Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French,And some'll swallow tay and stuff fit only for a wench;But I'm for right Jamaica till I roll beneath the bench,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.Oh some are for the lily, and some are for the rose,But I am for the sugar-cane that in Jamaica grows;For it's that that makes the bonny drink to warm my copper nose,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.Oh some are fond of fiddles, and a song well sung,And some are all for music for to lilt upon the tongue;But mouths were made for tankards, and for sucking at the bung,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.Oh some are fond of dancing, and some are fond of dice,And some are all for red lips, and pretty lasses' eyes;But a right Jamaica puncheon is a finer prizeTo the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.Oh some that's good and godly ones they hold that it's a sinTo troll the jolly bowl around, and let the dollars spin;But I'm for toleration and for drinking at an inn,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.Oh some are sad and wretched folk that go in silken suits,And there's a mort of wicked rogues that live in good reputes;So I'm for drinking honestly, and dying in my boots,Like an old bold mate of Henry Morgan.AN OLD SONG RE-SUNGI saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing,With emeralds and rubies and sapphires in her hold;And a bosun in a blue coat bawling at the railing,Piping through a silver call that had a chain of gold;The summer wind was failing and the tall ship rolled.I saw a ship a-steering, a-steering, a-steering,With roses in red thread worked upon her sails;With sacks of purple amethysts, the spoils of buccaneering,Skins of musky yellow wine, and silks in bales,Her merry men were cheering, hauling on the brails.I saw a ship a-sinking, a-sinking, a-sinking,With glittering sea-water splashing on her decks,With seamen in her spirit-room singing songs and drinking,Pulling claret bottles down, and knocking off the necks,The broken glass was chinking as she sank among the wrecks.ST. MARY'S BELLSIt's pleasant in Holy MaryBy San Marie lagoon,The bells they chime and jingleFrom dawn to afternoon.They rhyme and chime and mingle,They pulse and boom and beat,And the laughing bells are gentleAnd the mournful bells are sweet.Oh, who are the men that ring them,The bells of San Marie,Oh, who but sonsie seamenCome in from over sea,And merrily in the belfriesThey rock and sway and hale,And send the bells a-jangle,And down the lusty ale.It's pleasant in Holy MaryTo hear the beaten bellsCome booming into music,Which throbs, and clangs, and swells,From sunset till the daybreak,From dawn to afternoon.In port of Holy MaryOn San Marie lagoon.LONDON TOWNOh London Town's a fine town, and London sights are rare,And London ale is right ale, and brisk's the London air,And busily goes the world there, but crafty grows the mind,And London Town of all towns I'm glad to leave behind.Then hey for croft and hop-yard, and hill, and field, and pond,With Breden Hill before me and Malvern Hill beyond.The hawthorn white i' the hedgerow, and all the spring's attireIn the comely land of Teme and Lugg, and Clent, and Clee, and Wyre.Oh London girls are brave girls, in silk and cloth o' gold,And London shops are rare shops, where gallant things are sold,And bonnily clinks the gold there, but drowsily blinks the eye,And London Town of all towns I'm glad to hurry by.Then, hey for covert and woodland, and ash and elm and oak,Tewkesbury inns, and Malvern roofs, and Worcester chimney smoke,The apple trees in the orchard, the cattle in the byre,And all the land from Ludlow town to Bredon church's spire.Oh London tunes are new tunes, and London books are wise,And London plays are rare plays, and fine to country eyes,But craftily fares the knave there, and wickedly fares the Jew,And London Town of all towns I'm glad to hurry through.So hey for the road, the west road, by mill and forge and fold,Scent of the fern and song of the lark by brook, and field, and wold,To the comely folk at the hearth-stone and the talk beside the fire,In the hearty land, where I was bred, my land of heart's desire.THE EMIGRANTGoing by Daly's shanty I heard the boys withinDancing the Spanish hornpipe to Driscoll's violin,I heard the sea-boots shaking the rough planks of the floor,But I was going westward, I hadn't heart for more.All down the windy village the noise rang in my ears,Old sea boots stamping, shuffling, it brought the bitter tears,The old tune piped and quavered, the lilts came clear and strong,But I was going westward, I couldn't join the song.There were the grey stone houses, the night wind blowing keen,The hill-sides pale with moonlight, the young corn springing green,The hearth nooks lit and kindly, with dear friends good to see,But I was going westward, and the ship waited me.PORT OF HOLY PETERThe blue laguna rocks and quivers,Dull gurgling eddies twist and spin,The climate does for people's livers,It's a nasty place to anchor inIs Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.The town begins on the sea-beaches,And the town's mad with the stinging flies,The drinking water's mostly leeches,It's a far remove from ParadiseIs Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.There's sand-bagging and throat-slitting,And quiet graves in the sea same,Stabbing, of course, and rum-hitting,Dirt, and drink, and stink, and crime,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.All the day the wind's blowingFrom the sick swamp below the hills,All the night the plague's growing,And the dawn brings the fever chills,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.You get a thirst there's no slaking,You get the chills and fever-shakes,Tongue yellow and head aching,And then the sleep that never wakes.And all the year the heat's baking,The sea rots and the earth quakes,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.BEAUTYI have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hillsComing in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;But the loveliest things of beauty God ever has showed to me,Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.THE SEEKERSFriends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blessed abode,But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road.Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind,For we go seeking a city that we shall never find.There is no solace on earth for us--for such as we--Who search for a hidden city that we shall never see.Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain,And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.We seek the City of God, and the haunt where beauty dwells,And we find the noisy mart and the sound of burial bells.Never the golden city, where radiant people meet,But the dolorous town where mourners are going about the street.We travel the dusty road till the light of the day is dim,And sunset shows us spires away on the world's rim.We travel from dawn to dusk, till the day is past and by,Seeking the Holy City beyond the rim of the sky.Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blest abode,But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road.PRAYERWhen the last sea is sailed, when the last shallow's charted,When the last field is reaped, and the last harvest stored,When the last fire is out and the last guest departed,Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, be good to me, O Lord.And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm and thunder,In the loud crying of the wind through sail and rope and spar,Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and roll me underTo the cold tunny-fish's home where the drowned galleons are.And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight and hearing,Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh of the sea-foamAbout the fine keen bows of the stately clippers steeringTowards the lone northern star and the fair ports of home.DAWNThe dawn comes cold: the haystack smokes,The green twigs crackle in the fire,The dew is dripping from the oaks,And sleepy men bear milking-yokesSlowly towards the cattle-byre.Down in the town a clock strikes six,The grey east heaven burns and glows,The dew shines on the thatch of ricks,A slow old crone comes gathering sticks,The red cock in the ox-yard crows.Beyond the stack where we have lainThe road runs twisted like a snake(The white road to the land of Spain),The road that we must foot again,Though the feet halt and the heart ache.LAUGH AND BE MERRYLaugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of His mirth,The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpouredIn the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.JUNE TWILIGHTThe twilight comes; the sunDips down and sets,The boys have donePlay at the nets.In a warm golden glowThe woods are steeped.The shadows grow;The bat has cheeped.Sweet smells the new-mown hay;The mowers passHome, each his way,Through the grass.The night-wind stirs the fern,A night-jar spins;The windows burnIn the inns.Dusky it grows. The moon!The dews descend.Love, can this beauty in our heartsEnd?ROADWAYSOne road leads to London,One road runs to Wales,My road leads me seawardsTo the white dipping sails.One road leads to the river,As it goes singing slow;My road leads to shipping,Where the bronzed sailors go.Leads me, lures me, calls meTo salt green tossing sea;A road without earth's road-dustIs the right road for me.A wet road heaving, shining,And wild with seagulls' cries,A mad salt sea-wind blowingThe salt spray in my eyes.My road calls me, lures meWest, east, south, and north;Most roads lead men homewards,My road leads me forthTo add more miles to the tallyOf grey miles left behind,In quest of that one beautyGod put me here to find.MIDSUMMER NIGHTThe perfect disc of the sacred moonThrough still blue heaven serenely swims,And the lone bird's liquid music brimsThe peace of the night with a perfect tune.This is that holiest night of the yearWhen (the mowers say) may be heard and seenThe ghostly court of the English queen,Who rides to harry and hunt the deer.And the woodland creatures cower awake,A strange unrest is on harts and does,For the maiden Dian a-hunting goes,And the trembling deer are afoot in the brake.They start at a shaken leaf: the soundOf a dry twig snapped by a squirrel's footIs a nameless dread: and to them the hootOf a mousing owl is the cry of a hound.Oh soon the forest will ring with cries,The dim green coverts will flash: the grassWill glow as the radiant hunters passAfter the quarry with burning eyes.The hurrying feet will range unstayedOf questing goddess and hunted fawn,Till the east is grey with the sacred dawn,And the red cock wakens the milking maid.THE HARPER'S SONGThis sweetness trembling from the stringsThe music of my troublous luteHath timed Herodias' daughter's foot;Setting a-clink her ankle-ringsWhenas she danced to feasted kings.Where gemmed apparel burned and caughtThe sunset 'neath the golden dome,To the dark beauties of old RomeMy sorrowful lute hath haply broughtSad memories sweet with tender thought.When night had fallen and lights and firesWere darkened in the homes of men,Some sighing echo stirred:--and thenThe old cunning wakened from the wiresThe old sorrows and the old desires.Dead Kings in long forgotten lands,And all dead beauteous women; someWhose pride imperial hath becomeOld armour rusting in the sandsAnd shards of iron in dusty hands,Have heard my lyre's soft rise and fallGo trembling down the paven ways,Till every heart was all ablaze--Hasty each foot--to obey the callTo triumph or to funeral.Could I begin again the slowSweet mournful music filled with tears,Surely the old, dead, dusty earsWould hear; the old drowsy eyes would glow,Old memories come; old hopes and fears,And time restore the long ago.THE GENTLE LADYSo beautiful, so dainty-sweet,So like a lyre's delightful touch--A beauty perfect, ripe, completeThat art's own hand could only smutchAnd nature's self not better much.So beautiful, so purely wrought,Like a fair missal penned with hymns,So gentle, so surpassing thought--A beauteous soul in lovely limbs,A lantern that an angel trims.So simple-sweet, without a sin,Like gentle music gently timed,Like rhyme-words coming aptly in,To round a moonéd poem rhymedTo tunes the laughing bells have chimed.THE DEAD KNIGHTThe cleanly rush of the mountain air,And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees,Are the only things that wander there.The pitiful bones are laid at ease,The grass has grown in his tangled hair,And a rambling bramble binds his knees.To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell,The only requiem bells that rangWere the harebell and the heather bell.Hushed he is with the holy spellIn the gentle hymn the wind sang,And he lies quiet, and sleeps well.He is bleached and blanched with the summer sun;The misty rain and the cold dewHave altered him from the kingly oneWhom his lady loved, and his men knew,And dwindled him to a skeleton.The vetches have twined about his bones,The straggling ivy twists and creepsIn his eye-sockets: the nettle keepsVigil about him while he sleeps.Over his body the wind moansWith a dreary tune throughout the day,In a chorus wistful, eerie, thinAs the gulls' cry, as the cry in the bay,The mournful word the seas sayWhen tides are wandering out or in.SORROW OF MYDATHWeary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea,Weary the heart and the mind and the body of me,Would I were out of it, done with it, would I could beA white gull crying along the desolate sands.Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst,Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing athirst,For the cool green waves of death to arise and burstIn a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands.Would that the waves and the long white hair of the sprayWould gather in splendid terror, and blot me awayTo the sunless place of the wrecks where the waters swayGently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands.TWILIGHTTwilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call.Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star over all,There by the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end,Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend.I think of the friends who are dead, who were dear long ago in the past,Beautiful friends who are dead, though I know that death cannot last;Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled,Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child.INVOCATIONO wanderer into many brains,O spark the emperor's purple hides,You sow the dusk with fiery grainsWhen the gold horseman rides.O beauty on the darkness hurled,Be it through me you shame the world.POSTED AS MISSINGUnder all her topsails she trembled like a stag,The wind made a ripple in her bonny red flag;They cheered her from the shore and they cheered her from the pier,And under all her topsails she trembled like a deer.So she passed swaying, where the green seas run,Her wind-steadied topsails were stately in the sun;There was glitter on the water from her red port light,So she passed swaying, till she was out of sight.Long and long ago it was, a weary time it is,The bones of her sailor-men are coral plants by this;Coral plants, and shark-weed, and a mermaid's comb,And if the fishers net them they never bring them home.
Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French,And some'll swallow tay and stuff fit only for a wench;But I'm for right Jamaica till I roll beneath the bench,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French,
And some'll swallow tay and stuff fit only for a wench;
But I'm for right Jamaica till I roll beneath the bench,
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are for the lily, and some are for the rose,But I am for the sugar-cane that in Jamaica grows;For it's that that makes the bonny drink to warm my copper nose,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are for the lily, and some are for the rose,
But I am for the sugar-cane that in Jamaica grows;
For it's that that makes the bonny drink to warm my copper nose,
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are fond of fiddles, and a song well sung,And some are all for music for to lilt upon the tongue;But mouths were made for tankards, and for sucking at the bung,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are fond of fiddles, and a song well sung,
And some are all for music for to lilt upon the tongue;
But mouths were made for tankards, and for sucking at the bung,
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are fond of dancing, and some are fond of dice,And some are all for red lips, and pretty lasses' eyes;But a right Jamaica puncheon is a finer prizeTo the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are fond of dancing, and some are fond of dice,
And some are all for red lips, and pretty lasses' eyes;
But a right Jamaica puncheon is a finer prize
To the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
To the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some that's good and godly ones they hold that it's a sinTo troll the jolly bowl around, and let the dollars spin;But I'm for toleration and for drinking at an inn,Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some that's good and godly ones they hold that it's a sin
To troll the jolly bowl around, and let the dollars spin;
But I'm for toleration and for drinking at an inn,
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Says the old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are sad and wretched folk that go in silken suits,And there's a mort of wicked rogues that live in good reputes;So I'm for drinking honestly, and dying in my boots,Like an old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Oh some are sad and wretched folk that go in silken suits,
And there's a mort of wicked rogues that live in good reputes;
So I'm for drinking honestly, and dying in my boots,
Like an old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
Like an old bold mate of Henry Morgan.
AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG
I saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing,With emeralds and rubies and sapphires in her hold;And a bosun in a blue coat bawling at the railing,Piping through a silver call that had a chain of gold;The summer wind was failing and the tall ship rolled.
I saw a ship a-sailing, a-sailing, a-sailing,
With emeralds and rubies and sapphires in her hold;
And a bosun in a blue coat bawling at the railing,
Piping through a silver call that had a chain of gold;
The summer wind was failing and the tall ship rolled.
I saw a ship a-steering, a-steering, a-steering,With roses in red thread worked upon her sails;With sacks of purple amethysts, the spoils of buccaneering,Skins of musky yellow wine, and silks in bales,Her merry men were cheering, hauling on the brails.
I saw a ship a-steering, a-steering, a-steering,
With roses in red thread worked upon her sails;
With sacks of purple amethysts, the spoils of buccaneering,
Skins of musky yellow wine, and silks in bales,
Her merry men were cheering, hauling on the brails.
I saw a ship a-sinking, a-sinking, a-sinking,With glittering sea-water splashing on her decks,With seamen in her spirit-room singing songs and drinking,Pulling claret bottles down, and knocking off the necks,The broken glass was chinking as she sank among the wrecks.
I saw a ship a-sinking, a-sinking, a-sinking,
With glittering sea-water splashing on her decks,
With seamen in her spirit-room singing songs and drinking,
Pulling claret bottles down, and knocking off the necks,
The broken glass was chinking as she sank among the wrecks.
ST. MARY'S BELLS
It's pleasant in Holy MaryBy San Marie lagoon,The bells they chime and jingleFrom dawn to afternoon.They rhyme and chime and mingle,They pulse and boom and beat,And the laughing bells are gentleAnd the mournful bells are sweet.
It's pleasant in Holy Mary
By San Marie lagoon,
The bells they chime and jingle
From dawn to afternoon.
They rhyme and chime and mingle,
They pulse and boom and beat,
And the laughing bells are gentle
And the mournful bells are sweet.
Oh, who are the men that ring them,The bells of San Marie,Oh, who but sonsie seamenCome in from over sea,And merrily in the belfriesThey rock and sway and hale,And send the bells a-jangle,And down the lusty ale.
Oh, who are the men that ring them,
The bells of San Marie,
Oh, who but sonsie seamen
Come in from over sea,
And merrily in the belfries
They rock and sway and hale,
And send the bells a-jangle,
And down the lusty ale.
It's pleasant in Holy MaryTo hear the beaten bellsCome booming into music,Which throbs, and clangs, and swells,From sunset till the daybreak,From dawn to afternoon.In port of Holy MaryOn San Marie lagoon.
It's pleasant in Holy Mary
To hear the beaten bells
Come booming into music,
Which throbs, and clangs, and swells,
From sunset till the daybreak,
From dawn to afternoon.
In port of Holy Mary
On San Marie lagoon.
LONDON TOWN
Oh London Town's a fine town, and London sights are rare,And London ale is right ale, and brisk's the London air,And busily goes the world there, but crafty grows the mind,And London Town of all towns I'm glad to leave behind.
Oh London Town's a fine town, and London sights are rare,
And London ale is right ale, and brisk's the London air,
And busily goes the world there, but crafty grows the mind,
And London Town of all towns I'm glad to leave behind.
Then hey for croft and hop-yard, and hill, and field, and pond,With Breden Hill before me and Malvern Hill beyond.The hawthorn white i' the hedgerow, and all the spring's attireIn the comely land of Teme and Lugg, and Clent, and Clee, and Wyre.
Then hey for croft and hop-yard, and hill, and field, and pond,
With Breden Hill before me and Malvern Hill beyond.
The hawthorn white i' the hedgerow, and all the spring's attire
In the comely land of Teme and Lugg, and Clent, and Clee, and Wyre.
Oh London girls are brave girls, in silk and cloth o' gold,And London shops are rare shops, where gallant things are sold,And bonnily clinks the gold there, but drowsily blinks the eye,And London Town of all towns I'm glad to hurry by.
Oh London girls are brave girls, in silk and cloth o' gold,
And London shops are rare shops, where gallant things are sold,
And bonnily clinks the gold there, but drowsily blinks the eye,
And London Town of all towns I'm glad to hurry by.
Then, hey for covert and woodland, and ash and elm and oak,Tewkesbury inns, and Malvern roofs, and Worcester chimney smoke,The apple trees in the orchard, the cattle in the byre,And all the land from Ludlow town to Bredon church's spire.
Then, hey for covert and woodland, and ash and elm and oak,
Tewkesbury inns, and Malvern roofs, and Worcester chimney smoke,
The apple trees in the orchard, the cattle in the byre,
And all the land from Ludlow town to Bredon church's spire.
Oh London tunes are new tunes, and London books are wise,And London plays are rare plays, and fine to country eyes,But craftily fares the knave there, and wickedly fares the Jew,And London Town of all towns I'm glad to hurry through.
Oh London tunes are new tunes, and London books are wise,
And London plays are rare plays, and fine to country eyes,
But craftily fares the knave there, and wickedly fares the Jew,
And London Town of all towns I'm glad to hurry through.
So hey for the road, the west road, by mill and forge and fold,Scent of the fern and song of the lark by brook, and field, and wold,To the comely folk at the hearth-stone and the talk beside the fire,In the hearty land, where I was bred, my land of heart's desire.
So hey for the road, the west road, by mill and forge and fold,
Scent of the fern and song of the lark by brook, and field, and wold,
To the comely folk at the hearth-stone and the talk beside the fire,
In the hearty land, where I was bred, my land of heart's desire.
THE EMIGRANT
Going by Daly's shanty I heard the boys withinDancing the Spanish hornpipe to Driscoll's violin,I heard the sea-boots shaking the rough planks of the floor,But I was going westward, I hadn't heart for more.
Going by Daly's shanty I heard the boys within
Dancing the Spanish hornpipe to Driscoll's violin,
I heard the sea-boots shaking the rough planks of the floor,
But I was going westward, I hadn't heart for more.
All down the windy village the noise rang in my ears,Old sea boots stamping, shuffling, it brought the bitter tears,The old tune piped and quavered, the lilts came clear and strong,But I was going westward, I couldn't join the song.
All down the windy village the noise rang in my ears,
Old sea boots stamping, shuffling, it brought the bitter tears,
The old tune piped and quavered, the lilts came clear and strong,
But I was going westward, I couldn't join the song.
There were the grey stone houses, the night wind blowing keen,The hill-sides pale with moonlight, the young corn springing green,The hearth nooks lit and kindly, with dear friends good to see,But I was going westward, and the ship waited me.
There were the grey stone houses, the night wind blowing keen,
The hill-sides pale with moonlight, the young corn springing green,
The hearth nooks lit and kindly, with dear friends good to see,
But I was going westward, and the ship waited me.
PORT OF HOLY PETER
The blue laguna rocks and quivers,Dull gurgling eddies twist and spin,The climate does for people's livers,It's a nasty place to anchor inIs Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
The blue laguna rocks and quivers,
Dull gurgling eddies twist and spin,
Dull gurgling eddies twist and spin,
The climate does for people's livers,
It's a nasty place to anchor inIs Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
It's a nasty place to anchor in
Is Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
Is Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.
The town begins on the sea-beaches,And the town's mad with the stinging flies,The drinking water's mostly leeches,It's a far remove from ParadiseIs Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
The town begins on the sea-beaches,
And the town's mad with the stinging flies,
And the town's mad with the stinging flies,
The drinking water's mostly leeches,
It's a far remove from ParadiseIs Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
It's a far remove from Paradise
Is Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
Is Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.
There's sand-bagging and throat-slitting,And quiet graves in the sea same,Stabbing, of course, and rum-hitting,Dirt, and drink, and stink, and crime,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
There's sand-bagging and throat-slitting,
And quiet graves in the sea same,
And quiet graves in the sea same,
Stabbing, of course, and rum-hitting,
Dirt, and drink, and stink, and crime,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
Dirt, and drink, and stink, and crime,
In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
In Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.
All the day the wind's blowingFrom the sick swamp below the hills,All the night the plague's growing,And the dawn brings the fever chills,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
All the day the wind's blowing
From the sick swamp below the hills,
From the sick swamp below the hills,
All the night the plague's growing,
And the dawn brings the fever chills,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
And the dawn brings the fever chills,
In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
In Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.
You get a thirst there's no slaking,You get the chills and fever-shakes,Tongue yellow and head aching,And then the sleep that never wakes.And all the year the heat's baking,The sea rots and the earth quakes,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
You get a thirst there's no slaking,
You get the chills and fever-shakes,
You get the chills and fever-shakes,
Tongue yellow and head aching,
And then the sleep that never wakes.
And then the sleep that never wakes.
And all the year the heat's baking,
The sea rots and the earth quakes,In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
The sea rots and the earth quakes,
In Spanish port,Fever port,Port of Holy Peter.
In Spanish port,
Fever port,
Port of Holy Peter.
BEAUTY
I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hillsComing in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills
Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain:
I have seen the lady April bringing the daffodils,
Bringing the springing grass and the soft warm April rain.
I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;But the loveliest things of beauty God ever has showed to me,Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.
I have heard the song of the blossoms and the old chant of the sea,
And seen strange lands from under the arched white sails of ships;
But the loveliest things of beauty God ever has showed to me,
Are her voice, and her hair, and eyes, and the dear red curve of her lips.
THE SEEKERS
Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blessed abode,But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road.
Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blessed abode,
But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road.
Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind,For we go seeking a city that we shall never find.
Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind,
For we go seeking a city that we shall never find.
There is no solace on earth for us--for such as we--Who search for a hidden city that we shall never see.
There is no solace on earth for us--for such as we--
Who search for a hidden city that we shall never see.
Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain,And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.
Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain,
And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.
We seek the City of God, and the haunt where beauty dwells,And we find the noisy mart and the sound of burial bells.
We seek the City of God, and the haunt where beauty dwells,
And we find the noisy mart and the sound of burial bells.
Never the golden city, where radiant people meet,But the dolorous town where mourners are going about the street.
Never the golden city, where radiant people meet,
But the dolorous town where mourners are going about the street.
We travel the dusty road till the light of the day is dim,And sunset shows us spires away on the world's rim.
We travel the dusty road till the light of the day is dim,
And sunset shows us spires away on the world's rim.
We travel from dawn to dusk, till the day is past and by,Seeking the Holy City beyond the rim of the sky.
We travel from dawn to dusk, till the day is past and by,
Seeking the Holy City beyond the rim of the sky.
Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blest abode,But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road.
Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blest abode,
But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road.
PRAYER
When the last sea is sailed, when the last shallow's charted,When the last field is reaped, and the last harvest stored,When the last fire is out and the last guest departed,Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, be good to me, O Lord.
When the last sea is sailed, when the last shallow's charted,
When the last field is reaped, and the last harvest stored,
When the last fire is out and the last guest departed,
Grant the last prayer that I shall pray, be good to me, O Lord.
And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm and thunder,In the loud crying of the wind through sail and rope and spar,Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and roll me underTo the cold tunny-fish's home where the drowned galleons are.
And let me pass in a night at sea, a night of storm and thunder,
In the loud crying of the wind through sail and rope and spar,
Send me a ninth great peaceful wave to drown and roll me under
To the cold tunny-fish's home where the drowned galleons are.
