A town-bred girl, her hair in curlAnd apron edged with lace,She took me in, my head awhirl,To my new place.And there the five of us must hiveIn that warm shutter'd house,And keep our honesty aliveWith none to counsel us.The master and the mistresses,What were they but strangers?'Twas no part of their businessesTo think of servants' dangers.They sneer at us, and we at them,Life sunders where the stairs are:But are the things that they condemnIn us much worse than theirs are?
A town-bred girl, her hair in curlAnd apron edged with lace,She took me in, my head awhirl,To my new place.And there the five of us must hiveIn that warm shutter'd house,And keep our honesty aliveWith none to counsel us.
The master and the mistresses,What were they but strangers?'Twas no part of their businessesTo think of servants' dangers.They sneer at us, and we at them,Life sunders where the stairs are:But are the things that they condemnIn us much worse than theirs are?
iv
'Twas busy now I had to be,And keep myself neat,Dress in my new black gown by tea,And streamer'd cap to it.The brisk young men were plenty enough,And talk about them plentyAmong us maids! No other stuffContents the tongue at twenty.But Mother's words came back to me,Told when I was little:Mind you, the tongue's your only key,And what it guards is brittle.Love is the best; let go the rest,But hold him by the wingUntil he's plumaged for the test—Then let him soar and sing.I took no harm of all their talk—All talkt the same—Tho' more than one askt me to walkWhen my Sunday came;But I held fast the dream I'd hadIn the old farm,And saw myself beside my lad,My hand on his arm.
'Twas busy now I had to be,And keep myself neat,Dress in my new black gown by tea,And streamer'd cap to it.The brisk young men were plenty enough,And talk about them plentyAmong us maids! No other stuffContents the tongue at twenty.
But Mother's words came back to me,Told when I was little:Mind you, the tongue's your only key,And what it guards is brittle.Love is the best; let go the rest,But hold him by the wingUntil he's plumaged for the test—Then let him soar and sing.
I took no harm of all their talk—All talkt the same—Tho' more than one askt me to walkWhen my Sunday came;But I held fast the dream I'd hadIn the old farm,And saw myself beside my lad,My hand on his arm.
v
A year went on, and twenty-oneSaw me discarded.They laught at me for constancyNe'er to be rewarded.Then came a warm, still day of MayAnd brought me a letter.I blusht so red, the cook she said,Lucky man to get her!At half-past three he came for me;I dared not speak;But there was all he need to seeFlaming in my cheek.What better has the best of usIf kind Heaven grant herA glowing hearth, a little house,And a good man to want her?In the soft shrouding clinging mistHis strong arms held me.Our lips kept tryst, and long we kiss'd;His great love fill'd me.Sweet is the warmth of summer weather,But the best fire I knowIs of two pair of lips together,Two hearts in one glow.His love he told, that made me boldTo look at him fairly,And see the burning blush take holdAnd colour him up rarely.Within his ply though caught was I,I backt a saucy head:"Oh, I was shy a year gone by—Your turn now," I said.
A year went on, and twenty-oneSaw me discarded.They laught at me for constancyNe'er to be rewarded.Then came a warm, still day of MayAnd brought me a letter.I blusht so red, the cook she said,Lucky man to get her!
At half-past three he came for me;I dared not speak;But there was all he need to seeFlaming in my cheek.What better has the best of usIf kind Heaven grant herA glowing hearth, a little house,And a good man to want her?
In the soft shrouding clinging mistHis strong arms held me.Our lips kept tryst, and long we kiss'd;His great love fill'd me.Sweet is the warmth of summer weather,But the best fire I knowIs of two pair of lips together,Two hearts in one glow.
His love he told, that made me boldTo look at him fairly,And see the burning blush take holdAnd colour him up rarely.Within his ply though caught was I,I backt a saucy head:"Oh, I was shy a year gone by—Your turn now," I said.
vi
Now would you prove the man I loveAs I saw him then?He was of them who're slow to move,One of your still men;One of your men self-communingWho see sheep on a hill,Ships out at sea or birds a-wingWhere you seenil.And what they see they seldom say,Holding speech to be vain;And yet so kin to earth are theyThey smell the coming rain.The earth can teach them without speech,They know as they are known—Why should they preach to the out-of-reach,Or counsel Nature's own?He never was a man to talk,He was too wise;But things he'd see out on his walkWould blind another's eyes.But when it came to speak about them'Twas another thing.He'd say, "What use is it to shout them?I want to sing!"A smallish head, with jet-black hairAnd eyes grey-blue,You felt when'er he lookt you fairThat he must be true;And when he smil'd his dear and shy waySidelong his mouth,I always thought the sun fell my wayAnd the wind South.So I possest the knowledge blestThat Love had held him fastSince the day our eyes confest,The first time and the last."Since then," he said, "I never durstLook at you at all,For fear you'd see the hunger and thirstThat kept me like a thrall.
