I heard the rumbling guns. I saw the smoke,The unintelligible shock of hosts that still,Far off, unseeing, strove and strove again:And Beauty flying naked down the hill.From morn to eve: and then stern night cried Peace!And shut the strife in darkness; all was still.Then slowly crept a triumph on the dark—And I heard Beauty singing up the hill.
I heard the rumbling guns. I saw the smoke,The unintelligible shock of hosts that still,Far off, unseeing, strove and strove again:And Beauty flying naked down the hill.
From morn to eve: and then stern night cried Peace!And shut the strife in darkness; all was still.Then slowly crept a triumph on the dark—And I heard Beauty singing up the hill.
O that I wereWhere breaks the pure cold lightOn English hills,And peewits rising cry,And gray is all the sky.Or at evening thereWhen the faint slow light stays,And far belowSleeps the last lingering sound,And night leans all round.O then, O there'Tis English haunted ground.The diligent starsCreep out, watch, and smile;The wise moon lingers awhile.For surely thereHeroic shapes are moving,Visible thoughts,Passions, things divine,Clear beneath clear star-shine.O that I wereAgain on English hills,Seeing betweenLaborious villagesHer cool dark loveliness.
O that I wereWhere breaks the pure cold lightOn English hills,And peewits rising cry,And gray is all the sky.
Or at evening thereWhen the faint slow light stays,And far belowSleeps the last lingering sound,And night leans all round.
O then, O there'Tis English haunted ground.The diligent starsCreep out, watch, and smile;The wise moon lingers awhile.
For surely thereHeroic shapes are moving,Visible thoughts,Passions, things divine,Clear beneath clear star-shine.
O that I wereAgain on English hills,Seeing betweenLaborious villagesHer cool dark loveliness.
When I came home from wanderingsIn a tall chattering ship,I thought a hundred happy things,Of people, places, and such thingsAs I came sailing home.The tall ship moved how slowly onWith me and hundreds more,That thought not then of wanderings,But of unwhispered, longed-for things,Familiar things of home.For not in miles seemed other landsFar off, but in long yearsAs we came near to England then;Even the tall ship heard secret thingsAs she moved trembling home.It was at dawn. The chattering shipWas strangely hushed; faint mistCrept everywhere, and we crept on,And every eye was creeping onThe mist, as we moved home....Until we saw, far, very far,Or dreamed we saw, her cliffs,And thought of sweet, intolerable things,Of England—dark, unwhispered things,Such things, as we crept home.
When I came home from wanderingsIn a tall chattering ship,I thought a hundred happy things,Of people, places, and such thingsAs I came sailing home.
The tall ship moved how slowly onWith me and hundreds more,That thought not then of wanderings,But of unwhispered, longed-for things,Familiar things of home.
For not in miles seemed other landsFar off, but in long yearsAs we came near to England then;Even the tall ship heard secret thingsAs she moved trembling home.
It was at dawn. The chattering shipWas strangely hushed; faint mistCrept everywhere, and we crept on,And every eye was creeping onThe mist, as we moved home....
Until we saw, far, very far,Or dreamed we saw, her cliffs,And thought of sweet, intolerable things,Of England—dark, unwhispered things,Such things, as we crept home.
She stands like one with mazy cares distraught.Around her sudden angry storm-clouds rise,Dark, dark! and comes the look into her eyesOf eld. All that herself herself hath taughtShe cons anew, that courage new be caughtOf courage old. Yet comfortless still liesSnake-like in her warm bosom (vexed with sighs)Fear of the greatness that herself hath wrought.No glory but her memory teems with it,No beauty that's not hers; more nobly noneOf all her sisters runs with her; but sheFor her old destiny dreams herself unfit,And fumbling at the future doubtfullyMuses how Rome of Romans was undone.
She stands like one with mazy cares distraught.Around her sudden angry storm-clouds rise,Dark, dark! and comes the look into her eyesOf eld. All that herself herself hath taughtShe cons anew, that courage new be caughtOf courage old. Yet comfortless still liesSnake-like in her warm bosom (vexed with sighs)Fear of the greatness that herself hath wrought.
No glory but her memory teems with it,No beauty that's not hers; more nobly noneOf all her sisters runs with her; but sheFor her old destiny dreams herself unfit,And fumbling at the future doubtfullyMuses how Rome of Romans was undone.
Now the trees rest: the moon has taught them sleep,Like drowsy wings of bats are all their leaves,Clinging together. Girls at ease who foldFair hands upon white necks and through dusk fieldsWalk all content,—of them the trees have takenTheir way of evening rest; the yellow moonWith her pale gold has lit their dreams that lispOn the wind's murmuring lips.And low beyondBurn those bright lamps beneath the moon more bright,Lamps that but flash and sparkle and light notThe inward eye and musing thought, nor reachWhere, poplar-like, that tall-built campanileLifts to the neighbouring moon her head and feelsThe pale gold like an ocean laving her.
Now the trees rest: the moon has taught them sleep,Like drowsy wings of bats are all their leaves,Clinging together. Girls at ease who foldFair hands upon white necks and through dusk fieldsWalk all content,—of them the trees have takenTheir way of evening rest; the yellow moonWith her pale gold has lit their dreams that lispOn the wind's murmuring lips.And low beyondBurn those bright lamps beneath the moon more bright,Lamps that but flash and sparkle and light notThe inward eye and musing thought, nor reachWhere, poplar-like, that tall-built campanileLifts to the neighbouring moon her head and feelsThe pale gold like an ocean laving her.
Nought is but beauty weareth, near and far,Under the pale, blue sky and lonely star.This is that quick hour when the city turnsHer troubled harsh distortion and blind careInto brief loveliness seen everywhere,While in the fuming west the low sun smouldering burns.Not brick nor marble the rich beauty owns,Not this is held in starward-pointing stones.Sun, wind and smoke the threefold magic stir,Kissing each favourless poor ruin with kissLike that when lovers lovers lure to bliss,And earth than towered heaven awhile is heavenlier.Tall shafts that show the sky how far away!The thousand-window'd house gilded with dayThat fades to night; the arches low, the streamerEverywhere of the ruddy'd smoke.... Is aughtOf loveliness so rich e'er sold and bought?Look visions fairer in the eyes of any dreamer?Needs must so rare a beauty be so brief!Night comes, of this delight the subtle thief.Thou canst not, Night, this same rich thievery keep;Seize it and look! 'tis gone, ere seized is gone—Only in our warm bosoms lingering on,A nest of precious dreams when our lids droop in sleep.So in her darkening loveliness is she seenLike an autumnal passion-haunted queen,Who hears, "A captain-king is at the gate"—"'Tis Antony, Antony!" Then hastens she,Beauty to beauty adding yet, till—see,A queen within the queen perilous with love and fate!
Nought is but beauty weareth, near and far,Under the pale, blue sky and lonely star.This is that quick hour when the city turnsHer troubled harsh distortion and blind careInto brief loveliness seen everywhere,While in the fuming west the low sun smouldering burns.
Not brick nor marble the rich beauty owns,Not this is held in starward-pointing stones.Sun, wind and smoke the threefold magic stir,Kissing each favourless poor ruin with kissLike that when lovers lovers lure to bliss,And earth than towered heaven awhile is heavenlier.
Tall shafts that show the sky how far away!The thousand-window'd house gilded with dayThat fades to night; the arches low, the streamerEverywhere of the ruddy'd smoke.... Is aughtOf loveliness so rich e'er sold and bought?Look visions fairer in the eyes of any dreamer?
Needs must so rare a beauty be so brief!Night comes, of this delight the subtle thief.Thou canst not, Night, this same rich thievery keep;Seize it and look! 'tis gone, ere seized is gone—Only in our warm bosoms lingering on,A nest of precious dreams when our lids droop in sleep.
So in her darkening loveliness is she seenLike an autumnal passion-haunted queen,Who hears, "A captain-king is at the gate"—"'Tis Antony, Antony!" Then hastens she,Beauty to beauty adding yet, till—see,A queen within the queen perilous with love and fate!
Merrily shouted all the sailorsAs they left the town behind;Merrily shouted they and gladdenedAt the slip-slap of the wind.But envious were those faint home-keepers,Faint land-lovers, as they sawHow theGlorydipped and staggered—Envying sawPass the ship while all her sailorsMerrily shouted.Far and far on eastern watersSailed the ship and yet sailed on,While the townsmen, faint land-lovers,Thought, "How long is't now she's gone?Now, maybe, Bombay she touches,Now strange craft about her throng";Till she grew but half-remembered,Gone so long:Quite forgot how all her sailorsMerrily shouted.Far in unfamiliar watersShip and shipmen harbourage found,Where the rocks creep out like robbersAfter travellers tempest-bound.Then those faint land-lovers murmuredDoleful thanks not dead were they:—Ah, yet envious, though theGlorySunken lay,Hearing again those farewell voicesMerrily shouting.
