PR 5177 .As '^^"^ AS THE WIND BLOWS BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS Book A2^^ i'^a-o AS THE WIND BLOWS AS THE WIND BLOWS BY EDEN PHILLPOTTS AUTHOR OF "the GIRL AND THE FAUN," " DANCE OF THE MONTHS, "evander," etc. NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO. LONDON: ELKIN MATHEWS MCMXX >> THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH CONTENTS ON EYLESBARROW 7 NOCTURNE . 8 THE HUNTING 9 THE STRIKING HOURS 10 NIGHT II SWINBURNE . 12 JUNE 13 BELLS OF VARENNA . 14 IN THE VALLEY i6 gaffer's SONG i8 SCANDAL 19 WELCOME 20 THE NEOLITH 21 IN A WOOD . 24 GHOSTIES AT THE WEDDING 26 DAWN WIND 27 DART 28 BY RUNDLESTONE . 30 A SONG TO SILVER EYES 31 ENOUGH 32 SONG OF THE LARCHES 32 A SONG 33 BUONARROTI'S " DAWN " 34 5 CONTENTS A DARTMOOR STREAM 35 THE FALL . 37 LAPWINGS . 33 TO AN OPAL 39 JACK O' LANTERN . 40 THE OLD ROAD 41 THE DOUBTFUL ONES 42 LITANY TO PAN 44 A SONG 45 CHERRYBROOK 46 THE hunter's moon 47 VOICES 48 WIND OF THE WEST 50 THE LOVER AND THE WIND 51 A SONG 52 THE GRAVE OF KEATS 53 TIGER 55 THE PUDDLE 61 VISION 62 IN GALLIPOLI 63 THEN AND NOW 65 VIGIL 66 DARTMOOR NIGHT . 68 THE FRUIT OF THE TREE 70 WHERE MY TREASURE IS 80 ON EYLESBARROW Hither, at set of autumn sun, Each golden child of Hesper flies From gardens of old deities, Where Zeus the maiden Hera won. Their footsteps kindled stone by stone The time-worn barrow, where it stands, Above wide, valley border-lands. Austere and imminent and alone. Their fingers smoothed each granite frown And blossomed where no flow'r may live. And gave, what never flow'r can give. Of living flame-light for a crown. And from their flickering kirtles fell A gleam upon its stubborn ways. To touch their nakedness with rays Of amaranth and asphodel. O Hesperids, remember him Whose sun is westering to the change. Along uneven paths and strange. By shadowed aisles and frontiers dim. Flash but one token, pure and rare, From the abundance of your grace. For many a storm hath stripped the face Of this, his life, and left it bare. ON EYLESBARROW Dance but one measure in a heart Sad and unprofitably proud, Ere to your chariots of cloud Ye leap again and so depart. NOCTURNE Twilight and falling dew ; a little bell And answering bell, from campanile far, Chime and are silent ; one triumphant star Conquers the after-glow, that like a shell, Nacreous and rose, vibrating as it dies, Faints on the lifted forehead of the snow, Falls from the deepening purple of the skies And falling fades upon the hill below. Unnumbered olive-trees, like hooded wights, Stand solemn in their companies and grey ; Mule-mounted men go clattering down the way To yonder galaxy of earth-born lights. The crepuscule from sea and radiant land Hath drunk the colour ; night lifts up her hand For peace before the coming of the moon — All darkling heaven will be silver soon. THE HUNTING When red sun fox steals down the sky, And darkness dims the heavens high, There leap again upon his tracks The eager, starry, hunting packs. They glitter, glitter, gold and green, With sparks of frosty fire between, And Dian bright as day ; While in the gloaming, far below. Brown owl doth shout " Hi ! Tally Ho Sun fox hath gone away ! " To music of the spheres they sweep Over the western world asleep ; Then in the east, with sudden rush. Sun fox shall whisk his white-tipped brush. The field is fading, gold and green. With sparks of frosty fire between, And Dian growing grey ; While morning leaps the hither hill And herald lark shouts with a will, " Sun fox hath gone away ! " Oh, Huntress fond and silly stars — White Venus, fiery, futile Mars, In vain your pack ye whirl and cast Upon the marches of the vast ; 9 10 THE HUNTING In vain ye glitter, gold and green, With sparks of frosty fire between, And Dian's arrows fly In shattered shafts of ebbing light ; For ne'er shall day be caught by night, And sun fox cannot die. THE STRIKING HOURS My brother, can the heart of ocean say When winds may woo her bosom ; when the ships, Or sudden galleon of an azure day, Shall fling her foam to rainbows ? Can eclipse Hide up their silver when the full moons will ? Are the cloud-cisterns of the latter rain At beck of every, summer-starven rill ? Life cannot call the time; nor man may feign That he shall haply choose when he would have : To will the striking hours he is not free. That chime between his cradle and his grave, Or speed, or slow the hands of destiny. A bunch of stars upon the vine of heaven Grows ripe and falls and passes when complete ; The galaxy of grapes to your mouth given. Bursting their bloomy chalices, are sweet One little moment ; for they will not stay Your pleasure and their consummation hold While you misdoubt and linger and delay Before their cups of purple and of gold. When to a feast the gods would make you free At their own time, or never, shall it be. NIGHT Another day has ended and again The fading emeralds of the quiet west Grow dusky o'er the hill-top and the plain, Dying along each drowsy vale and crest, Where Earth lifts up her bosom to the breast Of Night oncoming. Now once more she brings To the least folded flow'r her primal rest, Opens the mantle of her darkenings And sprinkles the white dew from both her starry wings. The moth and beetle, owl and flittermouse — All creatures that do call the moon their sun — Steal silent forth, each from his little house. They mount and fly, and others creep and run, Where fox and hare and brock have all begun The task of living. Now alert, awake. They seek their joy and substance ; every one Pads out into the dingle, heath and brake; While hungry fishes stir the silver of the lake. For servants of the day another boon Brings Night, and as the working hours decrease. Lifts up her evening star and sickle moon To disenthral, unfetter and release ; Bidding the long-drawn tale of labour cease. She comes with twilight healing for each smart Of soul and body, lays her unguent peace With fingers cool on every aching part ; Anoints the tired flesh, soothes the day-foundered heart. II 12 NIGHT She asks no worship from our drooping eyes ; She needs no prayer to minister our plight ; Hers not our little deeds and destinies, But still to smooth the pillow, lower the light ; Play nurse for every world-aweary wight ; Comfort and succour ; at a touch redeem ; And pour her ancient anodyne of might : Omnipotent sleep, inviolate, supreme,' Insensible as death, without one sigh or dream. SWINBURNE Children and lovers and the cloud-robed sea Shall mourn him first ; and then the motherland, Weeping in silence by his empty hand And fallen sword, that flashed for Liberty. Song-bringer of a glad new minstrelsy. He came and found joy sleeping and swift fanned Old pagan fires, then snatched an altar brand And wrote, " The fearless only shall be free ! " Oh, by the flame that made thine heart a home. By the wild surges of thy silver song. Seer before the sunrise, may there come Spirits of dawn to light this aching wrong Called Earth ! Thou saw'st them in the foregrow roam ; But we still wait and watch, still thirst and long. JUNE June, who goes garlanded, who, never sleeping. Laughs from behind the eastern hills at night, And flashes to the hidden skylark keeping His morning watch and thrilling from the height Ere yet the stars are dim. June, who unseals all fountains at their sources, And pours life like a river overflowing In proud and passionate desire, who courses To throne our feeling higher than our knowing And heap it to the brim. June, when the new-born find their feet and wings, Scent the sweet grass and air and taste their being. And in their wanderings and wonderings, Their motion and their hearing and their seeing Conquer the earth and sky. June, with her feast of flow'rs and lyric rapture, Whose fair days fly the fleetest of the year. So pure and fresh that only youth may capture Their rainbow shapes without a thought of fear. Without a single sigh. 13 BELLS OF VARENNA Drowsy and sweet along the Larian Lake Your melody is stealing ; Your fitful pealing Floats on the pinion of a summer night. Aloft the murmuring upland echoes wake And wing upon the mountains, Whence flying fountains Thin their wild whiteness out o'er many a height, Bells of Varenna, Bells of Varenna — Ancient bells, Solemn bells, Bells, Bells. A tall grey campanile and a spire Of russet red upspringing, Meet for your ringing, O most melodious, mediaeval chime, Arise and point with fane of moonlight fire To forests and snow ridges And far-flung bridges And ruined castles of the olden time, Bells of Varenna, Bells of Varenna — Dulcet bells. Dreaming bells, Bells, Bells. 