Now would you prove the man I loveAs I saw him then?He was of them who're slow to move,One of your still men;One of your men self-communingWho see sheep on a hill,Ships out at sea or birds a-wingWhere you seenil.
And what they see they seldom say,Holding speech to be vain;And yet so kin to earth are theyThey smell the coming rain.The earth can teach them without speech,They know as they are known—Why should they preach to the out-of-reach,Or counsel Nature's own?
He never was a man to talk,He was too wise;But things he'd see out on his walkWould blind another's eyes.But when it came to speak about them'Twas another thing.He'd say, "What use is it to shout them?I want to sing!"
A smallish head, with jet-black hairAnd eyes grey-blue,You felt when'er he lookt you fairThat he must be true;And when he smil'd his dear and shy waySidelong his mouth,I always thought the sun fell my wayAnd the wind South.
So I possest the knowledge blestThat Love had held him fastSince the day our eyes confest,The first time and the last."Since then," he said, "I never durstLook at you at all,For fear you'd see the hunger and thirstThat kept me like a thrall.
vii
"'Twas when you went away and leftMe and pain alone,By fortune's theft I stood bereftOf all I'd counted on—And this also, I ne'er could goOn my shepherd life,Without I had the grace to wooYou my loving wife."There was a fate, I do believe,Call'd us together;God visit me when'er you grieveTaking on my tether!But if we share with every creatureThat is quick and deadThe call of nature unto nature,Then we two should wed."You are a beauty bred and born,As any one can see;You walk the world as if in scornOf riches or degree.Your eyes call home the soft green toneOf the fainting skyWhen the eve-star keeps watch alone,And the summer is nigh."But 'tis your grave and constant mindBeckon'd me to you,Too good, too sweet, too fond, too kind,For me to be untrue.So trust me, lass, I'll not be falseWhile I do live,For we two go where Nature calls,As I believe."
"'Twas when you went away and leftMe and pain alone,By fortune's theft I stood bereftOf all I'd counted on—And this also, I ne'er could goOn my shepherd life,Without I had the grace to wooYou my loving wife.
"There was a fate, I do believe,Call'd us together;God visit me when'er you grieveTaking on my tether!But if we share with every creatureThat is quick and deadThe call of nature unto nature,Then we two should wed.
"You are a beauty bred and born,As any one can see;You walk the world as if in scornOf riches or degree.Your eyes call home the soft green toneOf the fainting skyWhen the eve-star keeps watch alone,And the summer is nigh.
"But 'tis your grave and constant mindBeckon'd me to you,Too good, too sweet, too fond, too kind,For me to be untrue.So trust me, lass, I'll not be falseWhile I do live,For we two go where Nature calls,As I believe."
viii
Trust! Oh, I could have sunk to groundAnd lain under his feet!To have his praise was like a wound,Throbbing and deadly sweet;A wound that lets the welling bloodEbb from the vein,Merging the hurt in drowsihood,And hushing down the pain.High destiny of Nature's calling,Foil'd and frustrate!Just then the evil tide was crawlingTo drown love in hate.
Trust! Oh, I could have sunk to groundAnd lain under his feet!To have his praise was like a wound,Throbbing and deadly sweet;A wound that lets the welling bloodEbb from the vein,Merging the hurt in drowsihood,And hushing down the pain.
High destiny of Nature's calling,Foil'd and frustrate!Just then the evil tide was crawlingTo drown love in hate.
Vi
The meadows wear a cloth of gold,The trees wear green;Upon the down in dimpled foldThe white lambs glean;Deep blue the skyey canopy,Soft the wind's fan:Behold the earth as it might beIf man lov'd man!Summer is soon; the next new moonWill see the yellowing wheat;Then will be harvest, Earth's high boonTo them that work for it.The reapers swink, the heat-waves blinkAcross the drowsy fen—Now let hearts shrink from scythes that drinkThe blood of young men!
The meadows wear a cloth of gold,The trees wear green;Upon the down in dimpled foldThe white lambs glean;Deep blue the skyey canopy,Soft the wind's fan:Behold the earth as it might beIf man lov'd man!
