The Project Gutenberg eBook ofWhipperginny

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofWhipperginnyThis 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: WhipperginnyAuthor: Robert GravesRelease date: January 7, 2019 [eBook #58642]Most recently updated: January 24, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Chuck Greif, MWS and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/Canadian Libraries)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHIPPERGINNY ***

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: WhipperginnyAuthor: Robert GravesRelease date: January 7, 2019 [eBook #58642]Most recently updated: January 24, 2021Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Chuck Greif, MWS and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

Title: Whipperginny

Author: Robert Graves

Release date: January 7, 2019 [eBook #58642]Most recently updated: January 24, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Chuck Greif, MWS and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive/Canadian Libraries)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHIPPERGINNY ***

WHIPPERGINNY

BYROBERT GRAVESNEW YORKALFRED A. KNOPF : MCMXXIIITOEDWARD MARSHPrinted in Great Britain

The poems in this volume cover a period of three years, beginning at the New Year of 1920, except for the rhymes “Henry and Mary,” “What did I dream?” and “Mirror, Mirror!” with parts of “An English Wood,” “The Bed Post” and of “Unicorn and the White Doe,” which are bankrupt stock of 1918, the year in which I was writingCountry Sentiment.The Pier Glass, a volume which followedCountry Sentiment, similarly contains a few pieces continuing the mood of this year, the desire to escape from a painful war neurosis into an Arcadia of amatory fancy, but the prevailing mood ofThe Pier Glassis aggressive and disciplinary, under the stress of the same neurosis, rather than escapist.Whipperginnyfor a while continues so, but in most of the later pieces will be found evidences of greater detachment in the poet and the appearance of a new series of problems in religion, psychology and philosophy, no less exacting than their predecessors, but, it may be said, of less emotional intensity. The “Interlude” in the middle of the book was written before the appearance of these less lyrical pieces, but must be read as an apology for the book being now even less homogeneous than before. To those who demand unceasing emotional stress in poetry at whatever cost to the poet—I was one of these myself until recently—I have no apology to offer; but only this proverb from the Chinese, thatthe petulantprotests of all the lords and ladies of the Imperial Court will weigh little with the whale when, recovering from his painful excretory condition, he need no longer supply the Guild of Honourable Perfumers with their accustomed weight of ambergris.

ROBERT GRAVES.

The World’s End,Islip.

To cards we have recourseWhen Time with cruelty runs,To courtly Bridge for stress of love,To Nap for noise of guns.On fairy earth we tread,No present problems vexWhere man’s four humours fade to suits,With red and black for sex.Where phantom gains accrueBy tricks instead of cash,Where pasteboard federacies of PowersIn battles-royal clash.Then read the antique wordThat hangs above this pageAs type of mirth-abstracted joy,Calm terror, noiseless rage,A realm of ideal thought,Obscured by veils of Time,Cipher remote enough to standAs namesake for my rhyme,A game to play apartWhen all but crushed with care;Let right and left, your jealous hands,The lists of love prepare.

To cards we have recourseWhen Time with cruelty runs,To courtly Bridge for stress of love,To Nap for noise of guns.

On fairy earth we tread,No present problems vexWhere man’s four humours fade to suits,With red and black for sex.

Where phantom gains accrueBy tricks instead of cash,Where pasteboard federacies of PowersIn battles-royal clash.

Then read the antique wordThat hangs above this pageAs type of mirth-abstracted joy,Calm terror, noiseless rage,

A realm of ideal thought,Obscured by veils of Time,Cipher remote enough to standAs namesake for my rhyme,

A game to play apartWhen all but crushed with care;Let right and left, your jealous hands,The lists of love prepare.

Sleepy Betsy from her pillowSees the post and ballOf her sister’s wooden bedsteadShadowed on the wall.Now this grave young warrior standingWith uncovered headTells her stories of old battle,As she lies in bed.How the Emperor and the Farmer,Fighting knee to knee,Broke their swords but whirled their scabbardsTill they gained the sea.How the ruler of that shoreFoully broke his oath,Gave them beds in his sea cavern,Then stabbed them both.How the daughters of the Emperor,Diving boldly through,Caught and killed their father’s murderer,Old Cro-bar-cru.How the Farmer’s sturdy sonsFought the giant Gog,Threw him into Stony CataractIn the land of Og.Will and Abel were their names,Though they went by others;He could tell ten thousand storiesOf these lusty brothers.How the Emperor’s elder daughterFell in love with Will,And went with him to the Court of VenusOver Hoo Hill;How Gog’s wife encountered AbelWhom she hated most,Stole away his arms and helmet,Turned him to a post.As a post he shall be rootedFor yet many years,Until a maiden shall release himWith a fall of tears.But Betsy likes the bloodier stories,Clang and clash of fight,And Abel wanes with the spent candle,“Sweetheart, good-night!”