14 BELLS OF VARENNA 15 Along a floor of crystal, where the moon, From her blue mansion bending. Awaits the sending Of your deep benison and soft " Good-night," Canorous cadence comes. Too soon, too soon, Faint off the last far throbbing And silver sobbing By Como's patined pathway, still and bright, Bells of Varenna, Bells of Varenna — Sleeping bells, Weary bells. Bells, Bells. IN THE VALLEY Heather and potentilla fold The rocks with purple and with gold ; The burn beneath sings clear and cold. Here man and woman kept a tryst ; Here often met ; here first they kissed Under the white and secret mist. And here, within this holy place. He came and thundered her disgrace. And looked his last upon her face. And while he cursed her ruined name, Her young soul fainted, sick with shame, Before the death knell of her fame. Had heath and potentil but known His wrath and her despairing moan. Their twinkling flowers had surely flown. And had the burn but felt that cry, Or understood their agony. She must have wept her silver dry. The grey hills heard the lover take An oath, that made their echoes ache, To hate all women for her sake. i6 IN THE VALLEY 17 The sunshine saw the woman cast Herself to earth when he had past, Her little pitcher broke at last. But heath and potentil are gay ; The waters sing upon their way, Though all this happened yesterday. For June must joy, though joy departs. And life must laugh, though sorrow smarts, And buds must break as well as hearts. GAFFER'S SONG The boys don't hoe like they used to do, And the maids don't sew like they used to do ; The hen don't lay And the hound don't bay, And the wind don't blow like it used to do. The men don't drink like they used to do, And the girls don't wink like they used to do ; The bud don't swell And the flow'rs don't smell ; And the folk don't think like they used to do. The milk don't cream like it used to do. And the ewes don't teem like they used to do ; The corn don't kern And the sun don't burn ; And my head won't scheme like it used to do. Bad men ban't hung like they used to be, Good songs ban't sung like they used to be ; The jolly and wise Have all flown to the skies ; And I ban't so young as I used to be. i8 SCANDAL The owl alighted in a yew Beside the portals of my house; The hour was nearly half-past two And, as he ate his juicy mouse, A cuckoo clock made cheerful chime Within and shouted out the time. " O gracious God ! " the owl began, And rolled his round eyes at the moon, " What a black piece of work is man — Well might we miss cuckoo in June, How mad, misguided, inhumane To keep a cuckoo on a chain ! " But all the feathered folk must know ; This infamy I'll bring to light And tell the horror high and low And scream the crime by day and night. No bird shall sing to him again Who keeps a cuckoo on a chain." Good neighbour, of your charity Consider that mistaken fowl ; Beware you tell not truth awry And, hooting with your brother owl, Into the public ear complain I keep a cuckoo on a chain. 19 WELCOME The hard azure on high That bends over the Spring Falls a tinkling, a thrill — Sudden, silvery, shrill; For the lark's in the sky And his lyre-shapen wing Lifts the song in a spiral at will. In the East is the wind ; At the fringe of the wood Shiver catkins of gold Or the fleece and the fold. Sure the eaning ewes find That the sunlight is good, Though chill Eurus, his scythe's on the wold. Dawns a sweet lemon light Through the red-bosomed earth ; Leaps and sparkles a train Along dingle and lane ; For the primrosen bright, They are come to their birth And the daffodil's dancing again. 20 THE NEOLITH Sole standing in utter loneliness — superbly alone — A monolith ruggedly lifts, with the roseal ling at his feet. Only the murmur of bees and the twinkle and throb of the heat On the league-long height, and the shade from his granite thrown. Roll upon roll of the Moor flung out on a sky-line free; Clouds at the zenith blue ; in the flower-clad earth beneath The dust of a neolith : one who has swept this heath As the chieftain of vanished hordes and their fate and their destiny. When he died, that no mocking phantom, or jealous shade Of him mighty, should darken their lodge in the distant glen, They brought their lord hither, on shoulders of mourning men. And tore at their hair and howled long and fierce music made. Then they sought for a stone of girth that should evermore mark his place And be seen for remembrance, afar on the frowning hill, Of that leader of men, whose right arm and resistless will Had lifted his clan to power and to splendour and pride of face. He was cooped with his knees to his chin in a granite kist, And a granite flake over his head that should last till doom. 21 22 THE NEOLITH So near doth he seem that one feels him not dead in his tomb, But crouching, alive and alert, with a warrior's axe in his fist. Does he hear the old gods of the thunder ? Can summer sun Reach down to his pit ? May his dog's ears discern the rain Hissing over the heather, or tell if the purple stain From a cloud-shadow dims his grey stone? When the ponies run. Can he mark the dull drumming above of their unshod feet? Does he chill when the snowdrift is clogged on the frozen ground ? Does he thrill to the shout of the stream, or the bay of the hound, Or heed the sad curlew's cry and the brown snipe bleating his bleat ? Nay, for nothing lies under the grass but the broken stones Or mayhap a primeval crock, or a fleck of red rust, For the hero is earth of the earth, and its dust is his dust. And his flesh is the flesh of the peat, and its bones are his very bones. That master of men is ascended, for joy and for bane, And life after life hath he lived and relinquished since then — In the heather and herbage and birds, in the beetles and foxes and men. Each in their turn sprung of earth ; each in their turn earth again. THE NEOLITH 23 Yesterday clad with great thews, that builded a chieftain of might ; To-day where the milkwort and fern and the starry tormentil Spread joy by the auburn beck and loveliness on the hill ; To-morrow a moorman's fire at the fall of a winter's night. And the aura, so azure clear, that is running above the red, Was the glow of a savage heart imprisoned within the brand ; And the warmth on your hand was the sun on a stone- man's hand In the far off urgent days that were lived by the ancient dead. So mutable myriads wake to the ring of their morning chime ; So mutable myriads pass at the set of their final sun ; And only Matter remains — the august, the unchanging one — But no shape and no shadow of aught that she moulds on the wheel of Time. And ye who would bring man his soul from a mystical matrix apart ; And ye who would lift up man's life to a land beyond Matter's ken, Must proclaim how her rape overtook her, and wherefore, and when. Ere we bend to your idols, or take these your fairyland stories to heart. IN A WOOD There runs a pathway through the wood Where lace the boughs and all is good. The beech-boles don a robe of white And gleam Hke ghosts at dayspring light, When first the pure, canorous note Throbs from a waking blackbird's throat ; And down the long aisle dim Another answers him. Often they met, the girl and boy At this still hour ; it was her joy To share a kiss at peep of day Before he took his working way. Then light of heart the youngster went, Leaving the little maid content To seek her home near by The forest boundary. But when at evening back he came Where the beech-boles were all aflame With ruddy fire along the glade. She leapt from out some stealthy shade. And dawdling once when sunset shone. He cut their letters, one in one. Upon an ancient stem, And drew a heart around them. 24 IN A WOOD 25 Then rose the red, accursed star, And honour swept her boy afar ; While she, sore hindered and forlorn, Still heard the blackbird sing at morn, Still felt her heart with each sun sink, Knowing he stood upon the brink, Prayed on in hope and trust — Until the boy was dust. Life brought its anodyne of years. To dull young griefs and dry young tears, And Time, who knows not to stand still, Sent a new lover up the hill. A wife and mother now she goes And plays with her first baby's toes — The name in memory Spoken without a sigh. And grey upon the beech's rind. Foregone, forgotten, out of mind. Two woven letters may be told When dawns are white and eves are gold ; Where his aubade the blackbird makes. Or sleepy, sweet good-even takes ; And down the long aisle dim Another answers him. GHOSTIES AT THE WEDDING Turn down a glass afore his place ; Draw up the dog-eared chair ; For though we shall not see his face, I think he will be there Our wedding day to share. Turn up the glass where she would be And put a red rose there. Her quick, grey eyes we cannot see. But weren't they everywhere, And shall not they be here ? Though them old blids are in the grave And their good light's gone out. We'd sooner their kind ghosties have Than all the living rout As will be there no doubt. For some are dead as cannot die. Some flown as cannot flee. You still do fancy 'em near by. 