The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSonnets and VerseThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Sonnets and VerseAuthor: Hilaire BellocRelease date: November 10, 2019 [eBook #60663]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS AND VERSE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Sonnets and VerseAuthor: Hilaire BellocRelease date: November 10, 2019 [eBook #60663]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Title: Sonnets and Verse
Author: Hilaire Belloc
Author: Hilaire Belloc
Release date: November 10, 2019 [eBook #60663]Most recently updated: October 17, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Tim Lindell, Chuck Greif and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONNETS AND VERSE ***
SONNETS AND VERSEBYH. BELLOC
BYH. BELLOCDUCKWORTH & CO.3 HENRIETTA STREET, LONDON, W.C.First Published in 1923All rights reservedMade and Printed in Great Britainby Turnbull & Spears, EdinburghToJOHN SWINNERTON PHILLIMOREA DEDICATIONWITH THIS BOOK OF VERSE
When you and I were little tiny boysWe took a most impertinent delightIn foolish, painted and misshapen toysWhich hidden mothers brought to us at night.Do you that have the child’s diviner part—The dear content a love familiar brings—Take these imperfect toys, till in your heartThey too attain the form of perfect things.
When you and I were little tiny boysWe took a most impertinent delightIn foolish, painted and misshapen toysWhich hidden mothers brought to us at night.Do you that have the child’s diviner part—The dear content a love familiar brings—Take these imperfect toys, till in your heartThey too attain the form of perfect things.
When you and I were little tiny boysWe took a most impertinent delightIn foolish, painted and misshapen toysWhich hidden mothers brought to us at night.
Do you that have the child’s diviner part—The dear content a love familiar brings—Take these imperfect toys, till in your heartThey too attain the form of perfect things.
Liftup your hearts in Gumber, laugh the WealdAnd you my mother the Valley of Arun sing.Here am I homeward from my wanderingHere am I homeward and my heart is healed.You my companions whom the World has tiredCome out to greet me. I have found a faceMore beautiful than Gardens; more desiredThan boys in exile love their native place.Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the WealdAnd you most ancient Valley of Arun sing.Here am I homeward from my wandering,Here am I homeward and my heart is healed.If I was thirsty, I have heard a spring.If I was dusty, I have found a field.
Liftup your hearts in Gumber, laugh the WealdAnd you my mother the Valley of Arun sing.Here am I homeward from my wanderingHere am I homeward and my heart is healed.You my companions whom the World has tiredCome out to greet me. I have found a faceMore beautiful than Gardens; more desiredThan boys in exile love their native place.Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the WealdAnd you most ancient Valley of Arun sing.Here am I homeward from my wandering,Here am I homeward and my heart is healed.If I was thirsty, I have heard a spring.If I was dusty, I have found a field.
Liftup your hearts in Gumber, laugh the WealdAnd you my mother the Valley of Arun sing.Here am I homeward from my wanderingHere am I homeward and my heart is healed.You my companions whom the World has tiredCome out to greet me. I have found a faceMore beautiful than Gardens; more desiredThan boys in exile love their native place.
Lift up your hearts in Gumber, laugh the WealdAnd you most ancient Valley of Arun sing.Here am I homeward from my wandering,Here am I homeward and my heart is healed.If I was thirsty, I have heard a spring.If I was dusty, I have found a field.
I waslike one that keeps the deck by nightBearing the tiller up against his breast;I was like one whose soul is centred quiteIn holding course although so hardly prest,And veers with veering shock now left now right,And strains his foothold still and still makes playOf bending beams until the sacred lightShows him high lands and heralds up the day.But now such busy work of battle pastI am like one whose barque at bar at lastComes hardly heeling down the adventurous breeze;And entering calmer seas,I am like one that brings his merchandiseTo Californian skies.
I waslike one that keeps the deck by nightBearing the tiller up against his breast;I was like one whose soul is centred quiteIn holding course although so hardly prest,And veers with veering shock now left now right,And strains his foothold still and still makes playOf bending beams until the sacred lightShows him high lands and heralds up the day.But now such busy work of battle pastI am like one whose barque at bar at lastComes hardly heeling down the adventurous breeze;And entering calmer seas,I am like one that brings his merchandiseTo Californian skies.