Sleepy Betsy from her pillowSees the post and ballOf her sister’s wooden bedsteadShadowed on the wall.

Now this grave young warrior standingWith uncovered headTells her stories of old battle,As she lies in bed.

How the Emperor and the Farmer,Fighting knee to knee,Broke their swords but whirled their scabbardsTill they gained the sea.

How the ruler of that shoreFoully broke his oath,Gave them beds in his sea cavern,Then stabbed them both.

How the daughters of the Emperor,Diving boldly through,Caught and killed their father’s murderer,Old Cro-bar-cru.

How the Farmer’s sturdy sonsFought the giant Gog,Threw him into Stony CataractIn the land of Og.

Will and Abel were their names,Though they went by others;He could tell ten thousand storiesOf these lusty brothers.

How the Emperor’s elder daughterFell in love with Will,And went with him to the Court of VenusOver Hoo Hill;

How Gog’s wife encountered AbelWhom she hated most,Stole away his arms and helmet,Turned him to a post.

As a post he shall be rootedFor yet many years,Until a maiden shall release himWith a fall of tears.

But Betsy likes the bloodier stories,Clang and clash of fight,And Abel wanes with the spent candle,“Sweetheart, good-night!”

Tangled in thought am I,Stumble in speech do I?Do I blunder and blush for the reason why?Wander aloof do I,Lean over gates and sigh,Making friends with the bee and the butterfly?If thus and thus I do,Dazed by the thought of you,Walking my sorrowful way in the early dew,My heart cut through and throughIn this despair for you,Starved for a word or a look will my hope renew;Give then a thought for meWalking so miserably,Wanting relief in the friendship of flower or tree;Do but remember, weOnce could in love agree,Swallow your pride, let us be as we used to be.

Tangled in thought am I,Stumble in speech do I?Do I blunder and blush for the reason why?Wander aloof do I,Lean over gates and sigh,Making friends with the bee and the butterfly?

If thus and thus I do,Dazed by the thought of you,Walking my sorrowful way in the early dew,My heart cut through and throughIn this despair for you,Starved for a word or a look will my hope renew;

Give then a thought for meWalking so miserably,Wanting relief in the friendship of flower or tree;Do but remember, weOnce could in love agree,Swallow your pride, let us be as we used to be.

Far away is close at hand,Close joined is far away,Love might come at your commandYet will not stay.At summons of your dream-despairShe could not disobey,But slid close down beside you thereAnd complaisant lay.Yet now her flesh and blood consentIn waking hours of day,Joy and passion both are spent,Fading clean away.Is the presence empty air,Is the spectre clay,That Love, lent substance by despair,Wanes, and leaves you lonely thereOn the bridal day?

Far away is close at hand,Close joined is far away,Love might come at your commandYet will not stay.

At summons of your dream-despairShe could not disobey,But slid close down beside you thereAnd complaisant lay.

Yet now her flesh and blood consentIn waking hours of day,Joy and passion both are spent,Fading clean away.

Is the presence empty air,Is the spectre clay,That Love, lent substance by despair,Wanes, and leaves you lonely thereOn the bridal day?

Below the ridge a raven flewAnd we heard the lost curlewMourning out of sight below;Mountain tops were touched with snow;Even the long dividing plainShowed no wealth of sheep or grain,But fields of boulders lay like cornAnd raven’s croak was shepherd’s hornTo slow cloud shadow strayed acrossA pasture of thin heath and moss.The North Wind rose; I saw him pressWith lusty force against your dress,Moulding your body’s inward grace,And streaming off from your set face;So now no longer flesh and blood,But poised in marble thought you stood,O wingless Victory, loved of men,Who could withstand your triumph then?

The broken spray left hangingCan hold his dead leaf longerInto your glum NovemberThan this live twig tossed shiveringBy your East Wind anger.Unrepentant, hoping Spring,Flowery hoods of glory hoping,Carelessly I sing,With envy none for the broken sprayWhen the Spring comes, fallen away.

The broken spray left hangingCan hold his dead leaf longerInto your glum NovemberThan this live twig tossed shiveringBy your East Wind anger.

Unrepentant, hoping Spring,Flowery hoods of glory hoping,Carelessly I sing,With envy none for the broken sprayWhen the Spring comes, fallen away.