And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight and hearing,Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh of the sea-foamAbout the fine keen bows of the stately clippers steeringTowards the lone northern star and the fair ports of home.
And in the dim green quiet place far out of sight and hearing,
Grant I may hear at whiles the wash and thresh of the sea-foam
About the fine keen bows of the stately clippers steering
Towards the lone northern star and the fair ports of home.
DAWN
The dawn comes cold: the haystack smokes,The green twigs crackle in the fire,The dew is dripping from the oaks,And sleepy men bear milking-yokesSlowly towards the cattle-byre.
The dawn comes cold: the haystack smokes,
The green twigs crackle in the fire,
The green twigs crackle in the fire,
The dew is dripping from the oaks,
And sleepy men bear milking-yokes
Slowly towards the cattle-byre.
Slowly towards the cattle-byre.
Down in the town a clock strikes six,The grey east heaven burns and glows,The dew shines on the thatch of ricks,A slow old crone comes gathering sticks,The red cock in the ox-yard crows.
Down in the town a clock strikes six,
The grey east heaven burns and glows,
The grey east heaven burns and glows,
The dew shines on the thatch of ricks,
A slow old crone comes gathering sticks,
The red cock in the ox-yard crows.
The red cock in the ox-yard crows.
Beyond the stack where we have lainThe road runs twisted like a snake(The white road to the land of Spain),The road that we must foot again,Though the feet halt and the heart ache.
Beyond the stack where we have lain
The road runs twisted like a snake
The road runs twisted like a snake
(The white road to the land of Spain),
The road that we must foot again,
Though the feet halt and the heart ache.
Though the feet halt and the heart ache.
LAUGH AND BE MERRY
Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.
Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong.
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span.
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man.
Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of His mirth,The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.
Laugh and be merry: remember, in olden time.
God made Heaven and Earth for joy He took in a rhyme,
Made them, and filled them full with the strong red wine of His mirth,
The splendid joy of the stars: the joy of the earth.
So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpouredIn the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.
So we must laugh and drink from the deep blue cup of the sky,
Join the jubilant song of the great stars sweeping by,
Laugh, and battle, and work, and drink of the wine outpoured
In the dear green earth, the sign of the joy of the Lord.
Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.
Laugh and be merry together, like brothers akin,
Guesting awhile in the rooms of a beautiful inn,
Glad till the dancing stops, and the lilt of the music ends.
Laugh till the game is played; and be you merry, my friends.
JUNE TWILIGHT
The twilight comes; the sunDips down and sets,The boys have donePlay at the nets.
The twilight comes; the sun
Dips down and sets,
Dips down and sets,
The boys have done
Play at the nets.
Play at the nets.
In a warm golden glowThe woods are steeped.The shadows grow;The bat has cheeped.
In a warm golden glow
The woods are steeped.
The woods are steeped.
The shadows grow;
The bat has cheeped.
The bat has cheeped.
Sweet smells the new-mown hay;The mowers passHome, each his way,Through the grass.
Sweet smells the new-mown hay;
The mowers pass
The mowers pass
Home, each his way,
Through the grass.
Through the grass.
The night-wind stirs the fern,A night-jar spins;The windows burnIn the inns.
The night-wind stirs the fern,
A night-jar spins;
A night-jar spins;
The windows burn
In the inns.
In the inns.
Dusky it grows. The moon!The dews descend.Love, can this beauty in our heartsEnd?
Dusky it grows. The moon!
The dews descend.
The dews descend.
Love, can this beauty in our hearts
End?
End?
ROADWAYS
One road leads to London,One road runs to Wales,My road leads me seawardsTo the white dipping sails.
One road leads to London,
One road runs to Wales,
One road runs to Wales,
My road leads me seawards
To the white dipping sails.
To the white dipping sails.
One road leads to the river,As it goes singing slow;My road leads to shipping,Where the bronzed sailors go.
One road leads to the river,
As it goes singing slow;
As it goes singing slow;
My road leads to shipping,
Where the bronzed sailors go.
Where the bronzed sailors go.
Leads me, lures me, calls meTo salt green tossing sea;A road without earth's road-dustIs the right road for me.
Leads me, lures me, calls me
To salt green tossing sea;
To salt green tossing sea;
A road without earth's road-dust
Is the right road for me.
Is the right road for me.
A wet road heaving, shining,And wild with seagulls' cries,A mad salt sea-wind blowingThe salt spray in my eyes.
A wet road heaving, shining,
And wild with seagulls' cries,
And wild with seagulls' cries,
A mad salt sea-wind blowing
The salt spray in my eyes.
The salt spray in my eyes.
My road calls me, lures meWest, east, south, and north;Most roads lead men homewards,My road leads me forth
My road calls me, lures me
West, east, south, and north;
West, east, south, and north;
Most roads lead men homewards,
My road leads me forth
My road leads me forth
To add more miles to the tallyOf grey miles left behind,In quest of that one beautyGod put me here to find.
To add more miles to the tally
Of grey miles left behind,
Of grey miles left behind,
In quest of that one beauty
God put me here to find.
God put me here to find.