I waslike one that keeps the deck by nightBearing the tiller up against his breast;I was like one whose soul is centred quiteIn holding course although so hardly prest,And veers with veering shock now left now right,And strains his foothold still and still makes playOf bending beams until the sacred lightShows him high lands and heralds up the day.
But now such busy work of battle pastI am like one whose barque at bar at lastComes hardly heeling down the adventurous breeze;And entering calmer seas,I am like one that brings his merchandiseTo Californian skies.
Riseup and do begin the day’s adorning;The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.The last of sunset fades into the morning;The morning calls you from the dark away.The holy mist, the white mist of the morningWas wreathing upward on my lonely way.The way was waiting for your own adorningThat should complete the broad adornéd day.Rise up and do begin the day’s adorning;The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:There will be wind among the leaves to-day;It is the very promise of the morning.Lux Tua Via Mea: your light’s my way—Then do rise up and make it perfect day.
Riseup and do begin the day’s adorning;The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.The last of sunset fades into the morning;The morning calls you from the dark away.The holy mist, the white mist of the morningWas wreathing upward on my lonely way.The way was waiting for your own adorningThat should complete the broad adornéd day.Rise up and do begin the day’s adorning;The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:There will be wind among the leaves to-day;It is the very promise of the morning.Lux Tua Via Mea: your light’s my way—Then do rise up and make it perfect day.
Riseup and do begin the day’s adorning;The Summer dark is but the dawn of day.The last of sunset fades into the morning;The morning calls you from the dark away.The holy mist, the white mist of the morningWas wreathing upward on my lonely way.The way was waiting for your own adorningThat should complete the broad adornéd day.
Rise up and do begin the day’s adorning;The little eastern clouds are dapple grey:There will be wind among the leaves to-day;It is the very promise of the morning.Lux Tua Via Mea: your light’s my way—Then do rise up and make it perfect day.
TheWinter Moon has such a quiet carThat all the winter nights are dumb with rest.She drives the gradual dark with drooping crestAnd dreams go wandering from her drowsy starBecause the nights are silent do not wakeBut there shall tremble through the general earth,And over you, a quickening and a birth.The Sun is near the hill-tops for your sake.The latest born of all the days shall creepTo kiss the tender eyelids of the year;And you shall wake, grown young with perfect sleep,And smile at the new world and make it dearWith living murmurs more than dreams are deep;Silence is dead, my dawn, the morning’s here.
TheWinter Moon has such a quiet carThat all the winter nights are dumb with rest.She drives the gradual dark with drooping crestAnd dreams go wandering from her drowsy starBecause the nights are silent do not wakeBut there shall tremble through the general earth,And over you, a quickening and a birth.The Sun is near the hill-tops for your sake.The latest born of all the days shall creepTo kiss the tender eyelids of the year;And you shall wake, grown young with perfect sleep,And smile at the new world and make it dearWith living murmurs more than dreams are deep;Silence is dead, my dawn, the morning’s here.
TheWinter Moon has such a quiet carThat all the winter nights are dumb with rest.She drives the gradual dark with drooping crestAnd dreams go wandering from her drowsy starBecause the nights are silent do not wakeBut there shall tremble through the general earth,And over you, a quickening and a birth.The Sun is near the hill-tops for your sake.
The latest born of all the days shall creepTo kiss the tender eyelids of the year;And you shall wake, grown young with perfect sleep,And smile at the new world and make it dearWith living murmurs more than dreams are deep;Silence is dead, my dawn, the morning’s here.
Whatevermoisture nourishes the RoseThe Rose of the World in laughter’s garden-bedWhere Souls of men on faith secure are fedAnd spirits immortal keep their pleasure-close.Whatever moisture nourishes the Rose,The burning Rose of the world, for me the sameTo-day for me the spring without a nameContent or Grace or Laughter overflows.This is that water from the Fount of GoldWater of Youth and washer out of caresWhich Raymond of Saragossa sought of oldAnd finding in the mountain, unawares,Returned to hear an ancient story toldTo Bramimond, his love, beside the marble stairs.
Whatevermoisture nourishes the RoseThe Rose of the World in laughter’s garden-bedWhere Souls of men on faith secure are fedAnd spirits immortal keep their pleasure-close.Whatever moisture nourishes the Rose,The burning Rose of the world, for me the sameTo-day for me the spring without a nameContent or Grace or Laughter overflows.This is that water from the Fount of GoldWater of Youth and washer out of caresWhich Raymond of Saragossa sought of oldAnd finding in the mountain, unawares,Returned to hear an ancient story toldTo Bramimond, his love, beside the marble stairs.
