ASOFT and flowered visionCame on me as a breezeIn summer, and I sawThe souls of men like bees.Up stairs of orchard foamWith balustrade of may,Stagger, a mazy cluster,Drunk with the scented day.Then strong from newer honey,With brighter pollen shod,The little souls went buzzingUp to the Hives of God.
ASOFT and flowered visionCame on me as a breezeIn summer, and I sawThe souls of men like bees.Up stairs of orchard foamWith balustrade of may,Stagger, a mazy cluster,Drunk with the scented day.Then strong from newer honey,With brighter pollen shod,The little souls went buzzingUp to the Hives of God.
ASOFT and flowered visionCame on me as a breezeIn summer, and I sawThe souls of men like bees.
Up stairs of orchard foamWith balustrade of may,Stagger, a mazy cluster,Drunk with the scented day.
Then strong from newer honey,With brighter pollen shod,The little souls went buzzingUp to the Hives of God.
SHERARD VINES(NEW COLLEGE)
NOT till, fallen swooning at the lastRound, heart-broken at the cruel pace,Thrown out useless from my working placeSickness, scorn, and bitterness to taste,Not till hard days have me crucifiedTo a desk, the close nights to a bedComfortless, and all my gain unmade,All the towers brought low that were my pride,May I seek the silent golden tor,Sleep beside long crumbled architraves,See the desolate glory of the wavesSnarling, like tigers on a lone lee shore.
NOT till, fallen swooning at the lastRound, heart-broken at the cruel pace,Thrown out useless from my working placeSickness, scorn, and bitterness to taste,Not till hard days have me crucifiedTo a desk, the close nights to a bedComfortless, and all my gain unmade,All the towers brought low that were my pride,May I seek the silent golden tor,Sleep beside long crumbled architraves,See the desolate glory of the wavesSnarling, like tigers on a lone lee shore.
NOT till, fallen swooning at the lastRound, heart-broken at the cruel pace,Thrown out useless from my working placeSickness, scorn, and bitterness to taste,Not till hard days have me crucifiedTo a desk, the close nights to a bedComfortless, and all my gain unmade,All the towers brought low that were my pride,May I seek the silent golden tor,Sleep beside long crumbled architraves,See the desolate glory of the wavesSnarling, like tigers on a lone lee shore.
IN blatant light the grasses lookLike bronzen swords of green,The hillock-tops simmer and smoke,The stark road thrusts between.No mild opacity of cloudTransmutes the harshness, whereLike stars of newly spattered bloodKempt cottage flowers stare.A blast of Hell gets up to floutThe sharp metallic trees,And hungry insects haste aboutTheir cruel purposes.
IN blatant light the grasses lookLike bronzen swords of green,The hillock-tops simmer and smoke,The stark road thrusts between.No mild opacity of cloudTransmutes the harshness, whereLike stars of newly spattered bloodKempt cottage flowers stare.A blast of Hell gets up to floutThe sharp metallic trees,And hungry insects haste aboutTheir cruel purposes.
IN blatant light the grasses lookLike bronzen swords of green,The hillock-tops simmer and smoke,The stark road thrusts between.
No mild opacity of cloudTransmutes the harshness, whereLike stars of newly spattered bloodKempt cottage flowers stare.
A blast of Hell gets up to floutThe sharp metallic trees,And hungry insects haste aboutTheir cruel purposes.
D. E. A. WALLACE(SOMERVILLE)
Were I a shadow in a poolI would not live, I would not fear to die;But only, faint and cool,I’d pass my days of unrealityIn passive contemplation of the sky;And no desire should shake me.And no denial break me,Ah, fool,Thou art no shadow in a pool.Were I a shadow in a poolI could not love, I could not thrill with hate;But, ashy-pale and cool,Through endless meadows moving desolateI would outgaze the sky dispassionate,With never grief to move me.And never friend to love me.Glad fool,Thou art no shadow in a pool!
Were I a shadow in a poolI would not live, I would not fear to die;But only, faint and cool,I’d pass my days of unrealityIn passive contemplation of the sky;And no desire should shake me.And no denial break me,Ah, fool,Thou art no shadow in a pool.Were I a shadow in a poolI could not love, I could not thrill with hate;But, ashy-pale and cool,Through endless meadows moving desolateI would outgaze the sky dispassionate,With never grief to move me.And never friend to love me.Glad fool,Thou art no shadow in a pool!
Were I a shadow in a poolI would not live, I would not fear to die;But only, faint and cool,I’d pass my days of unrealityIn passive contemplation of the sky;And no desire should shake me.And no denial break me,Ah, fool,Thou art no shadow in a pool.
Were I a shadow in a poolI could not love, I could not thrill with hate;But, ashy-pale and cool,Through endless meadows moving desolateI would outgaze the sky dispassionate,With never grief to move me.And never friend to love me.Glad fool,Thou art no shadow in a pool!
LIFE and I are a pair of lovers:Life is only as old as I.Here he kissed me, with no one by,Here the day long will we lie,On a hillside swept with the calling of plovers,Until the stooping midnight coversLife and me with the star-wrought sky.Life, come kiss me! Joy, come tell me,Will you love me still to-morrow?Will you ravish me and sell me,Love of mine, to sorrow?“Sweet, come kiss me! Sweet, come tell meNo misgivings of the morrow!But ... there are two ways to spell me:I am Joy—and Sorrow.”
LIFE and I are a pair of lovers:Life is only as old as I.Here he kissed me, with no one by,Here the day long will we lie,On a hillside swept with the calling of plovers,Until the stooping midnight coversLife and me with the star-wrought sky.Life, come kiss me! Joy, come tell me,Will you love me still to-morrow?Will you ravish me and sell me,Love of mine, to sorrow?“Sweet, come kiss me! Sweet, come tell meNo misgivings of the morrow!But ... there are two ways to spell me:I am Joy—and Sorrow.”
LIFE and I are a pair of lovers:Life is only as old as I.Here he kissed me, with no one by,Here the day long will we lie,On a hillside swept with the calling of plovers,Until the stooping midnight coversLife and me with the star-wrought sky.
Life, come kiss me! Joy, come tell me,Will you love me still to-morrow?Will you ravish me and sell me,Love of mine, to sorrow?
“Sweet, come kiss me! Sweet, come tell meNo misgivings of the morrow!But ... there are two ways to spell me:I am Joy—and Sorrow.”
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS. GUILDFORD, ENGLAND
Oxford Poetry, 1910-1913.
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[Third Impression.
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[Second Impression.
DOROTHY L. SAYERS.
(Author of ‘Op. I.’)
Catholic Tales.Impl. 16mo, art wrapper, 3s. net.
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The authors, whoever they may be, combine rare technical mastery with a refreshing but sane originality. They show that traditional form is quite adequate to express modern idea.
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Tales of the Sarai.Crown 8vo, sewed, 2s. 6d. net.
‘Very delightful ... for humour we want nothing better. We have not derived more pleasure for some time from any book of verse.’—The Times.
EDITH SITWELL.
Wheels: An Anthology of Verse.Edited byEdith Sitwell. Impl. 16mo, boards with design, 3s. 6d. net.
‘They have not as a body very much in common.’—The Times.
‘The names of the poets are unfamiliar to us.’—Everyman.
‘Conceived in morbid eccentricity and executed in factitious gloom.... The fœtidness of the whole clings to the nostrils.’—The Pall Mall Gazette.
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[Now Ready.