MIDSUMMER NIGHT
The perfect disc of the sacred moonThrough still blue heaven serenely swims,And the lone bird's liquid music brimsThe peace of the night with a perfect tune.
The perfect disc of the sacred moon
Through still blue heaven serenely swims,
And the lone bird's liquid music brims
The peace of the night with a perfect tune.
This is that holiest night of the yearWhen (the mowers say) may be heard and seenThe ghostly court of the English queen,Who rides to harry and hunt the deer.
This is that holiest night of the year
When (the mowers say) may be heard and seen
The ghostly court of the English queen,
Who rides to harry and hunt the deer.
And the woodland creatures cower awake,A strange unrest is on harts and does,For the maiden Dian a-hunting goes,And the trembling deer are afoot in the brake.
And the woodland creatures cower awake,
A strange unrest is on harts and does,
For the maiden Dian a-hunting goes,
And the trembling deer are afoot in the brake.
They start at a shaken leaf: the soundOf a dry twig snapped by a squirrel's footIs a nameless dread: and to them the hootOf a mousing owl is the cry of a hound.
They start at a shaken leaf: the sound
Of a dry twig snapped by a squirrel's foot
Is a nameless dread: and to them the hoot
Of a mousing owl is the cry of a hound.
Oh soon the forest will ring with cries,The dim green coverts will flash: the grassWill glow as the radiant hunters passAfter the quarry with burning eyes.
Oh soon the forest will ring with cries,
The dim green coverts will flash: the grass
Will glow as the radiant hunters pass
After the quarry with burning eyes.
The hurrying feet will range unstayedOf questing goddess and hunted fawn,Till the east is grey with the sacred dawn,And the red cock wakens the milking maid.
The hurrying feet will range unstayed
Of questing goddess and hunted fawn,
Till the east is grey with the sacred dawn,
And the red cock wakens the milking maid.
THE HARPER'S SONG
This sweetness trembling from the stringsThe music of my troublous luteHath timed Herodias' daughter's foot;Setting a-clink her ankle-ringsWhenas she danced to feasted kings.
This sweetness trembling from the strings
The music of my troublous luteHath timed Herodias' daughter's foot;
The music of my troublous lute
Hath timed Herodias' daughter's foot;
Setting a-clink her ankle-rings
Whenas she danced to feasted kings.
Where gemmed apparel burned and caughtThe sunset 'neath the golden dome,To the dark beauties of old RomeMy sorrowful lute hath haply broughtSad memories sweet with tender thought.
Where gemmed apparel burned and caught
The sunset 'neath the golden dome,To the dark beauties of old Rome
The sunset 'neath the golden dome,
To the dark beauties of old Rome
My sorrowful lute hath haply brought
Sad memories sweet with tender thought.
When night had fallen and lights and firesWere darkened in the homes of men,Some sighing echo stirred:--and thenThe old cunning wakened from the wiresThe old sorrows and the old desires.
When night had fallen and lights and fires
Were darkened in the homes of men,Some sighing echo stirred:--and then
Were darkened in the homes of men,
Some sighing echo stirred:--and then
The old cunning wakened from the wires
The old sorrows and the old desires.
Dead Kings in long forgotten lands,And all dead beauteous women; someWhose pride imperial hath becomeOld armour rusting in the sandsAnd shards of iron in dusty hands,
Dead Kings in long forgotten lands,
And all dead beauteous women; someWhose pride imperial hath become
And all dead beauteous women; some
Whose pride imperial hath become
Old armour rusting in the sands
And shards of iron in dusty hands,
Have heard my lyre's soft rise and fallGo trembling down the paven ways,Till every heart was all ablaze--Hasty each foot--to obey the callTo triumph or to funeral.
Have heard my lyre's soft rise and fall
Go trembling down the paven ways,Till every heart was all ablaze--
Go trembling down the paven ways,
Till every heart was all ablaze--
Hasty each foot--to obey the call
To triumph or to funeral.
Could I begin again the slowSweet mournful music filled with tears,Surely the old, dead, dusty earsWould hear; the old drowsy eyes would glow,Old memories come; old hopes and fears,And time restore the long ago.
Could I begin again the slow
Sweet mournful music filled with tears,Surely the old, dead, dusty ears
Sweet mournful music filled with tears,
Surely the old, dead, dusty ears
Would hear; the old drowsy eyes would glow,
Old memories come; old hopes and fears,
And time restore the long ago.
THE GENTLE LADY
So beautiful, so dainty-sweet,So like a lyre's delightful touch--A beauty perfect, ripe, completeThat art's own hand could only smutchAnd nature's self not better much.
So beautiful, so dainty-sweet,
So like a lyre's delightful touch--
A beauty perfect, ripe, complete
That art's own hand could only smutch
And nature's self not better much.
So beautiful, so purely wrought,Like a fair missal penned with hymns,So gentle, so surpassing thought--A beauteous soul in lovely limbs,A lantern that an angel trims.
So beautiful, so purely wrought,
Like a fair missal penned with hymns,
So gentle, so surpassing thought--
A beauteous soul in lovely limbs,
A lantern that an angel trims.
So simple-sweet, without a sin,Like gentle music gently timed,Like rhyme-words coming aptly in,To round a moonéd poem rhymedTo tunes the laughing bells have chimed.