Whatevermoisture nourishes the RoseThe Rose of the World in laughter’s garden-bedWhere Souls of men on faith secure are fedAnd spirits immortal keep their pleasure-close.Whatever moisture nourishes the Rose,The burning Rose of the world, for me the sameTo-day for me the spring without a nameContent or Grace or Laughter overflows.
This is that water from the Fount of GoldWater of Youth and washer out of caresWhich Raymond of Saragossa sought of oldAnd finding in the mountain, unawares,Returned to hear an ancient story toldTo Bramimond, his love, beside the marble stairs.
Youthgave you to me, but I’ll not believeThat Youth will, taking his quick self, take you.Youth’s all our Truth: he cannot so deceive.He has our graces, not our ownselves too.He still compares with time when he’ll be spent,By human doom enhancing what we are;Enriches us with rare experiment,Lends arms to leagured Age in Time’s rough war.Look! This Youth in us is an Old Man takingA Boy to make him wiser than his days.So is our old Youth our young Age’s making:So rich in time our final debt he pays.Then with your quite young arms do you me holdAnd I will still be young when all the World’s grown old.
Youthgave you to me, but I’ll not believeThat Youth will, taking his quick self, take you.Youth’s all our Truth: he cannot so deceive.He has our graces, not our ownselves too.He still compares with time when he’ll be spent,By human doom enhancing what we are;Enriches us with rare experiment,Lends arms to leagured Age in Time’s rough war.Look! This Youth in us is an Old Man takingA Boy to make him wiser than his days.So is our old Youth our young Age’s making:So rich in time our final debt he pays.Then with your quite young arms do you me holdAnd I will still be young when all the World’s grown old.
Youthgave you to me, but I’ll not believeThat Youth will, taking his quick self, take you.Youth’s all our Truth: he cannot so deceive.He has our graces, not our ownselves too.He still compares with time when he’ll be spent,By human doom enhancing what we are;Enriches us with rare experiment,Lends arms to leagured Age in Time’s rough war.
Look! This Youth in us is an Old Man takingA Boy to make him wiser than his days.So is our old Youth our young Age’s making:So rich in time our final debt he pays.Then with your quite young arms do you me holdAnd I will still be young when all the World’s grown old.
Mortalityis but the Stuff you wearTo show the better on the imperfect sight.Your home is surely with the changeless lightOf which you are the daughter and the heir.For as you pass, the natural life of thingsProclaims the Resurrection: as you passRemembered summer shines across the grassAnd somewhat in me of the immortal sings.You were not made for memory, you are notYouth’s accident I think but heavenly more;Moulding to meaning slips my pen’s poor blotAnd opening wide that long forbidden doorWhere stands the Mother of God, your exemplar.How beautiful, how beautiful you are!
Mortalityis but the Stuff you wearTo show the better on the imperfect sight.Your home is surely with the changeless lightOf which you are the daughter and the heir.For as you pass, the natural life of thingsProclaims the Resurrection: as you passRemembered summer shines across the grassAnd somewhat in me of the immortal sings.You were not made for memory, you are notYouth’s accident I think but heavenly more;Moulding to meaning slips my pen’s poor blotAnd opening wide that long forbidden doorWhere stands the Mother of God, your exemplar.How beautiful, how beautiful you are!
Mortalityis but the Stuff you wearTo show the better on the imperfect sight.Your home is surely with the changeless lightOf which you are the daughter and the heir.For as you pass, the natural life of thingsProclaims the Resurrection: as you passRemembered summer shines across the grassAnd somewhat in me of the immortal sings.
You were not made for memory, you are notYouth’s accident I think but heavenly more;Moulding to meaning slips my pen’s poor blotAnd opening wide that long forbidden doorWhere stands the Mother of God, your exemplar.How beautiful, how beautiful you are!
Notfor the luckless buds our roots may bearNow all in bloom, now seared and cankered lyingWill I entreat you, lest they should compareForedoomed humanity with the fall of flowers.Hold thou with me the chaste communion rareAnd touch with life this mortal case of ours:You’re lifted up beyond the power of dying:I die, as bounded things die everywhere.You’re voiced companionship, I’m silence lonely;You’re stuff, I’m void; you’re living, I’m decay.I fall, I think, to-night and ending only;You rise, I know, through still advancing day.And knowing living gift were life for meIn narrow room of rhyme I fixed it certainly.