'Tis so with him and she. At any rate to we. 26 DAWN WIND Wind of the Dawn am I, and only She Who knows the music of my every song Can hear the whisper lingering along Melodiously. Melodiously along the moonlit corn, With silver fingering all my peaceful way, I nightly wander towards another day Soon to be born. Lo ! from the East he comes ; and I rejoice And throbbing on into the ruddy light Leap like a giant from the dying night With organ voice. Along the rosy, misty, magic lands That gleam above each dewy-scented lea The children of the morning welcome me And clap their hands. 27 DART Elfin river, stealing from far-off granite cradle, Musical the place names upon thy tidal water ; Tuckenhay and Greenway, Stoke Gabriel and Dittisham, Sharpham and Duncannon, beside thy margin's mirror — Sweet bells all a-chiming for native ear that knows them. Rainbows in November, above the hillside footed. Burn along the brake fern to set the auburn flaming In transparent wonders of emerald and purple ; Till descends the hailstorm, with lash and scourge ice- knotted, Hurtling through the coppice; from larch and cherry robbing Amber dust and crimson. Chattering then and hissing, And fretting first thy bosom into a sudden torment, He draws his tatters round him and huddles off to seaward. So the sun returning, by hover and by ripple, Charms thy fleeting turmoil and wins thee back to laughter. At the river ferry a little bell is calling ; And where the red earth arches, low on the blue above it, Man and horses ploughing, herald a cloud behind them Of the great, white sea-fowl that feed along the furrow. Cobweb grey thine orchards, still the last apples ling'ring, Topaz and ruby tangled upon the frosted lichen ; While broad, oaken hangers, a rapture for the sunset, Meet the steadfast beech scrub, like red-hot fire aglowing, Till their conflagrations, that blaze along the tide way, Melt in flame and mingle their wonder with thy crystal. Massy, rounded elm-trees roll out along the river, 28 DART 29 And above, in billows far mightier and vaster, Sail the light-laden clouds, that lift another forest Bossed and round as they are and carry up their image. Crested, crowned and golden, into the hyaline azure. Pale that lifted glory and faint those sun-touched summits Seen against the ardour of thine own earth-born elm-trees. Down beside the reed-rond, pulse of the sea, a-weary, Doth bring a wreath of flow'rs to mark the place of parting. High above them glitters the wide weir's silver apron And the bright salmon leap, springing from salt to sweetness. Farewell, worthy worship in all thy times and seasons ; By thy magic subtle of many a deep and rapid ; By thy sunny reaches and mystery of shadow ; Thy gentle hillsides green and dear delight of forests ; By the surprise of coombs, the hanging woods and dingles ; The happy days and sad ; the murmur of thy voices ; Thy changing, winsome moods and little lovelinesses. Thou art all Devon, and so incomparably England. BY RUNDLESTONE Her cottage solitary stood Beside the granite Rundlestone — Lonely enough, but not so lone That fortune missed it, ill and good. And faring by that way once more I sought to see the friend of old, And found an orange-lily's gold Still burning by her cottage door. There seemed no stir about the place ; No voice responded to my call ; I heard no tardy footsteps fall, Nor welcomed her familiar face. From open window overhead There came a dull and fitful flap, Where the blind bulged and filled the gap And billowed as the breezes sped. Empty the house, for she had gone Full many a moon before that day. Passing in steadfast faith away To join her man beneath his stone. And now, when currents of the mind Drift to my thought her vanished name, I see the orange-lily flame And hear the flapping of a bUnd. 30 A SONG TO SILVER EYES Now that the dayspring surely comes To wake a dreaming world once more And light a thousand, thousand homes With message from the Eastern shore; Though dawn doth shiver sad and grey And sombre clouds hide earth and sea, My love shall be the sun to me And glad' my going through the day. When mournful darkness falls again To sink old earth in slumber deep, Save where the sisters, sorrow, pain, Their sobbing, throbbing vigils keep ; Though faint my heart and dim my sight Beneath the storm's immensity, My love shall be a star to me And guide my going through the night. 31 ENOUGH The larch, the birch and the eagle fern And granite grey ; The cry of the kine and the song of the burn Down Dartmoor way. A league-long tramp to a lifted stone Under the sky ; Long lustral hours superbly alone — My soul and I. For you be the kingdoms that you list, The seas you will ; And mine a white rainbow in the mist On a heather hill. SONG OF THE LARCHES Not foliage, but emerald fires Run through our legions in the spring, Until their myriad points and spires Are hidden past remembering. Through hanging wood, by dell and dene Again we ray ourselves in green. Not foliage, but aureate fires Leap through our legions in the fall. When autumn lights her saffron pyres And the red sun sinks to a ball. Like golden smoke across the grey We fling our worn-out robes away. 32 A SONG Shadows we are and shadows seek And haunt the place where shadows move ; But I, who know thy blessed love, Scorn shadowland and all things weak. Thou art alone reality ; The rest is dream within a dream. My life knows nothing but doth seem Save only thee, save only thee. Through noon of day and noon of night There steals a golden thought and rare. That still we breathe the self-same air, Still glory in the same delight. That soul to soul and sense to sense — Our heavens woven into one — We're shining, each the other's sun. Before we vanish and go hence. And if thy love should faint and die. The deep, eternal after-glow Shall burn for ever where I go — A cloud of hght in my grey sky. 33 BUONARROTI'S "DAWN" Spirit of twilight chill and upper air Stretched desolate upon the rack of morn ; Thou hooded grief from mountain marble torn, Gazing sad-lidded on the sky's despair, While the grey stars, like tears, descend forlorn ; Earth's broken heart and man's unsleeping care Wait on thy pillow, crying to be borne — The only burden thou shalt ever bear. No infant hope may dream on thy deep breast, No little lip may soothe with infant might Thy mouth's immortal woe ; for thee, oppressed. Dawn dim epiphanies beyond all light, Where man's long agony and cry for rest But torture dayspring into darker night. 34 A DARTMOOR STREAM When Shakespeare wrote, you sang the song I hear, And when Eliza reigned, your lint-white locks Flashed where they flash to-day, among the rocks, And showered their tresses twined into the brown pool clear. You danced and flung your foam upon the fern. And sang along your green and granite ways Even as now, in far-ofl" Golden days, When toiled the tinner men beside your heathery urn. Their ruins shrink beside you ; foxglove springs Above the roofless hut and smelting place; No more their shadows fall upon your face, Or mediaeval chime of pick and hammer rings. But they were children in your lap beside The early men of stone, whose lodges stand, Like mushroom circles grey upon the land Above the cotton-grass that marks your cradle wide. The bear has lapped your crystal on his rounds ; The stricken elk beside you dropped at last — A flint home in his shoulder, deep and fast — To smear your emerald moss from red of deathly wounds. 