Summer is soon; the next new moonWill see the yellowing wheat;Then will be harvest, Earth's high boonTo them that work for it.The reapers swink, the heat-waves blinkAcross the drowsy fen—Now let hearts shrink from scythes that drinkThe blood of young men!
ii
As I stood at my open doorI caught a flying word:Two strangers past, "Then that means war——"That was what I heard.'Twas ten o'clock, a summer's day,My love on the hill."Then that means war," I heard them say,And my heart stood still.Life had been fair as I stood there,Eight weeks a bride;All of me laid warm and bareTo my true love's side!Oh, who should dream of dark to-morrowsAnd lonely weepingWhose steadfast joys and passing sorrowsLay in such a keeping?There blew a chill wind from the hillLike a sea-breath;I shiver'd and a taint of illBrought news of death.I blinkt my eyes as who should tryTo see what is to fear;The sun still shone high in the sky,But no warmth there.Then far away I saw the seaA rippling golden sheet,And courage flowed again in me—What foe could break thro' it?And all about the fields and hedges,There when I was born,The river slipping through the sedges,And the growing corn—A land of quiet tilth and cote,Of little woods and streams,Of gentle skies and clouds afloat,And swift sun-gleams!A land where knee-deep cattle keep,Chewing as they stand;Of hillsides murmurous with sheep—That is my native land!They say you never love so dearAs when you are to part;I know, to see my land so clearCut me to the heart.What vain regrets to have lov'd so illWhat was our all!What idle vows to love her stillThough she should fall!At stroke of noon my love came inSharpset for his food;To see him was right sense to win,And feel safe and good.I was asham'd my fears to tellLest he should think,"I thought I knew this woman well—But what makes her shrink?"
As I stood at my open doorI caught a flying word:Two strangers past, "Then that means war——"That was what I heard.'Twas ten o'clock, a summer's day,My love on the hill."Then that means war," I heard them say,And my heart stood still.
Life had been fair as I stood there,Eight weeks a bride;All of me laid warm and bareTo my true love's side!Oh, who should dream of dark to-morrowsAnd lonely weepingWhose steadfast joys and passing sorrowsLay in such a keeping?
There blew a chill wind from the hillLike a sea-breath;I shiver'd and a taint of illBrought news of death.I blinkt my eyes as who should tryTo see what is to fear;The sun still shone high in the sky,But no warmth there.
Then far away I saw the seaA rippling golden sheet,And courage flowed again in me—What foe could break thro' it?And all about the fields and hedges,There when I was born,The river slipping through the sedges,And the growing corn—
A land of quiet tilth and cote,Of little woods and streams,Of gentle skies and clouds afloat,And swift sun-gleams!A land where knee-deep cattle keep,Chewing as they stand;Of hillsides murmurous with sheep—That is my native land!
They say you never love so dearAs when you are to part;I know, to see my land so clearCut me to the heart.What vain regrets to have lov'd so illWhat was our all!What idle vows to love her stillThough she should fall!
At stroke of noon my love came inSharpset for his food;To see him was right sense to win,And feel safe and good.I was asham'd my fears to tellLest he should think,"I thought I knew this woman well—But what makes her shrink?"
iii
The summer went her gracious wayOf sun and lingering eves;I did my share to win the hay,The corn stood in sheavesEre August month was fairly come;And when it was hereI knew I carried in my wombThe harvest of my dear.
The summer went her gracious wayOf sun and lingering eves;I did my share to win the hay,The corn stood in sheavesEre August month was fairly come;And when it was hereI knew I carried in my wombThe harvest of my dear.
iv
When I was sure I sat down quietIn the deep shade,And if my heart was all in riotI was not afraid.I did not think, nor say a pray'r,But lookt straight before me,And felt that Someone else stood thereWith hands held o'er me.I thought His peace blest my increase;But then, as it seem'd,A shadow made my joy to cease,And the day was dimm'd.I shiver'd as if one a knifeShould pull forth of the sheath.I think just then the Lord of LifeGave way to Him of Death.As one bestead with gossamer-threadI pluckt at my eyesTo catch again the glory shed,The hope, the load, the prize;But no more hands invisibleHeld like a shade o'er me,And there seem'd little enough to tellMy husband momently.The long forenoon my thought I held,And yet all thro' itThe wires all England over shrill'd,And I never knew it!In a high muse I nurst my newsAll the forenoon,While England braced her limbs and thewsTo a marching tune.
When I was sure I sat down quietIn the deep shade,And if my heart was all in riotI was not afraid.I did not think, nor say a pray'r,But lookt straight before me,And felt that Someone else stood thereWith hands held o'er me.
I thought His peace blest my increase;But then, as it seem'd,A shadow made my joy to cease,And the day was dimm'd.I shiver'd as if one a knifeShould pull forth of the sheath.I think just then the Lord of LifeGave way to Him of Death.
As one bestead with gossamer-threadI pluckt at my eyesTo catch again the glory shed,The hope, the load, the prize;But no more hands invisibleHeld like a shade o'er me,And there seem'd little enough to tellMy husband momently.
The long forenoon my thought I held,And yet all thro' itThe wires all England over shrill'd,And I never knew it!In a high muse I nurst my newsAll the forenoon,While England braced her limbs and thewsTo a marching tune.
v
I serv'd my love, when he came home,His meal; then on his kneeI told him what I might become,And he kiss'd me;Then said, "Indeed, there may be needOf this little one,For many a woman's heart must bleedFor wanting of a son."Since we awoke, the word is spoke,And if 'tis still rightThat English folk keep faith unbroke,Then must England fight."I could not look, nor think, nor askWhat himself would do,But call'd to task my pride, to baskIn what had warm'd me thro'.Oh, he was grave and self-possestUnder love's new crown!He took me in his arms to rest,And lay my head downA moment on his shoulder; thenWent steady to his work.I knew what fate soe'er call'd menHe was none to shirk.Now I must play the helpful wife,And my new prideBe little worth to ease the strifeThat vext me in the side;For like a green and aching wound,Like a throbbing veinI felt this terror on the groundOf young men slain.The swooning summer sun sank low,And all the dusty airHeld breathlessly beneath his glow,So tir'd, so quiet and fair,I would not think that men could liveIn such glory a minute,To hate and grudge, to slay and reivePoor souls within it.
I serv'd my love, when he came home,His meal; then on his kneeI told him what I might become,And he kiss'd me;Then said, "Indeed, there may be needOf this little one,For many a woman's heart must bleedFor wanting of a son.
"Since we awoke, the word is spoke,And if 'tis still rightThat English folk keep faith unbroke,Then must England fight."I could not look, nor think, nor askWhat himself would do,But call'd to task my pride, to baskIn what had warm'd me thro'.
Oh, he was grave and self-possestUnder love's new crown!He took me in his arms to rest,And lay my head downA moment on his shoulder; thenWent steady to his work.I knew what fate soe'er call'd menHe was none to shirk.
Now I must play the helpful wife,And my new prideBe little worth to ease the strifeThat vext me in the side;For like a green and aching wound,Like a throbbing veinI felt this terror on the groundOf young men slain.
The swooning summer sun sank low,And all the dusty airHeld breathlessly beneath his glow,So tir'd, so quiet and fair,I would not think that men could liveIn such glory a minute,To hate and grudge, to slay and reivePoor souls within it.
vi
I heard fond crying in my ears,Fond and vain regretFor life as it had been ere tearsMade women's eyes wet;I saw arise the host of starsAnd listen'd to their song;"O we have seen a thousand warsAnd woe agelong!"What are you men, what are you womenBut a shifting sand?The tide of life is overbrimming—God holds not His hand;But all the evil with the goodTo His mill is grist;He serves his mood now with man's bloodWho serv'd it once with beast."So sang the stars. That night our loveBurn'd at its holiest;For aught we knew the same might proveOur last in the nest.But from the bed my passion pled,O God, let us be!If woman's anguish her bestead,Then forsake not me!
I heard fond crying in my ears,Fond and vain regretFor life as it had been ere tearsMade women's eyes wet;I saw arise the host of starsAnd listen'd to their song;"O we have seen a thousand warsAnd woe agelong!
"What are you men, what are you womenBut a shifting sand?The tide of life is overbrimming—God holds not His hand;But all the evil with the goodTo His mill is grist;He serves his mood now with man's bloodWho serv'd it once with beast."
So sang the stars. That night our loveBurn'd at its holiest;For aught we knew the same might proveOur last in the nest.But from the bed my passion pled,O God, let us be!If woman's anguish her bestead,Then forsake not me!
vii
I dare not trace that watching spaceOf days, too short, too long—Too long to wear a patient face,Too short to wear a strong.I us'd to think I'd have him chooseHis duty and begone;And then, No, no, I dare not loseHim ere he take his son!Too long, too short the days to wait,To plan and think and dread;And happy we whose poor estateClaims our work for our bread.Each day I went to scour and scrubAs my mother us'd,Or stood before the washing-tubWhere the linen sluiced.And so my love with careful handAnd careful eyeLed his white flock about the land;And I must sigh,"There's no rebelling in a poor man's dwelling,The roof stoops to the blast;And no heart-swelling meets God's compelling,And what is cast is cast!"
I dare not trace that watching spaceOf days, too short, too long—Too long to wear a patient face,Too short to wear a strong.I us'd to think I'd have him chooseHis duty and begone;And then, No, no, I dare not loseHim ere he take his son!
Too long, too short the days to wait,To plan and think and dread;And happy we whose poor estateClaims our work for our bread.Each day I went to scour and scrubAs my mother us'd,Or stood before the washing-tubWhere the linen sluiced.
And so my love with careful handAnd careful eyeLed his white flock about the land;And I must sigh,"There's no rebelling in a poor man's dwelling,The roof stoops to the blast;And no heart-swelling meets God's compelling,And what is cast is cast!"
viii
But as the tide crawls to his fullWithout your knowing,Invading rock and filling pool,Endlessly flowing;Lo, while you sit and look at it,Idle, little thinking,The flood is brimming at your feet,Lipping there and winking—The very same the Great War grew;Like a flowing tideIt spread its channels thro' and thro'The quiet countryside.One day you'd stop: a poster up,And Lord, how it glared!The next there'd be a very crop,And not a body stared.And then the lorries flung alongBy ones and twos, and thenIn snaky line some twenty strong,Full of shouting men.They made me blench with noise and stench,But more, I do believe,To know them gaining inch by inchThe earth whereby we live.So faded fast the painted pastBeneath the mist of war;One could not think life had been castIn sweet lines before.There was no list in that red mistFor love or wholesome breath,But making rage our staple gristWe ground the dust of death.Our men held talk among themselves,But said little to we;And soon they went by tens and twelvesSoldiers to be.I knew how 'twould be from the first,I think my heart could tell;I loved a man who never durstNot do well.
But as the tide crawls to his fullWithout your knowing,Invading rock and filling pool,Endlessly flowing;Lo, while you sit and look at it,Idle, little thinking,The flood is brimming at your feet,Lipping there and winking—
The very same the Great War grew;Like a flowing tideIt spread its channels thro' and thro'The quiet countryside.One day you'd stop: a poster up,And Lord, how it glared!The next there'd be a very crop,And not a body stared.
And then the lorries flung alongBy ones and twos, and thenIn snaky line some twenty strong,Full of shouting men.They made me blench with noise and stench,But more, I do believe,To know them gaining inch by inchThe earth whereby we live.
So faded fast the painted pastBeneath the mist of war;One could not think life had been castIn sweet lines before.There was no list in that red mistFor love or wholesome breath,But making rage our staple gristWe ground the dust of death.
Our men held talk among themselves,But said little to we;And soon they went by tens and twelvesSoldiers to be.I knew how 'twould be from the first,I think my heart could tell;I loved a man who never durstNot do well.
ix
How young, how gay they marcht away,All our village boys!Leaving us women here to pray,Drowning with their noiseMisdoubt and eager mother-love,Hungry on the watch,As if they went to race and shoveIn a football match.But my love chose in sobernessAnother way, his own;And God I bless that my distressCame suddenly down.A swift November night was fallingIn a windless air;I heard him indoors, heard him calling,And went, and he was there.
How young, how gay they marcht away,All our village boys!Leaving us women here to pray,Drowning with their noiseMisdoubt and eager mother-love,Hungry on the watch,As if they went to race and shoveIn a football match.
But my love chose in sobernessAnother way, his own;And God I bless that my distressCame suddenly down.A swift November night was fallingIn a windless air;I heard him indoors, heard him calling,And went, and he was there.
x
He stood still, and his gazeWas far off, and slowAnd quiet the words he says:"Nancy, I must go."In my still heart's deepI gloried in the trustHe handed me to keep,In his quiet "I must."No more we said that night,But sat in the gloom;We sat without candle-lightIn our little room.Handfast, like girl and boy,There we sat on,Hoarding our store of joyAgainst he were gone.Handfast, like boy and girl,And my eyes they did fill;But my heart was in a whirlTo have him there still.'Twas when we were abed,And I against his heart,That I knew the great dreadIt would be to part.Old sayings, that sounded new,Sweet, every broken word—"My Nancy, sweet and true,My pretty wild bird!"I let him kiss me, but ILay quite still in his arm:If I had started to cryGod only knew the harm!And if he thought me cool'Twould make an easier going;Butifhe thought me cool'Twas not for want of knowing.Towards the twilight grayWhen my love was sleeping,I sat upright to pray,And heard the sparrows cheeping.It was their fond love-twitterThat broke my prayer down,Turn'd all my faith bitter,To set it by their own.Their love-life to begin,And mine now—where?Their nest to win,Mine soon to be bare!I lookt forth from my bedTo the cold square of the light—Unto God I said,"Show me why men must fight,"You, Who to each one say,Love you one another;You, Who bid women obeyHusbands, and sons their mother;"You, Who of me requireTo love what I cannot see,Milk and a heart of fireTo nourish what may not be!"Shall my milk be churn'd into gall,Or my blood freeze at the fount,And You make light of it all,And my love of little account?"Then as I held my throat,God answer'd me by a bird,One long flourishing note,The bravest I ever heard;And I turn'd where my love lay fastIn his wholesome sleep;About him my arms I castAnd found grace to weep.He would do what was right,As I knew very well—Yes, but who made them fight,And turn'd our heaven to hell?The more I listen the sighs,The mourning and the dearth,The deeper my heart criesOver this wounded earth.
He stood still, and his gazeWas far off, and slowAnd quiet the words he says:"Nancy, I must go."
In my still heart's deepI gloried in the trustHe handed me to keep,In his quiet "I must."
No more we said that night,But sat in the gloom;We sat without candle-lightIn our little room.
Handfast, like girl and boy,There we sat on,Hoarding our store of joyAgainst he were gone.
Handfast, like boy and girl,And my eyes they did fill;But my heart was in a whirlTo have him there still.
'Twas when we were abed,And I against his heart,That I knew the great dreadIt would be to part.
Old sayings, that sounded new,Sweet, every broken word—"My Nancy, sweet and true,My pretty wild bird!"
I let him kiss me, but ILay quite still in his arm:If I had started to cryGod only knew the harm!
And if he thought me cool'Twould make an easier going;Butifhe thought me cool'Twas not for want of knowing.
Towards the twilight grayWhen my love was sleeping,I sat upright to pray,And heard the sparrows cheeping.
It was their fond love-twitterThat broke my prayer down,Turn'd all my faith bitter,To set it by their own.
Their love-life to begin,And mine now—where?Their nest to win,Mine soon to be bare!
I lookt forth from my bedTo the cold square of the light—Unto God I said,"Show me why men must fight,
"You, Who to each one say,Love you one another;You, Who bid women obeyHusbands, and sons their mother;
"You, Who of me requireTo love what I cannot see,Milk and a heart of fireTo nourish what may not be!
"Shall my milk be churn'd into gall,Or my blood freeze at the fount,And You make light of it all,And my love of little account?"
Then as I held my throat,God answer'd me by a bird,One long flourishing note,The bravest I ever heard;
And I turn'd where my love lay fastIn his wholesome sleep;About him my arms I castAnd found grace to weep.
He would do what was right,As I knew very well—Yes, but who made them fight,And turn'd our heaven to hell?
The more I listen the sighs,The mourning and the dearth,The deeper my heart criesOver this wounded earth.
VIi
May the good KingThat guards like sheepKings and shepherds allSend us quiet sleep!Shepherds great and smallHas He in hold;There need no dangerThreaten field or fold.Lowly in a mangerThat King was bornOf maid undefiledOn a winter's morn.He lay a little childOn His mother's knee;Three kings out of the EastCame Him to see.On a mother's breastStill did He lie:Said one king to the other,"Such once was I!"Then said his brother,"Even thus, I trow,Once lay thy simplicity,But where is that now?"
May the good KingThat guards like sheepKings and shepherds allSend us quiet sleep!
Shepherds great and smallHas He in hold;There need no dangerThreaten field or fold.
Lowly in a mangerThat King was bornOf maid undefiledOn a winter's morn.
He lay a little childOn His mother's knee;Three kings out of the EastCame Him to see.
On a mother's breastStill did He lie:Said one king to the other,"Such once was I!"
Then said his brother,"Even thus, I trow,Once lay thy simplicity,But where is that now?"
ii
How many a woman's eyes are worn,Weeping a murder'd son!How many wish none they had borneTo do as theirs have done!Who dares to see a mask of hateAnd snarling on the faceWhich she had pray'd to consecrateTo honour for a space?This high-flusht lad whom she has knownSince as a new-born childHe lay as soft as thistle-down,Or like an angel smil'd;Whom she has seen, a sturdy impTumble bare-breecht at play,Or nurst to health when, quiet and limp,Short-breath'd and flusht he lay;Or shockhead boy, aburst with joy,Or gawky, ill-at-ease,All hot and coy, a hobbledehoyWith laces round his knees—But hers, her own, with eyes that trustHers for his better part—Ah, tiger-lust of War that thrustA hand to snatch that heart!She hides her woe, and helps him go,She sits at home to pray;He tells her when he met the foe,But nothing of the way.She never knows the way, and whoWould know it if she could,What in his fever-heat he doOf rage and dust and blood?The lads go by, the colours fly,Drums rattle, bugles bray;We only cry, Let mine not die—No thought for whom he slay.But woman bares a martyr breast,And herself points the flame:Her son, a hero or a beast,Will never be the same.
How many a woman's eyes are worn,Weeping a murder'd son!How many wish none they had borneTo do as theirs have done!Who dares to see a mask of hateAnd snarling on the faceWhich she had pray'd to consecrateTo honour for a space?
This high-flusht lad whom she has knownSince as a new-born childHe lay as soft as thistle-down,Or like an angel smil'd;Whom she has seen, a sturdy impTumble bare-breecht at play,Or nurst to health when, quiet and limp,Short-breath'd and flusht he lay;
Or shockhead boy, aburst with joy,Or gawky, ill-at-ease,All hot and coy, a hobbledehoyWith laces round his knees—But hers, her own, with eyes that trustHers for his better part—Ah, tiger-lust of War that thrustA hand to snatch that heart!
She hides her woe, and helps him go,She sits at home to pray;He tells her when he met the foe,But nothing of the way.She never knows the way, and whoWould know it if she could,What in his fever-heat he doOf rage and dust and blood?
The lads go by, the colours fly,Drums rattle, bugles bray;We only cry, Let mine not die—No thought for whom he slay.But woman bares a martyr breast,And herself points the flame:Her son, a hero or a beast,Will never be the same.
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When forth my love to duty wentI sought my old home,My few months' joy over and spent,And lean years to come.My mother blinkt her patient eyes;She said, It was to be.Was I less temperate or more wiseTo question her decree?Was it for this, our clasp and kiss?For this end and no otherThat I was shapt to have increase,And call'd to be mother?Did God make o'er the power to soarOn men, that they should sink?Did He outpour a flood of warAnd leave us on the brink?Was't so He wove the robe of Love,To mock the lovely earth?Sees He, above, creation moveTo death, not birth?Go, thou dear head, for God is dead,And Death is our Lord:Between us, red, lies in the bedWar, like a naked sword.
When forth my love to duty wentI sought my old home,My few months' joy over and spent,And lean years to come.My mother blinkt her patient eyes;She said, It was to be.Was I less temperate or more wiseTo question her decree?
Was it for this, our clasp and kiss?For this end and no otherThat I was shapt to have increase,And call'd to be mother?Did God make o'er the power to soarOn men, that they should sink?Did He outpour a flood of warAnd leave us on the brink?
Was't so He wove the robe of Love,To mock the lovely earth?Sees He, above, creation moveTo death, not birth?Go, thou dear head, for God is dead,And Death is our Lord:Between us, red, lies in the bedWar, like a naked sword.
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O failing heart, accept your part,And thank the Lord, Who boundYour labour daily to the mart,Your service to the ground!Take to the mart your stricken heart,Tho' the chaffer graze it;Shrink not altho' the quick flesh smart—But meet pain and praise it!
O failing heart, accept your part,And thank the Lord, Who boundYour labour daily to the mart,Your service to the ground!Take to the mart your stricken heart,Tho' the chaffer graze it;Shrink not altho' the quick flesh smart—But meet pain and praise it!
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He came to see me once again,Stiffen'd in his new buff:A few short hours compact of strain,Too hasty for love;For Love can never be confin'd,But asks eternity.To nurse the lov'd one in the mindThe bond must first be free.And he, he now serv'd otherwhereAnd could not be the same;To all the world my love was thereAnd answer'd to his name;But not to me, oh, not to meThe kisses of his lipsWere as of old, but guardedly,Like sunlight in eclipse.The moment came, I held him close,But had no word to say—Good-bye, sweetheart, Good-bye, Blush Rose:'Twas his old way.Then in a hush which seem'd to rockMe like a leaf about,I heard the pulsing of the clock,Counting my dear life out.And I am here, and you are, where?While the long hours go by,And on my eyes the glaze of care,And in my heart a cry.Bury my heart deep in the graveWhere all its grace is hid:What other service should I haveThan tend my lovely dead?
He came to see me once again,Stiffen'd in his new buff:A few short hours compact of strain,Too hasty for love;For Love can never be confin'd,But asks eternity.To nurse the lov'd one in the mindThe bond must first be free.
And he, he now serv'd otherwhereAnd could not be the same;To all the world my love was thereAnd answer'd to his name;But not to me, oh, not to meThe kisses of his lipsWere as of old, but guardedly,Like sunlight in eclipse.
The moment came, I held him close,But had no word to say—Good-bye, sweetheart, Good-bye, Blush Rose:'Twas his old way.Then in a hush which seem'd to rockMe like a leaf about,I heard the pulsing of the clock,Counting my dear life out.