Notfor the luckless buds our roots may bearNow all in bloom, now seared and cankered lyingWill I entreat you, lest they should compareForedoomed humanity with the fall of flowers.Hold thou with me the chaste communion rareAnd touch with life this mortal case of ours:You’re lifted up beyond the power of dying:I die, as bounded things die everywhere.You’re voiced companionship, I’m silence lonely;You’re stuff, I’m void; you’re living, I’m decay.I fall, I think, to-night and ending only;You rise, I know, through still advancing day.And knowing living gift were life for meIn narrow room of rhyme I fixed it certainly.
Notfor the luckless buds our roots may bearNow all in bloom, now seared and cankered lyingWill I entreat you, lest they should compareForedoomed humanity with the fall of flowers.Hold thou with me the chaste communion rareAnd touch with life this mortal case of ours:You’re lifted up beyond the power of dying:I die, as bounded things die everywhere.
You’re voiced companionship, I’m silence lonely;You’re stuff, I’m void; you’re living, I’m decay.I fall, I think, to-night and ending only;You rise, I know, through still advancing day.And knowing living gift were life for meIn narrow room of rhyme I fixed it certainly.
Thatwhich is one they shear and make it twainWho would Love’s light and dark discriminate:His pleasure is one essence with his pain,Even his desire twin brother to his hate.With him the foiled attempt is half achieving;And being mastered, to be armed a lord;And doubting every chance is still believing;And losing all one’s own is all reward.I am acquainted with misfortune’s fortune,And better than herself her dowry know:For she that is my fortune and misfortune,Making me hapless, makes me happier so:In which conceit, as older men may prove,Lies manifest the very core of Love.
Thatwhich is one they shear and make it twainWho would Love’s light and dark discriminate:His pleasure is one essence with his pain,Even his desire twin brother to his hate.With him the foiled attempt is half achieving;And being mastered, to be armed a lord;And doubting every chance is still believing;And losing all one’s own is all reward.I am acquainted with misfortune’s fortune,And better than herself her dowry know:For she that is my fortune and misfortune,Making me hapless, makes me happier so:In which conceit, as older men may prove,Lies manifest the very core of Love.
Thatwhich is one they shear and make it twainWho would Love’s light and dark discriminate:His pleasure is one essence with his pain,Even his desire twin brother to his hate.With him the foiled attempt is half achieving;And being mastered, to be armed a lord;And doubting every chance is still believing;And losing all one’s own is all reward.
I am acquainted with misfortune’s fortune,And better than herself her dowry know:For she that is my fortune and misfortune,Making me hapless, makes me happier so:In which conceit, as older men may prove,Lies manifest the very core of Love.
Shallany man for whose strong love anotherHas thrown away his wealth and name in one,Shall he turn mocker of a more than brotherTo slight his need when his adventure’s done?Or shall a breedless boy whose mother won himIn great men’s great concerns his little placeTurn when his farthing honours come upon himTo mock her yeoman air and conscious grace?Then mock me as you do my narrow scope,For you it was put out this light of mine:Wrongfully wrecked my new adventured hope,Wasted my wordy wealth, spilt my rich wine,Made my square ship within a league of shoreAlas! To be entombed in seas and seen no more.
Shallany man for whose strong love anotherHas thrown away his wealth and name in one,Shall he turn mocker of a more than brotherTo slight his need when his adventure’s done?Or shall a breedless boy whose mother won himIn great men’s great concerns his little placeTurn when his farthing honours come upon himTo mock her yeoman air and conscious grace?Then mock me as you do my narrow scope,For you it was put out this light of mine:Wrongfully wrecked my new adventured hope,Wasted my wordy wealth, spilt my rich wine,Made my square ship within a league of shoreAlas! To be entombed in seas and seen no more.
Shallany man for whose strong love anotherHas thrown away his wealth and name in one,Shall he turn mocker of a more than brotherTo slight his need when his adventure’s done?Or shall a breedless boy whose mother won himIn great men’s great concerns his little placeTurn when his farthing honours come upon himTo mock her yeoman air and conscious grace?