Merrily shouted all the sailorsAs they left the town behind;Merrily shouted they and gladdenedAt the slip-slap of the wind.But envious were those faint home-keepers,Faint land-lovers, as they sawHow theGlorydipped and staggered—Envying sawPass the ship while all her sailorsMerrily shouted.
Far and far on eastern watersSailed the ship and yet sailed on,While the townsmen, faint land-lovers,Thought, "How long is't now she's gone?Now, maybe, Bombay she touches,Now strange craft about her throng";Till she grew but half-remembered,Gone so long:Quite forgot how all her sailorsMerrily shouted.
Far in unfamiliar watersShip and shipmen harbourage found,Where the rocks creep out like robbersAfter travellers tempest-bound.Then those faint land-lovers murmuredDoleful thanks not dead were they:—Ah, yet envious, though theGlorySunken lay,Hearing again those farewell voicesMerrily shouting.
They loiter round the Dock that holds yon ShipShuddering at the dark pool's defiled lipFrom springing bows to foam-deriding stern;They have left her, and await her call "Return!"Like any human mistress she has castCareless her ancient lovers, till at lastPerforce she calls them, and perforce they comeLike any human lovers.... Ah, what homeKnow these, save in the Ship, the Ship! She groansDay and night with travail of their strenuous bones.They know her for their mother, sister, spouse,Heart of their passion, idol of their vows;They ward her, and she is their sure defence'Gainst the sad waters' leagued malevolence.The Ship, the Ship: they are her slaves, and sheTheir Liege, their Faith, their Fate, their History.Lo! they have bought her buoyancy with their bloodAnd their ribs cling the keel that cleaves the flood.Their watches in the night, their loneliness,Their toil, hunger and thirst, their heart's distress,Their hands, their feet, far eye and smitten headWhereon the Sea's upgathered weight is shed;With these the Ship, the Ship is laid and rigged,Launched and steered out; with these her living grave is digged,They lean close over her—and long, perhaps,For the broad seas and the loud wind that clapsBoisterous hands on the Ship's course; and waitHer call who calls them with the voice of Fate.
They loiter round the Dock that holds yon ShipShuddering at the dark pool's defiled lipFrom springing bows to foam-deriding stern;They have left her, and await her call "Return!"Like any human mistress she has castCareless her ancient lovers, till at lastPerforce she calls them, and perforce they comeLike any human lovers.... Ah, what homeKnow these, save in the Ship, the Ship! She groansDay and night with travail of their strenuous bones.They know her for their mother, sister, spouse,Heart of their passion, idol of their vows;They ward her, and she is their sure defence'Gainst the sad waters' leagued malevolence.The Ship, the Ship: they are her slaves, and sheTheir Liege, their Faith, their Fate, their History.Lo! they have bought her buoyancy with their bloodAnd their ribs cling the keel that cleaves the flood.Their watches in the night, their loneliness,Their toil, hunger and thirst, their heart's distress,Their hands, their feet, far eye and smitten headWhereon the Sea's upgathered weight is shed;With these the Ship, the Ship is laid and rigged,Launched and steered out; with these her living grave is digged,
They lean close over her—and long, perhaps,For the broad seas and the loud wind that clapsBoisterous hands on the Ship's course; and waitHer call who calls them with the voice of Fate.
O come you down from the far hillsWhereon you fought, triumphed and died,Men at whose names the quick blood thrillsAnd the heart's troubled in our side.Your shadows o'er our fields ere nightDraw from the shadow of old trees;Ghost-hallowed run the streams, and lightHangs halo-wise in the great peace.Warriors of England whom we praise(Ah, vain all praise!), your spirit is notLost in the meanness of these days,Not wholly is your charge forgot.And this perplexity of strifeNot all estrangèd leaves our heart;England is ours yet, and her lifeHas yet in ours the purest part.But come you down and stand you yetA little closer to our side,Or in the darkness we forgetThe cause for which Earth's noblest died.
O come you down from the far hillsWhereon you fought, triumphed and died,Men at whose names the quick blood thrillsAnd the heart's troubled in our side.
Your shadows o'er our fields ere nightDraw from the shadow of old trees;Ghost-hallowed run the streams, and lightHangs halo-wise in the great peace.
Warriors of England whom we praise(Ah, vain all praise!), your spirit is notLost in the meanness of these days,Not wholly is your charge forgot.
And this perplexity of strifeNot all estrangèd leaves our heart;England is ours yet, and her lifeHas yet in ours the purest part.
But come you down and stand you yetA little closer to our side,Or in the darkness we forgetThe cause for which Earth's noblest died.
Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.