ROSALEEN GRAVESNIGHT-SOUNDSFaintlythrough my window comeSounds of things unheard by day,Things that nightly speak and play,But by day again go dumb.Uncouth owls, with shuddering cry,Flap great wings in horrid griefFlap and swoop on journeys brief,Hooting long and miserably.Lurching in unsteady flightComes a lean bat, singing shrill,Stumbles on my window sill,And staggers off into the night.Wild duck, waking on the marsh,Din against my sleepy senses;Like the wind on creaking fencesComes their croaking, faint and harsh.There’s a little bush I hearMuttering, frightened, half-asleep;Now a leafy voice, more deep,Rustles vague comfort, soothes its fear.Water flows not as by day.A new tone through its voice has crept.Streams that in daylight laughed and leaptAnd had humorous things to say,Speak so gravely now, and mutterOf things secret, scarcely guessed,Winds’ and Waters’ veiled unrest,Griefs too big for man to utter.Of the days before man cameThe days when man shall be no more,And Earth again be ruled by Four,Air and Water, Earth and Flame.Now a sudden silence falls;Until like rocking, silver boatsCome the curlew’s ripply notesHow far the curious music calls!And sweet twitters whisper clearlyFrom the tree tops dimly seenPiping from the shadowy greenThat the dawn is here, or nearly.‘A STRONGER THAN HE SHALL COME UPON HIM...’Andthen he was seized by one who was stronger than he,Seized and tamed and bound and forced to obey;From the swinging choice of evil or good he was free;Good was no longer; evil had vanished awayHe left to another the gain or loss of the day.Was he driven or drawn? What matter? He was content.He yielded him, body and soul, to the whirl of WarAs one yields to the high sea-wind, and is buffered, bentTo his will, when, shouting, he stamps in over the shoreTriumphant, driving all things like dust before.Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his mightWho tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong?The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might,And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song,Yield, and are hurried—whirled—hounded along.Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he—No time to think—no time to ponder and weigh—He was swept like a straw on the wind—and yet he knew himself freeWas it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say;But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey.COLOURFlowers, thick as stars, laySplashed about the roadway—Flowers nodding up and down,Gold, lilac, fern-brown,Colour in which to drown.The Channel was a dark blue streak,With pools rosy like the cheekOf a girl too shy to speak,And coloured clouds went tossing past,Warm and windy,Vivid and quaint,Faint and eager and vast.Colour, thick as dust, laySpattered about the highway—Colour so bright that one would thinkWhite, blue, cherry-pinkWere made to clutch and drink,Colour that made one stop and say,‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’Colour that made one pray.Lumps of colour, liquid and cool,Cool and near,Clear and gayTumbled about my way.
ROSALEEN GRAVES
Faintlythrough my window comeSounds of things unheard by day,Things that nightly speak and play,But by day again go dumb.Uncouth owls, with shuddering cry,Flap great wings in horrid griefFlap and swoop on journeys brief,Hooting long and miserably.Lurching in unsteady flightComes a lean bat, singing shrill,Stumbles on my window sill,And staggers off into the night.Wild duck, waking on the marsh,Din against my sleepy senses;Like the wind on creaking fencesComes their croaking, faint and harsh.There’s a little bush I hearMuttering, frightened, half-asleep;Now a leafy voice, more deep,Rustles vague comfort, soothes its fear.Water flows not as by day.A new tone through its voice has crept.Streams that in daylight laughed and leaptAnd had humorous things to say,Speak so gravely now, and mutterOf things secret, scarcely guessed,Winds’ and Waters’ veiled unrest,Griefs too big for man to utter.Of the days before man cameThe days when man shall be no more,And Earth again be ruled by Four,Air and Water, Earth and Flame.Now a sudden silence falls;Until like rocking, silver boatsCome the curlew’s ripply notesHow far the curious music calls!And sweet twitters whisper clearlyFrom the tree tops dimly seenPiping from the shadowy greenThat the dawn is here, or nearly.
Faintlythrough my window comeSounds of things unheard by day,Things that nightly speak and play,But by day again go dumb.Uncouth owls, with shuddering cry,Flap great wings in horrid griefFlap and swoop on journeys brief,Hooting long and miserably.Lurching in unsteady flightComes a lean bat, singing shrill,Stumbles on my window sill,And staggers off into the night.Wild duck, waking on the marsh,Din against my sleepy senses;Like the wind on creaking fencesComes their croaking, faint and harsh.There’s a little bush I hearMuttering, frightened, half-asleep;Now a leafy voice, more deep,Rustles vague comfort, soothes its fear.Water flows not as by day.A new tone through its voice has crept.Streams that in daylight laughed and leaptAnd had humorous things to say,Speak so gravely now, and mutterOf things secret, scarcely guessed,Winds’ and Waters’ veiled unrest,Griefs too big for man to utter.Of the days before man cameThe days when man shall be no more,And Earth again be ruled by Four,Air and Water, Earth and Flame.Now a sudden silence falls;Until like rocking, silver boatsCome the curlew’s ripply notesHow far the curious music calls!And sweet twitters whisper clearlyFrom the tree tops dimly seenPiping from the shadowy greenThat the dawn is here, or nearly.
Faintlythrough my window comeSounds of things unheard by day,Things that nightly speak and play,But by day again go dumb.