“AloneThrough forests evergreen,By legend known,By no eye seen,Unmated,Unbaited,Untrembling betweenThe shifting shadows,The sudden echoes,Deathless I goUnheard, unseen,”Says the White Doe.Unicorn with bursting heartBreath of love hath drawnOn his desolate crags apartAt rumour of dawn;Has volleyed forth his prideTwenty thousand years mute,Tossed his horn from side to side,Lunged with his foot.“Like a storm of sand I runBreaking the desert’s boundaries,I go in hiding from the sunIn thick shade of trees.Straight was the track I tookAcross the plains, but here with briarAnd mire the tangled alleys crook,Baulking desire.And there, what glinted white?(A bough still shakes.)What was it darted from my sightThrough the forest brakes?Where are you fled from me?I pursue, you fade;I run, you hide from meIn the dark glade.Towering straight the trees grow,The grass grows thick.Where you are I do not know,You fly so quick.”“Seek me not hereLodged among mortal deer,”Says the White Doe;“Keeping one placeHeld by the ties of Space,”Says the White Doe.“IEquallyIn airAbove your bareHill crest, your basalt lair,Mirage-reflected drinkAt the clear pool’s brink;With tigers at playIn the glare of dayBlithely I stray;Under shadow of myrtleWith Phœnix and his TurtleFor all time true;With Gryphons at grassUnder the Upas,Sipping warm dewThat falls hourly new;I, unattainableComplete, incomprehensible,No mate for you.In sun’s beamOr star-gleam,No mate for you,No mate for you,”Says the White Doe.

“AloneThrough forests evergreen,By legend known,By no eye seen,Unmated,Unbaited,Untrembling betweenThe shifting shadows,The sudden echoes,Deathless I goUnheard, unseen,”Says the White Doe.

Unicorn with bursting heartBreath of love hath drawnOn his desolate crags apartAt rumour of dawn;

Has volleyed forth his prideTwenty thousand years mute,Tossed his horn from side to side,Lunged with his foot.

“Like a storm of sand I runBreaking the desert’s boundaries,I go in hiding from the sunIn thick shade of trees.

Straight was the track I tookAcross the plains, but here with briarAnd mire the tangled alleys crook,Baulking desire.

And there, what glinted white?(A bough still shakes.)What was it darted from my sightThrough the forest brakes?

Where are you fled from me?I pursue, you fade;I run, you hide from meIn the dark glade.

Towering straight the trees grow,The grass grows thick.Where you are I do not know,You fly so quick.”

“Seek me not hereLodged among mortal deer,”Says the White Doe;“Keeping one placeHeld by the ties of Space,”Says the White Doe.“IEquallyIn airAbove your bareHill crest, your basalt lair,Mirage-reflected drinkAt the clear pool’s brink;With tigers at playIn the glare of dayBlithely I stray;Under shadow of myrtleWith Phœnix and his TurtleFor all time true;With Gryphons at grassUnder the Upas,Sipping warm dewThat falls hourly new;I, unattainableComplete, incomprehensible,No mate for you.In sun’s beamOr star-gleam,No mate for you,No mate for you,”Says the White Doe.

Love, do not count your labour lostThough I turn sullen, grim, retiredEven at your side; my thought is crossedWith fancies by old longings fired.And when I answer you, some daysVaguely and wildly, do not fearThat my love walks forbidden ways,Breaking the ties that hold it here.If I speak gruffly, this mood isMere indignation at my ownShortcomings, plagues, uncertainties;I forget the gentler tone.You, now that you have come to beMy one beginning, prime and end,I count at last as wholly me,Lover no longer nor yet friend.Friendship is flattery, though close hid;Must I then flatter my own mind?And must (which laws of shame forbid)Blind love of you make self-love blind?Do not repay me my own coin,The sharp rebuke, the frown, the groan;Remind me, rather, to disjoinYour emanation from my own.Help me to see you as beforeWhen overwhelmed and dead, almost,I stumbled on that secret doorWhich saves the live man from the ghost.Be once again the distant light,Promise of glory, not yet knownIn full perfection—wasted quiteWhen on my imperfection thrown.

Love, do not count your labour lostThough I turn sullen, grim, retiredEven at your side; my thought is crossedWith fancies by old longings fired.

And when I answer you, some daysVaguely and wildly, do not fearThat my love walks forbidden ways,Breaking the ties that hold it here.

If I speak gruffly, this mood isMere indignation at my ownShortcomings, plagues, uncertainties;I forget the gentler tone.

You, now that you have come to beMy one beginning, prime and end,I count at last as wholly me,Lover no longer nor yet friend.

