong;And now, at last, they beheld Sir John,And his men, and the horses they rode upon,Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill.The women's cries rose loud and shrill,And in their joy they pitied not,The men Sir John and his men had foughtAnd slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not youngThey knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,—A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)
In the Eastern sky faint streaks of grayWere changed to red, and it was day.
In the Eastern sky faint streaks of gray
Were changed to red, and it was day.
The women had waited all night longWhere the castle tower was high and strong;
The women had waited all night long
Where the castle tower was high and strong;
And now, at last, they beheld Sir John,And his men, and the horses they rode upon,
And now, at last, they beheld Sir John,
And his men, and the horses they rode upon,
Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill.The women's cries rose loud and shrill,
Just crossing the brow of the nearest hill.
The women's cries rose loud and shrill,
And in their joy they pitied not,The men Sir John and his men had fought
And in their joy they pitied not,
The men Sir John and his men had fought
And slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not youngThey knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,
And slain at Wet Willows. (Sir John was not young
They knew well; but the might of his sword as it swung,
In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,—A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)
In the old fighting days, was a thing they well knew,—
A shield was but glass as it clove its way through!)
* * * * *
So they who had waited and watched and prayedThe long night through were no more afraidTo open the gate,—for Sir John and his menWho had fought at Wet Willows were home again.
So they who had waited and watched and prayedThe long night through were no more afraid
So they who had waited and watched and prayed
The long night through were no more afraid
To open the gate,—for Sir John and his menWho had fought at Wet Willows were home again.
To open the gate,—for Sir John and his men
Who had fought at Wet Willows were home again.
THE BUILDER
Come and let me make thee gladIn this house that I have made!No where (I am unafraid!)Canst thou find its like on Earth:Come, and learn the perfect worthOf the labor I have had.I have fashioned it for thee,Every room and pictured wall;Every marble pillar tall,Every door and window-place;All were done that thy fair faceMight look kindlier on me.Here, moreover, thou shalt findStrange, delightful, far-brought things:Dulcimers, whose tightened strings,Once, dead women loved to touch;(Deeming they could mimic muchOf the music of the wind!)Heavy candlesticks of brass;Chess-men carved of ivory;Mass-books written perfectlyBy some patient monk of old;Flagons wrought of thick, red gold,Set with gems and colored glass;Burnished armor, once some knight(Dead, I deem, long wars ago!)Its great strength was glad to knowWhen his Lady needed him:(Now that both his eyes are dimBoth his sword and shield are bright!)Come, and share these things with me,Men have died to leave to us!We shall find life gloriousIn this splendid house of love;Come, and claim thy part thereof,—I have fashioned it for thee!
Come and let me make thee gladIn this house that I have made!No where (I am unafraid!)Canst thou find its like on Earth:Come, and learn the perfect worthOf the labor I have had.
Come and let me make thee glad
In this house that I have made!
No where (I am unafraid!)
Canst thou find its like on Earth:
Come, and learn the perfect worth
Of the labor I have had.
I have fashioned it for thee,Every room and pictured wall;Every marble pillar tall,Every door and window-place;All were done that thy fair faceMight look kindlier on me.
I have fashioned it for thee,
Every room and pictured wall;
Every marble pillar tall,
Every door and window-place;
All were done that thy fair face
Might look kindlier on me.
Here, moreover, thou shalt findStrange, delightful, far-brought things:Dulcimers, whose tightened strings,Once, dead women loved to touch;(Deeming they could mimic muchOf the music of the wind!)
Here, moreover, thou shalt find
Strange, delightful, far-brought things:
Dulcimers, whose tightened strings,
Once, dead women loved to touch;
(Deeming they could mimic much
Of the music of the wind!)
Heavy candlesticks of brass;Chess-men carved of ivory;Mass-books written perfectlyBy some patient monk of old;Flagons wrought of thick, red gold,Set with gems and colored glass;
Heavy candlesticks of brass;
Chess-men carved of ivory;
Mass-books written perfectly
By some patient monk of old;
Flagons wrought of thick, red gold,
Set with gems and colored glass;
Burnished armor, once some knight(Dead, I deem, long wars ago!)Its great strength was glad to knowWhen his Lady needed him:(Now that both his eyes are dimBoth his sword and shield are bright!)
Burnished armor, once some knight
(Dead, I deem, long wars ago!)
Its great strength was glad to know
When his Lady needed him:
(Now that both his eyes are dim
Both his sword and shield are bright!)
Come, and share these things with me,Men have died to leave to us!We shall find life gloriousIn this splendid house of love;Come, and claim thy part thereof,—I have fashioned it for thee!
Come, and share these things with me,
Men have died to leave to us!
We shall find life glorious
In this splendid house of love;
Come, and claim thy part thereof,—
I have fashioned it for thee!
TE DEUM LAUDAMUS
I will praise God alway for each new year,Knowing that it shall be most worthy ofHis kindness and His pity and His loveI will wait patient, till, from sphere to sphere,Across large times and spaces, ringeth clearThe voice of Him who sitteth high above,Saying, "Behold! thou hast had pain enough;Come; for thy Love is waiting for thee here!"I know that it must happen as God saith.I know it well. Yet, also, I know wellThat where birds sing and yellow wild-flowers dwell,Or where some strange new sunset lingereth,All Earth shall alway of her presence tellWho liveth not for me this side of death.
I will praise God alway for each new year,Knowing that it shall be most worthy ofHis kindness and His pity and His loveI will wait patient, till, from sphere to sphere,Across large times and spaces, ringeth clearThe voice of Him who sitteth high above,Saying, "Behold! thou hast had pain enough;Come; for thy Love is waiting for thee here!"I know that it must happen as God saith.I know it well. Yet, also, I know wellThat where birds sing and yellow wild-flowers dwell,Or where some strange new sunset lingereth,All Earth shall alway of her presence tellWho liveth not for me this side of death.
I will praise God alway for each new year,
Knowing that it shall be most worthy of
His kindness and His pity and His love
I will wait patient, till, from sphere to sphere,
Across large times and spaces, ringeth clear
The voice of Him who sitteth high above,
Saying, "Behold! thou hast had pain enough;
Come; for thy Love is waiting for thee here!"
I know that it must happen as God saith.
I know it well. Yet, also, I know well
That where birds sing and yellow wild-flowers dwell,
Or where some strange new sunset lingereth,
All Earth shall alway of her presence tell
Who liveth not for me this side of death.
THE FIRST EDITION OF THIS BOOK CONSISTSOF FIVE HUNDRED COPIES WITH THIRTY-FIVEADDITIONAL COPIES ON ENGLISHHAND MADE PAPER PRINTED BY THEROCKWELL AND CHURCHILL PRESS OFBOSTON DURING NOVEMBER 1896
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKMATINS***