Beforethe dawn wind swept the troubled skyAnd stirred the stricken trenches far and wide,I saw the Lord of Holiness pass by,With Mary at His side.With Mary Michael passed, for I could hearHis clashing arms, and see his spangled sword.Loudly I cried out, “Mother!” then in fear,“O Mother of our Lord.”For in her eyes all human sorrow burned,All tenderness lay naked when she smiled;And once she stooped to kiss, and once she turnedAnd shuddered like a child.He moved through all the surge and clash of war,The King of Kings since Brotherhood began;But in His still and shadowed face I sawThe agony of Man.And as I gazed, the ruined fields of FranceLoomed to the dawn in shades of shifting grey;Dumbly I stood to arms, as in a tranceI watched the climbing day.Was this a dream? Yet Mary saw the sky,Lit by a vision from the darkness hurled;A little dream which made a baby cry—A dream which saved the world.
Beforethe dawn wind swept the troubled skyAnd stirred the stricken trenches far and wide,I saw the Lord of Holiness pass by,With Mary at His side.With Mary Michael passed, for I could hearHis clashing arms, and see his spangled sword.Loudly I cried out, “Mother!” then in fear,“O Mother of our Lord.”For in her eyes all human sorrow burned,All tenderness lay naked when she smiled;And once she stooped to kiss, and once she turnedAnd shuddered like a child.He moved through all the surge and clash of war,The King of Kings since Brotherhood began;But in His still and shadowed face I sawThe agony of Man.And as I gazed, the ruined fields of FranceLoomed to the dawn in shades of shifting grey;Dumbly I stood to arms, as in a tranceI watched the climbing day.Was this a dream? Yet Mary saw the sky,Lit by a vision from the darkness hurled;A little dream which made a baby cry—A dream which saved the world.
Beforethe dawn wind swept the troubled skyAnd stirred the stricken trenches far and wide,I saw the Lord of Holiness pass by,With Mary at His side.
With Mary Michael passed, for I could hearHis clashing arms, and see his spangled sword.Loudly I cried out, “Mother!” then in fear,“O Mother of our Lord.”
For in her eyes all human sorrow burned,All tenderness lay naked when she smiled;And once she stooped to kiss, and once she turnedAnd shuddered like a child.
He moved through all the surge and clash of war,The King of Kings since Brotherhood began;But in His still and shadowed face I sawThe agony of Man.
And as I gazed, the ruined fields of FranceLoomed to the dawn in shades of shifting grey;Dumbly I stood to arms, as in a tranceI watched the climbing day.
Was this a dream? Yet Mary saw the sky,Lit by a vision from the darkness hurled;A little dream which made a baby cry—A dream which saved the world.
Candeath give you such dignity, and prideSo beautiful it puts our grief to shame?For now we stumble as we speak your name,Yet you were just a boy before you died.We question blankly, pondering heavy-eyed,Can this be he we used to praise or blameIn careless moments, ere the trial cameWhen all the bravest hearts in anguish cried?Then, humbled, we beheld our poor disguise,False moods and manners clothed in empty speechWhich drowned the silence—till there came a dayThat smote our vision to awakened eyes:For God bent down to bring you to our reach,But ere we touched you, you had gone away.
Candeath give you such dignity, and prideSo beautiful it puts our grief to shame?For now we stumble as we speak your name,Yet you were just a boy before you died.We question blankly, pondering heavy-eyed,Can this be he we used to praise or blameIn careless moments, ere the trial cameWhen all the bravest hearts in anguish cried?Then, humbled, we beheld our poor disguise,False moods and manners clothed in empty speechWhich drowned the silence—till there came a dayThat smote our vision to awakened eyes:For God bent down to bring you to our reach,But ere we touched you, you had gone away.
Candeath give you such dignity, and prideSo beautiful it puts our grief to shame?For now we stumble as we speak your name,Yet you were just a boy before you died.We question blankly, pondering heavy-eyed,Can this be he we used to praise or blameIn careless moments, ere the trial cameWhen all the bravest hearts in anguish cried?Then, humbled, we beheld our poor disguise,False moods and manners clothed in empty speechWhich drowned the silence—till there came a dayThat smote our vision to awakened eyes:For God bent down to bring you to our reach,But ere we touched you, you had gone away.
Tellme, Stranger, is it trueThere is magic happening,Areallthe dappled fields of KewBowing to their Lord the Spring?Are the bluebells chaste and muteDancing in each dale and hollowDew-sprinkled, with a glad saluteTo omnipotent Apollo?Tell me, do the feathered creaturesFlutter as in days of yore,What are the “distinctive features”Of the Swallow’s Flying Corps?Here there is no magic, Stranger.Save within our merry souls—For some wanton god in angerPunches earth with gaping holes.Yet the stifled land is showingHere and there a touch of grace,And the marshalled clouds are blowingThrough the aerodromes of space.Hate is strong, but Love is stronger,And the world shall wake to birthWhen the touch of man no longerStays the touch of God from Earth.Tell me, Stranger, is it trueThere is magic happening,Areallthe dappled fields of KewBowing to their Lord the Spring?B. E. F.,April, 1917.
Tellme, Stranger, is it trueThere is magic happening,Areallthe dappled fields of KewBowing to their Lord the Spring?Are the bluebells chaste and muteDancing in each dale and hollowDew-sprinkled, with a glad saluteTo omnipotent Apollo?Tell me, do the feathered creaturesFlutter as in days of yore,What are the “distinctive features”Of the Swallow’s Flying Corps?Here there is no magic, Stranger.Save within our merry souls—For some wanton god in angerPunches earth with gaping holes.Yet the stifled land is showingHere and there a touch of grace,And the marshalled clouds are blowingThrough the aerodromes of space.Hate is strong, but Love is stronger,And the world shall wake to birthWhen the touch of man no longerStays the touch of God from Earth.Tell me, Stranger, is it trueThere is magic happening,Areallthe dappled fields of KewBowing to their Lord the Spring?B. E. F.,April, 1917.
Tellme, Stranger, is it trueThere is magic happening,Areallthe dappled fields of KewBowing to their Lord the Spring?
Are the bluebells chaste and muteDancing in each dale and hollowDew-sprinkled, with a glad saluteTo omnipotent Apollo?
Tell me, do the feathered creaturesFlutter as in days of yore,What are the “distinctive features”Of the Swallow’s Flying Corps?
Here there is no magic, Stranger.Save within our merry souls—For some wanton god in angerPunches earth with gaping holes.
Yet the stifled land is showingHere and there a touch of grace,And the marshalled clouds are blowingThrough the aerodromes of space.
Hate is strong, but Love is stronger,And the world shall wake to birthWhen the touch of man no longerStays the touch of God from Earth.
Tell me, Stranger, is it trueThere is magic happening,Areallthe dappled fields of KewBowing to their Lord the Spring?
B. E. F.,April, 1917.
Theracing clouds have borne her message downAnd blown a thrilling rumour, from the farHeart-centres of each crowded port and town,And up the flowing arteries of War.Life, life, green tales of corn in sprouting blades,Of swallows crowding with sea-sprinkled wingsAnd ash-buds amber-gummed round close-furled green.High blossom mantling murmurous orchard gladesIn air a-tingle April-sweet and keen—Ah, we have heard of wondrous happenings.For now the magic carnivals beginThe lilac broods in honeyed secrecy,And dappled lawns are changed: a HarlequinHas brushed the tangled carpet silently.We know how white narcissus fills the lakeWith dancing shadows; how in open blueA chestnut builds her clustered pyramids,And down below anemones awake;Long-hushed the violets open wide their lidsAnd all the dreamed-of fantasy comes true.Glad tidings thrill the re-awakened earthBy daffodils and blue-bells heralded;Spring with her van imperial comes forthTo herald Summer proudly canopiedBeneath the bowing leaves. Persistent SpringBestirs the seed enshrined in Winter’s store;And even round the parapet a breathOf far-flung prophecy is clamouring:“Behold new life within the tomb of death“Importunate and vivid as before.”
Theracing clouds have borne her message downAnd blown a thrilling rumour, from the farHeart-centres of each crowded port and town,And up the flowing arteries of War.Life, life, green tales of corn in sprouting blades,Of swallows crowding with sea-sprinkled wingsAnd ash-buds amber-gummed round close-furled green.High blossom mantling murmurous orchard gladesIn air a-tingle April-sweet and keen—Ah, we have heard of wondrous happenings.For now the magic carnivals beginThe lilac broods in honeyed secrecy,And dappled lawns are changed: a HarlequinHas brushed the tangled carpet silently.We know how white narcissus fills the lakeWith dancing shadows; how in open blueA chestnut builds her clustered pyramids,And down below anemones awake;Long-hushed the violets open wide their lidsAnd all the dreamed-of fantasy comes true.Glad tidings thrill the re-awakened earthBy daffodils and blue-bells heralded;Spring with her van imperial comes forthTo herald Summer proudly canopiedBeneath the bowing leaves. Persistent SpringBestirs the seed enshrined in Winter’s store;And even round the parapet a breathOf far-flung prophecy is clamouring:“Behold new life within the tomb of death“Importunate and vivid as before.”
Theracing clouds have borne her message downAnd blown a thrilling rumour, from the farHeart-centres of each crowded port and town,And up the flowing arteries of War.Life, life, green tales of corn in sprouting blades,Of swallows crowding with sea-sprinkled wingsAnd ash-buds amber-gummed round close-furled green.High blossom mantling murmurous orchard gladesIn air a-tingle April-sweet and keen—Ah, we have heard of wondrous happenings.
For now the magic carnivals beginThe lilac broods in honeyed secrecy,And dappled lawns are changed: a HarlequinHas brushed the tangled carpet silently.We know how white narcissus fills the lakeWith dancing shadows; how in open blueA chestnut builds her clustered pyramids,And down below anemones awake;Long-hushed the violets open wide their lidsAnd all the dreamed-of fantasy comes true.
Glad tidings thrill the re-awakened earthBy daffodils and blue-bells heralded;Spring with her van imperial comes forthTo herald Summer proudly canopiedBeneath the bowing leaves. Persistent SpringBestirs the seed enshrined in Winter’s store;And even round the parapet a breathOf far-flung prophecy is clamouring:“Behold new life within the tomb of death“Importunate and vivid as before.”
Wehalted, with the urgent Spring behindOur straining teams, where all the land was black,And huddled woods lay beaten, starkly blind:Their mangled branches loomed athwart the trackGrotesque and terrible. Yet near the way,A river, scatheless as the open sea,Flowed like a breathing hope that cannot dieIn desolation. Now, at setting day,Moored water lilies, pale as argent sky,Cling to the twilight fading silently.Such is the tale of memory, ere nightHad deepened, and our weary convoy sleptBeside the way. Slow-rising points of lightTwinkled amid the spangled netting sweptAcross the ebon desert; and a gleamPierced the cloud-woven pillows of the moon.Now slumber freed me from the iron cageThat bound the snarling war; and, in a dream,The panorama of a dawning ageUnrolled, a world slow-waking from a swoon.Before my gaze a teeming city loomedGay with the bustling clamour of the street—The very town an easy word had doomedAnd cast in ashes at the trampling feetOf mortal gods. Street, corner, square and place,Seemed woken from a long and squalid trance—I saw a nation growing like a flower;A nation true and loyal to a raceThat forged an army of clean-soldiered powerWrought by the common chivalry of France.Here was no arrogance of martial pride,The fireside boast that sows the fatal seed,For happiness had come from those who diedStark of delusion and the deadly creedOf false romance. I saw a world reborn—The very battlefield was robed againIn lines of chequered land, and bordered roundWith stretching roads and rills. The poppied cornHeld rubies set in gold, and far beyondLay a surf-ravelled sea and swarded plain.I marvelled, till oblivion shadowed all,Blurred in the dawning light of every day.It was so true, I scarcely heard the callTo feed and water and to move away.We stretched our limbs, and packed each heavy load;Moved on, and left the weary night behind,Through torn and withered trees that stared aghast;Yet, through the veil that shrouded all the roadI saw new radiance in the land we passed,And heard a sudden murmur in the wind.B. E. F., 1917.
Wehalted, with the urgent Spring behindOur straining teams, where all the land was black,And huddled woods lay beaten, starkly blind:Their mangled branches loomed athwart the trackGrotesque and terrible. Yet near the way,A river, scatheless as the open sea,Flowed like a breathing hope that cannot dieIn desolation. Now, at setting day,Moored water lilies, pale as argent sky,Cling to the twilight fading silently.Such is the tale of memory, ere nightHad deepened, and our weary convoy sleptBeside the way. Slow-rising points of lightTwinkled amid the spangled netting sweptAcross the ebon desert; and a gleamPierced the cloud-woven pillows of the moon.Now slumber freed me from the iron cageThat bound the snarling war; and, in a dream,The panorama of a dawning ageUnrolled, a world slow-waking from a swoon.Before my gaze a teeming city loomedGay with the bustling clamour of the street—The very town an easy word had doomedAnd cast in ashes at the trampling feetOf mortal gods. Street, corner, square and place,Seemed woken from a long and squalid trance—I saw a nation growing like a flower;A nation true and loyal to a raceThat forged an army of clean-soldiered powerWrought by the common chivalry of France.Here was no arrogance of martial pride,The fireside boast that sows the fatal seed,For happiness had come from those who diedStark of delusion and the deadly creedOf false romance. I saw a world reborn—The very battlefield was robed againIn lines of chequered land, and bordered roundWith stretching roads and rills. The poppied cornHeld rubies set in gold, and far beyondLay a surf-ravelled sea and swarded plain.I marvelled, till oblivion shadowed all,Blurred in the dawning light of every day.It was so true, I scarcely heard the callTo feed and water and to move away.We stretched our limbs, and packed each heavy load;Moved on, and left the weary night behind,Through torn and withered trees that stared aghast;Yet, through the veil that shrouded all the roadI saw new radiance in the land we passed,And heard a sudden murmur in the wind.B. E. F., 1917.
Wehalted, with the urgent Spring behindOur straining teams, where all the land was black,And huddled woods lay beaten, starkly blind:Their mangled branches loomed athwart the trackGrotesque and terrible. Yet near the way,A river, scatheless as the open sea,Flowed like a breathing hope that cannot dieIn desolation. Now, at setting day,Moored water lilies, pale as argent sky,Cling to the twilight fading silently.
Such is the tale of memory, ere nightHad deepened, and our weary convoy sleptBeside the way. Slow-rising points of lightTwinkled amid the spangled netting sweptAcross the ebon desert; and a gleamPierced the cloud-woven pillows of the moon.Now slumber freed me from the iron cageThat bound the snarling war; and, in a dream,The panorama of a dawning ageUnrolled, a world slow-waking from a swoon.
Before my gaze a teeming city loomedGay with the bustling clamour of the street—The very town an easy word had doomedAnd cast in ashes at the trampling feetOf mortal gods. Street, corner, square and place,Seemed woken from a long and squalid trance—I saw a nation growing like a flower;A nation true and loyal to a raceThat forged an army of clean-soldiered powerWrought by the common chivalry of France.
Here was no arrogance of martial pride,The fireside boast that sows the fatal seed,For happiness had come from those who diedStark of delusion and the deadly creedOf false romance. I saw a world reborn—The very battlefield was robed againIn lines of chequered land, and bordered roundWith stretching roads and rills. The poppied cornHeld rubies set in gold, and far beyondLay a surf-ravelled sea and swarded plain.
I marvelled, till oblivion shadowed all,Blurred in the dawning light of every day.It was so true, I scarcely heard the callTo feed and water and to move away.We stretched our limbs, and packed each heavy load;Moved on, and left the weary night behind,Through torn and withered trees that stared aghast;Yet, through the veil that shrouded all the roadI saw new radiance in the land we passed,And heard a sudden murmur in the wind.
B. E. F., 1917.
A littlemoment more—O, let me hear(The thunder rolls above, and star-shells fall)Those melodies unheard re-echo clearBefore the shuddering moment closes all.They come—they come—they answer to my call,That Grecian throng of graven ecstasies,Hyperion aglow in blazing skies,And Cortez with the wonder in his eyes.In battle-wreaths of smoke they rise, and fallBeyond—beyond recall.Now all is silent, still, and magic-keen(Yet thunder rolls above and star-shells fall)And slowly pacing, rides a faery queenWild eyed and singing to a knight in thrall.Enough—enough—let lightning whip me bareAnd leave me naked in the howling airMy body broken here, and here, and here.Beauty is truth, truth beauty—that is all,The very all in all.
A littlemoment more—O, let me hear(The thunder rolls above, and star-shells fall)Those melodies unheard re-echo clearBefore the shuddering moment closes all.They come—they come—they answer to my call,That Grecian throng of graven ecstasies,Hyperion aglow in blazing skies,And Cortez with the wonder in his eyes.In battle-wreaths of smoke they rise, and fallBeyond—beyond recall.Now all is silent, still, and magic-keen(Yet thunder rolls above and star-shells fall)And slowly pacing, rides a faery queenWild eyed and singing to a knight in thrall.Enough—enough—let lightning whip me bareAnd leave me naked in the howling airMy body broken here, and here, and here.Beauty is truth, truth beauty—that is all,The very all in all.
A littlemoment more—O, let me hear(The thunder rolls above, and star-shells fall)Those melodies unheard re-echo clearBefore the shuddering moment closes all.They come—they come—they answer to my call,That Grecian throng of graven ecstasies,Hyperion aglow in blazing skies,And Cortez with the wonder in his eyes.In battle-wreaths of smoke they rise, and fallBeyond—beyond recall.
Now all is silent, still, and magic-keen(Yet thunder rolls above and star-shells fall)And slowly pacing, rides a faery queenWild eyed and singing to a knight in thrall.Enough—enough—let lightning whip me bareAnd leave me naked in the howling airMy body broken here, and here, and here.Beauty is truth, truth beauty—that is all,The very all in all.
From Amiens to AbbevilleMy swollen waters race,And silver-veined by many a rillGreen hamlets thrive apace.From Amiens to AbbevilleI labour at the listless mill,And tempt the nodding daffodilTo blur my open face.But south of Amiens I flowPast dumb Peronne and Brie,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Yet phantom armies come and go,And shadows hurry to and fro;Again my seething battles growIn murdered Picardy.Behold the mother of a soil forlorn;I suckled towns, and fed the forest land,Behold my shattered villages and mournHow should I understand?Why are those huts o’erpatched like dappled kine,What are those weary men in blue and brown,And humming craft that search my sinuous line;Why should my name re-echo with renownPast every phantom town?But still my lily-breasted waters shine,And still I chant my shadowy ripples down.From peace through war my waters flow,To peace again at sea,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Though battling armies come and go,I toil and spin, I reap and sow,And poppy-mantled meadows blowIn murdered Picardy.My eddies bear the clinging scent of limeTo sweeten clouds of plume-tossed meadowsweet;My meadow grasses nestle with the thymeAnd flowering rushes tower in the heat.Low-brushing swifts and swallows splashed with whiteO’er flash my laden mirrors slow and deepThat bear swift-merging canopies of sleep.Until the growing lightHas chased marauding owls, and butterflies,Born of blue-woven skies,Flutter away like hare-bells spurred to flight.But who are these? The powdered butterflyOutshines that air leviathan that swingsIn rigid curves adown the barren sky,With cloudy satellites about her wings.And I have seenDark horsemen ride with spears of tapered steel;And bellowing guns beneath the far balloons.And once a ponderous slug bedecked in greenCrept, in the waning moon’sStill-darkening gloom, and at her giant heelWhite-gleaming, ran a train of hooded cars....I triumph, triumph, search my sinuous lineAmid the snarling impotence of wars.Turn where you will. Look, there a signboard showsThe lair of guns; already round the signWhite trumpeting convolvuli entwineTheir clinging arms, across the placard blowsA quiet-breathing rose.And still my lily-breasted waters shineAnd loud my chanting grows:From peace through war my waters flowTo peace again at sea,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Though battling armies come and goI toil and spin, I reap and sow,And poppy-mantled meadows blowIn murdered Picardy.
From Amiens to AbbevilleMy swollen waters race,And silver-veined by many a rillGreen hamlets thrive apace.From Amiens to AbbevilleI labour at the listless mill,And tempt the nodding daffodilTo blur my open face.But south of Amiens I flowPast dumb Peronne and Brie,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Yet phantom armies come and go,And shadows hurry to and fro;Again my seething battles growIn murdered Picardy.Behold the mother of a soil forlorn;I suckled towns, and fed the forest land,Behold my shattered villages and mournHow should I understand?Why are those huts o’erpatched like dappled kine,What are those weary men in blue and brown,And humming craft that search my sinuous line;Why should my name re-echo with renownPast every phantom town?But still my lily-breasted waters shine,And still I chant my shadowy ripples down.From peace through war my waters flow,To peace again at sea,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Though battling armies come and go,I toil and spin, I reap and sow,And poppy-mantled meadows blowIn murdered Picardy.My eddies bear the clinging scent of limeTo sweeten clouds of plume-tossed meadowsweet;My meadow grasses nestle with the thymeAnd flowering rushes tower in the heat.Low-brushing swifts and swallows splashed with whiteO’er flash my laden mirrors slow and deepThat bear swift-merging canopies of sleep.Until the growing lightHas chased marauding owls, and butterflies,Born of blue-woven skies,Flutter away like hare-bells spurred to flight.But who are these? The powdered butterflyOutshines that air leviathan that swingsIn rigid curves adown the barren sky,With cloudy satellites about her wings.And I have seenDark horsemen ride with spears of tapered steel;And bellowing guns beneath the far balloons.And once a ponderous slug bedecked in greenCrept, in the waning moon’sStill-darkening gloom, and at her giant heelWhite-gleaming, ran a train of hooded cars....I triumph, triumph, search my sinuous lineAmid the snarling impotence of wars.Turn where you will. Look, there a signboard showsThe lair of guns; already round the signWhite trumpeting convolvuli entwineTheir clinging arms, across the placard blowsA quiet-breathing rose.And still my lily-breasted waters shineAnd loud my chanting grows:From peace through war my waters flowTo peace again at sea,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Though battling armies come and goI toil and spin, I reap and sow,And poppy-mantled meadows blowIn murdered Picardy.
From Amiens to AbbevilleMy swollen waters race,And silver-veined by many a rillGreen hamlets thrive apace.From Amiens to AbbevilleI labour at the listless mill,And tempt the nodding daffodilTo blur my open face.But south of Amiens I flowPast dumb Peronne and Brie,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Yet phantom armies come and go,And shadows hurry to and fro;Again my seething battles growIn murdered Picardy.
Behold the mother of a soil forlorn;I suckled towns, and fed the forest land,Behold my shattered villages and mournHow should I understand?
Why are those huts o’erpatched like dappled kine,What are those weary men in blue and brown,And humming craft that search my sinuous line;Why should my name re-echo with renownPast every phantom town?But still my lily-breasted waters shine,And still I chant my shadowy ripples down.
From peace through war my waters flow,To peace again at sea,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Though battling armies come and go,I toil and spin, I reap and sow,And poppy-mantled meadows blowIn murdered Picardy.
My eddies bear the clinging scent of limeTo sweeten clouds of plume-tossed meadowsweet;My meadow grasses nestle with the thymeAnd flowering rushes tower in the heat.Low-brushing swifts and swallows splashed with whiteO’er flash my laden mirrors slow and deepThat bear swift-merging canopies of sleep.Until the growing lightHas chased marauding owls, and butterflies,Born of blue-woven skies,Flutter away like hare-bells spurred to flight.But who are these? The powdered butterflyOutshines that air leviathan that swingsIn rigid curves adown the barren sky,With cloudy satellites about her wings.And I have seenDark horsemen ride with spears of tapered steel;And bellowing guns beneath the far balloons.And once a ponderous slug bedecked in greenCrept, in the waning moon’sStill-darkening gloom, and at her giant heelWhite-gleaming, ran a train of hooded cars....
I triumph, triumph, search my sinuous lineAmid the snarling impotence of wars.Turn where you will. Look, there a signboard showsThe lair of guns; already round the signWhite trumpeting convolvuli entwineTheir clinging arms, across the placard blowsA quiet-breathing rose.And still my lily-breasted waters shineAnd loud my chanting grows:
From peace through war my waters flowTo peace again at sea,The peopled land I used to knowNow all belongs to me.Though battling armies come and goI toil and spin, I reap and sow,And poppy-mantled meadows blowIn murdered Picardy.
Saidthe Cornflower to the Pimpernel,“O sudden scarlet eyes,You never bloomed till ploughing shellLaid bare earth’s sanctities!”Then upward cried the Pimpernel:“Blue head in deeper blue,’Tis strange this former waste of HellIs Paradise anew.“But who is Lord of ParadiseAnd Commandant; and whoCommands sky-faring butterfliesAll camouflaged in blue?“Are dandelion parachutesHis messages, and doThose armoured beetles clamber rootsWith news from Army Q?“Above each water-lily shipThe feathered red caps pipe.Because the pear has earned a pip,The tiger-moth a stripe.“The gorse artillery has eyesWe never knew before.And lady bees can organiseThe Honey Service Corps.“Field-marshals rule the war behindThe guns, but Summer shieldsHere in the clash of human kindHer marshal of the fields.”
Saidthe Cornflower to the Pimpernel,“O sudden scarlet eyes,You never bloomed till ploughing shellLaid bare earth’s sanctities!”Then upward cried the Pimpernel:“Blue head in deeper blue,’Tis strange this former waste of HellIs Paradise anew.“But who is Lord of ParadiseAnd Commandant; and whoCommands sky-faring butterfliesAll camouflaged in blue?“Are dandelion parachutesHis messages, and doThose armoured beetles clamber rootsWith news from Army Q?“Above each water-lily shipThe feathered red caps pipe.Because the pear has earned a pip,The tiger-moth a stripe.“The gorse artillery has eyesWe never knew before.And lady bees can organiseThe Honey Service Corps.“Field-marshals rule the war behindThe guns, but Summer shieldsHere in the clash of human kindHer marshal of the fields.”
Saidthe Cornflower to the Pimpernel,“O sudden scarlet eyes,You never bloomed till ploughing shellLaid bare earth’s sanctities!”
Then upward cried the Pimpernel:“Blue head in deeper blue,’Tis strange this former waste of HellIs Paradise anew.
“But who is Lord of ParadiseAnd Commandant; and whoCommands sky-faring butterfliesAll camouflaged in blue?
“Are dandelion parachutesHis messages, and doThose armoured beetles clamber rootsWith news from Army Q?
“Above each water-lily shipThe feathered red caps pipe.Because the pear has earned a pip,The tiger-moth a stripe.
“The gorse artillery has eyesWe never knew before.And lady bees can organiseThe Honey Service Corps.
“Field-marshals rule the war behindThe guns, but Summer shieldsHere in the clash of human kindHer marshal of the fields.”
“He too! He too!” The veteran paused, the soundOf a light paper fluttering to the groundRustled the twilight peace. “He—too—is—dead—”His wife, scarce faltering from the words she read,Stared at the glowing sun, the while her eyesShone mistily in nameless agonies.Five sons, and four were dead!The clock ticked desolation to their earsAnd silence gripped the moments as they passedToo terrible, too passionless for tears.At last,Stronger than he, she curbed herself and smiledAnd held him weeping like a weary childBefore the first immensity of pain.Yet once againShe conjured scenes beyond the darkened cloudThat blurred the soul’s horizon, as aloudShe spoke his name, and whispered little thingsMore pregnant than the utterance of kings.That night she moved,Spurred by devotion for the man she loved,Without a pause for sorrow, or a breathTo murmur at the closing walls of death;Love-steeled and queenly every step she trod;She climbed unfaltering, serenely browed,Until she touched the very feet of GodUndaunted and unbowed.And there in mystic aweSlow-turning wheels of evolution spunThe poised and pulsing universe. She sawAll life and death synonymous, and birthThe dawn of human wonderment begun(Birth of all birth) in other realms afar.Below, ice pivoted revolved the earth,A traveller’s joy it seemed, a mile-stone star,Half-glowing, bathed in sun....At dawn they met and found each other’s eyes,Asked the same questions, sought the same replies:Their last and youngest fought where harsh commandsStill goaded forward lashed and driven bands,Where Vaux and Thiaumont twin sentinelsLoomed stalwartly. And still a howl of shellsShattered the Verdun battlements in vain;Still domineered that keen death-tutored brainBehind an army deaf to angry scorn,The boast forgotten and the mask outworn.At length she spoke: “Go quickly now,” she said,“Quick, the next hurrying hour may see him dead.Find the Great Overlord and tell him allQuick, for our boy may pass beyond recallMeanwhile. He shall know happiness to come,He, the last scion of our stricken home,Shall blossom like a flower in early SpringI say it, I who bore him. Time shall bringThe old primeval happiness to birthIf there be any justice upon earth.”She ceased; it seemed her voice re-echoed stillAs strung with hope he hurried on untilHe reached the palace and besought for graceTo see his royal master face to face.That night in sudden joy he urged awayAcross Lorraine, for in his wallet layAn order blazoned with the royal seals.Hour after hour the car’s revolving wheelsRushed dizzily towards the high commandThat held his son in fee. Around, the landAwoke in changeless Spring. Four steady hoursThey travelled, till the bloom of passing flowersBrought tidings of the dawn. Then to his earsRumbled a distant thunder, sudden fearsUrged onward faster. Now the country showedFirst signs of war-flung tentacles, the roadLay pitted here and there, a wounded treeNo longer framed its lordly symmetry.And soon the land whereon all life was stilledBecame as Man had willed.At last his journey ended. Long delayedHe sought his goal, now pressing on, now stayed,Until outside the place of high commandThe royal warrant burning in his handHe knocked—was bidden enter—tense and muteHe faced the marshal with a grave saluteAnd showed the royal word.The crowded room was silent, no man stirred—A pause as long as death, then, dragged and slow,A voice—“Your son was killed an hour ago.”A clock importunately unconcernedRepeated tick—tick—tick. His eyes discernedA pen vague-sprawling, madly spiderwise.Not a man glanced—Yet all the room had eyes:Not a man spoke—Yet clamorous voices cried:Stumbling, he walked outside.
“He too! He too!” The veteran paused, the soundOf a light paper fluttering to the groundRustled the twilight peace. “He—too—is—dead—”His wife, scarce faltering from the words she read,Stared at the glowing sun, the while her eyesShone mistily in nameless agonies.Five sons, and four were dead!The clock ticked desolation to their earsAnd silence gripped the moments as they passedToo terrible, too passionless for tears.At last,Stronger than he, she curbed herself and smiledAnd held him weeping like a weary childBefore the first immensity of pain.Yet once againShe conjured scenes beyond the darkened cloudThat blurred the soul’s horizon, as aloudShe spoke his name, and whispered little thingsMore pregnant than the utterance of kings.That night she moved,Spurred by devotion for the man she loved,Without a pause for sorrow, or a breathTo murmur at the closing walls of death;Love-steeled and queenly every step she trod;She climbed unfaltering, serenely browed,Until she touched the very feet of GodUndaunted and unbowed.And there in mystic aweSlow-turning wheels of evolution spunThe poised and pulsing universe. She sawAll life and death synonymous, and birthThe dawn of human wonderment begun(Birth of all birth) in other realms afar.Below, ice pivoted revolved the earth,A traveller’s joy it seemed, a mile-stone star,Half-glowing, bathed in sun....At dawn they met and found each other’s eyes,Asked the same questions, sought the same replies:Their last and youngest fought where harsh commandsStill goaded forward lashed and driven bands,Where Vaux and Thiaumont twin sentinelsLoomed stalwartly. And still a howl of shellsShattered the Verdun battlements in vain;Still domineered that keen death-tutored brainBehind an army deaf to angry scorn,The boast forgotten and the mask outworn.At length she spoke: “Go quickly now,” she said,“Quick, the next hurrying hour may see him dead.Find the Great Overlord and tell him allQuick, for our boy may pass beyond recallMeanwhile. He shall know happiness to come,He, the last scion of our stricken home,Shall blossom like a flower in early SpringI say it, I who bore him. Time shall bringThe old primeval happiness to birthIf there be any justice upon earth.”She ceased; it seemed her voice re-echoed stillAs strung with hope he hurried on untilHe reached the palace and besought for graceTo see his royal master face to face.That night in sudden joy he urged awayAcross Lorraine, for in his wallet layAn order blazoned with the royal seals.Hour after hour the car’s revolving wheelsRushed dizzily towards the high commandThat held his son in fee. Around, the landAwoke in changeless Spring. Four steady hoursThey travelled, till the bloom of passing flowersBrought tidings of the dawn. Then to his earsRumbled a distant thunder, sudden fearsUrged onward faster. Now the country showedFirst signs of war-flung tentacles, the roadLay pitted here and there, a wounded treeNo longer framed its lordly symmetry.And soon the land whereon all life was stilledBecame as Man had willed.At last his journey ended. Long delayedHe sought his goal, now pressing on, now stayed,Until outside the place of high commandThe royal warrant burning in his handHe knocked—was bidden enter—tense and muteHe faced the marshal with a grave saluteAnd showed the royal word.The crowded room was silent, no man stirred—A pause as long as death, then, dragged and slow,A voice—“Your son was killed an hour ago.”A clock importunately unconcernedRepeated tick—tick—tick. His eyes discernedA pen vague-sprawling, madly spiderwise.Not a man glanced—Yet all the room had eyes:Not a man spoke—Yet clamorous voices cried:Stumbling, he walked outside.
“He too! He too!” The veteran paused, the soundOf a light paper fluttering to the groundRustled the twilight peace. “He—too—is—dead—”His wife, scarce faltering from the words she read,Stared at the glowing sun, the while her eyesShone mistily in nameless agonies.Five sons, and four were dead!The clock ticked desolation to their earsAnd silence gripped the moments as they passedToo terrible, too passionless for tears.At last,Stronger than he, she curbed herself and smiledAnd held him weeping like a weary childBefore the first immensity of pain.Yet once againShe conjured scenes beyond the darkened cloudThat blurred the soul’s horizon, as aloudShe spoke his name, and whispered little thingsMore pregnant than the utterance of kings.
That night she moved,Spurred by devotion for the man she loved,Without a pause for sorrow, or a breathTo murmur at the closing walls of death;Love-steeled and queenly every step she trod;She climbed unfaltering, serenely browed,Until she touched the very feet of GodUndaunted and unbowed.And there in mystic aweSlow-turning wheels of evolution spunThe poised and pulsing universe. She sawAll life and death synonymous, and birthThe dawn of human wonderment begun(Birth of all birth) in other realms afar.Below, ice pivoted revolved the earth,A traveller’s joy it seemed, a mile-stone star,Half-glowing, bathed in sun....
At dawn they met and found each other’s eyes,Asked the same questions, sought the same replies:Their last and youngest fought where harsh commandsStill goaded forward lashed and driven bands,Where Vaux and Thiaumont twin sentinelsLoomed stalwartly. And still a howl of shellsShattered the Verdun battlements in vain;Still domineered that keen death-tutored brainBehind an army deaf to angry scorn,The boast forgotten and the mask outworn.At length she spoke: “Go quickly now,” she said,“Quick, the next hurrying hour may see him dead.Find the Great Overlord and tell him allQuick, for our boy may pass beyond recallMeanwhile. He shall know happiness to come,He, the last scion of our stricken home,Shall blossom like a flower in early SpringI say it, I who bore him. Time shall bringThe old primeval happiness to birthIf there be any justice upon earth.”She ceased; it seemed her voice re-echoed stillAs strung with hope he hurried on untilHe reached the palace and besought for graceTo see his royal master face to face.
That night in sudden joy he urged awayAcross Lorraine, for in his wallet layAn order blazoned with the royal seals.Hour after hour the car’s revolving wheelsRushed dizzily towards the high commandThat held his son in fee. Around, the landAwoke in changeless Spring. Four steady hoursThey travelled, till the bloom of passing flowersBrought tidings of the dawn. Then to his earsRumbled a distant thunder, sudden fearsUrged onward faster. Now the country showedFirst signs of war-flung tentacles, the roadLay pitted here and there, a wounded treeNo longer framed its lordly symmetry.And soon the land whereon all life was stilledBecame as Man had willed.At last his journey ended. Long delayedHe sought his goal, now pressing on, now stayed,Until outside the place of high commandThe royal warrant burning in his handHe knocked—was bidden enter—tense and muteHe faced the marshal with a grave saluteAnd showed the royal word.The crowded room was silent, no man stirred—A pause as long as death, then, dragged and slow,A voice—“Your son was killed an hour ago.”A clock importunately unconcernedRepeated tick—tick—tick. His eyes discernedA pen vague-sprawling, madly spiderwise.Not a man glanced—Yet all the room had eyes:Not a man spoke—Yet clamorous voices cried:Stumbling, he walked outside.
I satalone although the messWas full, when—quick as tearsA song of naked happinessCame singing in my ears.I summoned strength to kill a cryAnd mad desire to weep;Then, glancing round me guiltily,Found everyone asleep!
I satalone although the messWas full, when—quick as tearsA song of naked happinessCame singing in my ears.I summoned strength to kill a cryAnd mad desire to weep;Then, glancing round me guiltily,Found everyone asleep!
I satalone although the messWas full, when—quick as tearsA song of naked happinessCame singing in my ears.
I summoned strength to kill a cryAnd mad desire to weep;Then, glancing round me guiltily,Found everyone asleep!
Wewaited, as the thundering curtain sweptOur sector, and torn shards of iron fell;Dust from the parapet in showers leaptSwirled up by bursting shell.We waited, like a storm-bespattered shipThat flutters sail to free her grounded keel;The tingling moments tightened every gripOn rifles lanced with steel.We knew the man who led us. All could hearHis ringing voice re-echo loud and strong,Born of that higher bravery when fear.Is battled into song.Then sudden fury lulled and far behindLike angered beasts our batteries replied—And suddenly he stumbled, dazed and blind.He lay, but ere he diedHe struggled for a while, then dimly smiled,Wrapped in the comradeship of happy things,Before he entered like a wondering childThe heritage of kings.
Wewaited, as the thundering curtain sweptOur sector, and torn shards of iron fell;Dust from the parapet in showers leaptSwirled up by bursting shell.We waited, like a storm-bespattered shipThat flutters sail to free her grounded keel;The tingling moments tightened every gripOn rifles lanced with steel.We knew the man who led us. All could hearHis ringing voice re-echo loud and strong,Born of that higher bravery when fear.Is battled into song.Then sudden fury lulled and far behindLike angered beasts our batteries replied—And suddenly he stumbled, dazed and blind.He lay, but ere he diedHe struggled for a while, then dimly smiled,Wrapped in the comradeship of happy things,Before he entered like a wondering childThe heritage of kings.
Wewaited, as the thundering curtain sweptOur sector, and torn shards of iron fell;Dust from the parapet in showers leaptSwirled up by bursting shell.
We waited, like a storm-bespattered shipThat flutters sail to free her grounded keel;The tingling moments tightened every gripOn rifles lanced with steel.
We knew the man who led us. All could hearHis ringing voice re-echo loud and strong,Born of that higher bravery when fear.Is battled into song.
Then sudden fury lulled and far behindLike angered beasts our batteries replied—And suddenly he stumbled, dazed and blind.He lay, but ere he died
He struggled for a while, then dimly smiled,Wrapped in the comradeship of happy things,Before he entered like a wondering childThe heritage of kings.
Belowmy room the noise and measured beatOf marching men re-echoed loud and clear;Now bobbing cavalry swung down the street;Now mules and rumbling batteries drew near.But all is dim—The rolling wagon-streamTo Amiens between the aspen trees,The stables, billets, men and horses, seemDead mummers of forgotten fantasies.Only my dreams are still aglow, a throngOf scenes that crowded through a waiting mindA myriad scenes: For I have swept alongTo foam ashriek with gulls, and rowed behindBrown oarsmen swinging to an ocean songWhere stately galleons bowed before the wind.
Belowmy room the noise and measured beatOf marching men re-echoed loud and clear;Now bobbing cavalry swung down the street;Now mules and rumbling batteries drew near.But all is dim—The rolling wagon-streamTo Amiens between the aspen trees,The stables, billets, men and horses, seemDead mummers of forgotten fantasies.Only my dreams are still aglow, a throngOf scenes that crowded through a waiting mindA myriad scenes: For I have swept alongTo foam ashriek with gulls, and rowed behindBrown oarsmen swinging to an ocean songWhere stately galleons bowed before the wind.
Belowmy room the noise and measured beatOf marching men re-echoed loud and clear;Now bobbing cavalry swung down the street;Now mules and rumbling batteries drew near.But all is dim—The rolling wagon-streamTo Amiens between the aspen trees,The stables, billets, men and horses, seemDead mummers of forgotten fantasies.
Only my dreams are still aglow, a throngOf scenes that crowded through a waiting mindA myriad scenes: For I have swept alongTo foam ashriek with gulls, and rowed behindBrown oarsmen swinging to an ocean songWhere stately galleons bowed before the wind.
Apartwe labour, and alone we climbThe barren heights; for we the singing throngWhose lives were hallowed by impassioned songMust die or prove unworthy of our rhyme.Man after man—we know the price of warsWho watched the mask of Night whilst others slept,And spread our laughter far and wide, but keptOur tears and terror privy to the stars.0 magic gift omnipotent, to singAnd conjure Heaven from surrounding Hell.Our lips and eyes are touched (for we have seenCelestial weavers at the loom of Spring).But O the iron bitterness and keenOf voices ever clamouring farewell!
Apartwe labour, and alone we climbThe barren heights; for we the singing throngWhose lives were hallowed by impassioned songMust die or prove unworthy of our rhyme.Man after man—we know the price of warsWho watched the mask of Night whilst others slept,And spread our laughter far and wide, but keptOur tears and terror privy to the stars.0 magic gift omnipotent, to singAnd conjure Heaven from surrounding Hell.Our lips and eyes are touched (for we have seenCelestial weavers at the loom of Spring).But O the iron bitterness and keenOf voices ever clamouring farewell!
Apartwe labour, and alone we climbThe barren heights; for we the singing throngWhose lives were hallowed by impassioned songMust die or prove unworthy of our rhyme.Man after man—we know the price of warsWho watched the mask of Night whilst others slept,And spread our laughter far and wide, but keptOur tears and terror privy to the stars.
0 magic gift omnipotent, to singAnd conjure Heaven from surrounding Hell.Our lips and eyes are touched (for we have seenCelestial weavers at the loom of Spring).But O the iron bitterness and keenOf voices ever clamouring farewell!
WouldI could commandeer the beesTo hum you droning symphonies.I love the climbing thoughts that riseTo the sheer heaven of your eyes,Wide laughter-dromes of wondering blue,Yes, yes, I do!But when I sing of bubbling seas,The zephyr-clapping hands of treesApplauding in tumultuous skies,Or window-winged dragonflies,Or anything that’s good and trueI sing of you—Yes, yes, I do!
WouldI could commandeer the beesTo hum you droning symphonies.I love the climbing thoughts that riseTo the sheer heaven of your eyes,Wide laughter-dromes of wondering blue,Yes, yes, I do!But when I sing of bubbling seas,The zephyr-clapping hands of treesApplauding in tumultuous skies,Or window-winged dragonflies,Or anything that’s good and trueI sing of you—Yes, yes, I do!
WouldI could commandeer the beesTo hum you droning symphonies.I love the climbing thoughts that riseTo the sheer heaven of your eyes,Wide laughter-dromes of wondering blue,Yes, yes, I do!
But when I sing of bubbling seas,The zephyr-clapping hands of treesApplauding in tumultuous skies,Or window-winged dragonflies,Or anything that’s good and trueI sing of you—Yes, yes, I do!
I stoodone night where rivers pause to meetAnd mingle in the traffic-rumbling sea:The surge and clamour of a London street,In tides alternate, rolled, impassively.Before my feetRan shouting boys, and through the pallid glareLoomed gaunt leviathans that swayed and roaredPast glittering shops, and stations which outpouredLoad after weary load; and everywhereStrange sounds, a snatch of laughter, shout or word,Sleek-coated motor-cars that softly purredRound corners sounding with the rustling beatOf hurried swarms of feet.And yet I seemed alone, and dumb-amazedBefore a towering building, wherein blazedOne staring patch of light, one amber squareThat shone enshrouded by the dome of nightHigh in the naked air. And still I gazedUntil a shadow passed across the blind:A shadow-woman pacing time awayBeside a bed, wherein a poet layDying, dying. One whose mind(A womb of beauty whereof love was lord)Had fashioned symphonies of thought and wordImpassionately sweet. And suddenlyShe paused—I saw the shadow of her handStretch out and shudder back. I saw her standAll sorrow-bound in graven dignity.She bowed her head, her shoulders taut with pain,Her figure burdened with the weight of tears.Then all grew dark. And in my waking earsThe traffic surged again.