35 36 A DARTMOOR STREAM And now, where once the wolf pack hunting went, With ululation through the snowy nights, Leap motor cars upon the highway heights, And by their hooting horns the silent air is rent. All one to you : machine and beast and man. And Time, that leads them off and brings them in ; You strive above all circumstance, to win Your immemorial dream and predetermined plan. Unchanging, ever-changing, you possess Your spirit quickened with an ardour still Of workmanship — a patient, steadfast will To rarer beauty yet and purer loveliness. THE FALL I'll sing a song of kings and queens And falling leaves and flying rain, With Time to mow, and Fate who gleans Their good and evil, boon and bane. I'll sing a song of leaves and rains And flying queens and falling kings, Yet doubt not reason still remains Snug hidden at the core of things. For every year an autumn brings To round the root and fat the sheaves And haply garner queens and kings With falling rain and flying leaves. The rain is salt with tears of queens, The leaves are red with blood of kings ; Unknowing what the mystery means, We puzzle at these mighty things. For why great kings and rains should fall, And wherefore leaves and queens should fly, Or such rare wonders be at all. You cannot tell ; no more can I. Yet this we know : new leaves and rain Anon shall crown the vernal scene. But dust of dynasts not again Blows up into a king or queen. 37 LAPWINGS When white ice tinkles on the rutted roads And icicles are bearding from the thatch ; When fens are froze, the lapwings make despatch And all a-mewing come from their frost-bound abodes. With rush of wings upon the northern wind Across the wintry blue, like sparks of gold They flash into the valleys, hunger-bold, And seek their comforting with doubtful human-kind. They love the lew, where yellow corn-stacks stand. And puff their feathers in the paUid sun, Go daintily about and peep and run. Like pixy pilgrim folk of some far fairy-land. And near to bud-break, when young grey-eyed Spring, Clad in the silver of an April rain. Calls from the hill-tops, home they go again And lift their kitten cries to give her welcoming. 38 TO AN OPAL Wrapt in the radiant air's own milky tress, That's less than cloud and more than cloudlessness, Dawn-light and moon-light art thou ; dreaming fire, That dies along the west : a pulse : a pyre Burning beneath the brow of some red eave ; The very staple that the salt winds weave Into the vaporous east, or sobbing south, When some grey hurricane sucks at the mouth Of the dear, wild-haired sea, and with huge mirth Rains back his rape of kisses on the earth. The blooms of old-world flow'rs in ancient garths ; The dancing aureole of winter hearths ; The argent flame that haunts eternal snows : Spray of the burn and petal of the rose ; Gleam of the dragon-fly or halcyon's wing; The dew-bedappled kirtle of the Spring ; The amber ripple of the kerning corn ; Splendour of fruit ; where ripeness, like a morn, Breaks through the bloom ; the rainbow's liquid light The northern dancers of an arctic night ; Nacre of pearl and foam upon the sea — All these, thou glimmering epitome Of the world's glory, throb and nestle here Within the little compass of a tear. 39 JACK O' LANTERN Where the dim marrish oozes out and fills The lap of the hills, While drowsy gloom broods deep upon the wold, They keep their place and take their trembling flight And fringe the night With paUid flowers of azure and faint gold. Along the darkness elfin lanterns flicker, Now slow, now quicker — A pale corona set upon the mire. They float and fly and leap and sink together Upon one tether, Where ancient fens excern their lambent fire. Thin, shaking, blue—spectres of flame — they travel And break and ravel, Then fade and flash again and fade again. They wave their lamps upon the quag; they quiver And soar and shiver And flit, like little ghosts, above the plain. Born from the heavy breath of sleeping Earth, In feeble mirth They trail and slink and linger, rise and fall ; Then, shuddering before the chill of day, Soon speed away. Blow out their lights and vanish, one and all. 40 THE OLD ROAD How short the road with you, my friend, How short the road with you — The hills and vales, the heights and dales And each unfolding view ; For side by side and foot by foot, Though long that summer noon, The twilight fell too soon, my friend, The twilight fell too soon. How far the road alone, my friend, How far the road alone ; The hills how steep, the dales how deep, Their ancient magic flown ; For now the way, together trod, You cannot tread again. Is twenty miles of pain, my friend. Is twenty miles of pain. Still winds the patient road, my friend ; Still winds the patient road, Whereon I go, now high, now low, With my appointed load ; And glories shared I felt were gone For ever when you past. Have brought you back at last, my friend, Have brought you back at last. 41 THE DOUBTFUL ONES They lie about, the naughty folk, a-mingling with the rest, And just so green the grave-grass on their mounds as on the best ; For Nature's poor at morals, and to her they're all the same. With their virtues no great matter and their vices no great shame. Tom White bides there : they say he slew his first to wed another. And that's the hill that hides Jack Ford, as robbed his own grandmother. This lump of earth, where dandelions be keeping such a state, Is Katherine Jay's, the baby's friend, once known as "cruel Kate." They dug up thirteen childer in her garden, so 'tis said ; And when they ran the creature down, she'd cut her evil thread. Near by we teeled Bart. Coombstock — one as took his own life too : He hanged hisself at seventy-three, though why for no man knew. And Martin Cobley, in a pit beside they godly Foxes, Did six months of his middle time for breaking the alms boxes. Where yonder row of Caunters lie — a famed and far-spread clan — Have crept their black sheep, Rupert, him once called *'the gentleman." 42 THE DOUBTFUL ONES 43 A reckless love-hunter was he, and made an end of life When Noah Bassett shot him dead for playing with his wife. Poor Nelly Dingle, buried by the lich-gate on the left, Burned six good stacks of wheat the night they flung her out for theft ; And they small hillocks, down-along, of babies side by side. Be "chrisomers," as never got baptised afore they died. There do they rest— the doubtful ones— and sleep so sweet and sound As any proper saint of God that ever went to ground ; But when the graves be opened and they birds begin to sing- Lord ! Won't it be a funny dish to set before the King ! / LITANY TO PAN By the abortions of the teeming Spring, By Summer's starved and withered offering, By Autumn's stricken hope and Winter's sting, Oh, hear ! By the ichneumon on the writhing worm, By the swift, far-flung poison of the germ, By soft and foul brought out of hard and firm, Oh, hear ! By the fierce battle under every blade, By the etiolation of the shade. By drought and thirst and things undone half made, Oh, hear ! By all the horrors of re-quickened dust, By the eternal waste of baffled lust. By mildews and by cankers and by rust, Oh, hear ! By the fierce scythe of Spring upon the wold, By the dead eaning mother in the fold, By stillborn, stricken young and tortured old, Oh, hear ! By fading eyes pecked from a dying head. By the hot mouthful of a thing not dead. By all thy bleeding, struggling, shrieking red. Oh, hear ' LITANY TO PAN 45 By all the agonies of all the past, By earth's cold dust and ashes at the last, By her return to the unconscious vast, Oh, hear ! A SONG How I have lived while others slept, With the white moon and thee ! Heaven-high my adoration leapt Sea-deep my ecstasy. And now one memory I keep Till life and I shall part : She loved me well enough to sleep In peace upon my heart. CHERRYBROOK Far more than others feel or see ; Far more than others hear or know, Awakes and lives and throbs for me When by the Cherrybrook I go. • For others, Bellevor's green side And yellow furzes burning bright ; Grouse heather, foaming like a tide, And stones that dance, or drow^se in light. For others, just a singing stream Of flashing stickles, cherry red, That mirrors in her breast the beam, Like golden beads upon a thread. For me, a river of regret In every reach so still and clear — A streamlet, where I follow yet The Shadow of a brother dear. I see his trout-rod catch the sun ; I hear the music of his reel ; Knowing his kindly days are done, His good hfe gone beyond appeal. Now other rods are twinkling high ; But the grey shape I used to bless. Lacking, the stream runs lonely by And Cherrybrook's an emptiness. 46 THE HUNTER'S MOON October day drifts into night and now, Globing red gold upon a naked bough, The Hunter's Moon climbs through a ragged larch, Swings out on Heaven and sweeps her steadfast arch Through cloudrack dim ; while underneath there lie The darkling forests and the floods, and fly Leaves from the summer woods. They tinkle down Russet and sere, etiolate and brown. Blood-red and scarlet, auburn, silver, grey — Good millions, bearing wherewithal to pay Debt of the trees. The busy earthworms cold Draw in the yearly dues to rich the mould. Storing what tree-tops earned ; and thus full round The cycle spins ; for sure the sodden ground Is but a bank, that hoards to give again, Wherein the beetle and the mole and rain Balance their books beneath the Hunter's Moon, While Nature budgets for another June. 47 VOICES Harken, harken, neighbour, harken ! There be little childer jangling, There be childer up-long wrangling By the thorn-tree in the wood. Nay, them noises you are hearing, Out of yonder blue-bell clearing, Are the wild cat's kitlings playing. While their mother's hunting food. II Harken, harken, neighbour, harken ! There's the pixy bells a-ringing, And the dinky pixies singing Through the curtain of the rain. Nay, 'tis but a flock of plover — Golden plover now come over. From the places of their summer, To their winter home again. Ill Harken, harken, neighbour, harken ! There's some poor, unhappy devil Homing drunk after a revel, Drowned in snow and lost in night. Nay, that creepy, crawly yowling Be red fox up over howling, Pads acold and belly empty, Hunger-starven for a bite. 48 VOICES 49 IV Harken, harken, neighbour, harken ! To the sound of woman's waiHng — A sad woman, quailing, railing, Like the sob of wind-swept leaves. Nay, that ban't no cry of woman, Nor the moan of any human : 'Tis the murmur of the hill-tops And " the calling of the cleaves." WIND OF THE WEST I BEAR the banner of the sun at noon ; I light the milUon jewelled lamps of June; I weave, from sky and purple sea below, The rosy cradle where a baby moon Rocks in the after-glow. Awake ye bells, shine out ye stars of Spring ; And let the music of the wild wood ring ; Deck my dear harp anew with golden green — My ancient forest harp, whereon I sing Of all this budding scene. A song of rainbows gleaming on the rain ; Of sap and scent and sunlight come again ; Of the young laughing year's unmeasured mirth ; Of quickened Nature's mother-pang, whose pain Forewent this vernal birth. 50 THE LOVER AND THE WIND " Wind of the South with the wild, wet mouth, Cease from thy wailing and fury of railing ; Whisper to me in my vigils of pain That soon I shall meet her, And soon I shall greet her, And thrill with the passion of kisses again. " Wind of the South with the wild, wet mouth, Silence thy raving and hark to my craving ; Echo a hope through my vigils of pain. I hunger to hold her, I throb to enfold her And melt in the fire of her body again." " Suffering man, since thy race began I have been weeping and I have been keeping A myriad vigils of sorrow and pain. No more shalt thou meet her, No more shalt thou greet her. Or thrill with the passion of kisses again. '' Suffering man, the arc of thy span To-morrow is bounded and finished and rounded. Thou shalt forget all thy vigils of pain, Nor hunger to hold her. Nor throb to enfold her. Nor cry for the fire of her body again." A SONG The red's in the heather, the gold's on the fern- Heigho ! Heigho ! A nip to the wind and the year at the turn — HeighOj Johnny ! The aglet and rowan, shine bright on the bough- Heigho ! Heigho ! But seedtime, or harvest be one to him now— Heigho, Johnny ! All one the wild weather, the wind and the rain- Heigho ! Heigho ! For she that made summer will not come again- Heigho, Johnny ! Was left in the lurch at a young woman's whim- Heigho ! Heigho ! Who cared not a cuss for the ruin of him — Heigho, Johnny ! Oh, little we mind what the seasons may bring— Heigho ! Heigho ! When hearts are a winter without any spring — Heigho, Johnny ! 52 THE GRAVE OF KEATS Where silver swathes of newly fallen hay Fling up their incense to the Roman sun ; Where violets spread their dusky leaves and run In a dim ripple, and a glittering bay Lifts overhead his living wreath ; where day Burns fierce upon his endless night and none Can whisper to him of the thing he won, Love-starved young Keats hath cast his gift of clay. And still the little marble makes a moan Under the scented shade ; one nightingale With many a meek and mourning monotone Throbs of his sorrow ; sings how oft men fail And leave their dearest light-bringers alone To shine unseen, and all unfriended pale. II Oh, leave the lyre upon his humble stone, The rest erase ; if Keats were come again, The quickest he to blot this cry of pain. The first to take a sorrowing world's atone. 'Tis not the high magistral way to moan When a mean present leaps and sweeps amain Athwart the prophets' vision ; not one groan Escapes their souls, and lingers not one strain. They answer to their ideals ; their good Outshines all flare and glare of futile marts. 53 54 THE GRAVE OF KEATS They stand beside their altars while the flood Ephemeral rolls on and roars and parts. It shall not chill a poet's golden blood ; It cannot drown the masters' mighty hearts. TIGER To the barking of the monkeys, to the shrieking of the birds ; To the bellow of the bison and stampedijig of the herds ; At fiery edge of sunset, from the jungle to the wold. Death stalks in shining ebony and orange-tawny gold. He slouched with loose, low shamble from the glade, And as he flung his feet along the track, Machine-like glided each great shoulder-blade Under his pelt. He stopped and scratched his back Against a stump ; then sat a little while. Curling his ring-straked tail around his paws. Yawning with a gigantic, sleepy smile That showed the ruddy gulf between his jaws. The fangs were white and sound, for he was young — A male of four full years, in all his pride. Perfect, lean, knit of rubber and steel, and strung With sinews taut ; content and satisfied. Since the twice five great, crooked daggers set Deep in his awful pads had never failed To win his belly all it wanted yet — A tiger who unfailingly prevailed. And no beast kinglier than himself he knew, For he had tracked and hunted, caught and slain All that his fellow-tigers caught and slew. Though horns might miss by inches eye and brain. A forthright beast and huge, his yellow eyes Glowered steadfast into life ; he felt no ill Of heart or conscience, or the pang that flies Through higher mammals, plagued with choice of will 55 56 TIGER And all the handicaps of consciousness. He knew not right nor wrong; no evil thought Sullied his wits ; his task no more or less Than faithfully to do all he was taught. While the dread smeech and terror of his breath Down a hot wind at dusk, to fearful flocks Threatened the unknown, unnamed horror, death. And sent them hurtling to the plains and rocks. To him they stood for life and all it meant Of being — food and sport and work and play, Love and prosperity and full content, With strength to solve the problems of each day. His brain began to brood and meditate, Thinking on action, while the red sun set. For he had come from far with a new mate To a new valley. She was sleeping yet In the bamboos behind him, great with young, Where prickly cactus hemmed the lair and palm Over their couch its sombre frondage hung. There would she bide a little safe from harm, While he must go afield and do his part And fetch a tender antelope, or goat, To win her praise and glad her weary heart With a hot supper for a hungry throat. He pondered now within his broad, flat skull. Then stretched and with his lifted nose and ear Winnowed the silence of the evening lull To learn if grass-eaters were stirring near ; When down the wind, though not a lizard ran And no hoof thudded on the dusty bent. He smelt a something fragrant and began To twitch his nostrils at the ravishment. TIGER 57 A subtle scent and new ! His whiskers pricked ; His body huddled fiat and seemed to shrink ; His great nape bristled up ; his jowl he licked : Then, like a banded snake, began to sink And trickle through the spear grass. By a stone He sudden lifted, then he set and stilled, While footfall of some game, that went alone, Came innocently pattering, to be killed. Couchant, like a set trap, with head out-thrust. The hunter crouched, quivering his black tail-tip. Until it drew a fan upon the dust Behind him. Then his jaws began to drip, As though a gargoyle, where red lichens grew, Was dribbling. Now the thing that he had heard Approached — a little creature, strange and new — That went not on four