Then mock me as you do my narrow scope,For you it was put out this light of mine:Wrongfully wrecked my new adventured hope,Wasted my wordy wealth, spilt my rich wine,Made my square ship within a league of shoreAlas! To be entombed in seas and seen no more.
Theythat have taken wages of things doneWhen sense abused has blocked the doors of sense,They that have lost their heritage of the sun,Their laughter and their holy innocence;They turn them now to this thing, now to t’other,For anchor hold against swift-eddying time,Some to that square of earth which was their mother,And some to noisy fame, and some to rhyme.But I to that far morning where you stoodIn fullness of the body, with your handsReposing on your walls, before your lands,And all, together, making one great good:Then did I cry “For this my birth was meant.These are my use, and this my sacrament!”
Theythat have taken wages of things doneWhen sense abused has blocked the doors of sense,They that have lost their heritage of the sun,Their laughter and their holy innocence;They turn them now to this thing, now to t’other,For anchor hold against swift-eddying time,Some to that square of earth which was their mother,And some to noisy fame, and some to rhyme.But I to that far morning where you stoodIn fullness of the body, with your handsReposing on your walls, before your lands,And all, together, making one great good:Then did I cry “For this my birth was meant.These are my use, and this my sacrament!”
Theythat have taken wages of things doneWhen sense abused has blocked the doors of sense,They that have lost their heritage of the sun,Their laughter and their holy innocence;They turn them now to this thing, now to t’other,For anchor hold against swift-eddying time,Some to that square of earth which was their mother,And some to noisy fame, and some to rhyme.
But I to that far morning where you stoodIn fullness of the body, with your handsReposing on your walls, before your lands,And all, together, making one great good:Then did I cry “For this my birth was meant.These are my use, and this my sacrament!”
Beautythat Parent is to deathless RhymeWas Manhood’s maker: you shall bear a Son,Till Daughters linked adown admiring timeFulfil the mother, handing Beauty on.You shall by breeding make Life answer yet,In Time’s despite, Time’s jeer that men go void;Your stamp of heaven shall be more largely setThan my one joy, ten thousand times enjoyed.The glories of our state and its achievement,Which wait their passing, shall not pass away.I will extend our term beyond bereavement,And launch our date into a dateless day.For you shall make recórd, and when that’s sealedIn Beauty made immortal, all is healed.
Beautythat Parent is to deathless RhymeWas Manhood’s maker: you shall bear a Son,Till Daughters linked adown admiring timeFulfil the mother, handing Beauty on.You shall by breeding make Life answer yet,In Time’s despite, Time’s jeer that men go void;Your stamp of heaven shall be more largely setThan my one joy, ten thousand times enjoyed.The glories of our state and its achievement,Which wait their passing, shall not pass away.I will extend our term beyond bereavement,And launch our date into a dateless day.For you shall make recórd, and when that’s sealedIn Beauty made immortal, all is healed.
Beautythat Parent is to deathless RhymeWas Manhood’s maker: you shall bear a Son,Till Daughters linked adown admiring timeFulfil the mother, handing Beauty on.You shall by breeding make Life answer yet,In Time’s despite, Time’s jeer that men go void;Your stamp of heaven shall be more largely setThan my one joy, ten thousand times enjoyed.
The glories of our state and its achievement,Which wait their passing, shall not pass away.I will extend our term beyond bereavement,And launch our date into a dateless day.For you shall make recórd, and when that’s sealedIn Beauty made immortal, all is healed.
Whatare the names for Beauty? Who shall praiseGod’s pledge he can fulfil His creatures’ eyes?Or what strong words of what creative phraseDetermine Beauty’s title in the skies?But I will call you Beauty Personate,Ambassadorial Beauty, and againBeauty triumphant, Beauty in the Gate,Beauty salvation of the souls of men.For Beauty was not Beauty till you cameAnd now shall Beauty mean the sign you are;A Beacon burnt above the Dawn, a flameLike holy Lucifer the Morning Star,Who latest hangs in Heaven and is the gemOn all the widowéd Night’s expectant Diadem.
Whatare the names for Beauty? Who shall praiseGod’s pledge he can fulfil His creatures’ eyes?Or what strong words of what creative phraseDetermine Beauty’s title in the skies?But I will call you Beauty Personate,Ambassadorial Beauty, and againBeauty triumphant, Beauty in the Gate,Beauty salvation of the souls of men.For Beauty was not Beauty till you cameAnd now shall Beauty mean the sign you are;A Beacon burnt above the Dawn, a flameLike holy Lucifer the Morning Star,Who latest hangs in Heaven and is the gemOn all the widowéd Night’s expectant Diadem.