Uncouth owls, with shuddering cry,Flap great wings in horrid griefFlap and swoop on journeys brief,Hooting long and miserably.
Lurching in unsteady flightComes a lean bat, singing shrill,Stumbles on my window sill,And staggers off into the night.
Wild duck, waking on the marsh,Din against my sleepy senses;Like the wind on creaking fencesComes their croaking, faint and harsh.
There’s a little bush I hearMuttering, frightened, half-asleep;Now a leafy voice, more deep,Rustles vague comfort, soothes its fear.
Water flows not as by day.A new tone through its voice has crept.Streams that in daylight laughed and leaptAnd had humorous things to say,
Speak so gravely now, and mutterOf things secret, scarcely guessed,Winds’ and Waters’ veiled unrest,Griefs too big for man to utter.
Of the days before man cameThe days when man shall be no more,And Earth again be ruled by Four,Air and Water, Earth and Flame.
Now a sudden silence falls;Until like rocking, silver boatsCome the curlew’s ripply notesHow far the curious music calls!
And sweet twitters whisper clearlyFrom the tree tops dimly seenPiping from the shadowy greenThat the dawn is here, or nearly.
Andthen he was seized by one who was stronger than he,Seized and tamed and bound and forced to obey;From the swinging choice of evil or good he was free;Good was no longer; evil had vanished awayHe left to another the gain or loss of the day.Was he driven or drawn? What matter? He was content.He yielded him, body and soul, to the whirl of WarAs one yields to the high sea-wind, and is buffered, bentTo his will, when, shouting, he stamps in over the shoreTriumphant, driving all things like dust before.Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his mightWho tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong?The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might,And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song,Yield, and are hurried—whirled—hounded along.Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he—No time to think—no time to ponder and weigh—He was swept like a straw on the wind—and yet he knew himself freeWas it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say;But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey.
Andthen he was seized by one who was stronger than he,Seized and tamed and bound and forced to obey;From the swinging choice of evil or good he was free;Good was no longer; evil had vanished awayHe left to another the gain or loss of the day.Was he driven or drawn? What matter? He was content.He yielded him, body and soul, to the whirl of WarAs one yields to the high sea-wind, and is buffered, bentTo his will, when, shouting, he stamps in over the shoreTriumphant, driving all things like dust before.Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his mightWho tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong?The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might,And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song,Yield, and are hurried—whirled—hounded along.Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he—No time to think—no time to ponder and weigh—He was swept like a straw on the wind—and yet he knew himself freeWas it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say;But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey.
Andthen he was seized by one who was stronger than he,Seized and tamed and bound and forced to obey;From the swinging choice of evil or good he was free;Good was no longer; evil had vanished awayHe left to another the gain or loss of the day.
Was he driven or drawn? What matter? He was content.He yielded him, body and soul, to the whirl of WarAs one yields to the high sea-wind, and is buffered, bentTo his will, when, shouting, he stamps in over the shoreTriumphant, driving all things like dust before.
Can aught but a rock stand firm, or question his mightWho tosses the leaves and clouds from a hand so strong?The trees and grasses bow in awe of his might,And men in the mountains, hearing his giant-song,Yield, and are hurried—whirled—hounded along.
Thus he yielded to War, who was stronger than he—No time to think—no time to ponder and weigh—He was swept like a straw on the wind—and yet he knew himself freeWas it freedom or bondage, this? In truth, it were hard to say;But, slave or king, he bowed his head to obey.
Flowers, thick as stars, laySplashed about the roadway—Flowers nodding up and down,Gold, lilac, fern-brown,Colour in which to drown.The Channel was a dark blue streak,With pools rosy like the cheekOf a girl too shy to speak,And coloured clouds went tossing past,Warm and windy,Vivid and quaint,Faint and eager and vast.Colour, thick as dust, laySpattered about the highway—Colour so bright that one would thinkWhite, blue, cherry-pinkWere made to clutch and drink,Colour that made one stop and say,‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’Colour that made one pray.Lumps of colour, liquid and cool,Cool and near,Clear and gayTumbled about my way.
Flowers, thick as stars, laySplashed about the roadway—Flowers nodding up and down,Gold, lilac, fern-brown,Colour in which to drown.The Channel was a dark blue streak,With pools rosy like the cheekOf a girl too shy to speak,And coloured clouds went tossing past,Warm and windy,Vivid and quaint,Faint and eager and vast.Colour, thick as dust, laySpattered about the highway—Colour so bright that one would thinkWhite, blue, cherry-pinkWere made to clutch and drink,Colour that made one stop and say,‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’Colour that made one pray.Lumps of colour, liquid and cool,Cool and near,Clear and gayTumbled about my way.
Flowers, thick as stars, laySplashed about the roadway—Flowers nodding up and down,Gold, lilac, fern-brown,Colour in which to drown.The Channel was a dark blue streak,With pools rosy like the cheekOf a girl too shy to speak,And coloured clouds went tossing past,Warm and windy,Vivid and quaint,Faint and eager and vast.
Colour, thick as dust, laySpattered about the highway—Colour so bright that one would thinkWhite, blue, cherry-pinkWere made to clutch and drink,Colour that made one stop and say,‘Earth, are you Heaven to-day?’Colour that made one pray.Lumps of colour, liquid and cool,Cool and near,Clear and gayTumbled about my way.