feet, nor yet a bird. He strung himself to spring, while at a trot, The Indian runner on his lonely road Jogged forward, dreaming of a supper-pot. Bound was he for a village, where abode One, passing fair, the runner's master meant To wed ere long — a radiant maid to whom, By fleet-foot messenger, the suitor sent Two poems of his own writing. Then the gloom, Where a first firefiy winked her golden spark Upon the deepening purple, broke and tore — The twilight stillness ended on a stark. Harsh, grating, deep-mouthed, solitary roar. Hollow as death ; while from his secret place The tiger loosed the lightning of his thighs, Leapt on the man and with unwitting grace Struck him to instant nothing. Levin files 58 TIGER Less merciful. A huddled, crumpled clout, Brown, oozing red, dissolved beneath the mass Of living teeth and brawn. The brains were out ; Head, a cracked egg-shell leaking on the grass. Thus in a heap to mother earth they came. Both quick and dead ; and then the great cat sought His grim, familiar, ghastly after-game ; But he had hit too hard and spoiled his sport. He drew and coaxed with hooked and playful paws. Hoping to find the life had not quite gone, And moved by those infernal, feline laws. That made him frolic when his work was done. For oft his perishing food would feebly strive, Driven by life's undying hope, and led To struggle still from death while yet alive ; But his first man the tiger found was dead. And when the conqueror tasted, his rough tongue Thrilled a new, joyous lust into his brain, For the soft, furless stuff his palate stung With mad, delicious twang — oft, oft again Would he smell up the wind for such another. He hoped the dainty creatures went in packs, And that his prey had kids and many a brother To steal at cool of evening on his tracks. He gaped and gripped the mangled clod of earth Under its ribs, heaved up a muzzle white. Sounded a grunt, that seemed akin to mirth, And bore his dripping coolie out of sight. So to his mate, and as the cross-cut saws Bite upon teak with backward, forward hiss, He purred, then dropped the banquet from his jaws And woke the tigress with a bloody kiss. TIGER 59 Eyes shut, heads sideway, cheek by cheek they ate, To sound of squash and gulch and cracking bone. Deciding swiftly, as they fed, the fate Of the two love songs. They were deftly sewn Within the compass of a gold-cloth bag. Tied with a silken cord, stamped with a seal. The tiger crunched and gulped the sodden rag With all the other mysteries of his meal. For, while a poem himself, he was no poet. Being devoid of vision, wit, or ruth ; But many who live poetry, never know it And would be much surprised to learn the truth. Sated at last, they sauntered forth to find A water-hole ; but as they washed their jowls And cleaned their whiskers, sudden on the wind Broke din of brass and drums and human howls. For there had gone another runner by. And smelt the blood and seen the reeking trail. And flown, and shouted " Bagh ! " and raised the cry That tiger were again upon the vale. From jungle edge they peered and torches red Turned each bewildered eye into a gem Of glinting emerald — then sudden dread Awoke at flash of fire, unknown to them. Fear touched their primitive hearts ; they ran and roared. Awakening old echoes down the glade ; Shoulder to shoulder from the gleam abhorred They padded, wondering to be afraid. Until no blink of the accursed thing Tortured the night, they galloped, sweating hot, Then, all unknowing what the day would bring, They stopped and sulked and snarled ; and so forgot. 60 TIGER Anon they sleep, nor guess the dawn shall see, Of hunters white and beaters brown, some score Surround them in a circle steadfastly, To set the cosmos on its feet once more. They sleep, nor dream the pangs of "dum-dum" lead That wait on sunrise, when they two shall feel All they have measured to uncounted dead, And suffer sentences without appeal. Upon their mighty necks will dance the feet Of the unpelted things that lay them low ; For of the fruit forbidden did they eat x\nd both must go where the bad tigers go. To the trumpeting of elephants and blaze of morning light, To the nosing rifle barrels, to the stinking of cordite, With a crash and smash a7id struggle and a yell their tale is told; Death blots the shining ebony and orange-tawny gold. THE PUDDLE I CURSED the puddle when I found Unseeing I had walked therein, Forgetting the uneven ground, Because my eyes Were on the skies, To glean their glory and to win The sunset's trembling ecstasies. And then I marked the puddle's face, When still and quiet grown again. Was but concerned, as I, to trace The wonder spread Above its head, And mark and mirror and contain The gold and purple, rose and red. 6i VISION There have been seers of olden time who said, When dreaming men are rapt into the state Where only shadow people congregate, That never may they see the faces of their dead. But I have seen the faces I have lost, And none so clear and none so shadowless In all that moonshine dance and frolic stress Of dream futility, as some I loved the most. Not as I knew him last my brother stood, A man upon whose kindly face a stain Lay in the letters of life's care and pain ; But as a little lad, when all the world was good. High in the darkness of a pine, elate About our long-forgotten forest play, I hung, where he had found a squirrel's dray : For I was twelve again, and he was only eight. I saw his boyhood's look, as bright and fair As ever shone from huddle of a dream ; Reality's own self shall never seem More real than his young laugh and flaxen, Saxon hair. And waking old, I blessed the memory Of my child-brother's unforgotten face, Thanking, as it had been a deed of grace, The tenderness of dreams that brought him back to me. 62 IN GALLIPOLI There is a told of lion-coloured earth, With stony feet in the ^gean blue, Whereon of old dwelt loneliness and dearth Sun-scorched and desolate ; and when there flew The winds of winter in those dreary aisles Of crag and cliff, a whirling snow-wreath bound The foreheads of the mountains, and their miles Of frowning precipice and scarp were wound With stilly white, that peered through brooding mist pro- found. But now the myrtle and the rosemary. The mastic and the rue, the scented thyme With fragrant fingers gladdening the grey. Shall kindle on a desert grown subUme. Henceforth that haggard land doth guard and hold The treasure of a sovereign nation's womb — Her fame, her worth, her pride, her purest gold. Oh, call ye not the sleeping place a tomb That lifts to heaven's light such everlasting bloom. They stretch, now high, now low, the little scars Upon the rugged pelt of herb and stone ; Above them sparkle bells and buds and stars Young Spring hath from her emerald kirtle thrown. Asphodel, crocus and anemone With silver, azure, crimson once again Ray all that earth, and from the murmuring sea Come winds to flash the leaves on shore and plain Where evermore our dead — our radiant dead shall reign. 63 64 IN GALLIPOLI Imperishable as the mountain height That marks their place afar, their numbers shine, Who with the first-fruits of a joyful might To human liberty another shrine Here sanctified ; nor vainly have they sped That made this desert dearer far than home, And left one sanctuary more to tread For England, whose memorial pathways roam Beside her hero sons, beneath the field and foam. THEN AND NOW When I was young and leapt into the Spring — An eager, quick-eyed, all-inquiring thing — I hunted wood and valley, sea and shore Yet knew not how to feel the wonders that I saw. Now am I old and creep into the Spring — A grey-haired, dim-eyed, still inquiring thing. By ancient ways, a shadow, still I steal, Yet know not how to see the wonders that I feel. Come Youth again, while to another Spring My memories the old adventure bring. Wonder and wander yet once more with me. I'll teach you how to feel, and you my eyes shall be. 65 VIGIL There is a glen beneath a lonely hill, Where the deep tangles of the red brake fern Huddle to death and beautifully burn, While maiden birches flame along the sunset still. Like morning lamps they fade ; their gold expires Among the silvery shadows of each stem. Delicious Hght gently departs from them Where winter bloweth out the autumn's final fires. Furzes, all agate-budded for the spring. Hedge round about the coomb and, higher still, A mist of naked branches hides the hill. And pines bring warmth and scent and dusky sheltering. How oft