Friendship is flattery, though close hid;Must I then flatter my own mind?And must (which laws of shame forbid)Blind love of you make self-love blind?

Do not repay me my own coin,The sharp rebuke, the frown, the groan;Remind me, rather, to disjoinYour emanation from my own.

Help me to see you as beforeWhen overwhelmed and dead, almost,I stumbled on that secret doorWhich saves the live man from the ghost.

Be once again the distant light,Promise of glory, not yet knownIn full perfection—wasted quiteWhen on my imperfection thrown.

Are they blind, the lords of Gaza,That each his fellow urges“Samson the proud is pillow-smothered,”They raise mock dirges?Philistines and dullards,Turn, look with amazeAt my foxes running in your cornfieldsWith their tails ablaze,At bloody jawbone, at bees flittingFrom the stark lion’s hide:At these, the gates of well-walled Gaza,Clanking to my stride.

Are they blind, the lords of Gaza,That each his fellow urges“Samson the proud is pillow-smothered,”They raise mock dirges?

Philistines and dullards,Turn, look with amazeAt my foxes running in your cornfieldsWith their tails ablaze,

At bloody jawbone, at bees flittingFrom the stark lion’s hide:At these, the gates of well-walled Gaza,Clanking to my stride.

We spurred our parents to the kiss,Though doubtfully they shrank from this—Day had no courage to reviewWhat lusty dark alone might do—Then were we joined from their caressIn heat of midnight, one from two.This night-seed knew no discontent,In certitude his changings went;Though there were veils about his face,With forethought, even in that pent place,Down towards the light his way he bentTo kingdoms of more ample space.Was Day prime error, that regretFor darkness roars unstifled yet?That in this freedom, by faith won,Only acts of doubt are done?That unveiled eyes with tears are wet,They loathe to gaze upon the sun?

This night-seed knew no discontent,In certitude his changings went;Though there were veils about his face,With forethought, even in that pent place,Down towards the light his way he bentTo kingdoms of more ample space.

Was Day prime error, that regretFor darkness roars unstifled yet?That in this freedom, by faith won,Only acts of doubt are done?That unveiled eyes with tears are wet,They loathe to gaze upon the sun?

Richard Roe wished himselfSolomonMade cuckold, you should know, by one John Doe;Solomon’sneck was firm enough to bearSome score of antlers more than Roe could wear.Richard Roe wished himselfAlexander,Being robbed of house and land by the same hand;Ten thousand acres or a principal townWould have costAlexanderscarce a frown.Richard Roe wished himselfJobthe prophet,Sunk past reclaim in stinking rags and shame;Job’splight was utterly bad, his own even worse,He found no God to call on or to curse.He wished himselfJob,Solomon,Alexander,For cunning, patience, power to overthrowHis tyrant, but with heart gone so far rottenThat most of all he wished himself John Doe.

Richard Roe wished himselfSolomonMade cuckold, you should know, by one John Doe;Solomon’sneck was firm enough to bearSome score of antlers more than Roe could wear.

Richard Roe wished himselfAlexander,Being robbed of house and land by the same hand;Ten thousand acres or a principal townWould have costAlexanderscarce a frown.

Richard Roe wished himselfJobthe prophet,Sunk past reclaim in stinking rags and shame;Job’splight was utterly bad, his own even worse,He found no God to call on or to curse.

He wished himselfJob,Solomon,Alexander,For cunning, patience, power to overthrowHis tyrant, but with heart gone so far rottenThat most of all he wished himself John Doe.

Thought has a bias,Direction a bend,Space its inhibitions,Time a dead end.Is whiteness white?O then, call it black:Farthest from the truthIs yet half-way back.Effect ordains Cause,Head swallowing its tail;Does whale engulf sprat,Or sprat assume whale?Contentions weary,It giddies all to think;Then kiss, girl, kiss!Or drink, fellow, drink!

Thought has a bias,Direction a bend,Space its inhibitions,Time a dead end.

Is whiteness white?O then, call it black:Farthest from the truthIs yet half-way back.

Effect ordains Cause,Head swallowing its tail;Does whale engulf sprat,Or sprat assume whale?

Contentions weary,It giddies all to think;Then kiss, girl, kiss!Or drink, fellow, drink!

Come closer yet, sweet honeysuckle, my coney, O my Jinny,With a low sun gilding the bloom of the wood.Be this Heaven, be it Hell, or the Lands of Whipperginny,It lies in a fairy lustre, it savours most good.Then stern proud psalms from the chapel on the moorsWaver in the night wind, their firm rhythm broken,Lugubriously twisted to a howling of whoresOr lent an airy glory too strange to be spoken.