Whatare the names for Beauty? Who shall praiseGod’s pledge he can fulfil His creatures’ eyes?Or what strong words of what creative phraseDetermine Beauty’s title in the skies?But I will call you Beauty Personate,Ambassadorial Beauty, and againBeauty triumphant, Beauty in the Gate,Beauty salvation of the souls of men.
For Beauty was not Beauty till you cameAnd now shall Beauty mean the sign you are;A Beacon burnt above the Dawn, a flameLike holy Lucifer the Morning Star,Who latest hangs in Heaven and is the gemOn all the widowéd Night’s expectant Diadem.
Lovewooing Honour, Honour’s love did winAnd had his pleasure all a summer’s day.Not understanding how the dooms begin,Love wooing Honour, wooed her life away.Then wandered he a full five years unrestUntil, one night, this Honour that had diedCame as he slept, in youth grown glorifiedAnd smiling like the Saints whom God has blest.But when he saw her on the clear night shineSerene with more than mortal light upon her,The boy that careless was of things divine,Small Love, turned penitent to worship Honour.So Love can conquer Honour: when that’s pastDead Honour risen outdoes Love at last.
Lovewooing Honour, Honour’s love did winAnd had his pleasure all a summer’s day.Not understanding how the dooms begin,Love wooing Honour, wooed her life away.Then wandered he a full five years unrestUntil, one night, this Honour that had diedCame as he slept, in youth grown glorifiedAnd smiling like the Saints whom God has blest.But when he saw her on the clear night shineSerene with more than mortal light upon her,The boy that careless was of things divine,Small Love, turned penitent to worship Honour.So Love can conquer Honour: when that’s pastDead Honour risen outdoes Love at last.
Lovewooing Honour, Honour’s love did winAnd had his pleasure all a summer’s day.Not understanding how the dooms begin,Love wooing Honour, wooed her life away.Then wandered he a full five years unrestUntil, one night, this Honour that had diedCame as he slept, in youth grown glorifiedAnd smiling like the Saints whom God has blest.
But when he saw her on the clear night shineSerene with more than mortal light upon her,The boy that careless was of things divine,Small Love, turned penitent to worship Honour.So Love can conquer Honour: when that’s pastDead Honour risen outdoes Love at last.
Yourlife is like a little winter’s dayWhose sad sun rises late to set too soon;You have just come—why will you go away,Making an evening of what should be noon.Your life is like a little flute complainingA long way off, beyond the willow trees:A long way off, and nothing left remainingBut memory of a music on the breeze.Your life is like a pitiful leave-takingWept in a dream before a man’s awaking,A Call with only shadows to attend:A Benediction whispered and belatedWhich has no fruit beyond a consecrated,A consecrated silence at the end.
Yourlife is like a little winter’s dayWhose sad sun rises late to set too soon;You have just come—why will you go away,Making an evening of what should be noon.Your life is like a little flute complainingA long way off, beyond the willow trees:A long way off, and nothing left remainingBut memory of a music on the breeze.Your life is like a pitiful leave-takingWept in a dream before a man’s awaking,A Call with only shadows to attend:A Benediction whispered and belatedWhich has no fruit beyond a consecrated,A consecrated silence at the end.
Yourlife is like a little winter’s dayWhose sad sun rises late to set too soon;You have just come—why will you go away,Making an evening of what should be noon.Your life is like a little flute complainingA long way off, beyond the willow trees:A long way off, and nothing left remainingBut memory of a music on the breeze.
Your life is like a pitiful leave-takingWept in a dream before a man’s awaking,A Call with only shadows to attend:A Benediction whispered and belatedWhich has no fruit beyond a consecrated,A consecrated silence at the end.
Nowshall the certain purpose of my soulBy blind and empty things controlled be,And mine audacious course to that far goalFall short, confessing mere mortality.Limbs shall have movement and ignore their living,Brain wit, that he his quickness may deny.My promised hope forswears in act of giving,Time eats me up and makes my words a lie.And mine unbounded dream has found a bar,And I must worst deceit of best things bear.Now dawn’s but daybreak, seas but waters are,Night darkness only, all wide heaven just air:And you to whom these fourteen lines I tell,My beauty, my desire: but not my love as well.