have I within this vernal wood Watched the green mantle and the sweet sap mount. Trees are mine own familiars ; them I count Among the changeless hearts that make my chiefest good. How often, when the first of blossoms come. Do I behold the opening of their eyes. Mine is the worship ; theirs the shy surprise That I so well should know each punctual haunt and home. Here have I watched full many a night from far Like lover shadowy, ere set of sun, Dark-eyed steal hither, and when day was done. Mist meet the gentle moon ; dew, the eternal star. 66 VIGIL 67 Once more the stroke of every madcap wind Doth shake the bough and dash the ripe fruit down, Or shower red leaves and berries for a crown, October's stormy hair to glorify and bind. Again I see ; again I sigh to see The fading, flaming year sink to her end, Another summer — sure another friend — Dechne and die and pass with music solemnly. Farewell, ye happy, rainbow-winged hours ; The autumn's dew and bitter, silver breath Shall freeze your rosy feet, and strike to death Your spirits where ye drowse amid the withered flowers. Farewell ye domes and canopies of June Raining upon the earth in red and gold ; Hiding the sodden bosom of the wold ; Flying like little ghosts, beneath the hunter's moon. Beside the passing year my watch I keep And mark the sad-eyed gloamings steal away, And feel the low and lemon light of day Fade, like an aching care, upon the fringe of sleep. DARTMOOR NIGHT Now twilight spreads her cool and amber plume, Descending on the solitudes until All detail dies : the valley and the hill Together darkling roll and merge into the gloom. Faints the far emerald west and day is done ; White Venus, throbbing on the dusky gold. Swings out her lamp above the weald and wold. While little, earth-born flames make answer one by one. A child upon her mighty mother's breast, Earth cuddles in the bosom of old Night, Who, gathering coomb and woodland, heath and height. Opens her dewy wings to hide their dreamless rest. The mists are trailing grey by watersmeet, Night-hidden in the forest far below, And where their pearly-paven vapours flow, The Huntress upward steals to find her starry seat. Her waxing splendours over moss and mire Flood fen and barrow, reeve and pool and burn. The lone, high tors, the tracks that wind and turn Where the quartz crystal shines with dim and tremulous fire. She marks the stone-man's lodges empty lie ; The broken folds, the tinner's delving place ; She lights the cairn, the cross, the faltering trace Of bygone dead who homed in this immensity. 68 DARTMOOR NIGHT 69 From cottage window fades the ruby gem And glimmer moonbeams only ; while the moon, Mounting to heaven upon her silver shoon, A sovereign sceptre holds and wears the diadem, O Queen of sleep and silence, ihou shalt reign, With lustral glory poured to soothe and bless The least small life in all the wilderness, Till morning stars awake and sing the dawn again. THE FRUIT OF THE TREE The seraphim, beneath their burning blades, Moved in a wave of light ; while overhead Gleamed the pale moon, a ghost behind the tongues Of all those flaming swords ; and rearward crept The brutes of Paradise — the tiger, ounce. The leopard and the minions of the night. Stealthy they stalked, with growls that showed the fang. While in a broken thread of fiery beads. Golden and green and ruby, through the dark. Fierce glowed their eyes behind that angel host. And now they roared for mingled grief and fear, Because, before the moving seraphim. Flung out for ever from the dingles deep And all those pleasant places of sweet shade Beside the rivers and beneath the trees, Two, whom the great cats loved, were driven forth. Bewildered and disgraced, the primal pair. Now glimmering with moonlight on their heads And streaks of flickered gold that splashed along Their thighs and backs, reflected from the swords. Together went. Hand clasped in hand they moved Before the marching angels, till at last The confines of the only home they knew Were reached and the soft herbage made an end. Over their heads the tracery of trees Ceased, and the naked moon among her stars Hung in the nightly sky and threw a ligh|:, Cold as grey ashes, on the earth beneath. Starkly the desert struck upon their toes 70 THE FRUIT OF THE TREE 71 With harsh and flinty welcome ; Eve's right foot, Set down upon a thistle, cried to her Of a new grief; she moaned in pain, and he, Adam, with tenderness bent down to it And licked the blood that sparkled on her skin In drops the moonlight robbed of sanguine stain And turned to bright, black pearls. Thus driven forth Were they for their transgression, and the guard Took open order on the fringe of Eden, Against whose frontier dark the sentinels Stood silently, lit by their burning swords. To hold the garden precincts ; while between Each seraph and his neighbour still peeped out The creatures of the earth and howled farewell To those white things that had befriended them. And taught their cubs to play in Paradise. They crouched and lashed their tails and shook the night That Eve and Adam to the wilderness Should pass away without one lynx or pard To purr beside them. All would have rushed forth But that the ring of fire struck on their hearts And sent them snarling back. For there had been A precious bond, a close and curious link Twixt Adam and his partner and the brutes — A harmony of happiness and peace Now vanished from the earth. But then, indeed, The first man and his woman stood so near To all their neighbours, sharing their delights And moving in that new-made world so nigh To beast and bird and saurian, that they — The conscious creatures —knowing little more Than woodland wisdom shared with all the rest. Guessed not the gap between. Had ape or sloth 72 THE FRUIT OF THE TREE Broke heavenly ordinance and ate the Fruit, Then had they been the lords of good and ill, And haply ruled the kingdoms of the earth With kinder wit than man. Yet it fell out The creatures in the image of their God Won the beasts' homage by their shapes upright, Yet shared their subjects' ignorance. The stag, The tawny bear, the elephant, the wolf, The monkey folk and all the greater fowls. Composed their theme and filled their human minds With fascination. And betwixt themselves, When Adam spoke to Eve or she to him, Their converse was abrupt and cynical, Untinged by human ruth, or tender care Each for the other's inner happiness. And when the shadows lengthened and their God Walked for awhile between them through the cool Of dewy evenings, in their simple way. They chattered to Him of the names they gave Unto the great gier-eagle on the crag. Or hippo, with his mighty nose asnort Above the mud of Paradise. And He Would listen with celestial gravity And go His way again. The couple lacked Much food for thought ; indeed, they never thought ; For what had they to think about beside The living present and the daily joy Of food and drink and sleep, and playtime shared With lesser things as beautiful as they? Thus did they live through days not fuller fraught With care and vision of to-morrow's dawn Than their companions of the hoof and pad And claw and shining wing. Their mingled life THE FRUIT OF THE TREE 73 Was neither more complete nor beautiful Than that of the striped tiger and his mate, Who dwelt together in a porphyry den A stone's throw from the holt that Adam wove Of living boughs and green wood broken down Wherein to sleep by Eve. The very birds — The warbler and the chaffinch and the wren, Or the red mouse that loved the seeding grass — Built snugger homes than they ; and they w^ould laugh And wonder how the little, busy things, Having no hands, could weave so close and true ; Or how the spider lined her nest with silk To hold her pearly eggs. And when they slept They dreamed of good to-morrows and no more. Such as the children dream. Then came to them The scorching breath of knowledge, and their jest : To make God laugh when He should come and see Them clad with leaves and flowers, as their friends Were clothed with pelt and feathers — their poor jest, When they perceived them naked, brought them down And cast them out into another world Beyond the joys of Eden. That first night Their incipient spirits wept some mournful while, Till the moon sank upon a dreary rim Of desolation and they watched the stars Sink to earth's edge and vanish one by one. Like tears that stole adown night's cheek ; and then They turned to look again where Paradise Lay in a purple shadow on the east 