Then stern proud psalms from the chapel on the moorsWaver in the night wind, their firm rhythm broken,Lugubriously twisted to a howling of whoresOr lent an airy glory too strange to be spoken.

He fell in victory’s fierce pursuit,Holed through and through with shot,A sabre sweep had hacked him deep’Twixt neck and shoulder-knot....The potman cannot well recall,The ostler never knew,Whether his day was Malplaquet,The Boyne, or Waterloo.But there he hangs for tavern sign,With foolish bold regardFor cock and hen and loitering menAnd wagons down the yard.Raised high above the hayseed worldHe smokes his painted pipe,And now surveys the orchard ways,The damsons clustering ripe.He sees the churchyard slabs beyond,Where country neighbours lie,Their brief renown set lowly down;Hisname assaults the sky.He grips the tankard of brown aleThat spills a generous foam:Oft-times he drinks, they say, and winksAt drunk men lurching home.No upstart hero may usurpThat honoured swinging seat;His seasons pass with pipe and glassUntil the tale’s complete.And paint shall keep his buttons brightThough all the world’s forgotWhether he died for England’s prideBy battle, or by pot.

He fell in victory’s fierce pursuit,Holed through and through with shot,A sabre sweep had hacked him deep’Twixt neck and shoulder-knot....

The potman cannot well recall,The ostler never knew,Whether his day was Malplaquet,The Boyne, or Waterloo.

But there he hangs for tavern sign,With foolish bold regardFor cock and hen and loitering menAnd wagons down the yard.

Raised high above the hayseed worldHe smokes his painted pipe,And now surveys the orchard ways,The damsons clustering ripe.

He sees the churchyard slabs beyond,Where country neighbours lie,Their brief renown set lowly down;Hisname assaults the sky.

He grips the tankard of brown aleThat spills a generous foam:Oft-times he drinks, they say, and winksAt drunk men lurching home.

No upstart hero may usurpThat honoured swinging seat;His seasons pass with pipe and glassUntil the tale’s complete.

And paint shall keep his buttons brightThough all the world’s forgotWhether he died for England’s prideBy battle, or by pot.

Two blind old men in a blind corridorFought to the death, by sense of sound or touch.Doom flailed unseen, an iron hook-hand toreFlesh from the enemy’s ribs who swung the crutch.One gasped, “She looked on me and smiled, I say,”So life was battered out, for yea or nay.

Were the tales they told absurd,Random tags for a child’s ear?Soon I mocked at all I heard,Though with cause indeed for fear.Of the mermaids’ doleful gameIn deep water I heard tell,Of lofty dragons blowing flame,Of the hornèd fiend of Hell.Now I have met the mermaid kinAnd find them bound by natural laws,They have neither tail nor fin,But are the deadlier for that cause.Dragons have no darting tongues,Teeth saw-edged nor rattling scales,No fire issues from their lungs,Poison has not slimed their tails.But they are creatures of dark air,Unsubstantial tossing forms,Thunderclaps of man’s despairIn mid whirl of mental storms.And there’s a true and only fiendWorse than prophets prophesy,Whose full powers to hurt are screenedLest the race of man should die.Ever in vain may courage plotThe dragon’s death with shield and sword,Or love abjure the mermaid grot,Or faith be fixed in one blest word.Mermaids will not be deniedOf our last enduring shame,The dragon flaunts his unpierced hide,The fiend makes laughter with God’s Name.

Were the tales they told absurd,Random tags for a child’s ear?Soon I mocked at all I heard,Though with cause indeed for fear.

Of the mermaids’ doleful gameIn deep water I heard tell,Of lofty dragons blowing flame,Of the hornèd fiend of Hell.

Now I have met the mermaid kinAnd find them bound by natural laws,They have neither tail nor fin,But are the deadlier for that cause.

Dragons have no darting tongues,Teeth saw-edged nor rattling scales,No fire issues from their lungs,Poison has not slimed their tails.

But they are creatures of dark air,Unsubstantial tossing forms,Thunderclaps of man’s despairIn mid whirl of mental storms.

And there’s a true and only fiendWorse than prophets prophesy,Whose full powers to hurt are screenedLest the race of man should die.

Ever in vain may courage plotThe dragon’s death with shield and sword,Or love abjure the mermaid grot,Or faith be fixed in one blest word.

Mermaids will not be deniedOf our last enduring shame,The dragon flaunts his unpierced hide,The fiend makes laughter with God’s Name.

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