And I am here, and you are, where?While the long hours go by,And on my eyes the glaze of care,And in my heart a cry.Bury my heart deep in the graveWhere all its grace is hid:What other service should I haveThan tend my lovely dead?
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Then waiting, watching, judging news,Then terror in the night—I used to start up with the dewsAll over me of fright.I dream'd of him on stormy seas;Then, in a woodland bare,I saw my love on hands and knees,With blood upon his hair.Along the limits of the wood,A green bank full of holes,With lichen'd stumps which lean'd or stoodLike crazy channel-poles:'Twas there I saw my love's drawn face,A face of paper-white,Wherein just for a choking spaceHis eyes shone burning bright;Then faded, and an eyeless manHe crawled along the wood,And from his hair a black line ranAnd broaden'd into blood.It was not horror of him wrong'd,It was not pity mov'd me;It was, those tortur'd eyes belong'dTo one who'd never lov'd me.That was my love in face and shape,That was my love in pain;But something told me past escapeThat not by him I'd lain.I sat and star'd into the night,And still most dreadfullyI saw those two eyes burning whiteThat never had seen me!
Then waiting, watching, judging news,Then terror in the night—I used to start up with the dewsAll over me of fright.I dream'd of him on stormy seas;Then, in a woodland bare,I saw my love on hands and knees,With blood upon his hair.
Along the limits of the wood,A green bank full of holes,With lichen'd stumps which lean'd or stoodLike crazy channel-poles:'Twas there I saw my love's drawn face,A face of paper-white,Wherein just for a choking spaceHis eyes shone burning bright;
Then faded, and an eyeless manHe crawled along the wood,And from his hair a black line ranAnd broaden'd into blood.It was not horror of him wrong'd,It was not pity mov'd me;It was, those tortur'd eyes belong'dTo one who'd never lov'd me.
That was my love in face and shape,That was my love in pain;But something told me past escapeThat not by him I'd lain.I sat and star'd into the night,And still most dreadfullyI saw those two eyes burning whiteThat never had seen me!
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Upon a wild March mornMy husband went to France;The day my child was bornHis word came to advance.'Twas on that very dayWhen my life should be crown'd,As I lay in, he layBroken upon the ground.For my loss there was gain,But his precious bloodWas shed to earth like rainWithin the shatter'd wood.Missing, the paper said,But my heart said, Nay.Missing! My man had been deadBefore he went away!
Upon a wild March mornMy husband went to France;The day my child was bornHis word came to advance.
'Twas on that very dayWhen my life should be crown'd,As I lay in, he layBroken upon the ground.
For my loss there was gain,But his precious bloodWas shed to earth like rainWithin the shatter'd wood.
Missing, the paper said,But my heart said, Nay.Missing! My man had been deadBefore he went away!
viii
It never throve from the first,Mother, she seem'd to fear it;But her words were the worst:"Nancy, you'll never rear it."Yet he took to the breastAnd I knew the great endOf women, to give their best,To spend and to spend.But his great eyes staredTill he seemed all eyes,And more than I daredMeet looks so wise.Wondering and darkly blue,Pondering and slow,They would look you thro' and thro',Then tire and let you go,And fall back to vacancy,As if the poor thing plain'd,"Why was I not let be,And what have I gain'd?"'Twas more than I could bear,I pray'd that he might die;And God must have heard my prayer,For he went with a little sigh:A flutter, a murmur, a sighLighter than dawn wind—It was his soft Good-bye;And all my life lay behind.I wonder if they were wise,Those three kings of the EastWho offer'd gifts of priceTo the Child on a Girl's breast.But if they were wise, their sonsHave other counsel than they:The gifts they offer are guns,And the children's parents they slay.
It never throve from the first,Mother, she seem'd to fear it;But her words were the worst:"Nancy, you'll never rear it."
Yet he took to the breastAnd I knew the great endOf women, to give their best,To spend and to spend.
But his great eyes staredTill he seemed all eyes,And more than I daredMeet looks so wise.
Wondering and darkly blue,Pondering and slow,They would look you thro' and thro',Then tire and let you go,
And fall back to vacancy,As if the poor thing plain'd,"Why was I not let be,And what have I gain'd?"
'Twas more than I could bear,I pray'd that he might die;And God must have heard my prayer,For he went with a little sigh:
A flutter, a murmur, a sighLighter than dawn wind—It was his soft Good-bye;And all my life lay behind.
I wonder if they were wise,Those three kings of the EastWho offer'd gifts of priceTo the Child on a Girl's breast.
But if they were wise, their sonsHave other counsel than they:The gifts they offer are guns,And the children's parents they slay.
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