74 THE FRUIT OF THE TREE Under her palms and mountains ; while along Those far-flung boundaries dim sparks of fire Twinkled to mark the soldier angels stand. Adam at last, in hollow of a dune, Whose horrent hair along its crest sprang up In withered bents, a place of shelter found Where the night wind came not ; and there the man His limping partner brought, then laid her down To sleep till day ; but it was keen and chill And, finding that Eve slumbered, Adam came As close as he well might to warm his blood And draw a little of her golden mane About his frozen bosom. Thus they slept, Until there broke on earth another day. Whose light unwitting touched a wondrous sight More pregnant and more precious to the world Than Earth until that dayspring hour had known. For when young Eve awakened, from her eyes Flashed a new glory, something that till now Had never trembled in those azure deeps ; And, wuth her arms about her dreaming man. She called to him, and he arose to see A change in her fair face, the which he read In light of his own quickening. Her voice Proclaimed a new evangel from her heart, And full upon the thin and desert air Poured in the ear of Adam such sweet words That he forgot his hunger and his grief And looked at her, the dew in her bright hair. As subject on a queen. THE FRUIT OF THE TREE 75 " My love ! " she cried ; And since the word had never till that dawn Set the air singing, he forgot all else And listened open-mouthed. " My own true love, Dost thou not feel within thy bosom's home A strange new spirit, born for me and thee ? Dost thou not pant with such a joy that never. Until this daybreak on the wilderness, Thy soul hath throbbed to feel ? In that sharp grief. While the white seraphim did drive us out, I felt the first faint thrill that fought the grief. And when you bent and licked my wounded foot. Even then there flashed to me a sudden bliss That ministered the pain !" ''And I," said he, " If I had felt as now I feel — on fire With tender adoration for my Eve — Oh, then, I never should have played the coward And flung the blame on you, my better part. But taken it myself. This light within. That burns far brighter than the eastern sky. Doth show how mean and vile and base a thing I did to bleat that thou hadst tempted me; For now I grow to something greater far. More wise and more discerning than before I ate the Fruit of the Tree. O would that I Had claimed the punishment, as meet I should, And been cast out and suffered happily Knowing that thou wert safe in Paradise ; For then had I but laughed at thorns and flint And the cold night beneath the setting stars. Knowing my Eve safe in our httle lair." 76 THE FRUIT OF THE TREE " Man, man ! " she answered, "what our lair to me, And what all Eden and the golden sun. Without my Adam ? What the crystal founts And aubade of the birds in misty denes ? And what the morning mellowness of fruits, Or subtle, magic fragrance born by night From moony blossoms, that obeyed the moon And oped, all others shutting? Eden's self Had been this ugly desert spread for Eve Without thee ; but beside thee, close and close, Near as thy shadow, then these antres vast And dreary vague of lion-coloured dust Is paradise enough. For we have won From that thrice-blessed Fruit a dearer thing Than all the blossomy paths of Paradise Knew how to offer. Through the taste of it We are become above the cherubim. Who never feel, beneath the rainbow light That dreams upon their bosoms, what a man And woman feel when love unveils their eyes." " We must tell God," said Adam. " When He knows What hides within the amethystine rind Of that sweet globe forbidden, then will He Make haste to eat of it Himself, and so, Touched by ineffable and sacred love. Seek us, all naked in the desert sand, With pity on His awful brow. And then Us will He soon forgive, for if He eats, A tender, lambent flame of gentle ruth Must burn within His everlasting Heart And crown Him with pure mercy." Thus the man ; And then the woman's voice throbbed cheerfully. " Him will we tell how this that He denied THE FRUIT OF THE TREE 77 Has lifted us above all lesser life And made us wiser than the seraphim, Who drove me forth so roughly that they scorched My shoulder with their swords. But this I know : If Michael and his winged ones had ate From that kind fruit, as you and I did eat, A gentle pity would have taught them sheathe Their brands and made them weep to do us harm. For what to them were we but beings twain. No better than the silly, little apes That would not come to us from out the wood Until I tempted them with sugary fruits And almonds that they loved ? But now, but now Are we above all creatures lifted up And wedded into one — aye, wedded so That life for me is Adam, and for him Nothing but Eve. Let that our Maker hear. And when He learns what now thou art to me And I to thee, and what this lifeless dust And shadeless solitude do seem to be With thy brown hand in mine, then will He know That we, His creatures, now have haply found A dearer and more precious Paradise Than all the hosts of Heaven yet thought upon. Him we must tell, and from our wondrous cup He too shall drink, that He, our God, may know The blessed taste of mercy." " I will bid The seraphim to pray to Him for mates ! " Cried Adam, in a fervour that all Heaven Should share the knowledge dazzling. "Yea, let Him Cast down his hosts in slumber and withdraw 78 THE FRUIT OF THE TREE A woman angel from each winged side, So that they cast away their writhing swords Far from them and rejoice, as we rejoice, To share a life with dearer life than theirs." They spurred each other on, and laughed to think Of the divine delight when God should hear Their wondrous rede ; and then together turned Where Paradise, like a low silver cloud. Fretted the dawn. But now to them there flew Out of the waxing sky a messenger, Who bade them keep their faces to the void And nevermore approach the sinless paths Their innocent feet had trod before they fell. " Wisdom hath spoken, and it is decreed " — With unimpassioned voice the angel spoke — " That now ye thieves of wisdom through your span Shall suffer first and bear the eternal fruit Of your unnatural sin. And when the years Have worn and withered you and broke you down, Since Time hath now dominion over you. Then shall you die and turn again to dust From which the Almighty, in too generous mood, Did lift you up. Begone — your way lies there ! And know that since the parents' sin must be On children visited for evermore. Ye shall have seed and bring the race of man Upon this earth to taste the bitter drink That ye have brewed for every human lip." " But we have much to tell our God ! " cried Eve ; While he, the servant of Omnipotence, With level tones indifferent, broke to them That never more their Maker should t.^ey see. Thereon he spread his wings, and in the light THE FRUIT OF THE TREE 79 Of the red morning opened, petal-wise, His gorgeous pinions, like a new-born flower All opal tinted. So he flew away, And soon was lost to sight upon the clouds That day had fringed with fire. A little while The pair stood very silent ; then young Eve, Mother of all men, from her wide blue eyes Shaking the tear, that like a diamond hung One moment on her lashes, smiled and set Her arms about our primal father's neck. " Be of good cheer ; we have each other still. My own brave heart ! " said she ; "and what this death Shall prove, concerning which the angel spake. We know not and we fear not ; for 'tis sure That death can never be so strong, or good, Or radiant and enduring and supreme As love, that we have won to light our way And guide us through all deserts and all griefs. And since He will not let us speak to Him, Or tell Him of our treasure, it shall flow For babes and sucklings. With their mother's milk I'll teach my little children how to love." WHERE MY TREASURE IS Eternal Mother, when my race is run, Will that I pass beneath the risen sun, Suffer my sight to dim upon some spot That changes not. Let my last pillow be the land I love With fair infinity of blue above ; The roaming shadow of a silver cloud. My only shroud. A little lark above the morning star, Shall shrill the tidings of my end afar ; The muffled musfc of a lone sheep-bell Shall be my knell. And where stone heroes trod the Moor of old ; Where ancient wolf howled round a granite fold ; Hide thou, beneath the heather's new-born light, My endless night. 80 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: April 2009