I stoodone night where rivers pause to meetAnd mingle in the traffic-rumbling sea:The surge and clamour of a London street,In tides alternate, rolled, impassively.Before my feetRan shouting boys, and through the pallid glareLoomed gaunt leviathans that swayed and roaredPast glittering shops, and stations which outpouredLoad after weary load; and everywhereStrange sounds, a snatch of laughter, shout or word,Sleek-coated motor-cars that softly purredRound corners sounding with the rustling beatOf hurried swarms of feet.And yet I seemed alone, and dumb-amazedBefore a towering building, wherein blazedOne staring patch of light, one amber squareThat shone enshrouded by the dome of nightHigh in the naked air. And still I gazedUntil a shadow passed across the blind:A shadow-woman pacing time awayBeside a bed, wherein a poet layDying, dying. One whose mind(A womb of beauty whereof love was lord)Had fashioned symphonies of thought and wordImpassionately sweet. And suddenlyShe paused—I saw the shadow of her handStretch out and shudder back. I saw her standAll sorrow-bound in graven dignity.She bowed her head, her shoulders taut with pain,Her figure burdened with the weight of tears.Then all grew dark. And in my waking earsThe traffic surged again.
I stoodone night where rivers pause to meetAnd mingle in the traffic-rumbling sea:The surge and clamour of a London street,In tides alternate, rolled, impassively.Before my feetRan shouting boys, and through the pallid glareLoomed gaunt leviathans that swayed and roaredPast glittering shops, and stations which outpouredLoad after weary load; and everywhereStrange sounds, a snatch of laughter, shout or word,Sleek-coated motor-cars that softly purredRound corners sounding with the rustling beatOf hurried swarms of feet.And yet I seemed alone, and dumb-amazedBefore a towering building, wherein blazedOne staring patch of light, one amber squareThat shone enshrouded by the dome of nightHigh in the naked air. And still I gazedUntil a shadow passed across the blind:A shadow-woman pacing time awayBeside a bed, wherein a poet layDying, dying. One whose mind(A womb of beauty whereof love was lord)Had fashioned symphonies of thought and wordImpassionately sweet. And suddenlyShe paused—I saw the shadow of her handStretch out and shudder back. I saw her standAll sorrow-bound in graven dignity.She bowed her head, her shoulders taut with pain,Her figure burdened with the weight of tears.Then all grew dark. And in my waking earsThe traffic surged again.
Wetake you through Pacific seasTo islands strange and new,Where howling monkeys scale the treesAlive with humming-birds and bees,Where shiny seals and porpoisesSnort in the rolling blue.Then quicker than a shaft of lightWe shear the arctic foam,And lounging bears of polar whiteRoar loudly through the dancing night,And drive the killer-whales to flight—Upon the floor at home.O hear the chant of Eastern songBeneath Arabian stars,Where camels slowly stalk alongAnd gleaming Arabs, tall and strong,Buy gold and merchandise amongThe riot of bazaars!The glow-worms crawl excitedlyAnd trim their lamps o’ night;For often, ere the moon is high,Bat-harnessed walnut-shells flit byTo bear them to the waiting skyAnd set the stars alight.The nodding poplars understandAnd birds and beasts and flowers:And we shall wander hand in handWith better things than Peter Panned—O what is footlight fairylandBeside this world of ours?What matter if the clouds are greyOr winter-keen and wild,When you and I have found a wayTo turn November into May;For Everyjoy is EverydayAnd Everyman a child.
Wetake you through Pacific seasTo islands strange and new,Where howling monkeys scale the treesAlive with humming-birds and bees,Where shiny seals and porpoisesSnort in the rolling blue.Then quicker than a shaft of lightWe shear the arctic foam,And lounging bears of polar whiteRoar loudly through the dancing night,And drive the killer-whales to flight—Upon the floor at home.O hear the chant of Eastern songBeneath Arabian stars,Where camels slowly stalk alongAnd gleaming Arabs, tall and strong,Buy gold and merchandise amongThe riot of bazaars!The glow-worms crawl excitedlyAnd trim their lamps o’ night;For often, ere the moon is high,Bat-harnessed walnut-shells flit byTo bear them to the waiting skyAnd set the stars alight.The nodding poplars understandAnd birds and beasts and flowers:And we shall wander hand in handWith better things than Peter Panned—O what is footlight fairylandBeside this world of ours?What matter if the clouds are greyOr winter-keen and wild,When you and I have found a wayTo turn November into May;For Everyjoy is EverydayAnd Everyman a child.
Wetake you through Pacific seasTo islands strange and new,Where howling monkeys scale the treesAlive with humming-birds and bees,Where shiny seals and porpoisesSnort in the rolling blue.
Then quicker than a shaft of lightWe shear the arctic foam,And lounging bears of polar whiteRoar loudly through the dancing night,And drive the killer-whales to flight—Upon the floor at home.
O hear the chant of Eastern songBeneath Arabian stars,Where camels slowly stalk alongAnd gleaming Arabs, tall and strong,Buy gold and merchandise amongThe riot of bazaars!
The glow-worms crawl excitedlyAnd trim their lamps o’ night;For often, ere the moon is high,Bat-harnessed walnut-shells flit byTo bear them to the waiting skyAnd set the stars alight.
The nodding poplars understandAnd birds and beasts and flowers:And we shall wander hand in handWith better things than Peter Panned—O what is footlight fairylandBeside this world of ours?
What matter if the clouds are greyOr winter-keen and wild,When you and I have found a wayTo turn November into May;For Everyjoy is EverydayAnd Everyman a child.
Awayto the call of the racing sea—(Child of the flowing tide)A hundred chargers of ivory,And two of them saddled for you and for me,Are pawing and stamping the surf to be freeWhere the wild sea-horses ride.The deep water shall roar as we race from the shoreOn the back of the flowing tide.O hurry, the moon is away in the sky(Child of the flowing tide)With your heels well down, and your heart set highYou’re saddled and bridled, and so am I;So gather your reins, for the foam will flyWhere the wild sea-horses ride.Grip tight with your knees as you gallop the seasOn the back of the flowing tide.On the wide lagoon I’ll meet you to-night(Child of the flowing tide)When the moon swings high and the stars are alightAnd the roaring sea-chargers are ready to fight:Their manes are all foam and their coats are all whiteWhere the wild sea-horses ride.The deep waters shall roar as we race from the shoreOn the back of the flowing tide.
Awayto the call of the racing sea—(Child of the flowing tide)A hundred chargers of ivory,And two of them saddled for you and for me,Are pawing and stamping the surf to be freeWhere the wild sea-horses ride.The deep water shall roar as we race from the shoreOn the back of the flowing tide.O hurry, the moon is away in the sky(Child of the flowing tide)With your heels well down, and your heart set highYou’re saddled and bridled, and so am I;So gather your reins, for the foam will flyWhere the wild sea-horses ride.Grip tight with your knees as you gallop the seasOn the back of the flowing tide.On the wide lagoon I’ll meet you to-night(Child of the flowing tide)When the moon swings high and the stars are alightAnd the roaring sea-chargers are ready to fight:Their manes are all foam and their coats are all whiteWhere the wild sea-horses ride.The deep waters shall roar as we race from the shoreOn the back of the flowing tide.
Awayto the call of the racing sea—(Child of the flowing tide)A hundred chargers of ivory,And two of them saddled for you and for me,Are pawing and stamping the surf to be freeWhere the wild sea-horses ride.The deep water shall roar as we race from the shoreOn the back of the flowing tide.
O hurry, the moon is away in the sky(Child of the flowing tide)With your heels well down, and your heart set highYou’re saddled and bridled, and so am I;So gather your reins, for the foam will flyWhere the wild sea-horses ride.Grip tight with your knees as you gallop the seasOn the back of the flowing tide.
On the wide lagoon I’ll meet you to-night(Child of the flowing tide)When the moon swings high and the stars are alightAnd the roaring sea-chargers are ready to fight:Their manes are all foam and their coats are all whiteWhere the wild sea-horses ride.The deep waters shall roar as we race from the shoreOn the back of the flowing tide.
