FRANK PREWETTComegirl, and embrace,And ask no more I wed thee;Know then you are sweet of face,Soft-limbed and fashioned lovingly;—Must you go marketing your charmsIn cunning woman-like,And filled with old wives’ tales’ alarms?I tell you, girl, come embrace;What reck we of churchling and priestWith hands on paunch and chubby face;Behold, we are life’s pitiful least,And we perish at the first smellOf death, whither heaves earthTo spurn us cringing into hell.Come girl, and embrace;Nay, cry not, poor wretch, nor plead,But haste, for life strikes a swift paceAnd I burn with envious greed:Know you not, fool, we are the mock,Of gods, time, clothes, and priests?But come, there is no time for talk.I wentout into the fieldsIn my anguish of mind,And sought comfort of the treesFor they looked to be kind.‘Alas!’ cried they, ‘who have peace?—We are prey that is caught,The sun warms us, the blast chills,And we understand not.’On rolled the world with fools’ noise,But I strode in tears’ wrack;Would God, fools, I too were fool,Or had light that I lack.I held the fields all day,I, a madman, too;My spirit called aloudTo sift the false from true.The troubled sun turned black,Earth heaved to and fro,Whene’er I spurned the flowersLifting heads to grow.Trees reached their hands to stay,Whistled birds to me,‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all,Brother, let things be.For not their heads aloneBleed, but the stars fadeAnd all things grieve, for weOne fabric are made.’The heavens and earth do meetAnd all things are true,So trample ye no flowersLest skies lose their blue.Comrade, why do you weep?Is it sorrow for a friendWho fell, rifle in hand,His proud stand at an end?The harsh thunder-lipped gunsRoll his dirge deep and slow,Where he makes his dreamless bed,Head to head with a foe.The sweet lark beats on high,For the joy of those who sleepIn quiet embrace of earth.Comrade, why do you weep?Thewinds caress the trees,Woman to man is led,And I too have my love,Though she comes not to bed.Beyond the heat of flesh,Which has its place and day,We hold our keen delightsIn spirit, earth away.Mount me on high, O soul,Expand me my desires,So shall I clasp in loveEven the heavenly fires!
FRANK PREWETT
Comegirl, and embrace,And ask no more I wed thee;Know then you are sweet of face,Soft-limbed and fashioned lovingly;—Must you go marketing your charmsIn cunning woman-like,And filled with old wives’ tales’ alarms?I tell you, girl, come embrace;What reck we of churchling and priestWith hands on paunch and chubby face;Behold, we are life’s pitiful least,And we perish at the first smellOf death, whither heaves earthTo spurn us cringing into hell.Come girl, and embrace;Nay, cry not, poor wretch, nor plead,But haste, for life strikes a swift paceAnd I burn with envious greed:Know you not, fool, we are the mock,Of gods, time, clothes, and priests?But come, there is no time for talk.
Comegirl, and embrace,And ask no more I wed thee;Know then you are sweet of face,Soft-limbed and fashioned lovingly;—Must you go marketing your charmsIn cunning woman-like,And filled with old wives’ tales’ alarms?I tell you, girl, come embrace;What reck we of churchling and priestWith hands on paunch and chubby face;Behold, we are life’s pitiful least,And we perish at the first smellOf death, whither heaves earthTo spurn us cringing into hell.Come girl, and embrace;Nay, cry not, poor wretch, nor plead,But haste, for life strikes a swift paceAnd I burn with envious greed:Know you not, fool, we are the mock,Of gods, time, clothes, and priests?But come, there is no time for talk.
Comegirl, and embrace,And ask no more I wed thee;Know then you are sweet of face,Soft-limbed and fashioned lovingly;—Must you go marketing your charmsIn cunning woman-like,And filled with old wives’ tales’ alarms?I tell you, girl, come embrace;What reck we of churchling and priestWith hands on paunch and chubby face;Behold, we are life’s pitiful least,And we perish at the first smellOf death, whither heaves earthTo spurn us cringing into hell.Come girl, and embrace;Nay, cry not, poor wretch, nor plead,But haste, for life strikes a swift paceAnd I burn with envious greed:Know you not, fool, we are the mock,Of gods, time, clothes, and priests?But come, there is no time for talk.