So simple-sweet, without a sin,
Like gentle music gently timed,
Like rhyme-words coming aptly in,
To round a moonéd poem rhymed
To tunes the laughing bells have chimed.
THE DEAD KNIGHT
The cleanly rush of the mountain air,And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees,Are the only things that wander there.The pitiful bones are laid at ease,The grass has grown in his tangled hair,And a rambling bramble binds his knees.
The cleanly rush of the mountain air,
And the mumbling, grumbling humble-bees,
Are the only things that wander there.
The pitiful bones are laid at ease,
The grass has grown in his tangled hair,
And a rambling bramble binds his knees.
To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell,The only requiem bells that rangWere the harebell and the heather bell.Hushed he is with the holy spellIn the gentle hymn the wind sang,And he lies quiet, and sleeps well.He is bleached and blanched with the summer sun;The misty rain and the cold dewHave altered him from the kingly oneWhom his lady loved, and his men knew,And dwindled him to a skeleton.
To shrieve his soul from the pangs of hell,
The only requiem bells that rang
Were the harebell and the heather bell.
Hushed he is with the holy spell
In the gentle hymn the wind sang,
And he lies quiet, and sleeps well.
He is bleached and blanched with the summer sun;
The misty rain and the cold dew
Have altered him from the kingly one
Whom his lady loved, and his men knew,
And dwindled him to a skeleton.
The vetches have twined about his bones,The straggling ivy twists and creepsIn his eye-sockets: the nettle keepsVigil about him while he sleeps.Over his body the wind moansWith a dreary tune throughout the day,In a chorus wistful, eerie, thinAs the gulls' cry, as the cry in the bay,The mournful word the seas sayWhen tides are wandering out or in.
The vetches have twined about his bones,
The straggling ivy twists and creeps
In his eye-sockets: the nettle keeps
Vigil about him while he sleeps.
Over his body the wind moans
With a dreary tune throughout the day,
In a chorus wistful, eerie, thin
As the gulls' cry, as the cry in the bay,
The mournful word the seas say
When tides are wandering out or in.
SORROW OF MYDATH
Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea,Weary the heart and the mind and the body of me,Would I were out of it, done with it, would I could beA white gull crying along the desolate sands.
Weary the cry of the wind is, weary the sea,
Weary the heart and the mind and the body of me,
Would I were out of it, done with it, would I could be
A white gull crying along the desolate sands.
A white gull crying along the desolate sands.
Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst,Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing athirst,For the cool green waves of death to arise and burstIn a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands.
Outcast, derelict soul in a body accurst,
Standing drenched with the spindrift, standing athirst,
For the cool green waves of death to arise and burst
In a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands.
In a tide of quiet for me on the desolate sands.
Would that the waves and the long white hair of the sprayWould gather in splendid terror, and blot me awayTo the sunless place of the wrecks where the waters swayGently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands.
Would that the waves and the long white hair of the spray
Would gather in splendid terror, and blot me away
To the sunless place of the wrecks where the waters sway
Gently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands.
Gently, dreamily, quietly over desolate sands.
TWILIGHT
Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call.Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star over all,There by the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end,Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend.
Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim, and the rooks cry and call.
Down in the valley the lamps, and the mist, and a star over all,
There by the rick, where they thresh, is the drone at an end,
Twilight it is, and I travel the road with my friend.
I think of the friends who are dead, who were dear long ago in the past,Beautiful friends who are dead, though I know that death cannot last;Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled,Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child.
I think of the friends who are dead, who were dear long ago in the past,
Beautiful friends who are dead, though I know that death cannot last;
Friends with the beautiful eyes that the dust has defiled,
Beautiful souls who were gentle when I was a child.
INVOCATION
O wanderer into many brains,O spark the emperor's purple hides,You sow the dusk with fiery grainsWhen the gold horseman rides.O beauty on the darkness hurled,Be it through me you shame the world.
O wanderer into many brains,
O spark the emperor's purple hides,
You sow the dusk with fiery grains
When the gold horseman rides.
O beauty on the darkness hurled,Be it through me you shame the world.
O beauty on the darkness hurled,
Be it through me you shame the world.
POSTED AS MISSING
Under all her topsails she trembled like a stag,The wind made a ripple in her bonny red flag;They cheered her from the shore and they cheered her from the pier,And under all her topsails she trembled like a deer.
Under all her topsails she trembled like a stag,
The wind made a ripple in her bonny red flag;
They cheered her from the shore and they cheered her from the pier,
And under all her topsails she trembled like a deer.
So she passed swaying, where the green seas run,Her wind-steadied topsails were stately in the sun;There was glitter on the water from her red port light,So she passed swaying, till she was out of sight.
So she passed swaying, where the green seas run,
Her wind-steadied topsails were stately in the sun;
There was glitter on the water from her red port light,
So she passed swaying, till she was out of sight.
Long and long ago it was, a weary time it is,The bones of her sailor-men are coral plants by this;Coral plants, and shark-weed, and a mermaid's comb,And if the fishers net them they never bring them home.
Long and long ago it was, a weary time it is,
The bones of her sailor-men are coral plants by this;
Coral plants, and shark-weed, and a mermaid's comb,
And if the fishers net them they never bring them home.