I Trembleat the outset, for I knowHow rhythm halts and rhyme rings falsely true.Yet courage, your disciple, bids me showThat speech may offer sacrifice to you.Vain boast! For if success in splendour camePoised faultlessly in lines of perfect stress,I must fall short of it in very shameUnworthy of my sonnet’s worthiness.But should I fail, and feel the words I soughtElusive, or bedecked with frail disguiseOf tattered sentiment, that risk I dareNot hazard in the winding maze of thought,Lest I should stir the wonder in your eyesOr wind a little tangle in your hair.
I Trembleat the outset, for I knowHow rhythm halts and rhyme rings falsely true.Yet courage, your disciple, bids me showThat speech may offer sacrifice to you.Vain boast! For if success in splendour camePoised faultlessly in lines of perfect stress,I must fall short of it in very shameUnworthy of my sonnet’s worthiness.But should I fail, and feel the words I soughtElusive, or bedecked with frail disguiseOf tattered sentiment, that risk I dareNot hazard in the winding maze of thought,Lest I should stir the wonder in your eyesOr wind a little tangle in your hair.
I Trembleat the outset, for I knowHow rhythm halts and rhyme rings falsely true.Yet courage, your disciple, bids me showThat speech may offer sacrifice to you.Vain boast! For if success in splendour camePoised faultlessly in lines of perfect stress,I must fall short of it in very shameUnworthy of my sonnet’s worthiness.
But should I fail, and feel the words I soughtElusive, or bedecked with frail disguiseOf tattered sentiment, that risk I dareNot hazard in the winding maze of thought,Lest I should stir the wonder in your eyesOr wind a little tangle in your hair.
Solet me fail: what matter if the wiseAnd worldly whisper, who so poor as they?For everywhere alike the common wayHas now become an earthly paradise.And where you walk the very pavement criesOf blue-bells, April-chimed, and fawns at play;And London seems a sylvan holidayOf flower-hunting bees and butterflies.So let me fail, for where I could succeedHow mean the quest, a climber gazing downFrom the low vantage of some petty hill.But chance success would be the gambler’s thrillWho plays with God for worlds, and wins indeedThe whole of Paradise for half-a-crown!
Solet me fail: what matter if the wiseAnd worldly whisper, who so poor as they?For everywhere alike the common wayHas now become an earthly paradise.And where you walk the very pavement criesOf blue-bells, April-chimed, and fawns at play;And London seems a sylvan holidayOf flower-hunting bees and butterflies.So let me fail, for where I could succeedHow mean the quest, a climber gazing downFrom the low vantage of some petty hill.But chance success would be the gambler’s thrillWho plays with God for worlds, and wins indeedThe whole of Paradise for half-a-crown!
Solet me fail: what matter if the wiseAnd worldly whisper, who so poor as they?For everywhere alike the common wayHas now become an earthly paradise.And where you walk the very pavement criesOf blue-bells, April-chimed, and fawns at play;And London seems a sylvan holidayOf flower-hunting bees and butterflies.
So let me fail, for where I could succeedHow mean the quest, a climber gazing downFrom the low vantage of some petty hill.But chance success would be the gambler’s thrillWho plays with God for worlds, and wins indeedThe whole of Paradise for half-a-crown!
I Haveno room for jealous gods, and findNo ring of joy or laughter in the Creed,Nor shall my great possession be resignedIn fear or favour of my spirit’s need.For joy is mine, and mine the teeming yearsUnfettered in a world impassionate;Not mine a sorrowed Calvary of tearsWhere love was vassal to the lords of hate.Let others bow before a God unknownEnshrined in words they dimly understand.Let every man make Paradise his own—My Goddess breathes and leads me by the handO hush! I dare not speak of it alone,’Tis all too wonderful and strangely planned!
I Haveno room for jealous gods, and findNo ring of joy or laughter in the Creed,Nor shall my great possession be resignedIn fear or favour of my spirit’s need.For joy is mine, and mine the teeming yearsUnfettered in a world impassionate;Not mine a sorrowed Calvary of tearsWhere love was vassal to the lords of hate.Let others bow before a God unknownEnshrined in words they dimly understand.Let every man make Paradise his own—My Goddess breathes and leads me by the handO hush! I dare not speak of it alone,’Tis all too wonderful and strangely planned!
I Haveno room for jealous gods, and findNo ring of joy or laughter in the Creed,Nor shall my great possession be resignedIn fear or favour of my spirit’s need.For joy is mine, and mine the teeming yearsUnfettered in a world impassionate;Not mine a sorrowed Calvary of tearsWhere love was vassal to the lords of hate.
Let others bow before a God unknownEnshrined in words they dimly understand.Let every man make Paradise his own—My Goddess breathes and leads me by the handO hush! I dare not speak of it alone,’Tis all too wonderful and strangely planned!
Dayafter day my growing pinions beatImpatiently. Yet, in a place uncleanI sought the dwarfed, the petty and obscene,And aped the clownish mummers of the street;Till suddenly the world grew strangely sweet,All eager at a touch, and thrilling-keen;With half-forgotten hands I strove unseenTo mould a little planet at your feet.You spoke and there was light, and slowly grewMy teeming world of verse, a brotherhoodOf music, thought, and wonder, born anew,Alive, aglow, in every varied mood.And when the waking truth is bursting throughI feel you bend to see that all is good.
Dayafter day my growing pinions beatImpatiently. Yet, in a place uncleanI sought the dwarfed, the petty and obscene,And aped the clownish mummers of the street;Till suddenly the world grew strangely sweet,All eager at a touch, and thrilling-keen;With half-forgotten hands I strove unseenTo mould a little planet at your feet.You spoke and there was light, and slowly grewMy teeming world of verse, a brotherhoodOf music, thought, and wonder, born anew,Alive, aglow, in every varied mood.And when the waking truth is bursting throughI feel you bend to see that all is good.
Dayafter day my growing pinions beatImpatiently. Yet, in a place uncleanI sought the dwarfed, the petty and obscene,And aped the clownish mummers of the street;Till suddenly the world grew strangely sweet,All eager at a touch, and thrilling-keen;With half-forgotten hands I strove unseenTo mould a little planet at your feet.
You spoke and there was light, and slowly grewMy teeming world of verse, a brotherhoodOf music, thought, and wonder, born anew,Alive, aglow, in every varied mood.And when the waking truth is bursting throughI feel you bend to see that all is good.
IfI had seen what hourly happinessIn this my world your being could ordain,How then should I have trysted with distressAnd misery the cringing friend of pain?If I had seen beyond the looming yearsYour shadow, grief had haunted me in vain,For what are cataracts of human tearsBeside the boundless laughter of the main?O barren days bygone! Now every fieldWakes clamorous with dawning life conceived,So has the magic universe revealedWhole happiness to one who half believed—Whole happiness, and in my heart concealedWide wonder at the sacrament received.
IfI had seen what hourly happinessIn this my world your being could ordain,How then should I have trysted with distressAnd misery the cringing friend of pain?If I had seen beyond the looming yearsYour shadow, grief had haunted me in vain,For what are cataracts of human tearsBeside the boundless laughter of the main?O barren days bygone! Now every fieldWakes clamorous with dawning life conceived,So has the magic universe revealedWhole happiness to one who half believed—Whole happiness, and in my heart concealedWide wonder at the sacrament received.
IfI had seen what hourly happinessIn this my world your being could ordain,How then should I have trysted with distressAnd misery the cringing friend of pain?If I had seen beyond the looming yearsYour shadow, grief had haunted me in vain,For what are cataracts of human tearsBeside the boundless laughter of the main?
O barren days bygone! Now every fieldWakes clamorous with dawning life conceived,So has the magic universe revealedWhole happiness to one who half believed—Whole happiness, and in my heart concealedWide wonder at the sacrament received.