I wentout into the fieldsIn my anguish of mind,And sought comfort of the treesFor they looked to be kind.‘Alas!’ cried they, ‘who have peace?—We are prey that is caught,The sun warms us, the blast chills,And we understand not.’On rolled the world with fools’ noise,But I strode in tears’ wrack;Would God, fools, I too were fool,Or had light that I lack.I held the fields all day,I, a madman, too;My spirit called aloudTo sift the false from true.The troubled sun turned black,Earth heaved to and fro,Whene’er I spurned the flowersLifting heads to grow.Trees reached their hands to stay,Whistled birds to me,‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all,Brother, let things be.For not their heads aloneBleed, but the stars fadeAnd all things grieve, for weOne fabric are made.’The heavens and earth do meetAnd all things are true,So trample ye no flowersLest skies lose their blue.
I wentout into the fieldsIn my anguish of mind,And sought comfort of the treesFor they looked to be kind.‘Alas!’ cried they, ‘who have peace?—We are prey that is caught,The sun warms us, the blast chills,And we understand not.’On rolled the world with fools’ noise,But I strode in tears’ wrack;Would God, fools, I too were fool,Or had light that I lack.I held the fields all day,I, a madman, too;My spirit called aloudTo sift the false from true.The troubled sun turned black,Earth heaved to and fro,Whene’er I spurned the flowersLifting heads to grow.Trees reached their hands to stay,Whistled birds to me,‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all,Brother, let things be.For not their heads aloneBleed, but the stars fadeAnd all things grieve, for weOne fabric are made.’The heavens and earth do meetAnd all things are true,So trample ye no flowersLest skies lose their blue.
I wentout into the fieldsIn my anguish of mind,And sought comfort of the treesFor they looked to be kind.
‘Alas!’ cried they, ‘who have peace?—We are prey that is caught,The sun warms us, the blast chills,And we understand not.’
On rolled the world with fools’ noise,But I strode in tears’ wrack;Would God, fools, I too were fool,Or had light that I lack.
I held the fields all day,I, a madman, too;My spirit called aloudTo sift the false from true.
The troubled sun turned black,Earth heaved to and fro,Whene’er I spurned the flowersLifting heads to grow.
Trees reached their hands to stay,Whistled birds to me,‘Spurn one, thou spurnest all,Brother, let things be.
For not their heads aloneBleed, but the stars fadeAnd all things grieve, for weOne fabric are made.’
The heavens and earth do meetAnd all things are true,So trample ye no flowersLest skies lose their blue.
Comrade, why do you weep?Is it sorrow for a friendWho fell, rifle in hand,His proud stand at an end?The harsh thunder-lipped gunsRoll his dirge deep and slow,Where he makes his dreamless bed,Head to head with a foe.The sweet lark beats on high,For the joy of those who sleepIn quiet embrace of earth.Comrade, why do you weep?
Comrade, why do you weep?Is it sorrow for a friendWho fell, rifle in hand,His proud stand at an end?The harsh thunder-lipped gunsRoll his dirge deep and slow,Where he makes his dreamless bed,Head to head with a foe.The sweet lark beats on high,For the joy of those who sleepIn quiet embrace of earth.Comrade, why do you weep?
Comrade, why do you weep?Is it sorrow for a friendWho fell, rifle in hand,His proud stand at an end?
The harsh thunder-lipped gunsRoll his dirge deep and slow,Where he makes his dreamless bed,Head to head with a foe.
The sweet lark beats on high,For the joy of those who sleepIn quiet embrace of earth.Comrade, why do you weep?
Thewinds caress the trees,Woman to man is led,And I too have my love,Though she comes not to bed.Beyond the heat of flesh,Which has its place and day,We hold our keen delightsIn spirit, earth away.Mount me on high, O soul,Expand me my desires,So shall I clasp in loveEven the heavenly fires!
Thewinds caress the trees,Woman to man is led,And I too have my love,Though she comes not to bed.Beyond the heat of flesh,Which has its place and day,We hold our keen delightsIn spirit, earth away.Mount me on high, O soul,Expand me my desires,So shall I clasp in loveEven the heavenly fires!
Thewinds caress the trees,Woman to man is led,And I too have my love,Though she comes not to bed.
Beyond the heat of flesh,Which has its place and day,We hold our keen delightsIn spirit, earth away.
Mount me on high, O soul,Expand me my desires,So shall I clasp in loveEven the heavenly fires!