Nowshall the certain purpose of my soulBy blind and empty things controlled be,And mine audacious course to that far goalFall short, confessing mere mortality.Limbs shall have movement and ignore their living,Brain wit, that he his quickness may deny.My promised hope forswears in act of giving,Time eats me up and makes my words a lie.And mine unbounded dream has found a bar,And I must worst deceit of best things bear.Now dawn’s but daybreak, seas but waters are,Night darkness only, all wide heaven just air:And you to whom these fourteen lines I tell,My beauty, my desire: but not my love as well.
Nowshall the certain purpose of my soulBy blind and empty things controlled be,And mine audacious course to that far goalFall short, confessing mere mortality.Limbs shall have movement and ignore their living,Brain wit, that he his quickness may deny.My promised hope forswears in act of giving,Time eats me up and makes my words a lie.
And mine unbounded dream has found a bar,And I must worst deceit of best things bear.Now dawn’s but daybreak, seas but waters are,Night darkness only, all wide heaven just air:And you to whom these fourteen lines I tell,My beauty, my desire: but not my love as well.
Becausemy faltering feet may fail to dareThe first descendant of the steps of HellGive me the Word in time that triumphs there.I too must pass into the misty hollowWhere all our living laughter stops: and hark!The tiny stuffless voices of the darkHave called me, called me, till I needs must follow:Give me the Word and I’ll attempt it well.Say it’s the little winking of an eyeWhich in that issue is uncurtained quite;A little sleep that helps a moment byBetween the thin dawn and the large daylight.Ah! tell me more than yet was hoped of men;Swear that’s true now, and I’ll believe it then.
Becausemy faltering feet may fail to dareThe first descendant of the steps of HellGive me the Word in time that triumphs there.I too must pass into the misty hollowWhere all our living laughter stops: and hark!The tiny stuffless voices of the darkHave called me, called me, till I needs must follow:Give me the Word and I’ll attempt it well.Say it’s the little winking of an eyeWhich in that issue is uncurtained quite;A little sleep that helps a moment byBetween the thin dawn and the large daylight.Ah! tell me more than yet was hoped of men;Swear that’s true now, and I’ll believe it then.
Becausemy faltering feet may fail to dareThe first descendant of the steps of HellGive me the Word in time that triumphs there.I too must pass into the misty hollowWhere all our living laughter stops: and hark!The tiny stuffless voices of the darkHave called me, called me, till I needs must follow:Give me the Word and I’ll attempt it well.
Say it’s the little winking of an eyeWhich in that issue is uncurtained quite;A little sleep that helps a moment byBetween the thin dawn and the large daylight.Ah! tell me more than yet was hoped of men;Swear that’s true now, and I’ll believe it then.
Whenyou to Acheron’s ugly water comeWhere darkness is and formless mourners broodAnd down the shelves of that distasteful floodSurvey the human rank in order dumb.When the pale dead go forward, tortured moreBy nothingness and longing than by fire,Which bear their hands in suppliance with desire,With stretched desire for the ulterior shore.Then go before them like a royal ghostAnd tread like Egypt or like Carthage crowned;Because in your Mortality the mostOf all we may inherit has been found—Children for memory: the Faith for pride.Good land to leave: and young Love satisfied.
Whenyou to Acheron’s ugly water comeWhere darkness is and formless mourners broodAnd down the shelves of that distasteful floodSurvey the human rank in order dumb.When the pale dead go forward, tortured moreBy nothingness and longing than by fire,Which bear their hands in suppliance with desire,With stretched desire for the ulterior shore.Then go before them like a royal ghostAnd tread like Egypt or like Carthage crowned;Because in your Mortality the mostOf all we may inherit has been found—Children for memory: the Faith for pride.Good land to leave: and young Love satisfied.
Whenyou to Acheron’s ugly water comeWhere darkness is and formless mourners broodAnd down the shelves of that distasteful floodSurvey the human rank in order dumb.When the pale dead go forward, tortured moreBy nothingness and longing than by fire,Which bear their hands in suppliance with desire,With stretched desire for the ulterior shore.
Then go before them like a royal ghostAnd tread like Egypt or like Carthage crowned;Because in your Mortality the mostOf all we may inherit has been found—Children for memory: the Faith for pride.Good land to leave: and young Love satisfied.